Hampton Heights, or, The spinster's ward
page: (Cover) [View Page (Cover) ] page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ] HAMPTON' HEIGHTS; OR, THE SPINSTER'S WARD. BY CALEB STARBUCK. NEW YORK: MASON BROTHERS. 1856. page: [View Page ] Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by MASON BROTHERS, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court, for the Southern District of New York. gSTERE07tPEDBYPND SD i Taoxas B. SmTu, Jomx A. GR', 82 & 84 Beekman Street. - 97 Cliff St. TO THE MOST CAPRICIOUS OF ALL FRIENDS, AND THE MOST JUST OF ALL CRITICS, I DEDICATE THS BOOK. page: [View Page ] NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHERS. NEW YORK November, 1855. SAvmaN finished stereotyping Hampton Heights, leaving, as is common, pages at the commencement for a Preface, we wrote to the Author, to furnish matter therefor. Answer comes that he has to Preface; that the book must go without. This does not suit us, however, for space is left, and must be filled. On reading his letter a second time, it occurs to us, that it will just about occupy the vacant pages. Here goes, therefore. What the Author will say when he sees his somewhat "free-and-easy" letter in print, wet know not, but the blank pages must be filled. MASON BROTlHERlS. GENTLEMEN :- It is now my intention to leave for New York two weeks from Monday next; before that time you will probably have completed the plates of Hampton Heights. Ere leaving, I would like, if possible, to receive the corrected sheets of- the book hung together in such a way as would en- able one to read them without much trouble. My page: viii-ix[View Page viii-ix] viii LETTER FROM THE AUTHOR. reasons are these-: -a friend has promised to write a somewhat lengthy notice of it, and I feel (know-: ing his procrastinating habits) the importance of being with him until he has commenced. How I came to write the book, and feel re- garding its reception, is unknown to you, and my hopes and ambition are no part of your busi- ness. You regard the thing as a speculation, and trust, no doubt, it may prove a good one to both of us. My feelings, however, go further, and about its success, of course, my hopes center in a degree. I received, some time since, a letter from a lady in New York, to whom I submitted the MS. before offering it for publication. CI shall," says she, 'watch with interest its announcement, and I hope Mason Brothers will give it such a start as shall insure its being read enough to prove whether it is worthy or not. I was never more interested in any one's book in my life, and I shall rejoice if your friends and the public think it does you credit." You perceive by this she believes it in your power to give the book quite a start, and that, for "ETTER FROM THE AUTXOR. ' iX some reason, she feels exceedingly anxious for-lits success.-Well, she knows me! she knows the nervous, fanciful, daring boy, that hated -business, and had rather share the life of a ship's forecastle, than turn away from the romance of the sea, or the poetry of woods and prairies. Now you have a- bit of my life's history. But, my good friend, the lady aforesaid, knows something more-she knows my practical, economical, clear-sighted, and far-seeing grandfather, whose early diet of West- minster Catechism, and hasty-pudding, has en- abled him to preserve all these elements, beside a good many more, in a perfect state, for the period of eighty years; and she has heard him say to me, "Caleb, why in the world don't you go to work and 'arn something?" and she knows, for me to carry out the old gentleman's ideas is just as possible as for his son Peter to quit banking and take up some of my avocations, for T could cover a page telling you what I have done, and where I have been, and fared, and all this too without " 'arning" much in accordance with my old grandfather's theories. One thing, however, is certain, his estate is no page: x-xi[View Page x-xi] X LETTER FROM THE AUTHOR. smaller for my drafts upon it, or likely to be, judg- ing from the past, as I have paid my way, do what I would: to be sure, to get out Hampton Heights, I was compelled to put my horses on short diet, and tell my mother I should have to rusticate the next six months. All this my friend knows; and still more-she- knows that on a certain after- noon, some years ago, I came into her husband's study, and told him "I had the blues," so I thought of nothing but strychnine pills and prus- sic acid"--and how he told me 'Cto go to work, that I had more genius than half the novel-writers, and might just as well succeed as forty others who had become notorious;" and she knows I did go to work, with my old grandfather on the one side, and old uncles on the other, my mother bringing up the rear, with the encouraging Ic hope that I should n't be disappointed." Now, I don't think it is very unnatural my friend should be" interested!' do you? , . Well! I 've no great ideas of Hampton Heights. If it succeeds I shall be, glad of it: :if it don't I shan't die, and what is more, I'm not going to die "ETTER FROM THE AUTHOR. ' till I've written another book; braced up pretty sharp, and got off on another tack to see what's in the wind on that quarter. But enough, } have spun a long yarn-long, indeed, when I reflect I am addressing business men upon a matter of busi- ness. Please remember I have been six months out of sight of land, and story-teller for the whole ship. And now to conclude-let me say in all sober- ness, I want the book talked about-I want it read. I don't care what people say about it, or its author; there are too few violets and daffodils in my garden to be injured by the hoofs of any donkey of' a critic who may come braying and snuffing about. I have, however, an honest feeling of half pride, that I may some how " 'arn'" money enough to appear respectable in grandfather's eyes. Excuse my loose way of talking egotism. I think it better that you should know something about me, especially as I intend some day to bore you again with my letters and manuscripts. One word more! I have written several prefaces, but none which please me ; and at length have con- page: xii-13[View Page xii-13] xii LETTER PRO5I THE AUTHOR. eluded to let my work appear without those lies which so often preface an author's book. I think of no ne now to dedicate it to but old grandfather, and he would want to know how much the type- setting cost, which might tall for an exposure of the business part, not agreeable to all concerned. I did try to coax an old sea-captain friend to lend me his name for ballast, but he thought, as I never shipped for any thing but an ordinary sea- man, I would make lubberly work, and declined. Thus you have the whole story. Truly yours, CATEB STARBUCK. \, -,-')fl . HAMPTON HEIGHTS. CHAPTER I. I N TR O D U CT O RY. THE silver-tailed dapples had just passed, and Widow Matilda, with her idiot boy, stiffly nodded to Uncle Phineas, who as stiffly nodded in return, at the same time blowing vast clouds of smoke from -cheeks that inflated and collapsed like a pair of bellows, and con- tinued on in the same way till the last particle of dust, her wheels had excited, settled before his door-step. The carriage having disappeared, he laid his pipe thoughtfully across his knee, and thus soliloquized:- "A pretty piece of business this, to be setting up for herself, and telling me she will, and she won't, when I have spent the last six months in settling these plaguy estates, estates that have given her so much money she can't count it all; clear and unencumbered; bonds and mortgages, with a sprinkling of bank stocks. Yes, high times, indeed! but I'll manage it my own way yet; and I'll straightn that fence line though I page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " . HAMPTON HEIGHTS. dig up forty of the old hag's lap dogs: for she was nothing but a hag, though she did cool down some- what before she died. Yes, a real hag, or she 'd never treated that angel from heaven, poor Anna Wilber, as she did, nor compelled that child to marry John Patterson. Yes! yes! my dear, 'll straighten it to my full satisfaction, and you will not disturb me at all, driving by in such state, with your white-gloved driver and silver-tailed dapples., Yes, indeed, you can nod your head as if you had a steel-spring in your spine, and I will nod back as often as you like, but it won't alter the matter one whit, or make me give in one inch." Here he resumed his pipe, which had so quietly and completely departed this life as not to be resuscitated by renewed collapsing and inflating of his cheeks. In vain he put his finger over the bowl, and puffed and puffed, there was no spark left, and so he knocked the ashes upon the floor, and laid it aside for a nap. During this little outhurst of the old gentleman's spirit, I had been sitting at an adjoining window, and as I perceived his pleasant features resume their wonted expression, and relapse into a serenity of look that indicated aconscience untroubled, and a heart at ease, I thought it was a good time to renew my? request for the perusal of his journal. X "Come, Mr. Buritt,' said I, "here's a long ,aftr- noon before me, with little prospect of interruption, HAMPTON . HEIGHTS. ' 15 and a fine time truly to enjoy the well-written pages you have in your writing-desk." "Pshav! boy," he replied, laying his hand upon my Inee,' "it's nonsense at best, and I was but an old fool for letting you know I hadc it; for you to read them, would be raking over dead ashes that had best be left to go out altogether. There's scarce a soul remaining now that knows her early history; and though she is so pert and obstinate, and stands out so about that -fence-line, I don't think I 'll say a word of the old matters." "But you half'promised, Mr. Buritt; and what is more, Madam Rumor says she is soon to be married." "Married!!" exclaimed the old gentleman, starting to his feet; "Married! and without consulting me; this is monstrous! The stupid fool! as if she 'd not had enough of marrying, and giving in marriage, and idiot children, without trying it a second time; and then to engage herself without so much as saying she 'd look to the straightening of that line. No, no, boy, I can't have you fumbling my papers and I ab- sent; and I'm off: off in a hurry, I assure you, to get out an injunction. I 'll see if she puts a monument for the old hag's poodle -on my grounds-the little ^Pnarling imp that fastened himself to my heels when- Rver I crossed the threshold. What time do the cars past tonight, eh?" "(Not till after seven, sir," I replied; '" and if you f^'s X page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 ItHAMPTON I EIGH TS. will let me have the journal, and then finish your nap, perchance you will see things differently, and give in a little yourself." "Not an inch, boy; not an inch," he returned; "but if she is such a fool as to try marrying again, just as I ve got every thing arranged, and that, too, without a word about the fence-line, I'll let out the whole of it. Yes, you shall have it, the whole story from the beginning, though I don't fancy the way I've brought myself into it, either; that I did for the nar- rative's sake, to hinge the thing together a little ship- shape. You must excuse it as the weakness of an old man that's a little proud of his tact at such matters. You see," he continued, "I was clerk for the old house long after they made Walker a partner, and only came into the new one because they could not get on with- out me. I was not, however, going to be book-keeper for men younger than myself, and so they made me one of the firm, without my putting in a cent of the capital. Well, one night in the old concern's day, I was down in the basement, and overheard Walker talking to John McKay, a vagabond Scotchman he kept about him all his life, just to help him on with his wickedness, and whom I got into State Prison, along with old Grinders, finally. 'Thank Heaven! Johnny, lad,' says he-for he was always mighty civil to Eim--s 'now you've got a nice place for her, I hope.' Ay,' replied the Scotchman, 'just a place after your own HAMPTON HEIGHTS. ' 17 selecting,' where she won't get cuffed and kicked much, and yet have to make her own way.' ' That s right, laddie,' said he; ' there won't be any thing coming to her hereafter, but still I would not like to have her ill-treated.' 'Aweel, aweel,' replied John; 'I under- stand, and I'll see to it, just as it should be.' I thought but little of the conversation at that time. I knew it was some of his villainy, and let it pass; ind then I was looking toward a partnership, and shouldn't know too much. You see, boy, it's a great thing al- ways to know just enough. Well, as I was saying, I thought but little of what I heard, and don't suppose I should ever have dreamed of it again, if we hadn't got into a lawsuit with Walker at the time of her marriage. But it 's all written down, the whole story, in book-keeper fashion, ruled and indexed; so just go to my desk, and open the right-hand drawer, and you 'll find it--the first roll of papers -you come to, with a red tape about the middle." i , page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] CHAPTER II. "T is a rough land of earth, and stone, and tree, Where breathes no castled lord or cabined slave, Where thoughts, and tongues, and hands are bold and free, And friends will find a welcome, foes a grave. And there the lowliest farm-hearth is graced With manly hearts and piety sincere, Faithful in love, in honor stern and chaste, In friendship warm and true, in danger brave, Beloved in life, and sainted in the grave." HATT,'r,IZ:. THE village of Y , deriving its name from the seaport town at the mouth of the river Y , in Eng- land, and- which, from its very situation among the Housatonic Mountains, seemed to indicate the deter- mination of the old Puritans to reverse, not only the order of society, but of towns, was one of those speci- mens of New England which are fast disappearing. It stood on a high hill, on all sides of which were higher ones, some thirty miles inland, accessible only by roads that led straight up, surmounting every emi- nence and mountain-range to be found. The traveler often asked himself why they had so avoided the val- leys and river-beds, and the only answer he received was a rattling wAgon that came rushing down the road, whose winding course he could perceive over- topping still higher and more distant hills. HAMIPTON HEIGHTS. ' 19 It was indeed a beautiful village, nestling its white houses under great elms, that completely overshad- owed the steep and moss-grown roofs; a quiet, calm place, with grass-grown streets, where spiders, like Elfin fishermen, set their nets at night, and got early naps in the morning, before their prey was abroad; and where old men sauntered about the corners, and discussed the growth of their tomatoes and cucumber vines, andwondered over the probabilities of an early succatash season. You could see them standing on the door-steps, waiting for the butcher's covered cart, which they knew would be along soon; or about the trees in their gardens, which gave such fair prom- ise in the fruit way. Still they were thrifty, fine men, generally on the sober side of life, who had become rich by a kind of instinct, nobody could tell precisely how or when. But it was a fact, and the entire vil- lage indicated it; never a picket becoming loose on its frame, or a blind on its hinges; blinds which were as green as the finest Venetian could make them, and pickets that seemed just as white one year as another. The side-walks, though not flagged, were every spring ' overturned and tamped down with sand; and under the pressure of old men's feet, who paced soberly along, and the little children's trotting from school, and the blithesome maidens', who lingered at sunset, or walked about with their lovers at evening, became hard as flint. Even the highway, over which the trees page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. arched, was seldom dusty, sprinkled by the moist dews of the high hills, which dripped off the weeping branches at night. Yes, indeed, a beautiful village, so calm and pensive in the quiet weeks, and solemn and impressive on the Sabbath, it seemed as if an evil man could never have been' born there, or a poor girl gone astray and sinned; and yet it was so. There, in all the beauty and sunshine, were many sins committed, many tears shed, besides those that came with the wing of the death-angel, the marriage, or the burial. And there, too, they tolled bells when the villagers went on their long journey, first for their age, and then again for their funeral. You could perceive the old men count- ing the strokes, and waiting for the' sexton to come by, that they might learn who wa departed fe among them; or children, who seemed glai f 77i ;: strokes passed twenty, a far distant pe. W- deemed, so distant as only ^t remind them .of.- in manhood. !a Yes, among those quiet scenes and simple townsfolk was Susan Masters reared; and there, too, she sinned, and gave to the world the poor, neglected infant that, perchance, had better not been born. There, also, was reared Harrison Walker, who, while yet a boy, sold himself away from every thing that was good, and pure, and virtuous. tHe had always been a hard, grind- ing youth, a trait most of the villagers seemed emulous \ HAM]IPTON HEIGIITS. 21 of, but which, in his case, was heartily despised, for he pastured his mother's cow between the old grave-yard and town pound, sometimes paying his tenpence for the privilege, and deeming it cheap rent for the long grass which, undisturbed by other cattle, grew rankly within the enclosures. So, too, he made the smooth commons feeding-ground for her geese, until they had no other name than goose-pastures. Even his old- parent, who had gone out many a summer's day as a washerwoman, to earn something to help him on at school, came under his harsh treatment at last, dying, it was said, from over-exertion and neglect. How as sweet a girl as Susan Masters was at sixteen, could have given him her heart, believed his lying tongue, and then sinned so deeply, was a puzzlingfact to t hole town. Even the good clergyman, who h her closely for many years, was surprised; antiltt:ed upon to publicly excommunicate her, shraOirom the duty, only consenting to do it at last before the immediate me s of the church. But so it was. "Weep ye, who never fell-for whom, unerring, The soul's white lilies keep their virgin hue- Ye who, when thoughts so danger sweet are stirring, Take the stern strength that Nature gives the few!" At the extreme end of the street stood the white school-house, better known, however, as the academy, page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] :22 HAMPTON HEIGHTS, embowered among umbrageousness of shadow, no quaint specimen of architecture, but a plain, square building, unadorned by fretwork or cornice. Yes, it was as cold and stiff, in this respect, as the foot-worn flagging-stones at its door; a story and a half building, the top supporting a cupola, bell, lightning-rod, and weather-cock. The latter had not even sentiment enough to creak as it turned, but whirled round with every changing of the wind as mute as a fish, which, indeed, it was, and which I should have mentioned at first, but for the rareness of the phenomenon of An ichthyological specimen spitted on a lightning-rod. The paint which should have covered the doors and desks had been preserved to give a second coat to the exterior, and so it remains to this day. The building had been standing there, cold and austere, for more than half a century, at the time our tale commences; and from it had gone forth, far and near, north and south, east and west, glad hearts .that have since told us the tale of the wilderness, and the song of the prairie; that have breathed back the murmur of their savannas, or whispered from pine forests legends of Arcadia. Beside it, now passed away from her tall desk, dwelt its pious and venerable founder. Though time had somewhat weakened her frame, it had loosened no cord of memory, nor paralyzed a single element of her keen, inquiring mind. She had combatted the stern realities HAMPTON HfEIGHTS. 23 of life, and instilled into youthful bosoms those prac- tical ideas that made them women in the stronger sense. She loved that ancient school-house, and still more its Alma Mater-watched the faces of the girls that came and went, nor feared to teach, so far as strength permitted, those hoary maxims of truth and virtue, of which she was the embodiment. In her young days her nature had comprehended them all; and it required no professor with scalpel and probe to discover what measure, or portion of them, was adapted to the scholars. She had, lived in times when men's souls were fired by realities rather than theories, when to serve,God and keep his commandments was believed a saving ordinance. And dwelling in that village, and among the women who melted down King George's statue, and placed the bullets in the hands of those who sent them hissing after the regulars, it is natural to suppose her possessed, of the energy of the time. How well that energy was applied, and with what effect, we have learned from our mothers. God grant the stream may never be lost in the windings of dis- tance or, mists of years. Such was the village, the academy, and its guardian. page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] CHAPTER III. "The "day is dark, and cold, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary. The vine still clings to the moldering wall, But at every gust its dead leaves fall- And the day is dark and dreary. "OhGFEI OW. IT was a rainy day in the early fall, just as the first leaves were falling, " autumn laying here and there a fiery finger on the leaves." Among the heavy foliage the. eye discovered an occasional yellow or crimson branch, which, loosened by the storm, balanced for awhile among the boughs, and then gradually worked its way to the ground, or. caught on the sharp pickets of the fences. The hollows of the walks were filled with rain, and dead leaves were either plastered upon the railings, or, black and damp, scattered along the' paths. Bits of short, moist sticks mingled among the grass, or like the leaves, adhered to the fences; all combining to give a soaking, unpleasant appearance to every thing about. At the academy, many of ,the young ladies had brought their dinners in pretty wicker-baskets, whose' white napkins were sure to collect moisture, that dis- solved the frosting of the cake, and gave the sand- HAMPTON HEIGHTS, 25 wiches a decidedly misanthropic appearance. When it was noon, they assembled in knots to: discuss the iands, bringing to light little tumblers of jellies and partially dissolved cake, the very mishap of which gave new zest to their spirits, and sent their glad ring- ing voices in merry echoes about the school-room. So glad, so beautiful were they, it seemed a sin to think of their growing old, or changing into careworn women. Six of the proudest, sweetest girls of the school had gone to the garret of the old building to make their repast, where they might ,hear the rain upon the roof, indulge their fancies, and undisturbed tell their love-tales and secrets to each other. They had fin- ished their dinner, put away the baskets and napkins, and commenced promenading arm in arm, the entire six in a line, which often became a curved one, as the outside girls bent forward to catch the words of the middle speaker, who seemed to be the oracle of the group. The old rafters, about which had collected the dust and cobwebs of generations, gave back their mirth, repeating over and over the chimes of their songs, so loudly often as to shut otat the pattering of the rain upon the roof. At length one of them separated herself and com- menced looking among the rubbish, that made a prom- inent feature of the place, until, having pushed aside a huge desk, she opened a closet-door, and prepared to examine the contents. The remainder of the 2 page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26i HAMPTON HEIGHTS. group, at this moment, at the extreme end of the room, were suddenly startled by a shriek, and turned about to perceive their companion running toward them, with white face and extended arms, "O girls!" she exclaimed, "somebody is in the closet!" Here her :voice, in a whisper, scarcely audible, seemed to articulate some forbidden name. The group hesitated, and counseled a moment, and then timidly approached the place. One of those who seemed more courageous than the rest, widely opened the door, and displayed, in abject abasement, a poor miserable object, her head resting on her knees, about which fell unkempt tresses, tangled and long. "Perhaps she Is dead," whispered a timid little face, that scarce dared to glance toward her. ' This suggestion roused the hitherto motionless form, and she raised her head and gave one look into those pure faces, that sent the blood tingling to their finger- ends-one long, penetrating glance, through which her very soul seemed to gaze, and then dropped her head into its former position. O what agony of con- science-what depth of shame-what visions of past in- nocence, rushed through her, as she saw standing there the image of what she had once been. "O God,x" she groaned, as the retreating steps broke upon her ear, "Iet me die, let me die." "What shall we do?" inquired the girls of one another, as they reached the stairs. "Tell Aunt Lydia, and have her got out," responded the fearless leader, who had opened the door; at which suggestion they all fled across the yard, and entered the old lady's dwelling. "Aunt Lydia," said the first speaker, leaving the group, which stood hesitating by the door, "Susan Masters is in the school-house, up in the closet." The old lady was sitting before the fire knitting and reading when the announcement was made, and, had a pistol exploded in her pocket or work-basket, she could not have started more abruptly, or looked more aston- ished. She seized a shawl lying upon the table beside her, and sprung out into the rain, followed by the trembling group. Up the stairs went she with the elasticity of a cat, crossed the garret, and in a moment appeared before the aforesaid closet. "Susan Mas- ters," she exclaimed, " come out here." The crouched figure slowly raised itself, and ,with drooping head stepped out upon the floor. Loose over her shoulders fell the long, dark hair that served, together with the ragged gown, to conceal her bosom; a dress reft of its hooks and pins, showing the dirty linen beneath, that draggled and damp fell about her. naked feet the very remnant of a garment. The beautiful group retreated a little, like frightened birds, and then gazed upon her with attention. "Did you stay there last night?" inquired the old lady. page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. ' Yes," she replied. "Where did you stay the night before?" "' In the street." "Go out of here; how can you think to make this a hiding-place? how dare you insult these children by coming here? H: ave you a heart to appear where virtue and innocence are: you who are a shame to yourself, a disgrace to your sex, and a by-word in the village? Begone!" "Where shall I go?" pitifully inquired the girl. "I don't know; any where, any where in the world; but don't, in the name of Heaven, come here again to insult these infants on their play-ground." The girl raised a ragged shawl to her head, and with slow, mournful tread, descended the stairs; the six children followed, and stood looking toward her as step by step she went out. At the bottom she paused, turntd, and bent one mournful, searching glance upon them. O the depth of that look! the awful calm, hope- forsaken agony it depicted, as it were the last gaze upon her innocence and early virtue, the last eternal farewell of all she had once been! Slowly she turned, X and slowly vanished into the misty storm. , * . ! ,..ii CHAPTER IV. "Weary-way wanderer, languid and sick at heart, Traveling painfully over the rugged road; Wild-visaged wanderer, God help the wretched one." SoUTim. EVENING came, the storm had ceased; stretched along the West a bright line of clouds shot golden light over the shaded mountain, around whose sides eddying vapor whirled like a smoke-wreath, or van- ished into the paler blue, now tinged with varying crimson. Back into the east rolled volumes of black clouds driven before the wind, which, springing up from the south, breathed upon the face of the fallen heliotrope, or shook the pendent jewelry of the rose- bushes and snow-drops. Then came the sun, wading through purple waves, until he broke over the golden ocean, circling ripples that extended into the denser masses above. And when it had lost itself behind the drapery of its royal couch, came, too, the bow of promise, full arched and glorious, against the back- ground, one end resting upon the meadow, and the other far across the river, losing itself at the mount- ains base. page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. Before the village clock, slowly and solemn as it ever spoke, called like a watchman from his high sentry-box the hour of seven, the whole expanse was one azure sea, through which sailed the queen of night, "With sandals sheen, and bow, and hound." Ere yet its last tone died over the valley, going out, as it were, an invisible spirit, and meeting the coming breeze with a shock just sufficient to vibrate among the elm-boughs, and relieve them of a shower of drops, there stole forth from the protecting shelter of an an- tiquated vehicle, for years consigned to the moles and the bats, on the sunny side of a cow-shed, a miserable wretch, who had been crouching there hour after hour, seeming a part of the decayed and moth-eaten lining, off from which dropped the heavy moisture with slower and slower beat; the same miserable being whom the girls had discovered in the garret, only more dejected and forlorn. Across lonely meadows, the wet grass clinging to her scanty dress, sliding her naked feet along the sharp stubble, or pausing to extract some thorn which impeded her passage, she came at length upon the open highway, leading westward from the village. So slow were her motions, a person in the distance would have deemed her a lonely figure standing in the twi- light. No elasticity of step, no youthful impulse of motion, but a weary drag, step by step, whither, 0 whither? HAMPTON HEIGHTS. .31 -Hour after hour she stole along, avoiding the occa- sional wagons, until lights began to disappear from farm-house windows, and the watchful guardians of the night to echo their hoarse bark among the hills. She now approached the border of a lake that stretched itself southward, until lost to the eye in clauds of mist. The road lay along its margin, occasionally winding round a knoll, to appear again in full view of the water, in which lay shadows of woods, and clouds, and stars. It was seldom broken by farm-house or cottage, and wound between the shore and a dark wood, behind which the moon was disappearing, as she, arrived at the southern extremity. Turning abruptly from the shadow of the trees, she at length came upon a broad expanse of hills, sloping toward the lake, among which the eye perceived, faintly gleaming, the roof of a large farm-house. There was a well-worn path leading up from the shore of the lake, into which she turned and contin- ued, until she was brought immediately in front of the building. Here she paused, and for quite a time stood gazing hpon its silent irregular wings, alike turning occasional glances toward the lake that gleamed below. She seemed deeply meditating, and often placed her hand thoughtfully against her brow, which, after shading it awhile, she would drop, as if too heavy to sustain in that position. At length she sat down under a porch that looked page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. out toward the water. This movement aroused a large dog, who came rushing from behind the building, like an enraged tiger. With a bound he sprang toward, her, then as quickly paused, and wagged his tail, evi- dently having discovered an acquaintance. She was apparently no unfrequent visitor, for the dog (though unusually savage in disposition) smelt about her gar- ments, and at length quietly returned to his kennel. After sitting a few moments, she arose and passed to a low window in the rear; there producing a box of matches from her bosom, she carefully opened the casement, and intruded her shoulders into the room; then, with one hand sustaining the sash, she ignited with the other a match, that, quickly turning in her fingers, she was enabled to keep protected by her palm, until it burst into a blaze. The momentary light it afforded revealed a long room, in which were nu- merous beds, apparently tenanted by children. When the' match expired, she fastened the window and crept stealthily int the apartment. Anon she appeared, and in the faint moonlight seemed examin- ing a heap of clothes, out of which she selected sev- eral articles of child's apparel, and tossed them upon the ground. Again she withdrew herself, and again appeared, bearing a small child, which, with much dif- ficulty, she succeeded in removing without awakening. Once upon the ground, she loosely wrapped the gar- I ments about it, and quickly fled down the walk. U'n- HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 83 der a large tree, some distance from the house, she paused and completed dressing the babe, which seemed some two years of age. It partially awoke, but was soon hushed to slumber at the breast of its parent. It was her own offspring, a living pledge of her sin, and she had now taken it to herself from the village workhouse. She followed the path to the landing, and there, with the child clasped tight against her bosom, stood scanning the blue abyss. She knew the water was deep there; one plunge, and it might all be over! For herself she did not care; life in its prospect was far more dreadful than death, and she would fain have made the plunge, but the babe, as if conscious of the sinful thought, nestled more closely to her bosom, and, stirred by this sleeping monitor, she left the place of temptation, and again came upon the road. On she went; minutes crept into hours, and hours toward the early dawn, yet still her step was onward. At length, when the far-off hills began to reflect the sun, she perceived a village spire lanched like a gilded shaft against the heavens, also the windows of the town, which seemed on fire, brightening and changing every moment, and so left the thoroughfare and en- tered a wood, beyond which was situated a lonely barn. Arrived at the door, she woke the slumbering infant, which all nightlong had slept quietly, and with a mother's tenderness gazed upon its rosy, smiling countenance. ?I a . . 2* page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34 H' AMPTON HEIGHTS. O! it was pitiful to see that nearly half-naked travel- soiled wretch, sitting by a fallen bar-post, and with a broken comb parting the golden curls of the baby, which half-confident and half-surprised looked up into her face. But it was more pitiful after she had fed it with the scanty scraps of food she carried in her bosom, and then concealed it among the straw, to see her go into the orchard and make her own silent repast of the fallen fruit. Collecting a few apples, she clambered to the hay-mow, and overcome with weariness, endeavored to obtain a little rest and slumber. But the child, which all night long had slept so soundly, was uneasy, and often she would wake and find it looking over the manger, or down upon the floor. As night approached, the gnawings of hunger were so keen, as at once to satisfy her of the impossibility of journeying further without food,-so she left the girl, and went out toward the town. She had not gone far when distinctly rose the wailing voice of the baby, so much so as to interrupt her plans, and make her turn back and try to comfort it. Finding herself unable to persuade it to remain quiet alone, she again took it in her arms and pressed on toward the town. The first dwelling she approached was a large, red farm-house, bearing no particular evidence of charity in the slack look of scattered farming tools and shining milk-pans about the brown well-curb. It was one of those uninyiting buildings we often meet in New Eng. HAMPTON HEIGHTS. '35 land, hedged in by dwarf quince-bushes, that extend far down into the neglected garden, giving promise of plenteous harvest of the yellow fruit. She cautiously opened the rickety gate, kept in its position by a small grind-stone, suspended on a rope, and coming to the extreme back-door, t ihy knocked. It was partly open, and she perceived, bending over the fire, an old woman, apparently engaged in cooking. Attracted by the rattle on the door, she looked up, showing a head covered with a bandanna handkerchief, beneath which her large eyes looked forth through the glasses of a pair of wide-bowed spectacles. "Come in," she ejaculated, gazing toward the door, though with- out raising her body from its bent position. The mendicant feebly pushed aside the panel and ap- proached. At her appearance on the kitchen floor, the old woman straightened her body with a sigh, and stood gazing upon her with looks of wonderment. "What on earth do you want?" she ejaculated, as Susan nearer approached. "Something to eat, if you please," she replied. "Lord bless the poor critter," she muttered, going to her pantry; "I shouldn't think, from her looks. she' d had the sight of vittles for a month. Here," she continued, " come sit down, and I 'll get you some cold pork and a slice of bread. Can't afford any tea, Is so mighty scarce and high now-a- days. Takes all a body can arn for a drinking. Come sit right down page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. and get a good filling up, afore you tramp any further, for you seem a weakly kind of a poor critter anyhow." Susan drew the' chair to the table, and sparingly helped herself to the food. "Which way you trav- eling?"7 asked the old woman, resting her hand on the back of the girl's chair, and looking inquiringly into her face. "To New York!" "New York! Lord ha' massa on you! why you ll never get there with that ere great child, and if you should, you'd die. Why, my son Thomas said, when he was down there last fall, selling our taters, he nigh got run over with beggars, cute and cunning most as he was. What on airth possessed you to go there, I'd like to know?" "To find the child's father," replied the girl. "What 's his name?" Susan made no reply. "You his wife?"', Still she remained silent, slowly partaking the food, and helping her babe occasionally. "That your child?" continued the woman, resolved to get at the point desired by some means. "Yes." "And the sinner who begot it has run off and left you, eh? Why, you poor weakly thing, you could n't find him if you should get there; and I really would n't go any further, if I was you." , : HAMPTON HEIGHTS. - 37 Susan still slowly partook of the food, but remained silent: she carried her degradation and shame even into the movements of her hands, which mechanically performed their office as if deprived of the animating current of life. "lMay I take some of these bits with me?" she inquired, after having finished her repast. "Lord ha' massa on you, child. Why, sartin, and more, too, if you like; for 't won't be every body you'll get your supper from, I guess. Here," she con- tinued, bringing a plate of scraps from the pantry, "take these along, they'll be better than nothin' if you get hungry on the road." "I don't know where I shall put them all," returned Susan. "Hain't you got no pocket, nor nothing, nor no pocket handkercher neither?" "No, ma'am." "Well, you really are a poor critter true enough, that's sartin; and what a state you are in! Why your old frock ain't fit to go in the street with; hain't you got no bonnet neither?" "No, ma'am," sighed the poor wretch. "Well, here I'll tie up the vittles in a paper, and, give you an old bonnet of my darter's, for it looks too bad for a human critter to go about so nigh naked." The light of day was no pleasant feature to Susan's heart: too deep in the abyssmal depths of degradation had she sunk to desire the warmth of genial sunshine. page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 38 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. It was too bright-too much of the old time, when pure and free from guilt she wandered, and loved to bask her girlish face in the glad sunbeams, and so she shrank away when it purpled the horizon, like a guilty wretch. Night after night over highways, where scarce a belated traveler was met, she pursued her journey, pausing sometimes under trees, or by the way- side, to soothe the child or rest herself, but more gener- ally slowly moving all the hours between sun and sun. Neither in the darkness, or when the moon had clam- bered high, did she delay her steps, one slow, monot- onous drag of weary limbs, whose strength was daily growing feebler. Her drink was from the brooklets, and her food, often for days, the fruit she gathered in the orchards; more than once she had been driven out of these by watch-dogs, and so often repulsed from doorways, as at last to shun them altogether. ;,c CHAPTER V. "To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, When bones are crazed, and blude is thin, Is, doubtless, great distress." SBI W. Saon. IT was a genial, soft afternoon, when she at length approached the city. Gradually through the hazy cloud that all day had hung over the distance, growing darker as she slowly advanced, looked out the spires and domes. Louder and more distinct rose the mur- mur of its myriad tongues, and closer and more con- tracted became the yards of the beautiful residences she passed; soon came carriages and equestrian parties gaily decorated, whose very horses pricked their ears and looked suspiciously upon her as they dashed by, whirling a dusty cloud along the avenue. These in- dications of the place so longed for, and now so near at hand, wrought heavily upon the wanderer's mind, and for the first time she realized her entire destitu- tion, as well as the apparent improbability of meeting Walker. Still the hope that had kept her from faint- ing by the way, and nerved her feeble steps to move forward, night after night, once again arose and urged her onward. page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "If I can hold out just long enough to see him, to fall down upon my knees and pray him to protect his child, I will ask no more-no more," she would mur- mur aloud, "no more. I would die then, no matter how soon-no matter how, or where." It was the first time she had traveled by daylight since the journey's commencement, and in the early afternoon she wan- dered off the smooth roads, and came upon the pave- ments, where streets hemmed in by rows of buildings told too plainly the city was at hand. How she was to find him she sought, among the crowds which every moment increased about her, she had no idea. Whom to ask The knew not, even if she should dare to stop a passenger, and so wandered further and further into the city's heart, where she was jostled about, and more than once nearly thrown down by the crowd. At length, wearied by the clangor, and frightened by the press, she gladly turned into a narrow and less-frequented street. Strange contrast was it to the one a moment before she threaded, with its wretched and decaying buildings, its piles of filth End rubbish, around which gathered lean dogs and pigs in all apparent sympathy with the half- naked children, who seemed but little higher in their range of being. At length to an old woman collecting Irags she ven- ,i tured to speak. She was a half savage, copper-colored wretch, engaged just then in turning a fetid heap, and I - 'ifi wr * 5 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 41 from it, with a long hook, selecting such bits of paper and cloth as might be found. These she placed in a light hand-cart, to the axletree of which were attached two dogs. So intent was she at her task she did not observe Susan until disturbed by her voice inquiring the second time, "if she knew any body of the name of Walker?" At this she looked up, contorting her bronzed visage into a scowl that fixedly scanned the girl with a glance which seemed to say, I have or have not seen you be- fore. "Vot 's dat you say2" she answered; "I asked," again repeated Susan, "if you knew any body by the name of Walker." More keenly than ever glanced the serpent-like eyes of the rag-picker, surveying her from head to foot with an expression too diabolical for endurance. Then she turned about, and in broken English shouted to a besotted female who came staggering from an adjo'ing alley, "Here, old Moll, here's vone bird for you to pick, fresh from de country." At this the vile creature gave a leap toward Susan, striking her in the face, and seizing off her bonnet. Hastily the girl fled to the other side of the cai t, where she was attacked by the dogs, who leaped the length of their harness, driving her across the way. This all seemed wonderfully to amuse the old woman, who continued shouting and making a great uproar, which brought forth numerous other beggars, who would, page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. doubtless, have robbed her of her scanty stock of clothing, had not a police-officer appeared at the cor- ner. The sight of him dispersed the crowd, who sud- denly disappeared, leaving Susan and her frightened child standing half-naked on the walk, Without an idea which way to fly, she stood leaning against a lamp-post, until an erect, tall man, with a dignified mien and long-neglected beard, approached her; his head rested upon his bosom, over which fell the matted hair, and his mild, blue eyes looked mourn- fully upon the ground as he passed. Though dressed in rags, faded and stained with paint or lime-dust, he / seemed no common beggar, and inspired Slsan more with awe than fear by the searching glance he gave while going by. She watched him to the adjoining corner, where he stopped, and looked about as if per- plexed in thought. At length he faced round, and came slowly back to where she was standing, which made her tremble and clasp the child more tightly against her heart. He walked deliberately up, stopped, and stared fixedly into her face, and then, in a com- manding voice, articulated, "Woman, whence cometh thou?" "From the country," replied Susan. "Why camest thou hither?" he returned; ' knowest thou not this is an evil place, where walk about the children of the devil? Art thou homeless, and a i seeker for shelter? Verily, thou meekest a vain show, HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 43 for the houses shall be closed against thee: yea, the gates of the houses shall be closed. Say what wouldst thou that I should do for thee?" O help me to find the child's father," she replied. A ray of light, such as for years had not penetrated the dark labyrinths of that bewildered brain, shot strangely in among its mists and shadows, to the il- lumination of the vacant eye, which now kindled with mysterious beauty as she spoke. Past days--visions of vales and cottages, which years ago sank behind the horizon, mingling into the black night, that like a funeral pall enveloped all his history-scenes which to him, year by year pacing those crowded streets, were a gleam of sunshine on a dark, unfathomable ocean. "Follow me," he resumed, at the same time turning abruptly down the street. The girl instinctively pursued, glad of the kindness even of one she perceived insane, and until evening darkened over the narrow thoroughfares, hung upon his footsteps. He seemed lost in some absorbing reverie, and more than once she asked herself if it were well to continue further. The hope, however, that he had some place where she might escape the beggars inspired her heart, and urged her on, hour after hour. Many were the streets they passed, blocks, squares, parks, and churches, still he seemed no nearer home, or to his journey's end. Her feet were blistered by contact with the pavement, her child, petulant and page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] " HAMPTON HEIGHTS. hungry, hanging like a leaden weight upon her bosom. In vain she changed it from one arm to the other, it grew only the more troublesome at every step. Still she followed on, while lamps began to be lighted in basements, where she often perceived family groups assembled. Sometimes, too, the pleasant supper-table, around which gathered smiling Ichildren, whose laugh more than once she caught as servants closed the shutters. Then lights commenced gleaming, almost like stars, among the foliage of the parks brighter and brighter, until at length the whole streets blazed with illumination. Still with slow, regular tread, his eyes downcast, and-head bent, he went on. At last he paused, and looked about, as if inspecting the vicinity. He seemed to have forgotten Susan, who now ap- proached, and hesitatingly inquired "if he had no home." He turned his vacant glance upon her, and then, as if recalling his previous conversation, repeated, "Did I not say unto thee, the houses shall be closed: yea, the gates of the houses closed against thee? Art thou better than I, an old king, driven out from among his people, and left desolate and alone? Who offereth him shelter? Who giveth him to drink? Who speaketh to him of his children, and his children's graves? Poor is the old monarch's dwelling, but it shall be a shelter unto thee and unto thy child." Having finished this sort of half soliloquy, he turned into narrow lanes, such as she passed at first, filthy and i : - A} * HAMPTON HEIGHTS, 4-5 overrun with children, who played near the carts that were standing by, or collected in groups about the doors, until he came upon a vacant lot, sprinkled with patches resembling snow-piles of rags and damaged cotton gathered by the rag-pickers. Crossing it, he reached an inclosure, whose door he opened, and so held till Susan passed through. It was a warm place, where, by the indistinct twilight, she observed piles of oyster-shells and bones; so, too, barrels of lime near by a smoking furnace, whose embers she saw were still bright in the grate. Glad of the protection of a roof, she sank exhausted on the ground. Her protecting genius, perceiving her condition, made haste to bring some liquid, which he warmed at the furnace. This quite reviving her, she relinquished her hold upon the child, who went readily to him, and shared his supper. This finished, he scooped a place in a bed of pulverized lime, and laid the child gently to rest. Long after 'midnight he sat watching the babe, his soul engrossed in some deep contemplation, as though these poor wanderers had opened a door min his heart's dark dwell- ing-place,-whence came forth forms long ago crumbled into ashes. Silent was his communing with them, and, in that silence the babe slept well: softer was its pillow there in the warm lime than many its mother had known; ay, softer than shall be its resting place in the dusky years advancing. So, too, Susan was wan- dering in the shadow land, and quietly hour after page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] HAMPTON HEIGHTS. hour reposed, until voices talking near by disturbed her. It was nearly dawn, and she perceived in the faint glimmer several men, who had come thus early to commence their labors. Raising herself into a sitting posture, she noticed them scraping their shovels, and raking together the partially dead embers. At length one of them came over to where her protector slept quietly beside her child. Through the light of a win- dow he had opened in the roof he discovered them, and at once commenced laughing and hallooing to his companions, "I say, boys, if the old fellow hasn't brought his family this time. Our old man 'll have to enlarge the premises at this rate, or there won't be room for the king and his children. Come, wake up, old Whitey, and let 's know about it. You never bar- gained for any lbody but yourself, and we shall be charging extra fare, if you don't look sharp." His companions came over, hearing the conversation, and joined in the laugh, which served to wake the mendicant. He by no means seemed to relish their jokes, and getting up from his dusty couch, shook off the lime; and, without notice of the child or its parent, prepared to leave the kiln. "Hold!" exclaimed one of the men, stepping in his way, "let's hear something about it before you're off, and what's to be done with the child: for we don't keep a foundling hospital, I reckon." Here Susan came forward and interposed, explaining how he had found her, and kindly brought her along with him; at which announcement, she having taken the infant, they were permitted to depart. Reaching the open air, the monomaniac passed the vacant lot, and came upon a broad avenue, where, without further notice of his companions, he commenced his usual monotonous journeyings. Susan followed along, hoping to gain some information of him when he should waken from his musings. After an interval, however, during which he became deeper and deeper engrossed, she ventured to interrupt him. He looked vacantly up as she made known her swishes, and even after she had ceased speaking, con- tinued staring into her face with a fixed, bewildered expressioni His thoughts were evidently disturbed, for he soon turned abruptly about, and beckoned her to follow. A short distance from where they stood was a large, flat building, from which streams of people were issuing, bearing baskets and hampers. It had numerous sheds, sloping down, and extending over the walks, on the sides 6f which butchers, who looked burly and rotund, jingled knives merrily against their steels, or laughing, chaffered with their customers. These things were all new to Susan, and she could not help smiling at the important looks they gave as they rolled up their checkered cuffs, or arranged their aprons., page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. Boys staggered along under huge quarters of beef. The walk was thronged, and she nearly lost sight of her companion. His' tall head, however, towered above the crowd, and she at length came close beside him as he wound through circuitous ranges of stalls and alleys. In some of these she perceived huge fish still gasping and floundering about, and in others piles of oysters, often open, and gleaming in their shells. Tempting, indeed, were these to a poor, half-starved being like her, and more than once she stopped and looked wistfully toward some huge fellow, who, bend- ing forward, swallowed his dozen, one by one, and then wiped his chin with apparent satisfaction. From these they came upon rows of vegetables stands, where fat, sleek women sat knitting, sometimes stopping and laying down their yarn to dispose of a bunch of celery, which, with numerous kinds of firuits and berries, were scattered plenteously about. Some- times she observed stands of flowers that gave out perfume as they passed, where handsome women, who had come to drive sharp bargains with the market folk, stopped and admiringly gazed. Finally they arrived at a large and open square, round which hung all species of game, haunches of venison, and sometimes whole deer, and again parts of bodies cut midway in two. Here, also, were cages of live pheasants, and baskets full of strange birds she had never seen, and which so delighted the child, as to give much trouble to her mother. In the midst of this square was a desk, at which a man was writing, and where came numerous boys and received bills. To this desk was attached a large book, the leaves of which her companion opened and commened turning. At last he read aloud, "Walker, H. G., merchant, No. -- Pine." He then pointed with his finger to it, calling Susan's attention, particularly to the number and street, after which he let the book fall, and passed slowly through the crowd-until once again arrived upon the street. There he paused a moment, and then, pointing to the south, muttered "Ten streets to the right." Susan cast her glance in the direction named, and again quickly turning to thank him, found he had vanished. 3 page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] CHAPTER VI. "One more unfortunate, i Weary of breath, Rashy importunate, Gone to her death. Take her iup tenderly, Lift her with care, Fashioned so slenderly, Young and so fair." HOOD. THE thoroughfare on which she was called to pass was a long, crowded way, over which rolled numerous carrriages and stages all filled with people, who, like the passengers on the walks, seemed going in one direction. As she came along, the throng increased, and she passed many beautiful women, who looked askant upon her, and contracted their garments lest they might be soiled by contact. Grand, gaudy shop- windows, brilliant with colors, and glittering with silver, were on all sides, and at one she observed a picture of a poor beggar, with a child so resembling hers, she could not help pausing and gazing upon it. There was quite a crowd collected about the window, and she timidly intruded herself among them, but had scarce obtained a glimpse of the fair baby that nestled HABIPTON HEIGHTS. , 51 against its mother, and looked cunningly out through its tattered hood, when a hand was laid upon her shoulder by a policeman, who bade her ," Be off, and not stand there, crowding gentlemen off the walks." Poor thing! as if she alone was the cause -of all the pushing and stumbling by the print-shop casement. She went on, however, edging her way among the crowds, until at last she counted the tenth street, and read upon a building the words "Pine." Turning at once as she had been directed, she found herself tangled among boxes and bales, that barricaded the narrow walks, and over which people were climbing, who seemed light and agile. Her poor limbs were too weak and weary, and so she went into the street, where she was kept dodging about by numbers of cartmen, who were apparently regardless of her pres- ence. Sign-board after sign-board was observed as best she could, holding on to her babe, and twisting among the many carts, until at length she discovered the desired name, and Walker standing at the door. The sight of him so affected her that she was unable to proceed forward for many minutes. Her head swam round, her bosom heaved, and she was glad, in- deed, to rest against a lamp-post, which fortunately intruded its strong arm as she was falling. Drawing back, the object of her search appeared to perceive her also, stood, gazed a moment, and then disappeared. She felt she was recognized, and feared she might be page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. refused admittance. Notwithstanding, resolving to attempt it, she tremblingly came upon the step. She had just crossed the door-sill, when her progress was interrupted by a harsh-featured man, who thrust her back. "Clear out!" said he. "*I want to see Mr. Walker," she replied. "Off with you, I say," he reiterated, at the same time pushing her rudely down the steps. "You won't get any thing here, I can tell you." Susan at once perceived the improbability of gaining her object at this time, as she had, doubtless, been dis- covered, and prevented entering by Walker's direc- tions. So she passed over the-way, and stood for a long time, carefully noticing'the warehouse, and all who passed in and out. As she stood there, she per: ceived a door leading to the basement open, and when there was no one about, she returned, and cautiously descended a step or two, and looked in; then, noticing the hard-featured man once more, hastily retreated down the street. Being exceedingly hungry, having eaten but little for many days, she resolved, if an op- portunity offered, to beg a mouthful of food. On the door-steps about were occasional beggars sitting with outstretched palms, into which passengers often dropped pennies, and sometimes small pieces of silver. Encouraged by these charities, she ventured to address an old gentleman, whose silver locks gave him a be- nevolent expression, simply asking for food. HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 53- He paused, looked kindly upon her, and then said, "If you re hungry, you must be fed; I can't give you any money, but I will give you food, if you require it." "I am very hungry," replied Susan. "Well, then, come along this way, said he, at the same time facing about, and leading her down the street. Soon they arrived where there was a won- drous smell of warm. bread, and, men all white with flour, who, running hither and thither, carried large baskets of crackers in and out the dusty-looking doors. The old gentleman beckoned her within, and quickly brought -her to a room where there were piles of crackers yet warm from the oven. Here he lifted a scoopful, and offered it to her. She took a few in her hands, and commenced eating, after placing one in the baby's fingers, who alike nibbled away with great ap- parent satisfaction. "Why don't you take more?" inquired the old gen- tleman; " there Is enough of them." "Thank you, sir," she replied, " these will do." "Well, fill your pockets, then, child; you will want them by and by," he continued. Again Susan thanked him for his kindness, and slolwy withdrew, taking with her such amount of bread as she could conceal about her person. As she closed the door behind her she heard him say, "Poor thing! she don't seem a common beggar; and I wish I knew more of her history." His good wishes, how- y.)5 His good wishes, ho, page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] '54 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. ever, were just then interrupted by some one coming -in on business, and in a few moments she was a for- gotten thought. The remaining hours of the day were passed watch- ing about the store, into which, toward dusk, she was enabled to steal by the basement steps. No one being near as she entered, she quickly concealed herself, by crawling under a counter which stood in an unfi'e- quented part of the place. It was not long before she heard shutters rattling along the streets, and voices of men about, who seemed impatient to close the doors for the night. "Who's up stairs, John," said some one, as the porter M'Kay came fumbling about in the dim light of the room. "No one but Mr. Walker," replied the Scotchman. "The devil toast him," returned the first speaker, "keeping us here till every other store in the street is shut. I wonder what good he thinks the money 'I do him he squeezes out of us after dark. Say, Scotty, shan't I shut up down here?" "When I give you orders," replied the head porter. J "And say," he continued, " have you seen the hammer and nail-box? I had them down here a little while since."' "Yes, I carried them up stairs, to fling at old Walkers head the next time he keeps us all here after dark for nothing; and say, ain't it time to shut up?" he HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 55 shouted, loud enough to be heard above stairs, at the same time leaping off the counter upon which he was sitting, and closing the door with a slam. After this Susan heard much bustle about, shutters clapping, and persons, one after another, going out, making the windows shake and rattle as they heavily closed the doors behind them. Then it became still, and in the solemn quiet she fell partially asleep. She could not tell what had startled her when at length she opened her eyes and perceived a light gleaming down from above. Every thing was still, save a lonely mouse that nibbled in the adjoining corner, and even he ceased his employment as she stole out upon the floor. The light, which had attracted her attention shone down a stairway, which, after laying her babe quietly on a pile of wrappers, she ascended. From their top she descried a man writing in a roomi-partitioned from the main floor by glass windows. He was busily en- gaged, so much so as not to notice the slight creaking of the door as Susan entered. It was Walker. She stood gazing at him a moment, and then heaved a half- broken sigh, which brought him quickly to his feet. At first he was much startled to see a figure stand- ing there beside him, but in a moment, recognizing the girl, overcame his fear, and abruptly confronted her. "What are you here for?" he angrily exclaimed, coming toward her. page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 IMHAMPTON HEIGHTS. ' To give you your child," replied Susan. "What can I do with the brat?" said he. "Feed it," returned the girl, " clothe it, keep it out of the poor-house, save it fi'om becoming what I "I 'll have nothing to do with it, or you either," he responded; "and if you ever darken my path again, with your accursed baby, I'll have you sent to prison." . "For what?" she inquired, calmly looking him in the face. "For burglary, for breaking into my store, for-" (Giving you your child," she interrupted; " for ask- ing you to protect your own'; for enduring hunger, misery, and scorn; for forsaking the kind home of a father, for breaking the heart of a beloved mother, for becoming an outcast, and loathing among men; and, finally, dying before the years of my girlhood are finished. O Harrison, I forgive, forgive you all; and I will never more darken your path, never again look upon your face, if you will only take your poor child: her whom I have gone hungry day after day to feed; whom I have carried upon my bosom many a weary mile, fearing lest I might not be able to bring it to you, and whom I now pray you on my knees, in all the agony of a wretched mother's heart, to take! O Har- rison, it is for your child's sake, as part of your own life. Think of it, think of it. It 's not me you will be HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 57 protecting-me whom you once promised to love, to marry, and make happy. O no, I do not ask for that; I only ask that you will take your own child, and not let it become what I am." "Stop! stop!" exclaimed Walker, grasping her by the arms, and lifting her from her bent position before him; " stop, and get out of my sight, or I 'll have you put where you won't trouble me again very soon, I tell you!" "Not till you've promised to take the child," she exclaimed. "Won't you; we'll see'," he ejaculated, grasping her again by the arms, and quickly dragging her toward the door. : .. a "Let, go of me, let go of me," shrieked the poor girl, "'and I'll go out myself." "Then go," he articulated, thrusting her violently against the door, and there holding her, with one hand and knee pressed upon her back until he was enabled with the other to turn the lock, " and don't you let me set sight upon you again. If you do, you will rue it- rue it to your death." Susan heard the door close be- hind her, and the key rattle in the lock, and then went slowly down the street. All about- her was deserted and silent; above shone through the naTrrow line of sky the bright and glorious stars, but she looked not toward them. Ah, no! b " . page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 . HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "Feelings had changed Love from harsh evidence, Thrown from its eminence, Even God's providence Seeming estranged." The narrow street was silent as a sepulcher, not even disturbed by the footfall of a single passenger, and looking dark and gloomy, lighted alone by an occa- sional lamp in the distance. On she went, until the masts of vessels began to peer through the dark- ness, and the wind to sigh heavily among the cordage. She could also hear the water rushing dismally round the bulk-heads of the docks. She stood at the extreme end of a wharf, looking out upon' the river, where were lights gleaming from the streets and houses on the op. posite shore, that often ran down in lines, and seemed to lose themselves in the water. Occasionally, on board some ship, was struck a solitary bell, that echoed its melancholy sound along the deep. Then came the roar of the ferry-boats, continually passing backward and forward, and sounding their shrill whistles to each other as they met. Few of these things attracted the ear of that poor wretch. Deeper, darker were her contemplations-thoughts of death, and the judgment. Just then she bent forward, and perceived a man watching her from one of the piles to which the ships were fastened. He now came up, and bade her go off, and not be standing there any longer. "I HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 59 know what you're after," said he, "'down here this time o' night, and I can't be hookin' such old critters up for nothin,' I tell you; so get along, right off here, quick, quicker than that," and he accelerated her motions by an occasional push, until he drove her com- pletely off the dock upon the street. Susan pursued the deserted thoroughfare, until it brought her to another pier, where she discovered no one watching. Silently she went down and stood on its extreme end, while the cold, dark water fretted, and chafed at her feet. The chill stars looked down and saw her, and the moon, just silvering the east, showed more plainly the outline of her solitary figure. A moment more, and that form had disappeared, gone to the great tri- bunal-to the "Judge of the quick and dead." v page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] CHAPTER VII. "He listened, on his anxious ear There broke a feeble, wailing cry: It was the babe, but none were near To hush it with a lullaby." OLD SONG. Havrsi fastened the door carefully behind him, Walker deliberately returned to his office, and resumed his seat. In vain, however, did he essay to write in- telligibly, and more than once, when he perused the ? lines, he discovered evidence of his wandering thoughts, in repeated words and sentences. So he laid aside the papers, turned down the gas, and in the dusky light sat gloomily contemplating. The flickering blaze wrought grim shadows on the walls, that stared and pointed at-him as he sat there, so near the very place the poor girl had prayed to him on her knees. But he feared not shadows, he who so coldly could en- counter realities, and therefore watched their slow flitting, murmuring at times, however, indistinct words, that told, after all, the spirit was ill at ease, that tossed and troubled the bosom of the wretched man. Yes, be was meditating something! what was it? Not atonement for all the misery he had produced; not of pity for her whom he had murdered, and whose life- HAMfPTON HEIGHTS. 61 less corpse was, even then, floating off in the dark, impure waters of the bay. Ah no! Pity had no place in his bosom; he was a man. of -facts-of .hard, practical dealings, who worked and schemed, not with- out an object: and that object was gold. For it, there was no obstacle too great or too mean to overcome, and for it, he had staked his salvation, and feared not to make the cast, which as yet had never turned a blank. How to rid himself of her, was his thought, for he saw the determination, which had already overcome so many obstacles, and which he could not believe was to end as she had threatened. Little dreamed he, it had already been executed; that even then the blood was crying against him, that he could not wash his hands of. But while he sat there so silently, upon his ear broke a feeble, wailing cry. He started slightly as he heard it, and then, as it became more distinct, leaped from his seat, and hurled a ruler madly in the direction of the sound. "Hell and destruction," he shouted, "if she has not left it after all." , Then he paused to as- certain whether he might not be mistaken. No, indeed. Louder and more pitiful, came the wail from below; full well he knew what it was, the cry of his own babe-she, who now was motherless; but it touched no tender. soul, woke no cord of paternal sympathy, only echoed- against his hard heart, like the wave that breaks upon the rock with a murmur. "What shall I page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 HAMPTON HEIGHTS, do with it?" he asked of the grim shadows that beck- oned on the wall. But they only pointed their long arms toward the place, where came up the mournful wail, louder and still louder from below. "Perhaps she's watching on the walk," said he; "and if she is, I'll throw it to her, though it break its neck." Excited into motion by this thought, he went quickly to the door, unlocked it, and looked up and down the street. A few men were laughing over the way, and among their voices he discovered John MKay's. "Halloo over there," he shouted, "is John M'Kay among you?" '"Yes," replied the Scotchman, coming silently across the street, as if he was not pleased with the in. terruption; "What will you have?,' "Come in here, and I'l let you know; I ve got a job down below, which, if-you ll finish handsomely, I'll pay well for."' As the door closed, John caught the feeble cry of of the baby, and involuntarily stepped forward, work- ing his face into a diabolical grin. "I ken what you want," said he, "but you 've hit on the wrong mon, if you think I '1 do any job, there 's risk of limb and wind in." "Who asked you to?" replied Walker; "you needn't be snuffling after blood, at least until some one requires it. AlII want is to have it taken care of, given to somebody, no matter who; and as you feel so HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 63 much inclined, I 'll now say that person may be your. self; and that if I hear that you have strangled it, will ask no further questions." "Aweel! aweel!" replied John , " it 's a pretty cool way of recommending child-murder; but you've miss- ed the mon to do it in me, Mr. Walker, rest assured." "Well, John, whatever we conclfide to do with it, let's go down and stop its mouth, for to me it 's as bad as a village death-bell, yelping away so in the dark there." So saying he led the way into the basement, where a light was ignited., This done, the Scotchman crept into the hole where the child was concealed. "Here it is," he exclaimed, dragging out the frightened baby, as if she were some ugly monster rather than a weeping, motherless little child; " and a- pretty bairn too," he continued, holding it to the light. "I don't want to see it," replied Walker; "nor hear its yelp either. All I want is to get rid of it some- how." M'Kay was a hard-featured, hard-hearted old bachelor, and, with the child in his arms, tried to stop its wailing, by putting his hand over its mouth, which, only smothered the cry for an instant, rendering it sure to burst out afresh as soon as it was removed. , "Can't you stop its yelling, John?" asked its parent, "somehow." "Nae," replied the Scotchman. "Then wring its neck, and have done with it," he returned. page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] " HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "Ill have no hand in that, nor in taking it away from here to-night either, but will gie it a bit to eat, and in the morning find an auld woman who will play the mother to it. She is a kind of she-wolf, but as this is a whelp of that sort, 't will be well cared for, I reckon." "I don't want it abused, John; it wasn't to blame for coming into the world, and I'd rather see it dead than ill-treated," I Slightly noticing this remark, John brought from an adjoining shelf his dinner-pail, and soon had the child quietly eating; after which he found but little difficulty in removing it to its former -position in the port-hole, where it shortly fell into a gentle slumber. The two men then went above, leaving it to its lonely repose upon the wrappers. That night, M'Kay made a journey into one of the narrow streets, and sought out, among the wretched- ness and filth of a back alley, an old woman, who had under her'control numerous children, whom she kept employed in different ways about the city. It was her business; and to it she gave the same attention, the same keen, watchful care, as he who now sent his man to bargain with her. She dealt in flesh and blood-in children. She was familiar with their cries. Their cries did not disturb her, they only enhanced her gains. His business was of a higher order. He was a great merchant. Men respected him for his shrewdness, HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 65 pointed out his business capacity to their sons, even paid for the privilege of having them serve as clerks under him." . O! there are depths in degradation, and men and women 'go down into them; but for some, there are palliating considerations-some, who like this woman, have been reared to crime, suckled at- the breast of infamy, and nursed on the bread of sin. But a mother's breast had Harrison Walker reposed upon, a mother's prayers had he been permitted to listen to; yet for the sake of money he was willing to forget these, ay, sell his own flesh' and blood. I said it was her business to employ poor children, and diligently did she apply herself to the duty. Some sold matches about the city, some begged at the hotels, some swept the side-walks, and over all she kept strict watch. Of course she was anxious to obtain the child, especially when she would have -two ways to make it useful, at once perceiving the power gained over another by it-for she knew full well it was no child of the Scotchman's. Notwithstanding, she refused to receive it without some compensation, but John was too shrewd to yield to her demands, and so, at last, she promised to come for it in the morning. The next day, before a soul was moving, she was at the store, anxious lest some one should obtain the prize. At length M'Kay made his appearance, and the two went in together. After opening the shutters, page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " HAMPTON HEIGHTS. they dragged forth the child, who all night had quietly slept on the last bed, its mother should make for it. The babe struggled and screamed, as she per- ceived the forbidding faces of those near her, but was soon quieted by a stupefying potion administered by the woman, who then went off with her, to the great satisfaction of John M'Kay, commonly known as Walker's shadow. CHAPTER VIII. "But the young children, O my brothers, They are weeping bitterly; They are weeping in the play-timeo'f the others, In the country of the free." MRS. B:ROW=Na. THE child's history henceforward for years, was one of continual misery. At first, she was starved to a phantom-like thinness, and kept under the stupefying influence of opium, during which period she accom- panied an old woman, who, with another baby not yet weaned, daily went to the steps of the Custom- house, and there remained through business hours, yes, and often later-even after the crowds of busy men were gone, and the streets silent, save to the echoing stage or wagon, she would linger, sitting with shiver- ing form and outstretched hand, as if forsaken, lost, and homeless. These were often rich moments to her, for well she knew there were men yet to pass, who would be glad- to shrive their consciences, by an im- pulsive act of charity, men, whose very delay she watched with pleasure, as if she had power with which to look into their bosoms. * To her, the child was as any animal that might con- page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. tribute to her support. Worse treated than the organ'- grinder's monkey, who had at least a sufficiency of food, besides nuts and cakes given him by children, amused by his antics. She was too young to think, or hope, just life enough to cringe down under the harsh, unmerited blows she daily received. The grand object of the woman, who hired her, was to keep just as little life in her as possible, to prevent her growth, and make her always a poor, mummy-like thing. And so she just drew her breath, hovering on the edge of exist- ence, without, strength sufficient to cry, unless pinched and pricked, which suffering was daily inflicted to at- tract attention. Once a sharp instrument was affixed to her eye, which was, then bandaged tightly, giving such pain as to make her often scream aloud, and contort her little body from very agony.' This was a cunning plan, and well did it repay the poor old creature, who all day sat in the misty storm, endeavoring to soothe her mourning baby; and many an old, sensual fellow, as he came down to get into his carriage, relieved his soul by liberal con- tributions to her hand. After awhile, however, a candy- merchant, who began to be jealously inclined (she decidedly carrying on the briskest business of the two), commenced an examination, and most fortunately for the child's relief, discovered the trick. Thus passed the first year of her existence in the city. Just an existence! that was all. Still she grew HAMPT ON HEIGHTS. 69 somewhat. Her little limbs, in spite of all benumbing influences, gained strength, and her dark eyes, though sunken and bleared, gathered over them long, heavy lashes, seemingly more like a child of foreign parentage, than otherwise. The woman to whom she belonged, perceiving these changes, resolved to alter her position in the world, and so leased her to an Italian and his wife. This couple occupied a part of the garret of a four-story house, devoted principally to the manufac- ture of plaster images. The husband was an organ- grinder, the wife, according to a greasy, forged certifi- cate she carried, nearly the last remnant of a family, who had been burned, shipwrecked, and plague- smitten. Down in the basement of the building, a poor, blind horse, whose share of the Italian's cabbage was evi- dently small, went round and round, dragging after him a ponderous wheel, which, with a doleful, crashing sound, broke the lumps of plaster to atoms. Adjoining, were two dust-begrimed mortals, pulling backward and forward the creaking sifter, which scattered its powder into the trough below.' From this trough was gathered the dust and ashes, which formed P. T. Barnum's Tom Thumb's, or Jackson Davis', statue. These, conveyed about the premises, helped also to'create all manner of beasts, and creeping things. In some of the rooms, were men fastening 'chains on the wrists of the Greek Slave, or turning with exquisite exactness the mous- page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. tache of Louis Napoleon, or dragging out from be- tween plaster molds, the model of a Prince of Wales. In all states of advancing imperfection, were knights, and horses, and cows, and sheep, to say nothing of the inimitable Don Quixote and Sancho, performing their renowned encounters, which,-in a somewhat dilapidated condition, had been consigned to the corner. In every part of the building were artists scraping, and molding, and cutting, to the daily production of some new design of Byron lor Shakespeare, especially adapted to set off to great advantage, the handkerchiefs and collars of some barber's window. The nature of the food these -numberless beings sustained themselves upon, was a mystery to butchers and bakers, for no one ever saw any thing of an eatable nature enter the house, save a few greens, not half sufficient for the old horse in the cellar. Still they all throve, anid among the rubbish of the place ever made room for their poor brothers, whor came over the water. For awhile the child accompanied the organ-grinder, tottering about with her tin cup to catch an occasional penny, from some one glad to pay a farthing for rid- dance' sake. But soon, under more favorable care ana food, she became sufficiently active to attend the woman on her lying missions. Generally, to hipress her mind suitably, she re- ceived a severe chastisement in the morning, and soon, by this, and other instructive acts of like nature, be- HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 7 came an expert beggar, going boldly into houses to present the paper. If she could gain admittance, she was sure to intrude herself about, like a little spirit, often appearing before ladies in their dressing-rooms, as if she had descended from the clouds. So interesting was she, with her elflike expression, and dark, bewitching eyes, people smiled rather than frowned Utpon her, and gave their charities without a question. She was sure to bring back good evidence of her ability, sometimes, money that had been given, and sometimes purloined articles of much-value. It required but few months to make her an expert thief; and so cunning did she soon become, as to fabricate most affecting stories touching her parentage, occasion- ally speaking Italian, and sometimes broken English. Thus passed a few years more of her life--years that impressed her with the happiness-and comfort of rich men's children, and her own miserable condition. Still, though abused, wretchedly sheltered, and kept con- stantly begging, she was far better off than in the pre- vious ones, and her lone heart gathered strength, and hung out a tiny rushight, which quite illuminated the dark place, Where lay the little kedge-anchor of her hope. 'So, too, she gained strength and beauty, and' was more than an ordinary child, at five years of age. Could she have remained with the Italian, and been permitted to go about the fine houses, she, doubtless, would have been comparatively happy., But it was page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 -! HAMPTON HEIGHTS. not to be her fate. The woman to whom she belonged, perceived her aptness at begging, as well as her in- creasing size and beauty, and so resolved to appro- priate her strength and faculties to herself, where she would bring larger and more immediate returns. She was therefore brought back to her old home, and familiarized with all the degradation of a host of boys and igirls, who begged about the hotels, swept cross-walks, and sold matches. The Italian, enraged at having to restore her, just as she had become useful, stripped off the clothing she had herself begged, and though it was a bitter night, led her through the streets, with little about her form save an old shawl, and even this she tore off the moment she discovered the woman to whom she belonged. The latter seized the half- naked child, and dragged her to a loft, where six or eight children crowded together, to obtain the animal warmth of each other's bodies. Here she was left for the night-kept from freezing, among the pile of poor little forlornites. The next moring, clothed in a tattered dress, and bare-footed, she was sent into the streets, with the other children, to beg-told if she did not bring back the sum of two shillings and sixpence, she would be beaten, and sent'off again without her supper. The child's experience had *rendered her an expert beggar, and before noon, she had collected the amount required. Finding herself capable of more than was demanded, HAM:PTON HEIGHTS. 73 she resolved to appropriate what might be gained be- yond, in order to obtain sufficient covering, for her feet, at least. That very afternoon, she selected from the crowd of a hotel, an old gentleman, whose kind looks did not belie his heart. To him, she told her story truthfully--so touchingly, he at once brought her to a store, and there procured for her the desired stockings and shoes. How proud she was of them is easily imagined, when we recollect that a nicely-fitting shoe she had never before known; and as she laced them over her little feet, and felt their warm pressure upon every part, even from toe to ankle, she fairly shouted with joy, and ran off, clapping her hands, into the street. This happiness was, however, momentary, for directly came the thought of the old woman, whom she knew would deprive her of them at once, should she discover them. Therefore, when she returned, she searched about the alley, for a place to conceal the prize. She was crawling under a broken stoop, when the hag discried her little body, and came shouting down upon her. "What are you here for, you young whelp?" she exclaimed; " aWd where did you steal those stockings? I'll teach you to come back before your time," accompanying the threat with a blow, that for a moment blinded the infant. "How much money have you got? let me see, before I hit you again.', The girl produced the required amount. "That all?" 4 page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] " HAMPTON HEIGHTS.. "Yes." '1 Well, then, off with those shoes and stockings, and tramp again, or I'll give you such a beating as you never had yet, you woliPs cub." The child seated herself upon the curb-stone, and slowly commenced unlacing the shoes. , Come, quick, you little slut!" said she, again rais- ing her hand to strike her. She crouched still lower, avoiding the .whole force of the blow, which so enraged the woman, she -eized upon her, and dragged her up the stairs. Round the decaying rafters of that old rookery echoed the screams of the girl--screams, that alternated with blows and curses; and when at last she came tottering into the street, she bent over arid writhed with pain. The little hope she had had, was gone now: the poor rushight that had begun to burn so brightly, was nearly out, just a twinkle far down in the dark of her benighted soul; so she crawled under the old stoop, and sat sobbing till dusk, and then crept into the loft once again among the children. Next morning, she shared the scanty bread and ttea of the group, and went off on her accustomed duty. She had faint heart to ask now, and kept as far from the place, where she met the old gentleman as possible; seeking strangers to beg from. Thus month after month, and year after year, passed by, and still strength and health were given her; but HAMPTON tHEIGHTS. 75 the rushight burned low in its chalice, and more than once, she thought it had gone out altogether. As time wore on, however, it, began to brighten again, and by its soft gleam, she once more discovered the anchor. She had made a friend: she, the poor motherless, cast off being, had found one friend; and who was it? A little boy, not like herself, dirty and ragged, but a nicely-clad, industrious fellow, who came from school every noon, to attend the engine of a coffee-mill, while his father went to dinner. It was a small affair at best, and required but little capacity to run it; and when the good parent had made sufficient fire, and seen to the water in the boiler, he would leave the lad until his return. One cold, snowy day, when the girl had been steal- ing under the eaves, and picking out the least -frozen places for her naked feet, she discovered the boy stand- ing by the boiler. She looked through the little wooden grated door upon him, and then asked to be let in to warm herself. And thus commenced the acquaintance, which gradually ripened into friendship, and resuscitated the nearly expired flame by ithe ahn-r chor's side. Many a noon, when she came the/re, did, he show her, how he told whether there was:sufficient steam in the boiler, and put his little hands. uitder the guage-cocks to ascertain whether the steamn was moist or dry. It was a perfect delight to come,- and she would stand and watch the revolving wheel, and the page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 716 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. hard-working piston; and get him often to let on a little more steam, so that the great balls of the regu- lator would fly out almost on a level with each other. Then to hear him talk of his father, who did solmany kind things for him, and was so skillful, how he could take the little engine a1 to pieces, and then put it together again, was more than a joy to her. But nothing pleased her, like a description of the country, where he had once been; and every time she came she would get him to repeat it over and over, until the boy began to think "she wasn't just right in her mind." He little dreamed, how down in some remote corner of that dark soul, there was a pale light, that acasion- ally, fanned by such stories, burst into a blaze-a blaze that lit up very dim memories, which' vibrated on some echoing cord, whispering of pleasant lands, merry with birds, and bright with sunshine. -When the boy went to school again, she would run about most diligently, until she had collected the money required by her mistress; and then, if the weather was warm, wander off into the wide streets, where often she could hear birds singing from their cages under the windows of the fine buildings. Hour after hour, would she hover about where they sang, her whole soul drinking in the music. So much did these voices remind h1erof the boy's story of the country, she re- solved someqday to try and escape, from the hateful, woman who so' abused her. CHAPTE R IX. " hTwas on a golden summer's day, In smiling, leafy June, When squirrels in the chestnuts play, And scented is the fresh-mown hay, And tiny brooklets sing away A merry tune: That a little child who ne'er had seen A forest, or a shady lea, Resolved to find the running stream, With rippling wave, and bank of green." Oim morning, early in June, when she had gone out as usual to beg about the hotels, her feet unconsciously led her to one of the large squares where the birds sang in their gilded cages, ever telling such sweet stories of the country, and whose music worked upon her imagination, until she saw fields-of flowers where dren wandered, and birds warbled all the day, and ere, too, were dim old forests waving in the breeze, : under whose shades, red berries mingled in a carpeting of white blossoms. As she leaned against a lamp-post, listening, her eye caught sight of a carriage, before which came prancing spirited horses,. that stopped near a door-step, where -for some time . ee;-had perceived a little boy and girl sitting, d r d i handsome riding-habits. The doors of: the: house page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. were open, and she could see trunks standing in the passage. Shortly after came a luimbering cart, and also stopped behind the carriage. Then the trunks were brought out, and carefully deposited, and the little boy dragged his velocipede, and charged the man not to break it, as it was to last all summer, while his little sister stood by, and watched her baby-cradle and play- things put upon the cart, hardly satisfied they would ride securely. Then the nurse, with a baby in her arms, camue down, and stepping into the carriage, called the children. Then followed the parents, and the door was closed, and the impatient horses went onward down the street. Soon the cart went off also, and nop one was left but the stiff waiting-man, who looked a moment after them, and ran up the steps to close the house for the season. Silent against a post, leaned the child, and watched it all. She thought where they were going, and looked down upon her little feet, wondering, if they were strong enough to take her away also.. She aske& man who was passing, how far it was to the county but he only laughed, and said something she did not hear, and so she looked upon her feet again. She was resolved, however, to go, although without an idea where it was, or how she should get there. She thought perchance to wander on, and if she could ob- tain thfm before starting, to try andsell a few matches to the passengers. HAMPTON HEIGHTS, 79 So long had she been meditating there, she had for- gotten her employment, until the best hours were passed by. However, by diligent application before evening, she had gained the required two and sixpence, and, with head and heart full of her plan, corpt back once again to the garret. In this same loft slept two match-boys, aid sahe de- termined to steal one of their boxes durinmgthe nght. This thought, became the parent of another, grow- ing stronger with contemplating it; and she said to herself, "Perhaps now I can get one of the boy's clothes, and if so, why then people will buy more, matches, and I shall get along faster over the road.'" So she secured an old hat and box, and set to work to procure a new suit of garments. After thinking .some time, she woke one of the lads lying near her. "I say, Tommy," said she, after pulling and turning him over once or twice, "would n't you like to quit selling matches, and go round with us girls? It 's so funny to hear the men talk at the hotels ; and then we get so much more money too, which pleases the old woman, you know?" "O, I don't know," replied the boy, yawning, aqd rubbing his eyes; "I guess I shouldn't ,like to sWap, though." "Well, Tommy," she resumed, " you see I am tired of being round, where I've been so many times, and I'll tell you what I'd like to do. I'd like to change . . page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 HAMPTON HEIGHTS o. ( c, clothes, just a day or two, you know, and then run about the city, andcget a peep at the churches, and big houses you talk about so much.". "Don't you think she'd find it out, Mad?" (for so the Italians had named her). "O she won't think of it, because we look just alike now, since my hair is cut off." "Well, Mad, if it wasn't for wearing petticoats, I'd do it; but if the old woman should find it out, would n't we catch tidery-eye though?" "Well, Tommy," said she, perceiving how he wavered in his mind, "let Ts swap just for the fun of it, any how, and see how we like each other's rig." The little fellow, after some hesitation, relieved him- self of his pants and coat, and by the moonlight, that beamed through a window in the old roof, succeeded in ensconcing himself in the girl's clothes. "Well, Mad," said he, after hitching about a little, "I don't think I like petticoats any how; some way they don't hang around a fellow just right, so let's have them old trowsers back again, will you?" "O wait till morning now," replied Madaline, " and I 11 do it. I 'm too sleepy now, Tom, any way." Satisfied with this agreement, the little fellow was soon asleep again, leaving the girl highly delighted with the exchange. Before the beggars the next morning began to stir, or the early rag-pickers to crawl out of their holes, she stole cautiously down. the narrow 2 ; HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 81 steps, arrayed in her suit of boy's clothes. A singular dress it was, too-a large coat, the cast-off garment of some laborer, dangling about her heels, so long, the very buttons on the waist were below her knees. It had been nearly deprived of one arm, and the other, long enough. for two such arms as hers, stretched far beyond her fingers. A pair of pantaloons, through which looked her scratched and dirty knees, were somehow fastened about her, with one exceedingly comprehensive button, that answered for the entire buttoning apparatus of the suit. But her hat, was in- deed, the crown-piece of the whole--the brim, trimmed down to a sort of handle, making the whole affair a kind of dilapidated soldier's cap. Thus, like Puss in Boots,' she came out upon the walk. Over her head, a few stars were still shining, and at the end of the street, she could perceive the masts of vessels, resting against the dawn of the sum- mer sky. Pausing as moment, she looked back upon the hovel, that so long had been her home, where the fearful old woman, had counted her money at night, and given her her bread and tea in the morning. But the thought of her, kept her feet in motion, and she, ceased only from running, when her spent breath failed her. The country to her, seemed a great way of and she supposed, it would take days to reach it; she therefore saved her last night's bread, until the noon should have brought her beyond the city's limits. 4* page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 1HAMPTON HEIGHTS. By chance she wandered upon an avenue, a- direct outlet from the city, which six years before her mother, toil-worn and weary, had made, the entrance to her grave. Soon she arrived among gentlemen's resi- dences, where beautiful gardens lay about. Here the air seemed fresh, wafting the perfume of flowers. She heard voices of children playing among the shrubbery, and saw many colored birds floating from branch to branch. When the sun told her it was nearly noon, she found a rustic seat at the end of a shady walk, -leading off where she heard the children's voices, interrupted by the occasional barking of a dog. Falteringly, she took her seat and opened the old box, where, wrapped in a bit of paper, lay the scanty meal of bread. Carefully she broke it, and returned the half again to its wrapper. With a thoughtful look she sat making her silent repast, when a little girl came, trundling a hoop, down the walk. She did not observe the child till close upon her, and then, half-frightened, suddenly directed her course around the tree. Leaving the hoop in the grass, she quickly went toward the shrubbery, casting occasional glances over her shoulder at the place where still sat Madaline eating her bread. Directly she re- turned, bringing also her nurse and two brothers, one a little fellow, that trembling clung to the nurse's side. The group approached the child, who had now finished 5 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 83 her meal, and the eldest boy came boldly up and asked "Why she sat there on his father's ground?" "'I am only a poor little match-child," she -replied, "trying to find the country, that I may see the trees and hear the birds sing. Won't you buy a few matches to help me?" The boy's warm heart at once overcame his petty arrogance, and he plunged both his hands deep into the bottom of his pockets. First he felt in one, then in the other, but to no purpose, for, long before, the con- fectioner had taken charge, of their contents. His little brother, however, perceiving his disap- pointed looks, ran up at once and said, "I've got a penny, Johnny, in my new pocket; you give it him, I's faid," and retreating backward as he spoke, held out his little skirts, while John presented the money. "Stop, John," said the nurse, catching him by the shoulder, you must not give it him, your father will hot like it. Run away, you little beggar, or I will set the dog upon you." Slowly the child rose from its seat, and passed again upon the highway. She shed no tears-too often had she received such words into the little treasure-house of her soul, and too 'often had the blows of the bad woman fawen upon her. So when she came out upon the avenue, she merely sung a match-song, as she had heard the boys do, when thus reproached. In the:dis- tance loomed up, what she supposed was the forest, and page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 HA]MPTON HEIGHTS. thither she turned her feet. As she wandered over the dusty road, the sun dipped toward the west, and birds began warbling their evening songs, but the dim forest still seemed a great way off, and so she cast about for a night's resting-place. Beyond a hedge she was pass- ing, in the midst of a green plain, she discovered what she believed to be a little house, standing by itself, and thought ierchance no one would come and drive her from it until morning, when she swould be quite rested. So she went dova through the grass, half as high as her head, until she Heached the little house, which was nothing more than a farmer's hay-stack. Creeping into it, however, she soon fell fast asleep, dreaming of the forest in the distance The thousand sounds that call on the breeze of a summer's morning, early awakened the child. Creep- ing out, she at once looked to gee if the forest had vanished in the night. ' In the light of the glad sun- shine, its deep shadows were drinking in the warmth of golden rays, that penetrated its leaf walls, and shone among its moss paths. Sitting down beside the hay. stack, her pale face looking inquiringly toward it, she finished the remaining crust, now hard and- dry. In a limpid stream, she bathed her forehead, and quenched her thirst, and then once again ,i -cedmm her journey. : But soon hunger began to gnaw in her bosom, and she thought at times as she struggled through the wet HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 85 grass, she would never reach it. Still it was no great way off, and before long she approached the edge, when her heart beat more quickly, and her feet caught new life. This, indeed, was the dim old, forest, and here stood the very trees she had dreamed of, their gnarled trunks overrun with vines, that hung in fes- toons about the branches. And here was the roof of twisted shades,- so thick the sun scarce penetrated it, and underneath which lay the white carpet mingled with red berries. Little creatures she had never before seen, with bushy tails, leaped from bough to bough, and dropped bits of nuts upon her, from among the leaves. Birds with many voices sang, and floated about in the shadows, and timid animals fled at the sound of her step. In the distance, a strange, tinkling noise, seemed to call her, growing louder as she left the dark trees. At length, below a mossy bank, she spied a stream of water leaping over rocks, and tossing islands of white foam into the stiller pool beyond. Sparkling, and bubbling, it seemed a strange voice laughing in the forest; and she laughed with it, and danced about in unfeigned joyousness of soul. Yes, truly this was the country, and this was the, talking brook, and here she would live and laugh with it, and ae[g-,ith the birds. Thus dreaming, she sent her mrusical'* voice among the trees, that echoed it back over and over again. Then she sat upon the bank, and loosed the old match-box from her side. - She page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. hung her little legs over it, and dipped her hot feet in the cool stream. Then she lifted the cover, and poured the matches on the ground. She dropped them one by one into the stream, and watched them float over the white and gray rocks, while a box, caught for a moment, until the matches fell out, she said was a shipwreck, and these were the drowning sailors swimming about. And she saw another swept into the eddy, that whirled round and round, until her head was giddy from watching it. Thus she sat till the forest grew dark, so dark, she could scarce distinguish the trunks of the great trees about her. . Looking upward, she watched the stars twinkling through the leaves, and while peering toward them, wondering what they were, and how they came to shine so beautifully, a drop of dew, that the leaves had collected from the freshness of the evening, fell upon her cheek. Soon after she lost herself in sleep. She could never tell how long she was there, but while dreaming, beheld a being like herself, clothed in wretched garments, that through tears smiled upon her with a sweet, sad expression, and pressed thin lips to her own, and sang low lullabys. Then voices talking loud and harshy wakened her, and an old man, who looked and spoke kindly, more so than any one she had ever known, was leaning over her.' She gazed fixedly upon him a moment, and then strove to smile. 'T was only a faint gleam across her forehead, telling a world HAM PTON HEIGHTS. 87 of suffering. She strove to rise, but hunger and fatigue had paralyzed her energies, and she fell back upon the turf. She strove to speak, but the words died upon the lips, that would have'uttered them, and her only reply, was in choking tears, welling up to bless the old man who bent over her. So the poor rushight just waved its flame, backward, and forward, and then all became dark. The old man lifted her in his arms, and went quickly through the woods, until he came upon a smil- ing garden, beyond which, a cottage, overrun with rose-bushes, looked pleasantly forth. In the midst of the ground, a tall woman, somewhat masculine in ap. pearance, was watering the flowers, accompanied by a stout "girl, who made continual journeys back and forth -from the well, to supply the sprinkler the lady so dex- terously handled. Disturbed by the old man's ap- proaching step, she raised her tall form more deter- minedly erect, and faced about to meet him. "What in the world, Scott," she exclaimed, "have you there?" retreating, at the same time across- a bed of verbenas (which so lately had absorbed her entire attention). "Don't come any nearer me. Look!, look! too, man, and see where you 're stepping.'" The gardener made a move backward at her words,-- only to crush a bed of violets in his rear, which so ex-; cited the lady, she loudly vociferated, "There! just stop where you are, and set down that thing, whatever page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. it. is, until you can walk through the alleys, without crushing every flower on the borders." "It won't do, Miss Mary, to set it down," he replied, "and I'm more than half afraid, it won't live- to get into the house, any way." "What in the world is it? Where in the world did it come from? How in the world did you find it?" O, I'll tell you by and by, ma'am,.when we've brought it to, if we can. I found it down in the grove. A poor, half-starved little child it is, that's alln" "Don,'t you think it's got any disease, Scott? noth- ing we shall catch, and spread among the children at the lodge?" O, no, I don't think any thing ails it but hunger and -cold; and I guess Martha and I, with a little gruel, will fetch' it up shortly." So saying he disappeared into the kitchen, whither he was followed by the lady, who as quickly vanished up stairs, ordering down blankets, pillows, etc., with the utmost expedition. The warm gruel mand friction of Mr. Scott's hands, partially restored the child to consciousness, and she opened her eyes with such a pitiful expression, every heart of the numerous assembly of servants, was touched with sympathy. At the top of the basement stairs, Miss Mary planted herself: a kind of way station, where the numerous servants she dispatched back and forward, with advice and. medicine, generally paused to HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 89 breathe. At length (when, by the stillness below, she imagined the child. might be dying) she rushed down and took a closer survey of the foundling. "Poor little forlornity!" she exclaimed, tucking her dress between her knees, and bending over it with outstretched neck, )"Where could you have dropped- from?," "Not out of heaven, I reckon, misses," suggested Martha, the cook, who, with a small tin dish and spoon, stood administering a little sustenance between the blue lips. "Yes! yes'!" responded her husband, the gardener, them ain't the kind they have up there, may be; and I suppose you think none, but the ones in clean pina- fores and silk-stockings gets up so high. I don't, though; and I reckon that ere woe-begone little cripple, you and I, sot out down beyond the tater-field, is sprung up in heaven jist as beautiful a lily, as ever the eyes of angels see'd growin' in the gardens of Paradise., "You know I don't think any such thing, Scott; and you are always talking such nonsense, because I say if I was a man, I would'n't be caught voting along with all those shoemakers, and fishermen down at the land.- ing, so as to be called a democrat."' "Hush! hush your fionsense!" ejaculated Miss Mary, "and go right off to the landing for Doctor Foster. Tell him that I am ill, which will make him hurry, I trust." page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 . EHAMPTON HEIGHTS. "Hadn't we better get him in bed first?" suggested some one. "Why, it ain't a boy, true as, the world," said Martha, stopping, in astonishment, from bolstering its head. "O0, dreadful!'" articulated Miss Mary; "as if it wasn't awfl enough to treat a boy so, without tak- ing a poor, wretched little girl. Scott! Scott, I say! why are you not after the doctor?" It was not long before the physician made his ap- pearance, having come in great haste, supposing his good friend attacked with some sudden indisposition. To his infinite vexation, however, he found her in usual health, moving cautiously about the bed, where a for- lorn-looking child was reposing. He felt her pulse, gave some directions in a pettish way, much displeased at the idea, of not being able to prescribe a leech or blister for his maiden friend, who. for many years, had laughed at his recipes and medicines. It was more than a month, before the child gained strengthsufficient to be brought into the air, and then she was pale enough, for one, reared in the most luxurious dwelling. - s - CHAPTER X. "They say best men are moldedt out of faults, and for the most part become much the better for being a little bacd"--MEAssvE FPO NlAVmuE. Miss MARY FISH was a spinster, some forty years of age, the last of four sisters, who, like herself, had dwelt "in perpetual maidenhood," fit representative of a dogmatic, uncompromising parent, who for ninety years buffetedt$he waves of time. The Spartan firm- ness, that sustained hope through the long and doubt- ful struggles of the Revolution, went down with him to the grave. Unyielding, unflinching in his latter moments, as when he shouted "AForward! forward!"- in battles, or slept at night amid broken harness, and heaps of slain, he had outlived most of his cotem- poraries. Washington, Hancock, and Jefferson, were all gone. Still he remained year after year, everl pre- serving the marked characteristics of the age. A few years previous to the commencement of our tale, he had "gone the way of all the earth," laying aside his top-boots, breeches, and broad skirts, for those equally ancient and honorable garments, that often in his life-time he remarked, "altered not with the ridic- page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. ulous fashions of the age." It no doubt afforded him great pleasure in his-latter days, to reflect how he would commence his journey, into the vast unknown, arrayed in the same habiliments as his ancestry. How he would be as stiffly escorted, to the place of embarkation over the river, and then sleep in the same repose, as those with whom he had thundered over the battle-fields, or mingled with in the halls of council. Miss DMary inherited less of the cold aristocracy of this parent, than either of her sisters, having partaken deeply of the nature of the sweet' convolvults, that had clung for nearly forty years, to this oak-like speci- men of past generations, bearing him four daughters, two of whom, they had followed to tTe family-tomb. She retained sufficient, however, of his clear-sighted sagacity, to make herself heard upon all oc'a gns of business, which, in the final disposal of hisff ense estate, brought her in juxtaposition with numerous at- torneys, who dreaded her approach, as that of an in- quiring spirit, cognizant I of their most secret acts. There was hardly a paper, however learned or mystified bylaw terms, that she would not discover flaws in, and return interpolated and scratched, with such a show of legal acumen, as to astonish the old clerks, and en- grossers, who had christened her with the significant title of Judge Scratch, whether from any resemblance outwardly to the enemy of man, or on account of her mutilating propensities, we are unable to say. Like HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 93 the entire family, she was somewhat masculine in her appearance-erect, and of queenly bearing, and no more susceptible of fear than her father, who was known as having been nearly the first on shore at the storming of Stony Point. Her hair, with the exception of a singular gray spot over her temple, was as black as a raven's wing, parted smoothly across an expansive forehead, overhanging two fearfully black eyes, that gleamed like meteors, from the deep regions they in- habited. Every thing of the vaunted progressions of the present day, she. hated with her father's intensity offeeling; and undoubtedly would have been pleased to have collared some delicate Bloomer, and given her such an exhibition of woman's ability, as she would have remembered -till the day of her death.' When excit ;encounters of her tongue were those of a twoefed sword, and it dissected the peculiarities of the strozg-minded, with such annihilation of rhetoric, as to convince the greatest casuist, of the entire feasi- bility of their most radical theories. Still there was much that was gentle, and lovely about Miss- Mary. She possessed such depth of heart, as to overflow and conceal her masculine, propensities to all but casual observers. She had once loved! and little Miss Thiompson, who had been for thirty years the seam- stress of the family, had been heard to say, that the spot of gray hair over her temples appeared one morning, after an interview of many hours, with one whose visits page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] " HAMPTON HEIGHTS. from that date ended entirely. This was about all most of her friends knew of the affair. But her heart still retained memories and sympathies, that often flashed up-in the deep silence of her chamber, and like a sunbeam, melted away the ice lying about her win- tery existence. At the time Susan Master's child' so singularly became her :property (for she looked upon it as a 'piece of damaged goods, that should be reduced to cleanliness), she was old-maidish and whimsical in many particulars, and being the last leaf, on the imported English stock, was wretchedly alone in the midst of all the grandeur of accumulated wealth, and it was there- fore no strange thing, but rather a problem, how she retained so much of suavity and gentleness, engaged in so many masculine pursuits. To-day, with all the love of a blushing girl, would she bend over a broken violet, and raise its drooping face to her own, or sing for hours some plaintive air, whose vibrations often loosened crystal drops, pendant from the long dark lashes. To-morrow, perchance, she would be searching the moldy papers of the recorder's office, resolved, she, said, "to pay no lawyer for a search of titles that wouldn't stand in law, and which, ten to one, would bring the whole estate into chancery,. To attend a long and protracted litigation, she was about leaving home, when the new comer was intro. duced, and she was therefore quite at loss what dispo- HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 95 sition to make of it. She resided as much between her country, and city establishments, as in either place, and it was something of a question with the tax-gather- ers where her home was, but as she paid no poll-tax, it was not of great consequence to the state. The city dwelling was duly closed, bolted, barred, and doubly locked on the first of May each year, not so much as a * dog being left to bark at burglars. - Of the latter, how- ever, there was little danger, most of them being too well aware of her ubiquitous character, to think of entering a place, where she was liable to-be encoun- tered at any moment, for she carried the keys about her person, and upon visiting the city always examined every apartment, sleeping in the lonely chambers until her return. Such -was Miss Mary Fish, a woman of no common generosity of heart. When permitted to dispose of charities in her own way, they were unbounded. She was constantly making conditional donations to per- sons and institutions, but so mystifying and shackling their distribution, as to puzzle half the lawyers of the vicinity, who attempted to meet their requirements. Still she was beloved by every one, who would take the trouble to analyze her curious composition, the perfect delight of numerous children, who saw m any a Christmas-tree lighted in her parlors, the memory of which they cherished no ore pleasantly, than tha t of he kind lady who made them happy about it. .Had it page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 9 6 }I AIMPTON HEIGRTS not been for her determined will, which made every thing yield before it, and neve Per itted her to re- tract what she had done or said, she would have been, in most respects, exceedingly lovely. Although she in- nevertheless half supported a poor parish cergyman and his family, always attending his church when in the country. It washer delight to engagehim in metaphysial discussions,buthe always so fortified his grounds with barricades of Scripture, that she was never quite able to cut through or overleap them. Into her training, was to come this little outcast, now seven years of age, possessed of all the hateful qualities of her miserable race. ; . s CHAPTER XI. "Our youth, our childhood, that spring of springs- O, surely 'tis the blessedest thing That Nature ever invented." HOOD. THE June roses that clustering hung about the porch, when, in the gardener's arms, Madaline crossed the flower-beds, were nearly all gone when she again appeared. One or two were clinging about the vine, much like the history of the poor rush-light that kept its glimmer, through all the dark winters and summers she knew, and which was now a lambent flame playing about, and so illuminating every thing, that she saw most distinctly, the little kedge-anchor of hope, that more than once she might have thought lost, had she had heart or time, to think beyond her misery. As she rapidly improved in health, Miss Mary had her arrayed in a clean bliltdress, over which a smooth apron was arranged, and she found herself, daily yet unintentionally revolving thoughts and plans for her future welfare and happiness. The child had more than a love for flowers, and one day her ladyship had the pleasure (if we may so speak of what was in' page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 HA MPTON HEIGHTSo deed a vexation) of perceiving her protegee down in the garden, with careless hand, plucking some of her favorite blossoms. "Girl, girl!" she exclaimed, at the top of her sturdy lungs, "-you mustn't do that, don't you know any better than to spoil all those plants?" "No, -ma'am," replied the child. "Well, then, you must know it,- and now don't you ever let me see you doing such a thing again. If you do I will punish you severely." The child looked at her in a bewildered manner, and then ran down the walk again. "What shall be done with her," thought Miss Mary, "she seems a very interesting child, and yet she is nothing but a beggar, without half the claim upon my kindness, of the children at the lodge.' To be sure, It might keep-her about the house, but it will be only to prevent one of the coachman's girls from coming, whom I know he expects me to take. However, she shan't suffer, and if she proves any thing of a handy child I'll see she has a home somewhere." She raised her eyes just then from her work to behold her handling a beautiful gladiole, the first out of the season, "Here, here! you little torment," she exclaimed, "What are you about?" The child released the flower, and walked slowly to the extreme end of the garden. "Come here, I say!" called Miss Mary, BAMPTON HEIGHTS. fadaline made no 99 MaDoalie mace no movement to return, you hea e?", shouted the y, ome here this minute. say She now tuned, and came up in a omewt ugh ing way, until she caught the angry expressio f th- forn! -xpressio f Comer s countenanc When. she quickly stolpped. "Come close up, repeated the spinster. The child advanced SOmerhat nearer. "Have you got any name?, she inquire a us No, ma'am, lnt none 'tWould do for this place I sed to -have, though, befbre I came here, "What Wmas it?, "Sometimes Madaline and Som etimes ,a d C, Well, I shall call you Datilda, and if I hear of p icking one of the flowers aga in I le "What s that, ma'am?, she in i d no what you mean., inquired on Dont know what I mean ? W h , h at d h you when you Were bad , "I neer was bad ,n aa I a lda t odmeau ' an' use, though, S and I always got , geatin g s at night, withou t I r eo and Hetou ftho way., rawled o, and kept out "What a fool I was , thought is a Ch a delicate -Word as punish to a chila, rearedup aus e has been. Well tilda, t o w a hi ldp m eans to bead, beat means to punish , and now mind yo u dont give etw"-. ^ MS ^ .^'^^Pg-e page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] HA PTON HEIGHTS. me cause for either, and what is more, you m what Catharine, and miss Thompson say, and always keerelf clean and neat, and never think of touh- ing one of the flowers. Do you hear?" "Yes, ma'am." athari t e,' then,? rnownstirs, and askCatharine to r..WeU, then, run dOW1 come to me, at once." the nice-looking "Catharine," saia Miss Mdary, tothe na waiting-mad that now appad hefore, e 'I am going to town, to-day, for a week, awl e I gone, you can have Miss Thopson make some more dresses for the childa. And what is more, you st keep her busy, and out ofthere iscief I don't think," responded the bta, forthers-ewi be any danger of her not being busy, but as for the m chief part, I can't promise any great things, for she has already done more than I can straighten out in a week." i; Pray, what has she done, I 'd like to know?" ",Why, she has pullea open every drawer in the house, peeped into every basket and closet, besides (here she hesitated somewhat) rigging erselfout in one of your caps and bonnetS " Gracious," exclaimed Miss ary, "what can be done with her? you must lock up every drawer, and roo while I agone: but mind you don't strike or ,oom while I anm gone: touch her, however bad she may be, that I will do ,upon ny return ." Scarcely had Miss Mary and her s HAMPTO 1 HEIGHTS. 101 disappeared that day, when Catharine's cares com- menced. The child who, a short time previous had been seen in the garden, was now nowhere to be found, and she therefore went from room to room, locking drawers and closets, according to her mistress's instructions. In nearly every apartment, were unmis- takable evidences of the child's movements. Many of Miss Mary's dresses had been taken down, and now lay either at the bottom of the closet, or in a tumbled condition upon the chairs, and in that lady's dressing- room, she at last perceived the object of her search arrayed in a superfluity of garments, belonging to the wardrobes of the different rooms. She was mounted on a chair before the mirror, and with great apparent satisfaction was surveying her grotesque little figure, continually adding some new article of finery to a toi- let, already composed of her protectress's most costly and valuable apparel, Startled at length by the sight of Catharine, who for some time stood watching her movements, she leaped down, and with a derisive laugh escaped over the stairs. The maid followed her some distance into the garden, but unable to overtake her, again returned, and en- deavored once more to arrange the scattered articles in some little order. She was, however, soon at- tracted toward the windows, by the loud merriment of a group of servants, who had collected in fiont of the piazza. page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. Looking down the side-walk, she perceived Madaline at a distance. She had evidently avoided some attempt of Mr. Scott to catch her, for the latter was scraping the dirt from his hands and clothes, as if he had had a fall. She could hear the child's merry laugh, which the servants echoed, and which was also partly shared in by Scott, who, with a significant smile, cleaned his hands and knees of the clay. ' Well, this is a pretty business," said she, coming among the group; " and I suppose she 'll make another journey now to some one else's place. I wouldn't care, if she hadn't got Miss Mary's collar she thinks so much of, and which I did up yesterday." "She 's the queerest little imp, Katy," replied the gardener, " ever I see'd, any how; and she makes me most want to go to York again, afore I die, to see how such little critters get a living. I was never down there but once, Katy, and that was in the old Squire's time, and I got enough on't, I tell ye, to last awhile. He wanted me to go along with him as a kind of pro- tector, he said, 'agin the hackmen and sich -like fel- lers,' but I was so puzzled and skerr'd, I wanted one most of the two. You see somehow (for every body was jammnin' and pushin' to get out fast), I lost sight of the Squire, and in trying to hunt him up, got pushed along this way and that, till all of a sudden I found myself in a great street, where there was such a tarn'd noise, I couldn't think for as much as a minute or two BAMPTO HEIGHTS. 103 What I was looking arter. 'What on 'arth, says I to myself, 'is all this ere clatter about, a/nyhow? -owso- ever, arter awhile, I got my faculties together, and be- gan to look about, and the only thing I could see was folks and stages, and stages and folks, all goin' seemed to me, one way, so there was no gettin' aross the road, no how. Just then I see'd the Squire, the t' other side, lugging along his bag, staring this way and that jist as if he'd like to eat me. 'Halloo, Squire, say s I, 'halloo, but the 'tarnal stages made sich a racket, he * oul yoJdht hear mu, a bacould n't heard me, and o went along jabbin his -cane bak'ards every now and then, at two or three little brats that followed him. A t last one on them laid clean hold on the bag, and so I bolted in among the. horses to see if I could n't get ver and help him , and some how , dodgin' round, I slipped up, and cam e nigh bein ' clean run over; an d the next I knew there w as a sleeky-lookin eller pullin, me back on to the side-wal . Hang you r icr, says , ' why did n 't you let m e go over ? Don't you see the Squ ire over there lookin' arter m e' Do you suppose w as g oin, to let you get k illed?, says he . ' Wh at b usiness is that of you rs? says I , ' sticking in your flipper into other olk s' aff airs. 'I '1 show you,' says h e. But jlsist then I c aught sight of the Squire's cocked hat, 'way down the street, and thinkin, I'd better be lookin, arter h im , I I eft the chap, and pushed along , keepin, th e sam e side of th e road, though , for I had no notion o f t ryin the j ob over again . page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] HAMPTON HEIGHTS. Pretty soon I see'd him go into a great house, where there was a black feller came up and took his bag, and fixings. So says I to myself, 'I'll go down to the end of this 'ere lane, and then come up on t' other side on 't, and find the Squire.' So I kept goin' along, and goin' along, and all the time the stages kept growin' thicker and thicker, till I guess I went as much as five miles, and then it came into my head there was n't no end to 'em, any how, and that they was all drivin' round one perty great ring, and faced about, and come along back. I hadn't gone far, though, afore my old boots begun hurtin', so I couldn't stand it, and I sot right down among all that crowd of folks, and pulled 'em offand come along back bare-foot; and the way I got my toes trod on was awful. I made tracks for the dep6t pretty quick, I tell ye-didn't stop for nothin', but gets in the first train. But instead of its bein' one of them that stops down at the landin', 'twas a train that went snortin' 'way up into-the mountains. I don't know where it stopped, but it cost me five dollars to get back home; and I teli'd the Squire, the next time he took me along to York with him, he'd know it, I reckon." Here he turned from the laughing group, which lis- tened to the relation of his adventures with great mirth- fulness, and perceived the child bending down a favorite shrub, from which she plucked off blossom afer blossom. For a moment he was completely astounded. HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 105 "Well, I declare," he exclaimed, "if that don't beat any thing I ever heard yet. By jolly, she's the first one, I reckon, Miss Mary told not to do any thing, that up and did it just as soon as her back was turned! You little sinner," he shouted, running with great indigna- tion to where she still clung to the tree, only letting it escape to evade his grasp, "I '1 give it you, you little trollop. Only let me lay hands on you once !" and he shook his head with a peculiar, emphatic twist. Loud laughed the child in derision, and then ran over to the other side of the beds, where, with an elfish grin, she looked out from under the great cap of Miss Mary, which, strangely bedecked with blossoms, she still retained upon her head. "I ain't afraid of you," she articulated, when she perceived himi coming toward her. "I ain't afraid! I heard her tell Kate not to touch me; and beside, you can't catch me either." So saying, she leaped over the fence, and directly became lost to their view in the woods. Quite a discussion now took place among them, re. garding the best manner of securing and confining her, until Miss Mary's return. " I '1 give her a tarnel larruping, that 's what I ' do, if I can only lay my hands on the slippery jade," said the old man; "breaking down my flower-beds and bushes., 'No, you won't," replied Catharine: "for Miss 5* page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 1060 HAMPTON HEIGHTS, Mary said, there was nothing of that kind to be done till she got back.,' "She didn't tell me any such thing, though," he re- turned; "and she hadn't better let me lay hands on her either, for I sartinly shall try the vartue of a good squitch, as I 'm a living being, that 's all on 't; and you need n't be tellin' me what Miss Mary said at all, 'cause I don't want to hear any thin' about it." "You seem to have changed your mind wonderfully," said Martha, who had come up from the basement, and was looking at them, with a half-sad, vacant expression, the same she had ever worn since the day she went across the potato-field with her husband, and buried her cripple boy. "It was only this morning, you was ever so fast for asking Miss Mary to give her to you. I told you, I guessed you might as well hold on a day or so, till we see'd how she turned out." "And you was right, too, old woman," interrupted her husband. "And I'd as lief have a tarrier dog huntin' arter rats in the garden; the slippery little jade." It was long after the sunset had faded from off the highest hills, and twittering swallows about chimney- tops, dropped down into their smoky nests, that Mad- aline again appeared, along the edge of the wood. She stole slowly across the garden, and round to the front door of the house; but Catharine had made this fast, leaving no entrance open except that of the kitchen, AMPTON HEIGETS. where she heard the servants, voices, often repeating her own name. After-erier/ng about some time, and peeping over the curtains of the basement windows, she at length rushed into their idst, and then bythem to the stairs, where in an instant, she vanished into the darkness. s t "Now, we 've got her," exclaimed the gardener, il great apparent satisfaction; but hold on, aty, let h er get well into the trap afore you try to corner her,.r she 11 slip through your fngers like an eel." After a few moments, the little compan y stole a tiously up the stairs, headed by r. Scott; 'u; what was his disappointment, when he found the door loked within. "By jolly,, he muttered, "she's kinder got us arter all; but"-here he began whispering very low -"but we will starve her out, I reckon. Hold on, M artha, w ith that 'ere light, will ye, I say. "No! " replied his spouse, quietly going back to the kitch en. "And you are all a pack of fools, making such a fuss over a little romping girl, that there don't nothing ail but a little fu n.", n"Let her go, I say , at y-the s narlin ' old critter,, ro ;eplied Mr . Scott; "sh e 's a lwa ys settin' u p h erm ind j ist as if I was n't nobody . And you hold on here , till I go round with a ladder and stick a nail or two over th e window. T here, said he , thumping again st the sash a mo ment frerward, "you /i ttl e valet , IIve g ot YOR ve got page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. But the child heard him not, quietly sleeping under the bed-clothes she had drawn closely over her head. Soon after, Catharine made fast the door from the out- side, and left the girl to her slumbers. "Well," said Martha, the next morning, as- she tossed to her husband's plate, some hot cakes, imme- diately returning to her griddle, where, with a little shovel she turned some more that were nicely browned, "Well, you goin' to let that young one starve up in the chamber? because if you are, I 'm going to take her up some breakfast." "Don't you dare open that door, old woman, if you do, I'll, I 'll-" "What will you do?" she retorted, for she was in none of the best of humors. "What I'm a mind to, without asking you either." "Well, then, take them cakes up, you or Kate, that 's made all this fuss yourselves." "I say," angrily replied the gardener, " don't neith- er of you dare go up to that door, till I get through eatin', and then, if I 'm a mind, I 'U take her some vit- tales." "And what if you ain't a mind?" returned his wife. "Why, then I won't be, that's all." After he had finished his breakfast he took a plate of food, and passed toward the door. "Ain't you goin' to give her any coffee?" inquired Martha. AMPlON HEIGHTS. 109 "No," he responded. "Well, where you goin'? that ain't the way up stairs I "'I'm goin' up the outside, you don't catch me opening the door, to have her bolt out, and be at my rosebushes again, I tell you.." "Pooh! what an old fool you are, makin' such a fuss over a little child like that; I'd be ashamed ofmyself crawlin' up a ladder, like an old cat after a milk-pan, just because youthink you are doing something smart. I hope the ladder 'll fall down with you.' "I suppose you do, and I suppose you'd liketo have me break my neck, too, so you may sharpen up your stingers for somebody else 's hive., Marthals dignity was of too high an order, to reply to this last remark, so she went quietly about her work, while her husband mounted the ladder with the child's breakfast. "What makes you shut me up here?", inquired Madaline, as he passed through the window her plate of food. "What makes me, you little dragon-whatmakes, you destroy the flower-beds, and rose-bushes,when you are told not to? I've a mind to come in there, and give you a good squiching , just what you deserve. "You may, if you will let me out, so that I can run in the woods again, and pick the berries." "Yes, and make a trainers feather of a whole Stalk page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] 10 HA MPTON HEIGHTS. ' gladiolases, as you did yesterday, and stick Miss [arys French cap, full of red verbenas." "What are they?" said she. " What, are they! why, those red and scarlet flow- "What 's red and scarlet? I don't know." The gardener's mind was in a strange state of per- exity, when he found her so ignorant. He stood ere, holding- tihe window with his hand, growing ore and more puzzled every minute, with her, ques- ons, when suddenly with a bound, she leaped through Le casement, and was down the ladder in a moment. quick were her movements, he doubted the correct- 3ss of his own perception. "Won't you give me my breakfast now?" she in- ired, standing a little way off from the ladder, and i oking toward hm. "You don't desarve any, you little spright," he re- Lmed, "and you're nothing but a botheration any w, but I'll tell you what I'll do, if you'll let the : )wers alone, and put up all Miss Mary's things you : ole, I'll give it to you." * "(I will," she replied, " and won't tell you any more 1! es about the flowers, and be as good as can be, if you ; ill let me run in the woods, and pick the berries and X wers down there." A "Well, then, come into the house, and have some : ari breakfast, and a drink of coffee." ! IIAPTON HEIGHTS, 1" "So you concluded to let her out?" said Martha, as the two came in at the door. "That 's just as much spirit as you've got. If I d set about a thing I'd fin- ish it, and not let it all sizzle out 'fore it's half boiled., "You love to ruffle up your feathers, old woman, don't you? but jest for a minute stop, and get the child something to eat.," "I'd like to know why you didn't let her come down in the first place, and eat with the rest of us, without making me do my work twice over. " For the week during 3Iiss Mary's absence, Matilda passed most of her time in the woods, often awakening the busy household with her ringing voice, that came echoing up from the meadow. Her, wild, elf-like dis- position and buoyant spirits, together with a gentle. hess to all, who spoke to her kindly, soon won for her a place in their hearts, so that they gladly would have screened from Miss Mary, all that had taken place. page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] CHAPTER XII. "Lord, what fools these mortals be." IId suo Niars Do. THE day of Miss Mary's return at length arrived. At some distance from the house, she was met by Ma- tilda, fantastically dressed with wreaths, and bunches of wild flowers and berries. Enboldened by her con- quest of the household, she immediately ran to her, laughing and capering about, with such an air of happi- ness, and animal spirits, as to dispel the cloud resting upon that lady's brow. She received the outstretched little arms into her hand, and stooping down, impressed a kiss upon her cheek. The girl, delighted with this show of kindness, twined her arms about her neck, and clung there for some moments. This little expression of love, sealed her destiny, gave her a home i the heart of that strange, masculine woman, that was to take the place of petrifying sympathies, that year by year, had been growing more and more like stone. She loosened the arms that still clung about her neck, and then taking her by the hand, walked slowly through the garden. Something hadvidently gone wrong with her dur- HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 113 ing her- absence, and there was unmistakable evidence of a great struggle, going on within. Her very step bespoke it. That step, lacking its usual determined elastic tread, now trailed along with the languor of age. She still retained, however, the iand of the child, who trotted on, more like an infant of four years, than a girl of seven or eight. OBabyhood she had never known, and now in full possession of health and strength, this dawn of sunshine had burst upon her, which, in its strong glare, almost as effectually put out the poor beam, of the little rush-light, as the darker days of trouble, leaving her standing, as it were, on a bridge of rainbows, beneath which, every wave was a pearl. As Miss Mary came among her favorite flower. patches, she discovered many mutilated stalks, which gave evidence of other hands, than those of the' old gardener having been about. "Who did this?" she inquired, stooping beside a rare and favorite exotic, which had given promise of numerous blossoms, when she left. The child, more accustomed to falsehood than truth, at once denied any knowledge concerning it. Miss ' Mary, stood calmly erect, and then shot the glance of her eagle eyes, into the ftuthest corner of Matilda's soul. "Do you tell me the truth, my child.) That last sweet expression, that mother-awakening page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] "4 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. word, to' her so sadly orphaned, was too touching for farther denial, and she as readily confessed the act, as she had before denied it, even accompanying her reply with tears. Miss Mary had never attempted to rear a child, and though familiar with their ways, was little read in their impulsive natures, and thus was strangely perplexed, with this exhibition of good and evil, these conflicting elements born in the same breast. The children with whom she was familiar, had never given her any such instances of deceit, and she attributed it all to the child's early associations, little thinking, how that poor soul had been crushed down by fear, so low, that now, when reaction took place, it fairly sprarig into the air. That she should have dared trans- gress her will, that will, which was law to all with whom it came in contact, was a still more perplexing fact. And yet here, in her presence, with the very proof of guilt before her, she lost the power to upbraid, or ac- cuse the little being. Therefore, she led her along, rather with feelings of pity, than anger. Again at home however, the sudden impulse of their first meet- ing affected her, she could not remain blind to the fact of her disobeyed orders, and instructions. Every hour they were together, convinced her she must take decid- ed steps, if she expected the least degree of obedience, throw aside sympathetic tendencies, and carry out the plan of the wise man. She had resolved to adopt, and HAMPTON HEIIGHTS. 115 educate her, after her own plan, to make her a compan- ion for her declining years, and perhaps the inheritor of her fortune. The proper course to pursue, to pro- duce a model child gave her daily thought, until, at last, some glaring act of impropriety, told her, the child must be whipped. Now whipping, however adapted to most children, was the wrong punishment for little Matilda. She had been accustomed to it, her entire life, and latterly, it served but to augment her anger, and prompt to obstinacy, and evil behavior. A kind word, or explanation she could understand, was capa- ble of effecting--as we shal perceive in the sequel- more, than any act of impulsive chastisement, however forcibly applied. And if an old bachelor's opinion may venture to intrude within nursery limits, he would sug- gest that Solomon, though the wisest of the living, was not as thoroughly informed upon matters domestic, as he might have been, and that whipping, except upon rare occasions, -is as illy adapted to the nursery, as the navy. But, however, Miss Mary's experience illustrates this, so we take up again the thread of our narrative. "She must be whipped,? said the good-lady, " sound-' ly, thoroughly whipped, that she may know my will is law, and that my commands are to be regarded. Catharine," she continued, "call Matilda, and when she comes in, go out, and lock the door after you." Matilda came running in, her heart full of joy, and page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] "6 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. her eyes beaming with delight; but what was her surprise, when instead of the sad, thoughtful face that generally met her, there appeared a cold, angry woman, whose black, searching eyes, seemed to read every act of her disobedience. She at, once retreated to the door, but the dark figure intruded between, and she sank down before it, hiding her face on her knees. "Get up, Matilda, and come here," said Miss Mary. The girl made nd movement. She again repeated the command. Still there was no demonstration like compliance. She waited a moment longer, and per- ceiving no likelihood of being answered, seized her by the arms, and gave her such a decided shake, as quickly to bring her upon her feet. There was no evidence of sorrow, or repentance now in the angry, defiant little face, that flashed upon Miss Mary, who alike had lost every trace of gentleness, and glanced back upon her, angry and impassioned. She dragged the child across the floor, snatched a whip, and applied it with deter- mined strength. Matilda made no outcry, scarcely winced under the blows, that fell thick and fast upon her back. "Are you sorry for your disobedience?" she in- quired, when she no longer had breath to apply the rod. "No," she returned. At this there came a stroke across Matilda's neck and face, that made her scream aloud from suffering. The HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 117 only result it produced was an attack upon herself violent, as unexpected. Now came a fierce struggle between them, the child showing such spirit, as Miss Mary had little dreamed of, tearing her dress, and at length getting one of her fingers, between her teeth. Miss Maryfs strength, how- ever, was too much for her at last, and she succeeded in tying her head and foot upon the floor. She had conquered the' body, that was all. There, beat that angry little soul against the bars of its prison, and there flashed that piercing eye juist as fiercely as before, while, with suppressed and stifled sobs, she writhed, and struggled upon the carpet. Now, dawned upon the good woman, the thought, that she might have com- menced the wrong way. She washed her bleeding hand, and then came, to where the child still struggled to free herself. ; Leaning down, and again looking upon her with a sad, inquiring expression, she asked, "Are you sorry, Matilda, for what you have done?" "I was," she replied, (" but I ain't now." "Will you be, if I untie you?" "If you will kiss me, as you did in the garden," said she. In a moment, Miss Mary's scissors were busily plying among the cords that confined her, and in a moment more the child stood penitent, and weeping before her. There, across her cheeks and neck, rose up that page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] 18 - HAIMPTON HEIGHTS. livid, broken line, which had cut so deeply. Still, Miss Mary was no more enlightened upon subduing the will, than years before she had been, after^long, and anxious poring over the volumes of Edwards, "Her will must be broken," said she; "but I will wait, until I am better able for the task." So she again kissed Matilda, and with her own hands, brought a clean dress for her. The child had no inclination to leave the house, but sat thoughtfully watching, from the window, the rest of the day. More than once, Miss Mary raised her eyes from her writing, to perceive her little hand resting against the red mark, which evi- dently gave her great pain, and more than once, over that strange woman's heart, came a feeling of suffering also, deep and harrowing-the thought, of having. commenced wrong, and having permitted her anger, to overcome her self-control. When evening came, she ordered tea, in her own apartment, which was arranged, the same as ever-one cup, saucer, and single plate. But hereafter, two were to sit at that little table, and Catharine was dis- patched, -to make preparations for the child. With sig- nificant look, she placed the plate and cup upon the table-a look, which seemed to speak astonishment at the lady's whim. All this time Matildas head, was far- out of the window, striving to conceal the red mark, that she knew would tell the story of her punishment, and which she dreaded to have re- HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 19 peated in the kitchen. Miss Mary observed it, and thought perchance, this might be a good way to break her will upon another plan, so calling her to the table, while the girl was still busy, she said, "Do you see this mark, Catharine? It is the result of a bad little girl's conduct, and what she will receive, when- ever she behaves so again., "I don't care," returned Matilda, pouting. '"I tore her dress, and bit her finger." "Leave the room, Catharine," ejaculated Miss Mary, indignantly, dashing down her cup, and again seizing hold upon her. The whip was once more put in requisition, and descended angrily, blow after blow, but with a different effect than before, for the child, struggling fiercely, soon escaped from her hands, and fled to the window. "If you beat me any more," she exclaimed, "I will jump out." "What can I do with her?b again questioned Miss Mary, of herself. "I must subdue her, and teach her to respect me, or she will be a sorrow all my life. Matilda, said she, her voice assuming a softer,tone, "come here."' "Won't you beat me any more?' "No, if you will be a good girl.' "But I won't be, if you beat me; and I 'll run away, too. I ain't afraid now, as I was the other time., This was a new idea to the good lady. "Very page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. likely she will," she thought; "such a wild, fearless thing as she is, and then I shall lose her, which now, I have commenced, I can not entertain the idea of. But I must break her will in some way, and how can it be accomplished?"Matilda still retained her place by the window, and could alone be tempted away by the prom- ise of no further punishment. Miss Mary, therefore, soon overcame her passion, and kindly placed for her, a seat at the table. Just in proportion, as the lady's smiles increased, came back glad expressions of joy from the child, who directly was all happiness, attentively listening, to the instructions of her preceptress. She did not care to repeat her second experiment, and again mortify Matilda, with Catharine's presence, so sat alone with her, while the shadows gathered about, listening to her merry prattle. When it was dark, she thought to talk seriously; to inform her what she expected in the future. She therefore bade her bring her little bench, and sit quietly by her side. "Matilda," she commenced, 'do you know who ma[deffyou?" "No, ma'am, without it was the old woman." "Dreadful!" audibly repeated Miss Mary. "What 's dreadful?" inquired the child. "That you should not know about your Father in Heaven, who made you, and loves you, and grieves to see you such a bad girl.' "I don't want to grieve, any body that 's kind to me! HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 121 O show me how I can find Him! that I may tell Him, about the old woman, and how every body beats me." "Poor little child," murmured the lady, "you shall not be beaten any more; and I will try and teach you, as well as I can, about our Father in Heaven, whose Son took up such little ones, and blessed them." And there, in that dark chamber, the woman, who would often cavil, and endeavor to mystify religious truth, sat and talked for hours, to that listening baby, who crept closer, and closer to her side, at last throwing her arms about her neck, and sobbing with an aching heart. Without design, Miss Mary had broken her will so thoroughly, so completely, the poor little thing told her " she might beat her now, and she would love her just as well. Dear Miss Mary," she continued, " a man told me once, when I hurt my foot, to -pour cold water on it, and I put it under the hydrant. Won't you let me pour some on your finger that I bit? I can see the rag round it, though it is dark." There were suppressed sobs, in that lonely chamaber, for many minutes, and the soul of one, who knew So little, really of the heart, melted itself in tears. 6 page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] CHAPTER XIII. "Children t ye are blessed things, Beloved by earth and heaven-- An angel shields with guardian wings The home where ye are given." MARY HOWITT. THERE are few children at six or-eight years of age, so ill-natured as to render themselves neither interest- ing, nor attractive. A bright, thoughtful boy, or lively, innocent girl, before they have learned of evil which corrupts the heart, and cares, that overcome the physical of our natures, are the most beautiful objects that in- tercept mankind, on their weary, and toilsome pilgrim- age. There is about children, ere yet the passions of their nature are developed, something peculiarly insin- uating, which, if reflected upon, wiles into our hearts, changes the current of our thoughts, unfastens the chains, the clogs that have imprisoned it, wakening, per- chance, the past, and showing us how we have fallen. Innocence, as it slumbers in the cradle, its lips still moist with the pressure of its mother's breast, and its chubby cheeks, widening the contour of its undefined features, is an object, sweet and inspiring, to those of whom it is immediately a part. IIAMPTON HEIGHTS. 123 But childhood belongs to all, and impresses on every heart a higher and purer range of thought. Its cir- cle of interest is limited by no nursery bounds, but breathes through dimples, through simple questions, and sparkling eyes, telling, with a voice, alike instruct- ive and saddening, of what we have been, and are now so far from. The children of the poor, and of the rich, are flowers along the highway we travel, differing only in strength and endurance, and few are the hearts so callous, as not to pause admiringly, while many re- member " of such is the kingdom of heaven." Little Matilda, under ordinary circumstances, would have been a beautiful, laughing child, with no other peculiar attractions, if we except, an unbounded flow of animal spirits. Her advent into the family of Miss Mary was, however, like the birth of an infant. Baby- hood, or childhood, beyond the expansion of limbs, had not been hers, and in most respects she was but an overgrown infant. Still, she was the life of that hitherto demure household-a sunbeam of subtle es- sence, creeping among the chinks and crannies of the old building, which had not been penetrated for half a century. There were windows left open, by that wandering little spirit, and curtains withdrawn, about which hung death-damps, that began to collect, when they closed for the last time around their inhab- itants. The rooms of those departed sisters, where still remained numerous articles as arranged by their A page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. own hands, and which saw the sunlight of heaven but once a year, now often repeated the child's voice, and echoed back the light pressure of her foot- steps. There were antiquated playthings dragged out of dark closets, on every feature of which were stamped mementos of the children that had grown old under that roof-tree, strange garments of past gen- erations, mutilated, horn books, and last of all-the old Squire's wig. 1'Aunt Mary! Aunt Mary, what in the world is this?" she exclaimed, drawing after her, one day, by a cord, the former article. "Good gracious! child, what won't you drag outf next?" replied the spinster, " why, that 's my father's old wig, I can just remember whmen he wore it." "Where did he wear it, Aunty? I should like to kllow." "Why, on his head to be sure." Ci On his head! O how funny," she murmured, at the same time ensconsing her bright face under the mats of hair, and running to the mirror. "Catharine, Catharine," shouted Miss Mary, ("get that thing off from the child's head, dear knows, what's inside of it, and burn it up, the dirty old thing--no I stop, though-don't burn it, it was my father's, and my dear old mother saved it as a memento 'of his youth. No! no! put it back where it came from, let it molder away in peace. My father's wig!" she murmured, HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 125 while tears dropped down, one by one, over her writ- ing, until at length the child's voice again disturbed her. "What makes you cry, Aunt Mary?" she asked, coming and looking inquiringly into her face. "Memories, child! Memories!" "Have I got any, Aunty?" "I hope not, dear, if they are as bitter as mine." "But what are they, Aunty?" "Pictures, child, that are on the air, and on the trees, and which a breath of, wind sometimes restores, or an emmet on the grass repeats." "But I don't understand you, Aunty?" "And can not now, my child! God grant you never may." Matilda was quite perplexed, and wondering, went off, leaving those pictures to deepen in the soul of her friend. It was well this little being had come to revive them in that bosom, else they would have be- come like icebergs, making one winter of her soul. Her disposition had been daily growing harsher, until she came, and little time would have served to make her a hard, overbearing man, in every respect, save her outward adorning. But Matilda accomplished won- ders. Had she been a lap-dog, she would not have re- ceived greater attention, and she was washed, combed, and dressed as if she really were one, and always emerged from her bath of soap-suds, rubbing her eyes, page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. and shaking her elfish locks as if she wrere a pet poodle, for whose cleanliness such ablutions were truly neces- sary. And then she would come into Miss Mary's , room, her brown cheeks glowing with health, and her white teeth gleaming through red lips, that always im- ? pressed a kiss upon that cold, impassive face. The i lessons of truth and virtue taught her took ready root in the neglected soil, and came springing up, overtopping, and crowding out the more than half- ripened tares, which had been so wildly scattered in her young bosom. Miss Mary found food for many hours, contemplation, while she listened to her lessons, or sauntered with her along the edge of the woods, r and before the leaves began dropping on the pathway, she had so learned to love her, as to scarce permit her to be out of sight. - There were at least twenty governesses received, catechised, and dismissed, before one of suitable char- acter and ability was found, and even she was dis- charged after two weeks trial. Education was one of Miss Mary's hobbies. Every thing with her was edu- cation. So many times had she read the volumes of "Locke on the Understanding," that she was thor- oughly convinced nothing was innate, and she believed -or at least said: she did-it was just as easy to make a Hannah More of one child as another, provided they had good organs of digestion, and were not spoiled in youth by confectionary, and like diet. HA]IPTON ItEIGHTS. To find a governess familiar with all the dead lan- guages, and most of the living ones, was not an easy matter, and thus Matilda remained the first six months, with no other preceptress than her protector. Why she called that lady aunt, was a query with most people, as there had been no marriage in the family, since the old squire brought his gentle bride into the household, some seventy years before. To no one was this matter brought home more unpleasantly than to Mr. Scott, who once hoped to make her .his own, and thereby straighten out the crooked links of the chain that held his good wife and him together. "I say, Martha!" he commenced one morning, I suppose Miss Mary 'll be shuttin' up before long, now." "I suppose she always does," replied his wife, at the same time laying down the shining plate she was wiping; " and I suppose you might as well be tumbling out them tubs she told you about, as hanging round here all the morning." ("What a cross old patch you are, Martha, getting so I can't as much as ax a question without bein' snapped up, just as though you wanted to bite some- thin'; here, bite this, will ye?" thrusting toward her, the end of the fire-shovel. "I wish you'd go along, and mind your business," she resumed, "and not hang round here tormentin' one's life out." "Well, I'm goin'," he replied, "as soon as I get on "WlJ:m7 vn page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 HAMPTON HEIGHTS, my mittens," at the same time leaning over the range to take a coal of fire into his pipe. "Go out! go out!" exclaimed Martha, pushing against him with great violence. "Iain't I told you time and again you shouldn't be lightin' that pipe in this 'ere kitchen? and there, too, is Miss lMary's voice callin, you in the garden.', At this sound the old man bounded up the steps, and prepared to meet her ladyship's requirements. These were regarding proper embankments against the cellar, and coverings of straw for the different shrubs. All day, she was about with him, overseeing his work, and assisting with her own hands--now holding to- gether an extended bush .until it was firmly enveloped in straw, and anon throwing a shovel of dirt into a trench, until he could come out of it, and relieve her of the spade. One would have thought her some farm- er's wife, who, in tattered hood and gloves, assisted her spouse, rather than the lady of the mansion, whose fingers often wrought rich music, from the vibrating keys of her piano. As usual, the first of lovember found every door and blind closed, and for weeks previous, the cold weather had made the place seem very dreary. Still, the entire picture of desertion it always presented after the first, was not apparent, for yet, some smoke curled from the chimneys, and the doors occasion- ally opened and closed after the child. But now HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 129 the last tint had been given to the autumn picture, and this, too, by the hand of that delicate artist, Mr. Scott, who, with nail-box and hammer spiked up the garden-gate. And he made a dreary scene of it, too, thumping away out there, in his old white great-coat and mittens, stopping occasionally to look at some lumbering wagon that heavily rolled over the frozen hubs, or to shrug his shoulders, as the shrill winds rustled the- dead leaves on the willows, or dismally moaned high among the clouds. As the sun came out at noon, he busied himself about the vines, which were all taken down and enveloped nice- ly in straw and earth; and when on the edge of evening, he stood looking over the frozen ridges of the garden, he seemed a part of the general desolation. The wind sighed round the angles of the house, rustled the ends of straw that peeped out from the embankments, and sent clouds of leaves scudding over the slightly frozen pond. A flock of geese, balancing themselves on one leg, hovered about its margin, while the little children from the lodge were trying the strength of the ice, with numerous stones from the pebbly bank near at hand. The old roof-tree shed a few withered leaves upon the' walk, as the gardener departed into his winter-quarters, where, with his sharp wife, he made comfortable bur- rowing ground, until again revived by the more genial atmosphere of spring. In proportion as things were frozen and deserted in page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 HAMPTON HEIGHTS, the country, all was bright and beautiful in the city. Crowds of ladies promenaded the side-walks, streets were resplendent with gay colors. Carriages fresh- ly painted for the season; horses mettlesome from grooming and little exercise; drivers and footmen with great-coats, burdened with capes, all served to swell the thoroughfares, making a general gala time. Beg- gars sat on the door-steps; hearses led funeral pro- cessions; children swept the cross-walks, or gathered about the bouquets of the crippled negroes, and joy and sorrow, went cheek by jole over Time's highway. Miss Mary's city residence was much like herself- prim and stiff, with an air of comfort, and satisfaction on its weather-beaten exterior. Although few visitors intruded themselves within its limits, she nevertheless drew about her, old and endeared friends, that looked through the glass doors of her library, or smiled from antique fiames on the walls. Thus within, it was al- ways pleasant, gladdened by these books and pictures, which, generally identified with something she had seen or read, afforded subjects for thought, or conversa- tion. A few children's parties at Christmas, and an occasional whist-table, were about the only intrusion upon that grave household. Here Matilda romped, and roamed from room to room at pleasure, controled alone by her governess,'with whom, on mild evenings, she was permitted to take short walks, always attended by. a stiff waiting-man, at a respectful distance, whose duty z* ,. HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 131 it was to keep off all intruders. As might be imag- ined, his office was decidedly that of a sinecure, re- sulting, nevertheless, in great benefit to his general health, which, from sedentary habits, contracted near the hot register in the basement, was getting im- paired. There he always sat, listening for the door- bell, which seldom rang, except when some mercer's advertisement was left upon the sill, respectfully ad. dressed to the head of the family. The governess had strict orders not to permit Matilda to speak to any children they met; and so rigidly was this point of discipline enforced, she was not, the first winter, per- mitted to attend the children's party at Christmas. This was indeed a disappointment to her, especially as she had been a witness of the preparations made in the great parlor, as well as a listener to the murmurs of the servants, who complained that they had work rather than holiday, to please a few. youngsters. But Miss Mary said " she had not been long enough in civil- ized society to meet Christian children ;" and what was more, she intended to bring her up on a different plan, and she might as well be- kept away first as last. "I design to make a woman of her, Lucy," she would say to little Miss' Thompson/ whom alone of all her domestics she occasionally Iconsulted. "A strong- minded, fearless woman: not such an one as I am, with only sufficient education to live by; but one who shall understand metaphysics, and the Bible in its page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. original tongue, that she may be able to- confront the mystifying parsons, and talk to them as they should be talked to. All the child wants, is the right kind of teachers, and money will procure those fast enough; I know." For this, Matilda was as well adapted, and as likely to excel, as Miss Mary, if she had attempted the manuficture of nursery rhymes. She did, however, by close application, become a ripe scholar, and an excellent linguist, and the world was as wise for the fact, and received an amount of benefit, equal to that which might have been obtained from a number of learned books, carefully inclosed in an iron safe, and tumbled into the sea. Her protrectress' love, though strong indeed, was never able to force open the lock, where all this was concealed, and had, notwithstand- ing her trouble, to encounter the parsons and lawyers, on her own responsibility, in after years. CHAPTER XIV. "One look she gave, one troubled look, Then, like a quivering aspen, shook, And started forward, wild with pain, And toward the castle fled amain." OCCASIONALLY, on pleasant days, Matilda accom- panied Miss Mary in the carriage, and sometimes was permitted to visit the shops with her. One sunny af- ternoon, she had been left standing near the door of a fine establishment, while her protectress, at its extreme end, examined such articles as she required, and had come in pursuit of. For awhile she amused herself running backward and forward from the carriage, and admiring the gay dresses the windows displayed. At length, weary, she went a short distance on the street, where, in an adjoining shop, she perceived numerous toys; an elephant and tiger, wheeling round on a little platform, as if to encounter one another, with many other playthings, which sometimes in her beggar- days, she had stopped and sorrowfully gazed upon. While she was thinking of those dark hours, which now seemed like an indistinct dream, her eyes follow- ing the motions of the elephant and tiger, who, not- page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. withstanding their warlike preparations, had not ad- vanced a step further on the field of conflict, she was startled by a slight touch upon her shoulder. Turning quickly about, she perceived a woman, whose keen eye looked searchingly upon her. Full well she knew who it was--the same creature that year by year had fil- lowed her footsteps-the very hag to whom she had belonged. She waited to gaze but once upon her, and the little, old-fashioned baby she carried, and then fled with all speed into the store. Miss Maryj was busily engaged over some linen, which, as it was dark at the counter, she had carried to a rear window, where, with the caution of a good i housewife, she gave it a close examination. As she i held it up before the light, Matilda came running breathless to her, exclaiming, "Aunty! Aunty! she's )ut there!" Miss Mary dropped the roll of goods, nd, like the blast of a. tempest, shot down the long 'assage, and appeared upon the street. She cast one lance upon the vile object, who was still hanging bout the door, and seizing the child, thrust her quickly ito the carriage, closed' the door, and ordered it home. f, urning about, with the pious intention of annihilat- ig the old woman, she found, to her great discomfit- re, that she also, like the child, had vanished. With a nimble step the hag fled along the streets, )dging about from side to side, that she might keep Le carriage in view;,and only when it stopped, and HAMPTON HEIGHTS, 135 she perceived the child enter a dwelling, did she lessen her speed. When the doors were closed, and the car- riage again out of sight, she came slowly forward, and made a closer examination of the premises, the remem- brance of which was never to be effaced from her mind. The next day there was a low knock at the basement door, and there, when Catharine--who chanced to be below-opened it, stood a poor old woman, shivering in the cold. Of course she was asked in; and of course her old form was toasted by the fire-side, and her basket well stored with food. A strange, insin- uating old creature was she; that, notwithstanding cold and rags, had a sly joke for the girls, and blessing for the mistress. "What's your name, cook?" said she, stooping down to fasten together her dilapidated shoe, which the girl perceiving, came forward and completed for her. "Bridget. But what 's that to you, old rag-bagS' ' O0, nothing; only I likes to know the names of the girls that come down to, the fat Praste so often. I lives in a little alley close by him, an' you can, be after spaking a good word for a poor body, that don't have shillings enough to get shrived very often." "She don't go running after any Prastes, old mother, I can tell ye," interrupted Catharine, who, busy ironing her laces, just then came forward to exchange her page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. flat irons. "She s a Protestant, and well it is for her, for de'il's the Praste that'll be after confessing her sins." "Out, you hussy, that tried to ogle the old Yankee gardener in the country, and to get him to run off from his old woman. D -1 the Praste that don't make a red spot on your cheek for his shilling." "Well, I must be tramping," said the lone woman, with much difficulty rising from her seat. "It 's an old crathur I am, Bridget, and rheumatics takes a sharp pinch on a poor body these cold days. I hope it 's a kind missus ye have, that won't be turnin' la poor soul out if she finds her warmin' a shin by the chimney." "Bless you! no, mother, come as often as you like, and there 'll be a drop of something good to line your old body with on the stove-top." "Och! it 's children ye 've got," replied the old hag, pricking up her ears, as Matilda's laughing voice rang along the stair-way. i "O, yes, a wee gipsy that we found in the woods, and which Miss Mary has took to her own bed-room.1" "God bless the darlin' that would be arter such kindness; but how came she in the wood, girl?" "De'il do we know about it; the gardener found her one morning nigh dead there." "God bless the missus," responded the poor soul, cautiously feeling her way to the door. "Come again, mother," called Catharine, as the latch HAMPTON HEIGHTS. i37 fell, and the old beggar, chuckling at her success, went down the street. Twice a week during the winter she regularly ,ap- peared, always contriving to gather some scrap of in- formation regarding the child, and its protectress, which she trusted some day to be able to turn for her benefit, even more largely than if she had retained her in her immediate possession. Thus time wore on, the old woman keenly watching Matilda's career, and with persevering industry, endeavoring to learn the history of her birth and parentage. And the girl grew apace. Summer and winter, city and country, lent new grace to fair developments, fast making her an attractive beauty.. Year by year, how- ever, her heart beat slower, more retiring, and quiet became her manners. Difficult was it for her, to over- come the thought that she owed all to the kind heart that had so attentively watched her, and she did not attempt it, but month by month, more closely applied herself to accomplishing that only mother's desires. It cost many a struggle to smother her joyous spirits, and confine herself to studious application; to shut out the buoyant sunshine of the early summer morns ing, and forget the babbling brooks, and singing birds, to glue herself to lexicons and grammars. And yet she did it, yielding like every thing, that tame in contact with her, whose will was law. But to accom. plish all this, Miss Mary had brought other powers to page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. bear, than her own commanding self, and from every governess and teacher, came a lesson upon the kind- ness of that lady, until Matilda grew into a quiet, thoughtful girl. Thus time ebbed, and soon the light of thirteen summers had sprinkled their freshness on her forehead. Thirteen years-a mingled time of joy-and sorrow, of sad and sweet experience. As she sat sometimes on the green bank, where in her first wandering she came, and dropped matches into the foaming tide, reflecting upon her history, and what it might be in the years to come-was it strange, tears fi'om loosened fountains, crept over her cheeks? Was it strange, that she counted the years that should intervene before she was a woman, and which her life of stern vicissitudes, told her might perchance be those of cankering trial? Was it strange she sighed for a play-mate? and even looked back with pleasure to the little fellow who tend- ed the engine, and poured oil into the chalice of the ,poor rush-lamp? Ah, no! it was stranger she did not sink under the weight of early recollections, shut out so entirely from the companionship of children. - Miss Mary loved her, doubtless, and had she been her own child might, perhaps, have pursued this same life-crushing course, but it was nevertheless crushing- most deeply so, to her whose buoyant spirit once woke with the lark, and with it 'went singing all the day, Hardship, blows, hunger, had steeled her early -years HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 139 to great endurance; thus, with unlimited health, she was able to bearthe confinement of her study-room. Still her heart was not there, mechanically she mas- tered languages and problems, until she became a kind of chronological table, and walking dictionary. Miss Mary still looked upon her as a little child, and it seemed mortifying to her: that with all she had ac- quired, and was naturally possessed of, and which whispered, how she would soon be able to teach her- self, she should be treated like an infant, and made to perform the mos? child-like, acts of obedience, even to such an extent that she could not exercise the least control over the servants. Reflecting upon these things served often to depress her spirits, curdling the limpid flood of life, into the sluggish flow of an old woman's heart. Her very dresses w /thtf of a child, and but a short time had K/ elapsed since she was permitted to lay aside her aprons, v though tall as half the ladies she met. The very morning, the anniversary of her adoption, she had a long crying spell in the woods, because she learned she was to be refused dresses somewhat lengthened. Miss Mary's astonishment could not vent itself when' Miss Thompson suggested the propriety of lengthen- ing the aforesaid articles. "What do you mean, Lucy?'" she said, "to put such notions into that child's head. i never forgave myself for permitting her to put off her aprons, last page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "O HAMPTON HEIGHTS. year, and I suppose the next thing will be a shell-comb and head-dress! I won't hear a word regarding it, I should as soon think of her being given a separate room, and a waiting-maid, and, fiddle-de-dee! horse and side-saddle, and riding-habit, and then, I suppose, she'll want a beau, and this will end with my eyes beholding firisking about my door, one of those dan- dified upstarts, the annihilation of a whole race of which, would never be felt beyond the limit of consan- guinity." "But, Miss Mary," replied the seamstress, C I must make her some new dresses, and it does seem out of place for a great girl taller than I am, to be wear- ing pantalettes, like a child!" "'Taller than you are, I should hope she was! and what is more, I trust the race of dwarfs will become extinct with your death!" "Well, Miss Mary, I will not argue the matter, or do any thing contrary to your wishes, but I must say I feel for Matilda, so mortified as she has to be every time she goes out. She is an exceedingly tall, womanly girl for one of her age, and it is a source of vexation to her, I know, to dress like a child." "She is a child, and nothing but a child, though I try my best to make a woman of her. But I will think the matter over, as Mr. Walker advises her be- ing sent to a boarding-school. I would not entertain HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 141 the thought for a moment, if she was not such a yield- ing, pensive thing, not a whit like our family, as I hoped to make her. It may be well for her, on the whole, she will grow more independent to go among girls, and I think I shall send her." "Then do, Miss Mary," imploringly repeated the seamstress, "have her dress like other people, and not mortify her longer with the strange wardrobe she is wearing." Jo .. page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] CHAPTER XV. "Are they forgotten?- is it not so? Slumber divides not the heart from its woe; E'en now o'er thine aspect swift changes pass, Like lights and shades o'er wavy grass. Tremble, thou dreamer I O, love and grief Ye have storms that shake o'en the closed-up leaf." THE house of Patterson & Co., which, for many years had been the agents of the old Squire, changed its name upon the death of William Patterson, father of John, who now stood at the head of the firm of Pat- terson, Walker, & Burritt. Miss Mary still made them her confidenitial business-men, and even advised upon domestic matters occasionally with Walker. The early history of this personage we are familiar with, and as we again present him among our dramatispersonoe, we can not speak of his character as having mate- rially-changed for the better. The three partners, all bachelors, often met at her ladyship's mansion, and passed evening after evening at her whist-table. In- deed, during one winter, so regular were their assem- blings, the servants arranged for them without orders from their mistress. i HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 143 As Miss Mary looked upon her guests, all shrewd, experienced men of the world, she often thought what an allying of power and wealth it would be, to connect one of them with her establishment. For herself there was no hope. The sun had gone down for her, and, buried among the chambers of her soul, lay sacred records of the past. "But for Matilda I have a duty to perform," said she, "for her, I must indeed plan. M y own unhappy life tells rme, how illy-adapted girls are to choose for themselves, and among my youthful companions, how many do I see happy in their self-formed matches? Better a difference of years, with reputation and estab- lished wealth, than any romantic love, that brings 'widowed, marriage pillows,' too often. Yes, yes, I must select for her, she will never be able to do any thing of a practical kind, without my help,- and I can not see, why one of these gentlemen will not make just the husband for her, by and by. She must be at least fourteen now, tall, and handsome, as most girls are at twenty. At eighteen she will be quite old enough, and Patterson, whom she will like best, can not be over thirty-five." 1 ' So she laid plans for the future, as if the matter was fully decided, and she with little more to do, than to prepare the linen, and the furniture of a new house. Patterson had resided many years abroad, was a page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. man of great suavity and ease of address; besides being a proficient in several foreign languages. He was said to be equally as sagacious as Walker, with none of the dog-like, determined way of the latter, still, in business circles he was not as well liked. His smooth tongue, was a little too oily to please blunt, straight- forward business men. His soft hand, was altogether too yielding and white, to come into contact with the hard fists of sea-captains and engineers, a contingency incidental to his business relations. His stiff neck-cloth was always fastened with artistic grace, seemingly closely allied to his bland smile, which displayed his glistening teeth to great advantage. Good or bad for- tune, never changed his countenance; always the same self-possessed, calm outline, speaking of satisfaction and importance. 'The junior partner, Burritt, was a bald-headed, hearty fellow, fond of books and songs, who always contrived to keep posted up, in every thing from busi- ness to literature. He had been the principal book- keeper of the old house, and taken in for his knowl- edge of the financial department. He was, however, no favorite of Miss Mary's, u had too much book-learn'- ing," she said, ' for a man of business, was always quoting poetry over his cards, and filling Matildas head with romantic ideas." Neither did she fancy his telling the child about his boy, Tom, who was studying in Germany, and by and by coming home for a wife. HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 145 "I wish you would hold your tongue, Burrit," she would say, '" talking such nonsense to that child. You know I intend to manage all her love affairs myself, and don't want any imaginary cavaliers to contend with. Dear knows, I shall have enough on hand to keep off the real ones, that I expect every day to ap- pear on my threshold, in the shape of mustached and whiskered puppets." She consulted, however, with her prime adviser, Walker, upon the propriety of sending Matilda to board- ing-school, and after duly weighing his opinion, as well as Miss Thompson's, concluded to take middle grounds, placing her at a neighboring institute for' young la- dies, where she would be under her immediate obser- vation. So, too, she gave orders for the lengthening somewhat of her habiliments, though not' to the de- gree that the seamstress thought requisite. Matilda attended school nearly two years, before she formed an intimate acquaintance. Silent, studious, and retiring, her schoolmates christened her "Little Miss Prim," a name, by which she was really better known than by any other at the institute. She was uniformly accompanied to and from school by the stiff ' waiting-man, and as much shut out from the society of girls as though she had remained at home. This result- ed in her growing more and more like a dictionary or chronological table, to what purpose, no one could tell. Every month, however, increased her beauty, and Miss -7 page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] "6 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. Mary perceived, with no pleasurable feelings, the glances she attracted, whenever they went out together. On one occasion, a young gentleman attempted to accompany them from church, a thing unparalleled in the history of the entire family of Fish, small and great, and it took but little time for the lady, to make it clearly evident to him that his attentions were not desired. Matilda was walking in company with Miss Thompson, somewhat in advance of her aunt, and returned the bow of the gentleman with pleasure. Miss Mary perceived it, and dashed forward, placing the young man between herself and ward. He touched his hat at her approach, a motion no more regarded than would have been that of a neighboring pump- handle, while she walked on, stiffly erect, beside lfim.' In vain, the courageous young fellow looked for- ward for a street-crossing, and essayed to speak. The very words choked his throat, and before he had time to concentrate his thoughts, they had reached the door of her dwelling, where she purposely opened the gate, and like a sentinel with loaded musket, wheeled into position as they passed. Miss Mary preserved her equanimity of temper until the Sabbath was over, though she meditated upon nothing but green vails and love-prevent pives, during . its remaining hours. The next morning, however, her wrath overflowed, and, with an air of determination that, told Matilda she must undoubtedly wear it, ! HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 147. presented her with a thick vail, through which the child was entirely unable to ascertain, whether her good patroness's face was red, green, or blue. "Matilda," she commenced, after she had seen it duly arranged, and tied securely down with a strong string, "I have never been so angry with you, since you were adopted into this family, and I am fully determined to break this thing up. Why, child, when I think of that mincing little popinjay, with his drab gaiters and scented gloves, lifting off from his shallow head his hat, and bowing to me, I can almost fly," and, from her movements, perceived through the illusory folds of the green vail, Matilda was prompted to suppose, her about attempting the act. "Yes!" she continued, " if it had not been such a public place, I would have made an example of him to his whole race, and taught him a lesson never to be forgotten. I have directed Henry hereafter to walk by your side, and protect you from such encounters and acquaintances.", "Why, Aunt DMary," replied Matilda, "you need not be so angry, for I never spoke to him but once in my whole life, and that was when his sister gave me an introduction., "( Worse, and worse," ejaculated the spinster, "well I shall stop this, I assure you. I should like- to know what business the teachers have to permit such things, when they know how decided I was regarding them."' page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "Why, 'aunty, no one knew any thing about it, and I only met him one afternoon with his sisters. I do not think it was such a dreadful affair that he should have spoken to me, when he was aware how intimate I was with the girls." "What girls are you so intimate with, I should like to know? I never heard you speak of any. What has all this been kept away from me for? Do you suppose I will permit any intimacy you may choose to form, with every sentimental girl you may fancy?" "Dear Aunt Mary, I had just as lief you would know every secret I have in this world; they are few, I assure you. I have never formed A single friendship ir all the two years I have been at school, and until Har- riet Malcom, who is the favorite young lady of the institute sought me out, and was so kind as to intro- duce me to a few friends, I did not know a dozen girls' names. You know the Malcoms, and I have often heard you say they are a very fine family." "What Malcoms? The ones that live on the heights opposite Castletonwood?") (the name of her seat.) "Yes, aunty! and the young man who has made all , this trouble, is none other than, their only son, the same we have often seen sailing with his sisters, and who saved the fisherman's boy from drowning, last spring. And now, aunty, as we are talking about these things, I 'd like to ask a favor of you. You know HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 149 I don't often ask for any thing, and why should I, when all my wants are anticipated. But, dear aunty, there is one/wish which, with all your kindness, is still in my heart; and H hope you will not think it strange that I should want some acquaintances of myj own age." "I don't know what you need them for," replied Miss Mary, somewhat tartly. "Because, aunty, I am so alone! just think, I must be fifteen or. sixteen years of age, and yet I have never been in society, and hardly know a young lady in the entire city." "Young lady," responded the spinster, curtly: "but- out with it, let me hear what you want, that requires such a sentimental introduction. "Well, aunty, Harriet Malcom asked me to go and spend the vacation with her, and as William and his mother are going to travel, I shall be in danger of seeing no gentleman but her father."' Miss Mary moved uneasily backward and forward, as Matilda mentioned Harriet's invitation, and when she had finished speaking, seemed much affected. "Ma- tilda," she replied, her voice trembling with emotion, "yonder heights have not seen me among them for more than thirty years, and yet, save the improve- ments Mr. Malcom has made, there is not a rock, cliff, walk, or tree that I am not familiar with; they are bound to me by memories, that I shall carry into page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. my grave, and all resulting from a visit made there, when, like you, I desired the sympathy of others. You can go, child! my early recollections, rising now, will not permit me to refuse--but I warn you, warn you as one whose bitter experience estranges her from the world, never to form a hasty friendship, and never to receive the attentions of any man until you have asked me if it were well. I do not command you, child, I warn you, and when, some day, you may hear what I have suffered, and what others have suffered, from a foolish friendship, you will remember gladly that you were influenced by my words." Matilda had never before seen Miss Mary exhibit so much feeling, and she fain would have said a consoling word, but too well was she acquainted with the nature of the corselet clasping that heart, to think of easing one nail in its links. Whatever she locked within it, was of the past, and she perceived that under its mailed hasps were feelings too deep and strong, to be entirely bound, even by her determined will. "'^When is the vacation, Matilda?" she inquired, after sitting a long time apparently lost in thought. "Next week, aunty." "Well, if the Malcoms want the trouble of you, and that jackanapes of a boy is to go off, I don't know that I have any particular objections. You will very likely meet people there that think me a hard-hearted, imperious woman; so I am, and they helped to make me HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 151 so. But if you hear my name mentioned, let it pass. Your little tongue could never soften the prejudices they hold, and it had better be silent. I suppose I shall have to ask Harriet over to our place, in return," she continued, her thoughts again reverting into their usual channel, " and she will bring over a pony, and it will all result in my being annoyed by the sight of some nincompoop frisking about my yard, with his white gloves and string reins. If there is any thing that I hate the sight of, it is one of those mincing, mouthing boys, talking about his filly, and his groom, and his stud of horses, at home, as if he were the owner of a riding- school stable. But if it does come to that, you 'll per- ceive how much life there 's left inl old Bob, and how much attention, John can give his young mistress. But one thing I forbid you to do while there, and that is, to ride or walk with any young man." "You need not give yourself any trouble on that score, Aunt Mary, for I know no one, nor care for the company of any one save the girls; and what is more, I have only to remember my dear mother's warning." Miss Mary looked fixedly upon her for a moment. She had never before, heard that name uttered for her; and such was the struggle passing within, Matilda for the moment thought that she would faint. But the emotions that tender epithet awoke in her cold heart, soon vanished; and she impulsively replied, in her ac- customed strain, "Don't be sentimentalizing me with page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 152 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. that name. It's as much as I can endure to be auntied, and wheedled into all your nonsense. I am no mother; and had far better be a man, for then I should be able to beard the d-1, parson, I mean, if he -should attack me, and should not make such a fool of myself, over bygones that are bygones." CHAPTER XVI. "The deepest ice that ever froze, Can only o'er the surface close; The living stream beats quick below, And flows, and will not cease to flow.'" BYRON. HAMPTON HEIGHTS, the residence of Edward Mal- com, Esq., was one of those handsome cottages the traveler discovers, when rising from his state-room to view a sunrise over Hurlgate. Every one who has passed along these cultivated slopes, when the early sun brightened gay villas, and lent new beauty to one of the most charming landscapes in the world, must recollect the numerous bays that shoot between forest- clad hills, whose heights show so many antique gables of modern architecture. On one side of a long bay that set up among the hills, stood Castletonwood, Miss Mary's residence, and on the other Hampton Heights. By the road which led round the bay's head the distance was, at least, six miles, but across the water not more than one. Often little Matilda, resting her spy-glass on the casement, had watched the Malcoms; and long before she knew one of the family, had learned to distinguish page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 154 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. the different members, as they came down in the sum- mer, and sat together under the trees on the point. And for years the girls and their brother, sailing about on the bay, had observed the child playing on the opposite shore. Harriet, with whom she was now intimate, was about her own age, and dur- ing her mother's absence, presided, as the head of the family. The house was of cottage design, divided into nu- merous little apartments, each assigned to two of the children, whose duty, their parents made it, to take the entire charge of. Mr. Malcom was a highly educated, practical man, who looked after the happi- ness of his children with watchful eyes; and while he saw that every accomplishment which might render them useful and happy in life was attended to, forgot not domestic responsibilities, of which their devoted mother was a true interpreter. On the west, the house fronted an extended park, dotted about by majestic oaks, under whose shade many a pet fawn reposed. Through it wound the level road from the lodge, whose honeysuckle-covered porch peeped out in the distance. On the other fron'spread out a green lawn, beyond which were craggy heights, deep rifted with ravines, on whose sides, dwarf pines and silver birches supported themselves, their roots finding nourishment among the chasms. Down through these wound circuitous paths, often, passing over the HAMPTON IEIGHTS. ' 155 ravines by rustic bridges, which hung suspended be- tween the rocks. Beyond the heights the eye discov- ered the broad SouiMd, with its numerous sails -and steamboats. Here were several of the children born, and here had they passed every summer of their lives. No object or locality, was unconnected with reminiscences of pleasure. And to the first of May, which every year brought them back, the children looked forward with longing and glad anticipations. Seven were they in number when Matilda first knew them. Six daughters and one son, and few happier families, the world said, had Heaven smiled upon. For nearly thirty-five years Miss Mary had absent- ed herself from Hampton Heights, and though stung by bitter recollections, at the mention of its name, she yet resolved to go over with Matilda, and once again visit the scenes of her early associations. Scarcely had the rattle of the carriage, which bore Mrs. Malcom away, ceased, when her stately equipage, drove by the lodge gate. It was her intention to re- main all night; and therefore, when Matilda's trunk was deposited on the walk, the carriage again withdrew by the park avenue. -Mr. Malcomr was absent on her arrival; and, leaving the girls to each other, she wandered off among the rocks alone. This opportunity- she was most happy to embrace. To tread once again, after so long a period of absence, those romantic walks, page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] v HAMPTON HEIGHTS. to revisit scenes where, a queen-like girl, she had once passed-- "With a branch of dewy maple, which her right hand held above her, And which trembled a green shadow in betwixt her and the sun." To sit on the rustic bench where she sat with him, who loved her, to weep like a little child, at the sight of the gate which divided the grounds from the walk beyond, where once had vanished from before her, a silent form which she had watched slowly descending the craggy path, until it passed out of view, never again to meet her there, this was the accomplishment of her desires. And not, till the sun went dipping into the purple, did she come returning over the bridge, where the main path led to the house. * Mr. Malcom, upon hearing of their arrival, and ab- sence in the woods, walked down a short by-path to the shore, for his heart told him where Miss Mary would go, and he knew what emotions his presence would awaken, should he there overtake her. He therefore waited under the heights until he heard her step on the winding stair-way. All evidence of previous excite- ment had passed, leaving her brow austerely calm, when they saluted each other, and she commenced at once, in her accustomed way, to speak of common affairs. "You have much improved this place since your father's day, Malcom," said she; "and I suppose I can HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 157 say the same of mine, although I yield to your superior taste. But this is, indeed, a great improvement," she continued, glancing through a deep cut in the hill, affording easy access to the house. "0, yes," he returned; -"I had this made fop Ro- salia, the children are always dragging her hither, and I felt how wearisome it was for her, to often ascend the steps." "Still as much in love as ever, I perceive, Malcom," she replied. "Just as much, Mary; and when little Anna, the last of my seven, came to us, I thought the honeymoon just commenced. But come, take my arm, you seem quite weary." " Not a whit of it," she retorted, straightening her- self once more erect; " only out of breath for a mo- ment. Gentlemen's arms are things, I had done with years ago, you are aware." "Yes, and very foolishly, too, I thought, and still think, Mary." "Don't talk about those bygones now," she returned; " the gray is silvered on my forehead, Malcom, and I and realities, have had many a hand to hand tussle. The world does not belie me when it says, I am what I am; and if there is one heart broken, there are two. Mine is the stronger one. But here comes your little girl. How much she looks like her mother! I am sorry I did not get over in time to see her off, as I am page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. always unlucky enough not to receive her visits in, town. In fact, this life of business is really perplexing, especially if you connect the law with it, as I do, for I am 'Judge Scratch,' you know." "Yes! and I believe you would make some of the clearest decisions ever rendered, if you were only on the bench. But say, Miss Mary, what do you think of Doctor Miss Smith, and her letters to the Boston Corporation, and the Rev. Miss So-and-so?" "Out on the whole possee of them," replied the spinster. "Nothing but a parcel of trumpery fools, that don't know 'beef from broom-stick!' We've rights en'ough, dear knows! All we want is the will and the strength! iLook at me! How should I ap- pear in Bloomers? while at the same time, in this good gingham, if things really came to straits, I believe I could annihilate a whole race'of mustached dandies! they are nothing but a set of disappointed old maids, that want to vent their spite over somebody, and take to writing trumpery letters about voting. They 'd run like rabbits, if they really had to face up to a crowd and vote. If they care to improve the condition of their sex, why don't they take something that's feasible? something among us that is abused, and hammer away at that till it 's remedied; and then, if they have a mind, take another evil! The dear knows, there's enough for us all to accomplish before we die, without going -about the country, and spouting away to be laughed at HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 159 by a pack of loafers and boys. But what are you looking at so earnestly, my dear?" she inquired, smil- ing upon little Anna, who, with staring eyes, had been listening to the lecture. ' O, I was thinking what a funny great woman you are! not a bit like mother, who couldn't halloo half so loud as you talk, if she should try with all her might." "Hush! Anna, don't you know that's not polite? Now tell the lady yotu are sorry, and kiss her, my dear." Little Anna compromised the matter by kissing her father, and then fled up the walk to the house, where she was soon joined by Miss Mary and her parent. As they sat on the porch overlooking the Sound, where they could perceive the steamboats one after another passing the narrow channel, and the dim outline of the moon as it rose in the east, the children one by one came panting up the rocks, until the whole group at length gathered about their father. It was, indeed, a beautiful sight, and one Miss Mary's soul fully shared in, though she kept her brow hard as marble, and her words cold as ice. After tea, they again assembled on the porch, and made the place echo with their music. Both Matilda and Miss Mary were excellent singers, and the latter, for a woman of her day, quite an amateur upon the pianoforte. The girls were highly delighted with her Scotch songs, which she sang with queer accent, sitting away in the dim twilight by the instrument. page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. After evening worship, when the children had re- tired to their irooms, and Mr. Malcom had given orders to those he heard whispering through the lattices above, to go to bed, Miss Mary and he sat for hours and con- versed upon subjects relating to the past; and could one have listened, and heard that low, quiet voice often interrupted with sighs that broke its utter- ance, he would have wondered who it might be that, witi silvered hair, and face turned toward the silent clouds, sat there speaking so sweet and yet so mourn- fully. It matters little to the fate of those we must follow in our story what that conversation was. It is enough to know that even after the small mantle clock, within the parlor, had sent out its chime for twelve, they still conversed in the same low tone. "I wish I could get home again to-night, Malcom," said Miss Mary, shortly after the clock repeated its chime. "I have no heart to stay so near where passed this sorrow. If I could make the ocean-cold give back its dead, and with my wealth bind up the broken hearts, I would do penance with you here to-night." "How much that sounds like Arthur, Mary. Half mad with poetry were you both in those days," "O, don't speak of him again, Malcom, I can not bear it. And say, is there not really some one down at the boat-house I can get to row me over to Castleton?" "' No! but I will go, if you are determined to: quit my house so precipitately." H AMPTON HEIGHTS. 161 "I don't like to tax you, Malcom, but truly if you knew how my old heart beats, and my poor head aches, you would not blame me. O! to be once more in my own room, to throw myself down on my bed, just as I did the last night I ever spoke to him, is all I ask." So, leaning on his arm, she went down to the little boat-house, where a boat was soon made ready for the transit. He unfastened the painter, shoved it into the bay, and with strong arms laid hold upon the oars, while his companion, statue-like, sat in the stem. The wind was blowing fresh, and swept its salt breath over the waves, while the moon touched the sails of the sloops, and brought to view many residences on heights I and promontories about. Beyond the lee of the shore he hoisted sail, and stood directly over for Castleton. Not a word broke the silence. The light ripple the boat made as she parted the silver waves, or the oc- casional thump as a larger one struck her bows, and tossed over a comber, was the only sound that inter- rupted the solemnity of the scene. All the way over she sat a little in advance of him, the moon falling directly on her face, which seemed to have partaken of her soul's darkness, and when she felt the slight jar the boat gave against the dock, started strangely from her reverie. "I have not spoken a word to you about Matilda," said she, when she found herself upon the wharf; " but page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. there's not much to say. Keep her out of sight of all beaux, and dandies, and poets; and as you love me never say one word to Arthur about the conversation of this evening. Good-night ;" and she vanished up the path. "Strange, proud creature," murmured Mr. Malcom to himself as he again headed the boat for home. "Pride and obstinacy to the last, over-topping every thing." It was not long before his own boat-house loomed out through the haze, and with another tack he pres- ently brought it alongside. As he came up the walk he caught the last glimpse of the moon, as it sunk behind the park woods. 7 1, q CHAPTER XVII. "How beautiful is Home when Love adorns With splendors brighter than the morning sun When it first gilds the silver Alpine horns." T. L. FIARRTS. THE next morning, when they were all assembled at breakfast, Harriet presiding in her mother's place, and attending to the younger sisters' wants with more than a mother's care, Mr. Malcom drew from his pocket, what appeared to be a small bank-book, and laid-it upon the table. "You can extend your walk, Har- riet " said he, " to Miss Anna's, if you please, and leave this book with her. Give my best respects to her; and if your young friend can walk so far, without too much fatigue, she had better go with you. Miss Anna will be pleased to see her; and, if you like, you can say she's Miss Mary Fish's ward. What think you, dear, can you walk some three miles and back, before' dinner?" "O, yes," replied Matilda, "I am very strong, though I seldom take such long walks." "Well, if you are too much fatigued to return, you can wait for the farm-wagon to pass, and come home page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. in that. Harriet is a great walker, you know; and I desire all my children to be. But where do you sup- pose your Aunt Mary is?" "I don't know, sir. I was thinking all along how strange it is she should be absent. She is not ill, is she, sir?" "I can't tell, my dear. I think, perhaps, she may have taken a severe cold, as she was out sailing very late last night." 4"Out sailing, sir! Truly, how strange; why, I had supposed she could not be gotten into a boat, she is always talking about the danger and nonsense of sail- ing parties." "O, I guess it was a little private flirtation of father's," interrupted Harriet, "now mother's ,away. He knows about such things, though he does look so grave when he finds a young gentleman in the library." "What think you, my dear," returned Mr. Malcom, "do you suppose your aunt would plead guilty to such an accusation?" "I don't know, sir! I think she 'd say it was highly improper for me, even accompanied by Mr. Scott." "Ah! that she would, I warrant you! Don't you know Mr. Scott is a very romantic old gentleman, that keeps the secrets, and carries backward and forward the correspondence of young ladies?" "What do you mean, sir? I have heard such hints before. Pray tell me something about it, for to accuse HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 165 the old rustic of such-a thing is more strange than that Aunt Mary should be out sailing by moonlight." "Ah! that's a secret, my dear! really quite a secret. One of these days, perhaps, you will learn more about it, but for the present you must ask no more questions, lest you should be thought too in- quisitive." "That's just the way with father," replied one of the younger girls; "exciting our curiosity, and then leaving us in the dark." "But you should not be inquisitive,' my child. Curi- osity, unless thoroughly guarded, soon breeds vulgar- ity; and who can say that, in exciting it, I wish to ascertain what control you may have over yourself." "But, Mr. Malcom, I trust you will not consider me so, sir, if I ask what has become of Aunt Mary.") "Gone home, my dear." "O! that's it; then I fancy her sail was over to Castletonwood." "To be sure." "But pray, sir, what made her go off so suddenly? She expected to remain until this afternoon." "O, one of her impulsive ways, child. You know her well enough to be aware that there is no with- standing her when she is once determined." "That I do, sir; but I am very sorry, for I expected tuite a, walk with her among the woods. She is so tntertaining when once her mind gets away from busi- $ page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. ness, and such unlady-like pursuits, as she follows. How I wish she would leave them to gentlemen, and turn her thoughts again toward books and music. She writes beautiful poetry, 1sir, did you know it,?" "Very -well, my dear, but she is far happier now in her business employments than she will ever be in aught beside; and you must make up for your loss by talking poetry with Miss Anna; she has enough of it in her composition for all purposes." "Can't I go, too, father? And I, and I?" inquired all the younger members in a breath. "Not to-day," he replied. Every voice was hushed. All knew-it would be useless to urge one word more, and so sat, looking disappointed, until the repast was over. After Mr. Malcomn had gone to the city in the early train, and the children, who, mounted on the park fence to see him pass in the cars, had waved their sun-bonnets, and shouted "good-by" to their full sat- isfaction, Harriet arranged all matters of domestic duty according to her mother's orders, and then set off toward Miss Anna's with Matilda. For some distance the road skirted beautiful places, where they could see preparations making for morning rides, by young ladies and gentlemen, or avenues winding among the trees, where children played, and drove about their donkeys. At the lodge-gate of an adjoining country-house they intercepted a young lad and his sister just starting for a ride. HAAMPTON HEIGHTS. 167 "Good-morning, Hatty!" commenced the young man, for he must have been eighteen. "Pray, has your father bought no horse for you yet, that you foot it along the dust and dew: so bravely?" "Don't introduce me," whispered Matilda. "He thinks it better that we should walk, Robert," replied Harriet, "and I believe I like it full as well, better, perhaps, than to manage a pony." "No you would n't, Hatr!" exclaimed his sister, who for some time had been fidgeting about in her seat to arrange her dress, and who now whipped her horse into a gallop, and dashed off, followed by her brother. "I am so glad you did n't introduce me, Hatty!" said Matilda, when the flying riding-dress of the party had vanished among the trees. "' I was afraid all the time you would, and I should have expected nothing short of seeing Aunt Mary striding over the top of the next fence, she is ubiquitous, you know, in mind and body; but who are they, Hat, that you seem to know so well?" "The Denny's, Mattie; but father don't like me to associate too intimately with them; Susan is a very frivolous, wild girl, and no companion for any of us, father thinks. Robert is different; and if he were ndot under the influence of such gay society as they always have at his mother's, would be a very pleasant friend. He will be down at the Heights often while you are with us, so you can get ready to play the agreeable at once." page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 168 HA01PTON HEIGHTS. "Oh, no, Hattie, it was one of the agreements en- tered into by. me with Aunt Mary, my good, business- like guardian, that I should meet no gentlemen, so when they appear I shall leave the entire ground to yourself." "Oh, I don't believe she'd have any objections to Bob Denny, surely! why, he 's only another brother of mine." "And it was because your first one had left the premises that I was permitted to come over." "What a strange dislike your aunt has to young men! She like to have frightened Will once out of his senses." "I know when it was, Hat. The Sunday he walked home from church with me, and which brought me the present of the green vail you made such fun over." "Yes, indeed, Matty, but I have heard it said your aunt was once one of the greatest belles in the country, and I can't imagine why she hates all young men." "Oh, Hatty, she had once a great affliction; I don't know what, exactly, but something which she says makes her so uncompromising and masculine in all her ways." "Yes, Matty, I know something about it, and not much, after all, only, that she was once engaged to some one father knew, and was mixed up with an af- fair of Miss Anna, or her brother Arthur's, I have heard father occasionally drop remarks about her, and HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 169 a Mr. Chauncy, who died at sea, when on his way home to be married to Miss Anna." "And who is Miss Anna, to whom you all seem so much attached?" "Oh, she is one of father's very best' ady friends, whom he holds up to us as an example of all that is to be imitated in woman. There is quite a long story about her and her brother, and when we come into the woods I will tell it you. If you see her over at the cottage you must be careful not to speak too often of your aunt, if you perceive it excites her; she has an affection of the heart, and a little thing, it is said by the physicians, may cause her death.'" page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] CHAPTER XVIII. And would that I, when night shall find me, Might read in my last, setting sun, That I had wrought the work assigned me, As this good dame her task has done, That I had learned life's joys to drink In ouch a full and even measure, I could upon my grave-clothes think At last with such a heartfelt pleasure.' ' You will meet," continued Harriet, when they had come into a long, unimproved stretch of woodland, "one of the most beautiful ladies of her age. You would not think her over thirty-five, and yet she has passed fifty,and for nearly thirty years has been a sufferer from that painful disease. Long ago, she set her house in order, and prepared for death. But he has delayed his coming; still she waits hourly for the 'cry in the night.' Father says she was called the most beautiful woman in the State, at twenty, and her fathers house was always the resort of the highest intellectual, and political society of the land. He was a lawyer of great eminence, of very free habits, who lived for years beyond his income, it was said; and it so proved at his death, for the family were left entirely destitute. nAMPTOrN HlElIG HTS. 171 (When Miss Anna was eighteen, she became engaged to a Mr. Chauncy, whose father was a large merchant in the Brazil trade. lie was a very particular friend of her brother Arthur, and their friendship seemed more like that of romance than of reality. Arthur and Chauncy were both poets, and so is Miss Anna. He is now father's book-keeper, occupying a very different situation from what he should have, and I have often heard father say that, at twenty-three, his prospects were more flattering than most young men of his ac- quaintance. HIe was engaged to a young lady, I never heard her name, and was to be married upon en- tering into business. For some cause the engagement was broken off, which so affected his spirits, that he relinquished his plan of partnership with a house in the city. Very much depressed, he retired to his father's country-residence, where he met numbers of convivial friends, and, like them, indulged too highly in the free life of his parent's home. While yet laboring under the sorrow of his broken engagement, there came an- other shock, which he with great difficulty, recovered from, the death of Chauncy. This was not merely a blow which sundered a long and intimate firiendship, but one which blighted for ever his sister's and his fath- er's hopes. Deeply did he indulge in stupefying cups, to assuage his suffering, and before he dreamed of it, had contracted habits which were his ruin. He might not, however, have fallenso completely, had not page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. still another blow been added to his already crushed soul. His sister, during the excitement and agony of the time, discovered about her the seeds of the same disease which had destroyed her mother. When this came to Arthur's ears, he died--that is, he went down into that grave the drunkard knows--that of the living death. For six months he could not be found, and, at last, was discovered, a poor miserable loafer, begging for poison from one shop to another. He could not, however, at first, be induced to return home, and only when his sister, who had followed him into the lowest haunts, fell upon her knees before him, did he consent. His poor father, mortified by his con- duct, and suffering heavy pecuniary losses from a re- cent political defeat, became broken-hearted, and in a short time was buried by his partner's side, thanking God, in his last moments, that she had not been per- mitted to witness his child's disgrace. "While Mr. Wilbur was dying, Arthur lay in a little back room, in a village tavern, too inebriated to know for whom the death-knell was tolling, riot even recov- ering sufficiently to attend the funeral. After this he again disappeared, and for many months all trace of him was lost. His sister, in the mean time, was entire& ly dependent upon her friends for support. At last my father traced him to a low groggery, where he was kept to attract others by his jokes and songs. "With much difficulty he persuaded him to attempt HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 173 something toward the support of his sister, and for en- couragement offered him a place as book-keeper. For six months he was very temperate, and his friends rejoiced with hopes of his reformation. He rent- ed the little cottage in which Miss Anna still re- sides, and carefully devoted himself to her, and his business; but so strong a hold upon him had the Tempter, he soon returned to his former habits, and 'became a common sot about the city. After awhile, he again made his appearance-his clothes gone, and his feet without shoes-for he would pawn every thing for a dram; and father once m-ore dressed him, and gave him back his situation. He was, however, so neglectful of his duties, and so stupid, my Uncle Charles declared he would not have him in the store. "One day he came in pale and dejected, and asked father to be reinstated, at the same time proposing a plan to prevent his obtaining money, to which he has adhered, to this day-for years an entirely re- formed man. He had a savings-bank book prepared in Miss Anna's name, and then signed an agreement, au- thorizing father to pay his salary quarterly to her. This has been done, and this book is an account of so much money,, she said, laughing, "I never dare look into it; and it all belongs to Miss Anna. Poor Mr. Ar- thur contrives to live by engrossing papers, and writing occasional items for the journals. Sometimes he makes so much, that he is able to present us all with a hand- page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 1-74 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. some gift at Christmas. Then he writes such funny poetry, besides a great deal that is beautiful, I think, though most people say it is rather faulty. If I can persuade Miss Anna, while we are there, I will have you hear some of it, for she has a large book full. I never heard of her reading his pieces to any one but me, and Mr. Arthur does not like her even to do this." As she finished speaking, the cottage came in view, showing Miss Anna reading upon the piazza. It was a simple one story and a half building, with no attempt at architectural display about it. Over the moss-covered roof a great elm extended, and at its side lay a small, but beautiful garden. It fronted abruptly on the Sound, surmounting a cliff, at whose base dashed the restless tide. So near the edge was it erected, a bow window hung completely over the waves, which chafed and beat below. This was Arthur's favorite seat when he passed anytime with his sister. From it he watched the thunder-storm, that rose wildly in the distance, when lightning played over the dark volume of clouds, that rolled heavily up from the ocean. And here, too, he sat in winter midnights, when the spray dashed high beneath his window, which shook in the mad whirlwind of the storm. Although his nature was that of a retiring, modest man, and none would have sup- posed him delighting in,such scenes, he seemed wildly to enjoy them, as if some dark secret in his heart was stirred by their incantations. There stood his favorite HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 175 chair, never disturbed by any save himself, shaded by the tightly-closed blinds, for his sister found no pleasure in the desolate beat of the tide, even in its calmer \ moods.. Through the syringas and rose-trees they discovered her, bending over her book with rapt attention. At the sound of the gate, she- raised her head, and per- ceiving Harriet, came down the -walk to meet her visitors. She was one of those forms which might have stood for Ariadne, her face calm and beautiful, speaking of her forsaken heart. The depth of blue eyes, the expanse of forehead, the wealth of brown hair, all combined to fascinate; but when she spoke- "Her voice so cadenced in the speaking Made another speaking of the soul, A music without bars." Mourning was the dress she still wore-the same she had worn for thirty years-and still on her finger flashed the engagement ring. She welcomed and kissed Harriet, kindly spoke to Matilda; but when she heard she was Miss Mary's ward, grew deadly pale, and almost fainted. "God bless you, my child," said she, looking as if she thought it required all that, if nothing more, to atone for so close a connection with that lady. "Your aunt and myself, were once warm friends, but it was long ago, and we have not met for years. "Well, page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 1706 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. child," she continued, turning toward Harriet, "how are you all at the Heights?"' "O, very well; and I am housekeeper now, and shall expect a long visit from you next week, Miss Anna." "No, my dear, I make no more visits, until I go among my friends for the last time. My physician says it is impossible for me to live over two years, and I shall employ that little space, in fully completing and setting my house in order." "O, dear Miss Anna, don't say so," said Harriet, laying her head upon her shoulder; "perhaps he is mistaken, and you may be spared to us long years yet." "No, my dear child, I feel that it is too true. Here- tofore I have had strength beyond what it was supposed I could possess, and felt confident my end was not so near at hand as my friends imagined; but now I am satisfied the time is very near; and, my dear child, if God is willing that I should soon pass away, I shall be thankful. My sufferings are often acute, yet I trust my hope is in the Lord's keeping. None, save your family and Arthur, will miss me, and you can all think of me in some lovely place near to my Saviour. I trust so! yes, Harriet, I believe. so. I have laid my troubles where they will- be better borne than by me, and I feel that my Lord has said,' have called you through great tribulation.' He has promised, ' When H AMPTON HEIGHTS. thou passest through the 'waters, they shall not over- flow thee. Yes, He has been very near to me for many years; and I have tried to keep oil for the bride. groom, my lamp trimmed and burning, and my house set in order. Dear Arthur is a changed man, and I can say with hope, 'Lord, what wait I now for?' And O, my dear girl, to be so near to Him, to have been spared so long, to have been able to do so much for Arthur, to have been blessed with such kind friends, without an enemy in the world, save Miss Mary, and God, who seeth my heart, .knows how free it is from one harsh feeling toward her, and how many times I. have prayed to bq forgiven for all I said in the past.', "O, don't talk about these things, Miss Anna, they make me feel so sorrowful." "But they should not, my child. 'I have sent for you,' once said Addison, 'that you may see how a Christian can die;' and each day, I feel assured, brings me nearer to seeing my Saviour." "What were you reading, Miss Anna?" inquired Harriet, desirous to bring to a close the sad conversa- tion. "A few German poems," she replied, "in the orig- inal tongue; and as I believe you both understand the language, I will read one aloud that quite pleased me," So saying, she read the poem of the Old Washer-woman, " Whose verses does that remind you of, Miss An! na?, asked Harriet, somewhat archly. 8* page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] 178 HAMPTON HEIGHTS,. "If I answer you, Hatty, I suppose I shall, as usual, be asked to bring forth poor Arthur's rhymes. He don't like to have me- do so, child, and says that he hears altogether too much about his poetry down on the Heights."5 "O, well, if you will read us some of them, I 'l promise to be silent; and I know Matilda will, for she's ' as wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove.'" "These words are too sacred, Harriet, to be used thus lightly. My child, remember who spoke them, and for what they were intended. But as you are desirous of hearing some of the rhymes, I will gratify you. What shall I read?" "O, I want Matilda to hear that funny poem he wrote to Mrs. B. about his hands. I tried to repeat it at school, when she came to see her daughter, whom he mentions in it." "Well, my child, there can be no great harm done at the worst; and you may bring me the book-it lies on my drawing-table. I was reading from it, shortly before you came up, a few verses about the Old Woman of the Turnpike-gate, which you remember was re- moved last year." Harriet soon returned, bearing a large manuscript volume, from which Miss Mary selected the following poem, written many years previous, to a lady who had laughed at his large hands: HAMPTON HEIGHTS, 179 And so you don't fancy my big, bony fist, With the impress of labor on sinew and wrist, And prefer to press one of a delicate hue, With the pink round the nails, when you say how d'ye do. Ah I give to my heart a hard, horny hand, With the fingers well-knit, and the joints at command; Too big, and too heavy, to case in a glove, That has fought for its country, its God, and its love. If not on the field where the battle is loud O'er the crimson-stained turf; that the cannon has plowed, Where the soldier crawls out from the heaps of thedying To be crushed 'neath the heel of the foe that is flying; Where the riderless steed rushes mad o'er the plain, With blood-reeking sides, and Wild-flowing mane- And the hawk, and the vulture, black birds of the fight Hover over the corpses, awaiting the night; Where the jackall, and wolf, with poisonous breath Gnaw the cheeks, not yet cold in the stiffness of death; Where the dog wanders round, with a piteous moan, And licks the blue lips that are frozen as stone I But in the great combat, the battle of life, With its deep-clanging hammers, and civilized strife; Or on the grand hills, with their fresh-growing grain, Where the sound of the reaper comes sweet from the plain Where the furrows are deep that the plowman has made, And the engines of war are the harrow and spade; Where the farmer sits down in the stillness of even, And his children chant songs to their Father in heaven; Where, warm on the hill-side, the brook sings its tune, And the blue violets grow in the sunshine of June; Where the soldiers of labor have homes on their lands, And great open hearts, and big, bony hands I page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. Yes, madam I that babe that you cradle to rest, Whose brown, sunny curls, wander over your breast, Whose lip drains the strength of its fountain of life, Must fight'in this combat, bear part in this strife. And that daughter, whose eyes have drunk deep of the night, Shall unfold her sweet bloom, like a flower, to the light; But another may claim her-on a heart that 's unknown Shall open the rose-bud that grew in thy home. Be careful, and fancies like these throw aside, l And be glad, when she weareth the wreath of a bride, If he who is chosen in thy place to stand Hath a great open heart, and a big, bony hand. ( Oh, how much that sounds like Mr. Arthur," said Harriet, "but, Miss Anna, you must read to us now about the Turnpike-gate Keeper." "My dear girl," replied she, " every line of these poems touches a chord of my heart. They are all con- nected with some event of our lives, and of his who has gone before me, I trust into heaven. They are reminiscences of woods and walks, of friends and chil- dren who I am about forever to part with. If there was no beauty in them, they would be just as dear to me, linked as they are with the past, and my poor brother's history. I love them, love to read them, for they are voices mellowedc by the mist of the distance through which they have come. They are echoes I have heard among steeps long since robed of their fo4r- ests, and, like me, left bare and desolate. None loved such scenes better than wer three, and to us 'twere , HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 181 music to listen to shepherds dogs, as they barked along the hills, and in the veriest dust around us, was seen the poetry of life; I have one memento of our home, the house where we were born, and a piece, he wrote shortly after the physician decided that I could survive but a few years. It was written one morning, when he had been sleeping in an out-house on the farm, where he had wandered during the time of his terrible dissi- pation, and as it is the next piece, I will read it to you. He said it was the very conversation the old tree held with him in his dream. But, my dear, you can read it, if you please, I shall be grateful to hear it, though I am familiar with its every word." Harriet took the book, and read as follows.- In distant town, with grass-grown streets, And slanting roofs, and mossy, leaf-choked eaves, Whose tapering spire the weary traveler greets, Peering its tall head through the mass of leaves- Waves a dark elm-tree, whose outstretching arms O'er gables olden tremblingly extend, Like some mild patriarch, who, with open palms, Craves that a blessing on the roof descend. Once as I dreamed, I heard a wandering tone Amid the branches of that weird old tree, That seemed the voice of some estranged one, In tears and sorrow, whispering to me. "Where is thy mother? and the forms," it said, "That sat with me, when summer hours were long, Chanting to music that my leaf-harps played, Till the whole ether was a lambent song? page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 182 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "Sweet was thy mother-on her shining curls Most proud was I, a jeweled wreath to set, Of radiant diamonds and milky pearls, Snatched from my dewy regal coronet. "When first I saw thee, was her breast thy bed, . Ah, glad was I, upon that natal motn I And tossed my arms, and waved my ancient head, And whispered 'mong the clouds 'The heir is born.' "Years passed-a chaplet I was forced to weave, I wrought it well, by the pale evening light, When I heard angels whispei ing through my leaves, Of what they brought, and took away that night. "They brought thy sister, and I felt the breath Of unseen wings, that bore thy mother home; I learned of pleasure, yet I knew of death, When to the roof-tree did the infant come. "Well I with the baby I had many a game, And romp, and swing, that made my old heart gay, Happy was I, none happier when she came, Or sadder, lonelier when she went away. "Years now have fled, a poor old sentry, lone I keep my watch; and in the midnight air I beat my arms against the lonely home, But wake no more the children slumbering there." Then waved his old head slowly to the blast, . And on his brown leaves glistened many a tear, His words seemed heavier, wilder, and they past Like a sweet strain, I must-yet dared not hear. "; Down bent his form, so low, so very low, ! I felt his cold breath, as in days of yore; While he kept whispering, rocking to and fro, t "Come backl come backI and be a child once more." - * i: HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 183 Sister,.I wept; what answer could I give, Atoning word that might my deeds defend, O, it was agony for me to live And hear the talking of that weird old friend. Was it a dream? no, no I he said, "Protect!" I heard it plainly, as the gust swept by, And started madly--but with form erect He stood there, pointing to the midnight sky. Deeply, O sister, did he fill my breast With sorrowing thoughts of all my wrongs to thee,' And I rose up as one who had been blest: Peace to thy memory, old elm treel When she finished, Miss Anna's eyes were fixed on the clouds, and she kept them there, long after her voice had ceased. So angelic did she look, apparently communing with Heaven, that the two girls remained awe-struck and silent.' "O, my children," she at length resumed, "early trust in your Saviour, and you will find strength to overcome all difficulties and troubles. Far may they be from you, but neverthe- less, in all probability, will they come; for few of us, however happy in prospect of the future, shall escape 'the snare of the fowler,' or the temptations of the Evil One. As you read, how came back memories to me, of my mother and my infancy: I dreamed I saw her face among crowds of i angels, that fled over the heavens. O! how I long to be with her.' Iknow her spirit waits for me, yet a little time, and H shall see page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] 184 r t ItHAMPTON HEIGHTS. her; and then-then, poor Arthur, who shall comfort him? I heard him the other night, as he gazed on the evening star, repeating those beautiful words of Burns: I Thou ling'ring star with lessening ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn I Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn.' But I shall not be torn from his arms. No I shall go gladly away; and, lile an infant, I trust, sleep by my mother's side. When I am gone, Harriet, you must plant flowers over your old friend's grave, and remem- ber how she loved them, and bring your little sisters to the place, and tell them my sorrowful yet happy story: how I was called through much tribulation to the rest that remaineth. And you must always re- member Arthur, for he is worthy of affection, though he is not a Christian. This, is the only thing that makes me wish to remain a little longer, that I may call upon God day and night to open his eyes. I can not believe he will not at last meet me in Heaven, or that my poor, dear father is not there. But it is a fearful thing to go along the dark valley with no companion-no Saviour to lean upon--and to me, this is the sweetest consolation, that He is mine and I am His. In all your life, my children, may my words follow you, and so, trusting in Heaven, you shall cross 1" ArrMPTOW HEIGHTS. 185 easily over thie dark stream. N ow I must bid you goo,. by, she added; " the hours Igenerally remin alon e are near, and besides, you have a long walk before you.) So she kissed them both affetioate and retired into her chamber. The girls pensively ef the garden, an again turned their faces homeward. The tone of their conve dti wasdeeply modified by that of iss Anna's and more than once arriet found tears fast wetting her cheeks, s she dwelt upon her character. "Iwonde, said Matilda, . what the trouble could have been between her and Aunt M a I ca nothe. lieve aunty would do any thing intentionally to injure the elings of such a lovelyWom an Doyou think, Hartry, it wi do to ask your father? for I shall tell Aunt Mary how kindly she spoke ofher., , yes, I don't see why we should iot,repled Just then the farn, .ago ust h en the f arm w agon c ame rumbling along, and they both took seats on the straw behind the gardener. had -the- gardenejr, page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] CHAPTER XIX. ' Nor less it pleased, in livelier moods, Beyond the bounding hill to stray, And-break the live-long summer day With banquet in the distant woods; "Or in the all-golden afternoon A guest or happy sister sung, Or here she brought a harp, and flung MbTILDA'S visit was extended to a far longer period than she had anticipated. It was one day of joy reahing forward to embrace another, whose suns were just as brilliant, and whose hours just as s hort. Mornings spent under those shadowy oaks, with books, an songs, and jests and evenings when their walks often ledthem int; the neighboiing grounds, and prolonged their stay till stars looed out from the heavens, and dew dripped fromn the leaves. in hese were ecstatic pleasure-the opening of a new era her hitherto eventful life. Her mindwas filledwith re- flections, and she drew about her at such times, as she was alone, the images of the past. She asked herself, who was her mother? and if she still dwelt among the walks of degradation, until her heart beat audibly, and walks of degradatiu 1 HAMPTON HEIGHTS, 187 tears fled over her cheeks like rain. The vicissitudes of her early life had lqft a deep impression on her mind, and she saw in the neglected children of the city, pic- tures of her own babyhood and youth; and remem- bered how, bare-foot and cold, she had crawled along under the eaves of houses, to escape the frozen walks. She saw herself, when the poor rushight she first hung out had well-nigh burned down in the socket. And she remembered the little boy that inspired her heart with thoughts of escaping to the country, and won- dered where he now might be; and if she should meet him, if he would recollect her. Then she brought her thoughts to the present moment, and remembered how many hints she had heard of her some day marrying Mr. Patterson, and being heir to Miss Mary's wealth. Indulging in these reveries, she would take long walks by herself, little dreaming what scenes had taken place among those who were so near to her, by these very woods and rocks. And how here Miss Mary's proud heart had become a child's, after thirty years of ab- sence; and how, down the dusty road near by, years before, a weary, ragged mendicant had dragged along her steps, closely clasping her own little form to her bosom. Then she would meet the children, and the heavy clouds were chased away, and her" own life stood out in brighter colors, until she built brave castles, and peopled them with beings of her own creating. page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] g88 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. Soon after her arrival at the Heights, Mr. Malcom procured a pair of ponies, and the riding of these brought them into the company of equestrian parties from the neighboring seats, or led them to make little journeys to the village Post-office, where occasionally a letter was found from some school correspondent. Again, they often accompanied Mr. Malcom, when at evening he went out sailing, sometimes going over to take tea with Miss Mary, or, if the wind was fair, far but into the Sound. They were all singers, and if the breeze died away, and they were obliged to come slowly back, one could hear their glad voices ringing choruses over the waves. So also at night, when they 1 sat on the piazza, their music echoed gladly about; and more than once Matilda discovered the dim outline of figures in the neighboring grounds, who had come down upon the rocks to listen to them. Harriet Malcom was a girl of decided literary tastes. And to her little library, came many visitors--came mighty men of old, the music of whose lyres had here- tofore fallen but coldly on Matilda's ear. But now, : woke by the glad sympathies of her friend, she was g enraptured by their strains. Here did she meet Cole- ridge, and wandered with him through the vale of Clhmouny, or gazed on Mont Blanc rearing his snow- crowned head. Here, too, came Cowper, so meek and bashful, she was half inclined to laugh. How little had she known of the old bachelor and his sweet letters to ,1 , ' / , HAUtPTON HEIGHTS. 189 Lady Hesketh before. With Wordsworth, also, did she visit Yarmouth stream, and Grasmere lake: saw the blue hills of Cumberland, and many a rocky cliff and dashing stream. Thus as a child applies unto its ear the convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell, and lis- tening, hears the murmurs of the ocean, did Matilda catch the inspirations of those souls, who were such constant visitors in Harriet's library. So, too, on pleasant days, came Robert Dency with book or bouquet for the girls; and it was laughable to see how Matilda applied herself to her embroidery, and pushed back her seat as far as possible without being rude; while he, with jest and story, lay on the grass, or tangled, for amusement, Harriet's working cotton. More than once, when he was making himself very agreeable, did she find herself holding her needle, and looking askant toward him; and more than once did Harriet turn archly about, and perceive how mantled the blush upon her cheek at being discovered. "Miss Matilda,, said he, coming over to where .she sat, one afternoon, under the trees, after a long, half whispered conversation with Harriet, "has that aunt of yours got a spy-glass? because if she has, and I can only bring the big oak between us, I am going to have a little flirtation with you." "She has, most assuredly, a glass, sir," replied Ma. tilda, nestling about in her seat, and trying to ply her needle the faster; "a very powerful one, too, and if / page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. you don't withdraw yourself more behind the oak, you will come under its range." "So I will," he replied, coming and sitting so closely beside her, that she felt his breath on her cheek, and at the same time taking up the end of her embroidery. Matilda was blushing, and endeavoring to restrain her smiles, which he, perceiving, made still greater exertion to produce, when Harriet, who had been looking through the spy-glass, 'suddenly exclaimed, "As true as the world she is watching us. I can see her distinctly." "Then I will run," replied Robert, contriving to upset the bench in his retreat, to the great amusement of Harriet, and discomfiture of Matilda, who picked up her reticule and partially soiled cotton, and again restored the bench to its position. "Don't you think he is very rude, Hatty?" asked Matilda, when he was fairly lost to their view. "I am sure I never gave him any cause for such familiarity." "Oh, no, Matty, it's only his way, and beside, I am quite to blame, for I more than half persuaded him to, annoy you.5- "It don't annoy me, Hatty, but still Aunt Mary would not approve of it, and what is more, I don't thinkl it gentlemanly." ,d Oh, you little old maid! you 'll soon be as grum as your aunt; but come, you promised to teach me that old song this morning, and besides it is passed lunch- eon-time, half an hour." HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 191 Thus day after day fled, sunsets that seemed to melt into morn, and morns that became noons and evenings, with the speed of magic. But this was not to last for- ever, and one hot summer noon, when they were seat- ed under the oaks, Matilda discovered a rough-looking yawl, making over from the other side; seizing hold of the spy-glass, she at once perceived Mr. Scott pull- ing away at one of the oars. "My time has come, Hatty!" said she, rolling up her work, and placing it in her reticule. "And I must depart." "I should think you were going to be executed," said little Anna, who was reading by her side. "But how do you know you have to go away from us?" Because, there is Mr. Scott, and his boat, and he would never be venturing so far from home this hot day, without especial orders." They soon heard the boat rattling against the wharf, and the men talking together under the heights. Be- fore long they made their appearance up the walk, and Matilda found she had been right in her conjectures. Her trunk, therefore, was made ready, and she pre- pared, with sorrowful feelings, to depart. Although ' the distance was short which was to divide them, and she knew they would often hereafter meet, she, never- theless, shed many tears as they assisted in getting her things together. Mr. Scott was quite afflicted by this expression of feeling, for he always had had a lingering page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. sorrow in his heart over not being able to call her his own. "I would n't be feelin' so bad, Miss 'Tilda," said he, as he helped the trunk on to the sailor's shoulder, who had come ovcr with him in the boat. "'T ain't so many young faces we 've got 't other side, but a mighty lot of old ones, that 'll be smoothing out the wrinkles ,gainst you get back again. Come, don't be makin' the water creep out of my blinkers, for I can't no more bear to see you cryin', than if 't was my old wo- , man herself." The thought of his weeping in sympathy with Mar- tha, whose wrangling encounters with him had often been a source of amusement to her, quite dissipated Matilda's sorrowful feelings, and she bade them good- by with a half-smiling countenance. But when the boat shot out from the shadows of the heights, and she saw the girls wave their handkerchiefs in adieu, she again became depressed, and was compelled to turn aside her head to conceal her tears from the gardener. "Somehow or other," commenced the old man, "there's a power of trouble always goes back with me from them 'ere woods. It's five and thirty years this summer, since I come over one night arter Miss Mary, and she was as kay, proud a critter then, as ever ye looked on. Nobody'd ever dream that are half-man over there, that ain't afraid of the very devil, was that queen of a gal that used to have all the young chaps in HAIfPTON HEIGHTS. 193 the country arter her. Somehow or 'n other arter that night I bro't her over she changed, 'come more like them men sisters of hers, and 'fore long got worse than the whole on 'em together. Oh, dear, how she did take on, that night, in the boat; I was all alone with her, a stout, hearty feller, too, that didn't want any body to 'sist pullin' an oar, neither. She wrung her white hands, and poured salt water on her head, and finally laid clean down in the yawl's bottom. What on airth gets into all the women kind that goes over there, I can't see. There's Miss Ann Wilber, that use to come over to the Square's, and that's more like one of God's holy angels flied out o' heaven, than a livin' critter, had just such a time once, when I fetched her over; and I telled Martha this morning, I rather take a lareping than come over, for I knew just as well as if I 'd been tell'd by somebody, you 'd be took with that tarnal disorder. I wonder I never cotched it my- self, many times as I use to go over, when I was cort. in' Martha, over there at old Gineral Malcom's." Martha's name was never mentioned by Mr. Scott without creating a smile on Matilda's face, and when he saw its bright gleam shooting across her forehead, he seemed to gain new strength in his arms, and tugged away, inspired with an unusual degree of activity, "There, God bless you!" said he, that are smile did a power of good to my old heart-made me think on the day when I owed Martha. over with me, the page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. last time, and when she was as rugged, sweet a critter as ever set on a boat's starn. You looked jist as she used to, in those days, afore she got so across and crabbed there 's no talkin' to her. Poor old soul, she can't help it, though, ever since she and I went down across the 'tater-field, and sot out that are woe-begone cripple of ours, it's come on to her, and it ain't no use for me to tell her its growin' like a great white lily in heaven, now. Poor critter, how she cried when she had to give it up, and when I screwed down the kiver over it, and took the box under my arm, and come on over the 'tater hills, I thought she'd bust her heart- strings. She would have it sot out down there, where she could go and watch the flowers grow I had plant- ed over it, and more than once, though it's twenty years since it went to heaven, I've seed her down there, cryin'; God bless her for it, and I forgives her all the cross words she says, on its account. God never see'd fit to give us another, and so she never see'd fit to be like herself agin." Here the yawl grated on the beach, and Matilda, leaving the boat, passed up the hill to the house. Miss Mary was in the en e she heard Matilda's voice inquiring for her, so face, about, and abruptly encountered her.. t ?J "I suppose you was disappoi edaild, in being sent after." "Somewhat, aunty." HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 195 "Well, I think it's high time you were at home, when it comes to having young men sitting on the same seat with you, and frolicking about on the grass, like my dog Kate! Quite time, indeed, for you to take your departure." "But, Aunt Mary, I could not help it, he tould sit there." "And I would n't have him, that 's all, and so put a stop to it;--but what did Scott talk about, coming over? I suppose his old tongue wagged like a bell- clapper, and tickled your ears with gossip enough to last all summer!" ' Oh, he talked about going over to see Martha when he was young, and about his little boy's death." "That all, child? because I won't be deceived, or believe the old fellow could bring you over, without filling your head full of hints and nonsense, which he has just sense enough to remember, whenever he is called upon to get out his old yawl." "He did say something about you, aunty, and yet but little comparatively." "Well, I suppose you went up to see Ann Wilber, and heard a long story about her and Ar--" Here she paused, for the name was too sacred to be spoken lightly, which Matilda perceiving, at once re- ?lied, saying that " she did see Miss Anna." "And how does she look? wears that great ring on ler finger yet, and mourning, I suppose?" page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "She was dressed in mourning, aunt, and appeared to me exceedingly lovely, and, when your name inad- vertently was mentioned, spoke kindly of you as an old acquaintance." "I owe her no particular ill will, and if she were not prouder than a fallen angel, would go over and see her before she dies; but the whole of it is, she's so proud and willful, I'd rather not meet her again, be- cause I know it 's hard for both of us to make apolo- gies, and ask pardons. But- it's no matter, child, and one of these days, when you hear all that can be said in extenuation of what was done by me in those times, you will plainly perceive how I have suffered, and for what was really the acts of others; and then you will thank me for preventing any flirtations, however slight they may have been, on your part." She turned about as she finished speaking, and en- deavored once again to busy herself with the flower- beds, but her heart was too full, Stirred too deeply with events of the past, and she soon went in, and locked the door of her chamber behind her. OHAPTER XX. "Yet reason tells us parents are o'erseen When with too strict a rein they do hold in Their child's affection, and control that love Which the high powers divine inspire them with." ONCE more at home!-though a home differing so widely from that of Hampton Heights,-Matilda found much to attract and call into action those powers of mind, which her visit had served so largely to develop. She found herself often pondering over the scraps of information she had gleaned regarding Miss Mary, and often turning her thoughts to the future, whose events she heard predicted by the servants, in sly hints, which more than once, she perceived, were dropped for her especial benefit. That visit, however, had wrought a wonderful change in the current of her life, and she saw now how many there were in the world- that locked up live coals in their bosoms, or carried there weights of lead, that caused suffering even of a keener nature, than the hunger and want she had endured heself. She had seen Christian resignation where blight after blight had fallen, and a proud, imperious soul struggling like a snared bird, to shake off the net page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 HA{MPTON HEIGHTS. that bound it, and which would bind it, until death came to set it free. Her own room, which too often in past times had been sought in crouching submission, was now found for sweet communion with Him, to whom she had dedicated her youthful heart. She pic- tured the sufferings of Miss Mary--the long years of struggles, and then contrasted her harsh, imperious ways with what she had once been. Then, too, she remembered how, more than once, she had imarked her weeping, when drifted toward her some tiny piece of the old wreck, that came skimming the frozen ocean of her life, from the far-off shores of youth and love. Thoughts like these determined her to obey in every thing, and patiently yield to Miss Mary's will. She felt that her experience was large, and so she said to herself, "I will abide by her judgment," for Matilda was still a plastic creature, molded by the warm hands of sympathy to any beautiful form. If in her infancy the fount had been congealed, it was because the world to her .was icy, and shed no ray of sunshine on the hardening mass. Every Saturday evening came Patterson or Walker to pass the Sabbath with them, and though business mat- ters, or a like excuse, was offered, she could not help perceiving, for whom the visit was intended. More than once Miss Mary uttered words, that left no mis- take as to their meaning; so Matilda set her heart at work to discover what was good. and kind, and Ht AMPTON HEIGHTS., 199 pleasant in these men. She was scarcely eighteen, and still a pupil at the Institute, nevertheless a woman's life was forced upon her, and every day but showed how her aunt pressed her designs. To be sure she had no romantic ideas upon the subject, knew nothing of love, except that shadow affair with Mr. Burritt's nephew, Tom; never mingled in gentlemen's society, or dreamed of being at the head of an establishment. Yet now, when brought so plainly to perceive her probable destiny, she found herself exploring the secret labyrinths of her own soul. Again she took into her hand the little rushight, and went cautiously peer- ing into apartments she never dreamed were there before. That glimmering beacon showed many a sight she little expected to perceive, that stood out in strange, mysterious perspective. There were glitter- ing chambers, somber and grave, so silent she could hear the tinkle of water that trickled down from fount- ains, when anon rose up a shout of children's voices, children, who came out and scattered wreaths of roses. The fountains played higher, and the arching jets worked and twisted into curious fancies. There, also, beamed strange faces, bearing close resemblance to ones she was sure had met her somewhere in the world. And often when she lingered about these places, where the air seemed like the respirations of some hidden spirit, the flame of the poor rushight would burn blue, until old Mr. Buritt's bald ghead, page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200 HAMPTONX HEI GHTS. smiling and frolicking, danced like a ball over the jets of the fountains. Sometimes the blaze would brighten up, and she would perceive, it was not his face, but one of another, younger by far, that at last stood there, no more a dancing ball, but a manly, fine head, sup- ported on broad, and massive shoulders, whom she knew was no other than " the nephew, Tom." How she wondered what all this could mean, and why they came there to trouble her heart, which she was trying to sweep and garnish, and make ready for its future lord. Though Mr. Patterson was nearly as old again as herself, a man immersed in business, who did not sym- pathize with her in many things, still she gladly fled to him, to escape the glances of his partner's eyes, which, from a child, she had instinctively disliked. She remembered how she had trembled before his angry looks, when, with vindictive hate, he named over persons he conceived debtors, endeavoring to defraud him; and she recollected how she had heard him swear profanely, even in the presence of her aunt, and other acts of his, which shocked her very soul. Still, he was her aunt's friend, one with whom she was often left alone. And, therefore, she schooled herself to be polite and agreeable to him. Nevertheless it was an irksome task. How to entertain him she knew not. And often there would come long pauses, when 'she felt, if she looked up, she would meet the ugly gaze of his cold, gray optics staring upon her. HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 201 His conversation never suggested any thing that required response; and many times she found herself ransacking her stock of information for his benefit. O! what cold, dreary intervals these were, and how faded down the blaze of the rush-lamp, and seemed far off in the distance when she looked for it, until his face wrought itself into a scowl, that glared upon her through the murky light. And then how would the strange figure that wore Mr. Buritt's head appear, and go round about her, until there seemed a red, living circle, within which she felt he would never dare intrude. With Mr. Patterson, however, it was very different. He spoke French and German, sang a song quite well, played chess, and told anecdotes. Indeed, Matilda began to fancy she had fallen in love, and that she would be happy as his wife. The last season she passed at the Institute was one, in which were formed many acquaintances. During the winter months she went somewhat into society, accompanied by her aunt. She was sure, on such occasions, to meet one of the partners, whose attention was of too marked a character to, admit a doubt regarding her future destiny. Walker perceived that he was no favorite, and thus began to hate Patterson with the depth of his vindic. tive spirit. "Still,", said he, "' a faint heart never won a fair lady,' and I 'U not give up the old woman's dol. 98. page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. lars, without a struggle." So he ordered a new sit of clothes, pinched his feet into French boots, started a grizzly mustache, and took dancing lessons. "This won't do," said he, holding up his old blue coat to the light, and turning it about with scrutinizing gaze; "nor this waistcoat either," he continued, after giving it the same searching examination. "No, no." And heput his thumb and finger into the pockets, to dis- cover if some stray sixpence might not have lost itself in the lining. "No, no, none of these will answer, though I intended them for the weddings and funerals of the next half century. I wonder who makes Pat- tersons coats and pants, [nd where he gets his gaiters and hats. I never heard of but two tailors in the city, and one is old Shiers, that cuts up the cloth for his wife to make vests of; and the other's, that tellow in the Marble block, that paid us ninety cents on the dollar, I'd like to see him stretched into a sack of his own making, and held over a slow fire till he'd pay principal- and interest. It's plaguy provoking to be led about by your own partner, and to be jilted and wheedled by a mincing girl; but it's game worth playing for. Over a million of hard dollars-but! but! it's time to go to that French scoundrel, and learn the positions, and how to kick up my heels like a fool, and be laughed at when my back's turned. But he won't do any thing of the kind before, me, and that's some- thing of a consolation in times like these." , HA MPTON HEIGHTS.- 203 The dancing-master fingered his bank-bills, praised his gracefulness, and brought out his wife to polk with him, informing him she was the daughter of Mr. Par- venue, whose castle was modeled from the design of a ginger-bread palace, which stood at Charing Cross at the time Henry VIII. brought home to his court Ann of Cleves; and at last dismissed him with a profound bow, assuring him, in French, that he was the most consummate ass in the world. Sustained by this flattering encomium, he embraced the first opportunity which presented itself to exhibit his agility to- the world. It was at a grand soiree given by one of the Potiphar genus in honor of the embassador, which Miss Mary was tempted to attend, in order to discover whether this worthy was white or black, that Walker made his first and last appearance as a cdanseur. He perceived Matilda closely pressed to his part- ner's side, moving gracefully to the buoyant music, so he offered his arm to a short, plethoric lady, whose balance in weight was decidedly against him, and who, after whirling him about in a most tortuous manner, finally spun him against a mirror, which came down with a great crash to the floor. A titter ran about the room, mingled with a sup- pressed shriek or two, and all eyes were now upon the unfortunate novice, who wished old Potiphar and his ball at Jericho. Matilda observed his discomfit- ure, and at once began pitying him, especially as she * ' page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] HAMPTON HEIGHTS. felt she was the immediate cause of the affair. So she tried to console him, in her pleasant way, when they came together-even permitting him to draw her arm into his own, and escort her to supper, leaving Mr. Patterson to the companionship of Aunt Mary, who followed her around, with no apparent satisfaction. Thus time wore on, without advancing his suit, causing his hatred of Patterson to extend to Matilda and her aunt: One evening, after an unusually long visit at Miss Mary's, where he had made extraordi- nary efforts to be agreeable, and had received un- mistakable evidence of Matilda's disgust, he was ac- costed on the street by a miserable beggar-woman, who, as a matter of course, he endeavored to avoid. But she was not to be evaded, and continued following him along, until, excessively annoyed, he turned about, and addressed her. "What do you want ?" said he. "Why, to spake to you, to be sure." "Well, say on, and make quick work, for I am go- ing in'that stage I see coming." "Don't be in such a hurry, now," replied the wo- man, "and perhaps you'll be paid for a bit of talk with an old crater, that can tell ye more about yourself than you reckon people know, arid perhaps you '11 be willing to give a haper to learn more than I '1 be after telling you here on the sidewalk." "Well, out with it, you old beldam, but don't reek- on on a penny from my pocket-I'll see you hanged first." " Well, then, I ll just go along, and let you buy your news cheaper, for I don't hang round on a cold night for nothing, my honey, to tell a man good news; you needn't think I am an old fool, that don't know how you want to be fingering Miss Mary's bank-bills, and running off with her pretty young lady." "What do you know about what I want, you old hagdail?" ejaculated Walker, startled br the familiar terms she seemed to be upon with his thoughts. " What will you give me to know something, that will make you hate that gal jist as strong as yer after lovin' her, at the present moment." "Nothing," he returned, opening the door of a stage that had just stopped for him, and which, upon his entering, quickly drove off, and left her standing alone on the walk. All the way to his rooms he re- viewed the matter over. "What can it mean," he asked himself, "some game to extort money out of me! but she won't come that; no, by heavens! I have it now, it's a trick of Patter- son's, to frighten me off; that's it! that's it!" he ar- ticulated, pulling the strap of the stage-door, and leap- ing out, without paying his passage. The more he thought regarding it, the more firmly he became con- vinced that he thought truly, and so commenced plot- ting against the entire three. page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "Matilda," said Miss Mary, after the door had closed upon him, that evening, "I perceive you don't fancy Mr. Walker." "No, aunty, I do not, can not endure the sight of him, and truly hope you will permit me to excuse my- self when he comes again." "It is not strange, my child, that you should pre- fer Mr. Patterson, and I feel confident he will make you a good husband." "Oh, aunty, don't talk about such things. I do not care to hear of them; I don't want a husband; I am only a child, yet, any thing but fitted to be a wife." "You mistake yourself, Matilda! you are fully old enough, to take upon yourself the responsibility of a household, and moreover are a highly-accomplished woman, who, energized by associating with a man like Mr. Patterson, will at once take your place among the first circles of society." "Oh, aunty, don't talk so coolly about it; I don't want to be married, I had much rather remain as I am, and take care of you.") "Take care of me, child! pish! nonsense!--why, one of my principal reasons for making this arrange- ment, is, that you may have some one to take care of you when I am gone, for you are no more adapted to business than a goose, and my great property would be swamped in a moment." HAMPTON HEIGHTS, 207 "Oh, aunty, don't talk any more about it! Don't, don't! You are not going to die, and I hope you will not leave me the troublesome property; it were so much better to give it to some charitable institution, say, the one for educating such children as H was." "Never, never speak upon that subject again," ejac- ulated Miss Mary, leaping from her seat, " never once breathe to any being who you are, never! never! if you do, I don't know what I won't do." "Oh, aunty, don't get so excited; come, sit down, and let me sing something. to you, and not say any thing more on the disagreeable subject." "No, Matilda, we must tallk seriously, plainly, and I must know your decision to-night." . "My dear aunty, I have always yielded to your wishes, always been governed by you; but I do think, on a matter like this, I might have my own way; I am too young to want to be married, never have met'any gentlemen, and how can I tell who to love." "Oh, nonsense, child! put love out of the question, make it a matter of business, a meie matter of business; I can speak to you from experience, about romantic love aifairs. JI have had my share of them, and they have made me just what I am, a cold, harsh woman. No, no! if my father had selected a good, practical man for me, and made me marry him, I should now have been at the head of a household, loved by my children, respected by my husband, and esteemed by page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208 IIAMPTON HEIGHTS, the world. As it is, I am nothing but a harsh old maid, loved by nobody, cared for by nobody, and spending half the hours of my nights reading old let-- ters, that never ought to have been written. No, Ma- tilda, you may consider this the most fortunate thing that has ever occurred to you, to have some one to provide a husband who has had the experience in the world that I have, and, my dear child, I must have your answer to-night." "Oh, dear aunty, do not press me so, I can not say I love Mr. Patterson; there are many things in which we are not congenial, much that he may not like in me, and which, perchance, will render both our lives unhappy.?' "To-night, child, to-night," returned Miss Mary, rising from her seat, "I have promised him, and it must be to-night, if ever." "4 Oh, aunty," sobbed Matilda. " iatilda," was the retort, " you I have reared by my fireside, made partaker of my secrets, nursed on my pillow, and for what? to be crossed at last, when I offer you the wealth of my father, and an alliance with one of the richest men in the city." "Oh, aunty, aunty!" still sobbed the afflicted girl, ': must it be to-night?" "To-night! to-night!" replied the stern woman, as if she had been a wierd spirit, from the other land, that ominously croaked the words. HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 209 -Still the girl sobbed convulsively, while Miss Mary, so altered in looks as to appear a creature of another age, paced slowly back and forward; she seemed play- ing the part of some one else, and was evidently repeat- ing words that rung in her ears with fearful intonations. "To-night! to-night!" she again solemnly articu- lated, moving ups and down the apartment, on whose wall flitted her tall shadow, following her, like a hideous khost, to tempt her on. Matilda could endure the sepulchral tone no longer, and, springing up, clasped her arms about Miss Mary's neck, and stiflingly whispered, "It shall be as you desire!" Like one wakening from some dreadful dream, Miss Mary started at the words. She had been living over a terrible night once passed in these very rooms, and the part she here played, and the words which she had ut- tered, were but the echo of those, which proved once messengers of death to her own heart, and another's. ( My child! my child!" she exclaimed, " it is well, I know it is well; I would not urge, but that I feel it is i: for your happiness, and, perchance, mine; for who knows, but that in future years, when there shall be playthings under my feet, and rattles and corals tied to my cap-strings, the old heart will unlock itself, and the old spirit come back, and the woman of stone become the woman of flesh." Matilda left her there, still pacing back and forward through the gloomy parlor, and fled to-her own room. page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. Throwing herself upon her couch, she sobbed convuls- ively, until, at last, overcome with tears, she fell partly asleep. It must have been very late when she awoke, and the gas, which was down in its burner, only made the darkness visible. Languidly she rose from the bed, and went to the window. It was cold without-yet her head was so heated, she fain would let the breeze fall upon it. How still it was-a solitary watchman, by the lantern on the walk, who looked up, startled by the opening window, was the only living thing per- ceptible. The stars beamed down from Heaven, and a lonely meteor plowed along the sky. The boughs of the trees shook mournfully, and the patter of a dog's feet broke upon the pavement. As she sat there in silence, there came a sound from the adjoining room. She listened-'t was the slow step of Miss Mary pacing her chamber. '0, how I have made her suffer," thought she, ".and I really do not know for what. Why can not I be happy with Mr. Patterson? Surely he is one, many would be proud to receive attentions from, and who has every thing at command of a worldly nature." " "True, true!" whispered her heart's angel; "but he has-no heart, and you are sold! sold! sold!" "That must have been three o'clock striking," said she; " how like a voice it sounded!7"She listened, but all was silent, the tread of her aunt no longer percepti- ble, and she hastily threw off her clothes and retired. CHAPTER XXI. "She little dreamed, with form so small, The shade she cast upon the wall; Or how a single word from her Had made the blood of princes stir; And started tears from eyes which she Had hoped in happiness to see." IT was whispered about in certain business circles, during the winter that the great house of Patterson, Walker & Bu-itt, were about to dissolve. No one could imagine why it was-each member having been looked upon as exceedingly well adapted for his de- partment, and calculated to add, by his talents, to the wealth of the concern. Still, it became evident to the business conuu- nity that, among them, things were drawing to acri- sis of some kind. Their importations mostly ceased several of their clerks were discharged; and at length tppeared, one morning, a notice of their dissolution. hortly a rward, a new sign-board took the place of ;he old one, reading Patterson and Buritt, while ound in a little court, w as a small, dingy plate, where, 1 yellow painted letters, could be puzzled out Harrison Walker. Before long, the law columns of the apers announced a su it pending, , W alker versu s it pending) Walker verSU page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. Patterson and Bluritt," which thereafter appeared, about once a year, under the decisions of this court, and that until the demise of Walker. Now, the cause of all this changing and troubling of business matters, the effect of which was felt even in foreign markets, and which disturbed the, equanimity of seeral house- holds, was a gentle, quiet girl, with a heart fll of love and goodwill towar all men. Yes, this child, whose affections were wdded to those who were suffering or needy, was the immediate source trouble in these little communities: causing, as she id, the old clerks who heretofore, at the end of every month, settled with the butcher and baker, to shake their heads ominously, and ask for an extension; made them think of the quarterly installments Mr. Buritt used to pay out fdr their benefit, with longing feelings; and to shrug their shoulders, as they went of to look for new places, just when they had suppose their salaries were to be raised, and they permitted the privilege of figur- ingup and ...guring donuntil they figured themselves nup and figuring c-to0w, - who into eternity. Yes, this yielding, lovely creature, who would not crush an insect intentionally, and who wept like a child upon the heart of that strange, wayward woman, blushing from neck to forehead at her plans and suggestions, was the cause of it all. What won- drous changes did she work in long columns of figures, that were added up, and over that winter, and copied into balance-sheets, and trial balance-sheets, and turned HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 213 over again in back offices by daylight and gas-light. A word from those cherry lips had removed long rows of red boxes, all lettered and dated, about which had collected thick coats of dust, which filled the place with a murky cloud, to the infinite disgust of Mr. Patterson, who stepped out -of the office, shaking his black coat and hat: caused tapes and seals to be placed on them, and on certain desks, until the whole place seemed like the special department of a sheriff. And what was it all for? Was it because either of those cold-hearted, money-getting old bachelors, had fallen in love? Was it because either of them, overtaken by the blind boy, had fallen wounded by his arrow, and thereby neglected his business engagements? O, no! love to either of these men, was a thing entirely out of the question. If ever, in their ossified hearts, there had been a place susceptible of such a feeling, it had long since congealed and hardened into a solid mass. They neither of them wished for a wife or family, save that it brought another chain to help hold the great ship, already well loaded with bullion, and anchored stem and stern in firm- holding ground. Yes, the fortune of Miss Mary, which, their attorney hinted, was surely to be disposed of for the child's benefit, did all this. Set John Pat- terson's cunning brain, to work, that he might bring all points of his subtle wit to bear upon the unsophis- ticated heart of a loving girl, toward whom he had not a feeling of tenderness. Made Harrison Walker buy a page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. new suit of clothes, and cramp his feet into French boots, Made old Mr. Buritt's round face to elongate, and eyes to grow dim, in poring, night after night, over accounts which no one understood but himself, and from which he derived no direct benefit. With Walker disappeared fitom the store his shadow, Jqhn M'Kay, while the place was filled by a bustling negro, who soon dispersed the crowd of rag-pickers that every morning gathered at the door, to collect the rubbish. , But there was one old woman not so easily disposed. of, who seemed to assert a kind of right on the prem- ises. More than once he perceived her talking to Patterson, and sometimes he would notice her pass several times during business hours. Again, he ob- served her in the court, where was Walker's office, sliding behind a door. His curiosity was much ex- cited, but he never was able to ascertain any thing definite, and at last she disappeared entirely. From the day of the dissolution, Mr. Patterson im- proved in looks and spirits; his brown wig, which was always so elegant, and which few people suspected concealed a naked poll, was brushed, and smoothly curled about his ears like a boy's. His luxuriant black whiskers, extended just far enough to conceal the wrinkles about his mouth, while his new set of teeth glistened like fresh pearls. His genteel little foot dis- played his gaiters and silk stockings, and his slightly IBAMPTON HEIGHTS. 215 fancy pants, were fi'om his own tailor in Palis. When he stood, on a pleasant morning, at a corner of the street, conversing delightfully upon business with some friend, he seemed the personification ofgentility. How flashed the great diamond on his white shirt-bosom. And how plainly perceptible were the armorial bearings on his ring. Indeed, he was all that could be expected from one like him, and, too, so wonderfthy improved of late. These things to 'any were very astonishing. "What spirit," they asked, , can have come over him, that on the eve of a troublesome lahw-suit he is as gay as a lad, even reasonable and smiling to his clerks, the last of all accusations to be laid to his charge. The truth was, Mr. Patterson was about to be married. The sweet young lady who had been seen in his private box at the opera, and who sometimes came w ith her aunt to the warehouse door, had decided to grace his -home with her pr esence, ., page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] CHAPTER XXII. ' If it were true, Orlando, 'T were better far to keep it to one's self Trhan publish it unto a gaping worldl: There's shame enough with proof upon its Face, without forth thrusting Every wanton rumor;" SWELL, Hatty! said Mr. Malcoe, one morning at breakfast, "I hear one of your friends is going to be married." "Who do you mean, father?" she inqued. -"Why, Matilda Fish, to be sure." "Arnd pray who to?' asked his wife, dropping an- other lump of sugar into her coffee, and looking toward him somewhat anxiously. "You must guess," he responded; "in thefirst place, for it is some one we all know, quite well; and I will give you a little more guessing-ground. It is one of our yearly visitors up here." "You -don't mean John Patterson, husband?' tI do." , Poor child! little Mrs. Malcom gave a long sigh. Poor hil&! little she knows what is before her." "-Well, mother, she did not want to maTy him, I HAMPTON HEII HTS. 27 assure you, and never would, if Miss Mary had not compelled her," interrupted Harriet. "Why, Hatty, did you know who it was all the time we were guessing?" said little Anna, looking arch- ly up from her plate. "I knew something about it; Matilda and I are quite firequent correspondents." "Well, Hat, when are they to be married?"2 interro- gated her mother. "The first of next month, and then immediately to sail for Europe, where they will reside some years." "I wonder if Mary Fish is made of iron," -re- turned Mrs. Malcom, " that she is willing to undertake another such heart-breaking affair, for the sake of a few paltry dollars. If there 's a living being to be pit- ied, it is that sweet girl, who is compelled to become the wife of a broken down rake, more than twice her own age, who, I believe, too, is a very bad man, one whom I never liked the idea of having visit here at all.' "Well, Rose, you can not alter the matter, and I would not be quite so free with my sentiments regard- ing my neighbors." The conversation, was. here dropped, although it was very evident Mrs. Malcom was brimming over with in- dignation, restrained only from outhursting, by her husband's presence. That day Harriet received a letter from Matilda, which, after dwelling long and affectionately upon 10 page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] 218 HAM]PTON HEIGHTS. their past acquaintance, reviewed the history of her life, down to its approaching change. There was an apparent effort to appear happy through it all, under which Harriet plainly perceived the anxiety of her heart, and a still greater, to excuse her aunt from any seemingly unkind or hasty acts, in its accomplish- ment. When, at length, it neared its close, there was a change in the handwriting, and more than one word Harriet perceived was blotted over with tears. She, spoke sweetly of the event-the trust she had in Mr. Patterson's becoming more like herself, after the mar- riage-the pleasure it would give her aunt--the influ- ence for good she hoped to have over both-and their future residence in Europe. "AWrd now, Hatty," she finished by saying, "I desire you for my bridesmaid. I would have preferred to have been married in a quiet way, but as both Mr. Patterson and aunt desire a large wedding, I can but yield to their wishes. It will be something to look forward to, that you, who have been so near to me, and loved me so well, will come, and help to arrange the buds of the wreath r 'That gives a paleness to the cheek-- Unknown to it before.1 "'Yes, Hatty, you must be near me then. It is but a trying event, at best, even where hearts are nearer of an age, and strengthened by long years of affec- tion, and more especially so to me, who am but a nov. IA MPTON HEIGtTS. 219 ice in such things, and whose husband is to be so many years my senior., so ny Harriet read this letter aloud to her mother. "arriet,, she replied, "I don't know what to thi regar it. If it iere not for grieving TMatil- da, you should never go. It's but telling Miss Mary we approve of the thing, when you knolr we do not, just countenancti ng a cold 'bargain and sale of a dear, innocent girl.", "Well, mother, I will leave it entirely for you to say, although Matilda will feel much hurt by my declining., "I know it, child, and feel sorry for he; a nd on the whole, perhap s, you had best write'to her, consent. ing., The next day came tip iMr . Buritt, and Arthu ; the former to spend the Sabbath. T he marrinde of Patter son was canvassed quite fireely, although withoutthe mentioning of Miss Mary's name. It seem ed a subject of grea t amusement to Mr Buritt, who gav e a lon g account of Walker's courtship, and disappointment-. imitating his language and gestures, when Patterson ocu sed him of charging the expense ofhis new clothes o the house, etc., etc. "Bu t the greatest joke about it all, is, she is Wall-- r's own daughte r. 4 "Oh , horrible! Mr , Buritt, wh at do you m ean? d how c a n you sa y such a thing , exclaimed 'Irs. ialcm0o page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "Why, it 's a fact." "You don't mean to say that Walker knew she was his child?" "Oh, no! not so bad as that; he has no idea of it. He might have found it all out, though, and saved the trouble of his lawsuit, by paying an old woman fifty cents, as I did, but he was too stingy, and now he has the good of it. But let me charge you all not to mention the fact; I dOn't think any one knows it but myself, and the old woman, and she is not quite satis- fied upon the subject. I had further proof at hand, which her match kindled." "Oh, let me hear something about it," said Mrs. Malcom, " you know how interested I have ever been in her history." 'No, I have said too much already; one of these days, perhaps, it will all come out." Here they were interrupted by the arrival of the girls, who at once commenced coaxing Mr. Arthur to sing a song. As he would not, however, comply, they insisted upon his writing a piece of poetry in their cousin Julia's album, who, just engaged to be married, was now paying them a visit. "Miss Julia," he commenced, "I once wrote a few verses in a blank leaf of my ledger, inspired by you." "Pray, tell us about it," said she. "I should think that was a funny place to write them," said little Anny. HAMtrPTON BHGnTS. "I should think it was," replied lMr. Buritt, catch. ing her in his arms, and rubbing his harsh chin on her forehead; "but come, Arthur, let us hear about them., "It was years since," he continued, "and I penned them on account of her father's looking so intently upon her-I knew of whom he dreamed-while she stood there, and so, although quit e busat th ime scribbled the doggerel. y Pray read them to me, Mr. Arthur,, said ulia. "That I can not, for I neither have them, or re- member them, some one has seen fit to tear out the leaf. totear out the "Well, sir," said Mr. Malcom, who had been sitting very silently (a state of mind for many months he had indulged in), " what will you give for them.), "Why, I don't know, really; I am sure I should be much obliged.'" "Here they are, then," he replied, unfolding the leaves of his pocket-book. "I mutilated the ledger, and have to request, if you have any more such poet- ical figures, you will not mingle them with those that relate to United States currency., " "Ah em!, said M r. Buritt, " but let 's have the poe- try, that ,s what we are after.", Arthur received the leaf from Mr. Malcom, and, after much looking and smiling, read as follow s:- page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222 HAAMPTON HEIGHTS. She'll be beautiful soon, but my hairs will be gray When her, beauty unfolds, like a rosebud, in May; And my feet will tend down, to the valley afar, When she flashes before us, a beautiful star. 'Tis not that my heart dwells alone in its years, That my thought soars away from this region of tears; Where her mother looks down, from the azure afar, And beams through the flash of my beautiful star. And yet, but a day seems to me to have flown Since white arms were entwined round my neck like a zone; And I dreamed there was nothing the gladness could mar That seemed like the song of some beautiful star. She 'll be beautiful soon-and I 'll keep my heart young, As when the white arms o'er my bosom were flung: And if my thoughts turn to the life-lasting scar, I will look to the dawn of my beautiful star. "Well, Arthur," commenced his friend, interrupting the silence in which all remained after he had finished, for their thoughts were resting upon the history of that star, which went out when Julia was born, " you have, indeed, quite a tact for writing rhymes, and I wonder you don't do more at it." "Oh, he will," joined in the girls, " and write cousin Julia a piece upon her engagement." , Arthur took up the album which was offered him, and turned over the leaves. It was full of sentimental verses,- and an occasional original piece in school-girl's handwriting. HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 223 "I will take the book home with me, Miss Julia, and write you something between this and Monday." "O! you must not write it on Sunday,- you know." "Well, if I do, it shall be a Sunday piece., the evening passed pleasantly along with conversa- tion and music, Arthur permitting Harriet to coax him into repeating the lines upon "The Turnpike-gate Keeper," which, as near as we remember, for we were quite sleepy at the time, were after this manner: Near by to the bridge, on the old post road, The keeper's cottage stood, On a little mound, of rising ground, Fronting a chestnut-wood; But a half-choked well, and a broken bough, Are all that remain for the cottage now. She was very poor, and with frugal care Gathered her small supply; And from early day, until evening gray, Sewed with a steadfast eye; And travelers passing late at night Beheld her there by a single light. She was all alone, and sought no friends: And, save on the Sabbath day, Was seldom seen on the village green, Or near to the dusty way- Except by the open gate to stand, And take the fare from the traveler's hand. Some summer-fruits, from the neighboring fields, By the shattered curb she laid, And ever there, in the summer air, The mossy bucket swayed; page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] 224 HAMPTON HEIGHTS, And the thirsty steed at noon came near, And strangers paused for the simple cheer. The chestnut-wood, of my school-boy days, With its roof of varied hue, Where dark between, the woof of green, Was tangled the warp of blue; Where winds sighed low, like a minstrel rude, Chanting the lays of the solitude. And sometimes here, when the sun was gone, And the dew dripped off the leaves- A boy I stood, in the whispering wood, And gazed on the garnered sheaves That were scattered about in the twilight's span, Like the silent tents of a caravan. And when again my wandering feet, To her lonely door drew nigh- She would sit alone, on her threshold stone, With her face on the distant sky: As if she communed with them that kept Their watch when the Babe of Bethlehem slept. But years are past, and my hairs are gray, And the widow's grave has long been made;, And the chestnut-wood, where the cottage stood, Gives place to a gleaming glade; And a half-choked well, and a broken bough, Are all that remain for my childhood now. It was nearly midnight when Arthur at length left i them for his sister's. He had remained far later than he intended, and now, in the dim moonlight, hastily pursued his journey. i It was a lonely walk at best, and, as he hastened forward under the trees, and saw the HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 225 moon wading through masses of gray clouds, he was not insensible to feelings of a melancholy nature, in- spired by the loneliness of the hour and place; nor could he divest himself of the thought that once he also was a young lover, and, like this pretty maiden, looked forward to the day that should crown his hopes. His contemplations grew heavier as he passed into the woods, along whose paths echoed the voice of some lonely night-bird, who, disturbed by his ap- proach, fled into deeper and still more solitary retire- ment. "I will not think of these things," he repeated, "I have risen above them, and they shall not crush me down again,, and so, to while away the tediousness of the hour, he composed a little piece for Julia's album, which, on the following Monday he returned, assuring her it was not written on the Sabbath. A PSALM OF LIFE. An old woman there was, and keen was her sight, Though blind as a bat to perception of-light; And I found her one day knitting under a tree, When she felt of my face to learn whose it might be, And then said all kindly, and gently, to me- "Sit down l" Then she looked with her fingers, and with them did she seo There was room where she sat, if we both could agree; And with these good eyes of hers drew in her gown, And said, "On this bench will you please to sit down-- With me. T0o* page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "You perceive," she continued, "I am blind, and am lame, And I find my way here through the eyes of my cane; You may deem them strange optics, but they are better than none, To one who for years has been blind as a stone-- Alack a-day I "Feel my hand," she said, kindly, " a horny old thing, But the touch of it once made a bonny heart spring- A heart that lies coldly at rest in the grave, With its good mother earth, who took back what she gave-- To me. "See my hair, like the threads that a glass-blower weaves For the tail of his bird, standing up on glass leaves: Ah I once it was flowing, in brown, sunny curls, And I danced in the May-time, as queen of the girls. "On this crooked old finger, you see, is a ring, Which, corroded and worn, is a cheap-looking thing; But once it was bright, and the secret it told Is one that your heart is beginning to hold- So take ca-re I "For time dallies with ringlets, and leaves them like mine, And his kiss on fair foreheads tells tales of thy crime; But when the white hair stealeth out through the cap, And the knitting work falls from the hand to the lap; And the ball of yarn frisking, goes off with the cat ; And the old woman noddeth alone in her nap; And the good man has gone to his home in the grave, And o'er his green turf the willow boughs wave; And youar children are dead, and some stranger you claim, To assist the frail steps of the time-wearied dame;-- ' You'll be thinking, like me, 'tis time to be laid By the good man that sleeps in the grass-covered glade." CHAPTER. XXIII. "O, 'ts an anxious happiness, O 't is a fearful thing When first the maiden's small white hand put on the golden ring: She passes from her father's house, unto another's care, And who may say what anxious hours, what troubles wait her there." H. H. BAoY. "WELL," said Mr. Scott, setting down in the kitch- en a large basket of flowers, he had just been cutting in the garden. "That's the sourest smelling thing full of blossoms ever I handled, and every one on 'em I cut off, was just like pullin' so many hairs from my old skull.", ( Pooh!" retorted his wife, " what a fuss you make about a few roses." o "Fuss, old woman. It ain't the posies I cares for, nor the cuttin' 'em down; Lor' no! but it's -the thoughts they stuck into me, like so many thorns. Oh, yes, when I cut 'em off, I said it's no matter! no mat- ter! 'cause spring will come to you again, but to a cracked heart it never will; no, they never rekiver themselves. Some, like yours, Martha comes to be an old piece of fallow ground, that all the digging round, and puttin' compost on, won't alter a whit, and which never'll grow any thing but a sort of crab sticks and page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] !8 HHAMPTON HEIGHTS. ch like. And some comes to be jist like Miss Mary's, ae great stun, that thinks every body's to be jist ke it, only not quite so hard, but it'll smash right p under her, and never say a word. And some omes to be like Miss Ann Wilber's, little blue vio- ts, first in spring, and nigh last in the fall, more andsome and sweetlike, the wus it storms, till God ees fit to send one of his angels down, and trans-g slant ,rn. And some never rekiver themselves, but ink right down under the frost, black and woe- )egone, with a little life down in their roots, jist enough to keep soul and body together. Yes! Mar- tha, I was thinkin' about the poor child they are goin' to sacrifice, and whether these 'ere flowers they are goin' to place on the altar, wouldn't be hateful in , the sight of God; jist as them taters and sich like veg.- etables were, Cain offered up, afore he killed his broth- er. Cause its downright sacrificing, it is! Jist'shack- ling a dear, sweet critter, to an old, worn-out, put together fellow, that'll take to pieces, and unscrew, like my patent gimblet, and who they ain't so much rale bone and sinew tu, as I could carry in a market- basket. Lotr no, Martha 1 when I heer'd Katy tell on what she heard one night down in the big house, and how that dear poor child of mine-for I always took to her, just if she was the spirit that are cripple of ourn went into-sobbed, and took on, and begged to be let of-from marrying them old bones-I nigh was a mind iff-from mar U 1 HAMPTON HEIG HTS. 229 to tell Miss Mary what I thought on it all. But it would n't been no use; she Id only looked them snalke eyes of hers into me, and sot me to tremblin', so I could n't say another thing. But now, when I tie up these 'ere blossoms, I must speak, for I don't know but I'd rather make nosegays to be scattered on her grave, as they do in heathen countries, than for this 'ere wedding.', So he pulled the basket between his feet, and began to assort them into bouquets, when Catharine, coming in, told him to make haste. "Make haste, Katy! make haste! It nigh breaks my old heart, every string I wind round 'em. Poor, dear child, that I carried on my strong shoulders, and reared up, as it were, out of the cold, wet grave, where I planted our poor cripple, and that now I mustn't say a word about, more than them nigger mothers that see their own babies took right out of their arms. Oh, Katy! I know all about it, and how it's agin' her own mind; and I telid Martha I could n't help thinkin' these ere flowers wouldn't be any more acceptable in the- sight of God, than them taters and sich like vegitables as Cain offered. I tell ye, Katy, when I think on that old chap, who I see'd once all took to pieces, so there was nAt notin' left but a dried up old carcass, I'm nigh crazy. Why, you see, I'd been blacking them nice boots of his, and went up stairs into his room to carry ^em; I suppOse it Itwa, page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] O HAMPTON HEIGHTS. jist perlite, but when I didn't hear any body inside, I jist peeked in, and there, on the table, was a hul set of grinders, wide open, and grinnin' at me like a shark's mouth, while close along side; lay his wig, and other fixins. I j!st took one look more to where he was sleepin' and then cut, run like a skeer'd dog, for there he lay, his great mouth wide open, not a sign of an old stub inside on't, and his lantern jaws all caved in, seemin' jist like an old skull I saw once in the grave- yard. Tell her, the old man sent his blessin' just as if she was his own child, and that he 'll pray' the king- dom come' to that old critter, till he hears it has, and he's gone to:get his desarts." So Catharine took the basket of flowers, and made haste to return to town, where the sacrifice was to take place. And a most brilliant wedding it was; every thing that money could procure, was lavished, bridal dresses that were, in cost, equal to some men's fortunes, and bouquets of flowers, which put poor Mr. Scott's completely in the background. Over a thousand invi- tations were given out to le grand monde, to, come and gaze upon the sacrificed child, and 'to listen to the melodious band, that, from the'conservatory, discoursed "Love Not," and "Rest, Spirit, Rest?' The bride inclined her head in response to the clergymen, and, like a cold, impassive statue, received the guests that passed, to her mind, like a train of ghostly spectators, whose smiles seemed to alternate between pity and derision. There was a tremor about the blue lips, but no smile, no blush-an exquisite mar- ble thing, standing there to be gazed at, almost as un- conscious, as though fresh from the sculptor's chisel. There, beside her, was the being called her husband-- called so in law-made so by compact-married to her, by one who pronounced them husband and wife by the authority vested in him as a minister of God, and a servant of the State. Had the words that placed matrimonial shackles upon them riveted their souls to- gether? Had it lifted any floodgates from those two hearts which might let in streams, to mingle, and henceforth flow on in one unbroken current? Had it done a single thing to fulfill the spirit of love, and make them married in soul?9 There he stood-her lawful husband-blandly re- ceiving visitor after visitor, with all the stiffness and importance of one who felt himself far above his neigh- bors. He looked well, and why should he not?) He was six feet in height, and padded to exact proportion. In his youth, and before loose habits had marked his countenance, he had been a handsome man, and, with his bald head,' now concealed by his curling wig, and his elegant teeth, glistening as he smiled, he seemed a well-looking gentleman, that might have been proud to have claimed Matilda for his daughter. Sweet Matilda, that so longed for the guests to depart, that she might once more seek her chamber, and page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. throw her arms about Hattie's neck, and weep in bit- terness. Poor Matilda, that had been bought, and sold for many pieces of silver, and cruelly sacrificed. Dear Matilda, whose mother's damp corse floated over the impure waters of the bay, whose spirit clung to any thing that kindly cherished her, and who now was entering upon the first act of a drama, which, black andwinter-like, hereafter shall sweep over her soul. The bridal party were to make a short trip of a week, and then leave in a steamer for Europe. And when the last guest had departed, and the last car- riage rattled down the street, she leaned against an adjoining pillar, with that feeling of relief which comes ' at the thought of its being the last. But she was look- : ing, as it were, into a mist, whose eddying circles wreathed round and round, until they gathered to a point, and stabbed her. to the heart, when she fell a senseless to the floor, rl The bridesmaids left that night with melancholy re- a flections, and Harriet Malcom assured her mother d "that if she was ever called to such a heart-rending , ceremony again, she should not be able to endure it." Poor girl, she had little idea of what strength we have when affliction comes to us, and what she herself would soon be called upon to suffer. Three days after that splendid wedding, Patterson was called to New York, by a letter, announcing the suspension of Mal- HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 233 He was partaking of breakfast with his wife, attend- ed by a single servant, when the package was received. Breaking the seal, he carefully perused the contents with unchanged features-even refolded and placed it in his pocket, without Matilda's discovering an excited muscle, or twinge of countenance. He did not, how- ever, resume his meal, but sat, apparently engrossed in thought. At length his face became pale, and he brought his hand so powerfully upon the table, that every spoon and cup vibrated, and upset, at the- same time, with the most fearful of all oaths, exclaimang:- "They shall pay me!" Matilda grew paler than her husband, "My dear Patterson, she murmured, " how can you talk so., "Talk so," he vehemently commenced, then sudden- ly changing his voice, continued, in a lower, yet -still earnest strain, "why, wife, the Malcoms have failed and owe me fifty thousand dollars." - Matilda had not a word to say; her large black eyes looked fixedly upon him, and her little- heart heaved up and down, until she seemed like one over whom had come some strong agony, and who can not find breath or tears Whereby to relieve itself. "We must go back this afternoon, he resumed, "and see what can be done about it. I always looked upon Ed. Malcom as a hypocritical, accursed scoundrel, and here is my proof of it.', "O, I can't believe Mr. Malcom is a bad man, my page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 234 H "APTOS HEIGHTS. husband," said poor Matilda, coming affectionately toward him. "And what will that great family do if their father-loses all his property?" "Go to work, as they ought to! and let some one have the benefit of all the money of other people that has been spent upon their education. I hope they will have to come down to where they belong, and that aristocratic' woman, who told her daughter not to recognize me in the street, be compelled to'go out to washing." To all this Matilda could offer little, except some slight expressions of her displeasure in hearing him speak so harshy. She loved the whole family, warmly and affectionately, and of course could not endure to listen to her husbancla angry words. She told him shewould be ready to return in an hour, and then left his presence to make preparations. What sorrowful visions fashed before her as she folded her dresses, and again laid them in the trunk. Only three days since her marriage, and every hope of in- fluence over her husband gone, and he already daring to stand before her, and utter a dreadful oath. She trembled for the future--well might she. Once again the carriage paused before the stately mansion, and once again the stiff old waiting-man was rousedc from his seat at the register, by the sudden and loud ringing of the door-bell. He came slowly up the stairs, and cautiously opened the door, where, to his HAMPTON HEI GHTS. 235 greatastonishment, stood his youngmistress.- "Strange times these; pretty quick work of it she's made," said he, resuming his seat at the register, which answered the purpose' of an open window for him during the summer months. "I say, Biddy, they 've fit already, I believe, for she 's come home without him." Mr. Patterson left his wife for his office, at once upon arriving in town, and Matilda, therefore, surprised the old man by her advent, unattended and alone. She came with a heavy heart, where every thing was coldly familiar. Miss Mary had retired' for a day or two into the country to recruit, after the grand excite- ment of the wedding, and the whole place wore a gloomy appearance. The vases of flowers that had graced the drawing-rooms on her bridal-day were drooping and withered. The furniture again covered, the shutters closed, and many of the doors locked, she had the desolation of the scene, with no one to inter- rupt it, and, without removing her traveling dress, wandered about, opening the doors of the different apartments, or setting in a more easy position some article of fancy, until the place began to wear a some- what cheerful aspect. Then she went to her own little chamber, opened the blinds, and came back, and stood before her mirror. The canary that hung all silently upon the wall, roused by the noise and light, poured forth a flood of song, chirruping and rubbing his bill against his cage in apparent gladness. She stood look- page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 236 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. ing into her mirror a long time. We may not know the thoughts that swept through her soul, as she saw herself reflected there; but must believe she was tak- ing farewell of the unconsciousness of her youth, and preparing for the mysterious realities of the -future. She was, indeed, bidding farewell to the home of her childhood, to go into a strange country, where new associations and new friends were to be found. Harriet Malcom, also, shared in these reflections. Be- fore that glass had they arranged each other's hair, and in the frame she perceived a faded leaf Harriet had placed there, the last time they occupied the room together. Before she left the familiar spot, her eyes were suffused with tears, and she threw herself upon the bed, and gave free vent to her feelings. Her husband, who so hastily had sought his place of business, found, closeted in consultation, Mr. Buritt and Walker. The failure of the Malcoms had brought the latter personage to the office, where he was com- pelled to meet his rival, though with the most repug- nant feelings. "Quite a little episode in the felicity of your mar- riage tour this," he observed. ' How is the young bride? I suppose you 've showed her how you fasten on your wig and put in your teeth before this time. This will be quite a little jointure for her. Come, sup- pose I throw in my interest with it, so you needn't have any trouble on my account." HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 237 "I told you once I never wanted to speak to you again," returned Patterson; "and now, if you don't keep your lips closed, except upon business, I will put you out of the office." "I'd like to see you attempt it, you put together puppy, and if some of your corset-strings don't fly, I am mistaken. "Gentlemen! gentlemen i" interrupted Mr. Buritt, coming between them; "be calm. This is a serious matter, and requires cool heads rather than hot ones. Come, sit down, and let us talk the affair over like men, rather than be making ourselves school boys., Walker argued long against his coming in for a proportion of the loss, but had two old heads to con- tend with; and at last went off; very angry with all parties, declaring he would get some security for the debt, or put the old fellow in Chancery. Mr. Buritt, Who was friendly disposed toward 1al- com, assured his partner of his belief in the honesty of the concern, "although, he continued, "from what I learn, there will be but small dividend, if any, to the creditors." The failure,was unexpected to all parties, and pro- duced by the suspension of the Smiths, of New Orleans. " Well," said Patterson, "'I must confess things seem very black; but I shall be willing to lose my share, to bring them down where they belong, espe- cially when it will be like taking so many drops of page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 238 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. blood out of Walker's heart. I'll trust him with our claim. If any body'gets any thing, it will 'be us. And to see him up there, along with the sheriff, taking in- ventories, and looking into cupboards, as he will if he gets a chance, will be as good as a feast." Mr. Buritt returned no answer, but sat .by his desk, sometimes figuring on a bit of paper, and sometimes looking on the floor, feeling deeply for the Malcoms, whomn he saw in the hands of such relentless and vin- dictive men. "I do not see," at length resumed Patterson, "after all, as I can be of any use this side this winter; and my being away will prevent my wife annoying me about this family, whom she is so intimate with; and if you think you can get on without me, will delay sailing but a short time-for we really ought to have some one in Paris at once." Mr. Buritt agreed perfectly with his partner, who now retired home to dine with his bride. It was a cold, icy meal! Not that every thing was not hot and smoking, cooked to a nicety, browned, crisped, and garnished with all perfection. No! a meal rendered cold by the distance they sat apart, the apparent anxiety and dissatisfaction that rested on their faces, and the chilling silence between them. Mr. Patterson covered his wife's plate with the choicest bits before him, and the stiff waiting-man made short journeys over to her and back again, then went round HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 239 and round the table to push the bread a little nearer, or turn the handle of the butter-knife, or some other trifling act, which Matilda followed with her eyes, until she was giddy from watching the circles he pro- duced about the table. After dinner they went into the parlor, where, the light being low, she seated herself by a marble pedes- tal, on the top of which was a bronze wolf, tearing in pieces a poor lamb. Her husband paced the room backward and forward without uttering a word, or occasionally stopped before the long windows, and looked out upon the street, where a servant-girl leaning upon the gate, and the organ-grinder she was watch- ing, were the only objects visible. At length Matilda broke the silence, and inquired what news of the Malcoms. "Nothing but what is bad, dear; and now this will be a good time for you to cut their acquaintance." "I never shall do that," returned Matilda. "Then you will displease your husband." "I am very sorry to do so, but whatever Harriet's father may have done, it is not for me to treat my oldest and dearest friend unkindly, when in misfor- ttune." "'! that 's a school-girl's nonsense, and you must put it away, and make all preparation to sail shortly, as our voyage will be delayed but-a short time further." Matilda made no reply, she seemed much like the page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] 240 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. poor lamb under the wolfs paw, there so near her, and so she kept her place silently by the white pedestal, and looked into the future. But the rushight would not burn, and, she could perceive only a feeble blaze, flitting about in the chalice. Her thoughts oscillated between her own prospects and the Malcoms, and she felt deeply the mortification and trouble they must know. "If they really have lost their all," she thought, "and must be driven from the cottage--how dreadful it will be." And then rose up before her, the family sitting on the Heights in the warm evenings. She saw the children climbing the rocks, or laughing on the hanging bridges-the girls coming back with their father from the boat-house; and truly understood how every gable, wood-walk, and shadow, was endeared by its association with some feature of child-happiness and anticipation, and that they could be separated from them only by the direst necessity. Then her thoughts reverted to herself, and she looked about for her hus- band. Stretched on a sofa opposite, she perceived him, and listening, learned by his hard breathing, he was asleep. She therefore stole cautiously to her room, where long and silently she sat by its window, reflective and sorrowful. Toward midnight he was wakened by the servants closing the shutters, and came yawning up stairs, where he soon again fell into the embraces of Morpheus. CHAPTER XXIV. "Alas, for thebright promises of our youth I Iow soon the golden cords of hope are broken; Iow soon we find that dreams we trusted Are very shadows., L E. L. "WOOULD n't you like to take a short ride into the country, for your health, Grinders?, said Mr. Walker, one evening, looking into the office-door of his attor- neys, Grinders & Bragg. "Thank you,', replied the lawyer, "I'm too deeply engaged, just now, without something very especial is in the wind," for Mr. Grinders knew full well Walker gave out no invitation without an object. "Oh, nothing alarming, Grinders, only I was think- ing it might be a benefit to your weak eyes, to see those Malcoms turned out, bag and baggage, to-rnor- row.' "Really, Mr. Walker, that would be beneficial, I have no doubt, to my optics; but in the pressure of matters just now, I must forego the pleasure; I sup. Pose you will go up, undoubtedly?, "Undoubtedly," replied Walker, "I shall be on the spot to exchange parting salutations, rest assured. Ha t page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242' HAPIPTON HaEIGHTS. ha! ha!" he laughed, "don't you envy me the pleas- ure-see me politely bowing out the lady, and admin- istering a kick to accelerate the motions of some slow- gaited servant?" "To. be sure! to be sure!" replied Mr. Grinders, "but hold, my respected young partner would un- doubtedly be pleased to, accompany you, for, from what I have heard, that elegant and accomplished daughter, so much admired, and whom, I understand, took a prominent part in the late nuptials-" "None of that, none of that, you old vagabond!" "Ahem! I beg pardon, but as I was about to ob- serve--dismissed, or issued a kind of writ of ejectment, wherewith my respected young partner was once very stiff served, and very politely escorted out of the mansion. Ahem!" he continued, "Iwill speak with' him upon the subject, and all in a legal wa, I have no doubt he will be your companion on the little excur- sion. But when do you go up?" 'c In the early train." "Well, I will mention it to Bragg at once." While this conversation was taking place in that dingy office, about which were scattered papers, books, and records, in such confusion that it would have seemed impossible to find any thing in a connected shape, and over which, through the glasses of his blue spectacles, glared the eyes of the attorney, with diabol ieal satisfaction, at the thoughts Walker had' suggest- ic t heth al atsfcton HA-PTON HEIGHTS. 243 ed-another, and far different scene was being enact- ed, and among faces with whom we have long been familiar. "Children," said Mr. Malcom, as they all sat silently in the little parlor overlooking the Sound, and into which, as yet, no light had been introduced, though clouds hung thick in the distance, and scarce a star looked forth from among them; " we have now passed the bitterest period of our lives; to you it gcame sud- denly, by me it has been long anticipated. The silver hairs you have observed accumulating, and which were the subject of many a joke to you, of late, came not on account of my declining years, or because the strength of my body was weakening-no, they were the result of anxiety, of wakeful nights, of fearful forebodings. I pictured you homeless, scattered abroad, and saw my- self, in the time of my old age, in the midst of ruin and desolation. But now, when the blow has really fallen, and you all know it, and come forward with such willingness to share my broken-fortunes, I see, also, another Hand, that will not fail to direct us- a Friend who will never desert, if on Him ,we truly rely. Yes, and now I perceive how much more cause there is for rejoicing than sorrowing, that we are, all left to one another, and some of us, suf- ficiently educated -to take the entire charge of the younger ones. To be sure, our home must be in a small, quiet place, where, by prudent economy, we can page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 HAMPyON HEIGHTS. subsist on such a salary as I shall be -able to obtain; ' and you must remember, frem henceforth, to economise , in the highest degree, for every thing we possess now belongs to my creditors, and even this will not satisfy : some of them, for other reasons than the love of money, will instigate more than one to persecute me. God is good, children, very good; he has made others more desolate than us, and though the best of my energies have been misapplied, and, in old age, I am left in pov- erty, still I perceive His goodness, and my entire un- ] worthiness. We must not despond. Although it will be humbling for you, Iarriet, and Mary, to go into the harsh world, with which you ae 6o slightly ac- quainted, and mortifying to you, AnI and Rose, to ! go to the baker's for your shilling's worth of bread-- "I shall never permit them to do that," rejoined his wife, "if I go myself." "Well, then, my dear, for you, the trial will be but for a time, and soon overcome by the feeling of duty. I wish you all to understand that it is a work God has assigned to you, and that he will call upon you to fulfill it just as imperatively, as though you had wealth e which enabled you to bestow charity." "How big will our rooms be, father? and will I be able to have any chickens? old Muffled-top and Banty have got sinteen little chicks, now."' "Hush, Anna, do not interrupt me-you will not be able to have either chickens or rabbits. You must look for enjoyment from other sources. We all have our. health, and so long as this remains, we can be happy. The enjoyment of rocks, and flowers, and woods, the knowledge of books, the hours of study can not be taken awlay. Oh, no, the smile of Heaven unfolds the rose- bud of the poor milliner's apprentice, in her little back- chamber, as willingly as the one that blooms in the proudest parterre. And these thoughts must console us, bringing us in closer communion with Him who vouchsafes for the happiness, finally, of His own." "I suppose we shall be able to come back here, sometimes, if we wish,5" remarked one of the group. CUndoubtedly, if you choqse; but I think the-place will never be to you what it has been-strangers will frequent its walls, and strange children clamber over the rocks, and you find yourself, perchance, an ob- ject of unpleasant notice. No, we had better live in remembrance of it, and the happiness we have en- joyed; it will cast light upon our darker hours, and cause us, I trust, to grow stronger in the day of. our trouble. .God may have thought we did not appre- ciate our blessings, and this, perchance, is one of his acts of wisdom. He gave, and he has a right to take away. Do not understand me, children, by what I say, to look upon Providence as the immediate cause of this affliction, or that I would throw away the re- sponsibility of my own acts or judgment: no, in a cer- tain degree, we are the workers out of our own for- page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. tunes here, though we ever live with the knowledge i 'that riches take unto themselves wings, and fly away.' And now let us lift up our hearts- unto Him, the last evening we shall ever be permitted to assemble under this roof." : It was uniformly his practice to repeat verses of Scripture during their devotions, and while he was unburdening his soul there, before God, the moon came bursting through a cloud, gilding up the room, and enveloping the father in a flood of light. He paused a moment, and then, in a calm, distinct voice, repeated, "When I consider the heavens, the workl of Thy fingers, the moon, and the stars, which thou hast ordained, what is man, that Thou art mindful of him, v or the son of man, that Thou visitest him, though Thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and crownedst him with glory and honor." "Amen!') responded his wife, who kneeled beside him. : After this, he spoke no more, yet no one cared for several moments to move from their position, lest they should interrupt those communings, they knew he held L all silently with his God.. Every article they-were permitted to take with them had been packed in a few trunks, that stood grimly arranged in the hall, and by the earliest dawn, the en- tire family were moving about to take their last fare- well.- Little Anna was down among her chickens, HA3[PTON HEIGHTS. 247 even crawling into the coop, to drive out some of the later risers, that she might see them all together for the last time. Sobbing and choking, she took up this one and that one, which she had, by attention and familiarity, tamed to her bidding, smoothing the soft feathers with her hand, and only setting it down to caress another, which picked at the ribbon on her hair, or escaped from her hands to her shoulder. , Her rabbits, too, came b0iding from the clover-field at sight of her, and she could be forced away only by the strong hand of a servant, who led her back to the house. The older girls were down on the heights, gathering some mementoes to be kept hereafter, and their brother stood looking sorrowfully in at the stable door, where, uneasily pawing, fretted his favorite horse. Mrs. Malcom could not leave her room-there she was privileged to weep without restraint. Her husband, however, walked thoughtfully over the grounds, or stood by some pleasant shade with folded arms. Here he was born, from here had he followed his father and mother to(the grave, and here led his youthful bride, when not a cloud darkened his future. Here most of his children had been born; and here he had hoped to mingle with his kindred earth. As he stood there, the great steamers loomed out of the fog, and came majestically on through the channel; fisher- men shouted under the heights, and sloops slowly hoisted their anchors and stood off from the shore; and page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] HAMPTON I1EIGHTS. every object which had amused from childhood to old age, wrought itself out before him. He could endure it no longer, therefore returned to the cottage, and sum- moned the family to the last meal at Hampton Heights. As they sat in their accustomed places, endeavor- ing to force down a mouthful of food, there came a slight knock at the door, and then, without further ceremony, Walker, and his attorney, Bragg, made their appearance in the room. "AAh! good morning," began the former; "rather early, I perceive. Thought I'd look in and say good- by 'fore you went. No intrusion, I hope. Sheriff's been down, I suppose." "Mr. Walker," said Malcom, indignantly rising, "this is an unwarranted intrusion, and I pray you to no longer interrupt the last family meeting under this roof." "Certainly! certainly! but how's this? Sheriff don't seem to have locked up here," opening, as he spoke, the door of a small closet. "Hang you!" exclaimed the waiting-man, seizing him by the collar; "is there nather dacency or sense of propriety in your old skull, that you walk into a gen- tleman's room, and go peering into his closets, without so much as axing his permission?" "Hands off! hands off!" shouted Walker; "no force and arms now! All legal; see to it! see to it, Mr. Bragg! Illegal proceedings altogether these, besides very uncivil." HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 249 "Let go of him, said Mr. Bragg. "Gentlemen! gentlemen!" exclaimed Mr. Malcom, "I pray you, for God's sake, to desist. All ill be in your possession directly; and pray, let us depart in peace." "Very illegal proceeding this," returned Walker, taking hold of a rent in his coat, which the outraged servant had left there in his effort to remove him from the room. "Very illegal, Mr. Bragg! highly illegal!" "Mr. Bragg," exclaimed Harriet, coming forward, "I had esteemed you a gentleman heretofore, and now I entreat of you, by our old acquaintance, to leave this room." "Most certainly, Miss Malcom. It's very disagree- able business to be here at all; I came alone in my capacity as Mr. Walker's attorney." "Don't go out, I say," shouted Walker, who had come forward to the table, and stood inquisitively ex- amining a pitcher. "We must keep a strict watch, according to the sheriff's orders." "My children," said Mr. Malcom, "if we have no longer the control of our home, let us depart from it." "Don't be in haste, Malcom; plenty of time-half an hour before the cars leave, when we shall be happy to accompany you." The last words fell coldly on the ears of the retreat- ing family, who soon slowly walked down the road to the depot, followed by a cart bearing their baggage. "* page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 250 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. Like a band of exiles about embarking from their native shores, they collected near the little depot, where so many times they had come in more prosperous days. It was a most trying position to be placed in. The hour was one in which the neighbors generally left for the city, and one by one they drove or walked toward the station. Some coldly avoided the group, some slightly nodded, and some, for very compassion, held themselves apart. Little Anna clasped tightly in her arms the household cat, the only living memento of her many favorites; but just as the cars whistled at the bend of the road, it leaped away, and fled home. She pursued it a short distance, but finding it impossible to coax it to return, came sobbing back, and, with the family, entered the cars. "All aboard!" shouted the conductor, and the wheels moved round which con- veyed them forever from Hampton Heights. A narrow street, a dirty side-walk, a fish-monger's cart, and a small house, pictured forth the new home at which they soon arrived. It was a dull, drizzling day, the pavements covered with mud and coal, which numerous carts, from a yard opposite, tracked along in thick, disagreeable patches. The houses were low, and of a dirty appearance, and from Harriet's window could be perceived a blacksmith's shop, where ragged children collected to watch the shoeing of horses, which seemed to be the only business of the smith. Below the shop was the coal-yard, parted off from a HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 251 vacant lot, half-covered with piles of ashes and filth. A few scraggy alanthus-trees, just then in full blossom, sent up their disagreeable perfume, mingling with other obnoxious and unpleasant odors. From her mother's room the view was still more interrupted: a shallow little yard, over-shadowed by brick walls, grouped, along with some dozen more, without turf or flower-bed, comprised the scene. The house was a furnished one, and so rented, though the furniture was scarce sufficient for the most limited wants; and here, without a servant, and but little ready means, they again commenced housekeep- ing. Mr. Malcom had obtained a situation, where a fair salary was afforded; and this, with the assistance of Harriet's exertions as a music-teacher, offered them a medium support; and had it not been for the troubled state of their father's mind, the family would have been in a degree quite contented in their new home. The arranging of the scanty household articles in order, that taste might supersede the look of poverty, caused many exhibitions of filial love, and soon gave the other- wise cheerless place an appearance of domestic comfort. For several days after the accomplishment of this, Harriet remained at home, trusting to receive a visit from Matilda. Day after day, however, passed, and still she was unheard from; and at last she sorrowfully relinquished the hope, and placed her among the num- ber of those whose friendship had vanished with their page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 , HAMPTON HEIGHTS. misfortune. She longed to see Matilda, to speak of her father's misfortune, fully believing that she might exert an influence over her husband in his behalf. She little knew the hatred that animated that husband's heart, or the malicious character of his partner, which, now having his victim in his power, dreamed of any thing but "the quality of mercy." At length, one day, to her great delight, she perceived Miss Mary's footman upon the walk, examining the numbers, and presently her carriage, which slowly followed his direction. It stopped before/ the gate, and aHarriet, waiting for no further ceremony, rushed by the tall lackey, and in a moment embraced Matilda by the opened door. Once within her little bed-room, they gave vent to their feelings, and long and tenderly conversed upon those subjects so near to the heart of each. Time fled most rapidly, and yet the half they had to communicate, was unspoken. The footman and driver gave many sidelong glances to the window, where / they heard their voices, loosened their coats, lifted their hats, and made observations regarding the heat of the day. The horses stamped in the water of the gutter, and little boys came about, and surveyed them- selves in the polished panels of the carriage. Still Matilda protracted her visit. She perceivedl with sorrow the apparent poverty of the family, and heard, with deeper affliction, of the conduct of Walker and her husband. HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 253 "Do you suppose, Matilda," Harriet inquired, "you could have sufficient influence with Mr. Patterson, to prevent father's being put in Chancery? He seems so to dread it. I have no idea what it is, but he says your husband's house will make the demand.1" "I have done all in my power, Harriet; both he and Aunt Mary attribute every thing to Mr. Walk- er, and I have, no doubt he has prejudiced aunt against your father. I never was more troubled fir money in my life, Hatty, and I know it is because they think I will do something for you. But I prom- ise you, my dear girl, tfouse my little influence, and to go, myself, and ee Mr. Buritt and Walker, before we sail. But I am staying a long time, and must go-so, good-by-keep up a good heart, it is my turn now to offer consolation. Before we leave I will certainly come again. Good-by, my poor, dear child!" Harriet followed her to the carriage, and, long after it had passed out of sight, stood straining her. eyes toward where it had vanished. "Ah," thought she, as she came up the steps, "a few weeks ago, and for you I said,poor child! and now, who is to be pitied?, Had it then been offered Harriet to have changed places, she would have been sorely tempted; alas, how little could she read the future. The next day, without the knowledge of her husband or aunt, Matilda prepared to meet Walker, to plead page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 254 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. i with: him the cause of the 3Ialcoms. A slight knock at that gentleman's office, caused him to ejaculate, "Come in!', Matilda opened the door of the dingy place, where, stiffly writing at his desk, she perceived him. At the rustling of her dress, he slightly turned his head, but perceiving, as he suspected, the visitor was a lady, he jerked it back into its former position, and continued writing. Ladies were no unfrequent intruders there, and more than once he had found upon his table little tracts upon the "Love of Wealth," and "The World," and, believing the stranger some seeker of subscrip- tions, or distributor of books, loudly cried out- "Proprietors not in, madam! doubtful .if you would obtain any thing, if they were." "' Mr. Walker!" said Matilda, coming closely beside him. Startled by her familiar voice, he quickly wheeled about, on his circular chair, looking both angry and surprised. "For what reason, madam," said he, gleaming his fierce eyes upon her, " am I thus highly honored?" "I have come," she responded, "on a matter of busines!" ' "Ah business, eh! well that's in my line. But come! 'quick 's the word,' when you say business to me. Let s have dispatch-no quarrel with your hus- band, I hope, that my advice is sought for-no ques- HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 25b tion of divorce-no apology for past insults from you both. But come, out with it! if I am to be arbitra- tor between you, let's hear what's to do." "I have come for nothing of the kind, Mr. Walker- but to request you to examine more closely into the affairs of Mr. Malcom, before further persecuting him." "That's just what I am about to do, young girl- , Mrs. Patterson, I mean. Just what I am this moment engaged in: and, in the course of a few days, I expect to put him where he can not escape my examination; and the only remarks, further, I have to make upon the subject, are these, that I would it were in my power to produce the instruments of the old inquisi- tion, and to preside over his torture. I'd then see where the property is, I reckon." "Mr. Walker, you greatly mistake, if you think they are concealing any thing from theirY creditors; they are living, I might almost say, in extreme poverty." '"Just playing possum; keeping dark, till folks have done inquiring, that's all; but they won't gammon me-no, nor the devil you call your husband.' ; Mr. Walker, I will not permit you to speak so of my husband." "Then go out of here, I want the place for my own purposes." "I can not go, until I have again entreated you to desist from further afflicting that unfortunate family.", ,] page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] 256 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "Why don't you talk to your husband? He 's the one." "He says it 's you that are doing it." "He lies, that"s all." Matilda's spirit began to rise, "Are -you a man, or what are you,th she inquired, "that you would thus treat a lady." 6"Brute! girl, brute! if that suits you any better," always like a brute, when money s concerned, a queer kind of one, too--an adder-deaf as one-sting like one-look out, look out!" and he ground his teeth to- gether, as if generating the poison. "Man i" exclaimed Matilda, "have you no heart? no fear of hell? no hope of heaven? did you never have a mother? never hear the cry of a child?" "Begone, woman, I say!" he cried out, leaping off his seat, at the words, and pushing her rudely toward the door. "Begone!" "I will not,i she returned. "Will not," he yelled aloud, stirred to madness by the thought of her, who once before defied him, and whose ghost he almost believed now standing on the floor. "Are you a fiend, that you can thus act?" said Matilda, gaining fresh courage from the justice of her cause. "Begone, you devil from the grave, or I will throt- tle you, tear off the bandage from your face, and see HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 257 what you are," and, with a fiendish grasp, he laid hold upon her. "Halloo, in there!" shouted some one from without, violently bursting open the door, and rushing between thenm, "What 's all this?" "Nothing," returned Walker, quickly regaining his scattered senses, "nothing, only here's Patterson's wife trying to rob me." "I will make no further attempt upon a madman," she replied, and left the apartment. The power that sustained her throughout the interview, began to fail her, however, as she reached the street, and she remem- bered little more, until, awakening, she perceived her husband leaning over her. page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] CHAPTER XXV. "I see a woman'may be made a fool, If she has not the spirit to resist." TAMNG OF THE SHREW. , PRAY, what ails you, Miatilda?" inquired her hus- band, as he caught her in his arms, at the door of his office, which she succeeded in reaching, before fainting. She gave no response, only lay like a weight of lead in his arms, with a face so ashy white, he thought her dying. At length, however, she opened her eyes, and he quickly repeated the question. ( I have been to entreat Walker for the Malcoms," she replied, " and he insulted me, treated me shame- fully." "Hang him, child! But what can I do? I hope it will teach you, the next time, to mind your own af- fairs, for I assure you, as I have repeatedly done, it is ut- terly useless to interfere; there is nothing you or I can do, to alter the will of such a hard-hearted old vag- abond as Walker." "But he says 'it is you." "It is false." "But he says you speak falsely." HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 259 'Don't you believe what Isay, woman?" he angrily retorted. She did not answer him, at once, but stood, with a look full of doubt and mistrust, gazing into his face. "But I want to know," he continued, going over and closing the door. "I wish to know, if Mrs. Pat- terson doubts her husband's veracity?" "I have nothing to say, my husbands" she replied, "but I assure you, from my soul, the persecution of this family is cruel! cruel! and if you have a hand in it, I must despise you. I am not afraid to speak, I will speak," she continued; stamping her little foot upon the floor, to his utter, and entire astonishment, who had no idea what a warm-hearted, spirited woman will show, when crowded to the wall by a bad man. Mr. Patterson gazed upon her a moment in blank amazement, then taking her by the arm, escorted her to the door, and up-the street to a carriage; seeing her safely within, he coolly walked back to his office, Beneath his icy exterior, however, there was much commotion, and he paced backward and forth within his private room, exhibiting a show of displeasure it was impossible to suppose him capable of. The idea of Walker's insulting his wife, was very annoying, and the idea of her placing herself in a position to permit of it, still more so. Coupling this with her doubting his truthfulness, and daring to reply to him, he became exceedingly angry, turned about, seized upon his page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. cane, prepared to go, and encounter his old partner. Then remembering the probable result of such an at- tack, and his liability to fall to pieces, returned it again to the corner, and renewed his march to and fro. At length he was relieved by Mr. Buritt, who came in with news of a more business-like character. Matilda entered the door of Miss Mary's mansion fully determined to leave no stone unturned until she had effected something for the benefit of her friends; and thus, with highly-wrought feelings, from the indig- nities she had received, came into that lady's presence. Miss Mary, as usual, was busily engaged, but looking up, 'she observed the excited appearance of her ward, and at once ejaculated her accustomed "Gracious, child! what 's the matter?" "sMatter, aunt! I've been down to encounter that brute, as he calls himself, Walker, and I have been in- sulted, turned out of the room, blasphemed at--" "And you faced right up to him. Good, good, child, who would have supposed there was such spunk in you? Bless your heart, my dear, it's like a sweet morsel, some of my own spirit. But what tempted you 'to beard him in his den?I " "I went to entreat him to no longer persecute the Malcoms." "A foolish thing, child! If you had come to me, I could have told you better. But what did he say?1" "He said Mr. Patterson had as much to do with it HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 261 as himself-and I fear that he has, or he would not have treated me so rudely.', "What! quarreling with him so soon! Shame, shame, Matilda! What right have you to interfere in his business matters?" "The right of an attached friend, the right of a sympathizing being, and the right of a woman." Miss Mary started, as though she believed the spirits of her three dead sisters were about to rise. She could not have looked more astonished even if the old esquire had appeared himself; still she opened not her lips. "And now, aunt," continued Matilda, "I want your promise, yours! that is worth something-means what it says, and can be depended upon. I want you to promise me, that that family shall not be hungry--shall not be cold-shall not be separated." "Matilda, when I am satisfied that they are not con- cealing any thing, and are really in want, and not mak- ing a feint'of being poor, I will help them." "There speaks my aunt, God bless her. I was de- termined I would never step upon the vessel's deck, until I had gained over some friend-in their favor. So far all is well." She now retired to her room, and carefully examined her jewelry. Selecting such articles as had not been given her by her husband, she laid them aside for dis- posal; and then, as if some sudden thought awoke her, - ' * i" ^ v page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] ) 262 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. put on her bonnet, and left the house. Arrived at a lapidary's, where she had but lately procured a set of . diamonds, she offered them for sale. You-ivill re- member," she commenced, "I gave you one'-.thusand dollars for the set, now what are they worth?" . "Indeed, madam," replied the jeweler, taking up the wreath, and turning it about in his fingers, "I Id rather not have them at all. They are very pretty, however, a little;scratched about the setting, not much,.though." "They have scarcely been worn," she replied; " and I must have the money for them." "Wouldn't you like to exchange for something? See here," and he let down the back of the case, and drew forth another set. "Only two hundred dollars difference." "No! no! I want the money for them." Again he took into his fingers the jewels, and turned them about. "Why, the setting ain't just the present style, and besides, it s more scratched than I thought at first; but to accommodate so good a'::customer, I will say five hundred for them." "They certainly can not have depreciated half since they were bought. No! if that is the most you can offer, I will look still further," and she put them again into their case. "Well, madam,?' said the merchant, "rather than refuse; you, I will allow seven hundred-although I would:prefer not taking them at all." 1 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 263 "Well, then, let me have the money, and they are your property." "IIrs. Patterson, I believe, of Street?" he-re- turned, glancing his eyes from the jewels to their late owner with an unsatisfied expression. "The same. But the money, if you please." "In one mo mnt, madam," and retaining the case, he walked into e office of his partner. Presently both members f the firm made their appearance, the new comer an elderly man, who, holding on to the diamonds, said in a suppressed tone, "You want to dispose of these, eh?" Matilda became nervous, especially as just then came sweeping in a lady acquaintance, who, quickly recognizing her, commenced an unmeaning conversa- tion, which she replied to in such monosyllables as she could command at the time. "( I will take them, if you please," said she, reaching out her hand for the casket. "Pray let me understand, madam, but-but, H, would like to oblige you." "Thers no obligation about it; simply return me the money or the case." "Certainly! certainly! Mr. Tucker, draw a check for the amount. I am exceedingly sorry there should be any misunderstanding, madam." Matilda assumed all the dignity her strength per- mitted, stood thrumming, with her delicate fingers, page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 264 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. the show-case, while her lady friend, who remained near, drank in the conversation far more readily than the price of some trinket she examined, which the shopman had repeatedly told her. "Will you have the check drawn to your own order, madam?" said the senior partner, again returning from his desk, still with a very unsatisfied. expression. ' I don't know; it 's a matter of entire indifference; any thing that will bring the money, for I am in much haste." "In one moment-one moment, madam. Won't you examine something?' and he proceeded to exhibit the contents of a drawer. "!No!" she returned, so decidedly, as at length to make herself understood, and to cause the gentleman to close the case, and stand looking into it till the check was at last produced. Securing it in her purse, she at once sought a carriage, and ordered it to be driven to Harriet's number. "How brave I am," thought she, as she rattled along the narrow streets. "Who would have dreamed it of me a month ago? God be praised that strength is given me, and that thus early I am so fearless-for who can say what trials are yet in store." Arrived at the Malcoms' door, which opened readily to her hand, she at once fled to Harriet's room, where, to her great delight, she found her, just returned from a day's teachin g. HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 265 "Pray, what ails you, Matilda?" inquired Harriet; "you look as pale as a ghost.' "Nothing, Hatty, but fatigue. Indeed, I am com- pletely worn out. We sail in three days, and there 's so much to do. Pray, let me lie a moment on your bed., Reclining upon the pillow, she closed her eyes as if in pain, while Harriet *loosed her bonnet-strings, and commenced bathing her brow. It was a pleasing sight to see those two affectionate friends, so soon to be sundered, thus endeavoring each to soothe the other-made one think of angels, ever about on deeds of mercy, who come into lonely chambers, and sit by the side of sick men, invisible to all but the sufferers. "Hatty," said she, opening her eyes, and looking languidly around, "I have been running all day, for you and the family, but with little success. I was treated most rudely this morning by Walker, and even my husband is displeased with me on account of you. But one thing you may depend upon-the friendship of Aunt Mary. By and by, when matters become more quiet, and Walker perceives how little good comes of his machinations, she will come over and help you." "I trust, Matilda, we shall require nothing of the kined. If father can remain unmolested, he will be able to obtain a good salary; and I am getting on finely as a teacher. Sister, too, has some few scholars, and with 12 page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] :266 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. a strong heart, and God's blessing, we will require no further aid." "I know, Hatty, it is humiliating to you to think of receiving assistance, but don't, my dear child, be too proud; dependence upon each other, can not be sepa- rated from this life, and it should be no more unpleasant for you to receive pecuniary aid now, than for me to receive sympathy when I was sad, perhaps, as Prince Arthur said, ' merely for wantonness.' " "Honest poverty, Matty, is Ho disgrace; but servile dependence, God forbid." "Well, Hatty, I have come to make you a present, and all your arguing about dependence, or pride, or poverty, won't prevent my giving it to you; I have exercised the best of my judgment in selecting it, and I feel it is what you want, more than any thing beside, so there, take that, and remember me by what you get with it," and she offered her the check. "I .can not take it, Matty." Hatty, if this money had come from Aunt Mary, or any one else but me, it would be well enough to be so proud; but I, too, have been a beggar- a match- girl-and my experience in life is too diversified for me not to be able to appreciate your feelings." "I do not want it." "You do. I know what you want better than your- self; I am rich, Hatty, my dear girl-forgive me for speaking so plainly-but you are poor-wretchedly, HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 267 unfortunately poor, and must, in duty to yourself, in fielndship to me, take the money. Be a woman, not a foolish, haughty girl, and by and by, when you learn how cold the world is, and how little all your pride and energy will avail you, you will remember my ad- vice. Nor will I look upon it as a loan-it is my parting gift, and if we never meet again, we shall both. be happier in the recollection of what passed between us, on our last separation. , She rose from the bed as she finished speaking, and arranged her dressto depart. Harriet was full of sor row; pride and poverty, and the agonized feeling that she was about separating from her dearest friend, were all struggling in her soul, and choking the words -she would offer. She stood there, the scrap of paper trem- bling min her fingers, and the tears chasing over her cheeks, regarding Matilda's every movement, though without a proffered word, or act of assistance. "Good-by!, said Matilda, turning from the glass, and approaching her. "Good-by!' she tried to articulate, though the words failed utterance, and she wiped away her tears with the goldspmith's check. "Tut! tut! Hatty, don't use that ; you would not, I fancy, if you knew the trouble it cost me to get it -and come, dear, don't feel so badly, it's all for the best, and one of these times, I will be coming to your wed- ding., 9- page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] HAMP TON lHEIGHTS. Thus, with many expressions of kindness, and of lasting friendship, they separated, each to her fate. But the troubles of the day were not over for Matil- da. She reached home just as her husband and aunt were sitting down to dinner. Their quick eyes both observed her anxious, careworn looks, and Patterson, who still retained feelings of anger, on the morning's account, at once inquired where she had been. "I have been to several places, making some fare- well calls, etc." "You are in a sorry state to make calls, I think! pray, who have you seen?" "I came last from the Malcoms." "I thought you had enough of meddling with them, this morning, and mortified me sufficiently, without further continuing in your perverseness." "Mr. Patterson," replied Matilda, "I am too iveary to be scolded now; if you want to lecture me, pray wait until I have had a little rest." "Yes, yes, Patterson, she looks completely worn out," interrupted Miss Mary, "come, come, dear, at once run up stairs, and I will send your dinner after you." "I don't wish for any, aunt." "But you must have some, child, so run up, pray do." Matilda gathered about her shoulders her scarf, and slowly dragged herself from the room. After partak- ing slightly of the food which was soon sent forward, 4 i HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 269 she lay upon the sofa, and quickly fell into an uneasy sleep. She was awakened by Catharine, and -her hus- band coming into the room. "We have come," said he, "to pack some of the trunks, and if you are not too fatigued, I wish you would give C4harine some directions." She partially sat up on the sofa, and made selections of such articles as she would need during the voyage, while her husband commenced opening the different drawers, as if he would discern something, although what it might be was a mystery. "Where is the key to this, Matilda," said he, laying hold of the case where she kept her jewels. "In my pocket," she replied, compressing her lips, as;f preparing for a storm. "Let me have it, will you. I scarce know what or- naments you have." Matilda raised herself from the coueh, and stepped upon the floor, then looking about, at last produced the desired key. One after another, the many articles it contained were examined, and at length, after a good deal of searching in the back part, with his hand, he asked, "Where is the diamond wreath that was here?" "I have sold it," she replied. "Sold it!" he returned, dropping his glasses from his nose, and advancing toward her. "Did I under- stand you to say you had sold it? What does this mean, I should like to know?" page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 . HAMPTO-N HEIGHTSo "Simply that I wanted the money." "And what have you done with such an amount, as the sale of those diamonds would produce?" Matilda nerved herself as' best she could, and replied, "I have disposed of it." "Have you given it to those Malcoms?"' he asked again, putting his glasses astride his nose, and glancing upon her through them, with a most excited ex- pression. "Yes." "Madam!"l he continued, again taking down his glasses, and retaining them in his fingers, as if to give force to his language, '" do you intend to make such distributions of my property as this, and distributions, too, so directly at variance with my wishes?' ":I am not aware, sir, that I have made any distri- butions of your property; and assure you, you labor under a great mistake, if you suppose those diamonds were any portion of your gifts to me. No, sir, every article of my wardrobe received at your hand, is to be inventured and examined, if you desire." "Mrs. Patterson," he interrupted, still holding on to the spectacles, as if he thought she was a document to be examined and discus'sed, " are you not aware you have become my wife? -Do you not understand, that by a simple process of law, your property has passed into my possession; and do you suppose my wishes, and my will are to be trampled under your feet. Rest HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 271 assured, madam, you greatly mistake me, if you think that any such thing can take place, or that there's a shadow of probability of my not ruling at the head of my household, and causing you to conform to my rea- sonable requirements?" ' I shall ever be ready to do so," replied his wife, ' but you mistake me, altogether, if you suppose I am the yielding, timid child, that can be cowed down, either by angry words, or looks. - I have been an obe- dient ward, to my aunt, because she has uniformly treated me with the greatest kindness-but if the tramn sition from her warm bosom, to the head of M3r. Patter- son's household, is to subject me to harsh language, and threats, I shall at once assume that dignity, and deter. mination which becomes a woman." "Matilda Patterson," he returned, "you are my wife; the law entitles me to the control of you, and I not only request, but command you, to-morrow morn- ing, to restore those jewels which you have removed." "Most assuredly," she replied, " if, you will give me your check for seven hundred dollars, I will see that they are returned this evening. I I have repeatedly asked you for funds during the past fortnight, and have been uniformly'replied to by requests, to have all bills sent to your office. But, sil, if you place such a high value on the diamonds, you can easily recover them by send- ing to --'s; they were always becoming, and I would quite like to see them back again., page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 212 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "I shall certainly do no such thing, madam. I ex. pect you to return the funds you have received for them." ' That is not in my power; I have presented the money to Harriet, and shall by no means think of recalling the gift. Let me ask aunt for her opinion, however,'" she continued, passing by him to ring the bell. ' Stop! stop!" said he, laying hold of her arm, "I am fully competent to regulate my own affairs without assistance." ' "But I am not," replied his wife. 1"My nerves are unable to bear this excitement. Catharine, go and call Miss Mary." "You impudent hussy,', he ejaculated, turning toward the girl, whom for the moment he had for- gotten was present, "don't you dare obey the com- mand of Mrs. Patterson!" "I am no servant of yours," retorted Catharine; ;' and I have been my young mistress's maid too long, to be willing to disregard her orders!" "Pray, what is the matter here?" interposed Miss Mary, who had undoubtedly overheard the conversa- tion from the adjoining room, and now considered herself called upon to interfere. "Simply this, madam, I have instructed Mrs. Pat- terson to perform a plain act of duty, and she sees fit not only to refuse, but to defy me.), ! * 1 HAMPTON HEIGHTS, 273 "Aunt Mary," returned Matilda, "I am nearly ex. hausted; if you will defer any further interference to- night, I will be under great obligations. To-morrow I will be better able to explain to you the whole cause of this unfortunate encounter of words," and she walked into the adjoining apartment, and shut the door. What conversation transpired between- Mr. Patter- son and the old lady, after Matilda left them, is of no moment to our story. It is sufficient simply to know that no further exhibition of ill-will on the part of either took place, during the remaining days of their stay under Miss Mary's roof. As the time drew near which was to separate Matilda from her aunt, the latter became daily more taciturn. A few hours, however, before their departure, she called Matilda into her library, and carefully bolted the door. Seizing upon two chairs, in her determined way, she set them in the middle of the apartment. "There," said she "sit down; the further off from the wall the better: they are conductors-conductors of sound, Never get too near them when you have secrets t9 impart; still, what is best, is never to have any. But-but there's no time to spare; and so, child, I want a little sober talk with you. I am right glad to see there 's some will in you, that you ain't to be browheat or trod upon. ' But, my dear, you lack judgment, you want discretion. It ain't as if you 12' page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] 274 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. were single, and, like me, could face right up to men, and tell them you understood what you were doing. O, no I! the law makes it different-gives your husband the control. But this ain't the thing, dear. It is the happiness you lose by interposing your will, and the trouble you bring about, by getting him angry. This little affair of yours has given me a great deal of anx- iety-made me look into the future, which no one has any business to regard. Now is the time, child; now, now! Remember it hereafter; it's a Scripture text, too, I believe. You don't know how dear you are to me. If I had ever supposed it would be such real agony to give you up, I never would have had you married. But I thought I was planning for your hap. piness in doing so. I kept in view my unhappy self in every thing I did-my own unfortunate engagement with Arthur Wilber-and so strove to keep you away from all love affairs; for, once in love, child, once given up to the passion, nor life, nor death, can quench it. Yes, my child, I believed love must come to you, and I said, let it come after marriage, not when she is a susceptible, passion-tossed thing, astonished, frightened, and unable to manage her own feelings, but when the strong man has inspired her by his dignity, and drawn her as naturally to his heart, as the needle to its pole. How many offers have I refused, on account of that one single kiss that burned upon my forehead. What struggles have I endured for that one foolish HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 27.i word-that one, 'I will,' that made Arthur Wilber my husband, though not by ties legal with man, but bind- ing with God. Yes, he is my husband, just as certainly as though the priest had pronounced him such; and I am just as much his wife as though the law had said it, and before God's eternal throne we shall so be rec- ognized. But I can not dwell upon it. I have written this manuscript for your benefit, and in some troubled hour, when you think' of me, read it, ponder over it, and forgive the old heart that may have been too hasty, in making you a wife. Obey your husband, be kind to him, consult with him, yield to him, and yet sustain the motto of our family, 'Virtus et Animus.' God bless you. No priest has sprinkled you with water, but I baptize you with my tears," and she clasped 'her strong arms about her, and wept like a child. They mingled their tears together; and only when the carriage rattled to the door did they separate. Wringing her hands, Miss Mary followed her down the steps, and stood talking to her, within the carriage, till Mr. Patterson assured her that they would be too late if delayed longer. No sooner, however, had the door closed, and the horses moved forward a few paces, than she was heard calling after them, "Stop! stop, coachman! Here, Catharine, get my bonnet and shawl, quick! quick! I will go down the bay with them, and come back with the pilot." page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] HAMPTON HEIGHTS. In vain Mr. Patterson endeavored to dissuade her, showing the narrowness of the seat, for he had pur- posely ordered a carriage with but one, to prevent any such attempt. She insisted upon it, notwithstanding, and before he could get out, mounted upon the box with the driver. Patterson bit his lips, but was silent. To comprehend his feelings we must reflect a moment upon his habitual dignity, and the appearance Miss Mary made as they drove upon the wharf. Most of the passengers were on board, and a general titter ran along the deck as the singularly-escorted establishment arrived-Miss Mary supporting a large, square hat-box in her lap, and the driver, half-crowded from his seat, hurrying his horses to their utmost speed. She did not wait for Matilda to dismount, but, leaping down herself, ran up the gangway, and commenced exploring for the familiar face of some one, whom she knew was accustomed to sea-going. As ladies say, she was "all in a fidget," running hither and thither, wondering why she had not thought of: this and that preparation for their comfort, until at last she rested in Matilda's state-room, and exclaimed, "Gracious, child, why did I not think to have a maid, accustomed to sailing, for you? Why, you'll be sick-indeed, I be- gin to feel it now," for the steamer, without her knowl- edge, had quietly got under weigh, "and nobody but those idle chamber-maids to take care of you. But what! I should think we are moving." HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 2" She now rushed on deck, and, to her great surprise, perceived they were off the Fortifications. Back she flew at the sight, and catching Matilda by the arm, com- menced dragging her to the door. -"Gracious, child, here we are half way down to the Narrows; come up! come up! and view the fine scenery." Alas! the poor child was too much overcome, to desire to leave her state-room, and begged to be excused. "My dear girl,' said Miss Mary, putting her arm about her waist, " don't feel so; it ain't much of an affair-only a week or two apart; and, perhaps, if I can arrange matters, I will come over and see you. Write to me all your troubles; think about me as your dear old mother; pray for me, pray for me, dear: I need your prayers." In this excited way she passed the hour which brought them to the place of separation. Mr. Patter- son came down, and informed her the pilot was about leaving, and she therefore took her last gaze upon the face that, for the first time in thirteen years, was now to be separated from her. With a swimming eye, and troubled Jook she followed him on deck. They had passed the Narrows, and were some way out to sea, and, to her surprise, she found she must take passage in a little boat, that tossed up and down at the foot of the steamer's ladder. The wheels stopped a moment, and the pilot, with Mr. Patterson, endeavored to assist her from the steps. page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] HAMPTON HEIGHTS. '"No, no!" she exclaimed, "let me help myself," at the same time reaching one foot into the boat, which, by a reflux of the waves, dropped far away from her, to the great amusement of some of the passengers, who stood watching the scene. "Come, come! old lady," said the pilot, getting impatient, "now! now! as she rises, in with you!- hang you, why did n't you jump?" and again the boat sank in the trough, leaving the group still on the stairs. "I will next time; don't hurry me. I ain't acquaint- ed with sea-going." 'Now! now, aunt!" exclaimed Patterson, with a slight push, "handsomely done! ha! ha! ha! Good- by!" and again the wheels of the steamer revolved. Matilda, who had come on deck to take her last fare- well, stood leaning over the steamer's rail, weeping with bitter reflections. While her aunt, between anx- iety for her own safety, and sympathy for her child, whom she perceived looking toward her, sat, like a frightened dog on the gunwale of the boat. Holding with both hands to the rail, she kept nodding her head up and down, which, with its disheveled locks, looked like some paper image, which jerked on a pendulum, and so kept bobbing away, until they gained the little vessel of the pilot. Only a sailor's sagacity could have succeeded in again removing her, and this was accomplished with some rough handling, resulting, however, m a satisfied feeling on her part-she being glad, indeed, to be out of what seemed little better to her than an egg-shell. After satisfying herself that she was alive, and come pletely out of the skiff, her thoughts again turned to Matilda, But a black hull, growing more and more indistinct, was all she could perceive. She thought there once came a white speck upon it, and, in remem- brance of the hand that waved it, gave a heavy sigh. Up and down, over the big waves, danced the little bark, often tossing a comber over her sides, and wet- ting the wrinkled cheek of Miss Mary, who, entirely a novice on the water, sat, highly delighted, among the men. A shade of sorrow, however, darkened her countenance, and, as the rude winds shook her dishev- eled hair, she seemed some daring, adventurous wo- man, of whom it was an easy matter to imagine strange tales. Soon the last glimpse of the steamer faded, the last dark line of smoke melted into the clouds, bring- ing with it the feeling of desolation, the knowledge that she was gone. The sun dipped behind the woods of the coast, the white light-houses opened their sleepy eyes, and high windows on the villa'd hills reflected the last streak of golden clouds. With a thrill of pleasure she saw white-winged ships, like great sea- birds, spread out thei pinions for 'departure, and, with a girlish heart, mingled artistic pleasure in all about. But when, at length, the dim twilight came on, and, in page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280 HAMPTON HEIGHTS* the summer sky she saw the stars that they had talked of together, the spirit of her desertion rose, and she wept. At last she was set down upon the narrow quay, and left to return to her forsaken dwelling. ,. , 1.V CHAPTER XXVI. "----- How the spirit clings To that which once it loved; with the same feeling That makes the traveler turn from his way To look upon some boyish haunt, though dark And very desolate grown-no longer like That which was once dear to him." L. E. L. A VOYAGE to Europe, in a steamer, is too common a thing, now-a-days, to be worth mentioning, and a sail- ing one, our own Irving has described, and, if my read. ers would desire a pleasant hour, let them go and re- view that beautiful description, as did Matilda, when the shores of Albion met her eyes. Fortunately the voyage was so little disturbed by storms, as to prevent all sickness on her part, and, in the society of the numerous passengers, and amid the various incidents of a pleasant trip, she passed the hours far more agreeably than she anticipated. Her husband was uniformly kind, and with pleasure he looked upon her, and heard her called the most beauti. ful lady on board. He dared not rouse the spirit he knew slumbered only and so was all attention; but it might have been discovered that there was no conge- niality of feeling between them. Still there were many page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] 282 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. wearisome hours, whose monotony was unbroken, save by the rushing waves about the bows and wheels; or the announcement of a distant sail, which hung off in the dim outline of the horizon-hours when her hus- band would be sleeping in his berth, and she watching through the open port, the same indistinct sails, as they faded slowly out of sight-when, also, a few ladies were sitting about the decks, reading, who, perchance, occasionally raised their eyes to watch the movements of porpoises, or flying-fish, that played about. At such times, her thoughts naturally returned to her aunt, and the Malcoms, and many a lonely hour found tears stealing over her cheeks, which, in spite of all her determination, fell faster, as she thought. It was one of these intervals which produced Miss Mary's manuscript, and over which she pored with in- tense interest, while her husband slept, near by. "My dear child," it commenced, "I am writing while the stars are dimming from approaching dawn. All yesterday, and all last night, my thoughts led me on, and now, as the chill breeze of morning rustles the curtains, I draw me to conclusion. I had intended, in past times to have had you read it after I was buried, when my old limbs, crumbling away, should nourish the flowers, at last producing something lovely. But now, when I find you so full of spirit, and feel that no one is to be near you for good o0yevil influence, I have concluded to write it off, that you may have the benefit HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 283 of my experience. My old grandfather was a Scotch- man, who came over among the early immigrants, holding a commission, which he soon threw up, to assume a prominent place among the colonial gov- ernments. He was a proud, stern man, like his race before him, inheriting all their peculiarities, and dwell- ing ever on their old descent. My sire, who was im- bued with these same feelings, went over to Scotland, and married, and then returned, more proud than ever. To this pride, more than any thing, I attribute his dis- like of the Wilbers. James Wilber was the son of a servant-girl, who had been raised near our family, and this my father never forgot. He grew up to be one of the first men of the age, twice defeated father in a political canvass, and married into one of the best fam- ilies of the city. He was the parent of Arthur. I was fourteen years of age when I first saw him. We were on a visit to Hampton Heights, the residence of General Malcom. The Wilbers had also been in- vited, and father made the best of his ill feelings-for he had just suffered defeat, and was now called upon to join in congratulating his opponent. From thip day I date my falling in love, if such- a word can define a passion, that too: often is identified with knells and sorrows. Here commenced a friend- ship between four children, the memory of which death alone can annihilate. Arthur was fifteen, his sister; Anna, twelve, and Edward Malcom two years in ad- i w K page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 84 -tHAgiMPTON HEIGHTS. vance of Arthur. I can not say which I loved best at the time, Anna, or her brother, and it may be in the strange affection which sprang up between us girls, I first learned to love the boy. Anna idolized him, and why not I? She consulted him, and why should not I, who had no brother? She was influenced by him, and so was I, and when, during the next winter, we attend- ed school together, and I found a prompter for my les- sons, a companion for my walks, was it strange that I became ensnared in a net of curious meshes, a net which Anna and her brother spread without knowing it, and whose threads were at last to entangle us all? "My father would early have prevented this inti- macy, but for the influence of my mother, whose gentle, ,unambitious heart clung tenderly to the youth, in "whom she saw so much thatwas lovely. It was nat- iral that it should, having no son of her own; and therefore, until I arrived at eighteen years of age, did we associate upon the most intimate terms; At last my father opened his eyes to the true state of our mutual feelings for each other; but, lest mother should be offended by extreme measures on his part, avoided any direct effort to interrupt our interviews. He was de- termined, if possible, to prevent a union between us, and to this end succeeded in having Arthur placed in a mercantile house in the city. Now, for merchants he professed a sovereign dislike, and from my earliest HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 285 recollections I had heard him protest against the thought of their intermarriage with his family. "This removal of Arthur from our immediate vicinity served to strengthen rather than alienate our romantic love. It produced an exchange of letters. Bad things! bad things, child, these love-letters: waste papers that somehow never get burned, and which accumulate on your hands, saying often more with their falsified direction, and odd-shaped envelops, than you would have dared to repeat sitting side by side. And, for Arthur it brought a friend, whose congenial disposition at once harmonized with" his sister's and my own. Then there came stolen interviews between us all, moonlight excursions over the bay, long rambles in the woods, and at last a positive engagement between Arthur and myself. The same summer, also, saw Anna betrothed to Chauncey, the friend Arthur had made. "During these years our, parents were often absent For months, and we were thereby afforded opportunities of associating, which strengthened our affection for each other, only to rend our hearth the more fearfully at length by its very power. My betrothal, however, was kept a secret, and in the presence of my parent I sedu. ously avoided mentioning Arthur's name, until at ; ength brought to an acknowledgment by the facts I ! im about to relate. -"My father had nothing to prefer against the youth. page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] 286 fTtAMPTON tEEIGHTS. In society he was uniformly esteemed, and admired for his power of conversation, and resemblance to his sire, whose prominence as a lawyer and politician afforded Arthur admission into any circles he desired to enter. "A year after our mutual engagements, Chauncey went to South America, and his letters to Anna were alike epistles to Arthur and myself. There were pages of description, stories of romantic adventures, and little poems (for we were all versifiers), which served to bind us more closely together, and made us look for- ward to the time when our relations should be even nearer. "My child, I am gray-haired now, a wayward, strange old woman, and few would suppose me capable of such a thing as love. But the old maid's memories,: alas! alas! to-night they wander far back into leafy woods, or on the borders of purling streams. They are with a young girl, whose brow is twined with oak leaves by her lover's hands, a laughing maiden, who leaps the brook, and sends the echo of her merry voice along its shallows. They are tracing paths when the autumn's desolation was akin to her blasted sympathies, or following step by step the weary, unsatisfactory record of a wretched life. "I come now to the period when my father accused- me of a promised alliance with Arthur, the history of our separation and broken hearts. It was a dusky evening when I entered the library, and there, sitting HAMPTOrN HEIGHTS. 287 in his great leather-cushioned chair, was my father, looking as I had seen him only once before in my life. He was a white-haired man, with great massive feat- ures, and scorching black eyes, that gleamed at times with fearful luster. The glance he gave as I approached, told me at once the meaning of our interview--how much he knew, and what I was -to expect. 'Mary;, said he, fix ing his keen eyes upon my face, 'have you engaged yourself to Arthur Wilber?, The devil tempted me then, child. I hesitated a moment, and then replied, 'No.' O! what would I have given to have recalled that word the moment that it was uttered -that single word, which now, as I write it, blinds my eye with tears of anger and remorse. He questioned me no further, for he deemed me incapable of a lie. But what could I say or do in the future? How could I explain to Arthur what I had done? and how at last should the matter be broken to my parent? and what would he think of me when he knew all? "(Sit down, Mary,' said he, perceiving that half. blind with fear and vexation, I stood trembling by his table; ' I have something of a business nature to com- municate. Next week you will be twenty-one, and will come into possession of the large estate left you by your mother's maiden sister, whose name you bear. After that event I shall legally have no further control of the property, and it will be left to your own man- agement and discretion, if you prefer it. But as I page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 286 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. - should be sorry to have it pass into the hands of an unprincipled man, or be the means of your forming a connection unworthy of your family and birth, I have drawn up this paper for your signature. I do not wish,' he continued, taking it in his hands, (that you should ever marry any one engaged in mercantile specula. tions. I shodld look upon such an alliance as beneath our family, who never yet, in the most remote branch, to my knowledge, were so connected. And there- fore, in consideration of the wealth you will possess, I wish you to bind yourself by 'these presents,' to marry no man who will not, if he is so engaged, accept of a stipulated income, sufficient to enable him to sus- tain the position of a country gentleman, and retire from his business. And now let me hear in what re- lation you stand to Arthur Wilber, for your every action betrays more than you have said. Mark me, I donot forbid even a marriage with him, and in a few days you will become your own mistress, passing be- yond my control. But it will be a marriage displeasing to me, and one, you know full well, beneath your dignity and birth.' "This stung me, for I felt that Arthur's mother was of as good blood as mine, and her son a man of great superiority of intellect and education. 'Father,' I replied, 'is blood in this free country to regulate our marriages? Is blood to unite me to some cold- hearted pharisee, and to' leave such men as Arthur Wilber to be neglected and despised? Is blood to break hearts, and crush affections, which have gathered about them the hopes of years? I love Arthur Wilber! I never knew how much till now; and though he is poor, and dependent on his own exertions for success in life, will continue to love him.) " And marry him,' scornfully returned my father. "'Yes,' I replied, for my hot passion, which ever gets the better of me, rose as I spoke. ' Yes, if he will marry me.' "L There is little doubt of that,' he sneeringly replied. 'It requires less than golden bait to tempt such dogs hither. But here, sign this paper.' "I mechanically took the pen and affixed my name, neither knowing or caring what I did. My head was all on fire, thinking of Arthur's proud spirit, and maddened to a worse frenzy by the recollection of having denied our engagement. ' What have I done? I exclaimed, a moment after, for my parent had often told me to sign no paper without first reading it (a caution, by the way, that I would impress upon your mind, Matilda.) "'You can read for yourself,'he coldly returned pushing toward me the document. Excited by my feelings, I received no very clear idea of its contents, and therefore laid it down with a slight perusal. "'How do I know Arthur will approve of this? I asked. page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "'Are you a baby, an infant, six years old?' he ex- claimed, rising at the same time angrily from his seat, that you make such inquiries? Are you a fool, a complete idiot, that you are willing to commit more than a tithe of your property into a speculating trading fellow's hands, more especially any scullion's grandson you meet with? Go to your room, out of my sight; I believe, now, that you have told me a lie. For one who would stoop to such a connection, is as well able to disgrace her lips, as her family.' "Madly I rushed out of his presence, and fastened myself in my chamber, where the night and the dark- ness, that seeL ,interminable, are all I remember. The next day, with feelings somewhat calmed, I re- viewed my actions, especially those regarding thedis- tribution of my property. 'I can see little reason, I said, 'why Arthur should not be willing to receive what will enable us to live in the enjoyment of home or in journeyings in foreign lands-surely, he can have no feeling of pride that will prevent him, when he remembers our long acquaintance, and sincere at- tachment.' The more I thought of the facts, and my fath- er's feelings regarding them, the more I was persuaded that it was my duty to fulfill the act, thus removing one of the objections he had to our marriage. "I made, therefore, an engagement to meet Arthur, at Hampton Heights, and this was the evening of which Scott spoke, when he brought you over in the HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 291 boat. The memory of that night, Matilda, will go down into the grave with me, over the river that John Bunyan talks about, and far into the great Eternity. For thought, child, belongs not alone to the past, that perishes, but thought follows the soul, wherever it shall hereafter wander, making it one of the elements of that soul's existence. "Gentleness, pleasantness, and deep feeling made up Arthur Wilber's nature. More than ever, that afternoon, did he seem to combine these traits ofr character, and we wandered about for hours, with- out touching upon the subject for which I had made the appointment. At length, we selves upon an old bench, near the gateway that d(iides the places, ^x and I ventured upon the subject of father's dislike to merchants, little thinking it was through his exertions that Arthur had been persuaded to accept a place in Mr. Chauncey's house. At length I approached the fact of the paper that I had signed, and told him fully what I had done. He started froni his seat like one stung by pain, looked me searchingly in the face, and replied, 'Mary, I care little enough for wealth, Heaven knows, but to think that you, who have known me for so many years, are willing to make me a thing of your control- ing, to be bought and sold for dollars and cents, is too much, too mean, too m/ercenary. I might have ex- pected it of your father, but of you, I had thought better things.' page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 292 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "Here my spirit rose again, and I was just as angry to hear him speakthus of my father, as I had been to hear father speak unkindly of him, and I replied in harsh, foolish words, such words as father had put into my mouth, releasing him from all engagements. It was a long time before he replied, and all the while he kept his deep gray eyes upon my face, with a sad-and I poor fool thought--spiritless expression, and so I said a taunting thing, which brought the depth of a Yrouder soul than even mine into those glances. "'Mary,' he commenced, 'little had I dreamed this of you-you, whom I believed the embodiment of purity and truth, and Ican not, even now, believe but that you will outlive your passion. We have grown up to- gether, shared even the sports of childhood, and I thought we understood one another better than this! No, I will not believe all our promises are to end thus. That she, whom I called my queen-wife, is to divest herself of what is truly regal, and put on what is truly mean. I will not think- that I must bury in the grave, all the boy's hopes, the man's aspirations. That the lips I have often pressed, have become to me as marble, and that I stand here now to touch them for the last time,' and he bent over me to the accomplish- ment of his words, which I, possessed with the Evil One, refused to permit. He did not grow angry, neither did he seem sad, though he repeated questions that full well I knew wrung his heart. HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 293 "' Is it thus, Mary, we part,' said he, ' as if in the heart of neither of us affection had ever been? "'It is,' I replied, though I did not mean it, and would have given kingdoms, had they been mine, to have recalled the words I had uttered. 'But he no sooner heard them, than he departed, leaving me-half petrified on the seat, with that fearful good-by he spoke. I watched him slowly descend the path, and once tried to call him back, but the words could not struggle up before he had passed beyond my sight. That was the hour of agony of which I have sometimes spoken, and it is no wonder Scott puts it down among the remarkable events his life, had wit- nessed for I acted the part of a maniac all the time that we were together that evening, "With sleep, however, came relief; the quiet of the summer's dawn, that woke the martins beneath my windows, and showed the sun rising slowly over the Sound, wrought itself into my being, imbuing it ith calmness and hope. I felt, as I leaned out of the case- ment, and watched the circling of the birds about the gables, that he would come again. I could see the little ones open their- mouths, as, twittering, came home their parents with the morning 'meal, and my heart was filled with sweet hopes, all clustering about Ar- thur and the future. That same evening I saw him, from my window, walking slowly toward-!tfie house. All day had I strained my eyes, hoping, trusting for page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] 294 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. this very moment-but now, when it had come, and he, who a moment before, I could have embraced with every expression of love, waited for me, I became as calm and decided, as I was before impassioned; I came in the room, and coolly welcomed him. He seemed much distressed. 'Now,' said the Evil One, 'you can see the man. Yes, yes! as your father said, the bait is too tempting, he will accept the offer.' "Mary,' he commenced, seeing how sternly I stood there gazing at him, 'what have I done to deserve this? what have I said that you should stand there, as if I were made over for your scorning?' "( Refused to accept my hand, because I choose to obey my father's wishes,' I replied. ' 'Ah, Mary!' said he, the tears swimming in his eyes, as he spoke, 'I can not forget to love you, changed as you are. Still toward you sets the current of my soul, and life, without the hope of your friend- ship, at least, becomes a wreck. I care not for your property, would Heaven you were a portionless girl, that I might strive night and day to sustain-that I might clasp to my bosom, and say, my true one, God bless you! who brought me naught but affection!' "And that will starve with you,' I replied. "He started at my words, and quickly, with quiver- ing lips, retorted angrily, something-then, as if over- come with saying one harsh thing, as quickly con- tinued,' Oh, Mary, forgive me, I would not have a HAMPTON HEIGHTS. - 295 thought to grieve you, for I know you do not mean what you are saying. I take back what I have said of your father, all, all, Mary, only say that I am forgiven!' "I had never before seen him thus affected, and all. my old feelings were flooding back, when again the spirit, the evil spirit that certainly possessed me, whis- pered, 'Try the bag of gold.' i "'Well, Arthur, I must obey my father, if you love me, there lies the way to make me your wife,' and I pointed to the paper I had brought into the room. "' Never!' he exclaimed, his proud soul getting the mastery of him. 'Never! never.' Then, as if over- powered, came forward and again looked me in the face. Now, I was given over; the spirit had me en- tirely in his control, had frozen my heart completely. ' Must it be to-night, then,' he asked, 'that we part for. ever?' "' To-night! to-night!' I croaked. ' "'0, Mary,' he articulated through his thick breath. ing, 'must it be to-night?' "To-night! to-night!' I cried. "Then be it so,' he proudly returned. 'Farewell! and he was gone-gone forever. "The'martins were coming home to their nests then, the little ones opened their beaks and chirped and fluttered, but ' Mary Fish! Mary Fish!' laughed the spirit, 'there shall be no little ones for thee.' I went to my chamber; in the distance rolled up a storm; for page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 HA'MPTON HEIGHTS. me every breath was a thunderbolt, and I fell, struck down before the thoughts that crowded round me. "What next came to me was the dawn of reason, a full, clear perception of my acts, but only when a month had intervened. Weeks passed before I was able to leave the room; and to my inquiries regarding Arthur came the story of his dissipation. I knew I had done much to produce it, and yet the thought of his yield- ing to such temptation-seeking solace in such a way seVered'the bond, and lowered him down, down, far down, too low for hope or trust. "It must have been several months after this last interview, when I was called upon by his sister Anna. As I proudly entered the room, concealing my crushed soul under exterior coldness, I was startled to perceive her clothed in mourning. Her naturally pale face seemed death-like to me, shrouded under the black vail, which, when removed, served only to render her still more ghastly. 'Perhaps,' I said to myself, 'she. has come to finish the tragedy, to accuse me of Arthur's death., And she had. Not of the death which speaks of quiet rest, but of living death, slow dragging on from year to year. Her words, with all their gentle- ness, however, were daggers to my soul. She spoke of her many troubles; of him "' Whose heavy-shotted hammock shroud Sank in the vast and wondering grave.' HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 297 Of her heart-broken father, and at last of Arthur, whom she was now in pursuit of. "'And O! Mary,' said she, have you no tears to shed with me. Nothing left for that poor boy, who loved you so, and whom you once promised so fondly to love forever. He has fallen, I know, and to a proud heart like yours it may be too low for aught but scorn- ing; but O! remember the past, and the soul he has to save, and the ties that bind him to my bosom.' cI can weep with you, Anna,' I returned, 'if that is well; but to link my destiny with one whose strength fails him, like Arthur's, is a thing impossible.' "'I do not ask it, Marjr, she replied. "'Then what would you have me do?' "' Come with me and seek him, and by your kind- ness help to win back one who was once so dear to you.' "I can never go,' I replied, where they seek for drunkards.' "' Mary!' she quickly returned, 'do you class Ar- thur with common drunkards? "; He seems little else.' "'I had not thought of this,' she quickly replied. 'No wonder the poor boy's heart failed him before such a woman. O, Mary, God is good, and in His own time He will judge our actions,- and perchance, at that day, there will be a heavy charge at your door.' "' That is for me to encounter,' I rejoined; 'but as 13* page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] 298 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. this interview seems only one of sorrow for us both, I beg to draw it to a close.' "Never till then had I known Anna Wilber; and as she stood there before me, stands she this instant. Avaunt, thou ghost! No, no, remain! Look at me! look at the old maid, my sister! See her now with her gray hairs and frozen heart. Speak to her! speak as thou saidst then. Light up thy blue eye; heave thy proud breast; ksay on, I deserve it all. Blood! blood! thou saidst, was on my hands. "Yet God forgive you as sincerely as I do, and for- give me for saying you are unworthy of my brother, fallen even as he is.' "That was the last time I saw her, child, the last; and- though six and thirty years are passed, Arthur and I have never met. But memories, child, memories wear not away in hearts like ours. They live in dreams; they rustle in curtains; they start out on faces whose smile, perchance, resembles some one lotng lost; they cling to us through life; they will go down with us to the grave, yea, over the river. Often in dark nights, when I have been the only tenant of this great house, have I started, dreaming I saw Anna Wilber. Scarcely able to convince myself it was all delusion, have I listened if I might not hear her voice, repeating ' Blood! blood!' for I can not divest myse of the thought, that at last it will be true. "And still I love him. O! this old heart, that HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 299 defies all obstacles, struggles sometimes, beats against its bars like a caged bird, just for some atom wafted toward me from the past, some careless word, some mention of his name or life. God keep you from such memories, from such love, my child, and give you in your husband something to regard beyond poetry, or romance. "You see now why]I urged upon you early mar- riage, why I sought for you one whose worldly ex- perience adapts him to life, to home, and domestic com- forts. And forgive me if I have been unkind or harsh to you; and if you can, in spite of my conduct toward t Arthur, love me still, O! cherish my memory, which centers round you with such love, aqonly a proud, old thing like me can feel, and keep it warm for one who has little other consolation in her old age." Matilda finished thehistory, with sad feelings: for she saw in its every wBrd an excuse for her own hasty marriage, and the loneliness her aunt must endure now that she was separated from her. She looked up with swimming eyes at last, and perceived Mr. Patterson sitting in' his berth, yawning and uncomfortable. "( What have you there that seems so interesting?" he inquired, as Matilda prepared to replace the manu- ;ipt in her portfolio. "Nothing that will in the least interest you: only the history of a friend of mine." page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 300 HAMPTON ,HEIGHTS. "It looks like Miss Mary's writing," said he, remov- ing his limbs firom the berth, and putting on the ever- lasting spectacles, which even accompanied him to bed. 'And so it is; but, I assure you again, that it is nothing in which you will be the least interested." :! "I hope not,if I am to be compelled to puzzle over : a dozen pages of her caligraphy. But pray, what time i is it?" he continued, producing his watch. "Nearly ,: dinner time, Matilda, and neither of us dressed. Come! come!' and he gave another long yawn, which an- swered to bring him on the floor, much to his wife's satisfaction, who improved the time to at once conceal her aunt's biography. Thus days wore on, serving shortly to bring them into the docks of Liverpool, C where we must part company for some years to come. i W 1 \ 1-k eCHAPTER XXVIIL "Come down in thy profoundest gloom, Without a vagrant fire-fly's light; Beneath thine ebon-arch entomb - Earth's form from gaze of heaven o' night; A deed of darkness must be done, Put out the moon, hold back the sun." ' MoNTarOMY. SHORTLY before the failure of Malcom & Co., Arthur Wilber loaned to them the accaumulation of thirty years of industry. He did it with feelings of hesita. tion, more to oblige his sister than otherwise, in whose name it stood at the bank. Their failure carried with them this little treasure, and Arthur's attempts to se- cure it were all in vain. The shock of the unfortunate suspension, to say nothing of his own loss, would have - been sufficient to have overcome a broken-spirited man like Arthur. It is not surprising, therefore, reflecting upon'it, and his advanced, years, and troubles, com. pletely overpowered him, so that he relapsed into his former habits, and soon became lost among the vile ,. haunts of his old associations. Poor Mr. Malcom, persecuted by relentless creditors,: and struggling to support his family, had this affliction also to bear, and page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] 302 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. searched diligently for him day after day. So also Mr. Buritt, who felt keenly the suffering of his sister. Months passed, still no tidings were received, no wandering report to rally the declining health of Miss Anna, or repay the weary exertions of his friends., The cottage was still retained, the seat by the window made ready, and every thing arranged, if, perchance, he might return. Alas! it was not to be. In the low- est places, going down, step by step, to destruction, moved Arthur Wilber. One afternoon, when Mr. Buritt was passing a line of shops, where are creatures in men's shape, debased enough to vend poison, he perceived, advancing toward him, a besotted wretch, who, from his abrupt manner of turning to the wall, he had no doubt was Arthur. A nearer glance sufficed for a recognition, and he re- solved to watch his movements, and, if possible, throw himself in his way, as if by accident. At a little dis- tance he found a place of concealment, and from it noted Arthur slowly wheel about, and then, with as- tonishing quickness, vanish out of sight. In a moment, however, he perceived him hustled from a grog-shop, by some one, who thrust him out with such violence ,as to precipitate him headlong on the pavement. He lay there, quietly, a moment, as if stunned by the fall, and then, with difficulty, raised himself-showing a face disfigured, and besmeared with dust. Still, with a drunken man's perseverance, when he is driven to HAMPTON HEIGHTS* 303 begging for a dram, he boldly entered another den, followed by Mr. Buritt, who was resolved to prevent a repetition of the scene. It was a den, indeed, a few steps below the street, lighted by a single window, whose every glass was covered with cards, announcing, in glaring letters, the variety of forms in which ruin was prepared within. An iron stove, a number of crazy benches, and a half- sanded floor, made up the interior of the place, along with the bar, about which were gathered some half- dozen beings, in different stages of inebriacy. That bar! Reader, there are those who have this very day sat at your own table, and partaken freely of your costly wine. You have seen your own serving-man uncork it, and watched it, sparkling, fall into the glass. You have drank it before your children, and been mer- ry in their presence, nor' dreamed of this bar. This death-dealing place, where rum, gin, and whisky, in broken bottles, are just as tempting, ay, more so, to these inebriates, than the sparkling beverage to your. self. So Arthur Wilber's father did. That bar! Not the one, all brilliant with gilding and carved work, where, to-day, you went with your friend; where a man, who seemed like a juggler, with supple hands, tossed'about the glasses, and prepared your order, and ,wiere came many a young Wilber. Oh, no! but one down in that dark, damp cellar, redolent with sicken- ing fumes, and half shrinking out of sight, under the page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] 304 HAMPTON HEIGHTS.- shaded windows-whose brass railing seemed placed there to assist the wretches in holding on, and sustain- ing their balance while they drank-where a brutish keeper pours out the ruin, fearing to trust the bottle in their trembling hands. This one that I am telling you of, which I entreat you to visit, lest you go there like Arthur Wilber. ( Hip, hip, hurrah!" broke upon Mr. Buritt's ear, as he entered the door. "Hurrah!" chimed in Arthur, who, without money or invitation to the parties' conviviality, stood looking wistfully toward them. "Who asked you to halloo, you old rummy?" said the bar-keeper, coming forward, and catching him by the coat. "Don't handle him too roughly,-" said Mr. Buritt, stepping toward them, "I 'll take care of him, directly." I hope you will,'" replied the keeper, "for he has hung round here, long enough, begging drinks from every customer that comes in." "Come, Arthur," said his friend, ' come home with me, I pray you." "Take a drink, first, with us," shouted one of the loafers, "march right up. Come along too, old chap, I 'm in, for the whole company." "u Certainly,"5 replied Arthur, bowing, " certainly; if answers all purposes, though a little behind time. Hot whisky I'll have." HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 305 "Come up, old chap, I say," repeated the loafer, "you ain't too proud, are you?" "Come, Arthur, come right home with me, your sis- ter is almost dying." "I say, old topf'sid another of the group, " if you don't let this 'ere fellow alone, and come up and drink with us, I 'll tap that nose of yours like nothing. Shall I hit him, chummy? draw the claret right out for you?" ' Clear out, you vagabond," interfered the bar-keep- er, " and let the gentleman alone. If he wants the old loafer, I 'm glad of it.5" "Yes, yes! now you've got his dimes, you are glad enough to kick him out, but I don't let this flash chap have him, any how." "Come, Arthur!" entreated Mr. Buritt, " come with me, I pray you." "Didn't I say you could n't have him, eh? don't -you understand me? take that, to clear your senses," and he aimed a blow at the object of his wrath, which, fortunately, just grazed his head, taking effecton the cheek of the grog-seller, who quickly'returned it, send- ing the inebriate headlong to the corner. Now arose a general melee, in which bottles flew in all 'directions, mingling in the uproar of shouts and curses. Mr. Buritt sought shelter under a bench, shouting, at the top of his lungs, " fire, murder,'police!" until a stool, which came whizzing that way, insinuated page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] 306 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. its leg between his teeth. Presently a man with a star on his breast, known in some parts of the city, as the policeman, blundered in, at the door. So common were these brawls, in this neighborhood, he made not great haste, but came, stumbling over a fallen body that blockaded the door, crying, "Halloo, Jim! what's all this about?" "Nothing, only old Jim 's got up a little fight for amusement, about that loafer, Smith, which that chap under the bench wants to get home with him." "I say, officer," said Mr. Buritt, crawling out from his retreat, "I want the whole of these fellows arrested." "Why, what for, my friend? These things are too common. down here, altogether, would keep us arrest- ing somebody all the time, if we did it. If you come among the Romans, you must take Romans' fare, you know." "I don't know any such thing, and I want these fel- lows arrested. I am Phineas Buritt, of the firm of Patterson and Buritt-but first of all, secure for me that unfortunate man," pointing to Arthur, who seemed far more interested in getting together the broken bottles for the barkeeper, than in Mr. Buritt's safety. "Well, I'll do that for you, and I guess you will let the matter drop, then, as my friend Jim seems to have had the worst of it, any how." "( Yes, and trying to save your' head, beside," inter- rupted the grog-seller. HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 307- "Well, I 'll see about it-but where 's my hat?" "Here," said the policeman, bringing forward a col- lapsed beaver, that bore little resemblance to the hand- some head-piece, which, a short time before, set off the bald pate of the old gentleman. "And now, my good fellow," said the bar-tender, "don't be kicking up a muss about this; it's a part of our trade, you know, and costs enough, without goin' down to the island for a month." "'Here, Jim, give us a hand," said the officer, catch- ing hold of Arthur, who, during the conversation had contrived to obtain two or three drinks, "Let's get him on a cart, he 's too drunk to walk." Mr. Buritt stood by, and watched the half-lifeless body of his friend secured upon the dray, and then made the most of his opportunity of retreating from the neighborhood. After several days' confinement at the station-house, Arthur was induced to return home, where his poor sister, nearly heart-broken, awaited him. He felt like a criminal, as he entered her presence, while she, overcome with joy, wept upon his neck. "Oh, Arthur!" said she, ".how could you leave me in a time of so much trouble, and when so overcome by misfortune?" He kissed her pale cheek in reply, it was all he could do; a burning thirst raged within, and his head and heart were benumbed with mortification. He took his accustomed seat, and wildly looked down the preci- page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] 308 HAI PTOi HEIGHTS. pice, as if meditating death, until disturbed by Miss Anna, who came behind him, as she was often wont, when he seemed most melancholy. She parted the gray locks over his forehead, and more than once he raised his hand to wipe away a tear of hers, which fell upon his cheek. Still he did not speak-he was over- come .with secret agony, and with stifling a raging thirst, so that it was with difficulty he restrained him- self from leaping down the rocks, and ending his mis- ery. Deeply sympathized Miss Anna in all this--too deeply to venture reproof. Her eyes watched his every motion, they seemed to penetrate his soul, to comprehend his thoughts, so that she was enabled to discover his unspoken wishes. These mysterious inter- pretings of his,grief, bringing with them so many acts of sisterly kindness to support and strengthen, gradu- ally found their way to his better self, and at last sub. jected him to her gentle will. It was toward the close of an autumnal Sabbath even- ing, that they wandered together to the village grave- yard. All the afternoon Arthur had been sitting in his favorite seat, listening attentively to her reading. It was a delight to him. Never was he more happy than when she sat beside his chair, turning the pages of the great and inspired writers. More than once, that afternoon, she raised her face to his, and perceived the deep strug- gles he was striving to conceal; struggles against the Tempter, against the thought of their final separation, HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 309 and the wretchedness he must endure, unsupported by her affection. She felt deeply the agony of all this- she knew how nearly her journey here was finished-- the utter blank her death would leave in his existence, and the vice to which he was addicted. To more deeply impress him with the solemnity of the hour, and the goodness and power of Heaven, she had pro- posed this walk. "It is many years, Arthur," said she, "since we were there together, and it is well now, when I am so near my last sunset, that I should go thither, and look with you, upon the place I have selected for my silent home." "Oh, dear sister, do not speak of it! do not talk of leaving me, me, me, poor me! No, I will die, too; pray, I may die, Anna, die when you do!" ' Let not your grief overcome you, brother; try and put your trust where I have, and try to pray for strength." "How can you ask me, Anna, to go down and look at your grave, to see the spot where they will hide you out of my sight, that will rob me cruelly, cruelly rob me of all JI have." "Because, Arthur, I would impress you with the thought of the separation, and the future which is be- fore you. How long I may be spared I can not say, perhaps some time, for your sake I trust I shall be, but for you alone, for I am weary of the world, and page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] 310 HAMPTON HEIGHTS, long to be at home. But come, give me your arm, and we will slowly walk thither. How cool the breeze is along the heights, how refreshing; I feel quite invig- orated by it, and am very glad we came out." The path wound around the rocks, and then sudden- ly descended into a narrow glen, where was a small, secluded grave-yard. This was the burial-place of the village, and here, also, were the tombs of many of the wealthy families of the neighborhood. It was a quiet, unpretending spot, sprinkled about with a few large elms, overshadowing graves seldom graced with aught but the simplest headstone. One or two monuments of a more artistic character, intruded themselves, seeming, however, strangely out of place. As they opened the iron gate, a few sea-birds started from off the graves with a wild scream, and then circling about awhile, sailed off into the Sound, investing the lonely place, by their flight, with a still deeper melancholy. Miss Anna was quite fatigued, and gladly seated herself upon a low slab, supported by four standards, of brown stone, and on which, nearly effaced by time, was engraved, "'John Thompson, aged eighty-nine." As Arthur gazed about the place, his mind reverted-to thoughts of a less sor- rowful nature. He ever spoke cheerfully of this or that object, which, perchance, had undergone some little change of late. "Ah! Arthur," said Miss Anna, '" we must all come here at last. I once said that I cared little where my HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 3" ashes should molder; but now, so near the end, I feel glad that I shall be permitted to rest with my kindred." "I hope,) replied Arthur, "at length to be laid by the side of my mother. It seems to me if I can but come to the golden portals'with my hand in hers, I shall be accepted." "If you come as a little child, Arthur, bringing the offering of a broken spirit, you may; but flatter not yourself my dear brother, that even a mother's bosom can shield you in that hour if you come otherwise." "This is a sad place, Anna," he interrupted, for he differed from her in his views upon the subject of future existence. "A sad place ;--and yonder is poor Law- rence's grave; see, his father has lately erected a head- stone for him, and those roses Harriet Malcom planted are still in bloom. I wonder if the epitaph he wrote himself has been engraved. Poor boy, his was truly an unappreciated genius. Here, on this very stone where we are sitting, did I last- converse with him: and how well he argued; what beautiful dark eyes he had, and how they lighted when I endeavored to dis- suade him from a literary career. ' I was born for it,' he answered; ' and although they have tried to make a merchant of me, I shall not succeed.' 'Perhaps not,' I answered him; ' but then your education so much better adapts you for it, and besides, the pursuits you propose are the most discouraging and perplexing of all employments.' ' I do not agree with you,' he an- page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] 312 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. i swered. C And what more mortifying experience can I have than this of to-day? You say that my writings will be carelessly examined, and myself coldly treated- L grant it; but will any thing be colder and harsher than the words which still grate upon my ear?--"We shall ! : not require your services after the first, Mr. Lawrence." Will there be any thing more humiliating than the chilling repulses I receive from house after house of which I seek employment? No! and I abjure them all,'and -never again will darken a merchant's office!' 'Be not. too hasty, Lawrence,' I answered; 'and for . . a moment:think how much better to reach the stand- . : ard of a wealthy merchant than that of a medium s j author.' ' There, again, I differ from you,' he replied. 'Here lies John Thompson, aged eighty-nine, and who now of all the men he employed, remember his name :! with any feelings of .veneration? Who can tell what has become of him, or of his great property? A poor, profligate son! -that is all--the history of nearly every rich merchant in yonder city, dead, forgotten. But with an author how different. He may die in obscur- . ity, nor be appreciated; but long after his ashes shall I have mingled with the soil, shall some memento of him I remain-some maiden chanting his song, some, boy , whistling along the fields his music, some critic restor- ing his verses, who finds many a line vibrating in uni- son with his own soul's cord. Death takes not away his fame, seals not up his history in the tomb. He is "1AMPTON HEIGHTS. 313 the people's child--they keep his memory. But a merchant, ask this stone for his history. ,, "Yes, Arthur,,, replied his sister, "his was, in some respects, a sad flte; but I have no doubt he is happy now; he has gone to his rest-the Christian's rest. If I could leave you that poor boy's hope, how gladly should I say 'good-by, proud world.' But come, let us walk on, I wish to visit our parents' graves, before it is dark., " Stay,,, said Arthur, as they neared a little mound, over which a few flowers were growing, and which gave evidence of having been recently visited; let us read the inscription., -Chalmers Lawrence, aged twenty;,, underneath which was a broken lute, and this epitaph: : This shattered lute doth well express The fate of him whose turf you press; Who swept it with a mingled pain, And perished, like the broken strain. " Poor Lawrence!" murmured Arthur. "Now in Heaven," replied his sister, "But see, the sunshine bathes Chauncey's monument in a flood of light. How beautiful a shaif, but how different from the one he would have selected. Dear Albert! that sleeps so far from it." They nowapproaehed two graves, inclosed by a simple railing, and marked by equally as simple tomb-stones. "Here," said Miss Anna, "is our mother's grave." 14 page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] 314 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. They both stood silently for some minutes gazing upon it, Annals head resting on her brother's shoul- der, as if overcome with feelings too deep for utter- ance. At length, with sad composure, she gently addressed a few words to Arthur; she repeated her belief that life was fast ebbing from her, that she should soon be with her mother, with her God. - = "What history shall I take with me, Arthur? What, O brother? What of the night? O, come kneel with me upon her grave, and let us be once more children, though with gray hairs Let us invoke her spirit. Let us ask support from the place of her dwelling.' Let us cry unto Him who, we know, came down with many angels to welcome her there." Arthur knelt down on the little hillock, and uncov- ering his head, wept aloud. The evening breeze scat- tered his gray locks, and sighed along the narrow ridges. The sea-birds returning circled again about the tombs, and again, with a wild scream, fled off-to the waves. Still he remained kneeling, and trying to restrain his sobs, while Anna poured forth the depth of her soul's hope and affection into the ear of her Maker. Slowly they left that lonely cemetery, slowly on in the dim twilight they retraced their course. How silent -it wasy the dull beat of the waves against the rock alone interrupting it. 'T was their last walk together, their last; their last good-by to their parents' graves. H APT ONI BEI1BT. G Neither spoke. Anna stood just outside the vestibule of heaven. The very minutes that dropped into the mist of time, were weaving together her last hours; she might have counted them had she known it, yea, the seconds, they were so few. Slowly and sadly they passed under the heights on toward their home. Atov little distance from the ottage stood a half hovel, where, generally at evening, the fishermen con- gregated to smoke and drink. A s they passed strong fumes of liquor and tobacco-smoke floated through the doorway.- This was sufficient to again stir the thdevl in Arthurs soul, to banish every thought of the sacred moments they had just shared, to send tingling through his veins the fiery demon. With great difficulty he restrained himself from ushing away from his sister, who now clung to him with un- natural strength. All that evening she wept and conversed with him, and it seemed as if her words caught inspiration fi o her near approach heavenward. But an invisible hand was throttling Arthur, he c ould feel it clutching his neckcloth, drawing it tighter and tight en u ntil he could scarce respir e. Howit sentthe blood rushing t o his head , parched the moisture in h is m outh, s hriv - eled up his tongue, and burned along his w indpipe . ! it was no i ma ginary fiend, no nigtmare, no rain intofanc y, but th e very Ev O ne, tempting the weak man page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] 316 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. He heard his sister's door close, listened that he might not be mistaken, and she perceived him creeping out of the window, and along the heights. Down the narrow path he tottered-down-down; now he slipped, and now regained himself, and held on by the sharp crag. He could perceive the dim outline of the hovel beyond the rocks. It seemed quite deserted; still he tottered down, down, down, and at length reached it. She sold him a quart of rum-she, the old fishwife, standing there with a flaring candle, that showed her wrinkled bosom, and how she had come out of bed to do it. She rinsed out a dirty bottle, shook it in her strong hands, and then let the water gurgle out. She measured it accurately in the old tin measure, and then took his money. She heard him scrambling up the heights, heard the loose stones that rattled down the crags after him, and then laughed, swelled out her old wizard throat, with merriment, at whAt she had done. Even after his step was silent, she stood there shad- ing the flaring candle, and looking up the rocks. At last the wind blew it out, as if even the small glimmer of that flame was too bright to witness such a scene. He was sleeping, wrestling with spirits that grinned * and ogled about his bed, and sat on his chest, and hissed into his ears. Then there came a voice, a chok- ing, stifling voice, as if some one was strangling near him. "Arthur! Arthur!" it repeated. He leaped HAMPTOu oBIGIbTS. out of bed, listened--,t was his sister's voice, his own dear sister, dying close beside him. The old servant maid was there, bolstering up her head till the spasm should be over. Arthur had never seen her in one before, and stood petrified with terror. She I be better soon," said the woman, "and then I will go down forthe doctor.", "Yes, Ellen," she replied, " you had better. I feel easier now, and Arthur will remain with me while you are gone. Go, dress yourself, brother, for I feel str 'agely, and you are b - Hefee' strangely, and you are shivering with the night air. Back into his room he went, there stood the bottle -the rum-bottle; ha! how he drained it--drained it and his sister dying. Death came while he was gone, grim Death, quicker than hand of mortal did he stab her, leaving her corpse for the poor wretch to gaze upon when he returned. He knew it as soon as he saw her, though for the quiet way she lay there she might have slept; He passed the blaze of the candle before her lips, but the breath w as gone, n ot a tremble not a ficker did it give, life had passed out of her. Next he was dancing round the room, touching the drapery here and there with the blaze, waving the bott e, shouting, sin ging. "A b rave f uneral pie sh e shall have,, he cried; c brave ! brave!, Then the blaze leaped to the wall, and t wined about the curtains, and burst out through the windows . - Ellen saw it in the distance, rushed through the smoke page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] 3 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. and flame, and dragged out her mistress. She laid her hi the garden-down on a bed of myrtle, and then tore off her own gown and covered her. "Fire! fire !" shouted the doctor; -and red and lurid wreathed the flame about the roof, and cast its bright gleam far out into the Sound. "Fire! fire !" echoed along the vil- lage, from which came up men half-dressed, and women in their night-clothes, and little children clinging to their sides. Old Ellen was kneeling by the corpse, the poor life- less body that lay there among the myrtle leaves. Cry- ing bitterly was she, sobbing the name over and over, into the ears that could not hear her. "Arrest him! arrest him !" shouted some one, who saw Arthur dancing about, " he says that he did it- arrest him! make him fast !" They are going down the hill now. There's little but smoke to tell of the cottage, just blaze enough to show them bearing the corpse upon a board, and Ar- thur following, with pinioned arms. They are gone, now, vanished into the darkness, and we leave them! " Oh, God!" exclaimed poor Arthur, when next he saw the light, the light that streamed into the narrow window of his prison, and showed him sitting on a straw pallet-" Oh, my God !" exclaimed Miss Mary, as, with staring eyes, she read the account of the trag- edy " Her words are true at last, his blood is indeed on my garments." With hasty steps she sought Mr. Malcom. "Oh, Malcom " she exclaimed, " her words are true at last, and blood is on my hands-but fly to him--learn- all-save him! save him, if you can!" It is needless to dwell upon the long, protracted trial, which at last consigned Arthur Wilber to a maniac's cell. Sufficient is it for us to know, that after five years of confinement in the Asylum, he came out, more wretched than ever. For a few months he hung about his old haunts, and at length, one winter's night, wandered back to the little grave-yard. Be- tween two graves he laid himself, and soon, flake after flake of white snow twined about him a winding-sheet, and when, in early spring, blue Violets peeped out on the edge of the banks, were found a heap of molder- ing remains, which the village sexton, guessing whose they might be, buried them by the side of his mother. . . page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] CHAPTER XXVIII. "t I hear a noise about the keel, I hear the bell struck in the night; I see the cabin window bright, I see the sailor at the wheel. So may, whatever tempest mars, Mid-ocean, spare the sacred bark, And balmy rops, in summer dark Slide from the bosom of the stars?' 'rBNKgtON. srWIFZ," said Mr. Malcom, one morning, laying down the paper, in which he had been reading a long account of-the discovery of gold in California, "I really think I will go out there." "Pray, don't mention it, husband," she replied, "you are altogether too old to encounter the dangers and vicissitudes of the journey; if either must go, let it be William.1" "Oh, no! he has now a good situation, and will be far more likely to attain some degree of eminence here. I have little thought of it, however, but still intend to make some inquiries, and perhaps, if all I hear proves true, will give the country a look." -Mrs. Maleom shuddered at the thought, still, as she as a prudent lady, she concealed her emotions, and was a.,ue HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 321 strove to appear cheerful. She was, nevertheless, ex- ceedingly anxious, and gave him many private words of caution, as they parted for the day. He walked thoughtfully down the street, pondering over the mar- velous stories he had heard, and weighing the proba- bilities of an old man like himself succeeding, until he unconsciously approached the office of his friends, Utopia & Smart. "Topy 'l know. as much as any one," said he, to himself, " he's always posted up on speculations, and I guess I 'll run in a minute, and see him." "Good morning, Mr. Malcom," said Mr. Utopia, c, of all men, just the one I 'm delighted to meet," and he lowered his gold spectacles from his forehead, and took up a paper. ("See here," he continued, "here 's a plan for a company to go out to California, right off, in that pretty bark of mine, which sails next week. The accounts from those mines are perfectly astound- ing. Bless your heart, man, there is so much of the genuine dust there,- all we've got to do is to fill our ships right up with it. No doubt it 's the very place Solomon, and the Queen of Sheba sent their ships to, and I am astonished there 's no accoufit given of their encounter with pirates, as those seas, in old times, were always full of buccaneers. "Have you any thing more authentic than what the papers give?" inquired Mr. Malcom, "Authentic, man! bless you, it's all true, every "* page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] 322 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. word of it, and I have now before me the plan of the company,' T'lie Rio de la Plhumas, and Sacramento Gold of Ophir Company.' Just put your name down at the head, here, and, presto, you are its president." "4 Not too fast, Utopia! Perhaps it 's not all gold that they find so plenty in the rivers out there." "Why, you are altogether behind the times, man," returned Mr. Utopia, "it's all confirmed, every thing we have heard, and what is more, I have a specimen of the veritable dust, dug out of a rock, by a chap with a willow basket," and he produced a small paper, which, upon being carefully opened, displayed a few grains of dull-looking metal, as much resembling brass as gold. "That's the article, Malcom! the genuine stuff,l' and he lowered his glasses again, and bent over it, to inspect it for the hundredth time. Mr. Malcom's eyes glistened, as he saw the real gold dust shining there on the paper before him. n Back came Hampton Heights into his possession; he beheld his children again on the rocks, and his once proud an- ticipations all realized. Still he had little faith in Uto- pia's mining company-could not bring his mind to believe the dredging machines which he intended to scoop the river bottoms with, would be successful, or the company he proposed to form, keep together after arrival. The few little grains, however, on the white paper had a magical effect, and he resolved to go after them as soon as he could complete his arrangements. , '!S; HAXPTON HBIGHTS, 323 He told Utopia he would look in again, and see how he got on with his company, but declined taking any interest in its formation. In the street every-one was talking of California; he could scarcely go a step with- out hearing the name mentioned, and perceived, on all sides, handbills advertising vessels about to sail, old ships he had known from boyhood, he remarked fresh- ly painted, and rigged, hauled into dock, and made ready for the voyage. Half-galiots, with placarded sails, calling them clippers, along with clumsy old packets, condemned years before. He went into the office of a friend, who had several ships up, for San Francisco, and requested him to select a vessel. "I shall take asteerage berth," said he, " and I want it as low as possible, in a good craft; and wish you would also make out a list of such articles as I shall require, both on the passage, and after my arrival." "WeR, wife," said he, that evening, " what would you think if I should tell you I was going to California?, That I shall have your grave-clothes to prepare, " she replied. "How foolish, dear; the country is a healthy one, and I a strong, hearty old man, as capable of endurance as any of the thousands flocking thither.," "I fear, husband," she returned, that our separa- tion will be forever. I can not say which will be taken first, but I am sure that we shall never see each other again on earth.," page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] 324 HAIMPTON HEIGHTS. "Don't say so, Rose, you quite dampen my spirits, and truly, dear, I have decided to go." "I thought as much," said she; "sbmething has whispered so, from your first' mentioning the sub- ject?. ,' We must-make as light as possible of it, dear," he replied, "and do not let the children perceive your anxiety, I am sure there is no great occasion for fore- boding; and what is more, a line of steamers is estab- lished, that will render us but a month apart." "Do you go by them?" "No; I go the longer way. The expense is far less, and, I presume, my health will be not so much endangered.1" ,' When do you sail?" she mournfully inquired. ,4 In a fortnight; And I shall want several articles of coarse clothing, which you and the girls can prepare. Here is a list a friend has given me, of what will be necessary." Mrs. Malcom took the paper, and after scanning it attentively, read aloud as follows:-"List of articles for a year in the mines: Two barrels hard bread, packed in air-tight casks; one barrel hams; one kit mackerel; one half-barrel rice; two . pades; two shovels; two pick-axes; one Colt's revolver; one bowie-knife; six red flannel ,under-shirts; six ditto outside; one dozen hickory ditto; three pairs coarse woolen pants; one dozen ditto drawers; two dozen HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 325 stockings; two monkey-jackets, and one keg powder, and lot of lead." "O dear!" sighed his wife, at the same time wiping away a tear that stole over her cheek; "and it has come to this at last; only one affliction more for me, and I shall then have filled up the measure oflife's trouble." "It is undoubtedly for the best," replied her hus- band; " and if it were not for the separation, wife, I should look upon it as not a very great undertaking." "I hope you will realize all that you anticipate, dear," she returned, "'and at length be restored to us. But it seems almost sure to me we shall meet no more - un- til the graves give up their dead, But let us see about the articles of your wardrobe. We had best buy a piece of flannel, and have the girls make your shirts: in fact, nearly the whole of the stock can be manufao- tured among us, which will not only save expense, but render them stronger, and better than if procured at the shops. A week now has passed. The busy -needles of the family have nearly completed the clothing; they have numbered and marked each article, and seen them carefully packed in a rude chest. The provisions have been procured, and safely stowed away in the vessel's hold; and nothing remains now but the final parting. It is a great struggle, indeed. But so many have they endured of late, that they feel prepared for any thing within the compass of human suffering. page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] 326 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. f "Come," said little Anna, one evening, looking up from the flannel shirt to which she was attaching the buttons; " come, let's make father put on his whole suit, just as he will be dressed when he starts for the mines-it will be so funny to see him, and so good to remember him by, when he is digging out the lumps of gold for us." Agreeably to her suggestion, the good parent ar- rayed himself in the coarse garments: putting over his hickory shirt an outside flannel one, and drawing on his long boots, which extended far above his knees. Then slouching an old hat over his eyes, and- shoulder- ing a pick-ax, he came into the room. The children were too much amused with his outlandish appearance to remember the reality of it all, and- how lonely over mountains, and weary- along the banks of sluggish rivers, by night without a shelter, and by day without protection from the burning sun, that fold man might go. But the dear heart that had lived for him so many years, lain close to his breast in their early affection, and along his checkered life soothed and consoled his grief, felt it all. She raised her eyes from her work as he came in, and then as quickly dropped them upon it again, brushing aside a tear. The day of sailing at length arrived-a day of the bitterest grief that Mrs. Malcom had ever been called upon to endure. It was sorrowful for her to leave HaTmpton Heights, but she bore it cheerfully because HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 327 there was no separation of the family. But this was the keenest pang that she had ever suffered. She had been down to the ship to see his quarters, and fully compre. hended all the discomfort of the place. She was shocked by the narrow and confined appearance of every thing, and could not imagine how so many beings would exist there during the long voyage. She even made his bed in the rude berth, smoothed down the pillow that she felt no hand of wife, or daughter should hereafter make comfortable. It was a sorrowful time in that little parlor of theirs, when the hour of parting came-when he went round and embraced each one of those dear children, trying no to look sad, that he might say to them some cheer- ful, consoling word. His poor wife put her arms about his neck, and rested her head on his shoulder, and re- mained there so long that he was obliged at last to unlock this fond embrace, lest he should be delayed; and when at length he went away, she fell down, and groaned aloud in very bitterness. "O. do not cry so, mother," said the younger chil- dren; ; "he will soon come back again; and will very often write to us of the strange countries he visits, and : send us home some of his gold, perhaps enough to ; buy back the cottage." "That would be- of little use, without your father to bless it," she replied, and again gave vent to her emotions. It was a clear winter's day when the vessel hauled page: 328-329[View Page 328-329] 328 HAMPTON HEIGHT S. into the stream, and dense crowds were about the docks to see her off. Many a hearty cheer they gave them, as they fell down with the tide, and then went away to witness some other like departure. Some re- mained, however. One or two old women, whose sons had left them, and whom to help away, had been given up the little hoard they had saved for old age. A few young wives,who ventured among the rab- ble, to bid their husbands good-by; and a solitary gray-haired old man, that had lost his hat, and stood there bare-headed, watching, even after the vessel was out of sight. -,1 CHAPTER XXIX. "Adieu I adieu I my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue; The night winds sigh, the breakers roar And shrieks the wild sea-mew. "Yon sun, that sets upon the sea, We follow in his flight; Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native land, Good-night!" BYRON, THE vessel in which Mr. Malcom had taken passage was one of the numerous small second-class barks that left New York in 1849. But as his journal lies before us, which we shah hereafter have frequent occasion to refer to, we make the following extracts:-- "MONDAY, January 29th.-We are now well under weigh on our voyage, and as order has generally been restored, and we have recovered from the effects of the gale of the 26th, I will notice the quarters I am to inhabit for the next five or six months, as well as the character of the passengers. The vessel is a small bark, lately altered from a brig-necessarily, therefore, the- allotment of room for each individual is small Berths, three tiers high, are arranged along the ship's sides, made sufficiently wide for two persons, but as page: 330-331[View Page 330-331] 330 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. these are generally occupied but by one individual, he has, for the sake of more room on the floor, and less liability to roll about in his bunk, fitted in the back with his trunks. In the middle of the steerage, run- ning from the forecastle to the extreme stern cabin, are stowed sacks of corn, many thousand bushels, I should judge. What the owner intends this for, upon ar- rival, I can not say ; it certainly renders the place very disagreeable, and was not bargained for when we paid our passages. The Ispace between the corn-sacks, and our berths may be four feet in width, and along it we arb compelled to walk in coming from the deck. The ain hatch is now seldom opened, and the place is quite too dark for reading: and this constitutes, of course, a general subject of complaint. Our manner of eating is now also arranged, which, for some time, was a great source of trouble; few of us had any idea of messing in man-of-war style. Fortunately for myself, I have secured a very sensible man for a messmate, one who, for many years, served as a marine in the United States' service. Through him I have gained much information regarding sea life, which enables me to endure quite well the unpleasant manner of living. Our passengers are of the lower class, most of them countrymen, who look upon the strict discipline about us as unendurable. So, too, they miss the sight of their mother's or wives' milk-pans, and grumble hor- ribly over the coarse fare. \ I , , BAMPTON HEIGHTS. 381 "The first meal we eat aboard, was a laughable farce, and notwithstanding the melancholy nature of my feelings, I was compelled to join in the general merriment. We had nearly lost sight of land, and were running along slowly, with little motion, the keenness of the atmosphere, as well as the exertion of getting under way, had well whetted our appetites, and rendered us most glad to hear the announcement of supper. Most of us were below at the time, lashing our trunks, and preparing for the voyage. Suddenly, the bushy head of as ugly a negro as can be described, grinned over the hatch, and loudly shouted, "Grub's ready, gem'en, pass up your pans" and kids." What grub-pans and kids meant, few of us understood; we were, however, soon brought to an understanding, by several Scotch and German passengers bearing off the entire meat and potatoes intended for the company. Now came a scene such as I think was never before witnessed on a vessel's deck. First the Germans were attacked, amid mingled shouts of farmers calling 'pig! pig! pig!' until their pans were emptied, and too much of the contents scattered about. Then came a cackling of fowls, growing of cocks, bleating of sheep, lowing of cattle, as if all were possessed, like the swine that fled down a steep place, into the sea. The black cook was cursed-the owners likewise , the tea pronounced undrinkable, and the molasses with which it was sweetened, 'black jack.' However, the next page: 332-333[View Page 332-333] 32 BI AMPTON HEIGHTS. day brought reform, and we are now well arranged into messes, of four, each taking his week in turn to wash the dishes, make the duaf get the rations, and fight the cook and steward." As I do not intend troubling my readers with the thrice-told tale of a California voyage, I shall make but few extracts from the journal of Mr. Malcom, until I take it up in San Francisco, where the thread of our story again joins itself. As some of his reflections and careful observations are interesting, however, I re- sume the account, after a month advance upon the voyage. _Feb ary 20th.-" For the first time we have all our canvas set, the wind being well on our quarter, they have on studing-sails alow and aloft. I now appre- e~ite the remaks of Dana, who observes,' the beauty of a ship under full sail is never seen entering or leav- ing port? I have beenup in the main-top, reading Bry- ant's Poems, the little volume Harriet gave me, and whose leaves bear so many evidences of her perusal. My feelings naturally lead me to open upon Thanatop- sis, as death has lately been brought very near to us all. One needs, really, to come to sea to appreciate its solemnity. He needs to see a being, clad in his shotted hammock, and lowered into the waves, un- kneUed and uncoffined. We have just buried our first passenger; he died suddenly, a young man of) good promise. The sailors, who are accustomed to such scenes, sewed him into the very hammock he had swung in, just alongside my own berth-and this Sabbath afternoon his body was brought on- deck. The wind carried us bravely along, the taper mast bent under the press of canvas, and the bell by the forecastle tolled solemnly and slowly; being the oldest man on board the ship, I was called upon to read the burial-service, and as I pronounced We, therefore, commit this body to the deep,' the inclined plank which supported it, was raised, sliding off into the ocean, the lifeless corpse of our friend. With a heavy plunge it sank into the waves-no circling eddy, no little ripple, told where he slumbered--no trace, save the foam-wreaths the vessel left as she plowed her course onward. "He had gone down into a vast sepulcher, and I was reminded of Albert Chauncey, who bmust thus have been buried somewhere in these latitudes. To be sure his marble monument peers up in the little cemetery at Hampton, but his body- rests beneath these waves, without a token to mark the spot. I have-heard it re- marked that a sailor prefers being buried at sea, and I now fathom the reason. This seems to be his native ele- ment, and if he can be wrapped in an old sail, and low- ered away by his shipmates, he feels that it will be by his friends, those who knew him best. He knows he will be remembered by his watch during the voyage, that he will be the subject of many a yarn at the forecastle- page: 334-335[View Page 334-335] 334 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. door, at dog-watch; and it is a pleasant thought, when contrasted with the fate he meets on land-the death in the sailor's boarding-house-the burial in the Pot- ter's-field. "There has been about ,us to day, vast fields of sea- weed, called by the seamen ' Gulf-hay.? It is a beauti- ful green vine, bearing a red berry, and it seems quite fitting the place of our friend's grave. Oh, how I wish I could present the whole picture as it now ap- pears, it requires little imagination to believe that these myriad perishtrip their elfish dances- 'Where the winds and the waves lie together asleep, And the moon and the fairy are watching the deep.' "Its color is a gorgeous green, and the contrast it makes on the deep blue of the ocean, reminds ime most touchingly of home-of Christmas-time-when we wandered into the woods to seek evergreens, and perceived among the snow the running pine, as Har- riet would describe it,' peering its emerald beak out of the banks.' I have caught some of it in a bucket, and find the stalk and berry incrusted with coral, and by a microscope can perceive even the animalculae work- ing about it-how wonderful!" Again, on the 12th of March he writes--"I have been most anxious to meet some vessel homeward- bound, that may carry back the tidings of our voyage thus far, and to-day, for the first time, we discovered a bAM PTON HEIGHTS. 335 sail. She was off our lea bow, and even altered her course, to avoid us. We, however, exchanged sig- nals, but as she was a Frenchman, it was of no conse- quence. She must have been a very wet craft, or with our naked eyes we could perceive her foresail drenched to the yard. Like myself, every one was anxious to meet an American ship, homeward bound, and when the tri-colored ftag of the new republic run up to the stranger's mizzen-peak, turned away with deep disappointment. Scarcely was she out of sight, however, when the cheering cry of' sail ho! wa again heard, and we caught a glimpse of another craft, to the weather of us, some two miles. A-gain our ensign was hoisted, but directly replied the royal cross of Saint George, more to our vexation than ever. "Toward evening, once more echoed the cry of'sail ho!' and we made out another sail to the weather of us, carrying royals and sky-sails. She bore bravely down, undoubtedly intending to come within hailing distance. The wind was light at the time, and as we approached one another, we made out her name, with the assistance of a glass. All was, of course, excitement among us; men with grizzly, neglected beards, came up and looked over the ra il, with faces that seemed to bespeak home. sickne ss. Y oungsters clambered among the spars, Until there was scarce a foothold unoccupied, and the whole ship seemed invested with a new and animating I ife. At length, upon nearer approach, we fell abeam ' l page: 336-337[View Page 336-337] 336 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. of her, and she took in her gaff topsail and spanker, and run under our stern, while we backed our mizen topsail, and waited for hailing distance. (What a sailor I have. become.) She proved to be the Senator, of New Bedford, a whaler bound home. Her captain seemed greatly surprised at our appearance, and still more so when he learned our destination and business. Although he had been three years in the Pacific he had heard nothing of the gold mines. At last, with three hearty cheers on our part, we filled away, watching with melancholy feelings herb lessening sails." On the 29th of May, he thus writes:- "I have not for- two months opened my journal, and in the mean time we have been beating about in the southern latitudes, among ice, snow, and storms. Day after day have sails been taken in and shaken out, and day after day have we lain hove-to, under just sails enough to keep us steady. The hatches have been bat- tened down, fore and aft, and our only egress from the dismal place has been by the way of the forecastle, to which we have gained admission by knocking down a plank. For light we were driven to many expedients, the weather being too cold to admit the burning of our lanterns, and we were forbidden to use lamps not pro- tected by a case. No one inclined to go on deck, and unless compelled many of us seldom left our bunks, but wedged ourselves in as comfortably as possible, and laughed at those who sat lashed to the stanchions. For HAMPTON 2 HEIGBTS. 337 days we had no other food than r por and iscuit, the wreather being too rough for the cook to fill his copper^ s Thus the vey sight of one another became disgusting, while from the most trifling acts numerous brawls were produed. Ill fine weather matters went ton pretty smoothl ay nd Our numerous mechanics were then employed, and on/pleasant days the ships deck resembled the workshop of a prison. kanycunning and practical workmen were among us, who drew out the old files and knives into daggers, although without other fire than that of the cooks stove. A rude turn ing lathe foas erected in the longhoat, and ivory handles produced from sad-looking beef-bones, which the cook declared were not half biled of tl Buc fined so long below, things were in a bad state indced; card pla ying had become a disgust, and books not read at least twice over were scarce to be found. Of course continual jars were arising, and more than nce bloody noses a nd swollen eyes were produced . I c ontrived dur- ing this miserable state ofexisti ng , o w rie a f ew descriptive of Rio Janeiro, for the children. Though they are sad affairs they will s erv e t o amu se them, and iv e some idea of the countries I have visit e. d "I had remarked, h e again writes , tha t blows d bloody faces were no uncommon thi n 'among u u mnd had it not been for the deep s . . he Mlinds of all 6 , a ae ep impressions left upon e ind s of all by a narrow escape l'om sh ipwreck, I av e no doub t serious trouble would have occurred, 151 page: 338-339[View Page 338-339] 338 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. Those of the passengers best acquainted with sea. going for several days had prophesied land in the vicinity; but our captain and officers, notwithstanding the loss of observations for nearly a week, assured us otherwise. A gale as severe as often blows in these regions, had been raging for several days, and on the evening I now speak of, was on the increase. We had eaten our cheerless supper, and most of us turned into our uncomfortable quarters; for want of other amuse- ment, we lay watching the indistinct glimmer of the old lantern, that dismally swung back and forth, from its place amid-ships. There was little conversation about-an occasional inquiry or answer-a muttered oath, or obscene. jest, passing from side to side; no other evidence of hope, or comfort, or trust-a dog- like melancholy torpor pervading every thing. i "To interrupt this, a crash, that sent every thing lashed and unlashed drifting about, startled us to our feet. We could hear the water roaring along the decks, and the mate's shout to man the pumps; but nothing more, save the continued noise of the gale. Some one at length brought downs a report that we had lost our figure-head, and unloosed the long-boat, but had suffered no further damage. The recollection of the blow, and apparently increasing tempest, per- mitted, however, few to sleep, and we started at every unusual noise that was heard. "About midnight I was counting the strokes of the HIAPTON HEIGHT. 339 pumps, which, on account of the accident forward were put in motion each hour; suddenly they stopped, and a cry that will ring in my ears till my death, burst don the forecastle ladder. 'Lalnd! land! turn out all hands to wear ship.' i nation, stretched t it utmost tension, can not picture the agny o look, and Theword that eaul cy created in the little steerage. Thtere e stoohd trembling friom the words, which told us that death was undoubtedly at hand. What could we do? The old bark was an atom on the waves, that tossed her about, as if she was there just to be a plaything for the m Some rushed deck, half-naked they went up, and saw the white foam caps which the black billows rolled down uponthem. But they could do nothing-n ow UPoon themB- Bute ^ do noting-nothing but stand there shivering, in their night-clothes. They v er o e to those mad ee- ments, than if they more to those mad ele. aboument s, th a i they ad been flakes of snow drifting yelledabout. Io d ark it was. ow like fiends th e wind yelled in th e cordage, drivin g u s ead n to I an d "When I cam e on deck, I 'saw the waves dashing over rocks that seemed a s high as ou r m asts; c oul d hear, I thought, their dull , b oomi n g sound, a s th ey broke about he e. O it was a bitter hou' on e that mirrored out on the black sky faces that w e b ad parted fi'oL-- our wives, our children--we could hear, we thought , their v er y voices. Then I went back into the t eerage, crawled my knees, along the darkpassages, to where th e dismal I am p g leamed. O Go d d eliver page: 340-341[View Page 340-341] 340 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. me from such another sight as that. Men, pale and ghastly, tying on their life-preservers, and getting s ready to be drowned; taking out miniatures of their dear ones, and asking some friend to take home their farewell to them, if they, perchance, should be saved. They were young men, full of the vigor of life, scarcely one that had seen thirty years-men unprepared to die, many of whom had cursed God daily. Some prayed, some crouched down upon the floor, and some lay in their berths, nor moved a limb. Overhead, I could hear wild shouts, the rattling of ropes thrown upon the decks, the creaking of the spars braced home, and dashing of waves that broke over us. "Again I was on deck, and here, too, were men praying and crying aloud. I found two quarreling over a bit of an old spar, and cursing one another, there in the gloom. The rest of the night I stood by the wheel, and waited for the expected crash, which should send us to eternity-but it came not; and in the gray dawn of the next morning there was no shore ' to be seen. "As soon as land was made the night previous, we wore round to the south, and got on close-reefed top- sails, spencer, and foretop-staysail, and in the fury of the storm our lee-rail was under water a great part of the time. The little foresail saved us; and with what anxiety did my eyes pry into the darkness, to see if it still held on. There were no bells rung that night, no ia AMPT6d HEIGHTS. 341 change of watches; the sailors crawled about the decks, and begged the privilege of being near to the compass. But, God be praised, we are still alive, though in almost a sinking condition." page: 342-343[View Page 342-343] CHAPTER XXX. THE NARRATIVE CONTINUED. THS long voyage was at length safely completed, and we shall make but a few more extracts from the journal of Mr. Malcom, resuming it now at the mouth of the harbor of San Francisco. "AUGUST, 9th.- A general anxiety now manifests itself, and our near approach to land is the only topic of -conversation. As the time draws near, I perceive little of'the excitement which so pervaded every one before arriving at Rio-rather a cold clinging to the ship, with evil forebodings for the future. No one seems inclined to pack up and make ready to depart, but instead, stand shivering by the galley, or gazing idly over the vessel's side. In fact, a kind of apathy has settled upon us. So long have we been together, and so little do we know -of the future, we are not satisfied with the report which tells of separation, and so brood silently over our prospects. We are not returning to our homes, our wives and families, like the sailor from a long voyage, but about to land upon a shore we now begin truly to feel our ignorance con- H-AMPTON .HEIGHT. 843 - cerning. We left among the first ships, without an idea of what we were to encounter, and with these thoughts plainly before us, we perceive the fog which announces our approach to land. A cold misty morn- ing, so thick as scarce to permit of seeing the little islands at the harbor's mouth, envelops us; and now echoes along the deck the longed-for, yet half dreaded. cry, 'Land, ho!' 'Where away?' is, of course, inquired. 'On the larboard bow, a low island, sir,' replied the mate, who had made the discovery. "This was before breakfast, in fact many had not turned out, and now came up half dressed to get sight of it. I had made many a cheerless meal on board the old ship, but I am sure none more so than this last one. Every one seems inclined to be his own counselor, to confer with his own thoughts, and to bear alone the weight of his reflections. We cast timid glances upon the distance where the curtain is to rise; and, like children at a theater, wonder what is behind it. Slowly we creep by the islands, round which number- less flocks of birds are hovering, sailing in and out deep caverns, and filling the air with their clangor. Well has time and tempest marked these rocks; and I per- ceive one or two natural bridges, under which rushes the boiling waves, mingling their voices with the wild cry of the sea fowl. At length looms up amid the fog, the long low line of coast, and this we know is Califor- nia. The land for which so many sacrifices have been page: 344-345[View Page 344-345] 344 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. made, so many ties sundered, the land which shall be the grave cf so many of our brave ship's company, who have wrestled with the sea to be overcome at the goal of their desiring. "But the seal is about to be broken, and now loom up before us the pillars of the Golden Gate. These are nothing more than barren hills of the most desolate description; the passage is narrow, and you sail near enough to the shore to perceive a ruined fort, which in its best days, must have been a sorry affair. There is nothing about it of an attractive character-no sloping meadows-no verdant hill tops-no shadowy trees- but a long range of low hills, whose base and sides betoken desolation. The further we advance the more dreary becomes the picture, to the right lie a range of sandy hills, about which a few straggling cattle and goats are wandering; and to the left, a series of barren islands, stretching far to the north. Many ships are at anchor, we perceive on rounding a point of the bay, and over these is flying a cloud of dust, driven from the arid heights of the city of San Francisco. "Among the fleet we also came to anchor; and I soon had the privilege of landing on the shores of our new home. Clambering up a lofty and tedious emin- ence, I caught the first glimpse of this wonderful town. A few houses scattered along a series of broken valleys. At the southern extreme my eye perceived a large encampment of tents, which, also, were generally i AEIBMPT0f HEIGHTS. 345 sprinkled over the hills. In every direction I encoun- tered carcasses of dead animals; and judged, from the parched nature of the soil, that they had perished firom starvation. My journey was to the Post-office; this was a building occupying an isolated position on a remote hill. A single one-story house, on whose roof sat some dozen of ominously croaking ravens. "Here I received a package from my beloved family, written not quite two months previous. What joy, what tears, mingled together at the sight of the well- known writing; and how earnestly did I pray that I might render unto my Heavenly Father a grateful heart for all his kindness to me.' As soon as possible I hastened on ship-board, to get together my few articles of provisions, and make ready for departure; having determined, for a while at least, to pitch tent some- where among the valleys. The letters were read and reread, until it became necessary both from darkness and fatigue, that I' should close them, and seek rest for the night. So unnatural, however, was the very still- ness I found it almost impossible to close my eyes. There was no motion--no sound of officers' voices-no exchanging of men at the wheel-no inquiry at mid- night as to the weather; but a low buzzing murmur of wind among the cordage, alone breaking the unwonted silence. "I improved the first opportunity the next morning to go on shore, that I might select a place for my tent, 15* - page: 346-347[View Page 346-347] 346o HAMPTON HEIGHTS. which I was able to take into the boat with us. My friend, the marine, was also along; and, with his assist- ance, I succeeded in pitching the tent and making it comfortable for the night. It was a larger and better one than those of most of my neighbors; and with two india-rubber covers I had fortunately brought along, we made a very excellent carpet for the floor. I think this was the only carpeted tent in the valley. "To ascertain the manner of living among the emi- grants, I went into a few of the adjoining encamp- ments. The picture was by no means encouraging. The first door I put aside showed a man lying on a heap of shavings, whose journey on earth was evidently nearly finished, watched by a companion whose coun- tenance bespoke him a traveler on the same lone way. To my inquiries, if a gentleman, who, I thought, per- chance might be in the vicinity, was known to0 them, I received a chilling reply: 'We don't know any body here; we are poor sick men.' Yes, and they were not alone in sorrow, I might have found many more, who in very agony could exclaim, 'We don't know any body here.' ' Having some ready funds, and an ingenious helper in the marine, we soon made our quarters very tenant- able, and commenced housekeeping. To an old shoe- box, for which I paid one dollar and a half, we attached four legs, and this answered for a table, bookstand, cupboard, and pantry. We nailed a piece of gingham HAMPTON HEiIGHTS., 347 over the front, and divided the interior into four apartments, which answered as aforesaid. My tent stood under a hill, near one of the many springs that supplied the neighborhood with water, and however early I rose, I was sure to find some one passing with his pail or tea-kettle. In this way I soon made many acquaintance, who sauntered in when they perceived me alone, to discuss the general topics of the place. Our first duty in the morning, was to go over the eminence for wood. Every time I went there I could perceive changes talking place, the trees disappearing as if by magic, leaving acre upon acre of ground bare and desolate. To cut down a few limbs of brushwood, sufficient to cook the meals of the day, was easily ac- complished, with the assistance of a hatchet, and in early morning, the smoke of many hundred camp-fires curled up in every direction. Our dishes were some- what limited, yet we got on quite comfortably--having more than most of our neighbors. I had taken another boarder, and when our table was completely arranged for three, I felt quite proud of its appearance. The dishes consisted of three cups-two of tin, and one a broken cocoa-nutshell, three spoons, and a good com- plement of knives and forks. We were compelled to use our frying-pan for a platter, and dip the sugar from the end of the bundle that contained it. "The first breakfast we made I shall long remem- ber; I had risen early and gone over the hill for wood, Of page: 348-349[View Page 348-349] 348 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. leaving the other two still sleeping in the tent. The marine was up when I returned, and soon had the fire under way, while I went off again to the grocer's. The grocery was a large tent, some little distance down the valley, where were stored, in the strangest confusion, all articles of the trade. The proprietor, not given to early rising, still slumbered in his hammock when I entered. It was suspended above his wares, and, in order to mount in to it, he had piled several quintals of codfish on the top of each other. ' Halloo!' said he, what you stealing there ;' for je slept with one eye open, and was evidently dis- turbed by my coming in. "'I want some sugar and a few other articles;, I replied. "( What, is it morning?' he retorted, sitting up in his hammock and hanging his legs over its side. 'I had no such notion, till you come in.' "Well, come,' I replied; 'I want my sugar.' "'Do, eh? well,' and he slipped out, treading his naked feet over the codfish and barrels; 'how much you want?' "'What is the price?' I inquired. "' Price, eh? well, the bestest kind, a dollar a pound, and this here,' holding out an old horn-full of a dark-looking compound, 'is six reals, Spanish count.' / "Desirous to escape from the disagreeable neighbor- HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 349 hood I paid his prices without a question, and at length came back with my arms full of provisions. The marine, in the mean time, had been to the butch- er's and baker's, and we soon had the pleasure of sitting down to a comfortable breakfast, over which, for the first time since I left my home, did I audibly ask the blessing of God. Humble as was that board, it was my own, within my own threshold, and I thanked God for it-thanked Him with the first genuine feeling of independence that I had experienced in nearly seven months. "We employed ourselves, during the day, in bring- ing off from the ship my stock of provisions, and tedious work it proved. We were compelled to hoist them from the hold of the vessel ourselves (the sailors having all deserted), to get them into the boat, which was too small for the whole of them at once, and then pull them to a landing far distant from the tent. I paid five- dollars for the use of the boat, and, at last, saw my little stock duly arranged under cover. I soon found that I must part with my companions, as they were determined to try the mines, and, therefore, im- proved the time that they remained in making things as convenient as possible, opening the hams and dis- posing of some of them, as well as the bread and rice. The day they left me I put my tent in order; swept out the dust, and rewashed all the dishes to my full satisfaction; after which I went into the town to look ! page: 350-351[View Page 350-351] 850 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. for employment, as I had concluded not to go to the mines immediately. I met with several acquaintances, some engaged in a little business, and some, like myself, still looking about. All, however, advised me to keep out of the mountains. I sicceeded the same day in securing a situation as book-keeper for a large butchering estab- lishment, and was highly pleased, the salary being large, and the duties not arduous. A week, however, ended the engagement; I felt I could not remain a witness of the most villainous frauds and be silent; and, therefore, though I threw up large wages, I left the place. Shortly after I was offered prospects even more flattering, but could not consistently take them, having formed the acquaintance of the house by their connection with the market. My health had also began to fail, too much excitement and exposure had brought on the prevailing disease of the country, and I found myself getting weaker day by day." Here we must close Mr. Malcom's journal, and con- tinue the narrative in our own language, the facts being taken from letters and conversations with his son-in-law. * 4 CHAPTER XXXI. "Because there is But ono way the rich and poor must tread Together. You diverged from that dread path Some hours ago, and I some days. "Alas, I have had that upon my soul Which makes me look upon all men with an eye That only knows the evil at first glance." EB'Ero:e. IT was a raw, dreary day-dulst hanging in thick clouds over the town, or sweeping in blinding sheets along the beach that echoed the melancholy tramp of the serf, when Mr. Malcom closed the door of his tent, and, dejected and alone, sought the rest of his ham- mock, which swung between two uprights planted firmly in the ground. He had sank into a quiet slum- ber, and, in imagination, once more sat by his own fire- side. No sound save the dull booming of the surf, or roaring of the wind disturbs him, and these, to his dreams, were but the winter music of his own hills, Suddenly he is awakened by the report of numerous hammers, which seemed busily engaged in building near to his tent. Scarcely had he collected his thoughts when the canvas of his door was torn aside, admitting a harsh-favored man, who thus saluted him. page: 352-353[View Page 352-353] 352 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. " I say, old chap, we are fencing up this lot, and if you don't move your traps before we finish we 'll pitch 'em on to the beach." This person seemed to be a car- penter, and held in his hand a hammer; behind him stood a very handsome man, who now also approached and continued the conversation. His air was that of a gentleman-tall, well-dressed, and dignified; when he spoke you always observed his glistening teeth, and could -not help thinking he loved to display them. ' Yes, sir," he said, interrupting the carpenter; "' this is my lot, and you must at once -remove your tent, as I can not have any squatters upon it." "I am no squatter," replied Mr. Malcom; "nor do I wish to remain longer than my health detains me here, but I am entirely too feeble to remove at once." "I can not help that," repliedi the man with the beautiful .teeth, "and must insist upon your at once commencing a removal; if you are sick, as you pre- tend, the men will roll out your duds for you, but go you must, and that shortly." "But I can not," replied Mr. Malcom; "I have scarcely sufficient strength to move, pray let me re- main for the present." "I want no prayers," rejoined -White Teeth, smiling with an air of great satisfaction; " and if you do not remove in an hour's time, I will take measures which Will make you." "You can not remove me without an officer," re- HAMPTON: HEIGHTS. 353. turned Mr. Malcom, "and, until his arrival, I shall still remain here." '"We will see," he retorted; "but take my advice as a friend, and go while some one will help you." After he had gone, Mr. Malcom left his hammock, and sat himself down upon a trunk by the tent door. He was very pale, and from cold and excitement trem- bled like one in an ague. Loud rang the knocks of the hammers about him, and closer and closer drew the carpenters toward his dwelling, as they planted the posts of the fence. Some of them seemed to pity him, others to make his suffering a subject of jest. He watched their motions with a vacant stare, and had just observed the last picket fastened on the frame, when White Teeth, bland as ever, again made his ap- pearance in company with the sheriff. "Proceed at once, sheriff, to tear down that tent," said the former. The sheriff, being a man of kinder heart than his employer, approached Mr. Malcom and read to him his orders. "I am a sick man, unable to erect this tent again," he replied, ' and shall only move when compelled, by stronger hands than my own." "Make short'work of it, sheriff," shouted the land- claimer,' who now grinned with great apparent satisfac- tion, and at the same time seized hold upon a barrel of provisions . "I am not to be ejected without a struggle, you page: 354-355[View Page 354-355] 8354 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. worse than fiends," returned Mr. M., rising as he spoke, and coming toward them, "I will defend my little property and tent to the last; yes, that I will," and he drew forth a pistol from his belt. This last movement was enough to excite the anger of the officer; he quickly wrenched the pistol away, and with one blow ripped the entire side of the canvas from its ropes. Finding all hope of defense useless, Mr. Malcolm retreated into his hammock, and covered his head with his blankets. Soon the work was completed; the Mfew articles of provisions lay scattered along the shore, and the ragged canvas across the pickets of the fence. This seemed quite to the satisfaction of White Teeth, who laughed and joked, as the wind rocked back and forth the hammock which still swung between the posts. Mr. Malcom heard their voices cease in the distance, and other voices that sounded along the beach, : but raised not his head. The blue sky looked down : from above, the surf roared desolately on the shore, and the chill wind pen'etrated his blankets. Was there no one to do him justice, no friend with one word of consolation? No, not one, beside the angels, who saw i it, and marked that there was none to pity him. More than once a groan went forth from that lonely ham- mock, for its poor inmate was calling about him his family, he even wandered into the far distance when he was a child, and remembered his old father and HAMPTON HEIGHTS, 355 mother. Then came the wind again, rocking him back and forth, and brought to his ear the boom of the breakers that reminded him more keenly of his desola- tion. Worn out from anxiety and suffering, he at last fell asleep, and, as the chill stars began to look forth, was wakened by some one moving his pillow. Opening his eyes, he perceived a female face, wearing a calm, sym- pathizing expression, bending over him. "Come," said she, pleasantly smiling as she, spoke, " donrit give up so, and don't lie here exposed to the dampness." "Who are you that thus advise me to move?" replied Mr. M.,- 4" do you not perceive that I have no other home, that my tent-cover is torn down, and my little stock of provisions scattered upon the beach ?" " Not quite so bad," replied the woman, "see, I have collected them together, and shortly will help you to remove them into my tent." " I can not move," he replied, "my strength is cornm. pletely gone. If you have a husband or friend that can help me thither, I will go; otherwise I will die here." "You will malte a poor Californian," returned she, "if you despair at starting-but come, let me put another blanket over you; and when some of our men return I will have you into our camp." " Halloo, Kate," shouted a voice from the shore, at page: 356-357[View Page 356-357] 356 HAMPTON HEIGHTS, : that moment, "come down, and help us unload, or we shall loose the tide." Mr. Malcom raised his head at the sound, and per- ceived, through the indistinct gloom of the twilight, a large scow, well laden with stores, manned by a com- pany of Sidneyites, who had a tent in the vicinity. The girl directly left him, when she heard the call, and after a short consultation with the crew,-:came back accom- panied by two of them-one, a fine athletic man, some twenty-five years of age, and the other, a fearful gal- lows-looking half brute. "Be careful of him, Jim," said the girl, " he is very weak, and must have had a hard time of it this after- noon, anyway." E "Take hold of his feet, George Adams, what are you looking after," shouted the younger man, "that you let me stand here with the whole weight of him in my arms ?" The man sulkily took the foot of the hammock in his hands, and soon, with the assistance of Kate and Jim, laid the almost lifeless body on the floor of the tent. " Ain't you coming back, Kate, to help us ?" inquired George Adams. " No,", replied the girl, "do you think I am going to leave this poor man to die alone here ?" " You 're a pretty one to turn a Samaritan, you ..." " Shut your mouth, and get off to the lighter," ejacu- lated Jim, "or I'll put something into your mull not so pleasant; Kate knows what she's about, without your telling her." Adams went growling to the beach, where he was soon followed by Jim Stewart, who left Kate kindly administering some gruel to the -ick man. " You are very kind," he murmured, as she propped his head; " may I ask your name and country ?" "That's no matter," she replied, "I am mistress , here; and you keep the right side of Jim Stewart and we will soon have you on your legs again." As she spoke several voices were heard outside, and Mr. Malcom perceived that they were piling goods against the tent. Oaths and loud talking seemed to abound, and he feared he had fallen into the hands of any ones but Samaritans; at length they ceased bring. ing up goods, and he knew by the loud shouts upon the shore, that they were again getting the lighter afloat. When next he was sensible of any thing, he perceived the tent was lighted, and noticed the young man, Stewart, and the girl sitting together. They had apparently just finished supper, and sat with their backs to him. When she turned a little aside, her face fell under the lamp, and he saw she was a very pretty woman, with light hair and eyes; her dress, though very simple, displayed much taste in arrangement, and her whole appearance bespoke the lady, rather than the mistress of an outlaw. At length she rose, and came toward him; he was page: 358-359[View Page 358-359] 858 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. surprised to see how beautiful she was, and how comn manding was her every movement; while her features indicated great firmness of character, warmth of heart and sympathy blended in their expression-seeming to speak of deep and powerful feelings. He could not hear distinctly their conversation, but from discon- nected sentences, learned that she was arguing against his desire to admit George Adams- and his comrades into their company. It is not my intention to introduce into these pages, save for comparison, the character of James Stewart, or his sister Kate, nor is it necessary to make further mention of that gentleman and his partner, whose acts hastened the death of Mr. Malcom, however loud may have been their voices at that robber's trial. I record simply a conversation which took place between the inmates of the tent, that those whose hands are still bloody from his death, may learn something of his character :-- "Well," said Jim, one evening to Mr, Malcom, when sitting alone with him; "Kate says you are about leaving us." "Certainly," he replied, " you can not supposedI will longer remain where I am compelled to witness such scenes as daily occur here." "I think you are a fool," replied Stewart, "you see what one of the first merchants in the city has done for you; and you now see what an outlaw and pirate will HAHMPTON ' HEIGHTS. 359 do for you; take my advice and restore ' measure for measure' to these blood-thirsty aristocrats, who are sprung from the canaille of the land." "Stewart," replied Mr. Malcom, "I have not always been what you now see me, and though reduced by severe misfortune, I am, nevertheless, not the man to uphold your acts, or let you pass without admonition." s Neither have I been always what I am now," re- turned Stewart. "As pure a family as England claims I come from, and as foul a deed as England knows sent me in chains to Van Dieman's Land. Look at Kate, who fears not to be a companion of robbers, to wander among mountains, to cross deserts, to endure shipwrecks, for my sake, true-hearted and unchanging through all things, and then gaze on me-me, with evil passions stamped on every feature, with eyes keen from searching in dark places, and thews like bands of iron-me, an outcast, a felon, hating my fellow-man, and desiring his blood. Who sees to-day what he saw yesterday, and yesterday what he saw the day before -might supplanting right-strong men crushing weak ones-tearing down their tents here, making beggars of families there. I have dwelt among the Andes, high up among the bald cliffs have I lain and watched the pack-trains defile amohg the precipices, guarded bythe cowardly soldiers who trembled at my name-I, who was born in pleasant England, who once plucked the flowers along the hedge-rows, and hand in hand with page: 360-361[View Page 360-361] 360 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. my sisters came home from school. How came it so? What made me a desperado, so many thousand miles from my native land? I did not make myself one--I was driven to it-driven to it for revenge! I am not six and twenty yet; still I have wandered all over the world. In the East Indies I once tried to reform- Kate came to me-and I prospered a little while-alas! alas! how little a while it was. Even there they fol. lowed me; I had been ' a convict,' they said, 'a felon.' There I cursed God, there I vowed vengeance on my kind, and now comes the time to prove myself a man. Come, clasp hands with me, and learn how sweet is revenge!" "Never," replied Mr. Malcom, " and for your sister's sake, who seems to be all that you say, I entreat of you to forbear." "Forbear, ha! ha! Why should I forbear? What do you or I know of forbearance?"' "I know but little of your history, Stewart; still more than once I have heard you mention your mother, and I entreat of you, in her name, to pause in your terrible career." "She is dead, man-hi her grave. The very men- tioning of her name makes me but hate the deeper. She died because they tore me from her, she spent her fortune hoping to save me; and perished afterward begging at rich men's doors. Yes, I hate! Hell I how I hate, and how I will be revenged." , HAMETQH .aREIGUTS. .361 - You ill meet the doom of the felon, Stewart.' "I have met that already--know chains-7ay, stripes -stripes that have left searsto be healed only- when vengeance comes to me." "But thesepeople have done you no harlm." "But they have you, .and want alone the opportunity to treat me likewise; and somq night, when:the red- flame glares over their dwellings, and their ill-gotten gains melt like heath into. clouds, they will remember, perchance, the laugh and jibe they uttered when they left you in the hammock."' "There is One, Stewart, whose ways are not as our ways-to Him alone belongs vengeance; and I warn you, if you will not be entreated.") "I know Him not, man; He has ever been-a stranger to me. Vengeance is what I seek, and I will have it," Here the conversation was interrupted by Kate, who breathless came running in "James, James," she ex- claimed, "I fear there 's murder going on over the hill; they are tearing down the tents, and I saw a man fall before a pistol shot." i "Let them fall," he doggedly returned; " the more the better-they heap higher their own funeral pile, that 's all-they who, without a jot of title, claim the whole of these sand hills.". "Oh, James! do not talk 'so; you surely are not going to head these desperate men, and brak :wy heart, all there is in the worldleft to you,"'? 16 E2 page: 362-363[View Page 362-363] 362 HAMPTON I EIGHTS* "The word is said, Kate-but come get us some dinner, for I am going up the hill to help Mr. Malcom pitch his tent again-he does not like our company well enough to remain here any longer." "And who can blame him, James?" "No one,- child; but when the sheriff and the land- lord come again, he 'll not forget me, I reckon." With a sad countenance, Kate prepared their meal. Having made ready the warm cakes and spiced beef her brother was so fond of, she sat at the tent door and looked upon the waves that rolled over the beach. "Why don't you come and eat something, Kate?" asked her brother. "I don't wish any thing. I have no heart to eat or drink, James. I wish I had gone down with the ship," she replied. "You had better go and keep house for Malcom a while; he will want some one to look after him." '"I shall never leave you, James-never, let what will come," , Dinner being completed, the three went slowly over the sand hill, Stewart' bearing Mr. Malcom's tent, which some of the company had repaired. They se- lected an isolated knoll, so far fromrany habitation that Mr. Malcom was confident he should not be again dis- turbed. Scarcely, however, had James thrown up the first shovel-full of dirt, when they heard a voice shout- ing from above. Looking up, they perceived coming HAMPTON HEIIGHTS. 363 toward them a villainous figure, mounted on a shaggy, donkey. "That's the devil," said Kate, as he drew near them. Mr. Malcom could scarcely divest himself of her sug- gestion, as he surveyed the diabolical-appearing crea- ture, who came bellowing down the hill, shouting, in broken English, "You tiefs! you cursed tiefs! vot steal my brush, and squat on my lots; go off! off! I say, or I shute-I swear I shute!" and he brought to bear upon them a rusty-looking shot gun. ": There it is again," said Stewart, " no rest for the sole of our feet." As they stood consulting upon the prospect of being able to find a place unclaimed sufficiently large for the tent, there joined them an engineer, who had overheard the conversation from the spot he was surveying below. "How much do you own here, old fellow," he in- quired of the Dutchman, who had made his donkey fast to a shrub, and again commenced ordering them from the sand knoll. "All of dis tract, tip there to dat tree." ," Street and all, I suppose," replied the engineer. "Dere's no street here--dis ish all my own land, and I turns off every tam squatter- that comes on to it." "Here," said the engineer, who had been adjusting his instrument while the German spoke, " is the line of the street; just put your tent a little further this way, page: 364-365[View Page 364-365] 364 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. and nobody will trouble you, I 11 guarantee. Or if you like it better, there is a lot of my own yonder, which you can occupy." "If you think I shall not be disturbed," returned Mr. Malcom, "I would prefer remaining here." "There is no danger," replied the engineer, at the same time offering to assist them in raising the tent- poles. The German, when he found himself unable to sus- tain his title to the street, mounted his donkey and rode off, assuring them as he went, "he would have pay for his property." In a little while the old canvas was reinstated, and once more afforded a shelter for the poor hunted man, who even yet wag too feeble to assist in its erection. The same evening, not alone his own provisions, but many additions from the English encampment, were brought up and stowed away in the most convenient manner. Kate remained, and prepared his supper and bed, and even after it was dark, sat and conversed with him, trying to cheer his spirits with prophesies of better health, and courage shortly. Many a day after this did she come and make him comfortable with her soothing attentions. She was a brave, true-hearted girl, worthy a better fate than the life she led prom- ised; and he felt for her with a father's heart, though she was more like a wife or mother to him. Whole days would she sit by the tent door, and, sew, while he HAMPTON BEIGHTS9 85 lay on his bed, and often linger into the evening, as if she dreaded to go back among her brother's com- panions. Thus time wore on, bringing quite a little company of tents into the vicinity-immigrants ascertaining the lines of the streets, and availing themselves of them for camping ground. So, too, the engineer pitched one on the adjoining lot, and soon became quite intimate with Mr. Malcom. Whenever he had an idle day, he passed it looking among the sick of the neighborhood, for there were numbers of them; and scarcely a week ended in which Mr. Malcom did not observe uncoffined corpses being interred among the hills near him. The rainy season, which had now set in, hastened the death of many a poor wretch, who had hovered along the edge of existence until then, but now overcome and broken-hearted, gave up and perished. "Men died about us," said the letters of the engineer, " for want of the most common assistance, rather than from actual disease. A few kind words, a little healing medicine, and tender nursing, would have restored two thirds of those who now fill the strangers' graves in California. I speak from much experience among those who are no more. It is a sad thing to be alone when one is ill and suffering; but to be alone in a strange country, repos- ing upon a miserable bed or heap of shavings, with no change of clothes, no medicine but the nostrums of quacks, is fearful. Yet this was not all that they en- page: 366-367[View Page 366-367] 366 HAMPTON- HEIGHTS. dured. They were sleeping in tents and on the grounmd -they were for days without warm food, the rain often preventing their kindling a fire outside their dwellings. They were kept awake whole nights dreading lest their feeble shelter should be blown down, and too many of them out at midnight in the tempest, trying to make fast the broken stays which supported these same wretched habitations. They died, many of them alone, with the words, 'Wife' and 'Mother' frozen on their lips. I have helped to bury men who had been dead for days in their tents, without a being visiting them, who left no name, no single record to tell from whence they came." More than one cofin did the engineer and Mr. Mal- com rudely tack together for some poor soul like these, whose weeping family "t Iave dreamed and started as they slept, For joy that he had come." Mr. Malcom's health slowly improved as the winter advanced, but he missed much the society of Kate, -who had followed the fortunes of her brother into the mines; still, with the assistance of the engineer and a comfortable tent, he continued to live on, trusting for better prospects in the spring. The arrival of a steam- er and mails was the great event of his life, to it he looked forward with anxiety, and yet with hope; with sorrow, and yet with pleasure. What might have oc- EAtPTOlt E1IGHTS. curred in the little circle at home since last he heard from them, who might be married, or w ho dead, were all subjects of constant thought, mingled together with the stern realities of his daily life. As early as three o' lock, one morning, he saied forth in the rain for the desired package; he took with him a little camp-stool, for he knew full well the tedious hours he must wait at the offie door. 'Earlyasitwas, hundreds were there before him, each as anxious and willilg as he was, to stand for fivre dismal hours in the tempest. lHe took his position in the line and sat down; every moment the crowd increased, and, when the faint daylight came, he looked back, and saw a vast row of heads, winding far'out of sight down the hiL As the morning broke, the multitude became more and more excitable anduneasy. Themud had worked into a paste; the camp-stools were generally broken, and many other things calculated to render their position uncomfortable had occurred. At length, a shout, and accompanying rush, announced the office open, and people began to retire down the hillwith their letters. They ;nere sorry-looking creatures, be- daubed with mud, and clothed in garments which adhered to them as if glued, as they strolled off into some hovel to read the story of their own comfortable homes and families. -: About noon Mr. falcom returned with the package of his correspondence, but so fatigued and drenched page: 368-369[View Page 368-369] 68 - HAMPTON HEIGHTS. that he was scarcely able to open it. No fre had he by which to dry himself-no friend to whom he could say one word-no food, save a morsel of baker's bread and some cold rice. His bed was the only place to go to for warmth, into it he crawled, and broke the seals of his letters. They were all well at home, that was a consolation; it partly atoned for the lack of warmth and comfort. Then, William was earning a good salary, with flattering prospects. The bed became quite warm now-then there were several lines he but partly understood, and a shudder came over him- little Anna was dead-the letter dropped from his hand, he did not wait to learn of what she died; that she was no more for him he knew, and he covered up his head and wept, until the thought pressed home upon him that a little while and he would meet her It might have been an hour before he again took up the letter. It was full of his dear wife's thoughts and sympathies; but to him they were of grief-for from it he learned that Harriet was coming out to meet him, going out," wrote his wife, "in a month, as gov- erness in a family, with the promise of very large remuneration., "I shall never see her," he articE- lated; "Coleman will show her my grave, and she will plant flowers over it. Poor child, what is before your CHAPTER XXXII. "O show me the grave where my father is laid, Show his lonely grave to me." 3. E,L. IT was one of those beautiful days that are known in California after the February rains, that a man, with a sad expression of countenance, stood planing the boards of a coffin before his tent. So mild was the day, he had relieved himself ofhis coat, which hung on a neighboring bush that was clustered with blossoms. There was not a cloud in the sky-the very sand hills looked fresh, as if they wanted to change themselves, and bear something green in return for it. They had spots upon them of a little verdure, places where miles had been fed, who had scattered barley, that now germinated, had sprung up in thick patches. Every shrub sported its blossom, every blade of grass seemed rejoicing, and trying to show blue and pink cups. The vessels in the harbor had shaken out their sails, and the merry sound of seamen's voices rose up on the clear atmosphere Many a poor fellow brought out his blankets to air, and sat sunning his feeble body, look- ing on the placid water of the bay. 1li" -. .; lfi-.V-^-- page: 370-371[View Page 370-371] 870 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. Still the man worked at his coffin, smoothly glided his plane over the boards, loud echoed his hammer on the nails, and grated his saw over the melancholy task. More than once he cast his eyes toward a solitary tent, whose fastened door and lonely appearance indicated who slept in it, and, more than once, he made journeys thither, to see that naught disturbed the sleeper. I must make this truly like a coffin," said he, as he bent over his dull saw and dropped a little oil on its blade; "he was well worthy of more than I can do for him, poor man." Nicely, therefore he jointed the edges, and planed both sides of the board, and measured the cover. Just then there echoed, along the bay, a boom- ing sound, report after 'report vibrating among the hills; and, as the smoke cleared away, there rounded to a noble steamer decorated with flags. Cheer upon cheer rose from -her decks, and quickly hundreds of little boats dotted the water, flying toward her. Still the man wrought on, and at last saw his work nearly completed. "It should be lined," said he, and he put on his coat and looked about for some one to watch while he was gone. Having found the person, he left the coffin standing before the tent door, and went into the city. Before long he returned, and then quietly again commenced his labor. Click! click! knocked the little hammer, as he fastened the lining to the corners, and smoothly ar- ranged it on the bottom, and higher and higher rose i . . B {AMPTON HEIGBHTS. 31 the sun ere the work was completed. Ashe drove the last tack, he was startled by a female voice beside him, looking up, he met the deep gaze of a pair of blue eyes, half swimming with tears, and a beautiful inquir- ing face, that asked "If he knew a Mr. Malcom who lived in the neighborhood." A chill ran through him, and he replied, "There was such a gentleman living here, but he has been gone some time; if you wish me, however, I will make inquiries respecting him." "Thank you, sir," she replied; "I am his daughter, and reside with Mrs. S--, street. "I will, at once, see that you are informed," replied the young man; " and I do not believe it will be of use for you to further look for him. Indeed, you had best hasten your return home, for there are indications of one of' or sudden showers approaching." Impving this tiendly advice, Harriet hastened across the hills, leaving the engineer gazing upon her retreating figure with feelings more easily imagined than described. "And this is his coffin," at length he repeated, turning away from watching the fair fobrm that was still per- ceptible in the distance. "Poor girl! you have come in time to attend his funeral; how glad I am you did not discover his tent, so pitiful as he lies there. But I must hasten to place him in here," and he rested his hammer on the coffin lid, and again gazed toward the lessening figure of Harriet. page: 372-373[View Page 372-373] 3;2 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. As he had prophesied, the rain soon began to fall. He therefore removed the coffin to Mr. Malcom's tent, and prepared for the last arrangements of the body. Wild howled the wind, shaking the slight dwelling, and driving the rain through its sides, as he placed the corpse in its resting-place. But he heeded it not--such scenes were no uncommon occurrences with him. He was -a bold, true-hearted man-one of those few pion- eers that frontier life and hardening associations alter not; the admiration of many a stern backwoodsman,who revered him as a superior being, and who was ready to shed his own blood for any slight cast upon his name. Unassisted he dressed the cold form in some of his own linen, parted the gray locks, shaved the hollow cheeks, then removed it into the coffin, and fastened down a portion of the lid. Scarcely was the task com- pleted, when again the sun broke forth, as it to thank him for his kindness, and give a foreshadowing of the glorious unending day upon which the spirit of tAt good man had entered. Long gazed the young man upon him : there he lay, rigid, motionless, his cold visage a mere wan case, out of which the soul had escaped. No evidence of bodily pain perceptible about it-its very serenity a suggestion that its last consciousness was a feeling of satisfaction that his life of misery was ended. Now came the struggle,.the task of informing his daughter of the sad truth, that she might come. and gaze upon the clay, which would not so much as move a -feature to tell her that she was recognized. But first, he went down upon his own lot and dug a grave, for San Francisco had no regular place of burial then. The little unin- closed space, about which the cattle browsed and the wandering mule dragged his larriat, was no spot where the body of one beloved should rest; and glad, years afterward, was that young man, when he saw the bones of those insulted dead conveyed by cart-loads through the streets, that his own yard, small as it was, furnished a corner for that silent grave. He had, upon the death of Sir. Malcom, invited a clergyman and a few friends to attend the funeral; and as the hour now rapidly approached, he hastened to bring Harriet thither. Something in that young man's looks had told her that he knew more respecting her father than he professed, yet she had not the courage to ask him what it was. He inspired her with confi- dence by the dignity of his appearance, and she had turned away, feeling that it was not best for her to pry too closely into the meaning of his words. But now, as she observed him approach, she-could no longer re. strain her feelings, and she rushed out of the house to meet him. , " Have you found him ?" she asked, as soon as they came together. "I have " Why did he not come with you ?" page: 374-375[View Page 374-375] 374 HAMPTON HEIGHTS, "He is asleep.:' In a moment the truth flashed upon Harriet's mind, and she stiflingly articulated, "'Was that his coffin?" ' It -was, my dear young lady," he returned. "I was with him in his last momentslsaw him die, with a Christian hope and resignation." "Oh, let me go to him, quickly! -quickly!" she ex- claimed; 1' let me see all that is .left of my dear parent," anrd she fled wildly toward the tents, followed by our friend. They came there together. The coffin lay upon a rude support a little elevated from the ground, just high enough for Harriet to kneel down at its side, and kiss the cold lips of her father. She wept not, but si- lently, with clasped hands, kept her place, and gazed upon him, and would have remained there had no one interrupted her. But the engineer, though regretting to invade the sanctity of her grieif had his duty to perform, and therefore came into her presence. "Miss Harriet," said he-for so he had learned to call her through Mr. Malcom---" though I wish not- to part you from your parent, I must remind you he is now but ashes." She turned her gentle face toward him with a fixed and gentle look-one that indicated that she fully cow- prehended his meaning--but still remained kneeling at the coffin. "Your father is dead, Miss Harriet," he continued, HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 75 "ccquite dead, and friends are approaching to attenad his funeral-let me assist you to arise." The clergyman came in, as he finished speaking, walked slowly to the head of the coffin, and gazed a moment upon the corpse, then took out his watch, with an expression which said it was time to commence. "Come, Miss Harriet," said the engineer, "will you not take this seat?" and he ket a chair for her, and partly lifted her into it. A few men from the neighboring tents now ap- proached, and stood about with uncovered heads, while the clergyman proceeded with the solemn ceremony. It was over at last; it might as well have not been said, for all that Harriet heard of it; Her thoughts were in the silent coffin, or wandering along dim, indistinct paths, far enough away from there. But when his voice ceased, and there was a movement among the crowd, the bitter truth dawned upon her, and she rose and came near the corpse for the last farewell. No one wished to disturb her, even the rough-looking men that had left their work to- come there, desired not to go away, but mingled their sympathies with her, brushing off many a tear with the cuffs of their old coats. But then comes the time for separation at last for all of us, and the engineer now told her he must close the coffin. He essayed to do it. She put back his hand a moment, laid her soft fingers on his wrist, and held them there- 't was a little weight-a feather, as it were, and yet, it page: 376-377[View Page 376-377] $^76 HAMPTON HEIGHTS, held it as firm as though a grasp of iron. At last he covered the face from her forever, screwed down the lid, and beckoned in the men to assist in the burial. 'T was a few steps only to the grave, just down the bank, and thither Harriet followed them, leaning on the arm of her friend. She saw the grave slowly filled before her, the little mound, made smooth, and the company, one after another, depart; still she remained, until at length led passively away. They went home together, and many a time, in the bright days of the winter, they came back to the spot, and mingled their tears; and when a sweet cottage had sprung up close beside it, they came there dearer friends, and at last, as husband and wife, planted the grave with flowers. CHAPTER XXXIII. "When vexed with cares and harassed by distress, The storms of fortune chill the soul with dread, Let love consoling, love still sweetly bless, And his assuasive balm benignly shed." HARRIET MALCOm has been so long connected with our story, I trust my readers will be pleased to learn something of her husband, .and the life they led as married people. They are together now in one of the rooms of their small, unfinished house-he nailing on to the walls the calico she is sewing together-for paper is both scarce and high at this time, nor does it answer as well to paste over the rough boards which compose the sides of the building. They seem very happy; and at night, when it is all completed, and they sit to- gether and look on the cotton ceiling and print walls, smile With as much satisfaction as if surveying the par- lors of some superb establishment. Again they are in the kitchen-she holding the candle above her head, while he saw ;a place through the slight partition for a stove pipe (for they are anxious to have a comfortable place in which to spend the Sabbath, which comes to- morrow); and anon her delicate hands are assisting to put together the joints of the funnel. " page: 378-379[View Page 378-379] 378 HAMPTON HEIGHTS'. Do not suppose her husband merely an ingenious man-half carpenter, half engineer; and that Harriet Malcom has become the wife of one who can appreciate none of her many acquirements, and is henceforth to be little else than a domestic slave. No, she has done no such thing; she has married a man that is superior even to herself, and who brings a congenial and refined spirit to commingle with hers. Whatever asperity of manner and determination of will he holds, will elevate him in her opinion, as she perceives its adaptation to the world about them. The Sabbath has seen them walking side by side, to church, seen him carrying her in his strong arms over some of the difficult places on the way; and the Sabbath evening has met them wandering along the sunny slopes, plucking bouquets of wild-flowers. He believes he worships God as truly there, among his works, even assisting his lovely wife to plait the buds together, as he would do at home, inclosed by the narrow walls of his own dwelling. Their life wears smoothly on,: not without its cares, its vicissitudes; for what life is free from them? But smoothly for the love they bear each other, the gentle word, and sweet,affection, and trust in God. Harriet was sick for many months, he watched beside her as he lay in the bed near which he worked, turning from his maps and instruments to lift her head, or change of position. Anrd she recovered, and on pleasant HA MPTON HEIGHTS. 379 afternoons sat by the door-steps with her sewing, from whence when she looked, she could perceive him on the distant hills surveying. In the course of time there was a baby born to their little household, a new tie, a new link in the chain of their affection. And now the house was enlarged, and made pretty with furniture of her own selection; and grounds were inclosed, and garden-plots arranged, until Harriet deemed herself the happiest of mortals. So, too, they had many friends, scarcely a dinner was served that her husband did not bring some one to partake of it--often strangers, and travelers from remote countries, for his house and society were the delight of intellectual people. So, too, she often read letters and journals sent her husband from friends he had assisted; and that the reader may get some idea of early life in California, we give the following from one of his numerous correspondents; its author is now among the largest merchants of the country, though at the time it was written, he was making such shifts for a livelihood as most of the settlers were obliged to make. EL PATHABO, Jan. 23, 1850. " DEAR SIR: "Your welcome favor of the 1 lth inst., together with the stuff on board the Hudson, reached us on Friday last, the 17th, the latter all in good condition. As you supposed in your letter,- we had become rather page: 380-381[View Page 380-381] 380 HAMPTON HEIGHTS, hard-up in the provision line, so much so that for two or three days previous we had been obliged to live on the Indian meal which you gave us for the poultry, and a few potatoes which we bought at the Embarca- dero of San Jose. Having eaten up the meal we were obliged to borrow a little flour from our next neighbor. On Friday the potatoes were all gone, and we had nothing but pork and flour for dinner, together with a fish which I had caught in the morning. Just as din- ner was ready, we happened to take a look toward the river, when, lo! a sloop met our gaze-nearly close into the bank; I went down and found she was the Hudson. In the course of an hour or two all the things were unloaded, and the freight paid, amounting to nineteen dollars. Before I say any more I must assure you that we both feel obliged to you for the trouble you have taken for us, and hope that we shall yet be able to repay your kindness.- ( In reference to the lumber, if you could afford to -credit us, we will take it; at present we do not know of any chance to Isell it, and if we could, we think it would be a very doubtful matter to get the money, as that is an article in these diggins 'exceedingly scarce. All the settlers here are persons who belonged to the Utopia Company, which owned the vessel they arrived in. After leaving the ship they pitched here, and have lived nearly ever since on the provisions they brought from her; and as they have had little or no chance of HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 381 making any thing, have become rather (although not very) poorly off. However, they have managed to build some little houses, and should this year's farming turn out well, they will be pretty comfortable. "Mr. Jones has two lots on the river, they are each half a mile square. The front he has laid out in the way of a town, a street runs parallel with the river; about twenty rods from it back of this street, Mr. Jones gives to the settlers a house-lot of five rods square-the front he reserves for himself. By these arrangements the settlers are much more secure from depredations than they would be if scattered about on their different lots. This year they are all plowing as near their houses as they c'an, without reference to the ownership of the land. They are all very civil obliging sort of people. There are six houses and two ships' cabins here; we live in one of the cabins. Have put up the stove, and get along pretty' comfortably, except that our bed is a little minus of hay-owing to our having fed most of it to the oxen on our jour- ney round-besides, we lose a little of-it daily in conse- quence of its being loose on the floor, having forgotten the cloth you were kind enough to give us before leaving San Flrancisco. Should you be willing to wait for the payment of the lumber bill, and Mr. Jones should give me a house-lot, we will build upon it, as it will be much better -to be altogether. "You speak of candles, soap, etc., what I have said page: 382-383[View Page 382-383] 382- HAMPTON HEIGHTS. in the previous part of my letter in reference to the scarcity of cash, will be a serious bar, for the present, against doing any thing in that line. We send you our note for twenty-five dollars. Your account shows a balance of twenty-one dollars and sixty-nine cents, but you omitted charging us for the hay which we put in the cart. In reference to the doctor, my partner had fully made up his mind to see him before he left, and give him ten dollars-all he could afford. It was only the night previous to leaving that we set aside that amount for him, but in the morning, owing to the ex- citement of getting ready, both of us entirely forgot it, until after we had left the city. Inclosed you will find ten dollars, which you will be kind enough to hand him, when you might mention our small ability and circumstances. "It is now time I should tell you something about our journey here. We arrived on Saturday, the 1lth, having traveled every day after leaving San Francisco except Sunday. As it may amuse you a little to hear of our travels, I will give the history in journal fashion. "I shall begin by telling, you that we traveled about eleven miles on the day we left, and, at night, camped in the open plain. As the oxen would not pick any thing, there being little to pick, we fed them on hay and corn, which they seemed to have a keen appetite for, particularly the latter. This done, we made our , fire and ate our supper, dispensing with tea or coffee: WI ef, HAMPTON HEIGHTS. ' 383 We then prepared our bed by removing some of the things from the cart, and spreading the bedding -over the hay. After we got in bed we found we had -sadly miscalculated the length and breadth of our corporeal system-being obliged to contract ourselves some eighteen or twenty inches. However, we made the best of it, and managed to get a little sleep. Hearing our cock crowing sometime between midnight and daybreak we concluded that it was time to be stirring. Accordingly, we got up and made a fire, which burned so poorly, in consequence of the dew, that we aban- doned it as a hopeless attempt to raise the steam of the tea-kettle. After fussing with the fire some time, there appeared as little indications of daylight as when we got up; so we made up our minds to go to bed again, and wait for morning. After an hour or two it came, its advent announced by the rooster, to whom and his female friends we had- allotted a share of the cart. "Being sufficientlyassured morning was indeed come, we once more arose-fed our oxen-ate some bread and drank some water, and -proceeded on our journey. Nothing particular transpiring until noon, except that my partner nearly ran the wind from his body chasing the immense flocks of ducks, geese, and snipe which were flying about. The old musket brought down one duck and two snipes, but the duck was not get-at-able. At noon, we unyoked and cooked some dinner, near a beautiful stream of water. After eating heartily of page: 384-385[View Page 384-385] 384 HAMPTON HEIGHTS, fried pork and snipe, potatoes and bread, and feeding the cattle, we resumed our travel, and continued jog- ging on until it was qfiite dark. Being somewhat alarmed, during the afternoon, at the indications of rain,.we turned off the road into the bushes, and 'came to' under a large tree; we then gave the cattle some corn, and turned them out to pick, at which they did quite a business, there being lots of wild oats about our camping place. This night we determined to have a little more comfort than on the previous one, so we bundled most of oui-traps under the cart, made up our bed, took off our clothes (which we did not do the night previous), got under the blankets, and felt so warm and comfortable that we could hardly realize that we were sleeping in a cart in the wilds of Cali- fornia. After a fine night's repose, on Sunday morning we let the oxen loose to feed, as we had resolved, in obedience to that old command in the Good Book, not to travel on that day. 'We found that unwittingly we had hit upon, a splendid patch of wild oats, which the cattle "went into." At about ten o'clock it commenced raining, and continued to do so very heavily until evening. We sat in the cart all day, trying to keep things dry by catching the drops through the canvas in the pan, and other vessels which we had. The. tree under which, we were was very thick, and afforded a con. siderable shelter- so that between the canvas, tree, and 4 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 385 pans, we kept things tolerably dry. When the rain ceased, in the evening, we walked over to a stage- house on the road, and went in and got finely warmed; we were strongly tempted to get our tea there, but not knowing how much they might charge for it, we practiced a little self-denial, and did not take it; but, after warming ourselves, got a quart of warm water from another house close by, and made ourselves a cup of tea, which, with some of the bread from the New York bakery, went down very well. I should have mentioned that our dinner was composed of bread and raw pork. After passing a very comfortable night, our bed-clothes not being the least wet, in the morn- ing, our alarm-bell, the rooster, had us stirring. pretty early, when we repacked our load and proceeded on our journey. The oxen had had a good bellyful of wild oats, and traveled very well, notwithstanding that the rain had made the roads rather muddy. "About eleven, P M., we came to a stream, with steep banks and three to four feet of water, the bot- tom being some fifteen feet below the level of the road. We drove across, and by great exertions the oxen almost gained the opposite bank, when they suddenly 'hawed,' and went down into the stream again, nearly upsettingthe cart. We got blocks for the wheels and tried them again, but it was no go, as they went back across the stream instead of forward. We then took most of the load off, and had to carry it over the page: 386-387[View Page 386-387] 886 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. creek; we then tried them once more, and, after a deal of exertion, they succeeded in getting up the acclivity. Had they not been shod in the forefeet, I do not. think they could have gone up, as there was so much mud, they lost nearly all they gained by sliding backward. "This difficulty over we again proceeded, meeting with no other mishaps except a little puzZling about the proper road to take, and, at night, reached the Embarcadero of Alviso, and camped under a large tree. This was the wildest-looking place we had rested at, however, after taking our bread antid water, we got into bed and slept comfortably. "On Tuesday morning we were early on our way, but had quite a difficult job to find the road to the Mission of San Jose, our next station. At noon, when we icame to,' it commenced to rain, preventing us cooking any dinner of raw pork and bread; after start- ing again 'it rained very heavily, and continued to do so until about half-past four. Within one mile of the Mission we encountered another gully, even- worse than the first one, at least twenty feet deep. Here was a poser, however, we took the 'bull by the horns' and went to work, I with a stick, more than I could well lift, tO chock the wheels, and B., with a piece of raw hide which he had picked up, whipping, and stretching his lungs to their utmosttension in bellow- ing at the poor oxen. We at last overcame the diffi- culty and got up the side, and we were not sorry fir HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 387 it, as the rain had been pelting upon us the whole time we were occupied in the operation. We then went on to the Mission, and passed it about two miles, when we hauled up, rather earlier than usual; but we were wet and uncomfortable, and felt that the oxen must be tired. 4After passing the gully, just mentioned, our road lay over a range of hills, and our camping place was surrounded by them. If you had not been over the ground, even slept among these amphitheaters of hills, I might dwell a little while upon their beauties. The sun is just setting, it has come out of the dun clouds that all day have been weeping, and now streams through the narrow gorge that leads up fi'om the bay. There is a rainbow in the east, you and I have often gazed upon them in our boy days, but we are boys no more. But it will not do to sentimentalize, for B. has unyoked the oxen, and nearly pitched me head fore- most to the ground by lowering the pole, and I must turn to and help to get supper. Next morning we were up by cock-crow, and on our way; before noon we passed the hills and came upon a plain, -where we traveled all day, having to cross several streams and one considerable gully. The sun shone beautifully all day, having quite a cheering effect, and enabling us to dry our clothes, etc. At night, after a good day's travel, we halted under a a tree, and were treated during the night to a min- page: 388-389[View Page 388-389] 388 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. gling of sounds, raised ' by strong bulls of Bashan,' and miserable cayotes, who kept snarling about, tempted by the scent of our fowls. This night was quite cold, and in the morning the ground was covered with frost. We got under way early, and went on very well during the day considering that we passed four gullies, one of which I was sure would be a stopper. However, old Nig and Bright 'put in,' and we crossed it with no great difficulty. At night we were within a short distance of Pechacos ranch, ten miles from our desti- nation, when, as usual, we hove to under a big tree. In the morning, the fog was so dense that we could not perceive an object two rods ahead, and, being un- able to find -any road or wagon track, and none of the people at Pechacos speaking English, were left in a complete box as to which way to steer. We judged, however, that the course must be about north, and ac- cordingly decided upon heading in that direction, which we did, by the help of the pocket compass which you gave us. After traveling about three miles we were intercepted by a range of hills running east and west. On the east side they ran as far as the eye could reach, but a few miles below us, on the west side, we found they ended in a plain. Believing there was little hope of our finding the pass through the range, we determined to go round the foot, and trust to good fortune for a fortunate result. "After we had weathered the point ( I use sea-terms sa HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 389 now as we are steering by compass), we arrived upon another stretch of prairie, reaching as far as we could see, and bounded by the hills and bay. We now steered east. Still we had much doubt whether we were going right, as we had had no road during the day. About eleven, A M., a village hove in sight, a long distance a-head, and about five, P M., we came opposite to it, when B. crossed over to ascertain if it really was the desired point or some other town below. When he returned he brought the satisfactory tidings that it really was the place we were seeking. We now traveled about a mile further and rested for the night, having had quite a day of adventures-besides journey- ing some dozen miles more than was necessary, never- theless we comforted ourselves with the thought that we were right at last. This night our dog had an encounter with the cayotes, over whom he seemed to gain a complete victory. In the morning we were on our way again, and at eleven, P M., arrived at the end of the journey-ourselves-the oxen-the dog-and the hens, all safe and sound. "Both of us enjoyed excellent health, notwithstand- ing that we had only five cooked meals during the whole week, which were dinners-our breakfasts and suppers consisting of water, pork, and bread. For the dog we obtained some meat at the different places on the road, and the hens we fed on Indian meal. Mr. Jones soon directed us to the ship's house, which we page: 390-391[View Page 390-391] 390 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. took possession of; and thus ends our history of our travel round the Bay of San Francisco. "The week after our arrival we procured a boat, and crossed over to an island opposite here, and cut some pieces of wood for a harrow, which B. put together; I can assure you it is no mean piece of work, and when I remember how we hesitated about buying one, which would have taken our last twenty-five dollars-it seems a wonderful affair. The tools, which you gave us, proved very convenient; the old ripping-saw, we find, cuts both ways--now it has to-and is any thing but one not worth bringing. We have made a hen-house out of the bows and canvas which were on the cart. The stove is a capital one, the oven in particular, which bakes to a charm: thanks to the advice of your good wife, to whom rememnber me most kindly-please, also, to inform her of my entire success in manufacturing yeast bread on her plan. This is a pleasantly-situated place, the banks of the river are high, the water good, and the land arable; we like it well just now, but the future-who can tell what is in it? "The settlers have two yoke of oxen among them, with which they plow by turns, so that we shall have no chance of making any thing in that way. They use both yokes at once, and say that we shall not be able to turn the sod with ours. We do not believe it-one of their yokes is a pair of steers-and neither broken cattle like your old yoke, which are fattening up finely, HAMPTON3 HEIGHTS. 891 and will be in good conditionby the time we are ready to plow. The hard bread will help along, also, to feed them, and they have nothing for theirs but the short grass of the plains. "Our hens are the first in this region, and we have already the amount of five eggs in our cupboard, unfor- tunately the two commenced laying the same day, and we shal? have to set them both, leaving the poor old cock to solitude. There is a plenty of game, but it is hard to get any, as they fly very high about here. We have had two small ducks, and one fish since our arri- val. We are so much. obliged to your wife for the pan --what will not a woman think of? You have no idea how useful it is; thank her, also, for the books, and remember me over and over again to her. When you gave us the dog, you made us quite a valuable present. The cayotes carry off every thing of our neighbors', even a frying-pan, if it smells in the least greasy--a pair of boots-or any thing that can be devoured. But I should like to see the man or wolf that would encounter old Blucher! "'The potatoes and sweet corn seed answer well, and we have concluded, if you will further credit us, to take the small bbx of seeds for twenty-five dollars, which you write may be obtained at the agricultural store on. Jackson street. If you could fall in with any fresh seeds sold separately, you would do us a great favor-by forwarding them. - . 1 page: 392-393[View Page 392-393] 592 HAMPTON HEIGHTS, "And now good-by; forgive -my prolixity and care- lessness; I have written -as much to kill time as for any thing, for we have been shut into our little quarters, for the last three days by the rain. Remembering me as one who esteems it an honor to be your friend. Believe me, etc." Here, my reader, i leave California. I trust I have not lingered there too long, or made you weary by my stay. I have sought to give you, as briefly as I could, some sunny and shady pictures of early times; it is changed now, even Mr. Malcom's grave has been re- moved,? and the cottage of our friends has disappeared. Streets;,ong and regular, intersect each other on those sand-hills; and churches and tall buildings look out from the sites of those tents. Skulls of dead men have rolled out from under the pick of the laborer, as he dug away the hills-dead men, for whom wives and parents still keep an anxious watch, trusting yet again to hear the once familiar voices that are hushed in the stillness of death. Alas, my papers--my journals- California widow and mother, give me little hope to offer you, and I leave you to turn again to our neglected friends. * . ;P' . ^ CHAPTER XXXIV. "Of all the joys that brighten suffering earth, What joy is welcom'd like a new-born child P? What life so wretched, but that at its birth Some heart rejoiced, some lips in gladness smiled?" MBs. NoRTON. M1R. PATTERSON and his young wife, after wandering about the continent, at length found a home in Paris. She was much admired, for few American laditG resid- ing there were more highly accomplished, and a certain naivete of manners, rendered her a universal favorite. Her retiring disposition, however, amounting often to coldness, made her no companion for the friends intro- duced by her husband; and it was not many months before the house was as deserted as it had previously been attractive. Her own friends were no sojourners for any length of time in Paris; and, therefore, in a little while her loneliness was complete. Mr. Patterson was a fashionable man, and desired his establishment to be on a splendid scale, and his wife the leader of American society in the city. Of course, her treatment of his associates was not agreeable; and more than once there sprang up en- counters of words between them upon the subject. He 17* page: 394-395[View Page 394-395] 394 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. had, with infinite chagrin, seen his wife calmly and with dignity repel his harsh language, maintaining her- self in the position she assumed. The coldness between themn became more apparent, and it was not surprising that he absented himself frequently for days together. There was nothing congenial in their natures; Matilda made no effort to conceal her disgust for his friends, even made remarks regarding them of a galling char- acter, until, at last, save to liquidate her bills, which which were often very extravagant, he held little com- muinication with her. To his astonishment, he found himself yielding where, previous to his marriage, he had deemed himself in- domitable, and sh controlled by. her determined, yet calm way, as to at once accede to all her demands. In all this, Matilda found nothing for her to respect, far less to inspire feelings of love. Thus month after month: she coldly saluted him, or passed on to her apartments and occupation, with scarcely an exchange of words. Still she was his wife, and when she heard of his attentionr to other ladies, and of his being seen with them at operas, and fetes, her paoud spirit flashed up, and evil passions began to possess her. Soon the house became deserted for days together by. every one save herself and the servants. At length she began to perceive restrictions placed upon her movements, but disdained to notice them, and became only the more cold and stately in her demeanor toward HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 395 her husband. This to him was unendurable, and he resolved still further to undermine her familiar associa- tions, by secret plans, until she should be compelled to compromise her dignity either by submission, or angry exhibitions of spirit. Every day some new vexation was offered. Her coachman was sure to bring the carriage an hour or more too late for her engage- ment, and sometimes was not to be found at all if sent for. Her servants became neglectful of their duties- her, dressing-maid impudent-and at last, she was informed by a shopkeeper that further credit would not be extended her. To render these indignities the more humbling, she suspected her letters were opened, and her correspondence with friends at home, inter- rupted and examined. She had repeatedly written to Harriet Malcom, but had received no answer; and at last, one day, when a letter came which bore unmis- takable evidence of having been read-her anger gained the mastery, and she gave vent to it in impas- sioned language. "Mr. Patterson," said she, as he was about depart- ing on the evening of the same day, "I am desirous of a little conversation with you; so seldom am I honored 'by your company, I would like now to improve the op- portunity afforded." ti Her husband faced about, and made a slight bow of acquiescence. page: 396-397[View Page 396-397] '396 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "I wish to inquire," said Matilda, "if any lettelrs from Harriet Malcom are in your possession?" "My secretary attends to the mails, Mrs. Patter- son," he replied," and all correspondence passes through his hands." "And you have given him orders to destroy all let- ters not in Aunt Mary's writing, I presume!" "Have you received no others?" he returned. "Sir," said Matilda, "your conduct is both-unmanly and unbecoming a husband-such I can not forget that you are. I have submitted to it; not satisfied with the submission, you make my servants your tools of mean- ness, and going still further, you have seen fit to open my letters. Do you think I will tamely submit to such indignities? Do you think that I, who have a pro- spective inheritance of one of the largest estates in New York, and an adopted mother who loves me with unaltered affection, will calmly consent to these things? Do you suppose that here, among foreigners, I am to be restricted of my liberty and treated like a child?" , "You appear finely, Mrs. Patterson," sneeringly re- plied her husband. "This new demonstration of im. pudence and spleen quite heightens your color. I have never seen you looking better." "You will pot have the pleasure of seeing me at all, sir, before long, unless a different course is pursued on your part." HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 397 'Ah! indeed! pray where do you intend( sojourn- ing, my dear?" "In my own home, where such insults as are daily offered me here will no longer be known." "Please inform me when you intend to take pass- age," replied Patterson, deliberately buttoning his coat, and walking to the door, which Matilda heard close heavily behind him. Thus matters wore on for months, the breach grow- ing wider day by day, which would have ended in an open rupture of a more striking character, had not just at this time, most fortunately, a third spirit been irntro- duced into the household, which was no less important a personage than a male heir to the estates of John Patterson. Matilda, as she took the blue-eyed little thing in her arms, and gazed upon its undefined features with only a mother's happiness, began again to feel that there was something in the world worth living for-something which might heal the breach between his parents, and perhaps make that lonely house a bright and gladsome dwelling. 'Tis a strong link, this fragile one of flesh, between two hearts; and its very tears are drops of balm often upon rancorous wounds. And when John Patterson looked upon its little face, putting his glass astride his nose for closer inspection, and snapped his fingers and chirruped it into a smile, he was a happy man-so happy that he even kissed his wife, who, pale page: 398-399[View Page 398-399] 398 1AMPTON HEIGHTS. and motherly, took her babe out of his arms, and gently tossed it up and down before him. Thus days wore on, and sunshine increased in the dwelling; and the boy grew stronger and more beauti- ful. Matilda had a companion now; the evil spirit which had struggled and writhed in her bosom, and re- ! belled against her husband's acts, was all calm, and he often spent whole. evenings at home, making the nurs- ery glad with his voice. A year has: passed, and the sun shines not so beau- tifully now; a cloud hangs over the house, and tears sometimes begem those eyes, so beautiful, of the pale mother. A shudder thrills through her bosom, as she puts aside the soft curls that cluster on the baby's forehead, for she fears--'tis agony to think it-the child will never come to calD her mother. Still she hopes the vacant eye, so lusterless, may yet be bright, the passive face may yet illumine, and the hushed tongue yet articulate. Her husband, too, is changed: he also has partaken of her fears; and once, when angry, pointed to the crib, and said it was "an idiot brat." Matilda, too, has changed; her face is strangely white, her eye sadly languid, and her soft, melodious lullabies often drowned in sobs. Another year goes by, and the child totters around the nursery--but not like other children. The little hand stretches not joyously forth to clasp its plaything, and the pretty face lights not to hear its mother's call i , - HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 899 It can not hear; 'tis a little idiot-a sweet, fair case of flesh, without a mind. She looks upop it-she sees its father's eyes and mouth; she drops her brows, strange feelings swell her bosom-she looks again: it smiles, its weak, senseless smile, and runs toward tier;--she catches it in her arms-she weepts--God pity her! Her husband has learned to hate it, and she feels he bears the same hatred for herself. Again we say, God pity her! Thus neglected in her household, for days together she sits and sings to that child who can not hear; and when sleep has closed down the blue-veined lids, sits weeping by its cradle. She is alone almost, and yet not quite: it is her child still; and perchance she loves it the stronger because it can not hear-and smile like - other children. Thus, night and day, she hovers near it, plying her needle on its clothing with all the cunning of her busy hand-with all the fond- ness, pride and love of one who watches her first- born. One evening, on coming down to dinner, she found unexpected company at the table,' nor did she need an introduction to send the blood rushing over her cheeks; for there before her was old Mr. Buritt's head,- that was wont to nod to her in other days, when thoughts of love had whispered in her youthful dreams. " Mr. Buritt-Mrs. Patterson," said her husband, stiffy, "my partners nephew." Matilda received him courteously, and, with her usual dignity, graced the head of the page: 400-401[View Page 400-401] 400 - HAMPTON HEIGHTS. table. There indeed he was, only far handsomer than she used to picture him, full of wit and good sense, like his uncle-congenial and suggestive in his conversa- tion. Alas! Matilda, take care! take care! He staid' late--made the hours slip by like magic; and even his mirth set Patterson to laughing, and praising his wife: and Matilda also was happy for the time, forgot her troubles-her idiot child--her long separation from her aunt, and lived over again, in pleasant recollections the few sunny spots along her life. Thomas Buritt was all he seemed, even more; an educated man of fine intellect naturally, and great acquirements. He was practicing his profession in the hospitals of Paris, and told Matilda when he left, "he would be most happy to continue the acquaintance which had commenced so pleasantly." Whatever were Patterson's thoughts, as he watched the interest which kindled in his wife's eye, lighting it up jas she listened to Buritt, or bore a part in the conversation of the hour, he betrayed them not, but was less dog- matical and unpleasant than usual after his friend's departure. Matilda, as soon as he was gone, silently continued her work. Strange and perplexed were her musings. She turned from her husband with a stronger feeling of dislike than she had ever felt before. A fire had that evening being ignited in her bosom, whose light seemed to penetrate into the darkness of HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 401 the future. Something within her told her that it would burn deeply, if not at once smothered. She went to her little boy's room, and kneeled down by his cradle. She leaned her aching head against its pillow, and felt his warm breath upon her cheek. But she prayed not-prayer, with her, was a thing that belonged alone to the past-long time was it since her soul had held communion with Heaven, each day another and another of the golden links that formed the chain between it and her Maker, had fallen away, and she knew not how to take them up again, now, when in her weakness, she felt that she needed a strong arm to lean upon, there was none for her to claim. Now, when assailed by the deepest, and most sorrowful of all temptations that comes to a woman's heart, she had to fall back upon her own soul, and O, how powerless it proved to aid her. Again we say, Godpity her! Time wore slowly on, her husband's neglect became more marked, and harder to bear, and her poor child, the constant subject of his taunts, was often her only companion. She felt it keenly, but her sorrow was teaching her new lessons, and she began to look into her heart. She had thought, of late, that perhaps her own con- duct might have done something toward alienating himn from her, that she had not always acted in a spirit of kindness and love. page: 402-403[View Page 402-403] 402 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. Thus thinking, she made exertions to win him back; she sought now to excuse some of his acts, even to blame herself for the early and unhappy rupture between them. But his was a nature over which kindness had little power, and poor Matilda received in return nothing to repay her for what she was doing. He daily became,-more morose and careless of her comfort. / In the mean time, Thomas Buritt's visits increased. He was living in Paris, and surely, he thought, " there can be no harm in going to see them often; Mrs. P. is an old friend of my uncle's family, a congenial person, and an intelligent, beautiful woman." He saw that she was neglected-found her often alone--and pity for her, as well as admiration, induced his frequent visits. His character was above reproach, unassailable upon all points of honor, and his disposition generous and kind in the highest degree. Patterson often invited him to dinner, even extend- ing his invitations for days at at a time. Seldom at home himself, after the meal was disposed of, he would urge Buritt to spend evening after evening with his wife, and gladly would he remain. Alas, he too knew not his own heart, or what was going on within its recesses; little did he dream of the subtle cords that the tempter was weaving for him. Matilda began, at this time, to recall her Aunt Mary's story, to think over what she had suffered, and lf ., HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 403 to ask herself if she could silently endure and buffet with sorrow as she had done. Then she would sometimes speculate on the nature of Mr. Buritt's feelings toward her, wondering if they were only those of an ordinary friend, and once, -she tremblingly thought, " it might not be a sin to separate from her husband, whose dissolute habits were now well-known to the world. Each day found her revolv- ing the same subject in her mind, and dwelling upon the bitter wrongs she had endured since her marriage, and wondering why her child was an idiot, and she compelled to live with a man for whom she had not one feeling of sympathy. At length the visits of Dr. Buritt became a necessity to her life; she listened to his steps with anxiety and longing, and if -he came not, sat out the long evenings dreaming of him and her own troubles. He had been educated in Germany--his mind was deeply imbued with its philosophy-he admired Goethe-he saw noth- ing that' was evil or dangerous in his writings, -and often brought his "Letters to a Child" and his other works for Matilda to read; and never wearied of dwelling upon soul friendships, and the true and beau- tiful harmony which grew out of them. He told-Mat- ilda that he loved her, but only as one soul can love another when their sympathies mingle, their minds are congenial and their tastes of the same character. "We will read together,' he said, "follow the stu- page: 404-405[View Page 404-405] 404 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. dents among the mountains, as we peruse their journals, or sit with Germany's greatest scholars ih the little kitchens or rented rooms where their earliest struggles took place. We will enjoy one another's society, as God intended beings of kindred feelings should, im- prove our minds, and cultivate our higher natures. We- were not placed here to wear out our life with what is mean and gross in our beings, but to be em- ulous of the actions of the great, the good, the holy- to soar, if we have strength, not to crawl, because we have not as yet dared to essay walking. No! no! we were created for higher purposes, and I trust in our leisure hours we may know those friendships which scholars and all true souls possess for one another-- more like love angelic than aught else." We would not doubt the purity of his feelings, as he spake thus to Matilda, for he was a man superior to de- ception: but let us carefully note the end, and treasure it up, for our children's sate, in the years that are to come. Matilda caught at his subtle reasoning with a drown- ing man's grasp. It seemed to her a strong plank drifting toward her, over the gloomy ocean of her life. Yes, I can float on this, she thought, I can love him in this soul way, and not wrong my husband or child. Again she found herself knocking at the long-neglected chambers, where bubbled the fountain she saw in old. times, sparkling in the glimmer of the poor rush-light, HAMPTQN HEIGHTS. 405 that still burning in its chalice, ever flashed brightly at the name of Love. It was a wild stormy night, howling round the angles of the great silent house she inhabited, moaning about the chimneys, and whistling through its halls. Matilda and Doctor Buritt sat by the feeble blaze of the Parisian chimney. She was working on a piece of her little boy's dress, and he reading aloud "Locksley Hall." They had been reading Tennyson alf the even- ing, and came as naturally upon this as any piece among the pages. He read-- "Drug thy memories lest thou learn it, lest thy heart be put to proof In the dread unhappy night when the rain is on the roof; Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, thou art staring on the wall; Wheretthe dying night-lamp fickers, and the shadows rise and fall; And an eye shall haunt the looking ancient anguish on thy pain-- Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow, get thee to thy rest again." Matilda paused from her needle-work, and looked him quietly in the face. It was not the first time she had heard that poem, but never before had its words so burned into her soul. He read on- "As the husband is, the wife is, thou art mated to a clowni." "Is she?" shouted a voice by his side, as he finished the verse, "is she mated to a clown?" Startled at the sound so near him, Buritt sprang page: 406-407[View Page 406-407] 406 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. from his chair, and met the glare of John Patterson's green eyes. "I say, is she mated to a clown?"5 he re- iterated still again, at the same time with raised arm and clinched fist rushing toward him. "Yes," replied the doctor, grasping the out-stretched limb, and clasping it so tightly the joints seemed to paralyze in the pressure, " and would Heaven I could separate the chain that binds her," and he released the quaking igure, and with a thrust, sent him reeling to- i ward the wall. Recovering himself, Patterson grasped a chair, and aimed a blow at the doctor, which, falling short of his head, upset the lamp, which went out with a crash, leaving the place in darkness. There was a slight rustling of feet after its fall, and then came silence and thick gloom. The two figures stood there in the dark; the indistinct outline of each other's form they could perceive, but neither seemed desirous of another en- counter. At length Patterson rang the bell, and a servant came in and restored the light. "Where 's Matilda?" he shouted. f "Are you addressing me?" replied the doctor. "' Yes! and what has become of your pa--?" "Stop!" ejaculated Buaritt; "use not her name in such a connection, however you may insult me; deeply will you rue it if you do." "Go call madam, you French fool, and not stand HAMPTONT HEIGHTS. 47 here, gaping like a monkey," interrupted Patterson; "and you, sir! you!" addressing the doctor, "prepare to give me satisfaction on this very spot; there are I my weapons-take one, and make yourself ready-- she 'll be here in time to witness your death, if there s such a thing as killing you, you mongrel German!" ' "You will not provoke me into fighting, Patterson, I assure you," he replied. "I have done nothing inten- * tionally to wrong you, and my life was made for some other purpose than for exchanging shots with a fellow. creature." "What! you won't fight, you dog! you palavering German scoundrel!", "She no hi the house, sir, }Ion Dieu! up de chim- ney! de la fenetre sacer!' ejaculated the :servant. ' Ha! it's all arranged between you, is it?" contin- ued Patterson; '" you stay here to cover her flight, do you? you won't fight me, eh? take that! and he low- , ered his pistol to a level. In a moment, his arm was struck up by the doctor, who, grappling with him, en- deavored to wrench the weapons away. The noise of the encounter brought the servants to the door, who arrived just in time to witness the struggle and ex- plosion of the pistol, which buried its contents in Pat- terson's side. But let us drop the curtain. One look more-only one. He is dying; and through the deep wound pumps his life-blood at every gasp. "Death I1 death " page: 408-409[View Page 408-409] 408 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. he mutters, and falls back into his servants' arms; once more he opens his eyes, but the film is on them-once more he struggles--'tis his last, and now, even while we gaze, he has gone to his own place. CHAPTER XXXV. "' Is this all?-is your painfal lesson done? And they spoke in bitterness every one; And the autnumn gale through its branches sighed Of a long arrear for transient pride." BIG OUBNE. "BRAGG," said his partner Grindus one morning, throwing his spectacles above his forehead as he spoke, and glaring at him with his crooked eyes, which, with the singular appearance of eyes that squint, seemed gazing into his face, when in reality they were watch- ing the movements of a mouse in the distant comer, "hang that mouse!" "What mouse?" "Why, the one that's gnawing old Walker's evi- dence in the canal case." "It will be a pretty hard thing to digest, I reckon,"d replied the junior partner. "Always ready for a joke, Bragg, -but-but-these are no times for joking now-a-days, when banks are down upon you on the one hand, and stockholders pressing you on the other, and committees continually asking for infoimation, until you ain't sure that the morrow won't bring down the whole establishment 18 page: 410-411[View Page 410-411] "O H AITTO NI HEIGHTS. about you; for I tell you, Bragg, the ship leaks like the devil, and must go into dock soon or sink." "I don't know what I can do," replied Bragg; " the two hundred and fifty thousand the old gentleman left me is in the same boat, and I 've got no more to be forthcoming." "Well, we must make a raise somehow; if we don't, every thing goes--'bob hook and sinkelr,' before Monday week. I've been figuringg here all night long, and as sure as I am Ichabod Grindus, there will be nothing but the scriptural part of my name for the establishment, if we don't strike a lead before Monday. The interest on the Willowisp and Nobottom bonds is due then; and when they go, we go -with them." "I wish to goodness they had all been sunk in the swamp they are named after, before I 'd touched them; but, by Jupiter, here 's the old colonel's draft for our share in the big claim. He says he is so hard up in London as to wants fands for his washerwoman." "Let him 'go to pot' with his thousand acres, and raise money where he can; we 've enough to do with- out puzzling our brains with that speculation." "But I promised him. Grindus." "Promised! What in common sense do you suppose aman's promise good for in thesei times? Money worth eighteen per cent., and Willowisp down to twenty-three-you might- as well think of drawing HAMPTOjN HEIGHTS. 4" blood out of a gate-post. Have you heard from Walker to day?" "Yes; he is a little better. Old McKay says he thinks he 'll get out again." "It won't do to have him, or let any body know what's the matter: for I tell, you, Bragg, the only thing that will save us is his name, which we have had so long, nobody will now suppose it not genuine." "What do you mean, Grindus?" "Mean, why this--my pen can write 'Harrison G. 'WTalker' so that he can't swear it ain't his own; and if he does,II ll swear he wrote it when he was sick, and thlat will save us; for old Mc!Kay's just where I want him, and will remember just what I tell him." "Do you mean me to understand, Grindus, that you intend forgery?"7 "Forgery! fiddlestick! Which 's the worse-let- ting all those old maids and widows that have got a few shares of the Willowisp, loose them, or raising money on theename of that old blackguard, which no one will ever know any thing about? There 's no cheating about it, man-just getting a few discounts till the pinch 's over, and stocks come up again.". "I will have nothing to do with it, Grindus; and, by George! your name ought to be inverted, or- the first half stand alone, for' the glory (of the house) has indeed departed."' "Bah you 're mighty conscientious when it comes page: 412-413[View Page 412-413] "2 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. to the pinch, though you'd like to advance the old colonel a thousand or two, to drive the squatters off their plantations; which neither he- nor you have any more right to. than I to Walker's name; you are mighty conscientious, though you drew up the whole plan of the California Custom-house, and took pay in War bonds-mighty conscientious"( with the' lease of those warehouses to lUncle Sam--which were built with nis own money-in your pocket." "I did not run the risk of getting into State Prison, and what is more, you had the lion's share, of it all." "Well, Bragg, you are 'cute any way; but there 's no joking about it, we've got to meet the interest, and pay up that stock again-but as you want to be quit Ox it,I ve another job on hand: I want to understand about Walker's heirs, if he has got any, and what 's to be done with the great property-for to have it going into the strong box of missionaries, won't do at'all. It is a matter of conscience to me, Bragg, altogether; for 't would just be defiling holy things, to leave the firuits of so much iniquity to be fingered over by dea- cons and parsons. Just think of that ten thousand, Bragg, he got by foreclosing that 'Malcom mortgage- which was about the same as stole, anyway--going out to the Fejees to Christianize cannibals-highly immoral -highly improper, Brag! better be in my hands buy- ing up Willowisps. No! no! I 've got a plan for a will that will feather our nests any way, and immortal.' HA MPTON HEIGHTS. 413 ize his name fully as much as it deserves; and if his old skull don't get into thinking order again, I' U frighten him into benevolence of the right character. I 'll read the ' Vision of Judgment' to him with a vengeance, so he 'll understand I Jordan 's a hard road to travel.' He did n't sell that Texan plantation, and the four hundred niggers, for nothing, and he did n't make his thousands out of the Sarah Jane's trip to Sierra Leone, without my knowing it; and once let me see the way clear, and all heirs out of the way, and I 'll make a public bene- factor of him, I tell you. So just slip a clean shirt into your carpet bag, and run, down to where he was born. Old McKay has got it into his head somehow, that John Patterson's wife is his daughter, and that her mother is also living; if it is so, and that she-man-that 'Old Scratch,) as Johnny Quill calls her-finds it out, the game 's up at once, for to fight her, is to fight all the courts known to a lawyer, and might as well be put an end to at the beginning-for she 's money, and she 's wit, and she 's wind, and always dies clear game -we 've had enough of her anyway ;'? and he turned both his eyes inward, until they nearly met and gleam- ed out a straight ray of fire from the middle of his fore- head. "Don't leave any stone unturned, any record un- searched, or graveyard unexplored; trace out what' became of the girl, Masters, after she left the village, and if there is any probability of their having been page: 414-415[View Page 414-415] "4 H IAMPTON HEIGHTS. privately married, and if there is any old aunt, or uncle or forty-seventh cousin, that will turn up, in the wrong place. And be shy about it-an antiquarian, if you like, looking up epitaphs-or a writer of some new history-or a poet-or any thing but a lawyer; and most especially, any body else but Henry Bragg, of the firm of Grindus & Bragg, Attorneys." "I don't like to leave you, Grindus, at this critical period." "Never you mind me, just get out of the way till the thing 's over, so you will be able to make oath to having been absent, if your testimony is wanted here- after; and I'll not only carry the Willowisp and Nobottom through, but I ll get old Walker's signature to a will that shall establish a Joint Stock Old Woman's Home, or Foundling Hospital Company, that you and I will be the president, vice-president, and board of direct- ors of, altogether, and stockholders, too, I reckon." "You are not going to kill him, Grindus." "Trust me and Old McKay for his nurses, Bragg; and you 1ll see the undertaker's bill in good season- have the privilege of charging him with putting alloy in the plate-or veneering the coffin with maple-or haggling about the five per cent off for cash, if you like it. But come, Bragg, this won't do! Action! action!" and he again tulrned his eyes, so that they shot out rays of light crossing each other obliquely. In a few days, the landlord of the little inn at Y-- HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 415 found a pleasant, gentlemanly man in his parlor, whose bearing at once impressed him with a high degree of respect. He had arrived in the evening train, and was evidently no common traveler; no agent, drummer, or peddler; though few beside these visited his quarters at this season. There was none of the swagger that intim- ated the city clerk, or drummer, who had a carpet-bag with samples in one side, and unpaid claims in the other; nor the cunning of the jewelly peddler, whose little case at once indicated his profession, and whose eyes made out every link in the countryman's chain, before the same countryman, who sat opposite, had time to throw back his capacious overcoat, and arrange his broad feet at the stove. "He's surely no book agent," thought the landlord, " for if he was, he 'd before this time, had out his traps, showing us the pictures of the Inquisition, or Flight of Maria Monk, or Uncle Tom, as it is or is n't: and I guess, on the whole, he 's some city gent come up to spend Thanksgiving with the old Judge or Squire." He had a bright fire made in his room, and when the landlord came up-with an armful of wood-was un- commonly polite, spoke of the pleasant autumn they had had, and, indeed, asked him to take a seat and make himsolf at home. "Draw right up," said he, "to the fire, and let's have a friendly chat." To all this Boniface was was most happy to comply, for he felt the dignity his presence always gave to society, and flat- tered himself his host had already observed it. page: 416-417[View Page 416-417] "6 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "Suppose we have a little punch;qlandlord, to take the edge off the air, and keep up our spirits till bed- time, for it's seemingly very much like winter out- side." "Ahem! ahem!" returned the landlord, clearing his throat, for he loved a warm toddy, and prided himself upon its manufacture, "'I should be most happy, for really in these times, I don't often have the pleasure of sitting over a glass with a gentleman; time 's sorely changed in this respect, sir, nobody calls for any thing now days, without it 's some loafer you don't want about, that 's got a throttle like an old field-piece, and bolts down a pint of rum in a jiffy, and then hangs round till it's time to shut up. Yes, indeed, sir, the good old days when they made flip by the gallon, even the parson heating a crowhar, and stirring up a half- barrelful at wood spells-are& all gone, and to sell liquor now-a-days is nothing but a mean, profitless busi- ness, fit for Dutchmen and such sort of fellows. In fact, sir, I shut up my bar more than a year since, though I keep a little on hand, of the old stuff, for private and family consumption, and I'll run down and mix a mug or two, and be back shortly, for a crack in a warm bed-room, don't come often, I tell you in these parts." It was not long before his rubicund visage again came beaming into the room, and he now bore a huge pitcher, from whose smoking contents his face- HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 417 seemed to catch new inspiration.' "Ah! this seems like it," he exclaimed, turning out two huge glasses fall, and then setting the pitcher upon a bed of coals, he raked the hearth; "really does my old heart good, and so here's my respects," and quaffed off half the contents of the glass, and then smacked his lips with great complacency. His guest just touched the beverage, in compliment, and then .perceiving it- truly of high flavor, made a hearty draught. "u It's fine, sir," said Boniface, watching the expres- sion of his guest's countenance; C rum and brandy I helped to smuggle over the line in war time, and which I never tap a keg of, but I am nigh weeping, yes, nigh weeping for the good old times, when flip was as com- mon as water, and the cut glass stood on every Squirezs and Parson's sideboard. Still I go in for the liquor law, the genuine true blue Maine one, that shuts up every fellow's shop that sells the vile poison, for, sir, though I love a glass now and then, I 'm opposed to all these here grogeries, these regular rum holes, where men sell murders, and burglaries, and Starvations for ninepence a pint; and we've got our share -of them too, here, sir, and they send off two, three, and five, likely enough fellows, every year to the States prison ;," and he again filled his glass with the fragrant liquid, and looked toward his guest. Then, after freely im- bibing and smacking his lips, resumed; "though it will 18' page: 418-419[View Page 418-419] "8 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. go hard, at first, I've no doubt, we ll have better' times among us, less paupers, less taxes, less basket- making over7-in the Stone Jug, as we call it, and less young fellows tackled together for a ride with the warden." He might have continued the whole evening thus moralizing, had he not been brought to a close by a direct question from his guest, who, hitherto, had sat silently listening. "What 's the name of your clergy- man, landlord?" he inquired. "Bless me!" replied Boniface; ' it ain't a friend of his I 've been talking with, and letting out about my old stock in the cellar." "Oh, no, I assure you, only I thought if I attended church to-morrow I would like to know the name of the preacher." "True," replied the landlord, drawing a long breath, as if receiving great relief from the announcement; "it's well you should, his name is Stodert, Ezekiel Stodert, a descendant of one of the real old blue- stockings, that thinks one kind of drinking just as bad as, another; and who, if he so much as guessed I 'd got a keg or two of old spirit on hand, would n't iest a minute till he had persuaded me 't was my bounden duty to roll it right on to the green, and set fire to it; for he can do it, such a fellow for arguing, and making one see his own sins, nobody ever heard of afore." HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 419 "Indeed, I shall be pleased to hear him, where abouts does he live?" "Over in the white house, by the great elm, if it ain't too dark I reckon you'll see it from here," and he moved his seat nearer the window; " no, it 's too dark, but right across the way, just along side the old judge's. I suppose you know all about him, and his old traps that he's got together; the greatest old lot of trumpery a man ever heard of. They call him a kind of antiquarian, and he knows more about dates, and births, and marriages, and dead folks, and their old grandmothers than I could tell in all night. Why, if yolt are staying long with me, I 'll take you into his curiosity room, where there's an old spinning-wheel that Granny Thompson spun the flax on, that Nezer Cooper twisted a rope out of one night, and hung himself with; and there 's the very identical cord they hung the Indian with, the first and only hanging we ever had here, and which gave rise to the name of Gallows Hill, to the one you come up to-day when you came into town; and there's the old clock Parson Struther brought over from Greenock with him, nigh two hundred years old-and more old lumber than ever one man got together before, I reckon." Indeed, I should like much to see them." "Well, he 'll be happy to show them, he ain't bash. ful that way, I tell you, and when he comes over Sun- day night, for he always happens in and smokes a pipe I ; page: 420-421[View Page 420-421] 420 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. on an evening, I 'll introduce you. Mr. Waters, I be- lieve you call yourself." "Yes," replied Bragg, for it was no less a personage (and who, from his connection with the Willowis2 and Nobottom railroad, did not caYto be known); "and when the judge comes in I would be happy to have an introduction, for my business will keep me here some days." "Business," thought Boniface. "Nobody failed up in these parts, I hope, sir." "Not that I am aware of," replied Bragg. "O ,I beg your pardon, but when you mentioned business, I didn't know but you'd come up from York to look up some claim or other; tough times these- very tough-men breaking up like nothing-stocks clean down, and banks drawing in, and drawing in, till you can't get so much as a note ground without a lien on the town property. Somebody'll get burned ter- ribly fore they -are through; I telled Ziah Atwood as much, when he bought that air Willowisp and Xobot- tom stock, and I guess he'll find it's got the right kind of name too, for I see by the papers it 's down some where in the twenties. He give fifty for it, and thought he was doing great things, but I hear he offered to trade it for forty, and take pay in dash churns." "O, I think it will come up again shortly" replied Bragg. HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 421 "Hope it may, but I hear it donht look well; hear them chaps that have the agency ain't just what they ought to be; and that ere crooked-eyed Grinder that looks forty ways at once, and that come up here once with old Walker, is a regular sharper--up to any thing, and that his partner's keen as a briar. But 't will be a hard case if it does smash, mighty hard; there 's Seth-Xiller's widow got some of it, and Obed Wheeler, and a half a dozen others who keep dark-- but I must be going down, for I hear the select-men coming in, and they will want my assessment roll,- so good evening-hope you will sleep well, and be bright to hear Parson Stodert to-morrow," and he shut the door, much to Mr. Bragg's satisfaction, who had no desire to hear himself further discussed. In the course of the next morning, a dirty boy came into his room, re-lighted the fire, and told him the hour of breakfast. The lawyer, however, not accustomed to early rising, and still somewhat sleepy, only turned upon his bed, and again resumed his slumbers. The boy perceiving no demonstrations of life, once more re- peated his information, and retired! outside the door, then, after listening awhile, and hearing no movement, sagely concluded he was no Christian or church-goer that would so sleep on: Sunday morning, and retreated into the lower regions. Meanwhile, Bragg continued his dreams, from which, at length, he was awakened by the church- page: 422-423[View Page 422-423] 422 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. going bell. Starting-from his couch, he quickly ex. amined his watch, and then, with many yawns, ventured upon the floor. The apartment was quite warm, a living bed of coals glowed on the hearlth, which, in a moment, lighted the fuel he threw anlong them. It was the last bell for church, the one rung precisely at twenty-five minutes past ten, in the country, and which tolls, slowly vibrating among the hills until the clergyman takes his seat in the pulpit. He looked out of the window as the half-mournful notes regularly chimed from the belfry, while group after group of the villagers passed to their place of assembling, and, hard man as he was, he could not but feel impressed by the calm serenity, yet dreariness of the scene. It was a cold November day, the ground hard and frozen, hollowly echoing the wheels of the many wagons which rolled along, bearing their loads of church-goers. Sometimes a single vehicle, whose slow-gaited horse seemed nearly as old as the aged couple who drove it; and sometimes an odd-fashioned carriage that brought a shoal of curly heads, duly arrayed in their Sunday apparel; and sometimes a yel- low gig, that had done service for half a century, the owner of which drove to his usual fastening-post. Soon, all along the streets were rows of wagons with horses evidently aware of the length of their services; and rustic appearing families bending their course HAMP TON HEIGHTS. 423 toward church with a half smile. Bragg surveyed their antiquated garments, curious hate and great- coats, and cloaks which, doubtless, had made this Sabbath day's journey a thousand times, and solemn- looking umbrellas, evidently of the same date as them- selves. When the last chime of the bell had ceased, and the last lonely old man disappeared over the threshhold, he completed his toilet, and prepared for breakfast. Loud roared the winds among the clouds, and sung wild songs in the chimneys, and backward and forward swayed the branches of' the great tree near his window. A^ W flakes of snow floated about, and fell in tiny stars on the blinds and fences; every thing seemed= melancholy to him, his very face there, in the glass, wore the same aspect, looking grum and disagreeable; "How I would like to hear Grinders swearl'.said he, "or something to break this cursed monotony, which I must endure four and twenty hours longer. I wonder what this is?" and he opened a Bible which lay upon his table. .It was many years since he had looked into one, and he quickly shut it, for the first lines he read, "the wicked shall be turned into hell," were anything but sug- gestive of pleasant reflections. Just then, a heavy gust of wind closed his blind with a crash, which somewhat changed the current of his thoughts, and caused him to open the casement, and fasten it; after this he went down to his breakfas4t *i page: 424-425[View Page 424-425] 24 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. . He found the boy nodding over the "Pilgrim's Pro- gress," in the dining-room, who at once brought his meal; which was somewhat dry and unpalatable, from its late position in the stove oven; still, his long abstinence; from food made it quite refreshing. This finished, there was nothing for him to do but to walk about, and indulge in his own evil thoughts, and curse Grinders and his railroads and plots, and wish himself any where but in so solemn a place. Before long, however, the silence was relieved by the dispersion of the church-goers-some returning to their homes, and some coming into the bar-room to eat their dinners and look over their Sunday papers. The landlord.seemed very glad to meet him, regretted he had not heard the excellent sermon on the avarici- ousness of the age, alluding to the adulteration of liquors, "which, if Mr. Waters would step into his pantry, he would convince him could not be applied to his assortment. This, sir,)' he continued, talking down a dusky-looking bottle, " contains some Madeira over seventy-five years of age, and," pouring out a small glassful, " has a body that is unequaled by any thing in the country; have another," said he, again fill- ing his guest's glass, and smacking his lips over his owvn portion, which he held up to the -light, and peered through with great satisfaction. "S Such a body--the genuine article that maketh the heart glad, ", It is indeed fine," returned Bragg. ' I have sel. -dom tasted better." "There is no better, sir, in the country; and-it's only on special occasions I open it; not more than fifty bottles left out of a thousand I bottled in 1812, out of casks marked vintage of 1780 ; but there 's the dinner- bell; we dine early on Sundays, as meeting commences again at one, on account of our farmers having to get home early, to look after their stock. Mr. Bragg made a hearty dinner, and soon after ac- companied the landlord to the little church. "That 's the minister," whispered Boniface, as an interesting middle-aged man entered the door; " and that 's the old judge, with the blue cloak, in the third pew." There was nothing very striking in the appearance of the latter: he seemed a man far advanced in life's road; his mild features bespoke the gentle nature, that was satisfied with his quiet lot on earth, and yet ready to leave whenever the angel might call. Over his calm and somewhat intellectual brow, a few silver hairs were scattered-a -brow unclouded by a frown; so placid was it, you could not believe it had ever been wrinkled by an angry thought. There were others, too, as gray-headed and old, sprinkled here and there about the church; and the clergyman spoke about them in his prayer-spoke of how soon they would be gone, and prayed, that as they passed away, it might be said, " Here are the children which thou hast given page: 426-427[View Page 426-427] 426 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. me." The sermon was doubtless an interesting one, for the eyes of all the congregation seemed riveted upon the speaker. To Bragg, however, it was utterly unintelligible; the text had engrossed his entire thoughts, and wrought fearfully on his mind. "It is appointed unto all men once to die, and after that the judgment.' The- judgment! that kept wringincg in his ear throughout the whole service; and more than once he started strangely when the minister repeated it'. I wonder if Grinders ever thought of it," said he, "and if he knows there is such a passage in the Bible-' the judgment!' ' and after that the judg- ment!" He could not forget how those words had sounded, and he longed to leave the church, which seemed filled with voices all whispering ': the judgment -the judgment!" When the congregation was dismissed, Bragg re- tired once again to the solitude of his own chamber. He watched the horses prick their ears, as quick foot- steps pattering by announced the service over; he noted the old women climbing in to the wagons, while their white-haired partners unfastened their steeds, which stood still until they had been made a stepping- block of, for the old man to crawl beside the good wife, who reached out her hand and helped him untie the reins; he saw children running home with books clasped tightly in their mittened hands, and one after another of those impressive scenes which belong alone HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 427 to a country Sabbath. What! did a tear steal over his cheek? he who could plot and scheme and argue. What could he be dreaming of, what visions had that little group of Sabbath worshipers brought back to him?-visions of boyhood, ere sin had mastered his soul, and the spirit of evil and wickedness possessed his life--dreams of his mother, his sister up in Heaven. Then came '.hose fearful words again, " and after that the judgment!"How chimed they upon his ears like a death-knell. "And it is one," said he, " that 's all-a funeral passing." As he spoke, again chimed the heavy note from the belfry, and then round the corner came a funeral procession. First the black hearse, whose old white horse seemed strangely suited for his sad office; next the pall-bearers; and then the long train of odd-shaped wagons; slowly they passed his windows, and wound over the hill beyond, while all the time tolled the knell from the belfry. At length they had entirely passed from his sight, yet still knolled on the bell, one note just ceasing its chime to be followed by another, which seemed to repeat the same mournful strain, "the judgment!" "the judg- ment!"At last darkness came; still he sat watching by the casement. The bell had long been silent--the dispersing funeral procession ceased to pass his win- dosw--and he could see lights appearing in the scat- tered dwellings about. For a time he gazed ofn the tall dim outline of the church and'the heavy grouping page: 428-429[View Page 428-429] 428 HAMBPTON HEIGHTS. of the trees; but at length these also faded into dark- ness. He now came over to his fire, kindled it to a bright blaze, and sat down beside it. How strangely danced the uncouth figures behind him, and waved and J beckoned, as the wind flared the blaze of the single light upon the mantle. What was he thinking of? Was it of stocks and law-suits? No! it was of something far beyond all these, and again he whispered-" after that the judgment!"At last the tea-bell rung, and he went down to join the family, for he was their-only guest. Later in the evening came in the dld judge, and lit his pipe, and talked over the sermon and the prospect of the weather. "That was a prodigious smart dis- course the parson gave us, Billy," said he, addressing the landlord, at the same time placing the pipe be- tween his teeth. "A prodigious smart sermon! but I am afraid we don't appreciate it; I 'm afraid we don't think of the shortness of our tarry, and the certainty of the judgment." Bragg started at the word. ' Yes, sir," continued the judge, looking round toward the place where sat the attorney, " it was all true; and I don't believe there 's many a smarter preacher in the country than Parson Stodert." '"I don't think there is," replied Bragg, who con- sidered himself addressed by the old gentleman. "Ah! you heard him, sir? Well, I 'm glad you did, for I fear you city folks don't keep that fact quite so plain before you as you ought." IIA3IPTON HEIGHTS. 429 "No; we are more engrossed in worldly matters, they are apt to drive away such ghostly counsel- ing." "Don't speak in that way, my friend; that savors too much of the old English-too much of the Popish- 'the ghostly advisers.' I am something of an old reader myself, and I know pretty well what those words mean, and where they came from. No, sir! the fact is plain-plain, as a soldier would say, ' as a pike- staff'--' death and the judgment,' and for some of us fire and brimstone," and he rested his chin on the sil- ver head of his cane, and looked into Bragg's face as if to say, "thou art the mar." The attorney dropped his eyes before the penetrating glance, and remained silent. "Yes," resumed the judge; "but we don't want to go to the city to find examples' of bad men- we have enough at home, Billy. There was Pharis Walker they buried to-day (peace to his ashes), as bad a man as ever lived, and the last but one of as bad a race as we ever had in the country. Why, up to a week before his death, he boasted of not having seen the inside of a meeting-house in forty years; and I can remember wqhen he and his brother Isaac stood in the pillory for profane swearing, and afterward received ten lashes at the whipping-post; a blessed law woefully wanted again among us. The name of Walker ban- ished all thoughts of the sermon from the lawyer's mind. page: 430-431[View Page 430-431] 430 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "Ah," he responded, "I know a Walker in the city, and, as you spoke, I recollected he belonged somewhere in this community." "Harrison G.?" inquired the judge. "The same." "O yes, he was the one I referred to when I spoke of there being but one left; he was raised in this village, in that little brown gable-roof house, on the corner." "Indeed," returned Bragg. "Yes, and he is sixty-three years old to-morrow morning, at eight o'clock and three minutes. I got the date from old Dr. Ball's note book, and know it's accurate; and sir, without it was his father, who died in State prison, he is the worst man ever raised in this county. He is rich, to be sure, and always treats me polite enough, but the curse of God's upon him, and, in my mind, there's no doubt he committed murder; at any rate, he killed as fine, a woman as we had in the society." "Pray, how was that?" inquired Bragg, glad to have found the very man he desired. "How was that! why, when he was nigh thirty years old, and a partner in one of the biggest houses in the city, he got sick, and came up here to be nursed, and staid just long enough to ruin a poor girl forever. Poor thing, I ordered her, the first year I was town clerk, to the poor-house, as a vagrant, HAAIPT'ON HEIGHTS. 431 though I felt, all the time, it was Walker should have been sent there. As soon as her father found out what she 'd done he turned her out of doors, for he was real old Pulitan stock, and couldn't brook such a thing in his family; and her poor mother, who always was a feeble woman, pined and pined, till at last she died, just heart-broken. They asked the old doctor to make a post mortem, she fell away so suddenly; but he told them it was no use, that she had the heart disease, and so she had-a broken heart, that it did not want any examination to dis- cover."' "That was indeed bard," replied Mr. Bragg; "but what became of the girl at last?', "O, she became a poor outcast, hung round the village, hoping her father would soften toward her, till the select-men threatened her again with the workhouse, and then she took her child and went, off. That was the last ever heard of her; she told some- body she was going to New York, to hunt up Walker, and I shall always believe that he disposed of her and the child by foul means." "Indeed, indeed, judge," said Bragg, "that's quite an accusation to make against any one." "I know it is, but his whole career warrants such surmises, and it was generally supposed, about here, she had some proof of a marriage." "Ah! that would have been most fortunate for her; page: 432-433[View Page 432-433] 432 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. but pray, if such was the case, why did she not make it known?" "Ask your wife, if you have one, ask a woman's * pride, and will, and sense of right and wrong, and of honor, and love-they'll tell you; she promised to abide by his wishes,' and not to make the thing known, and she loved him-that tells the story-she loved him." "Poor girl," said the lawyer; "he ought to have been hung." "Hung, sir, if that was the only sin he ever com- mitted there might be some hope for him, but it is not, by any means; what he did with the child and its mother can't be proved, but that he has set in his office and wrote letters that he knew would tear children off their mother's breast, and divided up plantations where the white ones and- niggers had grown up together, and were as happy as God ever intended men should be; yes, sir, it makes my blood boil when I think of it-sitting there, in New York, and buying and selling niggers to work his sugar plantation that he never got sight of, but trusted to his own hired overseer, who whipped and thrashed without a spark of mercy. And what's morei people say he's owned slave-ships, and made his thousands by them also. O! the 'judgment' is for such men." "You say the girl was never heard from after she left the village?" inquired Bragg. HAMPTON HEIGHTS, 433 "No, I did not say that exactly, for she was seen out at the Falls, some nine miles south of here; old Granny Whittlesy told me, she always supposed she come into her house one night, just at sundown, and got some supper, and that I guess was the last any body ever heard of her; the old woman is still living, a remarkable instance of longevity and retentiveness of memory; she 's as smart as a steel trap, or was, the last time I saw her, though she must be seven and ninety." "You seem to have an excellent memory yourself, judge,d' responded Bragg, desirous to keep him still upon the subject. "A fair one, sir, ' fair average' for a man of my years, I am eighty-nine this month, and though my limbs are getting weak, I still remember dates pretty correctly. People differ in this respect, some fail pretty early in life, and often go back to first child- hood, forgetting altogether what they have gone through. There's Granny Adams (to be sure she's a hundred years old), but she's forgot every thing. I was up to see her yesterday, she was walking about the kitchen, constantly stooping down to pick up something ) afflicted, I suppose, with some peculiarity of vision. 'Good morning, Mrs. Adams,' said I. ' My name 's not Adams,' she replied. 'Why, Mrs. Adams, I knew your -husband, Judge Adams; studied what little law I have in his office.' 'I never knew any 19 page: 434-435[View Page 434-435] 434 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. Judge Adams,' said she again. 'Why, Mrs. Adams, I knew your son, Colonel Adams, was a boy with him.' 'I never knew any Colonel Adams,' she retorted. 'My name's Eunice Fairchild; come to take me to a frolic? got a pillion with you?' You may smile, sir, but it 's a sad thing to see a human being so wrecked; she's outlived her strongest affections, forgot her hus- band and children, and gone back to the time of fiolics and pillions. O, it's time for her to die, like Dean Swift's tree, she 's withered at the top, sir ;" yes, he continued, for he was now upon one of his favorite hobbies, and undoubtedly would ride in another di- rection from what Mr. Bragg desired--"a man's mind is a good deal like an old sign-board. First, the painter marks out your name, for instance, or mine, Henry Smith; well, time wears on, and I sell out, or die, and the new comer paints it over, and has his own name lettered instead. Again come summers and winters, and he, too, passes away; and again, the third time, it is repainted; then come storms and sunshines, snow and rain, and one name after another washes off, till some morning you perceive the original Henry Smith. So with a man's imemory, too often, event after event wears away, till, at last, he goes back into some trifle of childhood. Bat I must go home, Mrs. Judge will be getting anxious." "Stay, sir," interposed the attorney; "you have quite interested me in your strange old memories and HAMPT ON HEIGHTS. 435 musings' come, sit down again, and we 'll have a little of the antiquity of our host's cellar, for I can bear wit. ness to its worth." "What, Billy," returned the judge, coming up to the landlord, who, during the colloquy, had fallen asleep, you ain't been transgressing the parson's com- mand to his deacons, have you, so quick? Really, old fellow, I shall have to make an example of you." "Never mind, judge, but just come into the kit- chen, where the tea-kettle's boiling yet, and we'll settle the matter over a toddy, for you know I must get rid of the stock on hand somehow." "Ah, you old fox," returned the judge; "would you tempt me, you must offer stronger inducements for long life and health than old wine presents. No, no, man, I have lived too long to change now, rest assured, and my advice to you is, to follow my ex- ample." As Bragg thought over the conversation, after the departure of the judge, and coupled it with what he had drawn from the landlord, he concluded that beyond seeing the old woman where Susan was last heard from, there was little or nothing to be done. Accordinglt the next morning he drove to the Falls, and presented himself at her door. It was the same red farm house, with the dwarf quince-bushes along the garden fence, that Susan Masters entered twenty- five years before. Time, to be sure, had afforded page: 436-437[View Page 436-437] 436 HAMPTON IEIGHTS. props for the support of the fence, and, with un- scrupulous hand, broken off the moldings over the fi'ont entrance to the house. Otherwise there was little change, the same dilapidated well-curb, and long sweep, which, in the rough wind of the morning, swayed backward and forward; the same row of bright milk-pans about it, and the same grindstone still answering for a fastening to the gate. A man was chopping wood in the yard, and, of him, Mr. Bragg inquired for Mrs. Whittlesy. "Do you mean my wife, or mother?" said he, still continuing on with his work, making the chips fly in all directions. "Your mother, I presume. I am looking up some information relating to the Revolution, and learn she has an excellent memory." "Well, you'll find her inside somewhere; don't stay too long, that s all, for she 'll talk till Doomsday on them subjects ;" and he whacked away still more earnestly, sending a big chip against the attorney's hat, which went whizzing across the yard, before the wind. The same voice which, so many years before, bade the trembling mendicant "come in," welcomed the lawyer, and the same old woman looked upon him through the wide-bowed spectacles, and either the same Bandana handkerchief, or one of close resemblance to it, covered her head and fastened beneath her chin. "Good morning, ma'am," said Mr. Bragg. HAI'IPTON HEIGHTS. 437 "Good morning," rejoined the old lady, "take a seat." "Thank you," he replied, and drew a chair beside her. "Quite a blustering day out," said she, and hitched her seat more closely to the side of the fire-place. "Rather windy," said Bragg, and he drew off his gloves, and placed them in his hat, which stood on the floor beside him. "I don't think," resumed the old woman, " it's as cold as in former times, we al'ays expected snow afore Thanksgivin', when I was a gal." "It 's pretty cold, though, ma'am." "Why, yes, winter, such as we have now days, sot in perty airly this year; I was just reading about the ice in the old Cone'ticut, along with the Governor's Proclamation.'" "That's a good document, I believe," answered Bragg. "Why, I s'pose it is; 'tain't much different, though, from the ones they use to write; he recommends about the same things, and winds up puty much in the same style; some little differences, however." "What. are they, ma'am?" "Why, in former times, the Govenor al'ays writ, ' that all sarvile work is prohibited by law,' but they leave that out now'days. I s'pose it is about as well, for nobody 's held to sarvice now in New England; it page: 438-439[View Page 438-439] 438 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. looks kinder bad, though, and I al'ays miss it, when I read over what he recommends us to do." "It was quite common to hold slaves, when you were young, I suppose," said the attorney. "Sarvents, sarvents, we al'ays called 'em sarvents. My father had six, and in war time they all joined the black rigement-and they made pretty sogers too; old Scipio--Scipio Africanus, as they used to call him- commanded it; and in the battle where Gineral Mas- ters was killed, I've heared tell, he did more fighting than all the rest put together." "General Masters was a very brave man, I 've been told," suggested Bragg. "Why, yes he was, and a real old Puritan, that al'ays talked about the Lord's anointed, and named over the Old Testament sogers, jist as though he'd been one of them.." "There's some of his descendants living in the county yet, I believe," said Bragg. "Not that I knows on; the last one was Peter Mas- ters, and- he, poor fellow, had hard luck in his family; his darter misbehaved herself, and his wife took sick and died suddin, and he finally kinder wound himself up drinkin'." "That was a pity," returned Mr. Bragg, 'for so good a family, quite a pity," "To be sure," said Mrs. Whittlesy, "he had too good blood in his veins to gin up so, but 't was a hard HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 439 case, any how-and I suppose his poor gal come in here one night, jist afore sun-down, and axed me for some cold vittals. She was a poor half starved critter any how, and said she was goin' to York for the child's dad. She would n't say he was her husband, but kept kinder sulky like, when I axed her much about him. I tried to persuade her not to go, telled her she would n't find him if she got there; 'twan't no use, she just went off that night, and that's the last I ever heard from her. I was talking with old Judge Curtis, as we call him, about her, t' other day; and he says there 's no doubt in his mind, but that she got down to York, and either killed herself, or was killed by Walker; 'cause he remembers readin' jist about the time she must have got there, an account of a coroner's inquest over a woman found drowned, that had on a petticoat marked S. M.; them's her initials, and I guess she drowned herself; but what became of the child is a mystery." After listening to the old lady some time longer, Bragg concluded he could gain nothing by remaining; and so remarked, that as his friend, who was to meet him here, had passed the time of appointment, he would go on; therefore bidding her good-by, he returned to the village, fully as wise as he went away. page: 440-441[View Page 440-441] CHAPTER XXXVI. "He sat alone- And phantom thoughts unsought for, troubled him. Something within would still be shadowing out All possibilities; and with tihese ahadows His mind held dalliance." COLEBIDGB. IT was early evening when Bragg again reached the city. Instead of visiting his family, he went at once to the office, where he felt confident Grindus would still be at work. As he came down the quiet street, ren- dered still more so by the irregular buildings which, unlighted and untenanted, stood out in dim perspective; he-could not but think of the account that he was pre- paring for the Judgment-day. Passing the great steps, where for years he had seen assemble crowds of spec- ulators, he noted one solitary figure, that looked like an ominous night-bird hovering about for prey. It was the only figure he had met since he entered the street; how strange a contrast to the crowds which, a few hours before, filled the place with life and bustle. How still it was, so still, the echo of his footsteps, as he paced along, broke distinctly on his ear, until he dreaded, almost, lest he should hear his thoughts HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 441 repeated. At length the tall building, in whose dark rooms sat Grinders, night after night, diligently conning over papers. and plans, was reached.- Quickly ascend- ing the steps, he discovered a beggar quietly sleeping on the door-sill; upon closer examination, he perceived she was the same forlorn being who, from time to time, had sat there since first he inhabited the building; giving her a slight shake to waken her, he passed on to the office; he turned the knob of the door-handle, but found it locked. No sooner, however, did the latch move, than a voice from within inquired, "Who was there?"Bragg replying, Grinders came forward and opened the pass- age; showing, sitting by the shaded lamp, the grizzly- featured McKay. u Well, Bragg," inquired his partner, " what news?" "Little or none,' replied the attorney; "a sort of fool's elrand!" "Well it ain't so here; the very devil has got into every thing, and the man who gets safe through the day, can well afford to make offerings to his tutelar divinity. I don't know any one, without it is our old friend here,"' pointing to the Scotchman, "but's in trouble; and I suppose he has his share, sorrowing for his worthy patron, who ain't long for this world, I reckon. But, Johnny, you must excuse me just: now; Bragg and I have a good deal of talking to do, come in to-morrow at this time, and I'll attend to you." 19' page: 442-443[View Page 442-443] "2 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. The Scotchman doggedly left the room, apparently not satisfied with his curt dismissal; while Grinders locked the door after him, and then sat down again- by the table. "You say, Bragg," he commenced, "you did not learn much about his. heirs." "No; the most I collected was a mere surmise as to his marriage." "Then there 's no proof of it, eh? Well, that 's good so far-nothing else, Bragg, though?" "Nothing to be depended upon; a little gossip handed about by old women." "But what became of the girl, man?" "They know nothing about her! But an old county Judge of Probate, half antiquary and half gossip, and withal pretty cunning, thinks she was drowned; and gives as a reason, his having read of a woman being discovered in the dock, with the initials, S. M., marked on her under-clothes." "Pretty good, Bragg, that ,s worth remembering, a good thing to frighten him with, at any rate--but what of the child?" "Nothig! she has never been heard from, since she was taken off by her mother." "Well, I have something that will fit in there," replied Grinders; " old Scotty was just telling me, when you came in, how he disposed of it, and how the old hag he gave it to has, more than once, thrown out * HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 443 hints of her being a lady, and Patterson's wife--by the way, did you know that he was dead?" "No! it ain't possible!" "'Tis though, dead and in his grave; and his wife, they say, has run off, with old Burritt's boy, Tom, who shot him." "You astonish me, Grinders." "Can't help it; and it 's a lucky thing for us, too, for he would have been greatly in the way, if he had lived, al- ways. But, Bragg, I have more important business than all this to communicate, I tell you: the very devil is in stocks and railroad bonds, and Willowisp sold to-day for sixteen; but I will fix that to-morrow-inspire con- fidence by paying the interest on the bonds." "You have raised the funds then?" "Yes; raised them on old Walker's name; and as luck would have it, he had another shake to-day, and is near gone-nobody knows this but old McKay, and he contrives to put every body off the scent by saying he 's got a cold or something of the kind, and has left me to take charge of his business." "That was a step further, Grinders, than I sup- posed-you would go," "Pshaw, Brpgg! it's a plagued sight better than to split into forty pieces, and to sink all you and I and your old father have been so long in making." "You may think so," returned Bragg. "But don't you?" said Grinders. "How the devil page: 444-445[View Page 444-445] "4 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. are we going to meet things without some such aid; we can't get back what 's sunk, and must sustain our- selves till things take a turn!" "That 'shbad reasoning, Grinders." "Bad reasoning, you fool; do you suppose I am going to break now, when I have carried the thing thus far, for the sake-of scruples of conscience-not I; and what is more, I have just begun, and must have help, too." "You will draw me into no State Prison scrape, I tell you," replied Bragg. Won't I!-you are in one already, in the same boat with me; for you can't prove you are not con- nected with this scheme, any how." "What scheme?" "This one of the Willowisp." ("Well, what of it?" "What of it I why, it 's nothing but a eursed fraud, any how, though perhaps not felonious according to law." "I reckon so," replied Bragg; " and I reckon when Mr. Grinders gets his partner into any scheme where he can not see the way out, he will know it." "Sign those, then," retorted Grinders, pushing to- ward him a parcel of bonds, " and then tell me you can creep out of that hole." "Do you suppose I am going to commit forgery, Grinders?" HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 445 "I suppose you will, or I suppose 'Grinders & Bragg' will fail; and having failed, I suppose ' Grind. ers & Bragg' will have to absquatulate; and Mrs. Bragg and her interesting children retire to her father's; and Mr. Bragg's elegant new house on the avenue have to be sold under foreclosure; and poor unfortunate Mr. Bragg compelled to take passage for California to look after his war bonds," "You need not think, Grinders, to bully me into any such plan as this," he replied, again taking up the bonds and examining them. "Very well, then; we'll stop, and I will retain Walker's money to meet the notes, I guess, in my lonely estate (poor- Mrs. Grinders and her daughter six feet under the turf). I can stand it." "Grinders, this is too bad.1" "Look you here, Bragg," replied the lawyer, throw- ing up his spectacles and crossing his eyes, so that they stared nearly at right angles, "are you a fool? Look at the subject coolly a moment; take your own inter- est, and leave mine alone, and then ask yourself whether it's best. You are just reconciled to your father-in-law, and happy as a man can be, with two fine boys, God bless them-how I wish they were mine- and a lovely wife-one who has succeeded in winning back such a hard old fellow as her father, who cursed you -over and again, and who, should you go down, leaving these charges behind you, would take his page: 446-447[View Page 446-447] "6 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. daughter home on such conditions as would not be very agreeable, I presume." "Nothing would ever separate Susan from me, Grinders-not even the contempt and scorn of the world.," "Well, then, don't let her have cause for trouble- don't let your father's fortune and mine all go to the bottom for the sake of a few foolish scruples. Just look at it: every body knows you are a large stockholder in the Mania Road, and never will think .of asking whether these bonds are genuine or not; now sign them, and then hypothecate a loan of old Sanchez or McCorcle till such time as you can redeem them. It 's all straight enough; things ain't going to be this way forever." "But what do you want the money for, Grinders?" "To meet the Mobile acceptance." "Why! I thought there was a shipment to meet- that." - "Thought like a fool! who ever knew a Texas planter, when it would take a day's trouble or an hour's riding, to keep his promise with a Northerner? I did not expect the cotton when we accepted, and did it only to keep the right side of old Walker." "Grinders," replied Bragg, pacing up and down the office, and at length pausing before the pile of bonds, "I have done some pretty dirty work in my day, but nothing which the world would not call- sharp and HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 447 cunning. I have swindled Government, but used her own laws to accomplish it; humbugged this man and that, but always within the pale of the law. And I have a dear wife at home, who calls her little boy to her every night, teaching him to say, ' Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us froma'evil ;' now she would rather go down into the meanest hovel in the city, and to dwell with me in honest poverty, than into the rich- est dwelling with dishonest wealth." "Follow your own judgment," replied Grinders, folding his arms and letting down his spectacles; " but I tell you, let Grinders and Bragg suspend, and you will have a chance to try it, but not in the city; no, your race is run here, and mine, too.", "You got me into this scrape, Grinders., "And I will get you out, if you will but help your- self." "Not honestly; not so I can look my wife in the face, like an honest man; no, no, this is asking too much." "Bragg, I say again," returned Griiders, " don't be a fool! we have got work enough in our profession to distinguish you: there is the 'Canal case,' now before t the United States Court, and to be argued by you next week; will you give it up-throw away the name of the ablest advocate in the States, and abscond, damned in reputation forever--think, man?" "Why don't you forge them yourself, Grinders?, page: 448-449[View Page 448-449] "8 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "Because I 've got enough on my shoulders already, and want company in the boat; you are in for the win- nings, and must be for the -losings." "And you are willing to sacrifice me to your plans, because I am where I caii not escape." "I ask no more, Bragg, than I have done myself; I ask you to share the same risk, and take your pro- portion of the profits." Bragg sat down by the table at these words, and for a long time remained silent, his eyes shaded by his hands. There before him lay an original bond; he looked at it for a long time through his extended fin- gers, that still pressed heavily against his brow. At last he took up his pen; a blank sheet of paper was near it; and, half unconsciously, imitated the names upon the face of the bond; they were good representa- tions; at length he affixed them to one of the unfilled bonds. Grinders crossed his eyes as he saw the action, and -apparently gazed toward the door, though, in reality, he noted carefully every motion of his partner's fingers. Bragg compared the resemblance a moment with the original, and then thre his work to shreds, and again sank back into his abstract manner. "Let 's see what you have written," said Grinders, picking up the scattered pieces, and putting them together, "exactly! exactly! the devil could n't dis- cover it, but come, man, 'if it were done at all, 't were best -done quickly.'"RHe hesitated a moment, then HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 449 signed some halfa dozen of them. "There, sign the rest; and I 'll raise the wind on them to-morrow, and we ll come into port yet, in spite of the croakers, sails flying."' Bragg mechanically complied, and completed his down- fall by the crime of that night. It was nearly midnight when he returned to his dwelling. Perceiving a light in the hall, he tried his night-key, and found the door unlocked. Doubtless they had expected him; for in the dining-room was spread a cold repast, evidence of the solicitude and kind heart that had awaited anxiously his return. He tried to eat, but thoughts too bitter choked the food in his throat, at last compelling him to refuse its sus- tenance. How quiet it was. Tick! tick! beat the little clock on the mantle, every stroke keenly, sadly perceptible; the very silence was harrowing, he could even hear his own breathing, and more attentively listening, he heard another's also; quickly turning in his seat, he perceived his wife peacefully sleeping on the sofa. A cold tremor ran through him at the sight, so cold he nearly fainted; he could not waken her, his sin weighed heavily upon his soul, he dared not meet her tender inquiring gaze-so sat and looked upon her, like one entranced. This was his hour of bitterness, when imagination, quickened by the pangs of con- science, spread wide her wings, and sailed about him. Down the long vista of years he looked, there was the past! the past!- into the future he peered, the dread- page: 450-451[View Page 450-451] '450 HAMPTON HEIGHTS.. ful future--heard chains, the clanking of heavy chains- heard bolts loosened, dungeon bolts-saw pale, wasted beings, convicts and their keepers--saw prison walls, dark and frowning-heard sobs, choking, stifling-saw partings, bitter anguish-wrung partings. ':0 God, that I had not done it," he murmured; " that I had told her all, and fled to some lonely spot, sand reared our children-that I had remembered the judgment to come." And the tears gushed forth from the very agony of his soul. His emotions woke his wife; she started, like one 7 affrighted, but, perceiving her husband, came over and kissed him. He pressed her to his bosom, he had often done so, and, in' that sorrow-wrung clasp, she discovered naught but the old fond affection. He suppressed his feelings, and went and laid upon the same couch with that pure innocent being; he heard her quiet breath, aye, felt it on his forehead; there was no sleep for him--no happy dreams--no fond con- fidings, now, but a bed too short to stretch himself in, and a covering too narrow to wrap himself in. CHAPTER XXXVII. "My idle pencil, long at rest, My hand, its cunning quite forgot, My failing eye and heaving breast, Warn me of time that slumbers not." IT was an early October morning, soft light hang- ing in misty wreaths over mountain and valley, stealing into city church-yards, and dim courts, and lonely lanes, and wandering about parks until their fountains seemed to emit rays tinged with the colors of the rainbow. A yellow sober light, like a summer evening transferred to mid-day, as it were, a very ghost of summer. On such a morning it was that Miss Mary sat down to her lonely breakfast; very lonely it would have seemed to one who for years had assembled at his board his smiling family, seen there his children, his wife, his friends, ever making it merry with their cheerful voices. But not so to her. O, no, month after month had found her there, in the same lonely way-one single plate and cup, matching well the tiny Wedgewood tea-pot and sugar-bowl that held little more than the amount she needed; not that she stinted any thing, or made her board meanly page: 452-453[View Page 452-453] 452 H AMPTON HEIGHTS, frugal, but simply because her wants were few, and habits abstemious. The gray-aired waiting-man, that seemed old when Matilda was a child, still shuffled about the table, moving the muffins a little nearer, and the butter further off, by way of some thing to do, in the mechanical duty he daily performed for form's sake. His mistress sat in silence, tasting the simple fare as if she were some breathing statue, and the oldgservant a clumsy machine wound up for the occasion. She is not the same masculine woman we knew of old, but a tall, cold person who seems deeply penetrated with sorrow; not less erect than in past days, yet far more spare in figure; and, as she reaches out the pale white hand, whose thin taper fingers show no ornament, or rests her hollow cheek upon its withered palm-she reminds one of some queenly being who has outlived many friendships. The black tresses we once knew, and the thick, and slightly gray ones that we saw in- creasing, are gone, and a thin silver plait of hair sweeps back from the high temples, whose blue veins are plainly perceptible. Her dress is the same scrupu- lously plain affair as ever. No ornament, no affectation about it, and her whole appearance any thing but that which we would once have expected to find. A strong masculine will is about all that now remains of Miss Mary; this enables her to sustain the same relation to business and out of door- life as ever; the tIA.3PTON HEIGHTS. 453 action and care thus called forth upholds her; had she grown neglectful, and permitted herself to indulge in reflections on the past, she would have long since gone from among us; day after day she still turns her papers, examines her rent-rolls, and argues with her agent; but she will not always thus attend to them. No, a day is coming when even she must yield to the cold spirit; and, if we rightly interpret her features, she cares not how soon he comes. For Matilda and her child she alone desires to live; take this hope from her, and the spring of life breaks, nor the grasshopper, nor weightier cares will any longer burden her. Little dreams she, as she remembers that sweet child, who, in old time, nestled to her side, and woke a laughing spirit wherever she went--is now flying from city to city in dark despair. She has just opened the morning's paper, she has glanced her eye over the European news, and per- ceived the account of the Patterson tragedy. At first, she trembled as though some terrible struggle was taking place within, but read on, growing calmer as she read. "There will be letters by this mail," said she, laying aside her paper; "it is far worse than I expected would ever take place--though, from what I heard, I felt that there must be a separation. I can not believe my child is to blame, that she was the willing cause of this death. O, my God! what hast thou spared me to see, blood! blood! O, Anna Wil- *, , page: 454-455[View Page 454-455] 454 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. ber, when you said it, said it was on my hands-did you see this too? Did the angel whisper of this like- wise? Look upon me out of Heaven, pity me! pity me! My poor child, where are you to-day with your baby?' come home to me! I will cherish you still, I am the one to ask for-forgiveness. I who brought it all about." As she thus spoke the door bell rang, and directly she received a package of letters, out of which. she quickly selected one from Matilda; it was dated Havre. She broke the seal with a slow, cautious hand, as if preparing herself for terrible tidings; she read a few lines, and then retired to her own room, ap- parently much affected by its contents. Thus it ran: "My more than mother-I scarcely dare to take my pen to write you; did I feel that this would arrive before the account of my husband's death, I should not indite it without trembling, for how can I speak of all the agony I have endured with calmness. Mr. Patter- son is in his grave; -he was my husband; whatever once existed that rendered our lives miserable should now be forgotten. What was kind and pleasant in his nature alone came to me when he was gone. His grave seemed to have inclosed the causest of our wretchedness; to have buried with him the unhappi- ness we endured together. As I stood by it I said, God forgive me, if I did aught to hasten the exit of this soul from life, and bring it unprepared into Thy HAMPTON HEIGHTS, 455 presence. I amwretched; it needs but little thought to perceive how much so, how all these events have entered my heart; me, who have ever been so sensi- tive, and trusted so much to sympathy and affection for existence. I wait here, keeping the most profound seclusion, wishing to obtain a passage home in some umall vessel, for I can not endure the thought of the mfortunate notoriety I have gained, and which would nake me a continued subject of remark, should I eturn by steamer. "Mr. Patterson had many friends in Paris, people 7ith whom I have never had much intercourse, and who eek now to make my difficulties a source of deeper lisery to me. All the statements I have seen are from leir hands, are far from giving the real facts, and itended to prejudice the world against me. "Doctor Buritt was proved innocent, without trouble, id therefore I am believed to be the immediate cause 'their meeting, and of his death. A man's acts are, erlooked in such instances, but a woman has no one appeal to; nothing in extenuation to offer. I do At by this wish to exculpate myself; to put aside one t from the world's eye ; I am willing to be judged - this same censorious tribunal, willing my example ould stand forever; if it is best, what I have done is tween my God and my own soul, and to him I must last render my account. My life since marriage has en a bitter one, my own acts may have produced page: 456-457[View Page 456-457] 456 HAM PTON HEIGHTS. much of it. I might have made my husband a better wife than I did, I might have earlier conformed to his wishes, and then, perchance, we might have been hap- pier together. I blame myself for it now, I blamed myself for it after my baby was born; but it was too late then-the child was an idiot; nothing which might serve to win me his affections, however dear it was to me, for the agony I suffered at its birth, however dear as the snow-drop that lay upon my bosom, when my life trembled-it was nothing to him, no being that might call him father, that might run out to meet him when he returned, or clasp his neck and rejoice over him. No, it was a poor deaf and dumb idiot, a thing he was ashamed to own, that he could never speak of with pleasure, that he dreaded to name as his child. To me it was different-it was my baby--I had borne it-felt its lips pressing upon my bosom, its arms on my neck, I believe I loved it the dearer because it was simple, and its infirmities drew it closer to me; I some- times thought it heard me when I sang to it; I saw ex- pressions on its face which assured me that I was com- prehended; his father could not see them, to him its eyes were always lusterless, its face ever impassive. It never spoke, yet to me it had intelligible ways--little signs I comprehended, and could answer, and I could have been happy with it, had there been nothing beside to trouble me. "My intimacy with Doctor Buritt may have been HAMPTON HEIGHTS, 457 imprudent, but beyond that, you know me too well to question it. Had I been more a creature of the world, I might have been less fascinated by his character and friendship; but I have either shut myself up, or been shut up, all my life. I was as unacquainted with gen- tlemen, in most respects, when we met, as a girl of six- teen; and I delighted in his society. Our tastes, in many matters, were similar, our sympathies still more so--he filled a vacant place in my soul, a place that God made to be tenanted, and yet through all my life, till I saw him, had it been empty; it was no feeling of love that drew me toward him, beyond what congenial spirits feel for one another; had he been married, and had brought his wife and children with him, when he came to see me, I should have loved him just as well. Love is of heaven's creating, spiritual in birth; you know its strength-it has racked and tortured you, and never been extirpated from your nature. The chamber in my soul where it slumbered, was closed to my husband, long years of affection, perchance, might have opened it, children or domestic associations might have drawn it forth, but even then, it would have been a dark place, I fear, illuminated by fitful, uncertain gleams of light. It required a soul to open it, a soul sympathetic. - Oh, how lonely was my married life; can you blame me, when I first saw the deep wants of my heart, that I welcomed the friend who alone, of all others, could supply them, that I rejoiced because my soul had, at 20 page: 458-459[View Page 458-459] 458 1H AMPTON JHEIGHTS. last, found a companion with whom it could mount up into higher and purer relations? VVell, it was so, and we studied together, read together, and were friends. Did I do wrong? I leave it to you to say, you whose practical, sorrowful life enables you to answer-you, at whose side I was first taught of love-and whose child I am. I do not fear being cut off from your household, and, oh, may I never be firom your heart; may I come back and, with my idiot boy, go over the places that I loved when a wandering child. May I recall that infancy, and refresh my life with its memory, become a child in spirit, so as to draw nearer to Him whose mercies fail not. "I have taken passage inl a small German bark, con- signed to Ludolph Smith, of New York; and have made a draft upon you, through our mutual friend, Mr. Langdon.. How long it will be before we shhall meet, I am"unable to say; the ship will be a slow sailer, with- out doubt, and we may be a long time upon the pass- age. I hope, during the interval, to gain strength and health, for I am sadly worn with the events of the last three weeks; I have been living in seclusion and almost poverty, determined to avoid meeting with any one that I knew. You have heard my story; to your love and affectionate judgment I commit it." The letter dropped from Miss Mary's fingers as the last sentence was perused, rested a moment upon IA31rPToN HEsIGlS. 459 he& lap, and then slipped down to the floor; she did not stoop to restore it, but, with folded armns, sat gazing through the open window. '"The sun shines, the birds sing," she murmured; "but who in the wside world is without sorrow? what bosom uncor- roded? what heart unknown to suffering? vality of vanities, indeed, but how vain the wiisest plans of our, short-sighted judgments. O, Matilda Patterson! learer to me now than ever, dearer for thy idiot off- spring, thy husband's neglect, and may own foolish, foolish planning. But there 's hope yet," she con- tinned, assum g againg gai her determined air; "youth, and beauty, and money, are qualifications not to be despised; no! no! you shall be lappy yet, marry who you are a mind to, and have babies that ain't fools- ,but what is this, and this-letters by the bagfiul,", and she broke the seal of Mr I. Langdon's note. It contained Matilda's draft for five hundred dollars; at the-close, he made a few remarks upon the unhappy tragedy-spoke of Matilda in the highest terms, and exonerated her from all blame. " Of Mr. Platterson's acts," he wrote, "'I have little to say, respect for his ashes compels silence; but let it be known to you that, amid vile associations, his evil deeds were manifold; his life ended as we might have expected, he was deeply intoxicated at the time, anld fell by his own hand rather than that of another. "Doctor Buritt's character stands highl among us; page: 460-461[View Page 460-461] "O HAM PTON HEIGHTS. he is universally beloved and respected--no one can regret more sincerely than he does the part that he bore in Patterson's death. I trust Matilda will soon be again with you, and that your declining years may be made happy by her presence." Miss Mary took down her check-book, drew a check for the amount, and dispatched it to Mr. Langdon's office; then perused the other letters, filed them, and put them in their places; after which "-the again read Matida's letter, and the newspaper account of the tragedy; more than half that night she might have been heard pacing her room with a slow and solemn step, that spoke as plainly of the lonely watch she kept with her melancholy thoughts, as the martial tread of the sentinel whose step echoes before the guard-house. CHAPTER XXXVIII. "Think'st thou there dwells no courage but in breasts That set their mail against the ringing spears When helmets are struck down? Am I not come to die among my children?" MRS. TTRIMAiNa. THE little German galliot, in which Matilda had taken passage, at length got under way; with a heart full of joy she heard the grating of the chains over the windlass, and the loud choruses of the men as they weighed the anchor. She stood upon the deck, and watched the sailors aloft 41loosening sail after sail, .. until at last the vessel seemed- a mass of canvas. She heard with pleasure the shouts above her, the rattling of the cordage, the creaking of the blocks, for they all spoke of home; toward which she was hasten- ing. The short and pleasant trip she had made in the steamer presaged the expedition of the ship, ana, as the land sunk down in the distance, she dreamed she was almost thbre. Little knew she of sea going, es- pecially in a Dutch galliot heavily laden. The master, however, was a kind-hearted seaman, with a fund of German stories, which Matilda, perfectly understand- ing his native tongue, past many a pleasant hour in page: 462-463[View Page 462-463] "2 IIAMPTON HEIGIITS. hearing related; she was the only passenger, and, among those weather-beaten sailors in that little dark cabin, seemed strangely out of place. The crew was small, some ten before the mast, and two officers, and the manner of working the ship of such German style as to make sldw sailing at best. The beauty of the weather, during the first part of tle voyage, atoned somewhat for the tediousness; and day after day Matilda sat, with her child beside her, watching the few sights that interrupted its monotony. The occasional sail that looms from the distance, and bears bravely down r upon you, passing perhaps near enough to exchange longitude, or the speck of one that grows smaller and smaller until lost in the hori- zon; the schools of porpoises that come tumbling by, often leaping or playing along the ship's sides, or passing, in vast shoals athwart the bows; the many birds that hover along the track; the flocks of silly flying fish that leap out of water to become quick prey to the prowling thieves of the air; and the round sun which, hour after hour, rolls slowly to the west. With book in hand, though her thoughts were any where but on its page, Matilda would sit, day after day, watching the glassy deep, or gazing upon the stolid face of the man at the wheel, who seemed scarcely enough alive to keep the, sails full and the vessel on her course. She soon learned, in her desire to reach home, the direction they must head to make HAkMPTON HEIGHTS. 463 any thing on their course, and never passed the bin- nacle without wistfully peering into it. The moon- lights too are pleasant, when no one, save the officer, who perchanced leaned against the mast, and the man at the wheel, were about; when the sails seemed whiter than ever, and the foamy track sparkling with phosphorescent light. She would sit alone on these moon-lit nights, when her child slumbered below, half shaded by the spreading canvas, and con over the. strange vicissitudes of her strange life, questioning her mind if it might shadow forth the dim hereafter; if clouds and shadows would ever envelop her, till time closed the strange chapter. Sad as were these re- flections, and bitter as her fate seemed to her, she ' could not put aside the memory of early friends, of Ilarriet Malcom and her mother, and wondered what might have now become of them. Then, too, in the darker hours, and in the twilight shadows, she would sit on the transom, in the little cabin, and ply her needle, while the weather-beaten old man made the place ring with his mirth. Thus, day after day fled by, the bark making some westing, and) as seamen say, " a good deal of stern-way,5" for, unless before the windFthe craft was a poor sailor indeed. These things, however, were not to last; the fine weather was to end in squalls and storms. One night there was a severe gale, the first Matilda had ever experienced, and, in the pitching page: 464-465[View Page 464-465] "4 HA]MPTON HEIGHTS. and rolling of the vessel, the dreary darkness, and the mournful sounds of waves that dashed against its sides, or groaned about the laboring rudder, she be- I came alarmed. In a few days it was again calm, and all hands were employed in sending down the lighter spars. Matilda was on -deck, and in the exertions of the sailors found amusement for the hour; still she partook of the master's anxiety, and learned that he rigged in the jib-boom, and stowed away the top- gallant masts and studding sail spars, lest the entire masts should be carried away in the next storm. Every thing that related to their safety or expedition, Matilda inquired into; asked the names of the different sails and ropes, until she was as familiar with them as the ship boy, for the voyage had already extended to thirty days, with little appearance of drawing to a close. Again there was a heavy gale, making the vessel roll and labor so severely, she was glad to escape to her berth. At night she was awakened by a sea striking the ship, the force of which carried away a portion of the deck, so heavy was the shock, her trunk was hurled from its lashings, and went crashing backward and for- ward, mingling in the din of the rushing water. The sea had made a clean breach over them, carrying away the gangway-door, and overflowing the cabin, she could hear it washing along the floor, and gurgling through the scuppers, and in the consternation of the HAMPTQN HEIGHTS. 465 moment covered her head, and prepared for what she feared was the last drowning struggle. At length the morning came, and she clambered up the steps that she might witness the, grandeur of the storm. The vessel was hove to, and waves that. seemed higher than the ship's yards rolled down upon them, careening the bark backward and forward, making it impossible for Matilda to stand upon the deck; down they came, billow after billow, dipping the lee rail under water, and then, with lightning's speed, broken and hissing rushing out from under the ship, to pile up a white- capped mountain between them and the sky. It was a grand sight, and in the wild sublimity she forgot the danger, forgot they were but-:an atom, which the sea took up in its mighty strength, and-dashed about from wave to wave, as if in merriment. Again the weather was calm, but with wind, scarcely sufficient to move them on their course, day after day R the great sails slatted against the spars, and the old bark rose over the heavy swell, unbroken by a ripple, in whose dark blue water she saw the dolphins sport- ing. Thus time wore on, each hour bringing them a little nearer home; Matilda's eyes grew weary from strain- ing their gaze westward, and every sun she saw sink into the ocean, she trusted would be the last-that the . morrow would. see her watching it fade away among the hills, crimsoning, as it set, the spires and domes of 20* II ,:A page: 466-467[View Page 466-467] "6 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. her native city. But the Storm-god had not yet spent his wrath, his spirit was still abroad upon the waters, and they might not escape him. No sooner were indications of land discovered, than they 'were envel- oped in a fog so dense, as scarcely to permit them seeing the ship's length. Constantly throwing the lead, and wearily watching, they slowly worked a passage toward the shore, hourly trusting to meet a pilot. They had lost their cannon in the gale, and had no other means, in the mist, that enveloped them, of attracting attention. Every hour satisfied the captain they were nearing land, and he shortened sail, and to the best of his judgment stood off the coast. Matilda shared in the general anxiety on board, stood on deck peering into the mist as if she would penetrate its ,curtains, and discover the longed-for land. At last there was evidence of a strong current setting them westward, and the ship was tacked, and headed in another direction; scarcely had she come about when there was a heavy thump, and she grated upon a sand. bar; here she hung a moment, and then swung round and heeled over on her side. The excitement the shock created had not subsided when the wind commenced blowing, clearing off the fog, and showing a long line of sandy coast, over which the tide was breaking in majestic billows. The wind gradually increased, working them -further on the bar, and creating a heavy swell which soon swept the decks uHAMPTON HEIGHTS. 467 and drove the sailors to the rigging; one boat alone remained, and this the crew, in opposition to the cap- tain's order, took possession of, and made for land. In getting clear of the ship they were swamped, and Matilda saw five of -them sink into the waves, the remaining few clung to it, and drifted toward the land. Through the lulls in the wind, she could hear their shouts as if they were calling to the people they could per- ceive endeavoring to launch a boat through the surf- these grew fainter, and still more feeble in the increas- ing tempest, which now roared about them, threatening momentarily to carry away the masts to which they clung. At last in the edge of the evening, they descried a boat making over the waves toward the ship; they waved their hats and neckerchiefs, and shouted together- called out each other's names, and laughed and half- cried in the joy of their anticipated escape; alas! that joy was of short duration, those rapturous visions of home and dear faces, were never to be realized; even the brave fellows who had periled life to come out and I save them, were to share their destiny--to go down into the wild billows, and at last be cast lifeless and bruised upon the shore. The Death-angel was on the blast, he flapped his broad wing over them, and they -perished. The captain had, early in the day, made '{atilda and her child fast in -the rigging, and also lashed his own page: 468-469[View Page 468-469] "8 H AxM31PTON HEIGHTS. form beside her. As the boat approached, he released himself that he might .assist makmg her fast, and in such a position as might enable them to take Matilda safely on board. With great difficulty this was accom- plished, and the first mate at once cut her loose, and half dragged her to the side where the boat was fast. "My child! my child!" she screamed; at the same time a wave broke over the side, and swept between them and its place of confinement. "We can't save it," shouted the mate, "save yourself now, now while the boat rises on the wave." But Matilda did not hear him, she was flying back, when she saw the poor thing stretching out his arms toward her. The mate followed; for he bore a manly heart, and resolved to perish with her, if such was her fate; and well it was, for in another moment the boat was dashed against the vessel, and shivered like a thing of glass. O, what a wail went up from those drowning men- dying in the very act of trying to save their brothers: -how they tried to cling to the smooth sides of the ship-and clutched hold of the barnacles that had collected there-and cried out for a rope, to the old mate, who was trying to secure Matilda in the shrouds. 'T was but a lmoment he heard them, and then again came the roar of the tempest. O! what a dreadful night it was, one that seemed in- terminable, minutes that were like hours in length, and hours that seemed like long days; louder and louder ,., IIAMPTON HEIIGHTS. 469 roared the waves, often dashing about their forms as if they would carry with them the frail; spar to which they clung, drenching their cold forms with the salt spray, and ringing imaginary death-knells with every beat. At length the gray dawn began to streak the east, and with the first light the poor wretches per- ceived the shore lined with people, who seemed to be dragging out the corpses that floated to the. beach. Matilda saw them, and over her bewildered mind came the thought that they would soon drag out hers like- wise; and she reached out her hands to grasp her child, that she might die with him on her bosom! How the old mate strained his gaze to discover a boat among them, and told her the gale was spending itself, and that before long they would be got off. Poor old man, he hoped so-hoped yet to clasp his boys, and recite to them the story of his perils, and to welcome his old wife, that kept his cottage in the Faderland. Hope on-hope on, it is well for thee, and thou shalt again gladden them with thy presence! The men who clung to the boat drifted to the shore in the course of the day, and gave such information as they could regarding the shipwreck; this was quickly dispatched to the telegraph, and before darkness had gathered over the city, the consignees were consulting in their office upon the proper mode of action. Miss Mary's agent, who was also on the look-out, at once page: 470-471[View Page 470-471] 470 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. forwarded the intelligence to her, and remained about his counting-room for her commands. In a short time her tall figure darkened his doorway, and she at once gave him instructions to accompany her to the warehouse of the owners. ; "I am resolved,"5 said she, as they went, " to charter a steam-tug, that will be upon the spot at the earliest daylight, cost what it may; but, nevertheless, will make them share a pro- portion of the expenses, if possible." With this determ- ination she entered the office of the consignees, who assured her-they were making arrangements to forward a steamer, and would use all expedition in'their power. Miss Mary's anxiety was too great, however, to await the result of their endeavors; and so, with her charac- teristic energy, she chartered, at her own expense, a steam vessel, with which, long before the other was in motion, she set off on the expedition. She was poorly prepared to encounter an inclement day on shore, hav- ing left her dwelling in great haste, and much less a dreary November storm, driving in from the south- west; notwithstanding, she mounted upon the planks that led to the outside tier of ships, and leaped down upon the steamer's deck with nearly the agility of a sailor, giving out her orders as if she had been her master. She took her position in the wheel-house, and gazed with anxious' face upon the increasing waves, / which, as they passed the Narrows, rolled in upon them with a heavy swell. HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 471 Slowly, yet firmly, the powerful steamer combatted the elements, mounting over the mighty waves that more than once swept its deck, and drove the men shouting to a cover. As they rounded into the lower bay, she could retain herself no longer in the wheel- house, and came forward, where, in a moment, she was deprived of hat and shawl, and left standing like a grim figure-head, whose gray, disheveled locks swept back before the blast. Still, she heeded it not, but with the captain's spy-glass kept the place, her cold, proud form breasting the tempest, that shouted defiance in her teeth; wild over her marble forehead waved the long, silver locks, and like a tattered sail, shook her thin gar-- ments on the wind. Still, with a face upturned to heaven, and an eye that seemed to penetrate the clouds, she faced the elements, bearing herself like one wlio feared nor seas nor whirlwinds. At last, an old sailor taking compassion on her dis- mantled state, brought a southwester and monkey 'jacket. "Come, madam," said he, "take a reef in your wig, arid get on this tarpaulin.: I can't think of seeing you up here in the cold, as if you were the figure-head of the Sea Witch. Come, let go your hold of that spy-gless a minute, and put int your arms into this coat, and tie those ear-flaps under your chin; there, you seem something like it now, and if you will stay up here, you'll make a pretty respectable figure- head." page: 472-473[View Page 472-473] 472 IIhAMPTON HEIGHTS, Little cared or thought she how she appeared, as over the waves leaped the steamer; -one hope, one strong, anxious hope inspired her, and to it she turned her prayers and thoughts. At length the captain, de. siring his glass, came near her, and as he approached, she lowered the glass through which she had been looking, and exclaimed, "I believe I see it. O, look! look! captain." He took the spy-glass from her hands, and after a moment's survey of a dark spot, that the naked eye now discovered in the distance, replied, "That must be her, but the sea is making a clean breach over her decks, and she has but one mast standing." "Can you see nothing else?" inquired Miss Mary, with an agonized expression of countenance. " O, say that you can see her-only say so!"' "I perceive some one," he returned-" some one'or two lashed in the rigging." "It is her! it is her!" she shouted. "Now, my men, man the boats and be ready; you shall have much wealth if you save her; and the blessing of my old shattered heart you shall have beside." "Stop, my good woman," said the captain; "make no foolish outcry, pray be calm; I will do all in my power, and if it is possible for a boat to be got under her stern, which is still high out of water, we will save them, whoever they are." "They see us, they see us!" cried Miss Mary, again * . f HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 473 lowering the glass. " O, tell me, captain, is it her? Is it, is it her?" "There is a female, I should think, and one or two men lashed to the shrouds; but I beg you, pray be calm." In the mean while the boat neared the stranded ship, and they could distinctly make out a woman's figure in the rigging. "Now, my men, who will go with me," cried Miss Mary, leaping down to where preparations were mak- ing to lower a life-boat. "No one! you foolish old thing," replied the sailor who had rid himself of his coat for her benefit; " and you'll appear a good deal more like a figure-head up there where you stood, than on the bows of a jolly boat." Just then the engine stopped, and with much diffi- culty a boat was lowered and manned for the under- taking. "She sees me! she sees me!" called Miss 'Mary, as the boat put off, and the steamer's rwheels slowly revolved to assist in keeping her head to the sea. "They will save her! I know they will--they must!" To such a' degree of excitement had she wrought herself that the captain placed men beside her, lest she should leap overboard. Like some strange thing of magic- mechanism over the waves topped that life- boat; and soon succeeded in bringing to under the page: 474-475[View Page 474-475] 4'74 IIAAPTON iI EIGHTS stern of the bark, which was still out of water. The old mate, though nearly exhausted, unlashed himself, -and made the child fast to a line which he lowered overboard. Matilda struggled to free herself as she saw the poor thing lowered away, but -the mate was resolved, this time, to secure them all. In a moment, they heard a shout which told that the boy was safe; he then fastened Matilda, now too weak to mind what he did, in the same way, and hoisted her over;; after which he secured the end of the rope and descended himself. - Quick the strong-armeed oarsmen brought them to the steamer, and soon the boat and its precious cargo swung from the davits. Miss Mary saw them landed, but she saw nothing else, for then, more lifeless than Matilda, she sank upon the deck. A miserable group was it that entered the family mansion; apd completely exhausted as was Matilda and her child, they were even less so than Miss Mary. They bore her to her chamber, called the family physician, bathed her limbs, and used all restoratives within their power; but age and a failing constitution were not to be overcome, and she alone left that chamber when they carried her out forever. Youth, hope, and the joy of again being at home, helped to restore the color to the cheeks of Matilda, and enabled her to pass night and day by the bed-side of her from whom she was so soon to be parted. J- IA MPTON HEIGHTS. 475 A 'month had passed since her escape from the wreck; October had ushered in his bleak brother, and often the chill wind chanted the autumn's reqziem. The dead leaves fell thickly in the little court, and naked branches tossed and beckoned against the dark- ening sky. Fitting season was it for one whose life had passed its summer, and gathered frozen snow- wreaths round an old frost-touched bosom, to pass away; fitting time for her whose life had known so little of a gentle spring-tide, and, like a swollen tor- rent, swept wildly, chafing all its days-to sail off on that dark ocean, from which returns no traveler. And so one night when the rain dashed fitfully against the casements and doors; andtwindows rattled in the dreary wind-gusts; and chanting voices piped through every crevice, she died. ' Come hither, Matilda," said she, : and prop me higher on my pillow-what time is it, child?'" "Ten o'clock." Ten o'clock,1' she repeated. "At two I shall be gone; is the doctor here?" "Sleeping, Aunty, in the next room." "Call him at one; it were well he should be near to make my exit easy with his drugs." Matilda's throat commenced swelling. She knew, however distant the time, it was at best but a little way in the future, and that the dearest object to her in the world was fast passing from it. Still, she page: 476-477[View Page 476-477] '476 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. suppressed her emotions; so much had she endured in life, she had learned to control her tears, and put checks upon the fountains of her grief. She raised her aunt, who seemed quite exhausted from the effort of speaking, and placed her in a more easy position. She opened her eyes a moment, and looked sadly in: Ma- tilda's face; then closed them again, and remained silent. "I said I should be gone at two," at length she spoke, opening her eyes, and then quickly closing them; " so get a paper, and take down my last plans for you-yes, Arthur," she continued, in a whisper, "I will'be there shortly." Matilda brought the pen and paper, and sat down upon the edge of the bed; but Miss Mary still remained silent, her eyes and lips closed. At length she once more opened them, and perceived Matilda sitting there with the paper in her hands. "I shall be gone at two, child," she repeated. "I hope not," replied Matilda. "Don't contradict me-I won't be contradicted," and she again fell back upon the pillow. "Turn up the light, child, it is getting dark," said she, after re- maining a long time silent-so long a time, Matilda feared the spirit might have escaped without her know" ing it. c What time is it, dear?" "Eleven o'clock."' "At two o'clock I shall be home."' Matilda stifled her sobs, and moved to shade the ) , . HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 4" light. "No, let it burn,"' said Miss Mary; "I want it clear now, that I may perceive every thing about me-every chair, and table, and book, for they are old friends, all that are left to me-all that I care to part with, save you, darling. Come, put your arm around my neck-I think I will go easier with you near me; do I tire you, child?" She now seemed much exhausted; still, Matilda sup- ported her head on her bosom, and turned her own face aside, that her tears might not disturb her. "Yes, Arthur," she murmured; "yes! yes!" Before long she once more opened her eyes. " O, it's you, darling, is it? I thought it was some one in white; you will be happy yet, and you won't forget me, will you? Death don't seem so fearful as I once thought it would, and I see now it 's my body that's alone to perish. I copld not have been created with this strength of soul and thought to chafe along half a century or so, and then perish; no, there is a better portion for me some- where. Put me back on the pillow, dear; I shall feel easier there. It's getting darker now; my eyes don't see distinctly. I am not sure that it is you standing there; turn me more toward the window, and keep your hand tightly in mine-who's that come in?" "' The doctor." "Ah, you are here in time-I shall be home at two, Hold tightly our hands together, Arthur--good-by!" Matilda still sat on the edge of the couch, clasping page: 478-479[View Page 478-479] 478 tHAMPTON HEIGHTS. the long white fingers, and gazing on the marble face, "She never yet missed an appointment," said the doctor, "and she 'll meet this ; yes, my dear, she has said her last word," and he felt nervously in his pocket for his handkerchief, which, after finding, lihe doubled into a kind of ball, and kept thumping it against his cheeks to absorb the tears. Occasionally Miss Mary opened her eyes, as if she knew thlerm, and once there came a slight smile; but her last words had been uttered, and Matildcla crossed the white hands over the bosom that had loved her till it ceased to beat forever. It was a lonely procession that left the old mansion on that bleak, windy November morning ; and the driver that sat on the hearse, which had come early to the door, looked blue and half-frozen. There had been some mistalie made in the time, and he had arrived nearly an hour too soon for the undertaker's orders. Once or twice Matilda looked out of the window, ancl saw him flapping his hands, and drawing about him the buffalo-robes on his seat, and then turned her head away, chilled in spirit by the sight. The curtains of the hearse swung mournfully'about in the dreary wind gusts, and the horse seemed impatient from so long standing in the cold. At last, the two carriages that were to carry the few mourners arrived, and the coffin was brought out, and rolled into the black hearse. It HA LPTON HIEIGTS. 479 wmas a lonely procession, indeed; the very children in the neighboring windows, that had been watching all the morning for the carriages and train of mourners, remarked it; and the old wood-sawyer, engaged op- posite in splitting blocks, told his wife that night that he thought it a slim affair for such grand folks as he'd seen go in there. On it moved, slowly and wearily, over the road no more to be passed by lher who had so many times traversed it. Rail-cars went darting by, train after train, but the shrill whistle broke not on the car of her whom it had so often hastened forth by its alarm-no, she could not command their expedition now, and might not even perceive the marks of respect the lowly wagoner gave,= who 'checked his horses and stood still while her body passed. At length the little grave-yard was gained, where slept so many of he; friends--sweet Anna Wilber and Arthur's dust-where the cold white shaft of Chauncey stood out against the clouds, and the high, square tomb of her father and sisters. She was nearly the last one of that group, alnd had lived long enough to see them all depart be- fore her. Matilda had no tears to shed. She followed the coffin through the iron gate to the edge of the grave, , and folded her hands over her bosom, and looked into itl; but when they came to lower the corpse, and she saw old Mr. Scott and the sexton hoeing-and shoveling the frozen earth on to her best friend, she could bear page: 480-481[View Page 480-481] 480 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. the sight no longer, and sat down upon a little monu. ment' and sobbed aloud. "Come, Miss Tilda," said the old gardener, " don't take on so-it's jist the nat- eral course of things, any how; and when you gets away, and comes to think it's God's duins, you 'll feel better, I know you will. I felt jist as bad when I kiv- ered up poor Martha last winter; but it was apinted unto her to die, and I yielded up to it 'cause it was God's dealings; and we, short-sighted critters, don't know what's best for us. And now, since I've got Katy to fill her place, and to say a kind word, I am comin' to forget her, and all the joys and troubles she and I shared;" and he planted the last piece of turf on the grave, and began to collect his tools together for departing. "Come, now," he again commenced, com- ing near her, " do get into the carriage, and drive hum, and don't be sitting shivering on that grave-stone, as if you'd berried up heaven and arth'with Miss Mary; 't ain't Christian-like--'t ain't what she 'd like to see herself,' if she could come stalking in here now, as she used to;" and he laid his hands lightly upon her, and lifted her to her feet. One of the friends who had come up with her, now offered his arm, which she pass- ively accepted, and leaned upon, passing to the car- riage with a bowed head. At last she arrived at the old place at Castleton; its desolation was no greater than that of her own heart, and as she passed into its solitude, she truly felt that she was alone. CHAPTER XXXIX. "e that has salved thee with his tongue shall now gnash upon thee with his teeth."--TrrppER. DESPITE the sagacious movements of Grinders and Bragg, and the able financiering of other interested parties, Willowisp and 2Nobottom continued to sink- down it went, and in its company, many other schemes, which, a year ago, omened nothing but golden har- vests. Rumors reached the ears of this arch plotter that close examinations of certain notes ,had taken place in the office of Patterson & Buritt, and that the genuineness of Walker's signature had been questioned, all of which caused the attorney many hours of sleep. less anxiety. In the mean time, Mr. Bragg had comrn pleted his argument, before the United States Court, upon the Canal case, which was looked upon as the most able and logical pleading of the year. Highly satisfied with the prospect of an end to this tedious litigation, which had been in the -courts since his father's day, he retired home one evening to enjoy the comforts of his own fireside and family. He was scarcely seated, however, when there came a summons -from his partner, requiring his immediate presence at 21 page: 482-483[View Page 482-483] 482 HAMPTON HEIGHTS., the office. With no pleasant feeling did he enter the room, where he found Grinders, in a high state of ex- citement, pacing the floor. "Ah, Bragg," said he, as the latter entered the door; "for the first time in my life I am unprepared and afraid to meet the morrow. No money in the bank, one of the Walker notes due, and Phin. Buritt whispering about doubts regarding those signatures; it is truly unexpected; I had supposed that with so many irons in the fire we should have been able to weld together something that would stand. But the devil is forsaking us, and I can't tell how we are to get out of the scrape; it wont do to offer any more Mania, there's too much of that out already, and I am afi'aid old Sanchez begins to smell a rat besides; if we get through to-morrow we shall have three days breathing-spell, and, in the mean time, perhaps, I can make Walker sign the will I have drawn up for mutual benefit; if he does, I can get a loan through the Fagins. They know the circumstances, and are willing to take the risk of a loan to us pro- vided they see it signed themselves." Bragg paced the apartment with heavy foot-fall, the evil day he had foreseen was near at hand; ruin and disgrace hovered over him, so benumbing his mind as to render himf insensible to Grinders's presence, who now sat wiping his spectacles, and staring with his crooked angular vision. "* i HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 483 t Why don't you speak, man," at length uttered he; "you haven't lost your wits, have you, just now when cool heads are wanted?" !t"I have nothing to offer, Grinders; there's no use trying to stave off the thing longer then will permit of' our absconding." , ' Absconding! how the devil are you going? There is not money enough on hand to meet the note to- morrow, far less to give us any thing to start with." "I 've got something, Grinders, a couple of thousand in Ithe savings bank, belonging to the children, and that will carry me out of the country if I don't take a shorter way, which I think probable I shall." '! You ain't going to back out this way, and leave the infernal thing for me to fall with, I tell you, M[r. Bragg ;" said Grinders, rising angrily from his seat. 'You can fall or rise as you like," replied Bragg; 'the house is of your own building, and will be a fitting tomb for your memory; what I have had to do with it has blasted me for all futures, and I am not going to stay and hear the crash of its fall; if I had as little to live for as you, I would meet no more sun- rises; and my advice to you is, to make a Judas atone- ment." "You infernal little coward," retorted Grinders; "you ought to serve a term in the Penitentlhry to put some spunk into you; and, take my word for it, these things don't get blown without your coming in for a share." page: 484-485[View Page 484-485] 484 HAM3PTON HEIGHTS. "If your evil disposition, Grinders, leads you to be- tray me, you will have the satisfaction of looking on my corpse, and knowing that blood is also on your account current." I'll risk that, Bragg; a man that's no more courage than to give up at the first cornering, ain't going to cut his throat for a trifle; but come, man, there 's no use of angry words, or threats, or backings out; let us both put our shoulders to the wheel, and see what can be done." "I'II do nothing, Grinders, to implicate me further in any knavery, take my word for it; and as for Walker and his will, I advise you to be careful, there is more than one eye looking that way, depend upon itc "Whose are they, I 'd like to know? That she- man is dead; and John Patterson, and his wife's mother, who are they? and who hias a better right to the property than I?" "You can work out your own plotting, Grinders, and take the proceeds; but I am done. O, God, that Susan understood it all." "Do you really mean me to understand you, Bragg, that you are going off, to leave me alone amid these troubles? have you no more manliness about you, no more honor? I am an old man, as: old again as your- self, and can't stand the world's buffetings so as to again get on my legs; and, perchance, a little cool HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 485 judgment on your part will save both of us. Say! amin't you man enough to stay and share it." "Salt won't save us, Grinders, you know if it would, I'd stay and share your fate; but as for going to Bridewell, and murdering my poor family, I Won't do it." i "Then clear; curse you; so far off that I may never set eyes on you again, and mind you, if I do weather the storm, that you don't cross my path." "This is bringing matters home pretty forcibly, Grinders; five hours between this and daylight, and then, and then-but, but, I 'll face it; somewhere on the wide earth I can retrieve my character, and atone to Susan. Good-by, Grinders; I owe you but little good-will, but still, in these last moments, when all we 've shared together comes pressing home upon me, I can't part without shaking hands." "I don't want your good wishes! you have been nothing but a curse to the concern since you came into it, and I knew, last week, when I saw you hand- ling those Ward papers, that you were making ready to be off at the first sound of danger. But I 'll give you a piece of advice, notwithstanding: don't go too far till you,learn how things turn up, for Ichabod Grinders's glory don't depart without a struggle." "Good-by, Grinders," said Bragg, reaching out his hand; "we shan't probably meet again this side of the river." page: 486-487[View Page 486-487] 486 H AMPTON HEIGHTS. Grinders made no reply; he seemed to have fallen into a kind of apathy, which his partner perceiving, he left him, and went quickly out to make preparations for flight. The echoing footsteps of Bragg had long been silent in the passage, and early morning was illumining the east when Grinders again awoke to a sense of his position. He arose and walked to the window front- ing the bay, and looked over the tops 6f the shutters; gazing down the narrow line of street, he perceived a bright streak encircling the horizon, above which hung heavy dark clouds. It was the cold gray dawn of a winter's day, and, as its light grew more per- ceptible, he observed the masts of vessels, and white capped waves tossing uneapily on the stream, which, anon,'began reflecting the sun, that, for a moment, r enveloped every thing in gold, and then lost itself in the threatening masses of clouds. -- Soon occasional passengers commenced passing, and the bright streak faded out of the east; then stages also came rattling over the pavement, and a few early clerks and porters began to appear in the adjoining stores. These all reminded Grinders of the hours that were approaching, and he opened his check-bookls and carqe fully examined the amounts of his deposits. There was nearly enough, he was aware, to meet the day's demands, and he had no doubt he could overdraw either of his accounts sufficiently to meet the first of HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 487 the forged notes. He, therefore drew out the funds he had in three different banks, and made a deposit in the fourth, against which was drawn a check for the note; this served, with an exchange of checks with a neighbor, to meet the day's payment, and secure to him the desired breathing-spell of three days. These-" matters arranged, he hastily glanced over the last will and testament of Harrison G. Walker, and passed out to endeavor to accomplish his plans regarding it. In one of those narrow, crooked streets which, in old times, boasted so many genteel residences, but which are now tenanted by boarding-house keepers, etc., resided the object of his scheme, high up in the fourth story, each one below being filled with swarming families. It was a fitting place for the old miser to burrow in, in his last hours; away from all attention of physicians, or nurses, or inquiries even of those who desired to know of his condition. As Grinders en- tered, he was partaking of his morning's repast of gruel, dressed in a faded loose-gown and woolen cap; while behind; him, engaged in making his bed, stood old McKay. Shattered in mind, and enfeebled in body, Walker had lately been made the object of long exhortations for the wickedness of slave-holding, and the various other pursuits in which he had engaged during his life. Old works upon future punishment had been left within his reach; and every effort tried that would, be likely to work upon his imagin- page: 488-489[View Page 488-489] 488 HABMPTON IIEIGHTS. ation by the wily attorney and Scotchman. For the last few days he had seemed unusually thought- ful, often speaking of Susan Masters, and his child. In vain had the Scotchman assured him of her death, and the disappearance of the child; and in vain were whispers of needed atonement for his evil days re- peated about his room, they seemed to produce a con- trary effect to that which was intended; to waken within him a deepening consciousness of the great wrong he had done, and to strengthen in him the desire of reparation for these terrible acts. "s She is alive somewhere," he would mutter; " and might be found by advertising for her, and I won't give away my property to missionaries, when my child's living. No, I wont," he repeated, as Grinders came in; "and I don't believe all that I hear about the slaves I have owned, and the evil they say I have committed. Yes, Grinders," he continued, observing the attorney; "I don't believe it, or that you ain't got some other notions than those of religion mixed up in your plans-yes, it was down in the basement I heard it cry once, I remember just how it sounded that night; then John came, and the old woman-I wonder what they did with it-but Grinders, how did you get off the captain when they were on the look-out? and say, Grinders, are you going to carry up the Fobes's suit?" Step by step over past events, his mind wandered, HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 489 while Grinders waited for a favorable moment to thrust upon him the subject of the will. For more than a month, his weakened brain had been wrought upon by such thoughts and language as they were aware would craze him, while stories of the sacrifices that Grinders was making, on account of his own evil deeds, furnished foodc for his daily meditations. More than once this arch-hypocrite had been there, and prayed with him, detailing to him the evidence of his own repentance; he brought him printed certificates of his membership with benevolent societies, at times almost causing the old man to believe that he had truly reformed,. , I say, Grinders," spoke the poor idiot, " give us a sermon; you used to preach just as well as you used to plot, and if what you say is really true, there ain't much chance for-me any how-what 's more, old fellow, you set me to thinking, calling up old memorandums and dates, and one thing and another, and I've just come to the conclusion to give my property to the child, fi have means taken to find her; for I know LAAt,%:! she can be found by paying well for it. This preaching of yours, somehow, ain't like that I was brought up to -sounds more like what Parson Struthers called the Popish, when he warned my grandmother against any thing new-fangled, telling her that children ought to be brought up on pudding and milk, and the West- minster Catechism. But come, tune up again, and I '1 listen-for you preach as smart as you used to lie." 21* page: 490-491[View Page 490-491] "O HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "I don't want to say any thing, my old friend," replied Grinders, "that won't help you here and here- after, and I don't want to persuade you into acts, that duty to God and to your fellow-beings, don't warrant; but as one who is overcome with the enormity of his own guilt, I warn you to improve the little time that is left to repent." "Ah, that 's the word, repent," interrupted Walker, "I have been trying all the morning to remember it- but go on, Parson Grinders, I want to hear you." And he pulled more closely together his old dressing-gown, and crossed his thin legs under it. "Yes, repent, friend Harrison; if you do not, how dreadful will be your fate, and mine, also, if I make no atonement; but I trust I have done so, and I trust the giving up of my property to the poor, as the Saviour told the young man he must dd in order to be saved, will make me acceptable in Heaven's sight. O, my friend, with true Christian feeling and sympathy, I entreat of you to do the same, to sign this paper, which endows an institution I have myself founded for the good of generations yet unborn. Sign -it; and employ the remainder of your time in prayer, and in reading the Scriptures. Hear how 'it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven'--how the wicked shall be turned into hell-and how Dives suffered. O, Walker, for the sake of my old friendship, HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 491 I entreat of you to think upon these great facts; to bestow your goods in the way you are commanded, then you will be ready to die:" and his gray eyes gleamed, and crossed their crooked rays, as if a vision of hell was already before him. "You can't live long; death must soon come to us all at the best, and remem- ber what is in reserve for those who die with their accounts unbalanced." "Amen," groaned old McKay. -"Amen," echoed the Fagins, who were secreted in an adjoining room. "Don't preach any more just now, Grinders," inter- rupted Walker, as the attorney was about commencing again, "Irve got some ideas in my head, and am think- ing whether the administration won't wink at a little more speculation in the Sarah Jane; she 's always been a lucky craft, Grinders--but what was that word? repete--no, no, that ain't it, re-" 1"Repent," uttered Grinders, " or you shall utterly perish." "ffave you, Grinders," inquired Walker, his idiotic face glancing into that of the attorney, " have you, old boy?"7 '"I trust I have," he replied, dropping his eyes upon the floor--eyes that never dared look a man openly in the face. "I have given up all my earthly possessions, and have devoted myself to the cause of the poor and the needy." page: 492-493[View Page 492-493] "2 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "Well, Grinders, I 'll give you five dollars, that will help a little; pay for getting down on your marrow- bones-when you want to be my executor-I know a thing or two, the devil don't send fools on his errands -now sit down, and write an advertisement for Susan's child, will you? and offer one thousand dollars reward for the evidence of her identity., Scarcely had the words dropped from his tongue, when a door slowly opened, and the same beggar- woman that we have so often met, thrust in her head, and listened with an inquiring look; a look which seemed to suggest the idea, that, perchance, she was mistaken in what she had just overheard. ":TWrite it, I say," repeated Walker, "offer the reward." "Wait a minute," exclaimed the hag, " aud I'll find her for you; yes, I 'll find her."' Grinders's head fell at the words, and for a moment he seemed to have lost all control of himself, but per- ceiving that Walker had not ; caught the sound of her voice, he again commenced more earnestly and decid- edly than ever, to press upon his attention the subject of the will. "Walker, Walker," said he, "death is fast approaching: ' our days are swifter than a weavers shuttle ;, and your grave-clothes are already preparing. Repent! else the smoke of thy torment shall ascend forever and ever' sign this paper, and deliver up your ill-gotten gains, or the wrath of offended nercy shall H A?T O N HEIGHTS. 493 grind you to powder--else your skeleton form shall writhe in eternal agonies, and thy soul be cursed with- out end. Think of the awful groans which shall go up from the pit which is bottomless, from the lake that boils like a seething pot, sending up the wails of the damned forever." ' Amen," shouted McKay. "Amen," groaned the Fagins. The few gray hairs on Walker's brow stood erect with fright, as Grinders finished speaking. "Is it so, indeed, Grinders, is it so?" he inquired. "'And Dives being in torment,'" continued Grinders, "'lifted up his eyes, and beheld Lazarus afar off in Abraham's bosom.'" : "Did he, Grinders, did he?--read it over to me- not about the fire and brimstone, I can't bear that, but read the will that you made, quick! quick I for I see the fiends all about me."' With deepest feelings of ecstasy, Grinders seized the document, but perceiving the wild glances of his victim, trembled lest he was already too late; "Sign it first, Walker, now, now, before the time of repentance is past-quick! quick! here take the pen in the other hand. Heavens, how it trembles." "No," retorted Walker, his mind again beginning to revive," I 'll not do it-it's all a game. Write the advertisement for my child; 't was a girls; yes, I have a daughter, a little black-eyed, rosy-cheeked child, I will page: 494-495[View Page 494-495] "4 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. see her, she shall kiss me, and forgive me, too, for what I did to her poor mother." In vain Grinders thundered, and entreated, and quoted imprecations of terrible import, Walker still continued calling, "My daughter! my daughter!" Meanwhile, the beggar, with more expedition than 'her old limbs warranted, fled from street to street, hoping to reach the dwelling of Matilda before it was too late. Her long years of watchfulness were now about to be rewarded; even the sum she had heard mentioned, anhe very price of it all, rose up before her in piles o fSght dollars. On she fled. What visions of dazzling wealth burst upon her-what an in- crease to the weight of her strong-box was contained in that old man's words-how thoughts of them length- ened out her breath, and inflated' her lungs, and made supple her stiff joints. O, she was lithe as a child-out- stripped the speed of the fastest passenger-hobbled, walked, ran on till she reached Matilda's door. A moment later and she would not have found her, for Mrs. Patterson's foot was on the step of her carriage, as the old creature came panting toward it. Her breath was too nearly spent to speak, so she seized hold of Matilda's dress, fairly pulling her upon the walk. CWhat do you want of me?" inquired Matilda, looking fixedly upon her; for her life's experience had left her ready for any new and strange encounter. "Speak quickly,'for I aym in haste." HAMPTON H:EIGHTS. 495 "O, come with me, misses," said the beggar, "I will -make you rich; such piles of money!" "Is that all you want of me? if it is, begone. I have too much now." "Too much siller, misses! too much! Holy Virgin, the lady's crazed-but come, misses, quick! quick! I heard him calling you;-' my daughter! my daughter!' he cried." "Who are you that dare talk to me of a father? Speak, woman, so that I can understand you; what do you mean?" "Get into the carriage, misses; quick! quick! I will tell you all about it. O, the money! Blessed Mother! quick! or he 'll be stark dead before you get there." Matilda obeyed; and seating herself beside the rag. ged wretch, ordered her coachman to the street that she mentioned. "My father, woman!" she exclaimed, as they moved forward; " have I a father? will he tell me of my mothLer?." "I don't know, missis; he was talking about her when I left him, but was half crazed in his mind; he thought you was a little girl yet, and she a poor young crathur. , "Drive on more quickly," called Matilda to the driver-" faster, or we shall be too late; but how," she continued, again addressing the beggar, "do you know that I am his daughter?" page: 496-497[View Page 496-497] "6 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. O0, X owned you once, missis; I brought you up till you ran away and got among your grand folks, You was lady born; I knew it all the time. Your wee face had a story in it, missis-but you won't forget me now I 've found your father for you." We have visited Walker's dwelling before; but let us now take a closer view as Matilda enters it. How many changes have taken place since the merchant prince -erected its massive walls, and how it has, step by step, come down, like some men's fortunes, and at last fallen into bad company. It seems ashamed of it- self, crowded in there among groceries and grogshops, and wears a stiff, half-important look, as if trying to put a bold face on the matter; it is a wretched dis- guise, however, for within all is ruin. Crying children were hanging to the bannisters of the stairs, as Matilda mounted them; and unpleasant odors of garlic and half-cooked meals steamed out through every door. No carpets covered the stairways; and the tesselated marble floor showed many broken places through which the rats had free passage. The once massive mahogany railings were nearly gone; and there came a scent of burning rosewood from the little room whose door an old woman half opened, to see who was coming. Since Walker's confinement, things had gone rapidly to ruin, and the tenants that he had in every room made themselves merry with the mischief they wrought; for 4P HAMPTON HEIGHTS.. 497 of late, even McKay had not visited them. Walker's den had never seen a female face; the very spiders that spun their webs along-the ceiling had imbibed his nature. . Great bloated creatures were they--fit spirits to minister to the old sinner. The remnants of a once elegant carpet partly covered the floor-one which-he had seized from one of his tenants-but it was old-fashioned and dirty, matching well the heavy chairs, whose damask-covered seats and backs showed patches of hair obtruding through them. In one corner stood a leviathan bedstead, whose great posts stood up like the spars of some old vessel, over which hung faded chintz curtains; strangely they contrasted with the yellow satin ones that were suspended before the windows, which McKay had fastened back with a cotton string. The whole place was full of dilapidated, grotesque-looking rubbish that he had collected year by year, befitting well the company it had so long kept. The old miser, who often sat in his great easy-chair for hours balancing his slipper on the ends of his toes, and looking dreamily into the smoky grate, now wrought up to a fearful state of excitement, sat grin- ning and writhing before Grinders, who had fallen again upon his knees, that he might heighten the ef- fect of his abominable hypocrisy and sin. Suddenly Walker half gasped, which the attorney perceiving, sprung to his feet; he saw that a change was rapidly approaching: "the last one," he muttered, as his victim page: 498-499[View Page 498-499] "8 BAMPTON HEIGHTS. sank back nearly exhausted. He now\ quickly clutched the will that shook in his trembling grasp, as though his hand was palsied, and drew near to the table; he snatched off his spectacles convulsively, and wiped the great drops of perspiration from his forehead. Again Walker revived a little, and began to call piteously for Matilda. The old beggar heard him with a glad heart as she mounted the stairs. "Stop a moment," said she, " before we go in there; let's hear what they are doing." "Sign it, Walker, sign it," cried Grinders, his words trembling from very agony; "O sign it, man, as you would save your soul." "No! no! no!-no, no, I'll give it to the girl, my daughter, Susan's black-eyed baby. O, where is she,? where? where?" "Here!" shouted the beggar, throwing wide open the door, and thrusting in Matilda, who sprang forward a step, then half recoiled, and as if nailed to the floor, stood gazing with a look of mingled agony and horror upon the dying man. He started-and stared fixedly at her: it was Patterson's wife--he leaped from his chair, revived by the last energy of expiring nature, every muscle in his worn-out frame was imbued with the strength of a dying man, the grizzly hair stood erect, and the sunken eyes gleamed with electric flashes -once more he stared wildly, madly--advanced a few steps, then halted to shake his clinched fists at her, HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 499 muttering through his chattering teeth-" it 's a lie! I say it"-but the words failed him, he fell forward with them on his lips, rolled on the floor-when, beating his clinched fist against his temple, he died-Why had he lived?- Where had he gone? Grinders stood for a moment powerless in his despair, his last hope had died out with Walker, uttering a terd rible oath, he dashed the will upon the floor, and, as if to vent his rage and baffled wickedness upon the poor corpse that lay stretched out before him, he seized hold of it, shook it with the power of a demon, then rolled it upon its face and departed. Too well he knew that his fate was sealed, that the mountain, which, year after year, he had striven to pile, so long tottering at its base, was waiting only to bury him beneath its ruins; madly he rushed from the house: there were men already watching to take him, on the door-sill, men that he knew were familiar with gyves; his cowardly soul failed him at the sight of them, and he sank int& their arms, powerless as a little child. O, how the old plotter trembled then, how he shook as they assisted him into a carriage, shrank under his cloak as if he would hide himself from their sight forever; he had not strength even to mount the stone steps, that lead up to the prison, and they bore him to the little room of examination, and from thence to his lonely cell. He threw himself upon the stone floor, but could not shut out the dull tramp of keepers along the corridors, page: 500-501[View Page 500-501] 500 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. nor the whispering voice of conscience-conscience that stung him with every grating key and jarring hinge. As soon as the door closed which separated Grinders from the prostrate form of Walker, the Scotchman stooped over his master, and with the beggar's assist- ance, moved it to the bed, while Matilda, with half- averted face and stern composure, watched the arrange- ment of the lifeless form. "Is he dead?" she inquired. "Quite," replied McKay, " and he died, too, without signing the will." "Speak not to me of money, or of wills, man, in an hour like this. Show to his poor clay the consideration that was forbidden to his dying moments-leave me alone with him: but first answer me truly-as there is a God above you-was he my father? and knew you my mother?-tell me, I coqure you!" "' Long time agone I gied a bairn, that he called his, to the auld woman that dragged you here this day." "Yes, yes," broke in the old beggar, " and it 's the truth that he's speaking, I took ye one cold freezing morning into my warm bosom, and many's the sop of milk Hgave ye, darlint. O, how I loved ye, and sure it's I that never forgot ye, keeping an eye on ye always, sleeping upon door-steps, stealing into houses, harkening at key-holes, watching you in the town and in the country; that I might at last tell him about his child--the one he prayed for this very morning. Yes, HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 501 I swear by the Holy Virgin, that he was your own true father; and I heard him say that you should have all his siller. O, you can't forget the old crather that found it all out for you; you 'll pay me the thousand shiners, won't you darlint?" "Leave me, woman, a little while," replied Matilda, coming forward to the bed upon which her father was laid, and putting back the gray locks from his forehead, "My father," she murmured as she did it, "O, that you had lived long enough to tell me of my mother-- then I could have forgiven you---did she love you?" and she looked strangely into the dead face before her --" where did she die, has she no grave that her child may plant flowers upon, is there nothing left to me for remembrance?"-but no voice replied from out the death gloom that hung around that bed, and Matilda sobbed aloud. "What is there now left for me to live for?" she ex- claimed. "The money! the money!" replied the beggar, who had crept stealthily to her side, " and such heaps of it! You won't forget me when it's all yours-will you?" "Is there no one here that will rid me of your pres- ence, woman,! What care I for money You shall have your promised reward-only leave me." "Thank'ee! thankl'ee!" she returned, "and God bless yir sweet face. I hope you 'll make a better use of the siller than the old miser did." page: 502-503[View Page 502-503] 502 HAMPTON HEIGHTS. "I allowed her the one thousand dollars," concludes Mr. Buritt, in a memorandum at the end of his journal. "This was the last outstanding claim against the estate. She's finally got the most of it, and in spite of the lawyers, is the richest woman this side of the Atlantic." L U I O N Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring happy bells across the snow: The year is going, let him go. Ring out the false, ring in the true. Ring out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite; Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good. TENNYSON. THEi silver-tailed dapples had just passed, and Uncle Phineas, in his stiff way, had returned the salutations of the merry party, who, with waving handkerchiefs, and laughing voices, greeted him, until the winding road hid them from his view. He now rose from his seat, and slowly walked the length of his piazza, from whence he again observed the carriage emerging from a neighboring wood, which some one of the company perceiving, once more there came a friendly wave' of the hand, to which he quickly responded, as if cheered by the attention. HAMPTON HEIGHTS. 503 - There you go," he murmured, "just as merry and joyful as if the dust was not resting upon the old owners of your possessions, or seas rolling between you and the graves of my cotemporaries. Last week a wedding, and now a merry-making, because an old fool with a young wife must have his baby christened at the church. If I could raise the dead, old Martha should quickly come out of her grave to be present this afternoon; for Scott's boasting about new grafts in his old orchard does not sound quite so pleasant in the ears of an old bachelor like me, notwithstanding my own bedroom is turned into a nursery."' Yes, reader, after finding much that has been dark and mournful in the recollection of that old man, let us turn with hope to the few wandering sunbeams that promise yet to illumine his declining years. If his bedroom has been converted into a nursery, it is because the family of Harriet Coleman have been invited to partake of his hospitality, until such time as they can obtain possession of Hampton Heights. She, with her two little boys, have returned from California, and will soon be reinstated in the home of her child- hood; while the ample means of her husband will enable her to restore to it its early beauty and at- tractions. Beyond this there is little left to tell; the fence line has, at last, been regulated; the monument for the poodle erected; and Uncle Phineas is not without page: 504-505[View Page 504-505] 504 HAMPTON HEIGHTS., hope that the dreams of Matilda's youth may be ful- filled, and the name of Buritt handed down with all respect to: posterity. Grinders is dead, he did not survive his first year's imprisonment. Of Bragg we have been able to learn but little; his family have left to join him in a foreign land, where it is to be hoped that his past experience will prove lasting and salutary. And now it is nearly evening, the rays of a glorious sunset have penetrated through the windows of my little study, and, while I write, a single star has come out above the horizon's edge, Farewell! while the shadows gather around I leave you; but though we are about to part, let me ask that you share with me in the hope that, for these few remaining ones, there dawn a golden sunrise, whose advent shall herald in years of serene and unbroken happiness. THE END.
