Drayton
page: 0 (TitlePage) [View Page 0 (TitlePage) ]44 4 NEW YORK: hARPER & DROTfi~RS, ?UBI4I$IIERS, IS CLII'F STUE~.T. 1851. 44 j if 44 Th~R A Y~TO N. ~t ~t.nrq OF AMERICAN LIFE. 44 ~ /LV;~~ - 4 4 i page: 0[View Page 0] N' 4 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty-one, by HARPER & BROTHERS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New York. .1 k I I. I' 4 D E DICA T ION. Y~ DEAR 0... To please you, I Wrote this work ; to please myself I dedicate it to you. THE AUTHOR. .4' page: 0[View Page 0] 4 (4 4 ~ CHATEX. I. IT was one of those bright and beautiful days late in spnng, when the air is full of fragrance and melody, and the dazzling beam and the merry breeze carry happiness to ev~ ery heart not. dark with the shadows of recent sorrow. The sun was midway between the meridian and the horizon, whelk Drayton rose from the bench on which he had .been sitting, and, throwing aside his apron and the implements of his craft, left the shop where he had worked faithfully since the rising of the sun. He soon arrayed himself in a suit of genteel clothes, and, picking up a volume of Plutarch, r~turn- ed. to the shop. Just then a carriage halted in front of the house, and a man, well known as the richest and most aristocratic person in that section, alighted. He approached Drayton, and in an abrupt and loud tone of voica said, "Boy,'~te my boots. done ?" No, sir, they are not yet begun," was the reply. "sot begun !" repeated the haughty customer, with a frown. "I intend to start for the city to-morrow, and waut them." "I told you when you ordered them, that, owing to the amount ~f work on J~iand, they could not be done before next Saturday," said Drayton, mildly. "What's the reason you're not working at them now, sir, insolently demanded the aristocrat; "Why ain't you work- ing on my boots, instead of being dressed up like a buck, with a book in your hand, on y*r way, I suppose, to smash the heart of' some other cobbler's daughter ?" Drayton felt indignant, 'but said nothing. As h~v~Qdded pleasantly to a friend passing. on the :opposite side of the street, the aristocrat, growing somewhat compassionate, condescend-' .ed to give Drayto~ sortie advice in a gruff voice. * "You should let books ajone, sir; they are for gentlemezz JYRAYT ON. page: 6-7[View Page 6-7] 0 DRAYTON. DRAYTQ$. 7 of leistire. A shoemaker ought to stick to' his last. That's the only chance of bacon and beans for him. What's the name of the book in your hand?" "A volume of Plutarch," replied Drayton. Some trashy romance, I suppose, tho~h I never heard of it before," said' the aristocrat. "You had better throw it away, sir, and stick to your last. I'm afraid you're trying to get above your bu~i~ess." The conversation was here interrupted by the proprietor of the shop, who made his appearance, and forthwith began to apologize with the most 8paniel-like humility. The insolence of the aristocrat and the~ fawning of the shoemaker formed a spectacle which disgusted Drayton~ and he left them without delay. As he passed ~aIong the street, he struggled with the feel- ings he had* curbed so well while in the presence of the igno.. rant and purse-proud aristocrat. It was by no means the first occasion on which' he had felt the scorn of the minions of wealth. Often had his feelings been embittered by those men who seem to think that the heart of a poor boy is made to be cru~hedi by an iron heel. And now, as he thought"of the in~ solence with which he had been treated by a man of wealth and eonaequence, a man whose ear was familiar with the notes of adtd&~Eion; his face was flushed with anger~ When he thought of the ignorance of the man who supposed a volume of Plutarch to be a trashy romance, he could not but feel great contempt for him. Often, on such occasions, he renewed the settled purpose of his heart to effect a triumph over the ob- stacks which surrounded him, and claim of the world that hmage which wealth can not purchase and genius alone can ~ exact. For years he had been preparing himself for those in- tellectual conflicts which precede the wreath of the victor, cheered~by the presence of.hope, and sustained by an uiifalter- ing faith in his ability to execute the highest resolve of his '~~it. He would reaoh an elevation where the proud man's ~eora and the neglect of the rich could not approach him, and' e~iXse' the sons~ of those who had treated him superciliously to esteem the' grasp of 11i8 hand '~a peculiar favo~ and to re- gard a smjle from his~ lip as ~f more value than the xnostglit- terrn~ofco is. His feelings were less turbulent as he entered the forestand puraned his way toward: the beautiful beech-grove, whither he so often repaired to~~oy cernmiinlon'with nature~~ and hirowri beart, and the works' of the ilhieWiouo~ dead.~ lie placed him.. J * self in his accustomed seat, and opened the volume, and began to read the life' of Pericles. As he read the account of the: Simian war, and of the funeral obsequies of those who fell in it, and recalled. to mind the splendid oration as given in Thu- cydides, he closed the book, an& the whole pageant seemed to move before him, and he felt that under such circumstances he too could be an orator. At that moment his attention was diverted from the mag- nificent scene in the city of iVilinerva to an elderly gentleman, who approached and saluted him with much cordiality. He seemed to be about 'sixty years of age, and was clad in a rusty suit of black, cut in the fashion of that day. Every thing about him, from his cravat to his knee-buckle; indicated the most through disregard of dress. His hat was drawn down over his forehead so as almost to hide the keen, dark eye that glowed in its socket like a living coal. His nose was most decidedly Roman, and his mouth was handsome, and express- ive of firmness. He 'wore a cue, and spoke with a deep, clear, musical tone. His name was James Thompson, a name well known fifty years ago;' for he was a lawyer of great eccen- tricity, great eloquence, dexterity, and learning. 'Although he never enjoyed a national fame, it was not because hewarited the power to win such fame, 'but because he was tooindolent to address himself to the task of grasping the' laureL Mr. Thompson had known Drayt'~n from his. childhood. The quickness and capacity of the boy did not escape the in- qiiisitive glance of the shrewd and penetrating lawyer. He encouraged ])ra~ton in the prosecution of his studies, talked with him frequently, and loaned him most of the books he read. Drayton told Mr. Thompson of the insolence with wbich he had been treated. The lawyer listened attentively to' his nax- rative, and said, "That man, so haughty';and overbearing in his' deportxaent toward you, has humiliated himself s~ thousand times ii~"~iy presence. He never gives a dinner-party that he does not beg and' entreat me to attend, for' he' has just sense enough to know that such' occasions can rnt' pasw off ~with eclat' ultiless' thej are enlivened by a man of some genius.'? "That proves the truth of a counnon rerriark~ that a man who is intolerant to those he regards o~ his inferioza' i~ sure - to be servile toward his superiors," said Drayton. "As' long as you: consent to w~isti~ jour time arid' your tel. ents in a shoemaker's shop," said iMr. Thompson, ~~'n can page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] 8 D R A Y T O N." not expect men who have n6 sagacity to have mttch respect for yow A half-witted boy can make as comfortable a shoe as you can, and you' should leave such labor to those who are qualified for no higher- occupation. Your father made a great - mistake when he consigned you to lasts and lapstones, and you should rectify it by deserting those useful things as soon as practicable." "As I have told you heretofore," replied Drayton, "nothing but the obligation I am. under to Mr. Smith prevents my ac- ceptance of the extremely kind offer you have made me to enter your office and" study jaw." Well, now, 'as to that obligation, which is such a mount- ain in your way," said Mr. Thompson, "I will undertake to satisfy it, and relieve you from it. Smith is a man who has a money value for every thing he owns, and 'he will be per- fectly willing to sell the claim he holds against you for an- othei' year's service." - "That would only transfer the obligation from him to you. "Well, to satisfy your excessive scrupulosity," said Mr.' Thompson, "I will take your note for the 'amount I pay Smith, and pledge myself to collect every stiver of both prin- cipal and interest at some future day." Mr. Thompson's. generosity overwhelmed Drayton; and aft~rsdnie further conversation on the subject, he consented t~fr~ up the shop and enter the office of the lawyer on Mr. Thompson's terms. "I take a very singular interest..-.a singularly deep inter- est in you," said Mr..Thompson. "Do' you know that when you are in my presence it seems as if my youth were come back to me-.-.as if the May and the November of my life had met together? My hopes, my 'aspirations, my -tastes were similar to yours. A genuine love of the beautiful dwelt. in my heart. I -watched with intense interest the develop- ment and. the decay of vegetatio~i.-....the approach, the hab-' its, and the departure of the birds-the ways of the insect world-.-4he grace of the mountain stream, winding circui- tously around rocks, and then dashing over a precipice, and regarded a thousand other objects in earth, sea, and sky with an/interest which l~ would not have exchanged for the most splendid fortune, if I had had an opportunity of doing any thing so stupid." "You have not outlived your. relish for such objects," re- marked' Drayton.. . ..' . - * t $ PILAYTON.. ~ If my heart should ever forget its homage to natus~e," said Mr. Thompson, "may it that instant be palsied in every pulse, and all its streams as hushed as the brook in the grasp of the bitter north wind. When a man who has enjoyed the luxury of loving nature outlives that love, he is a~ fit subject for the scythe of Time. Mind you, I do not mean, when I speak of a love of nature, that shallow feeling which is sat- isfied with the external beauty of a landscape, in which fields, forests, houses, and streams are so distributed as to produce a pleasing emotion in the mind-I do not mean the worship of forms; but I do mean a deep, engrossing, per- vading sentiment, which appreciates what lies beyond the reach of sense, and enables one to establish a spiritual corn- munioxi with nature. This feeling is far more profound than that instinctive desire for what is beautiful in form, which is so common. It is both religious and~ philosophical; for while it lQoks into the. conditions in which things exist, it prompts the spirit to spring fro~m the star, or the trees or the rocky cliff, or whatever object it, contemplates, up to that Great Power which endowed it and commissioned it to co- operate with other agents in perfecting this magnificent crea tion." "I would suppose the possession of such a sentiment as precious beyond all. calculation,"' said Drayton. "It must certainly add immensely to the amoi~tut .of its pwner'~ l~p- piness. Indeed, if any thing could restore to earth e~ ti6n 9f that wonderful beauty which was lost 'wh~ii 'tii~ * glQry departed from Eden, it would be such a. seutixn~nt 'as that you have described." "Take my' advice, my young friend," said Mr. Thompsou, earnestly, "and cherish that sentiment, enrich it,. and cling to it through~ life's vicissitudes, for. jt .wil1~ brighten yeu* pleasures, and prove a fountain of joy even in the midst 9*~ a desert. As I said, my interest in you comes from the- fact that in you I seem to see a resurrection of the years of my youth, You have, more ambition and more perseverance than I had, and you will rise to far higher distinction' than I have enjoyed, provided yon toil as they who -~reacli the glittering goal must toil. I might have comn.anded 'the applause of listening senates,' but. I preferred my easa. In practicing my profession, I have had occasion t9 meastare lances with several ~f the tallest of the popular i4ols, an4 have felt that the elements of success were also in me. They ~ ~a you, rnyyoung friend, and if you &o not asc'.n4 A2 6i page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] P si DItA~TGN. 4' to ~that mountain eminence where the lautel grows gr~eu esti it~ will not be because you are. destitute of the required vig~. It is getting late; let us go to the village." CHAPTER II. WITHIN & week Mr. Thompson. succeeded in making the necessary arrangements, and Drayton entered his office as a student. The kind-hearted and eccentric old lawyer had a fine library, well stocked not only with professional works, but with all the most famous books from the Iliad down. He took great pleasure in superintending Drayton's studies, and often provoked controverSies which called into requisi- tion 'all ~of the facts and the logic that~ the pupil could sum- mon to his aid. At other times he would talk with him about great men and the contents of world-renowned books. He was fond of recurring to cases of iilterest in which he had been engaged, and then his sketches of the characters and~ peculiarities of judges and lawyers were very amusing and piquant. He had been intimately acquainted with many of the' most celebrated patriots, and heroes, and orators of our Revolutionary struggle, and would often describe them. He told many anecdotes illustrative of the great men whose de.. votio2n to country was proved in the midst of perils by self- sacrifices rather than by noisy professions . The struggles of some of these men from a condition of unbefriended- pov- erty up to renown, was a subject of which Drayton's -ear never gvew weary. What had so. often crowned the efforts of the lowly and the obscure was still attainable, and he re- solved- to afford another illustration ofthe truth that, from whatsoever point in the valley genius may start, it is sure, when its energies are well directed, to ascen4 to the daz- zling eminences of fame. Drayton passed more than three years most pleasantly '~iidptofita1ily in Mr~ Thompson's office, and was .then ex- amined and licensed to practice law. Thus much having been accomplished, he proceeded to carry out a resolution which he had cherished through many years~ lu the vicinity of a city, about fifty miles distant, his an- eator4 had lived in opulence through. three successive gen4. A - k ~RAYTON. It qratlons. His grandfather inherited an ample f6rtixie~;but impoverished his resources by wild excesses and prodigality. and died in the prime of life, a victim to his own impru- dences,. leaving an only son to' struggle with the ills of pov- erty. As that 'son approached manhood, he thought him- self neglected by. many of those who had been proud to avail themselves of his father's hospitalities, and, resolving to get beyond the reach of their scorn, removed to a- village in the interior. He was very thriftless. Every thing he engaged in turned out ill. He married while yet young, and his life was spent in wretched -efforts to increase the comforts of his family. His oldest son, Frank Drayton,- was, as has beeu seen, apprenticed to a. shoemaker. The father was very fond of referring to the - former condition of his family, and frequently spoke of the splendid mansion in ~vJhich he was born, and of the', elegantly-cultivated grounds in which he had played in his childhood. His descriptions of the splen- dor in which his ancestors lived fired the youthful imagina- tion of his son, who, early in life, resolved that he would re- build the shattered fortunes of his family, and iescue- the name of Drayton from the disrepute into which it had fall- en. This purpose had sustained him through many a long and weary hour of study. He fancied no labor too great for the rich recompense of which he dreamed. It is worthy of - notice, that every man of genius and ambition cherishes some - secret enterprise, which, while it furnishes him with, the un- pulses that govern him, is but dimly shadowed forth in his conduct. The cold and barren isolation of fame would not be so sedulously striven for were its attainment -unassociated with darling considerations which spring out of the circum- stanc~es that surround the - aspirant. IHIa.ving made his arrangements, Drayton took leave of his family and friends, and started for the city. Toward sun- down, on the second day of his journey, he reached-the sum- mit of the hill from which the city whither he was going becomes visible- to the eye of the traveler who approaches it from that direction. He checked his horsQ ~and deliberately surveyed the beautiful prospect before him.' The sun was sinking behind a mass 9f clouds in. great - magnificence, au& -. a Sabbath-like calm prevailed over ~the scene, broken only by the distant lowing of cattle returning to their homes, and the nearer melodies of birds and insects. The majestic river sweeping round the bases of the' hills; mansioiw I-in whi~h the favorites of fortune lived in luxury; tl~ cottages o~ ~- i1 a 1 -y - page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] a. D H A Y T dN. ions of industry and toil embosomed in shrubbery; alterna- lions Qf meadows, forests, and fields of grain-all contribu- ted to form a landscape not more distinguished by the Va- riety. thaii by the beauty of its features. A~ Drayton's' eye Wandered over the section in which his ancestors, had flourished~and fallen through several success ive generations, all tha e had heard and all that' he had drean~ed of its exceeding loveliness seemed to him to be fully realized. After looking at several of the most conspicuous objects in the prospect before him, he fixed his eye on the city, which was indistinctly visible in the distance. As he Thought of the resolution which led him to abandon the home of his' boyhood and to become a sojourner among those who kne~hini upt~ an expression of deep thoughtfulness settled on~ this face ~More than ever he felt the difficulty of the QaTee1~orL which he'was about entering. He had no friends in the city in which he had resolved' to try his fortunes. By turns his heart faltered and. grew bold. Hopes and fears, thoughts of success and of failure, mingled together in his mind with all the confusion of a phalanx of clouds muster- ing their forces in the evening sky; and yet, had the eye of a obse~yer been on him, he might have supposed him af- fected ~n'ly-by'some 'one. of the ten thousand frivolities which mex~ take to heart. Thi~s we are in the habit of glancing iudifhi~rently on faces; not even excepting those which, could we read their meaning, would assure us~that we stood in the presence of persons on whose minds are the foreshadowing of mighty events. The human mind grows prophetic when it observes young men; but so short-sighted are the seers, that success is generally assigned to the crippled and failure to the most eminently gifted, in. whose natures are wrapped up the -elements of future greatness, just as the trunk and overshadowing branches of the monarch of the forest, are wrapped up in the acorn. Drayton's heart soon' regained its accustomed firmness and seli~reliance, and all trace of fear and doubt passed from his features. His face was both striking and interesting, as all face~ are that belong to those who can 'not and will not be ~- contented with the fate of the, million. That restless, burn. lug, dark gray eye, so deeply seated beneath the brow that at times it seemed to be black, with its unlimited power of expressing thoughts, emotions, and passions of all shades, from the defiance of one of the swart knights of the olden time to the tenderness- the knight 'felt for the lady of his U LY'T O N~ 1%s : t CHAPTER IlL As Drayton sat on his horse revolving some of his schemes of ambition, forgetfttl alike of the hour and the scene, a flock of chattering birds wheeled over his head and recalled him from his abstractedness. Perceiving that the sun was seP ting, he glanced again rapidly over the ht~ndscape, and then urged his horse onward~ He -had yet five miles 'to go, but so tempting were nu'. inerous objects along the road side that he rode leisurely, now stopping to admire the beauty of a cottage, and again stop- ping to observe some aristocratic abode. Over to the right, toward the bank of the river, a large stone mansion of-ven- erable appearance, situated on a gentle eminence~ soon com- manded his most particular attention. That was the home of his ancestors, and he recognized it ~as such from- the de- scription of it by his father. He would gladly 'have lingered longer to survey the spot ~f which he had heard so much; but as 'he had three miles to ride, and the shades' of even- ing were. darkening over the scene, he was forced to for-ego that pleasure4 The moon's pale crescent was sailing-bright- ly. over the top' of the westerft hills before he reached th~ lev*, was designed' for a nobler use than to fade aw~.y in the turmoil of this world. It was an eye to read the stars and the heart of man, and could not grow dim, in the byways of obscurity. 1~LEasses of deep auburn, hair waved along the summit of his massive and capacious forehead, on which the power to think was apparent to the dullest eye. His nose was slightly aquiline, and his mon4 with its frill and, com- pressed lips, expressed more determination' than is usual with those who have not passed their: twenty-fourth year. He was tall and robust in form, and a judge of character would have pronounced him a proud man. And he was proud, as the majority of self-made men are, who, having~ forced their way upward through difficulties appalling to meaner natures, feel their superiority. In conversatibn he spoke with clearness and distinctness, though with uuuisii~.l. rapidity. Thus he appeared to the eye. His character will be developed hereafter in his conduct. 0 page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] 14 DRAYTON.' s~iburbs of- the eit~ As he rode along one of the principal streets, the sounds of the footsteps of the multitude and the jargon of blending voices, forming a perfect ~o~trast~to the deep silence which reigned over his own 'native village at that hour, excited a thousand thoughts and emotions in his mind. At length a sign-post attracted his attention, a~id, not knowing whither to~~go for the night, he reined in his horse and alighted. The tavern which 'he entered was extensively known by the lovers of good cheer by the name of the ".Rising Sun.,' -to6k its name from its sign, on which was displayed one of a very dull yellow orb, from which flared up broad eaks 'of' saffron light. The lower half was submerged in an ocean of indigo, in one' corner of which appeared a dim ship in a very perilous situation, while in the opposite cor~ ner there was a duck amusing' itself in the spray of a billow frowning with wrath. ' ~.- The patriots of the city were in the habit of resorting to this house to talk over the horrors of the French Revolu- tion, the depredations of British cruisers on American com- merce, the Alien and Sedition Laws, and other engrossing topics of the day. It was the rendezvous of the Democratic leaders of the city, who under sits hospitable roof qnaffed their liquor, smoked their sears, and grew voluble in dis- cussing the 'rights' of man and the policy of the government. With laudable impartiality, the host pocketed coin from the purses of: Federalists as well as from those of Democrats; and it was hinted that he manifested a very strong predi- lection for the gold of his political opponents, by exacting from them higher prices for his entertainment than any good Democrat was ever known to pay. On one occasion Mr. Jefferson honored the Rising Sun by eating and sleeping in it, and thenceforth the room he occupied was known as the "Jefferson apartment." On this circumstance the wor- thy landlord would grow unusually eloquent while conduct- i-ng some distinguished Democrat to its sacred shades, not forgetting tomention the many kind remarks the future pres- ident had made concerning the excellence of his accommo. nationss. 'The long ride gave great vigor to Drayton's .appetite, and he did atnple justice to the excellent viands- at. the supper- 'table.. When he had finished his repast, he sauntered into the bar-room, in which a considerable number of persons were killing time according to the most approved methods. L~RArTON. He amused himself a while by listening t~poi~ie he~.ted poli~ tician~, and then walked out into the street ~o indulge his own fancies. Tired of wandering listlessly about where every scene and Bound was unfamiliar to him, he at length sought his chain- ber, and watched from the window the lightning playing over the 4ark form of a distant cloud. As the hours went by, the sounds of footsteps and voices became less frequent; and when the clock struck twelve, that tomb-like silence, which is peculiar to the deserted streets of a city, wrapped its slumbering thousands like a garment Long after th~ lights had vanished from the opposite windows, Drayt maintained his seat, thinking of the friends, he had left, an~* speculating 9n. his future career. CHAPTER IV. NEXT morning, Drayton went in quest of an uncle of his mother's, who lived in the city. As' he proceeded on his way, glancing indifferently at the strange faces he enc&~un~ tered, his attention was suddenly riveted on a lady of strik- ing beauty, who was passing along with a quick step. A more beautiful object had never dawned on his vision~ The brilliant black eye,' the arched brow, the smiling lip, and splendid form, though seen but for a moment, left a deep impression on his mind. Involvntarily turning, he watched her receding form, until she entered a house at a short dis- tauce. He marked the place and passed on, musing on the beauty of the fair being who had so unexpectedly enamored him until'he arrived at the. residence of his uncle. Mr. Alexander Macdonald was born on the border of one of the most beautiful lochs of Scotland, and emigrat&l, while a youth, with his, father to America, some years before the breaking out of our war of Independence. 'He studied med- icine, became a successful practitioner, and accumulatedd. a fortune. ~He had lived more than 'threescore years, and was suffering the penalty of his devotion to some convivial ex- - cesses. The gout had been his constant companion for sev- eral seasons, and had banished every amiable feeling from his bosom. Added to hisphysical and spiritual afflictions, page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] f D R A Y T GN. he was a bachelor, and the affairs of bi~ household were continually entangled in~difficulties. His condition was 'de. plorable; every effort he made at~ domestic reform was un- successful, and he now despaired of ever seeing the day when his expectations of comfort should be realized. He was the very Job of old bachelors, if any one should be sin- gled out by that designation from a class where all are mis- erable. Drayton's mother, when a child, was a great favorite with the doctor. She had written to him on her son's behalf, and received a kindly answer. When Drayton entered his unde's apartment, he beheld a gentleman of great corpu- lency sitting in a large an~d easy chair, with his right foot reposing on a velvet cushion. His hair, naturally sandy, was whitened by age, and over ,~is broad, prominent forehead a succession of well-d'efined wrinkles were seen circling above his bushy eyebrows, indicating intense thought and long suf- fering. The small gray eye moving restlessly in its socket, the aquiline nose and quivering lips completed the promi- nent features of a face' striking but' ~nnlovely. He was por- ing over a large volume when Drayton .entered, and for a moment did not observe him. 'Drayton hemmed, and the sound fell on the old gentleman's ear, who, without lifting 1~is eye from the page, said, in a rough voice, "Well, what's the matter nbw ?" ,Thi~ ungentle salutation startled Drayton.. For an in- stant he was undetennined whether to advance or retreat. While thus. hesitating, the doctor glanced toward him, and in a quick. and more amiable tone said, "I beg pardon, sir. 'I thought it was, a fiendish' servant who has been troubling me all the morning. Come in, sir." Drayton advanced and extended 'his hand, saying, "My name is Drayton - Frank Drayton. I arrived here last night, and have called to pay my respects to an uncle, of whom I have frequently heard my mother speak." "The deuce you say," 'said the doctor, elevating his specta- cles, find rapidly surveying Drayton's proportions. "Bring up that chair and sit by my side, boy." The doctor looked at him until he was seated, when he continued, "Why, Mr. Frank, you are a fine-looking fellow. The old-fashioned Macdonald eye, Eli swear." And he grasped Frank's hand and shook it cordially. After a~ few questions ~about the family, the doctor asked, "Well, sir, what are you going to do'?" U I DRAYTON. ""?raotice 'my: profession, sir." "Ah! yes-.-a'lawyer I believe you are "Yes, sir," replied Drayton. "I have abandoned my for.. mer occupation, and am no longer a disciple of St. Crispin." "Hark ye, my boy," said the doctor,~ "keep that to your- self. 'Don't make a ninny of yourself :by confessing that you ever knew any' thing about the cobbler's saint." "Why, sir, it is not dishonorable to have been a maker of. shoes," urged Drayton, innocently~ "so, sir," replied the doctor, with a squint- of the' right eye and a shrug of the shoulder; "not when a man has be- come eminent. But, before you become famous, take my a&. vice, and profess entire ignorance of the mystery of making shoes; for if you do not, most persons. of delicate sensibilities will fancy there is a very unpleasant odor of wax about you, and you will observe a very unequivocal tendency in most noses to turn up when you are by. That's all, sir. If you are an admirer of aquiline noses, sir, don't say you have made shoes, or you will see but few resemblances to the old~ Roman nose in this community." The doctor's nose looked the thing he described 'as he spoke, and Drayton was forced to smile at his expense. He made no reply, and a short silence ensued, affording him an opportunity of surveying the room more particularly than he had yet done. It was a well-fnrnished apartment, and the crimson curtains caused every object to look as red as a milk-maid's cheek. The "vermil-tinctured" nose of the doc- tor imbibed a deeper dye fron~. the red light of the room, and glowed brilliantly. Drayton noticed particularly a portrait of his uncle, taken at the age of thirty, fromr which he learn- ed that' time had made sad havoc in the beauty of the orig-.. inal. His wandering eye was recalled to the old gentleman, who asked,' "Have you any means, sir ?" "None~ but my profession, which is a fortune if it is pros- ecuted with perseverance and. industry." Industry-industry. Ah! there's the rub. The young fools nowadays, who have~ means instead of adding, seem bent -on spending; and' they who have none expect manna from 'heaven, or 'ravens 'from' 'the desert; to feed 'them. Things didn't use to go devilward at the he~idloxmg i~ate they go now. I hope, my boy, your grandfather'didn't transmit any thing btit his name to his progeny.' "Ha lived ~s if the~ wdrld was' a great tavern,'in which' a man h~d nothing to %18 '4 page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] DEA Y T OK 'DRAYtGN. do lint to eat, and drink, and spend. That great truth, that money is the omnipotent power in this worldwas altogether urtob.~erved ~by him. I hope you take your qualities from your mother's family." Drayton was~much perplexed, and did not know what an- swer to return; but, after a'moment's hesitation, he said, "I suspect, sir, I inherit the peculiarities of both my father's and mother's families, as I have a strong desire to accumulate, and one equally strong to expend. Money is a most useful and necessary slave, but a most unmerciful god." "Ah, yes, 1 see how' it is, very clearly," said the uncle, shaking his head up and down with a most peculiar solem.. nity, which indicated a suspicion that his nephew's case was most desperate and incurable. "It is a great pity that so good-looking a fellow-..one who has the old-fashioned Mac- donald eye-....one whom one would expect better things of-. should be as muoh of a Brayton in his nature as he is in his name. 'Unmerciful God,' indeed! 'Yes, that's a sentiment worthy of your grandfathers Yes, sir, I see clearly that you are a chip of the old block !" - The old gentleman uttered a deep sigh as the fancied de- generacy of the Draytop. family expanded before him. Wish- ing to stand as fair as possible with his uncle, Drayton re- marked, "I. beg you not to misunderstand me. I have a very strong inclination to make money; at the same time, I am not the minion of avarice. Money can procure a great max~y comforts and conveniOnces' that I desire, and therefore it is my design to ~strain eveiy honest nerve in ~its acquisition. Although, if I thought that the accumulation of money would have the effect on me which 1 have known it. to h~ve in many inst~uees; making: men perfect Ishmaelites among hu- man cha.r5ties, I would most fervently pray for poverty as the greatest blessing, and 'strive to enjoy in the accumula- tion ~f .tliotrghts the happiness which ethers feel in the amassment of dollars~" "Well, thai* Heaven: !" said the .doctor, "I was born in better times, else I too might have been a fool like most of th~ young men of this day; and in. that case, instead of liv- ing as I want to live, I might have been the tenant of a hovel. If satan don~t 'get a 'ri~h' harvest among the pres- ent generation, he i~ a. niueh poorer han& with the sickle tha~i the preachers take b~im to be.' hyyc)1x 0ee, boy, there's no getting along at any thing but a ~ir. pace' without 19 I money. Every thing in this world has its price, from a. woman or a patriot down to the rope, which most young men would become very familiar with if they had their de- serts. Wealth is sunshine-poverty is midnight. Why, hark ye, my boy," continued the doctor, ~poking the ivory head of his cane against Drayton's ribs, "hark ye, my boy, I never even take a trip of pleasure without contriving by some means to make my expenses~ That's the way-that's the way, boy !" and the old gentleman chuckled with great glee as he dwelt on his own money-making powers. A momentary silence ensued, which was broken by Dray- ton, who observed, "Money will not purchase peace of mind while we live, nor the hope of immortal bliss beyond the tomb. It will not purchase honor and fame, nor-" "Honor is breath, and fame a bubble," exclaimed the doc- tor, in a tone denoting impatience. "Which is the nobler pursuit-to struggle for honor, which is a~ unsubstantial as the dream of an infant, or a large interest in stocks that yield ten per cent. in semi-annual dividends? Ten per cents., my boy, are the best friends one ever finds in this world; and therefore take my advice, 'and try to get them, and let honor and fame go to the dogs." While the doctor was speaking, a miserable-looking girl, whose tattered and filthy garments covered a very deformed person, entered and commenced a broken appeal to' their char- itie~. The old gentleman shook his cane at her and' ordered her off, which mandate she'f9rthwith obeyed, brushing a tear from her eye as she left the 'room. Drayton pitied her, and, following' her into the hall, put a piece of money into her hands. When he returned)' the doctor laughed at him, and said, "You'aregreen~~. Don't' be gulled by any of these pests. There are plenty of poor-houses for such ~creatures. Why, sir, if you had a. million, and were to' give whenever called on, you' would' soon be compelled to beg yourself.~ Be~ tween filthy beggars of all sorts and benevolent ladies, who leave equalling brats and undarned stockings at home to' fare as Heaven pleases, and go about~ asking for means to carpet churches, buy organs, 'and build orphan~ asylums, one nightt get clear of 'a fortune as ample 'as that of Crcssus. I have seen the day when I have' been 'gulled' by Them. Ye~, 'sir, I used to be caught ix~' Vhat'~4&y, but Vain' a. litde too old' to be caught in their tear-traps. now." page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 DR'AYT4~N. Drayton wa~ amazed, and fancied that if at that moment his uncle could have removed all the misery from the human family, and introduced the millennial reign over the benighted states of the world,~. by the expenditure'of one tenth of his possessions, he would not have done it. While he was spec- ulating on the havoc which avarice makes among the holier feelings of our nature, the doctor asked him if he had yet been trying to procure an office. "No, sir," replied Drayton. "' I thought I would consult wiih you first." "Well, I have a row of them, and one has been vacant for the last month. You can have it for a small rent, and the stands a good one for a lawyer. The last scoundrel who oc- cupied it was an itinerant portrait painter, who ran 'away without paying a dollar for it. Have you practiced any at the bar yet ?" "No, sir. There were too many old lawyers in our sec- tion, and I thought it wise to emigrate." "Egad! there are too many every where," ejaculated the doctor; "but, then, the rascality that abounds in every com-' munity makes the presence of great numbers of your voca- 'tion necessary. You have made your maiden speech, I sup-' pose ?" "' No, sir." "Then you are not satisfied that you possess even the raw materials of a successful lawyer ?" "Yes, sir, I am satisfied on that point," replied' Drayton, speaking positively. "I feel confident that, if affair, oppor- tunity is afforded me, I can succeed. I know I have mind enough 'to comprehend and understand every subject that is intelligible, and I have strong and quick feeling, and the pow- er of uttering my thoughts." "Sense is not so necessary as tact iii a lawyer," said the doctor. "The men 'who~ make the most money are your shrewd, managing fellows, who don't care for abstractions. If a subject is at all cloudy or intricate, they only guess at it. Your metaphysical lawyer puzzles himself, judges, and' ~juries ~by running out plain principles into the regions of nonsense and absurdity; :wh'ereas your lawyer who has tact~ has the faculty of extracting big fees from the, purses of his cli~ftts in. compensation for small services. Intellect is a secondary consideration. Tact is the most skillfiui of pick- pockets, and hasfa knack of insinuating its fingers ~into all purses." ' ' ' ' D1IAYTON~ $1 £ "But such zneu are mere pettifoggers," said Drayton. "Law is a noble scienCe, and they make a mere trade of it. At the same time that I was striving to get a rich fee, I would not be altogether unsolicitous about my reputation." "There it is again," exclaimed the old gentleman, an- noyed by what he considered his nephew's indifference to money. "That word reputation will strangle you yet, if you are not careful. You take the money, and let the devil take the reputation. Look well to the main chance, and don't talk or think any more of fame, and honor, and other un- meaning sounds. When you get rich you can afford what a. poor man can not, that is, you can afford to procure a little luxury in the shape of reputation. At best, fame is the bait that fancy sets to catch fools with. Don't you be caught on such a pin hook, my boy." The , conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of a gentleman, whose commanding exterior elicited Dray- ton's adini:ration. He was apparently fifty-five years of age, tall, and well formed, although very slender. His hair was gray, and, being bald in front, he made up the defi- ciency by wearing a long cue behind. The features which particularly struck a stranger were ~. lively black eye and beautiful mouth; the former indicating intellect, and the latter amiability. These features gave character and beau- ty to his face, rendering it exceedingly fascinating, and wiu~ fling from all observers a confidence in the moral and intel- lectual superiority of the man. As he entered the room, the 'doctor rubbed his hands together, while his eyes sparkled with delight, thereby evincing to the new-coiner the pleas- ure with which he was welcomed. He shook his visitor's hand cordially, saying, "Ah, colonel, how do you do? I ant very glad to see you~ Take a seat, and give an account of yourself." And here, observing that the colonel's eye was directed toward Dx~ayton, he continued; "That gentleman is the son of a favorite niece of mine, and 'has come among us to practice law-Mr. Drayton, a grandson of a gentleman of the same name, whom you once knew. Mr. Drayton, Colonel Charles Meredith." The colonel welcomed D~ayton, and then sat dowu on the other side of the doctor, who commenced detailing suti- dry afflictions that had befallen, him' since they last~ met. When ~he had finished, the colonel turned to Draylon and said page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 4 2* DUAY.TA)N; ~' And. so yen are the grandson ~f Mr. Draytwi. I was too ywiug te know him personally, though I remember seeing aiim fr~queutly at the~ house of my father, from whom I * have learned many interesting and some romantic incidents touching his career. My father still lives, in his eightieth year, with. me, and I know he would be glad to see a grand- son of one with whom the recollections of his early years are so intimately associated. You must visit us, Mr. D;rayton. We occupy~ the house formerly in possession of your family. I have a son 'who glories in the fact that he wa~ born on the day wheu our' nation's independence was first proclaim. ed; and he, too, will be happy to see you, and. ~will do' all he can to entertain you." Drayton thanked him for his proffered kindness and hos- pitality, and observed that, as he was a student, he would not be able to visit much, but that, before he recoinmenced his studies, he would visit him at Oakwood. "You mean to become a member of our bar, Mr. Dray- ton ?" said the colonel. "Well, sir, it is very respectable in talent. You will' find men adorning it who to va.st legal acquirements add extensive information in science, classic- al and general literature. It is just such a bar as aflibrds the best school and theater for a young man of genius and ambition: I formerly practiced at it, but have now entire- * ly relinquished the practice. I still love to revive interesting recollections connected with the profession by occasionally visiting the court-house, and discussing points with some of my old friends and competitors.. When you visit me at Oak- wood, I may probably be aide to entertain you by giving you sketches of some of the characters and incidents in the lives of some of the most distinguished rriember~ of the profession. Our country, Mr. Drayton,' can boast of having produced more great lawyers within the last fifty years than any oth- er country, With many of the most~emmneut of these men it hasL been my good fortune to meet; but I 'must not speak of them now. It is astonishing, doctor, how the old, habits adhere to us. Although I have not made a speech at the bar for ten years, yet, whenever I happen to be thei~e, I feel a very strong inclination to Jift up my voice in favor of ~uffer~ ing innocence, or to assist in fa$ening the charge of guilt on * some slip~pery scoundrel. I suppose you also take delight in: feeling s~' feverish pulse .y~t, aiid fancy you have not lost ybur forrr~er expertness in relieving, afflicted. humanity of the burden of its sorrows. You still think the prettiest cat~~. aract in uatur.e is formed by a. stream of blood, and the death- rattle exquisitely musical." "Oh yes, 'sir, IL still think the lancet the most beautiful weapon in the World., and am not' indifferent to my skill in using it. You spoke of the strength of old habits, coloneL Our neighbor, Dick Woods, whom you recollect as the best shoemaker in town, told me, some time ago, that he still continued to make all the shoes used in his family; and Dick, you know, is now very rich, and far above the neces- sity of laboring." "I do not think I shall ever follow the example of Mr. Dick Woods," said Drayton, laughing, "for I most sincerely hope I may never see a last or a lapstone agQ.in." Here Drayton observed a frown darkening his uncle's brow; and recollecting his recent instruction relative t~ his former inti- macy with the implements of that useful vocation, instead of saying what he at first intended, he remarked that there was no occupation 10.4 fitted to develop and expand the in- tellectual powers than shoemaking, notwithstanding Hans Sachs, Bloomfield, Sherman, and others had found time, while practicing it, to prosecute studies by means of which they had afterward risen to eminence. "There is no condition from which superior genius will not rise," said the colonel. "The eagle can spread his wings and soar from the sod of the valley as well as from the beetling clifTh which overlook the ocean's expanse. Ge- nius seeks its native skies, whether its home be the hovel or the palace. Such men, like Sampson, break all the cords that bind other men to earth, and the pack-threads of cir- cumstances are to them but as the web which the spider weaves by night on the wings of the condor. Pile up ob- stacles as high as Pelion on the energies of a. man of true genius, and his native strength will enable him to throw off the mountain and lift his disencumbered head toward the heavens which smile upon it. And here in this land, where the will 'of man is as free as the wing of the swallow, we have demonstrated the great truth, that happy is the coun- try in which genius, and not hereditary right, governs." As th~ colonel spoke, Drayton regarded him with a look of profound admiration. ~lis words seemed but an echo from the voice of his own faith, and implied the truth of the dream which had enc1iante~1 him through the long and weary hours of many an unkind night. Musical are the songs of birds, the falling of water, and the, wl4sperings of the winds page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 flRAYTON to the ear of the true poet; and musical, indeed~ are the tones of woman's lip in the ear of her lover; but de5rer far is a word of encouragement from the man of experience to the heart of the young aspirant who has yet but dreamed of the battle-fields of ambition, for which his soul yearns as the 'i' hart pants for the water-brooks." As the colonel spoke, Drayton's memory flittedlike a wild bird back to the brooks, and groves, ana plants sacred to his heart, the scenes of the studies and dreams of his former years, and then, in the next moment, his soul seemed to spring upward to the sum- mit of the arch of' fame, which spanned, like a brilliant rain- bow, the dark clouds that threatened the cherished hope of his heart with storm and desolation. "And that country in which mind governs is not only blessed in its rulers, but also in the increased happiness of its citizens," said Drayton, while his eye flashed with en- thusiasm. "It is not the hand of patronage, but the liberty to act as its impulses incline it, that the mind, d0~ssed by poverty and untoward circumstances, needs. W~i~n the su- perior mind frees itself from the pack-threads of 'which you spoke, it draws the glittering sword and fights its way upward to the heights whieh only the few ever reach. And, then, is not the view from 1~he loftiest eminences ample remunera- tion for the labor of climbing? Who that, once having risen to the summit, loathes his elevation, and sighs again for the shade and the valley which lie in the distance below him?" "I don't wonder at you, my boy," said the doctor, look- ing ~.t' Draytoit's animated face, over which the rays of many briU~ut thonglits werO flashing; "but really, colonel, your enthusiasm about bubbles is strange. For a man of your experience to be talking in favor of chasing shadows, aston- ~slies me. You ought long since to have learned the supe- rier value of a substance. How many men live only' to 'cheat themselves out of the comforts they might be enjoy- ing!' Some delude themselves upon religious subjects; some go mad when they get in love; and others are wrong-head- ed about honor and fame." "And some delude themselves by placing a fictitious val- tie on money," added the colonel, while the. doctor was shak- fl3g~ his head gravely.' "You think, ~ny dear doctor, that Spenser's Fa~ry QAleen is a very silly book, and~ yet how many thousands have been made happy in its perusal! We, who are in the habit of speculating and indulging in fan- ties, are not the fools which some of you practicalists very DR~YTO'N. charitaV1sc~n~id~r 'us. As man is 'an immo4al being, those pursuits are most useful which have the nearest relation to the entire term of his existence. Now, a~ developing the energies of the soul will probably have a more intimate eon- A' section with man's 'pursuits' hereafter than a passion for mor~eyit follows that he wh~ deals with such shadowyand unsubstantial subjects as hopes and fame, and love, and beau- ty, and truth, is a wiser and more practical man than:he who consumes the years of his present life ~ixi aceu~iulating'~ money; for th~e money must be left behind when a 7znar~ dies~ but' the soul's development liv~s.~with 'hm;foreyer."~ "'AU ~ve khow of'existenc~ is confined to this world,"~'ro-' turned: th~ doctor, "and every bo4y knows 'that it is a very, prosaic. thing. I hold that the wisest rn&n. builds up the 'highest and strongest barriers against.tl~e adversities of this life-.-suh'barriexs as will keep physical sufferings from at. tacking' 3Vfoxiey will buy all that is necessary to si~t- isf~r ~th~ " We feel in this world,, and 'the soul will find sox~ie ~wa.y" daking care of itself hereafter. Poetry 'aevor satisfied a. hungry appetite, 'and abstract truths are a gar~ ment thteugh which 'the wind. bites a poor devil's le lessly on' a. celd day." gs piti- "A~J ~view man as a spiritual being, and you 'regard him as a~ 'sensual one,"~ said the colonel, rising, "it is obvious that 6ut opinions can never be parallel until one of us changes his vhe~ry of' ma1~s existence. I have made you a longer visit' than. I intended," he contintied, looking at his watch, and I am compelled to leave you. Mr. Dta3#tozk, when shall I have the' pleasure of welcoming you ~t 'Oakwood?" "In a very few days, '1 hope," answered and shaking the colonel's haxid~ ' ' yto 4Mn~ When the colonel was gone, the doctor grew ~rcry moody, ~ cursed the world aiid his calamities, wished himself in a' thousand very uncomfortable plac~s, and seemed to think himself a mark for all the 'arrows of raisfortun~e, As the~doc- tor's disagreeable xriood did not pr6mise to abate,~ 2Draytbn 4 wished hint. a good morning, and left him 'to his solitary~' musings. B page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] D~A~iTON~ D RA~T~O'N~- 2? - ' CHAPTER V. - -Tiw' heart often grows we~i.ry in youth, in seeking through tils thoroughfares 'of th~ world for one on whom it may lava ish~ the- affluence of its a~ction. Wearied with its fruitless search, i~ then turns fro'~' the world to nature~-frozn worn- an'to th~ stars, the 'mountains, the ocean; and in these ob- jt~ets ~iideavors to find forgetfulness for all its previous dis- appointments9 in the '~ dew and liquid morn of youths" we feel an exuberance 'of the spirit of love, and, having faith in out species, We deem it &n: easy matter to find one worthy -of t~ie~ wildest idolatry. Lu such mood we hold companion- ship with seine bright form, radiant with cow4~ess perfec- tions, n9t dreaming that night shall ever comedown. sadly upon the spirit, and we be haunted by the phautom- of de~ spair. ~3ut ulas! it too frequently happens that the one "who seemed to us as undefiled as the breath of an angel, de- ceives us, and we turn away sick and bowed down in sor- row. We lift up our heads like the swaying reed when the storm is gone, 2and, less confiding,- turn to another o1~ject which seems truer to us, and live over our former experi- ence. Again and again we trust our hopes to ~tha treach- erou0 wave, and are again and. again wrecked. , Our dream of, life is darkened; the rainbow has lost its beauty, arid-the songs of birds their. sweetness, aiid we stand stricken mourn- ers at the tomb of the hope that dazzled but tomislead, that rose in glory to set in- tears and agony. Careless 'for a while as -~to what may be our destiny, we wander, expecting' little - ~ the shifting scenes of life. In a moment when least - Lo; perhaps, and with the suddenness .nd brilliancy ~4~i~4~ieteor in. the evening sky, up rises the star whose ra~yt~ki~ ~d gild the gloo~xi of our -path, and leads us on to the Bet14~eAi 4rhich we had scarcely dared expect on this side of lieww~en. Much' like -this had been Drayton's experience, and simi- lar to - it is that'of- most imaginative persons.. His feelings were ardent, and in early youth he had yearned for that sympathy ~hioh man seeks for in vain among his fellows, and finds only in the bosom of the one. Fountains had poured~ forth their cryst~al~raters in the desert about huin,, but thay'2had' turned -to- bitterness on hi~Alp. The perfect~ tions with which his imagination had invested -several oh~' jects toward whom his affection had been~ strong; had oiie by one fallen from- his heart's ~d~Th; and- he had more than once awakened from dreams; brief but birilliant-to fi~id that he had' laid -the deVotion- of his spirit on worthless altars. Disap~6inted. repeatedly, he had of late'held but little inter- course with the sex, whieh~however it had disappointed hixn he still adored, and had given his 1r~4t to 'ambition and 'the visions of fame.- It was 'deeply xnysferious- to him why. thc lady whom he had' seen fort a moment in the street, where all were' strangers, had again swayed the scepter of 'love. over the slumbering tides of passion. A thousand others, many of whom were beautiful, had passed him, and he' had admired them, but this one alone exerted a- singular' influ.~ ence over him. Had he at length 'found the long-sQught boon, and w&s his admiration of female 'loveliness td be grat- ified? He passed on) revolving many problaxns~ an& won~ during who she could be who had thus affected him. He went by 'the house he had seen her enter, but she was not visible; and, still dreaming of her-dark eye, he returned to the tavern~ and gave himself up to~ delicious reveries. In the afternoon lie started off to look at the office his uncle had, offered him, taking care to pass the house which the lady, of whom he' was dreaming, entered in the morn- ing. Smiling ~at his own credulity, he weutto the office. It was near the center 'of-a row 'of a' dozen one-story build- ings) which the old gentleman l~a~I put up on speculation. They rented readily; but w&e pAici~ially occupied by tran- sient residents, Who, having b.~ore' economy 1~han Conscience) and more adventure- than thrift, had' gencially contrived to leave without liquidating the--landlord'a.6laim for rent.-- The profession of the last occupant of the office into wiiieli he~jtered was indicated 1~y many things whi~h ~to4?-ob~. - senred. In one corner -was an easel in a very dilap~d condition, which, ifot - being worth 'taking away~ its Ai~a~r 'proprietor had left, 'with othei~ interestingg zneme~k~*e~t~iiis sojou~n, to his successor:'. The haggard outlines-ef-tW~or ~jiree particularly ugly faces on canvas lay' o~i'th~ fl;or, and here and there a paint..brush~ too 'much- woEn for further' eervie~, all of ~hicli 'the unfortunate t~st'had -left beijixid, i~i Ins haste~to escape the legal terrors With which hi~ most z~ierc1ful -landlord threatened him:. $tumps of cigars, 'a ~-'~ ~ page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 DRAYTON. DRAYTON. 20 oeo.pipe~ tind a part of a paper of tobacco, showed that f#~qfRa~had wa~, in one re~ipeet at4l~st, very The walls were decorated ~wi~E rizan~ lively sketches, ~ ~ pen. exeeWlied in' in- , ~en4i~ng to prove that, when l~a could not ~tab1e su1~jects, he, was. prone to port~a.y. the ~f~haiitom visitors. T1ie~s~ sketches were extremely VbWt~the ~iaj~rity of them were~.akin to the Fle~nish tiiiLi ~riied to hint that the career of Gerhard :Doua & bee~i studied by the author. In some places were to seen groups of the most domestic character in the interior of huts, representing old womeiv with noses and chins affec- tionately inclined t6 each other, and old men in caps and ~rons, enjoying their tobacco-pipes and huge mugs of foam- ing~ liquor alternately. Again were to be seei~arms of liar- culean~ muscle ~ legs ~ipporting nothing; grim heads singu~. larly, urzb1es~ed by the presence of beauty, and eyes and iiose~ of all sorts and sizes, without the usual appendages to those interesting features9 The unreasoning animals were UQI~ forgotten. The taste of the painter was most uneqyiv- ocally in favor of dogs with long tails aud eats, and partic- ularly sh~rt legs. - C&ts, lions, and monkeys were also sketch- ed with great boldness, andhere and there were to be aeen 'iioudescripts in ~the shape of birds and beasts, of which uci- tEer Buffon nox Goldsmith has given any account. One coul4cnot but fancy that if the ingenious artist had keen consulted~ at the period~ of creation, lie would considerably ha'reenla~ed the'bound&ries of the animal l~ingdom, by add- ing t? i~ many interesting ~pecimens not now to be met with, A running, flying, or swimming, in air, 'ocean, or on dry laud; I)iaytou inspected manyof these ~~chibitions of the paint- er's genius, until4 wearied' witirlookiug, he. proceeded to the dor, and obse~ved 'three persons, standing near the- adjoining ofUce,~ and, f~om fragments their conversation which,- the wind kindly waftecV'to his ear, he judged them to be some of his future 'iieiglibors.. The eldest of the trio~ a man with a very ted, bl&idiy f~ice, said diminutive personwas talk- ing elo~jnent~ of a. speech he had juat made, and, ])rayton kiiew he must be a."brqther, as he talked as none but law~ y~ts '~ver. talk. By the sid~ of this' person stood a young man with a"dark, swarthy corn~lexion, very handsome feat- ures, and symmetrical 'form, combating the positions of his antagonist in- a. way i~itbich ~h:owed that he had, quite as good an ~piuion OfA hi~ owii reasoning powers as' the resour~es of his knowledge warranted. The third pe~sou was' al a- young nian, who seemed very umuclr inclined t~ ~4ay the pa~t assumed by some lovers ~f' sport who ~1t the tai1~ of eMs in order to relish the fun of a light:' lie *oul~s~~w4r4 first to the one and, then totha other vden dt~~i~i~w to engender intellectual strife, and, when sneces&il, and quizzical face would glow with delight~ E) served, them for a short time; and then left t~he pl~a ~ ulating on what he deemed to be their ch~rae~rers 'a fessions. ' ~ and worthy He went ~o his found~that gentlezki~ sifting as he had left him in the morning. Soon' after lIe took his seat, the doctor told him' he could have the of~lce' b~ paying twelve dollars a month for it. "I will take it, sir," said ]~rayton, "although X fear I shall not be able to be the most punctual of tenants for some time." "I will do any thing that's reasonable for you," said'- thei doctor,. with a very amiable' expression of face, "but 1 must b~e paid regularly. It's to our mutual advantage'thavpmi& quality be observed.' A man's a poor. tool that can't pay-' his rent when it falls-due." "I hope, sir," said Drayton, smiling, "that I shall not be forced to follow the example of my predecessor, and 'leave the premises 'in very unpleasant haste." "You will have a strange set of neighbors," said the un- cle, deliberately, as 'he tapped his snuff-box and adminis- tered a considerable quantity of its contents to his~ ample nose. "They will afford- you an excellent opportunity' for studying some singular specimens of human character.' Why, my boy, you never dreamed that persons such as live in that row exist.. The -knowledge you will gain from observing; ~'.' - them, and their strange ways 'of 'getting along, 'will be i~f great' 'service to you\ in your profession, and worth more to you than ten times the amount of your rent"' "' I presume I saw some of thorn, and' their appearance warrants yotir statements," "Be careful," said the doctor'; "keep an eye on them. The tenants of that row, 'my boy, are a clique of the devil's own making. They will not steal your money exactly, hut. they'll~ do What. is not much better; they 'will borrow it without th-e remotest- intention of returning it.' They are all inveterate tohacco-che-wers, and -yet'it does n~t cost thetu a ~si*pence a week, as they depredate on the' pockets of all page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] $ 3 0'" D B AY T 0 N~ their visitors. .Th~re was' one fellow'1i~ve4 there who had the ~st' insinuating address iii. the world;' he borrew~ed fifty ci lars ~of rae en false 'pretexts4' an4' then,," withou~y..~ mg a. word 'to ~me about it' or' my tent,' ran aw~y. I hope Old' Nick'xn~y va~tch him!' .~ome of the, rest of them, I 'have~" a"W~tion, are not 'much better. In the next office t& yours ~ is a maii, a red-faced, 'brawliiig Democrat, who has such 'a keen eye fjor money, that; if you wete "b~r chance to dt6p a sizpence in the gutter on the darkest night tha't'ever frowned, the 'ta~bal wou'14 be sure to~scent it out and have it in 'his yo6ket before morning. When will you take' p6sse~sion?" "As~~uit can be putin order; and, while that' opera.. tio~ is 'goi4g "on., I think I will make a visit to your friend~ Colonel Meredith.~' ~' If you go there you will be sure to fall in love with his d~si~hter, 'who is one of the prettiest girls in 'the world, I wiW~ to Uea~re~i I had seen ~ne like her When I was of your age; for if I had, I should get along betterr than I do now. I~was a fool,' and put 6ff all thoughts of marrying until I was ~too old, and I hope you" will not follow my example. Yes, you'll be sure to fall in love with ~l'len Meredith." "I have not much facility in that way," said the nephew; and at the. "same' instant,' as if" to ehiae, him, the image of' the fair lady whom he had' met in the morning rose before his min&&"'' "Well,~ none but fools do fall in love extemporaneously," returned 'the doctor. "But as the" colonel is rich and the daughter is fair, it would not be a bad notion if you were to get in love with her.. It would be the best chano~ in' the world for you, my boy, to appropriate the estate that your foolish grandfather lost." As' the doctor finished his iast~remark,, his face assumed a look intense cunning, a~nd he again placed the ivory head of hi~ ~M~"against his nephew's ribs. He evidently thought the hint"'a most' .valuable '~n~" for he continued; "~Yes, yes, it' is the ~very" beat speculation you can engage in at' ~present. You are a good4~~oking fellow, and by as~. siduoi~sly~ attending to her wishes, .yon, may win the prize." "'I "should never-lov~ from 'such rr~'otives," replied ~Dra.y~ ton, 'to whom 'the, idea ofdnakiug merchandise' ~f his' affec.. tiorrs was perfectly abominable. "If I could n~t love 'a woman for hors r~e~J~ould not~think of marrying~her. such ~tn. act i~ oi"~Mi~ who 'is guiUy'of'it bias. pl1e~rnes the very ~aime'#Ze4~' DRAY TON. ~' Whew !" e~lain~l the' uncleinterrupting him~ "Uo rn~noe run mad, by all the~ Olympian gods! ~7Vhy~, b&y, yo~: heart is insane, aud needs a strait-jacket. Yoi~ are the prettiest. speeimew of the romantic Qrder~IJiave seen for many a day. Take my advice, aud don't wait f6r age to make you wise; but Thit off aiLsuch wretched i~nsense at once, while you are yet young and can make ~ometbingby youi~ wisdom.. If you can marry an heiress,, don't iet senti. mentality prevent you. All women, are pretty z~u#E alike in value. The rich and beautiful genere4I~ have. ti~thing else, and the poor and~ugly have every thing eJ~e."~ "Whether I am foolish or not," said Drayte~,, 9 ~ would. not marry a lady who did not possess .a mind a~i~ Ijear$~at could sympathize with mine. I should feel exVr~mely'rest. 'less under the domestic yoke if my wife could not appreejate ~.. eve~y thought'th~t struggled or soared upward,, pn4 sy~i~pp.- thize with eyery feeling of r~zy nature. .1 'woi4d.no~ peril my happiness on. a union unless my affections "pr~npted" itg" The conversation. was continued for some time, and when Drayton was. gone the old gentleman leaned his cheek on the head of his cane and thought. He was much addicted to uttering his thoughts When no one was near to overhear him. ~He shook his head frequently as he muttered, "That 'young fellow is a precious fool-a very precious fool. How ignorant he' is~ of the world! Ther0 can't be any human nature where he came from, or he'has no sa-, gacity. lie ~s as green as the tree under which he was born. I have no doubt the ninny fancies that if he had .a littl& everlasting fame, a little cottag& with green shutters, and a pretty little wife in it, with a few trees; birds," and brooks about it, he would be happy if he never ,s~w a do)... tar. 'How different I ,was from, the good~for-nothiugs of these Alays! I never let such silly fancies run away, with my coknmou sense. If he could ~marry Ellen. Me~,e4i~th, it would be,' a very fine speex~ti&u, He would, jn. ~'*~rse ,of time, take possession of Qa~kWQOd; for George is not 'long for this wo4d, ~hat~Ellen is a pretty girl; but if'he fan. cies there is a blemish about her, he would 'not marry her. Pshaw 'for such blood a~ runs in the veins of the Draytons! 1n this instance it is crossed by a stream from the Macdon.. ~ ' 4 aid, fountain,' and that ought to, redeem it from some of its folly. Let me see: I might ~ial~ hiuP~eful to ziie, and at ~' 'the sa~rne time get so~~i~ 9ut 4~ ~dm for hi~ of~ice. rent, by' n'~aking him my age~t~f~r IL 4ar this ~ufernai gout page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] loves~ my toes' a#~rnu~h ~vtsjo~ie s an annfiity~ and it will not let go very ~Whule ~sts, I can't attend to my owii -business. ~Wefl I'll try him.~' Here a silence ensued for a moment, when the doctor broke it by roaring out in a stentrian voice, "Johu-.-.Tohn -oh, John !" A yellow fellow with a shining face, and locke combed out to their. fill extent, flaring in every direction, soon made hi~ appea~anee at the- door. The doctor frowned on him a mu- ment, and said, "What's the reasQ~1 it takes you all day to come when I call you? Get a tumbler, fill it half full of brandy, put sngar and mint in it, alid then fill it up with ice, for Pm famishing for a julep. Now see if you can be an hour about' it, you hizy imp." The servant did as ordered, and the doctor, after imbib- ing the~beverage and smacking his lips, put his red bandana handkerchief over his face to protect it from the flies, and was soon asleep. CHAPTER VI. ~A~WOOP, t~he reside& of Colonel Meredith, was a few miles from the city. It was one of the most desirable situ- a+,ions in that section of the state. The house was built of stone, two stories high, with a~ wide and spaeioi~ hail trav- ersing the center, on either side of which were suites.'of.~o6ms of ample dimensions. It had been erected a century lerore it came juto the colonel's possession, ax~d now presented a venerable expect. The rude storms of more than a hundred years had left distinct traces behind in the blackened ap- pearairee of the stone, visible wherever the- eye rested. - A porch. ran along the entire front of the house, about which a great variety of vines clustei~, interweaving their tendrils, ~nd affordi~zg a delightful shade~ On the gradually ~to~ing swa-rd a variety of trees cast *heir shadows, . among which * the- cliii. and the oak were cons lions, raising their iriajestic heads, like stalwart giants, toward the heavens-the only remnants of a mighty forest, in'whi4~h- the red man and the deer ~had roved before the foot of enterprise had invaded the 1XI~AYT - -33 soP. On the right, ~, 4wi~ht 4istance, flowed the river, with islands of grept picture e'~s gemming -its sur~ face; and on the left ri~hizzg from near the -house to the' road, extended a long lane bordered by trees., This situation possessed great beauty,:and the improvements which the cob onel had made displayed refined bzste and a studied attention to comfort. The house, one of the most ancient in that section, was - built by an English gentleman, who was sent out to-this coun- try by his government while these states were British colo- nies. At his death it was purchased by -Drayton's grand- father, who soon involved the estate in. debt by a course of wild hospitality and prodigality. He sold it to clear himself of the legal perplexities into which his reckless career had. plunged him, and died in the prime of his manhood, insolvent, loved and pitied by all his acquaintances. In course of time, the estate passed into the possession of OoloxielMeredith, who made sundry improvements on it, and einbelli~hed the -inte- rior with busts, pictures, and statues, which indicated a high- ly cultivated taste, not very prevalent in our country at that period. A few days after Drayton had met the colonel at his un- cle's, he procured a. horse and started for Oak~vood. When he arrived within sight of the mansion, he thought of the sage advice given him by his uncle touching the matrimo~ nial alliance with Miss Meredith, by which lie was to appro- priate the - estate of his ancestors. Now, although he was - one of the last persons in the world who would have jbarter- ed away his affections, yet there was something in the prop- ositjon which-~niote his fancy, and he hoped that the lady in question~ i~dght be one whom he could love independently of all pecuniary considerations. He wondered what resem- blance Ellen bore 4o the lady whose image still lingered on his memory, and on which he dwelt with more fondness than. he would have been willing to disclose. He amused him- self as he jode along by forming an ideal of Miss Meredith's- appearance, and imagining many very delightful scenes in her company, which he supposed. strictly within the liinit~ of possibility. Thus, alternately speculating ou the incident~ tha.t might befall him, and. g~la~ncing on the beauties of the landscape, he approached th~house and alighted. As he walked toward the porch lie discovered the tall form and manly face of the colonel, standing ready to receive him. The hearty grasp Qf the hand, and the glad greeting e~f lip page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 84 DRAY TON. and eye, assured' him ofhis welcome,"&~id he felt himself at home in an instant. The 'colonel's son, George Meredith, now made his appear- ance, and extended to' Drayton a most cordial welcome. He was a pale and delicate young man of five-and-twenty years~ His forehead was broad, bold, and high, and shaded by long, thin waving locks of a deep auburn hue. The quick hazel eye, whose glances were wild and restless, and at times in- tensely searching, and the mouth, from which radiated all the fascination of his father's, won the admiration of every observer of character. He was tall anA very thin, and there was every appearance about him oPan infirm physical con- st~tution wedded with great intellectual power. His health had been frail since boyhood, and his friends had 'many mis- givirigs 'when they contemplated the wasted cheek, sunken eye~ and narrow chest of this most noble youth. Rare, indeed, is it to find one like him,~who has the power of interesting all, from 'the glad and buoyant boy who would visit him to inquire 'about his health, and to bring him some present from mother or~ sister, tp the hoary-headed traveler along life's thoroughfares, who would-~ forget his own decrepitude' in George's presence, and go away' reluctantly, with' the soft arid drean~i-like tones of his voice ringing in his delighted ear. He 1~a&a 'kind word and a gladdening smile for every One, and every one,~ when in his. presence, forgot that humaii na- ture has much that we hate blended with 'better qualities, and seemed to be contented with dwelling with satisfaction on this unalloyed combination of 'all that is noble in mind and morals. George Meredith's mind was brilliant with the jewelry of poetic thoughts. He loved' Nature as a kind and benefi- cent mother, from whom flowed a thousand streams of hap- piness, and on whose bosom it was delightful to lie and gaze upon tree, and star, and 'clouds, forgetting that life has a. care, and. dreaming of delights as if time never shadowed such visions. Spring and autumn, and bird and brook,"were the smi~1es of old friends for him; and often had his smitten heart poured forth its love for them, in strains which proved the depth of his devotion. Throughout his career, he had wanted that' robustness of health which enables one to par- ticipate joyously in the excitements of society; but he had found an ample remuneration for such loss in those mute and glorious companions of the gifted mind, the books that the intellectual lords of our race have bequeathed to the by- 34 . g DRAYTON. 35 ers of high thought~ through all generations. Deeply he drank at those refreshing fountains-so deeply, indeed, that many of his friends feared that his devotion to literary pur-. suits made feebler a feeble constitution, and attenuated. the chords that bound his spirit to its frail tabernacle of flesh. An infirmitj of physical constitution often suggests to the mind courses of action not generally relied on fcri enjoyment by those of more robust frames, and leads its victim to the imperishable records of genius as a means of diverting it from its own afflictions. When the common sources of amusement are denied, the active spirit, panting for relief from the sense of its bondage, turns to nature, and in its worship of the beautiful and the true, the sea, the stars, and the everlasting mountains, finds a substitute for the grosse~ pursuits to which the great majority of our species devote themselves, ~ And these afflicted ones generally learn from their own sufferings the necessity of cherishing a nearer syrn- pathy with the miseries of their fellows than is often enter. tamed by persons of robust health, and this gives to them a delicacy and softness ~f manner by no means common to men. Swift remarks that he never knew a lady who was very~ deserving who had not too much reason to complain of ilL health, and the remark has a meaning applicable to bc~th sexes, though its truthfulness is distorted by the cynicism of its author. Pure and holy beyond all imagining was the love ~rhich Ellen Meredith cherished for her brother; and with a devo- tion such as woman only feels, she had watched with the most unslumbering vigilance over him during those 'hours when the hand of affliction bore heavily ,on him. 'In a. thousand instances she had denied herself social pleasures that she might be by the side of George, cheering the weary hours of suffering. She would soothe the anguish of his fe- vered brow with her soft hand, and read to him from the works of the masters of E~nglish verse, hour after hour, with- out dreaming she was making a sacrifice of her own pleas. ure. I~etween their minds there was much conge~iiality, and in reading and in conversation of a superior kind they were mutually delighted. If there is ~ne spectacle more, than all others calculated to raise our hearts from the earth, and to inspire us with a higher regard for oi~ir species, certainly it is where a sister and brother, ~,s closely connected in spirit and thought as in blood, devote themselves to each other's interests with the ~iost unselfish and unwavering regard~ page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] p 38 DRAY TON. George Meredith had all the nervous e*oitability~ common to young men of poetical temperament and infirm constitu- tio~ His perceptions were remarkably.,aeute, and he would detect a nun sequitur in an argument as readily as a beauty in a landscape. In conversation he wi~s ~lways'earnest,' and, when e~rcited, his enthusia~xn sometimes bordered on wild- ness, lie uttered his thoughts wi~ at facility, and high- wrought 'irnage~ came from his 4~ naturally as forms of beauty burst from the summer ev - clouds.: As the conversation went on, Drayton had azi. opportunity of observing~ his companions more closely. There was much in George ~Ieredith's face and manner which deeply inter- ested The eye, so dreamy in its gaze, so wild and rest- lessin its was the feature on which he dwelt with peculiar a4niiration.. Miss Meredith seemed to him to be the least interesting person in company. She was most de.. cidedly not handsome, and sat with her eye cast down on a ribbon which she was twirling in her fingers~ "Have you ~pent much of your life in the country ?" asked George, directing his conversation to Drayton. "I have always lived in a small town,'~ replied Drayton; "hut my visits to the country were frequent, though rarely exceeding a day at a time. I love the country, however, and suspect that, by visiting it only occasionally, I relish its beauties more than if I were a constant dweller among them, for familiarity with objects generally cheapens them in our estimation," "Your remark is true of the works of man, but not of those of God," returned George, and his eye kindled as he spoke. "To the ho~.rt that loves Nature, a familiarity with all.. the'a~pects ~he presents, from the flowers and foliage of spring to the frosts and bleakness of winter, brings 'no weariness. The face of Nature,.like the face of a beautiful woman, never tires the irisio~'; and every expression, every change that passes over it;. deepens the spell we feel in her presence; Beauty is more highly prized the more we dwell on it, as the devotion of the s.ajnt is deepened by constant medit&tions on heaven. The ehil4reu of Israel used to go up to Jerusalem once a year, and that is better policy than that enjoined by Islamism, which requires but one pilgrim- * age during life to th0 tomb of the Prophet. The astronomer wh~ gazes on the stats every night does not thereby lessen ins regard'fo~ their beauty; and he who is most familiar with tiWe:hiil,~&ud 'strearn~ and tree, feels a truer and 4~eper love ~: 2 for them, fbr he, lia~-the most interesting associatioiis with them, and we ar~ interested' 'in objects in proportion as4hey' stimuiate;the associative facult3r of the rriind~ "'There are some hearts as 4ead as the bosom- of the Ited Sea,'~ said Prayion, ")~nd. such need novelty to break the waveless calm of their souls. They4ura from a thrice-seen object with loathing. ~tp myself, I feel that the irrevers- ~ble deor~a is that':! .--..that I must pluiige into the midst of exciteimien here, among conflicting audi tu- rnultuous elements, I xiiust sink or' swim~ I should grow restless in the solitude of the country, for my fancy would be busy with the crowd of~the city. Perhaps this fa~t of my being may lessen my love' and reverence for Nature, but it ~doea not exile my heart from her presence." "&ciety for the man of talent, but solitude for, the son of genius," said George, with his eye glancing from Drayton's face to the gray hill in the distance. "Among gay andfes- tive scenes, genius frequently becomes enamored of the am pause it wins, and forgets what is due its lofty 'aspirations, tending ever upward to an exalted4estiny. The excitements of the crowd shadow the 'mind's mirroring power, which, when undimmed, reflects all that is beautiful in earth and sky, and all that is true of heaven and man. Genius neglects its true vocation when it suffers the dust of the ~common thorough. fares to weigh heavily On its pinions, which were designed to fan the pure air of the upper sides. Look at the recent in- stance of Scotland's best poet, poor Burns! If he had remain- ed by the banks of the Ayr, ignorant of social., excitements, he would have gone on adding to the strength of his intel- lect in his solitary communings with nature, and he might still be among men, standing beside his 'competitors, for the laurel, a giant in mind, with the thoughts that bring rOnown flashing on his God-like brow." '~ I suspect, my dear. son," said Colonel Meredith, "that there is no important difference between your opinions and those of our friend Mr. Drayton. "Different minds require different alinients. Such a man as Cewper' would' fr~t'b~~ self to death in a crowd, while a Chathi~m would languish in solitude. The serene mind of the one finds its ap~ropri- ate food in contemplating the works of nature~ .while the restless soul of the other, in tossing on the agitated sea of hu-' man passions, and directing the tides of popular ~excitement, feels itself to be in its proper element.- The lamb browse~ while the lion roars and goes forth to seek his ~reyY~ -f k~ XW DRAYTON. 37' page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 38 DRAYTON. D R KY TO I'L "I- am peifeotl-y aware," returned George, with great 4ef erenceto his- father, "that I, like every one else, in reason- ing, am apt to take my own nature as the standard, and, therefore, what I say, however true it m&y -be in relation to myself~ may be wholly inapplicable to those of diff~renttem- perameuts. It is - natural," he continued, warming and he. coming more enthusiastic as he went on, "that I should pre- fer the companionship of Nature to the crowd, for ~very pub satin of my heart is as true to her al's the lover's to his idol; and, -like a chivalrous knight of the olden time, I am. willing to do battle in vindication of the pre-eminent charms of my mistress in every court in Christendom. - Well do I remem- ber how often my spirit grew weary when at college I was imprisoned in walls, and the ceaseless hum of a multitude was ever ringing in my ears. Oh! how I longed to be back in my own locust-grove among the birds, where the blend- ing melodies of breeze and river's wave might fall upon my heart, and yonder hill, sweeping round so gracefully, might again fill my eye. Night after iiight, 'in dreams, my fancy accompanied my heart back to the woodlands, and I listen- ed to the songs of the blessed birds, and saw the hill kissing the sky, and the stream reflecting -the stars, and I felt like a child - on my native sod again. Yes, my heart was here, where -I trust in life and death my body will ever be." "And- I," said Drayton, catching George's enthusiasm, "at the same time was in my native village, longing to be ui~ the busy city, where among men I might act my part. There I often dreamed of the splendid career the tongue of eloquence might secure, and -of the many triumphs the im- perial spirit - of genius might make its own. I longed to throw myself on the sea ~f popular commotion, and to strike boldly for its proudest results. I thought it would be the highest happiness to measure weapons with renowned chain- -~Zon8 on the bloodless fields of intellectual warfare. I fan- cied that in such. scenes the ambitious heart would find the boon it craves, and that there, too, wisdom would borrow ne~ energies from experience, while the imagination would str~iigthen its soaring wings. Ambition Was my idol, as nature was-yours." ' - - "You bring back to my mind the days when I was young, and, like you, full of hope," said old Mr. Meredith, -who had been listening attentively to the conversation. "I too used to think the shout4 of the multitude the most pleasant sounds in. the world; and for several years I struggled, and was at r ~.1 last successful, by being elected a member of Congress un- der~the oki Articles of Conf~deratiort. I league& many use- ful lessons while there, and foundliuman greatness was but another name for human wretchedness; and I fear, Mr. Drayton, you will learn the same bitter lesson from your ex- perience before your head is as white as mine. This lesson one will not learn from the lips or fate of others, and ex- perience is the only tutor that* ever teaches it effectually. Whenever I listen to the enthusiasm of youth, I can not but fear experience will chill it, and that disappointments will crush every hope it creates." Here the conversation was interrupted by the. approach of two persons, who, as they are to act important parts iii this history, require to be particularly introduced. CHAPTER VII. THE persons who approached were a gentlemen and lady,, and, as Drayton glanced at the beautiful form of the latter, he at first suspected, and was soon convinced, that she was the one of whom he had been dreaming for the last week. From her strong likeness to George, he immediately con- cluded that she was the lady of whom his uncle had spoken in such high terms of praise, and he was not mistaken. As Ellen Meredith drew near, Drayton's first impressions of her beauty were fully sustained. She was walking with a careless step by the side of her companion, and he~ uncon- cerned manner heightened rather than subdued the grace.- fulness- of her motions. She was of the average stature of her sex, and in her form delicate without being fragile. Hez finely-rounded neck, full bust, tapering waist, and small foot compared advantageously with those- of the proudest ai~d most peerless beauty in the land. A light-bonnet, pusWed back from her-face, left her unshadowed features exposed to a full view. Her rich black and clustering curls s, e t her cheeks as the winds of evening wantoned ky. Her - head was low, but beautifully formed, and on its unwrinkled siir face displayed 'the consciousness, as well as the ?O~essior1, of superior intellect. It was on the dark, sparkling eye and the rainbow-like symmetry of the brow that circled over it, D R A Y T O N. page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 DRAY TON. that' the eye of an observer loved most to linger, although a fascinating smile usually played ow her lips, aM. gave to her i countenance a peculiarly amiable expression, which, blending with the pride and the mind tadiating from the eye, niade her face one of the most intensely interesting that the delighted gaze of lover evet dwelt on. Many might boast more symmetrical features, but it was the soul melt- zug through and' illuminating hers that made Ellen Mere- dith's facefa~cinating. in the extreme. Once seen, its effect lingered on the memory, and glowed, in the depths of the past like a star of all others most splendid. The crystal stream, quietly pursuing its course in shadow, is beautiful; but it is only when the stars and moonbean~s are dancing in. its bosom, ,that its power' of producing interest in the mind of the observer is fully displayed; and thus, when Ellen's features were in repose, the calm and dreamy sweetness which rested in them was pleasing, but when the vivid thought flashed in her eye, and the soft and melodious tones of her voice ~'ose on the ear, her face exhibited in its radi- ant and changing expressions the sweetness and beauty for which it was remarkable, and became interesting almost beyond comparison. She had passed her twentieth ye~x, and, though greatly admired and' courted, she had not seen fit to trust her hap- piness on the 'sea of matrimony to the "shattered plank" of man's faith. In her manner grace and dignity blended like lightAnd shadow in a picture, each enhancing the. other, or like word and tone in a loved song, uniting to produce the ef*~ct neither has separately. In conversation she was much admired, ~for she threw the most interesting associations about t4~e humblest subjects. With 'a felicitous tact, she adapte~I1ierself to the mood of the person with whom she chanced to be; and' the light and trifling beings who were' fond of fluttering about her, like summer~ insects about a laknp, found ~a charm in het wild laugh and exuberant spir- its, equal to that which the more gifted enjoyed in the splen- dor arid tr~uthfulness of her mind..' As they approached the house, Drayton glanced from the lady to 'her' companion, and recognized in him ou~ ~4~i the three persons he had observed in conversation near his o~lce on the aYtetnoon he first visited it. His name was B4wa~d Hampton, one who was well known throughout the neigh- borhood as a youth of talent, address, and pre~ligacy6 He was vain as Narcissus, and fancied no lady cou14~resist his DRAYTON~. 41, fascin~tions. His wardrobe was altogether nnexce~tjonia- ble ;. lie was the "glass of fashio~." to the d&ndies in that seo- tion, and was generally appareled in black, which color he thought most becoming to hi~ dark and swarthy complexion. lie professed worldliness and a high sense of honor, and was utterly unprincipled. He w&s gifted with beauty and tab ent, and was vain of them. He was liii Alcibiades in form and a Nash in coxcombry. He professed liberality, and was mean and selfish. In fine, he was one of tho~e young men' who to be detested need but to be known, and yet who have tact enough to hide their profligacy, and sufficient address, to impose themselves on all but the most sagacious as bet~ ter persons than they are. Mrs. Hampton, the mother of Edward, was a wi4ow lady of great eccentricity, who resided near the road opposite to Oakwood, in a neat1 two-story frame house, nearly hidden from the eye of the traveler by shrubbery and trees. She had been quite ill for a week, and'Ellen Me~edith had been spending the day with her, ministering to her thousand war~ts. Edward lived in the city, and happened to arrive just as Miss Meredith was leaving, and accomp~.uied hex home. There was an air of self-satisfaction and an assnin~p~~ tion of superiority about him that disgusted ]2)raytou the moment he was introduced to him. lie took his seat very near Miss Meredith, and exhibited all the graces of manner of which he was proud~ and which he thought winning~ and some of his, acquaintances thought enviable. "Mrs. Walker gave a magnificent party last night,~' said: Hampton, addressing Ellen, in a tone which was audible, to~ every one; "all the town and all the ton were the'~e; amid -' but for the absence of one or two fro~ the coun whq were expected, every moment would have been win like a houri, and every one wQuld have been happy~. why were you not there, Mis~s Meredith e" '~' Brother ~,vas not ~well, and I remained ,at' home ti~' at~ tend to him." "Your old beau, Joe Thom~en," said Han~ptonwho did not think George's ilhiess a sufficient reason why Ellen sh~ul~i have absented herself from the party, remarkedd to me, after having wandered among the crowd~ ii~' search 'of you, 00 restless as an unlucky spirit on the ~ of the Styx, t~hat,, aWhongWyon wexethe b'rightest~-~-tho vej~y hright.~ est~star ~ o~zi~ ~oeial con.stollation, you preferred the songs of birds t~ t1i~ voice of flattery, and haystacks to houses." 40 D RAY T O N. page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] / 42 D RA YT O N. "What Mr. Thomson spoke jestingly is true," said~flhlen; for I have more love for nature than society, though I am fond of both." Turning 'from Hampton, she glanced at Drayton, and said, "I understand you have come to reside among us, Mr. Dray- ton, and I hope you will meet with nothing that will cause you to regret it." "Thank you. Every thing I have yet seen tends to con- vince me that in changing my place of abode I shall great- ly enhance my pleasures." ~'-When you are socially disposed," said Ellen, with a. smile, and a tone of voice that told with great effect on Dray- ton's sensibilities, "you will find many gay and beautiful la.- dies worthy of your admiration, and some very gifted and hon- orible gentlemen in our society." Drayton was considering the propriety of uttering a com- pliment, when Hampton said, "You must not judge from. the specimens before you, sir, or you will be disappointed, for you will form too high an es- timate. Many of the fair ladies.-.-I regret to say it, Miss Meredith, but truth compels me-many of the fair ladies are false, very false, and many of the honorable gentlemen are fools-absolute' foola," "I~y! Mr. Hampton, how you slander !" exclaimed Ellen. "Believe me, Mr. Drayton, if your heart is not steeled against all the arts and insinuations of beauty, its happii~iess will be in great jeopardy, for there are scores of mischief-working eyes, whose glances have proved fatal in innumerable in- stances." '"If I were ever so skeptical, I should be forced to believe you, Ntiss Meredith," returned Drayton, with a graceful in- clination of the head; "for who could doubt with the evi- dence 'of the truth of what you say so vivid before ihim ?" * "You are doomed, sir, if my weak' and dull eyes can ex- tort so neat a compliment from you. Prepare yourself with a large ~tock"'of sighs and 'compliments, for you will meet hundreds who will make irresistible demands on your admi- ration." "If it shall be my fate to fall, pierced by many' arrows, I hope'I may die with the composure and dignity of the old Roman hero, who gathered his mantle gr~cofully' about his ~form as he fell,~' returned Drayton, who was in the habit of basting 'himself as invulnerable' as AchiUes, but who felt, at that moment, as susceptible as i~eander. D R A Y T O N. 7. 13 I 43 Supper Was announced~ and, after that meal was dispatch- ed, they gathered in the parlor, where an animated conver- sation was sustained to a late hour. Whenithey separated for the night, Drayton took a seat by the window, and look- ed out on what he considered the most beautiful prospect he had ever seen. The moon was descending the wOst~rn 'heav- en in great splendor, and threw a soft light on the dreamy beauty of the landscape. The hum of insects in the frees, and the sounds of a creek dashing over its rocky bed, mellow- L ed by distance, rose on his 'ear. The course of his reflections was interrupted by a knock at his door, and, on opening it, he saw George Meredith, who asked him to join his sister and himself in an excursion to a hill at a short distance ear- ly on the ensuing morning., Drayton accepted the invita- tion, and resumed his seat, where he remained for an hour absorbed in meditation. "How strange! how strange," thought he, "are many of the occi~irrences of this life! Here am I feeling quite at home in a family of whose existence I was' not aware one short week ago. And then, how strange it is that I should have dreamed so much of Miss Meredith before I knew who she was! By Jove! she's a glorious girl! What beauty, what tact, what sense she possesses! I must not be much in her society, else my studies will be sadly neglected. I must for- tify my heart against her influence, for she is proud, andy I suspect, aristocratic in her feelings;~ and when she hears her humble servant was, once upon a time, an apprentice to a cobbler, she will look upon me. with contempt, or, at least, compassion, which is worse. The fact of my having been a. shoemaker, I foresee, will be a great disadvantage to me, and, however revolting to my pride, I must forestall all goa~ip by taUring of it myself. My blood is as patricianlas the best, and, because it has been.'my fate to toil at &n humble occu- pation, is that any reason why I should feel myself dishonor-' ed? Frank Drayton, there are breakers ahead! You must wear as scornful a lip and as haughty a brow as the proudest you meet. I will not slink off with a shamed face, as' if I were unworthy to associate with the haughtiest, for that would look' as if I was, conscious of practicing exception on them. By the blood of my heart! I willeonquer the preju- dices "in my way, and show those who may be disposed to flingtheir jeers at me that I ,am their superior. Yes, I '~jhl blister the tongue of sla~ider, and~ wreak on the 'ealumnia~or the vengeance which offended. pride denounces against him.. page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] If~r~y~ good. genius, which has guided me so far, does not de.. sert in. in the crisis of my fortunes, IL must~succeed, for the oracular voic& in the depths of my spirit has predicted vie- tQry for me, and by that sign I must conquer. I wonder," he continuedd, after a silence of a minute; "I wonder what iwpressiou I made on that fair lady this evening? She list- ened to me with flattering attention, and was evidently pleased~ when I was talking about the obstacles that genius has to. encounter in its efforts to win the laurel. Why am I so anxioiis- to please her? Am I an incipient case of love? By all that's proper, I must rebel against the tender pas- sion until I have secured some reputation and the means of supporting a wife." Long after, his head had touched his pillow, such thoughts engrossed his mind. At length he slept, and was in the mjdst of a wild dream, when a rap at the door roused him. On opening. his -eyes he found that day had dawned, and heard the birds pouring forth their songs. He thought of his engagement, jumped up, made his toilet, and went down stairs. V ii I' U CHAPTER VIII. DRAYTON proceeded to the porch, where he met George, with whip in hand, ready for the ride. Ellen soon made her appearance, and all things being ready, Drayton assisted the lady to her ~addle with a tremulous nerve. They rode off in fine spirits and at a rapid pace. Ellen was a graceful rider, and as Drayton glanced at her cheek, glowing in the fresh air of the morning, it is no exaggeration to say he thought her the most beautiful being in the world. They had proceeded about half a mile, when Ellen sud-- denly reined in her horse and stopped in front of a little cot- *tago situated a short distance from the road. "You are- industrious this morning, Mary. How' is your mother?" inquired Miss Meredith, addressing a very fair girl, who was pulling a~bouquet in front of the cottage. "Pretty well, I thankyou, Miss IMlen ;" and, as she' spoke, she lifted her head from the flowers, a~ud brushed the tresses from before her eyes. She was a gay, gladdicarted being of seventeen, whose 44 DRAYTON. - 44 DRAYTON. DRAYTO]~J. 45 £air~brow'looked so clear that you would have fancied that no grief had ever cast its murkiness upon it; for wheii the brow of one of these creatures has worn the &ble hue- of a deep sorrow, an impression remains like the blight 'of frost upon an early spring flower. Mary Winters had experi- enced no troubles, as her ever-joyous and sparkling eyes plainly ijidicated. Her cheek wore its crimson. as aii em- press wears her robe, proudly and naturally; and her laugh- ing mouth and glistening teeth proved the happiness oftlie heart that fluttered, like a frightened bird, -beneath Ahe pow- er of every wild- emotion. Her form was slight arid buoyant, and under the average stature. 'Such was Mary Winters, the darling of her widowed mother, with whom she lived. Their condition was au. humble o~te, yet they were 'happy, and did not seem to envy the lot of any to whom 1~'ortuiie had been, more propiti9us. "Mary, why have you not been to sOe me for generall days ?" said Bllen~ "If you. do not do better, IL will not give you the shrubbery I promised you." "And I will tell Roger tha.t you are not half so 'kind and good as he thinks you," said George. Mary blushed as the name of Roger was mentioned, and turned, her cheek aside, too late to escape notice. George continued, "Mary, have you forgotten how you used to come over to our house when I was sick, and sit by me, and sew, and talk, and fan me, and bring a glass of water when I wanted it ?" "Indeed I h&ve not, sir," replied Mary; "and if you were sick, and I knew of it, I would come there and do every thing in the world for you again. You have not been sick lately, have you ?" and, as she spoke, the sincere anxiety de- picted in her countenance touched George's feelings. He replied, "I have been about as usual; but, Mary, I wish you would come and see for yourself, for you know how much I love to see you." "I would have been to see you," said Mary, picking the leaves from a rose she held in her hand, "only I've been so much engaged. Roger-" and here she hesitated, "told me you were well." "IRoger, I suppose, keeps you pretty well info~uned. How does he come on, Mary? He is a very clever and deserving * fellow, and I fear, from your blushing, that he will cut me out." *1 page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] 46 DRAYTON. Mary laughed~ and avoided answering the question by ask. ing Elleu if she woul4 not accept a beautiful moss-rosebud which she extended toward her. They pursued their ride toward the hill, which was about a miJ~e further on, till they reached its base, when they turn- ed off from the road toward the river, and, atter going a ~hort distance% they commenced the ascent. They wound up the side of the hill slowly, and by The time they reached the sum- mit the sum was just lifting his golden rim above the horizon. T~hi~ view that now presented itself was magnificent. The river swept the foot of the hill, while to the right a chain- paign country was spread out far and wide', over which the eye could rove without an object to lim4t the range of vision. The'fresh morning, wind was driving the mist along the bo- som of the river, wreathing it into ten thousand grotesque and iieautiful pictures. At intervals, on the banks of the stream, houses of: all sorts, from the loftiest to the lowliest, were placed,. watching like sentinels over its course. Houses, fields, and woodlands diversified the landscape, while, in the distance; the lofty, spires of the city, flashing in the first beams of~the rising sun, were visible. But the eastern sky was the point.which embodied most of grandeur and interest to the eye. Near the horizon, narrow strata of dense clouds were reposing,. looking like imperial couches with their golden fringes, on which slumbered gigantic forms; whose outlines were traced ~on the uneven edges of thel superincumbent clouds. As the eye ascended toward the zenith, the masses diminished in size and density, while their orange tints con- trasted beautifully with the crimson and purple hues below them. The gorgeous "eye of the universe" was soon cleared of the mists which dimmed it, and looked forth resplendent on hill, and tree, and distant spire. The birds were caroling their loves from every bough, rejoicing that the curtain, of night had been lifted by the monarch of day. "There, now! Mr. Drayton," said Ellen, "I think you must confess that such a prospect as this is ample remuneration for lost morning dreams. Isn't it beautiful ?" "It is indeed beautiful," returned Drayton, in a voice that indicated the 4epth of hi~ admiration for such scenes; "and do you often come hither to enjoy it ?" "Oh "yes! Brother and I scarcely ever suffer a bright morning to pass away without paying our respects to the ris- ing sun" ~ldl "And do you always ride as ~ as you did this morn~ I, I DRAYTON. 47~ ing ?" inquired Drayton, who had found it somewhat difficult' to keep by the side of Ellen as she swept gracefully aLong. "Sometimes, when we, are lazy in starting, we hurry along like the wind, to get here before the ~unbcams~ You must consider, Mr. Drayton," continued Ellen, smiling, "that I am not one of your extra-delicate city girls, who would rather live without a reputation for horsemanship than win one at the perilous price of a gallop. When I ride, I like to fly like the antelope before the wind." "That's a gorgeous spectacle," exclaimeil George, aftor looking toward the east for a moment, and pointing toward the rising sun enveloped in clouds radiant in his beams. "See," he continued, "See how the Sun flings the clouds aside as he rushes up the sky, like a fair lady brushing aside the vail that obscures the radiance of her features~ Did 'old Neptune ever spurn the~ chafing g billows with more evident disdain ?" Ellen and Drayton looked and admired; axid~ George, turning toward the gleaming s~ire~ of the city, continued, "In the dust and vitiated air of that place, the many per- sons are slumbering who would persuade me that there1 and not here, is to be found the temple in which genius should worship. The ancients had a better conception of things, and placed Helicon on a moulitain; but our modern sages tell us that the muses are more frequently to be met trail- ing their gorgeous robes through 'the dust of the city, than here, on the~ hill-tops, where the birds and breezes make melody that might tempt an angel down." They resumed their ride, and Ellen proposed they should return by a~ more circuitous route, which was agreed to. They had proceeded but a short distance from the foot of the hill, when Drayton observecLa singular-looking one.story stone house, hid in trees, and said, "By all that's romantic, that is just such a spot as a sighing swain would choose to retire to,; for there he might live sacred from intrusion, ~.nd enjoy all the raptures of his dream of love undisturbed." "Yet, sir, the tenant bf that place is a hater, and not a lover of his species," returned Ellen; "and there he is," she added, in a lower tone of voice. Through an opening in the branches, Drayton discovered a singular person, with a large, brawny frame~ walking up and down in front of the house, with his hands locked in each other behind his back, His eyes were cast gloomily on the page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] ~2+ 48 DRAYTON. gr~iuid, ~a~id at his heels was a dog tha~ would occasionally ~run~ rotLt of hjs master, and look up in his race as if ~.nx- ious. to be noticed. He was quite an Qid ulan, and was dressed in garments of a very autiquated fashion, which hung loosely obout him, as if his frame had shrunk since they w~te i~tade. His forehead was high and deeply wrinkled, and a depression between the eyebrows gave to his face an expression of great atwterity. He wore a long grizzly beard, and his long locks, whitened by age, clustered in masses over the collar of his coat, descending to his shoulderss. There was so much misanthropy and scorn blended in the expres- sion of his mouth, that Drayton would have pronounced him a hater of his kind even if Ellen had not told him so. "Good morning, Mr. Fleetwood !" said George, who was a short distance before the others, turning toward the house. "Who are you? What brings you here? You couldn't have uttered your salutation in a more unwelcome ear. The river is to the, right, and the road is on the left. You can have 'your choice. They will both take you away~ "It is a friend-it is I, Mr. Fleetwood," said George, riding nearer to the old man. "It is you, iS it, my son. lYLy sight is getting hazy, and I can't distinguish objects.' I thought it was some fool from town. Row is the family? And why is not your sweet sister with you this morning ?", "There she is," returned George. The forms of his sister and Drayton appeared in front of the house. "Let us go up and get a closer view of that strange being," said Dr&yton, in whose mind the outr6 appearance of the old gen.tleniau excited much interest. "I am for~d of inspecting * prodigies, and he, it strikes me, is one." "He is," replied Ellen; "but you must.not think of going nearer, else he will insult you. He rarely holds communi.~ cation with any persons out of our family. My father has befriended him, and he tolerates us on that account. He lives in complete exile here, and looks on those who try to see him with contempt.~ He is looking this way snow; let us ride on." They passed out of sight slowly. Meantime George con- tinued talking with Mr. Fleetwood. "Is that fellow with your sister the ~popinjay I saw with her one morning, a month ago, on the hill?" "No, sir; you ha~ ~never seen him before. He is a stranger in this, part of. the country. His name is l~rayton..- a grandson of a. gentleman of that name, who once live4 at Oakwood." "What! a gr~ndsou of Dick Drayton ?" incjuired the old gentleman, hastily,' as if he was greatly surprised. "Yes, sir." "Dick Drayton, your grandfather, and myself were thick as pickpockets when we were young. That yoi~ng man must be a' son of Tom Drayton...-~for Dick had but one, and his name was Tom-who left here when a yoi~th, before the' war." "Yes, sir, he is." "I'd like to see a grandson of Dick Drayton, if he is not one of those impertinent fools who stare as if they were, oi4y suffered to. look out of their eyes one moment befor struck with everlastii~g blindness." e being "I will call him back," said George. "He will not dis.~' gust. you." The old gentleman said nothing, and George rode oil' and so~n returned with Drayton and his sister., Mr.. FLeetwood shook Ellen's hand, and then turned to look at Drayton. "He stood for a moment gazing earnestly a.t hini while~ not a. word wa~ spoken. After having surveyed him deliberately from head to foot, he said, "Pull off'your hat, if you please, sir." Drayton lifted his hat from his head, and the old gentle. man regarded him intently again, and then said, "Brush the hair from your forehead." ])rayton did as desired, smiling as he obeyed whaI~he con- sidered a mere humor of the old gentleman's. Hi~ ~erntiny this time was searching, and Drayton almost recoiled from the 'intensity of his' glances. Mr.. Fleetwood, knit his brow, drooped his head, looked on the ground, and thought. An- other glance, and a gleam of light flashed over his features, relaxed their sternne~s~ and he exclaimed, " The eye argi nose are strangers to me; but the form, the lip, and. the brow are Dick Drayton' s." - - The'~ld man wheeled suddenly round, and, without speak.. ing ~iiother word, left them. He waved his. hand, as he en- tered the door of his house, as 'if he w~slied them to depart, and disappeared. They rode off slowly, talking of the singular interview. Drayton was at a loss to understand the old gentleman's conduct, when George remarl~ed. .Vdiini, "That man hides the heart of~.l~mb itnder the exterior 'C 4 page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] 50 DRAYTON. of a bear. I told. him who you were, and lie said he kn~w your ~ra~udfather., 1 have no douht that your presence roused some totichiugrecolleotioris, and he left us abruptly to avoid our observing his 'emotions." Drayton nius~d a while, and observed, "~e is a strange boing. 1 should like to know him. I must call and see him again." If you can get Lather to accompai~iy you, he will receive you kindly," said George; "but if you go ~alone, it is proba- ble that he will look on you as an intruder, and Ansult you. He goes by the name of the Hermit here, and has lived in that place in great seclusion for forty years. He has some property, and keeps a servant, but admits no one out of our familyixiside of his door. Our~ house is the only one he ever visits; and when there, is extremely shy lest some one should see him; I have heard my father say that in early life he was one of the most promising young men in the country. I4~ left here and went off to England prior to the war, where he rem~iined for several years~ He came hack among his old friends af changed man, and woi~ld not satisfy any one as t~ the reasons which had induced him to act as he had dori'e.', lie bought the place where he now lives, and eZiled him~e1f from all society9 Of course, there 'were many con- jeetiires as to the causes wby he had abandoned all social intercourse, but it is generally supposed that a disappoint- ment of the heart led him to it. This is merely a surmise from hints he has occasionally dipped in conversation, for 'he regar~ a disposition to pry into the mystery that over- hangs hi~ conduct with 'the most unmitigated scorn. You may well say, 'sir, that he is a strange being." "Mr. Drayton, what objections have you to a race ?" in- ~i~uired Elleu) as they turned into the road. "None in the world," replied Drayton. Away they went in fine ~tyle. Ellen was a fearless rider, and excited Drayton's' admiration by the free, swinging mo- tion of her body, graceful as the lithe branches of the willow swaying in the7 br~e~e.' She held the reins of her steed in her small hand firmly, and managed them with rnuch'skill. ~Her d~ess fluttered rapidly inthe wind. Objects by 'the road side, whistled past, with great velocity. Onward they went, and soon r~aehed~ the lane, into which they swept rapidly. When they reached *he' mansion, Ellen jumped. from 'her hope, alighted handsorn&iy, a.nd turned her radiant face to- ward Drayton, who ~A'as astQnished at' her fearlessness. I D R AYTON "Well done'!" ha exclaimed; " you 'ride like a cloud on the 'wings of the~ wind,. , I4ancy 'that~ when Miss ~Stew&rt. flung tILe reins gracefully o~ri the iieck of her 'steed and bridled a rnonarch'a affections, she managed matters pretty' much as you l~a~reilone~4Ws morning." Bless~ me! witb~ what pretty extravagance you express* yourself, 2N[r. Drayto2n. 'Breakfast will soon be ready, and I trust that 'that 'homely meal 'will tame the wildness of your fancy;" and,'having thus spoken,~she left him, and proceed. e~l to make her toilet for that initiatory meal. 0HA~TER IX. DRAYTON SaW much in 'George Meredith to admire, and: lila 'hearty good opinion was cordially recipro~ated. There was enough difference in their feelings and opinions to en- gender a mutual interest,~ and not '~enough unlikeness to shock. The firmest friendships are formed between persons who 'have some points of congeniality, and who are not enough alii~e to resemble each other. If a ni*~n could find a being' in all respects like himself, he would avoid him aa'b.e '~would' one with whom he' had nothing iii commou. .' Two men of as- piring natures, striving for different sorts of eminence, (heart~' en) each other; whereas, if both sought the #~am~ object, rivalry would soon sunder their spirits. We 'may lik&a qual- ity'in ourselves well 'enough, and hate the manifestations of it in another. A man l~ves the sweetness and sense of de- pendence in woman, and she loves his courage and inde... pendence; and the principle which regulates the~ choice of the sexes' applies to persons of our o~wn gender. The ten- derness of George's feelings and the imaginativeness of his mind'won th~ayton's high regard, while Meredith saw m~~h in the more practical views of his. friend. tQ &dmire After breakfast, Ellen 'left them to 'attend to her domestic duties, and George and Drayton retired to the porch. I'hey were talking of the pleasures of their ride, when a young' inasu, whOse appearance was that of a. laborer,: approached them. There was' a ~inguii~rly quizzical expression about his eye that marked him as a lover of humor; and, .~ltho' his 'features wer~ not' handsome, yet' 'his face interested you. 9; page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] DWA~VT()N'. U wor~ a pair' of coar~e iineu ~autoloous and a faded buff ~est~ awl had, a black ueekcl~h tied. carelessly about his ueck. ~' He had-thrown his, coat off, and the sLeeve pf hi~ shirt being rolled~ up, he displayed an srin of great muscu~~ lar power. He pulled off his straw hat. ~irhen he entered the shadow of the house, and brushed the matted masses of' blsek, curling hair from his broad, square, angular forehead. He .plaiited one.. foot on the 'steps of the porch, and with an eLbow on his knee, and his chin on the palm of his hand, he looked up at George, and said,- "Have you done that job yet?" "What job, Roger?" Why, what you promised .me last week." "I have really forgotten what I dicbpromise." "You see~n to forget your promises," said Roger, looking cunningly at George, "lil~ old ]~ill Smith forgets his, who has been promising his. wife that every spree '11 be his last for the. l&~t ten years, and gets drunk twice every week yet9" "Oh! .1 reniember, I promised you a bit of poetry,. and I suppose& you mean that?". "Exactly, and j['d like to have it to-night." "Either you or your sweet-heart, Roger, must be in a pro- digiously great hurry. How are you getting along with her?". "As rapid' as a sail-boat before the wind.." "You'll be upset like a sail-boat. in a squall, if you don't keep an aye to the windward. You see, Roger, that same pretty little.. ary Winters has an awful streak of coquetry in her compositiou." "rye sailed them seas before, and know how to steer -clear of breakers, Mr. Meredith. But as to them verses, can't you let .a fellow have 'em to-night? I~va-- got a r-ed4Ard in a cornstalk cage that I'm going to give Mary to-night, and I'd like to .take the- verses to. her at the same- time." "Red-bird, e~rnstalk cage, and poetry at once, Roger.! Why, 1~lesa n~e, you will overwhelm the fair lady with' pres- eats. '~' The red4iird will be a kind of surprise,% but- the verses she looks for. ~he seolde~l me like the~ mischief about not bringing 'em- to her' the' othbr night;" "Does she. scold? IVEy dear fellow-my dear Roger-as Dean swift addressed his cle~k--a ~scolding wife is the very rKIiSchkf." "Ah! but you see,, she smile~' when she scolds9 ';She's DRAtTON. ' not got ~one of them long, n~*rew, peaked, ~itu~hetbup noses and vinegarvoices, arid. the~fore her' scolding does rio 'dank age. No, si-r, sh&s got norie of the c~ab-apple about herbut the blossom." "But a little crossing and care will sharpen' the point of any woman's nose," rejoined George, taking pleasure, as usual, in worrying' Roger, who 'was a -great -favotite with him as well as with :every one else; "and when the blos- som of girlhood. is gone, there's no telling how' sour the fruit may be. It niakes me- smack my lips to think of it. You had better let Mary alone, and. -court Nancy." Rather not, sir. Nancy is a good enough sort of a girl, but then she's no more to be. compared with Mary th~.n skim. milk to cream. Come, now," h~.continued, coaxingly, "let's have the verses to-night." - "What' kind of verses would you. prefer, Roger?" "Any kind 'II do," 'replied Roger; "but I like them' see- saw ones best, that go up and down like Yankee Doodle." Here Roger proceeded to. give a practical illustration of his ta~te in jj~oetry, by whistling Yankee Doodle, and see- sawing the air with. both armS' as the tune rose and fell, while his. head vibrated right and left between his sh~uldcrs like a black fiddler's when he. is scraping music for a dance. Drayton and George laughed heartily at Roger's perform- arice, but he preserved an unsn~iing countenance,' and shook his he~'at the conclusion of it, and said, - "That's the kind of.poetry I like." "Does Mary ever sing for you, Roger?" ".Sing! .1 guess she does. She sings sweeter than a thrush. There's not a mocking-bird that wouldn't die of despair- in a week, if he was to try .to imitate her singing." "Well, will you get her to sing the poetry ifI -write, it ?" "I will' do that very thing, sir." "What does the old lady think of your visiting~ierdaugh.. ter, Roger ?" "Thinir! why, she thinks I'm 'a little the cleverest felIo~ of my size to be found. You see, she smokes, and I always take a paper of-first~ra~te tobacco along for her. It do~i't do, sir, to be 'u~imindful'~f'the old 'folks." "You are a sly dog, -Roger, but Mary will avoid you yet. She is a cunning girl." "She' is as cunning as a fox'; but then, you see, I'm what you call me, a'sly dog, and the- s1y dog 'II catch 'the fox yet. 'You'll let rue 'have the verses to-night 'I" - r I k 4 page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] DILAYTON. DRAYTON. "Vll~see aboutit," said George; and Roger, happy. in~ the thought of seeing Mary and presenting her with the poetry, went off whistling as he went. He soon returned, and said, in a confidential tone to George, "I tell you. what it is, Mr. Meredith, I don't half like that blue-jay friend of yours, that thinks his own feathers finer than any body else'~s. I mean the one that smells as sweet asa clover field-that blows his nose with a lady's hand- kerchief-that lives over yonder," he continued, pointing to. ward Mrs. Hampton's; "and thatwaiks like a gobbler that's weak in the legs--this way ;" and, suiting the action to the word,. Roger produced a tolerably good imitation of the walk by which Mr. Edward Hampton was known. "Hampton, I suppose you mean ?" "Yes, sir, that's the devil's name." "What has he been doing that you don't like, Roger?" "If he's not pretty particularly cautious how he walks, he'll get tripped up, that's all." "Has he been interfering with any of your concerns ?" "I'll tell you what he's been doing," said Roger, advanc- ing nearer and lowering the tone of his voice. "He is seen a little too often down here at Mrs. Winters's. He don't mean any qgood by going there, either. H~brings Mary flowers, and the last time he was there he gave her a ring." From his manner, and the unusual seriousness of his face, it was obvious to George that Roger thought there was some danger to be apprehended from flue frequency of Hampton's viSits to Ma Winters. Wishing to remove what he con- sidered a. mei~ fancy from his mind, George laughed, and said, "A rival in the case, eh, Roger? Don't grow~jealous, my dear fellow, because another man, who, like yourself, loves a pr~ty girl, looks occasionally at your Desdemona." But Ro~ was not to be jeered or. laughed out of his fancy, as was evident from the manner in which he said, ~ Mary Winters mayn~t be any more to me than she is to you, Mr. Meredith~; but," he continued, knitting his brows and swinging his arm,." but if Hampton should ever injure her, I'll revenge her case with my own iight arm, if I die the next minute for .it-.-~.and I call Heaven to witness that I mean just what I say." "~Wh~w !, my ~dear fellow, keep, cool. He doesn't mean any harm, and if he did, he couldn~'~ accomplish it." "He's a slinking puppy, sir, that's. what he is," said Roger. .1 r * "He called me a stupid ass one day, because I wasn't fool enough to run and open the gate for him. I told him it was only one man's business, and he might do it hizriself. Now I haven't got as much learning as he has, but I have quite as much, natural sense and feeling, and I'm not going to forget how he abused me." Roger walked off, muttering to himself as he went, and evidently in a much worse humor than) he was when he first joined them; and George and Drayton soon retired to the library. CHAPTER X. THE library-room was in a wing of the main building, with a large window looking out on the river and the hills beyond it. The books were handsomely arranged, and in- cluded most of the best works in the English language, as well as the most remarkable that had been produced by foreign nations. The Greek and Latin classics, to. which Colonel Meredith was particularly devoted, were of the best editions of those immortal emanations of the mind of an- tiquity, which have survived the mutations of fashions in literature and the strikes of barbarism an4 superstition. The colonel was fond ol~ expatiating on the treasures locked up in these works, and he dwelt~ with peculiar 4lelight on the fact that in ~them are to be found the germs of many of the most important discoveries in government and sciences which have ~ince- been expanded and are now the eemmon prop- erty of mankind. George's literary tastes differed 'from his father's, and those portions of the library which contained the works of the master minds of Great Britain, from Baeoa to Burke, were most frequently cQnsulted by him. T~ ~ poets Who have written in our own tongue he was especiaP lydevoted, and had drunk deeply at those living fountains. In their pages he~ found responses to every feeling of his heart, and rich .companionship for every mood that grew upon him ~ and his eye brightened and, his tones became enthusiastic when dwelling on their peculiar excelle'nces. He vindicated~ the superiority of Shakespeare and ~[ilton over Homer and Virgil,.~ and often said he thought Hume D R A Y T O N. page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] '50 DRAYTON. 'and 'Gibbon infinitely better historians than Jierodotus ~nd Thucydides~ The colonel was sitting in the ;library, deeply absorbed in a. volume of Cicero,, when George aud~Drayton entered' the apartment. George requested Drayton to amuse himself with the books while he scribbled the poetry for Roger, He then ~took his seat beside a table and opposite the w*~dow, while Drayton examined a fine picture of the colonel by stuart. I wish I could make an adequate sketch of George Mere- dith as he sat at the table twirling his pen in his fingers, and looking out of the window on the misty summit of a hill in the distance! If I could use the pencil I might do it, but, alas! the pen is incompetent' to the task. A. broad and glaring light streamed through the window and fell upon his face, and, while sitting there, with his auburn locks wav- ing over his pale forehead, and adding to the 'depth and earn- estness of the splendid eye, he looked like a son of inspira- tion, with poetry legible in every feature. His gate was fixed on the hill but for a moment, an& he bent his brow toward the paper before him~ dipped his pen in ink, and be- gan to write. "Do you read Latin, N[r. Drayton ?" asked the colonel, at the same time closing the- volume he was 'reading over his forefinger. 'KNo, sir. That noble language is a sealed fountain to me." "~You' lose an incalculable amount of pleasure, then," re- 'turned the colonel.' "I had as lief lose my right eye as the privilege of communing with the master spirits of antiquity in their own language.'~ "That, privilege," said Drayton, "must be an invaluable one, for I have never seen a person who possessed it who ~did not seem to derive a great.deal of pleasure from it. Our best translations, they sq.y; are but poor substitutes for the mighty originals."' "They' say ~a truly," returned the colonel, elevating his spectacles to hi~$~rehead. "A translation is about as much like 'a gi~eat~~i~inal as my -shadow in 'the sun is like me. There may be ii. likeness in the outlines, but'the features, and the spirit that inlbrms them, are but a mass of shade.' ' A tran~slafion is 'a translate'ss opinion of an original inind..~.-a dim and confused i~eflection at best. Pope's Homer, for in- stance, is about' as much like my Homer i~p there," he con- DRAYTON. 57 tinued, pointing to a volume 'ef'the glorious old bard, '~as the portrait ~of' William the Conqueror in Hume's history is like that stern old veteran. The one is an engraver's notion of a, warrior's 'face, and the other is a poet's notion of the greake~st man whose poems ever breathed ardor and ~ublim- ity twon the heart of the world. Cooper. has lately pro' duc~&~a translation~ of the old bard-I have a eopy of it..~..-it is truer to the original than Pope's; but there is all the dif- fererice betweexi fliomer and Cowper that there is between yonder butterfly floating on the breeze. and the ~caterpillar crawling on the tree. Yoii might as well attempt to convey an idea of the beau~r and' majesty of the sun to a blind' man, by describing them to him,~ as to impress the mind with a true idea of Homer by means of' a translationn" George continued writing, unmindful of the conversation which was going on behind him, until, having accomplished his tasks he threw his pen down on the table, and leaned back in his 'chair. "What have you been writing, my son ?" asked the colonel, as Georg4 picked up the paper to read what he had written. He smiled as he answered, "A small specimen of foolish rhyme, that's all;" d~nd then, musing a moment, he continued, "' a few pathetic stanzas, supposed to be addressed by Mr. Roger Brown to his sweet- heart, the gentle Mary Winters; ~which, I 'hope, may impress her mind with a favorable estimate of his poetical, ability." "And who first made that happy suggestion, Roger or you ?" inquired the colonel, who' seemed. to be highly amused at the thought that Mr. Brown shoidd address his ~weetheart in rhyme. "I believe the suggestion originated with the lady her~ self~" replied George. "She, very rightly supposing her charms worthy of all the celebrity that verse can give them, and not having any other means of acquiring suck a~ tribute, made Roger promise to do it himself. The~ poor fellow bothered his bit of brain without success, until, utterly de- spairing, he applied 'to me to relieve him fto~n the dreadful extremity into which his rash promise ha ~l~4ged him. I agreed to help him out of his diljlcixlty; '~id the job, as Roger properly calls it, isbefore me. I tell you, that many of the Cliloes and Phillises of the old, poets were not the equal of Mary Winters,~ and she only 'requires to be~ made ac~ quainted with some Burns iu order to become immortal in verse. Mary is one of the sWeetest' girls in the world; and, 0 page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] I, D-RAYTON. hadFo4une been ntore propitious, she ~night at this tirnebo a bAlinnt center in the social world, with all sorts of satel- liVes revolving abopt her." Th She is .certainly a very pretty girl, and her eye is~one of tb~ ~znost roguish I ever saw,"~ said Drayton, on whoxi~ her 'a~xty had made a vivid impression; "and it is not strange t1u~t ~even you should 4eem her worthy of a poetical trilute." ~X~gree to all the encomiums on Mary," said the colonel; "bt~ come, George, siqpose you read the poetry. I have no i~ubt 4hat you have beaten any song lWatt Prior- ever sang to his mistress, who, unfortunately fox the lovers of-ro- mauve, turned out to be a certain nynqh who was in the habit of fetching mugs of' ale to the thirsting poet and any others who visited the house in which she was employed. The poem, my son-let us have the poem.~~ "Well, I will read it; but you will please 'to perceive that they are not exactly such stanzas as I should have Writ- ten had I' been hymning a sweetheart of my own instead of Roger's,?' said George. -He then read as follows: TO MARY. have not, Mary, seen, been, A fairer fi)rm than yours, my own sweet girl; Like violet gemmed with dew, Your eye is bright and blue, And o'er it is a brow as fair as pearl. Oh, when I see you smile, So sweet and tree from guile, I think of angels' lips, in heaven above; And round your fairy form~ Unnumbered graces swarm, Like bees about a flower, that best they love. flight oft, at end of day, To you I take my way, Like some lonely wild-bird seekiiig his nest; And then, while you are nigh, The moments swiftly fly, Like clouds- beneath themoon, by rude winds pressed. Althongb, whene'er we walk, 1 can not to you talk Of flowers awl of stars, as some men do- It isbecause my tongue, Like a gu~ whose fires hung, Oan't do its duty to a heart that's true. 'Oh; true as auy~dove P11 be t~you, my love, DRAYTON. Md constant as a star, that shines on high: And if the angry storm Should rave around your form, I'll take you to my arms and storms defy. "That's very pretty poetry,' I suppose," said the colonel ~j "hut tEe~idea of the rough and unlocked Roger hy Mary Winters in such strains-.talkirig of stars and flowers, aud bees and bowers; and all the other brilliant thin~s(tht~,t a lover usually adorns his story with, certainlyy involvesrich of the ludicrous. The poetry wou1~ ber well enou~h~fit7 ~were addressed to Mary by any other heart i.mder the s~veu ~ieayens than 'Roger's; hut~ the ides of its coming from that queer specimen of humanity is most rich and rate. My san, you have unfitted me to enjoy Cicero's oration against Verres for the next hour. Roger Brown-birds, bees, and blossoms -that's too good!" And the, colonel rose ffom his seat and walked to the window, laughing as he went. "Are you fond of poetry, Mr. Drayton ?" asked George, when the laughter was over. "Yes. But I have u6t had time to read it very exten- sively, and my reading has generally been much less fanci- ful. I love to read one of Shakspeare's play~ bet e~ t~vo dry law-books: it is like fine music between two ~acts 'ei'a drama." "Some persons seem to think poetry very light reading," said George, "but I think the man who reads Hamlet,. or Lear, or Paradise Lost, understandingly, finds all his energies as . much taxed as if he were poring over Locke's chapter on Sensation, or Warburton's Disquisition on the Mysterious Import of the sixth Book of the .~neid." George and Drayton had made an engagement to visit the family burying-ground, and~ they left the library io fulfill it. CHAPTER XI. Tm~ family burying ground was on a gentle emixie3t~*, near the bank/of the river, 'axid within sound of its waters. It was enclosed by a brick wall, on all sines of~which the. willow and the locust-tree grew,~ while majestic oaks, elms, and poplars threw their branches heavenward~ at a short page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] DR AY T ON. DRAYTON~. 61 distance, some of them sufficiently net~x to cast their, shad- ows on the mansions of the slumbering dead. In one eo&er of the inclosure were two tombs, standing apart from all others, in the shade of a beautiful willow, which drooped its lithe brane1iesabov~e them. Drayton approached them, and, 'for th~ first time in his life, he stood beside the grave of his grandfather. By his side, a marble slab informed him, re- posed ~lI that Was mortal of Martha Drayton, his.granchnoth- er~ These tombs were formed of bricks, over which were placed slabs of marble, on which were inscriptions eulogistic of the dead who soldered beneath them. Drayton stood for several minutes absorbed in his own contemp1atio~is, by the ~ide of the~graves of his ancestors. All that he had heard of the sweetness and amiableness of the one, and the reckless.~ ness of the other, came up forcibly to his mind; and then his thoughts turnedd toward his father, and lie sighed as the probability struck him that his parent would find a grave far from those before him. Thoughts of this kind chased each other through hi~ mind, until he felt himself quite sub- dued by them; ~.nd he turned away to avoid the natural ex- pression of the emotions that were swelling in his bosom. lie approached George, who was standing by the side of his mother's grave. A shade of melancholy reposed on his features, and his gaze was fixed on the ground. He was evidently in deep thought, for he did not notice that Drayton was beside him for some time, and when he did, he started. "There sleeps my another, the best ofwives and tile Iove~. heat of women," said George, pointing, to the grave before him; "and there," he continued, directing his finger to the as yet unbroken sod beside her grave, "and there soon will sleep her only son." Draytoii. was astonished at the calmness of his friend, ~ and regarded him with amazement as he waved his slender finger over the spot where he expected to repose when "life's fitful fever" should be passed. He placed his hand on George's shoulders, and said, in a voice scarcely raised above a whispers "iV[y dear friend, how wildly you talk !" Geo~ge looked full in Drayton's face for a moment, and while ~ melancholy smile passed over his features, said, "And do-you fancy' that I talk wildly ?" lie paused an instant, arid then continued, in a tone as low and mournful as.~ ~tn autumnal wind, "I .need ~no prophetic voice to con- vippe me that before yonder sun, has called the flower~ 'of a fe~~ very few more springs into -existence, I shall slumber by the side of tlP~ wanteded being Who watched anxiously over the perilous hours of my infancy. Mr6 ]7)raytom look at me! - Are not this wasted form, and hollow eye, and pallid brow prophetic of an earl~r doom '~ With such evidences of the fate that awaits me, need I that an angel should come down to assure mc of the truth of my forebodings ? I shall repose beneath that sod; and it. may be," he continued, lowering the tone of his voice, "that if you stand where you now do one short year hence, my grave will be before you, and you Will then recall these words, and the form of him wh~ spoke them." A deep sigh heaved Drayton's breast as he gazed at the earnest and tender expression of his friends face, and he started 'a~ he felt the probable truth of his predictioii. His color was exceedingly pale; and his spirit already seemed starting from his eyes. Despite Drayton's strong effort to the contrary, the mis1~ dimmed his vision, arid he averted his head to conceal the 'tea;r that was swelling' up to his eye. The' thought that one so young, so gifted,' so loved, should so soon pass away fixnn. the earth and be seen no more, was~. more than a match for his resolution~, and a crystal drop ~peedily gathered and glistened in his eye, quiveM a mo- meiit in the beam, and fell. George observed his emotion, and led him forth from tlw inclosure. They passed silently and slowly to the bank of the river, and seated themselves on a board that was fixed between two oaks. The sun shone inunclouded s~lendor~ The surface of the river was slightly agitated by. the bland 'breeze that went whispering by. Immediately opposite to them, an island of great beauty raised its luxuriant foliage above the bosomof the waters, its shrubbery running down 'to the wttter's.edge, and winning the tribute of a. kiss' from every wave. 'A sloop was ndin~ at anchor' a short distance below the foot of the island, while here and there, in the distance, sail-boats were skimming over the bosom of the river, their white sails al- most touching the' water,' and dipping like the wing~ of a swallow. The' scene Was novel 'to Dra~tton, and he dwelt on it with great pleasure. "'And do you wonder that I should express myself as I have 'done, Mr. Drayton? Why, my dear fellow, I 'have al- ready outlived, though yet young, what I considered my lease oii life. Never did infant close its' eyes more-willingly on its:' mother's bosom than I- should close miiw, if it were not for the knowledge that I shall leave my kind father and '4 page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 82 DRAYTON. most affectionate sister disconsolate. For their sakes would I wish to live and bear the pangs of a dilapidated constitu- tisn. I know they would sincerely feel my loss, while a few others might sigh over my early fat~ and speedily forget me." "l~Lty dear George, you amaze me," returned Drayton. "Is there nothing in this green and beautiful earth, with its flowers, its' streams, and its hills.-..yonder bright sky, with its suns and 4sterhoods of planets-iw the excitements of so- cie1~y~-~-in the tributes that genius wins from the lip of man and the heart of wornau-~in the love of the few and the ad- miration of the many-is there nothing in all these things that one so young and richly endowed as you are should re- gret to 'leave?" "If death were annihilation, I would regret to die," re- turned George; "but in dying~ I shall only pass from a clime of shadows to one of celestial light. Like some gay ship that passes the equinoctial line with all her streamers flying in the' air, my spirit will float over the dark boundary that divides our home from our destined home in heaven~ and bear along with it all the glad remembrances which, belonged to it while lingering here. This may sound presumptuous in your car; but ray spirit does worship the adorable Being who endowed it ,with all its marvelous powers, through the bright and beautiful symbols displayed in creation, and our Father does not suffer such' to perish. The ocean reminds ma of his power, the stars of his sublimity, and the flowers of his love, and in every feeling of devotion I entertain for them,. I express my gratitude to Him who made them~ I love a wide temple-an unrestricted faith, whose articles aie suns, and seas, and' everlasting mountains-for my spirit be. comes as restless as an imprisoned eagle when I attempt to throw a. cireumvalration around it beyond which it is heresy to wander.' Yes," he added, after a momentary pause,. '.' yes, I feel ~that early death is my doom, and I shall embrace my spirit's bride without a murmur." Drayton felt uneasy as he gazed on the flushed cheek and burning eye of his friend, and listened to his voice) which now sounded sepulchral to his fancy. After a pause~ he said, "I confess I should shudder at the prospect' of early death. I wish to live,~ and to win an honorable name. I long to be an' actor~ among men-to do something whose influence may survive me~~~.soto live that, though my na/me may pass awa~y, some 'evidence that I have existed may remain. J wish~ to realize some of my early dreams-~to satisfy myself that the DRAYTON. 83' faith I formed years ago in relation to myself was not a mere vagary-to %ight~nobly in the councils of my country, and to die in old age with honors thick as these locks clustering upon ray brow. It, seemusto 'me hard, indeed, that one should be called away, while his energies are yet unexpanded, from this l~eautiful world, where there are so many things tempt. mug him to stay." "If my health were robust," said George; "if every slight exposure did not prostrate me on the bed of sickness; if my too sensitive frame did, not shiver like a leaf in every gale, perhaps I too 'might wish to linger here. But I bave:felt so many pangs-so many of my heart's pulsations have sent the blood through agonized veins-I have counted over so many days of. darkness and nights of suffering, that I feel that this world is not the place for me, and shall bow my head to earth with an unregretting spirit whenever it shall please Providence to call me hence. I have much to live for. Love and ambition both tempt me to stay. I would wish to undertake some intellectual tasks, and prove to my partial friends~ that their estimates, of my ability were not wholly un- warranted-to send~ my thoughts darting upward like the lark, to commune with the stars-to spread the wings of my imagination, and soar like an eagle's flight beyond what is visible, 'and to bring down from the loftiest eminences in the world of mind some evidences of the strength of the pinions that bore me thither. But this may not be. I must die young. The seeds of dissolution are already swelling in my heart, and I shall fall by the way side in early youth and be forgotten-fall while the wish to win a name is warm upon my lips, and the dew of life's morning is fresh and liquid on my 'brow.~~ When they returned to the house, the sound of music fell upon their ears, and, on entering one of the parlors, they saw Ellen sitting beside a harp, and the colonel at a short distance from her, watching with great interest her delicate fingers as they danced over the chords. Shepaused when she saw George and Drayton, but soon resumed at their request. As Ellen sat at the .harpwith a flushed cheek and up. raised eye, pouring forth exquisite melody from her lips, Drayton fancied her more than ever beautiful. There was nothing hard or artificial in her singing. 'The tones of her voice were exquisitely sweet, and, as they rose and rang over the apartment, the effect was magical. The expression tf her face varied with the sentiments she sang, arid~ proved page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] 64 DR A Y T 0 N. with howinuch feeling her tones were blended: for heart was on her lip, and she sang with all the naturalness 'of a bird caroling t~ its mate. Her singing was not of that ar- tiilcial ~'kind...~-~the mere mockery of mtisic-with which the ear is pained and the soul sickened every day; it seemed to be the utterance~ of the deep feelings with which her bosom heaved and swelled. Music, like eloquence, is~ genuine only When it addresses itself to the heart, awakening responses to every thought and feelingit expresses. If this be true, then Ellen Meredith's musii~ was exquisite, for it roused the sen- timents it addressed, and the heart echoed back every word she sang. CHAPTER XII. A LITTLE while after sundown, Mr. Roger Brown, shaved, washed, and well dressed, started off to visit Mary Winters. He Was altogether a 'much better-looking man than he seem- edtobeinthemorning, as he walked off in his highly poF. ished. boots, and new blue coat, and flashing buttons. A tri.. umphant smile, which would have daunted any rival, played upon his lisp as .he glanced at the cage and the frightened red1bird he carried in his hand, and thought of the delight with which Mary would accept his gift. He did not go round by 'the road, but took a much nearer route across the fields,'~ and stopped, when he thought no one could see him, and drew fo4h from his pocket the poetry that George had writteit f~r hini. When he had finished reading the precious document, he drew a deep breath, gave a long, low whistle, and said, " Egad! but that's first rate, and as true at preaching. That George Meredith is a clever fellow, and a doused :flne scholar, too." Hw~riug uttered this just' compliment, he glanced over the manuscript again, and read, "Like ~4olet gemmed with dew, YoJIr eye is bright and blue"- that's ag true as gospel, for your eye is as blue as my coat, arid' as bright as the brightest button on it." 65'~ [ DRAY TO N. Continuing, his p0iii~Di, he' came to the last line, and jumped up and exclaimed, "Take you to 'my arms, Mary! that's what P11 do, and hug you too, as close as a, grape-vine hugs an oak sapling." He seemed delighted with the poetry~ and, picking up his cage, he' plunged h~s diseingaged hand into the depths of his pantaloons pocket, and went on his way, whistling a tune that indicated how lightly his "bosom's lord" sat upbn his throne. He soon reached a ditch over which there. wa~ neither bridge nor log, and as 'it was to be crossed, the only alterna- tive was'to jgmp over it, uot#ithstanding its frightful width. Thit Roger was good at a leap,' and, after having selected the most eligible spot, he stepped back in order to give his body a sufficient forward impetus, by running, to cross the ditch safely. Off'he started, with the corn-stalk cage dangling at his side. He reached the ditch, and, placing his dexter foot on the edge of the bank,, sprang. Unfortunately, he did not spring quite far enough, 'for, although he escaped the mud and water, yet the cage he held in his hand, suspended by a string, came, into violent contact With the' top of the b~tnk, and was slw~ttered to pieces'. Away flew the bird, and Roger stood motionless watching its flight. He strained his longing eyes after' it until it seemed a. mere ~peok against the dis- tant sky. Now Roger, although totally linversed in the nomenclature of'the schools, had much of that better sort of philosophy which assuages every grief by thinking lightly of it. instead of cux~sing his fate, he only exclaimed, as the form of the red- bird receded from him, "'Fly-fly for your life, you red rascal, and keep a sharp look-out for snares next time. Never mind," he continued, lowering his tone, "there's plenty more- as red as you are in the .woods, and I'll have another one before the week's out for Mary. When the milk's spilled, there's no use trying over it." He resunied his 'course, and soon had the satisfaction of' seeing Mary Winters's pi~etty form, habited in white, with a blue ribbon about 'the waist, standing in the' door of her ~bode. He straightened 'himself to his full height, to give as much' altitude as possible to his thick-set person, and with a broad smile dimpling' his cheeks, he lifted his hat fr6m his head, and wished ~the "'g~i4dess of his idolatry" a most pa't~' ticularly good evening. 9 D RA Y T O N. 64 page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] 6 D-RA Y T ON. After a few words had passed~ Roger said, "Mary, I've had the Worst luck in the world. You 'seer I had a bird for you, with feathers as red as your cheek"- here. Roger o~ain touched his hat, and~bowed' gently-" and, as was jumping over that confounded ditch, I struck the cage I had him in againstt a hillock, and broke it,. and~ away flew Mr. Red-bfrd, singing, 'You don't-give ~me to pretty Miss Winters,' in the most impudent manner imaginable." "La, me, Roger, the bird said no such thing; how can you stand there and fib so "Well, then, miss, what in the mischief did he say ?" *' Indeed I' can't tell," replied Mary. "Poor thing," she contimwd, "it was wrong to cage him up, and I'm not sorry he did get away. Have you got that poetry for me yet~ M~. Roger Brown ?" "No, Mary. I tried hard all day, but, like a' tub of per. verse soap, it wouldn't come. I expect I was too sober to write it, as I hear that the fellows that write poetry. have to ge~ tipsy before they can do it. I'll get d.r3lnk a purpose to. morrow, and then I'll write the prettiest little song, perhaps, that your bright' eyes ever did see." "'Don't you know I told you that you shouldn't darken the door of this ,house again until you came to bring, the poetry to me..-so, Sir Roger, you can walk," paid Mary~ 'waving her hand toward the gate, while a smile, whose meaning was very different from 'her~ words; flashed op her features. Roger looked imploringly at her, and, saying "Good-by," walked off. When he reached the gate, Mary ran after him and said, "Why, Roger, what a gander you are! You were not going, sure enough ?" "To be sure I was," replied Roger; "for don't I always obey the ladies?. Mary," he continued, approaching her, and pulling the poetry from his pocket, "I was only joking.. I have got it; and, though I wrote it myself, it's the best bit of verse you ever saw." He tantalized her for a while by offering her the poetry, and jerking it away when~ she 'attempted ~tQ take it; and when' he had grown tired of tha.t very original sort of fun, he placed one hand on his heart, aud,-bowiug very gallantly, extended the~poetry toward her. N~aiy took it and read it, and while a blush crimsoned her' cheek, she said, "Y~ix never wrote this, .1 know4." "I 'should like to know' who did, then," saidRoger. 9 DRAYTON. ~67 "Why, Mr. Meredith did," replied Mary. "I knew yo~ couldn't write poetry, Roger; but ~ 'wanted a piece, and I knew you could tease Mr. Meredith u.util~ he would write it to get clear of you." Mary stooped down and culled a beautiful red rose, which she presented to Roger, who took it, applied it to his nose, and said, "Mary, this rose is as red as your cheek, and as sweet as~ your breath," As he was putting, the stem of the flower through one of - the butt~n-holes in his waistcoat, Mary said, * "How awkward you ~are. Put the rose inside of your vest, and don't tear the leaves off by pulling the stem through your button-holes. Here, give it to me, and let me fix it for ~OLL Taking the ros& from his hand, she placed it in his bo- som, and smilingly said, "Now you look like a gentleman of taste." Roger looked at the flower an instant, and then, in a low and sincere tone, said, "Mary, I'll wear that rose for your sake; and when it begins~ to fade, I'll press it between the leaves of my Bible, and keep.it there as long as I live, to remember the- sweet little hand by that pulled it for me." Here he glanced at the flower again, and added, "I wonder how it comes to pass that ladies have so much more taste than men ? You see, I'd never thought of putting this flower here~" "If ladies hadn't taste, there would be but mighty little of it about here, if all the men were like you," returned Mary, with a smile. "Your tongue is as keen as a razor, and it cuts me to the heart !" said Mr. Brown, placing his hand on his waistcoat.-~ In another minute Roger began to dance, and Mary asked him what was the matter. "Nothing in particular," 'he replied; "only, whenever I see your smiling mouth, I feel as happy as a town colt in a clover field, and can't help -ahowing it." "Pshaw, man, yQu're crazy !" said Mary. "Roger," she added, addressing that worthy5 fellow in one of her gentlest tones, '" I have noi~ been walking-to-day, and I want to take some exercise now. If you'll behave yourself, you may go along." "I'll do that ver~r thing," returned Roger, cooking his hat on one side' of his head, and walking on with 'a genteel swag. page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68 DRAYTON. ger. "I'll behave myself as well as a sleeping baby at a Methodist rneeiing, and you'll hardly know~ me." They ~walked on, and, by the ~time they reached the bank of the' river, the shades of evening had deepened on the feat- ures of the landscape, but the soft light of the moon rescued the earth from the dofttinion 'of darkness. "Who is that gentleman that was riding with Mis~ Ellen this morning ?" asked Mary. His name is Mr. Drayton," replied Roger. "I thought, from the-way -he looked at her this zn9rz~ing, that he was in love with her. Is he a beau of hers ?" ".1 don't know," replied Roger. "How does a man'~ look when he is in love, 1~tfary ?" ." If you'll take the trouble, the next time you walk with Nancy Smith, to go down and look at your image in the wa- ter, you'll find out." "I reckon, I had better go and look now,'.' said Roger, starting up. "You'd better not," returned Mary, playfully, "for fear you'd scare the little fishes into fits." "Don't you. thinkthat Mr. Drayton is a handsome manY' ~sked Roger. "Yes, he's very'handsome, and I wouldn't be surprised if he and. Miss Ellen wereto make a match. What a. pretty "%~ouple they would be! She is the handsomest and best lady in the world." "Present company excepted,'4 added Rogei~, very gal- lantly. They seated themselves on a log on the bank of' the river, and, after gazing on the bright form of the moon with a dreamy eyes Mary' said, "how does looking up at the sky, when the moon is shin- ing, affect you, Roger?" "It makes me think of your eyes, for they are blue like the. sky,. and bright like the moon." "You're ~a case !" returned Mary; "there's no getting a proper answer to, any thing from you. I never 'look up at sky ou'such. a night as this," she continued, ~azix~g, at the noon, "but I think of-my poor father. A 'hundred times I've thought I could see-his spirit in the little 'clouds sailing, under the moon; and just now I ~aw his foxm as plain as I ever saw it when he was alive, in' that ~oud that passed over the moou~ 'I've often- wondered& ,-*asrl't looking at me from the stars, for I've feh, as TJ~oi~ked up &t them, P~AXTQN. 459 that he was. I wonder, Roger, what becomes of people's spirits ~vhen they die?" "If the preachers tell the truth, most of 'em go to the devil," replied Roger, who, having but little .sentiment in his composition, c~~ld not sympathize with Mary's' finer feel- ings or fancies. She felt wounded by his very unsympa- thetic remark, and starting up, said, "You've got 'no' more feeling than a horse. Come, I am going home, and lend rue your handkerchief to cover my r~eck with, for the wind is growing cool." Mary Winters's mind was naturally highly 'imaginative, and she had read most of the~high..wrought fictions of the period, and their extravagance and romance, acting on her susceptible nature, made her cpiite a sentimentalist. Rog- er's goodness of heart had won her esteem, and he had a wild dash of humor about him at times that amused her; but the occasional roughness of his remarks, so much at va- riance with the refinement of her feelings, shocked her, and caused her heart to recoil from his proffered kindness. He could scarcely have chosen a more inopportune moment for a jest in his peculiar style than the present. ills coarse- ness~wounded her sensibility ~,nd roused her pride,, which he perceived, and. said, "I hope~ you're not offended, Mary. I'd rather' die than see you look so angry. at me. I beg your pardon, if I've hurt your feelings. I hope you'll believe me when I swear I'd rather ~cut my right arm off than offend you. Come-oh come, Mary, and sit down again." Mary's nature relented at once, for there was an earnest- ness in his protestation that assured her that he meant no offense. She iesun~ied her seat, saying, "You often hurt me by your rough manner, Roger, though I know you don't mean to do so." A pause ensued. Mary glanced at the moon again; and Roger, anxious to offer some propitiation for his unintention. al offense, said, - * "Isn't it a beautiful night, with the moon and the stars looking ~ew~i on the trees t~nd the river, and making every thing look so sweet and happy ?" Roger's remark touched Mary's sensibility, an& she for. gave' him for a thousand rn-timed jests he had ut~ered, "Oh, every thipg looks," she said, ~' as if this world was meant for angeIs~~i~d not for wicked man and~women. I'm very glad to see that~ your heart is not like, a stone, that can page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 DRAYTON. DRAYTON. 71 look at the sky ~when the moon is shining, and not feel its magic." He bent his gaze earnestly on the fair face of his com- panion, and then. in a. softer tone, said, "My heart, Mary, is not hard; but if it was as hard as a, rock, you could make it as soft as a dove's. Oh, Mary, you can't tell how much I love you, and my heart would burst if I didn't tell you of it this moment." Mary blushed deeply, and her lover coughed, and both felt embarrassed. Rdger twisted and turned about, 'and then said, in a husky, hesitating voice, "I can't live without you any more than a flower can where th~un's light can't get to it. Will you pardon~aIl my offeu~es, and I'll try to please you and make you happy forever. IiLtary, there's a hard hand, but it's an honest one, ~and if you'll take it, you will find it always a fast friend." Mary said nothing, but continued looking toward the ish and in the river, and Roger grasped the hand that was play- ing nervously with the end of her belt-ribbon, and to his lips passionately~. pressed it After they parted, Mary had many misgivings as to the propriety of what she had done. In Roger's integrity she had unwavering confidence; but she could not but be cOn- scions that between the dreamine'ss of her own mind and the coarseness of her lover's there was a serious incompat- ibility. Roger was very popular, and she had been urged to the course she pursued by the advice of her friends, who assured her thatlie posse~ed all the qualities desirable in a husband. Her intercourse with the Merediths, and'the friend- liness of their conduct toward her, had induced her to think herself superior to the majority of persons of h~r own rank; and she felt that if s~he married Roger, she would unite her fortunes with one ~ho was much inferior to herselfL The night ~tssed wearily with her; many tears bedewed her ul~eekaand an indefinite feeling of having done wrong op- pressed her, and ~nade her extremely unhappy. Very different was it with Roger. He felt completely happy. No shadows passed over the sunshine of his breast. As he went home un&er the light- of the moon, he xnanifest.. ed his ecstasies by dancing an&capering about in a way be. coming only to lunatics, and lovers happy for the first time in the conviction thit.t the loveliest being in the world re- quites the ardor~ of their passions. r CHArTER ~ WHILE the events described in the preceding chapter were taldng place, Drayton' was sitting by the side of'Ellen Mer- edith, engaged in conversation. George had retired early in'~ consequence 'of a slight indisposition, and the colonel had gone to. the library to hunt up one of Burke's celebrated speeches on American affairs, of which he had be~n;talking. They sat alone in the porch. The night was cal~n, cloud- less, and beautiful; the. moonbeams glistened on ~he vines that clustered in front of the porch like trellised-work. El- len's beauty was heightened by the beams which threw a shadow of romance on her features, and Drayton s~.t by, gazing at the fair girl admiringly. And then the beauty of every object in the landscape.-the hazy hill-the trees with their dark shadows sleeping on ~4he green sod-the glitter- ing surface of the river-.--spoke to their hearts and roused every sentiment.. Drayton's conversation was more fervent than usual; his cheek was flushed; his dark eye glowed,. and he ,seemedto be instinct with the spirit of the hour and the scene. He rose, and, leaning against one of the pillars, glanced rapidly over the prospect. Then elevating his eye to the mo6x~ he looked intently on its glorious form a mm- ute, and turned to his fair companion and said, "How calmly beautiful is this night! Yon bright moon is the very queen of enchantresses. She rules our spirits as she rules the tides of the ocean. It is in such hours as this that we throw aside the shackles of realities and revel in ro- mance. The hills and forests seem peopled with spi4~s, and our thoughts hasten to commune with them with an~eager- ness unknown to our intercourse with the -hackneyed men we meet. How beautiful-how dream-like is this scene!" "Why, sir, you are positively becoming poetical," said El- len, with a smile. She was surprised at his enthusiasm, as it was unlocked for from one who generally was so thought- fi4. Bllen's was a common mistake; for people mostly seem not to have noticed that the mind, is as changeable in its as- pects as is the faee of the heavens above them, and there- fore suppose that one Who is generally grave and reflective page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 4 9"' I~RAt TON. can not, even by accident, devi~te~ juto enthusi~p~i and wild- ness of thought. ~rayton was i~sua~ly dignifle4 but, when alone, he was the creature of his impulses, and his thoughts dallied with the stars and flowers, and his feelings bent to eve~ influence that appealed to them. "My heart is only echoing the brightness of this scene," he returned, resuming his seaf by' her side; "and if my tong~ie happens~ to be clothed with poetry, you will recollect it is as responsive to the glorious influences of a this, as your 1~arp i~ to the touches of t~ie like lingers of ~ts mis- "Do you see that old ruin on the Qpposite shore of the river ?" 'asked Ellen, after a moment's pause, directing his attention to the ruins of a large mansion, once the most splen- did of' all that adorned the banks of the river4 "There ro- mance and superstition are blended for you," she continued, "fox it has the reputation of being haunted, and most per- sons avoid it at such a time as this, as if it was the abode of alli~the pestilences~in the world." "How natural such fears are," said Drayton. "Let rigid and prosedoving philosophers deride such superstitions 'as much as 'they may, yet they cling to our minds as warmth does to the sunbeams. I am not free from such feelings, and there are times when I would be very unwilling to grope in the shadows of that old ruin." "You 'spo~ie of having visited our family burial-place this morning," said Ellen. "Well, I have been there, when. the zneoubeams seemed to sanctif~r it, and I fancied I could hold a more intimate communion with the spirits of'those whose bodies molder there, than I c~uld at any other season. I - suppose it 'was only a fancy which sprang from my super- stitous4 feelings. A mood of that kind sometimes comes over me like a cloud, and then I ~fancy I hear ~the voices of the dead blending with the sighing night-wind." As jEllen spoke,' her cheek became pale,' her eye grew wild; and her tones ~oftened 'down so as to be alixiost inau- dible. Drayton glanced at her face inquisitively for a mo- ment, and said, "You. speak of moods wliinh E have' often experienced, '1~iss M~redi~h. I have oftenfelt, in the stillness and repose N of a night like this, how much mystery still. broods over the phenomena of our being. The accumulated wisdom of sixty centi~rie~ 'car~ not explain to inc w~1y, at oortsin p&iods, when looking up ~at 'the stars, I ibel as ~f i: shQuld like to sunder I~R4~T~NV I V4 73 th& silver N~prd that bin~&4~iy spirit to earth, and join th~ company4~immortals, Whbm I fancy to be near' me; while" at other tixkies, when gazing on the unfathomabh~ blue above me, I long 'for the excitements ofthe 'crowd, and dteam only of the lofty thought and noble deed 'that~ win ~the, laurel wreath. Why do not objects always produce the sanie:feel- ings? Why," continued f)rayton, becoming more' 'animated, "why do thoughts gush up like fountains, and 'the ~haart heave with wild emotions at times beneath 'the glory of the full-orhed moon, while at other times, when the moon is look- ing.' down on us with equal splendor, every feeling seems buried in the unsounded depths. of the so~4, and every thought that would soar falls like a crippled bird back to earth ?" "I have often reflected on the strangeness of such moods, returrred. Ellen, her cheek having regained 'its color while she listened to Drayton's animated voice. "Sometimes what we see enslaves every thought and feeling, and at other times our spirits spurn such bondage and ~iu~ph over the world around us. I have often felt, when~lights were glaring and 'friendly forms were dancing before me, that they could not amuse me.' Ny thoughts were wander- ing to other scenes, and instead of listening to the music sounding in my ears, I have seemed to hear only the winds rustling among the leaves of the forest, and instead of con- templating the brilliancy around me, my fancy has been away among the stars, and birds; and the rainbow in the dark cloud." "I never perplex myself with the effort to solve suclirid- dles," returned Drayton. - "I am satisfied to know that many mysteries surround. me, and' have no wish to under- stand or change them." ' - Drayton hesitated a moment, and then gazing on Ellen's beautiful brow; radiant in the moonbeams, continued, "I shall never forget how I used to be abstracted from all things around me. I -was once, Miss Meredith, engaged in a mechanical occupation which was extremely irksome to me. Its duties were like a mountain' on my heart. Well, often, when- my hands were busy, every thing near me was as completely unnoticed as if 'my spirit had- left my body:. While wieldingtlie implements if the craft, I have indulged many a glorious dream, and thought deeply on the careers of the great men of whom U had read: Or, in fancy, I' would visit a grov~i of beautiful trees, near a crystal stream, in which, with books for my companions, 'I had made many D page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 your delightful when my pursuit~ would permit, by pdr- bveithe'pitge~ of philosophers and poets." rayton felt, muoh ex4arrassed while referring to the 4ay&in the earlier part of his' life, but he was glad ~ o~portiniity of inf6rming Ellen of what he knew she d soon learn from other sources. "~V~re ~you ever engaged in a mechanical occupation ?"~' ii~qnired Elleit, in a torte of surprise. "'yes," replied Drayton, with a smile and a lightness of m~,nn~r that conflicted with the sentiments he felt. "1 once was obliged, by the poverty of my father, to do as Roger Sher- man did; and as I once followed his example in making shoes, I hope to emulate the after part of his career also, and assist in making laws." He watched Ellen's face closely as he spdke, anxious to -discover the effect his statement had on her feelings. She ~ said, much to his relief, "Many minds have shone brighter because of the early troubles and trials to which they were subjected. Some per- sons have a silly prejudice against those whose occupations are considered low, as if it was the employment that stamped - the impress on character. I have observed, however, that generally the pretensions of such persons are not above sus- picion, and they hope to avoid it by suspecting others. Gen- uine aristocracy does not consider any thing mean that is not vulgar, and vulgarityis by no means confined to the humbler walks of life." Noble girl, thought Drayton, to be thus superior to the vulgar herd who prate of aristocracy, He s&id, "I suppose my early occupation will cause some of igno.. ble blood to sneer at me. If a person with all the 'blood of all the ilowards' in his veins had unfortunately ever made a shoe, such~ beings would affect contempt for him. For the good Opinion of sueli I am not desirous; and I shall pursue my course regardless of them, striving to ele- vate~ys~lf to an honorable reputation, when my early ex- perie'hce will be quoted and turned to my advantage'." "I have often 'thought," said Ellen, "that when a man has risen from obscurity to distinction, he must look back on his careerwith great delight. We, poor women, can only imagine, it is not for us to experience, such feelings." "But you can do more," returned Drayton; "you can make others deserve them. Many men owe their success to their~wives; and there' are but few situations in life in which t DKAYTON~ wox~jien appear so lovely as when, like ministex~ing ang thq cheer tl~se ~they love en tojdare the world~ tevei~ in their efforts to win the world's a4niir~tiou." "The majority of our sex," said Ellen, tIiou~ ~f "have pride, and that induces them to encourage th~. love to become renowned~ It is for man to pant ~r~' the heart of woman, more humble in its aspirations, craye~ oniy love. It seems strange, too, that a woman should ert~~ courage her husband to struggle for fame, as that~ struggle' must necessarily take his attention a great deal from her. self. But a devoted woman will make any sacrifice of her own feelings if it be necessary to the elevation of her hus- band. I suspect the wives of great men are generally proud. er of their husbands' reputations than they themselves are." "Arid a trui~-hearted husband," added Drayton, earnestly, "is quite as anxious to win fame on his wife's account as his own. Indeed, fame would not be worth the efforts it re- quires if it did not gladden the hearts of those we love; for who would strive for eminence if it gave joy to no one but himself? Who would wish for greatness if it must be soli- tary-...for glory, if it must be gloomy? I firmly believe that many of the transcendent efforts of men have been made more to bring the glow of pride, to the brow and the ~smiie of gladness to the lip of confiding woman than to lift up the individual that he may tower, like an unsunned Teneriffe, above the heads of others. Ah ~ Miss Meredith, the wreath of laurel which men place on the imperial brow of genius would be of but little vajue if the hand of woman did not entwine among its cold, green leaves the roses which are emblematic of her love." Ellen listened attentively to Drayton, for she loved to. con- verse with the high-hearted oxi such subjects, and he felt the flattery indicated by the deep 'interest legible in her face. "I fear you exaggemte the devotion of man's heart to our sex'; and ambition is genertilly considered a more selfish feel- ing than you represent it to be." "'There are many," he replied, "who struggle for majes- tic loneliness-for solitary grandeu1r-for unshareddominion; but I suspect the majority of aspirants regard success as de- sirable chiefly because it will gain them the praises of the lips they love." "And many think that fame is not worth the labor it '~ costs," said Ellen. U' page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 76 DfLAYTON. "Neither would it be," replied Drayton, "if it only iso- lated a man above the sympathies of)~iis fellows. The feel- ing that a~ man, experiences when he stands sublimely above others is a glorious one; but eminence, should be regarded as desirable principally because it afford~ one an opportunity of doing an incalculable good.., Fame, like faith, is best at- tested by geod works. I would much rather that my influ- ence should' survive than my name; but the struggle for fame is fraught with a thousand wildly-delighting excite- ments. Talk of the pale brow, the wasted cheek, the shrunk- en form, and the early death to one of the panting sons of genius, and he will tell you that he heeds them not. With eye intent on the brilliant 'summit before him, he thinks not of the pitfalls of death in his way. He thinks martyrdom in such a cause infinitely preferable to long life and inglori- ous, ease." "And would you pursue such a course ?" asked Ellen, in a low but earnest tone of voice. "Oh yes, even if the finger-post of death pointed along the way, 'and on it was inscribed, 'This road leads to the grave,"' said Drayton, as he 'brushed the waving locks aside from his brow. "I have laid my vow on the altar, and I would rather die than live to mourn the disappointment which would crush me if I were unsuccessful." "Anti you will win' the prize !" were the words which trembled on Ellen's lips, as she looked earnestly on Dray- ton's face, vivid with the rays of intense thought. Had Ellen been a younger and less cautious lady, she would have retired to her pillow that night with a more ten- der feeling for Drayton than the high admiration she ex- perienced. She had learned~ to control her impulses~ and suffered no feeling at variance 'with what, she considered propriety to aspire to the dominion of her heart. As it was, the tones of Drayton's voice rang in her ears, and she fan- cied that his' stern resolves would overcome every difficulty in hi~ path, and elevate him high in the regard of tIle world. Had she been less sensible, she would have loved what she admired; but she was one of those who do not suffer the crystal streams oftheir affections to flow forth unbidden, and perhaps unsought. ~he thought of Drayton as an aspirant, not.as a lover. ~he had seen much of distinguished men, and cherished a profound reverence for great intellectual ability. She' now looked upon Drayton as o~ of the most promising men she had ever met, and admired him for the stern and unflinching devotion of his heart to fame. 'a V DRAYTON. 77 Dr0yton admired Ellen the flint time he ~aw her, aiid ev-' ery succeeding observation deepened his regard for hor. He felt a growing attachment, and struggled to suppress it with a sigh. Most willingly would he have 'cherished love for her; most willingly would he have permitted every feeling of hi~ heart tQ be devoted to her, but he was convinced that in his present situation it would be highly improper. He glanced at the future 'with a hoping eye, and .r~solved on a stronger effort than ever, because he thought that, in addi- tion to its winning a reputation that would insure him suc- cess in his profession, it would please Ellen. When a youth determines to labor from such incentives, however much he may fancy to the contrary, the feeling of love is making in- sidious approaches toward the dominion of his heart. Next morning Drayton took a reluctant leave of Oakwood and returned to town. He purchased a few books and some furniture, and took possession of his office. In a few days he hung his "banner on the outer wall," by which passers by were informed that within was to be found an attorney at law. The first few weeks passed away very wearily. He ram- bled a1~out the streets and read by turns. He formed ac- quaintances with the occupants of the adjoining offices, who, being like the majority of persons who have but little to do, were very sociable, and much in the habit of inflicting their company on all the good-natured persons who would per- mit it. CHAPTER XIV. ABOUT two miles from Oakwood, toward the city, resided a gentleman of the name of Richard Randolph. His house was large and commodious; and celebrated for the splendid entertainment which visitors to it always met with. Mr. Randolph's eldest daughter, Caroline, returned home after an absence of two years spent abroad, during which period she had visited most of the remarkable places sought after by European tourists of that day. This event happened a1iout~a mouth after Drayton's 'first visit to Oakwood. 'Miss Randolph was a young lady of a highly-cultivated mind and page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] DRAY TON. DRAYTON. 79 manner, and prior to her departure ~he. had received the most flattering attentions in society. Her return was anx- iously looked for by many~ but by none with more eagerness than George Meredith, Who had culti'.~ated a close intimacy with her, and to whose society he had been indebted for many of the happiest days he had ever known. 'Indeed, it was suspected by many that the principal reason why Mr. Randolph had urged Caroline to go abroad was to dissipate the attachment which' she felt for George Meredith, and which he could not but observe. He was opposed to his daughter's uniting her fortunes with one whose health was so precarious as George's; and when a bachelor uncle spoke of making the tour of Europe, he insisted on her accompa- nying him, and pointed out the many advantages which would result from such a journey. Caroline consented to go, more from deference to her father's wishes than to grat~ ify any desire she felt. George had never declared any thing like passion for her, and yet, when they parted, an observer might have perceived that both of them experienced the pang of regret most keenly. Immediately after her return, George called to ~ee her, fearing the effect that long absence and foreign scenes had exerted over her interest in himself. Much to his joy, he discovered that her mind had been greatly amplified by her observation of the scenes she had passed through, that she was still the sweet-hearted one in whom he had formerly taken so lively an interest, and that her sympathies for her former friend were as cheering as ever. He visited her fre- quently, ~and, when in her society, seemed to forget the in- firmities he labored under. His -friends observed the salu- tary change that came over him, and began to hope that his health, apparently so improved, might gradually be restored. Two months were passed since Miss Randolph returned, and George had experienced not only the restoration of all his' former friendship, but a stronger and more tender regard for her. That passion 'so mysterious, and in romantic na- tures so spiritual, which binds two hearts into one being, grew gradually upon him. He was surprised to find how all his own feelings were merged in his love for Caroline, and at times chided himself for his folly and weakness, which would not permit him to tear the feeling of love from his heart. At other times he flattered himself that his health was strengthening under the influence of his passion, which Weaned his thoughts from the cloud and gave them "4 V 'U to the sunlight; and the hope that he might still live to cherish his regard for her, took a deep hold: on his nature. Still, he resolved not to declare his passion until he felt such confirmation of returning health as to assure him that, in winning her heart, he would not peril her happiness. Caroline Randolph's complexion was of that rich, delicate brown, which characterizes the daughters of the South, shading, but not hiding the flusk of health that blooms upon the cheek. : Her dark eye was a mirror to her thoughts, and tOQk its character from the feelings she experienced, at times flashing with delight, and again dim and averted when she inclined to melancholy. She was tall and symmetrical-. winning in her manners-~.-and in every attitude and action displaying the graces of a cultivated lady. She was roman- tie, affectionate, and confiding. Her heart was pure, and her mind beaming with intelligence., From this imperfect description, it may easily be imagined- that, if she once gave her affections to any one, particularly to one like George Meredith, her devotion would be of that deep and holy kind which survives all change and circumstance, and yields to no power on this side of the grave. Two months, I have said, were passed since Miss Ran- dolph's return. It was a brilliant evening at the close of one of the last days of summer, and George Meredith sat near the adored of his heart. To his imaginative mind, the scene around seemed to breathe a pure atmosphere of love and peace. The air was balmy, and the ever-bright stars pursued their tranquil courses in the solemn depths of a sky as cloudless as an infant's brow. Not a sound, save the scarcely audible breathing of their own low, sweet voices, disturbed the silence of the hour. "Do' you remember," asked George, softly, while his eye was eloquent of unutterable fondness, "do you remember the last evening we spent together before you went away? How much like it is this? The stars were then glittering in the dephs of the moonless heaven, and all nature was hushed beneath 'the calm influence of night. How often- how often, Caroline, since then; when looking at the sky, I have thought of that happy yet most melancholy evening- melancholy, because I supposed it would be the last I should ever spend in your society.~~ "Do you ask me if I remember that evening ?" returned Caroline, .in a; sweet, voice, and with a manner that mdi- - 'cated how fondly her thoughts flew 'back to the occasion re- D R A Y T O N. page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] '80 DRAYTON. ferried to. "Oh! many a time, when the wide sea was spreadout between my heart and its native home, have I dwelt upon the recollections of that evening, until the tears would gather in my eyes, andl would weep like a silly girl, and scarcely know why I did weep. So ineffaceable is the impression of that evening's happiness on my mind, that, even if my memory was paralyzed, I do not think it' would all pass away. How melancholy your thoughts were! Do you remember them ?" "I was melancholy, Caroline, because I thought I looked upon your fair face and listened to your kind voice for the last time. How fondly, in our musin tinted, "do we again live g moments," he con- over scenes once very dear, to our hearts! How often, when you were gone, I have delighted myself in recalling 'the hours, jeweled with joys,'spent with * you in rambling over field and forest, listening to the birds whose songs sounded like the echoes of your own sweet tones, and weaving chaplets of wild flowers for your brow! Were those not sacred hours, Caroline? Each and every one of them is pictured in my memory in hues as dazzling as the colors on the clouds of an October evening." "Mejnory gilds every-day facts and poetizes common oc- currences, but those were hours which well deserve the sane- ~tification of song," returned Caroline, while her countenance reflected the romance of her thoughts. "You can scarcely conceive," she continued,-" of the deep, of the overwhelming influence which the remembrance of delightful scenes has ,over the heart when it wanders far away from the home it clings to beneath foreign skies, and among strangers and strange things." George felt his heart swelling within him as he listened to her voice, so magical and so melodious in his ear, and gazed on the radiant brow and dark eye, which bespoke the iervor and the affection she experienced at that momeiit. With wildness and enthusiasm glowing in every lineament of his face, he said "Little, indeed, did I suspect, when the scenes we have referred to occurred, that I should ever hang over them with all the fondness the 'miser feels when hugging his gQld to his breast; and yet, when you were far away, every one of them became fixed like brilliant stars in memory's heaven, and I gazed. on them with all the rapt enthusiasm of the rersiau beneath the stirs he most loves. It was when re- calling those scenes, Caro~1ine, that I felt how dear~-.-how DItAYTON. 01 I very dear, far beyond all my suspicions, you had been to me." He hesitated; his wan cheek glowed; his frame was' agi- tated, and his eye wandered as his love swept like a wild delirium over his heart. Scarcely knowing what he said, ho continued: "But clouds overshadowed my heaven, and every flower that blossomed in my path faded away as the conviction darkened on my mind that when you returned my heart would be beyond the reach of human 'trials. Contrary to my expectations, and at times contrary to my wishes, I lin- gered on. You returned, and with you came back hope and the feelings which I dared not speak of. Oh, Caroline, how II have struggled against the impulses that urged me to re- veal to you the depth of the unutterable fondness I cherished for you. You seem to possess a talismanic power over the tides of my soul, and they are obedient to no one but you. Your name is heard in my prayers. I breathe it in the hushed depths of my spirit oftener than the coming round of the hours. By day~ every tree I' see, and every wind, and bird, and stream I hear, conjures up 'before ~me some look, some wordsome grace of yours. In my dreams I hang over the transparent clearness of your brow, and seem to 'enjoy the heaven of your smile. It is wrong.-oh, it is sinful in one like me, whose unsteady nerves and faltering steps remind him so frequently that his- days are numbered, and that soon life's vesper bells will summon him to preparefor the unsunned gloom of the grave; it is very sinful in such a one to utter his passion in the listening ear of her who' is dearer than his words can express. But forgive me, Caroline; there is a fa- tality on me, forcing me to 'dedare how much I love you at this moment, and if I did not speak, my heart would burst. Yes, yes, dear girl, I love you devotedly-wildly, and, I fear, insanely. Like a maimed and shivering wretch of the old times, whose last act was to prostrate himself before the shrine of the Virgin and crave her mercy, I have brought my shattered constitution, yet glowing heart, to you, implor- ing your smile before I fade from human sight." He seized her hand and pressed it to his burning lips as a tear quivered in his eye. She gazed 'calmly in his face, and, smiling most kindly, said, "Be composed. You 'talk wildly Why should you thus torture yourself? I do love you-have loved you long, and D2 page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 PRAYTON. would love you, even if the light of day was, for the last time glimmering in your shadowy eye." Wild was the meeting of their lips, gentle was the press- ure of her brow on his shoulder, and as h'oly as an evening in heaven was the silence that ensued. Never did two sin- less hearts unite in a sympathy more sacred-never did two noble and sweet natures blend more willingly together. When he retired to his chamber he took a seat near the window and looked out on the stars. His spirit was as shad- owless as the orbs that burned above him. He felt nothing but happiness, and to his fancy the gentle night-wind seemed to be responsive to the faint sounds of seraph harps, chant- ing to his heart the delights that the love of Caroline would henceforth shed upon him. Gradually a feeling of gloom came over his spirit as he thought that, however dear ~he might be to him, he would not long survive to enjoy the de- light of her communion. Before he retired he took up a pen, and with a fluttering heart wrote the following lines: We met in lifers bright morn, When every flower that blqssom'd in our way Flung forth its sweets into the lap of day, Without a shade or thorn. Then came the wild adieu, And soon between our hearts an ocean roared, But o'er its waves our thoughts, like glad birds, soar'd, Each to the other true. Oft in the lone, deep night, With brain grown weary o'er tile classic page, I turned to scenes more prized than lore of sage, And reveled in delight. For then I seemed to see Thy brow, like seraph's, bending fropi above, And thyusweet voice, whose every tone I love, Breathed round me melody. Although the grave's deep gloom Hung o'er my spirit like a somber night, One star high o'er it cheer'd my achiiig sight, Familiar with the tomb. Again we met~-thine eye, Lustrous with beauty and the light of thought, And lip with sezise, and song, and pathos fraught, Renewed my bosom's sigh. And must my bright dreams fade, Lik~e1ouds which melt upon a twilight heaven? And my fond hopes and glittering thoughts be driveti Into the tomb's deep shade? DRAYTON. 88 ~) I Alas! I bring thee~, love! A shattered frame which bends beneath the storm- A sicklied brow-a thin and wasted form, Meet fo~the clime above! Is it not madness, then, To wast& the streams of thy rich love on one Whose form may, like the rainbow's, soon be gone, Far from the haur~ts of men? lie handed these lines to Caroline the next morning when he w~s about starting. She read them eagerly, and, sigh- ing, approached him as he sat on: his horse. She placed her hand in his, and turning her glorious black eyes full on his 'face, in a tone which was never forgotten by him, said, "And do you wrong me, George, by supposing that I could find in yout ill health a motive for alienating my heart from you? Oh, no! it only furnishes me with a reason why I shop.ld cling more closely-more devotedly to you." A tear stood in her eye, and.George pressed her hand, and turning his head away, said, in an under tone which came from the depths of his spirit, "You are kind and good-too kind, too good, Caroline." As he rode homeward, an electric thrill of joy pervaded his bosom as he dwelt on her deep devotion, and felt him- self to be its object. A cloud passed over the sunshine, of his breast as the probability of his early death came before him. The delights of the bridal and the gloom of the grave alternated on his mind. The angel-form of Hope would lead his fancy to the bowers of love, where Disappointment woula rear her form and mock all his joyous premonitions. Arrived at home, lie retired from the family, and spent the day, which was to him as fickle as an April one, apart- sunshine and shade chasing each other' over his mind, and by twns assuming the ascendency to resign it the next hour. CHAPTER XV. DItAYTON was sitting in his office one morning, soon after his return to town, poring over Coke, when some one en- tered, and, on lifting his eyes from the page before him, he behdd. the fine proportions of Mr. Edward Hampton. P page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 ,DRAY TON. "Goo4, morning, Mr. Drayton. I give you joy, or, rather, I give the profession j~y on your acquisition to its ranks." "Thank you, sir," replied Drayton, handing him a chair. "Take a seat." Hampton took the chair, placed his feet on top of the table-pushing a law-book aside to make room for them- and then, taking a chew of tobacco, said, ~' Have, you seen the fair lady of Oakwood lately ?" Drayto~i was musing on the independent, or, rather, im~ pudent afr of his visitor, and scarcely understood the question. "No, sir. I've been there but once." "She's "a fine girl-a very fine girl-that Ellen Mere- dith is, sir," said Ha yawning. "I'm sleepy; I ought to be abed. I frolicked too late last night. If you are not made of coarser stuff, sir, than I think you are, you will be out at Oakwood again before 'long, and after that you will continue your visits regularly, for that's the fashion with the gentlemen who visit Ellen. 'Such a thing was never knoWn as a man's paying her but one visit." "I think it probable that I shall adopt the fashion," re- turned IDrayton, "for the good people out there are very much to my taste." "They are a fine family," said Hampton, stroking his whiskers lovingly, "a very fine family, sir. They only have ~ fault that I know of, and in that they are better off than any of their neighbors-they're a little too Puritanical in their notions. A man has to take care what he says to them. If he says any thing silly, they think' him a fool; and if he doesn't square 'his conduct by the ten, command- ments as he would his cards by Hoyle, they frown on him." "I would esteem them the more for that course," said Drayton, emphatically. "I suppose it is right," yawned Hampton, "but its a lit- tle behind the times, sir. Now Ellen has such romantic notions about truth, hearts, and such things, that one can hardly get up a genteel ffiitation'with her. I tha)lk Heaven, sir, that all are not like her. Many of our woman-kind let a, fellow take some liberties with them, and that gives a zest to society. They like lovers, and never think of taking on after the manner of solemn-visaged Pharisees if one hap- pens to look and 'talk a little passion to them." "I love a lady whose self-respect frowns down imperti- nent farriiiiarity," said Drayton. "Miss Meredith is by lb means a stiff lady; and she acts very properly when sh~ 84 DRAYTON. scorns the ninnies who would profess love for her in. a. way that would profane that passion." "She's not stiff, sir," replied Hampton, "but she is as dig~ unified as Cornelia-as haughty as the mother of the U-racchi. There's a. little blue-eyed girl down town, with whom it's likely you'll meet, whose maimer is the reverse of Ellen's. There has been more hot breath poured into her ear than there ever were whispers into the Dyonisian ear. I made love to her the first time I saw her, and squeezed her hand in the most affectionate manner, and. you'd have thought, from her innocent looks, that she did not feel the gentle pressure in the least." Drayton was much amazed at his communicativeness, and, considering the slightness of their acquaintance, his famili- arity was decidedly premature. Hampton was one of your vain fellows, who, when they get to speaking of matters that concern themselves, talk on endlessly, without once stopping to reflect whether the taste of any one else is unlike their own or not. He was by no means eccentric, for he belonged to a. class whose name is legion, the members of which are to be met with every where. "I don't like your frigid girls," continued Hampton, "who are like icebergs, and chill every thing near them. I like your free and easy beauties, who don't stop to consider about propriety at every step. That same, propriety is a bore--a cursed bore, sir-.-.it interferes so deucedly with one's pleas. ures. There are a plenty of girls in this town who are as warm as a south wind, and, like that same south wind, they breathe warmth on every body." "Coldness is abominable in a woman," said Drayton, to continue ,the conversation in which his visitor appeared to take a very lively interest; "I do not fancy those ladies whose hearts, like the Baltic Sea, have no ebbs and, flows of pas- sio~l; but then I like dignity also, and think ,a lady lQses the ~espect.of sensible men when she suffers her fascinations to be cheapened down to the level of the taste of every booby in society.", "I like your girls who are fond of flirtations," said Hamp- ton, caressing his nether lip between his thumb and fore- finger, and smiling amiably as the recollections of the many favors he had received from the sex rose before him. "I like a brilliant flirt-one of those sweet creatures who, ac* cording to Pope, '~tnile lute the sun, ahd smile on all alike.' page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 DRAYTON~ You don't have to swim through a whole ocean of common. places before you reach the haven of their good graces. I have one of that genus in my mind's eye now-~a very pretty girl, who gave a party to signalize the event of her coming out, one night last week~ She had just returned from board. ing-school, and I had never seen her before. By-the-way, sir, these boarding-schools are mighty tine hot-beds in which to plant girls, if you want to make passioft-flowers of them. Well, sir, I went to her party, and in one short hour after I had been introduced to her, I walked her out from among the crowd, and made all sorts of declarations to her and the sweet little creature fell on my breast as if Cupid's arrow had really pierced her sensitive heart." "Well, did you follow up the advantage you had gained, and propose for her hand ?" asked Drayton, innocently; for, his opinions being very old-fashioned, he did not fancy it proper to profess love without following with a matrimonial proposition. "Oh no, sir," laughed Hampton, wondering where Dray. ton could have lived. "We met, and laughed and talked the matter over.~~ "Such ladies may be very pleasant sweet-hearts, but no man of sense would think of marrying one of them," said Drayton, quite thoughtfully. His experience in the fashion- able world had been extremely limited, and he was there- fore excusable for what Hampton at the moment considered ludicrous simplicity. "You talk. as old-fashioned as a resurrected mummy, Mr. Drayton," said Hampton, smiling at his greenness. "Devil the thought of matrimony ever entered a single crevice of my cranium. The 'old man, sir, has 'too few corner lots about toWn. The daughter 'is a splendid flirt, and makes a very agreeable sweet-heart. You'll meet her, and you'll know her by the large, languishing black eye she will be sure to ogle you with. She is a fine girl, sir. She has no prudence 'to freeze you. It's 'true, a~ Goldsmith says, the virtue that re- quires to be watched constantly is not worth the trouble of a sentinel." A girl with a pretty face and tawdry~ dress passed by, and glanced in as she passed. 'Hampton sprang up, seized his hat, arid left the office, saying, "Excuse niy abruptness, sir, I want to see where that 'girl goes.~~ While Drayton was reflecting og the affectation and prof- D.RA Y TO N: { legacy of Hampton, Colonel Meredith came in. They had been talking but a few minutes, when the colonel observed, "You have a' pleasant office, Mr. Drayton. It is prob- able you will wait a good while before you get into any thing like a profitable business; for young lawyers must feed is on hope a long time, as the older ~members monopolize the profits of the profession.' A young lawyer should vibrate, like a pendulum, between the court-house and his office. In this way he gets acquainted with the mode ~6f doing busi- ness; and people, observing his regularity, will soon confide in him and give him soniething to do. While his probation continues, he should read-read extensively-.--not only law, but history, biography, and some fiction. These lighter stud- ies refresh and refine his mind. A lawyer can not know too much. The best lawyer at our bar is one of the finest scholars and shrewdest critics in the country. "How unjustly people suspect lawyers of dishonesty," said Drayton. "They will barely adnit the existence of an lion- est lawyer as a possibility, as if there were something indis- pensable to the profession that was peculiarly fatal to in- tegrity." Lawyers are the most slandered men in the community," said the colonel. "The people seem to have forgotten the services that lawyers have rendered to the cause of liberty. If lawyers had not opposed the arrogant pretensions of the British crown, we might still have worn the British yoke. They incited' the people to rebellion, and when the war came on they were to be found in the field as well as in the Sen- ate. The Otises, the Henrys, the Rutledges, and a thou- sand other lawyers, had much to do in the achievement of our independence. In all revolutions 'two orders of men are needed, the active and the speculative. The speculative tion at issue, and demonstrating the value of the results mSh rouse the active by portraying the merits of the ques- that will ~flow from a successful prosecution of the enter- prise. Either of these classes of menbeing absent, the cause 'could not progress. There are Adamses and Jeffersons to rouse the belligerent spirits, and Washingtons~ and ~reenes to marshal and lead them ou to victory. The populace award * th~ honors of a cause to the fighters for it, while those alc~ne 'who k~ok beyond the flashing surface at the mighty, yet more recondite agencies at work, can discover the importance of 'the speculative ~men who preached and pleaded the necessity Aef~~tesort to arms. A Continental Congress to do the think- page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 I~RAYTON. I~RAYTON. 89 ing was as necessary to the success of our Revolution as a. Continental army to do the fighting." Drayton always listened with pleasure to the conversa- tion of Colonel Meredith, and the colonel was fond of talk- ing on subjects that engrossed much of iDrayton's thoughts. He always called on his young friend when he came to town, and sometimes sat for hours pouring forth the results of his reading and reflection into the eager ear of his listener. Drayton's eyes sparkled with delight whenever the tall and manly form of the colonel entered his office; for he passed many gloomy hours, and felt all that want of sympathy that a stranger among the hurrying crowds of a city must feel. During the day Drayton generally read or wasted an hour with some of the tenants of the adjoining offices. He fre- quently went to the courthouse to observe those With whom he was thereafter to come into competition to measure weapons in fancy with the most distinguished members of the bar, and to observe the peculiarities of their minds, as they were shadowed fGrth in their manner of advancing ~nd replying to arguments. At night he felt the lonesomeness of his condition very forcibly. He wandered about the streets, and when the light and joyous laugh of women, sitting near the windows, fell on his ear, the thought that among the thousand lovely beings by whom he was surrounded, there was not one who knew him, would sadden his heart. Occasionally he would stop near a house and listen to a song from lips that he fan.. cied beautiful, and 'then the pang of solitude would, come upon him with intense power. A thousand times the form of Ellen Meredith came before his fancy, radiant with count- less perfection; and then he thought that if she but lived within the precincts of the city, his happiness would be in- sured. Manywere the nights~he thus spent walking about the streets, noticing whatever took place, looking up at the stars and dreaming of fame, or listening to woman's melo- dious voice, and dreaming of love. Alternating between hope and despondency, Drayton pass- ed his first'three months in his new abode. The little money he brought ~with him waS nearly exhausted, and no clients came with fees to replenish his beggarly. coffers. Still he hoped; and at times, when almost sinking under discour- agement, he would ride out to Oakwood, and, in friendly in- tercourse with the hospitable family of the Merediths, for- get his troubles. As Ellen's character developed itself, to ~( y his view, he~ saw more and more to admire and love. She soon became necessary to his happiness. The feeling of love overshadowed, all other feelings of his heart; .but, he studied to conceal every manifestation of his passion from her ob- servation, and under a careless manner he effectually hid the burning sentiments of his heart, from her notice. At times he struggled against his passion, considering it w~ong, with such dark prospects before him, to cherish love for one who, like her, had never tasted the bitter cup of adversity, and whose every want had been lavishly supplied. In such conflicts between the feeling of love and his convictions of duties, he experienced many gloomy hours. Love some- times, like a dove, nestled gently in his heart, and again it would assume the form of the. vulture, beating his breast and battening on his blood. In his moments of desperation, when his proud soul rebelled against its bondage-when the beautiful pictures that fancy painted on the curtain of the future were shadowed as with the gloom of a night with- out stars-when those ethereal visitants, hope, love, and fame, fled.from his spirit, and demoniacal forms usurped their places -in such moments the chain of life galley him, and from the depths of his spirit came' the wish that he could take wings, and, soaring away from scenes of perplexity, be at rest. Such were his dark and doubting moments. But many were the hours of joy that lighted up the path before him; and with courage on his brow, and hope on his lip, he went gayly on, trusting that some circumstance auspicious to his success would occur to change the course of his fortunes, which thenceforth should flow on in the light 9f day and under a genial sun. CHAPTER XVI. "MARIA, have you seen the Mr. Drayton that Ellen Mer- edith was talking about ?" The speaker was Mrs. Willoughby, a lady of forty, with a. very unprepossessing exterior. She was a fat, dumpy woman, with a round face and huge red cheeks, indicating a sensual heart and, a pampered appetite. She was one of the most extravagant and dashing ladies in town. ~ShQ. was good for page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] r'.RAY T c6N. RYTN her accounts, and the merchants ~ll courted het~ She sported the finest carriage in the place, and her servants glittered in the richest livery. Her house was incompara- bly the most magnificent the city boasted. Every thing about it was decidedly elegant. Hers were the richest car- pets, curtains, and chandeliers..-and hers were the most costly Parisian tables, chairs; and lounges. Every thing about her establishment was extravagant; and Mrs. Wil- loughby had the honor ,of introducing the latest styles of * dresses and dishes. By trickery, speculation, and all sorts of legal villainy, her father had accumulated a vast estate and a damning re~u.- tation. She was his only daughter. Mr. Willoughby was a dissipated, fashionable young man, who had spent his own patrimony without exhausting his profligate passions. He was sighing for another fortune when he met his future wife. He soon proposed for her hand, and married her. Mrs. Willoughby's guardian, . foreseeing consequences, had sense enough to secure to her one half of her magnificent fortune, and the other half, being placed in her lord's hands, was soon scattered to the four winds. She had ample means left, and supplied her husband, between whom and herself the smallest conceivable amount of affection subsisted, lib- erally with the means of gratifying his tastes. He wisely left her to take care of herself. Their children were grow- ing up, sadly neglected by both parents, and under the in- flu~rice of the most vicious examples. But that was a mat- ter of slight concernment to their parents: the one dashed and was envied, the other frolicked and played-and both were satisfied. The person addressed by Mrs. Willoughby was her daugh- ter, a young lady of eighteen. She was a gay, passionate, coquettish girl, with a pretty blonde face. Her roguish eyes were blue, and her simpering lips were the pure vermil of health. "Yes, ma," she answered;" Mr. Hampton pointed him out to me yesterday in the street, and he is, oh! such a fine-look- ing gentleman." "Well, you must invite him to your party," said the ami able mother; "and doti't forget to tell your father to call on him this very evening." "I will, ma, for I'm dying to get acquainted with him Ellen says he is so smart and gentlemanly." "If he is suel~ a man as Ellen described, I wish you would wi~z him," added the mother, "for you kiiow, my dear, I was always in favor of your marrying a gentleman of talents." Mrs. Willoughby was celebrated for her parties. They were the most splendid in town. Every body that was in. vited went to them to see every body else. The eatables and drinkables were always of the best, and in great abund- ance. If you want ten thousand friends, just cause your tables to groan with good things, and you will, have them. This prescription has been tried in innumerable instances, and there is not a case of failure on record. Mr. Willoughby called on Drayton. An invitation was Bent, and Mr. Hampton kindly offered to accompany him and present him to the ladies. The night came. It was glorious. It was neither too hot nor too cold. The weather was of that interestingly du- bious sort which leaves you nothing to hope or fear from it. It was most admirably adapted to colloquial purposes. You were not forced to swear at it, or to compliment it with a dewy brow or an aching toe. The moon and stars, poor dim luminaries, did their utmost to get up a luster out of doors for the plebeians, equal to that which dazzled the eyes of the patricians in Mrs. Willoughby's parlors. But it would not answer; and the serene poetry of the heavens was voted second to that whose influence was felt in the crowded apart- ments. As they entered the hall, Drayton's nerves were slightly agitated, for he had, unfortunately for his knowledge of the. world, lived without the sacred limits of fashion, and, of course, knew nothing. He had never been at one of those splendid assemblages, where the fountains of human wisdom perpetually play, where impudence stares at worth and wonders how in the deuce it got there, and sound is con- sidered the best substitute in the world for sense. Clinging to Hampton's arms as his only means of salva.. tion, Drayton wound through the crowd of beauties and dandies. He felt a very comfortable degree of resignation to his fate, for his poor senses were quite overcome by the intense brilliance that dazzled his eyes, and the sounds that quite stunned his ears. "Yonder she stands," shouted Hampton, in Drayton's ear, as the dumpy form of Mrs. Willoughby greeted his vision. After much labor they reached the lady. Drayton was introduced-he made abow-.-said nothing, because he did not know what to say~-..wiped the perspiration from his brow, page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] DRAYTON. DRAYTON. ' 93 and retired from her august presence. He was soon fortu- nate in finding a vacant, corner, whare he folded his arms, recovered the control of' his eyes, and began to observe the mass of beings crowding each other before him. Every body there would have pronounced poor Drayton decidedly green, if every body had only known what he was thinking as he stood in the corner calmly surveying the scene. 'But, for- tunately, a philosopher can fold his arms in such crowds and think as he pleases, and the fools fluttering.before him have not the sagacity. to read the language of his feelings. But to resume. Drayton stood for some time looking at sundry ladies who were dancing before him. His philosophy soon began to thaw beneath the brilliant glances of beauty, and he actually felt a strong desire to become acquainted with some of the fair beings. There was one young lady in particular who claimed his attention, with whom he ex- changed looks several times. She was dancing with great spirit, and carrying on flirtations with two or three dandies near her. As he was wondering how he could get acquaint- ed With her, Hampton came up, and he asked him if he knew who that pretty lady was. "Yes; that's Miss Willoughby. She wants to see you. You have been playing the wall-flower long enough." They again elbowed their way through the crowd, and Hampton introduced Drayton to Miss Willoughby. "You are a stranger in-our city,' Mr. Drayton," she said, glancing timidly at his brow, and then modestly dropping her eye toward a brilliant bouquet she held in her hand. Half a dozen gentlemen here gave way, and Drayton ap- proached nearer to the lady as he replied, "I am., Miss Willoughby." ".1 heard Miss Meredith speak of you," she said, suddenly becoming quite, courageous, and lifting her bright 'blue eye from her flowers to his face. "By-the-way, sir, she is a most partial friend of yours, for she spoke in the highest terms of you." If you want to please a stranger, 'put him into a particu- larly good humor with himself first, and his benevolence will become so expansive as to include you Without an effort. Miss Willoughby practiced this rule on all occasions, and, in her opinion, it was infallible. As she spoke, a very par- ticularly long and slender yoi~th. came up and asked her to honor him with 'her hand for th~ dance. "I am engaged for the next eight sets, Mr. Smith, and I shall ha'~re the ex- quisite pleasure of dancing the ninth with you," and, as she concluded, she wrote his name on a card, and Mr. Smith went off in an ecstasy of delight. "Can you look unmoved on such charms as Miss Mere- dith's ?" inquired Miss Willoughby, resuming the conversa- tion which h4d been interrupted by Mr. Smith. "Such coldness and unsusceptibility, I am happy to say, are not mine," returned iUrayton. "She was telling me about a morning ride she had with you, Mr. Drayton. I suspect such things are pleasant, but I can't get up early enough to enjoy. them.'~ "You should resemble Venus more early than' you do, if you would be a morning as well as an evening star," said Drayton, as he gazed in her bright face with an eye eloquent of admiration. A youth, with a waspish waist and pretty face, here came up and claimed Miss Willoughby's hand for the dance. She plucked a rose from her bouquet as she was leaving, and, ex- tending it toward Drayton, with an arch look, said, "Wear that for my sake, sir." Drayton took the flower and bowed, and the lady's slight form was soon lost in the crowd. "That's a very pretty girl," thought he, as his eye fol- lowed her; "but if she is not an arrant coquette, then I am no judge of womankind." He went into another room, and the first lady he saw dancing was Ellen Meredith. She was dressed in white, and wore a white rose in her dark tresses. As he stood watching and admiring her graceful motions, a hand was placed ~oftly on his shoulder, and,~ turning, he saw George Meredith at his side. "A moat agreeable surprise," said Drayton, warmly, grasp.. ing h s hand. ." I ,do not often visit such places," said George. "Ex- citement' injures me. But 1. knew sister Wished to come, and she would not come Without me. Drayt6n's attention wa~s attracted to a lady of great beau- ty who was dancing .near, and. after looking at her for some time, he asked, '.' Who: is that lady in' black velvet? ' She glances very frequently and .very ~indly at you." "That lady," returned George,' " is 'Caroline Randolph. She has a very' sweet face, and it is the index of as sweet a heart' as was ever lodged in woman's breast." D R A Y T O N. page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] 94 - DRAYTON~ DRAYTON. .95' He hesitated a rnome~it, and then continued: "1 will teU you what I would tell to but few persons; that lady and myself have long been intimate, and between us there is great sympathy of soul. She is the one particular bright being who dawns on my fancy as shadowless as a star. She," he added, his voice sinking to a'whisp9r, "is my be- trothed." Drayton was not prepared for. such a revelation; and George, observing his surprise, continued, "I have no doubt that, after hearing me express the con- viction that I am one of the early doomed, such a confession~ from my lips astonishes you. Our love commenced several years ago, when my health was better than it is now; but I fear it will never be consummated on this side of the grave." His voice faltered as he spoke, and Drayton, feeling the delicacy of the occasion, said nothing, while a sigh escaped his breast. "Accompany me, and I will introduce you to her," said George, taking his friend's arm. Drayton soon left Miss Randolph and her lover, and went to pay his respects to Ellen. When he was gone, Miss Ran- dolph took George's arm, and said, "Lead me to a seat; I will dance no more to-night. You look pale. You have been too much excited. Let us sit down." "I love to see you among the fairest of your ser," he said, when they were seated, "for -then your loveliness shines pre- eminent over all others. And then, when I think that all~ the hoarded alThctions of the one whose brilliance is' height- e~zed, not dulled, by comparison, is mine, I am almost over. powered by my sensations." "I am extremely happy," she returned, "in reciproc'ati~tg such feelings., And 'oh, George! if Heaven. would but be merciful to me,~ and restore your health, I should be the hap' piest being below the Btars." "And to Onjoy .the bliss of your love, Caroline, is what I particularly desire to live for. I hope to live many years fot your sake." The mists rose to her eye as she listened to his soft and melancholy tones. With much emotion, she said, - "" ~J'a1k no more in that doubting strain. Let the cheer. ing~~~~ce of Hope still 'lull all my fears to repose." Her ~ye glistened through its mists, 'and the rays of hope ble~nded'with her smiles as she spoke. Alas! sweet girl, to 'hope when the flush of life's setting sun is on the cheek of the one you love, is, of all love's proofs, the most trying. Hope on-hope on; and though the star you love shall sud. denly sink, like ,a meteor, below the horizon, and a long, long night of desolation ensue, yet while its beams are still bright above you, the delusion you cherish is a most consoling one. The angel form of Hope may smile on the verge of the grave, but 'when it disappears beneath the cold green sod, who may estimate the bitterness and the gloom that come down on the too credulous heart? "I am glad to see you enjoy yQurself," said Ellen, when Drayton, after much labor, had' pressed through the crowd, and stood by her side. "It is a habit of mine to enjoy myself when so near you," returned Drayton. "Alas !" he added, "I can not partici- pate in the pleasure that has heightened the bloom on your cheek, and I must stand off and envy happier fellows than I am." "I~o you not dance, Mr. Drayton ?" "No; I do not know one step from another; and if I did, I should fear to enter the 'lists, where beauty awards the prize to gracefulness." "I suspect, sir, if the truth were k~iown, it would appear that you consider dancing too undignified a pleasure for one who aspires to the delights of philosophy," said Ellen, gayly. "A pleasure which Miss Meredith's superior judgment ap- proves may not be considered undignified by me," returned Drayton. "I will not -contest that point with you," she said; "but, sir, what do you think of the beauty of our city? Are you heart-~whole yet ?" Drayton shrugged his shoulders and sighed, and she con. tinted. "Caught at last, Sir Stoic! Well, ~aat lady of my acquaintance shall I congratulate on having made a conquest of your fastidious fancy?" 'KDoes Miss Meredith ask that question seriously ?" "Tudeed I do, sir, for I have some curiosity to know." ~' You are gay this evening," ~aidDrayton. "Well, gay. ety becomes one who shines in this brilliant crowd like Sirius among the fixed stars." "Thank you, sir," she returned; "and if I am Sixins~ -of which of the hisser 'stars have you ~been taking astronomical observations'?" page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 DRAYTON. "I see but the brightest; but, unfortunately, I ~iave to worship at a distance. Do you dance all the evening 'I" "I am growing weary, and. mean to retire after' the next cotillion." "And shall it be' my happiness to provoke the jealousy of all these graceful gentlemen by leading you from the dance when you are wearied ?" Ellen smiled assent; and the music called her attention from Drayton to her partner, who had been trying to attract her attention for some time by clearing his throat and jerk- ing his body nervously, in front of her. Drayton stepped aside, and watched Ellen as she.. wound gracefully through the mazes of the dance. He was quite abstracted, when a gay voice at his side attracted his no- tice. "By all that's proper, now, I vow here stands Mr. Dray- ton, looking like a philosopher in the presence of beauty." The ~voice was Miss Willoughby's, who was hanging care- lessly on Hampton's arm. "I did not think beauty was so near me, or abstraction would have given way to admiration." The pretty creature smiled most brilliantly, and for a mo- merit hung her head, as if overcome by a sense of unworthi- ness. Suddenly she glanced at him, and said, "A pretty flower for your thought, sir, when I interrupted your brown study." "I was thinking of the fairest lady in this company," he answered. "And who was so happy as to engross your thoughts ?" "Excuse me if I breathe not her name," he replied; "for personalities are decidedly improper here," he concluded, with a look that assured Miss Willoughby that' she was the lady in question~ "Here's th~flower, sir; you fairly deserve it, for that is incomparably the most unconscionable compliment I have received to-night." As she handed the flower, Hampton said, "Well, now, I'll swear, Miss Willoughby, you compliment him at my expense, for I've been uttering nothing but soft and kind words in your ear all the evening." "Yours were the softest, but this gentleman's were the sweetest," she'answered, glancing from Hampton to Drayton. "By-the..way,'. sir," she continued, addressing Drayton, "I hve not seen you practicing the graces to-night' DRAYTON. 97 " I ~rn n&t a master in that line, and know myself too well to run the risk of becoming ridiculous. Miss Willoughby was soon surrounded' by a host of admir- ers, comprising an exquisite assortment of dandies, and other interesting gentlemen in aspiring shirt collars, who made sun- dry most apposite and extremely brilliant remarks about her bouquet, and the air of happiness that prevailed over the com- pany.' The lady was exceedingly gracious. She distributed her fiLvors with admirable tact and impartiality. To a senti- mental-looking gentleman, who was a ninety-ninth~rate poet, she made a quotation from one of his own execrable dog- gerels; 'and to a weak and slender coxcomb she administered a cordial in a complimentary remark she made about the ex- quisite tie of his cravat. 'She pleased a presumptuous fool by smiling on him at a distance; and she made a tast friend for life of a shy, awkward youth, by telling him he was the most happy-looking man she ever saw in a crowd. They thickened around her; but the lady's conversation was like a fountain flashing all day in the sunlight, and she had a brilliant smile and a cordial drop for every one. All were happy; and if philanthropy is to be estimated by the amount of pure, unalloyed delight its proprietor confers on the ste- cies, Miss Willoughby was certainly one of the most philan- thropic ladies in the world. Drayton stood by, and was highly amused as he watched Miss Willoughby, and observed how happy she made a dozen youths in five minutes. At that rate, he calculated, she could imparadise a thousand sentimental young gentlemen in a day; and he had no doubt ~he could have accomplished such a benevolent undertaking with ease, and, moreover, have slept comfortably and dreamed of menageries all night. Drayton abstracted Miss Meredith from the crowd, to the sad annoyance of sundry exquisite who besought her hand for the dance. The lady wa~ unrelenting, and the exqui- sites looked sullen, while Drayton, with an air of triumph, led her off into a corner, where he kept possession of her ear until supper was announced. The supper was magnificent, and the tables were re- lieved of a portion of their loads in a marvelously short time by the five hundred famishing beings who crowded round them. The ladies ate cakes and candies, sipped creams and jellies; while the more knowing fellows, ~ho had more appetites than gallantry, and who were too wise to escort ladies to the supper-room, waged a war of exterm- E 4 page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 DRAY TON. DR~YTON. 99 nation on sundry solids that were placed on a' table by themselves. Sherry of all complexions, Burgundy and Champagne bottles were emptied with remarka'hle facility, and then the supper was over; and the crowd reassembled in the p~ir1ors, where the music struck up a tune, and pretty~ ladies and slende~ dandies were soon seen floating mely about, to' the great delight of Terpsichore and a few other ladies that looked on. CHAPTER XYII. "HAVE ~OU been at Oakwood lately ?" inquired Doctor Macdonald, as he sat in his easy chair, reposing his gouty foot tenderly on a soft cushion. The doctor's disease was particularly obstinate, and instead of getting better, he swore it grew worse every day. "It has been about two weeks since I was there," replied Drayton. "Two weeks !" ejaculated the inestimable uncle, looking as~-much astonished as if the earth had yawned before him. "Two weeks! why, that's a full generation in a lover's chro- nology. I thought yoi~ told me you loved Miss Meredith very much!" "I do consider her a very superior lady," returned Dray- ton, "but it does not follow that I ought to go to see her every day on that account." The uncle was very anxious that the nephew should marry Miss Meredith, as he supposed such an act would be a vastly fine speculation, and he wanted Drayton to become independent, as he feared that otherwise he might trouble him 'with importunities. The apparent indifference of his nephew to such a golden opportunity always irritated the worthy uncle, who considered lukewarmness in such an en- terprise altogether unpardonable. Remember, bay, she's a fair girl, and will make yetl an uncommonly snug wife; but you must also remeni'b~t that, to win her, you will have to be much smarter than you have been yet." 1)rayton disliked talking with him on such a subject~,and very coolly returned,. 1' "I "'I h~ve' not tried to win, her, else I would have been as smart as you could desire. "Not tried !" vociferated 'the doctor; "why, you unmiti- gated gander! while you are deliberating about the matter, some shrewder fellow will slip in and bear off 'th~rize; and, 8uch don't come up every day in the lottery~ of human fortunes." "Then that shrewder fellow will get a very fine wife,?' said Drayton, yawning, as if he waa the most unmercifully bored of men. "A fine wife! Just think of the Oakwood estate, to say1 nothing of one of the prettiest and most highly accomplished' women in the state !" The doctor twitched about, and was evideni~y becoming', nervous as he thought of the pre-eminent follyibf his irre- claimably silly nephe~(r. The old gentleman ~ looking earnestly in his face, when Drayton smiled, as if~tt~ scene was not half so serious as the doctor esteemed it '.~4'~e old gentleman's brow darkened, and he looked as ifhe was~bout hurling a blasting thunder-bolt at his nephew. His feAgres were slightly relaxed as he 'said;~ "You're a pretty ass, to let such an admirable O~~O1~1flfl..; ty of making yourself comfortable for. life slip through yoi~ fingers! Well, I always did believe ~s much in the blood. of men as in that of horses. Why, sir, if your gr~ndfa~ther's ghost was to rise from the grave and take flesh,' it would act in every respect as ~you do. What are you,' waiting You say you like the girl ?" , g~ 'for? "I am waiting to get into business which will justify mat- rimony before I seriously indulge in thoughts of marriage with any one," returned Drayton. "Besides, sir, I have not half so flattering an estimate of my powers of pleasing as you seem to have, and am therefore by no means certain of ~uc- cess if I were to try 'to win Miss Meredith's affections.". "What have you tQ fear ?" inquired the. doctor, earnestly. "Why, boy," he continued, lowering the tones of~his voice i~ntil they becai~ne quite gentle, "why, you're a good'looking fellow; you are gifted with the Macdonald eye and a fine mind; ~ withal, your maiuier is highly genteel. And whatm~re 'would you have? Don't you know, sir, that no wom~u, 'under heaven was ever known to resist the combi- 'nation of such qualities in one person? If ~he doesn't sin'- render at once, don't give up the siege on that account. No, sir, don't think of giving up; but the more difficulties you n 98 g page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 DaAYToN. r4eet must only incense ~our' ardor the more. Keep up ~. b~isk fire, and the enemy i~ yours. Take my advice; be vig- ilant, be bold; push your suit vigorously, and, my life on it, the Oakwood estate will be yours." Th& worthy gentleman stopped for want of breath, and while he was recovering. ~iis wind, Drayton smiled and' said, "My dear uncle, you SE em to think that the estate is the main thing to be looked at and courted. Now I confess, however silly it may seem to you~ that if I were to court any thug, it would be the fai~' lady herself, for I lack the power to fall in love with aA estate." "Fudge! The estate s worth more than any woman in the four continents; and this one is particularly' desirable, for, in case you should wn it, its mistress could scarcely be considered an ineumbrane s." The doctor took a pinc~ t of snuff, and as he gave it to his nose~ he kept his. lively little eyes fixed on Drayton's face. The nephew, instead oflooking thankfully at his uncle for the advice he was so kindly administering, was glancing up at a Canary-bird that Wa; singing away lustily in his cage. "I suppose, however, y~u would wait to get in love," add- ed the doctor, "to expetisnce tender emotions about here," he continued% putting his hand on his waistcoat1 and speak- ing in a 'sarcastic tone ~ hich indicated great contempt for what he called tenderr emotions." "You must sigh all day, and dream of women all iight, before you would venture on matrimo4 You could tiot think of marriage unless you first lost what common sense you have got-oh, no, not you !" LYrayton' often toleratec expressionss of contempt in his Un- cle, whi~h1 proceeding frm any other one, he would have retorted with added bitterness. In the present instance, he could scarcely resist the impulse to .return his ridicule, for he felt it keenly. With a strong and Well-disciplined con- trol, he kept down his feelingg of resentment; and although his cheek glowed, he looked as if he were enjoying the in- terview, and said, "I should certainly w~*it to experience a' feW sighs and tender emotions before I told a lady IL loved her; for many people think-even Shak3peaa~.e hinis~lfthought-~--that love is niad~ of such things." "Fall in love with the estate, that's all you've got to do," said the doctor, again tapping his snuff-box; "I do love it," returned Prayton, beginning to be amused at the old gentleman's pertinacity. ~' It is a most beautiful DRAYTON. iOl estate, with its groves and green meadows-its shady forests and murmuring streams~.-and I have too much taste for what is beautiful in this world not to k ye such things." "Then what's the, reason you don't pursue the only pos- sible way to obtain it ?" said the doctor, fiercely. " Go and see Miss IMieredith once or twice' more.~.-make yourself as agreeable as you can.-propose for her hand, and then you'll have the felicity of owning the sha ly groves and murmuring streams you speak of," concluded ~he doctor, 'trying to irni- tate his nephew's voice. "I am not so certain of that 'esult, my dear uncle. I must deliberate about it, however That same lady's hand is not the easiest one in the world to win." "Spoken like a Drayton, by J')ve !" shouted the doctor. "I never knew one of the name ihat wouldn't hesitate un- til all chance of success was gone. I'll swear, I wouldn't have one drop of such dull blood ut my veins for half a king- dom. If there was such a drop about my heart, I would leech my.~elf until it was out of m~ system. I would about as lief have so much vile IDemoer itic blood in my veins. "I must be in a bad way," sak Drayton, rising, "for, un- fortunately, I have some of both k~nds in my veins, and they blend together most harmoniously."' "What.!" vociferated the doctor, in a shrill voice; "you don't ~mean to say that you are a Democrat ?" "I do, sir,"' replied the nephew; "in my political opin- ions I am utterly and hopelessly 1)emocratic." "I will tell you what you are," shouted the doctor, as Drayton was leaving the room; "I will tell you what you are, sir," he continued repeating 'he words, his cheeks red. and his lips tremulous with wrath: "you are a fool !" This was all that Drayton heard ~as he hurried out of the house, fearing his uncle might heai him laughing. He pass- ed along toward his office, thinkii .g of the old gentleman's wrath, and holy abhorrence of Den~cracy and Drayton blood. The doctor was as irascible as a hornet, and when ~once roused, his passions heaved and tossed a long while before they subsided and became calm. The more he thought of Drayton"swrong~headedness, the mcre' unpardonable he deem- ed it, and the more he raved. Hal ~ an hour after his nephew left him, he might have been seer sitting in his chair hold- ing a glass of liquor in one hand, while the other was en- gaged in transferring the beverage to his mouth in a spoon. There he sat, and sipped, and caused. In its passage from se T 4 page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 *DRAYTQN. '~. the glass to its place of destination, so tremulous was his hand that many drops fell on the red bandana that he had prudently ~spread out on his lap. Occasionally he stopped sipping, and then he would disburden his heart of the pas- sion he felt, and emit low, gruff, indistinct sounds, that bore some remote resemblance to the rumblings of a small vol- cano. It was a habit of the doctor's to have recourse to such 6idiviating influences in all cases of irritation, and, con- sidetixig the frequency of such spells, it is not surprising that his face bloomed like a rose, and that his dexter foot stood in need of a velvet cushion. He was decidedly of the opin- ion that the raging of the passions were best treated when the sentence passed on witchcraft in the olden time was in-' flicted on them-.with this slight difference, however, that a very considerable portion of brandy should be mingled with the water when the passions were to be drowned. He sipped and sipped until the influence of the drowsy god was on him, and then slept soundly, and woke as calm as a sunbeam. lOrayton met George Meredith, who accompanied him to his office. They sat down, and Drayton said, "X hope you suffered no inconvenience after your dissipa- tion at Mrs. Willoughby's the other night ?" "No; my health is much better than it has been for a year. I am delighted that I feel so little weariness from my long ramble over this town this morning. Three months ~go as much exertion would have overcome ~ "Perhaps love has strengthened your energies; and if so, I sincerely hope it may entirely restore you to health." "Alas! I have no hope of any permanent health," said George, sadly. "Three months since I would have wel- comed the stern conqueror of mankind; but now, when I have other prospects in life, I shudder at the thought of for- saking them, It is a sad thing to die in youth, when every thing is flowery in the path before you. But I have a root- ed conviction that the seeds of dissolution are maturing with- in me; and Iwould much rather walk on in the light of such a conviction to my grave, than to stumble along blindly, in the shadow of unconsciousness, into it." "I wish, my dear friend," said Drayton, very earnestly laying his hand on George's, "that you would turn your eye aside from the gloom with whick it is so familiar, and suffer *your hopes to brighten themselves in the happiness that sur- rou~ids you. It is wrong.-..-it is very wrong," he continued, still more earnestly, "to bow your head to sadness when the 'I DRAYTON. 103 glad stars are bright above you-to dwell on the cypress in- stead of the rainbow-to woo the night when day invites you to pleasuree" George grasped his hand, and pressed it warmly as he spoke, and as a melancholy smile passed over his sad feat- ures, he returned, "The instinct which teaches the swallow to prepare for a coming storm when the sky is unclouded, is not truer than the conviction which bids me prepare for death. I ~m not gloomy; I am not unable to enjoy pleasure; I am not, de- pressed by this conviction, and therefore it is not wrong in me to maintain it. But," he added, in a~ lighter tone, "I may live many years yet, although I do not anticipate a. lengthening out of the chain of life." "When did you see Miss Randolph ?" inquired Drayton, anxious to divert his friend's mind from the rayless gloom in which he thought he indulged too much. "I saw her as I rode along this morning. By-the-way, sir, if you would like to get acquainted with her, ride' out to Oakwood to-morrow. She has promised to spend that day with my sister. She and Ellen ar~ old friends, and they have for years been in the habit of staying with each other days at a visit. Will you come "I will certainly be there," returned Drayton. "for I have a strong desire to know the fair lady of whose fascina- tions y~u have given me so glowing an account. She is very beautiful, and her pure brow and lustrous eye indicate the power to think and to feel deeply. I have seen her but once, and yet her image is vividly impressed on my memory." "It is inscrutable to me," said George, "that she should k~ve s~~ich a wreck as I am. She loves in the very teeth of hope, for I do not think that she regards the restoration of my health as a probability. The feeling that prompts her to care for me must be widely different' from the earthly passion that people call love. A pure-hearted woman is a most holy being. With her unshrinking firmness in times of trial-with' that unappalled fortitude which bends not to the blast-with her uncontrollable devotion, that follows 'its object through all the vicissitudes of life, itself unchanged in the midst of changes-with such noble endowments, she seems to me as pure as the angels who breathe the atmos- phere of a better world." "And yet," said Drayton, witl~ an eye flashing with in- dignation, "there are miscreants whose poisonous tongues 9 page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 D1~AYTON. utter slander against such beings -wretches who would smile at your simplicity if they heard you speak of skinless women. When I remember my own dear mother's deep and abiding devotion to me-when I remember ~the prayers her sainted heart breathed to Heaven for my welfare, I feel like striking the guilty wretch to earth whose lips blaspheme the loveliness of woman. There are many light-hearted ladies whose thoughts seem worldly in the crowd, who in the ~nctuaries of their own souls commune with spiritual vi0itants as undellled as the Egeria that delighted the im- agination of the great Roman legislator." '~' Some persons judge of the whole sex from a few corrupt specimens they happen to know," said George. "I thank Heaven that my experience has been among those who are as free from all affectation and. defilement as a meridian sun- beam is from the duskiness of night, and without the com- panionship of such I should not desire to see the light of another. year. "I never knew a man who boasted of his knowledge of the world," said Drayton, "in whom I would repose the least confidence. Such beings have practiced only the vices, and know no more of the virtues of woman and' the noble- ness ~of man than if they had walked blindfold through life. These degraded creatures may be easily recognized among thousands by their manner. They shrug their shoulders, shake their heads, insinuate what, they dare not speak plain- ly, stare and look compassionately at a better person, who, having studied human nature in t~ie light of day, believes in, the holiness of love and the unselfishness of a noble spirit that sighs at every sorrow which afflicts humanity." When George left him, Drayton called on Miss Willoughby, * whom he had not seen since the party. He found that ami- able young lady dispensing her smiles lavishly to three or four 1~inely-dresse4 young men, whose faces were radiant with joy. To IDrayton she was particularly .gracious; and, had he not suspected her sincerity, he would not only have been delighted with her efforts to advance his happiness, but would have admired her also. Mr-s. Willoughby came in, and seemed extremely anxious that he should understand how much they were pleased by the acquisition of so agree... able an acquaintance as himself. There were some symp- toms of an intrinsically vulgar nature about her Which he by no means relished, from which her pretty daughter, how. ever, was entirely exempt. Themother had all that elabo- DRAYTON. 105 Ii rate aping of style which denote 3 the ill-bred, while the young lady's easy, off-hand mann ~r would have passed for gentility any where. He left thcm with a promise to be very sociable, which seemed to give them much unalloyed pleasure. CHAPTER ).YIII. ON the ensuing day, Drayton, according to agreement, rode out to Oakwood. He found Miss Randolph there, and was much pleased with her. He was very favorably impressed by her sprightly and intelligent conversation and affable manner, and thought George's estimate of her loveliness by no means exaggerated. After dinner, he went with Colonel Meredith to see Mr. Fleetwpod. The colonel Pmnd in Di~ayton an agreeable companion, and with him had frequently talked about the distinguished. men of the past and present time. As they walked along, their conversation turned on orators and eloquence. "There is no power in this country like eloquence," re- marked the colonel. "An orator is sure to be a favorite. His is a dazzling and dangerous gift, and his office is one, of great responsibility. Our people are fond of speaking, and a talent of that kind is more admired than any other. It is a sure passport to popular favor. ?he commonest mind feels the charm of an eloquent lip, but ~t rarely troubles itself to understand the excellence of the pcet, which, being more ab- stract and refined, is less intelligible. The orator becomes rich in the same community in which a poet or painter starves.~~ "The undue exaltation of one sp ~cies of intellect is always followed by the depreciation of otier kinds of talent," said iDrayton, thoughtfully. "The po'~t and -philosopher sufThr from the over-estimate of the ora tor, as is the case in this country at the present time. Ths showy speaker is more admired than the philosophical writer, and, the flashing mind is preferred.to the profound; and we thus outrage all the es- timates of antecedent times." "True," returned the colonel, "and that is the reason why the tongue of: such a man as Wisher Ames, a, most brill- E2 page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 SR A Y T ON-. jant and noble orator, it is true, is more admired than. the pen of Franklin, from which so much wisdom flowed. If such men as Locke' and Milton. were among us, they would be neglected by the many, who lavish all their honors on Henry and Hamilton. If you will take a speech which has been pronounced by some great orator, and compare it with a written essay from the pen of some unknown writer, you will frequently find that the pen of the obscure man has pro.. duced a greater amount of vigorous and noble thought than thee lip of' the orator. This proves, what is so universally true, that men are not ranked according to the degrees of intellectual power they possess, so much as they are esti- mated 'by a certain vague and indefinable magic they exert over others.'~ "And thus it happens," added Drayton, "that the dema.. goguc h~s more admirers than the philosopher. There is no country under heaven in which eloquence is in such, de- mand, and this is the reason why we have more orators than writers. The moment you create a desire for any particular otder of. minds, they are sure to come fbrth. Here the de- sire for orators exists, and every one who fancies he can suc- ceed makes choice of the rostrum, because the good people shower their plaudits on such heads as are eminent in such situations. Besides,~ there is every thing here to inspire such men. Our country is rich in her glorious reminiscences, and our form of government being popular, the people take a n~iost hearty 'interest in its administration, and always go in crowds to listen to an eloquent exposition of the merits of measures which have been proposed or adopted. What do you think the trtie definition of eloquence to be, colonel ?" * "Eloquence, like genius, can be felt, but not defined," returned the colonel. "It wears as many forms ~s Proteus himself did. It is unlike, in every thing- but its influences, in the Indian and the senator, the natural and the cultivated orator. 1t does not consist in language, for two men may use .the eame words with entirely different effects. It does riot depend on manner, for I have seen graceful and culti- vated speakers who roused rio passion,.,and rough and awk- ward men who seemed t'o have dominion over every senti- ment of the heart. You may go and listen to an oration, and it may rouse every passion of your soul, and wihen you go away you can grow eloquent, in describing its effect, but you can not tell how it was prodriced. It is soul responding to soul, heart to heart. When Patrick Henry electrified that 13R A YT ON. 107 t grave assemblage of dignified patriots at Carpenters' Hall *by eloquence of amazing splendor, riot one of those sages could have told why they were wrought on by the orator as they were. They saw the lightning hurst from the cloud, and. were dazzled and bewildered by it; but when the storm had subsided, not one could give anintelligible account of it, for while it lasted all were blinded by its intense brilliance, and when it was over it was too late to analyze it." On their way they passed by the house in which Mary Winters lived, and saw Hampton talking very earnestly with her. Drayton thought of what Roger had said respecting his visits, and fancied, from his confusion as they came up, that his intentions could not be honorable. Hampton asked Colonel Meredith if Ellen was at home, and saying that he would go and see her, left them. The colonel and Drayton stood and talked with Mary and her mother for a few min- utes, and then resumed their walk. It was not long before they reached the residence of Mr. Fleetwood. The old man was lying down- when they entered, and seemed to be in a particularly unsocial and misanthropic mood. His humor soon changed, and he conversed freely. his room was comfortably furnished. A negro man, in the capacity of a servant, was his only companion, and to him he rarely said much. Drayton looked about the room, and observed several books and two or three musical instruments, from which he inferred that the recluse was a lover of read- ing and music. "Do you never feel a desire to mingle in society ?" in- quired Drayton, anxious to fin4 out how the solitary man amused himself. " I have neve~ seen any thing so mighty lovable in it that I should sigh for it," replied, the old man, sternly, as if he did not like such questions. "But, as man is a social' being by nature, he is willing to suffer many annoyances in society rather than forego his love for its pleasures and conveniences," said Drayton. "If society were natural, then a man might wish to be in it," returned Mr. Fleetwood, relaxing his sternness a little; " but I hate the base and artificial modes of living in these days." "There a many whose hearts are undegraded by the de- generacy of the tiriies, and with such it is delightful to com- mune," continued Drayton, with a pertinacity which the old man did not appear to relish. "'~'ou talk nonsense~.....Arou'know nothing about it," returned page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 7 .4 - 108 DEAVTON. Fleetwoed, very har~shly. lie was bigoted, as your se- eluded men alW~ys are.? One mind requires the action of Qthers on it to prevent its contraction within narrow and selfish limits. The bigot in religion does not acquaint him- self with tenets which difl~r from his own; and the bigots out of religion, b.V corning the opinions that militate against their own cIwrishe4 notions, are even more malignant and tyrannical than their religious brethren. "If a man has t~n friends," continued the old gentleman, slowly, "he will, by. associating with them, be compelled to meet fifty persons whom he despises, and that produces more disrelish than the ten compensate him for. Here I am an independent man. I am cool in summer and warm in win- ter, and free from the malice of the many, and the de- ceitfu1nes~ of all. The occupant of a palace can do no more f~r his body and mind than I do, comfort for the one and content for the other being all that man can attain to, Gome her~e, Trip)" he continued, calling up his dog, and patting his head affectionately. "Here, sir, is a firmer friend thjin you pan find in a whole city." While the old gentleman was fondling his dog, and look- ing well satisfied, for he fancied his argument against society jinanswerable, Drayton said, "Many of the wisest men who have given their opinions on this subjectt to the world differ from you." "They were fools, and knew nothing about the comforts that a man like myself enjoys. I see you get your notions from books, young man. You ought to read them as I do, not to adopt their opinions, but to learn wisdom from their p.bsurdities. The man who has too much book-knowledge is p~pt to grow t~ be like a parrot, and he is, at best, like a man who has to6iaach whisky in his head, and can't see things as they are about him. Your philosophers are fools in com- mon matters, and your only' men of sense are they who do their own thinking." "Well, I can not imagine how a man can be comfortable where the tones of woman's voice are never heard," said Prayton. "'Maybe there are a good many things you can't imagine, ~eeing Srou ar~ not quite omniscient yet,'.' returned Mr. Fleet- wood; growing restless. "I get along better 'without women than most of my neighbors do with them." "Sup~0se you should fall sick, then the presence of a woP*a~I wpul4 b~ necessary to your comforts." DRAYTON. 109 ~: "I could but die, and there would be an end to the mat- ter; for my life will have an end, even if your curiosity will not." Seeing that his inquisitiveness was so very disagreeable, iDrayton repressed all further curiosity, and contented him- self' by observing the old gentleman's deep wriukle~ vener- able beard, and harsh features. The colonel held a I~olloquy on business with him, and, that beiag concluded, they rose :to depart, Mr. Fleetwood accompanied them a short distance, and when about leaving them, he turned to iDrayton and said, "I'd like to see you, young man, again, if you'll promise not to ask me niore than a thousand questions next time. You put me in mind of your grandfather, and ~pf the only really pleasant hours I ever knew." "Well, sir, I will come," returned Drayton, smiling, "and be careful to render myself less disagreeable next time." Mr. Fleetwood, with Trip trotting alongside, retu~ed to his solitary abode; and the colonel and Drayton passed on to the bank of the river, intending to follow it until they reached Oakwood. CHAPTER XIX. WHEN Hampton parted from Colonel Meredith and Dray- ton at Mrs. Winters's, he walked leisurely across the fields toward the colonel's residence, revolving in his mind many projects he was cherishing. Before reaching the house, he met George with the ladies. He joined them, attaching himself to Ellen, who said she wished to take a walk up the river bank. George remained behind with Miss Randolph, occupying a seat, already referred to, on the green bank of the beauti- ful river. The sun was near the horizon, and thiew his slant beams along the waveless bosom of the stream, which glowed like a sheet of burnished gold. Two or three boats, containing fishermen, were lying at anchor near the island, and a few river craft were making slow progress, with their flags drooping listlessly along their flag-staffs. The western heaven was gorgeous.~ Light, feathery clouds page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] 110 DIIAYTON. were reposing lazily over head, growing denser as they ap. preached the horizon. Caroline had been gazing at the heavens for some time, when she said, "How beautiful! This sky would be noticed if it hung over an Italian scene. Indeed, I never saw a more glorious sunset even in that famed clime. I do not think a love? of the beautiful in nature need travel beyond the shores of our own country, for, surely, 'it~ combines as much of the grand and the beautiful as any other land." "There are some persons, Caroline, who think there is no beauty in heaven or earth in regions with which they are familiar, and such must go abroad to gratify an affected ad- miration of beautiful scenery. These persons are destitute of taste and mental strength; for, when foreigners come among us, they are delighted, and clap their hands in the presence of a scene like this, at the same time protesting that ours is a clime of pre-eminent loveliness." "I made a foppish American my enemy for life while in Italy," said Caroline. "We were a few miles out of Na- ples, and he became wild with rapture as he looked on the landscape, and vowed such a sight was sufficient induce- ment to a voyage across the Atlantic. I told him I had seen hundreds more lovely, and promised him, if he visited me in my home, to show him a more beautiful prospect than Italy contained. I. added, he was not a good American, or he would not disparage his native land, by any such com- pari~on~ as he was fond of making. He pronounced my taste vulgar because it was patriotic. Wherever I happened to be, I held up the vast superiority of my own country, and I had the honor to be called the Democratic lady for my de- votion to my native land. How I wish that you were as good a Democrat as I am." "Such a change in my politics," returned George, "is not to be contemplated, for I am strongly attached to the principle&of the, Federalists. But if any thing could repub- lieanize me, it would be your eloquence, for there is no per- suasion and logic so forcible a~ the tones of the lip we love. - "I wish thatf lip could persuade you to leave the Feder- alists, and to 11i~come as good ,a Democrat as my father is. By-the-way, your friend, Mr~ Drayton, is a Democrat." "Oh yes, and a very zealous one too. Now he would suit you exactly, for he is very aspiring, and I should not wonder if he were to represent this district in Congress in a DRAYTON. 111 fe~y years. I am altogether too poetical and literary in my aspirations to enter the political arena." "Mr. ilampton gave me a scolding the other day for talk- ing on political subjects," said Caroline. "He thinks that ladies ought to confine their thoughts to parties, puddings, and pickles, and other* like improving subjects. I wonder what such persons think women were endowed with mind for ?" "There are many who think with Mr. Hampton, but I have always thought that a lady could not be too intelli~ gent. Sihe should know something of every subject. That she must talk about something is certain, and if she is in- telligent on no topics but domestic ones, her conversation will be of such things. My taste inclines me to jrcfer politics from pretty lips to the most interesting recipes ever invent- ed for the improvement of pies and puddings, though I can soon get a surfeit of either." "I think there are ladies enough who have just the amount of ignorance to please the tastes of these amiable gentle- men," said Caroline. "I can not help suspecting such per- sons of having tyrannical dispositions; and I fear they are silly enough to wish that the right which ladies possess in common with themselves, to think and to talk as they please, could be shackled. For my part; so long as my tongue is not worn out-and that is a calamity some of my friends predict for it some of these days-just so long will I talk of what concerns me most, whether it is politics or pickles." "I commend that resolution," said George. "A lady never speaks improperly when she converses on subjects which do not display her ignorance, and I am not afraid of your comlnitting such impropriety." "I am very ambitious, as Ellen is, you know; and I think every lady should resemble her too; and then, if they have, as much influence over their husbands a~ people say they have, their husbands would be more worthy of their love, for they would cultivate their minds more than they do. A la- dy's ambition should be for her husband's success, and she should continually stimulate him to exertion. I will make a very great man of you some of these days yet, sir, or worry your life out of you.'~ As she concluded she smiled, and looked archly at her companion, who said "I would do any thing for you. For you I would seek the lists of fame, and, like a knight of former days, win the A- page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] 4" 112 DRAYTON. prize, if possible, that I might enjoy praise, sweet and glow- ing, from the lip of beauty. I would climb ambition s most slippery heights, because your heart' would share my tri- umph. I will woo the muses to my study, and wander by the side of Helicon until my looks are heavy with its mists. For you my thoughts shall travel beyond the stars, and be- come acquainted with Nature in all her aspects. The songs of birds-the flowers of spring-the moaning winds of au- tumn-the lone mountain clifI~, where the scream of the eagle is heard-the wild ocean, when the spirits of the storm arewhitening its billows with foam-.--.shall for you, by turns, win my fancy and gild my song. I will become profound in the knowledge of the past-I will study society-I will question my own heart-I will commune with the living and ~the dead-I will call the master minds of all ages to my aid-I will invoke the spirits of the earth and the air, an4 summon up the mysterious power that rules the lone, &eep hour of midnight to assist me, if by such means I can render myself more worthy of your love, and bring the flush of pride to your brow, and win the honeyed tones of appro- bation from your lips." As he spoke his eye brightened, his cheek flushed, his lip quivered with enthusiasm. Caroline watched the changing expressions that flitted over his features, and drank in his fervent tones With, intense interest. As she glanced at his vivid eye, she fancied she could discover in its depths some- thing of the rapt power of genius, and almost adored it. "And would you act thus for my sake ?" she inquired, earnestly, looking full in his face, and placing her soft hand gently on his. "Oh yes," he replied, grasping her proffered hand. "Any eminence within the reach of my abilities shall be mine, if you desire it. Y~u have but to wish it, and I will ascend to heights known but to the eagle, if the eagle's power is mine." "It is enough-.-.I am satisfied." The next minute she discovered that a change had passed over her lover's features. Gone was the bright glance of his eye, and vanished was the enthusiasm that flashed on his noble brow like the reflection of the frolic lightning on the evening cloud. Sadness, like a sable shadow, was on his pale face, and a tear glistened in his radiant eye. "Oh! why do you look thus ?" she exclaimed, with a wild expression of surprise. DRAYTO~. 113 For a moment he said nothing, for his, heart 'was too full; and there she sat, gazing wildly up on his face, as if she were reading every secret shrouded in the depths of his spirit. His head declined for an instant, and then, raising his eye, he tried to look cheerful as he said; "Alas! what creatures of the moment we are! The breath of the tempest passes over the bright surface ofthe river, and its tranquillity is gone; and the lightning touches the pride of the forest, and in an instant its lofty head comes crashing to the earth; and with equal suddenness an unex- pected thought will frequently dash the cup of hope from the lip, red with pleasure, when we least look for it'. One glance at yonder walls," he continued, pointing toward the family cemetery, "chilled the enthusiasm and froze the hopes that a moment before swelled 'my heart and winged the thoughts I felt. A voice from the tomb paralyzed my feelings, and whispered to my spirit that the grave, and not the triumphs of Worldly ambition, should be its doom." "My dear George !" was the only exclamation that es- caped her lips before her head drooped, and ~he wept. Her sobbings soon became audible to ~George, whose feelings for a while ~suppressed the worc1~ of encourageirrent he would have uttered. "My dear Caroline," he said, when he regained sufficient composure, 'show foolish we are! It waA but a fancy," he continued, with a melancholy smile and a subdued tone; "and yet our too credulous hearts received it as if it were truly a voice from the sunless land. Lift up your head, and see how the gloom has passed away from my features, and I', know that my heart is again beating high with hope. She brushed the tears from her' eyes, and ~slowly raised her head, and when her 'look encountered her lover's, she perceived no sadness there. "It was cruel, it was worse than cruel" he said, as he placed his arm about her waist and drew her nearer, "to torture you with my idle and superstitious fai~cies. *Look up yonder! Look up at those crimson clouds! How resplen- dently they glow in the beams of the setting sun! How serene is the bosom of the riyer, and: how exquisite is the song of that bird, gushing up from its grateful heart an an- them to the IDeity~before it seeks' the sheltering bough for the night. Oh! at such~ an 'hour the heart should be un. troubled,. and the brow 'as, tranquil as the deep blue sky above it !" page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] 114 DRAYTON. Caroline, with the quick and searching penetration of her sex, perceived his object was to divert her thoughts from sor- row, and responding thereto, said, "The sky is grand! And do you observe those light orange clouds, floating like gossamer boats with their spirit- crews on the azure sea "And ~now lower your eyes, and see how the sun falls be- low the crest of the distant mountain! He sinks as Julius Ca~sar sank in the Capitol, enrobed in purple !" In a few minutes they rose and walked toward the house.. George looked back through the openings among the trees, in order to see whether Ellen and Hampton were returning, and said, "Ellen must have gone a considerable distance up the bank, for she is not visible." "I think your friend, Mr. Drayton, admires Ellen very much," said Caroline, as they reached the house, "for I dis- covered something in his manner I could not account for on any other supposition. I think he is a gentleman of much nobleness and~ principle." "Undoubtedly he merits your high opinion," returned George. "He is very much depressed, at times, by the ap- prehension that he will not succeed in acquiring fame and fortune in his profession; but I anticipate a high degree of success for him, for I do not believe that industry, joined with merit, ever remained unnoticed and unpatronized for any great length of time; and he has both those qualifica- tions for rising in the world in an eminent degree." CHAPTER XX. ELLEN, aec0mpanled by Hampton, kept the path which wound among the trees growing on the green bank of the river. Her companion was an old and familiar acquaint- ance. She had been informed of many facts in his personal history which she utterly condemned, and at times she hes- itated whether she ought to permit him to continue his in- timacy witit her. flut then the recollections of her early years, many of which were intimately associated with him, would appeal forcibly in his favor, and she concluded it JMI~AYTON. 115 'gould be better that her conduct toward him should con- tinue unchanged. Hampton flattered himself that much of his conduct1 which he felt to be gross and inexcusable in the extreme, was un- known to her, whose purity he well knew Would be shocked if she was informed of it. His inordinate vanity induced him to believe that by long-continued perseverance he could overcome all the objections she had frequently urged against him.; and he fancied that, by deceiving her in regard to his vices, lie might eventually triumph over all obstacles, and secure her affections. For such a hope Ellen had given him no warrant, for she had never shown any more respect for him than the civilities of society required. Still, he con- strued every word; look, and smile of hers, when in his pres- ence, as indications of the most kindly sentiments toward him, and had recently resolved on prosecuting his suit with renewed ardor. For this purpose he visited her very fre- quently; made her sundry trifling presents; exerted every means in his power to win her regard, and had concluded that he might venture to make a profession of love with strong probabilities of success.* That such a mair as Hamp- ton could not feel any sentiment akin to that ennobling love which elevates and purifies the heart, spiritualizes every tho~ight born under the shadow of its power, and burns for a union of spirit and a sympathy of thought with some be- loved object, was as well known to himself as to any one else. What he called love was but a sensual and groveling pas- sion of the earth, blended with that low and mean avarice which regards the pecuniary advantages of a matrimonial connection as a matter of the highest moment. Profligate and abandoned as he was, he yet had the temerity to hope that the unsullied hand of the beautiful and lovely Ellen Meredith might be his; and he was base enough to confess to himself that he regarded his success as desirable chiefly because it would advance his worldly interests, and put ~him in possession of the Oakwood' estate, where he might live luxuriously, unharassed by the necessity of laboring for the means of a subsistence. Hi~ vices had nearly reduced him to bankruptcy, and he felt that the only way by which he could reinstate his fortunes was to marry an heiress. Such was the man, and ~such were the views entertained by him, who dreamed of winning the affections of that gentle heart. whinh looked upon love as an emanation from above, a8bright and as pure as the beam which sparkles in the dew~drop. page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] 118 DJ~AYTON. While she was sauntering along carelessly, and not at all suspecting the thoughts that were agitating his mind, he was meditating. on~ the propriety of' embracing that oppor- tunity to declare his passion in her ear. She rallied him more than once on his moodiness, which he answered with a sigh and an averting of the eye, which was meant for sen.. timentality. ~he was more than usually gay and buoyant, and talked on rapidly, without seeming to care whether he heeded what she said or not. Indeed, what he might think was a matter of the most perfect indifference to her, for her heart was full of animation, and she acted and thought very much. as she would have done had she been wandering with- out a companion. Springing aside from the path, she stooped down and, pulled a beautiful wild flower, and, extending it toward her moody admirer, said, There, sir, do you not think that a sweet flower? See how rich its hues gre, and it only needs some fragrance to complete its perfection. He looked carelessly at the simple flower, and then glan- cing at the merry eye of his companion, answered, "It is delightful, decidedly; I wish I had some of your relish for such things. -'But, alas! my feelings, once fresh, are now withered as that flower will be to-morrQw." "Well, now, that is what I call sentimental," she said, laughing at the thought. "Why, sir," she continued, "you have no taste if you do not love flowers, and in that partic- ular you differ from most of the sentimental gentlemen of ray acquaintance. I mean to get up a society of persons of good taste, and the qualification for membership shall be a devoted love of flowers. Take care, sir, or you will not have the honor of being a membeix" "If any thing could induce me to cultivate a taste for such things," he said, with a sigh, "it would be the wish to be- come a'member of your society. But if I were to make the atte~npt, I should certainly fail. My thoughts," he contin- ued, with his eyes fixed on her face, "my thoughts, Miss Meredith, my feelings, are all given, to one subject. 'There is only one thing in life 'that is very dear to me, and, under such circumstances, it would be useless in me to try to acquire tastes which Heaven has denied' me. If you were to plant a rose ~on that old stump, do you suppose it would flourish ?" "Indeed I do not know, ~ ii have never wade any such horticultural, experiments. But stc~~ your prosingand listen to the 'poetry of that bird's song ! ~Don't you think its' strains DRAYTON. 117 I resemble the inellowest tones of a fife? I hope, sir, you have some ear,' although you have no heart." "Not much ear' either, I fear," returned Hampton, in a tone that was, decidedly unmusical; "and 'I must confess, to be candid, that I have not much love for birds' songs. As a friend of mine said," he added, more gayly, "they are too un-Ltalian for my taste." "T'shaw! sir, your friend has no soul, and I pity him from th~ bottom of my heart. hark that blessed' bird is raising its exquisite notes again !" "I would rather look at the rose blooming on your' cheek," said Hampton, glancing at her, while her eye was directed upward to the bird, to whose song she was listening with a rapt expression of delight, "than on all the flowers that ever grew in garden or forest; and I would rather drink in, the ecstatic melody of your voice, than listen to all the birds that ever sang in Eden. Now, my lady fair, confess that I have some 'taste." "When you indicate it, IL will," she replied; and then stepping to the verge of the bank, and glancing at the glo- ries of the western sky, she continued, "I will give you an opportunity of vindicating your tastes from my censure. Look up at that sky, and tell me whether you ever saw any thing more' brilliant and beautiful !" "It is a brilliant scene, but I confess my heresy~ as you, I fear, will think it, when I assure you I had rather gaze on the heaven ef your brow swept by curls instead of clouds, than on that beautiful sky." "You must be daft, sir, as they say in Scotland," was 'all she said to him in return. She thought he was impertinent, and felt very much like telling 'him' so. She was used to that very common and ill-judged species of flattery, and al- ways experienced a feeling of contempt when it was addressed to her in so personal a manner, and wL so unseasonable a moment. They stood f@ some minutes~in' silence on the bank. of the river. Ellen was musing tn the beauties of sky and cloud, without a thought of her companion, while he stood by her side gazing on her radiant and 'beautiful faces A thrill of passion. r~n through his frame, for if he ever felt any thing like love, 'it was at. that'moment; aud b'ur~ing 'language tose to his lips, but he had not 'sufficient courage to speak it just then. They resumed their ~walk in silence. Hampton was the 'first to speak. page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] D RA Y T O N. "Were. you ever in love, Miss Meiedith ?" "Yes1 with all the glad:and beautiful things of this ~carth. By-the-way; sir, you must be sadly slandered, or your expe- rience with that very tender passion must be the most re.~ markable ever known to mortal man. II heard, lately,. that both Miss Churchill ~,nd MissOarson had the honor of re-' jecting you in one short evening. Now, I must say, your facility in gettiiig in love and getting out again is the most astonishing thifrg of the sort I ever heard of." "I scorn ~nch reports," said Hampton, while a dark sha:d~w. passed over his swarthy features. "They are foul lies, and' I trust you do not believe them." "I think it quite probable, sir, that your heart, ~hieh you delight in representing as remarkable for capacity and sens- itiveness, may be transfixed by two arrows at the same time." Had she been aware of what this conversation would lead to, she would have checked it at onced He hesitated an in- stant, w~hen; feeling courageous, he sai4, "You mistake rue, Ellen. My heart is as true and Un- swerving as a swan's. Although, in society, gallantry re- quires that I should bow at many shrines, yet I have never offered up my affections at any one. How could I,, when my heart was constant in its devotions to one beautiful and divine objeet-.--to you, Ellen ?" "That is very pretty, but very wild sort of language to come from your tongue, Mr. Hampton. If you say any thing more so silly and so solemn, I will certainly thini you crazy," she said, wishing to spare his feelings and put an end to his confession. "If I am crazy, Ellen, then love for you has made mew." He' would. have added more, but she looked dubiousfy at him, and. Thughed outright, saying, "I ~nosn. to go right ever to your mother, and advise her by all means to have you sent forthwith to sonic lunatic a~syl~um,' Thr I protest I never heard a gentleman utter the veriest badinage with such a solemn face in my life, and I can. not account for it on any other supposition tha are stark mad." '~ n that you "'Here. on my knees" he said, passionately, as he ~dropped on that portion. of his body and seized her hand, "there, I beg you., I implore you, Ellen, to listen to me." Well, now, this is a very interesting scene, as well 'as a very fine piece of acting," said Ellen, laughing, as she con- template the position of her lover., She wash very well. aware that he had uo heart to wound, and therefore treated his seriousness as if it' were the., most farcical thing in the ~orId, thinking, that the best way ~f terminating a scene which was extremely~ disa~ee,~blej.'t~b her. For a genuii~e feeling, no Qne entertained more '.res~eci~ or sympathy; but she knew Hampton was utterly destitute of the power of cherishing a, pure passion, and~ added, "You must 'purely be trying to. revive the days of chivalry in this prosaic country, and your effort is very .creditalAe to you. If you would go on th~ stage, I have no doubt of your entire success." While she spoke, his comnion sense suggested to him that he had better rise and laugh at what had passed, but, at the same time, his vanity whis~ered'to him that she was only trying his fidelity, and under that persuasion, and with the hope that perseverance would melt her to kindness, he retained his position, and, with a~fervent tone of voice, con- tinued, - "I love you, Ellen, with a passion which borders on mad- ness, and my happiness, and my. misery are alike in your hands. Oh! Kilen, if.you-" "It is useless to say more, Mr. Hampton,?' she said, inter- rupting him, and assuming a more dignified and distant air. "Y~u act very str~nge1y, sir. Rise, and behave yourself like a. man." While she was speaking her cheek became flushed, and, disengaging her hand from4 his grasp, she fook a few steps from him, as if she intended returning home. He jumped up. and' approached her, and while his face was burning with.shame and passion, exclaimed, in a' loud and passion- ate tone, ' OhA how can, you treat me so coldly-.~--how can you act so.crueliy? I Jove'youKl~lllen, and at this moment feel that death would be preferable to your frown." She turned, and, looking at him with a calm but most res- olute expression of countenance, said, "Mr. Hampton, I will not listen to any more such pro- fessions from you. You ai:riaze me." Hier decided tone infuriated him, and, with the wild and distracted ~ir of one reft of his senses, he said, "rlunge a dagger through my heart, if you please, but do ~ot look so coldly on one who is ready to die for your sake, if that act is i~eoessary to convince you of my, devotion. If l111 D RA YT O N. 7 119 4 page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] you W~~4d 4p~~t, evali if $~eu I1d~uot teturnthe 4eep and deV~ited Ibvefee1~ ~u§~ y Knowing lie did, ho again ~eiz~4 her ihtrnd, ~r~s ir~ the act of~ ~dt to his~ ].~ps, ~he~ni she jerEed i #toni hi~ grasp; i~d ~p n~ou~tha tii~ukif &~rostrate~t~ee jy aor6ss the path. Sh~Aid~A her~arn~s, and draw.. i~gh~r~e1f up~t4 her full ~at~i~bio6I~4 -'~ fldWaxd 11anip1~on, in his eye aud~aid, 14 oWn i~ long, an4 you al~okii~w that I am not $o~ ed ~With. I have &oln- mande~d you to utter no rue ~. ssion in my presence, and yet you ~ti11 peisist in it. It you. would retaja my friirnd- ship~ you must at least assume ~oir~,e self~resp~et, evexi you hw(re it note -' His~ t~1ly ffaslied' on his 'iilitkd, and his crnsliediranity tor- tured him He E~& g~me too far to retract what' E& had said1' a~id he felt irritated beyond all endnr~nce at hi~ ~oWt~ c&udu~& lie did uo~i~lt the scene to end ~jtist the*~, a~d, approaching her 'with his eyes glaring vividly, he 1ift~d his a~rA toward heaven, and with ~ subdued Voice, skid, ' t call Ii~eaven to ~vitiies~, E4len; that the 'love 4 have of- ferediyou is as p~ire asthat Whieh'b~wii~ in- the bosom of an angel 0h,-'d~ nottq~iite juaddexi rio with your insnf~brable coldness. Act g if ui&thing 'lisA 'oeeifrt~il. One smile.- one sw9et smile frQrn -your lips will coinpo~ me?' "I keep my ~rnil~s for' those who deserve' ~them, sit,'~ she, r~hed, with ~ ourlingwitli disdain.- '"'I lavish them not ot~ those w1iQ~ aye as de~titi~te of pride~a~ this d'ead'-~te~,'~'~li& added as ~h'e mped~on the fruiik of the tree beneath -her-- -.-~on~those wlio:have neither honor principle, nor self re~ spect. You ~re~ presumptuous, sxr~ in suppQsing yo~ could win a'srnil.e froin;me. -. "Thou is my"misety complete he iteturued. You have xo ±&~ard - for ~rny h~ppmess else yen wouki not scorn, my love, Ellen." " You have fu~iri~hed me With the pr6per *6rds~ sliO said, Cooking proudly and disdai- Uy~ she spoke, "for I do se~orn your love a~ I do the man jwhe ~xld xnako~hims6If so cheap as to 4~ -~ lady~to accept ~ hand she has i~ejeeted again aiad a '~itft tEe, most iuidi~guised. d~sdaiu.-*ho l5e#s~sts mof~ -: 4n lowe t~e~1e who has ~piiTJied' it with the most nix- ~ ~ivoeal ~i~terhpt. Now, sii~; I ti~5t'S4ft~ a~e uffleiently ~ a~1O~d to leave me to myselL~" - K - Her cheek was red and 'her e~& flashed with ang&r as she I 4 De R A Y T O N. 191 tb-RAY TON. l~2L spake, and the curling lip indicated the pride of her nature and the irrepressible scorn she felt. The mortification of her lover was evident as, with a confused look and. falter- ing tone, he said, - "I confess my error, Miss Meredhh. - Will you do me the favor-~--it may be the last one I shall ever ask of you-to keep what has passed between us a profound secret ?" "Ay, I will, sir !" she replied, looking haughtily down on him as her eye flashed Wi1~k indignation. "That request shall be freely granted, I ass~r~ you, sir, for I would. not hum- ble myself so nearly to yox*r town level as to confess that I have listened to professions of love from lips like yours." "To forgive and forget is the province of angels, Miss Mer- edith; may I expect pardon for my folly from you ?" "Yes, on condition that you deport yourself as though you know me not henceforth. I have long wished for an oppor- tunity of discontinuing the familiarity that I have too long sufibred. And now grant me one favor in return, and leave me to my own reflections.~~ -As she spoke she discovered the forms of her' father and Drayton coming toward her, and she jumped from the tuee on which she had been standing, and, without saying another word to her lover, ran to meet them. Hampton watched her form asit receded from him for a minute, and then passed'off rapidly in another direction. CHAPTER XXI. As Ellen proceeded onward, her frame trembled from the excitement of her feelings. - The scene she had just passed through caused her much irritation; and as she thought of Hampton's conduct, pity and contempt for him by turns swayed her feelings. Her strong emotions caused the tears tQ start in her eyes; but, with that control which she was in the habit of exerting over her excited feelings, she sub- dued her emotions, and,' brushing the- tOars 'from hex eyes, ran on - rapidly, like ,a 'gay and happy creatures with a emil- ing face~; 'She. grasped her father's-i arm' nervously, and he contempla:ted her a mornont an4 said; - - --' '~ -- '-'. - "My daughter, you appear to be excited; what has hap- - pened to you ?" - - F page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 DEAYTON. "1 l~ave been running.. liow did you like Mr. Fleetwood, M~ P~yton?" she asked, anxious to divert their attention from herself. ~ lie is one of the. mq~t singular men I ever saw," replied n~ "He is certainly very eccentric; and he has some gli and troi~g~points, which I mean to study at xnylei~ure." "What ~a delightful evening this is !" said Ellen, nearly out of breath from her emotions and her strong efforts to sup- press them. "I never heard the birds sing more sweetly." "Perhaps you are, in a peci4frAy fine mood. for enjoying such things," remarked Drayton. "You know how much our delights depend on the condition of our minds. When we are cheerful, we can enjoy what we should dislike if we were moody; and when we are particularly contemplative and poetical,' the songs of birds afford us exquisite pleasure." "True !" said Ellen; "and, speaking of what is poetical, 'have you been observing the beauty of the western sky ?" * "Oh~ yes," replied .Drayton, "your father has by far too fine a relish for glorious sunsets to pass such a one as adorned the heavens ihis evening unnoticed. We sat on the bank and looked at it, for a quarter of an hour, and I think it was one of the most magnificent scenes my eyes ever beheld." "I have rim so fast that I am almost exhausted," said Ellen, smiling at the success with which she contrived to conceal her excitement. ~" I left George and Caroline sit- ting on the river's bank while I wandered off. I presume they have grown weary while waiting for me, and returned home." When they reached the house, George asked 0his sister where Mr. Hampton was, and expressed some surpnse at her returning without him. "We had a difference, and I advised him to go home, and he very gallantly obeyed me, thus leaving me to enjoy my. self as well as I could without his society." "You have offended him, sister, and I would not wonder if he were, to wait for some apology from you before he comes :back here." "The probability is, then, he will not honor us very soon," said Ellen; "and we must do the best we can 'to survive the loss of so very agreeable an associate." Ellen soon introduced another subject, and felt glad she had escape~l the necessity of making some very disagreeable explanations. The evening wore away pleasantly, and, notwithstanding .DRAYTON. Ellen's gayety, Drayton fancied that her thoughts would ~ casionally recur tQ some disagreeable subject, for, he observed that she was at times abstracted. She talked brilliantly and sang sweetly, and to the eye of a stranger she would ~ seemed one of the ~happiest beings in the world. IJ3ut 'ti~K'~ stranger would have misjudged in estimating the lightness. of her heart from the lightuoss of her manner, and his error would by no means have been extraordinary, f&r we fre- quently deck our faces with smiles when our hearts are as bitter as the fruits that grow by the Dead Sea. The pride of man's heart induces him to crush, as with a 'heel 'of iron, a disagreeable emotion, while.a sensitive woman has no refuge from such torture but that which she ~finds in her tears. Notwithstanding her buoyancy, 'the image of Hampton was continually present to her during the evening, and when she retired to her chamber, she took a deliberate survey of her conduct in relation to hi.m-commended herself for the course she pursued--scorned as she dwelt' on the re- membraince of his importunate appeals-.-and then wept pro- fusely, and gradually became calm. When Hampton parted from Ellen, he walked off on a rapid pace toward the residence of his mother, while his wounded vanity caused him much exquisite agony. He loathed the thought of his. own humiliation, and cursed his folly. with the earnestness and bitterness of a maniac.' He ~writhed as he recalled Ellen's haughty disdain, and muttered ~his curses aloud when he thought. of the scorn with which she had rejected the offer of his han& ' His mortification was intense as he fancied how contemptuously she would henceforth look upon him. But, with individuals of his caste, such bitter feelings soon expend their fury, and before he reached the road side he lifted his 'head 'from theground and soliloquized in the following strain, muttering his words quite 'audibly as he went along. "What a cursed fool I am! What a pity it is that a fel- 'low's common sense don't act until. it's too late. I can see very clearly how I should have acted, now, when the time's gone by; but when I had some use for my sense, it wouldn't come to my assistance. A man is as lAind as a bat before a thing oeeurs, but he can see as clear as an eagle after it's all over. Whew.! just to think of it, how her.- eye flashed its lightning on me! I'll swear, I don't believe any pretty lip ever wore so much scorn at one time before. And how' the pretty creature raved, and talked about my presumption page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 D~AYTON. iii thinking I had the power to win a smile from her! By the Evangelists! I'd give half I am worth-but that would only be one coat and one pair of Davis's boots-I'd give a good deal, if I had it, to 12.ave a good portrait of the scornful lady as she stood on the trunk of that old tree, with her arms folded, telling me th t.t she was not a lady to be trifled with. Faith, I believe it aow. Well, that cake's dough, or I'm no judge. Now, you see, Mr. Ned Hampton, you una- dulterated jackass, by your bad management to-day you have lost the deed to the Oak'wood estate. Think of that, and do better next time. I later myself that I've impudence enough to hold my undei-lip up even in her presence yet. By Jove! impudence is 'worth as much as a German prin- cipality to a man.~ I have a magnificent endowment of it, and it shall work out mj salvation yet. These flats and jiltings are what one must expect; but, curse them, they are not among the pleasures of paradise. I am one of a vast number of great men who have gone home muttering and cursing their luck because some freakish beauties saw fit to give them an awful fling heavenward. I think I can come down as softly as any of them. It is the destiny of us great men, ha! ha! h~~! it is the destiny of us great men to be laid on our backs by pretty girls, who can't appreciate our sublime and soaring merits. Let me see, what had I better do now? Shall I go and get gloriously drunk, drown my sorrows in the bowl, after the fashion of the immortal bards, or shall I go and court somebody else? That's a happy thought. 'Off with the old love and on with the new. Sensible man that, who gives such admirable ad- vice. Let's see what I shall do? Ah! I have it. I'll go and finish my visit to Mary. LQok out, Mary Winters, or there '11 he the mischief to pay some of these days. What's that Dick the Third says of the Lady Anne? Something about winning her and not wearing her long, I believe. Hang me, I never had any genius for remembering Shaks- peare. Jf I ever take the fair Ellen's advice and go on the stage, I'll play :Romeo, for that jumps with my genius, and all its amazing peculiarities and sublimities, exactly." Here he reached the road, and turned up toward Mary's home. He toon met her, and, as he saluted her, his face was as free from aU~ slmAows as the most fastidious lady would wish 'to look on. Hampton had frequently expressed a great deal of regard for Mary Winters; and, h&I she been wise, ~he would have * 4 DRAYTQN. 125 suspected the sincerity of his professions and spurned them, instead of viewing them as the confessions of an honest heart. But she, like many others of her sex and condition, was flattered by the attentions of one who was so Luperior, so.. cially, to herself, and listened with delight to every word he uttered. Notwithstanding her engagement with Roger, she exerted every means she. possessed to win the affections of Hampton. Indeed, she was anxious to unite her fortunes with one who could boast more refinement than Roger. He was honest, but then he was rough, and the more she re- flected on his want of manner and address, the less inclina- tion she felt to fulfill her engagement with him. When she contrasted his boorishness with Hampton's elegance, she re- coiled from the prospect of marryi:ig one in whom she could feel so little pride. Her situation was perilous; for she was a gay, glad creature of impulse, who rarely troubled herself with reflections on the propriety (f any course that her pas- sions prompted her to pursue, and never doubted the truth of a profession if it was grateful tT. her feelings. On the present occasion she received Hampton with the most undisguised delight, and, as he pressed her hand and told her that he had been with tie ladies at Oakwood, and found that they could not confer half as much happiness on him as she could, she felt flattered, and believed every word he uttered. Her eye was radiart with joy, and her cheek became flushed as the honeyed accents from his lips fell upon her ear and awakened the kindest feelings of her heart. Hampton observed the pleasure he afforded her, and it was not long before he fancied that sh~ was in his power. She, unsuspecting girl, had read in rorfiance, and had known in- stances in real life, in which men o~: superior birth had stooped from aristocratic heights to wed women. of less pretension, and her vanity assured her that Hampton was one of those noble men, and that she would probably be one of those highly favored women. Alas! ii is vanity that holds the treacherous gift of the fabled sireAs, and, lulled by its melo- dious tones, how often are the saving suspicions of the heart quieted, and thus vice afforded ai~ easy triumph! As the night was pleasant, they left the house and wan- dered out beneath the stars. Tk~e serene sky and tranquil earth were in harmony, and the htndscape reposed in the shadow of the wing of night,. without a breath or sound to disturb its holy quiet. Mary olung~ closely to Hampton's arm, and listened to his words with delirious pleasure, and expe- page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 120 DRAYTON DI~AYTON. 12Z rienced a witchery steal upon her senses such as she had never knoWn before. ~The stars pursued their mysterious and silent courses through the deep blue sky; the unwhis- pering breeze of evening kissed their cheeks and fanned their brows gently; ana the low and indistinct murmuring of the river rose melodiously and softly on their ears, as if afraid to break the sacred silence reigning round. They reached the bank of the river, and gazed upon the stars reflected in the bosom of the stream, and Mary was infatuated with the hour and the scene as her heart drank in the subtle poison from the lip of her companion. Mary," he said, in a low and musical tone of voice, "Mary, do you remember when we used to go to school to- gether in the old schoobhouse, over here in the corner of the woods? I was much older than you, but even then I looked on your bright face and long auburn curls, and thought you the loveliest, as you were the fairest, among all the girls. And do you recollect how I used to catch you up in my arms, and kiss your blushing cheek with all the fervency of a young adorer ?" He stopped, and, placing his arm round her waist, looked down, with an eye burning with passion, on the sweet and dreamy face which the fair girl turned up toward him as she answered, "Yes, they were precious days. You were a naughty boy then, and used to kiss us little girls as if you really did love us." "And I did love you then as I do now," whispered Hamp- ton, as he stooped dowu and kissed the lip of the unsuspect- ing girl. "Mary~" he continued, "let us sit down here, and while we are looking at the stars shining in the river's bosom, we will talk of those sweet days." They were seated on the trunk of a fallen tree, and Hamp- ton, again twining his arm about her waist, played his fingers among the tresses that shaded her pure and unspotted brow. And, while thus supporting her willing form, he talked to her of love, and of the happiness which would be hers if she would consent to link her fate with his own wayward fortunes. And she was false to Roger for the sake of one whose Upas- like breath withered the flowers of her innocence, which, up to that hour, bloomed and exhaled their fragrance in the smiles of an onlooking and approving Heaven. '4 11 A / I CHAPTER XXII. As the season advanced, George Meredith's friends, fear- ing the effect of the winter on his delicate frame, advised him to seek a more genial clime. To this course he was much opposed. His home-feeling was very strong, and his imagination clouded the prospect of leaving it with a thou- sand horrors. It was not until the voice of Miss Randolph mingled with the solicitations of his friends that he gave up his opposition, and commenced his preparations to spend the winter under a more southern sky. It was on a bright and sunny day in October that he rode over to Mr. Randolph's to bid Caroline adieu. As he rode along, every well-known object, every bird, every stream, and every tree seemed- to his fancy to entreat him to stay. He sighed deeply when he reflected how soon he should be parted from scenes and persons so loved, and dwelt in the probability that he should never see them again. As such thoughts rose before him, his face, like his feelings, became shadowed with melancholy. As he approached the house, he discovered the tall and graceful form of Caroline stand- ing in the door, as if she was awaiting his arrival, and he resolved to assume a cheerfulness he did not feel, to mitigate the gloom of the parting moment. He suppressed his emo- tions, and advanced and saluted her with a face beaming with pleasure. They soon passed into the house, and in her company the hours went by rapidly~and joyfully. Long and interesting to themselves was the conversation they held, and the westering sun told of the day's decline before either seemed to take any note of the flight of time. The dreaded moment at length arrived, and George rose to take leave. "~ Oh, do not leave me yet," she said, in a tone of entreaty, looking up at him; "stay a little longer. I would not lose a moment' for any consideration." He hesitated-grasped the hand which was extended to detain him, and. pressed it fervently to his lips; and then, as if overcome by her entreaty, resume his seat. "Would that it pleased Heaven that from your presence I might never depart," he said, in a low and melodious to~ie; page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] DRAYTON. 129 128 DRAYTON. "for the thought that I must leave you for months-.that a long and weary winter must pass away before I can again dwell on the calm majesty of that brow, the beauty of that eye, and the eloquence of that lip, is what makes the mo- ment of parting wormwood to me. As that hated moment approaches, the idolatry of my heart strengthens, and I feel more* keenly how necessary your presence is to my happi~ ness. ~What I now feel is but an assurance to me that, when far from you, every hotir will be desolate and languid. How often will I, in fancy, revisit this spot, so loved and sacred to me, because it was here your lips first confessed affection for me, arid picture you the same devoted being you have always been to me." "And your fancy will not be illusive," said the gentle- hearted girl, with devotion in her eye as it dwelt earnestly on her lover's; "for, present or absent from you, my heart 'will seek, will wish no change. Over the hills and over the waters that divide us, my thoughts will fly to you oftener than the coming round of the hours. I will not spend the days in sorrowing, but in indulging the most pleasing reflec- tions-~--reflecting on the thousand delights we have had to- gether, and anticipating the joy I shall feel when the time comes round when I shall welcome the wanderer back to his home with the glow of health renewed upon his cheek. In this way I will lighten the gloom of absence, and rescue the days from bitterness and regret." "A long and sullen winter must pass over your head be- fore I come back, and I trust you will not spend it in despond- ,ency. When I return, the flowers will be blooming and the birds will again be singing, and my ardent hope will be that I may find you as gay and as bright as they are. Ellen and I will often talk of you when none but strange faces are near us. I often think I am most particularly blessed in enjoying the love of two such beings as yourself and my sister. I used to think my regard for her could not be equaled by any attachment I could form, but when my heart came to love you it became a divided empire. While for her I cherish an affection as pure and as holy as an angel's, for you I en- tertain a love the height and depth of which I can not meas- tire. How an ardent love for one who is worthy of it changes the condition of our feelings and the direction of our thoughts! It changes the whole of the shifting scenes of life. It is like religion, for it is a spark from a heavenly flame, coming 4owu upon the heart, and consuming all its dross and grossness, 'I recalling our wandering thoughts md wayward fancies, and fixing them deeply and devotedly on one adored object." "You speak as if you were pro~npted by my own experi.. ence, for before my heart was yoi rs I felt a vague and in- definable yearning for something pure and noble around which my affections might entwne themselves. I longed for some one into whose ear my confiding spirit might breathe every thought and sentiment, with the knowledge tl~at they would meet with a just appreciation. I wanted some idol before which my thoughts might bc;w down and worship, and whose smile would always be propitiouS. In you," she con- tinued, more passionately, "in you my heart recognizes such an idol, and you need no assurance at this time of the devo- tion with which I worship it. The love I feel, you may well say, comes down from heaven, and resembles religion. Is' such the love of man's heart, for I had fancied it was for woman alone to cherish such a pttssion ?" "Oh yes, it is thus that men Ao sometimes feel," returned George, ardently. "Love is far from being perfect when it does not encompass all our thought.~ and feelings. True love uproots every selfish weed from the heart, and prepares us to give any proof, even that of death itself, of our fidelity. When we love truly, the object of o~ir devotion is always pres- ent to us, and we can not do what that object would con- demn, even if our conduct should 1e known but to ourselves. Every hope and expectation we cherish must design the hap- piness of the being loved; for whei~. we desire what will only contribute to our own pleasure, we do not love. The proof of the passion is that we prefer another to ourself. We wish, when under its influence, for opportunities to signalize our d6vQtion by sacrificing our own interests and pleasures for the sake of the one we love. And this is love, Caroline! It is an unworldly feeling. It is not that common desire which animates the hearts of those who call themselves lovers, but who only think of advancing their own happiness. This self-sacrificing feeling is the most heaven-like of all that the heart knows. On it the defilement of earth does not rest. It assimilates us to the nature of the angels, and is the sun- shine under whose genial influence are developed in the human heart the germs of those flowers which are to bloom in unfa~ding beauty beyond the stars." "It is for woman to feel the lovc you describe," said Car- oline; "it is for her to cherish a feeling to which she would sacrifice every hope and prospect in life. It is ~skin~ too F A page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 DRAYT~ON. much of man to require him to surrender all selfishness, and offer up all his worldly interests on the:altar of love~" "I spoke from ~i~iy own heart, Caroline. I believe that human nature is slandered by those who ascribe its noblest impulses to a love of self. If we could but look at what is passing in many hearts around us, which on a superficial view seem to us to be cold and selfish, we should often see devotion of the holiest kind. Thi~re is infinitely more of the romance of love in the world than we suspect. Around us, on all sides, experience is weaving webs of golden threads, on which are pictures of purity and devotion surpassing all that fiction, with its pencil of light, dares to portray. They wrong humaAnity who judge of what is not seen by what is palpable, for the heart treasures and hides from the glare of day and4he eyes~ of the many its most sacred possessions. Deep and devoted love is a most perilous passion; for if the flowers that grow up under its benignity should fade before the blight and the frost, the distress of the heart thus strip- ped is incalculable. The woman who trusts her happiness to such a dangerous passion is either most blessed or most wretched. There is no night so deep, so rayless, as that whose gloom settles down on the soul of the one who is called to mourn the extinction of the hope which is most sun-like on all that shine in the heaven above our hearts." George rose once more to leave, and as he extended his hand, and looked earnestly on the fair face which he might probably see no more, a shudder passed over his frame and tears glistened in his eyes. "Good-by-farewell-God bless you, my own dear Car- oline !" he ejaculated faintly, as he drew her to his bosotn and impressed a kiss on her lip. He endeavored to look cheerful, but, in spite of his efforts, the shadow of a deep mel- ancholy rested on his features. " Oh! take care of yourself, for remember my happiness is inseparable blended with your existence," said Caroline, as her head bowed to her lover's Josom. Another lingering and wild embrace, and then a word of encouragement, and he tore himself away and walked rap- idly from her presence. He was soon mounted, and, turn- ing, beheld the form of Caroline in the door. He waved his hand in silence, an4 in a few moments disappeared from her * sight, and she was left alone to brood, over her hopes and * fears-to feel the intensest solitude we can know, a separa- tion from the one we love, and to experience that desert-like '1' I V N ~ * DRAYTON~ 131 condition of the heart, with here and there a hope gemming its wastes like solitary and beautiful oases, and alas! too often, like the green and illusory mirage, smiling only to de- ceive us. CHAPT]~R XXIII. DRAYTON continued to visit Oakwood, after George and his sister had left, as frequently as before. Colonel Mere- dith complained of his loneliness, and always gave his young friend a hearty and joyous welcome. From his conversation, enriched as it generally was with the fruits of extensive reading and the experience of many years, Drayton learned much. He would listen with pleasure to the colonel through the hours of the long winter evenings, forgetful of the flight of time. The colonel took great delight in imparting his opinions to him, as an olderlman always does to a younger one who regards him with profound attention. The storm might roar without, but within the cheer was always warm. One evening they were sitting together in the library, whither, as was their custom, they had retired after supper. The fire blazed brightly in the hearth. The night was stormy, and the, snow-flakes beat violently against the win- dow. Not a star was abroad. ~O~ver the heavens hung a dark and impenetrable cloud, and all without was as gloomy as a stricken spirit which refuses consolation. lit was an evening on which a misanthropic heart would have sighed for the delights of the social circle, and when the friendly heart warms as ~t contemplates the cheerful appearance of every thing within doors, and contrasts it with the terror and the wildness without. Who has not experienced the delights which seem so pe- culiarly well adapted to the long and cold evenings of win- ter, when we mingle with our friends and make ourselves the merrier because the heavens and the earth are shrouded in gloom? When the stars above us grow dim, the star of friendship grows brighter. We listen to the raging elements, and. cling closer -and more confidingly to those who are near us. Our benevolent feelings expand over our misanthropy like, the rainbow over the dark cloud, and all that we have page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 ~D R AY T O Nr DRYT ' 3 seeu and felt in timesgone by comes up before our rcfresfred minds, and we most affectionately yea impart the hived treasures of o~ur memories to the friend on the opposite side of the table, ~whose good nature, as he leans on his elbow and smiles on us, inclines him to relish what, perhaps, he would have voted a bore during the sultriness of the sum- mer solstice. We fancy, then, that the ticking of th~ snow ~nd hail against our windows, and the holdings of the winds as they sweep by, make music decidedly more exquisite than birds, and zephyrs, and tumbling waters ever made. We crown the houts wit~ roses as they fleet, like sylphs, on their destined courses, while, unconscious of raving winds aud mid. night's gloomy peals, we prolong our sitting through the * depths of the night in converse, which, by turns, is joyous and profound. An hour had passed since supper, and they had been, talk- ing of books and men. A~pause in the conversation ensued, during which they listened to the winds as they swept by, now rising and whistling like demons in each crevice, and now sinking and moaning like the lamentations of a be- reaved heart. As they listened, louder rose the gales, until they howled like a legion of famishing wolves; and when. they read~ied~their height, Drayton. said, "Hi~w I like those sounds~! They rouse one's imagina- tion and send it abroad, careering~~with the storm amid the creaking cordage of the ship, as she rocks to and fro on the t~n~table bosom of the ocean. In fancy, at this moment, I e~w see the billows breaking wrathfully over the sides of a doomed vessel, while the dark forms of the sturdy mariners flit from post to post, to guard their ship from the perils that surround them. What power, colonel, habit has, and how it reconciles men to every situation in life6 Now, were you and. I in the condition of those seamen I have been fancy- ing, we would expect to encounter death in every blast, and thi~4 we saw the scythe of the gloomy old tyrant in the form of every wave that broke over us, while perhaps the hardy sailor would stand at our sides chewing his cud, and dream- ing of the delights which would await him when he reached the destined port." '0fhe seaman is used to such dangers," said the colonel; he has encountered them a thousand times before, and his familiarity with them has bred contempt fo~ what we would shrink from. I fancy that if we were, exposed to the terrific 4ieoharges~ of artillery that many a soldier contemplated without a shudder, we should think our chan~es-of escape very few. But th~4~Jd campaigner only thinks of victory; and here, agaiii, you perceivee how familiarity with *langer' lessens our dread of it. So, also, an old toper imbibes his favorite beverage with a contempt for quantity, which seems marvelous to one unused to such deep potatiQns." After a pause of a moment, the colonel asked, "What books are those on ~the table near you, Mr. Drayton ?" "Boswell's Johnson, Bacon's Essays, and Burke's Speech- es," replied Drayton, glancing at their titles. "All favorites of mine," said Colonel Meredith. "Sup- pose you open Bacon, and read his essays on Truth and Love." Drayton took up the volume and read the essays tl~ col- onel designated, and when he concluded, a conversation on some of the great men of England followed. "And who do you think was the greatest m~n in the Long parliament ?" inquired Drayton. "John Hampden was decidedly the greatest man, al- though perhaps Cromwell, Pym, and some others excelled him in brilliance and genius. But he combined more of the high moral qualities of the reformer with his fine intellect than any of his contemporaries. At such periods, when a na- tion is rocking in the cradle of revolution, and when the ele- ments of disorder are let loose, such men as Hampdexi seem to be raised up by Providence to be the political saviors of the people. By their prudence, moderation, and firmness, they bring order out of chaos, and save a nation from the evils and crimes of anarchy. At such times there are al- ways more hot spirits burning for change than prudent ones to direct the currents which are in motion to profitable issues; and if it were not for Hlampdens and Washingtons, rev4lu- tions in government would always be fraught with incalcu- lable evils." "It is a pity," said Drayton-and his remarks indicated the party in politics to which he was attached.-" that France, in her late* revolution, contained so few men of the class yo~i refer to-men of great abilities and high moral characters, to ~ecure to her the good Which many of her eminent and philanthropic philosophers anticipated~ There never was a more righteous~~t~uggle fo~r freedom from the most blighting oppression; never were more ardent hopes of political good cherished; and never, in the annals of our race, was a holy cause so w~etehediy mismanaged. From amid the darkness of 1;hat struggle, many solemn lessons to princes and to peo.. 132 ~ -133 page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] pie flash up with the intense glare of lightning, teaching kings who -'are despotic that a terrible retribution awaits them, and teaching the niasses that if they confide import- ant trusts to unprincipled rulers, even though they spring from among themselves, they must expect to be overwhelmed with disaster and disappointment. Had France possessed a. few sterling and sound-hearted patriot& like our Washing- ton, Jefferson, Adams, Hancock~ and others, an incalculable amount of good would have grown out of her struggle. It is mournful to compare the glorious beginning with the infa- mous termination of that Revolution. But the struggle was not in vain, although the Harpies and the Furies seem to have been the principal spirits who presided over its destinies," "The French lost the hopes that animated them, and be- came traitors to the cause of Liberty when they desecrated their Revolution by making it revengeful," said Colonel Mer- edith, with a manner that proved the interest he took in the subject. "Revolution," he continued, elevating his voice, "is a just but an awfully responsible remedy, when the sin- fulness ofrulers cries aloud to Heaven; but when a Revolu- tion, instead of reforming abuses, goes on in a spirit of re- taliation to avenge injuries, it loses its sacred character, and becomes as offensive in the sight of Heaven as the abuses which it undertook to remove. Had the French only aimed at removing oppression and guarant~eiug rights, their Revo- lution might have been as successful as ours. But France became infatuated with success-drunk with the first vic- tories she gained over her tyrants, and then she reeled and staggered like an intoxicated giant, and, having no respect for the laws of Heaven or the opinions of the world, perpe- trated those horrible enormities which are without a paral- lel in the blood-stained history of our species. Faith was what France needed. The French lost all faith in Heaven and in humanity, and that was the prominent reason why their revolutionary struggle failed in securing to them the benefits for which it was undertaken. Faith is necessary to the sanctification of any cause, and without that light from Heaven which always shines on prayerful spirits, men inva- riably grope in darkness. Without it a nation can not be lifted up to catch the smiles of an approving Heaven, and to feel those blessed influences which reigned in Eden. Faith borrows energy from that despair which overwhelms the i-in- believing. Look how it nerved the arms of the Amerioau patriots, when the star of Liberty, struggling with mists, shone j~? A~4~ 134 D-RA Y T ON. 4 -D RAY T O N- 135 hut dimly on our cause! Had those patriots not been men of unflinching faith, they would have thrown down their ,arms and succumbed to oppression when the probabilities of success were against them. But faith winged the spirits of those true ancf good men, and, soaring beyond the dark pres- ent, they caught gleams of the bright day that was to dawn our political destinies." "The men you refer to, colonel, were eminentlygond and wise. Do you suppose that if our country were again plunged into such a crisis, we should see, their like ?" "Yes," replied the colonel, firmly. "Our country has not yet reached the Sodom-like depths of iniquity, when, if a thousand righteous men were required for her salVation, she would be destroyed for want of them. Whenever occasion shall demand the presence and the counsels of good men, they will come forth from their solitudes and assume the post and the bearing of demigods. And yet these men, when peace prevails, live and die, and have no canonization, for they are known but to the few who appreciate their ability and integrity. I know men now leading quiet lives, who, if they believed the liberties of this nation in jeopardy, would come forth and assume the rule, exert themselves like he- roes, and become renowned." "I like to speculate," said Drayton, thoughtfully, follow- ing out the train of reflections suggested by the colonel's last remark, "on the influence exerted over men by the cir- cumstances in which they live. I do not believe that a man of strong and decided character owes much of his intrinsic excellence to circumstances, for they only shape the course which such a one pursues. They are but as the winds which propel the vessel, but, whether they drive her to the north or the' south, she remains unchanged in all but the direction she takes. If it had not been for our RevQlution, Washington might be know~i only as a firm, judicious, upright man, and would probably die unknown to the world. Had not the French Revolution taken place, Mirabeau would have been known only as a wild and profligate wretch, who would nQt hesitate to trample on all the sanctities of life to gratify his uncurbed passions. If Leo the Tenth had not anthori~ed the sale of indulgences, Martin Luther's name would have died with the century which gave him birth; and without the happy influences which prevail in this land, where ge- nius and talent enjoy the prerogatives of their nobility and government, how maiiy Americans at present distinguished page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 DIIAYTON. DRAYTON. 137 would have been rotting away in obscurity! It is true, the circumstances in which these men were placed did not en- dow them with the qualities by which they rose, for they only furnished them with opportunities for displaying the na- tive superiority of their souls." The thoughts that Drayton expressed had long been fa- miliar to him. Notwithstanding poverty and an ungenial occupation stifled~ma~ny of the aspirations of his boyhood, yet his was not a spirit to surrender tamely to circumstances. He believed he could subdue circumstances and bend them to his coiitrol, and this belief had afforded him great conso- lation during the darker days of his vassalage. Many and beautiful were the dreams he even then. cherished, which owed their existence to the faith he haa in his own power to rise .superior to the lot which at that time was his. Nor were his those hazy reveries so common in which each. scene is indistinct, and beats but little resemblance to the pictures drawn by the master-hand of experience on the canvaS of life. He had read and reflected much on the careers of the great men who, starting from the humblest paths of the val- ley, have climbed up to the dizzy eminences of fame. His heart had often burned within him as he thought that he too might become one of that band of immortal spirits whose brows are shaded by the laurel that fades not. And now that manhood, with its widened views, was on him, he still clung with unabated fondness to the vision which had led his boyish steps into unfrequented places, and scattered the rays of romance on his dreaming brow. - He had much of that blending of enthusiasm and enter- prise-the poetical and~ the practical qualities of m~nd-~-. which has led so many of our countrymen from the lowliest to the Loftiest stations in society and government. There is an~ instinctive love in the superior mind, inducing it to ad- mire and reverence greatness of mental power wherever it is manifested. It feels that it c~n claim kindred with those specimens of heaven-created nobility jt loves to contemplate. In their careers it fancies its own is mirrored, and it gazes on the picture thus formed until its eye reflects no other im- age. No youth fitted to excel in poetry ever regarded the strpggle~of the bards who have preceded him without a feel- ing of iMeuse sympathy witW all their trials, for without a sympathy of this kind there can be but little likeness in char- acter or career. No young American~ born to sway in any eonsi&erable agree the~destinies of our government, can view 4 ~ 1, R with coldness the histories of our Henry, Franklin, and Sher- man. It is a safe assertion, that if a youth lacks a generous sympathy with the struggles of men who have risen to re- nqwn, he can not become truly eminent. This feeling alone, though the harbinger, is not th~ guarantee of success, for a. conviction. must accompany it that the power to execute the loftiest resolves of his soulbelongs to the aspirant. Heaven has not left us without an. oracle in the heart, which, when. rightly consulted, proclaims our destiny; and if a youth does not feel it to be the will of Heaven that he shall climb the eminences which loom far away before his ambitious eye, he is one of the obscure million, and no exertion he makes can possibly effect a revocation of the decree of his fate. But if, on the contrary, you feel an all-compelling necessity to rise -if you are assured by the infallible evidences of your own nature that you are a member of that, order of nobility which is patented by Heaven alone.-if you have the restless energy of spirit which will not uncomplainingly submit to be shackled by society or circumstance-take~- courage, be diligent, be resolute of heart, and the wreath and the halo may be yours. Such thoughts were familiar to Drayton's mind long be- fore he had renounced his early occupation and began to read law. He would return to them again and again ,when his heart was oppressed, lingering over them with as much pleasure as ever lover felt while dwelling on the remem- brance of the smile of his mistress. The intense and burn- ing sympathy he experienced while pondering on the early struggles of renowned men, first produced the conviction that~ he too could overcome the difficulties which hemmed him within narrow limits-that he too could pass the rugged Alps that rose with frowning cliffs to obstruct his way-and that in his arm reposed the might to break the threads by which untoward circumstances had bound him down to an humble and ungenial vocation. CHAPTER XXIV. TILE leading event of the year, and one which shrouded the nation in mourning, was the death of the great, the wise, the good Washington. He, on whom all eyes were turned A,. page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 DRAYTON. PI~AYTQN. in times of peril. for protection, had joined the company of the immortals beyond the grave. There was not a heart so dead to a sense of superior merit in others as to refuse to yield to his unparalleled excellence the lofty eulogiurn which, by common consent, is awarded to him. Sadness was heavy on every brow, and tones of lamentation trembled on every lip. Even those tongues which had dared to assail the character of Mount Vernon's sage, while reprobating some of the measures of his administration, now that his God-like form could be seen no more in the habitations of men, united with all others in pronouncing tributes of respect to the trans- cendent merits of the great man whose warning voice could not reach them from beyond the silence of the tomb. From every hill and from every valley throughout the land, which his valor had protected and his wisdom governed, came the moaning strains of grief from grateful. hearts. A great man truly had fallen in Israel, and the whole country united in expressing the feeling of the loss it had sustained by funeral processions, sermons, and eulogiums. Never before did grief burst from the startled heart of a nation so universally, and never before lived and died a man who so justly deserved such a tribute of respect. The city of was not slow in adopting measures by which to give public attestation of the sense of the loss.which the country had sustained. A funeral procession was ordered, and Colonel Meredith was selected to deliver a eulogium on the father of his country. When the appointed day arrived, every store and every shop was closed-the merchant for- sook his ledger and the mechanic the implements of his voca- tion-all business was suspended, and a hush deeper than that of the Sabbath prevailed over the busy thoroughfares of the ciii. Twelv~o'clock came. A procession, with slow and solemn~ steps, mo~d along the principal streets. . The sounds of the muffled drum broke sadly over the silence of the city. The multitude proceeded to the largest church, which was soon crowded almost to suffocation. An ode was sung-a prayer was offered up-and all eyes were turned toward the pulpit, when the tail and commanding form of Colonel Meredith rose with the dignity and majesty of a Roman- senator in the best days of the Commonwealth. His countenance was full of the solemnity of the occasion as his eye wandered over the breathing and expecting mass of beings before him.. The tones of his voice, at first low, gradually swelled with a wider and deeper compass over the thousands whose eager eyes watched every motion of the orator's lips. The colonel's words were generally more eloquent than his manner. He was a. logical and impressive, though not a brilliant orator. Wisdom marked his thoughts, and con- viction generally followed his periods, when practicing at the bar - and onthe present occasion his object was to place a vivid portraiture of Washing~ton before the minds of all who listened to him. After reviewing his life and the serv- - ices he had rendered the country, he pronounced a just, but not inflated, eulogy on his character. "It is admitted," said the orator, with a .deep voice and majestic manner, as he approached the conclusion of his ad- dress-" it is admitted that, among the great and good men whose deeds have been considered worthy of commemora- tion by states and people, our Washington stands in the first rank. This admission is extorted by his sublime merits even from the prejudiced and reluctant. minds of the Old World; but we claim for our hero, without the least arro- gance of pretension, preeminence over all others. No one presumes to deny him wisdom art4 sagacity in council, in- trepidity and prudence in war, and modesty and uprightness in private life. Every deed of his public career was unself- ish, and aimed exclusively at the good of the people whom he loved and served:; and every act of his private life threw additional luster round' a character which it should be the duty of every American to reverence and imitate. Look at the demigods shrine in the Pantheon at Rome! Which one of them, with his solemn and majestic brow, was the equal of our Washington? Look on that mighty procession of heroes~who pass before the eye as we turn over the pages of Plutarch! Which of those stern and inflexible heroes combined in his character all the mental greatness and moral sublimity of him whom America mourtis? Was it Theseus, Timoleon, or Numa-Pericles, Philopci~men, or Cato? The mightiest of those giants who tower above all others among the fallen monuments of the past, with the eternally-green shadow of the laurel upon their sublime heads, do not rise up to the full stature of the man by whose genius the polit- ical regeneration of our country was effected, and by whose wisdom its first steps were directed to the path which leads to renown. "The secret of Washington's greatness and success is to be found' in his earnest devotion to what he considered his duty. page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] 140 DRAYTON. DRAYTON. 141 No one of the unsubstantial phantoms of glory ever lured him for a moment from his country's interests. Had ~death or a dereliction of duty' been presented to him, no one ac- quainted with him can doubt his choice. He would at any time have bowed his honored head in the gloom of the grave rather than have survived the immolation of his conviction of right. Most other men have achieved their honors by de- voting themselves to one great and noble pursuit, but Wash- ington was great in many callings. He was great as a sol- 'dier, greater as a statesman, but greatest as a. man. From youth to age, and under ~al1 the changes of his life, he was always and inflexibly the same. Some men rise, on favor- ing occasions, with ~the suddenness and blinding brilliance of meteors, and, blazing for a while, fade away into the realms of night; but Washington, like a serene and lustrous planet, passed over our sky, and sunk beneath the horizon with ev- ery beam unshorn. His sole ambitio~~, was to do good. In his heart selfishness never took root, and his governing de- sire was to be useful in his day and generation. How nobly did he discharge the fearful trusts confided to him? With what self-sacrificing devotion he assisted in building up this nation's independence! In his presence calumny was dumb, and the tongue of slander was impotent! Up to the eleva- tion which he reached, and on the sun-like brilliance of his qualities, the eye of jealousy dared not look! "If it should be the misfortune of this nation, in the rev- olutions of coming centuries, again to be involved in a con- test between usurpation and human rights, the example of Washington will exert a saving influence; for great men, anxious to secure to themselves the highest honors on this side of Heaven's throne, will make it their proudest ambi- tion to emulate his conduct. And if, during any future event- ful conflict of arms, the champions 'of human freedom shall be beaten back with torn banners by the enemies of liberty, the spirit of Washington will appear in the thickest of the fight, cheering the soldiers of the free, as the shade of The- sons cheered the retreating Athenians on the plains of Mar- athpn, and thus led on, they will return to the charge, and drive the foot of the usurper from this sacred soil. "It is well to commemorate the life and services of such a man. Let your children early learn to reverence his name. Let monuments erected to his memory pierce the clouds Let every token of respect from grateful hearts be offered to the manes of him who stands amid the brilliant throngs of the redeemed beyond yon crystal vaults, the tallest and most God-like of them all. "'Such honors Ilium to her hero paid, And peaceful slept the xiii7ghty Hector's shade."' Among the thousands who heard the oration, tJiere was not one who listened to it with more profound attention than Drayton. He was in the habit of observing speakers of merit closely, for the purpose of discovering the means by which they produced their efFect. While listening to the colonel, his heart burned for an opportunity to appear before the pub- lic. He felt that if an occasion were offered him, he could' produce an effect highly honorable to himself. His soul had grown restless through the many months during which he had waited in vain for the coming round of the hour in which he was to appear before the public as a speaker, arid to make an exhibition of all the powers with which he was endowed. The young and as yet untried enthusiast always thinks that an occasion is the one thing needful, and he awaits it with burning impatience. His heart pants for the hour of trial. He is willing to stake his future fortunes on the success of his first effort. Before his imagination such scenes come up oftener than the day. There is the rapt and admiring crowd, and the plaudits of thousands repaying the youthful orator for the heartsickness of expectation. The inspired look, the resistless logic, the flashing eye, the imperial eloquence are his. He is the God-like actor; the mind that stirs' and the plaudits so heart-cheering belong to him. Thus hoping and dreaming of unlimited success, the enthusiast lives on. At length the momentous occasion so long desired arrives; the hour comes on; with palpitating heart he begins the effort which is henceforth to make his name famous. He com- mences, he stammers, and stumbles on; disappointment is pictured on every f~.ce, and his failure is signal. This is the experience of ninety-and-nine in every hundred ardent en- thusiasts who dream that the power of Henry or Clay be- longs to them. Alas! pai~it a blacker scene than the mid- night storm, aud then fancy the blackness of the desolation which comes down upon the disappointed youth whose hopes have been flowering through many seasons only to be blight- ed in an hour. But your sanguine dreamer dwells on no such storms and darkness before the hour, so pregnant with importance to him, comes on. Hobo. is his idol, and he worships at her shrine most devoutly. "Like some gay creature of the eke- page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] 142 DRAYTON. DRAYTON. 143 ~xn~nts," midway from earth to heaven, she appears to him, with her brow radiant with promise and her lip breathir~g his praise. She beckons to him from afar, and with a grace- ful sweep of her ~.rm she points upward to the shadowy Al- pine eminence in the realm of Fame,, on which his feet are to wander. Often, during the lone watches of the night, she visits him in his study, and, like a weird sibyl, foretells the brilliant destiny and the many honors that are in reserve for him. His too credulous heart receives these visions of his ardent fancy as if they were revelations from Heaven. Before him spreads a summer sea, and his is the most gal- lant of all the gay barks sporting on its bosom. That dis- appointment, probably, will wrinkle the brow and silver the head of such a visionary, all know, for all experience concurs in pronouncing Hope the most unscrupulous flirt that ever trifled with the human heart. It makes the heart sick to recall the number of promising youths whom one has seen wrecked on ambition's treacher- ous wave. The aspirants are in number as the stars, while the successful are but as the planets. And yet, despite the failure of the million, the one will be bold and dare to dream of victory. The field is still beautiful to the fancy, and the banner of Fame, waving above it, is gorgeous to behold, and, looking at it, the young heart forgets the myriads who there lie sepulchered.' A few veterans are there,' with laurel- shaded brows, and the votary thinks of the i~urel's shade, and not of the unhonored grave. Is it not strange that, not- withstanding the experience of the multitude, the one will still continue to dream that there is something peculiar in him' which will exempt him from the common destiny? But it is well that the heart should be self-confiding, for the feet of the weak-souled have never yet reached the summit of the Pisgah which overlooks the sun-bright land of promise. Be self'relying, then, and ffrm of purpose, and essay the re- alization of the most brilliant destiny that wild desire in her frantic moods ever drew on the, curtain of the' future, for there is no~success without such art attempt. Drayton, too, was a dreamer,~but he was fa~ from being a visionary youth. His strong common sense rescued his dreams from the domination of folly; and, when looking ~t the future, he did not suffer his fancy to triumph over his sagacity. The loftiest minds that have conferred dignity on the intellectual character of man have been dreamer of this class, for such always dream of success 'before attempting to win 'it. At times Drayton gave himself up to luxurious reveries, and then his spiritual visitants were as hazy as the spirits which Ossian saw in the moon's pale beams, and glittering thoughts reeled through his mind as devious and yet as beautiful as a troop of butterflies sporting in the air on a summer's mdrn. But; generally, his dreams were not the illusions of fancy, for they were modeled on what others had achieved. He hoped for much, and he had sufficient faith in his ability to carve out a successful career. It is true of him, as of all others who hope, that when the occa- sion his heart pants for arrives, he will be plunged, if he fails, to unfathomable depths of distress, but, if successful, he will ride the topmost' wave. 'CHAPTER' XXV. BEFORE leaving his home for the South, George Meredith had requested Drayton to call often on Miss Randolph. To this request he attended as much from his own inclinations as from a desire to comply with the promise .he had made to his friend, for she 4ways extended a~ cordial welcome to him, and entertained' him with conversations which dis- played her rich and varied mental resources. He also fre- quently met' her in town at the parties, at which places she was always an object of prominent interest. On such oc- casions she' was uniformly cheerful, and sometimes gay; and no one would have suspected the heaviness which often op- pressed her heart, from her glad smile and merry. voice. It was, however, rather from a deference to George's wishes than her own that she consented to be present amid 'these social gayeties;' and she often repaired with a. sad, brow from scenes where she had. appeared as gay' as the most thoughtless belle who felt her rivalry. But she was a different being when alone. Then the sentiments of herheart were unmasked and legible in every act. Oftentimes, 'after an evening devoted to hilarity, she would reproach herself for her levity, as the thought that her lover might at that time be experiencing all the agonies of a sick-bed in a land of strangers would come over her heart like a storm over the brightness of a May morning. page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] 144 D RA Y I O N. Sadness, however, was by no ~iieans he~ predominant mood, for-iew ever encouraged more exciting hopes under so gloomy a sI~y. At times, in spite of-her efforts to the contrary, her countenance would lose its animation, and a keen observer could perceive how loosely the visor was worn. One day Drayton called to see her, and instantly discov-. ered that she had been indulging unpleasant feelings, for the impress of gloom was visible on her brow. ~he would talk in an animated strain for a few minutes, when her thoughts would insensibly wander from the subject, and, losing her self-control, she would become unusually silent. Her companion noticed her aberrations of thought, and as- signed them to their proper source, and was glad when an opportunity was afforded him of leaving her to her own re- flections. The truth was, she had not heard from George for a month, and her fears for his welfare had become intense. At times she fancied that absence had chilled his love, or that illness had incapacitated him for writing. A thousand torturing apprehensions followed each other, and only increased the gloom of her heart. "I shall certainly hear from him to- morrow," was the language of her hope at the close of each day; but when the morrow came, and brought with it no tidings of her lover, disappointment would wring the briny tears from her eyes. The day on which Drayton called, she was more than usually oppressed with melancholy forebod- ings, and did not regret that his visit was a short one. When he was gone, she repaired to her chamber, and gave vent to her troubled emotions. Her imagination pictured to her her lover, tar. -away from his home, stretched on a bed of sick- ness, and slowly sinking beyond the reach of human assist- ance; and then followed a train of funereal horrors, conclud- ing'~with a grave in a foreign clime. She trembled and re- -coiled from the frightful scenes her imagination had painted, and, buried her face in her hands and wept. It is thus ever, - when its - object is far away, that love, in woman, will as- sume the character of the adder and sting the bosom which cherishes it. It was at the moment when her grief was most overwhelming that a servant appeared and handed her a. letter. One glance at the superscription assured her it was- -from him of whom she had been indulging so many doubts and anxieties. In an instant the clouds dispersed, and the star of Hope was bright above her-gloom deserted her brow-.-.-the day grew more cheerful to her eye-objects C' D RAY T ON. 14~- around, though bleak and bare in the tyranny of winter, as.. sumed, great beauty, for a letter from her lover was it~ her hand, and heaven was smiling in her heart. She broka~the seal hastily, and read the following -. LETTER. FROM GEORGE I~O CAROLI~R. -- "Once more I address you, my dear Caroline, from -this land of beauty and of strangers. You- will be glad to learn from me that traveling and a benign sky have exerted a -. -- - miraculous influence over my languid,- dr~opiug system, and that I-begiu to entertain, not only a hope; but a more con- fident feeling, that my health will be restored. M~ spirits are unusually animated. Exercise, instead of wearying me, increases the buoyancy of my feelings. I now take the~same interest I felt many years ago in the glories of earth and sky, for I feel less like a temporary sojourner among those glories. My heart echoes back the gushing song of the bird, and every -breeze that ~aiutes my cheek awakens dreams of - - - coming delights and love. All these symptoms of approach- ing health I hail with a fullness of joy that appears almost maniacal, because they strengthen me in the belief that I may yet live many years in blessed communion of spirit and of heart with her to whom I am so deeply devoted, and each one crowned with the bliss of her unchanging love. "While you are shrinking from the rigors of a gloomy winter, we are - enjoying the blandness and the blossoms of blushing spring. You are now looking out upou a stripped - and barren prospect, over which no sounds but tho~e of icy winds are heard, while we are glancing- u~o~l tjj~e green - landscape, and listening to the melodies of brook~ aud. birds. Ellen and I spend many days in wandering ampi o groves, inhaling breezes ladeu with perfume ~ f i~t wing -and picking reposing in the shadows ~ef luzurgnt ~t~ees glassy streams- to a-hill whose form rises up gig~c- sea. To-day up shells before the breaking bi1low~ ~ot the we rode ally at the distance of five miles from the ocean, and ~ ed to its loftiest cliffs. Eagles were balancii~g themseh~s in the lAne atmosphere high overhead, while around, - as ~ as the eyp could see, stretched the majestic ooean, With-here and there the white sail of a vessel on its unsteady' bdsoru. - Below us were groves of orange-trees, and the farms of husbandn~en; the humble abo4e of the poor man, and tile proud mansion of the princely planter. While gazing~to~md on the ~iiagnificent prospect, of whom do yon su~o~ we - page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] 146 DRAYTON. talked? One by one the forms of beloved friends at a dis- tance were called up, but, Caroline, yours was the one on which we dwelt longest and fondest. Oh, how we wished for you! how your dark and poetical eye would have glowed as it roved over the immensity of waters and the verdant earth, with itS alternations of hill and vale fading away in the gray distance! Your presence was alone wanting to make the scene and the hour as glorious as a vision of Eden. "You can scarcely conceive of the gorgeousness of the robes of evening in this sunny clime. Night sway~ the scep- ter-of dominion with all the dignity of an empress, and how resplendently is her brow jeweled with stars! The heav- ens wear a. deeper, an intense hue; the stars glow with a richer luster than in our ~wn native northern clime. Even nOw, as I write, I can behold through my casement Orion and his bands shining as magnificently as when ~'they in- spired Job in the olden time. No wonder that the Greeks, in their fair land of song, thought the sky a crystalline vault studded with stars, for it, like that now above ~xne, was transparent, and undimmed by the haze that overspreads our more northern latitudes. The songs of the night-birds and the roar of the sea are now blending together, and rising and floating on the captured air like a blessed anthem to a gracious and beneficent Creator. "And yet I long to be away from this fair clime. I am eager for the coming round of the month in which I shall once more behold familiar scenes and well-remembered faces -...~-when I ~hall again look on my- own bright iiver and its green islands.-when the hands of father and friends shall press mine, and I once more shalt watch the rose-leaf shad- ow on the cheek and the spiritual luster in the eye of the fair being I love. Day by day I weave a fairy web on which are pictures of bliss indescribably dear to me, and call it the future. And shall I indeed realize in the future tho~e starry imaginings- over which the spirit of peace broods with her halcyon wing? Will no unexpected hand dash th~ cup of happiness from my burning lips? - Will there wander no ser- pent among the flowers in the path before me? Often do such questions rise to my mind, when the future spreads it- self out before my dreaming eye without a cloud to shadow its beauty. * One thing I can hot be mistaken in, and that is, so long as the smile of my Caroline is glad for me, the highest hopes that scatter blessings on the crooked pathway of life will be mine. $o long as her love is left me, I can DRAYTON. 14T look on all the ills it may be my lot to ~encounter with a steady purpose and an assurance that happiness is not a dream. Possessing that treasure, I fear nothing; without it, what hope, what consolation could my afflicted spirit know? "I am here admonished that I must speedily terminate this message which my heart sends to yours. - The vessel that bears it is ready to depart, and I only have time to as- sure you 'that, present or absent, under all changes, I am de- votedly yours, GEORGE MEILEDITU." * *~ Caroline read and reread this letter~ It was inexpressi- bly dear to her, for it removed her anxieties and gloomy forebodings, and assured her of the improving health of her lover. Having satisfied herself of its contents, she took a seat at the table and began a reply to it, with her heart bound.. ing with emotions of joy. LETTER PROM CAROLiNE TO GEORGE. "Your letter, my dear George, came safely but slowly to hand, and its contents are all treasured up in my heart. Why was your anxiously-awaited message so long delayed? My spirits had begun to droop and my heart had lost its cheerfulness, for I fancied you were either neglecting me, or declined writing because you could not write what you knew would be pleasing to me. But the spell- that fear had cx- erted over my spirit is 'broken; all my self-torturing appre- hensions are allaye4, and I aTh as happy as a bird in the blushing morn. And oh! George, how shall I give utter- ance to the wildness, the ecstasy of the joy that has suc- ceeded to the gloom that hung over me, eclipsing the bright- nesS of every feeling! Your assurance that your health is improving rapidly is indeed like a glorious sunburst over my dark anticipations. Thanks-fervid and continual thanks to the Ruler of all things that he has not forgotten me, and that it is His- will that you shall again assume your station among men with a firm step and a brow glowing with health. -- Be careful, I beseech you-xisk nothing; for re- member, the happiness of another is inseparable linked with your weEsbeing. "I would that I could climb the dizzy mountain cliffs, survey the heaving ocean, and gaze upon the stars by night with you! Would that I could hang, like one entranced, on your arm, while listening to your fervent-tones~ growing elo- quent while ~expatiating on the beauty- of the green earth page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] 148 ' ~DRKYTON. and the gt~1 :$he glowing sky! That is a pleasure which the ~iitut~ S in reserve for me; and the time will come when the bea~ufifiil earth around my home will assume a new glory to xny~ ~~.dmiring eye while drinking in 'your raptuaou~ descriptions. As it is, you are even now my con- stant companion9 Whent~ver 'I walk abroad, I fancy you by my side; but alas! my fincy fails far below what the reaP ity has been; fi)r how can my poor mind endow its fictions with your looks and word ~ ? .~As I cultivate my flowers, are they not as beautiful as t~ose you are now gazing ou? I wonder what you will 'sa~ of this one and 'that one. Ii read over and over again the looks you gave rue~dwell on each passage you have marked. and sigh the wl%~to think that you are so far beyond the reach of my voie~, ~aid that 'I can riot listen to yours expouri ling whateverer seems mysterious to me until it becomes as c~ear as a meridian beam. I obey your injunction, and go frequently into society. But ah! what listlessness greets vie there! I wear a smile when the voice of adulation xxi ~ets my ear, but my heart rejects the tribute because it is s~ poor when compared with what has fallen from your lips. I only hear the words of others, but I always felt yours. The lightest tone from you had a charm incomparablyricher and dearer to me than all the wis- dom and philosophy, gariiished' with eloquence, that others coul& speak. Others are at best but as dim starlight, while you~,n~e as the gladdening sun to my world of bliss. Each hour memory summons you up before me.' As I write, I seem to see your pale brow, around which visions of beauty float like light clouds on the brow of morning--your soul- speaking eye, bright as a star and as blue as the sky which holds it-your mouth, so beautiful and so eloquent, and your* form, slight e.~id graceful as the willow's branch, and as sym- metrical as the Apollo's. "I often recall vanished hours of happiness; they consti- tute the richest treasure of the heart, arid it is~ not wise to slight them. Long. before I went, beyond the sea, I had shined your image in my soul. Little then did you suspect ray devotion..; little did you know of the thoughts which were passing in my mind whfle I listened to the beautiful sentences that flashed fiom your lips.! I loved you 'then, and secretly sighed for a confession from your heart, thi&t I might tell 'you how much I adored yoiiw But you withheld 'the burning language for which my ear was iso' ei~gsr, nei- ther w~uidyour stream of affection, for i~hieh ~iek~irl±hirst- r rfl~4j4o~ 149 ed,~flow at my prayer. In the, w~ueti~ ylieart hope built her altar, and yours was the spi ~se smiles I in- voked. I rejected the proffered ~~ve orotliers. while ing for yours. A superstitious fee ~ing~took possession of nie, and, fancying you to be my destiny, I would think of no one else. l~1ly love strengthened before the dififeulties that be- set it. I took a melancholy pleasure in retiring froin the ar- tificial brilliance I met with in. societyy , and indulging my genuip.e and uncontrollable fa~ings for you. Your company was a well of undefiled bli~ *liile society without you was a desert and a mockery. I often :nourned in secret, like the turtle wheWjl~)iand of the spoi er has robbed her of her mate. No ~1ieard my sighs. I shrouded the secret of my love in tire sacred stillness of my heart, and there, be- yond the reach of human ken, I nurtured it. Does Fate foreshadow on the spirit the ever .ts which are to make us blessed? Or why did I then dream so fondly of you, when you had not breathed a wish to possess a heart you had al- ready won? And why were. my dreams so like to scenes which so long afterward occurred? "But you were ignorant of what I have here imparted to you, and appeared but as a friend and an admirer. I left my native shores, fearing that the 'love I craved could never be mine. In the classic haunts of the Old World I con- tinued to think of you, and to feel: that my devotion was of that true and living kind over which absence and chatige of scene can not throw' the shado~vs of decay. And when 1 returned to my home and again met you, I feared my emo- tions would betray me, and was happy in perceiving that you did not notice them. At length came the hour and the confession, and I gave you my I and and vow, while my heart was happy beyond all imaging. "Why do I take so much delight in writing of former ex- periences to you? -~ The heart of woman is silly, perhaps, when recalling the history of its devotion, and burns to re- veal to the one she loves the dep~h and the strength of her attachment. It is the peculiar provincee of my sex to be miserly in the acknowledgment ('f its affection before, and prodigal after we have heard the love we sigh for confessed. "~i often see your friend, Mr. Drayton. I respect him high- ly, and think his mind very superior to all others I meet with here, now that my "bright particular star" is gilding an- other zone. "Mr. Hampton is very dissipated. He never honors me page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 DRAYTON. with his company~ I regret deeply that one who possesses such natural advantages should so recklessly abandon him- self to a course which must terminate only in his entire ruin. "I saw your father yesterday. He says he is vexed that you do not write more frequently. Indeed, he would be angry at your remissness, if he were not so exceedingly gentle and so full of the disposition to apologize for the errors of others. His charity is truly Christian, for, while it covers the defects of others, it disposes him to magnify his own. "My sheet is full, and yet my heart is full of what it would communicate to you. The scene around us is wintery and desolate. But the winter will pass away, and the birds and the flowers will grace the returning spring; and then, too, my heart will rejoice and be filled with happiness, for you will then come back to your affectionate and devoted "CAROLINE." CHAPTER XXVI. MARY WINTERS and her mother~, an aged and crone-like woman, were sitting before a blazing fire on a night in the depth of winter~ Mary had cleared away the supper table, and taken her seat near a small workstand. Her face was pale.-.--much paler than when we last parted from her-..-.and, as she leaned over her work, an occasional sigh escaped her. The old woman sat in alow chair near the corner of the wide fire-place, with her face bent toward the- fire, and her elbows on her knees. She was enjoying her pipe, an old ac- quaintance, and apparently watching the wreaths of smoke she emitted as they circled under the arch and passed up the chimney. Her face was deeply marked by age. Her color was very sallow; her ~nose was hooked like the bill of a hawk, and Lher cheek was wrinkled and hollow. She wore a white muslin cap, somewhat dingy, with a - small ruffle in front, tied under her chin. The winds whistled bitterly overhead, and as a blast, which caused the windows to rattle, swept by, she took hold of the end of the long check apron which was tied about her waist, and drew it over-her shoulders, muttering, "It's a bitter cold night, and I pity the poor cattle that's - '~' uihoused and has to stand it." DR4~YTON. 151 Mary, if she heard her mother, paid no attention to what she said, bitt continixed to ply her needle, while the old woman resumed her former position. A few minutes of si- knee, broken only by the howling winds aiid the cracking fire, had passed, when Mrs. Winters took her pipe from her lips, and, turning to Mary, said, "Ye'd better move your work higher the fire, Mary, for * ye'll ketch cold if ye don't." The daughter did not seem to hear the words addressed to her, aiid the mother cleared her throat, and in a thriller tone said, "it say, Mary, ye'd better come higher the fire." A similar fate attended this effort to arrest the girl's at- tention; and 'she regarded her daughter intently for a mo- ment, when; seeming to lose her patience, she elevated her tone, and voTciferated, "Are ye deaf, or are ye asleep, that ye can't mind what a body says toyou?" Mary started, and, with the look of a person who has been frightened with a dream, hastily said,. "Did you speak to me, mother ?" - "Speak to you ?" said Mrs. Winters; "to be sure I did, see- ing there's nobody but you to hear, and I'm not in the habit of talking with sperits. I say," she continued, in a softer tone, "ye'd better move your work up this way, higher the fire." "I am warm enough where I am, mother," replied Mary; and, as she spoke, she drooped her head over her work and resumed her sewing, while the old woman drew her chair nearer the fire; and, shivering, muttered, "It's all because I'm getting old so fast that I feel the cold so. It didn't use to he so, fbr I could milk the cows, and my fingers wouldn't even smart ;" an1, sighing, she again placed her elbows on her knee~ and her chin on the palms of her hands, and smoked her pipe resolutely. There was a knock at the door, and the old woman start- ed from her revery and exclaimed, "Merciful heavens! if there ain't somebody at the door this bitter cold night !" and, elevating her voice until it was as shrill and as loud as the winds outside, she screamed, "Come in--come in !" The door was slowly opened, and the form of Roger Brown, muffled up in a* large, coarse overcoat, entered the roon~, With a smile on his face, he courteously- said, page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 44 "Good evening, Mary-~.-good evening, Mrs. Winters; I hope I se~ you well, ma'am." Mary returned his salutation gently, and with a faint smile. lie took a chair, bnd drew it directly in front of the fire. The old woman w~.tched all his movement~ closely, and, when he was seated, inquired, "Why, Roger, arri't you 'most froze ?" "No, I'm very comfortable, ma'amn," he replied. "Don't you see this coat? Well, all the nor'westers that can get at me through it are welcome to bite me as long as they please. By-the-way, ma'am, I've got a present for you ;" and, so say- ing, he placed his hand in his pocket, and drew therefrom a paper containing tobacco, and handed it to the old woman, wh9 took it and thanked him. it "You'Ufiud it a genuinee article," said Roger, as she raised to her nose to in ale the aroma of the weed. The next object that attracted his attention was a large gray eat, the terror of inferior quadrupeds, which rose lazily, stretched herself, and walked with great deliberation toward him. She purrect loudly as slw rubbed her sides against his legs, and he lifted her to his lap, where the animal, appar- ently, well satisfiedwith the eligible lodgings she there fiund, oQiled. herself up, and made every necessary arrangement pre- paratory. to a ria~. Roger amused himself a while by pull- ing the creature's ears and tail, until she,, wisely concluding that if she remained there her slumbers would be disturbed by unpleasant dreams, scratched his hand in revenge, sprang upon the floor, and resumed her former position. The evening Waxed late. Mrs. Winters, having finished her pipe, took up a stocking, and soon began to nod over her needles. ~ The manner in which her head dodged first on one side and then on the other afforded Roger much amuse- ment. At length she slept soundly, and he moved his chair near Mary, and they commenced and carried on a conver- sation in a low, half-whispering tone of voice. "I~IIary, you told me, the last time I spoke to' you about- aboul;.-'.-about our affairs you'd give me an answer in six weeks, and the time's out to-night. Now say when it shall take place." "Oh,-Roger," she replied, in a tremulous tone; while her cheek, which had been pale during the evening, became / . flushed, "if you care any thing about my feelings, you will '.npt' 'say any thing 'more on that subject now-if you knew all things you would not do it." 4--- D R AY T O N. U K DRAYTOPI. 153 She sighed ~deeply-.--.a tear swelled in her eye-and she appeared 'to be troubled by the presence of disagreeable thoughts. An embarrassing silence ensued, which was brok-~ en by Roger. "If you knew how much I love you, you wouldn't keep me on uncertainties any longer." - "Indeed," she returned, some ~vhat subdued by his re- mark, "indeed, I can't tell you 'why, but I do not love you as well as a girl ought to love the man she marries. And if I was to marry you under the ~ircnmstan~es, you would not be as happy as you deserve to be, for you are very kind and good." Roger hung his head, and it wts now his turn to drop a. tear. She observed his emotions, and added, "Oh, if you only knew what a wretched, unhappy girl I am, you would rather go to the river and drown yourself than think of marrying me. Go a ad marry some more wor- thy girl, for I am not worthy of y(u-..indeed I am not." "I am not worthy of you," stammered Roger, brushing his coat sleeve -across his eyes, "b it I do love you, and will love you as long ~s I live; and I'm sure there's not another man breathing who would do more 'toward making you happy than I would. Don't talk to me about marrying somebody else, for it will make me crazy if you do." "If you knew me, you would despise rae, for.-." and here her sobs choked her articulation, and her words were not audible to-him. "Are you sick, or what ails you ~ he inquired, with much anxiety, gazing earnestly in her eo'orless face, and trying to read the cause of her emotions. "Yet! oh yes.! I am sick, andj wish in mercy I could die-die--die !" She spoke so earnestly that he was startled. As soon as he recovered his composure, he sad, "It is sinful to talk in that way: you ought to pray to live, that you may be a comfort to your poor widowed mother." "I know it's sinful, but I can't help wishing it. Oh, do not say another word to me abou' marrying! Go to your home, and do not come back to t~ik of love for one -who is so unworthy of you as I am. You make me miserable. Go home-go home.-ai~d When you cOme hero again, come as if nothing had taken place between us ;" - and, having said this, she rose and walked toward the fire, where* she. stood looking intently on the hearth at her feet. G2' page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 154 DILAYTON. DRAYTON. 1~5 Roger glanced at her, and then, placing his arm on the I table, leaned this brow on it, and sighed, and sobbed, and felt himself to be the most miserable of men. At length he rose, took his hat in one hand, and, approaching Mary, ex- tended the other to her without saying a word. He left the house in great mental perturbation', scarcely knowing where he was or what he did. When he reached the road he pulled off his hat, and, while the cold winds fanned his burning brow, he stood looking up at the bright, unpitying moon with the wild and vacant stare of a maniac. CHAPTER XXVI. THE next day found Mary Winters in the city, whither she went, as she stated, to visit some relatives. The glad and joyous girl had suddenly changed her demeanor; instead of the exhilarating and wild laugh, and eye flashing with light, her face was shrouded with melancholy, and she was generally much abstracted, and at times sullen. These changes were noticed by her friends, who frequently tried to revive her spirits and rekindle her former animation. Some- times her gay outbreaks of humor reminded them of her former buoyancy; but-these were only fits, and. were always followed by spells of the most cheerless gloom. It was ev- ident to all who noticed her that something preyed upon her heart-that the worm had blighted her bloom-but what it was was beyond the reach of their anxious inquiries. Her mother, on several occasions, detected tears in her eyes, and sought in vain to discover the cause. She was assured it was only a passing cl&ud of sorrow. And then Mary'~ frequent fits of abstraction gave the old woman great uneasiness, who was at a loss to assign any adequate cause for so total a change in the conduct of her daughter, who, until hen, 'appeared to be one of the happiest of beings. For a day or two after her arrival in town Mary walked out alone frequently, and on each occasion returned with an expression of disappointment shading her features. One evening she sat at the window looking out on the crowds of strangers passing by. Her brow was more than usually melancholy.. Suddenlyher eye kindled, and, starting up, she L N ~Iji hastily put on her bonnet, and drew her shawl over her shouk ders, and went forth with a quick step. At the distance ~f half a square'from her she saw a well-known form, that had passed the window from which she had been looking a few moments before. Her step was nervous, and her bosom much agitated, ~and she passed on hastily, observing no one but the person in 'advance of her. She had been following him a considerable distance, when he halted, looked round, and entered a door. In the next minute she stood in front of it, read the sign, and then, with a palpitating heart, rapped gently. A voice to which she had often listened shouted "Come in," and she opened the door and entered the room. The office in which she now for the first time 'stood was well' furnished with tables, chairs, and book-cases. A fire was blazing on The hearth, and stretched at full length be- fore it, on a sofa, was the individual for whom she had been anxiously looking since her arrival in town. He sprang up, and, approaching her, in a tone of surprise said, "Ah! Mary, is it you'; quite an unexpected honor, I can assure you.~~ The poor girl was so much agitated that she could not ut- ter a word, and sank down into the corner of the sofa. He took a seat by~ her side. She kept her gaze riveted on the floor for a minute, when, as if suddenly remembering the ob- ject of her visit, she raised her head, and with a faint smile said, "Oh, Mr. Hampton, I have almost been dying to see you, and was afraid I should not succeed; for here, where there are so many persons thronging the streets, the eye of love can hardly see the one it longs for." There was a beam of affection in her eye and a tone of kindness, in her voice as she spoke. ' After musing a mon~ent, he asked, "H~r did you find me out at last ?" "I watched jthe street until I saw you pass, and then fol- lowed you," was her answer; "I am glad to see you, Mary," he said, laying his hand on hers, and glancing at her face. "Oh! I feared so much you would not be glad to see me," she said, in a tone that was both soft and earnest, "for I really began to think you had forgotten me. I have not seen you for a month. How could you be so cruel as to neglect me for so long a time? My every thought is wrap- ped up in you. ,1 care for nobody else in the wide world. I have done every thing for you.-.-.have even tempted. the page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 ) R ON.D RA Y T ON. 15 wrath of Heaven to convince you hoW much I loved you; and yet you are so cruel, after all, as to neglect me ;" and, as she concluded, a tear glistened in her eye. "Ali! but it was you who were cruel," he said, in a tone which was meant for kindness. "How could you suspect me of forgetting you? I could as soon forget there was a sun in heaven as that bright eye, Mary." '"Why, then, did you not come to see inc ?" she said; "~Vhy did you leave me to feed on my own dark thougliWt w~iy did you not come to tell me over and over again tlii~.t~ ~yQWstdl loved me There was much -energy and passion in her voice, and her Ibrw~ shook convulsively as she spoke. He felt the justice ~ot~the~condemnation implied in her words, and tried to apol.. o~ze for his conduct. Turning his basilisk eye on her, he said1 tenderly, "I-I wouldn't neglect so fair a flower for the world. The fact i~, I have had so much business for the Iast~month at t4~e ciurt-house that I could not leave town. If it had not b~een for. such engagements, I would have seen you often." What he said was false, for he was a briefless lawyer. H~jng accomplished hi~ purpose, he had deserted her inten- ti~nally. The present scene was very unpleasant to him, aWd h~ was willing to give any explanations or promises which might bring it to a termination. ~ why did you not write to me ?" said Mary, pas- sionately. "A letter from you would have saved me so many tears !" "I wrote to you two weeks ago, ~.nd sent it by Roger, who lives at Colonel Meredith's," he. replied, coining a lie for the occasion. "I thought Roger hated you too much to speak to you," she returned, revolving the improbability of what he said. "If he did not hand you my note, Mary, it was because he is jealous of me." "Do you tell me the truth ?" she inquired, with a. flash- ing eye, starting from him. lb winced under the scrutiny of the look she gave him, but, with his accustomed boldness, replied, "Do not, I beseech you, question my veracity. I'll swear I would not for the world lie to one as fair and as much loved as you are, ~[ary." He was exceedingly anxious t~ ~hauge the subject, for he felt that if it was not ai~ested he would involve himself too deeply for extrication. IJe passed his arm around hor~waist and made au effort to kiss her; whicii~he repulsed. Break- ing from his embrace, she asked, in a loud tone, "And would you dare to deceive me ?" "I would not, upon my honor," he replied. She looked at him intently for a minute, while she ~tried to collect her scattered thoughts. At length, with grea1~ earnestness, she said, "Cit would be better that you were in' your grave than liv~ig and here lying. to my face. I gave you my heart be cause you told me I had yours. You~promised-you swore by high heaven and every star in the sky, time and again, that you loved me, and would marry me, if I only--only- only-.." and her voice faltered, and, overcome byirer emo- tion, she could not articulate her thoughts. "Here's the devil to pay," thought Hampton, as he turned and twisted about in his seat. "Mary," he said, with ap- parent sincerity, "why do you doubt tb~ J mean to ft4fill, every promise I ever made you? Do not, my &ea~gfrik chide me with being treacherous to you until I d~a~erv~eit~" "When will you fulfill your promise ?" .inquired Mai~yiu a gentler tone, while her credulous heart, told her that ~he had accused him wrongfully. "When shall I be your wife~? when will yon take away all my fears and sorrows?: Yon see how pale and altered I am! Well, it is all on yeur ac- count. When-tell me when you will redeem your vow, and marry me "In the spring, when the birds are singing and the bees are sipping honey fr0m the flowers," he replied, willing to promise any thing which might allay her excitement and en& ~ the scene. "In the spring-in the spring !" she said, as if musing. "Oh! that will be too late. I can not livb1so long as I have lived. My heart w41 fret itself out of my body. Let it be now-now-now," she added, passiQnately, "if you would save me from death; forihow can I live with shame and ~re- morse gnawing continually at my heart? No," she added, rising and elevating her right arm, "I can not live with shame and dishonor pressing on me like a mountain; and I vow,~by all that is true in a woman's soul, u*1;o live and feel like a guilty wretch much longer." "Be composed, my dear Mary," he said, entreatingly, rising and grasping her uplifted arm. "Be composed. The wedding, I assure you, on the honor of a man, shall take D R A Y T O N. 156 157 page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] '4' ~~" 15i8 D R A Y T ON. place as soon as I can make the necessary arrangements. Do you si~ppose me to be villain enough to ~win your love and confidence only to betray' you?" "I have sometimes feared so," she replied~ turning her head aside to hide~tiie expression of her face from his eye. "Think so no~t~re, then, &~re~t," he added.in a tone of so much gentleu~ss and kindness that sl~, could not resist the conviction .that he spoke sincerely, "I~uit~believe me to be an honorableA man, for I do not mean to deceive ydu. Will you-do you believe me ?" "I do believe you," she whispered, as he drew her to his bosom, "for my heart could not be so untrue to me as to love a villain as I love you." He kissed her and caressed her, but she heeded him. not, for her eye and her thoughts wandered. ~Swldenly she started as from a slumber, 'and, looking wildly at him, ~x- claimed, "If you mean to deceive me, oh tell me so, for I can not bear the lingering torture I have felt for several weeks any longer. Let me know the worst, and if death is to be my doom, let it come soon/s "Death! talk not of death now. We will live and enjoy our love for many long years." Hampton found some difficulty in sustaining~ the part he had assumed. He thought that by soothing her she would soon leave, and tWe interview he disliked so much would be ended. He resorted to kindness of manner the' further to de- cej~ve the poor' girl, whose only sin consisted in~ loving him ~too passionately. * "Oh!' how happy I will be as your wife !" said the art- less, half doubting, half' believing girl; "and I will do eVery~ thing in my power to make you as happy as myself." Qh yes, whenwe are married, the days will be all sun- shine !" he said; "and then how you will regret that you ever for a moment thought me 'base e~ii~gh 'to win your love and then desert you. But come, 3VLary," he added, desirous of terminating the scene at this' favorable juncture, "come, it is growing late, and some gentlemen may be dropping in, and, s~,ein u. here, would suspect you." She ros, 4, accompanied by Hampton, passed into the 'street. When they reached the h9use of her relative, he left her, promising to vi~it her at her own ~home in 'a few days. As soon as supper was over, Mary complained of illness, and repaired to her chamber, to recall all that had passed I D RA YT ON. 159 during h~r interview with Hampton. Many were her pleas- ant thoughts and bright hopes; but her 'heart at times mis- gave her, ii~i~, as a doubt of his sincerity oppressed her feel- ings, they became intensely bitter, and the hot tears gathered in her eyes. Between ~rniles and ~tea', rief and joy, like a cloud that is bright to~' but dt~z~to the shade, she spent an nnrefr~hing night, and rose early next morning and made preparations for returning home. When Hampton left her, he reflected on what had oc- curred, and cui~d his fate and the unlucky accidents which had involved liini so inextricably. What to do was the per- plexing question. As to fulfilling his vow and becoming Mary's husband, that, of course, he laughed at as a first-rate joise~ But how should he manage matters so as to clear himself of,~hat he considered the most embarrassing occur- re~ice of his life? He had, in this instance, woven so tangled a, web, that extrication, even with all his adroitness, seemed impossible. With many thoughts harassing him; he passed into the bar-room of a tavern, where he was accosted by tWo of his friends, with whom he spent the evening. He ~d~rank deeply, played heedlessly, and betrayed a degree of recklessness unusual even with him. Thus differently pass- ed the,~night with poor Mary Winters, to whom love was an only hope, aiid the base wretch to whom her love was a matter of the most perfect indifference. CHAPTER XXVII. WHENEVEIL a vain man fails in any of' his undertakings, instead of ascribing his failure to a want of the proper 'ability in himself, he attributes it to some foreign influence over which he has no control. Hampton had loved Ellen Mere- dith as much as such a person could love a pure-hearted woman, and, in endeavoring to account for his failing to win her hand, he had, among other causes, ascri It'to some unintelligible influence on the part of Drayt 7' This sus- picion immediately became the parent of a strong prejudice, and his jealousy only awaited an occasion to display, itself. One night, in the society to which they both belonged, Dray- ton mo~st efl~etually demolished an argumentt which Hamp- "4'- page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 ton had urged, whereiiI~on Hampton rose and' made a most malignant personal reply, which Drayton treated with scotn. i~ampton's feelings henceforthwere very bitter, and he never suffered an opportunity of secretly maligning Drayton's char- acter to pass without availing himself of it. ])rayton~ had heard of Hampton~ clandestine efforts to injure his standing, and treated them with the contempt they4eserved. When Hampton first became acquainted with him, Drayton gave him an' outline of' his' career, and Hampton frequently en- deavored' to prejudice others against him by representing him as a plebeian wretch who, having forsaken the imple- ments of a cobbler, had come among strangers to practice imposition on the unwary. Notwithstanding his secret malice, Hampton still con- tinued to call at Drayton~s office, and, when there, 'he fre- quently disgusted him by narrating his successes with women, who, from his representations, had not the power to resist the influence of his fascinations. After ftequcnt irritations of this sort, Drayton one day told him that it was base and ungentlemanly in him to brag of such things, and intimated a suspicion that he was a slanderer of much better reputa- tions than his own. A rupture took place between them, which, much to Drayton~s pleasure, lasted' for a month, when Jiampton again forced himself on his notice. Mrs. Willoughby has already been represented a~ a wom- an of the world and a leader in the empire of fashion. To this position she never could have aspired had she not been possessed of wealth. She was one of those female Lycur- ~ guses who issue their haughty mandates and think all oth- ers bound to obey them. Some followed her example and obeyed her commands ; ~but there were many among the older families in the city who scorned Mrs. Willoughby's vul- garity, and over these she exerted no influence, though she had wooed them on all occasions in her most affable man- ner. Hampton was on the best terms with the Willough- bys'; and, indeed, he was so far a favorite with Maria as to be one of the dozen persons to whom the coquettish girl had engaged herself, in order that the length of her train of ad- mirers mig~ be incomparable, and that when she needed a gallant she might lie sure of one sufficiently obsequious for her purposes. Shortly after his falling out with Drayton, Hampton sought and found an opportunity of communicating to the Willough- bys the fact that Drayton had once labored in ar~ luunble I D R A Y T O N. DiMA Y 's O N- 161 100 DItAYTON. DRAYTON. 161 vocation, aud accompanied his comz~~iicatiou with sundry slanderous insinuations. To Mrs. Wliloughby the idea of taking the hand Qf a person who had once been familiar with shoemaking was utterly horrible. indeed, ~o aristocratfe and exquisite were her perceptions, that she vowed she could snuff a mechanic in the breeze if the rascally plebeian were within a quarter of a mile. Her felicitously-endowed nose, however, had failed to detect the taint about Drayton; but when once apprised of the facts touching his early history, she protested she had always entertained a lurking suspicion that he was not what he pretended~to be. Her sagacity in detecting the evidences of a fact, after the knowledge of it was familiar to her, was truly remarkable. To strengthen the credibility of a slander by innuendoes Was a favorite oc- cupation of hers, and she manifested more adroitness in magnifying and darkening a doubt of another's pretensions than any other expert calumniator in town. If there is one class of beings more than all others jealous of unfounded pretensions, it consists of those who, are cOnsCiouS that they hold positions to which, according to the canons of aristoc- racy, they have no right. Hence it was that Mrs. Willough- by was so extremely fearful lest she might sanction unfound- ed pretensions; She belonged to that singularly amiable class of persons who, having by good luck ascended to emi- nences, kindly kick down the ladder by which they climb up, lest the rarefied and pure atmosphere of the' higher lat- itudes should be infected by vulgar breath. Toward the end of winter Mrs. Willoughby determined to give another party, the brilliance of which should far sur- pass that of any during the season. She was sitting with her amiable daughter one morning, engaged in making out a list of those who were to be invited. The young lady was about writing the name of IDrayton, when the mother observed, "He shall not be invited." "Why, ma, what is the reason you will not have him in- vited ?" inquired Maria, looking up with an expression of the most decided astonishment. "I want no wax-ends and lasts about me," was the gen- tle reply; "for if there's any one thing I do most cordially hate, it is a shoemaker ;" and as the patrician Mrs. Wil- lougliby concluded, her snub nose became aspiring, and sud- denly turned up with an expression of unmitigated dis- tlain. page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 DRAYTON. DRAYTON. 163 ~C His family is good," said Maria, who, having conceived a fondness for Drayton, was loth to sacrifice him; "and I have been told that he was forced to make: shoes when he was young because his father's circumstances were so much - reduced that he could not afford to suppoit:his large fam- ily. i've always heard that the Draytons~ used to be the most respectable persons about here." "It's nothing to me what people's grandfathers were," retorted Mrs. Willoughby, as some unsavory.recollections of what her own ancestry a been came up before her. "I only look at what they themselves are, aid .~[ am not going to patronize any impostors, who, having been shoemakers, try to pass current in society as gentlemen."~ "But, my dear ma, the Merediths, and the Russells, and the Butlers all receive his visits, and I don't see why we shouldn't invite him, for, whatever he was once, he is now as good as any body else." "For Heaven's sake, Maria, don't be holding up these peo- ple to me as patterns, for you know I follow nobody's opin- ions but my own. They may let, every dirty mechanic in town come to their houses if they please, but I am resolved on keeping my company select." The decided~ manner in which this was spoken, together with the singiAarly uncompromising toes of the head which accompanied it, assured Maria that the doom of her favor- ite Drayton was written. Nevertheless, she ventured to urge, in a ~subdued tone, her objections to the rule her moth- er appeared to be attached to. "If you are going to be exclusive, you will have a very small party, for there are not ten persons in town who have not some objection founded on their families or their occu- pations; and, indeed, I myself would be unfit for so select a gathering, as it has not been quite a thousaj~id years since some of my beloved ancestors might have been seen, under the most suspicious circumstances, prowling about little huts in the skirts of the town. You th4nk there is nobody better thaii Susan Roberts, and her father, you know, was nothing but a shoemaker. Are you going to cut her too ?" "But she never made shoes, and she can't help what her father once did," replied Mrs. Willoughby, unable to meet her daughter's arguments fairly. "Mr. Drayton is a gentleman of fine mind, and I will stick up for him," said Miss Willoughby, with considerable per- tinacity. "His blood is excellent, and as every body else N A thinks him good enough to associate with, I don't see why we should exclude him." "Now, Maria, you need not say another word in his fa- vor, for he shall not come to my house, and that's flat," said the elder lady, with the most intractable decision of pur- pose. "Why, what in the name of common sense has got into the girl? Do you want to have all the trasb~ in town invited to meet you, simply because they happen, by some in- scrutable dispensation of Providence, to have a little brains ?" The young lady's cheek reddened, her lip quivered with rage, her little foot swung to and fro violently, and, fling- ing the list of names from her hand, she exclaimed, in an angry tone, "Well, if he is not to be invited, I vow I won't have any thing to do with the party." "Why, you must have taken leave of your seveti senses," said Mrs. Willoughby, contemplating her enraged daughter with a look of great surprise. She hesitated a moment, for the young lady was humming a tune, as if she was decided- ly opposed to listening to another word. The singing ceased, and the mother continued: "I met that Drayton the other night at Mrs. Russell's, and he passed me three times, and did not even deign to speak to me. And, after that, do you think I'll invite such a brute to my house.? No; I wish I may be struck dumb if I do." The principal reason for her unwillingness to have Dray- ton invited was now out. She was jealous of the attentions of others; and if one was unfortunate enough to neglect her, she was thenceforth unforgiving. Maria's face relaxed its expression slightly as she listened to her mother, and when she had concluded, she said, "He 'certainly did not see you, for he is too much of a gentleman to pass you without giving you some token of his respect for you." "He did bow coldly," said Mrs. Willoughby; "'but he never does treat me with any attention, and I am resolved on cutting him. Mr. H4mpton told me that he heard him ridiculing me, and after that I would not condescend to speak to him to save his neck." "I do not believe what Mr. Hampton says," said Maria, "for he is very jealous of Mr. Drayton, and says every thing he can invent against him. He has told me a thousand& things to Mr. Drayton's disadvantage, but I never paid the slightest regard to them.~~ page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] lf~4' DRAYTON. DRAYTON. 1O~ At this moment the bell rang, and a servant announced Mr. Hampton. "1 have a great ~nind to send him word I don't want to see ~irn," said Maria, musing;' "but he has got a ring of mine, which I must get from him before I give him his walking papers. I never was so tired of any 'body's perse- cutions in my life, and I mean to affront him and free my- self of him forever." In no amiable mood, Miss Willoughby rose, glanced into a mirror, and then proceeded' to the parlor, where the first thing which met her obser~ration was the symmetrical form of Hampton stretched Qut most luxuriously on the sofa. She stopped and looked at him with amazement. His flushed face proved that he had been drinking. He ~miled and sprang up, and, approaching her, seized her hand and raised it to his lips.' She jerked it impulsively from his grasp, and drew her handkerchief across the back of it, as if she wished to remove the affectionate impress from it. She regarded him angrily for a moment, and said, "You are the most impudent man in the world; you cer- tainly must be drunk !" He returned her searching glance, and then laughed out.. right. As he was in the act of resuming his seat, he said, "You are growing marvelously prudish all at once; how is your health, lady fair ?" Mr, Hampton," she said, with unusual dignity, "you will please henceforth to remember that I strictly forbid you to take any such liberties with my hand. If you ever at- tempt to press it-i-to defile it by pressing it against your lips, as I live, I will insult you." "Whew! what a robbery I've innocently kicked up !" he exclaimed. "'Why, fairest of your sex," he added, gently, the hand belongs to me according to engagement, and that entitles one to the privilege of kissing it when one pleases." "If that be the case, si~r," she returned, calmly but coldly, I will guard myself against' any, thing so extremely dis- agreeable hereafter, by revoking what you absurdly call the engagement on the spot." There was a decision in her tones which he by no means relished, and, rising, )~ took a chair, and seated himself near her. Leaning 'forward,~he inclined his face very near her own, and, with a serious expression of countenance, said, in a low and earnest tone, "I am exceedingly sorry if I have offended you. Forgive me, if you please; I can n~t bear to see that brilliant fore- head clouded. Believe me, it was the strength of the love I feel for you that.-~-" "Keep your love, to yourself, sir, or give it to those who wish it," she said, interrupting him, and at the same time moving her chair further from him. He looked amazed, and, as she reseated herself, she added, "I will thank you, sir, to keep at a respectful distance. You have been bru- talizing yourself by drinking, and your breath is extremely offensive to' me." "I met a friend," said Hampton, in an apologetic tone, at the same time coloring deeply, for her remark cut him severely, "one whom I had not seen for a long time, and he insisted on my drinking a bottle of wine with him, and I..-" "And I wish his company had been sufficiently agreeable to detain you," she said, again interrupting him. "Forgive me," he said, earnestly, for he was anxious to conciliate the, offended beauty; "forgive me, Maria, and I will promise not to repeat my offense in future." As he spoke he rose, and a second time placed his 'chair near hers, whereupon she left the one in which she had been sitting and took a seat on the sofa, saying, as she did so, "I ask you for no excuses; you can get drunk twenty times a day for aught I care. I do not know why you should choose to make your confessions to me.' You are nothing to me, sir." "Nothingto you, l~Iaria Willoughby !"'he exclaimed, start- ing up as if her words':were daggers to him. "Nothing to you, did you say ?" he continued, more passionately. "Oh, how strangely such words sound in my ear, coming as they do from lips heretofore ever kind and musical to me. Noth- ing to you, who have professed that I was every thing to you ?" Here he~ resumed his seat, and, fixing his look in- tently on the carpet at his feet, continued muttering the words, "' Nothing to you-~-..nothiug to you !" "You will certainly attain to great proficiency ix~ the pro- nunciation of those interesting words after a while," she said, sarcastically. "Yes, sir," ~he continued, her cheek red- dening as she spoke, "if the words are so agreeable, I will delight you by repeating them e~hatically: You-are---- nothing, absolutely uothingto-.ine. 'I pity your case most truly if you were ever ninny enough to imagine for a mo- ment that yen were any .thing hut a trifling matter of con- 'I page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166 DRAYTON. DAYTON~ 1O7~ lenience to me. I hope you will experience no difficulty in understanding me now." "Maria Willoughby !" he said, in a tone of surprise, look- ing sternly i~ her eye, "did you not before high~heaven en- gage yourself to me? You will not certainly be guilty of the black perjury to deny it !" "Oh no, sir, nothing can be further from my heart at this moment than the wish to deny it," she remarked, in a tone of levity. "I confess, sir, to the sin of having engaged myself, as you call it, to you; but it does not follow, in ac- cordance with any logic current in the fashionable world with which I am acquainted, that on that account I am to perpetuate the engagement forever. Why, sir, I have al- ways understood that, after a pipe~stem or a heart, there was nothing so brittle as an engagement, and I have but little doubt that your opinions on that subject will henceforth agree with my own precisely." As she ck)sed her remarks she laughed heartily, whether at her own thoughts or at her lover's face, he could not tell; but certain it is, she laughed as if a most humorous scene were before her. Far different was hi~ mood, for, with a countenance of the most unsmiling kind, he said, when his astonishment had partly subsided, "I pray you, Maria, to retract what you have said, if you would not drive' me to despair. Forgive me the impropriety of my conduct this morning, and take back the words which are worse than daggers to me. I can' not live with the scorn of the* only woman I ever loved, truly and devotedly, on my brow, withering as the curse of Cain." There was much energy in his tone and gesticulation as he spoke, but The lady was callous, and, in return for his se- riousness, said, laughingly but very sarcastically, "Do you mean to plant one of those ugly daggers of which you speak so pathetically in your wretched heart? or will you not rather go off more poetically, and drown your sor- rows in the foaming bowl? I fancy ,the latter more to your taste. But let me 'en~eat you, sir," she continued, while he was writhing visibly' 1~4er her severe raillery, "let me en- treat you, sir, to reconsider that rash resolution of- yours. In the event of i~ts b0e~in fatal, the community wou4d never recover from so br4 a less, and the female portion of it would inevitably go ad, 'as w~.s. ~the case when. Moham- med's father got marrie~L"' "I desire 'you, as a particular. favor to me-to one, Ma- na, who adores you-.-to forget this morning's proceedings. I have," he continued, approaching her, "I have already suffered sufficiently to atone for my sins of this day. It was wrong, very wrong in me to come here, excited as I was, this morning. What a fool a little wine can make a~ man!" "That is the -first sensible remark I have heard from you to-day," she said; "and I am glad to see you are returning to your senses. I hop~--sincerely hope, that now you have discovered yourself to be a fool, you will set about becoming rational." While she was speaking, Hampton approached still nearer to her, and she sprang up 'and said, in a most unequivocal manner, "If you come so near to me again, I will leave you in sole possession here. If you can not avoid being excessively disagreeable, I shall be compelled to request you to leave me to myself." He drew back, his bosom heaved with passion, and, knit- ting his brows, he said, angrily, "You are a no-hearted coquette, and the only regret I feel is, that I should have been so great a fool as to put it in your power to wound my vanity. I have now sufficient proof of your entire heartlessness, and I scorn-I hate you for it." "Now you speak like a man," she said, gayly, "and you utter the only 'feelings I can reciprocate with you. And now, sir," she continued, and her eye flashed with anger as she spoke, "if you ;will be so good as to return me the ring which you took from my finger, and leave me to my reflec- tions, I shall be under a lasting obligation to you." "Excuse me, my lady, if you please," he said, with a sar- donic smile; "I must keep this trophy ;"' and here he glanced at the ring which spar1ded~on his finger. "I wish to place it among several slight tokens of affections that once were, that I have hoarded up with a miserly care. There is no telling what turn my fate may take some of these days, and it may be that I shall have occasion ~to set up a jeweler's shop; in vrhich event, this evidence of Maria Willoughby's affection may satire me from starvation." "There will be no danger of tarving,~ir, so long ~s state prisons exi~t,"- returned. the ~, feeling greatly vexed at his retaining the ring and the manner in which he spoke of it. "Give ni~ that ring, sir !" s~he exclaimed,' in a loud page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] DRAYTUN. ~ ~ssionate voice. "Give me my ring, and leave this 2 house instantly !" "W~iew.---what~a tempest in a tea-pot! Roar on, if you ~l~e?" he continued, taking his sea.t, and looking up at the ~ l~eauty~with the greatest apparent composure. "Roar ~ r if there's any one thing in the musical line for which E~i~4b'a~'decidedly poetical love,,it is the melody of a genii. me temp~st. it is so exciting to one's imagination. Roar on, my fairgoddess of storms, if you wish to delight me." Her anger was excessive, and, looking fiercely at him with a darkened brow, she vociferated, '"You are the most impudent wretch I ever heard of; and if you were not as cowardly as you are impudent, youwould not be so mean as to throw your taunts in the face of a de- fenseless female~ 211 command you, sir, to leave this house !" "How pretty yoix look in a pet !" he said, looking up at her with~ a~. smile. "If you ever sit for your portrait, take my advice, and get angry with the painter. Reynolds paint- ed Garrick between comedy and tragedy; aud, if I was a Reynolds, I ~would paint you between a northwestern and a hurricane, and become immortal. There, now, your brow is just enough wreathed with lightning for the purpose. That's right; roar on, if you please. I vow, I never heard half so delightful a storm in my life. Rave on, Miss Wil- loughby, and let me dream of music sweeter than that by which Orpheus charmed~the stones and trees. if you had lived in those days, they would have m~trried you to .&lus without doubt." "I will see,, sir, if a servi~.nt can not muster up force enough to remove you to the street," said Miss Willoughby, wheel- ing round from him and walking rapidly toward 'the door, through which her pretty form, trembling with rage, van- ished. Hampton, thinking it would by no means accord with his dignity or tastes to be ejected from the door by a serv- ant, rose, yawned, and then leisurely left the house. To pick a quarrel with her lover, and then discharge him, was the way in which Miss Willoughby usually contrived to rid herself of those to whom she had engaged herself when their attentions became annoying. Generally, ~she experi- enced but little diffioultyin freeing' harseif~from .an engage- ment; but Hampton 11$ previously displayed such a perti- nacious good-humor, such a 'disposition to be pleased. with all her conduct, that, whenever she began to intimate her displeasure with him, he was sure to do something to defeat D BA Y TO N. her~ purpose. At length she thought she had succ~ed0d ~ offending him, and she rejoiced that henceforth sh~. shc~iiJ~ not be troubled with his attentions. She was n~istakc~L He was by no means offended, for on the ensuing morning he called on her. Of course she did not see him. Itt was only after repeatedly sending him word announced him that she did not by the ser ~ho wish to see him, he ceased to trouble her. Mrs. Willoughby's party on the ensuing week was uni- versally acknowledged to be the most magnificent affair of the season. Neither IDrayton nor, Hampton were there. Hampton was greatly mortified that the very 'Alcibiades of the city should have been left out. As they had always be- fore manifested so much anxiety to cultivate an intimacy, Drayton wondered very much why they neglected him on that brilliant occasion. The morning after the party, he met his friend Singleton, who asked him why he was not at 'the gathering of the previous evening. "The principal reason why I was not there," answered Drayton, smiling, "is,, that I was n6t invited." "Not invited !" said Singleton, looking very much amazed. "Why, Drayton, that is very strange: 'I thought you stood A 1 in the young lady's regard. There must be some mis- take," continued Sin shaking his head very gravely, "and I will find out what it was." "Do not trouble yourself about it," said Drayton. "It is a matter of but little in portanee. If it was a mistake, it will be rectified; and if it was intentional, the less that is said about it the better." A few days afterward Singleton called on Drayton, look~ ing deeply concerned about something. As soon as he was seated, he said, "Drayton, my dear fellow, I am just from the Willough- bys, and the old lady told me that you were purposely omit- ted the other night. Do you know how you have offended the lady?" "Indeed I do not." "Well, I do." "What is it?" "You made some shoes once upon a time, did you not ?" inquired Singleton, glancing significantly at him. "I did, sir." "Well, sir, by so doing, you have subjected yourself to the scorn and contumely of the lady." II I page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] i7G DEAYTO~ "And is that the reason she did not honor me with an in- vitation ?" askedDrayton. "It is as true, sir, as any one of the nine-and-thirty Ar- ticles," replied Singleton. "I ~.mglad to hear that my offense was not more gricv. ous,"'~ ~ettirned Drayton. "How ridiculous such things are in a republican country !" said Singleton. "I suppose that if Franklin, Burns, and Shermail had lived here, Mrs. Willoughby would have cut the illustrious trio. She would haAre cut Franklin because he once wicked candles and stuck types-Burns because he was nothing but a poor peasant plowman-and Sherman because he ~Vas once guilty of the unpardonable crime of making shoes. sow, she has more discrimination in such matters than judgment 6r seuse; and she would certainly give the cut direct to her grandfather's ghost, if, like the old king of Denmark's, it should happen to rise up." "Such persons are ~rery ridiculous," said Drayton, "par- ticularly when they have no more cause for their pretensions to superiority than the lady in 'question. What would you say, Singleton, if I should tell you that her grandmother used to make up my grandfather's linen ?" "I should say, sir," replied Singleton, with a smile, "that there had been some queer ups and downs in the families. But it is only what we see every day in this country; and hence the superlative absurdity of those who pretend to make the origin of persons, rather than their 'own meritoriousness, the standard by Which they judge them." "I hope I may be able to survive so severe a cut," said Drayton. "Bi~t, really, I jiate to give up all association with the fair Maria; for, though she is utterly heartless, yet it is very pleasant to talk and flirt with her occasionally. But the old lady's will imi~t be. done." CHAPTER XXVIII. 'SPRING, ever bright and ever glorious, once more descend- ed on e~rth, and flowing streams and. verdant meadows re- joiced in the breaking up of old winter's icy dominion. All nature ~was ghiddened by the smil~ of the ifower crowned ~QN. In. goddess. The brooks'iaughed in the sun..-~every breeze came laden with perfume-the bleak forests resumed their foliage .-and birds and insects sang merrily in green field and in woodlaikl. Beauty was throned among the mountains, and her shadow filled all the valleys. Drayton's heart revived the freshness of its feelings as leaf and flower were presented to his View, arid awakei~ed a thou- sand slumbering associations of his earlier years. The win~ ter hadpassed heavily over his head. He had mingled? in the social meles of the city, often, it is true, with a sighing heart. No business had yet been offered him. Gloom, day by day, thickened over his prospect of success in his profes- sion. He was still the confiding pensioner of Hope; but her bounties, ample as they were, though they might solace, could not satisfy him. His little store of means was gradw. ally diminishing, and no opportunity of recruiting the waste presented itself. His spirit rejoiced when the cheerlessness of winter gave way to the bland influences of spring, and he frequently left the din and bustling crowds of the tewn, and wandered forth to muse among the beauties of the sur- rounding scenery. Though misfortunes, adversities, and pov- erty may press sorely upon us, yet, thank Heaven! we may still be affluent in our love for all that is beautiful and grand in this outward world-" chill penury" does not always freeze the "genial currents of the soul"-~-~-and we may still gaze with undimmed eyes upon- the stars mirrored in t~e bosom of the stream, and the heart may echo every strain that gushes from the throats of .the forest warblers. One morning early in May, 'Drayton had been raxnbling beyond the precincts of the city, thinking of Ellen l~eredith and her brother. As he approached his office 'slowly, some one saluted him, and on looking round he discovered the bright face of Roger Brown, who, after fumbling about in the depths of several pockets, produced a note. Drayton's eyes sparkled with delight as he glanced at its contents. It was from George Meredith, stating that he had returned home on the previous day. After reading it tWice to make 'sure of its conteiits, he placed it in his pocket, and addressed several inquiries to Roger. ~" Well, Roger, how does Miss' :E'lleu look ?" ';" She looks charming, sir, and pretty much as if she ~wmld take the heart from ~under a man's ribs before he 'could say ~1ack R.obinson." "That is very sa.tisfaot6ry," said Drayton, with a. page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 DRAYTON. "and I will give her a chance of robbing me of mine before the sun says good-by to the top of yonder.hill. By-the-way, Roger, how does your love flourish ?" "Like a branch of aweeping-willow or an old cow's tail, sir, for it has a deuced inclination~ to flourish downward." "Why, what's the matter now, Roger? The last time we were talking on that interesting subject, you were in flush spirits. Has the lady jilted you ?" "It's a queer 'piece of business," returned Roger, "and ~that's all I know about it. Mary is a very strange sort of a girl, and she's kept me hanging in a state of suspense so long that I begin to think my neck is growing as long as a crane's. Poor girl! she's been very poorly all spring, and I haven't hardly seen her for more than a month. She doesn't look as she did last spring, any how. She's grown mighty pale, and then she don't laugh and run about as she used to. There's something pressing on her heart, and I am afraid that, if she don't mend soon, shell go into a de- cline." Roger sighed, turned his head aside, and began to whistle, to check his rising emotions. IDrayton saw that some very unpleasant thoughts were disturbing him, and, anxious to console him, said, "Her health is not good, Roger, and that's the reason why she seems to regard you less favorably than she formerly did. These girls are strange beings, and sometimes act very mys- teriously. She'll get better before long,, and smile on you as sweetly as ever." "I hope so, sir, but I fear she wont," said Roger, looking very gloomy. "I do love that girl! I try to get the better of it, but I can't; for I don't believe in love that is like the handle of a coffee-cup, all on one side, as I am afraid ours is. 'I saw her the other night, all by ~herself, wandering about in the moonshine, just like a spirit, and looking at the stars, and muttering something to herself that I couldn't hear, all the time. She' acted just as if her brain was touched; and I've thought over it a good deal, and I wouldn't wander if she wasn't exactly in her right mind. She didn't use to avoid every body as she does iiow, and her poor old mother is distressed about her strange ways.," "It is a singular case," said Drayton, who had listened attentively to Roger's account, "a very mysterious ease, Roger. But cheer up, my dear fellow; the cloud will pass, over her mind soon, and she will be as bright as ever she I DRAYTON. 173 was. When she recovers from her ailing, she will look upon you more kindly than ever, for a woman always makes amends in that way for any ill treatment she has shown to- ward her lover. Did you never observe that the moon al- ways shines the brighter after she has been struggling among the clouds a while? Well, a woman is like the moon in this particular, and you may rest assured that, when your sweet- heart recovers her spirits, she will be more lively in conse- quence of her temporary sadness." "I hope so, sir,". said Roger; and he sighed again as he wheeled off. Drayton mused a while on what Roger had told him, and then his thoughts reverted to Ellen. His heart was thrilled with joy at the prospect of again enjoying her society. He determined to pursue a course of conduct toward her which would at once satisfy her that he felt a hearty interest in her, and give her no reason to suspect that he cherished a passion for her. Many are the resolves of this sort which are formed; and while every one supposes he will be able to maintain his unviolated, nothing is fhore common than for after experience to convince him of the 'extreme fragility of all such resolutions, for no one can anticipate ~ll the turns a passion may take, and at some unforeseen moment he will unintentionally reveal what he has determined to conceal from all eyes but his own. It was near sundown when Drayton alighted from his horse, and entered the mansion at Oakwood with a flutter- ing pulse and a tell-tale agitation of nerve. He soon had the pleasure of seeing Ellen and her friend Caroline, who had hastened to welcome the return of the wanderers, and George and the colonel. They were in exuberant spirits, and Drayton thought he never saw a company more entire- ly free from all unhappiness. Ellen's complexion was a shade darker than when he last saw her, but her smile and her tones* were the same. A Southern sun had left a deep bronze shadow on George's face, which strengthened its ex- pression, and imparted to it the appearance of an improved condition of health. IDrayton's estimate of the happiness of the company was not at all exaggerated. The colonel's eye sparkled as he observed the animation that enlivened his son's face. Ellen was delighted that she was again at her home, and George and Caroline manifested a great deal of pleasure in being restored to~each other. "And how do you like the South ?" inquired Drayton of page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 DR4YI~ON. DLI~Y ~9N. 176 Ellen a few minutes' after he had exchanged salutations with her. "I like it very much," she replied. "How could I help it, when I saw my brother's health improving each day un- der the benign influence of its delightful climate? I shall always love the South, because he received so much benefit there." "Did you meet with any irresistible gentlemen with the swart complexions of that sunny elime ?" "Oh no, sir, I resist all complexions alike. Do you not remember how you used to charge me with being the pro- prietress of an adamantine heart ?" "Perfectly well; but I trusted that a Southern sun, and bright skies, and orange groves, and a thousand other things which conspire to render that clime glorious, would soften even your heart, hard as it is." "That hope, like most of the bright sisterhood," she said, gayly, "has gone down in shadow. By-the.~way, I under- stand you have been making love to Miss Willoughby in my absence." "That is true; but that love," replied Drayton, imitating her own thought and mannei~'like~ all of the same family which I have known, is among the Things that were. If you would keep my heart fixed iiPone pla(~e, you must guard it like a faithful sentin~j; for if you wander, how shall it remain stationary ?" "I shall be delighted withhaving the errant thing placed under my control. Lhave always fancied it would: be very pleasant to have a score or so of hearts under one's manage- ment. Such a situation, you know, affords one so many fa- cilities for studying 'human nature." * "Yon differ in~ taste from Miss Randolph," .returned Dray- ton; "for when I went to se~ her a nionth ago, and offered her the control of my heart, she rejected it, because, as she said, she was affluent above all want in the D~session of one." "What is that you say, Mr. Drayton ?" inquired Caroline, who, hearing her name mentioned by him, listened to what he said. He repeated his remark, and she said, "But you have not imparted the true reason why I re- jected it, which was, that it was but a fragment. The prin- cipal portion of it 'wa~s in the sunny South-~.-" "With my friend George," said Drayton, interrupting her. "Or his companion !" added Caroline. "Well, then, if you spe~k tn4y, Miss, R~4oIph," said IDrayton, "there were no less than four heartsjjeurneyin~ together under the blue and beaming skies of the S~th." "Not so; mine was here," said Goorge.. "And mine," added Ellen. "Like th~ wandering stars of the shepherds of old, your hearts, in their transit, have been crossing each other's paths," said the colonel, who had been listening attentively to, and laughing h~.rti1y at, the badinage of the young folks. "And what a pity it was that, instead of each one going off by itself, they could not by some good fortune have been brought together into one pre-eminently brilliant cluster, aft- er the fashion of the ?leiades," added Drayton. "In which event, sir," said Ellen, smiling at and contin- uing the conceit, "yours, from its unconquerable propensity to wander off would have soon been the lost Pleiad~" Here the conversatjou was broken off by tl~e entrance of some of the neighboring young ladies and gentlemen. The welcoming were cordial, antI a merry time ensued, which was kept up with undiminished hilarity by all present until supper was announced. After dispatching that meal they returned to the parlors, whither Mr. Roger Brown, who, with his fi4dle, was an indispensable personage at all the merry- makings of the neighborhood, was speedily summoned. That gentleman took his station in one corner, and the feet of the dancers soon responded to the lively music of his favorite in~~ strument. They danced with great spirit, as people always do when. any sport 6t the kind is extemporaneous. As Drayton did not participate in that pleasure, he soon found another source of enjoyment. There was a sentimental-looking youth in spectacles present, who was much in love with a young lady with a blonde complexion, whose -red cheeks and mischiev- ous eyes indicated a relish of fun. To tease her lover was the object which Drayton now had at heart. The lady un- dersiood his intentions, and favored them. He paid her the most distinguished attention. He enacted the lover so well that the gentleman in spectacles. soon regarded him as tfr~ subject of the most mysteriously sudden and uncontrollaWe passion recorded in the annals of love. As Drayton's atVeu~ tions became warmer, the lover's face underwent sundry gro- tesque metamorphoses of expression, thereby displaying the inftuencc of jealousy variously modified. Drayton was de- 174 176, D R A Y T O N. page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 DRAYTON. DRAYTON. 171 lighted at his success; and it would have been exceedingly strange if the young lady had not also been delighted, for the sweeter sex always relish these temporary annoyances of their lovers. Indeed, a young gentlexnan who isso unfortu.. nate as to be very deeply smitten must expect such perplex- ities; and it always appears to such a one, as he looks on such a scene with an intensely unamiable expression of face, that all the fates and every human being have conspired to thwart his hopes, and to render the stream of love as crook- ed and as devious in its course as one of our Western riv- ers, which travelers, who are in a particularly great hurry, are in the habit of denouncing as the most wayward things in the world. In the present instance the lover watched ev- ery smile which the lady bestowed on Drayton with a most malicious eye. He considered him but as little better than a ~robber, who appropriates* treasures that do not belong to him. As- Drayton led the smiling lady out under the blue heaven and burning stars, her lover's eye flashed fire, and he felt a blood-thirsty passion for revenge throbbing in his bo- som, which tortured him and delighted the idol of his heart. Oh, these flirt~ious are certainly most pleasant things when you do not happen to be their victim; but when they are carried on at the expense of your spirit's tranquillity, you find yourself; singularly enough, very strongly inclined to the oy~inion that they are devices of the evil one, bent on giving a poor devil of a lover a foretaste of the infernal fare that he provides for his guests in his torrid home. Among the happiest of that gay company was Roger Brown, as he stood there sawing his fiddle-strings, and watch- ing the motions of the dancers with a face radiant with good humor. Every one knew him well, for he was always to be seen in such gatherings, and every one had a kind word and a smile for him. Just then, too, his thoughts were un- shadowed, for they were not given to the wayward Mary Winters. After the dance came music of a more tender and senti- mentatcharacter. Ellen took her- seat at her harp, and ran her fingers over its chords, while the company gathered around her. Drayton stood near her, with the lady with whom he had been flirting hanging on his arm, while her moody lover stood' solitary and apart, with his arms tightly folded across his swelling heart, in a corner of the room, from whence he darted on the head of his rival sundry destructive glances. The company was soon composed, and every one, with the solitary exception of the gentleman in spectacles, listened attentively to Ellen's song, which she called THE LOVER'S LAMENT. Love, like a sultan, rules the heart, And bears no rival near his throne; Nor can green earth or sky impart An ecstasy like to his own. Each rebel passion of the soul Submissive bends to his control. The bright round moon from east to west Is flinging~ o'er the earth her beams; From hill and grove, in radiance dressed, Enchantment on the vision beams. But moon, nor hill, nor blooming grove Van win my thoughts from her I love. The music of the moonlit sea Is floating upward from the shore, And blends in witching harmony With each wild song the night-birds pour. My heart, companionless and lone, Heeds not glad bird nor sea-wave's moan. In this rich clime, where all is bright, And Nature ever wears her bloom, Where day is fair, and stars by night Take from the darkness all its gloom, The heart with Natur& should rejoice- But mine has neither song nor voice. It is not that I do not lpve The flower, the bird, the star, the sea, But that away I mourning rove, From one far dearer unto me Than flowery earth, or glorious sky, And all that greets the ear and eye. While thus from home and love away, With fresh delight comes back each scene, Each sacred. hour and glittering day Which to my soul most dear has been-. And when these memories o'er me come, My heart pants for its early home. "Apropos ef that song," said Drayton, stepping nearer to Ellen as the lasl tones of her rich voice died away on the air; "was it an emanation of your spirit while you were a wanderer in the poetical. South ?" "That is a strange question for a philosopher to ask," r~- plied Ellen. "Are you not aware, sir, that those- damsels, whom the heath~n'Greeks called the Muses, like most other damsels, manifest an undeserved piirtiality for your sex, to the almost total neglect of their own H2 ?- 4 page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] 178 DRAYTON. "Occasionally, Miss Meredith, notwithstanding their par- tiality for our sex," returned~Drayton, with a smile and a bow, "when they discover a lady wortl4 ~to be called a sis- ter, they are by no means chary of their gifts; and, for my life, I can not see any impropriety in supposing that~ in the instance under consideration, they might have discovered such a one." "Thank you, sir," she said. "I di~ not create the song; I only adapted it to a wild air of my own. Brother can give you all the particulars respecting its origin-not now, how- ever, for I suspect, from his earnest manner, that he is giv- ing the history 'of it to one who is more particularly interest- ed in it than I-am." "I understand you," said Drayton, as he glanced at George, who was conversing with Miss Randolph with great anima- tion, on the opposite side of the room. The company broke up at a late hour; and as Drayton lay on his pillow and recalled the events of the evening, he felt that his heart was more entirely devoted to Ellen than it had previously been. OIIAPtEIL XXIX. THE ensuing morning passed swiftly and pleasantly away at Oakwood. After dinner, George proposed a boat-sail to Drayton. "The breeze is fresh-the boat is a fine one-we can touch at the island, and then pay our respects to the 'Ruins' on the opposite shore. What say you ?" "Nothing-would please me more," returned Drayton, "for I should like to visit that rendezvous of all the evil spirits in this part of the world. Will the ladies not accompany us I .i.ispe~t not," replied 'George, "for they have gone to recover froruthe effect of dissipation 'last night. While they are napping, we shall be amusing ourselves, and by the time we get back 'they will have -roused themselves with fresh- ened spirits for th& evening." Roger appeared at a. 'short distance, and 'George hailed * him. and 'told him'to get 'the boat 'ready for a sail, to which he assented with a sparkling eye, and proceeded with hasty 7 P~AYTON. steps toward the shore. He w~s proud of his skill in ~ia~i~ aging boats, and was always delighted wheu an opportunity was afforded him for showing it off He soon returned, and announced that every thing was ready#or the sail, and they proceeded to the river. In a few minutes the boat was runmug rapidly before the stiff breeze, with the waves washing her sides and the foam hissing at ,her bow. Roger sat managing the canvas in a waterman-like manner, while George held the rudder. The breeze freshened-the sail bellied beautifully-the little boat sprang over the restless waters, and the island was soon reached. They jumped on shore and wandered about admiring the beauty and luxuriance of the foliage. The island was un- tenanted by man, and over its trees and shrubbery the birds held undisputed possession. Wild flowers were growing in great profusion in every direction, and Drayton stooped down and bogan to gather a bouquet, thinking the wiule of the smile with which Ellen, for whom he designed it, would re- ceive his gift. "I will follow your example," said George~ bending and culling a rose. "I make it a rule never to miss 'an oppor- tunity of assuring the ladies that, when I am' absent from them, ii am still thinking of them. A bouquet culled at such a time as this is a very delicate kind of flattery, for it con- veys to the fair one to whom you present it a. proof that her presence is not necessary to remind you of her tastes and your duty, and you insinuate by the act that one species of beauty suggests to you thoughts of another." "And what becoming ornaments flowers are to a lady !" said Drayton. "I think that, a pure white flower, blooming among a profusion of dark tresses on a lady's head," he con- tinued, thinking of Ellen's sweeping curls- and the flowers she usually wore among them, "is a much superior adorn- ment to her than the most costly gem that ever flashQd in the sun." Meanwhile the less sentimental Roger stood near4he shore, with his hands buried in his pockets, whistling and watching the form ~f a black duck which was floating on the '~river's bosom: "What are yon thinking about ~o profoundly, Roger ?" inquired George, as he approached the place where he stood. "Why, I a j t thinking, sir, what ~ very fine shot page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 -DRAYTON. I'd hive WI only had my gun here. The way I'd take that * fellow just under the elbow of his wing would be the right way. A fellow always has these first-rate chances when he can't take advantage, of them." "Instead of standing- there and contemplating murder, you ought to be gathering some of these flowers for your sweetheart. Why don't you collect a posy for her? If I were her, I would jilt you for neglecting her for a black duck." "She'~ sick, and don't care a copper whether I pull any f1o~er& for her or not," returned Roger, as a shade passed over his features. That is the very time when she most needs your atten- -~~4inns. When~she is well she can gather flowers for herself; but now, when she is sick, she would be thankfulfor a pres- ent of that sort." Roger mused a -moment, and then, as if some very inter- esting thought had suddenly flashed on his mind, he began gathering the flowers as eagerly as either of his companions. Their bouquets were soon completed, and they returned to the boat, which was under way again speedily, and career- ing on rapidly toward the opposite shore of the river. They landed, and began ascending the slight eminence on which the " Ruins" were situated, ~at a short distance from the river. ~tany were the marvelous stories in circulation in the neighborhood touching this dilapidated mansion, which had an accursed reputation. According to the popu- lar faith, it was haunted by a legion of wild and capricious spirits. Among the credulous, it was most devoutly believed that the place was in the possession of the evil one and the spirits who were in colleague with him, who kept themselves out of the way, like other- bad things during the light of day, but who, in the dusky twilight, came forth from their lurk- ing places and were to be seen hovering over the spot. Sev- eral well-authenticated stories were told by persons who, having been under the necessity of passing that way at night, had seen~spectacles which caused their cheeks to grow pale and their hair to stand on end. On dark and tempestuous nights especially were these emissaries of the devil to be seen enacting the most fantastic - deeds. Amid the~ ii&wl- ings of the most fearful -storms they held their - infernal ca- rousals, while their mad and demoniacal merriment rang wildly over the tumult which raged outside. Sometimes they were seen collected roujid tables, drinking wine out of DIIAYTON. 181 the skulls of infants; again you might discover them Nvalk- ing about with torches in their hands, as if seeking some- thing which had been lost; and one of the niost common spectacles was to see haggard old. women standing on the chimneys with bloody daggers in their hands, while their tangled~ - locks and dingy dresses flapped violently in the night Winds. For what particular object these mysterious meetings took place no one had yef 1~een able to discover, although many shrewd surmises were ventured on by the su- perstitious. It was generally conceded that some dark and bloody tragedy had been perpetrated there, since which time the house had been abandoned by human beings, and was in the possession of the enemies of our species. Tht~re~vyere some stains On the floor, which were regarded by many -witl~ the most holy horror, for tradition said they were caused by the blood of a most beautiful and innocent girl, who had there sacrificed her life rather than yield her honor. The site o~ the ~-' Ruins" was eminently beautiful. For some miles below the winding of the river were distinctly visible, with here and there a. green island lifting up its verd- ure to the light of heaven. The country on the opposite side stretched gradually upward from the shore, presenting a wide view of houses, and fields, and woodlands,~while at the extremity of the landscape the city was seen with its spires pi*~i~g the dusky atmosphere which hnng over it. When the.y1r~ached the deserted mansion, Drayton stopped to sur- vey the beautiful jrosper~t spread out before him, thinking it the mo~I~ magnificent he had eVer seen. After admiring the varied beauties of the scenery, they advanced to the old pile of bplldings, which was very fitly denominated the "Ruins," for ~very thing spoke of desolated grandeur. The mansion had been constructed on an extensive scale, and in former times was the residence of wealth and splendor~ The stone-- was blackened by storms; the windows were all broken out; the front door had rotted and fallen from its hinges, tind floors and walls were sadly dilapidated. Swallows - made their nests in the rooms in which princely hospitality once enter- tamed its guests,~-and, as they flitted through the windows, their twitterings sounded as melancholy as the rustlings of the dry -leaves in a grav0-yard when the frosty winds of au- tumn are moaning over the decay of nature's pomp and beauty. They stepped into the hall, and every word they ~uttere&~ echoed over the mysteriOus silence -that reigned within like. - - - page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 182 DRAYTON. the voice of desolation. As they went ~n a sceiie of de- struction presented. itself. Floors ~w~itels, doors, ceilings, had been torn from their places, azi&Vtrewed in fragments around. Some portions of the walls remained, and the rich 'cornice attested the magnificence of the whole structure be- fore the ruthless hand~ of devastation had~ done its work. As he stood within one ~of the spacious rooms, surveying the havoc which had there been done, Draytoxi turned to George and said, "I do not wonder that the superstitioii~ should imagine this place to be a ~ conveuticle for witches, and hobgob- lins, and infernal spirits of all sorts to hold their meetings in, for really, even in the light of day, there is a feeling of des- Qlation here quite oppressive, and one involuntarily treads lightly lest he should start some slumbering spirit from its recesses." "Don't be alarmed, sir; there is not the least danger here by day," said George~ smiling, "fox they who are most know- ing on sueh subjects seriously affirm that .you can't see a spirit by the light of the sun. Such things, strange enough,' can only be seen when one can see nothing else. ~There was a courageous fellow here, once upon a time, who for a wager undertook to remain in this place through a tempest- uous night. He did not linger long, but soon returned af- frighted to his anxious friends, and gave them such a terri- ble account of the marvelous things he had seen that no one has 'been willing to repeat the experiment. I think, Rog- er," he added, tuning toward that personage, "that you once saw something very awful here !" Roger was engaged in writing his name on the wall. As soon as he heard the inquiry which was addressed to him, he wheeled suddenly rouna and answered, " Yes, sir, I did." "Well, what was it that you saw "The devil," said Roger; in a low toue of yoice. "The devil !" repeated George, affecting great astonish- xnent; "' and why do you suppose it ~was he ?" "Because nobody else is as big and as ~black as he is," replied Roger, approaching George, and speaking scarcely above a whisper~ "He was as big ~s one of the trees out here ~ his head reached up to the top. of the chimney, and he was smoking a cigar about as long and as thick as my leg. He put qne hand in his breeches' pochet, and walked up and down in front of the house puffing 9ut more smoke DRAYTON. 183 than a chimney, and keeping his fiery red eyes fixed on me all the time when his~~ck wasn't turned." "Why didn't you some conversation with his black majesty ?" "I talk with the devil, sir !" said Roger, evidently much amazed at the suggestion; "I talk with the devil! Oh no, you don't catch this child doing any thing of that sort, I tell you; the less one has to say to him the better. Besides, what do you suppose, I could talk to him about ?" "Why," replied George, "you might have asked him if he had seen any of your friends lately; or how the weather was in his country; or what the prospect .of crops was." "Oh, you're only poking fun at me," said Roger. "Now, sir, if you were to see him, you would be mighty clear of asking him any such questions." "Indeed, I should like to hold a conversation with him very much," returned George, "for he is said to be a very rewd and intelligent old gentleman. If he was in a talk- ve mood, he could tell one about a thousand interesting ventures he has met with when he has come up to this 'earth to see how his friends were getting along." "Oh, 1~r. Meredith, how you talk !" "Didn't I see you writing your name over yonder on the wall a while ago ?" "Yes, sir, I wrote it there," answered Roger. "I would advise you to go and rub it out," said George, "for perhaps, when that sooty old fellow eomes back and sees it, he will think you want to see him, just as a doctor would if he was to see your name written on his slate; and if he should return your visit, you will have no place to ac- commodate him in, if he is as big as you say he is." While Roger was engaged in removing his name from the wall, George and Drayton passed into an adjoining room. Roger soon hurried after them, as he did not fancy being left to himself in a house which had so bad a reputation, and as there was no telling at' what moment one might be spirited away from his friends 'to climeArnuch less pleasant than any months planet. "Here it i~rnd all the water that ever fell from heaven couldn't wash i~ 'out !" exclaimed Roger, stooping down and looking earnestly at some stains on the floor in one corner of the' ap~tment. "What have you found the approaching him. , re, Roger ?" inquired Drayton, page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] * 184 DIIAYTON. "Look here and see..-.it's as plain as the nose on my face?' "Then it's tolerably plain, Roger. But what is it? I can see nothing ?" "Don't you see the black spots here, and here, on these boards?" "Yes; and what of them?" - "Why, they are blood," replied Roger, looking up,,~,t Dray- ton with a very serious expression of face. "It is the blood of that pretty and innocent young lady~" "Did some pretty and innocent young lady's nose take a fancy to shed a few drops of blood there ?" asked Drayton. "Why, sir, you speak as if you didn't know any thing about it," said Roger, rising and looking steadfastly at Dray- ton, as if he wondered how any one could possibly be igno- rant of what was so familiar to himself. Drayton assured him that he knew nothing of the blood, and thereupon Roger cleared his throat, and, looking as pale as if the horrible deed were at that moment taking place, said, "Why, sir, from all accounts, it must be over a hundred~ years since there was a very pretty young. lady decoyed here by the man that lived in this house, and he killed her here in this very spot. It was a very stormy nights and ever since, on stormy nights, she comes back, and walls about with the red blood running from her throat." "That's a very remarkable fact, Roger; but how do you know she comes back? I should think she would shun this place more than any other." "It is strange, sir, ~ut she does come back," returned Roger, as positively as if i\e had seen the young lady in ques- tion a thousand times; "'why, ever so many people have seen her.' I never did, but my uncle told me he saw her as plain as I - see you, sir; and he also said that she was the most beautiful young lady he ever 'did see." "And. this is the blood ?" "Yes, sir, without doubt," replied 1~oger. "And what became of the wretch who murdered her ?" "Why, he lived~.here a little while afterward; and they say that he was almost haunted to death by her ghost, until one bitter cold and stormy night, when the devil came after him and took him away, and no mortal eye ever saw that man since. Every body was afraid to live in this house after that night, and it has been given up to spirits of all kinds, and you can see them here any night you may choose to come." DRAYTON. 185 "I think I'll take your word for it and stay away," said Drayton, as he left Roger and joined George. "You had better, sir, unless you want to disappear like a butterfly when a cat-bird is near it," added Roger..' They wandered about inspecting every object of interest. George related many traditions associated with the deserted mansion, and, thus employed, an hour glided imperceptibly away. Suddenly they were called to notice what was pass- ing out of doors by a violent gust of wind which swept by. Roger ran to a window, and, looking out, informed them that they had better return to Oakwood, as the wind was increas- ing. While they had been wandering through the deserted building, the wind had been steadily increasing in violence, and it now blew with sufficient fury to bow the long grass to the earth, and to cause the waves on the surface of the river to 'be whitened with foam. "It is time to go," said George, "or the passage of the river will have more peril than pleasure for us." "I say ditto to that, sir," said Roger, "and I'll run on ahead of you, and get all things ready by the time that you get down to the boat." Saying this, he started off as fast as he could run, jump- ing a couple of fences on the way, and reached the boat be- fore his companions had passed half the distance from the house to the shore. CHAPTER. XXX. THE afternoon was fast wearing away, and Ellen and her friend Caroline still remained in their chamber. The col- onel was sitting in the library~ enjoying Bolingbroke's "Re- flections on Exile" for the hundredth time, when a gust of wind, which caused the windows to rattler startled him. He rose and looked out to see if George and Drayton were re- turning. Not seeing them, he placed the volume on the ta- ble and proceeded to the pdrch. A thin vail of vapor was stretched over the sky, and the sun's disk was pale and watery. The wind blew fitfully from' the northeast. The trees would bend to the more vio- lent gusts as they' swept by, and, in the next minute, a calm page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 P~4YTON. would follow. A storm wa~ evidently brewing in the heav- ens, and as Colonel Meredith surveyed the threatening pros- pect, he felt fearful lest the young men should delay their return tQO long. As he stood glai~ing toward the opposite shore of the river, the ladies apprJached, and tllen, placing her hand on his arm, inquired, "Where are brother and Mr. Drayton ?" "Whey took a sail after y~ii retired. I saw them an hour ago land ou the other shore and pass up toward the 'Ruins.' It is strange they remain so long, for the wind is increasing every minute." A sudden blast rustled the foliage, and swept back the clustering curls from BIlen's cheeks. She cowered before the breeze, and, with her lip pale and tremulous with emo- tion, and in a voice just audible above the wind, said, "Oh! I wish they would return! There i~ no danger, is there, father ?" she inquired, glancing anxiously at his face. "There is but little danger now; but as the wind is grow- ing more violent, it would be unsafe to .attemptto cross the river if they linger where they are much longer. Roger is with them, and he is an experienced waterman." Caroline said nothing, but stood gazing anxiously toward the opposite shore. Her eye was the first to discover 1ioger as he emerged from the deserted house and passed rapidly down the hill to the boat. "There is some one leaving the old house," she exclaim- ed, eagerly, "and I hope they are all ready to return. There come the others," she added, as the fo~ms of George and Drayton were dimly visible in the distance. Accompanied by Colonel Meredith, they proceeded to the river bank, with their dresses fluttering violently in the winds as thq fitful gusts swept by. When they reached the bank they Wayed their handkerchiefs~ in order to attract the at- tex~on of the young men, whose actions they were noticing with such painful interest. The river was wide, and the boat was lying more than a mile from where they stood. When George and Drayton reached the boat the ladies waved their handkercWeifs again, and the signal was re- turned. The winds rose with greater fury, and the ladies found considerable difficulty in maintaining their positions, where the blasts had such an unobstructed sweep against their persons. The young men entered the boat, and Roger, who had got every thing ready for sailing, turned to George and said, DRAYTON. 187 "The breeze blows down stream, and you must keep the boat's head up as well as you can, else we'll land too low, and this is rather too stiff a wind to be tacking aboi~t in. Bless me, but we'll cut it..s~ross to them charming ladies like a swallow." "Don't you think we had better take in the sail and row her across ?" said George, as a gust swept past them. "Oh no, sir," replied Roger. "Iv'e been out in this craft in many a stiffer breeze than this. There's not a bit of danger. You just keep the rudder right, and I'll' manage this bit of canvas, and the way we'll cut the white-caps in two will be charming." With this he tightened the sail, which had been flapping in the wind, and in the next instant a gust filled it and strained the ropes. Away the little boat sprang from the shore, like a high-mettled horse panting for the race. As Dtayton pressed his hat tighter on his head, buttoned his coat, and looked out upon the expanse of raging waters, his cheek grew pale, and, although he said nothing, he felt that his situation was far from being free from peril. How- ever, he contrived to put a good face on the danger, and tried to look as cheerful as possible. His fear did not es- cape the watchful eye of Roger, who glar~ced keenly at him, and coolly remarked, "I reckon, Mr. Drayton, you're not very much used to sail- ing in a high wind." Drayton smiled at this remark, showing as it did that his feelings had been penetrated, and answered, "No, Roger, this is my first experiment in such a gale, and, if it please Heaven, it shall be my last. I confess I had as lief be on the other shore as where I am now, with this boat buffeting these waves.~~ "I don't wonder at your remark, sir," said Roger, looking quizzically at him, "seeing the ladies are standing there. I know you are very fond of them, for, whenever I see you alongside of them, your eye sparkles. But there's no danger here, sir. See how we cut the water now! You can feel her motion as she runs over the waves, just like a sleigh over a rough road. She's a first-rate craft, and is as safe and as much at home on the water as a duck." The boat flew before the wind. She dashed the waves proudly aside, leaving a. 'streak of white foam in 'her wake. At times her sail nearly touched the bosom of the river. But onward she went, and Roger seemed to enjoy her mo- page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] 188 DRAYTON. -tion exceedingly, for his eye was beaming, and his cheek was flushed with enthusiasm. "Head her a little more up stream, if you please, Mr. Meredith, or you'll strike- the shore below the ladies. Now we go-now we fly, as if this little craft was mad. She can beat any thing of her inches on the river. Don't she ride beautifully ?" he concluded, brushing the spray from his face with his coat sleeve. "Now we are in the middle of the river !" exclaimed Drayton, who was busy in calculating distances, and specu- lating on the probability of their reaching the shore. This would be pleasant if one was only insured against all peril," said George, who was not altogether unpossessed of fear. "Now we fly !" he continued, as the gale bowed the canvas like a swallow's wing toward the water; "now we fly like a bird, and in less than five minutes we shall be with the ladies. See, Drayton," he added, "see how much interest they take in our progress! And look how they wave their handkerchiefs in the breeze !" The ladies were not only interested, but they were greatly excited with apprehensions. They were both pale with fright whenever a gust of wind struck the sail. They watched the boat's progress with the most painful emotions. Once, when the sail, to her fearing eye, seemed touching the wave, Ellen grasped her father's arm convulsively, and ex- claimed "Oh! they will be upset! Why don't they take i~ILat sail down and row the boat home? It is very fool-hardy to run such risks," she added; as the boat righted again, and came straining ~on toward them. "They should certainly take in their sail," observed the colonel, calmly, notwithstanding the fears which he strove to conceal from the ladies. "But," he added, "Roger is a good waterman, and he would not wantonly risk their lives. I wish they were at land." Caroline's excitement was very obvious, notwithstanding her silence. She shuddered as each successive squall of wind swayed the boat from her upright position. Whenev- er she fancied their peril particularly imminent, she walked nervously up and down the bank, wringing her hands and wearing an expression of deep distress. When the winds would sweep less violently, and the boat became righted, she waved her handkerchief, and her face parted with some of its agony. DRAYTON. 189 I In truth, it was fearful to see the waters dashing about in such wild commotion. The surface of the river was full of white-caps, as the foaming crests of the waves are called. The heavens grew darker, the river was lashing furiously, about, the winds increased in violence, and danger seemed frowning on the rash attempt to l~ully the elemental strife at such a time. But all was as yet safe, and the boat came nearer and nearer, diminishing the distance to the shore rap- idly. She was now so near that Roger's voice, shouting a wild salutation, reached the ears of the ladies. But a hundred yards at length separated them from the destined shore, and joy sparkled once more in every face. The ladies felt that the danger was over, and spoke .more cheerfully. Suddenly a gust of wind, more violent than any they had yet encountered, swept by them, and the sail ~of the bounding boat skimmed the angry surface of the river. Ellen shrieked aloud, and Caroline turned her head aside. Again she was righting, but as she rose, a squall, still more violent, struck the sail and laid it flat on the surface of the water. A simultaneous scream broke from the ladies. Ellen fell, overpower~id by her emotions, in her father's arms, and Caroline ran like a maniac, with her tresses streaming be- hind her, along the river's bank. The wind, which now~ raged furiously, tore the shawl from her shoulders, while she, unmindful of what she did, sprang down the bank and ran until her feet touched the waters. There she stood, look- ing toward the river, while her shrieks of distress rang with a heart-piercing wildness over the mingling strife of winds and waves. The colonel disengaged himself from his daughter and~ ran toward Caroline, fearing lest she, in the desperation of her feelings, might unconsciously rush into the angry stream. He caught her form as it was bending over the water in his arms, and dragged her from the surf. Having accomplished this, he glanced at the boat, and saw a spectacle which caused the blood to rush back on his heart. They were all struggling in the water. Roger was the only one who retained his composure. "Take to the boat, Mr. Drayton," he screamed, "and hold on to her. I can swim, and I'll help Mr. Meredith and save him from drowning." Drayton grasped-the kepi of. the boat, and, glancing at his companions, saw Roger i4 the act of seizing George, who, not being able to support himself, was sinking. As Roger I page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 19~ DRAI~ON.. caught him with & fi~m grasp and lifted his head above the watCrs, he exclaimed, Cling 'to' me~-.e1ing to me, Mr. Meredith! The boat will drive down her~'~ a minute, ~nd then you can get on her and be safe." Drayton obeyed his first impulse, and, springing from the boat, reached the side of his friend in the next instant. "Go back to the boats sir !" shouted Roger~ "and I will take care of him. There' catch 'her as she floats past!" With one han~t firmly g~rasping George's, Drayton extend. ed the other and laid hord of the rudder of the boat as she was driving down before the winds. Iii a moment he drew ~ George to her side, and, assisted by Roger, elevated his friend aboVe the Waters, exclaiming, fold to the boal firmly, ~r Heaven's sake, 'George, and we will push her to the shore V' in 'a few moments the beat struck the sand and swung round. ~' Roger naught George in h'is brawny arms and bore hhh up the bank. Ellen Was just recovering her consciousnesss as Roger reached the spot Where she had sank down to the ground. She sprang up, and, clasping her arms about her brother's neck~ kissed him fervently, and e~cCiaimed, "'Oh, rny~ brother! my brother! is he ~'afe.-4s 'he ~afe ?" Overpowered again by her violent emotions, she reeled, and as she fell Prayton caught her *n his arms. The lapse ofa few minutes saw theizi all s&fo in the house. George was too weak to walk. He was a~si~t~d to his eham- ber, where lie gradually recovered his strength and bis con- sciOusness of what had passed, ~hieh seeined'to hit' like the wild and c4Xise4 events of so±iie ~t&rtling dzeai~. 'OHAPTEII. XXXI. THE spring, whieh bifrst sb e~utif~illy~n We ~a~'th, awak- ening bird, 'ari4 ti~iVer, a1r&i~troa~ *o~n~the W~nfr~rIiewj~or of winter, 'failed tb a~i*~~te~ ~kry~ Wiftters7~heart. There were glory and sons around. her, but hi1~raft 1~4~4 desolation. Hei~ ga~ 's~iirit, which had so ~ft~5xi~i~ed4rith the flowers and. rh~de melQdy ~vit~h thi41~rds, ~was clouded. Hek~ laugh was no longer to be noticed ringing xneirily over DRAYTON; ' ' 191 the pl&in, neither was her song heard rising with the lark's, like the orison 'of a glad heart. She was not seen, as for- merly, gliding along the flower - spangled margins of the~ bright brooks, culling garlands wherewith to. deck her trans- parent brow, or clapping her hands when the rainbow span- ned the dark form of the receding cloud.' Her step had lost its buoyancy, and her spirit was languidand dull; her heart had forgotteii its former delights, and her words were few and often 'incoherent. Occasionally, as if uninindfu.l of the grief which oppressed herfeelings, ga~ ~unbu~sts of joy pass~. ed over her spirit and rekindled the ~.nimation. of her coun- tenance. 'flut such brilliance was transient, and a settled gloom, east from 's6ine unseen cloud, reposed en her face, on which: in former years, glad thoughts flashed like star-gleams on the rippling W&ters. Often 'she inightbe seen at her window, apparently look- ing out upon the verdant landscape, when her eye was dim~ with some unpleasant feeling, and she saw no beauty there. The 'little garden between the house and the road, in culti- vating which she had onee taken so much pride, was now '~ad'ly neglected, and the vines, interlocked with weeds, grew as tangled and as wayward as the thoughts of her whose hand no longer caressed them. H~r mother Qftexk rallied her on her ftts of abstraction, endeavoring to solve 'the mys- tery of the change ~hieh had pa~ed over the 'spirit of her daughter. "'We won't have no shade before the door, N[ary," said the old wornan~ brie morning, as she stood' in front of the house, "for lihe morning~gldries are creeping 'about wild on the gro~d, as if they didn't know where the strings are they used torun up. Whyi don't you go~ and attend to 'em ?" "Ihdeedi,"e~her~ I don't I~el~ like it this moruing,'for Pin sick," replied the pale girl, with a sigh. "I 'shodd 'like to know what's 'got 'into you of late; you'vee been '~'&~ift~ iibeut the house all spring, 'and 'a body' can't 'ha~d'ly pt '~ ~4I ~rd out of yOm" "ldou't kn~ what isth~ matter with r4e, mother'; all I I~r~o~* is that I doh't feel right, ~iwL I rec1~ou a body can't hel.p ~1iei4 sick. And then yoi~ seold ~ue ~very day,:as if it was niy ~1t,"~kitini~ted 1~[a2ty, *hile a tear giistei~edIu her e~4. "1 6~il~wish 'I was dead, 'for thea I would be out of *r~tub1e," ~Ito ~dded~ in ~a. t~rne too low for her other'ss sense .~4liearing. ~ You're taking on in the strangest manner all the, day v$ page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 DRAYTON. lo~ig," said the old woman, tartly; "you act just as if you was in love, and if you be so, why in the name of common sense don't you marry him, and put an end to it." "Marry, mother! Who shall I marry?" "Marry who ?" repeated the old woman, in a shrj.ll voice; "why, who would you marry but Roger 'P' don't love him, mother," replied Mary, calmly. shouldn't wonder if you was in love with that man Hampton, like a fool as you are," said the old woman, with the look and the tone of a termagant. "What do you think he cares for a poor girl like you ?" "Oh, my dear mother, do not mention that man s name to me again, if you please, for I hate hiin.-I despise him," returned Mary, with a flashing eye, her cheek reddening as abe uiougnt of him. "He is a wretch-he is a viper !" she continued, muttering in* an under tone, and her lips moved after her words ceased to be audible, Wearied with the altercation, Mary rose from her seat, and walked out in front of the cottage; and, stooping down, she disengaged one of the viues which was trailing on the ground, and was in the act of twining it round a string which reached down from the top of one of the windows, when, a voice fall on her ear, saying; "Good niorning, Mary 'I hope I see you well." * The voice was Roger's, and a melancholy smile passed over her features as she answered, ""Ohly poorly, I thank you.~~ "Miss Ellen sent me. here to get you to come over and help her to-day," said Roger, advancing toward her. "She says she hasn't seen you since she came home, and she'll be offended if you don't come." "Tell her I am too sick to come," said Mary, sighing bit- terly. "She says she won't take any excuse," said Roger; and while she' was hesitating what reply to make, he added, "I suppose you heard what a time, we had yesterday evening ?" "'I did not hear any thing; what was it?" "Why, you see," returned Roger, "that Mr. Meredith, Mr. Drayton, and I went over in the sail-boat to that old haunted house, and we got upset as we were coming home. I always thought it was bad luck going to that place, and I mean. to keep away from it hereafter. Well, as I was going to say, we got upset, and Mr. Meredith came within an ace of being' drowned." DRAYTON. 1~3 "You don't tell me so !" exclaimed Mary, starting back,' and holding up her hands in astonishment.' "And how is Mr. Meredith ntw?" "He's pretty well this morning, I believe." "Then I'll go and see him," said Mary, taking a step to- ward the house. Suddenly she stopped, and, directing her eyes 1;o the ground, appeared to be engrossed with some deep and troublesome thoughts, for she sighed, and looked very sorrowful. "Come, Mary, you had better make haste, and I'll do my- self the pleasure Qf walking along with you," said Roger, wondering why she hesitated. "I don't think I ought to go," she murmured, still con- tinuing to look on the ground. "No, I can't go," she con- tinued, in a low tone. "I am not well enough. Yes, I ought to go: I will go !" she added, in a firmer voice. While Mary was making preparations to visit Oakwood, Roger gave the old woman a liy~ly account of the accident which had occurred on the previ6~ day, not forgetting the important part he had acted. His n~rr~tive interested the old lady very deeply, as was manifest froni'The horror which her countenance exhibited. She applauded ]II.oger warmly for his~ efforts in saving George, telling him he had acted like a hero. Attended by Rogcr, Mary proceeded toward the residence of Colonel Meredith; and, as they walked along, he gave her. a second edition of the story, much improved and highly embellished, with which he had already delighted and ter- rified her mOther. She spent the day at Oakwood, and the shadows of even- ing, were stealing over earth, when she started to return to her home. On reaching the road, she perceived a man on horseback coming toward her from the city. When he got near enough, she recognized him, and started back as he addressed her familiarly. "Ah! my fair lady, whither wend ye at so late an hour, without a gallant ?" inquired Hampton. Her frame shivered with contending emotions as his voice greeted her ear. It was the first time she had seen him' since her visit to the city. She had loved him deeply, until his conduct convinced her that he was a villain. H~ love gave .way before a feeling of intense hatred as a sense of the wrongs he had practiced came over her with a subduing power. Shc now loathed him with a bitterness she had not I page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194D RA Y T ON. OATN19 before experienced. She did not ansWer his question, and he added, "You've grown distant to your old friend hand lover." "I wish, sir, you would ride on and leave me to myself. You're a villain, and I want to~have nothing to do or to say to such a creature !" "Don't you get into a rage, my pretty pet," said Hamp- ton, riding nearer to her; "it don't become you. Come, n~y lady fair, give me your hand, and let's make up," he added, "leaning over his saddle and extending his "hand to- ward her. "If you hadn't all the impudence in the world, you wouldn't dare to speak to me," said Mary, firmly, while her eye flashed with rage, and she recoiled from his proffered hand. "You're a vile wretch-your heart ~s black with crim"~; and do you think that, knowing you as well as I do, I would touch your hand ?" Hampton laughed, and in a sarcastic tone inquired, "If I am a vile wretch, what are you ?" "A girl that was innocent until she knew you," she re- plied. , "One whose chief sin is, that she listened to your poisonous breath. One whose life you have made bitter. One that thinks you hatef~ and scorns you as "she ~vould a sei~pent. One that trusted you, not knowing what you were, and was Ietrayed by you." Is that all ?" asked Hampton, satirically. "It all comes, my lady, of having such a pretty face as you have. Don't blame me, but your own blue eye and red lip." The blood rushed to her cheeks-her brain reeled-and she could scarcely support her excited frame. In that mo- zneiit was born a passion, of'which, until then, she had known but little-a deep and strong desire to be revenged on the man who had won her confidence by fair and solemn prom- ises, only to betray her. The thought that he should now dare to laugh at her for trusting to him was more than she could bear. She might 'have borne neglect, but* she 'could not brook his taunts. All the pride of her heart rose and spurned the thought of passively submitting to 'his jeers. She felt her right arm nerved with unusual strength, and wished for the power to inflict on the heartless perpetrator of her wrongs the punishment she knew he merited. She ittemjited to speak, but her tongue was paralyzed by passion. She passed on a short distance and turned, and, looking stern- ly at him, exclaimed, "You'll suffer fot this." She walked from him ~rapidly, while sounds .of laughter, and words which she did not understand, "but Which she felt to 'be insulting, reached her par. The intense agitation of her feelings soon overcame laer, and she sat down by the road- side and wept bitterly. When she again rose 'it was grow- ing dark, and she proceeded homeward with a firkner~ and quicker step. Arrived there, she complained" of dizziness and sickness, and retired to her chamber. With her head on her pillow, she thought of'~mauy means of ~gratifying her revenge, until her thoughts became wild and' delirious. Her pulsation grew violent-her ~hcart throbbed~.-and a raging fever soon burned in every vein. For a 'week her recovery Was considered doubtful by her physician. At 'the expiration of that time "the disease as.. sumed more favorable symptoms, and she began to conva- lesce. It was the first 'of June before "she was able to walk abroad, and look upon the gr~en and smiling landscape." To herj eye every tree and hill seemed changed. At times her words were wild and mysterious. It was "obvious "that her reason was clouded, 'and that some strange 'hallucination had usurped the "dominion of "her mind. Roger was deeply affected by her illness, ~auid visited the house "each "day to learn how the disease was "progressing. When she grew strong "enough to "'walk 'forth, he stilL con~ tinted his "visits, for she was kinder to him than "she h~id ever been before. All his former 'love for her was rekindled, and "she was 'once more the ':ruling star ""of his "destiny. His spirits became buoyant with hope; e~nd his prospect ofse- curing the hand of the fair girl of whom he "had" dreamed, and" for whom he had entertained a passion for years, "~s again smiling. He viewed the aberrations of her mind as the result of a temporary" derange~ient caused by her extreme illness, and felt assured that the "cloud "would'soon pass away and leave her thoughts unshadowed. Notwithstanding the kindness of her "manner, and the gentleness cf~her "tones "whenever she spoke 'to him, 'ocCasional outbreaks J6f":ia passion, 'da±k "and fearful, escaped her. Her look and manner 'were "at "times full of "mystery; and the more he "reflected"" on 'the "wildness and strangeness of her words, t~ie~more~he wits perplexed and. "the' deeper were hiym~pathios. One "evening,~'near therniddle of "June, 'he sat Wat~hi~~his motionless cork as it floated on the clear bosom of the Creek, D R A Y T O N. 194 .195 page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 DftAYTON. a short distance from the house in which Mary lived. He was wondering what had become of all the fishes, and think- ing of Mary by turns. His seat was the root of a free near the margin of the stream, and he waited with all the pa- tience characteristic- of a genuine devotee of the rod for the encouragement of a nibble, endeavoring to satisfy his inquis- itive mind as to the reason why fishes should one day appear to be ferocious with hunger, and the next regardless of the bait which was presented most temptingly to their senses. Above his 'head the bank rose, a few feet, and on it bushes grew most luxuriantly. Along the top of this bank a path wound, leading from the road to ~the bridge thrown across the creek near its mouth. While he sat indulging his speculations, with a face on which' an expression of despondency was gradually thicken~ ing, he heard footsteps approaching. Presently the sounds of a voice, as earnest as if engaged in discussing a favorite sub- ject, broke upon him. He listened attentively. The voice was Mary's, and, as soon as she drew near enough to be in- telligible, he heard her say, "Yonder is the place; but he never comes there now. If he would only meet me there, couldn't we have a merry time? But then he won't come here no more, never and never. He don't care for the poor girl he loved. They say that's the way with cruel men: they pluck the rose, and then don't care for the bush they have stripped and left des- olate. Did he laugh at me with his lying mouth? I wish he was hanging up on that tree, that the little birds might come and peck his eyes out." Here she laughed hysterically; and, as Roger listened, his cheek grew pale with wonder and fear. A moment's silence ensued, and then he heard her singing, "They say that he's a gentleman. And that his words are true; But oh! I wish a rope was spun, And that it had its due." Roger listened no longer, but sprang up the bank andwas soon by 'her side, unobserved by her. Her look of wildrwss startled him, and, as he placed his hand on her shoulder, before speaking to her, she shuddered and jumped aside, ex- claiming, "Ugh! he is here !" "What is the matter, Mary r' a~ked Roger, in a low and gentle tone. "It's me-it's only me! Don't look so fright- ened !" DRAYTON. 197 She stared insanely at him for a moment without utter- - ing a word, and then, as if just recognizing him, she hung her head, while a blush suffused her cheeks, and tears start- ed to her eyes. He regarded her with a look of intense sym- pathy, and said, "Oh ~ tell me-.....tell me, Mary, what ails you ?" "I've had such strange feelings," she said, becoming more composed, and assuming her usual look and manner. "And oh! I've dreamed such horrible things." It was i~ vain that he tried to get from her what he deemed to be some fearful secret, for, to , all his anxious in- quiries, she returned no other answer than that she had been troubled with strange dreams. He was perplexed to understand how a dream could pro- duce such effects, but his credulous heart yielded up its doubts, and he ascribed her conduct to some momentary il- lusion and became satisfied.. They walked on, and when they reached the bridge, he asked, "And why did you not* marry me, Mary, last winter, as I wanted you to do ?" "I didn't love you enough then," was her reply. "Let us come together as soon as you get entirely well. We can live with your mother, and Colonel Metedith will let me have a piece of~ land, and I can make a very good living off it, I know." Mary shook her head, and her cheek was very pale as she said, "I would consent if it wasn't for one thing." "And what is that, Mary ?" "I can't tell you," she replied. ' She hesitated a moment, and turned her bright eye on him, and added, "Will you do any thing in the world for me, as you said you would a little while ago ?" "Indeed I will," he replied, decidedly. "You wouldn't marry me if you knew all things," she said, in a mournful voice. "I would," he replied. "Swear to me, by this bright creek, that you will help me to do whatever I ask you," she added, with an insane look glaring from her eye, which he had observed when he joined her. "Well, Mary, I do swear it." "I ~m not what you think I am," she said, looking pite- ously in his face. " Will you help me tear his eyes out," she added, wildly, "and then the serpent won't be able to charm any more simple birds." page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 DRAY TON. DIIAYTON. "What do you mean, Miary'?"' She looked mysteriously at 1Pm, and he recoiled, pressed his hand against his: brow, as if some horrible idea~ had just flashed on his. mind, and asked, "Has-has any one-has Hampton~" "Oh yes !" she exclaimed, bursting into tears.; "and if it hadn't been for his. lying tongue, I might have been so happy, for then I'd have been your wife." He could scarcely believe what he heard. He gasped for breath-i-his emotions choked him-ho tore his hair~, and ex- claimed, "I'll~~~bI'il tear his black heart out !" "You mustn't stain your hands-..-.you mustn't kill him- only cut his face up, so he can't delude any more innocent girls with. his smiles., Will you do it for my sake ?" "Yes-yes-.--by my love for you. I'll swear it !" he ex- claimed, brandishing his clinched lists above his head. "I always hated him. He has often insulted me. I always knew he meant you no good. And was he the cause. of your not marrying me?" "Indeed he was. Will you punish him for it? Will you make him look so ugly that nobody will know him ?" she said, laughing hysterically again. "Oh, do not laugh so, Mary !" "Will you cut his face up into little pieces, and pull his eyes out?" Roger nodded assent, and she threw her arms around his neck, and clung to him with a nervous grasp. The wild stare of insanity was bright in her eye. The truth that she was no longer under the guidance of reason flashed on him with overpowering force. Suddenly she withdrew her arms from his neck, sat down on the bridge, and wept profusely. Her sobbing were audible, and, as he listened to them, he stamped his foot violently on the bridge, and vowed most solemnly to avenge the cause of the injured girl. CHAPTER XXXII. ROGER slept but little during the, night, for l~ary's image was continually present to his mind; and h~r wil4 eye, her piteous entreaties, her maniacal laugh, her, burning tears, appealed irresistibly to his sympathies, and caused his heart to swell with' the desire to become her avenger. The more he reflected on Hampton's conduct, the less ~alliat~on he found for it; and when he tliought that by his villainy, tool the prospect of his own' happiness had'been blighted, an ar- dent thirst for revenge 'took possession of him. His slum- bers were short and fitful. Horrible dreams glared on his mind. Mary and her injured, came before him a with the most terrific scenes, in which he himself acted con- spicuously. He rose with the dawn and walked forth. The breeze was soft, and the birds were pouring out their matin melo- dies from every green tree; but his heart heeded uot the gentleness of the one nor the sweetness of the' other. The .only thought which agitated his feelings was the damning injury which had been practiced on the girl he loved, and his only desire was for revenge. He soon met Colonel Mer- edith, and said, "Can I take one oft "Certainl But, he horses, air, and go to town to-day ?" going in que~t of a Roger, what is your errand? Are you doctor? You look pale enough to need the advice of one. Are you sick ?" "Yes, sir. I've not been well all night, and, as I'm not fit for work to-day, I thought I might as well go to town and attend to some business I've got there, if you have no objec- tions, sir." "Very. well, Roger, you can go," returned the colonel, re- suming his walk. Not knowing into what perils his enterprise might lead him, and' wishing to be' ready for any emergency, he took from his trunk an old daggcr which had lain useless there for many years, and proceeded to make the necessary prep- arations for his journey. His arrangements were soon com- pleted, and he mounted the horse and rode toward the city page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200 DRATN R A YTTNO N,1 with an agitated heart. He left his horse at a livery-stable in the suburbs of the town, and proceeded on foot along the streets. He called at Hampton's office, but did not find him. He took a station in the vicinity, from which he commanded a view of the entrance to the office, and awaited impatiently the approach of the person whom he wished to see. Hour after hour passed by, and yet Hampton came not. At times he thought he recognized his form among the crowds press- ing onward, and his heart leaped with emotion; but, when the individual came near, he Would prove to be a stranger. At length the day wore away, and the stars came forth. Despairing of finding the person he sought, he walked along the streets, scrutinizing every form among the multitudes whom he encountered which bore any resemblance in size to Hampton. The town clock struck the hour of nine as he was passing the "Rising Sun" tavern. Loud voices attracted his atten- tion, and he- stopped and listened. The tones of a voice 'he had frequently heard reached his ear, and his feelings re- vived. The night was sultry, and the doors and windows were all thrown open. He stepped cautiously within-th~ door, and beheld a group of a dozen persons gathered about two men who were engaged in an animated controversy on the engrossing political subjects of the day. The loud voices and vehement gestures of the parties betrayed the excited state of their feelings. The lookers..on appeared to be great- ly amused, and when any thing was uttered which 'seemed witty or severe, they laughed boisterously. They evidently belonged to that most estimable class of persons who, in slaking their thirsts for knowledge, do not scorn to drink from streams which are muddled by vulgarity. Had they been at all squeamish, they would not have remained to enlarge the boundaries of their intelligence by what fell 'from the lips of these champions of the respective political parties of the period, as it was impossible to imbibe a drop of informa- tion without, at the same time, swallowing a tolerably co- pious dose of profanity. Roger's heart shrunk back for a moment, as the form of the person he had been seeking all day now stood before him. Hampton cherished some political aspirations, and, as he was fond of showing off his dexterity in the use of the weapons generally employed in political warfare, he never suffered an opportunity to pass unheeded. He had' he~ri drinking deep- ly, and was evidently partially intoxicated. His cheek was flushed, arid his arguments were garnished with the most horribly profane expletives. In his right hand he held a large walking-stick, and, from the free use he made of it, it seemed frequently that he was contemplating the propriety of using it to floor his antagonist, who stood rock-like and immovable, notwithstanding the blended force of passion and logic directed against him. Hampton was a Federali~t in his political views, or, rather, he got his political opinions from the leaders of the Federal party, and he was instru- mental in introducing their opinions into places where, but for him, they in all probability would never have penetrated. His antagonist was a vile-looking Democrat, of small stature, who was called Jim Short. His face indicated the predom- inance of beastly feelings, for in addition to its deep natural marks were some deeper artificial ones, which looked as if he had scraped acquaintance with ~ome cudgel which had left him ineflhceable mementoes of its regard for him. While talking, he was in the habit of casting furtive glances around, as if anxious to read applause in the looks of listeners, or as if he was momentarily expecting a salutation from one of that class of human beings, who are so particularly perplex- ing to gentlemen of his caste, known among men by the des- ignation of constables. To this individual the interests of the great Democratic party were committed on this occasion. Hampton had made some remarks derogatory to the charac- ter of Mr. Jefferson, when Short, taking fire, exclaimed, "I'll swear that's not so. Tom Jefferson is the best and greatest man that ever lived in the tide of time, and that's more than you can say for old Adams, 'whose Federal heart is as hollow as-as-as---" "As your head, if you would have the hollowest thing in the world to compare it to," said Hampton, coming to his antagonist's relief with an illustration which was remarka- ble more for its truth than its courtesy. There was a very fat individual standing near Short, who, oil occasion, could pour forth a perfect cataract of laughter. The fat man gave way to an extraordinary burst of merri- ment, much to Short's annoyance. Casting a malicious glance at the .shaking members of the fat body, Short vo- ciferated, "Whether my head is any follower than some other peo- ple's has nothing to do with this argument. It can tell what's what a little too well for' some folks who think them- selves very knowing for the smallest reason in the world. 12 D R A Y T O N. 20 L 200 page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 DRAYTON. I 'won't mention names, for fear of being personal," contin- ued the~ furious Democrat, slackening his impetuosity as he djsc&irered a frown darkening his antagonist's brow, and saw his cane moving upward. "Torn Jefferson is. the poor man's friend, but old Adams would grind 'em to the earth." "Jefferson is about as good as common men," said Hamp- ton, relaxingg the rigidity of his expression, "but he is the adv~~te of doctrines which would subvert all law, and in- troduce anarchy into the country." "The man that writ the Declaration of Independence," bawled Short, "is no fool. But look at old Adams," he con- tinued, connecting his sentences by links of the most i.~nin- telligible remoteness, "how he hates the Ftench! and if it hadn't been for them, we'd all been slaves to the British now." "The French rendered us~ important services," returned Hampton; "but that is no reason why we should sustain them in trampling under foot every thing that is sacred, like a nation of Ostrogoths." "They are not a nation of hogs," returned Short, mistak- ing his antagonist's last word, to the great amusement of one or twO present, who had heard of such barbarians. "They are no hogs, but perfect gentlemen and true patri- ots. If it hadn't been for them, the British would have licked us at the siege of Yorktown." "Would you slander the prowess of your ~wn countrymen, you traitor ?" exclairnedi Hampton, with great indignation. "What do you know of Yorktown, you Tory? Instead of being- there, you were engaged in the more congenial occu- pation of robbing your neighbors' hen-roosts." "That's the blackest kind of a lie !" exclaimed Short, forgetting his prudence and his antagonist's cane. The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when Hampton bran- dished his stick aloft, and aimed a blow at Short's head. But it happened that Jim's instinct of self-preservation was too acute for the contemplated demolition of his head, and, with remarkable dexterity, he sprang out of the door before the cane reached its place of destination; but the blow was not lost on air, for it came down with great force on Jim's constant companion, a large, yellowish, unamiable-looking dog, who yelled and followed hia master with great precip- itancy. In his hurry, he attempted to pass between the. short legs of the fat man, who was laughing vociferously. Instantly that gentleman lost his perpendicularity, and fell F DI~AYTON. on the 'floor, to the groat an sonient of the spectators, who, having but little sym~pathyw~th the unfortunate, gave vent * to their mirth in the most claniorou~ laughter~ ' Hampton's face was the only 'unrelaxed one in the room. He turned toward the bar, and called for a glass of liquor. All this while Roger had been standing in the door, anx- iously awaiting the termination of the' dispute. As soon as the confusion had partially subsided, he walked towar~i Hampton, who had just imbibed his favorite beverage, and, for the purpose of provoking hostilities, said, "It was well for you, Ned Hampton, that it was Short, and not me, that you struck at, for, had it been me, I would have stripped that dandy, coat off your back." "And who are you, sir ?" inquired Hampton, with a look of the most unequivocal contempt, t~oupling his inquiry with an expletive which, with the others he used, the reader's imagination may supply. "A better man than you are," replied Roger, while his eye flashed with hatred, "and one that you kno'~v too well to strike at as you did at Short. And now I'll' tell you who you are; sir: you are a rotten-hearted wretch in the dress of a gentleman! you are a coward! you are a----" and here he placed his lips neai~ his ear, and whispered what was in- audible to the by-st~mders. "Hush'!" exclaimed Hampton, stepping back, and swing- mg his stick in the air. "I'll not hush. I'll tell you, in the presence of all these gentlemen, that you are as great a villain as can be found in or out of the state prison." "One 'word more, and I will break your head or my cane, you lying rascal !" shouted Hampton. "B~one from my presence, sir," he added, in a loud tone, lifting his cane, and loo~dng furiously at Roger, while his lip was' livid ahd trem- ulous with rage. "' Strik~, if you dare !" exclaimed Roger, in a menacing' voice; "and, as sure as you are a scoundrel, I'll beat you to a mummy! I'll-" A blow from Hampton's cane put an end to his~ words. It descended with great violence on his head, causing him to stagger across the room. In 'an instant he recovered from it, and ran as fiercely as a tiger toward Hampton, and sprang upon him. A struggle ensued, which was watched with mueli interest by the spectators, who did i~tot attempt to in- terfere ii1, the R~atter, iLoger received a secoRd severe loW page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 DRAYTON. from ~, but, in the phren~ie~L~tate of his passions, he scarcely Pt jt.~ itampton drew ~ pistol, and snapped it against his a~itageiust's breaks., In the next moment a weap- on's $~sh was s~en, and a heavy groan was heard. Roger re~inquishQd his hold, and Hampton staggered and fell on the floor, uttering a loud ,and piercing scream. The blood gushQd from his breast, and the spectators crowded round the wounded man, who was lying ~on his back, and writhing in great agony. In the confusion of the moment, the movements of' Roger were nnwatehe4. He passed into the street, and walked rapidly toward the stable where he left his horse. He was soon mounted, and rode off on a gallop in the direction of Oakwood. Hampton was carried into one of the rooms, while some of the company went in pursuit of a doctor, who soon ar- rived, and, after a hasty examination of the wound, pro- nounced it mortal. CHAPTER XXXIII. AN hour after the affray, as Drayton and hi~ friend Single- ton were passing the "Rising Sun" tavern, they heard of the scene which had taken place there. They immediately proceeded to the room in which Hampton was lying. The doctor had just finished his examination of the wound as they entered. To their inquiries about the condition of the wound- ed man, he shook his head ominously, indicating thereby that there was no hope of his recovery. The physician re- quested them to remain with him through the night, to which they readily assented. The room was soon cleared, and a short silence ensued, 'during which they had an opportunity of observing HamptQn closely. A solitary lamp threw a sick- ly glare over the apartment, giving to his haggard face an expression of intense agony. The swarthy co~mtenance....... the black hair lying thick and tangled on his forehead-.-.the firmly-knit brows-the parted lips and white teeth, formed a portrait on which it was extremely painful to look. He was lying on a couch, and 'whenever a pang of intense se- verity darted through his system, hp became restless, and ut- tered the most horrible exclamations. As Drayton and his DRAYT ON. 1~''~ 205 friend stood 'by his side, cI~ending over him with so ~' faces, he glanced' at them, and, with a ghastly smiI~ ~aia, "You are a pretty pair of sjt~tacles! shorten your long faces, or you'll make a fellow feel melau'il~oly. You look like a couple of undertakers ~about to take the dimensions of a dead sinner Laugh, joke, and be merry, if you please, gentlemen." "Who ~was it that struck you ?" inquired Drayton. "Colonel Meredith's man, Roger." Drayton started back from the couch, and looked incredu- lous. Approaching Hampton again, he said, "' And can it be that Roger could be guilty of such a deed? Arc you not mistaken ?" "True as if St. John had spoken it," he replied, in a light and unconcerned tone. "Singleton, my dear fellow, just pull this cursed covering off. I am red hot, and yet that fool of a doctor covers a fellow up as if he wished to give him a foretaste of the atmosphere of Pandemonium. '~ Horrified into silence by the levity of the wounded~man, neither Drayton nor Singleton spoke a word. After a short pause, Hampton lifted his head up, and, with his elbow on the pillow, supported it on his hand. "Come at last," he said, grinding his teeth, "and hi such a 'questionable shape,' too! Well, it's just what I had rea- son to expect. It is a miracle my precious life was spared'so long, considering what wild adventures I have shad. It can't be helped, and I'll not cry about it. I have had a jolly life of it, take it altogether-many rare pleasures, and some nar- row escapes-and it is as well that it end in this way as in any other. A very fitting finale to a profligate career, eh! Singleton ?" "Do not talk in that strain, if you please, Hampton," said Singleton~ shocked by what he had heard; "it is sinful." "I might look for a sermon from'such a Puritan as Dray- ton; but from you, Singleton !" said Hampton, looking amazed at him. "Solomon~ Singleton, the jovial Solomon, tt~king about sin with a most becoming and preacher-like face, is strange, mighty strange, it must be confessed! Come hither; Friar Solomon; solemnize thy features, and let me make an edifying confession for my soul's benefit." "'What' provocation did you give the wretch who struck you ?" asked Singleton, wishing to turn the conversation from the direction it had taken. "Enough to justify the blow, I suppose. I played a foul page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] s 206 D R4Y T ON. game with his sweet-heart, and he found it out. Before we came to blows, he whispered to me tha~t he knew all, about it, and showed a Very proper resentment~ It is no more than the best of us would do, Singleton, if another should inter- fere between our sweet-hearts and ourselves. I don't blame him, for I've no doubt that I would have done the same thing if I had been in his place. He's got the law on his side, too, I aspectt, for I struck him j~o the earth and snap- ped a pistol at his breast before he wounded me. But then his seeking me with a dagger looks like malice aforethought, doesn't it? That's a matter, however, for you limbs of the law to settle. If he haa only killed me on the spot, I would have forgiven him; but, curse his bungling fist, he only man- gled me "Be more composed, and it will be better for you," said Drayton, who had remained mute for a c6hsiderable time. "If you suffer your feelings to become irritated, your suffer- ing will be more intense." "All that I care about in dying is the pain of it," contin- ued Hampton, apparently not heeding iDrayton's advice, "for I neyer did believe in the tales that people tell us con- cerning the regions below. Man is a brute ; he lives like a brute generally, and he dies like a brute,. as Solomon says; not you, Singleton, but that famous namesake of yours who ~njlt the big temple." "For the sake of Heaven, compose yourself," urged Dray- ton; and, as he spoke, he started back, to avoid the intense and vivid glare of the eye which the wounded man fixed upon him. "That i~ kindly meant, I suppose, Drayton; but I crave your pardon if I take my own advice. You certainly would not be so cruel as to stop a man who has got a great deal to say, and but little time to say it in. That fellow's knife only expedited matters a little, for I am wearied of stagger- ing under a cursed load along the path of life, and meant sooi~ to sever the silver cord with m~ own hand. I have exhausted the pleasures and excitements of society, and there is no use in living whpn the world ha? nothing more to teach yQu-going oyer the same dull and monotonous routine every day. The -truth is, I have exhausted my Ilnances ~nd my credit, and am most awfully in debt; and, when that is the case, there is ~io pleasure in holding on to a wretched exist- ence. I wonder how many of my dear frie~4~s will shed tears or plant flowers on ~my gi*~re !" DURA YT ON. 20'7 Here the doctQr again made his appearance, and, walk. ing to the~coueh, told hampton not to talk. "Ha! ha! that's just whst my friends here have been advising me. Come, my deax doctor, be honest for once in your life, and let me know how long I am to linger with these infernal pains !" "You will die before morning, if you do not compose your- self," returned the doctor, solemnly. "Can't you manage to cut the matter short, doctor? What a melancholy shake that head of yours has! If talk- ing will hurry me off, I swear I'll nQt hush an instant. Come, fellows, clear up those cloudy faces, for I want to die with smiling mouths around me. - There is no use in your looking so grave, for I can not sympathize with your sor- row, and mean to die game. Speaking of games, doctor- here are just four of us-.what do you say to a parting rub- ber of whist? IDoA't shake that awful head of yours in that manner, for it is euoughc-to make one fi~el gloomy. Come, get ready, for this is the last chance I shall have of beating you at my favorite game !" "Lie down, Edward.-lie down, and you will feel much easier," said the doctor, entreatingly. "Excuse .me, if you please, doctor; Ifeel better as I am," continued Hampton; and his companions, perceiving that he would use his own pleasure, suffered him to talk on with- out further interruption. "I will die as niuch like ~Yespa- sian as I can. Let n~e see; I have not made my will yet. Don't you think I had better go about it, doctor ?" Here he paused, but the' doctor only slwok his head again. "Well, gentlemen," he. continued, "I appoint you ,executors of my last will and testament. Imprimis: I give and bequeath *unto my landlord, tailor, ~aud boot-maker my sincere thanks, until they are better paid, for the laudable zeal they have severally shown to make me comfortable. Secondly, I leave a kiss for each of the fair ladies of my acquaintance, and I trust you will attend to my bequest in the most gallant manner. Thirdly, I give and bequeath unto the most esti- mable Ellen Meredith, who flung me once upon a time most unmercifully, -my heart, which, Drayton, you will be good. enough to deliver to her with proper dignity. And now, having disposed of all my worldly goods, I believe I am going to die, for my arm is getting so weak that it trembles under me, and I. feel rather strange about the heart." His face became very pee, and a convulsive shuddering page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208 DRAYTON. passed over his features. He ground his teeth together as if his agony was excruciating, and faintly asked for water. A glass was extended to him, which he took, and as he raised it to his lips his eyes roved wildly in their sockets; he gasped, and fell back. "He is dead !'~ said the doctor, in a low and solemn whis- per, as he raised his fingers from the wrist. CHAPTER XXXIV. ROGER. did not permit his horse to slacken his pace, but passed along as if his safety depended on his swiftness. His thoughts were singularly disordered. He whipped up his steed as he rode through the woods, and feared to look to the right or left, lest his eye might encounter some fearful specter in the deep shade of the trees. He breathedi more freely again as he emerged from the shadow into the moon- light, but his fancies still' continued to suggest a thousand frightful scenes to his disordered mind. 'As Colonel Mere-* dith's mansion rose on his view in the hazy distance, he felt relieved of some portion of his apprehensions. He checked the speed of his horse as he turned into 'the lane, and re- viewed with more clearness the proceedings of the evening. He had no means of judging of the extent of the wound he had inflicted on Hampton, but his fears suggested the worst effects from it. He shuddered as the thought that it might be mortal flashed before him; then a. series of wild and har- rowing scenes passed with startling vividness before his men- tal vision. First came the prison-then the trial-the con- demnation-the scaffold, and 'the dishonorable grave. He tried to shake off his fears, but that was by no means an easy task. He consoled himself by the reflection that he had acted in self-defense, and that, if Hampton ~e it was no more than he deserved. His conscience acqui ed him of all guilty intentions, as he had designed inflicting only a se- vere castigation on him. It was ten o'clock when he reached Oakwood. Re dis- mounted, turned his horse loose, and proceeded on foot to- ward Mrs. Winters's, to-give an account of wh~t.t had' happened. A black cloud, ~vli he had not prGviou~ly ob-' '4' DRAYTON. 2Q9 served, was lifting its gigantic form above the horizon. It rose and spread itself out with fearful rapidity. The low rumbling of the distant thunder startled him, and he walked on faster. The heavens seemed more frightful than he had ever before known- them, and an undefinable dread seized upon, his soul. The increasing gloom which was darkening over the sky and obscuring the stars seemed like that which was overshadowing his own prospects. When he arrived at Mary's dwelling the lightning were flashing with blinding brilliance, and the light, detached masses of vapor which preceded the storm-cloud had reached and darkened the moon, Which was riding at her highest elevation. The house was as dark as the gathering gloom- overhead; and as he was considering whether it would be proper to call up the Slum- bering inmates, he discovered, by a flash of light, the form of some one robed in white, in the field between the house and the river. His first impression was that he had seen a. spirit,' and a thrill of terror shot along his nerves. His superstitious fears were aroused, and he stood trembling, uncertain whether he should run, or, by 'looking in the direction of the object, con- firm or disprove his impression. The next instant a wild though sweet voice rose over the winds, and as it fell on his ears all doubts as to the source whence it proceeded were dissipated. It sang: "The stars are failed, the night is dark, The storm is gathering o:er my head, And every blast 'That round me sweeps sounds like a summons from the dead. Black though the scene may be without, Yet blacker is my spirit's night, For quench'd in gloom is every thought, And every hope that once gave light." He waited to hear no more. In the. blackness that sur- rounded him, the person from whom the song proceeded was invisible, but, guided by the sounds of he'~r voice, he rushed toward the insane girl with thoughts as crazed as her own. When he reached. the spot from which the voice seemed to come, no one was there; and his heart' beat violently, Tand his brain reeled, as he thoughtthat it was Mary's spirit, and not her corporeal form, which had. attracted his attention. There was a sensation of tightness across his eyes, and his brow seemed to be bound. ery cords as he glanced eager- ly around on the unreveal g scene. The lightning again page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 2i~ DRAYTON; oarne to his relief, a~d by its glai~e he caught a glimpse of her form as it glided along the path nearthe bank of the creek, where he had last met and parted from her. Swift as thought, he sprang into the path, and rushed toward her. He ~ soou near enough to hear the indistinct murmuring of i~er voice. Again the ligi ning flashed, and, bringingg to her side, he grasped the hand she was swinging violently. "Where, oh where are you going, Mary ?" he inquired, with hurried and faltering accents, scarcely conscious of what he said, owing to the confused state of his~feelings. As his voice greelgd her ears she screamed, and her tones rang far and near on the sweeping winds? A. moment's si- lence ensued, and in a most piteous tone, she said, "Oh, leave me to myself! I never harmed you, nor the bir4~, nor the fLowers. I must go to my. home, indeed I must;" and., thus saying, she disengaged her hand from his grasp. "it i~ me.~-it is me, Mary-your own Roger; and you know .1 wouldn't~ harm you for all the world!" $y the next flash. she obtained a view of his face. In a less agitated voice she said, "What would you seek on such a night as this? Your head would be more comfortable if it pressed its pillow~" And so would yours, Mary." "This is the time. for me to be abroad, with the strong winds and the bats, for my heart is like the sky, so dark that the dear little stars can't peep through." "Not darker than my own," he* returned, with a deep sigh. "I came," he continued, "I came to tell you what has happened. I-I--4 have done it." As he spoke he gasped for breath.- His. words, apparent- ly, were lost on her, for, instead of noticing what he said, she continued to joint upward toward the light clouds which were sailing along in advance of the storm. "1 ~ee his form, and his pale face, and his white shroud, up there," she said, with her face turned up, and pointing with her finger - at the clouds where the moon's light was just discernible among the fragments of v&por. "There! they are carrying him away to his grave, and he won't be- tray ariy more poor, poc~r girls !" "What 4o you see? Who do you see? Whose winding sheet j~ on the cloud ?" he inquired, eagerly. "Why-his face, that used be beautiful, like a cloud when the moonbeams are slee g on it; but the moon ivent 4.- ~4~TQN. dQwn, and oh, how uglyfr an4. chilly, and black hi~ face w~0 then!" "He-he's. not des.d, Mary- !" said Roger, while a si~per- stitious feeling of dread, blended, with faith in. the tri~.th, of what she said, caused him to. tremble. "Didn't I show you hi~ coffin in the~ cloud just now "Where - where - where ?" he exclaimed, anxiously.. "He is not dead !" "Why, man, hew strange you talk! Didn't you sa~y you had done it?" 'Kl3ut I didn't kill him; I only wounded him, and he will get well again; but he won't harm yeu any more. I met him in the tavern, aid I whipped him, for your sake," "Did you beat him far- my- sake ?" sho inquired, ~hile a flash of lightning revealed the insane glare pf her eye to him. "Yes, for your sake, Mary"" She sprang forward., and, throwing he~ arms around his neck, clung to him with so much force that he could not speak. As he was endeavoring to, unfix her grasp, his hand became visible in the lightning's. flash, and, letting go her- hold, she-jumped from. him, exclaiming, "I saw the red on your hand-it is his blood; and you are a murderer !" "Is there blood on my hand ?" he said, falteringly. "I-.. I didn't kill him, Mary !" She made no answer. 'In an instant she deserted him. He looked fearfully around en. the blackness that .enveloped the earth, but could not discover~ her. A terrific crash of thunder shook the ground on which he stood, echoing over the hills, and dying away into a. low rumble among the. far- off clouds. In the agony- of the moment Ihe called loudly arid entreatingly on her name, but to his calls there was no re- ply. Another lurid bolt blazed on high, and by its light he discovered her white. dress fluttering in the gale at- some dis- tance from him. He ran rapidly over the intervening space, and when he again reached her side, he exclaimed, "Oh, do not leave me-do ~ot leave me, Mary, by myself at this horrible time-! Let u~ go home !" "I saw the dark form of Death in that cloud when the lightning flashed," she said, not noticing what he had spoken, "and he- beckoned to me to come to him. He held my shroud in his hand, and it was whiter than the - driven snow, and I'm going to meet him and put it on. There! there's my coffin !'~ she continued, in a phrensied tone, point- page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 DRAYTON. ing upward,- as another flash illuminated the frightful scene overhead. The clouds were -rushing with amazing swiftness up to the zenith, while the vivid lightning's crooked bolts darted almost incessantly among them. The thunder, with deaf- ening crash, broke awfully above, following the hissing bolts so quickly as to leave no doubt that the storm was near at hand. "Oh, come and go home, Mary !" said Roger, seizing her arm, "for it will rain directly. And then-then, that awful lightning is so near, and it is so frightful! Oh! take my hand, and let me lead you home." As he attempted to grasp her hand, she again sprang a4de and left him alone. By the lightning, he discovered, her standing on the verge of the river's bank, with her white dress flapping violently, and her unbound hair streaming in the tempest that was sweeping furiously over the earth. He ran toward her, but she vanished from his sight. He stood where he saw her a moment before, vainly striving to catch a glimpse of her form through the thick darkness. Another flash lit up earth and cloudy sky, and he discovered her form gliding rapidly down the bank toward the river. Down he leaped, but when his feet touched thQ wave she was not there. ~A moment of agonizing suspense went by, when a piercing scream ros6 over the roaring elements, and was in- stantly followed by a splash in the water. He ran like a phrensied maniac along thee water's edge, calling loudly on her name; but, save the dashing of the waves, no sound came from the bosom of the stream. On- ward came the spirit ~of the storm, bowing the trees and heightening the warfare of the elements. The scene was grand and awful. The rain descended in torrents from the black sky, while the lightning flashed and the thunders roll- ed sublimely overhead. A bolt brighter than all shivered a majestic tree near by, ~nd the frantic Roger left the river and sprang up the bank. A light broke on his eye through the trees, and ii1 great perturbation of feeling, disregarding all obstacles, he ran toward it. In a few minutes he reach- ed the house. Mr: Fleetwood was standing in the door, looking out upon and admiring the grandeur of the storm. He instantly recognized Roger, and exclaimed, "What in the name of aU the devils, boy, ha~ brought you here on such a night as this ?" The shivering Roger made no reply, and, cowering before V DRAYTON. 213 the glance of the solitary man, he passed into the house, threw himself on a chair, and, burying his face in his hands, wept bitterly. CHAPTER XXXV. THE storm raged furiously for an hour. Mr. Fleetwood stood at the door watching its progress, until the moon again shone out, and the black mass of clouds lay piled up against the eastern horizon with their upper edges fringed by the sib very light of the moonbea~is. It was twelve o'clock before he made preparations for retiring, having given no attention to Roger, who retained his position in the chair, with his arms on the top, and his Lace reclining on them. Mr. Fleet- wood approached and tapped him on the shoulder, and he started and looked confusedly up at him. His expression was wild, and the lone man recoiled a step, ~.nd exclaimed, "What ails you? Are you crazy ?" "Oh no !" replied Roger, piteously, and as he spoke he rose. "Is the storm over ?" he continued. "If it is, I'll go home." "A pretty 4ime of night, to be sure, for you to talk of going home. What do you supji~ose Colonel Meredith would say, if he knew you were* wandering about like an uneasy spirit fresh from some scene of horror? It is too wet for you to venture forth to-night. Lie down on that couch, and take a nap. What's the matter with you? You look as if you were frightened out of your senses." "The lightning !" gasped the unfortunate Roger, resum- ing his seat, glad of an opportunity to remain where he was. "The lightning, indeed! Why, boy, did you never see lightning before ?" "Yes, sir; but none ever come so near striking me before. I was out on the bank, and it struck the tree near me, and I was never so scared in all my life." "You oughtn't to be afraid of it. What business had you out on the river's bank at such an hour? Were you so bliud and deaf as not to know a storm was gathering ?" He paused a moment, but, as Roger made uc reply, he coma.- tinued, page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 PIVAYTON. "toy, you ~are crn~y! You bad better get Colonel Mei~- dith to 'send you to an asyhirn. But this is no tirnefoi~;taIk- ing. Double yourself up on that couch, and go to sleep as if you never saw a flash of lightning." He walked into the adjoining room, and Roger threw him- self on the couch. Wearied and exhausted by the excite~ ments of the evening, he soon fell asleep. His slumbers were not refreshing, for be frequently started up from hor- rible dreams, with his hair standing erect and his frame shivering with fright. At length his"~nses Were buried in a 'profound slumber, but even then he was restless, groaning and screaming- at times as if he was in deep distress. A. scream louder than all the rest echoed over the silence of the apartment, and roused' Mr. Fleetwood, who came into the rootn with a candle in his hand and a huge cap on his head. He approached the i ouch on which Roger was lying, and, 'holding the candle near the face of the sleeper, leaned over him 'for' 'the purpose of inspecting his 'countenance. Roger~s brow was contracted, 'and his lips were pale and tremulous; 'and 'Mr. Fleetwood could not account for the change Which had come over one Whom he had always con- sidered so amiable on any other supposition than that he was crazy. While he stood watching the expressions which passed over his face, and speculating on their cause, the sleepersud- denly started up with an awful shriek; and, sitting' upright on the couch, ran his fingers through his hair, and stared wildly at the wondering 'Mr. Fle&twood. In a moment he quailed before the stern and astonished looks of 'the old gen- tieman, and, covering his face with his hands, sank down, muttering,. me-spare me! 'oh, don't kill me "Kill you,' boy !" exclaimed Mr. Fleetwood, angrily. "Wh~.t do 'you 'suppose I 'sho4ldwa'ntto kill you for? You are dreaming. YoW are crazy. Go to sleep, and make no more such 'horrid noises, or you mu~t go home, late as it is." "Indeed, sir, it wasn't' my fault I couldn't help it." "Well, you "iifust help 'it, 'or 'leave 'here. How do you imagine I' can" ~leep while you' are m~.kiuig such. a noise ?" Without waiting for 2~ 'reply, 'the old gentleman walked slowlyy out of 'the ~o6m, muttering his anger in under tones Which 'Roger' did not 'understaiid. ~Roger Soon 'fell asleepp' again; 'b~it, though 'the iiight, 'his dreams Were terrible. Re got up as 'the ~aAkst beams of morning broke into the apartment, and went forth. The ~un '4"' 4' '4 4 DRAYTON. 215 so~u rose, and the rain-drops on the grass and, leave~ glis.. teiied like diam~iids as the beams kissed them. The soft and refreshing breeze of the morning was laden with melody, and the spirit of peace presided over the scene which had been under the 'dominion of the storm during the 'night. He directed his steps toward Mrs. Winters's residence, but when he arrived 'there he found the house deserted, and no one answered his call. With a heavy heart, he passed slowly along the bank of the river. In vain he looked anxiously along its shores; for no trace of 'the girl, who had 'acted so singularly there during the night, met'his view. The bright waves broke on the pebbly shore unmurmuringly, and if 'the river had a secret, it kept it Well. The blue sky-the un- ruffled river-4he green island-the gentle wind-and the melody of birds and insects rejoicing in the beam and the breeze of early' mining, form4~d a vivid contrast, to the gloom and the sadness which oppressed his heart. He sighed heav- ily, and then turned and walked slowly and sadly toward O'akwood. 'As he approached the mansion, he discovered Colonel Meredith standing 'on the porch engaged in an earn- est conversation with Mrs. Winters. As soon as the old woman saw Roger, she called on him, 'with agony in look and tone, 'to tell her what had becOme of her daughter. ,At 'that moixient two men rode up and dismounted. They approached Roger, who, recognizing One of them to be a constable from the city, 'turned and ran toward the river. They quickened their pace, and 'pursued him. He passed rapidly along the 'bank until he caine opposite 'a~boat. He sprang to 'the water's edge, and, grasping a pole which lay on the shore, jumped into 'the boat and pushed her out 'into the 'stream. Whenhis pursuers reached the bank 'and 'saw how he had 'escaped them, their faces betokened great disappointment. Glancing along~the shore, they 'perceived a boat with oars, in which someone had just crossed the riVer. They were soon in possession of it, but not until Roger Was a consider- able distance from the s~iore. He moved slowly, 'having nothing but the 'pole with Which to propel 'his boat, while the 'offlce~s pli~d their oars briskly and gained rapidly on him. Seeing '.th'at 'escape was ii~possible, 'he elevated his pole, 'and, with~a threateninglook, 'shouted, "The first 'i~iiai~ 'th&t"touches this boat will catch this on his head." "Don't be so courageous, young man," returned one of & page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 2W DRAYTON. th~ 'officers; "in spite of all the poles in the world, and all other means of defense which you doubtless have' secreted about your person in defiance of the b~w of the land, we will discharge our duty, which is tQ sei the body of Roger Brown, and convey him to the city, where he stands charged with the murder of Edward Hampton. So the better you behave yourself, young man, the kinder you will be to your- self, for take you we will." This elaborate style of address, together with the solem- nity of the officer's manneri~, caused Roger to turn pale. When he concluded, Roger swung his pole about more fierce.~ lythan before, and exclaimed, "You lie; I'm not a murderer !" "Well, then, surrender yourself, and you will not be harmed; but, if you resist, it is 'possible that this weapon will make you as gentle as a lamb ;"' and4 as he spoke, he produced a large and murderous-looking pistol, and pointed it threateningly at Roger. "Shoot that thing off at me," returned Roger, "and, if you miss, you must look out for breakers. I azn~no murderer !" "Roger, my old friend, that won't do now," said the youn.. g~r of the two officers, who was the proprietor of a face whose jocularity and good nature by no means indicated the skill he possessed in ferreting out offenders against the laws of the commonwealth. "That story don't fit your conduct no better than a shirt does a bean-pole. You run as if you weren't guilty, didn't you? I'm an old 'possum catcher, and am up to all sorts of trickery." "Jim Smith, you knc~w me, and you'd better not trifle with me," said Roger, with determination in his eye, and a feeling of desperation in his breast. "Come, Roger, surrender yourself, and, if you're the in- nocent man you say you are, there'll not be a hair of your head harmed," paid Smith, coaxinglyy, at the same time grasping the side of the boat. "Let go this boat, Jim, or, as sure as your beard's black, I'll loosen your hold." Smith let go of the boat, and, elevating himself, sprang into her, and was in the act of seizing Roger, when his foot slipped and his form balanced over her side. The weight of the pole, which Roger placed on his shoulder, determined the preponderance of his body in favor of the river, and he plunged in. While his colleague was endeavoring to rescue him, Roger pushed his boat oW and by the time the dripping~ form of Sufith was out of the water, he was some distance 216 DRAYTON. DRAYTON.~ 217 off. Smith's companion again presented his pistol, and swore he would shoot him if he offered any further resistance. They were soon alongside the second time, and Smith again stepped into Roger's boat, and, placing his hand on Roger's shoulder, claimed him as a prisoner. As the boats approach- ed the shore they had left, Smith took a deliberate survey of his person, and remarked, "Don't you know it's against the law to knock an officer of the peace overboard when he is performing his duty? If it wasn't that you're an old friend, I'd make. you smart for it. Just look at me, sir !" he continued, extending both arms at full length; "just look at me, sir! Ain't L a pretty pic- ture to behold? If it 1~iad been a cold morning, that infer- nal ducking might liave been the death of me." The eldeii officer smiled at his comrade, while Roger, sit- ting in the stern of the boat, leaned his face forward on his knee, and said not a word. The shore was soon reached, and Colonel Meredith, who had been standing on the bank watching the whole proceeding with anxiety and surprise, came forward and asked an explanation. Roger wept while he told him every thing in relation to it, and the colonel was visibly and deeply affected by his narration. He felt that Roger had told him the wh~Ae truth, and that Hampton's death was the result of accident rather than evil intention. He accompanied the officers to the city, where Roger underwent an examination, and was commit d to prison. Hampton's untimely death caused great excitement in the community, and many and discordant were the rumors which were soon in circulation touching the circumstances which led to it. In the course of the morning, Colonel~ Meredith called on Drayton, who related to him all that Hampton had said of the affray which terminated so fatally. They went to the prison, and from Roger learned every thing in reference to the melancholy event; and Drayton, at the suggestion of Colonel Meredith, concluded to defend him. The river did give up its secret, and Mary Winters's body was found during the day. The agony of her widowed and now childless' mother was of the intensest kind, and deeply affected all who witnessed it. ~ Roger's description of the last moments of the brief and melancholy career of that beautiful victim of human wrong was not doubted. Her history is still told in the neighborhood in which she .resided, and is often pointed to as a warning to those of her dass who aspire to unite themselves with 'persons of a higher social position. K page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] 21t DRA'YTOTh DRAYTON. 219 CHAPTER XXXYI. ThE disaster by which George Meredith had been im- mersed in the river was followed by consequences of a much more serious nature than were at first apprehended. His system was toor feeble to recover immediately from such a shock.. It is true that, after a short confinement to the house, he reappeared 'among the scenes he was so fond~6f; but a deep and stubborn cough continued to afflict him, causing his friends much alarm. He, however, manifested but little fear, and still expressed himself in terms scarcely less san- guine than he had been accustomed to use of late, when speaking of the probabilities of his entire restoration to health. He could not, however, conceal from his 'own heart the conviction that his fragile form had received a shock which would probably prove fatal. The hopes which had sprang into being under the influence of his love for Miss Randolph, day by day parted with their brilliance. Yet he did not give way to gloom. lie expressed no fears. He ~seemed to be as buoyant in spirit as he had been prior to his misfortune. Often, when alone, in his communing with his own heart, the prospect of an early death came before him with more force than it had since Miss Randolph's return. The tears often glistened in his eyes when dwelling on the hard necessity which threatened to frustrate all his plans' of happiness. It was not the fear of encountering the gloom of the grave that oppressed him; b~~t' it was hard for him to relinquish all the delights which he had so often 'anticipated from his union with the loved and devoted Caroline. To abandon a prospect so full of bliss just on the eve of its 'ful- fillment, was a thought against which even his well-dis- ciplined mind was not proof, and his smitten sensibility craved relief in tears, despite all his strong efforts to the con- trary. 'Still he was cheerful, and the most searching pene- tration would have been baffled in its endeavors to discover the abiding thought which shaded so many of his solitary hours. It is a sad spectacle, under any circumstances, to witness the gradual decay of one who is dear to us; but wjien that xi one is young, and possessed of all the moral and intellectual qualities necessary to render existence lovely and useful, the spectacle is peculiarly distressing. To sit by the side of ~ne thus singled out, with the conviction that h~ must soon be withdrawn beyond the reach of human syrnpathies..-.to list- en to his faltering acceptss, weak in the utterance of the love which is still yearning at his heart-to see the pale brow and the wasted cheek, on which the fatal hectic blooms like the rosy flush on the evening cloud, telling that the night comet apace-to mark the unnatural light which flashes and flickers in the eye on which is gradually stealing and deepening the shadow of the grave-to feel the heart to be almost bursting With its hoarded grief, and to choke the ex- pression which .rise§ to the eye for the sake of the dear in- valid, is inexpressibly mournful, as many can attest. Oh! thou pure and gentle spirit, who hast bended from thy bright inheritance on high, and art hovering like a palpable pres- ence~nea~ me at this moment-thou who hast suffered deep- ly, and art now released-whose calm and thoughtful brow now wears a crown of unfading glory\ beyond the shadows of time-whose stricken and wasted form now reposes, un- conscious of the bird and the breeze making melody above it-~on whose subsiding pulses I hung, while grief muffled up my spirit, and my eye longed to shed its tributary tears, how vividly comes over ~xne, at this moment, the recollection of all that thou wast and all that I felt while lingering near thy fleshless form, on which insidious disease preyed so long and so fatally! What though my tongue may not confess it to others, thou knowest how often, when alone and silent- ly communing with my own heart, the thoughts of other days and of thee come over me with a power which I can not and would not resist! I Would not bury my bleedii~g sensibility in the grave with thee, for oh! though melan- choly the thought that we may meet no more amid the blend- ing of light and shade which greets me here, it is still a pleas- ing task to summon back from, the records of by-gone years the thousand endeared scenes in which thou '~vast a conspic- uous actor, when thy pulses were as buoyant as those of the heart which would here imprint a perishable evidence of its imperishable love for thee. How often does~ny mem~i'y seek the sequestered spot where they placed thee when thy day of weary travel was spent! and while there bending, like a stricken mourner, over the turf wheze thou liest, it looks'foud- ly up at the heaven where duster many stars, but sees no 9 page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 DRAY TON. one which shines with a purer, steadier, and more burning hz~ter than that associated with thee. To sit and watch lifer's taper gradually fainting away was now the melancholy &ffice of Ellen Meredith. Her broth- er's symptoms assumed a positive character, a~nd boded a speedy termination of his lease on existence. Da/ly and hour- ly she was near him, ministering to his wants *~h all that devotion and sympathy which are peculiar to her sex. She often read to him from some favorite volume, stopping to list- en to his remarks, which always indicated-what is so un- usual-a profound insight into the meaning of the author, Frequent and prolonged were the walks and rides they took together; and on such occasions the eye of the invalid would brighten before the beauties bursting on his sight, and his tones grow enthusiastic while expressing the deep-stated love his heart cherished for every thing lovely in Nature's Works. It was always a melancholy task for the devoted sister to assume a cheerfulness she did not feel, when dwell- ing on the vivid expression of her brother's face, for she knew any manifestation of the grief she felt would give him acute pain. The thought was ever present to her that his face would ere long be 'eclipsed in the shadow of the grave, and that the tones of his voice, as musical and aS unearthly as the strains of the spirit-bird, which, in Indian fable, hymns a mournful requiem over the moldering form of the departed warrior, would soon be hushed in the unbreaking silence of death. Nor were the attentions of her with whom he had hoped to link his earthly fortunes less touching and devoted. Car- oline spent much of her time at Oakwood, watching with intense anxiety every change for the better or the worse which took place in her lover'a disease. She still clung 'with a strong tenacity to the fragments of the shattered hope which promised her that he would live to bless her love and reward her unshrinking devotion. To contemplate a spectacle as lovely as was presented by * these two young ladies, so beautiful and so lavishly gifted with the means of winning the wa.rmes.t plaudits of an ad- miring world, forsaking all opposing desires, even in thought, that they might devote themselves continually to the neces- sities of the invalid whom they loved, migh'L teach those slanderers of all that is pure and disinterested in human na- ture that there is much unalloyed good on earth, and that the reason why they know it not is that their associations D RA YT ON. I 221 are not among the noble and the saint-like. Devoted even to self-sacrifice, they lingered by the side of George; and if, by yielding up either of their lives, his could have been prolonged, years would have gone' by before the summons which calls mortals from the perishable things of time would have sounded through the depths of his soul. During the afternoon of ~t. most bright day~ George was reclining on a seat in the porch, viewing the reapers in a field at a short distance, and taking note of every sound which rang over the landscape. His cheek was much wasted, his eye was sunken, and, his noble brow was very pale. The wind, as it went by laden, with fragrance and with song, gently lifted the auburn locks which clustered on his fore- head. There was neither the shadow of a gloomy spirit nor the radiance of a hoping heart in his countenance. A feel- ing of resignation was reposing softly on his features, not- withstanding he was thinking of the probability th5gt but few more such days would shed their benign influences on his head. A smile passed over his lips as the ever-welcome forms 'of Ellen and Caroline drew near him. As they were taking their seats, a brilliant bird flew into a tree immedi- ately in front of them, and poured forth a gush of glorious melody. "What exquisite music that little warbler pours forth on the air, without knowing the value of his own rich strains," said George. "He is like an uncultivated 'son of song among a rude people, who gives utterance to the wild melody of his heart, unconscious of its sweetness and merit." "Do you remember, brother," remarked iRllen, "when we were at the South, how the mocking-birds would come on moonlight nights, and sit near our windows and sing! Oh! many a bright dream did the songs of those sweet birds call up before my slumbering mind! At times my visions were of a glorious future, and scene after scene, as beautiful and as fleeting 'as the pictures that fancy paints on the even- ing sky, would rise before me, and, after enjoying them a while, I awoke, and found that the enchanter, whose spell was upon me, was a bird near my lattice. At other times my heart luxuriated in the pleasures of my early years, and I was once more a wild and enthusiastic girl, sporting among the flowers with the companions I loved." '- "In some sections of the world," said George, "the song of a bird rising on the silence of night is'supposed tQ be the voice of a lost friend revisiting the scenes he was once fa- 220 page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222 DRAYT'QN. I) RAY TO N. miliar with, and hymning the delights of the better clime, of which he is now a blessed inhabitant, in. the ears of those he loved while living. I do not wonder that the supersti- lion of a poetical mind should weave so beautiful a fiction under such circumstances; for such is the sweetness of a bird's song when heard by a half slumbering ear in the depths of the night, that the excited fancy can easily im- agine its strains to. be the melodious hymn of a. departed friend breathing peace to the soul from which death could not sever its mysterious sympathies~ Let cold philosophy deride such beautiful imaginings as much as it may, the pop- ular heart will always have credulity enough to believe them. I confess I would not sever my faith from all the fictions of superstition for all the abstractions of logic that can be addressed to my understanding. Philosophy discours- es its learned sentences only to the mind, while Supersti- tion utters her sweet voices in the depths of the soul, and we cling to them with an earnestness which no uncheering ab- straction of the Stoic's creed can~ arouse." "A friend," observed Caroline, whose eager ear had been drinking in the low and spirit-like tones of her lover's voice, "a friend told me lately of a very pretty and poetical inci- dent. A young lady, who owned a beautiful ring-dove, which appeared to be much attached to her, sickened and died, and a broken shaft was placed over her grave. Some mysterious instinct led thin bird to the grave of its mistress, and it was frequently to be seen sitting on the column, as if mourning the loss of the on~ most dear to it. There was an example of devotion to the memory of a loved and lost friend worthy of the truest human heart." "The incident is a beautiful one, Caroline," said George; and, as he spoke, the gushing melody of the bird, already re- ferred to, again attracted his attention. "How little," he continued, after a momentary pause, "how little do many seem to know of the sources of happiness which the Su- preme Architeet has spread with a lavish hand around them. Here, in His own beautiful temple, surrounded with innu- merable splendors, from which an eternal anthem is rising like incense to his throne, andi where one would suppose no eye could be so blind as~ not to see, and no ear so deaf as not to hear, the majority of persons drag out their existences with less apparent sensibility than the fowl and the brute, which ~sport through their short days and perish." " How singular it is that such should be the case, and yet i F how many instances of entire indifference to the beauties of nature do we observe around us," remarked Ellen, with a very thoughtful brow. "Every community contains many such specimens," con- tinued George. "There are thousands in yonder city who bend all their energies to the accumulation of wealth, which, when acquired, affords them nothing but the selfish pleas-. ure of knowing that they possess it. In youth they neglect the cultivation of their minds and hearts, and when they have reached the end for ~which they have striven so anx- iously, and opulence is theirs,, they find themselves bank- rupt in the means of enjoying it. For my part, as I ~onsid- er the pleasures of the heart superior to the sensual ones which wealth can procure, I had rather earn my bread by the sweat of my brow, and enjoy the continual and unpall- ing ~banquets which nature offers tlw~ refined sensibility, than, being destitute of a taste fot' the glories which meet the eye in all directions, revel in all the inane pomps and luxuries which vitiate the feelings, and can not satisfy the yearnings of the soul. I had rather have a crust of bread where I can drink in the melodies that float on every breeze, than feast at the sumptuous tables where ambition, avarice, and vanity grow voluble when rehearsing their own achieve- ments." "If persons would only cultivate a variety of tastes," said Ellen, "they would be less dependent on fortune, and, un~ der all the changes of life, have the means of enjoying them. selves.~~ "True," said George, earnestly; "it is a great and very common error to devote life to one pursuit. Love~ ambi- tion, fortune, should alike receive attention. In youth we should cultivate the tastes which will smooth life's declining years. The beaver, the bee, the ant provide during the sum- mer for the wants of winter; and man, imitating their ex- amples, should not only provide himself with what will sup- port life when old age comes upon him, but also with the means of rendering existence useful and pleasant. Knowl- edge should be- sedulously sought after in youth, for it affords the richest solace when the head is hoary and. the sluggish blood crawls lazily through the veins. "I was reading the other day the accounts whici~ those great historians, Hume and Gil.ibon, give of themselves," said Caroline, "and could not but feel the truth of what th~y say with reference to the delights of a well-cultivated mind in D R a Y T O N. page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] 224 DRAYTON. eyery season of life. While reading those accounts, I won- dered much how so many persons could be willing to spend all their time in accumulating wealth, seeing that, without knowledge, the wealth, when gained, can not purchase a tat. isman to summon up comforts and contentment to the heart." "Those are cheering testimonies to the pleasures of the scholar's life," said George. "You remember what Gibbon says in reference to the statements which Buffon, Fontenelle, and Voltaire give of the pleasures of old age. They thought it the m,,ost delightful period of life, for then, when the fire of the passions is abated, those calm and elevating medita- tions which make men wise can be indulged in without re- straint. Such testimonies~ to the pleasures of intelligent old age and the pleasures of knowledge are as invaluable as they are imperishable. A clear conscience, a comfortable subsistence, a relish for reading, and the power to reflect, make the wintery season of life not only tolerable, but de- lightful. How differently we feel when contemplating an 61d man possessed of such means of dignifying himself, than when we look up~n the paralytic devotee of Mammon, press- ing toward the grave with faltering steps and averted eyes, hugging his gold to his heart, and still eager to accumulate. Old age, under the one aspect, is as venerable as under the other it is revolting." "Do you think that every one could taki~ the same pleas- ure in the acquisition and the uSe of knowledge ?" inquired Caroline. "I have seen many individuals so entirely destP tute of the desire to know, that I have thought they were born with imperfectly-constituted minds." "There are many who are entirely regardless of the value of intelligent minds," returned George, "and it may be that this results from some natural infirmity. It is proba- ble that some are so peculiarly organized that a love for books and the sublime Volume of creation, in which the Deity has blazoned forth the shadows of his wisdom and be- nevolence, is beyond the reach of their souls. But I am con- vinced that this is the case with but few, and that the vast majority could, if they would, relish knowledge of all kinds. And knowledge, once imparted to the mind, would not be given up for all the wealth of the Indies, to use Gibbon's expression." The approach of some one, whom they soon recognized to be Drayton, arrested their conversation at this point. He joined them apparently much to the pleasure of all parties. DRAYTON. 225 k~ K; CHAPTER XXXVII. THE political excitement of the period under consideration was intense. The election of the highest officers known under our government was approaching. The Republican and Federal parties were~arrayed in hostile attitudes to each other, mutually asserting their own purity and denouncing the views of their opponents. The political sea was angry with strife, and many good and true patriots feared' much for the safety of the ship of state. Each party battled vig- orously, and each was confident that victory would perch on its banners. Father arrayed against son, brother against brother, and the waves of discord beating violently against the holiest relations of society, presented a spectacle well calculated to rouse the, alarm of many who had fought for the freedom which now appearedd to be placed in such fear- ful jeopardy. Each party contended for what it considered to be of the last importance to the well-being of the country; and each was sincere in the belief that, if the antagonistic party triumphed, the liberties of the nation would be endan- gered. The Democrats asserted that if Federalism came off victor, the government would assume a monarchical charac- ter; while the Federalist declared that if Democracy achieved the rule, the elements of disorder would be let loose, law would not be respected, and anarchy, similar to that which had recently deluged France with the blood of many of her noblest citizens, would. inevitably ensue. Time, the falsifier of the predictions of heated minds, has disproved the fears which were entertained with reference to the triumph of the successful party; and all now agree that both parties were equally honest, and that each was wrong in charging bad designs on' those who differed from it in opinion. Drayton was not an unmoved spectator of events, lie loved his native land, and reverenced her institutions, and was deeply interested in the struggle which was then going on, for he, too, thought the welfare of the country depended on its issue. By education and from conviction, he was in- duced to regard the Federalists as contending for measures at war with the 4ghts of the people; and he opposed them from a sense of duty firmly and honestly. Many of his most K2 page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 DRAYTON. respected friends belonged to that party, and, though he could not doubt their patriotism, he believed that if the Federalists succeeded, it would be at the expense of popular liberty; and, regarding devotion to his country as the first political duty of an American citizen, he expressed his opinions freely and fearlessly. He continued to experience all that sickness~ of the heart which is consequent on long-sustained and unrealized expect- ations. Day after day, and weary month after month, he repaired ~o his office, and still no business came to' cheer him with the prospect of a more successful period. At times he thought of yielding to the feeling of despair that oppressed him, and of changing his location; but his pride revolted at the thought when he recollected his resolution of rebuilding his family name oii the spot which had witnessed its down- fall. Since Roger's imprisonment, he had been looking for- ward anxiously to the period of his trial. On that occasion he was to make his first effort at the bar, and he was pre- paring himself against the possibility of a failure by the most unwearying study. While waiting for business, he had employed many of his leisure hours in the composition of a series of articles on the condition and policy of the government, which were published in the Democratic .journal of the city. These articles com- manded much attention, for they exhibited signal ability, and manifested a deep insight inte the nature of the contest then waging, and were evidentlythe results of much and profound reflection. The secret of their authorship was confided to a few friends; and Drayton was gratified in knowing that the emanations of his pen had been ascribed to' some of the sound- est and most distinguished men in the community. One evening his friend Singleton, who was' a Democrat and a popular m'an, called on him, and insisted on his accom- panying him to a political meeting. Singleton was a warm- hearted man, and took' a deep interest in Drayton's success. He had often expressed a desire that Drayton should make himself known as a speaker in the primary assemblages of the people, to which Drayton had uniformly objected. On this occasion, however,~ his objections were less earnest than usual, and he went with his friend to the place of meeting. When they arrived, they found a large crowd collected~, listening to one of the popub~r orators. When he concluded his speech, the cr&wd became clamorous for mere eloquence, and "Sin- gleton-Singleton !" was shouted from every mouth present. U DItAYTQN. 221 Singleton obeyed the call and rose, and, after a few re- marks, observed that there was a friend of his present who would undoubtedly respond to their wishes if' called upon. As soon. as he mentioned Drayton's name, the room resound- ed with its echoes. Escape being impossible, Drayton rose with th~ intention of making ait apology rather than a speech. The lights shone but dimly over the dark mass of beings before him, and his eye wavered with the agitation of his feelings as it wandered over the apartment. In a, moment ~after, he ascended the stand; every murmur was hushed, and his trepidation at finding himself in so unex- pected and so trying a situation for a moment unmanned him. He stood, not knowing what to say, elevated conspic- uously above all others, with an eager multitude pressing forward, anxious to hear him. It was a critical moment. The crowd manifested considerable uneasiness, and some smiled at. his expense. Drayton observed smiles on some faces near him, and the idea of the ridiculousness of his sit- uation shot with electric force and vividness across his con- fused mind. In the desperation of the moment, he com- menced, not knowing what he said. A few faltering and unconnected words fell from his lips, and he again hesitated. He was about abandoning the stand, when a remark, which cut him severely, reached his ear. It irritated him deeply. His cheek burned with anger. His dark eye flashed with passion. With a strong effort, he summoned up the scattered forces of his intellect, and recommended. Gradually his tones became deeper and firmer, and his sentences more exact. Confidence returned to him-he, grew warm and excited with his subject; and a torrent of most eloquent declama±ic~n burst from his lips. The crowd shouted applause, and bent forward to catch every word he uttered. He felt cheered, and pro- ceeded with the most decided success. At the end of &n hour he left the stand, amid the most deafening plaudits. On all sides he heard persons asking who he was. His hands were grasped and shaken warmly by many who were entire strangers to him, who pronounced the highest eulogiums on his effort. Among the rest, his friend Singleton pressed to hi~ side, saying, "I congratulate you, my dear fellow, with all my heart. It was decidedly the most successful ddut ever witnessed here. I knew it was in you. I felt awfully bad at, ~lrst, while you hesitated. . I feared you would fail. But I was soon relieved, and perceived that your agitation was only page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 DRAYTON. that of the mountain before its volcanic fires blaze forth on the blackened air of night." Drayton returned to his office with a feeling of pride~ and a consciousness of intellectual strength such ~s he had never felt before. It was his first triumph, and in it he read 'an augury of his future success. The shadows which h~d of late 'been reeling over his prospects, like mists along the val- ley, were swept aside. 'Hope returned to his bosom with sweet assurance on her lips. Oh, the first intoxicating draught from the cup of fame! Who that has once tasted it can ever forget the rapture of that hour, when visions of conquests floated around the dreaming brow with all the vividness with which the 'destiny of a nation unfolded itself before the mind of a prophet of the olden time. It is the Hegira of ambition, and, however resplendent may be his sub- sequent career, to it the aspirant ever after turns, for there is no ecstasy like that flr~t one which burns like a star away back amid the shadows of the past. In noticing the proceedings of the meeting, the Democratic journal took occasion to refer to Drayton's speech in terms of th(most flattering nature, and predicted eminent success in his profession for "this young champion of the rights of the people." It was the first time he had seen his name as- sociated with praise in print, and he read and re-read it with all the delight usual on such occasions. The next day he called on his gouty uncle, and found that gentleman in a most unamiable mood. He had scarcely entered his~ presence, when the- splenetic old gentleman, turn- ing a fierce eye on him, said, "I see, boy, that things are taking the course that I ex- pected, and that you've been making yourself exactly as ri- diculous as I thought you would." "I am not aw~rc, sir, That I have placed myself in such a situation," returned Drayton, calmly. "The deuce you're not !" exclaimed the doctor, in a voice which contrasted very forcibly with the mildness of the neph- ew's tones. "Have you not been making a show of your absurdity at a plebeian meeting? Did I not see your name in a. paper whose praise is dishonor? Did you not make ~. speech the other night to the rabbii, whose chief boa~ris that their hands are hard ana their shirts unwashed? A pretty place for you to exhibit yourself in, isn't it ?" added the doctor, with a sneer. - "I am not aware that my conduct on that occasion enti- 4 DRAYTON. 22~ ties me to the hurricane you've raised about my head. It is true, I made a speech~ and I am very glad it was consid- ered worthy of the high encomiurxl that paper pronounced upon it." "What business have you, sir, to be making exciting har.. argues to ragged crowds ?" said the doctor, in a dictatorial tone. "Why do you not stay in your office and try to get the means of supporting yourself? Do you imagine I will assist you, when you are doing every thing in your power to elevate a pack of scoundrels to oflic~?"' "I have done what I take pride in," returned Drayton, still maintaining an appearance of great composure, "and shall be careful to repeat my conduct when an opportunity is again afforded me." "I had hoped to find you ashamed instead of obstinate," said the uncle, relaxing his sternness. "When I am guilty of an act which deserves penitence, I will feel ashamed, not before," retorted-Drayton, firmly, try- ing to master his vexation. "It will be much to your interest, boy, henceforth to keep away from such places," said the uncle. "When my interests conflict with my duty, I shall not long hesitate about sacrificing them," replied Drayton; The coolness and positiveness with which this remark was made caused the uncle to feel much vexed. A frown gathered on his brow, and he exclaimed, "You may go to the devil your own way, but I hope I may be cursed if I assist you !" "I did not come here, uncle, to petition you for your bounty; I merely came to pay my respects, and to see how you were.~~ "I don't want to see you until your senses come back. And now you will please pay me what you owe me, and leave my office and my presence. I'll have nothing more to do with you. "As to the pittance I owe you for rent," said Drayton, rising, while his cheek br~rncd and his lip was tremulous with rage, "I will arrange it at my convenience, and then leave your office. As to your presence, sir, I will leave that with great pleasure. I would have shunned you long ago had it not been for the relationship subsisting between us, which, thank Heaven! does not extend to the soul, but is confined to the' blood." "Pare you insult me to my teeth !" exclaimed the doe- page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 2~$Q DRAYTON. DRAYTON. 2~1 tor, with a face livid with passion. "If you do not pay me what you owe me, I will warrant you forthwith." Without deigning to notice what the doctor said, iDrayton walked out of the house, and proceeded to his office. When the turbulence of his feelings had subsided, he began to con- sider what he should do, and, as a preliminary step, he con- cluded to visit Oakwood. As he rode along, musing over his difficulties, he saw Mr. Fleetwood ahead of him. Re- cently he had become very familiar with that solitary man, and in his society had passed ms~ny agreeable hours. Riding along at a rapid gait, he soon overtook him, and, at his rc- quest, proceeded with him to his residence. He told Mr. Fleetwood of all his troubles, and his quarrel with his uncle, and when he finished his account, the solitary man advised him to get ar~other office, and insisted on his accepting a sum of money from him either as a loan or a present. To this Drayton objected, while Mr. Fleetwood urged it on him with unusual warmth of manner. "I insist on your obliging me in this matter. I wish to prove to you how deeply I am interested in you. l3esides, the money I offer you is of right- yours. You see, I owed your grandfather a sum of money when I went abroad, and on my return he was dead. As his grandson, you're. enti- tled to it~ I have enough for all my wants withoutt it, and if you are so squeamish about it, you can cancel the obliga.. tion when your circumstances improve." Telling him he would think of it further, Drayton bade the old gentleman good evening. As he rode along, he could not but contrast the conduct of the solitary with that of his uncle, who had more means than he could possibly make use ofJ As he passed on slowly, he thought a great deal about Mr. Fleetwood's eccentricities, and wondered how it happened that one who lived so much to himself should be so warm and so unselfish in hi~ sympathies. He~-had not solved this problem satisfactorily to himself before he reach- ed the lane which led to Oakwood, and, turning into it, he was soon happy in the presence of the ladies and George, who were sitting in the porch, as described in the last chapter. 4' CHAPTER XXXVIII. DRAY'roN's anxiety fot the recovery of George. had induced him to visit Oakwood very frequently of tate, on which oc- casions he had witnessed Ellen's devotion to her brother, and admired and loved her the more for it. He felt -convinced that his friend must- soon pass away from the abodes ~f the living, leaving a void which could not be supplied in the hearts of those. who loved him. It was with much emotion that he observed how iapidly disease was completing its work. At each successive visit he found his friend weaker than when he had last parted from him. His whole ap- pearance indicated extreme feebleness, and Drayton felt as- sured that his sun of life was but hovering over the horizon. After sitting and conversing with the ladies a while, George requested brayton to walk with him. He clung to his friend's arm, and moved onward slowly and with a faltering step. "It will soon be over," said George, stopping to recover from the exhaustion of the walk. "It is about a year, Dray. ton," he continued,." since I first saw you, and told you that at this time the winds would be sighing over my insensate clay. You expressed your disbelief in my prediction. It is true that the issue did not verify the prophecy to the letter, but it will not be much longer delayed. Since I first met you here, Hope and Love have told me many flattering tales of joys which should be mine on this side of the grave. Of late, their batteries have ceased;- and Hope, now in the guise of a seraph, paints to my mind only those delights which are to be met with beyond the shadows of time.~~ He paused, but as Drayton's heart was too full of emotion to admit a reply, he continued, "I hope, my dear friend, you will often come here when I can not welcome you. When you stand above the turf where they lay me, and recall the vanished form of the slumberer, think, ]3rayton, think of the fortitude with which he met his fate-think how uncomplainingly he bore his afflictions~-and think of what he now tells you, that a. clear conscience- is the only thing on this -side of the grave which can divest it of its terrors." t 4 . page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 ~D RAY T ON. DRY N 3 Glancing, as he spoke, at Drayton, he perceived that lie was struggling with emotions, and said no more. They passed, on until they reached a seat they had often occupied. When they were seated, George, in the low' and somewhat mournful tone of voice which he had conversed in of late, said, "I understand you made your d6but the other evening at a political meeting, on which occasion you made a most elp- quent speech. Although my predilections are all with the other party, yet I congratulate you most sincerely on your success. Persevere, Drayton, and I have no doubt you will reach the eminence you desire. I have faith enough in your integrity to believe you will always exert your influence on the side of truth and justice. It must certainly be a mo- ment of intense gratification when the orator ezichains the attention of a multitude, while every face around him gives evidence of the triumph of his powers.", "It is certainly a proud as well as a very responsible sit- uation," returned Drayton. "I was particularly pleased with the manner in which the speech you have alluded to was received, because it assured me that my dreams of suc- cess were not altogether illusory, and that I am not desti- tute of the power to move the minds of others. You 'may be sure that I will take your advice, and persevere. A young man should not be satisfied with the excellence he has at- tained, but press forward to realize the expectations which previous successes warrant I never knew a man who was continually looking at what he had done, who went~ much beyond these efforts afterward. It is your man who looks forward, and prepares himself with the means of executing *what he wishes to do, of whom most is to be expected. A noble ambition never reposes, like a voluptuous Sybarite, on a couch, counting over the laurels it has won, but girds itself for the distant goal before it, for which it pants as if it had done nothing as yet." "Your remarks, I think, are true," said George. "I have * observed, among the young men of my acquaintance, some of finely organized minds, who have failed signally) because they have conceived an ambition for small things, instead of concentrating their hopes and thoughts on magnificent objects. Some of these persons become enamored of social, distinction, and go into society for the purpose of winning reputations for address and conversation. In this way they devote~hemselves to inferior objects, and, after a while, the consideration of petty triumphs engrosses their minds, and they become incapable of, or disinclined to, the long vigils and protracted studies which must necessarily precede the accomplishment of magnificent enterprises." "The elass of individuals to which you refer," added 'Dray- ton, "is~ made up of those who' desire to be splendid-not great men. You have noticed that they who are born to wealth are generally surpassed by those of meaner extrac- tion in the race of glory; as if Providence had ordained a. system of compensations by which it was decreed, from the beginning, that to the poor should be awarded the honors of this world, and to the rich nothing that money will not buy." "The truth of your remark is as old' as society," observed George. "The rich, seeing the deference which is paid to # wealth, content themselves with the influence it gives them, while the poor are compelled to exert their minds or remain obscure. From evil good frequently comes; and we, are in- debted to the aristocratic distinctions in society for the devel- opment of many splendid ixiinds. The first and leading im-' pulse' with many who are born in the obscure ranks of soci-' ety is, to rise superior to the condition in which they find themselves, and where the exclusiveness of aristocracy would forever confine them. In the absence of wealth, this can only. be achieved by superior mental cultivation; and many poor young men give their days and nights to study for the purpose of overcoming the opposition of aristocracy, who, if society were organized on Democratic principles, would re- main unlearned. Having conceived a relish for study in this way, they afterward become enamored of fame, and strive for that intellectual superiority to which it is awarded." "It is neither from the highest nor the lowest class in so- ciety from which eminent men generally spring," observed Drayton. "The classes between these polar extremes sup- ply mankind with the largest proportion of great men. The leaders in moral and mental enterprises have generally em- anated from those abodes where comfort, not splendor or squalidness, is found." "True," returned George; "and the reason is, that the very poorest class is crushed by the primeval curse to the earth; and they who compose it', being under the necessity of laboring with. their hands, have no leisure to improve their minds, and retain their heritage of ignorance and coarseness, while the wealthiest fritter their energies away among the thousand frivolities of society." "A bye of social excitements is unfavorable to the love 232 a %33 D R A Y T O N. page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] A 234 D8AYTON. of fame, for it is in solitude that genius must fit itself for art honorable career," said iDrayton. "I do not mean that a man must flee to the rocks and the shady groves, lie may live in the midst of a city, and its noise may be an eternal chime in his ear. Indeed, the solitude of a city should be preferred by a man of genius, for he can observe every pulsa- tion of its heart, and reflect upon every cause which agitates the human sea; but he should remember that his business, for a season at. least, i~ that of a spectator rather than actor among its exciting scenes." "I suspect," said George, "that in the majority of instan- ces the ability to resist the excitements of the world is not so strong as the disposition to partake of them. When vir- tue enters the arena against vice, it has nothing to gain and every thing to lose. The orator should watch and study ev- ery current of society, for his business is with men; but the literary man, the favorite of the Muses, will ever find a more congenial home amid the works of nature. He should hold more communion with the departed than with the living; his thoughts should be with the authors of~ those imperisha- ble works which -have survived the mutations of centuries, and come down to us with the accumulated praises of ages on them. What has such a one to do with the every-day concerns of this world? with the fluctuations of markets? the successive follies of fashion? or the trifling incidents which engross the masses of men? Let him retire to some solitary Patmos, as the beloved disciple did, and there brood over the infinite, an4 enjoy his sublime visions. He will find nature to be his best instructor, and in his library he will discover inexhaustible sources of amusement and wisdom." "Your litei~ary man would then be but a mere book- worm," said Drayton. "He would be wise where all oth- ers are ignorant, and ignorant on those subjects on which the meanest minds are informed.'~ "I do not insist that such a one should surrender every hope, thought, and feeling of his nature to books and reflec- tion," returned George, earnestly, "but I do insist that he should be uncompromising in his devotion to such studies. Let him select friends with whom he can exercise his sym- pathies, but let him not be seen on all occasions participa- ting in social ekeitements. I would not have him entirely to neglect the present for the past, but I certainly think he should not permit the follies around him to engross much of his attention."' 23~ D H A Y TO N. "J~.iterary men should understand the spirit of the age in which they live, which they could not do if their hearts were as much with the dead as you require they should be," re- turned Drayton. "It is, in my opinion, indispensable that they should be conversant with their owr~ times-that they should closely inspect every class and sect. of men-that they should relish society-in short, be well informed on all points which concern common men, in order to become their in- structors." "I speak only of the devoted literary man," said George, "and not of the thousands who. have some taste for litera- ture; and such would soon grow wea.ry of the excitements of his age. Society would, after a little acquaintance, cease to present any new phases to his view, and he would tire of its reiterated hollownesses. It is no place for him, for it can not appreciate the true literary man, and he is frequently pained by seeing that he is misunderstood. When the mood is on him, and his eye sparkles with light, and his lip trem- bles with pathos-when he throws forth jeweled thoughts with uncalculating prodigality, those who' hear him wear' wondering coun.teuances, and deem the flashes of heavenly light which radiate from his features to be but a wild and erratic enthusiasm, which leads him afar from prudence and his own interests. He is conscious of their pity, and ~uncer- tam of their admiration." "Such a consciousness must be wormwood to a proud and sensitive heart," returned Drayton, with much warmth, "and teach it to scorn and contemn mankin&' Such a considera- t ion teaches the necessity why a literary man should go frequently into society. If he were familiar with men, he would commit no such blunders as you r~aention, and be able to adapt himself and his conversation to -those around him." "In such an event, he must change or debase his intel- lectual character," returned George. "To adapt himself to a lower gradation of being than his own would require a sac- rifice which, instead of benefiting, would inevitably degrade a superior man." "Not if he were compact in mind and morals," added Drayton. "I confess I have but little reverence for that wisdom which it is the peculiar province of cells and clois- ters to tea~h, and which savors more of the lamp~ than of humanity. It is too -misty and abstract for the world, how- ever much it may edify those who regard the owl-the bird which is blinded by- th& light of day-as the bird of wisdom. page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 230 ~D RAYTN DRY T O N. 23 - The philosopher who sits on some fancied Olympus, and ful- minates his decrees, will ilot be heard in the valleys where the multitudes dwell." "So long as genius is rather of the nature of the eagle, which pursues a solitary flight, than of that of the storm- petrel, which is one of a multitudinous flock, so long must it dwell apart, if it would obey and be true to itself;" returned George. "He who has once found delight in an idolatry of the stars, the sea, the forest, the mountain, and all the bright and beautiful sources of poetic inspiration so lavishly display- ed throughout creation, must, sooner or later, if he forsake them, sigh for their companionship. He will often turn his weary eye back on the sunny eminence of the Parnassus he has left, which stii~ looms brightly through the mists which surround him in society. He may descend from its far-view- ing heights, doff his imperial mantle, and assume the every- day garb of fashion, and give himself up to the pomps of the world for a while; but he will soon learn that the beaten highways are not for his feet, and, becoming disgusted with the vanities of the world, he will seek the mountain paths he has forsaken, and be truer to his own heart in the future. I only insist that as nature determines, before experience, what course a man should pursue, he who finds in himself many thoughts and feelings which are not common to men, is untrue to himself, false to his own interests, when he im- molates.his own peculiarities on the blackened altar of cus- tom." "If your hypothesis in relation to genius is true, then If grant your arguments are irresistible," replied Drayton; "but what saysexperience on this subject? Were Spenser, Shaks- peare, Milton, Pope, and other great poets, to be found in the desert? Or were they not dwellers near the great heart of humanity, and familiar with all its pulsations ?" "But those poets you mention," replied George, "sighed for solitude, in order that they might throw off the weight of the crowd, and unbosom their mighty thoughts and feel- ings which struggled for utterance. If those men had been able to live as they desired, they Would, in all probability, have forsaken the dust of the city. Because, in many in- stances, great men, by gigantic efforts, have been able to throw off the manacles of society, and to be great in spite of jostling littleness, it does not 'follow that such hindrances are not fatal to many. Besides, the men you brought for- ward lived much to themselves, and not one of them has said that society was better adapted to the man of genius than solitude, but they all hold the opposite language." "The truth is, no general rule can be applied to al~ the di- versities of genius," remarked Drayton. "While some would sicken and die in the crowd, others find the aliment which sustains and strengthens their minds amid the bustling mul- titudes. Cooper would pine away in the city, and Johnson would scarcely have survived a banishment to the country. But there is one thing connected witLthis subject that can not be denied, and that is, many men of genius have fallen victims to the vices of society, who, if they had stood aloof from the crowd, would have shone like beacon-lights along the shores of time." "I am glad to see you on my side, after all your opposi- tion," said George, smiling. "Melancholy, most melancholy has been the waste of soul in the instances of great men, who have surrendered themselves to vicious excitc~ments, and foregone their holy vocation as priests in the temple of na- ture. They have preferred the indulgence of withering pas- sions to reading the mystic language written all over the walls of that magnificent temple. In this way genius and the world have been mutually losers. To avoid the degra- dation of genius, I would have it stand aloof, and view the crowd and its reeking tumults at a distance. "It is not so much against society as its vices that you inveigh so earnestly," said Drayton. "The degradation of genius results from its own infirmities, and is not justly chargeable to any other account." "At the same time that I would shelter literary men from vice by removing them beyond the reach of its influence," observed George, "I would enjoin solitude as the best school for the disciplining and developing of their powers." CHAPTER XXXIX. WHEN they returned to the house, a carriage, with richly. caparisoned steeds, drove off. It contained Mrs. Willough- by and her daughter, who were in the act of getting out as Geerge and Draytori reached the porch. Mrs. Willoughby shook hands affectionately with George, but, not deigning to K- 236 D R A Y T O N. 237 page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 2~$8 DUAY~ON. notice his friend, elevated her aristocratic head, and, rustli~ig her satin, brushed by him and saluted Ellen. Maria, less fastidious than her mother, smiled graciously at Drayton, and he bowed, somewhat haughtily, in return. The singular paralysis whieli had oVertak~u Mrs. Willou~h.' by's memory, causing her to forget that it is a part of good breeding to manifest respect for those you visit by noticing their guests, not being contagious, did not affect Drayton, for itso happened that, in arranging themselves in the porch, there was but one vacant chair left, and that was near Mis~ Willoughby, which he, without hesitation, occupied. He be- gan a conversation on the weather and the beauty of the prospect before them, and Maria listened with evident pleas- ure to every sex~tence he uttered. The lively girl at length laughed heartily at some remark i~e made, and her mother caught her eye and looked daggers at her, which were by no means fatal to her merriment. She continued converSing in animated tones with Drayton, notwithstanding th~ fr~Wns and uneasiness it gave her mother. "What effect does the.eountry have on you, 1~ttr. Dra.yton? Does it make you serious or sentimental? Do you laugh With the birds, or sigh with the winds ?" "It depends very much on the season of the year," r~turn- ed Drayton. "In the spring I get up a proper amount ~f sentimentality, and in the autumn I contrive to feel a; little melancholy, as you know one ought to do." "It always makes me wild to get in The co~.~iitrya.fter having been choked and fried to deat1~ in to*n," s&id 1~IiSS Willoughby~ "You and Mr. Meredith Were Just ret*r~iing from a walk as ma and I rode up. Where had you b~,en, indulging in romance?" "In a ~nost ~harming spot," replied Draytori. " (hi The bank of the river, and under the shade of those two majestic oaks which you see off here to the right." "If you will escort me," said the lady, j' I will run over there for a minute, just to see if I can't get clear of some of my posing thoughts~" Miss Willoughby rOse and ~a~i ~dcWn the steps, with Dray- ton at her Bide. "Where are you going, ~[aria ?" sho~xt~d the mothe~. "Just over here to the bank of the river," was the-~ply. "You haven't got time," Maid Mm. Willoughby, *ith a froWn. "Come ba~k! it will be late before we get home." La;! ~na.! the sun's quite high yet. I'll be back in a. DRAYTON. 239 minute," she said, and then wheeled and skipped lightly over the grass toward the river. They were soon out of the hearing of those on the porch, and Drayton said, "Your mother seems to have a very peculiar disrelish of me lately, Miss Willoughby." "Oh, she's only a little miffed, because you didn't happen to speak to her once upon a time. These old ladies, you know, are foolish, particularly in such matters. What a pretty redbird that is, Mr. Drayton! I wish I had him in a Oage." "If you had it under your ~charge, it would become as lan- guid as one of yOur sentimental lovers, and lose its powers of song." "Fy on you, sir! your metaphor is not good. Gentlemen sing most sweetly when under the dominion of the ladies, as witness all the poets from Petrareli to Burns. Indeed, I really think a love affair ~or so is necessary to a gentleman before he can become very interesting. Love makes a man poetical, and that, as you ought to know before this time from your own experience, is decidedly the most interesting character a gentleman can assume." "I suppose your tenet, then, Miss Willoughby, is, that, like a stricken Swan, a lover sings most sweetly when the cloud is on his s$rit, for that Was the ease with the poets you re- fer to?" "Exactly, sir; and if a dart ever penetrates your heart -bless my soul~! 'I am rhyming already. I knew a little fresh air Was all that was Wanting to m&ke me poetical- if your &bdurate heart ever is softened by love, you~ will be infinitely more agreeable than you are now.~~ "And, pray, how de you know that such i&it6t the unfor- timnate predicament my heart is in ?" Because your brow is too calm," replied Maria, glancing brightly up at his face, "and your eye does not wander ~b6~it as if 'it didi~'t know what in the World to look at" They wete ~This time near the spot 'designated by Dray- ton, and Miss Willoughby darted from ;his Side and ran, arid, throwing herself on the seat, drew a long breath, and ex- claimed, "What a sweet place this is! I wish to Heaven I was a Weod-n~mph instead of a town girl, bound and pinched up according to the last decrees 'of fashion !" "You might assume the character with great facility and page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] 240 PRAYTON. appropriateness," said Drayton, taking a seat by her si~, "for fairy proportions, graceful motions, bright eyes, re~ 1ips~ and musical tones are all that is necessary to the coniposi- tion of a nymph." "What a flattering tongue you've got, sir. , By-the-way, I've nit ihad. the felicity of listening to its flattery for an age Dr' two, and its tones sound in my ears like a Sabbath bell I once heard when I was a little girl, and which I again heard last Sunday-it recalls so many old associations." "You have a charming way of insinuating a compliment," said Drayton. "And, if fiction and poetry are the same thing, you have a great genius fox that fine art." "Indeed, sir, instead of romancing, I was as serious as a preacher.". "What do you think of the beauty of that island ?" asked Drayton. It is the prettiest spot I ever saw," she replied; "and if I were that bird we saw just now, I would take up my abode there, without doubt." "And if I were another bird, I would join you, and sing your praises so sweetly that your heart would melt under my melody. You would be more coquettish than any jay- bird in the woodlands." "Very likely, for if there is any one thing I have a. par- ticular love for, it is- a little coquetry. Wasn't there some philosopher who once taught that the souls of women some- times inhabited the bodies of birds after death ?" "Pythagoras tai~ght something like that." "Well, if his doctrine is true, I think it likely I'll be a dear little bluebird, and live on that green island yet." I'' "It will be a difficult matter to catch and cage you. "I think that very probable," replied the lady. "Have~ you slain any gentlemen in blue coats and tight boots lately, Miss Willoughby ?" "Yes, several. A gentleman who answers to that de- scription told his friend the other day that a flash from my blue eyes had killed him off, just like a stroke of lightning. Wasn't that a very interesting sort of demise for a senti- mental youth ?" "Charrning-.---a perfect euthanasia! I should like to die in the same way about every other day." "That's a sensible remark, and shows excellent taste, sir; but others no danger of~ your dying so poetically. Such stem, cold, rigid, philosophical gentlemen as you pride your- DRAYTO~ 241 self on being, instead of 'dying of roses in ar9matic pain,' as somebody's poet says, go off with the ague." "Some more fiction from your lips," said Drayton. "You slander the warmth of my feelings. Bright eyes have the same infbience over them that sunbeams have over flowers." "Bless my heart! how rough this seat is," exclaimed Miss Willoughby. "I have stuck a splinter in my~flnger." "Pull off y6ur glove, and let me show my skill in extract- ing it." "Look at it, sir !" she said, when she had pulled her glove off, holding up her hand. Her hand was remarkably small and delicate, and jewels were flashing on her fingers. A splinter, scarcely percepti- ble, was in the forefinger, and as Drayton took hold of her hand to extract it, she said, "Don't squeeze my hand so." "I am not squeezing it," he replied. "Miss Willoughby," he continued, looking admiringly at the jewels on her fingers, "it is decidedly the most beautiful hand in the world, and a very valuable one too." "You are a superfine judge of such things," she said, draw- ing on the glove, whjch act being completed, she glanced over the prospect before her, and continued: "I'll declare I am perfectly delighted with the country, and mean to set my cap for some plowman. Do you think I'll succeed ?" "Undoubtedly. Just let your intention be kiiown, and the ity will be depopulated of its young gentlemen, who will ke to the plow instanter, to the very great improve- ment o e agricultural interests of this section of the world." "Don't ou suppose I should be as superior as a milkmaid as those ge tlemen would be as plowmen? My dairy would be the sw etest, and my dr~cks and geese the best sailors, an turkies the fattest birds in the country. Such a life would be a perfect elysium. But, bless me! Mr. Dr~yton, you are so interesting that I forget how fast the sun is going down, and that ma is waiting like Job's wife for me. Come, let us go back to the house." She rose, and, pith Drayton at her side, sauntered along, stopping frequently to admire the prospect or to cull a flower. As she approached the house, hanging to his arm, with her mouth wreathed with smiles, her mother looked lightning at her, and rose and proceeded to the carriage. Maria lingered provokingly behind, saying' a word to the ladies, arid ~l~n another to the gentlemen, until her mother lost her anii~ il- L page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 DR~Y~TONb ity, as w~ evidei~t from her restlessness and frequent com- mands to her daughter to get into the carriage. As they rode home the young lady received a very severe lecture for her unpardonable conduct in going off with such an individ.. ual as Drayton. She justified her conduct, and the mother's anger increased, and she vented a volley of indignant words on her daughter's head, from which one would have inferred that, among Mrs. Willoughby's virtues, maternal love was by no means the most conspicuous. CHAPTER XL. As they left the supper table Colonel Meredith told Dray- ton he wished to see him before he retired, a that he would be in the library~room. The ladies rep~jfed to their cham- ber at ten o'clock, and Drayton proceeded to the library. The colonel was sitting at a table, on which were several volumes, most of them old works and great favorites. His reading was generally very desultory, and in the course of the evening he had consulted half a dozen different authors. He frequently remarked that it was much more pleasant and profitable in reading to skip from one volume to another with which you were acquainted, than to confine yourself to one; for, when you read attentively, trains of thought would be started in your mind which ought to be pursued, and they would necessarily lead you from one book to another, in ac- cordance with your particular mood. In this wa~y, he con- tended, he would derive more amusement and instruction from twenty volumes in the course of a day, thlin he could have done had he confined himself to one work. As Dray- ton approached him, he laid down the book he was reading, and, pushing his spectacles back on his forehead, said, "My object in requesting your presence here was to have some conversation with you about that poor unfortunate young marl, whose trial is to come on the day after to-mor- row. The last time I saw Roger he looked ill, and was quite disconsolate. Ii never felt so deep an interest in a pris- oner before. I have but little doubt of his acquittal. The jury must bring in a verdict of guilty of justifiable homicide, for I can not anticipate any other result from what I know of the testimony that will be given in on the trial." DRAYTON. 243 lie paused, and Drayton concurring with him as to the probable result of the trial, he continued, "I feel a very hearty interest in your 'success also. I mean to be present, and expect a fine effort~ from you. What has been said of your speech at the political meeting the other night will cause people to expect a very brilliant one from you on that occasion. I think you told me you had never made a speech at the bar ?" "I have not; and as my speech on the trial is to be my first effort in the court-house, I can not but feel a great deal of uneasiness in reference to it. I intend to do my best-..-- to strain every energy I possess, for my impoverished finan- ces require it of me. I must have money, and that I can not get without business, and to procure that I must have reputation." "The occasion will afford you an excellent field for the display of your powers of reason and eloquence," remarked the colonel. "Let me caution you, however, against some errors common to young lawyers. Do not be hasty; do not lose your self-control; and, above all, do not neglect your client in your desire to display yourself. Remember you are not addressing a crowd at a political meeting, but judges and jurors, who feel that solemn responsibilities are upon them. Make a manly and vigorous speech, and you will win the confidence of the judges. Their good opinion will be of more advantage to you henceforth than the applause of the populace; These old, grave, learned heads are apt to smile at all the very fine things that young men feel proud of saying. They estimate a man by the skill, sagacity, and learning he exhibits, and not by ~the poetry and passion he displays. I would not have you~ designedly to omit an ap- peal to the feelings, when you ~an introduce it as if it sprang spontaneously from something you have already ~aid. In fine, be moderate.; indulge in no extravagances; do not suf- fer your excitement to blind your sagacity; and I have no doubt, from what I know of your ability, that your success will be brilliant." Drayton thanked him kindly for his advice, and the con- versation turned on many particulars connected with the a - proaching trial, which need not be repeated here. Having discussed these subjects, they talked of other matters, and Drayton remarked, "I wonder, colonel, that you have never, in your retire- ment here among the relics of ~he wisdom of former times page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 DRAtTON. -so well calculated to suggest such a course-.found oppor~ unity and inclination to write out your reflections for the benefit of the world. From your taste, experience, and abil- ity, I know you could produce a work which would be use- ful to others, and give you a reputation for authorship." "I have speculated sometimes on the propriety of becom~ ing an author in my old age," returned the colonel, "but have not as yet made up my mind to do so. I have, like most" persons in my situation and with my tastes, from time to time writteit out my thoughts on a variety of subj ects, the disposition of which I shall probably leave to those who come after me. If they think the world would receive them kindly, they can publish them; if not, they will but share a fate common to such things." "If it should be my fate to survive you, I will certainly expect tolearn much from your intellectual labors. A last- ing fame-a permanent abiding-place in the gratitude and the memory of mankind, is the ~noblest worldly achievement of which man is capable. Some persons affect to wonder how an individual can forego the pleasures of sense, and de- vote himself to the pursuit of so unsubstantial a phantom as fame. I suspect such persons, however, have not the means of understanding in what the pleasures of the great poet or philosopher consist. That such a passion is a most worthy one is evident from the fact that the greatest and wisest men of all ages have been the most devoted to it." "A lasting fam& is the reward of a life-long labor per- formed by a superior mind," said Colonel Meredith. "Now, if that labor 'was uncheered during its continuance, it would be wise to condemn it. Intellectual pleasures differ so much from the enjoyments of the sense, that it is difficult to de- scribe them intelligibly. A person must, experience before he can appreciate them. The attempt to convey to an un- learnedrnind am idea of the delight which a philosopher ex- periences in his study, while developing an important theory, or the raptures the poet feels while contemplating the mag- nificent visions that pass before his mind, would be useless. Inexperienced persons should be satisfied with the testimo- nies which great men in all ages have given of the pleas- ures of the pnrsnit of fame, 'and take for granted what it seems they can not convinc~~ themselves of. namely, that such men as Aristotle, Bacon, and Newton Were uot fools." "The fear of cotemporary~critics has kept many men from publishing the. results~ ~f their studies," said Dra~ton. "It DRAYTO]~I. ~45 is an ignoble fear, however, and he who desires reputation must prepare to encounter opposition. The majority would much rather pull an aspirant down than assist him upward. I hope, colonel, such considerations never had.weight with you.~~ "I never was sufficiently anxious for contemporaneous rep.. station to push my pretensions, and I therefore have, in im- itation of the great men we have been talking of, concluded to submit my labors to posterity," replied the col6nel, smil- ing. "The truth is, I should fear to hazard a failure in lit- erature. . It is not always the most worthy who draw a prize in the lottery of fame. There are many works of decided merit which meet with a speedy oblivion, while others, of much less intrinsic claims to consideration, by a fortunate conjuncture of circumstances, survive, as if to show how little discrimination the world possesses. Literary distinction is often won where there is but little intellectual merit to sup- port it. Shallowness frequently succeeds where profundity fails in literature, as flashy lawyers often get rich while their learned neighbors starve." "But transcendent merit must succeed, whether the cha~tces you speak of are favorable or not. Genius' will force the world to feel its power sooner or later, whether the world will or not." "There is some truth in your observations, said the col- onel; "but I never fancied myself one of the pre-eminently- gifted few, and therefore had not that incentive to urge me on. My studies have always been delightful to me, and I needed not the promptings of ambition to induce me to pur- sue them. My desire for knowledge was always invincible, and I have, in consequence, from my youth, been an invet- erate reader. Here," he continued, becoming animated, and turning his eyes toward the shelves crowded' with books, "here, amid the monuments of the genius of all ages, I can find amusement for all my moods; and the older I grow, the more disposition I feel to abstract myself from the living and to devote my days to the dead. My companions in this place are the intellectual~ giants of all time. I throw my mind back on past ages, and view the majestic Roman and the splendid Greek as they were in the palmy days of their states. In fancy I can see the venerable men of antiquity in the Are- opagus and i~ the Forum, by the Ilyssus and the Tiber, and catch the words of 'wisdom and of wit which radiate from their lips. With the shadowy monks in their cells and the page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 bRAYTON. profound logicians among their disciples-the mer~ of the Middle Ages who prepared the way for the triumphs of sci- ence and art which have, since their time, shed inextinguish- able sunlight on the dark places in which they groped and stumbled-with these men I spend many pleasant hours. With Rabelais and Montaigne, Browne, Taylor, and Milton, I can laugh or weep over the errors of humanity. The near- er I approach that shadowy realm where mortal vision fails, the more intimate becomes the feeling which attaches me to the imperishable dead, whom I must, before the lapse of many years, meet on the shores of the eternal sea. The or- ators, philosophers, and poets of all ages come before me when I choose to summon them up, and, holding communion with them, I forget that clouds have darkened my sky, or that Time ever shakes a grief or a pestilence from his un- wearying wing7" "It is certainly an invaluable privilege thus to be able to abstract the mind from anxieties and griefs, and to fix its thoughts on subjects which never change or make us weary," observed Drayton, wishing to incite the colonel to proceed. "The feelings of many are so fickle that they can not be in- terested long in any one pursuit. They crave such aliment as novelty affords, and with them, to be accustomed to a thing is tantamount to conceiving a disrelislu for it." "True," returned the colonel; "and I am thankful that such is the constitution of my mind,, that the more intimate I become with a subject, the more points of interest I dis- cover in it. An old book, which I have consulted a thou- sand times, is to me an old friend. I know its merits-its whims and its oddities, and I love them all. I have proved its excellence. I know all that it contains; and when I read it it is like talking with an old acquaintance on our past pleasures. It can not startle me with its heresies, neither can its sophistry entrap my belief. I could not part with it without shedding a tear to its memory; for it is blended with so many sweet recollections, associated with so many pleas- ant hours, that it seems to be a part of my history. When- ever I open the pages of some favorite, the shadowy old au- thor comes and takes his seat at my side, and I fancy I hear hirti say a great many, things only darkly hinted at in his writings. My ruind~ frequently becomes so engrosse\ with these spiritual visitors that I forget the present, and, ex- claiming with Addison, 'These are my companions!' I feel a strong disposition :to ask a jovial fellow like Ben Jonson to flRAYTON. ~47 share a social glass with me. Not only are the noble4~owed authors themselves my associates, but many of the charac- ters they have shadowed forth throng around me. Falstaff, and Sir Roger de Coverley, for instance, are as palpable personages as their authors, and with them I have i~njoyed many a short-lived hour of mirth. The old English authors are a bluff, jovial crew, and discourse more wisdom and truth than the authors of any other nation. I love them for their heartiness, their quaintness, their simplicity, their truth- fulness, over which is shed the mellowing influence of a ge- nius of incomparable richness. The difference between the men of antiquity and the old English writers is, that the former speak like their own gods, and the latter are old friends with whose frailties you are perfectly~ well acquaint- ed. You reverence the one class, and'love the other." "I suspect some of your friends in the flesh would ,smile at your love for those in the spirit," said Drayton, who was much interested in the sketch the colonel had given him of his intellectual pleasures. "The majority of men have so much disrelish for phantoms of all sorts, that they wonder how any man in his senses can be pleased with the ghosts of authors dead long ago, or the imaginary characters Which poets and novelists have written about. They love beings who are tangible-they only wish to associate with men who have blood and sinews-and vow they never saw a spirit. and hint that they who profess to have dealings with such unrealities, have flaws in their minds through which these unsubstantial shadows pass. They love men who have stern visages-men who wink and wear broadcloth, with whom they can hold profitable discourse on the fickleness of the winds and the capriciousness of the weather, the prospect of wheat crops and the fluctuations of bank-stocks-not phan- tom men wrapped up in shadowy mantles and togas which went out of~fashion many a long year since." "I am careful, when in the presence of men of that stamp, not to introduce any conversation which wilLstartle their sense of propriety, or cause them to suspect me of lunacy." "It would be amusing to watch the contortions of the face of one of these ultra practicalists while listening to you talk- ing of your favorite authors. These gentlemen, who have an extraordinary allotment of common sense, regard an es- tate on Parnassus as of about as much value as one in the Arctic regions of the moon, and they ha~~e' nearly as much respect for the insane creature wh~ holds convei~sations with page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 248 DR~AYTON.. DRAYTON. 24~ the old man who lives in that planet, as for those who talk with the gods and heroes of other days. These are your practical, useful men, to whom the gods have given all the common sense they were able to create, and who look com- passionately on their misguided brethren, who, neglecting the concerns of the present time, go back to the age of witches for their companions and amusements." "I meet a good many lovers of what is real and useful, according to their notions, in my walks," said the colonel, "but I never talk with them about the pleasures which pone 'but students know how to appreciate. With them I dis.. course on politics, business, and other matter-of-fact subjects, and they scarcely suspect me of intimacy~ with the goblins who are m3~ companions in my library and solitary walks. When a scholar is with the plain men of the world, he should suspend his vocation as a dreamer, and discuss topics of gen- eral interest. When in general society, he should be like those about him, and be careful to keep his thoughts on the merits of different authors and other subjects, of which the mass of men knew nothing, for men of kindred tastes with~ his own." "That course, it strikes me, is the proper one for scholars to pursue," remarked Drayton; "but I have noticed that some men of learning, when in the company of men of bus- mess, ~are anxious to make a display of their scholarship." "And thus they very properly subject themselves to re- proach and ridicule," added the colonel. "It i~ not even po- lite to make a man feel hi~ ignorance on subjects with which you happen to be well informed." "But vanity and ambition frequently prompt men to pa- rade literature, law, or philosophy, where such things are as much out of their clime as an orange grove would be in Lap- land." "Men of superior attainments are too prone to contemn the ordinary topics of common minds," said Colonel Mere- dith. "This is wrong. The merchant, thefarmer, the me- chanic, are as important persons in their departments as philosophers and slatesmen are in their places. The scholar has one species of intelligence, and men who are engaged in business have another. Though their tastes are unconge- iiial, they should not quarrel with and contemn each other, for each one is useful in his vocation, and the world needs both.' The student of bopks should keep his mind informed on subjects of general interest,~nd when in th~ street or the drawing-room, lay aside his learning and be as one of the multitude. A man only renders himself superlatively ridic- ulous by holding himself in cold isolation, apart from the men he meets, as if he were an emissary from the court of Jove, to see what inferior beings are engaged in. If the eagle will sail down from his solitary perch and mingle with the birds in the forests, let him take part in their sports; if he can not do this, let him ascend to the craggy cliffs of his mountain home, and remain there." CHAPTER XLI. WHEN IDrayton left Colonel Meredith, he repaired to his chamber, and feeling no disposition to sleep, took a seat at the window and looked out on the scene. The moon was up, the winds were soft, and the rippling of the waves break- ing on the shore of the river audible. lt is at such a time that the tendency to indulge in. revery is almost irresistible* with minds that are prone to castle-building. It was very common with Drayton to spend an hour after the excitement of the day were over in that sort of architecture; and while sitting at the window with the gentle winds fluttering on his brow, he began to muse on things which were past, and on his hopes and expectations. First came up before his mind the beautiful features and form of Ellen Meredith; and as he revolved many kind 'words she had spoken to him dii- ring the evening, his 'heart swelled with delight. Her con- duct toward him had always been most respectful; but whether she entertained any other feeling than that of re- spect for him, was matter for very unsatisfying conjectures. As he thought of those innumerable occurrences which shad- ow forth undivulged feelings, on which lovers dwell so anx- iously, he was much perplexed to assign them to their proper sources; but, as he recounted over several kindnesses of speech and manner he had observed of late; he thought it was not impossible that the esteem she felt for him might mature into love. He well knew she exerted too faithful a vigilance over her heart to suffer what she 'wished to conceal to man-' ifest itself prematurely. After balancing all these consid- erations, he' avrived at that conclusion to which the co~uess L2 page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] DRAYTON. of ladies generally forces their lovers, that she would not satisfy him as to the nature of the feelings his attentions had excited in her bosom prior to a declaration of love of the most unretractable kind from his lips. Her feelings were not like those shallow ones which on all occasions flush the cheek and light the eye, which clothe the brQw with sad- ness~ and express themselves in the language of sighs; and he felt assured that no ingenious artifices on his part would develop a passion of hers if she harbored one for him. The stern and awful necessity of a confession of love stared him in the face, and then he began to meditate on the propriety of such a course. He had essayed every means in his power to please and- interest her, and he felt he had not been un- successful, for she listened most attentively to him when his prospects in life formed the theme on which he spoke, and, from her own expressions, it was obvious that she understood and sympathized with him, and most sincerely wished him success. She loved a~cnbition, and reverenced superior minds, and the hope of realizing in his own person the beau ideal of her mind afforded his exertions a strong incentive. Most softly ,had her praises of his recent speech fallen on his ear, and, while thinking of what she had said, he determined that he would give her occasion to repeat her cheering tones by making a very superior speech in behalf of Roger. To that unfortunate person his thoughts next turned. The trial was to come on in. two days, and he awaited it with all the. anxiety' and impatience common to young men in his situation. It would afford him an opportunity, such as he had long hoped for, for the exhibition of his intellectual pow- ers. It seemed to him, as he reflected on it, that the occa- sion would be the crisis of his fortunes-the turning-point of his destiny. If he succeeded as he desired, his effort might establish a forensic reputation for him which would hence- forth, cause wealth to flow into his coffers; but if ihe failed, the hopes which had cheered him through many a long and gloomy hour would be stricken and blackened, and a dark andLwintery night of desolation come down upon his heart. Such were some of the exciting electionss which passed rapidly through his mind as he sat looking out on the mo6n- lit scene. His brain was too much agit~.ted for sleep; and the hour and the scene were tempting for one who wished to reflect on the probable revelations of his destiny. He rose and went down, and in a few minutes was walking slowly' a~longthe bank of that river which was associated with many DLtAYTON; sweet reri~.embrarices of love-and friendship. His heart, j~ust then; *as not with the past; the future claimed his thoughts, and on it he dwelt with all that ardor of hope and expecta- tion whichis the frequent experience of the untried and~ en- thusiastic aspirant. The moon was shining in unclouded majesty high up in the heavens; the silvery expanse of the river, slightly agi- tated by the gentle winds, flashed here and there in the moon- beams; the gales and the waves came trooping in to the shore, murruaring their melodies softly to each other, which sounded to the fancy like the rich tones of the harps ~f spir- its roving abroad over the earth on missions of mercy; the holy calm ~vvhich reigned around was occasionally broken by the howl of the dog, or the hooting of some solitary owl in the depths of the woodland; the bright sky and the tran- quil earth-the old ruins on the opposite shore-~the hills in the backgrorind -the green island sleeping on the rivers bosom, formed one of the loveliest scenes, IDraytoi~, thought, that the world contained. Such was the magical influence of the place and the hour, that his mind was roused fromits abstraction, and, folding his arms across his chest, he stood on the verge of the sloping bank, and, glancing at the river, murmured, "Beautiful! most beautiful!. 'What an hour for poetry- what a scene for love! Nature to-night seems to have for- gotten her age, and is as fresh and as beautiful as she was before sin expelled man from Eden. Earth is pouring fortn a solemn hymn of thanks to the Author of her thrice ten thousand scenes of grandeur and loveliness. Every thing is as peaceful as if crime and evil had never stained the green fields of this world, nor shouts of human agony ascended from oppressed and dow~i-trod.den hearts. The ever bright and burning stars are as smiling as if no tearful eyes were now turned toward them, imploring mercy from that awful tribunal which is situated far beyond the most distant orbit. Beautiful-most beautiful' are earth and answering heaven!" His thoughts were soon abstracted from the beauty before him, and reverted to the approaching trial, the results of which were, as he imagined, to have so impQrtant an influ.~ ence on his destinies. The court-house, with its judges,'its jurors, its witnesses,:its anxious multitude, rose before him. In fancy he heard the testimony given in, and he stood up the advocate of Roger. Sentence after sentence of a speech passed through his mind, and he thought that at that zilo. page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 DRAYTON. I) R A Y TO ~(. menthe ~uld have spoken in such a way as to command the admiration of thousands. He proceeded with his speech, and, becoming excited, he waved his arms vehemently and spoke aloud. The sounds of footsteps i'eached his ear, and, dropping his elevated arm in the middle of a sentence, he wheeled to see who was approaching. He saw the form of some one in the distance moving slowly onward. It passed into the shadows of the trees near the cemetery, and soon disappeared. He turned again to the river, and proceeded with his speech, words of which occasionally became audi- ble to a fancied jury and aerial crowd. Re took a seat where he had been ~with Miss Willoughby during the afternoon. His cheek was flushed, and his fore- head burned with excitement. His ardent feelings subsided in the refreshing breeze, and, forgetting his client, he began to dream over the loveliness of the prospect. Gracefully glided a vision of Ellen, wrought by his own fervid Thncy, to the seat beside him. Once more footsteps dissolved his dreams. They became more and more audible, and ~res- ently the form of Colonel Meredith emerged from the shad- ows and became visible in the moonlight. With his eye fixed o~i the ground before him, he advanced to the seat oe"~ copied by Drayton, and was in the act of seating himself~ when, discovering that he was not alone, he started back. "Colonel, do not be alarmed," said IDrayton. "When we parted an hour ago, I did not expect to have the pleasure of meeting you again to-night. I find mine is not the only. restless spirit at Oakwood. It was your form I saw-" He checked his words suddenly, for, glancing at the cob- nel's face, he discovered that he had been weeping. The colonel made a strong effort to suppress his emotions, and then, in a low, tremulous voice, said, "I fancied you were on your pillow long since. But the young heart will be restless when the moon is shedding ro- mnauce abroad on hill and river. I was romantic too when I was young; and I have sought the river's bank on many a glorious night like this, t~) give wing to my thoughts, and to dream of the happiness which was to crown my future lot. Alas! alas! a difThrent motive led me out to-night !" He bent his face toward the earth, and it waa evident he was wrestling with strong emotions. After a moment's si, lence, he added, "Often, at this solemn hour1 when the moon is up, I take a rrz~1azieholy pleasure in visiting yonder ~cemetery, azi4 there shedding a tear to the memory of one whose love and devotion to me formed the light of my life through the~ vi-. cissitudes of many years. While standing near the sod which wraps her body, slumbering there in happy oblivion of its former sufferings, I always fancy that her gentle spirit is fluttering its wings near me. Is it not in perfect accord- ance with what we know of the merciful dispensations of the Father of Spirits, 4o believe he permits ~emancipated souls to wander back to earth, and whisper of the glories of the cloudless clime where they have found rest, into the ears of those who were most dear to them while imprisoned in their clay? Often, at the midnight hour, when silence wraps the earth as a garment, I have fancied I heard the spirit tones of that skinless soul to whom, in death as in life, my heart is devoted, breathing love, and peace, and joy to me." He paused again, and, elevating his eye toward a bright star which was glittering over the summit of a distant hill, he continued, "Oh, of all the form~ that I have seen or dreamed of, hers was the loveliest and most saint-like. A degrading thought never summoned the flush of shame to her cheek, ~or ever did an impure passion stain the virgin whiteness of ~i~r soul. More beautiful than the creations of poets, her ~f'orm, so faultless, wa~ a befitting shrine for so pure a spirit. lit is now ten years since disease blighted, but could not de- stroy her exceeding beauty'; ten years since the rose faded frQm her check and music forsook her lips; ten years since the light of her eye grew dim and faint, vanishing like the warm tints of evening from the light cloud flo~.ting on the azure sea. He again hesitated as if to stifle his swelling emotions, and Drayton sympathized deeply with him while gazing on the mournful expression of his face, hallowed by the beams which shone upon it. "She died of the insidious disease which is now gnawing at my son's vitals. I had hoped to escape that affliction, but I fear it may not be. He, too, will soon be lost to earth, and his noble brow, so full of genius and purity, will be pale in the embrace of death. At times, the thought of such a bereavement comes oyer me with withering force, and I feel lik~ the weary traveler who falls exhausted to earth. While h~ and Ellen are left, I am pure that every sigh I utter will be~ echoed, and that I may still enjoy happy hours. He, denx, dear youth, must soon unfold the pinions of his spirit, D R A Y T O N. page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 254 DRAYTON. arrd soar a~ra~r on an unretuming flight to those solemn shores to which his mother has preceded him. And then I shall be alone in the earth with Ellen! God support me he added, looking reverentially upward, "and let not my griefs.for the dead cause m~' to forget my duties to the liv- As he uttered' this ejaculation, he brushed the tears from his eyes, rose, and walked with' bended form and unsteady step slowly toward the house. As Drayton's eye followed that noble man, th~ pathos of his voice still'rang in his ear, and his own emotions were almost insupportable. Another hour passed before he sought his pillow. Rig excited and wayward fancies rendered hi& slumbers fitful, and lengthened out the solemn watches of the night. CHAPTER XLII. DRAYTON returned to the' city the ensuing morning, and went to the prison' to' see how his client 'fared. The unfortunate' Roger was' reclining on a pallet in a cell into which the light of day stole but dimly. Colonel Mer- edith, desirous of making his condition as agreeable as possi- ble, had caused 'him to be supplied wit'h many comforts not generally~met with in such places. 'The prisoner's appear- ance had undergone mpch change during his 'confinement. His mental sufferings' had been intense, as was evident from the wan and haggard expression of his face. His cheeks, fo~erly'ruddy and well' filled, where good humor and good health had dwelt so abidingly, were now thin, and sunken, and colorless. The eye, in which a love of fun formerly sparkled continually, was now restless in its hollow socket, and an' expression, blended of fear and anxiety, looked from it. His long and uncombed hair was matted over his fore~ head, and his mouth, instead of the livery of smiles it had worn in his happier days, bore the impress of deep and set- tled g~rief. He was sobbing when Drayton entered the cell, and raised his head languidly to see who had intruded' ou his solitude. The heavy, expression of his 'face was some- what relieved by the sensation of pleasure which folhwed'a. recognition of his visitor, and he extended his hand and: shooJr Drayton's cordially. I DIIAYT ON. "I am very glad you've come," said the prisoner, in a fee- ble tone of voice. "I was afraid every body had forgotten me. What time is it? Last night was the longest one I ever saw, and I thought it never would come 'to an end. I had such frightful dreams," he continued, shuddering," and woke up every minute only to feel how lonely I was, and to see that there was no sign of the night's being' near over. I shall die if they keep me in this horrible place much longer." "Cheer up~. cheer up, my dear fellow! Brush the cob-' webs from your face, and look less melancholy. You are not so near' dead. as you think. Your lease on this room will expire to-morrow, and you'll sleep at Oakwood after to.~ night." "Do you really think there's a pretty good chance of my getting clear ?" asked Roger, with a wild glare of anxiety in his eye as he spoke4 '"Oh, I was dreaming all night about being hung, while crowds of people were staring and laugh- ing at me. I'd rather die than ~spend such another night." "You must compose your mind, and not suffer your fears to conjure up such dreams. There is' no probability of your standing on a scaffold yet a while. You were not born to die, like one of the fishes you used to catch, at the end of a line. "That'S just the way Colonel Meredith ~talks to me al- ;ways; but still I can't help thinking that maybe things may take a~ different turn from what you expect. Every body don't know me as well as you do." "If they did, there would be no occasion for your fears," said Drayton, anxious to mitigate his despondency. "We know very well that you would be as far from committing a willful murder as any other person. But cheer up, and don't look so wo-begone. Do not suffer your unfounded dreams to~ frighten your. senses away.. There is no doubt of your being acquitted , and in less than two days you will be snuffing the fresh air of the country, attending to your business, and as blithe and as happy as' a bird." "Not happy-..--not happy," said the prisoner, shaking his head, as if he thought the fulfillment of Drayton's a~iticipa- tions was impossible. "I used' to be happy there," he con- tinued,, looking mournfully down on the floor, "but I can't be so again. No, no, my heart is too much broken for that. I can hardly help crying.when I think how happy I used to be and how miserable. I am now. I can hardly believe~ I ) page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] 25~ DRAYTON. am the same man. II usedto be so happy at Oakwood ~t1 dTay, for I knew that when the sun went doWn and the stars began to peep out, I could walk over to the little cottage there by the road side, and wher~ I got there, there was al- ways some one there who looked so smiling and so glad to see, me, that I ~couldn't h~p being happy. But, sir, if I am cleared, I can never go to that place again, for I'm sure my heart would break if I was to go there. She is gone, and the flowers don't grow there as they used to, and I shouldn't wonder if the birds had all gone away too; for who is left there to enjoy their songs? But," he continued, turning his thoughts abruptly into a different channel, "but don't you: think the lawyers will manage to make me out a great ras- cal, and then the jury Will think that I deserve to be hung ?" "There is no danger of such a result," replied iDrayton. "I can say as many things in your favor, if necessary, as the lawyers, whom you seem to dread, can say against you. Let them say '~rhat they please, they can not convict you of mur- der in the first or second degree. There is no blood on your conscience, and if you will control your imagination, which seems to have a strange propensity to torture you, you may still live and be as happy as you were a year ago, when every thing was bright before you. What have you here ?" he added, directing his attention to a basket which contain- ed some little delicacies for the prisoner's palate. "You live pretty comfortably after all, and there are plenty of men out of jail who would exchange places with you very willingly." "Miss Ellen is very kind, sir," replied Roger, "and sends something she thinks I'd like almost every day. I wonder why she should think of such a poor, rough, despised creature as I am? But* it's a part of her nature to be kind, as it is a cricket's to make a noise. If there ever was an angel, she's oWe. I wish I could do something for her, if it was only to show her that, if I am rough in my manners, I am not roi~gh at heart." "She takes great interest in your welfare; and you will be as heartily welcomed back to Qakwood by her as by any other person there." "Do you i~uppose there'll be many people at my trial ?" "People have talked a great deal about it, and I have no doubt a large multitude will be at the court-house to look at you," replied Drayton. " You must keep yourself com- posed, and look like an innocent man." ~RAYTON~ 2~7 "I can't lear the thought of being stuck up tQ be looked at by every body. Every one will have something to say about jiow much I took like a guilty wretch. They'll say they could have sworn beforehand that I would as lief cut a man's throat as not, from x~iy bad countenance, when, if they knew ai~iy thuii~g about me, they woi4d say that if Hampton hadn't drawn his pistol on me, IL would never have dreamed of wounding him. I did mean to whip him, but, it is as true as there's a sun in Heaven, I didn't mean to kill him. I wanted to beat him because be had made a poor, innocent girl unhappy for life; and I do think I'd have, been a cow- ard if I hadn't attempted to whip him for her sake; when she had no brother, and begged me to -do it former." "All these facts in relation to your intention will appear during your trial, and the jury must, of necessity, acquit you. It is necessary the witnesses shall prove that you were im- pelled by some bloody design in seeking Hampton-that you murdered him because you had determined to do so - that you killed him maliciously and not in self-defense, before the jury can bring in a verdict which will hang you. This can not be proved, and, of course,. you must be cleared." "But can't they, and won't they lie about me ?" inquired Roger. "Can't they make me out a willful murderer ?" "They can not. You trouble yourself too much -by imag- ining that every body and all the chances are opposed to you. Give yourself no more uneasiness, and wait patiently until to-morrow. Just keep a good heart, and all will end well." He left Roger and went in search of an office, for he knew, from his uncle's inflexible will, that he would not permit him to remain in the one that he occupied. Not finding one to suit him, he returned to the place where he had been during his residence in the city, and gave his mind uThto hi~ studies until the shades of evening were again on the earth. He passed another restless night, and rose early on the en- suing morning with a headache. He ate no breakfast, and, notwithstanding his efforts to regain his wanted composure, his mind remained in a state of feverish excitement. As the hour for the meeting of the court approached, his excitability increased. He looked with an anxious eye on the groups of persons who were proceeding toward the place of trial. He s6on followed the current, accompanied by Sin- gleton, who looked forward to the effort his friend was about to make with unshaken confidence, for, since listening to I page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 2~8 DRA~TON. hum at the political meeting, he had rated his ability very high, and did not doubt that the speech he would make that ~day would place him in the front rank of young advoc~.tes. He observed Drayton's nervousness, and tried to calm it, al- though he feared no evil consequences from it, for he knew it did not result so much from any timidity a~ from the many hopes and strong feelings which were acting on him. Ar- (J rived at the court-house, Drayton tried to disguise the con- cern he felt by talking on indifferent subjects with the law: yers who were there assembled; but a quick sagacity would have discovered in the unusual rapidity of his speech and the occasional aberrations of his eye, a sure index of the na- ture and intensity of the feelings which were struggling in his bosom. At length the judges took their seats, the jury was sWorn, the 'indictment read, and all the preliminaries gone through with. The prisoner was brought forward, and pleaded not guilty to the charges contained in the indictirrent. The im- mense crowd pressed forward in their eagerness to get a look at Roger, who, unable to maintain his composure, covered his face with his hands, while his sickening emotions almost overpowered him. It was at this moment that Colonel Meredith approached the table around which the gentlemen of the bar were seated. The extreme courtesy which his le- gal brethren extended, indicated the profound respect they entert~dned. for him. He grasped IDrayton's hand warmly, and, after whispering a word of encouragement in his ear, took' a seat near him. ~The witnesses Were examined, and the prosecuting attor- ney, a n~an of great skill and ingenuity, rose, and in an elab- orate speech tried to fasten the charges contained in the 'in- dictment on the prisoner. Roger moved about in his seat, rnbled with fear at the dismal coloring which the prosecutor threw over his conduct. At th~ conclusion of his speech,, nearly every person in the immense crowd fancied / the case' of the prisoner desperate. His effort was masterly -his argument rose like a tower of strength.-.~.in proportion and intellectual masonry it seemed perfect-~-.-and a vast ma- jority of those who heard it deemed it altogether impreg- nabl~ to any assault. 'That there was one eye which scanned its proportions most closely, and diseovered~that, however formidable its structure and appearance might be, its foundations were insecure. * Drayton saw the flimsiness of his' premises, and, while he fl~IATTON. admired the logical ingenuity which was manifested in sup~ porting them, he knew the eflbrt was open to attack in many poin~ts. He listened with burning anxiety to every sentence the counsel for the state uttered, and before it was conclude ed he had quite forgotten the novelty of his situation in his intense interest in the fate of the accused. As soon as the prosecutor finished, panting with the desire to vindicate his client, he sprang impulsively forward into the arena, eager to overwhelm the argument which had just been pronounced. Without a moment's hesitation, he commenced. Without exordium or preliminary flourish, he entered immediately into an examination of the merits of the case. Sentence after sentence flashed rapidly from his lips. His impassioned tones rang over the multitude pressing forward with anxious faces to see the speaker. A profound silence was maintained, and every eye was turned on the orator. His clear and distinct enunciation-his appropriate language-the fervor and ve- hemence of his manner-the felicity of his illustrations, and, above all, the nervous~ and on-sweeping eloquence, which dashed like an ocean-tide against the tower of argument which the prosecutor had so skillfully built up, washing away its foundations, and causing it to totter and reel on its base, excited and fixed all attention on him. When he com- menced the vindication ef his abused client, the sympathies of the multitude were evidently in Roger's favor, and the pris~ oner elevated his head and felt secure. He concluded his speech, and sank hack on his seat in a state of exhaustion, scarcely hearing the murmurs of applause which ran through the crowd, and which were becoming clamorous, when the voice of the judge arrested them. In charging the jury, the judge took occasion to speak of the ability which had been displayed by the counsel, and ob- served that, "though he had witnessed many brilliant orts from debutante, 'it gave him great pleasure to -say that no one had ever afforded him more delight than that which had been made by the counsel for the prisoner, and had excited so much attention." The jury retired, and returned in a few minutes with a verdict of not guilty for the prisoner. Drayton's feelings were of the most triumphant kind. Con- gratulation after congratulation was tendered to him, but he listened' to none with so much satisfaction as that which Cob onel Meredith offered. G page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 960 D RAY TO N. DRAY ~ ON. ~61 CHAPTER XLIII. ON the day after the trial, Drayton was making arrange- ments for changing his office, when, much to his surprise, one of his uncle's servants brought him a note, sealed and directed with the most fastidious punctiliousness. It was written with an unsteady pen, and read as follows: "To FRANK DRAYTON, EsQ. "DEAR SIR,--I have heard your speech at the court-house (which .1 regret I had not the happiness of 'hearing) highly commended by men of judgment. It gives me the most un.- alloyed satisfaction to know that, although you appeared to be so indifferent to my advice, you had the good sense to act upon it. You will always find inc ready to assist you in that way.(or in any other), provided yoware willing to assist yourself. In consequence of the honorable change (so grat- ifying to ~me) which has come over you, I have seen fit (on due consideration) to retract what I said hastily when I last saw you, and hope that you will continue to occupy the of- fice you now hold. "If you will go on in the good way you have begun, you will show yourself worthy of the' proud (the Macdonald) blood which circulates in your veins. I knew that your eye, which is extremely like that which is the inheritance of the family, could not dwell long, with any pleasure, on the strange course you have pursued of late; and I also knew that it must, from its very nature, soon look with contempt on all those d-.-d plebeian Democratic assemblages, at one of which you lately (forgetting your blood) condescended to officiate so conspicuously. I trust you have already repented that youthful folly, and will soon learn to hate the ragged- shirt ruffian Democrats as' much as if that was the disguise of the devil himself. "I have the honor to be "Your obedient servant, M.D. "ALEXANDER MACDONALD, "N.B.-Whenever it suits your inclination, and leisure, I shall be liappyto congra.tulat& you in person on your recent success." Th~ayton read this note over several times, and concluded he had better humor the whims of the testy old gentleman, as far as was consistent with his feelings of pride and inde- pendence. When he called, he was careful not to say a word in defense of the rascally Democrats, who occasionally came in for large allowances of his uncle's spleen. The doctor seemed to be fully persuaded that if his nephew chose to act as weJ~ as he knew how, assisted by a little sage ad- vice from hint ;elf, he would become a very respectable mem- ber of the human family, and be not altogether unworthy of* the proud blood of the Macdonalds which his heart had the honor to contain. One of the effects of Drayton's speech in behalf of Roger was to attract attention to him as a lawyer. Within the ensuing week he had the satisfaction to be retained as coun- sel in several important cases. The efforts he had made were much talked of, and many wondered whythey had not sooner discovered evidences of his superior intellectual pow- ers; as if such powers could display themselves on the most unimportant occasions. It 'is amusing to observe persons after some one has sprung up from their midst, and suddenly exhibited uncommon ability. Their ingenuity is sorely puz- zled to assign a reason ~why they have not previously per- ceived in him the mark and the bearing of one who has been endowed with superior attributes. Many will say, as the good people about Drayton said, th~it it is only a chance hit, and that the aspirant will never reach such elevation in any of his subsequent efforts; while others will shake their omniscient heads gravely, and declare they always suspected he possessed extraordinary mind, and, had their opinions been asked, would have predicted the result which has taken place long before it happened~ Drayton cared but little about the various sage surmises of the Solomons around him in relation to himself. He was. satisfied with knowing that his speeches were considered ex- traordinary efforts by many competent judges. That they had realized all? the expectations that he had cherished, was evident to him from the~fact that business began to present itself to him. Instead of resting contented with what he had already done, his success only inspired him with the de- sire of doing more, and to this end he applied himself to his studies industriously. A load was lifted from his heart, and the clouds which overhung the horizon of the future were brushed &#ide. He 261 260 D R A Y T ON. page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] 262 DR~YT~N~ felt confidence in himself. He felt assured that the success of his career, so. auspiciously begun, now depended solely on his own exertions. The difficuLty which is the most formi- dable in the way of aspirants is to get a~ favorable starting- place; after that, if they bieak down in the ,race, their fail- ure is attributable to some weakness of1lirnb, the result of which they had not the shrewdness to foresee. Th~ayton breathed freely, for he was convinced thaVa competent sup. port was within his reach, and. the fame )ie~burned for did not seem to be so difficult or so distant a~ achievement as he had previously deemed it. On his first visit~ to Oakwood after the trial, he thought his greetings were warmer than they had been before. Every member of the excellent family of the Merediths spoke enthusiastically in favor of his speech. The praises which the colonel and George uttered were extremely grate- ful, but they did not afford a tithe of the delight he felt while drinking in tile warm encomiums which fell from El- len's lips, spoken in that sweet and melodious voice for which she was remarkable, while a flush overspread her cheek, as if there was an mtenser feeling at her heart than her words conveyed. It was ordained from, the beginning that no human eleva- tion should be above the reach of sadness. In the midst of all the high. and gratifying feelings which his recent success had caused, among ot1~ier sources of painful reflection, the condition of his friend, George Meredith, occasioriedhim abid- ing and heartfelt grief. That noble youth was rapidly ap- proaching the end of his existence. His form was no longer seen among his favorite haunts; disease had prostrated his physical powers, and he was confined to his room. There every thing was done which affection and taste could devise to mitigate his sufferings and smooth his descent to the grave. At times his pangs were excruciating, but generally he was so free of pain as to forget his situation, and to talk cheer- fully on subjects which could but for a little while loi~ger engage his attention. Drayton sat by his side through the watches of many nights, in obedience to his own feelings and the expressed wishes of his friend. One night in August-Drayton was alone with him. The family had retired, and George felt indisposed to sleep. The moonbeams were streaming in through the windows, and* the sounds of the waves, breaking on the river's shore, rose gently on the s6lenin silence of the midnight. George Was ~AYT0N. 263 reclining in an easy chair, and as the lamp shone on his pale and wasted face, ~ts expression was pure and serene. His eye, unshadowed, amid the ravages of disease, still retained its brilliancy. Drayton had bec~,reading to him, but now sat with the book -in his hand, conversing on subjects of mu- tual interest to them. The invalid turned his eyes ~slowly toward ihe window, and gazed for a moment in silent ab- straction out on the: n~oQnlit prospect. "It i~ a beautij~*~ ~iight !" remarked George, feebly, but still audibly. "U i~ ~ne of those nights on which earth and sky seem to approecli each other- when every thing is as peaceful as the folded wing of a seraph~ and the air seems to be peopled with spirits and melodious with a thousand distant lyres. Move my c1~iair, my dear friend, nearer, a lit- tle nearer the window, that I may, perhaps for the last time, look out on the river and the hills I love so much sleeping in the moonbeams.~~ Drayton complied with his request, and he continued: "How very mysterious are the sympathies between the soul of man and external nature! Howe at times, the streams, the bjrds, the hills, the winds, all seem to respond to our own feelings. The stars stoop down from their incomprehensible heights, and whisper to our minds of all they have been the witnesses to since first they shouted their praises over the birth of this world, and, touching our souls as with the wand of the prophet, cause the future to spread out its events be- fore our vision. The spirit of man shrinks from the glare of day, but. goes forth to revel among unutterable glories under the wing of night. How many delights have I experienced at seasons like-this! My career has been lint limited, and yet, if I were to measure its duration by the sum of my en- joyments, it would seem to be a long one." "A long life is desirable ouly because it affords more chances for happiness,." said Drayton; "and when many en- jO~ments have been crowded into a span, instead of being satisfied with our experience, we only the more earnestly de- sire to live, and can not feel entirely resigned to part forever 'from scenes endeared to usty so many pleasing associations." '~Your remark is true in the general, but not applicable to any~particular instance," said George. . " I have an~abid- ing faith in the doctrine which teaches that, when my spirit is unclogged' by mortality, I shall enter on a succession of scenes where there is no grief and no fear of change. But oh! I can not but regret to leave a few who are very dear page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 264 bRAYTON. DRAYTO~N. 265 to me-my father, my sweet sister, and the bride of my heart! I frequently shudder when I attempt to anticipate the grief which will overwhelm my Caroline. What sources of hap- piness ~Will be hers? How will her smitten and confiding spirit be supported, when it awakens to a full consciousness of its loneliness? Though a thousand friends may smile on us, when the one we love is gone we can feel no happiness. When I parted from her this evening, and saw the tear in her eye, I felt how closely the tendrils of her heart were in* tertwiued with my existence. There is but one Source from which the fainting mourner can derive support, and oh! may that be open to her petitions !" "She is far too wise to be ignorant of the source to which you allude, and if it must be that her heart shall be strick- en, she will undoubtedly have recourse to its healing waters," added Drayton, with much tenderness, while his face gave evidence of the intensity of his sympathies. "That knowledge is of incalculable value to me at this moment," said George. "At such an hour as this, when the walls of its mortal mansion are crumbling around the soul, how invaluable is the faith which assures us that the Power which fashioned will not desert us, and will sustain those who arC about to be bereaved! This faith supports savage and civilized man alike in the trying hour of death. Though the forms in which it is recognized differ, yet is its efficacy the same." His countenance was radiant with a light which seemed too pure to be of this earth as he spoke, and though his voice was very feeble, and his articulation faltering and almost in. distinct, it was evident that decay had' not touched his vig- orous mind. With his face turned to the window, he added, "I do not know why it should be so, but, all day long I have fancied that my hour was approaching, and a sound as' of the clod falling on my coffin-lid has been ringing in my ears. At this moment I feel a pressure almost suffocating here," he said, lifting his hand with difficulty to his breast, "which admonishes me that I ought to lie down. But I can not. I must look out on the night a little longer.~~ A pause ofa few' minutes followed, which was broken by *George, who reqne~ted his friend to move his chair still nearer the window. This having been done, the eye of the invalid was directed to the family burying-ground, which was dis- tirietly visible in the bright moonbeams. "Yonder lies the spot where my body must very soon re- pose, and above it are shining those numberless worlds among *which my soul may soop. wander," said George. ~' How oft- en have I glanced from that ground to those worlds, feeling at the time forcibly the grand truth that my spirit is imper- ishable. On such occasions my thoughts do not linger around the sod where what was mortal of the departed is m~il4er-. ing. They spring from earth to sky. I have frequently, at such times, become so absorbed in contemplation of heaven, and the bright band of friends who have gone there before me, that the present seemed distant and the distant present. I left the living then, and lived only with the dead." "There are some very excellent Christians," remarked Drayton, "who discourage that sentiment which attaches one to the turf beneath which a friend slumbers." ," It may be easy for some persons to center their thoughts in the grave, and thus forget the spirit of a friend while dw~ll- ing on his dust," added George; "but I am not of them. The sentiment you speak of is both natural and .beautiful. When the good Jacob was about to give up the ghost in Egypt, his heart, yearned toward his departed kindred, and he directed that his body should be buried in the cave in which his forefathers were' buried in Canaan. The Turks and our Indians exhibit great reverence for their burial- grounds. Christians should not crush, but direct this senti- ment; and then, under its beautiful ministrations, they will cling fast to the goad in the character of departed friends. When in our burial-ground, I think less of what those dear friends were than of what they now are. r forget their life- struggles, and ponder on their immortal joys." Drayton was deeply interested in the conversation, and, to encourage his friend to go on, he said, "I have heard of instances of persons who, when on ~he eve of departing from this life, seemed to have a singulaifl~'~ clear view of that higher life which was before them. As their eyes grew dim to earth, they brightened in the beams of heaven." "iVEy sainted mother was one of that iaappy class," said George. "Before she left us, heaven was very near her. At times a remarkable light was on her face, which, added to its usual serenity and sweetness, struck all who saw her. She felt the presence of angels, less palpable than the angel was to the eye of, the patriarch, but still visible to' her inner eye. The joy 'of such moments, though her body was criun- bling before the force of her disease, was too great f~r utter- 264 265 page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] 268 DRAYTON. ance. Our language is rich in its power of describing earth- bbrn feelings, but it does not enable a profound spiritualist to ~describe the bliss he desires from heavenly communion. We xnust be"'taught of the angels before we can do that. We must learn the language ~f heaven before we can speak with accuracy of heavenly delights." U The convictions of some persons, when approaching death, have more force than while in health," said Drayton. "Faith strengthens as the body decays. There are some who deride the belief in spiritual interposition, but I can not help think- ing that the man is very foolish who laughs at a beautiful faith-a faith which is proof against despair-which tri- umphs over pain and the ravages of disease, and sustains the spirit while death is rudely breaking the ligaments which bound it to the flesh. There is no compensation in philoso- phy for the absence of a faith like that-a faith which makes a sick woman a true heroine in circumstances in which a philosopher is appalled and shivers with apprehensions.~~ "You speak the truth-.--the invaluable truth, my friend," 6aid George. "I have had much ill health;' and have been very near death. I have tested the strength of reason and philosophy, and found it utterly insufficient. Had there been no power abler to sustain me, I should long since have fallen to earth despairing in what would then have seemed to me the dark and unmeaning path of life. A firm reliance on the outstretched arm of our heavenly Father is the only re- liance that is proof against despair in all thevicissitudes of life and the hour of death. If such faith is fiction, then is fiction infinitely stronger than all the facts connected with human existence. Man is certainly the poorest of all poor creatures, if a fiction has more power to sustain him than all the truths that science and philosophy have evolved along the track of ages. Fiction, indeed! Faith is the great so- lar fact in the spiri1~ual system, from whose 1~eams all other facts catch the light and the warmth that are necessary to~ them." George's utterance here became very weak, and Drayton advised him, to be silent. With his eyes fixed on the stars, he seemed t6 be absorbed in profound meditation for sev- eral minutes, when he slowly said, "How s~tendid JmpIt~r looks tonight! Perhaps at this moment some' expiring victim of disease maybe looking from that~plauet toward this earth for the last time." f~e hesitated a moment~ and added, DRAYTON. 2~T "The brightness is leaving the planet. A mist seems to be gathering over its face. Is it not growing cloudy and 9" chilly. the cloud was gathering on the eye of the invalid, Alas arid the planet was still shining brightly in the far blue sky. In another moment the head drooped, the hand fell, the rat. tie in the throat was heard, and all was over! Two days afterward the body of George was laid in the family burying-ground. An immense concourse of people assembled at Oakwood to pay the last sad tribute of respect to his memory. CHAPTER XLIV. THE unresting wing of time hurries on over human joys and human woes alike, and though its shadow seems to liii- ger and deepen on hearts where grief~1ias found an abiding place, yet even there it is not perpetual. With the major- ity of our species, afflictions, howeVer violent their eWects~ for a season, soon expend themselves, laying scarcely a scar behind to tell that suffering has been ihere. But the his- tory of all afflictions may not thus briefly be written. There are natures which, once having mourned, do not forget, and over these the sanative influences of years, though felt, are not thoroughly effective.' On such persons, grief takes such deep hold, and makes such ineffaceable impression, that the Lethean waves of time pass oi~er their turn hearts as the ocean tides pass over the fissures of the unyielding rocks~ leaving the marks of their sorrows unworn. Though long expected, the death of George Meredith was a bereavement not easy to be forgotten. The remembrance of his many virtues survived, though his form had vanished; and long and deep was the sorrow occasioned by his loss. Time, it is true, mitigated ~what it could 'not destroy, and grief still lingered in the hearts which'had kn4~wn him most intimately, Iong after its shadows had ceased to rest heavily on the eyes of his friends, and its plaintive tones had forsaken their tongues. utumn, with its blighting influences, passed over the mountains and the plains, and the frosts of winter had given way before the balmy breath of spring. The soe~iera;o~ui4 page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] 2~8 DILAYTON. Oakwood was reclothed in its beauty; and although a sense of loneliness at times weighed heavily on the hearts of Col- onel Meredith and his daughter, yet they were generally cheerful. 'The father found solace for many an hour, other- wise gloomy, among his books, and Ellen had many employ- ments with which to occupy her days. Drayton continued to visit them regularly, and~i0 presence had become so in- dispensable, that regrets 'and disappointments were expressed whenever a few consecutive days passed without a visit from 'him. Great was the change which a year had produced in 'his fee~Iings and prospects. When, on the opening of spring, he compared his situation with what ~t had been a year pre- viously, he could not but congratulate himself on the success of his exertiQr& One short year before, he was often de- 'sponding; now he was buoyant with expectation. Then he was struggling, known but to the few, with chilling poverty before him; now he was known and honored by many as the possessor of distinguished ability, with enough business to occupy his time and relieve him from all fear of want. Then a night, dark and tempestuous, was gathering ~over him; now a summer sea was before him, every gale was prosperous, and his bark sat lightly on the wave. His soci- ety was courted by the proudest of the men, and 'many were the beautiful women who lavished their smiles upon him. was intrinsically unchanged, and yet many, who had passed him by with indifference~'now discovered in him a thousand fascinations and qualities hitherto unobserved by them.. When the glare. of success is on a maii, it must be a duli~ eye which can 'not discover merit in him. The major- ity of our amiable race ~1ove to honor superior men, and it is pe~u1iarly unfortunate that they have not the means of de- teoting such until their praises are shouted by the multi- tude. There is only here and there a Columbus who has tis~ons~ of intellectual regions before they are mapped and nQt~3d down in every body's geography; and such a one is always sneered at 'by those wise heads whose faith is by far' too shrewd to Tattach itself to any thing so conjectural as genius beforee it has proved itself by efforts and successes which are so unequivocal as to leave no room for ~doubt. But this much-slandered world is a very good one, and Dray- -ton was so much pleased with its awards in his favor, that, in the overflowing thankfulness of his heart, he forgot to use the privilege; so uestirrz~ble to thousands, of cursing it. DRAYTON. 259; In his own success, he did not forget to rejoice at the 'suc- cess of the party ill politics to which~ he w~~s so warmly at- tached. The man who embodied, more than any of his co- temporaries, the feelings and the principles of Democracy, had been elevated to the most distinguished and honorable station among the. governments of this world. The Feder- alists, as a party, were ~prosti~*d; and Drayton rejoiced, for in their downfall he fancieI many obstacles to the success of our political experiments were removed; and he thought he saw in the signs starred all over the political firmament omens of his country's continued and permanent prosperity. Cheered by the reflection of what he had already achieved; burning with lofty resolves, and indulging in visions of daz- zling station in ths government, IDrayton held his onward. course courageously and dQtjfully. He was assured by a thousand evidences that he was already honored in the city amid whose multitudes he had embarked his fortunes, and that much had already been done toward the fulfillment of his resolution to rebuild his family~name on the spot which had witnessed its downfall. Still nirtch remained to be done, and any one who could have penetrated his designs and prop- erly estimated his ability would have predicted a prosperous and honorable career for him. Between Ellen Meredith and himself there had been more tenderness and intimacy since the death of her brother than before. That ~ieeply-deplored event had developed &mpa- thies between them, which caused them to feel~ closer to each other. Bereavements' always unite the afflicted, survivors more intimately, and hearts which have the same sources of sorrow naturally turn kindly to each other. On recurring to the attentions which they had mutually given to George during his? last hours, the regard which they had previously felt was deepened and strengthened. iDrayton's business pr'specta were so bright, that he felt himself warranted in pursuing the course he had long contemplated, and a year having expired since the death of George, he declared his love to Ellen, and was accepted. Their love was not of that wayward and uncherished kind which, conceived in an instaift, ja so often as'~~brief as it is brilliant. On the contrary, it had been tried in each stage, from the first budding of esteem to its perfection, when each one found in the society of the other the companionship which is ever unwearying, and counted over the long hours of ab- sence as time abstracted from their happiness. Love of this page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 27Q DRAYTON. sort, if it has not the wild and startling brightness of the meteor, does not, like the meteor, soon fade away, but, rising like the ~star, retains its luster until it goes down in the shadows of the grave. Caroline Randolph's illness left her in a critical condition, from which she~, slowly recovered. Her physical health was gradually restored, but the shadow still reposed on her spirit. Her black and winning eye did not kindle with pleasure as in former years, and an expression of melancholy shaded the mouth once so brilliant with smiles, telling that she had sus- tained grief, ~and that its impression on her heart was in- ~elible. The grave of the much-loved George Meredith was a hal-. lowed spot, whither often were directed the steps of those who had felt most keenly the loss occasioned by his removal to a brighter clime. Above his unhee4ing ear the birds sang in the summer morn, and the winds chanted a solemn requiem at eventide. The hand of affection had planted over the spot where lumbered the rose-bush which he loved and cherished w livingg, and as its flowers unfolded, and withered, and fell, they, in their sweet and short exist- ence, seemed a most befitting and eloquent decoration for the grave of one whose virtues had bloomed and passed away before the wintery period of existence came on. Thither Drayton frequently went to summon back the form of his vanished friend, and to muse on the many excellences which blended like rainbow hues in his character. After the strikes and excitements of the day are over, and the calm- ness and the contemplation of evening come on, it is mo~ profitable to send our thoughts on pilgrimages to such a Mecca as the tomb of a very dear friend, and to feel the re- ligion of the hour and the place, while our winged petitions spring upward from the depths of the spirit, and soar away over the space which separates us from our destined homes in heaven. DRAYTON~ ~71 CHAPTER XLV. THREE months had passed eiuce Drayton became the be- trothed of Eflen Meredith. Autumn was again on the earth, and the forests were beautiful in the variegated livery of the season. The riiigratory birds had sought ~a. southern home- flowers no longer exhaled their fragrance on the air-and as the morning winds went by, they seemed to whisper a dirge over the departed beauty of nature, and to tell of the near approach of wiiiter, with its frosts and chilling blasts. Only a very few days; were now interposed between Drayton and the hour which';he looked forward to as the most fortunate and most happy~ one of his life-the hour in which his for- tunes and those of Ellen were to commingle like kindred streams, and th~uceforth to flow o~Ahrough sun and shade, in harmony to the terminating oce~i. His uncle, although at times morose and crabbed in the extreme, was generally as affable toward him as, from his knowledge of his nature, he had any reason to expect. The truth is, the old gentleman's family pride was gratified by the knowledge that one in whose veins flowed blood kindred to his own, hadelevated himself, by his genius and good qual- ities, to ~n honorable station in society. Added to this, his nephew was about to be united to one who was an heiress, and on whose family escutcheon there was neither blot nor blemish. He tickled his own vanity by flattering himself that, had it not .been for the timely interposition of his own wisdom, his nephew would inevitably have fallen a victim to the weaknesses and follies which he regarded as incident to the blood of the Draytons. He was sitting in his, apartment one morning, musing over the fortunes of his nephew, and cursing the twinges in his afflicted foot by turns, when Dray- ton came in. The doctor's e~e sparkled with pleasure as he shook the hand of his nephew ~ud said, "I've just received a note' voting me out to Oakwood' on Tuesday evening 'next; but, curse this foot, I can't go." "I shall regret ~y~ur absence very much on that occasion, and I know Colonel Meredith will miss you when he looks round for someone of his own generation to crack ~. joke with while passing sentence on the quality of his wines. page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] bRAY TON. "Ah! yes, I see clearly how it will be," said the doctor, glancing lic~iously, at h~is cushioned. foot. "While all my friends are full of merriment, I shall be here nursing this in- fernal disease, as solitary as lVLarius among the ruins of Car- thage. I was just thinking,~' he added, changing his subject and his tone, "I was just thinking, before you came in, on y&ur good luck~ It iW better to be born lucky than rich, for the lucky grow to be rich, and the rich, generally die poor. But you escape4~iri by a miracle." "I flatter my~4t4hat I made my own luck," said Drayton, with a smile, "ahd escaped ruin by my own resolves to the contrary." "That is only half true," returned the doctor. "You see, ifl your system there is a confluence of two streams of blood of diametrically antagonistic qualities. People always act conformably to their blood. If a man's blood is altogether vile, he is doomed, and an angel's arm can't snatch him from the brink of ruin on which he is always staggering. Why, sir, it is just as reasonable that a crab-apple tree should bear * sweet fruit, as that a man with bad blood in his veins should do good to himself or to the community. You have two sorts of blood in your system, and the ascendency of that which comes from your father would have ruined you, had not the fortunate impulses of that which you derived from your ii~other, owing to auspicious circumstances, secured to you respectability and reputation. The Drayton..blood would have ruined you, if that of the Macdonalds had not rescued you.~, The ol&gentleman shook his head, as if his proposition was as clearly demonstrated as any in Euclid; while iDrayton * smiled at his uncle's earnestness and self-congratulation. He had frequently listened to similar opinions from the orac- ular lips of his venerable relative before, and had latterly ab- stained from every thing like opposition to the thoughts to which his uncle was so wedded.~ The old gentleman con- tinued, "When you first came here, y~u seemed bent on being a Drayt9n, and, if I hadn't adyi~ed and cursed you, you. would have gone to the devil withoiTh a doubt. Bu~your better ge- nius prevailed, and you are now in the highway to wealth and renown. You balanced for a long time between the up- ~ ward and downward tendencies of your nature, and escaped perdition by a miracle. Ah! you are~ lucky dog," added the doctor, laughing, and thrusting the head of his cane against DRAYTOI~. 1ri~ nephew's side, "and Ellen is ~ charming girl. You will take possession of the Oakwood estate, and~thu~ eoi~p~te the admirable speculation which, you remember, I pQlILted out to you when I talked to you for the first time. Now, hark ye! boy, don't take the curb off of the Drayton blood, or it will run wild out at Oakwood, as it did in your grandfather's time, and ruin you yet. Thank Heaven for two things: first, that you had some Macdonald blood in your veins; and, sec- ondly, that you had an uncle, whose sag4~y pointed out to you in time the extreme jeopardy you wet0j~; in consequence ofhaving some bad hereditary forces in y6ur veins." Drayton thanked him for the advice which he had at sun- dry times given him, and left him in a better humor than he had ever observed him in. The anxiously-awaited period at length arrived. Vehicle after vehicle, from the city and the adjacent country, passed along the lane which led to Colonel Meredith's residence, where their expectant loads were discharged. The night was calm and beautiful. The moon li1~ up the scenery around Oakwood, and heaven seemed to smile auspiciously on the ap- proaching nuptials. The parlors were thronged with the old and young of both sexes, and the din of hundreds of voices rose on the sacred silence of the night. Drayton came forth with Ellen leaning on his arm, and all voices were hushed. A fairer couple is not often seen. There was an air of conscious pride on his features, while she, with her head slightly drooping, stood at his side in an atti- tude which seemed to foreshadow her future dependence on him whom she had chosen to be her protector through the vicissitudes of life. Unnoticed by any one, Mr. Fleetwood had stealthily ap- proached the door during the progress ofl the ceremony, and stood there with his eyes fixed on the youthful couple. As the minister pronounced them man and wife, he said, in a tone quite audible to every one present, "God bless you !" and retreated beyond the reach of observation. There was a general turning of heads toward the door from which the words proceeded, but the speaker had disappea~ ed, and few suspected who it was that had uttered the ben' edition. Caroline Randolph was there, with her form shrouded in the sable hues of mourning. She retired wheu the ceremony was over, for her emotions were becoming insupportable. It was the first occasion, since the death of her lover, on which NL2 page: 274-275 (Advertisement) [View Page 274-275 (Advertisement) ] 274 DRAYTON.- she had been seen in the midst of youth ar~d fashions She repaired to her room, where, unlike the light-hearted crowd she had forsaken, she gave herself up to a melancholy retro- spection on the events which the scene she had just witnessed was so well calcuhtted to awaken. The evening passed off pleasantly. The fitness of the par~ ties who had been united for each other was a theme of general remark; and- even Mrs. Willoughby, forgetting her former antipathies, congratulated Drayton warmly on his suc- cess. We will here take leave of Drayton at this auspicious p~- nod of his life, when he could reflect oxt his past struggles with unembittered thoughts, and the future, no longer heavy and lowering with clouds, promisA him success in his pub. lie, and)~oppiness in his private career. THE END. CIIOICE WORKS FOR LIBRARIES, JU8T PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. Harper's New ]Vlonthly Magazine. 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