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Miles Wallingford

by James Fenimore Cooper · English · Gutenberg #11243 · 941,370 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Miles Wallingford

Author: James Fenimore Cooper


        
Release date: February 1, 2004 [eBook #11243]
                Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MILES WALLINGFORD ***

MILES WALLINGFORD

Sequel to Afloat and Ashore.

By J. Fenimore Cooper.

1863.



Preface


The conclusion of this tale requires but little preface. Many persons may
think that there is too much of an old man's despondency in a few of the
opinions of this portion of the work; but, after sixty, it is seldom we
view the things of this world _en beau_. There are certain political
allusions, very few in number, but pretty strong in language, that the
signs of the times fully justify, in the editor's judgment; though he does
not profess to give his own sentiments in this work, so much as those of
the subject of the narrative himself. "The anti-rent combination," for
instance, will prove, according to the editor's conjectures, to be one of
two things in this community--the commencement of a dire revolution, or
the commencement of a return to the sounder notions and juster principles
that prevailed among us thirty years since, than certainly prevail to-day.
There is one favourable symptom discoverable in the deep-seated disease
that pervades the social system: men dare, and do, deal more honestly and
frankly with the condition of society in this country, than was done a few
years since. This right, one that ought to be most dear to every freeman,
has been recovered only by painful sacrifices and a stern resolution; but
recovered it has been, in some measure; and, were the pens of the country
true to their owners' privileges, we should soon come to a just view of
the sacred nature of private character, as well as the target-like
vulnerability of public follies and public vice. It is certain that, for a
series of dangerous years, notions just the reverse of this have prevailed
among us, gradually rendering the American press equally the vehicle of
the most atrocious personal calumny, and the most flatulent national
self-adulation. It is under such a state of things that the few evils
alluded to in this work have had their rise. Bodies of men, however
ignorant or small, have come to consider themselves as integral portions
of a community that never errs, and, consequently, entitled to esteem
themselves infallible. When in debt, they have fancied it political
liberty to pay their debts by the strong hand; a very easy transition for
those who believe themselves able to effect all their objects. The disease
has already passed out of New York into Pennsylvania; it will spread, like
any other epidemic, throughout the country; and there will soon be a
severe struggle among us, between the knave and the honest man. Let the
class of the latter look to it. It is to be hoped it is still
sufficiently powerful to conquer.

These few remarks are made in explanation of certain opinions of Mr.
Wallingford, that have been extorted from him by the events of the day, as
he was preparing this work for the press; remarks that might seem out of
place, were it not a part of his original plan, which contemplated
enlarging far more than he has, indeed, on some of the prominent
peculiarities of the state of society in which he has passed the greater
part of his days.





Miles Wallingford



Chapter I.



  --"But I'll not chide thee;
  Let shame come when it will, I do not call it;
  I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,
  Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove;
  Mend when thou canst--"

  Lear.


It is almost as impossible to describe minutely what occurred on the
boat's reaching the Wallingford, as to describe all the terrific incidents
of the struggle between Drewett and myself in the water. I had sufficient
perception, however, to see, as I was assisted on board by Mr. Hardinge
and Neb, that Lucy was not on deck. She had probably gone to join Grace,
with a view to be in readiness for meeting the dire intelligence that was
expected. I afterwards learned that she was long on her knees in the
after-cabin, engaged in that convulsive prayer which is apt to accompany
sudden and extreme distress in those who appeal to God in their agony.

During the brief moments, and they were but mere particles of time, if one
can use such an expression, in which my senses could catch anything beyond
the horrid scene in which I was so closely engaged, I had heard shrill
screams from the lungs of Chloe; but Lucy's voice had not mingled in the
outcry. Even now, as we were raised, or aided, to the deck, the former
stood, with her face glistening with tears, half convulsed with terror and
half expanding with delight, uncertain whether to laugh or to weep,
looking first at her master and then at her own admirer, until her
feelings found a vent in the old exclamation of "der feller!"

It was fortunate for Andrew Drewett that a man of Post's experience and
steadiness was with us. No sooner was the seemingly lifeless body on
board, than Mr. Hardinge ordered the water-cask to be got out; and he and
Marble would have soon been rolling the poor fellow with all their might,
or holding him up by the heels, under the notion that the water he had
swallowed must be got out of him, before he could again breathe; but the
authority of one so high in the profession soon put a stop to this.
Drewett's wet clothes were immediately removed, blankets were warmed at
the galley, and the most judicious means were resorted to, in order to
restore the circulation. The physician soon detected signs of life, and,
ordering all but one or two assistants to leave the spot, in ten minutes
Drewett was placed in a warm bed, and might be considered out of danger.

The terrific scene enacted so directly before his eyes, produced an effect
on the _Albon_-ny man, who consented to haul aft his main-sheet, lower his
studding-sail and top-sail, come by the wind, stand across to the
Wallingford, heave-to, and lower a boat. This occurred just as Drewett was
taken below; and, a minute later, old Mrs. Drewett and her two daughters,
Helen and Caroline, were brought alongside of us. The fears of these
tender relatives were allayed by my report; for, by this time, I could
both talk and walk; and Post raised no objection to their being permitted
to go below. I seized that opportunity to jump down into the sloop's hold,
where Neb brought me some dry clothes; and I was soon in a warm,
delightful glow, that contributed in no small degree to my comfort. So
desperate had been my struggles, however, that it took a good night's rest
completely to restore the tone of my nerves and all my strength. My
arrangements were barely completed, when I was summoned to the cabin.

Grace met me with extended arms. She wept on my bosom for many minutes.
She was dreadfully agitated as it was; though happily she knew nothing of
the cause of Chloe's screams, and of the confusion on deck, until I was
known to be safe. Then Lucy communicated all the facts to her in as
considerate a manner as her own kind and gentle nature could dictate. I
was sent for, as just stated, and caressed like any other precious thing
that its owner had supposed itself about to lose. We were still in an
agitated state, when Mr. Hardinge appeared at the door of the cabin, with
a prayer-book in his hand. He demanded our attention, all kneeling in both
cabins, while the good, simple-minded old man read some of the collects,
the Lord's Prayer, and concluded with the thanksgiving for "a safe return
from sea"! He would have given us the marriage ceremony itself, before he
would have gone out of the prayer-book for any united worship whatever.

It was impossible not to smile at this last act of pious simplicity, while
it was equally impossible not to be touched with such an evidence of
sincere devotion. The offering had a soothing influence on all our
feelings, and most especially on those of the excited females. As I came
out into the main-cabin, after this act of devotion, the excellent divine
took me in his arms, kissed me just as he had been used to do when a boy,
and blessed me aloud. I confess I was obliged to rush on deck to conceal
my emotion.

In a few minutes I became sufficiently composed to order sail made on our
course, when we followed the Orpheus up the river, soon passing her, and
taking care to give her a wide berth; a precaution I long regretted not
having used at first. As Mrs. Drewett and her two daughters refused to quit
Andrew, we had the whole family added to our party, as it might be, per
force. I confess to having been sufficiently selfish to complain a little,
to myself only, however, at always finding these people in my way, during
the brief intervals I now enjoyed of being near Lucy. As there was no help
after seeing all the canvass spread, I took a seat in one of the chairs
that stood on the main-deck, and began, for the first time, coolly to
ponder on all that had just passed. While thus occupied, Marble drew a
chair to my side, gave me a cordial squeeze of the hand, and began to
converse. At this moment, neatly tricked out in dry clothes, stood Neb on
the forecastle, with his arms folded, sailor-fashion, as calm as if he had
never felt the wind blow; occasionally giving in, however, under the
influence of Chloe's smiles and unsophisticated admiration. In these
moments of weakness the black would bow his head, give vent to a short
laugh when, suddenly recovering himself, he would endeavour to appear
dignified. While this pantomime was in the course of exhibition forward,
the discourse aft did not flag.

"Providence intends you for something remarkable, Miles," my mate
continued, after one or two brief expressions of his satisfaction at my
safety; "something uncommonly remarkable, depend on it. First, you were
spared in the boat off the Isle of Bourbon; then, in another boat off
Delaware Bay; next, you got rid of the Frenchman so dexterously in the
British Channel; after that, there was the turn-up with the bloody Smudge
and his companions; next comes the recapture of the Crisis; sixthly, as
one might say, you picked me up at sea, a runaway hermit; and now here,
this very day, seventhly and lastly, are you sitting safe and sound, after
carrying as regular a lubber as ever fell overboard, on your head and
shoulders, down to the bottom of the Hudson, no less than three times! I
consider you to be the only man living who ever sank his three times, and
came up to tell of it, with his own tongue."

"I am not at all conscious of having said one word about it, Moses," I
retorted, a little drily.

"Every motion, every glance of your eye, boy, tells the story. No;
Providence intends you for something remarkable, you may rely on _that_.
One of these days you may go to Congress--who knows?"

"By the same rule, you are to be included, then; for in most of my
adventures you have been a sharer, besides having quantities that are
exclusively your own. Remember, you have even been a hermit."

"Hu-s-h--not a syllable about it, or the children would run after me as a
sight. You must have generalized in a remarkable way, Miles, after you
sunk the last time, without much hope of coming up again?"

"Indeed, my friend, you are quite right in your conjecture. So near a view
of death is apt to make us all take rapid and wide views of the past. I
believe it even crossed my mind that _you_ would miss me sadly."

"Ay," returned Marble, with feeling; "them are the moments to bring out
the truth! Not a juster idee passed your brain than _that_, Master Miles,
I can assure you. Missed you! I would have bought a boat and started for
Marble Land, never again to quit it, the day after the funeral. But there
stands your cook, fidgeting and looking this way, as if she had a word to
put in on the occasion. This expl'ite of Neb's will set the niggers up in
the world; and it wouldn't surprise me if it cost you a suit of finery
all round."

"A price I will cheerfully pay for my life. It is as you say--Dido
certainly wishes to speak to me, and I must give her an invitation to
come nearer."

Dido Clawbonny was the cook of the family, and the mother of Chloe.
Whatever hypercriticism might object to her colour, which was a black out
of which all the gloss had fairly glistened itself over the fire, no one
could deny her being full blown. Her weight was exactly two hundred, and
her countenance a strange medley of the light-heartedness of her race, and
the habitual and necessary severity of a cook. She often protested that
she was weighed down by "responserbility;" the whole of the discredit of
overdone beef, or under-done fish, together with those which attach
themselves to heavy bread, lead-like buckwheat-cakes, and a hundred other
similar cases, belonging exclusively to her office. She had been twice
married, the last connection having been formed only a twelvemonth before.
In obedience to a sign, this important lady now approached.

"Welcome back, Masser Mile," Dido began with a curtsey, meaning "Welcome
back from being half-drowned;" "ebberybody _so_ grad you isn't hurt!"

"Thank you, Dido--thank you with all my heart. If I have gained nothing
else by the ducking, I have gained a knowledge of the manner in which my
servants love me."

"Lor' bless us all! How we help it, Masser Mile? As if a body can
posserbly help how lub come and go! Lub jest like religion, Masser
Mile--some get him, and some don't. But lub for a young masser and a young
missus, sah--_dat_ jest as nat'ral, as lub for ole masser and ole missus.
I t'ink nut'in' of neider."

Luckily, I was too well acquainted with the Clawbonny dialect to need a
vocabulary in order to understand the meaning of Dido. All she wished to
express was the idea that it was so much a matter of course for the
dependants of the family to love its heads, that she did not think the
mere circumstance, in itself, worthy of a second thought.

"Well, Dido," I said, "how does matrimony agree with you, in your old
age? I hear you took a second partner to yourself, while I was last
at sea."

Dido let her eyes fall on the deck, according to the custom of all brides,
let their colour be what it may; manifested a proper degree of confusion,
then curtsied, turned her full moon-face so as to resemble a half-moon,
and answered, with a very suspicious sort of a sigh--

"Yes, Masser Mile, dat jest so. I did t'ink to wait and ask 'e young
masser's consent; but Cupid say"--not the god of love, but an old negro of
that name, Dido's second partner--"but Cupid say, 'what odd he make to
Masser Mile; he long way off, and he won't care:' and so, sah, rader than
be tormented so by Cupid, one had altogedder better be married at
once--dat all, sah."

"And that is quite enough, my good woman; that everything may be in rule,
I give my consent now, and most cheerfully."

"T'ankee, sah!" dropping a curtsey, and showing her teeth.

"Of course the ceremony was performed by our excellent rector, good Mr.
Hardinge?"

"Sartain, sah--no Clawbonny nigger t'ink he marry at all, 'less Masser
Hardinge bless him and say Amen. Ebberybody say 'e marriage is as good as
ole Masser and Missusses. Dis make two time Dido got married; and both
time good, lawful ceremunny, as ebber was. Oh! yes, sah!"

"And I hope your change of condition has proved to your mind, Dido, now
the thing is done. Old Cupid is no great matter in the way of beauty,
certainly; but he is an honest, sober fellow enough."

"Yes, sah, he _dat_, no one _can_ deny. Ah! Masser Mile, em 'ere
step-husband, after all, nebber jest like a body own husband! Cupid
_berry_ honest, and _berry_ sober; but he only step-husband; and _dat_ I
tell him twenty time already, I do t'ink, if trut' was said."

"Perhaps you have now said it often enough--twenty times are quite
sufficient to tell a man such a fact."

"Yes, sah," dropping another curtsey, "if Masser Mile please."

"I do please, and think you have told him _that_ often enough. If a man
won't learn a thing in twenty lessons, he is not worth the trouble of
teaching. So tell him he's a step-husband no more, but try something else.
I hope he makes Chloe a good father?"

"Lor', sah, he no Chloe's fadder, at all--_her_ fadder dead and gone, and
nebber come back. I want to say a word to young Masser, 'bout Chloe and
dat 'ere fellow, Neb--yes, sah."

"Well, what is it, Dido? I see they like each other, and suppose _they_
wish to get married, too. Is that the object of your visit? if so, I
consent without waiting to be asked. Neb will make no step-husband, I can
promise you."

"Don't be in a hurry, Masser Mile," said Dido, with an eagerness that
showed this ready consent was anything but what she wanted. "Dere many
'jection to Neb, when he ask to marry a young gal in Chloe sitiation. You
know, sah, Chloe now Miss Grace's own waitin'-maid. Nobody else help her
dress, or do anything in 'e young missus's room, dan Chloe, sheself--my
darter, Chloe Clawbonny!"

Here was a new turn given to the affair! It was "like master, like man."
Neb's love (or _lub_, for that was just the word, and just the idea, too)
was no more fated to run smooth than my own; and the same objection lay
against us both, viz., want of gentility! I determined to say a good word
for the poor fellow, however; while it would have been exceeding the usage
of the family to interfere in any other manner than by advice, in an
affair of the heart.

"If Chloe is my sister's favourite servant, Dido," I remarked, "you are to
remember that Neb is mine."

"Dat true, sah, and so Chloe say; but dere great difference, Masser Mile,
atween Clawbonny and a ship. Neb own, himself, young Masser, he doesn't
even lib in cabin, where you lib, sah."

"All that is true, Dido; but there is a difference of another sort between
a ship and a house. The house-servant may be more liked and trusted than
the out-door servant; but we think, at sea, it is more honourable to be a
foremast-hand than to be in the cabin, unless as an officer. I was a
foremast Jack some time, myself; and Neb is only in such a berth as his
master once filled."

"Dat a great deal--quite won'erful, sah--berry great deal, and more dan
Chloe can say, or I can wish her to say. But, sah, dey say now Neb has
save 'e young masser's life, young masser must gib him free-paper; and no
gal of mine shall ebber be free nigger's wife. No, sah; 'scuse me from dat
disgrace, which too much for fait'ful ole servant to bear!"

"I am afraid, Dido, Neb is the same way of thinking. I offered him his
freedom, the other day, and he refused to receive it. Times are changing
in this country; and it will be thought, soon, it is more creditable for a
black to be free, than to be any man's slave. The law means to free all
hands of you, one of these days."

"Nebber tell me dat, Masser Mile--dat day nebber come for me or mine; even
ole Cupid know better dan _dat_. Now, sah, Misser Van Blarcum's Brom want
to have Chloe, dreadful; but I nebber consent to sich a uner"--(Dido meant
union)--"nebber. Our family, sah, altogedder too good to marry in among
the Van Blarcums. Nebber has been, and never shall be uner atween 'em."

"I was not aware, Dido, that the Clawbonny slaves were so particular about
their connections."

"Won'erful particular, sah, and ebber hab been, and ebber will be. Don't
t'ink, Masser Mile, I marry ole Cupid, myself, if anoder prop'r connection
offer in 'e family; but I prefar him, to marry into any oder family
hereabout."

"Neb is Clawbonny, and my great friend; so I hope you will think better of
his suit. Some day Chloe may like to be free; and Neb will always have it
in his power to make his wife free, as well as himself."

"Sah, I t'ink, as you say, Masser Miles, sah--when I hab done t'inkin',
sah, hope young masser and young missus hear what ole cook got to say,
afore 'ey gives consent."

"Certainly; Chloe is your daughter, and she shall pay you all due
respect--for that, I will answer for my sister as well as for myself. We
will never encourage disrespect for parents."

Dido renewed and redoubled her thanks, made another profound curtsey, and
withdrew with a dignity that, I dare say, in Neb's and Chloe's eyes, boded
little good. As for myself, I now mused on the character of the things of
this world. Here were people of the very humblest class known in a
nation--nay, of a class sealed by nature itself, and doomed to
inferiority--just as tenacious of the very distinctions that were making
me so miserable, and against which certain persons, who are wiser than the
rest of the world, declaim without understanding them, and even go so far,
sometimes, as to deny their existence. My cook reasoned, in her sphere,
much as I knew that Rupert reasoned, as the Drewetts reasoned, as the
world reasoned, and, as I feared, even Lucy reasoned in my own case! The
return of Marble, who had left my side as soon as Dido opened her budget,
prevented my dwelling long on this strange--I had almost said,
uncouth--coincidence, and brought my mind back to present things.

"As the old woman has spun her yarn, Miles," the mate resumed, "we will go
on with matters and things. I have been talking with the mother of the
youngster that fell overboard, and giving her some advice for the benefit
of her son in time to come; and what do you think she gives as the reason
for the silly thing he did?"

"It is quite out of my power to say--that he was a silly fellow naturally,
perhaps."

"Love. It seems the poor boy is in love with this sweet friend of yours,
Rupert's sister; and it was nothing more nor less than love which made him
undertake to play rope-dancer on our main-boom!"

"Did Mrs. Drewett tell you this, with her own mouth, Marble?"

"That did she, Captain Wallingford; for, while you were discussing Neb and
Chloe with old Dido, we, that is, the doctor, the mother and myself, were
discussing Andrew and Lucy between ourselves. The good old lady gave me to
understand it was a settled thing, and that she looked on Miss Hardinge,
already, as a third daughter."

This was a strange subject for Mrs. Drewett to discuss with a man like
Marble, or even with Post; but some allowances were to be made for
Marble's manner of viewing his own connection with the dialogue, and more
for the excited condition of the mother's feelings. She was scarcely yet
in possession of all her faculties, and might very well commit an
indiscretion of this nature, more especially in her conversation with a
man in Post's position, overlooking or disregarding the presence of the
mate. The effect of all that had passed was to leave a strong impression
on my mind that I was too late. Lucy must be engaged, and waited only to
become of age, in order to make the settlements she intended in favour of
her brother, ere she was married. Her manner to myself was merely the
result of habit and sincere friendship; a little increased in interest and
gentleness, perhaps, on account of the grievous wrong she felt we had
received from Rupert. What right had I to complain, admitting all this to
be true? I had scarcely been aware of my own passion for the dear girl for
years, and had certainly never attempted to make her acquainted with it.
She had made me no pledges, plighted no faith, received no assurances of
attachment, was under no obligation to wait my pleasure. So sincere was my
affection for Lucy, that I rejoiced, even in my misery, when I remembered
that not the slightest imputation could be laid on her deportment, truth,
or frankness. On the whole, it was perhaps the more natural that she
should love Andrew Drewett, one she met for the first time after she
became of an age to submit to such impressions, than to love me, whom she
had been educated to treat with the familiarity and confidence of a
brother. Yes; I was even just enough to admit this.

The scene of the morning, and the presence of Mrs. Drewett and her
daughters, produced an entire change in the spirits and intercourse of our
party. The ladies remained below most of the time; and as for Drewett
himself, he was advised by Post not to quit his berth until he found his
strength restored. Mr. Hardinge passed much time by Andrew Drewett's side,
offering such attentions as might be proper from a father to a son. At
least it so seemed to me. This left Marble and myself in possession of the
quarter-deck, though we had occasional visits from all below--Grace, Lucy,
and old Mrs. Drewett, excepted.

In the mean time, the Wallingford continued to ascend the river, favoured
until evening by a light southerly breeze. She outsailed everything; and,
just as the sun was sinking behind the fine termination of the Cattskill
range of mountains, we were some miles above the outlet of the stream that
has lent it its name.

A lovelier landscape can scarce be imagined than that which presented
itself from the deck of the sloop. It was the first time I had ascended
the river, or indeed that any of the Clawbonny party had been up it so
high, Mr. Hardinge excepted; and everybody was called on deck to look at
the beauties of the hour. The sloop was about a mile above Hudson, and the
view was to be gazed at towards the south. This is perhaps the finest
reach of this very beautiful stream, though it is not the fashion to think
so; the Highlands being the part usually preferred. It is easy enough for
me, who have since lived among the sublimity of the Swiss and Italian
lakes, to understand that there is nothing of a very sublime character,
relatively considered, in any of the reaches of the Hudson; but it would
be difficult to find a river that has so much which is exquisitely
beautiful; and this, too, of a beauty which borders on the grand. Lucy was
the first person to create any doubts in my mind concerning the perfection
of the Highlands. Just as the cockney declaims about Richmond Hill--the
_inland_ view from Mont-Martre, of a clouded day, is worth twenty of
it--but just as the provincial London cockney declaims about Richmond
Hill, so has the provincial American been in the habit of singing the
praises of the Highlands of the Hudson. The last are sufficiently
striking, I will allow; but they are surpassed in their own kind by a
hundred known mountain landscapes; while the softer parts of the river
have scarcely a rival. Lucy, I repeat, was the first person to teach me
this distinction--Lucy, who then had never seen either Alps or Apennines.
But her eye was as true as her principles, her tongue, or her character.
All was truth about this dear girl--truth unadulterated and unalloyed.

"Certainly, my dear Mrs. Drewett," the dear girl said, as she stood
supporting the old lady, who leaned on her arm, gazing at the glorious
sunset, "the Highlands have nothing to equal this! To me this seems all
that art could achieve; while I confess the views in the mountains have
ever appeared to want something that the mind can imagine."

Mrs. Drewett, though a respectable, was a common-place woman. She belonged
to the vast class that do most of their thinking by proxy; and it was a
sort of heresy in her eyes to fancy anything could surpass the Highlands.
Poor Mrs. Drewett! She was exceedingly cockney, without having the
slightest suspicion of it. _Her_ best ought to be everybody else's best.
She combated Lucy's notion warmly, therefore, protesting that the
Highlands _could_ not have a superior. This is a sort of argument it is
not easy to overcome; and her companion was content to admire the scene
before her, in silence, after urging one or two reasons, in support of her
opinion, in her own quiet, unpretending manner.

I overheard this little argument, and was a close observer of the manner
of the parlies. Mrs. Drewett was extremely indulgent, even while warmest,
seeming to me to resist Lucy's opinion as an affectionate mother would
contend with the mistaken notions of a very favourite child. On the other
hand, Lucy appeared confiding, and spoke as the young of her sex are most
apt to do, when they utter their thoughts to ears they feel must be
indulgent.

A sunset cannot last for ever; and even this, sweet as it had been, soon
became tame and tasteless to me. As the ladies now disappeared, I
determined to anchor, the wind failing, and the tide coming ahead. Marble
and myself had a sort of state-room fitted up for us in the hold; and
thither I was glad to retire, standing really in need of rest, after the
terrible exertions of that day. What passed in the cabins that evening, I
had no opportunity of knowing, though I heard laughing, and happy female
voices, through the bulkheads, hours after my own head was on its pillow.
When Marble came down to turn in, he told me the cabin party had revived,
and that there had been much pleasant discourse among the young people;
and this in a way to cause even him to derive great satisfaction as
a listener.

Neb gave us a call at daylight. The wind was fresh at west-north-west,
but the tide was just beginning to run on the flood. I was so impatient to
be rid of my guests, that all hands were called immediately, and we got
the sloop under-way. The pilot professed himself willing to beat up
through the narrow passages above, and, the Wallingford's greatest
performance being on the wind, I was determined to achieve my deliverance
that very tide. The sloop drew more water than was usual for the up-river
craft, it is true, but she was light, and, just at the moment, could go
wherever the loaded Albany vessels went. Those were not the days of vast
public works; and as for sea-going craft, none had ever crossed the
Overslaugh, so far as had come to my knowledge. Times have changed
greatly, since; but the reader will remember I am writing of that remote
period in American history, the year of our Lord 1803.

The anchor was no sooner aweigh, than the deck became a scene of activity.
The breeze was stiff, and it enabled me to show the Wallingford off to
advantage among the dull, flat-bottomed craft of that day. There were
reaches in which the wind favoured us, too; and, by the time the ladies
reappeared, we were up among the islands, worming our way through the
narrow channels with rapidity and skill. To me, and to Marble also, the
scene was entirely novel; and between the activity that our evolutions
required, and the constant change of scene, we had little leisure to
attend to those in the cabin. Just as breakfast was announced, indeed, the
vessel was approaching the more difficult part of the river; and all we
got of that meal, we took on deck, at snatches, between the many tacks we
made. As good-luck would have it, however, the wind backed more to the
westward about eight o'clock; and we were enabled to stem the ebb that
began to make at the same time. This gave us the hope of reaching the end
of our passage without again anchoring.

At length we reached the Overslaugh, which, as was apt to be the case, was
well sprinkled with vessels aground. The pilot carried us through them
all, however; if not literally with flying colours, which would have been
regarded as an insult by the less fortunate, at least with complete
success. Then Albany came into view, leaning against its sharp acclivity,
and spreading over its extensive bottom-land. It was not the town it is
to-day, by quite three-fourths less in dwellings and people; but it was
then, as now, one of the most picturesque-looking places in America. There
is no better proof, in its way, how much more influence the talking and
writing part of mankind have than the mere actors, than is to be found in
the relative consideration of Albany, on the scale of appearance and
position, as compared with those enjoyed by a hundred other towns, more
especially in the Eastern States. Almost without a competitor, as to
beauty of situation, or at least on a level with Richmond and Burlington,
among the inland towns, it was usually esteemed a Dutch place that every
pretender was at liberty to deride, in my younger days. We are a people by
no means addicted to placing our candle under the bushel and yet I cannot
recall a single civil expression in any native writer touching the
beauties of Albany. It may have been owing to the circumstance that so
much of the town was under the hill at the beginning of the century, and
that strangers had few opportunities of seeing it to advantage; but I
rather think its want of the Anglo-Saxon origin was the principal reason
it was so little in favour.

Glad enough was I to reach the wharves, with their line of storehouses,
that then literally spouted wheat into the sloops that crowded the quays,
on its way to feed the contending armies of Europe. Late as it was in the
season, wheat was still pouring outward through all the channels of the
country, enriching the farmers with prices that frequently rose as high as
two dollars and a half the bushel, and sometimes as high as three. Yet no
one was so poor in America as to want bread! The dearer the grain, the
higher the wages of the labourer, and the better he lived.

It was not at all late when the Wallingford was slowly approaching the
wharf where it was intended to bring-up. There was a sloop ahead of us,
which we had been gradually approaching for the last two hours, but which
was enabled to keep in advance in consequence of the lightness of the
wind. This dying away of the breeze rendered the approaching noon-tide
calm and pleasant; and everybody in-board, even to Grace, came on deck, as
we moved slowly past the dwellings on the eastern bank, in order to get a
view of the town. I proposed that the Clawbonny party should land,
contrary to our original intention, and profit by the opportunity to see
the political capital of the State at our leisure. Both Grace and Lucy
were inclined to listen favourably; and the Drewetts, Andrew and his
sisters, were delighted at this prospect of our remaining together a
little longer. Just at this moment, the Wallingford, true to her
character, was coming up with the sloop ahead, and was already doubling on
her quarter. I was giving some orders, when Lucy and Chloe, supporting
Grace, passed me on their way to the cabin. My poor sister was pale as
death, and I could see that she trembled so much she could hardly walk. A
significant glance from Lucy bade me not to interfere, and I hid
sufficient self-command to obey. I turned to look at the neighbouring
sloop, and found at once an explanation of my sister's agitation. The
Mertons and Rupert were on her quarter-deck, and so near as to render it
impossible to avoid speaking, at least to the former. At this embarrassing
instant Lucy returned to my side, with a view, as I afterwards learned, to
urge me to carry the Wallingford to some place so distant, as to remove
the danger of any intercourse. This accident rendered the precaution
useless, the whole party in the other vessel catching sight of my
companion at the same moment.

"This is an agreeable surprise!" called out Emily, in whose eyes Rupert's
sister could not be an object of indifference. "By your brother's and Mrs.
Drewett's account, we had supposed you at Clawbonny, by the bed-side of
Miss Wallingford."

"Miss Wallingford is here, as are my father, and Mrs. Drewett, and--"

Lucy never let it be known who that other "and" was intended to include.

"Well, this is altogether surprising!" put in Rupert, with a steadiness of
voice that really astounded me. "At the very moment we were giving you
lots of credit for your constancy in friendship, and all that sort of
thing, here you are, Mademoiselle Lucie, trotting off to the Springs, like
all the rest of us, bent on pleasure."

"No, Rupert," answered Lucy, in a tone which I thought could not fail to
bring the heartless coxcomb to some sense of the feeling he ought to
manifest; "I am going to no Springs. Dr. Post has advised a change of
scene and air for Grace; and Miles has brought us all up in his sloop,
that we may endeavour to contribute to the dear sufferer's comfort, in one
united family. We shall not land in Albany."

I took my cue from these last words, and understood that I was not even to
bring the sloop alongside the wharf.

"Upon my word, it is just as she says, Colonel!" cried Rupert. "I can see
my father on the forecastle, with Post, and divers others of my
acquaintance. Ay--and there's Drewett, as I live! Wallingford, too! How
fare you, noble captain, up in this fresh-water stream? You must be
strangely out of your latitude."

"How do you do, Mr. Hardinge?" I coldly returned the salutation; and then
I was obliged to speak to the Major and his daughter. But Neb was at the
helm, and I had given him a sign to sheer further from our companion. This
soon reduced the intercourse to a few wavings of handkerchiefs, and
kissings of the hand, in which all the Drewetts came in for a share. As
for Lucy, she walked aside, and I seized the occasion to get a word
in private.

"What am I to do with the sloop?" I asked. "It will soon be necessary to
come to some decision."

"By no means go to the wharf. Oh! this has been most cruel. The
cabin-windows are open, and Grace _must_ have heard every syllable. Not
even a question as to her health! I dread to go below and witness
the effect."

I wished not to speak of Rupert to his sister, and avoided the subject.
The question, therefore, was simply repeated. Lucy inquired if it were not
possible to land our passengers without bringing-up, and, hearing the
truth on the subject, she renewed her entreaties not to land. Room was
taken accordingly, and the sloop, as soon as high enough, was rounded-to,
and the boat lowered. The portmanteau of Post was placed in it, and the
Drewetts were told that everything was ready to put them ashore.

"Surely we are not to part thus!" exclaimed the old lady. "You intend to
land, Lucy, if not to accompany us to Ballston? The waters might prove of
service to Miss Wallingford."

"Dr. Post thinks not, but advises us to return tranquilly down the river.
We may yet go as far as Sandy Hook, or even into the Sound. It all depends
on dear Grace's strength and inclinations."

Protestations of regret and disappointment followed, for everybody
appeared to think much of Lucy, and very little of my poor sister. Some
attempts were even made at persuasion; but the quiet firmness of Lucy soon
convinced her friends that she was not to be diverted from her purpose.
Mr. Hardinge, too, had a word to say in confirmation of his daughter's
decision; and the travellers reluctantly prepared to enter the boat. After
he had assisted his mother over the sloop's side, Andrew Drewett turned to
me, and in fair, gentleman-like, manly language, expressed his sense of the
service I had rendered him. After this acknowledgment, the first he had
made, I could do no less than shake his hand; and we parted in the manner
of those who have conferred and received a favour.

I could perceive that Lucy's colour heightened, and that she looked
exceedingly gratified, while this little scene was in the course of being
acted, though I was unable to comprehend the precise feeling that was
predominant in her honest and truthful heart. Did that increased colour
proceed from pleasure at the handsome manner in which Drewett acquitted
himself of one of the most embarrassing of all our duties--the admission
of a deep obligation? or was it in any manner connected with her interest
in me? I could not ask, and of course did not learn. This scene, however,
terminated our intercourse with the Drewetts, for the moment; the boat
pulling away immediately after.



Chapter II.



        "----Misplaced in life,
  I know not what I could have been, but feel
  I am not what I should be--let it end."

  Sardanapalus.


Glad enough was I to find the quiet and domestic character of my vessel
restored. Lucy had vanished as soon as it was proper; but, agreeably to
her request, I got the sloop's head down-stream, and began our
return-passage, without even thinking of putting a foot on the then
unknown land of Albany. Marble was too much accustomed to submit without
inquiry to the movements of the vessel he was in, to raise any objections;
and the Wallingford, her boat in tow, was soon turning down with the tide,
aided by a light westerly wind, on her homeward course. This change kept
all on deck so busy, that it was some little time ere I saw Lucy again.
When we did meet, however, I found her sad, and full of apprehension.
Grace had evidently been deeply hurt by Rupert's deportment. The effect on
her frame was such, that it was desirable to let her be as little
disturbed as possible. Lucy hoped she might fall asleep; for, like an
infant, her exhausted physical powers sought relief in this resource,
almost as often as the state of her mind would permit. Her existence,
although I did not then know it, was like that of the flame which flickers
in the air, and which is endangered by the slightest increase of the
current to which the lamp may be exposed.

We succeeded in getting across the Overslaugh without touching, and had
got down among the islands below Coejiman's,[1] when we were met by the
new flood. The wind dying away to a calm, we were compelled to select a
berth, and anchor. As soon as we were snug, I sought an interview with
Lucy; but the dear girl sent me word by Chloe that Grace was dozing, and
that she could not see me just at that moment, as her presence in the
cabin was necessary in order to maintain silence. On receiving this
message, I ordered the boat hauled up alongside; Marble, myself and Neb
got in; when the black sculled us ashore--Chloe grinning at the latter's
dexterity, as with one hand, and a mere play of the wrist, he caused the
water to foam under the bows of our little bark.

  [Footnote 1: Queemans, as pronounced. This is a Dutch, not an Indian
  name, and belongs to a respectable New York family.]

The spot where we landed was a small but lovely gravelly cove, that was
shaded by three or four enormous weeping-willows, and presented the very
picture of peace and repose. It was altogether a retired and rural bit,
there being near it no regular landing, no reels for seines, nor any of
those signs that denote a place of resort. A single cottage stood on a
small natural terrace, elevated some ten or twelve feet above the rich
bottom that sustained the willows. This cottage was the very _beau idéal_
of rustic neatness and home comfort. It was of stone, one story in height,
with a high pointed roof, and had a Dutch-looking gable that faced the
river, and which contained the porch and outer door. The stones were
white as the driven snow, having been washed a few weeks before. The
windows had the charm of irregularity; and everything about the dwelling
proclaimed a former century, and a regime different from that under which
we were then living. In fact, the figures 1698, let in as iron braces to
the wall of the gable, announced that the house was quite as old as the
second structure at Clawbonny.

The garden of this cottage was not large, but it was in admirable order.
It lay entirely in the rear of the dwelling; and behind it, again, a small
orchard, containing about a hundred trees, on which the fruit began to
show itself in abundance, lay against the sort of amphitheatre that almost
enclosed this little nook against the intrusion and sight of the rest of
the world. There were also half a dozen huge cherry trees, from which the
fruit had not yet altogether disappeared, near the house, to which they
served the double purpose of ornament and shade. The out-houses seemed to
be as old as the dwelling, and were in quite as good order.

As we drew near the shore, I directed Neb to cease sculling, and sat
gazing at this picture of retirement, and, apparently, of content, while
the boat drew towards the gravelly beach, under the impetus
already received.

"This is a hermitage I think I could stand, Miles," said Marble, whose
look had not been off the spot since the moment we left the sloop's side.
"This is what I should call a human hermitage, and none of your out and
out solitudes Room for pigs and poultry; a nice gravelly beach for your
boat; good fishing in the offing, I'll answer for it; a snug
shoulder-of-mutton sort of a house; trees as big as a two-decker's lower
masts; and company within hail, should a fellow happen to take it into his
head that he was getting melancholy. This is just the spot I would like to
fetch-up in, when it became time to go into dock. What a place to smoke a
segar in is that bench up yonder, under the cherry tree; and grog must
have a double flavour alongside of that spring of fresh water!"

"You could become the owner of this very place, Moses, and then we should
be neighbours, and might visit each other by water. It cannot be much more
than fifty miles from this spot to Clawbonny."

"I dare say, now, that they would think of asking, for a place like this,
as much money as would buy a good wholesome ship--a regular A. No. 1."

"No such thing; a thousand or twelve hundred dollars would purchase the
house, and all the land we can see--some twelve or fifteen acres, at the
most. You have more than two thousand salted away, I know, Moses, between
prize-money, wages, adventures, and other matters."

"I could hold my head up under two thousand, of a sartainty. I wish the
place was a little nearer Clawbonny, say eight or ten miles off; and then
I do think I should talk to the people about a trade."

"It's quite unnecessary, after all. I have quite as snug a cove, near the
creek bluff at Clawbonny, and will build a house for you there, you shall
not tell from a ship's cabin; that would be more to your fancy."

"I've thought of that, too, Miles, and at one time fancied it would be a
prettyish sort of an idee; but it won't stand logarithms, at all. You may
build a room that shall have its cabin _look_, but you can't build one
that'll have a cabin _natur_' You may get carlins, and transoms, and
lockers and bulkheads all right; but where are you to get your motion?
What's a cabin without motion? It would soon be like the sea in the calm
latitudes, offensive to the senses. No! none of your bloody motionless
cabins for me. If I'm afloat, let me be afloat; if I'm ashore, let me be
ashore."

Ashore we were by this time, the boat's keel grinding gently on the
pebbles of the beach. We landed and walked towards the cottage, there
being nothing about the place to forbid our taking this liberty. I told
Marble we would ask for a drink of milk, two cows being in sight, cropping
the rich herbage of a beautiful little pasture. This expedient at first
seemed unnecessary, no one appearing about the place to question our
motives, or to oppose our progress. When we reached the door of the
cottage, we found it open, and could look within without violating any of
the laws of civilization. There was no vestibule, or entry; but the door
communicated directly with a room of some size, and which occupied the
whole front of the building. I dare say this single room was twenty feet
square, besides being of a height a little greater than was then customary
in buildings of that class. This apartment was neatness itself. It had a
home-made, but really pretty, carpet on the floor; contained a dozen
old-fashioned, high-back chairs, in some dark wood; two or three tables,
in which one might see his face; a couple of mirrors of no great size, but
of quaint gilded ornaments; a beaufet with some real china in it; and the
other usual articles of a country residence that was somewhat above the
ordinary farm-houses of the region, and yet as much below the more modest
of the abodes of the higher class. I supposed the cottage to be the
residence of some small family that had seen more of life than was
customary with the mere husbandman, and yet not enough to raise it much
above the level of the husbandman's homely habits.

We were looking in from the porch, on this scene of rural peace and
faultless neatness, when an inner door opened in the deliberate manner
that betokens age, and the mistress of the cottage-appeared. She was a
woman approaching seventy, of middle size, a quiet but firm step, and an
air of health. Her dress was of the fashion of the previous century,
plain, but as neat as everything around her--a spotless white apron
seeming to bid defiance to the approach of anything that could soil its
purity. The countenance of this old woman certainly did not betoken any of
the refinement which is the result of education and good company; but it
denoted benevolence, a kind nature, and feeling. We were saluted without
surprise, and invited in, to be seated.

"It isn't often that sloops anchor here," said the old woman-lady, it
would be a stretch of politeness to call her--their favour_yte_ places
being higher up, and lower down, the river."

"And how do you account for that, mother?" asked Marble, who seated
himself and addressed the mistress of the cottage with a seaman's
frankness. "To my fancy, this is the best anchorage I 've seen in many a
day; one altogether to be coveted. One might be as much alone as he liked,
in a spot like this, without absolutely turning your bloody hermit."

The old woman gazed at Marble like one who scarce know what to make of
such an animal; and yet her look was mild and indulgent.

"I account for the boatmen's preferring other places to this," she said,
"by the circumstance that there is no tavern here; while there is one two
miles above, and another two miles below us."

"Your remark that there is no tavern here, reminds me of the necessity of
apologizing for coming so boldly to your door," I answered; "but we
sailors mean no impertinence, though we are so often guilty of it
in landing."

"You are heartily welcome. I am glad to see them that understand how to
treat an old woman kindly, and know how to pity and pardon them that do
not. At my time of life we get to learn the value of fair words and good
treatment, for it's only a short time it will be in our power to show
either to our fellow-creatures."

"Your favourable disposition to your fellows comes from living all your
days in a spot as sweet as this."

"I would much rather think that it comes from God. He alone is the source
of all that is good within us."

"Yet a spot like this must have its influence on a character. I dare say
you have lived long in this very house, which, old us you profess to be,
seems to be much older than yourself. It has probably been your abode ever
since your marriage?"

"And long before, sir. I was born in this house, as was my father before
me. You are right in saying that I have dwelt in it ever since my
marriage, for I dwelt in it long before."

"This is not very encouraging for my friend here, who took such a fancy to
your cottage, as we came ashore, as to wish to own it; but I scarce think
he will venture to purchase, now he knows how dear it must be to you."

"And has your friend no home--no place in which to put his family?"

"Neither home nor family, my good mother." answered Marble for himself;
"and so much the greater reason, you will think, why I ought to begin to
think of getting both as soon as possible. I never had father or mother,
to my knowledge; nor house, nor home of any sort, but a ship. I forgot; I
was a hermit once, and set myself up in that trade, with a whole island to
myself; but I soon gave up all to natur', and got out of that scrape as
fast as I could. The business didn't suit me."

The old woman looked at Marble intently. I could see by her countenance
that the off-hand, sincere, earnest manner of the mate had taken some
unusual hold of her feelings.

"Hermit!" the good woman repeated with curiosity; "I have often heard and
read of such people; but you are not at all like them I have fancied to
be hermits."

"Another proof I undertook a business for which I was not fit. I suppose a
man before he sets up for a hermit ought to know something of his
ancestors, as one looks to the pedigree of a horse in order to find out
whether he is fit for a racer. Now, as I happen to know nothing of mine,
it is no wonder I fell into a mistake. It's an awkward thing, old lady,
for a man to be born without a name."

The eye of our hostess was still bright and full of animation, and I never
saw a keener look than she fastened on the mate, as he delivered himself
in this, one of his usual fits of misanthropical feeling.

"And were _you_ born without a name?" she asked, after gazing intently at
the other.

"Sartain. Everybody is born with only one name; but I happened to be born
without any name at all."

"This is so extr'or'nary, sir," added our old hostess, more interested
than I could have supposed possible for a stranger to become in Marble's
rough bitterness, "that I should like to hear how such a thing could be."

"I am quite ready to tell you all about it, mother; but, as one good turn
deserves another, I shall ask you first to answer me a few questions about
the ownership of this house, and cove, and orchard. When you have told
your story, I am ready to tell mine."

"I see how it is," said the old woman, in alarm. "You are sent here by Mr.
Van Tassel, to inquire about the money due on the mortgage, and to learn
whether it is likely to be paid or not."

"We are not sent here at all, my good old lady," I now thought it time to
interpose, for the poor woman was very obviously much alarmed, and in a
distress that even her aged and wrinkled countenance could not entirely
conceal. "We are just what you see--people belonging to that sloop, who
have come ashore to stretch their legs, and have never heard of any Mr.
Van Tassel, or any money, or any mortgage."

"Thank Heaven for that!" exclaimed the old woman, seeming to relieve her
mind, as well as body, by a heavy sigh. "'Squire Van Tassel is a hard man;
and a widow woman, with no relative at hand but a grand-darter that is
just sixteen, is scarce able to meet him. My poor old husband always
maintained that the money had been paid; but, now he is dead and gone,
'Squire Van Tassel brings forth the bond and mortgage, and says, 'If you
can prove that these are paid, I'm willing to give them up.'"

"This is so strange an occurrence, my dear old lady," I observed, "that
you have only to make us acquainted with the facts, to get another
supporter in addition to your grand-daughter. It is true, I am a stranger,
and have come here purely by accident; but Providence sometimes appears to
work in this mysterious manner, and I have a strong presentiment we may be
of use to you. Relate your difficulties, then; and you shall have the best
legal advice in the State, should your case require it."

The old woman seemed embarrassed; but, at the same time, she seemed
touched. We were utter strangers to her, it is true; yet there is a
language in sympathy which goes beyond that of the tongue, and which,
coming _from_ the heart, goes _to_ the heart. I was quite sincere in my
offers, and this sincerity appears to have produced its customary fruits.
I was believed; and, after wiping away a tear or two that forced
themselves into her eyes, our hostess answered me as frankly as I had
offered my aid.

"You do not look like 'Squire Van Tassel's men, for they seem to me to
think the place is theirs already. Such craving, covetous creatur's I
never before laid eyes on! I hope I may trust you?"

"Depend on us, mother," cried Marble, giving the old woman a cordial
squeeze of the hand. "My heart is in this business, for my mind was half
made up, at first sight, to own this spot myself--by honest purchase,
you'll understand me, and not by any of your land-shark tricks--and, such
being the case, you can easily think I'm not inclined to let this Mr.
Tassel have it,"

"It would be almost as sorrowful a thing to _sell_ this place," the good
woman answered, her countenance confirming all she said in words, "as to
have it torn from me by knaves. I have told you that even my father was
born in this very house. I was his only child; and when God called him
away, which he did about twelve years after my marriage, the little farm
came to me, of course. Mine it would have been at this moment, without let
or hindrance of any sort, but for a fault committed in early youth. Ah! my
friends, it is hopeless to do evil, and expect to escape the
consequences."

"The evil _you_ have done, my good mother," returned Marble, endeavouring
to console the poor creature, down whose cheeks the tears now fairly began
to run; "the evil you have done, my good mother, can be no great matter.
If it was a question about a rough tar like myself, or even of Miles
there, who's a sort of sea-saint, something might be made of it, I make no
doubt; but your account must be pretty much all credit, and no debtor."

"That is a state that befalls none of earth, my young friend,"--Marble
_was_ young, compared to his companion, though a plump fifty,--"My sin was
no less than to break one of God's commandments."

I could see that my mate was a good deal confounded at this ingenuous
admission; for, in his eyes, breaking the commandments was either killing,
stealing, or blaspheming. The other sins of the decalogue he had come by
habit to regard as peccadilloes.

"I think this must be a mistake, mother," he said, in a sort of consoling
tone. "You may have fallen into some oversights, or mistakes; but this
breaking of the commandments is rather serious sort of work."

"Yet I broke the fifth; I forgot to honour my father and mother.
Nevertheless, the Lord has been gracious; for my days have already reached
threescore-and-ten. But this is His goodness--not any merit of my own!"

"Is it not a proof that the error has been forgiven?" I ventured to
remark. "If penitence can purchase peace, I feel certain you have earned
that relief."

"One never knows! I think this calamity of the mortgage, and the danger I
run of dying without a roof to cover my head, may be all traced up to that
one act of disobedience, I have been a mother myself--may say I am a
mother now, for my grand-daughter is as dear to me as was her blessed
mother--and it is when we look _down_, rather than when we look _up_, as
it might be, that we get to understand the true virtue of this
commandment."

"If it were impertinent curiosity that instigates the question, my old
friend," I added, "it would not be in my power to look you in the face, as
I do now, while begging you to let me know your difficulties. Tell them in
your own manner, but tell them with confidence; for, I repeat, we have the
power to assist you, and can command the best legal advice of
the country."

Again the old woman looked at me intently through her spectacles; then, as
if her mind was made up to confide in our honesty, she disburthened it of
its secrets.

"It would be wrong to tell you a part of my story, without telling you
all," she began; "for you might think Van Tassel and his set are alone to
blame, while my conscience tells me that little has happened that is not a
just punishment for my great sin. You'll have patience, therefore, with an
old woman, and hear her whole tale; for mine is not a time of life to
mislead any. The days of white-heads are numbered; and, was it not for
Kitty, the blow would not be quite so hard on me. You must know, we are
Dutch by origin--come of the ancient Hollanders of the colony--and were
Van Duzers by name. It's like, friends," added the good woman, hesitating,
"that you are Yankees by birth?"

"I cannot say I am," I answered, "though of English extraction. My family
is long of New York, but it does not mount back quite as far as the time
of the Hollanders."

"And your friend? He is silent; perhaps he is of New England? I would not
wish to hurt his feelings, for my story will bear a little hard, perhaps,
on his love of home."

"Never mind me, mother, but rowse it all up like entered cargo," said
Marble, in his usual bitter way when alluding to his own birth. "There's
not the man breathing that one can speak more freely before on such
matters, than Moses Marble."

"Marble!--that's a _hard_ name," returned the woman slightly smiling; "but
a _name_ is not a _heart_. My parents were Dutch; and you may have heard
how it was before the Revolution, between the Dutch and the Yankees. Near
neighbours, they did not love each other. The Yankees said the Dutch were
fools, and the Dutch said the Yankees were knaves. Now, as you may easily
suppose, I was born before the Revolution, when King George II. was on the
throne and ruled the country; and though it was long after the English got
to be our masters, it was before our people had forgotten their language
and their traditions. My father himself was born after the English
governors came among us, as I've heard him say; but it mattered not--he
loved Holland to the last, and the customs of his fathers."

"All quite right, mother," said Marble, a little impatiently; "but what of
all that? It's as nat'ral for a Dutchman to love Holland, as it is for an
Englishman to love Hollands. I've been in the Low Countries, and must say
it's a muskrat sort of a life the people lead; neither afloat nor ashore."

The old woman regarded Marble with more respect after this declaration;
for in that day, a travelled man was highly esteemed among us. In her
eyes, it was a greater exploit to have seen Amsterdam, than it would now
be to visit Jerusalem. Indeed, it is getting rather discreditable to a man
of the world not to have seen the Pyramids, the Red Sea, and the Jordan.

"My father loved it not the less, though he never saw the land of his
ancestors," resumed the old woman. "Notwithstanding the jealousy of the
Yankees, among us Dutch, and the mutual dislike, many of the former came
among us to seek their fortunes. They are not a home-staying people, it
would seem; and I cannot deny that cases have happened in which they have
been known to get away the farms of some of the Netherlands stock, in a
way that it would have been better not to have happened."

"You speak considerately, my dear woman," I remarked, "and like one that
has charity for all human failing."

"I ought to do so for my own sins, and I ought to do so to them of New
England; for my own husband was of that race."

"Ay, now the story is coming round regularly, Miles," said Marble, nodding
his head in approbation. "It will touch on love next, and, if trouble do
not follow, set me down as an ill-nat'red old bachelor. Love in a man's
heart is like getting heated cotton, or shifting ballast, into a
ship's hold."

"I must confess to it," continued our hostess, smiling in spite of her
real sorrows--sorrows that were revived by thus recalling the events of
her early life--"a young man of Yankee birth came among us as a
schoolmaster, when I was only fifteen. Our people were anxious enough to
have us all taught to read English, for many had found the disadvantage of
being ignorant of the language of their rulers, and of the laws. I was
sent to George Wetmore's school, like most of the other young people of
the neighbourhood, and remained his scholar for three years. If you were
on the hill above the orchard yonder, you might see the school-house at
this moment; for it is only a short walk from our place, and a walk that I
made four times a day for just three years."

"One can see how the land lies now," cried Marble, lighting a segar, for
he thought no apology necessary for smoking under a Dutch roof. "The
master taught his scholar something more than he found in the
spelling-book, or the catechism. We'll take your word about the
school-house, seeing it is out of view."

"It was out of sight, truly, and that may have been the reason my parents
took it so hard when George Wetmore asked their leave to marry me. This
was not done until he had walked home with me, or as near home as the brow
on yon hill, for a whole twelvemonth, and had served a servitude almost as
long, and as patient, as that of Jacob for Rachel."

"Well, mother, how did the old people receive the question? Like
good-natured parents, I hope, for George's sake."

"Rather say like the children of Holland, judging of the children of New
England. They would not hear of it, but wished me to marry my own cousin,
Petrus Storm, who was not greatly beloved even in his own family."

"Of course you down anchor, and said you never would quit the moorings of
home?"

"If I rightly understand you, sir, I did something very different. I got
privately married to George, and he kept school near a twelvemonth longer,
up behind the hill, though most of the young women were taken away from
his teaching."

"Ay, the old way; the door was locked after the horse was stolen! Well,
you were married, mother----"

"After a time, it was necessary for me to visit a kinswoman who lived a
little down the river. There my first child was born, unknown to my
parents; and George gave it in charge to a poor woman who had lost her own
babe, for we were still afraid to let our secret be known to my parents.
Now commenced the punishment for breaking the fifth commandment."

"How's that, Miles?" demanded Moses. "Is it ag'in the commandments for a
married woman to have a son?"

"Certainly not, my friend; though it is a breach of the commandments not
to honour our parents. This good woman alludes to her marrying contrary to
the wishes of her father and mother."

"Indeed I do, sir, and dearly have I been punished for it. In a few weeks
I returned home, and was followed by the sad news of the death of my
first-born. The grief of these tidings drew the secret from me; and nature
spoke so loud in the hearts of my poor parents, that they forgave all,
took George home, and ever afterwards treated him as if he also had been
their own child. But it was too late; had it happened a few weeks earlier,
my own precious babe might have been saved to me."

"You cannot know that, mother; we all die when our time comes."

"His time had not come. The miserable wretch to whom George trusted the
boy, exposed him among strangers, to save herself trouble, and to obtain
twenty dollars at as cheap a rate as possible----"

"Hold!" I interrupted. "In the name of Heaven, my good woman, in what year
did this occur?"

Marble looked at me in astonishment, though he clearly had glimpses of the
object of my question.

"It was in the month of June, 17--. For thirty long, long years, I
supposed my child had actually died; and then the mere force of conscience
told me the truth. The wretched woman could not carry the secret with her
into the grave, and she sent for me to hear the sad revelation."

"Which was to say that she left the child in a basket, on a tombstone,
in a marble-worker's yard, in town; in the yard of a man whose name was
Durfee?" I said, as rapidly as I could speak.

"She did, indeed! though it is a marvel to me that a stranger should know
this. What will be God's pleasure next?"

Marble groaned. He hid his face in his hands, while the poor woman looked
from one of us to the other, in bewildered expectation of what was to
follow. I could not leave her long in doubt; but, preparing her for what
was to follow, by little and little I gave her to understand that the man
she saw before her was her son. After half a century of separation, the
mother and child had thus been thrown together by the agency of an
inscrutable Providence! The reader will readily anticipate the character
of the explanations that succeeded. Of the truth of the circumstances
there could not be a shadow of doubt, when everything was related and
compared. Mrs. Wetmore had ascertained from her unfaithful nurse the
history of her child as far as the alms-house; but thirty years had left a
gap in the information she received, and it was impossible for her to
obtain the name under which he had left that institution. The Revolution
was just over when she made her application, and it was thought that some
of the books had been taken away by a refugee. Still, there were a plenty
of persons to supply traditions and conjecture; and so anxious were she
and her husband to trace these groundless reports to their confirmation or
refutation, that much money and time were thrown away in the fruitless
attempts. At length, one of the old attendants of the children's
department was discovered, who professed to know the whole history of the
child brought from the stone-cutter's yard. This woman doubtless was
honest, but her memory had deceived her. She said that the boy had been
called Stone, instead of Marble; a mistake that was natural enough in
itself, but which was probably owing to the fact that another child of the
first name had really left the institution a few months before Moses took
his leave. This Aaron Stone had been traced, first, as an apprentice to a
tradesman; thence into a regiment of foot in the British army, which
regiment had accompanied the rest of the forces, at the evacuation,
November 25th, 1783.

The Wetmores fancied they were now on the track of their child. He was
traced down to a period within a twelvemonth of that of the search, and
was probably to be found in England, still wearing the livery of the king.
After a long consultation between the disconsolate parents, it was
determined that George Wetmore should sail for England in the hope of
recovering their son. But, by this time, money was scarce. These worthy
people were enabled to live in comfort on their little farm, but they were
not rich in cash. All the loose coin was gone in the previous search, and
even a small debt had been contracted to enable them to proceed as far as
they had. No alternative remained but to mortgage their home. This was
done with great reluctance; but what will not a parent do for his child? A
country lawyer, of the name of Van Tassel, was ready enough to advance
five hundred on a place that was worth quite three thousand dollars. This
man was one of the odious class of country usurers, a set of cormorants
that is so much worse than their town counterparts, because their victims
are usually objects of real, and not speculative distress, and as ignorant
and unpractised as they are necessitous. It is wonderful with what
far-sighted patience one of these wretches will bide his time, in order to
effect a favourite acquisition. Mrs. Wetmore's little farm was very
desirable to this 'Squire Van Tassel, for reasons in addition to its
intrinsic value; and for years nothing could be kinder and more
neighbourly than his indulgence. Interest was allowed to accumulate, until
the whole debt amounted to the sum of a thousand dollars. In the mean time
the father went to England, found the soldier after much trouble and
expense, ascertained that Stone knew his parents, one of whom had died in
the alms-house, and spent all his money.

Years of debt and anxiety succeeded, until the father sunk under his
misfortunes. An only daughter also died, leaving Kitty a legacy to her
widowed mother, the other parent having died even before her birth. Thus
was Katharine Van Duzer, our old hostess, left to struggle on nearly
alone, at the decline of life, with a poverty that was daily increasing,
years, and this infant grand-daughter. Just before his death, however,
George Wetmore had succeeded in selling a portion of his farm, that which
was least valuable to himself, and with the money he paid off Van Tassel's
mortgage. This was his own account of the matter, and he showed to his
wife Van Tassel's receipt, the money having been paid at the county town,
where the bond and mortgage could not be then produced. This was shortly
before Wetmore's last illness. A twelvemonth after his death, the widow
was advised to demand the bond, and to take the mortgage off record. But
the receipt was not to be found. With a woman's ignorance of such matters,
the widow let this fact leak out; and her subsequent demand for the
release was met with a counter one for evidence of payment. This was the
commencement of Van Tassel's hostile attitude; and things had gone as far
as a foreclosure, and an advertisement for a sale, when the good woman
thus opportunely discovered her son!



Chapter III.



                I charge you by the law,
  Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar,
  Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear
  There is no power in the tongue of man
  To alter me: I stay here on my bond.

  Shylock.


It is not easy to describe the immediate effect of this discovery on
either of the parties most concerned. Not a doubt remained on the mind of
either, after the facts were explained, of the reality of the
relationship; for that was so simply proved, as to place the circumstance
beyond all dispute. Mrs. Wetmore thought of her lost son as of an innocent
smiling babe; and here she found him a red-faced, hard-featured,
weather-beaten tar, already verging towards age, and a man of manners that
were rough, if not rude. She could not at first possess any knowledge of
the better points in his character, and was compelled to receive this boon
from Providence as it was offered. Nevertheless, a mother's love is not
easily dissatisfied, or smothered; and, ere I left the house, I could see
the old woman's eyes fixed on Marble with an expression of interest and
tenderness they had not manifested previously to the revelations.

As for the mate himself, now that the fondest wish of his life was so
unexpectedly gratified, he was taken so much by surprise that he appeared
to think something was wanting. He found his mother the reputable widow of
a reputable man, of a class in life quite equal to his own, living on a
property that was small, certainly, and involved, but property that had
been long in her family. The truth was, Marble felt so much at this
unlooked-for appeal to his gentler feelings, that one of his stern nature
did not know how to answer it on the emergency; and the obstinacy of his
temperament rather induced him to resist, than to yield to such unwonted
sentiments, I could see he was satisfied with his mother, while he was
scarcely satisfied with himself; and, with a view to place both parties in
truer positions, I desired Moses to walk down and look at the boat, while
I remained alone with his new-found parent. This was not done, however,
until all the explanations had been made, and the mother had both blessed
and wept over her child. It was done, indeed, principally to relieve
Marble from the oppression of feeling created by this very scene.

As soon as alone with Mrs. Wetmore, I explained to her my own connection
with Marble, and gave her a sort of apologetic account of his life and
character, keeping down the weak points, and dwelling on the strong. I set
her mind at ease, at once, on the subject of the farm; for, should the
worst happen, her son had double the amount of money that would be
necessary to discharge the mortgage.

"The debt was incurred, my dear Mrs. Wetmore, in his behalf; and he will
be happy to discharge it on the spot. I would advise you to pay the money
at once. Should the receipt ever be found, this Van Tassel will be obliged
to refund; for, though the law winks at many wrongs, it will not wink at
one so atrocious as this, provided you can satisfy it with proof. I shall
leave Moses----"

"His name is Oloff, or Oliver," interrupted the old woman easerly "I named
him after my own father, and had him duly christened, before he was
entrusted to the nurse, in the hope it might soften his grandfather's
heart, when he came to know of my marriage. Oloff Van Duzer Wetmore is his
real name."

I smiled to think of Marble's sailing under such an appellation, and was
about to suggest a compromise, when the subject of our discourse returned.
The mate had regained his composure during the half-hour he had been
absent; and I saw by the kind glance he threw on his mother, whose look
answered his own more naturally than I could have hoped, that things were
getting right; and, by way of removing the awkwardness of excessive
sensibility, I pursued the discourse.

"We were talking of your true name, Moses, as you came in," I said. "It
will never do for you to hail by one name, while your mother hails by
another. You'll have to cut adrift from Moses Marble altogether."

"If I do, may I be----"

"Hush, hush--you forget where you are, and in whose presence you stand."

"I hope my son will soon learn that he is always in the presence of his
God," observed the mother, plaintively.

"Ay, ay--that's all right, mother, and you shall do with me just what you
please in any of them matters; but as for not being Moses Marble, you
might as well ask me not to be myself. I should be another man, to change
my name. A fellow might as well go without clothes, as go without a name;
and mine came so hard, I don't like to part with it. No, no--had it come
to pass, now, that my parents had been a king and a queen, and that I was
to succeed 'em on the throne, I should reign as King Moses Marble, or not
reign at all."

"You'll think better of this, and take out a new register under your
lawful designation."

"I'll tell you what I'll do, mother, and that will satisfy all parties.
I'll bend on the old name to the new one, and sail under both."

"I care not how you are called, my son, so long as no one has need to
blush for the name you bear. This gentleman tells me you are an honest and
true-hearted man; and those are blessings for which I shall never cease
to thank God."

"Miles has been singing my praises, has he! I can tell you, mother, you
had need look out for Miles's tongue Natur' intended him for a lawyer, and
it's mere accident his being a sailor, though a capital one he is. But
what may be my name, according to law?"

"Oloff Van Duser Wetmore Moses Marble, according to your own expedient of
sailing under all your titles. You can ring the changes, however, and call
yourself Moses Oloff Marble Van Duser Wetmore, if you like that better."

Moses laughed, and as I saw that both he and his new-found mother were in
a fit state to be left together, and that the sun now wanted but an hour
or two of setting, I rose to take my leave.

"You will remain with your mother to-night, Marble," I observed. "I will
keep the sloop at an anchor until I can see you in the morning, when we
will settle the future a little more deliberately."

"I should not like to lose my son so soon after finding him," the old
woman anxiously remarked.

"No fear of me, mother--I berth under your roof to-night, and so many more
in the bargain, that you'll be glad enough to be rid of me in the end."

I then left the house, followed by Marble, towards the boat. As we reached
the little piece of bottom-land, I heard a sort of suppressed sob from the
mate, and, turning round, was surprised to see the tears running down his
sun-burned cheeks. His wrought-up feelings had at last obtained the
mastery; and this rude, but honest creature, had fairly given in, under
the excitement of this strange admixture of joy, wonder, shame, and
natural emotion. I took his hand, gave it a hearty squeeze, but said
nothing; though I stopped, unwilling to go nearer to Neb until my
companion had regained his composure. This he did, sufficiently to speak,
in the course of a minute or two.

"It's all like a dream-to me, Miles," Moses at length muttered--"more out
of natur' like, than setting up for a hermit."

"You'll soon get accustomed to the change, Marble; then everything will
seem in the ordinary way, and natural."

"To think of my being a son, and having a real, living mother!"

"You must have known that you had parents once, though you are fortunate
in finding one of them alive at your time of life."

"And she an honest woman! A mother the President of the United States, or
the first commodore in the navy, needn't be ashamed of!"

"All that is fortunate, certainly; especially the first."

"She's a bloody good-looking old woman in the bargain. I'll have her
dressed up and carry her down to town, the first opportunity."

"What would you give an old woman that trouble for? You'll think better of
these matters, in the long run."

"Better! Yes, I'll take her to Philadelphia, and perhaps to Baltimore.
There's the gardens, and the theatres, and the museums, and lots of things
that I dare say the dear old soul never laid eyes on."

"I'm mistaken in your mother, if she would not prefer a church to all of
them put together."

"Well, there's churches in all of them towns. Put it on a religious
footing, if you will, and I ought to take my mother as soon as possible
down to York. She's old, you see, and cannot live for ever, just to oblige
me; and here has she been tied down to one church all her days, giving her
no ch'ice nor opportunity. I dare say, now, variety is just as agreeable
in religion, as in anything else."

"You are nearer right there, Moses, than you think yourself, possibly. But
we can talk of all these things to-morrow. A good night's rest will give
us cooler heads in the morning."

"I shall not sleep a wink for thinking of it. No, no--I'll make the old
lady pack up before breakfast, and we'll sail in the sloop. I'll take her
aboard the Dawn with me in town, and a comfortable time we'll have of it
in her cabins. She has as good state-rooms as a yacht."

There were no liners in those days; but a ship with two cabins was a
miracle of convenience.

"Your mother will hardly suit a ship, Moses; and a ship will hardly suit
your mother."

"How can any of us know that till we try? If I'm a chip of the old block,
they'll take to each other like rum and water. If I'm to go out in the
ship, I'm far from certain I'll not take the old woman to sea with me."

"You'll probably remain at home, now that you _have_ a home, and a mother,
and other duties to attend to. I and my concerns will be but secondary
objects with you hereafter, Mr. Wetmore."

"Wetmore be d----d! D'ye mean, Miles, that I'm to give up my calling,
give up the sea, give up _you_?"

"You wished to be a hermit once, and found it a little too solitary; had
you a companion or two, you would have been satisfied, you said. Well,
here is everything you can wish; a mother, a niece, a house, a farm,
barns, out-houses, garden and orchard; and, seated on that porch, you can
smoke segars, take your grog, look at the craft going up and down the
Hudson----"

"Nothing but so many bloody sloops," growled the mate. "Such in-and-in
fore-and-afters that their booms won't stay guyed-out, even after you've
been at the pains to use a hawser."

"Well, a sloop is a pleasant object to a sailor, when he can set nothing
better. Then there is this Mr. Van Tassel to settle with--you may have a
ten years' law-suit on your hands, to amuse you."

"I'll make short work with that scamp, when I fall in with him. You're
right enough, Miles; that affair must be settled before I can lift an
anchor. My mother tells me he lives hard by, and can be seen, at any
moment, in a quarter of an hour. I'll pay him a visit this very night."

This declaration caused me to pause. I knew Marble too well, not to
foresee trouble if he were left to himself in a matter of this nature, and
thought it might be well to inquire further into the affair. Sailors do
everything off-hand. Mrs. Wetmore telling me that her son's statement was
true, on my going back to the house to question her in the matter, and
offering us the use of an old-fashioned one-horse chaise, that the only
farm-labourer she employed was just then getting ready to go in, in quest
of Kitty, I availed myself of the opportunity, took the printed
advertisement of the sale to read as we went along, obtained our
directions, and off Marble and I went in quest of the usurer.

There would be sufficient time for all our purposes. It is true that the
horse, like the house, its owner, the labourer, the chaise, and all we had
yet seen about Willow Cove, as we had learned the place was called, was
old; but he was the more safe and sure. The road led up the ascent by a
ravine, through which it wound its way very prettily; the labourer walking
by our side to point out the route, after we should reach the elevation of
the country that stretched inland.

The view from the height, as it might be termed in reference to the river,
though it was merely on the level of the whole region in that portion of
the State, was both extensive and pretty. Willow Grove, as Marble called
his mother's place three or four times, while our horse was working his
way up the ascent, looked more invitingly than ever, with its verdant
declivities, rich orchards, neat cottage, all ensconced behind the
sheltering cover of the river heights. Inland, we saw a hundred farms,
groves without number, divers roads, a hamlet within a mile of us, an
old-fashioned extinguisher-looking church-spire, and various houses of
wood painted white, with here and there a piece of rustic antiquity in
bricks, or stone, washed with lime; or some livelier paint; for the Dutch
of New York had brought the habits of Holland with them, delighting in
colours. This relief may be desirable in a part of the world where the
eternal green of the meadows in a manner fatigues the eye; but certainly
the grey of nature has no just competitor in the tints of the more
artificial portions of the ordinary landscape. White may make a scene look
gay; but it can never lend it dignity, or the solemn hues that so often
render the loveliness of a view impressive, as well as sweet. When this
glaring colour reaches the fences, it gives the prettiest landscape the
air of a bleaching-yard, or of a great laundry, with the clothes hung
out to dry!

The guide pointed out to us the house of Van Tassel, and another at which
we should find Kitty, who was to be brought home by us on our return.
Understanding the course and distance, we put to sea without any
misgivings. The horse was no flyer, and Marble and I had plenty of leisure
to arrange preliminaries before reaching the door to which we were bound.
After some consultation, and a good of discussion, I succeeded in
persuading my companion it would not be wisest to break ground by flogging
the attorney--a procedure to which he was strongly inclined. It was
settled, however, he was at once to declare himself to be Mrs. Wetmore's
son, and to demand his explanations in that character; one that would
clearly give him every claim to be heard.

"I know what these usurers, as you call 'em, Miles, must be," said the
mate. "They are a sort of in-shore pawn-brokers; and the Lord have mercy
on them, for I'll have none. I've had occasion to pawn a watch, or a
quadrant, in my time; and bloody poor prices does a fellow get for his
goods and chattels. Yes, yes; I'll let the old gentleman know, at once,
I'm Van Duzer Oloff Marble Wetmore Moses, or whatever's my name; and will
stand up for the right in a fashion that will surprise him: but what are
you to do in the mean time?"

It struck me, if I could get Marble to attempt practising a sort of
_ruse_, it would have the effect to prevent his resorting to club-law,
towards which I knew he had a strong natural disposition, and of which I
was still a little afraid. With this object, then, I conceived the
following scheme.

"You shall simply introduce me as Mr. Miles Wallingford," I said, "but in
a formal manner, that may induce this Mr. Van Tassel to-imagine I'm a sort
of lawyer; and this may have the effect to awe him, and bring him to terms
the easier. Do not _say_ I am a lawyer, for that will not be true, and it
will also be awkward falling back when the truth comes to be known."

Marble took the idea, and seemed pleased with it, though he affirmed that
there could be no such thing as acting lawyer without lying a little, and
that "the truth was too good for one of your bloody usurers." I got him
trained, however, by the time we reached the door; and we alighted as well
prepared for our task as could be expected.

There was nothing about the residence of 'Squire Van Tassel to denote the
grasping money-dealer, unless a certain negligence of the exterior might
be supposed to betray the abode of such a man. His friends wished to
ascribe this to an indifference to appearances; but the multitude, more
accurately imputed it to parsimony. When the very soul gets to be
absorbed in the process of rolling gold over and over, in order to make it
accumulate, the spirit grudges the withdrawal of the smallest fraction
from the gainful pursuit; and here lies the secret of the disdain of
appearances that is so generally to be met with in this description of
persons. Beyond this air of negligence, however, the dwelling of Van
Tassel was not to be distinguished from those of most of the better houses
of that part of the country. Our application for admission was favourably
received, and, in a minute, we were shown into the attorney's office.

'Squire Van Tassel, as this man was universally termed, eyed us keenly as
we entered, no doubt with a view to ascertain if we were borrowers. I
might possibly have passed for one of that character, for I aimed at
looking serious and thoughtful; but I would defy any man to mistake Moses
for one who came on such an errand. He looked more like a messenger sent
by the Father of Sin, to demand the payment of a certain bond that had
been signed in blood, and of which the fatal pay-day had at length
arrived. I had to give the skirt of his coat a pull, in order to recall
him to our agreement, else I do think the first salutation received by the
attorney, would have been a broadside in anything but words. The hint
succeeded, and Marble permitted our host to open the communications.

Squire Van Tassel had a very miserly exterior. He even looked ill fed;
though doubtless this appearance was more a consequence of habit of body,
than of short-feeding. He wore spectacles with black rims, and had the
common practice of looking over them at objects at a distance, which gave
him an air still more watchful than that which he imbibed from character.
His stature was small, and his years about sixty, an age when the
accumulation of money begins to bring as much pain as pleasure; for it is
a period of life when men cannot fail to see the termination of their
earthly schemes. Of all the passions, however, avarice is notoriously that
which the latest loosens its hold on the human heart.

"Your servant, gentlemen," commenced the attorney, in a manner that was
civil enough; "your servant; I beg you to help yourselves to chairs." We
all three took seats, at this invitation. "A pleasant evening," eyeing us
still more keenly over his glasses, "and weather that is good for the
crops. If the wars continue much longer in Europe," another look over the
glasses, "we shall sell all the substance out of our lands, in order to
send the belligerents wheat. I begin to look on real estate security as
considerably less valuable than it was, when hostilities commenced in
1793, and as daily growing less and less so."

"Ay, you may say that," Marble bluntly answered; "particularly the farms
of widows and orphans."

The "'Squire" was a little startled at this unexpected reply. He looked
intently at each of us again, over the spectacles; and then asked, in a
manner divided between courtesy and authority--

"May I inquire your names, and the object of this visit?"

"Sartain," said Marble. "That's reasonable and your right. We are not
ashamed of our names, nor of our errand. As for the last, Mr. Van Tassell,
you'll know it sooner than you will wish to know it; but, to begin at the
right end, this gentleman with me, is Mr. Miles Wallingford, a partic'lar
friend of old Mrs. Wetmore, who lives a bit down the road yonder, at a
farm called Willow Grove; 'Squire Wallingford, sir, is _her_ friend, and
_my_ friend, and I've great pleasure in making you acquainted with him."

"I am happy to see the gentleman," answered Van Tassel, taking another
look, while at the same time he glanced his eye at an alphabetical list of
the attorneys and counsellors, to see what place I occupied among them.
"Very happy to see the gentleman, who has quite lately commenced practice,
I should think by his age, and my not remembering the name."

"There must be a beginning to all things, Mr. Van Tassel," I replied, with
a calmness that I could see the old usurer did not like.

"Very true, sir, and I hope your future success will be in proportion to
the lateness of your appearance at the bar. Your companion has much more
the air of a sailor than of a lawyer."--This was true enough, there being
no mistaking Marble's character, though I had put on a body-coat to come
ashore in;--"I presume _he_ is not in the practice."

"That remains to be seen, sir." answered Marble. "Having told you my
friend's name, Mr. Van Tassel, I will now tell you my own. I am called
Moses Marble Wetmore Van Duser Oloff, sir, or some such bloody thing; and
you're welcome to take your pick out of the whole list. I'll answer to
either of them aliases."

"This is so extraordinary and unusual, gentlemen, I scarce know what to
make of it. Has this visit any connection with Mrs. Wetmore, or her farm,
or the mortgage I have been foreclosing on the last?"

"It has, sir; and I am that Mrs. Wetmore's son--yes sir, the only child of
that dear, good, old soul."

"The son of Mrs. Wetmore!" exclaimed Van Tassel, both surprised and
uneasy. "I knew there _was_ a son; but I have been always told it was
impossible to find him. I see no resemblance, sir, in you to either George
Wetmore, or Kitty Van Duser."

Now this was not altogether true. As for George Wetmore, they who had
known him in middle age, afterwards declared that Moses did resemble him
greatly; while I, myself, could trace in the mouth and milder expression
of the mate's features, a strong likeness to the subdued character of his
aged mother's face. This resemblance would not have been observed, in all
probability, without a knowledge of the affinity that existed between the
parties; but, with that knowledge, it was not easy to overlook.

"Resemblance!" repeated Marble, much in the tone of one who is ready to
quarrel on the slightest provocation; "how should there be any
resemblance, after the life I've led. In the first place, I was carried
out of my mother's sight in less than ten days after I was born. Then I
was placed on a tombstone, by way of encouragement; after which, they sent
me to live among paupers. I ran away at ten years old, and went to sea,
where I've played the part of man-of-war's-man, privateer's-man, smuggler,
mate, master, and all hands; everything, in short, but a pirate and
mutineer. I've been a bloody hermit, Mr. Van Tassel, and if that won't
take the resemblance to anything human out of a fellow, his face is as
unchangeable as that on a gold coin."

"All this, Mr. Wallingford, is so unintelligible to me, that I shall have
to ask you to explain it."

I can only add to it, sir, my belief that every word you hear is true. I
am satisfied that this is, in a legal sense, Oloff Van Duser Wetmore, the
only surviving child of George Wetmore and Catharine Van Duser. He has
come to see you in relation to a claim you are said to hold against the
farm his mother inherited from her parents."

"_Said_ to hold!--I certainly do hold George Wetmore's bond, secured by a
mortgage signed by his wife, balance due, including interest and costs,
$963.42; and I am proceeding to sell, under the statute. One sale has been
postponed, to oblige the widow; for a merciful man would not wish to press
a single and aged woman, though I've lain out of my money a very long
time. You are aware, sir, that I lose all my interest on interest, and
must take up with just what the law will give; hardship enough in active
times like these, when not a day passes that something good does not offer
in the way of purchasing the best of securities, at liberal discounts.
Trade is so lively, now, Mr. Wallingford, that men will almost sell their
souls for money."

"I rather think, sir, that some men will do this at all times; nay, do it
hourly, daily. But, I am instructed"--I could not help acting the counsel
a little, on the occasion--"I am instructed that the bond of George
Wetmore is paid in full."

"How can that be, sir, while I still hold bond and mortgage? As a business
man, you must understand the value to be attached to the idle tales of
women, and can see the danger of taking _their_ gossip for authority.
George Wetmore had some knowledge of business, and would not be likely to
pay his bond without taking it up, or at least of obtaining a receipt;
much less leave the mortgage on record."

"I am informed he did take your receipt, though he presumes he must have
lost it with a missing pocket-book, which his widow supposes to have been
dropped from his coat, the very day he returned from the court where he
met you, and where he says he paid you the money, being anxious to stop
interest as soon as possible."

"A very idle story, and one you do not suppose the chancellor will
believe, confirmed by the _hearsay_ of the party interested in preserving
the property. You are aware, sir, that the sale can be stopped only by an
injunction from the Court of Chancery."

Now, I was certainly no lawyer; but, like almost every American, I knew
something of that branch of the jurisprudence of the country, which
touched my own interests. As a land-holder, I had a little knowledge of the
law of real estate, and was not absolutely ignorant of the manner in which
matters were managed in that most searching of all tribunals, the Court of
Chancery. A lucky thought suggested itself to my mind on the instant, and
I made use of it on the spur of the moment.

"It is quite true, sir," I answered, "that any prudent judge might
hesitate about entering a decree on authority no better than the oath of
Mrs. Wetmore that she had heard her husband say he had paid the money; but
you will remember that the party replying has to swear to his answer. All
of us might be better satisfied in this affair, were you to make oath that
the money was never paid."

This hit told; and from that moment I did not entertain a doubt that
Wetmore had paid the money, and that Van Tassel retained a perfect
recollection of the whole affair. This much I could read in the man's
altered countenance and averted eye, though my impressions certainly were
not proof. If not proof, however, for a court of justice, they served to
enlist me earnestly in the pursuit of the affair, into which I entered
warmly from that moment. In the meantime, I waited for Van Tassel's
answer, watching his countenance the whole time, with a vigilance that I
could easily see caused him great embarrassment.

"Kitty Wetmore and I were born neighbours' children," he said; "and this
mortgage has given me more trouble than all the rest of my little
possessions. That I have been in no hurry to foreclose is plain by the
length of time I've suffered to go by, without claiming my dues. I could
wait no longer, without endangering my rights, as there would be a
presumption of payment after twenty years, and a presumption that would
tell harder against me than old Kitty's oath. We are neighbours' children,
as I've said, nevertheless, and rather than push matters to extremities I
will consent to some sort of a compromise."

"And what sort of a compromise will be agreeable to your notions of
justice, Mr. Van Tassel?"

"Why, sir, as Kitty is old, it would be a sad thing to drive her from the
roof under which she was born. This I've said and thought from the first,
and say, _now_. Still, I cannot part with my property without a
compensation; though I'm willing to wait. I told Mrs. Wetmore, before
advertising, that if she would give a new bond, making all clear, and
giving me interest on the whole sum now due, I should be willing to grant
her time. I now propose, however, as the simplest way of settling the
affair, to accept from her a release of the equity of redemption, and to
grant her a lease, for her own life, on a nominal rent."

Even Marble knew enough to see the rank injustice of such an offer. In
addition to conceding the non-payment of the debt, it was securing to Van
Tassel, at no distant day, the quiet possession of the farm, for somewhat
less than one-third its value. I detected symptoms of an outbreak in the
mate, and was obliged to repress it by a sign, while I kept the discussion
in my own hands.

"Under such an arrangement, sir," I answered, "my friend here would be
literally selling his birthright for a mess of porridge."

"You will remember, Mr. Wallingford, that a mortgage sale, legally made,
is a ticklish thing, and the courts do not like to disturb one. This sale
will take place, this day week; and the title once passed, it will not be
so easy a matter to get it repassed. Mr. Wetmore, here, does not look like
a man ready to pay down a thousand dollars."

"We shall not run the risk of letting the title pass. I will buy the
property, myself, if necessary; and should it afterwards appear that the
money has been actually paid, we believe you are sufficiently secure for
principal, interest, and costs."

"You are young in the profession, Mr. Wallingford, and will come to learn
the folly of advancing money for your clients."

"I am not in the profession at all, sir, as you have erroneously supposed,
but am a ship-master; and Mr. Wetmore, or Marble, as he has hitherto been
called, is my mate. Still, we are none the worse provided with the means
of paying a thousand dollars--or twenty of them, should it be necessary."

"No lawyer!" cried Van Tassel, smiling grimly. "A couple of sailors about
to dispute the foreclosure of a mortgage! Famous justice we should get at
your hands, gentlemen! Well, well; I now see how it is, and that this has
only been an attempt to work on my sympathies for an old woman who has
been living on my money these twenty years. I rather think your $963.42,
will prove to be of the same quality as your law."

"And, yet, it struck me, Mr. Van Tassel, that you rather disliked the idea
of swearing to the truth of an answer to a certain bill in Chancery,
which, if I cannot draw, one Abraham Van Vechten, of Albany, can!"

"Abraham Van Vechten is skilful counsel, and an honest man, and is riot
likely to be employed in a cause that rests only on an old woman's
_hearsays_--and all to save her own farm!"

Marble could keep silence no longer. He told me afterwards, that, during
the dialogue, he had been taking the measure of the old usurer's foot, and
felt it would be a disgrace to strike so feeble a creature; but, to sit
and hear his newly-found mother sneered at, and her just rights derided,
was more than his patience could endure. Rising abruptly, therefore, he
broke out at once in one of the plainest philippics of the sea. I shall
not repeat all he said; for, to render it justly, might be to render it
offensive; but, in addition to calling old Van Tassel by a great many
names that were as unusual as they were quaint, he called him by several
that would be familiar to the ears of most of my readers, besides being
perfectly well merited. I allowed his humour to find vent; and, giving the
attorney to understand he should hear further from us, I succeeded in
getting my companion to the wagon, without coming to blows. I could see
that Van Tassel was very far from being at his ease, and that he would
still gladly keep us, if he could, in the hope of bringing about some sort
of a compromise, if possible; but I thought it wisest to let matters rest
awhile, after the decided demonstration we had already made.

It was not an easy matter to get Marble into the vehicle; but this was no
sooner effected, than I trotted him off, down the road, taking the
direction of the house where we had been told to seek Kitty Huguenin, old
Mrs. Wetmore's grand-daughter, who would be waiting the appearance of the
chaise, in order to return home.

"You must put on a more amicable look," said I to the mate, as we went on
our way, "or you'll frighten your niece; with whom, you will remember, you
are about to make an acquaintance."

"The cheating vagabond, to take advantage of a poor, lonely, old woman,
whose only husband was in the grave, and only son at sea!" the mate
continued to mutter. "Talk about the commandments! I should like to know
what commandment this was breaking. The whole six, in a batch."

"The tenth, I am inclined to think, my friend; and that is a commandment
broken all day, and every day."

The denunciations of the mate continued for some time longer, and then
went off like the rumbling of distant thunder in the heavens after the
passage of the gust.



Chapter IV.



  "No Moorish maid might hope to vie
  With Laila's cheek, or Laila's eye;
  No maiden loved with purer truth,
  Or ever loved a lovelier youth."

  Southey.


"Miles," said Moses, suddenly, after riding a short distance in silence,
"I must quit the old lady, this very night, and go down with you to town.
We must have that money up at the place of sale, in readiness for the
vagabond; for, as to letting him have the smallest chance at Willow Grove,
that is out of the question."

"As you please, Marble; but, now, get yourself in trim to meet another
relation; the second you have laid eyes on in this world."

"Think of that, Miles! Think of my having _two_ relations! A mother and a
niece! Well, it is a true saying that it never rains but it pours."

"You probably have many more, uncles, aunts, and cousins in scores. The
Dutch are famous for counting cousins; and no doubt you'll have calls on
you from half the county."

I saw that Marble was perplexed, and did not know, at first, but he was
getting to be embarrassed by this affluence of kindred. The mate, however,
was not the man long to conceal his thoughts from me; and in the strength
of his feelings he soon let his trouble be known.

"I say, Miles," he rejoined, "a fellow may be bothered with felicity, I
find. Now, here, in ten minutes perhaps, I shall have to meet my sister's
darter--my own, born, blood niece; a full-grown, and I dare say, a comely
young woman; and, hang me if I know exactly what a man ought to say in
such a state of the facts. Generalizing wont do with these near relations;
and I suppose a sister's darter is pretty much the same to a chap as his
own darter would be, provided he had one."

"Exactly; had you reasoned a month, you could not have hit upon a better
solution of the difficulty than this. Treat this Kitty Huguenin just as
you would treat Kitty Marble."

"Ay, ay; all this is easy enough aforehand, and to such scholars as you;
but it comes hard on a fellow like myself to heave his idees out of him,
as it might be, with a windlass. I managed the old woman right well, and
could get along with a dozen mothers, better than with one sister's
darter. Suppose she should turn out a girl with black eyes, and red
cheeks, and all that sort of thing; I dare say she would expect me to
kiss her?"

"Certainly; she will expect that, should her eyes even be white, and her
cheeks black. Natural affection expects this much even among the least
enlightened of the human race."

"I am disposed to do everything according to usage," returned Marble,
quite innocently, and more discomposed by the situation in which he so
unexpectedly found himself, than he might have been willing to own;
"while, at the same time, I do not wish to do anything that is not
expected from a son and an uncle. If these relations had only come one
at a time."

"Poh, poh, Moses--do not be quarrelling with your good luck, just as it's
at its height. Here is the house, and I'll engage one of those four girls
is your niece--that with the bonnet, for a dollar; she being ready to go
home, and the whole having come to the door, in consequence of seeing the
chaise driving down the road. They are puzzled at finding us in it,
however, instead of the usual driver."

Marble hemmed, attempted to clear his throat, pulled down both sleeves of
his jacket, settled his black handkerchief to his mind, slily got rid of
his quid, and otherwise "cleared ship for action," as he would have been
very apt to describe his own preparations. After all, his heart failed
him, at the pinch; and just as I was pulling up the horse, he said to me,
in a voice so small and delicate, that it sounded odd to one who had heard
the man's thunder, as he hailed yards and tops in gales of wind--

"Miles, my dear boy, I do not half like this business; suppose you get
out, and open the matter to the ladies. There's four of them, you see, and
that's three too many. Go, now, Miles, that's a good fellow, and I'll do
the same for you another time. I can't have _four_ nieces here, you'll own
yourself."

"And while I am telling your story to your niece, your own sister's
daughter, what will you be doing here, pray?"

"Doing?--Why anything, my dear Miles, that can be useful--I say, boy, do
you think she looks anything like me? When you get nearer, if you should
think so, just hold up a hand as a signal, that I may not be taken by
surprise. Yes, yes; you go first, and I'll follow; and as for 'doing,'
why, you know, I can hold this bloody horse."

I laughed, threw the reins to Marble, who seized them with both hands, as
if the beast required holding, while I alighted, and walked to the cluster
of girls, who awaited my movements in surprise and silence. Since that
day; I have seen more of the world than might have been expected in one of
my early career; and often have I had occasion to remark the tendency
there exists to extremes in most things; in manners as well as in every
other matter connected with human feelings. As we become sophisticated,
acting takes the place of nature, and men and women often affect the
greatest indifference in cases in which they feel the liveliest interest.
This is the source of the ultra _sang froid_ of what is termed high
breeding, which would have caused the four young women, who then stood in
the door-yard of the respectable farm-house at which I had alighted, to
assume an air as cold, and as marble-like, at the sudden appearance of
Mrs. Wetmore's chaise, containing two strange faces, as if they had been
long expecting our arrival, and were a little displeased it had not
occurred an hour sooner. Such, however, was not my reception. Though the
four girls were all youthful, blooming, pretty, delicate in appearance,
according to the fashion of American women, and tolerably well attired,
they had none of the calm exterior of conventional manner. One would speak
quick to another; looks of surprise were often exchanged; there were not a
few downright giggles, and then each put on as dignified an air to meet
the stranger as, under the circumstances, she could assume.

"I presume Miss Kitty Huguenin is among you, young ladies," I commenced,
bowing as civilly as was necessary; "for this appears to be the house to
which we were directed."

A girl of about sixteen, of decidedly pleasing appearance, and one who
bore a sufficient resemblance to old Mrs. Wetmore to be recognised,
advanced a step out of the group, a little eagerly, and then as suddenly
checked herself, with the timidity of her years and sex, as if afraid of
going too far.

"I am Kitty," she said, changing colour once or twice; now flushing and
now growing pale--"Is any thing the matter, sir--has grandmother sent
for me?"

"Nothing is the matter, unless you can call _good news_ something the
matter. We have just left your grandmother's on business, having been up
to 'Squire Van Tassel's on her affairs; rather than let us go on foot, she
lent us her chaise, on condition that we should stop on our return and
bring you home with us. The chaise is the evidence that we act
under orders."

In most countries, such a proposition would have excited distrust; in
America, and in that day, more especially among girls of the class of
Kitty Huguenin, it produced none. Then, I flatter myself, I was not a very
frightful object to a girl of that age, and that my countenance was not of
such a cast as absolutely to alarm her. Kitty, accordingly, wished her
companions hasty adieus, and in a minute she was placed between Marble and
myself, the old vehicle being sufficiently spacious to accommodate three.
I made my bows and away we trotted, or _ambled_ would be a better word.
For a brief space there was silence in the chaise, though I could detect
Marble stealing side-long glances at his pretty little niece. His eyes
were moist, and he hemmed violently once, and actually blew his nose,
taking occasion, at the same time, to pass his handkerchief over his
forehead, no less than three times in as many minutes. The furtive manner
in which he indulged in these feelings, provoked me to say--

"You appear to have a bad cold this evening, Mr. Wetmore," for I thought
the opportunity might also be improved, in the way of breaking ground with
our secret.

"Ay, you know how it is in these matters, Miles--somehow, I scarce know
why myself, but somehow I feel bloody womanish this evening."

I felt little Kitty pressing closer to my side, as if she had certain
misgivings touching her other neighbour.

"I suppose you are surprised, Miss Kitty," I resumed, "at finding two
strangers in your grandmother's chaise?"

"I did not expect it--but--you said you had been to Mr. Van Tassel's, and
that there was good news for me--does 'Squire Van Tassel allow that
grandfather paid him the money?"

"Not that exactly, but you have friends who will see that no wrong shall
be done you. I suppose you have been afraid your grandmother and yourself
might be turned away from the old place?"

"'Squire Van Tassel's daughters have boasted as much,"--answered Kitty, in
a very subdued tone--a voice, indeed, that grew lower and more tremulous
as she proceeded--"but I don't much mind _them_, for they think their
father is to own the whole country one of these days." This was uttered
with spirit. "But the old house was built by grandmother's grandfather,
they say, and grandmother was born in it, and mother was born in it, and
so was I. It is hard to leave a place like that, sir, and for a debt, too,
that grandmother says she is sure has once been paid."

"Ay, bloody hard!" growled Marble.

Kitty again pressed nearer to me, or, to speak more properly, farther from
the mate, whose countenance was particularity grim just at that moment.

"All that you say is very true, Kitty," I replied; "but Providence has
sent you friends to take care that no wrong shall be done your
grandmother, or yourself."

"You're right enough in that, Miles," put in the mate. "God bless the old
lady; she shall never sleep out of the house, with my consent, unless it
is when she sails down the river to go to the theatre, and the museum, the
ten or fifteen Dutch churches there are in town, and all them 'ere sort o'
thingumerees."

Kitty gazed at her left-hand neighbour with surprise, but I could feel
that maiden bashfulness induced her to press less closely to my side than
she had done the minute before.

"I don't understand you," Kitty answered, after a short pause, during
which she was doubtless endeavouring to comprehend what she had heard.
"Grandmother has no wish to go to town; she only wants to pass the rest of
her days, quietly, at the old place, and one church is enough
for anybody."

Had the little girl lived a few years later, she would have ascertained
that some persons require half-a-dozen.

"And you, Kitty, do you suppose your grandmother has no thought for you,
when she shall be called away herself?

"Oh! yes--I know she thinks a good deal of _that_, but I try to set her
heart at ease, poor, dear, old grandmother, for it's of no use to be
distressing herself about _me_! I can take care of myself well enough, and
have plenty of friends who will never see me want. Father's sisters say
they'll take care of _me_."

"You have one friend, Kitty, of whom you little think, just now, and he
will provide for you."

"I don't know whom you mean, sir--unless--and yet you can't suppose I
never think of God, sir?"

"I mean a friend on earth--have you no friend on earth, whom you have not
mentioned yet?"

"I am not sure--perhaps--you do not mean Horace Bright, do you, sir?"

This was said with a bright blush, and a look in which the dawning
consciousness of maiden shame was so singuarly blended with almost
childish innocence, as both to delight me, and yet cause me to smile.

"And who is Horace Bright?" I asked, assuming as grave an air as possible.

"Oh! Horace is nobody--only the son of one of our neighbours. There, don't
you see the old stone house that stands among the apple and cherry trees,
on the banks of the river, just here in a line with this barn?"

"Quite plainly; and a very pretty place it is. We were admiring it as we
drove up the road."

"Well, that is Horace Bright's father's; and one of the best farms in the
neighbourhood. But you mustn't mind what _he_ says, grandmother always
tells me; boys love to talk grandly, and all the folks about here feel for
us, though most of them are afraid of 'Squire Van Tassel, too."

"I place no reliance at all on Horace's talk--not I. It is just as your
grandmother tells you; boys are fond of making a parade, and often utter
things they don't mean."

"Well, I don't think that is Horace's way, in the least; though I wouldn't
have you suppose I ever think, the least in the world, about what Horace
says concerning my never being left to want. My own aunts will take care
of _that_."

"And should they fail you, my dear," cried Marble, with strong feeling,
"your own _uncle_ would step into their places, without waiting to have
his memory jogged."

Again Kitty looked surprised, a very little startled, and again she
pressed to my side.

"I have no uncle," she answered, timidly. "Father never had a brother, and
grandmother's son is dead."

"No, Kitty," I said, giving a look at Marble to keep him quiet; "in the
last you are mistaken. This is the good news of which we spoke. Your
grandmother's son is not dead, but living, and in good health. He is
found, acknowledged, has passed the afternoon with your grandmother, has
money more than enough to satisfy even the unjust demand of the miserly
Van Tassel, and will be a father to _you_."

"Oh! dear me--can this be true!" exclaimed Kitty, pressing still closer
than ever to my side. "And are _you_ uncle after all, and will it all come
out as you say? Poor, poor grandmother, and I not at home to hear it all,
and to help her under such a great trial!"

"Your grandmother was a little distressed of course, at first, but she
bore it all remarkably well, and is as happy at this moment, as you
yourself could wish her to be. You are under a mistake, however, in
supposing I am your uncle--do I look old enough to be your
mother's brother?

"Dear me, no--I might have seen that, hadn't I been so silly--can it be
this other gentleman?"

Here Marble took his hint from nature, and clasping the pretty young
creature in his arms, he kissed her with an affection and warmth that were
truly paternal. Poor Kitty was frightened at first, and I dare say, like
her grandmother in a slight degree disappointed; but there was so much
heartiness in the mate's manner, that it reassured her in degree.

"I'm a bloody poor uncle, I know, Kitty, for a young woman like you to
own," Marble got out, though sorely tempted to blubber; "but there's worse
in the world, as you'll discover, no doubt, in time. Such as I am, you
must take me, and, from this time henceforth, do not care a strap for old
Van Tassel, or any other griping vagabond like him in York state."

"Uncle is a sailor!" Kitty answered, after being fairly released from the
mate's rough embrace. "Grandmother heard once that he was a soldier."

"Ay, that comes of lying. I don't think they could have made a soldier of
me, had two wicked nurses run away with me, and had they placed me on
fifty tombstones, by way of commencing life. My natur' would revolt at
carrying a musket, for sartain, while the seas have always been a sort of
home to me."

Kitty made no answer to this, being a little in doubt, I believe, as to
the manner in which she was to regard this new acquisition of an uncle.

"Your grand-parents did suppose your uncle a soldier," I remarked, "but,
after the man was seen the mistake was discovered, and now the truth has
come out in a way that will admit of no dispute."

"How is uncle named?" demanded the niece, in a low voice, and a hesitating
manner. "Mother's brother was christened Oloff, I have heard
grandmother say."

"Very true, dear; we've been all over that, the old lady and I. They tell
me, too, I was christened by the name of Moses--I suppose you know who
Moses was, child?"

"To be sure, uncle!" said Kitty, with a little laugh of surprise. "He was
the great law-maker of the Jews."

"Ha, Miles, is that so?"

I nodded assent.

"And do you know about his being found in the bulrushes, and the story of
the king of Ethiopia's daughter?"

"The king of Egypt, you mean, do you not, uncle Oloff?" cried Kitty, with
another little laugh.

"Well, Ethiopia or Egypt; it's all pretty much the same--this girl has
been wonderfully edicated, Miles, and will turn out famous company for me,
in the long winter evenings, some twenty years hence, or when I've worked
my way up into the latitude of the dear, good, old soul under the
hill yonder."

A slight exclamation from Kitty was followed by a blush, and a change of
expression, that showed she was thinking, just at that moment, of anything
but uncle Oloff. I asked an explanation.

"It's _only_ Horace Bright, out yonder in the orchard, looking at us. He
will be puzzled to know who is with me, here, in the old chaise. Horace
thinks he can drive a horse better than any one about here, so you must be
careful how you hold the reins, or use the whip.--Horace!"

This boded no good to Marble's plans for passing the evenings of his old
age with Kitty to amuse him; but, as we were now on the brow of the hill,
with the cottage in sight, Horace Bright was soon lost to view. To do the
girl justice, she appeared now to think only of her grandmother, and of
the effects the recent discovery of her son would be likely to produce on
one of her years and infirmities. As for myself, I was surprised to see
Mr. Hardinge in earnest conversation with old Mrs. Wetmore, both seated on
the stoop of the cottage, in the mild summer's evening, and Lucy walking,
to and fro, on the short grass of the willow bottom, with an impatience
and restlessness of manner it was very unusual for her to exhibit. No
sooner was Kitty alighted, than she ran to her grandmother, Marble
following, while I hastened to the point where was to be found the great
object of my interest. Lucy's face was full of feeling and concern, and
she received me with an extended hand that, gracious as was the act
itself, and most grateful as it would have proved to me under other
circumstances, I now feared boded no good.

"Miles, you have been absent an age!" Lucy commenced. "I should be
disposed to reproach you, had not the extraordinary story of this good old
woman explained it all. I feel the want of air and exercise; give me your
arm, and we will walk a short distance up the road. My dear father will
not be inclined to quit that happy family, so long as any light is left."

I gave Lucy my arm, and we did walk up the road together, actually
ascending the hill I had just descended; but all this did not induce me to
overlook the fact that Lucy's manner was hurried and excited. The whole
seemed so inexplicable, that I thought I would wait her own pleasure in
the matter.

"Your friend, Marble," she continued--"I do not know why I ought not to
say _our_ friend, Marble, must be a very happy man at having, at length,
discovered who his parents are, and to have discovered them to be so
respectable and worthy of his affection."

"As yet, he seems to be more bewildered than happy, as, indeed, does the
whole family. The thing has come on them so unexpectedly, that there has
not been time to bring their feelings in harmony with the facts."

"Family affection is a blessed thing, Miles," Lucy resumed, after a short
pause, speaking in her thoughtful manner; "there is little in this world
that can compensate for its loss. It must have been sad, sad, to the poor
fellow to have lived so long without father, mother, sister, brother or
any other known relative."

"I believe Marble found it so; yet, I think, he felt the supposed disgrace
of his birth more than his solitary condition. The man has warm
affections at the bottom, though he has a most uncouth manner of making
it known."

"I am surprised one so circumstanced never thought of marrying; he might,
at least, have lived in the bosom of his own family, though he never knew
that of a father."

"These are the suggestions of a tender and devoted female heart, dear
Lucy; but, what has a sailor to do with a wife? I have heard it said Sir
John Jervis--the present Lord St. Vincent--always declared a married
seaman, a seaman spoiled; and I believe Marble loves a ship so well he
would hardly know how to love a woman."

Lucy made no answer to this indiscreet and foolish speech. Why it was
made, I scarce knew myself; but the heart has its bitter moods, when it
prompts sentiments and declarations that are very little in accordance
with its real impulses. I was so much ashamed of what I had just said,
and, in truth, so much frightened, that, instead of attempting to laugh it
off, as a silly, unmeaning opinion, or endeavouring to explain that this
was not my own way of thinking, I walked on some distance in silence,
myself, and suffered my companion to imitate me in this particular. I have
since had reason to think that Lucy was not pleased at my manner of
treating the subject, though, blessed creature! she had another matter to
communicate, that lay too heavy on her heart, to allow one of her
generous, disinterested nature to think much of anything else.

"Miles," Lucy, at length, broke the silence, by saying--"I wish, I _do_
wish we had not met that other sloop this morning."

I stopped short in the highway, dropped my beautiful companion's arm, and
stood gazing intently in her face, as if I would read her most inmost
thoughts through those windows of the soul, her serene, mild, tender, blue
eyes. I saw that the face was colourless, and that the beautiful lips, out
of which the words that had alarmed me more by their accents than their
direct signification, were quivering in a way that their lovely mistress
could not control. Tears, as large as heavy drops of rain, too, were
trembling on the long silken eye-lashes, while the very attitude of the
precious girl denoted hopelessness and grief!

"This relates to Grace!" I exclaimed, though my throat was so parched, as
almost to choke my utterance.

"Whom, or what else, can now occupy our minds, Miles; I can scarce think
of anything but Grace; when I do, it is to remember that my own brother
has killed her!"

What answer could I have made to such a speech, had my mind been
sufficiently at ease as respects my sister to think of anything else? As
it was, I did not even attempt the vain office of saying anything in the
way of alleviating my companion's keen sense of the misconduct of Rupert.

"Grace is then worse in consequence of this unhappy rencontre?" I
observed, rather than asked.

"Oh! Miles; what a conversation I have had with her, this afternoon! She
speaks, already, more like a being that belongs to the regions of the
blessed, than like one of earth! There is no longer any secret between us.
She would gladly have avoided telling me her precise situation with
Rupert, but we had already gone so far, I would know more. I thought it
might relieve her mind; and there was the chance, however slight, of its
enabling us to suggest some expedient to produce still further good. I
think it has had some of the first effect, for she is now sleeping."

"Did Grace say anything of your communicating the miserable tale to me?"

"It is, indeed, a miserable tale! Miles, they were engaged from the time
Grace was fifteen! Engaged distinctly, and in terms, I mean; not by any of
the implied understandings, by which those who were so intimate,
generally, might believe themselves bound to each other."

"And in what manner did so early and long-continued an engagement cease?"

"It came from Rupert, who should have died first, before he was so untrue
to himself, to my poor father, to me, to all of us, Miles, as well as to
his own manhood. It has been as we supposed; he has been deluded by the
éclât that attaches to these Mertons in our provincial society; and Emily
is rather a showy girl, you know,--at least for those who are accustomed
only to our simple habits."

Alas! little did Lucy _then_ know--she has learned better since--that
"showy" girls belong much more to our "simple" state of society, than to
the state of those which are commonly conceived to be more advanced. But
Emily Merton was, in a slight degree, more artificial in manner, than it
was usual for a Manhattanese female of that day, to be, and this was what
Lucy meant; Lucy, who always thought so humbly of herself, and was ever so
ready to concede to her rivals all that could plausibly be asked in
their behalf.

"I am well aware how much importance the leading set among ourselves
attaches to English connection, and English rank," I answered; "but, it
does not strike me Emily Merton is of a class so elevated, that Rupert
Hardinge need break his faith, in order to reap the advantage of belonging
to her, or her family."

"It cannot be altogether that, Miles," Lucy added, in an appealing, but
touchingly confidential manner, "you and I have known each other from
children, and, whatever may be the weaknesses of one who is so dear to me,
and who, I hope, has not altogether lost his hold on your own affections,
_we_ can still rely on each other. I shall speak to you with the utmost
dependence on your friendship, and a reliance on your heart that is not
second to that which I place on my dear father's; for this is a subject on
which there ought to be no concealment between _us_. It is impossible that
one as manly, as upright, as honest I will say, as yourself, can have
lived so long in close intimacy with Rupert, and not be aware that he has
marked defects of character."

"I have long known that he is capricious," I answered, unwilling to be
severe on the faults of Lucy's brother, to Lucy's own ear; "perhaps I
might add, that I have known he pays too much attention to fashion, and
the opinions of fashionable people."

"Nay, as _we_ cannot deceive ourselves, let us not attempt the ungrateful
task of endeavouring to deceive each other," that true-hearted girl
replied, though she said this with so great an effort, that I was
compelled to listen attentively to catch all she uttered. "Rupert has
failings worse than these. He is mercenary; nor is he always a man of
truth. Heaven knows, how I have wept over these defects of character, and
the pain they have given me from childhood! But, my dear, dear father
overlooks them all--or, rather, seeing them, he hopes all things; it is
hard for a parent to believe a child irreclaimable."

I was unwilling to let Lucy say any more on this subject, for her voice,
her countenance, I might almost say her whole figure showed how much it
cost her to say even this much of Rupert. I had long known that Lucy did
not respect her brother as much as she could wish; but this was never
before betrayed to me in words, nor in any other manner, indeed, that
would not have eluded the observation of one who knew the parties less
thoroughly than myself. I could perceive that she felt the awful
consequences she foresaw from her brother's conduct gave me a claim on her
sincerity, and that she was suffering martyrdom, in order to do all that
lay in her own power to lessen the force of the blow that unworthy
relative had inflicted. It would have been ungenerous in me to suffer such
a sacrifice to continue a moment longer than was necessary.

"Spare yourself, and me, dearest Lucy," I eagerly said, "all explanations
but those which are necessary to let me know the exact state of my
sister's case. I confess, I could wish to understand, however, the manner
in which Rupert has contrived to explain away an engagement that has
lasted four years, and which must have been the source of so much innocent
confidence between Grace and himself."

"I was coming to that, Miles; and when you know it, you will know all.
Grace has felt his attentions to Emily Merton, for a long time; but there
never was a verbal explanation between them until just before she left
town. Then she felt it due to herself to know the truth; and, after a
conversation which was not very particular, your sister offered to release
Rupert from his engagement, did he in the least desire it."

"And what answer did he make to a proposal that was as generous as it was
frank?"

"I must do Grace the justice to say, Miles, that, in all she said, she
used the utmost tenderness towards my brother. Still, I could not but
gather the substance of what passed. Rupert, at first, affected to believe
that Grace, herself, wished to break the engagement; but, in this, you
well know, her ingenuous simplicity would not permit him to succeed. She
did not attempt to conceal how deeply she should feel the change in her
situation, and how much it might influence her future happiness."

"Ay, that was like both of them--like Rupert, and like Grace," I muttered,
huskily.

Lucy continued silent an instant, apparently to allow me to regain my
self-command; then she continued--

"When Rupert found that the responsibility of the rupture must rest on
him, he spoke more sincerely. He owned to Grace that his views had
changed; said they were both too young to contract themselves when they
did, and that he had made an engagement to marry, at a time when he was
unfit to bind himself to so solemn a contract--said something about
minors, and concluded by speaking of his poverty and total inability to
support a wife, now that Mrs. Bradfort had left me the whole of her
property."

"And this is the man who wishes to make the world believe that he is the
true heir!--nay, who told me, himself, that he considers you as only a
sort of trustee, to hold half, or two-thirds of the estate, until he has
had leisure to sow his wild oats!"

"I know he has encouraged such notions, Miles," Lucy answered, in a low
voice; "how gladly would I realize his hopes, if things could be placed
where we once thought they were! Every dollar of Mrs. Bradfort's fortune
would I relinquish with joy, to see Grace happy, or Rupert honest."

"I am afraid we shall never see the first, Lucy, in this evil world at
least."

"I have never wished for this engagement, since I have been old enough to
judge of my brother's true character. He would ever have been too fickle,
and of principles too light, to satisfy Grace's heart, or her judgment.
There may have been some truth in his plea that the engagement was too
early and inconsiderately made. Persons so young can hardly know what
will, or what will not be necessary to their own characters, a few years
later. As it is, even Grace would now refuse to marry Rupert. She owned to
me, that the heaviest part of the blow was being undeceived in relation to
his character. I spoke to her with greater freedom than a sister ought to
have used, perhaps, but I wished to arouse her pride, as the means of
saving her. Alas! Grace is all affections, and those once withered, I
fear, Miles, the rest of her being will go with them."

I made no answer to this prophetic remark, Lucy's visit to the shore, her
manner, and all that she had said, convincing me that she had, in a great
degree, taken leave of hope. We conversed some time longer, returning
toward the cottage; but there was nothing further to communicate, that it
is necessary to record. Neither of us thought of self, and I would as soon
have attempted to desecrate a church, as attempt to obtain any influence
over Lucy, in my own behalf, at such a moment. All my feelings reverted to
my poor sister again, and I was dying with impatience to return to the
sloop, whither, indeed, it was time to repair, the sun having some time
before disappeared, while even the twilight was drawing to a close.



Chapter V.



  "The serpent of the field, by art
  And spells, is won from harming,
  But that which coils around the heart,
  Oh! who hath power of charming?"

  Hebrew Melodies.


It was not easy to make Mr. Hardinge a sharer in my impatience. He had
taken a fancy to Marble, and was as much rejoiced at this accidental
discovery of the mate's parentage, as if he had been one of the family
himself. With such feelings, therefore, I had a good deal of difficulty in
getting him away. I asked Marble to go off with me, it being understood
that he was to be landed again, in order to pass the first night of his
recognition under his mother's roof. To this scheme, however, he raised an
objection, as soon as told it was my intention to go down the river as far
as New York, in quest of further medical advice, insisting on accompanying
me, in order to obtain the thousand dollars with which to face 'Squire Van
Tassel, or, at least, his mortgage sale. Accordingly, there were
leave-takings, and about eight we were all on board the sloop.

I did not see, nor did I ask to see, my sister again, that night. I had
not seen her, indeed, since the moment Rupert was discovered in company
with the Mertons; and, to own the truth, I felt afraid to see her,
knowing, as I did, how much her frame was apt to be affected by her mind.
It appeared to me there remained but the single duty to perform, that of
getting below as fast as possible, in order to obtain the needed medical
aid. It is true, we possessed Post's written instructions, and knew his
opinion that the chief thing was to divert Grace's thoughts from dwelling
on the great cause of her malady; but, now he had left us, it seemed as if
I should neglect a most sacred duty, did I delay obtaining some other
competent physician.

The tide turned at nine, and we got immediately under way, with a light
south-west wind. As for Marble, ignorant as Mr. Hardinge himself of the
true condition of my sister, he determined to celebrate his recent
discoveries by a supper. I was about to object to the project, on account
of Grace, but Lucy begged me to let him have his way; such _convives_ as
my late guardian and my own mate were not likely to be very boisterous;
and she fancied that the conversation, or such parts of it as should be
heard through the bulk-head, might serve to divert the invalid's mind from
dwelling too intently on the accidental rencontre of the morning. The
scheme was consequently carried out; and, in the course of an hour, the
cabins of the Wallingford presented a singular spectacle. In her berth was
Grace, patiently and sweetly lending herself to her friend's wish to seem
to listen to her own account of the reason of the mate's _festa_, and to
be amused by his sallies; Lucy, all care and attention for her patient, as
I could discover through the open door of the after-cabin, while she
endeavoured to appear to enter into the business that was going on at the
table, actually taking wine with the mate, and drinking to the happiness
of his newly-found relatives; Mr. Hardinge, over-flowing with
philanthropy, and so much engrossed with his companion's good fortune as
not to think of aught else at the moment; Marble, himself, becoming
gradually more under the influence of his new situation, as his feelings
had time to gather force and take their natural direction; while I was
compelled to wear the semblance of joining in his festivities, at an
instant when my whole soul was engrossed with anxiety on behalf of Grace.

"This milk is just the richest and best that ever came on board a vessel!"
exclaimed the mate, as he was about to wind up his own share of the repast
with a cup of coffee--"and as for butter, I can say I never tasted the
article before. Little Kitty brought both down to the boat with her own
hands, and that makes them so much the sweeter, too, for, if anything can
add to the excellence of eatables, it is to have them pass through the
hands of one's own relations. I dare say, Mr. Hardinge, now, you have
verified this, time and again, in your own experience?"

"In feeling, my friend; in feeling, often, though little in practice, in
the sense that you mean. My family has been my congregation, unless,
indeed, Miles here, and his beloved sister, can be added to my own
children in fact, as they certainly are in affection. But, I can
understand how butter made by the hands of one's own mother, or by those
of such a pretty niece as your Kitty, would taste all the sweeter."

"It's such a providential thing, as you call it, to find _such_ a mother
in the bargain! Now I might have discovered a slattern, or a scold, or a
woman of bad character; or one that never went to church; or even one that
swore and drank; for, begging your pardon, Miss Lucy, just such creatur's
are to be met with; whereas, instead of any of these disagreeable
recommendations, I've fallen in with an A. No. 1. mother; ay, and such an
old lady as the king of England, himself, need not be ashamed to own.[A] I
felt a strong desire, Mr. Hardinge, to get down on my knees, and to ask
the dear, good old soul, just to say, 'God bless you, my dear son, Moses,
Van Duzer, or Oloff, whatever your name may be.'"[2]

  [Footnote 2: In that day, all allusions to royalty were confined to the
  Majesty of Great Britain; it being no uncommon thing, at the
  commencement of this century, to hear "_The_ King" toasted at many of
  the best tables of the country.]

"And if you had, Mr. Marble, you would not have been any the worse for it.
Such feelings do you honour, and no man need be ashamed of desiring to
receive a parent's blessing."

"I suppose now, my dear sir," added Marble, innocently, "that is what is
called having a religious turn? I've often foreseen, that religion would
fetch me up, in the long run; and now that I am altogether relieved from
bitterness of heart on the subject of belonging to none, and no one's
belonging to me, my sentiments have undergone a great alteration, and I
feel a wish to be at peace with the whole human family--no, not with the
_whole_; I except that rascally old Van Tassel."

"You must except no one--we are told to 'love those that hate us, to bless
those that curse us, and to pray for those that despitefully use us.'"

Marble stared at Mr. Hardinge; for, to own the truth, it would have been
difficult, in a Christian land, to meet with one of his years who had less
religious instruction than himself. It is quite probable that these
familiar mandates had never been heard by him before; but I could see that
he was a little struck with the profound morality that pervaded them; a
morality to which no human heart appears to be so insensible as not in
secret to acknowledge its sublimity. Still he doubted.

"Where are we told to do this, my dear sir?" demanded Marble, after
looking intently at the rector for a moment.

"Where? why, where we get all our divine precept and inspired morality,
the bible. You must come to wish this Mr. Van Tassel good, instead of
evil; try to love, instead of hating him."

"Is that religion?" demanded the mate, in his most dogmatical and
determined manner.

"It is Christianity--its spirit, its very essence; without which the heart
cannot be right, let the tongue proclaim what delusion it may."

Marble had imbibed a sincere respect for my late guardian, equally from
what he had heard me say in his favour and what he had seen himself, of
his benevolent feelings kind-hearted morality, and excellent sense.
Nevertheless, it was not an easy matter to teach a being like Marble the
lesson that he was to do good to those who used him despitefully; and just
at that moment he was in a frame of mind to do almost anything else,
sooner than pardon Van Tassel. All this I could see, understanding the man
so well and, in order to prevent a useless discussion that might disturb
my sister, I managed to change the discourse before it was too late; I say
too late, because it is not easy to shake off two moralists who sustain
their doctrines as strongly as Mr. Hardinge and my mate.

"I am glad the name of this Mr. Van Tassel has been mentioned," I
observed, "as it may be well to have your advice, sir, concerning our best
mode of proceeding in his affair."

I then related to Mr. Hardinge the history of the mortgage, and the
necessity there was for promptitude, inasmuch as the sale was advertised
for the ensuing week. My late guardian was better acquainted with the
country, up the river, than I was myself; and it was fortunate the subject
was broached, as he soon convinced me the only course to be pursued was to
put Marble ashore at Hudson, where, if too late for the regular stage, he
might obtain some other conveyance, and proceed to town by land. This
would barely leave him time to transact all the necessary business, and to
be back in season to prevent the title to the Willow Cove from passing
into the usurer's grasp. As was usual with Mr. Hardinge, he entered into
this, as into every good work, heart and hand, and immediately set about
writing directions for Marble's government when he got ashore. This put in
end to the banquet, and glad was I to see the table removed, and the other
signs of a tranquil night reappear.

It was twelve before the sloop was as low as Hudson, and I saw by our rate
of sailing, that, indeed, there was little prospect of her reaching New
York in time for Marble's necessities. He was landed, therefore, and Mr.
Hardinge and myself accompanied him to the stage-house, where we
ascertained that the next morning after breakfast he would be enabled to
get into the stage, which would reach town in the evening of the
succeeding day. But this was altogether too slow for Marble's impatience.
He insisted on procuring a private conveyance, and we saw him drive out of
the long street that then composed most of the city of Hudson, at a
slapping pace, about one o'clock in the morning. This important duty
discharged, Mr. Hardinge and I returned to the sloop in which Neb had been
standing off and on, in waiting for us, and again made sail down the
river. When I turned in, the Wallingford was getting along at the rate of
about five miles the hour; the wind having freshened, and come out at the
westward, a quarter that just enabled her to lay her course.

The reader will easily imagine I did not oversleep myself the following
morning. My uneasiness was so great, indeed, that I dreamed of the
dreadful accident which had produced my father's death, and then fancied
that I saw him, my mother, and Grace, all interred at the same time, and
in the same grave. Fortunately, the wind stood at the west, and the sloop
was already within twenty miles of the creek at Clawbonny, when I got on
deck. All was quiet in the after-cabin; and, Mr. Hardinge still continuing
in his berth, I went out to breathe the fresh morning air, without
speaking to any below. There was no one on the quarter-deck but the pilot,
who was at the helm; though I saw a pair of legs beneath the boom, close
in with the mast, that I knew to be Neb's, and a neat, dark petticoat that
I felt certain must belong to Chloe. I approached the spot, in tending to
question the former on the subject of the weather during his watch; but,
just as about to hail him, I heard the young lady say, in a more animated
tone than was discreet for the character of the conversation--

"No, _nebber_, sah--_nebber_, widout de apperbation of my modder and de
whole famerly. Mattermony a berry differ t'ing, Neb, from what you
surposes. Now, many a young nigger gentleman imagine dat he has only to
coax his gal to say 'yes,' and den dey goes to de clergy and stands up for
de blessin', and imagines all right for de futur', and for de present
time, all which is just a derlusion and a derception. No, sah; mattermony
a berry differ t'ing from _dat,_ as any old lady can tell you. De fuss
t'ing in mattermony, is to hab a _consent_."

"Well, Chloe, and hab'n't I had dis berry consent from you, now for most
two year?"

"Ay, dat not de consent I surposes. You wouldn't t'ink, Neb, ongrateful
feller, to get marry, widout first askin' do consent of Masser Mile, I
_do_ surpose! You, who has been his own waiter so long, and has gone to
sea wid him so often; and has saved his life; and has helped kill so many
hateful saverges; and has been on a desert conternent wid him."

"I nebber told you dat, Chloe--I said on an island."

"Well, what's the differ? You cannot tell me anyt'ing of edercation, Neb;
for I hab hear Miss Grace and Miss Lucy say deir lesson so often, dat I
sometime surposes I can say 'em all, one by one, almost as well as my
young lady, 'emselves. No, Neb; on _dat_ subjeck better be silent. You
been much too busy, ebber to be edercated; and, if I _do_ marry you,
remember I now tell you, I shall not enter into mattermony wid you on
account of any edercation you hab."

"All Clawbonny say dat we can make as good a couple, Chloe, as ebber stood
up togedder."

"All Clawbonny don't know much of mattermony, Neb. People talks
inderskrimernaterly, and doesn't know what dey says, too often. In de fuss
place my modder, my own born modder, upposes our uner, and dat is a great
differculty to begin wid. When a born modder upposes, a darter ought to
t'ink sebberal time."

"Let me speak to Masser Mile; he'll fetch up her objeckshun wid a round
turn."

"What dat, Neb?"

"It mean Masser will _order_ her to consent."

"Dat nebber saterfy my conscience, Neb. We be nigger dat true; but no
Clawbonny master ebber tell a Clawbonny slabe to get marry, or not to get
marry, as he choose. Dat would be intollabull, and not to be supported!
No; mattermony is religion; and religion free. No colour' young lady hab
vergin affeckshun, to t'row 'em away on just whom her masser say. But,
Neb, dere one odder differculty to our uner dat I don't know--sometime, I
feel awful about it!"

As Chloe now spoke naturally, for the first time. Neb was evidently
startled; and I had sufficient amusement, and sufficient curiosity, to
remain stationary in order to hear what this new obstacle might be. The
voice of the negress was music itself; almost as sweet as Lucy's; and I
was struck with a slight tremor that pervaded it, as she so suddenly put
an end to all her own affectation of sentiment, and nipped her airs and
graces, as it might be, in the bud.

"Nebber talk to me of mattermony, Neb," Chloe continued, almost sobbing as
she spoke, "while Miss Grace be in dis berry bad way! It hard enough to
see her look so pale and melercholy, widout t'inking of becomin' a wife."

"Miss Grace will grow better, now Masser Mile carry her on de water. If he
only take her to sea, she get so fat and hearty, no libbin' wid her!"

Chloe did not acquiesce in this opinion; she rather insisted that "Miss
Grace" was altogether too delicate and refined a person to live in a ship.
But the circumstance that struck me with the greatest force, in this
characteristic dialogue, was the fact that Chloe betrayed to me the
consciousness of the cause of my sister's indisposition; while true to her
sex's instincts, and faithful to her duty, the girl completely concealed
it from her lover. I was also oppressively struck with the melancholy
forebodings that appeared in Chloe's manner, rather than in her words, and
which made it apparent that she doubted of her young mistress's recovery.
She concluded the conversation by saying--

"No, no, Neb--don't talk to me of mattermony while Miss Grace so ill; and
if any t'ing _should_ happen, you need nebber talk to me of it, at _all_.
I could nebber t'ink of any uner (union) should anyt'ing happen to Miss
Grace. Lub (love) will die forebber in de family, when Miss Grace die!"

I turned away, at this speech, the tears starting to my eyes, and saw Lucy
standing in the companion-way. She was waiting to speak to me, and no
sooner caught my eye, than beckoning me to her side, she let me know that
my sister desired to see me. Erasing every sign of emotion as soon as
possible, I descended with Lucy, and was soon at the side of my
sister's berth.

Grace received me with an angelic smile; but, I almost gasped for breath
as I noticed the prodigious change that had come over her in so brief a
space. She now looked more like a being of another world than ever; and
this, too, immediately after coming from the refreshment of a night's
rest. I kissed her forehead, which had an unnatural chill on it, I
thought; and I felt the feeble pressure of an arm that was thrown
affectionately round my neck. I then sat down on the transom, still
holding my sister's hand. Grace looked anxiously at me for half a minute,
ere she spoke, as if to ascertain how far I was conscious of her
situation.

"Lucy tells me, brother," she at length said, "that you think of carrying
me down the river, as far as town, in order to get further advice. I hope
this is a mistake of our dear Lucy's, however?"

"It is not, Grace. If the wind stand here at the westward, I hope to have
you in Lucy's own house in Wall street, by to-morrow evening. I know she
will receive you hospitably, and have ventured to form the plan without
consulting you on the subject."

"Better that I should be at Clawbonny--if anything can now do me good,
brother, it will be native air, and pure country air. Hearken to my
request, and stop at the creek."

"Your serious request, Grace, will be a law to me, if made on due
reflection. This growing feebleness, however, alarms me; and I cannot
justify it to myself not to send for advice."

"Remember, Miles, it is not yet twenty-four hours since one of the ablest
men of the country saw me. We have his written instructions; and, all that
man can do for me, they will do for me. No, brother; listen to my
entreaties, and go into the creek. I pine, I pine to be again at dear
Clawbonny, where alone I can enjoy anything like peace of body or mind.
This vessel is unsuited to me; I cannot think of a future, or pray in it.
Brother, _dearest_ brother, carry me home, if you love me!"

There was no resisting such an appeal. I went on deck with a heavy heart,
and gave the necessary orders to the pilot; and, in about eight-and-forty
hours after we emerged into the Hudson, we left that noble stream again,
to shoot beneath the shaded, leafy banks of our own inlet. Grace was so
feeble as to be carried to the chaise, in which she was supported by Lucy,
during the short drive to the house. When I reached my own dwelling, I
found Mr. Hardinge pacing the little portico, or piazza, waiting for my
arrival, with an uneasiness of manner that at once proclaimed his anxiety
to see me. He had driven the horse of the chaise, and had imbibed a first
impression of Grace's danger.

"Miles, my dear boy--my second son"--the simple-hearted, excellent old
man commenced; "Miles, my dear boy, the hand of God has been laid heavily
on us--your beloved sister, my own precious Grace, is far more ill than I
had any idea of, before this morning."

"She is in the hands of her merciful Creator," I said, struggling to
command myself, "who, I greatly fear, is about to call her from a world
that is not good enough for one so innocent and pure, to take her to
himself. I have foreseen this from the hour I first met her, after my
return; though a single ray of hope dawned on me, when Post advised the
change of scene. So far from producing good, this excursion has produced
evil; and she is much worse than when we left home."

"Such short-sighted mortals are we!--But what can we do, my boy?--I
confess my judgment, my faculties themselves, are nearly annihilated by
the suddenness of this shock. I had supposed her illness some trifling
complaint that youth and care would certainly remove; and here we stand,
as it might be, at the call of the trumpet's blast, almost around
her grave!"

"I am most anxious to lean on your wisdom and experience, my dear sir, at
this critical moment; if you will advise, I shall be happy to follow your
instructions."

"We must lean on God, Miles," answered my worthy guardian, still pacing
the piazza, the tears running down his cheeks in streams, and speaking so
huskily as barely to be intelligible; "yes, we will have the prayers of
the congregation next Sunday morning; and most devout and heartfelt
prayers they will be; for her own sainted mother was not more deservedly
loved! To be called away so young--to die in the first bloom of youth and
loveliness, as it were--but, it is to go to her God! We must endeavour to
think of her gain--to rejoice over, rather than mourn her loss."

"I grieve to perceive that you regard my sister's case as so entirely
hopeless, sir."

"Hopeless!--It is full of the brightest promise; and when I come to look
calmly at it, my reason tells me I ought not to grieve. Still, Miles, the
loss of Lucy, herself, would scarce be a more severe blow to me. I have
loved her from childhood, cared for her as for one of my own, and feel
the same love for her that I should feel for a second daughter. Your
parents were dear to me, and their children have always appeared to me to
belong to my own blood. Had I not been your guardian, boy, and you and
Grace been comparatively so rich, while I and mine were so poor, it would
have been the first wish of my heart to have seen Rupert and Grace, you
and Lucy, united, which would have made you all my beloved children alike.
I often thought of this, until I found it necessary to repress the hope,
lest I should prove unfaithful to my trust. Now, indeed, Mrs. Bradfort's
bequest might have smoothed over every difficulty; but it came too late!
It was not to be; Providence had ordered otherwise."

"You had an ardent supporter of your scheme in one of your children, at
least, sir."

"So you have given me to understand, Miles, and I regret that I was
informed of the fact so late, or I might have contrived to keep off other
young men while you were at sea, or until an opportunity offered to enable
you to secure my daughter's affections. That done, neither time nor
distance could have displaced you; the needle not being more true than
Lucy, or the laws of nature more certain."

"The knowledge of these sterling qualities, sir, only makes me regret my
having come too late, so much the more."

"It was not to be;--at one time, I _did_ think Rupert and Grace had a
preference for each other; but I must have been deceived. God had ordered
it otherwise, and wisely no doubt; as his omniscience foresaw the early
drooping of this lovely flower. I suppose their having been educated
together, so much like brother and sister, has been the reason there was
so much indifference to each other's merits. You have been an exception on
account of your long absences, Miles, and you must look to those absences
for the consolation and relief you will doubtless require. Alas! alas!
that I could not now fold Grace to my heart, as a daughter and a bride,
instead of standing over her grave! Nothing but Rupert's diffidence of his
own claims, during our days of poverty, could have prevented him from
submitting himself to so much loveliness and virtue. I acquit the ad of
insensibility; for nothing but the sense of poverty and the pride of a
poor gentleman, added perhaps to the brotherly regard he has always felt
for Grace, could have kept him from seeking her hand. Grace, properly
enough, would have requited his affection."

Such is a specimen of the delusion under which we live, daily. Here was my
sister dying of blighted affections, under my own roof; and the upright,
conscientious father of the wretch who had produced this withering evil,
utterly unconscious of the wrong that had been done; still regarding his
son with the partiality and indulgence of a fond parent. To me, it seemed
incredible at the time, that unsuspecting integrity could carry its
simplicity so far; but I have since lived long enough to know that
mistakes like these are constantly occurring around us; effects being
hourly attributed to causes with which they have no connection; and causes
being followed down to effects, that are as imaginary as human sagacity is
faulty. As for myself, I can safely say, that in scarce a circumstance of
my life, that has brought me the least under the cognizance of the public,
have I ever been judged justly. In various instances have I been praised
for acts that were either totally without any merit, or, at least, the
particular merit imputed to them; while I have been even persecuted for
deeds that deserved praise. An instance or two of the latter of these
cases of the false judgment of the world will be laid before the reader as
I proceed.

Mr. Hardinge continued for some time to expatiate on the loveliness of
Grace's character, and to betray the weight of the blow he had received,
in gaining this sudden knowledge of her danger. He seemed to pass all at
once from a state of inconsiderate security to one of total hopelessness,
and found the shock so much harder to endure. At length he sent for Lucy,
with whom he continued closeted for near an hour. I ascertained,
afterwards, that he questioned the dear girl closely on the subject of my
sister's malady; even desiring to know if her affections were any way
connected with this extraordinary sinking of the vital powers; but not in
the slightest degree inclining to the distrust of Rupert's being in any
manner implicated in the affair. Lucy, truthful and frank as she was, felt
the uselessness, nay, the danger, of enlightening her father, and managed
to evade all his more delicate inquiries, without involving herself in
falsehoods. She well knew, if he were apprised of the real state of the
case, that Rupert would have been sent for; and every reparation it was in
his power to make would have been insisted on, as an act of justice; a
hopeless and distressing attempt to restore the confidence of unbounded
love, and the esteem which, once lost, is gone forever. Perhaps the
keenest of all Grace's sufferings proceeded from the consciousness of the
total want of merit in the man she had so effectually enshrined in her
heart, that he could only be ejected by breaking in pieces and utterly
destroying the tenement that had so long contained him. With ordinary
notions, this change of opinion might have sufficed for the purposes of an
effectual cure; but my poor sister was differently constituted. She had
ever been different from most of her sex, in intensity of feeling; and had
come near dying, while still a child, on the occasion of the direful
catastrophe of my father's loss; and the decease of even our mother,
though long expected, had come near to extinguish the flame of life in the
daughter. As I have already said more than once, a being so sensitive and
so pure, ever seemed better fitted for the regions of bliss, than for the
collisions and sorrows of the world.

Now we were at Clawbonny again, I scarce knew how to employ myself. Grace
I could not see; Lucy, who took the entire management of the invalid,
requiring for her rest and quiet. In this she did but follow the
directions of reason, as well as those left by Post; and I was fain to
yield, knowing that my sister could not possibly have a more judicious or
a more tender nurse.

The different persons belonging to the mill and the farm came to me for
directions, which I was compelled to give with thoughts engrossed with the
state of my sister. More than once I endeavoured to arouse myself; and,
for a few minutes, _seemed_ to enter, if I did not truly enter, with
interest into the affairs presented to my consideration; but these little
rallies were merely so many attempts at self-delusion, and I finally
referred everything to the respective persons entrusted with the different
branches of the duty bidding them act as they had been accustomed to do
in my absence.

"Why, yes, Masser Mile," answered the old negro who was the head man in
the field, "dis berry well, if he can do it. Remember I alway hab Masser
Hardinge to talk to me about 'e crop, and sich t'ing, and dat a won'erful
help to a poor nigger when he in a nonplush."

"Surely, Hiram, you are a better husbandman than Mr. Hardinge and myself
put together, and cannot want the advice of either to tell you how to
raise corn, or to get in hay!"

"Dat berry true, sah--so true, I wont deny him. But, you know how it be,
Masser Mile; a nigger _do_ lub to talk, and it help along work
won'erfully, to get a good dispute, afore he begin."

As respects the blacks, this was strictly true. Though as respectful as
slavery and habit could make them, they were so opinionated and
dogmatical, each in his or her sphere, that nothing short of a downright
assertion of authority could produce submission to any notions but their
own. They loved to argue the different points connected with their several
duties, but they did not like to be convinced. Mr. Hardinge would discuss
with them, from a sense of duty, and he would invariably yield, unless in
cases that involved moral principles. On all such points, and they were
not of unfrequent occurrence in a family of so many blacks, he was as
inflexible as the laws of the Medes and Persians; but, as respected the
wheat, the potatoes, the orchards, the mill, or the sloop, he usually
submitted to the experience of those more familiar with the business,
after having discussed the matters in council. This rendered him
exceedingly popular at Clawbonny, the persuaded usually having the same
sort of success in the world as a good listener. As for the rector
himself, after so many long discussions, he began to think he had actually
influenced the different steps adopted; the cause of one of the illusions
I have already pourtrayed.

Old Hiram did not quit me when he came for instructions alias a "dispute,"
without a word of inquiry touching Grace I could see that the alarm had
passed among the slaves, and it was quite touching to note the effect it
produced on their simple minds. It would have been sufficient for them to
love her, that Grace was their young mistress; but such a mistress as she
had ever been, and one so winning in manner and person, they might be said
almost to worship her.

"I berry sorry to hear Miss Grace be onwell, sah," said old Hiram, looking
at me sorrowfully. "It go hard wid us all, if anyt'ing happen _dere_! I
alway s'pose, Masser Mile, dat Miss Grace and Masser Rupert come togeder,
some time; as we all expects you and Miss Lucy will. Dem are happy days,
sah, at Clawbonny, for den we all know our new masser and new missus from
de cradle. No, no--we can nebber spare Miss Grace, sah; even I should miss
her in 'e field!"

The very blacks had observed the state of things which had deluded my poor
sister; and the slave had penetrated his master's secret. I turned away
abruptly from the negro, lest he should also detect the evidence of the
weakness extorted by his speech, from the eyes of manhood.



Chapter VI.



                          --"Like the lily
  That once was mistress of the field, and flourished,
  I'll hang my head, and perish."

  Queen Catherine.


I saw little of Lucy that night. She met us at evening prayers, and tears
were in her eyes as she arose from her knees. Without speaking, she kissed
her father for good night, more affectionately than ever, I thought, and
then turned to me. Her hand was extended, (we had seldom met or parted for
eighteen years, without observing this little act of kindness), but she
did not--nay, _could not_, speak. I pressed the little hand fervently in
my own, and relinquished it again, in the same eloquent silence. She was
seen no more by us until next day.

The breakfast had ever been a happy meal at Clawbonny. My father, though
merely a ship-master, was one of the better class; and he had imbibed many
notions, in the course of his different voyages, that placed him much in
advance of the ordinary habits of his day and country. Then an _American_
ship-master is usually superior to those of other countries. This arises
from some of the peculiarities of our institutions, as well as from the
circumstance that the navy is so small. Among other improvements, my
father had broken in upon the venerable American custom of swallowing a
meal as soon as out of bed. The breakfast at Clawbonny, from my earliest
infancy, or as long as I can remember, had been eaten regularly at nine
o'clock, a happy medium between the laziness of dissipation and the hurry
of ill-formed habits. At that hour the whole family used to meet, still
fresh from a night's repose, and yet enlivened and gay by an hour or two
of exercise in the open air, instead of coming to the family board half
asleep, with a sort of drowsy sulkiness, as, if the meal were a duty, and
not a pleasure. We ate as leisurely as keen appetites would permit;
laughed, chatted, related the events of the morning, conversed of our
plans for the day, and indulged our several tastes and humours, like
people who had been up and stirring, and not like so many drowsy drones
swallowing our food for form's sake. The American breakfast has been
celebrated by several modern writers, and it deserves to be, though
certainly not to be compared to that of France. Still it might be far
better than it is, did our people understand the _mood_ in which it ought
to be enjoyed.

While on this subject, the reader will excuse an old man's prolixity, if I
say a word on the state of the science of the table in general, as it is
put in practice in this great republic. A writer of this country, one Mr.
Cooper, has somewhere said that the Americans are the grossest feeders in
the civilized world, and warns his countrymen to remember that a national
character may be formed in the kitchen. This remark is commented on by
Captain Marryatt, who calls it both unjust and ill-natured. As for the
ill-nature I shall say nothing, unless it be to remark that I do not well
see how that which is undeniably true ought to be thought so very
ill-natured. That it is true, every American who has seen much of other
lands must know. Captain-Marryatt's allegation that the tables are good in
the large towns, has nothing to do with the merits of this question. The
larger American towns are among the best eating and drinking portions of
the world. But what are they as compared to the whole country? What are
the public tables, or the tables of the refined, as compared to the tables
of the mass, even in these very towns? All things are to be judged of by
the rules, and not by the exceptions. Because a small portion of the
American population understand what good cookery is, it by no means
follows that _all_ do. Who would think of saying that the people of
England live on white bait and venison, because the nobility and gentry
(the aldermen inclusive) can enjoy both, in the seasons, _ad libitum?_ I
suspect this Mr. Cooper knows quite as well what he is about, when writing
of America, as any European. If pork fried in grease, and grease pervading
half the other dishes, vegetables cooked without any art, and meats done
to rags, make a good table, then is this Mr. Cooper wrong, and Captain
Marryatt right, and _vice versâ_. As yet, while nature has done so much in
America, art has done but little. Much compared with numbers and time,
certainly, but little as compared with what numbers and time have done
elsewhere. Nevertheless, I would make an exception in favour of America,
as respects the table of one country, though not so much in connection
with the coarseness of the feeding as in the poverty of the food. I
consider the higher parts of Germany to be the portions of the Christian
world where eating and drinking are in the most primitive condition; and
that part of this great republic, which Mr. Alison Would probably call the
_State_ of New England, to come next. In abundance and excellence of food
in the native form, America is particularly favoured; Baltimore being at
the very nucleus of all that is exquisite in the great business of
mastication. Nevertheless, the substitution of cooks from the interior of
New England, for the present glistening tenants of her kitchens, would
turn even that paradise of the epicure into a sort of oleaginous waste.
Enough of cookery.

Lucy did not appear at prayers next morning! I felt her absence as one
feels the certainty of some dreadful evil. Breakfast was announced; still
Lucy did not appear. The table was smoking and hissing; and Romeo
Clawbonny, who acted as the everyday house-servant, or footman, had
several times intimated that it might be well to commence operations, as a
cold breakfast was very cold comfort.

"Miles, my dear boy," observed Mr. Hardinge, after opening the door to
look for the absentee half a dozen times, "we will wait no longer. My
daughter, no doubt, intends to breakfast with Grace, to keep the poor dear
girl company; for it _is_ dull work to breakfast by oneself. You and I
miss Lucy sadly, at this very moment, though we have each other's company
to console us."

We had just taken our seats, when the door slowly opened, and Lucy entered
the room.

"Good morning, dearest father," said the sweet girl, passing an arm round
Mr. Hardinge's neck, with more than her usual tenderness of manner, and
imprinting a long kiss on his bald head. "Good morning, Miles," stretching
towards me a hand, but averting her face, as afraid it might reveal too
much, when exposed fully to my anxious and inquiring gaze. "Grace passed a
pretty quiet night, and is, I think, a little less disturbed this morning
than she was yesterday."

Neither of us answered or questioned the dear nurse. What a breakfast was
that, compared to so many hundreds in which I had shared at that very
table, and in that same room! Three of the accustomed faces were there, it
is true; all the appliances were familiar, some dating as far back as the
time of the first Miles; Romeo, now a grey-headed and wrinkled negro, was
in his usual place; but Chloe, who was accustomed to pass often between
her young mistress and a certain closet, at that meal, which never seemed
to have all we wanted arranged on the table at first, was absent, as was
that precious "young mistress" herself. "Gracious Providence!" I mentally
ejaculated, "is it thy will it should _ever_ be thus? Am I _never_ again
to see those dove-like eyes turned on me in sisterly affection from the
head of my table, as I have so often seen them, on hundreds and hundreds
of occasions?" Lucy's spirits had sometimes caused her to laugh merrily;
and her musical voice once used to mingle with Rupert's and my own more
manly and deeper notes, in something like audible mirth; not that Lucy was
ever boisterous or loud; but, in early girlhood, she had been gay and
animated, to a degree that often blended with the noisier clamour of us
boys. With Grace, this had never happened. She seldom spoke, except in
moments when the rest were still; and her laugh was rarely audible, though
so often heartfelt and joyous. It may seem strange to those who have never
suffered the pang of feeling that such a customary circle was broken up
forever; but, that morning, the first in which I keenly felt that my
sister was lost to me, I actually missed her graceful, eloquent, silence!

"Miles," said Lucy, as she rose from the table, tears trembling on her
eyelids as she spoke, "half an hour hence come to the family room. Grace
wishes to see you _there_ this morning, and I have not been able to deny
her request. She is weak, but thinks the visit will do her good. Do not
fail to be punctual, as waiting might distress her. Good morning, dearest
papa; when I want _you_, I will send for you."

Lucy left us with these ominous notices, and I felt the necessity of going
on the lawn for air. I walked my half-hour out, and returned to the house
in time to be punctual to the appointment. Chloe met me at the door, and
led the way in silence towards the family room. Her hand was no sooner
laid on the latch than Lucy appeared, beckoning me to enter. I found Grace
reclining on that small settee, or _causeuse_, on which we had held our
first interview, looking pallid and uneasy, but still looking lovely and
as ethereal as ever. She held out a hand affectionately, and then I saw
her glance towards Lucy, as if asking to be left with me alone. As for
myself, I could not speak. Taking my old place, I drew my sister's head on
my bosom, and sat holding it in silence for many painful minutes. In that
position I could conceal the tears which forced themselves from my eyes,
it exceeding all my powers to repress these evidences of human grief. As I
took my place, the figure of Lucy disappeared, and the door closed.

I never knew how long a time Grace and I continued in that tender
attitude. I was not in a state of mind to note such a fact, and have since
striven hard to forget most that occurred in that solemn interview. After
a lapse of so many years, however, I find memory painfully accurate on all
the leading circumstances, though it was impossible to recall a point of
which I took no heed at the moment. Such things only as made an impression
is it in my power to relate.

When Grace gently, and I might add faintly, raised herself from my bosom,
she turned on me eyes that were filled with a kind anxiety on my account
rather than on her own.

"Brother," she said, earnestly, "the will of God must be submitted to--I
am very, _very_ ill--broken in pieces--I grow weaker every hour. It is not
right to conceal such a truth from ourselves, or from each other."

I made no reply, although she evidently paused to give me an opportunity
to speak. I could not have uttered a syllable to have saved my life. The
pause was impressive, rather than long.

"I have sent for you, dearest Miles," my sister continued, "not that I
think it probable I shall be called away soon or suddenly--God will spare
me for a little while, I humbly trust, in order to temper the blow to
those I love; but he is about to call me to him, and we must all be
prepared for it; you, and dear, dear Lucy, and my beloved guardian, as
well as myself. I have not sent for you even to tell you this; for Lucy
gives me reason to believe you expect the separation; but I wish to speak
to you on a subject that is very near my heart, while I have strength and
fortitude to speak on it at all. Promise me, dearest, to be calm, and to
listen patiently."

"Your slightest wish will be a law to me, beloved, most precious sister; I
shall listen as if we were in our days of childish confidence and
happiness--though I fear those days are never to return!"

"Feel not thus, Miles, my noble-hearted, manly brother. Heaven will not
desert you, unless you desert your God; it does not desert me, but angels
beckon me to its bliss! Were it not for you and Lucy, and my dear, dear
guardian, the hour of my departure would be a moment of pure felicity. But
we will not talk of this now. You must prepare yourself, Miles, to hear me
patiently, and to be indulgent to my last wishes, even should they seem
unreasonable to your mind at first."

"I have told you, Grace, that a request of your's will be a law to me;
have no hesitation, therefore, in letting me know any, or all
your wishes."

"Let us, then, speak of worldly things; for the last time, I trust, my
brother. Sincerely do I hope that this will be the last occasion on which
I shall ever be called to allude to them. This duty discharged, all that
will remain to me on earth will be the love I bear my friends. This Heaven
itself will excuse, as I shall strive not to let it lessen that I bear
my God."

Grace paused, and I sat wondering what was to follow, though touched to
the heart by her beautiful resignation to a fate that to most so young
would seem hard to be borne.

"Miles, my brother," she continued, looking at me anxiously, "we have not
spoken much of your success in your last voyage, though I have understood
that you have materially increased your means."

"It has quite equalled my expectations; and, rich in my ship and ready
money, I am content, to say nothing of Clawbonny. Do what you will with
your own, therefore, my sister; not a wish of mine shall ever grudge a
dollar; I would rather not be enriched by your loss. Make your bequests
freely, and I shall look on each and all of them as so many memorials of
your affectionate heart and many virtues."

Grace's cheeks flushed, and I could see that she was extremely gratified,
though still tremblingly anxious.

"You doubtless remember that by our father's will, Miles, my property
becomes your's, if I die without children before I reach the age of
twenty-one; while your's would have been mine under the same
circumstances. As I am barely twenty, it is out of my power to make a
legal will."

"It is in your power to make one that shall be equally binding, Grace. I
will go this instant for pen, ink, and paper; and, as you dictate, will I
write a will that shall be even more binding than one that might come
within the rules of the law."

"Nay, brother, that is unnecessary; all I wish I have already said in a
letter addressed to yourself; and which, should you now approve of it,
will be found among my papers as a memorandum. But there should be no
misapprehension between you and me, dearest Miles. I do not wish you even
fully to consent to my wishes, now; take time to consider, and let your
judgment have as much influence on your decision as your own
excellent heart."

"I am as ready to decide at this moment as I shall be a year hence. It is
enough for me that you wish the thing done, to have it done, sister."

"Bless you--bless you--brother"--said Grace, affectionately pressing my
hand to her heart--"not so much that you consent to do as I wish, as for
the spirit and manner in which you comply. Still, as I ask no trifle, it
is proper that I release you from all pledges here given, and allow you
time for reflection. Then, it is also proper you should know the full
extent of what you promise."

"It is enough for me that it will be in my power to perform what you
desire; further than that I make no stipulation."

I could see that Grace was profoundly struck with this proof of my
attachment; but her own sense of right was too just and active to suffer
the matter to rest there.

"I must explain further," she added. "Mr. Hardinge has been a most
faithful steward; and, by means of economy, during my long minority, the
little cost that has attended my manner of living, and some fortunate
investments that have been made of interest-money, I find myself a good
deal richer than I had supposed. In relinquishing my property, Miles, you
will relinquish rather more than two-and-twenty thousand dollars; or quite
twelve hundred a year. There ought to be no misapprehensions on this
subject, between us; least of all at such a moment."

"I wish it were more, my sister, since it gives you pleasure to bestow it.
If it will render you any happier to perfect any of your plans, take ten
thousand of my own, and add to the sum which is now your's. I would
increase, rather than lessen your means of doing good."

"Miles--Miles"--said Grace, dreadfully agitated--"talk not thus--it almost
shakes my purpose! But no; listen now to my wishes, for I feel this will
be the last time I shall ever dare to speak on the subject. In the first
place, I wish you to purchase some appropriate ornament, of the value of
five hundred dollars, and present it to Lucy as a memorial of her friend.
Give also one thousand dollars in money to Mr. Hardinge, to be
distributed in charity. A letter to him on the subject, and one to Lucy,
will also be found among my papers. There will still remain enough to make
suitable presents to the slaves, and leave the sum of twenty thousand
dollars entire and untouched."

"And what shall I do with these twenty thousand dollars, sister?" I asked,
Grace hesitating to proceed.

"That sum, dearest Miles, I wish to go to Rupert. You know that he is
totally without fortune, with the habits of a man of estate. The little I
can leave him will not make him rich, but it may be the means of making
him happy and respectable. I trust Lucy will add to it, when she comes of
age, and the future will be happier for them all than the past."

My sister spoke quick, and was compelled to pause for breath. As for
myself, the reader can better imagine than I can describe my sensations,
which were of a character almost to overwhelm me. The circumstance that I
felt precluded from making any serious objections, added to the intensity
of my suffering, left me in a state of grief, regret, indignation, wonder,
pity and tenderness, that it is wholly out of my power to delineate. Here,
then, was the tenderness of the woman enduring to the last; caring for the
heartless wretch who had destroyed the very springs of life in her
physical being, while it crushed the moral like a worm beneath the foot;
yet bequeathing, with her dying breath, as it might be, all the worldly
goods in her possession, to administer to his selfishness and vanity!

"I know you must think this strange, brother;" resumed Grace, who
doubtless saw how utterly unable I was to reply; "but, I shall not die at
peace with myself without it. Unless he possess some marked assurance of
my forgiveness, my death will render Rupert miserable; with such a marked
assurance, he will be confident of possessing my pardon and my prayers.
Then, both he and Emily are pennyless, I fear, and their lives may be
rendered blanks for the want of the little money it is in my power to
bestow. At the proper time, Lucy, I feel confident, will add her part; and
you, who remain behind me, can all look on my grave, and bless its
humble tenant!"

"Angel!" I murmured--"this is too much! Can you suppose Rupert will
accept this money?"

Ill as I thought of Rupert Hardinge, I could not bring my mind to believe
he was so base as to receive money coming from such a source, and with
such a motive. Grace, however, viewed the matter differently; not that she
attached anything discreditable to Rupert's compliance, for her own
womanly tenderness, long and deeply rooted attachment, made it appear to
her eyes more as an act of compliance with her own last behest, than as
the act of degrading meanness it would unquestionably appear to be, to all
the rest of the world.

"How can he refuse this to me, coming to him, as the request will, from my
grave?" rejoined the lovely enthusiast. "He will owe it to me; he will owe
it to our former affection--for he once loved me, Miles; nay, he loved me
even more than you ever did, or could, dearest--much as I know you
love me."

"By heavens, Grace," I exclaimed, unable to control myself any longer,
"that is a fearful mistake. Rupert Hardinge is incapable of loving
anything but himself; he has never been worthy of occupying the most idle
moment of a heart true and faithful as your's."

These words escaped me under an impulse I found entirely impossible to
control. Scarcely were they uttered, ere I deeply regretted the
indiscretion. Grace looked at me imploringly, turned as pale as death, and
trembled all over, as if on the verge of dissolution. I took her in my
arms, I implored her pardon, I promised to command myself in future, and I
repeated the most solemn assurances of complying with her wishes to the
very letter. I am not certain I could have found it in my heart not to
have recalled my promise, but for the advantage my sister obtained over
me, by means of this act of weakness. There was something so exceedingly
revolting to me in the whole affair, that even Grace's holy weakness
failed to sanctify the act in my eyes; at least so far as Rupert was
concerned. I owe it to myself to add that not a selfish thought mingled
with my reluctance, which proceeded purely from the distaste I felt to
seeing Lucy's brother, and a man for whom I had once entertained a boyish
regard, making himself so thoroughly an object of contempt. As I
entertained serious doubts of even Rupert's sinking so low, I felt the
necessity of speaking to my sister on the subject of such a contingency.

"One might hesitate about accepting your money, after all, dearest
sister," I said; "and it is proper you give me directions what I am to do,
in the event of Rupert's declining the gift."

"I think that is little probable, Miles," answered Grace, who lived and
died under a species of hallucination on the subject of her early lover's
real character--"Rupert may not have been able to command his affections,
but he cannot cease to feel a sincere friendship for me; to remember our
ancient confidence and intimacy. He will receive the bequest, as you would
take one from dear Lucy," added my sister, a painful-looking smile
illuminating that angelic expression of countenance to which I have so
often alluded; "or, as that of a sister. _You_ would not refuse such a
thing to Lucy's dying request, and why should Rupert to mine?"

Poor Grace! Little did she see the immense difference there was in my
relation to Lucy and that which Rupert bore to her. I could not explain
this difference, however, but merely assented to her wishes, renewing, for
the fourth or fifth time, my pledges of performing with fidelity all she
asked at my hands. Grace then put into my hands an unsealed letter
addressed to Rupert, which she desired me to read when alone, and which I
was to have delivered with the legacy or donation of money.

"Let me rest once more on your bosom, Miles," said Grace, reclining her
head in my arms, quite exhausted under the reaction of the excitement she
had felt while urging her request. "I feel happier, at this moment, than I
have been for a long time; yet, my increasing weakness admonishes me it
cannot last long. Miles, darling, you must remember all our sainted mother
taught you in childhood, and you will not mourn over my loss. Could I
leave you united to one who understood and appreciated your worth, I
should die contented. But you will be left alone, poor Miles; for a time,
at least, you will mourn for me."

"Forever--long as life lasts, beloved Grace," I murmured, almost in her
ear.

Exhaustion kept my sister quiet for a quarter of an hour, though I felt
an occasional pressure of her hands, both of which held one of mine; and I
could hear words asking blessings and consolation for me, whispered, from
time to time, in heartfelt petitions to heaven. As she gained strength by
repose, my sister felt the desire to continue the discourse revive. I
begged her not to incur the risk of further fatigue but she answered,
smiling affectionately in my face--

"Rest!--There will be no permanent rest for me, until laid by the side of
my parents. Miles, do your thoughts ever recur to that picture of the
future that is so precious to the believer, and which leads us to hope, if
not absolutely to confide in it as a matter of faith, that we may
recognise each other in the next state of being, and that in a communion
still sweeter than any of this life, since it will be a communion free
from all sin, and governed by holiness?"

"We sailors give little heed to these matters, Grace; but I feel that, in
future, the idea you have just mentioned will be full of consolation
to me."

"Remember, my best-beloved brother, it is only the blessed that can enjoy
such a recognition--to the accursed it must add an additional weight to
the burthen of their woe."

"Felix trembled!" The thought that even this chance of again meeting my
sister, and of communing with her in the form in which I had ever seen and
loved her might be lost, came in aid of other good resolutions that the
state of the family had quickened in my heart. I thought, however, it
might be well not to let Grace lead the conversation to such subjects,
after all that had just passed, repose becoming necessary to her again. I
therefore proposed calling Lucy, in order that she might be carried to her
own room. I say carried; for, by a remark that fell from Chloe, I had
ascertained that this was the mode in which she had been brought to the
place of meeting. Grace acquiesced; but while we waited for Chloe to
answer the bell, she continued to converse.

"I have not exacted of you, Miles," my sister continued, "any promise to
keep my bequest a secret from the world; your own sense of delicacy would
do that; but, I will make it a condition that you do not speak of it to
either Mr. Hardinge or Lucy. They may possibly raise weak objections,
particularly the last, who has, and ever has had, some exaggerated
opinions about receiving money. Even in heydays of poverty, and poor as
she was, you know, notwithstanding our true love for each other, and close
intimacy, I never could induce Lucy to receive a cent. Nay, so scrupulous
has she been that the little presents which friends constantly give and
receive, she would decline, because she had not the means of offering them
in return."

I remembered the gold the dear girl had forced on me, when I first went to
sea, and could have kneeled at her feet and called her "blessed."

"And this did not make you love and respect Lucy the less, my sister? But
do not answer; so much conversing must distress you."

"Not at all, Miles. I speak without suffering, nor does the little talking
I do enfeeble me in the least. When I appear exhausted, it is from the
feelings which accompany our discourse. I talk much, very much, with dear
Lucy, who hears me with more patience than yourself, brother!"

I knew that this remark applied to Grace's wish to dwell on the unknown
future, and did not receive it as a reproach in any other sense. As she
seemed calm, however, I was willing to indulge her wish to converse with
me, so long as she dwelt on subjects that did not agitate her. Speaking of
her hopes of heaven had a contrary effect, and I made no further
opposition.

"Lucy's hesitation to be under the obligations you mention did not lessen
her in your esteem?" I repeated.

"You know it could not, Miles. Lucy is a dear, good girl; and the more
intimately one knows her, the more certain is one to esteem her. I have
every reason to bless and pray for Lucy; still, I desire you not to make
either her or her father acquainted with my bequest."

"Rupert would hardly conceal such a thing from so near and dear friends."

"Let Rupert judge of the propriety of that for himself. Kiss me, brother;
do not ask to see me again to-day, for I have much to arrange with Lucy;
to-morrow I shall expect a long visit. God bless you, my own, dear,--my
_only_ brother, and ever have you in his holy keeping!"

I left the room as Chloe entered; and, in threading the long passage that
led to the apartment which was appropriated to my own particular purposes,
as an office, cabinet, or study, I met Lucy near the door of the latter. I
could see she had been weeping, and she followed me into the room.

"What do you think of her, Miles?" the dear girl asked, uttering the words
in a tone so low and plaintive as to say all that she anticipated herself.

"We shall lose her, Lucy; yes, 'tis God's pleasure to call her to
himself."

Had worlds depended on the effort, I could not have got out another
syllable. The feelings which had been so long pent up in Grace's presence
broke out, and I am not ashamed to say that I wept and sobbed like
an infant.

How kind, how woman-like, how affectionate did Lucy show herself at that
bitter moment. She said but little, though I think I overheard her
murmuring "poor Miles!"--"poor, _dear_ Miles!"--"what a blow it must be
to a brother!"--"God will temper this loss to him!" and other similar
expressions. She took one of my hands and pressed it warmly between both
her own; held it there for two or three minutes; hovered round me, as the
mother keeps near its slumbering infant when illness renders rest
necessary; and seemed more like a spirit sympathizing with my grief than a
mere observer of its violence. In reflecting on what then passed months
afterwards, it appeared to me that Lucy had entirely forgotten herself,
her own causes of sorrow, her own feelings as respected Grace, in the
single wish to solace me. But this was ever her character; this was her
very nature; to live out of herself, as it might be, and in the existences
of those whom she esteemed or loved. During this scene, Lucy lost most of
the restraints which womanhood and more matured habits had placed on her
deportment; and she behaved towards me with the innocent familiarity that
marked our intercourse down to the time I sailed in the Crisis. It is
true, I was too dreadfully agitated at first to take heed of all that
passed; but, I well remember, that, before leaving me in obedience to a
summons from Grace, she laid her head affectionately on mine, and kissed
the curls with which nature had so profusely covered the last. I thought,
at the time, notwithstanding, that the salute would have been on the
forehead, or cheek, three years before, or previously to her acquaintance
with Drewett.

I was a long time in regaining entire self-command; but, when I did, I
opened my sister's letter to Rupert, agreeably to her request, and perused
it thrice without a pause, even to reflect. It was conceived in
these words:--

  "My Dearest Rupert--

  "God, in his infinite and inscrutable wisdom, when you read this letter,
  will have seen fit to call me to himself. Let not this seeming loss, in
  any manner, afflict you, my friend; for I feel the humble assurance that
  I shall reap the full benefit of the Saviour's great sacrifice. I could
  not have been happy in this life, Rupert; and it is a mercy that I am
  taken, thus early, to a better. It grieves me to part from your
  excellent father, from yourself, from our precious and rightfully
  beloved Lucy, and from dear, dear Miles. This is the last tribute I pay
  to nature, and I hope it will be pardoned for its character. There is a
  strong hope within me, that my death will be sanctified to the benefit
  of my friends. With this view, and this view only, beloved Rupert, I
  wish you to remember it. In all other respects let it be forgotten. You
  have found it impossible to command your affections, and worlds would
  not have tempted me to become your wife without possessing all your
  heart. I pray daily, almost hourly"--tears had evidently blotted this
  portion of the letter--"for you and Emily. Live together, and make each
  other happy. She is a sweet girl; has enjoyed advantages that Clawbonny
  could not bestow, and which will contribute to your gratification. In
  order that you may sometimes think of me"--poor Grace was not aware of
  this contradiction in her requests--"Miles will send you a legacy that I
  leave you. Accept it as a little fortune with Emily. I wish sincerely,
  it were much larger; but you will not overlook the intention, and forget
  the insufficiency of the sum. Small as it is, I trust it will enable you
  to marry at once, and Lucy's heart may be confided in for the rest.

  "Farewell, Rupert--I do not say, farewell Emily; for I think this
  letter, as well as its object, had better remain a secret between you
  and me, and my brother--but I wish your future wife all earthly
  happiness, and an end as full of hope as that which attends the
  death-bed of your affectionate

  "Grace Wallingford."

Oh! woman, woman, what are ye not, when duly protected and left to the
almost divine impulses of your generous natur

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