Brandon, or, A hundred years ago
page: 0 (TitlePage) [View Page 0 (TitlePage) ] *BERAON ;E A HUNDRED YEARS AGO? l Wa af ^tt Amexma Calm. ^a. BY OSM OND TIFFANY. "hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; 'Tis better tohave loved and lost Than never to have loved at all." TENRYSON. NEW YORK: STANFORD & DELISSER, 508 BROADWAY. 1858. page: 0[View Page 0] Entered, according to Act of Congres in the year 188, by STANFORD & DELISSE, in the Clerk's Office, for the Northern District of New York. Edntet aub tertotattpr, 26 FuAyxFOEr ST. TO REV. CONVERS FRANCIS, D. D., OF CAMBRIDGE o,MASSACHUSETTS. MY DEAR SIR: I take great pleasure in dedicating this little work to you, in accordance with your kind permission. You have long placed me in your debt, by advice and encouragement to pursue the path of Literature. Conscious of the inadequacy of this offering to repay you, it will, I know, be welcomed as a slight but sincere token of my gratitude. I am, my dear Sir, Ever truly yours, OSMOND TIFFANY. page: 0[View Page 0] PREFACE. THE story of "BRANDON," which is now submitted to the Public, was written three years ago, soon after the Author's removal from the city of Baltimore. At that period, the literary labors of a host of writers turned towards fctionas a chosen field. The astonishing suc- cess of "Uncle Tom's Cabin,' andd the popularity of other works, such as "The-,WiddeW, aiWorld, and "The Lamplighter," had stimulated a thousand prolific Tens, and novels appeared and disappeared in such case a less succession, that even those of merit were in manyi! -- ; instances borne down by the weiight of the many more,? ; which were good for nothing. r , In the crush and hurry of the time, the author found no chance to multiply copies of his work, and he was advised by disinterested friends, who read his MSS., to wait patiently until the hurricane blew over. It died away at last, leaving the public with no further appetite page: vi-vii[View Page vi-vii] PREFACE. for imaginary horrors or raptures. Booksillu{sating real life were wisely sought., Dr. ane's immortal vol- umes were welcomed by mllions of the soundest readers ston's Travels in Africa earned hearty commendation- proving that narratives of real heroism always chars the great heart of humanity, Whether brave actions transivP e beneath the burning equaorial sun, or amidst icy Arctic solitudes. The great commercial revulsion of the past year, following upon the decline of the romance mania also put an effectual quietls, for the time being, on sen- sation books. eN with ruin staring them in, tie face, and women with helpless children to clothe and feed, quite forgot their wonted interest in sighing Strephons and love-lorn Chloes. ! its main feature, the experience of Lucy Tyrrell, "Brandon" is founded on fact, only that the time has been thrown back upwards of fifty years. It is unneces- sary to state more paticularly the source of the writer's material, which he has thus worked into the story. H thought that the manners and social life of the ' Old Dominion," with the introduction of some of its cele- brated characters in the early days of Washington, might prove acceptable to the reader; and, while lookinginto the history of the colonies "a hundred years ago he PREFACE, vii. was struck with the interest of the Canada campaign of 1759, which is ever memorable from the surrender of Quebec. .The fascinating character of General Wolfe, with his daring and successful assault, appeared-to the authorto offer a brilliant episode, and he has yet toleamrn that the events of that grand enterprise have been nhitherto embodied in the pages of prose fiction. Whether the costume of the period which the aitthor has sketched is strictly correct, he must leave to his readers to decide; but lie can safely say, that the his- toric details of the story have been carefully studied. From his long familiarity with Rhode Island, he trusts that his pictures of Newport in the olden time may still be recognised, although'the place is no longer what it once was, especially during the period treated of, when, in the words of good Bishop Berkeley, it was " the most thriving place in all America for bigness." Should the work which is now humbly offered to the public meet with its favor, the writer may be induced to recur again to a period which abounded with romantic interest and deeds of worth, before the Dain which bound the old thirteen provinces to the mother country, was snapped asunder-when the strong men and lovely women of the Colonies were loyal subjects of the English 4 ' " page: viii-ix (Table of Contents) [View Page viii-ix (Table of Contents) ] Viii PREFACE. In conclusion, the Author begs leave to state, that the verses on page 168 are not original with him, but have been contributed by a poetess whom he is proud to claim as friend. Although in youth he long dreamed of a seat on Parnassus, he is happy to state, that, fortunately for his relatives' peace of mind, as well as his own, the delu- sion expired with his one-and-twentieth year. SP:RINGFIELD, MASS., August 14, 1858. CONTENTS. CHAPTER. /. THE ISLANDG ..9 E CHAPTER II. THE OLD DOMNION.. ..............***...... 17 CHAPTE'R III. CHRISTMAS AT KINGWOOD. ...........; 26 ........................ , 26 CHAPT HER IV. INSIGHT.. ..., CHAPTER V. A WARNING .... ....... CHAPTER VI. "UCY AND THE RECLUSE. . **ADH******...... e e.........' 50 CHAPITER VII. UCY IN BOSTON,............................... 59 "" " * * I:5 . ] page: x (Table of Contents) -xi (Table of Contents) [View Page x (Table of Contents) -xi (Table of Contents) ] [ . CONTENTS. . . CHJAPTER V 111. PAFB "OVE'S DELIGHTFUL STORY"......................... 68 CHAPTER IX. 9ISFORTUllNE .........* e e .... 76 B J'1 CHAPTER X. L MEETING AND A LETTER ............................. 84 CHAPTER XI. ' tANDOLPH'S HOME ..................................... 87 CHAPTER XII. rfE MEETING WITH A GREAT MAN................ 98 CHAPTER XTTT. ILDRED AND HER FORTUNE. ...... ............ 11 i CHAPTER XIV. I RYOTHERt AND DAUGHTER .............................. 114 CHAPTER XV. IR. BRANDON INDIGNANT .............................. 120 CHAP'TER XVI. ERETROSPE CTIO N ........... ........... ................... 127 -. , - . , CHAPT15ER XVIi. BARLOW A VESTRYMAN. P a.. . ....34 .................... ........... 134 ? CHAPTER XV1ll. "UCY'S TRIALS ................ i(: 1**. ... . ......... 140 / CHAPTER XIX. RACHEL'S HSTORY ....... ...... 147 CHAPTER XX. NEWPORiT OF OLD ............... 15G CHAPTER XXI. 'ISITING A TIGER...... ......... CHAPTER XXTT. RAITORS IN THE CAMP ........ ............ 177. CHAPTilERX XTTI. JCY'S NEW HOME .............. . 188 CHAPTER XX1V. TIL TIDINGS ............... 19 CHAPTER XXV. ARLES JOINS THE ARIMY ............. 203k .,. . . . 203 \ - S] page: xii (Table of Contents) -9[View Page xii (Table of Contents) -9] 2Xii CONTENTS. t CHAPTIEK. XXVI. -PAGB A "H:ERO IN HSTORY" ..................... ... 213 CHAPIEt XXVH. QUEBEC .......... ... ........................... 218 CJHAP'ER XXV .11. A DOUBLE CAPTU RE ............... ..................... 233 CHAi TER XxX. CHANGE OF OPINION ............. ...... ............. 256 COAP'FEI- XXX. THE FATE OF MTLT)RED ........... .................... 264 CHAPTER' XXXT. "UCY SURVI1VES HER SORROW ......................... 276 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. CHAPTER I. THE ISLAND. NOT far remote from the southern shores of Massa- chusetts lies a stern bleak island, whose barren soil almost denies common nourishment to man, but which, for more than two hundred years, has nurtured a hardy race, who love their rocky' home. It is exposed to the -full fury of the ocean, and when the blasts of winter rise into tempests, its shores are too often strewn with the wrecks of hapless vessels, over- whelmed by the Atlantic surge. High above the crags beetling over the-waves, bleak downs offer scant pastur- age to sheep, a few acres of marsh afford haunt to wild fowl, a snug harbor and two or three sheltered coves dot the coast, and the long line of sandy beach elsewhere stretches to the verge of the sea. Such is the island now, and it was much the same " a hundred years ago," uninviting and of almost savage aspect. Yet, as we observed before, it cherished a hardy race-men of toil, but thoroughly independent in a life page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. which, though fraught with constant danger, bore with it a fearful fascination. At first sight, one might wonder that so many women and children, Junaccompanied by men, should form the population, but' an instant's glance at the sea told the reason. Thousands of miles beyond their ken, over its waters, the fathers of these families were scattered. Almost their whole lives were passed upon the ocean in pursuit of the whale; far away in the region of tempests which enshroud Cape Horn, or amid the more dreadful terrors of arctic latitudes. The entire, population of the small rude village bore marks of maritime life; from earliest' boyhood the youth was trained to pull the oar and mind the helm, and long before manhood to follow the calling of his ancestors, who had all been sailors. Even- those remaining on shore looked as if subjects of Neptune's domain, who had left it but for a brief season; bare-legged urchins might be seen disporting along the edges of the coves in pursuit of luckless shrimps, while here and there something in shape of a man enveioped in a pea-jacket of portentous size, with a face which the salt spray of many years, aided by the sun, had bronzed and hardened, lounged against a boat upon the beach, gazing out at sea with eyes which had no speculation in them, or mended nets with huge paws rough with excrescences like barnacles. Such- a character is to be met in every sea-port town; one who prides himself on knowing a thing or two, as well as some other folks; whose whole talk, outside of his calling, lies in " wise saws and modern instances," taciturn as a fish, yet bluff as Boreas. The houses were rude in -constructiop, seldom of more than one story, and of great similarity in appearance. Their low, dimn apartments were frequently decorated with the shells and corals of the sea, mingled with various THE ISLAND. " objects of the fisher's craft. Nets suspended to the walls, coils of rope stowed away in corners, a rough, ta- ble and chairs to match, with the spinning wheel, whose ceaseless drone was heard, all day, were seen in every cottage. Besides such furniture, in one or two tenements more favored than the rest, hung strange, outlandish- looking weapons and carved paddles from Indian seas, side by side with rusty lances and harpoons, to each of which attached some tale of wonder. 'No garden spot cheered the eyes of the occupant, and the invariable prospect commanded by each abode was of bleak hills on one side, and for contrast on the other", boundless ocean. Only two buildings in the whole village betokened care, or any attempt to render them attractive; one was the parish church, small but neatly built, enclosed by its grassy yard, in which slept many of the ancient settlers, their tombstones of dusky slate carved with their name and age, a sepulchral urn, a drooping tree, and some- times a frightful head, intended either for an angel's, or as an emblem of the "Sun of Righteousness, with healing in his wings." The parsonage house. was in keeping with the Church, and, though old-fashioned and rough in construction, be- tokened neatness, and comfort. It was placed in a sheltered nook, which a turn in the road disclosed, and a jutting spur of the cliff broke the force of the wind from it. Its little garden-the only one in the place--well kept from weeds, displayed a few brght flowers, to reward the labor bestowed upon it. Over the porch a luxuriant vine was trained to the 'eaves of the house, and nearly closed one or two of the windows, at the same time forming a hiding place for birds, which built their nests in its branches. The family consisted of the Rev. Francis Tyrrell, his page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. wife, and their only child, a daughter, Lucy, at the period of which we now speak nearly sixteen years of age. How the good man came to settle on this barren island, its inhabitants never troubled themselves with asking. Perhaps he could have scarce told himself, beyond the fact that, falling early in love and marrying without fortune, he was forced- to seek an asylum where- ever-it offered, and therefore accepted this post, the first and best that chanced to him. Her was a man of liberal education, a graduate of Har- vard College, and of more than ordinary talents and acquirements. Thinking that he should ere long change for a better 0position in life, year after year had he re- mained, becoming not only contented with his lot, but endeared to it, happy in doing good in his own humble way, and repaid by the affectionate respect of the whole parish, and the society of his wife and child. His appear- ance at once betokened the gentleman; an air of mingled dignity ard sweetness well became his sacred profession. His calling, which, in those days, was much more reverenced than it is now, invested him in some degree with the carriage of one having authority; but in the benevolent expression of his face one looked in vain for lines of hauteur, and no rebuke fell from him unless well merited. His labor of love, as he ministered to the spiritual and temporal wants of his people% made his life one of interest and beauty; he took delight in the office which led him to visf every hamlet in the island, and study the peculiar character of each inhabitant. Uniting a knowledge- of the healing art to his pastoral charge, as was then com- mon in New England, the sick were gladdened by his kind-smile, and assured of renewed health; while to those who required no medicine his timely advice was always THE ISLAND. 13 welcome. The boys but half suspended their sports as he passed, their awe being tempered by confidence, and sometimes the heart of one of those oddities in -a pea jacket would be rejoiced, as the minister, without com- promising his dignity, joined in a day's fishing, and listened patiently to yarns heard a hundred times before of whales and whalers. i In the pulpit he made no display of learning or attempt at brilliancy, but the service was, impressive, and in an age when strong doctrine was inculcated, his sermons were always replete with instances of Divine love; while the tremulous accents of his voice as he poured out his soul in prayer and thanksgiving, softened his hearers, and led them to hope, even when he had spoken most point- edly of their guilty state. Beyond these occupations, the minister was daily . engaged in cultivating a few acres of ground which the care of years had rendered tolerably productive, and the l hours which time yet left him were passed at home with those after his own heart, or with his books, of which his store might amount to two hundred volumes. His wife, a woman of no inconsiderable beauty, of- strong mind and contented disposition, was well formed to be his helpmate in that stern, wave-bound home. They had not lived without affliction, for more than one of their children lay in the churchyard, leaving only Lucy, their first-born, to gladden and bless them. Lucy, innocent and pure in heart, looked as if the breath of heaven, and the sea, and the sunlight, might have helped to form her. - er shape was graceful, her motions free as. the wave, and it demanded little fancy in the beholder to liken the tinge of her tresses to the golden light of the daybeam, or the calm rich blue of her eyes to the serene depths of the waters, -or the stain- page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. less purity of her complexion to the snowy shell which the ebbing tide left at her feet upon the shore. Lucy had no companions of her own, age, and had been reared almost without playmates. She was of different mould from the cottage children, and her parents had not en- couraged intimacy beyond that prompted: by good-will and kindness. She, from earliest childhood, was their own companion, the sharer in all their joys. She was now able to relieve her mother of much care in-household duties, but she was the closer partaker of the life of her father, who had been her only teacher. That age was one of fewer books than this, but it produced far better scholars. e Under her father's guidance, she had become not only skilled in the English language, but also in Greek and Latin. A child learns one tongue as easily as another, and looking up to her father as the wisest man on earth, as well as the best, her quick, earnest, little mind soon mastered the diffi- culties of those ancient languages, and, she would recite with redoubled pleasure as she observed the bright look of gratification which was sure to reward her diligence. How precious were the hours passed in that father's simple study. She was happy to sit at his feet and con her task, to listen, as he always blended amusement with instruc- tion, or sometimes with rapt gaze watch him as he com- posed his weekly sermon. A constant companion in his walks and visits to his parishioners, the tongue that uttered thanks to him never failed also to bless his Lucy. She was loved by all thle Cottagers, and their regard for her had been frequently ex- pressed in simple presents, some of their own handicraft,s but many more the rarer offerings of the sea. No 'shell, or pebble of more than ordinary beauty could be found but was added to Lucy's collection, and no sea- THE ISLAND. 15 man returned from a distant voyage without a- token of remembrance, some curiosity in coral or fantastic carving. In her own neat chamber she had tastefully arranged all these, some little story attaching to every one; but she prized beyond all her own collection of sea mosses, brilliant greens and purples, contrasted with bri-wn and purest white; some almost like the flowers of ,arth in shape, others of exquisite fern-like forms, so delicate as to offer no impression to the touch. Many she had gathered with her own hands, others had been brought to her from foreign climes-- "From Bermuda's reefs, from edges Of sunken ledges In some far off bright Azore; From Bahama, and the dashing Silver-flashing Surges of San Salvador." Lucy loved the ocean; it had become to her more than a friend; she was familiar/with it in its every mood; she lingered beside it when it heaved gently in sunlit calm;' she listened for hours as its mighty voice spoke in tem- pests. She beheld it from her chamber window, spread- ing to her sight in grey and solemn grandeur, as she rose with the dawn of day, and hastening to the beach, on which its billows broke in thunder, waited for the com- ing of morning. She saw the waters change from sombre gloom, to colors instinct with life, as they reflected the yellow and crimson clouds which heralded the sun; then as its golden column gleamed along the sea, and- the ma- * jestic luminary soared heavenward, marked with delight its beams sparkle on the azure surge. Or, at hushed noon, she sought some sheltered cleft in the 'rocks, listen- ing to the dashing of the waters as the tides rose or fell, page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. and many a tale of wonder and peril, which she had heard from the old cottagers, seemed to be repeated by the sea. As in a Xmirror it showed her the distant islands of the south, where dusky forms stood beneath the palm and cocoa trees, and the coral insect built its palaces; or, in the arctic circle, the skiff of the Greenlander, who sought the seal beneath the shadow of the awful iceberg. But, dearest to her, were those- hours after sunset hues had died away, when the moonbeams silvered the waves andtchanged even the hard rocks to shapes of beauty, or in darker evenings, when only the " sentinel stars," shone radiant from their celestial watch-towers. Then, the im- agination of the musing girl drew around her visions strange and beautiful, as by the wand of Prospero. Thus Lucy grew to womanhood, and that rude island held a home, in which one spirit was bright, one flower was always blooming. V I CHAPTER II. THE OLD DOMNION. THE scene now changes to a land of richer mould, and brightened by a warmer sun, far, far away from Lucy's humble home,-into the heart of Virginia in the olden time. Different indeed this region, adorned with luxuri- ant forests, and majestic rivers; glorying in ranges of towering mountains; and peopled by another race than the descendants of the stern New'England Puritans. As the rocky wilderness of the north, sheltered a band whom persecution drove from their ancestral firesides, but whose ordeal in the New World was welcome in the golden light of religious freedom, so the genial clime of Virginia allured adventurers more gently nurtured, who carried 41th them much of the wealth, refinement, and festive spirit which distinguished them in Britain. So loyally attached to the church and state of Eng- land, as well as to its customs, were the gfntry of the Old Dominion, that a hundred years, agothe traveler resting at one of their hospitable mansions, might easily , - imagine himself surrounded by the luxuries of an Eng- lish home. On the north bank of the River James, about eighty miles from the sea, Kingwood Hall, the well known and proud seat of the Brandon family, stood in all its glory , in the year 1755. The voyager floating on the river ooked with pleasure, as through the foliage of aged trees, - he caught sight of the glitterming vane which toppedthe X :entral tower of the mansion; and as he swept pa6t, be- leld with the feelings of longing the massive proportions :(i -: '* (1 (7) X,]3 page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 BRANDON.; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. of the pile, from whose clustered chimneys rose thesmtnoke, indicative of good cheer within. The house was placed some thirty feet above the bed of the Jamnes, and the natural banks had been shaped into successive terraces, the highest one decorated with a small garden in, the formal geometric style, and balustrades of wrought stone, and large vases of the same material. The Hall, bearing date of 1670, had been rear d by Sir William Brandon, Knight, who emigrated to Vi'- ginia, and left behind him a vast entailed estate, now in the possession of his grandson. The house was of brick brought from England; between the wings rose a square massive tower which, mantled with the ivy's growth of half a centmy, presented a baronial aspect; while at lofty height was placed the clock, which in sonorous peals told the hours, as time pursued its round. The gardens com- manded a pleasing view of the river, winding awray be- tween its green banks, and as lovely a landscape opened to the viewon the other side of the Hall. A lawn of emerald verdure, gently sloped from the house; the circle bounded by the carriage-drive, was embellished by an equestrian statue of King Charles I., and the luxuriant richness of'the turf, afforded parade to several proud peacocks-birds which are best fitted for appendages of aristocratic display. In the noble avenue of oaks and elms, and groves of other beautiful trees, the eye de- lightod to linger for a season; then beyond them marked the blue distant hills, which rose into the western- sky, and denoted the margin of the manor. In' the middle ground, might be descried flocks of sheep nibbling the te der herbage; or, dashing across the lawn itroops of de'er, who sought the little brook that ran Ringing through the forest, over its bed of mossy pebbles. The interior splendors of Kingwood were. worthy of / THE OLD DOMNION. 19 such a domain. The visitor, entering firom the towelr passed through a vestibule into the principal hall, panelled with dark oak, around which rose the stately stairs of solid stone, guarded by a rich carved balustrade; occd: pying almost as much space as is devoted to the whole of a modern mansion. Large full-length portraits of former Brandons, hung in this hall;+ some, of a century back, robed in quaint but gorgeous dresses, such as they had worn in the presence of their sovereign; others, clad half in steel, represented an age ere armor fell into total disuse. The platitudes of Kneller, who smothered all expression in his countenances, however celebrated their owners, and buried them in wigs that rose high above the brow, and hung curling down on to the shoulders, were amply redeemed by the graces of Lely's pencil, exhibited in three or four of those delicious female beauties who sparkled in the court of the second Charles; and above all, by more than one master-piece of the incomparable Vandyke. Nori were the paintings con- fined to portraiture. Here was a genuine landscape of S llvator's, as wild a scene as ere he " dashed," a mountain cavern whence issued a robber troop, in the light of the redly sinking sun. Here, a drinking bout of some Dutch master, a laughing chorus and ringing glasses; and here, the purer genius of Ruysdael shone in a-woodland scene, the branches of the trees still swayed by the storm, while, through the clouds, the sunlight broke in golden gleams on the swollen brook and waving grain. Ample resources lay before the loiterer, the student, or the sportsman. A billiard-room and a tennis-court, attracted lovers of these interesting games; a noble library offered to intellcct its treasury of genius; and the lounger, who cared neither for books nor in-door sports, had but. to walk to the stables, 'or the kennels, to find a breed of O F v page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. horses and dogs unsurpassed by any other estate in the colonies. The entire mansion was furnished in a style uniting splendor with comfort; and the numerous apart- ments were decorated with many a classic bust, and many an antique cabinet of precious inlay and carving. In one of the lesser rooms, hung a small but choice collection of armor, and weapons of offence, of European uand Oriental fabric. Here, prized beyond all, was the sword of Sir William Brandon, who in youth had fought for his king at the battle of Naseby; . here too,-must it be confessed! -the spurs w hich urgedhis flying steed from the pursuit of Cromwell's -troopers, in that memorable defeat. In company with these, glittered the badge of knighthood, pledge of Charles the- Second's gratitude to the. cavalier, at the Restoration; and above the mantle, the full-length portrait of Sir:William himself, kept guard, as the tutelary genius- ofKingwood. But we write of-glories long departed; .vainly, now, the voyager may search for Kingwood Hall-the river and- brook still flow of, the blue hills yet lie serene in the landscape--but long since ceased the bell to sound, long since fell the tower. Wild, tangled shrubs grow among the shattered walls, the owl hoots from a loophole in the brick-work which still marks the place of a window of the mansion, whence many a bright face had looked out upon the garden; and of the noble pile, once, plerhaps, the first of the ancient dominion, a few mouldering frag- ments stand in-sad memorial. . . The family at Kingwood- consisted of Mr. Richard Branidon, his wife Eleanor, and their only son, Charles Stuart. Of the old Virginia Gentleman, a race saidto be well nigh. extinct, never on earth was there a prouder- specimen than in the person of the Lord of the Manori He was proud of his :family, which was ancient enough, , * , 1 . THE OLD DOMNION. 21 his pedigree running back far beyond the valorous SLr William, whom he regarded by no means the founder of his line, but as one of its scions favored peculiarly by fortune, in making the name more illustrious than it had ever been before. But, in himself, he whrshipped one scarcely less distinguished; he'considereit his due that the neighboring gentry should, without 'emur, regard him as a superior being. Beneath the rank of gentry, XMr. Brandon did not look; such persons might hae opinions, or they might not;. but that they possessed th, privilege of comment and criticism8 men like him, was an idea not tp be tolerated for an instant. He was, in short, an uncompromising aristocrat; as benighted a being as existed, spite of his belief that the universe was. created mainly for King George II., and that the sun, iliuming his court with full splendor, mercifully bestowedl a few beams on the Western Hemisphere, about the region' of Kingwood, leaving the rest of the human family to perpetual gloom. Passionately devoted to heraldry, and regarding it as one of the noblest studies of a gentleman, he often spent hours in poring over musty family rolls and dingy folios, with a view of compiling a genealogy of his own; a work on which he had been, engaged for-at i least thirty years. He was proud of his blobd, his estate; his wife, and his son; prouder of himself than either. Intense as his loyalty might be to the reigning sovereign of Great Britain, his adoration of the dethroned Stuarts far exceeded it. King Charles I. was, as Mr. Brand-on thought, not only a true saint, but a martyr whose death the whole British nation could never expiate. Therefore every year o ithe anniversary of his execution, Kingwood HaU hung morally in black, and its lord humbled himself in spiritual sackcloth and ashes. In me6m?.ofthe worshipped page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 BRANDON; ORB, A HDRED YEARS AGO. monarch, he had, at immense cost, imported from England the equestrian statue on the lawn; and his satisfaction would have been 'complete if historic truth would have sanctioned a recumbent figure of Cromwell :beneath the hoofs of the hoi se. In opinions, Mr. Brandon was a despot. To differ from himn was next to high treason; for, in his own estimation, he was one of the few men not only always exactly right, but who had never made a mistake in his life. He looked his character, being portly, lordly, and pompous. His tall and strong frame had been puffed up by a profusion of roast beef and ale, which he loved because his English ancestors did. His face, ruddy with health and the exercise which hunting. gave, was one of good nature itself, beaming with thorough satisfaction of his own importance, and was seldom ruffled unless some one happened to dissent from his views, when a frown, -which he imagined to be terrible, gathered upon his brow. On such occasions, a lofty condescension of manner, which forbade argument, became mianifest; which, when his opponent had left him, was changed for I a look of supreme contempt, accompanied by a formal elevation of the chin, and such a flourish'of his heavy gold-headed stick,-as could only be equalled by the pom- posity of a drum-major. Yet he was kind and courteous; a humane, indulgent master to his slaves; and a loving, generous husband. The wife: of his bosom was, indeed, worthy -of fervent affection. lhee was as remarkable for sweetness of dis- position, and true dignity of demeanor, as -her husband was noted for assumption. A look of goodness and purity beamed from her soft grey eyes, and it was said that no one approached her and remained' a few moments in con- versation, without becoming attached to her.' Peculiarly pleasing to children, she had the happy art of ruling them THE OLD DOMNION. '23 by love; and, crowded with guests as the mansion often was, when the juveniles assembled she knew how, to banish every conflicting interest of rival troopsso easily, that their own mothers were taught lessons. But she was no less devoted to the management of her vast estate, than in mifistering. to the pleasures of her visitors, in social hours.' Nothing connected with her farm escaped her notice nothing was ordered that she did not know; nothing concernig the cattle, the horses, the dairy, the poultry, the flower and vegetable gardens but was duly and daily noted in her book of housewifery. Thushe passed seve- ral hours every morning, not forgetting-her visit of good cheer to the cabins of the slaves, to whom she was less I mistress than a ffiend, and who always looked eagerly to see her come-with some nice present for theaged orth sick to inquire ofsome new-born infant or to impart words of hope and consolation to some one on the Iast! stage of earth's journey. She was of rich and rare beauty, with a form of Iuxuri. ous symmetry, which set off the graces of dress in the highest degree. When within doors she appeared to entertain her guests with utmost ease, and with happy tact she always led and changed the conversation at the dinner table, seeing that every one of right bore part in it, and that no one was suffered to monopolize it re- warding a brilliant sally with ready repartee, and en- couraging the diffident by a sweet smile of regard. All this was blended with an innocent spirit, and with piety which unobtrusive, yet leavened her whole chater, and shed its light throughout all the household Of the heir of Kingwood we shall say but a few words in this chapter. Charles Stuart Brandon was now nineteen years of page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 BRANDON-i OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. age, and almost the counterpart of ,his mother in appear- ance. The same elegance of figure distinguished hin, only that it was more slender than hers; the same smile displayed a like quiet love of fun, and the soft grey eyes shone with equal tenderness. This strong resemblance had at times rather disturbed Mr. Brandon, who would have preferred his son's features moulded to the type of his ancestors, especially Sir Wil- liam, the beau ideal of chivalry, and whose haughty linea- ments the father thought repeated in his own-an opinion shared by no one else. Still, in spite of teasings and tutorings, and his sire's long lectures on the necessity of copying Sir William in all things, in hopes of eventually resembling him, nature would have her way, and refused to Charles other likeness than his mother's. He had been chiefly reared under her tuition, and although his father's aristocratic predilections had had great influence on his son, the mother's good sense had uprooted many a weed inlhis mind, which folly would have suffered to grow un- checked. He, had been two years at the Cambridge University, where his father had been before him; the mother's in- fluence had sent him to the Massachusetts colony, in order that a more liberal state of feeling and thinking might direct him than if he remained surrounded by the feudal fitate of Kingwood. Reared as he had been, imbued from his earliest youth with -exclusive notions of rank and caste, he was not happy when first transplanted to a sphere in which a different state of society prevailed, and where -he was made to feel that his own position was not deferred to as in Virginia. But he soon observed that a stronger stimu- lus nerved -ambition, that a wider field opened for dis- tinction, that only talent commanded, and was deferred THE OLD DOMNION. 25 to as soon as known, that manly inependence character- ized all classes, while in polish cles the elegantgraces of life were not less cultivated than in the latitude of his own home. He soon-became reconciled and pleased with the change. "Things must have strangely altered since my father's time,, he thought. "If the world is not wiser it is older, and I can live no longer as I have all my life, in the age of King Charles the ' First.' page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] CHAPTER III. CHRISTMAS AT ,KINGWOOD. IT WAS theh appy time of Christmas, and Charles Bran- don was once again at Kingwood, to spend the holidays. From the. snowy and frozen regions of the north, where winter reigned supreme, and kindly threw over the earth a mantle, more pure, more delicate, and beauti- ful than the ermine of princes; gave the hills new shapes of splendor; changed the forest recesses into the marble pillared isles of Gothic cathedrals; and, with magic touch transformed every stream and brook, into glittering icy archways,-went the youth to the sunny south, bright still as in summer days. Though the trees werestripped of leaves, a soft Wind, like the breath of spring, breathed through their branches, the tuif was yet green, roses bloomed in the open air beside the house, the James still flowed on, and the little brook still ran through the wood, sweetly singing. Christmas at Kingwood was always kept in noble style, and after the fashion of Mr. Brandon's ancestors; all the gentry of the neighborhood and of Williamsburg were invited, and were generi happy to repair to 'his hospi- table mansion. It was Christmas day, high revel was decreed at the Hall, and the guests were now arriving in rapid succession. As the carriages drove under the gateway of the port- ers lodge, half a mile from the mansion, a group of negroes assembled there, all on the grin of delight, to throw the gate wide open for the approaching vehi- r?.- B CHRISTMAS AT KINGWOOD. 27 cles, and then cluster on it like monkeys, for a swing, as it shut to after them. Now came a blue chariot, and now a green one, and next, one of violet color, followed by a modest, dark-lined equipage, which was succeeded in its turn by a superb crimson coach and four bay horses, bearing in the proudest style, almost in regal state, the governor of the realm, Robert Dinwiddie. No matter who came, proud as princes though they might be, ma running fire of comment was kept up by the negroes, who agreed that no equipage in the whole number was worthy to be named with mas'r's. They were nearly struck dumb -rith wonder, as the stylish yellow carriage, looking bright as the sun itself, and drawn on this occasion by six black steeds, dashing fire from theirhheels, whirled-through the portal, with Mr. John Robinson, the speaker of the House of Burgesses,who had been sent for by Mr. Brandon. Some of the visitors would not have been much pleased with the remarks 'of the sable crew, had they heard them. "De Iprs! here comes ole Mr. Parchmount," said one; "he's bound to come, certin', say he neber stays home Christmas, fear of his niggers' eatin' too much, neber gives 'em nuffin but corn cake A11 de year roun. Wonder what for mas'r 'vites him?'"And now came another, an open vehicle, idrawn by two beautiful dapple grey horses, and in which sat a!arge, haughty looking woman, accompanied by a young girl of singularly bril- liant complexion and beauty, who bowed very sweetly to the attendant squad, while the elder took no notice of them, but maintained an unmoved countenance. "Ole Missis Estcourt and young Miss Bi anche; she's one of de hard sort, tell ye now, wouldn't like to say she owned dis nigger,, said Jim, the spokesman of the party, who had criticised Mr. Parchmount's domestic economy. page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. "She com'n to live here, the'," said Tom, another dusky speaker, "de house keeper 'low'd Mas'r Charles and Miss Blanche git married one of dese days." "Oh, you shet up wid your jaw," retorted Jim,"'" what de debil you know bout it, tink -Mas'r Charles can't do no better'n dat?" "BReckon I knows, much 'boutit asyou does," rejoined -Tom-i, " my 'pinon is-" ' "Oh jest shet up wid your 'pinions, or git some un to tote' you 'way from here; your'se allors makin yourself a fool wid your 'pinions. Such a nigger as you is, aint got no right to have no 'pinions. You aint fit to 'sociate no how wid likes 'o us; you'se wus den seven year itch, you is; does you eber wash yourself?"' "Ob course I does,", said the enraged Torn, proceeding angrily to vindicate his standing in good society, when a fight might have ensued, had not the door of the porter's lodge opened, and its grey headed occupant appeared whip in hand. "Clar out, you niggers," he shouted, cracking the lash at them, " clar out, and lem'me tend de gate alone," and with that off they scampered leaving the next comers unscathed. Now the great house was full ofcompany, and in every room the huge fire place was filled with blazing hickory; the stables were filled to suffocation with neighing steeds; the outhuildings were merry with a crowd of servants, belonging to the visitors, carousing to their heart's content, and making love to all the young blackeys of the establishment; the kitchens were all aglow with mighty fires, and the processes of roAsting, stewing, -baking and boiling; the atmosphere was hazy with the eddies of steam, curling up from hot dishes; cross cooks were perspiring with their tremendous labors, and scolding the servants at a fearful rate, as it was nigh the dinner , . hour, for which" in the opinion of cooks in general, all other hours have been created. Mr. Brandon, fond of-company, was now prepared to do the honors of his house, with hearty good Will. Arrayed in a style wh'ich he thought becoring to the master of such a domain, certainly he presented the look of a high bred gentleman in the costume of that age. Me wore on this occasion, a plum colored coat of rich veiVet, iii-rt:h large sleeves, embroidered flaps, and huge silver b ti"iis, breeches of the same material, and a'waistcoat extavagait- ly long, of bright flowered silk, relieved by a shirt fim- of delicate lace; pearl colored silk stockings fitted into high shoes, clasped with enormous diamond buckles; and the costume was completecd by a well curled and powdered wig, terxminated by the nicely ribboned' queue. Mr. Bran- don received all his guests with elegant courtesy, put them at ease with a word, and offered to one or the other a pinch of finely scented snuff from a handsome French box, which he prided himself on handling gracefully. His wife was not less distinguished in costume, magnificently attired in a flowing robe, of green velvet, jewels sparkled on her white arms and - neck, and her serene brow was crowned by a circlet of emeralds. A brilliant assembly of talent, wealth, and beauty, was gathered under that hospitable roof; and, while pausing awhile in the library, before seating themselves at the festive board, it may not be amiss to mention the names of a few persons, shining " a hundred years ago," among the proudest and most celebrated of the Virginia aristocracy. That race, reared in all the luxury of an age when the kingly prerogative was as yet undisputed, and the regime" of manners partook of the dignity of a court, has passed away forever; but many tender and beautiful associations cling to the memory of that time. H . . . .. page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. "You are welcome to my house, and a merry Christ. mas may this prove to you, sir," said Mr. Brandon to a' fine-lobking young man who had just entered. It was George Wythe, subsequently one of the rioblest of Vir- ginia's great men, then in-- the flower of his youth, who had but of late'abandoned habits of idleness and dissipa- tion, which had enthralled him to the age of thirty years, when for ever casting -aside slothful and pernicious courses, his high abilities, graced by varied accoihplish- ments, began to give promise of distinction,. Immediately beside him figured one, later in life his great rival at the bar and in the House of Burgesses; this was Edmund Pendleton. He too was young, but already noticed. His slight, well-shaped frame, moved with grace, and those pleased with the expression of his manly, thoughtful face, were more charmed when he spoke, by his fascinating manners, the silvery voice which always characterized him, and the elegant tact of his address. In another part of the room, talking with Mrs. Brandon and her son. stood Peyton Randolph; at that period but thirty-two years of age, but already the king's attorney, a position which he had held from his twenty-fifth year, standing - next in dignity to the speaker of the House of Burgesses himself, Mr. John Robinson, who having ar- rived it the coach and six, now on entering was marked as indeed "The observed of all observers." \ .... \ Even Mr. Brandon acknowledged a superior in rank, in the speaker. He was the chief subject of the crown in the Old Dominion, the leader of the provincial aris- tocracy, and ininfluence far more-powerful than the gov- ernor of the realm. The " arbiter elegantiarum " of the Virginia nobility, his immense wealth enabled him to sup- CHRISTMAS AT KINGWOOD. t 31 port his position with becoming grandeur. He was fondly attached to royalty, to the forms and ceremonies of the English government; but the splendors of -state never dazzled his good judgment, nor chilled his warm heart: the rich honored him, and the poor always found in him sure friendship and generous aid. "Good day to you, my excellent young friend," said Mr. Robinson, turning to one not less distinguished than any before mentioned, to Richard Henry Lee; "it is pleasant to meet so many friends in this noble hall. Have you seen aught of Beverly?' "Please you, -sir," replied Lee, "we came together, and Wythe, Pendleton, and Randolph accompanied us. Your son is somewhere in the- room, but in such a throng--ah! observe him now, in the recess of yonder mindow; he is well engaged, I fancy, with the beauty who bears away the palm to-day. See, he is with Blanche Estcourt." "So I now perceive. Well, let him resist her if he can; she is, indeed, lovely. You must yourself beware, and do not let me hear that you and Beverly are to call each oththr out, in sheer jealousy." "Oh! have no fear of me, sir. I love not, although I play the Romeo, and from a distance look upon that beauty which "Hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear." "A good description, upon my faith. But was Juliet a brunette like Blanche, with her passionate glow in com- plexion-? See those eyes, their light shines even on me, old as I am, like stars in a midsummer night's dream. I too, Master Lee have not forgotten Shakespeare. I must warn Beverly."' page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32;' V BANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. D' Do So in good time, dear sir, or he is lost. There is iln:hofo r him, though, as I opine, our young host, Cliiie Brandon^,* is the knight elect." ,:-:It is indeed so! I had imagined that such a connec- tion -would::accord with the ambitious views of Mistress Mildred Estcourt, but cannot 'imagine that it would please Mrs. Brandon." "Nor do I believe that it ever will. Again, I know that Charles is not in love with her, but think the lady,"- '"A little touched, eh?" "As-you say, sir. I presume her mother would be anything but acceptable to the Brandons." "Or to any body else, I should suppose; proud, haughty spirit, to me she is insufferable." "s You are not singular, Mr3. Robinson, in your dislike. What strange stories are whispered of her, too; do you credit them?"- " I neither believe them, nor entirely reject them; but I pay no attention to such things. I make it a rule, Mr. Lee, and as you are a young man, I tell you of it, that it may save you some trouble in life;-it is a rule with me I say, never to give heed to the mere tattle and gossip of company. One who thus busies/himself, will soon have little time for more importantsmatters. Many a heartache is saved by one who suffers the points of such Liliputian arrows to fall blunted from the breastplate of indifference." "True sir, but Lady Mildred Estcourt's darts are of no Liliputian order; they rather belong to Brobdignag." "Then I should endeavor to avoid her. But indeed, her pride and insolence make her ridiculous! I could scarce forbear laughing, a short time since, when I was' looking with her, at Sir William Brandon's portrait, 'The family are proud of it,' said she, 'but what can their U;UlIlSIDAM AT .OWLL lJllO W VVU , --a- A regard for him, be compared with mine for my istious grandsire, Sir Robert Cecil? I have always E d that I did not make Mr. Estcourt change; hias" on marrying me. It is a great honor to be. conniectt a Cecil.' But here comes Mrs. Brandon. She0is a: lovely mother, and Governor Dinwiddie looks delighted with her." "My dear Mr. Lee," said Mrs. Brandon, "you can / doubtless help me, and so can Mr. Robinson. His excel- lency and I have had a warm discussion, and I have been defending your friend George Washington. Governor Dinwiddie, I find, will not agree with me, that his cour- age and conduct at Braddock's massacre last July, were entitled to as much regard as I consider his due. I want aid from the colonels friends, to overpower the gover- nor's scruples." "Not fair, madam, not fair," answered Dinwiddie. "I protest against this. How can I possibly accord more to the young hero than I have. Surely I have often told how he won, my good will from the first hour I saw him, when he brought me an introductory letter." J "Then, sir, you should have been more enthusiastic in my house to-day. Remember there is no chill by a Christmas fire, and your stately encomium of my young Achilles, should have been exchanged for glib praise. I shall -pardon you, however, if you will promise 'for the remainder of the day to bestow only the most honied words on any friend I mention.;" "Indeed I will, dear madam," said Dinwiddie, not sorry, perhaps, to escape so easily, for it was whispered that he regarded Washington's rising greatness rather unfavorably. "Now, Mr. Lee," continued Mrs. Brandon, "can you tell us aught of the colonel." 2*, page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. "'Very little, indeed, madam. I have not heard from him for some ti'ne; and, in truth, when I do hear any- thing from him or the army I am filled with pain, as it always renews my bitter disappointment at General Braddock's refusal to allow me a position on his staff. I should then have fought by George's side, and won laurels too." "Or more likely been shot as Braddock was," said the governor. "You are much better off here, believe me." "Ah, then," said Mrs. Brandon, "I should have had to deplore another dear friend, and this Christmas would have been too sad indeed." "Now, Lee," said Speaker Robinson, "I would rather have that said to me than be a field marshal. You must come to the House of Burgesses for your laurels; I will care for you there." "Thank you, sir, I mean to go there; and thank you, madam. It would greatly add to our pleasure if dolonel Washington could be with us to-day." "Indeed, Mr. Brandon and I hoped until lately that he would. But it seems he has escaped death in the field to become a prisoner." "A prisoner, madam," said Robinson, "you astound me!" "Only to Love, a jailor who cannot bribed. He is fast in the power of that wicked widow, Martha Custis." "Then his doom is sealed?" "Yes," replied the lady; " but come, the dinner waits, and you shall pledge him at the feast. Governor, your hand," and'Dinwiddie, with a profound bow, led Mrs. Brandon forth to the banquet, and aU1 the guests followed in due order. Of e , CHAPTER IV. INSIGHT. THE festivities at Kingwood were to continue for several days, and there appeared to be no end to the amusements. Some of the guests rode, some took daily enjoyment in a fox hunt, others played at tennis ball, or lounged in the library, while some made the best of their time in flirtation.' Brilliant was the daily dinner, butr far more enjoyed the revelry in the evenings. There was dancing, begun solemnly by stately minuets, followed by livelier saltations and fun among the young people, who,) ransacking ancient wardrobes, collected: costumes hi which they played the parts of mummers. Good old games were revived with spirit, and who was not de- lighted to take part in that most delicious chase, whose reward lurked in the sparkle of bright eyes, and was sweet in a kiss under the mistletoe! Peyton Randolph, Wythe, Lee, Charles Brandon, and others, with some fair assistants, on one of the evenings presented to the company the Masque of Comus. Al- though the performers had but a' short time for rehearsal, the guests declared their efforts entirely successful, and the heart of John Milton would doubtless have rejoiced could he have been present. The part of the "Lady" was admirably personified by Blanche Estcourt, who won the rapturous applause of every guest, as her haughty mother perceived with a pride which she could not con- ceal. Three gentlemen, seated together, had watched the progress of the masque, and at its close, one of them, (35)1 page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. Governor, Dinwiddie, turned to Mr. Parchmount the Saving, aid observed, "I hope this has made you -feel better tonight, sir." "I0o, sir, quite the contrary; I have not yet recovered from the- effects of that peacock pie of which I eat so inordinately at dinner on Christmas day." "Ah, you are punished,"' said Speaker Robinson, on the other side of Mr. Parchmount; " it was wrong in you to destroy so noble a specimen of the cook's skill. Upon my honor I thought, at first, it was a live bird which had just spread its plumage preparatory to strutting the length of the table." "How beautiful it was!" sighed out Parchmount. "Worthy of the famous Vatel himself," said Dinwiddie. "Really! and had the great authority on the laws of nations, the same fondness I have for peacock pie?" "Perhaps so, Mr. Parchmount; bit I was referring to another, a much greater man. I mean the cook to the noble Conde; he who killed himself-hero that he was- because the sea-fish which he was to dress for the king's dinner, did not come hi time.?" "Oh yes, I now remember; and do you indeed esteem him the greater man?" said the dry lawyer, to whom the comprehension of a jest was impossible. "Decidedly. Thwy worship hismemory in France." "But I am afraid, Mr. Parchmount," pursued Robinson, not unwilling to have a little fun with one whose economy and obtuseness were proverbial, "I am afraid that you are suffering not only from the peacock, who is now avenged, but that certain large slices of beef lie heavy on your conscience. The' governor and I observed that 'the baron,' weighing three or four hundred pounds at the commencement of the feast, was much curtailed in proportion before it ended. Did we not, Mr. Diniwiddie?'? ; , INSIGHT. 37 "Certainly, we could not help noticing it; and I par. ticularly remarked, also, that after the boar's head was brought in, and Mr. Brandon had given the ' caput apri defero'-in such grand style, that Mr. Parchmount kept a sharp eye on the dish." "Then," said the speaker, "itl s easy to fathom its disappearance. I looked for a morsel, but it was invisible. And to think, too, of the amount of wassail, the best I have ever tasted, which went to keep company with the boar's head, and the baron, and the peacock! It'is no wonder that Parchmount's memory of all these good things is so active that he cannot sleep." "True," returned Dinwiddie, "and the only way in which our friend can repent of his sins, is to keep open house next Christmas, invite us all, and pay the piper. But, to change the subject,-the Gorgon again turns her eyes upon us; why, I wonder?"--and the governor returned the stare of Mildred Estcourt, seated on the other side- of the room. z "I will inform you," said Parchmount, who bore rail- lery about feasting well enough, but who dreaded a hint that he should entertain in his turn; "she is looking, chiefly at me, knowitg that I am a partner of Mr. Redtape. She hates him cordially, and no doubt imagines that we are talking about her." "Why does she hate Mr. Redtape??" asked Speaker Robinson. "Oh, you doubtless can imagine," answered Parch- mount. "It is about that everlasting will which Redtape x/ has hunted for so long; he thinks it will one day be found, and deprive her of her property." "Nonsense!" said Robinson, "he might as well give . up the searchb it will never be found; - she has destroyed it, I will rnt. She has had the estate for fourteen -, page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 38 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. years; and, to one like her, such possession is more than nine points of the law. But silence now, 'here comes her daughter Blanche; she is about to dance with Charles Brandon." Vain would be the enthusiast's hacknied phrases, to describe the loveliness of Blanche; the dark brown hair, the soul-lit eyes, the luscious lips, the glowing cheek! --Away twith these. Rather tell of some ideal, ome impassioned beauty which Spain or Italy alone might body forth in their glorious women, or such as haunt forever the memory of those once fascinated by the creations of Titian. Though her stature was not tall, Blanche's symmetrical figure was moulded to a voluptuous outline; the full contour of her shoulders and arms contrasted richly with the dark dress she wore, and were enhanced by the gems which burned upon her person. ' Her motions which seemed not obedient to the music but to control its strain, drew the fixed gaze of the as- sembly, and more than one that evening felt assured that she was the destined bride of Charles Brandon, the future queen of Kingwood. "Mr. Lee," said Speaker Robinson, "what a splendid creature is Blanche. Why do you not find out in half an hour, as yoA can, how her heart beats, and love her if she will let you." "I have done so, sir, already as I told you before, but excuse me, Mr. Robinson, if I imagine that your anxiety is less on my account, than for Beverly." Robinson smiled. -"You have made a home thrust, Mr. Lee; indeed you have found me- out. I did feel some interest for my son, as to-day I have seen him less with the lady than usual, and I was fearful that he might have met a rebuff., INSIGHT. 39 "Oh do not be alarmed, sir, he never went so far, he is merely amusing himself. Do you not know that a lady. at the north, in the Highlands of the New York Colony, is the real one who has bewitched him?-But now Blanche is alone, and I will venture to approach her." "Bright Miss Estcourt," said the gallant Lee, "do you know how many hearts you have broken this evening, what mischief you have done?" "No, sir, nor do I imagine that I have marred the pleasureof any one. I thought you at least would do me better justice, and give me a name for healing spirits instead of wounding them." "I thought only of Charles Brandon, and myself, and judged accordingly., "Then be less selfish and think rather more of others. Nobody looks injured that I can see," "Charles is disconsolate." "Is he? then I must have been very dull, for I tried my best to please him.." "How so? Let me be your confidant." "I made him happy as you ought to be at this moment, by permitting himn to talkto me." "But something added would make me happier." "What would you have then?,' "To profess to make love to you. Come, for a little amusement now." "I shall permit no such thing, sir. I prefer sincerity, and he who makes love to me, must be in earnest." " Then may I not essay, my dear Miss Estcourt?, " To relieve you at once, Mr. Lee, I must tell you, no! You are so universal a favorite, that it would be a pity to devote yourself to me, and gain nothing by it." "Well, I have not been very serious, have I?" "No, and you have pleased me better than if you had page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 BRANDON OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. been. I' did not come to Kingwood, for any serious con- versation, or purpose." "Did you not? I am sure Charles Brandon will regret that." Blanche, slightly colored; a blush that did not escape Lee's quick eye. "Upon my, faith, sir,' you are grown bold, and you could scarce speak more plainly if I really felt a deep interest in your friend." "Pardon me, Lady Blanche, but I thought to-night xduring the Masque,'when you were seated in the magic chair, that you had changed places with Charles as Comus; that he was spell-bound and you were the enchantress." "Very poetical indeed, but I always punish any one who pays me compliments. Do you see that same chair across the room? Now go and seat yourself in it, for five minutes, and do not speak a word. Consider it the stool of repentance. I must join my mother." Lee, in his own mind, as others did, felt assured that some tender passages had occurred between his friend Charles and Blanche. Both young, rich, handsome, roman- tic, with kindred tastes, why should they not be united? Two reasons had for some time been whispered against such a union; one, that Blanche's own health would probably forbid her ever marrying at all; that the glow of her complexion was the fatal hectic tinge foretelling decay, that she was probably destined to follow her father to an early grave. The other, and perhaps more serious reason urged, that no one however rich or powerful, would care to be connected with a woman of Mildred Estcourt's disposition, lovely as her daughter was. There was a nameless something in the mother, which inspired distrust and dread, and such feeling-evidently affected the lot of the daughter. . INSIGHT. 41 Blanche was now about eighteen years of age, and -had lost her father very early in life. She was winning and beloved; her mother repulsive and hated. Mildred Est- court, "Lady Mildred," as she was generally styled not in her own hearing, was as unlike Blanche' in person and disposition as a mother could be. She was of large com- manding figure, erect, haughty, proud in step, with a harsh voice whose every word was law. In her face one read command, high temper, selfish purpose. Conceit, its greatest weakness, was relieved by indomitable energy and remorseless will. From her firm clenched mouth no smile of the soul ever broke, it was altogether mechani- cal; a brow seamed with thought; cold, stony, material eyes, her whole countenance indicated insatiate but baf- fled ambition. Such was this woman, without one reli- gious principle, though an ascetic in speech, a bigot in creed, a Pharisee of the Pharisees, but ruled solely by the dictates of a heart which might have been a com- pound of ice and iron. With the pride of Lucifer she dwelt on the stately magnificence of her grandsire, a distinguished statesman in the reigns of Charles II. and his ignominious brother; but her own father's memory was almost despised, because he had left England, preferring the safety and happiness of life in America to the uncertain favor of princes. The great statesman's domestic traits were said to have resembled those of his grand-daughter; and though his unkindness to his son probablyhelped to expatriate him, yet Mildred so worshipped him, and imagined all the world must, that she considered nothing due from her to society, no effort to be kind or courteous, but rather that society won a transcendent honor by her slight- est notice of it. She had contrived so singularly and studiedly to- offend those best disposed towards her, page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. so pertinaciously had she affronted every human being who dared even to assert independence in opinion, that, though- still- in the prime of life, the name of her enemies was legion. She lever hesitated to wreak upon the purest and gentlest, invective and epithets bitter as language contained; yet, as we have before mentioned, her greatest -weakness, conceit, while it caused her to wonder at her own isolation, consoled her with the belief that she was a being of such superior order, as to be be- yond the comprehension of ordinary mortals. But, as years rolled on, she became more and more shunned and detested, her schemes for power, increase of wealth, for a second marriage, failed one by one; her beauty which she once possessed departed, her brow contracted, and she was left a prey to rage and envy, to unpitied imisery, fast settling into despair. We have seen her as she drove beneath the gateway, when the aspect of the stately domain broke upon her in all its grandeur. "Look, Blanche," she said aloud, then vowed in secret, "this at least I will move, heaven and earth to make thine." \ No thought of her daughter's true happiness crossed her scheming brain at that moment; had Charles Bran- don been a libertine or a sot, the same resolve would have taken fixed possession of her. She wanted power, could she gain it-the real welfare of her daughter (whom indeed she professed to love, and probably did, next to herself,) was of slight moment. She could not mancouvre, plan, or plot, evren for Blanche alone; she her- self was to be elevated to the pinnacle of greatness; her own child might be near, but still must be a step beneath her. "With Blanche wedded to Charles," she thought, "I shall soon be the mistress here. I know his easy lINSIGHT. 43 temper; he will wear his fetters lightly: his mother's too docile spirit cannot contend with mine, and as to his father-but we shall see, we shall see." With an art which she could easily command, the Lady Mildred now assumed a sweetness of demeanor truly captivating, which half induced some to think-that all the reports they had heard of her Iwere buit malicious libels; yet even here at times her imperious nature broke its bonds. Meanwhile the two innocent subjects of her plans were, with nice tact, thrown frequently -together; the high-souled romantic Blanche was soon touched with tender passion apparent enough to every beholder, and, though Charles was not exclusive in his attentions to her, her voice still sounded sweetest in his ears, nor did her lovely vision leave him even in his dreams. ' , -' page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] CHAPTER V. A WARNING. THE company departed from Kingwood, and Charles prepared to return at once to the north. Lady Mildred and Blanche lingered-latest of the guests, and when they had gone, the great house was left in quiet to its pro- prietors. How the mother and daughter felt in parting from the Brandons, time will unfold to us; the last glance which Blanche gave Charles as the carriage moved away, had a deep meaning in it which Mildred instantly perceived, and it sufficed to keep her absorbed for some time in deep thought. Charles watched the retreating chariot until it was no longer visible, and the sound of its wheels had died away, when he walked down to the porter's lodge, vainly hoping to obtain one more glimpse of it. At the gateway he encountered an odd specimen of humanity, of whom he asked twenty idle questions con- cerning the carriage, without obtaining much satisfaction. The man he:addressed was a long raw-boned lank fellow, a curiosity in his way. His name was Bela Tilley, and he was as perfect a specimen of the universal Yankee, as could be found a hundred years ago. He was adtravel- ing character, never remaining very long in any one place. He first came to Virginia as a trader, and con- cluded to stop a while in Williamsburg, and see what Was to be seen. Mr. Brandon had encountered him there, and taken a fancy to him, and Bela had; been on the estate about a year, liberally paid, doing pretty nearly as (44) A WARNING. '45 he liked, having contrived to render himself very popular. He hailed from Newport, Rhode Island, where -he had a wife and family, whom he professed to be very fond of, though thinking they could do quite as well without him. He gave his reasons frankly when asked concerning his roving disposition, and would say: "' Wal, yer see, I never was fond o' stickin' to home, and telled my wife so afore I married her. - She come from Warwick Neck, had lots o' cousins spotted all over the country, clean down to Pint Judy; some more-on 'em over on t'other shore--was very fond o' goin' all reound an' stayin a spell along 'er some on 'em. Wal, I telled her I was fond o' visitin tu, but my idees er forin travel warn't to, be bounded'no how by Rud Island Col'- ny; guess I did'nt want to be kep in that are region all my life, bein treated to nothin but cohogs* and leather pies t My views o' human natur was much more ex-ten- * Probably quahaugs. t In regard to the edibles which seem to have disgusted Mr. Tilley, the author feels bound to state the following. During several sum- mers in Newport, he had been annoyed as many others were at bathing hours, by crowds of women coming down to the beach to stare at swimmers, when they ought to have been elsewhere.- These women collect in Warwick, Bristol, Potowome, and other "Quaker bottoms," and go down to Newport in shoals on the. Providence- excursion steamboats. Bundling into omnibuses on the dock, they start "right away for the beach," as before told. It is a singular physiological fact that nearly all these women have their front teeth broken out; the appearance of their mouths is consequently peculiar, and by no means enticing. Wondering at the cause of this singular .uniformity, the author was finally relieved by information from a valued friend and poet, who had discovered the reason of it. The dental vacancies, were the result of almost exclusive feeding on leather pies. It is highly gratifying therefore, to find the testimony of Mr. Bela Tilley a hundred years ago, corroborated by one of the enlightened minds of the nine. teenth century. s page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] " BRANDOfi; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. sive. So we jest agreed to go an come when we liked, and whar we liked, an we've allers got along prime." "Do you think of returning to your family at an early day, Mr. Tilley?" Charles asked. "I calculate not soon, yer see there's nothin for me to du to home; wife an young un's doin' better nor ef I was, an I'm makin a 4eal sight more money for 'em here." "Then you like Viginia better than Rhode Island?" ( Wal, not the country, no, not the country, gev me' my own, with su'thin puty smart agin a rainy day, an I'd like to git clean eout er the sight er niggers for one while. But the work here and the-eatin' soots my complexshun complete-weather ples'nt an not tu much to du. I can sit reound the fire nights, crack butternuts an drink cider; calculate to fat up this winter." Charles turned away, slowly sauntering through the park. He began to feel lonesome, and wished that Blanche had not gone away. He went to the margin of the little brook, which murmured soothingly to his troubles. But he was restless, ill at ease, the landscape he thought dull, the sky gloomy, although the sun shone bright, the wind harsher than it had been an hour before, and even his friend the brook soon appeared -indifferent to his sorrows. He looked towards the house, not a -creature was seen stirring near it, its lonely look oppressed him; he went into the garden in front of the hall, it too was sad and deserted. The river affected him more than aught else, for it looked happy, sparkling in-the sun beams, and he thought it laughed saucily at his moody fancies. He entered the house; its shadows fell a thousand times darker than e-r-before; the harp which Blanche had so endeared, sounded out of tune, and as he sullenly drew his fingers over its chords, one of them suddenly- A WARNING. 47 snapped. He walked into the library, read a few lines of Dryden, and the book fell from his hands. Poor Charles! was he in love, and knew not' what troubled him? No, he could still reason coolly; he was not in love with Blanche, and yet-and yet-would that she were back again, and that he was not forced to return to college. While seated in the library, his thoughts not of the most pleasant nature, he was roused from his reverie by sounds of approaching footsteps, and looking up he saw his cousin, Randolph Brandon, who yet lingered, being privileged to do so in virtue of his relationship. "I was looking for you, Charles, half this morning, and not being able to find you, was obliged, for want of company, to visit Mr. Bela Tilley; what a queer charac: ter your father picked up in him!" "I dare say Tilley made a more agreeable companion than I do," replied Charles, " especially to day, as I feiel in any mood but a pleasant one." "Why, what is the matter?" "Oh, I don't know, I have a" headache."' "Poh! I know what the trouble is, you are in love, boy." "I am not in love," said Charles blushing. "Oh, indeed not! what is that I see in your face?" "But, really Charles," Randolph added, "is it not true?" "It is not. I love no one-except my mother." "But," persisted Randolph, "have you not a tender passion for Blanche Estcourt?" "No!" said Charles emphatically, "I have not. The little I have seen of her, I greatly like; but I have neither formed nor expressed for her any opinion beyond that of admiration for her beauty-to that, I confess.'" page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] '48 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. "And, then, it is not true that you are entirely fas- cinated by her; fin short, that- you have told her of your hopes, and plighted your word to her?", "As I live, it is not! i But why are you so anxious ,about a matter which if' determined- on, could concern me soltly?" t ' "It is for that very reason that I am so interested in it, and in you. Thank God my fears are relieved!' Now let me tell you what I think about Blanche. She is charming, and were circumstances different, I should be glad. to see her your wife; but she has a mother of whom you should beware. I don't warn you against her, on account of her manners or temper, of which you can judge yourself; but her ambition has somethigg in it fearful- to me, and I fear, reared as you have been;, that'she would cause you much unhappiness, do what "yo could to prevent it. Still, that is not my greatest fear, -.as a friend,' and you know I am one, I wish to warn you against her, on other grounds. Connected with that womsn' life, there have been strange and singularly unexplained circumstances, which beget suspicion in me, as they have in others. I do not love mystery, or desire to bewilder you; but I cannot explain more on the subject, at present, knowing as little as I do. Be advised by me, however; let not your admiration of Blanche, betray you into hasty love. You are yet very young, have seen little of the world, and can well wait awhile-before marrying, especially-as you avow your- self heart whole, now." Charles promised to exercise due control over himself, but added, "' You have now excited my curiosity; and it is but fair that you tell me what you know of these suspi- cious circumstances attaching to Blanche's mother."' "I cannot now; for I may after all, be wrong, but tune will prove. Now, to change the subject, I will tell A WARNING. you a secret of my own, if not those of others. YO O'hiust soon go back to college; I shall accompany yoi^-: I am very shortly to be married to a lady in Boston, andh you must be one of my attendants. Now, shake off your dull fit, your headache, and I will outplay you in a game of tennis ball." f Randolph Brandon was some ten years Charles' senior; he had been left an orphan at an early age, and had lived at Kingwood, chiefly under the care of Mrs. Brandon, whom he loved as if she were his own mother. A large fortune, inherited from' his parents, was held in trust for him, until he attained his majority, since which period he had passed much of his time in Europe; He had been received with- distinction at foreign courts, had made thy9 acquaintance of many enminent men, among whom he was proud to number Thomas Gray, the poet, and Horace Walpole. In his wanderings about the colonies, he had ivisited Boston, and been smitten with the charms of the fair one, whom we shall introduce in due time. The cousins were soon prepared for their journey, and according to the fashions of the day-with persons of dis- tinction-traveled on horseback, attended by black ser- vants. At Annapolis they partook of the hospitalities of the place for a day or two, then pursued their way to the north. Baltimore, at that time, contained some thirty or forty houses; Philadelphia, and New York, were by no mleans large; and, if these towns made any impression on our sagacious travelers, we fear the world must lose the ben- efit of their views, as none of the notes of their journey have been preserved. Without incident worthy of narration, they eventually reached Boston, where Randolph remained, while Charles at once repaired to the university. 3 page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] CHAPTER VI. "UCY AND THE RECLUSE. Too long have we left sweet Lucy Tyrrell; too long to wander alone upon the wild sea shore, and as she beheld ships pass in the distance, visit with them in imagi- nation those remote countries, which she had dreamed and read of. Yet she was happy in her little island home; and when she heard of other lands with but a half-formed wish to quit her own, she would soon check her roving fancies for fear that she had done wrong even to think of leaving her kind parents. But in truth they had anticipated her in thoughts of future plans; they often asked themselves Aow, if they were always to remain so far away from the busy world, and although contented with their own situ- ation, they could hardly deem it advantageous to Lucy. But as she was beautiful and pure-nminded, a dread of her contamination by gayer society troubled them, and made them hesitate to change their habitation. Their doubts, however, were quite unexpectedly terminated. One morning Mr. Tyrrell was surprised by the appear- ance of his cousin Edward, who resided in Boston, and whom he had not seen for twenty-five years. The stranger announced his intention of passing a day or two on the island, having visited it expressly to see his cousin. Classmates and chums in college, they had sepa- rated on leaving the halls of alma mater, to enter man- hood under different auspices; one, born to fortune, to embrace public life and pursue a distinguished career in the service of the crown : the other, poor in purse, though (50) "UCY AND THE RECLUSE. ; 51 not the less deserving, to repair to the secluded island and remain in obscurity for a quarter of a century. They were about the same age, and having great similarity of tastes, were much attached to each other. Although they had not met for so long a time, their acquaintance had been i kept alive by occasional letters, and the minister's little household was frequently cheered by opportune and generous presents from the richer relative. People who have been separated for twenty-five years find frequently that they have less to say and tell of than-they imagined when picturing the anticipated meeting, and even in this instance, the two cousins, pleased as they were, found some trouble in loosening the rust of those long years, before they could confer together as freely as they were wont. Soon, however, Edward Tyrrell found his relative's society no less attractive than of old, and was glad for a brief season to surrender himself to the calm enjoyment of fireedom and repose, forgetting the cares of state which had borne him down for years. From two days of a purposed sojourn, his stay was lengthened to a week; then. day after day passed, and he found nearly a month gone by before he could make up his mind to tear him- self away. His health, impaired by long labor, no, re- vived; he enjoyed every moment, and found at the plain board of the manse an appetite which he thought lost forever. In his walks by the sea-beach, or among the hills, or his visits to the hamlets, listening to the queer talk of the people, Lucy was ever the light of his life, his compaion. He loved her free, frank, artless conversation, its simplicity enlivened by a ceaseless playfulness, yet not without Idig- nity; and, simple islander as she was, no awkward rusticity attached to her manners more than to her motions. page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. Mr. Tyrrell saw that she had been carefully nurtured, that she was by nature formed to enjoy and grace the highest ranks of life, and he blamed himself that he had not sooner known her, and aided in her education. When she sat with him in the little study, and he drew her un- awares to speak of her father's pursuits, and of her own love of books, without the slightest tinge of pedantry she displayed to him the broad, solid foundation of her understandingS and acquirements, and delighted him by speaking of her favorite authors. "Surely," thought he, "my daughter is a good girl, but this one knows a hun- dred times as much of what is really valuable, with com- paratively no advantages,- though perhaps she cannot work as fine embroidery, or manage a fan as Matilda does. What else has she studied. Let me see." '"You are a good Greek and Latin scholar, Lucy. I am quite surprised." "Indeed! and do you not think that if I love papa, that I ought to try to excel? He has taught me all I know." "And do you understand French or Italian?" "No, sir, papa did not study them in college, and-" '"Neither did I," broke in Mr. Tyrrell. "Well, Lucy, how is it as to music?" 4"Oh, you will find me very ignorant, I fear. I have no musical instrument, but I sing at times." "And dancing?" "No indeed!" said Lucy, with a little of the Puritan in her look and voice, " how could I, papa never dances!" "Well," replied Mr. Tyrrell, laughing at her serious looks, "neither do I, my pretty cousin, but you shall learn all these if you like!" "But dancing!" again began Lucy, very dubiously, "papa might not like it; and dancing alone, oh dear, how dismal that would be " "UCY AND THE RECLUSE. 53 "Now, Lucy, is it not possible that you could induce one of those young fisherrmen in a 'souwester hat and a pea-jacket to take lessons with you?" "It would be impossible, he would be frightened out of his wits; besides, there is not a young man on the island, even a fisherman." "No exception, then, to your father and me," said Mr. Tyrrell; " come, cousin Lucy, you are too hard. But let me tell you," he added, dropping his jesting tone, "how much I have enjoyed your society. I must, however, now return to Boston, and I hope you will accompany me. You should know your cousin Matilda; I am sure she will love you as I do. She is soon to be married to a wealthy gentleman from Virginia, Mr. Randolph Bran- don. They have been engaged for some time, and like all other young people now want to be married. It is time for me to return home, and you, I insist upon it, must go with me." "I should love to visit Boston and to see cousin Ma- tilda, but I am afraid papa and mamma would never live happily without me." "Trust me for that, Lucy. I have already spoken to them, and you have their free consent; so see if we do not teach you dancing in spite of the Pilgrim Fathers, and find you a handsomer partner than that young son of Neptune in a souwester." The delighted Lucy, now that her only objection was removed, soon prepared for her visit. Her small ward- robe as subjected to the closest scrutiny; every article of hes must be made to look as neat as possible, she not oeing aware that perhaps the first step of her fashionable relations would be to divest her of such simple apparel, for that better suited to the courtly elegance of Boston. It was t arranged between the cousins that Lucy's absence from " page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. home should not be of very brief nature, and the gene- rosity of Edward Tyrrell, who had discovered in her such a charming character, prompted him to offer his house as her home for a season, and the defrayment of all expenses incident to a finished education. The clergyman and his wife gladly consented to this arrangement, though grieved to part with their child, and long were their talks with her, earnest their advice, and many their tears before they separated. Lucy, full of the prospect of so much happiness, went from hamlet to hamlet to bid the old people farewell. Though they had sons in the Pacific Ocean, and husbands in the Arctic seas, they thought a visit to Boston as little less than a journey to the ends of the earth, shaking their heads in dismay when they heard of the time she was to remain absent. As she was retracing her steps to the manse, "I had nearly forgotten Rachel," she said, " and as I am the only being on the island whom she professes to care for, except- ing papa and mamma, she would take it ill indeed if I left without saying .good bye to her." Turning back, she ascended the hill, and in a few moments reached Rachel's cottage, which was smaller than many'of the others, but by no means as poor in appearance as the generality of them. It bore minute but ineffaceable evidence of occu- pancy by one of more refined taste than the village people. The vines were tastefully arranged around the door, and the abode was scrupulously neat. Nor did its interior merely display such rude chattels as at once indi- cated poverty and the fisher's craft, but was furnished plainly, though neatly, as if the tenant were possessed of sufficient -means to insure, comfort. Rachel, for she was known by no other name, was a singular being, and all that the villagers could tell of "UCY AND THE RECLUSE. 55 her was, that she had suddenly appeared in the island about nine years before the period of which we write, and, refusing all communication with the inhabitants, had dwelt alone since that time. The most prying curiosity of the village gossips had failed to inform them who Rachel really was, or of her former history. She was evidently of superior culture, but inquisition was baffled by her dignified manner, which repelled intrusion. The clergyman and his wife knew indeed of her previous history, but they had always refused to acquaint Lucy with it. Her father's invariable reply to his child's question was, Her history is of no consequence to you; she does not wish it divulged." And when the girl said, as she often did, "Perhaps she is a lady in disguise, papa," his only answer would be, '"No matter if she is, have it so if you will." With curiosity thus piqued, Lucy had often besought Rachel to tell her her history, but she had always put her off with excuses and promises to do so at some future time. As Lucy grew from childhood, she formed quite an intimacy with the recluse, who became much attached to her, and saw her frequently. The village tattlers, disappointed in not being able to break through Rachel's incognito, set her down, in revenge, perhaps, as insane, while some, more bitter than others, hinted that she was in league with the powers of darkness. Strange tales were whispered by these wiseacres, of mysterious vessels that sailed in the dead of night into the harbor, but were gone when morning came, and of figures that left these phantom barks and proceeded to her cottage. Mr. Tyrrell had at first taken the trouble to investigate these matters, but whether he discovered any truth in the reports or not, he always before the people spoke of the gossip about her as sheer nonsense. page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED EARS AGO. Rachel certainly carried no familiarity with the evil one in her looks, and very likely was quite ignorant of such inuendoes. Hers was a lady-like presence; her counte- nance bore marks of former beauty, and still retained all its sweetness, but it was stamped with the impress of settled sorrow. / As Lucy enteead her cottage, she was seated at the spinning-wheel, which she used occasionally for occupa- tion's sake, though her time was more generally employed in reading. She looked up as the girl's shadow darkened the threshold, and seeing who it was, rose courteously and proffered a chair; then, without waiting for Lucy to begin the conversation, she said: "So, my darling, you are going to leave to-morrow, I "How did you learn so, Rachel; did papa tell you?" "'Yes, Lucy; he was here yesterday, and had a long talk with me." "And you were very glad to hear I was going, I sup-' pose?" "No, my pet, I cannot say that. I was very sorry; for I believe you would be happier here in the island." "My good Rachel, why so?" "Oh, I can hardly tell why. I may be wrong; but I have known so much sadness in my life when I was in the world, that I cannot bear to think of one so young and innocent, and so dear to me as you are, trusting yourself to its deceits!" . ' Have you been deceived by it, Rachel?" "Bitterly, indeed!-but do not concern yourself for my griefs." "Yes, Rachel, I must feel for you. You have often said that you would tell me the story of your sufferings; why not narrate them to me now, if not too painful to you?" "UCY AND THE RECLUSE. 57 "No, Lucy, not now. I do not wish you to go away, and bear with you any memory of my sorrows. My story is not, indeed, worth your sympathy.'; "Will you tell me, then, on my return; as you are unwilling to do so now?" "Yes, my pretty one; but tell me now a little more about yourself, and why you are going away." "To complete my studies;, and soon to see my cousin Matilda married.', "Ah, to be married! your father did not tell me that. Whom does she marry?', "A gentleman from the Virginia colony, Mr. Brandon." "From Virginia; Brandon! Brandon!" said Rachel, starting suddenly, and looking fixedly at Lucy. "Yes, Brandon. But what is the matter, Rachel? You look alarmed." "'Tis nothing, child; it only recalled former days. I have heard of the name in Virginia." "Were you ever there,?" asked Lucy, surprised in her turn. "Yes, and sorry enough that I ever was; but no mat- ter now. I never knew Mr. Brandon." "Then why did you seem so surprised?" "Tell me," said Rachel, without heeding this question, "did your father's cousin, Mr. Tyrrell, ever mention to you the names of any other persons in the Virginia colony?," "No, I do not remember that he did.', "He never spoke of a Mr. Parchmount, did he? or of such a person as"...... Rachel hesitated, afnd loolked steadfastly at Lucy again,...., ." as an Estcourt?" "No; why do you ask? What Estcourt, man or woman?" Rachel was silent again, and for a few moments paused 3* page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 BEANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. in deep thought; then, without referring to these topics, said: "Well, Lucy, I hope y6u will be happy away from home. I was only thinking just then of the deep love I have for you, and imagined that your lot in life would be connected with mine d But. this is idle fancy; and, if I mistake not, you will have no such sorrows." In further conversation Lucy spent an hour with Rachel, then said farewell; and the next morning left the island, in company with Mr. Tyrrell. CHAPTER VII. "UCY IN BOSTON. THE city reached in safety, Mr. Tyrrell and Lucy were whirled in a carriage to the door of bhi mansion-one of those noble, massive residences, with extensive ranges of out-buildings, and large gardens, of which there were once many in Boston. She was most kindly met by Mr. Tyrrell's wife, and ais daughter Matilda, who was a year or two older than lerself; and she soon ceased to feel embarrassed in their presence, for being persons of kind hearts as well as high :ank in life, they took pleasure in smoothing over Lucy's ittle difficulties, and putting her at ease. YFor a simple maiden, she found much to excite wonder; t was as if she had stepped into an enchanted palace; all vas so rich and splendid. She had never dreamed of such pictures; had never leen before a painting or a statue, not even a good en- rraving. The elaborate service of the table, china and )late, the profusion which reigned in the abode, at first )ewildered her; but good sense suggested silence, and act soon supplied the deficiencies of her training. She felt more at ease when out of doors, in the gardens; )ut even here she was astonished at the rich and varied lowers, the shrubs and vines, and the trees, to her more wonderful than all, there being scarcely one upon the sland. - The little fountain in the midst of the scene, that, from i circular basin, shot its tiny column upward, and waved - glittering in the air like a plume of spun glass; this she page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 60 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. would love to watch-it would almost compensate for the waves that beat upon the sands. The town, with its crowded streets and busy hum, its public buildings, its park, its Province House, proud residence of the governors of the commonwealth, now existing only in the pages of Hawthorne; the stronghold of aristocratic and kingly power, now elbowed out of the way, and measured off by the yardstick of pertinacious trade, and sold a bargain; this, and many other abodes of wealth and style, formed numberless objects of attraction to the unsophisticated Lucy. In her letters to her parents, written whenever she could hear of a packet sailing to the island, she de- scribed with girlish enthusiasm all the wonders that met her gaze; and no young person, such as we read of, going to the vast London to seek fortune, was ever more overwhelmed by its immensity and magnificence, than she by the lesser glories of the town of Boston. She soon felt at home with her uncle and aunt, as she called them, desiring to pay more respect than she con- sidered inmplied by the title of cousin, and listened delighted to the outpoured confessions of the fond Matilda, the time of whose single blessedness drew rapidly to a close. Of course the betrothed, who could only talk of her love, was enchanted to find so willing a listener as Lucy; and hor delightful was it to be made a confidant, to have a thousand little things told her which were of momentous importance, not to be repeated for the world, and only disclosed under the most solemn injunctions of secrecy. Then came the endless preparation of the wardrobe; the search in every shop in the town for this, that, and the other articles of dress; the quantities of presents that poured in, examined so eagerly. All this was a new revelation to Lucy, all duly noted down, and, the secrets excepted, described in her letters. Mr. Tyrrell, once, "UCY IN BOSTON. 61 more immersed in the cares of the body politic, looked forward every evening with delight to Lucy's society, for now the lovelorn Matilda was allowed a separate nook in the shade of the curtain, and there she lay perdue. Lucy became the pet of the house. Randolph took a great liking to her, and once caused his lady-love a pang of jealousy that lasted full half an hour, and required violent protestations of half an hour more to soothe, be- cause he said if he had seen Lucy sooner, he did not know what might have happened. Mr. Tyrrell's promise to her father in regard to her education was not forgotten. Competent masters in music and languages were provided, and with her powers of close application to study and a good mind, she made immediate and rapid progress. She was anxious to excel, both from her own ambition and the pleasure which she knew her advancement would be sure to give her parents. Lucy heard Randolph Brandon frequently speak of his cousin Charles, and when she had'been domiciled for several months at her uncle's, the family sometimes wondered that they had not seen him of late. "Mr. Brandon, what can have become of your cousin?" asked Mr. Tyrrell one day. "Indeed I cannot tell, sir. I have sent to Cambridge a dozen times for him, but he pays no heed to my sum- mons. I suppose he is either wrapped up in his studies, or he is too indolent to take the trouble to visit Boston." "Surely we can have done nothing to offend him," suggested Mrs. Tyrrell. "Whom did you ever offend, lady mine?" replied- her husband, gallantly. "Well," said Randolph, "if Charles chooses to act thus and stay away, it is because he does not know what he is losing in you, Lucy; is it not so?" . page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 BRANDON: OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. "I suspect he does, sir, and stays away for that very reason. I am sure I have no objection to his doing so as long as he likes." "Ah, Lucy, Lucy, a little piqued I see." "Stand firm, my charming cousin," said Mr. Tyrrell, "I perceive I must come to your aid." "Oh, no need of it, uncle, I can defend myself very well. Mr. Randolph is the only one who is a little piqued, because I am quite as careless of his adnmiration as of his cousin's." "That is right, Lucy," said Matilda, "I wish I had your mettle to keep Randolph in better order. These cousins are much alike, I think. Charles stays away be- cause I received his advances coolly, and in revenge Randolph tries to desert me and make love to you." "He wastes a great deal of time then." "Now spare me," said Randolph, " and we will try to heal all differences. Did you not tell me, Mr. Tyrrell, that Governor Pownall had issued cards for a grand entertainment at the Province House ten days from this time?" "Yes, sir, I did, and we must all be sure to honor the ball." "Of course we will, sir. My cousin Charles will be certain to smuggle himself in from the college for it, and then Lucy and Matilda, having a hero apiece, will be appeased." t "I think of deserting you for Charles," said Matilda. "How is it with you, Lucy?" ("Oh, I will permit Mr. Randolph's attentions this time, however unwelcome they may be, and thus repay his cousin for his negligence. But I am quite indifferent to either of them." Yes, Lucy was "quite indifferent," but when the - UUXY IN BUbTUN. DO momentous day came, and she was told that Charles would be sure to be at the. mansion in time to accompany the party to the Province House, and that he was ex- pected to be entirely devoted .to her, though regarding it as mere raillery, perhaps she lingered a moment or two longer at the mirror, and adjusted with greater care the flowing drapery of her costume. Her dress was not to be distinguished from her cousin Matilda's for richness, and she appeared to greater ad vantage from her superior height and the glowing fresh- ness of her complexion; and although so recently clad in rustic robes, she moved with as much grace and ease, as if bred in the atmosphere of courts. The languishing Matilda would have preferred to re- main behind in sweet converse with her adored lover, but her father would hear of no such thing, hinting that the absence of one member of so august a party as his family made, might be construed into nothing less than a premeditated slight to the reigning powers. Proud as he was of his official station, and thoroughly satisfied with his own appearance on this occasion, he could not but be much more delighted with two such beautiful women as his niece and daughter. Randolph, for once differing from Matilda, manifested no intention of remaining be- hind, and the party, having waited in vain for Charles, at length left without him; anathemas heaped upon his head all the while by his incensed cousin. They reached the street in which the Province House was situated, descended at the gate of the courtyard which then extended before the building, and in a mo- ment more were mixed with the throng that poured into its halls. The size of the palace, as it seemed, the broad staircase, the number and decorations of the rooms, the rich furniture and portraits of famois governors of old, page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] " BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. the innumerable lights, the exhilarating strains of music, the variety and richness of the ladies' dresses, the military uniforms which glanced here and there; all these burst on Lucy like a new revelation. She saw numbers of those who bore evident marks of distinction, wqhom she had before heard of; here a celebrated judge or lawyer, and here some famous general, a chance author, or orator of established reputation; and some traveler might be seen, who had exhausted the old world and was about to plunge into the wilderness of the new. Matilda, familiar with all these personages, informed Lucy of them while they stood together for a few moments after paying their respects to the mighty governor. As became one of his official position, Mr. Tyrrell continued in conversation with the magnate, while Randolph had disappeared in the throng with his future mother-in-law. "Two lovely daughters of yours, happy Mr. Tyrrell, quite unlike, too; pardon me, but I have forgotten which is so soon to be married." "It is the brunette and the smaller of the two," said Mr. Tyrrell, indicating by a nod; "but your Excellency has fallen into error. I have but one daughter, the other is my niece." ' Pardon me," replied the governor, " we public men must make mistakes sometimes; the niece is it? divinely fair; and is she too about to make her lover happy?" "Not. quite yet, she has not long been in company; she is just from out the sea." "A pearl of price then in truth she is," said the urbane governor, but not desiring to praise the niece too much at the expense of the daughter, added, "but touching this marriage, tell me when will it be?" "( On Wednesday fortnight," said Mr. Tyrrell; " and I assure .you that nothing can add more to our happiness "UCY IN BOSTON. 65 than the hope that your Excellency will be disposed to honor us on that occasion with your presence." The hope was gratified on the spot, for of course noth- ing could be further from the governor's thoughts, than absence from the ceremony. 4 The Tyrrells mingled with the company and passed from room to room. Fond as Matilda's father was of her, he could not but be pleased with the remarks which Lucy's more striking beauty elicited. He introduced to her several of his acquaintances, who, in the course of the evening, spoke to him in rapturous terms of her ap- pearance, and were surprised to learn of the short time she had been in the world of fashion. But Lucy's charm of manner was as natural to her as the graces of her per- son; it was instantly perceived, as her beauty was no more assumed than the glow in her cheek; and it would have fascinated one in the lonely island as soon as in the circle of high rank. No one, worldling as he might be, but enjoyed his communion with that innocent spirit. As Lucy was seated listening to the music, and watching the mazes of the dance, which to her was a new pleasure, she suddenly missed Mr. Tyrrell and Matilda, who but a moment since had been by her side. She rose to look for them, and on the other side of the room saw the tall form of Randolph Brandon. Judging her cousin to be near him, she moved through the throng to join her, and then in a moment more look- ing again, he too had disappeed. Embarrassed by her situation, and not knowing exactly whether to stand still where she was, or move on, she suddenly heard a voice close beside her with an offer to assist her if she was in search of a friend. She turned her head and looked upon the speaker; he was a tall and finely formed young per- sonage, scarce of age, if she could judge from the smooth page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " BRANDON OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. roundness of his cheek, with lips about which played a slight smile; but Lucy was encouraged by the kind and gentle glance he threw upon her from his large, soft, grey eyes. She blushed deeply, but recovering in a moment, said that she was looking for a friend, and would be greatly obliged if he could aid her in her search for Mr. Brandon. ' It will give me the greatest pleasure to do so," said Charles Brandon, for it was he, who had gone to Mr. Tyrrell's house after the family had left it, and following them to the Governor's, had arrived but a few moments before. "It is my cousin Randolph whom you desire to join, and do I not speak aright as I address Miss Lucy Tyrrell??" "I am Miss Tyrrell in Boston, but at home I was only Lucy."1 "And Lucy indeed you must be to me," thought Charles. "Oh, why have I delayed so long to meet you! Pardon me," he said, " but I almost fear to accost your relatives, I have so neglected my duty toward them. They must have blamed me." "You have been often spoken of, but with kindness only in my presence, sir." "I do not merit such mild treatment, but should have been happier had I known you sooner, for you too, then, might have spoken a gentle word." "It is pleasant to forgive the repentant, but they must sin no more. But here are our friends with whom you ,can make your peace. Me you have not yet angered." "I never shall," replied Charles, " if frequent meetings ensure friendship,' and by Lucy's side he remained for the evening. If his dreams that night were not of her, surely Blanche Estcourt did not claim them. The next day, and the next, and the next too, he waR l found attentive in calling at the Tyrrells, and assiduous indeed in seeking opportunities of a quiet half hour with Lucy. He also suddenly took great interest in the ap- bproaching ceremony, which he had previously regarded with such indifference, that Randolph was upon the point of declaring that he should bear no part in it. But now he was to serve, and with whom but Lucy. Many times were the cousins assembled to discuss every item connected with the all-important day; at last it came, radiant as if for the marriage feast of, a monarch. What need to say more of it; of the bride, of her six lovely attendants, Lucy lovelier than all, or of the cere- mony itself, but that it was performed with becoming solemnity in Hollis Street Church. There,, tears were rather profusely shed, but were repaid by smiles at home when the bridal banquet followed; a feast made brilliant by the sparkling wit of the officiating clergyman, the famous pastor Mather Byles. page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] CHAPTER VIII. 4"OVE'S DELIGHTFUL STORY." CHARLES BRANDON was seated alone in his room, in old Massachusetts Hall, of Harvard College, and with vain efforts tried to fix his attention on the task before him, in preparation for a coming recitation. But his thoughts wandered from the page, and even when appa- rently occupied with watching the sports of his fellow- students on the Green, his gaze was vacant, his mind was busy elsewhere. It wad miles away; it was with Lucy Tyrrell. With the utmost loathing only could he now bind himself to the regular trials of study, which had before been so easy to him; he read nothing, wrote even to his parents at stated intervals with reluctance, and gave up almost entirely the society of his companions, who could not understand his sudden reserve. He with- I drew from their sports and convivial pleasures, to pass i hours wandering alone in the neighboring woods, or by the banks of the River Charles, in poet and lover-like mood. Now, wrapped was he was in thought of one be- loved being, he experienced for the first time the grate- ful sense of solitude to indulge his dreams, and that mor- bid dread of society whose slightest sound jarred upon his spirit. He thought, hoped, feared, lived only for Lucy. From the first hour he had seen her, instinctive passion for her rose within him; he could not repress or control it; it overmastered him -with its strength; it swept down every prudential thought of hesitation; he felt, he knew; that his earthly destiny, be what it might, must be for ever swayed by her. And when fully con- (68) "OVE'S DELIGHTFUL STORY." 69 scious of his love, it took such utter possession of him, that he had no power to stay its tide; he gaye himself up to the rapture which entranced him, and unresisting floated on with its current. Could he but three short months since have dreamed of one so lovely, he would not have lost by his own folly so many hours of exquisite delight, nor excluded himself from the light of those eyes and the music of that voice. How for an instant could he ever have been beguiled by Blanche Estcourt; never more was she to be thought or spoken of; he did not love, he had never loved her; a slight interest, a little tender friendship for her, that was all; but oh! how different with Lucy, whose first glance fascinated him, the very light of love streaming from those dark blue eyes! He thought of the sounds of her voice whose accents slightly trembled as she thanked him for his courtesy on parting, the eloquent thrill in the touch of her fingers, the little flower which, as he be- sought, she drew from her bosom, and gave with a blush which lent a new glory to her beauty. Of these he dreamed by day and by night, and asked himself many a time and oft if what he felt was love, and the heart beat back response, Yes, love; immortal, eternal love! He went forth creature of another mould, with no present or future, but in her existence; no remembered past, but that which dated from the hour they met, a past not fled irrevocably, but in which he lived and loved, and drew, in imagination, to his own breast that one form of loveli- ness. And her destiny t it should be splendid, the thousand ills of life should not vex her; he was rich and noble ; a lovelier bride should grace Kingwood than had ever yet rod its halls. His fancy, looking far into the future, beheld a glorious page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. prospect, nor recked of all the stumbling blocks of earth which lay between. But Lucy, so pure, so beautiful, so uncontaminate with the sins of the world, what a treasure was she to be not only to him, but to all his household; and he pictured many a scene of rapture, many a vision of domestic hap- piness, in which the image of his mother with a beloved daughter took part. His father would regard her with different motives; she would minister to his tastes by personal charms, gratify his pride by the striking elegan- cies of exterior grace, and though a portionless bride she would -enrich Kingwood far beyond the wealth which an- cestral beauty had ever brought to the home of the Brandons.- Oh! goldeL dreams of love, heavenlyvisions of anticipation, ye go :ar to redeem the soul chained down by the fetters of hard life! Young, romantic, and, inexperienced, Lucy and her lover--for as yet love spoke but in looks-were happy in the hours they passed together, and every moment that Charles could steal from his studies was spent with her, in spite of the frowns of grim professors, or even the awful warning from President Holyoke. They passed unheeded; what knew they of love? How different the dull formal tasks at Cambridge, the bare re- citation rooms, from the little quiet curtained parlor ad- joining Mr. Tyrrell's library, where Lucy kept her books and met her teachers; there he sat beside her, and they studied together. Masters one and all declared that such astonishing pro- gresw as never made before; ah! they little knew for ; whom, or by whom it was aided. Charles and Lucy read together; -he opened to her the page of history, and, by ' his earnest enthusiasm, made the dullest fact a thousand years old like a living and glowing reality of the present "OVES DELIGHTFUL STORY.") 71 to her. He read no novels, no romances; these were in- terdicted. More enchanting to her the story of a heart which she studied daily, still finding it daily of deeper interest. But into the rich realms of English poetry Charles led, and taught her to love all that its fields offer an immortal bloom. He called from the past those divinest spirits, prophets unheeded oft in their day and generation, men who toiled and were rewarded not in life, who offered to their fellow-men of the precious -teasures of thoughts, and were spurned and-died in poverty, but whom a later and better age loved to dwell upon, lamenting their cruel fate. The verse of Spenser ancient though it was, but interpreted by Charles, Lucy learned to love, and to mark the triumphs of the Red Cross Knight, and to tremble for the gentle Una. From Shakspeare, as play succeeded play, Charles would repeat descriptions of every noble and bewitching female character; which he said, might justly apply to Lucy, when she would blush, and declare it-wasnot so. A master of French and Italian, he loved e-aly the language of Italy; and who can wonder thatshe soon did too, and would say to him, when he calme, ,"here was the point you set for the end of my lesson; but see how far I have gone beyond it!" Tasso became her favorite because his verse was much in style and, partly in story, like her cherished Spenser, and because of the sad reality of his woes. She read of his prison and his fetters, and of his hopeless passion for the royal ILeonora, whose love for him was given in return, yet could not bless him. Tears wet her cheeks, as Charles told of having isited the scene of'his triumph and misery, how his memory washallowred in glorious Italy; and 'he spoke of that land, the poet's home-whence many a poet yet shall draw inspiration- of its delicious climate and golden sunset skies; of its page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. temples and many massy piles of ruined 'splendor; of its paintings and breathing statues; its lakes, its vineyards, and soaring mountains; of the exquisite bay which laves, the shores of Naples, and he would say,-"Oh, Lucy, could we -but visit that cline together, your life should pass like a delicious romance!" And&Lucy thought, "It is a romance now." Thus their time was spent, and he daily became more in love with the enchanting girl, though he forbore, as yet, to declare his passion, convinced as he was that it was returned. There was no rival in-1he field. Lucy received few visitors, and perhaps the lovers were aided by- Mr. Tyr- rell, who saw with delight, the course of affairs; and who, to Charles' joy, intimated that his fair niece was not yet fairly launched upon the world-that she preferred seclu] sion until her studies were finished. Her studies finished! \ she found them now so delightful, that if left to her own choice, they would never have been completed. Randolph felt now assured that he need entertain no further fears on Charles' account concerning Blanche, and bid him adieu with a light heart, as the time came for him once more to visit Kingwood. Lucy said farewell to him with oft told regrets; she should lament his absence, having been so happy in his s0iety, and would be glad of his return; this she ex- pressed naturally and' sweetly, yet without the least ap- proach to boldness. Charles could scarce forbear to de- clare his love for her on the instant. They parted, and it was her time now to discover how far her feelings exceeded those of friendship, and the use- lessness of any attempt to repress them. Her happiness she knew, was henceforth and foreer, bound with his own; she brooded over everygplAsture-which he had " "' "LOVE'S DELIGHTFUL STORY." 73 shared, her spirit followed his, and she prayed for his safety. He left Lucy but for a brief season, and returned more than ever anxious to clasp her to his heart as his own. His mother had marked the change in him; how he mused alone -for hours, and, for the first time in his life, was desirous of soon parting from her, to return to the north--how he shunned company, and beyond all, avoided the least mention of Blanche. His father took little or no notice of his altered mood; for he was now immersed, more than ever, in his genea- logidal work, having just reached the scent of something peculiarly mouldy, and consequently of immense value. Mrs. Brandon gradually drew the truth from her son, and gently chiding him for not having sooner informed her, entered into his feelings, and assured him of all her motherly aid and countenance. She could not tell how Lucy would please his father, but she had her fears. Charles saw Blanche but once; even then the mere effort of talking to her, proved intolerable. His indiffer- ence caused the poor girl a bitter pang, and she could not account for it. But to her mother's keen vision, the cause was appar- ent; it was a dagger to her breast, and she vowed t, come what might, he should never- wed another t r child. She cursed the opportunity that led him ao-- the north, and the intervening months ere h ml return to leave no more. "But why should she d ess ? erself; :it was but some boyish, silly, 'tles E ve, wich ie dared not speak of to his parents, or she would hear ,f it. It would soon be forgotten, and then ,-she h ienched her hand, that brow corrugated ith dark, stern urprose, the haughtyi? curled, and the eye flashed wi th , 4, 1 page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. anticipated triumph. She, Mildred Estcourt, should yet rule him and his, with a rod of iron, and before long! We leave her for the present, and return to Lucy. With the same frankness and sincerity which she, had manifested on Charles' departure, she now joyfully miet him on his return; but, in a short time, he observed that- she was more quiet and abstracted than he had evTer known her before--that she was more shy, less eager to avail herself of his teachings. He divined -the cause, he now felt assured that she loved as passionately as he did; to keep silence longer, was in the power of neither. They saw love in each other's glances; it burned for utterance in their words, even their silence was eloquent, when he took her hand in his own, and she did not with- draw it. They entered the garden. It was a summer's night, and a young moon faintly-lit the leafy recesses, and gleamed on the little jet, which arose from the marble basin, and threw its spray back upon the waters with a ceaseless plash. They paused near a favorite spot of theirs, decorated by a vase in which bloomed fragrant roses. They saw the tree tops, silvered by the moon, wave against the dark sky; the rustle of the leaves mingled with the voice of falling waters. Charles held Lucy's hand in his; it felt cold, and she trembled. -? Do you fear, dear Lucy?' he asked. - "4N1o, hat ;should I fear when you are with me!" "M"y o Lcjjyue , I lovey A I From our first meeting you have been dear to erie:,"if your heart is mine, let me hear so from your lis*' .. I ::-ii Lucy turned her face to his, and looking into his eyes with deep, tender trust, and holy reliance, answered: "I am yours for time and eternity, and from this night you :will have my love as fervid and unalterable as ever wo- "OVERS DELIGHTFUL STORY. 75 man gave." As she thus spoke, Charles drew her closer to him, and beneath the ever radiant stars, the altar lamps of God's temple, they vowed their deathless love. And never did heaven witness a purer embrace than the clasp of those two beings, nor a sweeter joy than thrilled on the innocent lips of Lucy Tyrrell. page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] CHAPTER IX. MSFORTUNE. "I AM anxiously waiting to hear from home, my dearest Lucy," said Charles Brandon; "although I know the news of our engagement could only give my parents the greatest delight." "And I am anxious too, Charles, for during the last four days I could not help feeling sad, in spite of myself. I cannot bear to tell of what will seem to you needless fear; but a presentiment has come over me, I cannot shake it off, that our trials are to begin soon.?" "Do not think so, Lucy, -chase away your idle fears; there is no danger, 'tis merely some dream that haunts you." "I hope so," and Lucy sighed, but not wishing to pain Charles by her anxiety, she tried to smile again. "You tell me your mother looks like you, dear Charles, do you not?" "Yes, it is said so." "Then I shall love her." "And she will love you, Lucy, and my father will, too. Ours is a beautiful home, and you will gladly see it. Nothing in this colony at all resembles it;" and Charles gave. her a description of Kingwood. "It must be beautiful; how much have I to see and learn. And, you, in turn, must come with me to the island. Have you never really beheld the sea?" "No, bright one, but you shall teach me how to view it. You love the ocean?" "Yes, from my very childhood; come-with me and sit (76) MSFORTUNE. " upon the rocks, I will show you the glories of the waters. You will love to watch the curl of the billows, the blue distant surge, the flashing eddies at your feet; and listen to the sound of the grating pebbles on the lonely beach." "I will, indeed; and will your parents be glad to see ne?" Lucy's forebodings again recurred-to her, and she was silent. For a brief season now, all was ecstasy with the lovers. But their happiness was not fated to endure. Like the sea, of which they spoke, and which from settled stillness rages in an hour; as the brightest sky is overclouded, and the lightning's flash darts through, so their halcyon calm was soon broken. The first ill news came from Charles' mother, to whom he, as well as Randolph had written, detailing a full -.c- count of his love, and anticipating nothing in retUnmut the readiest acquiescence. The answer, long delayebd{;by the infrequent, post of those days, filled them with dread and sorrow. Part of the letter ran thus: "Oh my son, you can scarce imagine the anguish with which I write to you now. I have had sleepless sorrow. You know that I was the partaker of your joys and hopes in Lucy; but how much do I bame myself for my imprudence in permitting you to leave us, and your father ignorant of your love. He would doubtless have refused his consent, as he does at present, but -your misery would not then have been aggravated by the rupture of bands of affection. But :- now you must endure the double pangs of exile and re- cantation. I can scarce speak of your father. I have never before seen him so angry; never dreamed that he e could be excited to such a pitch of frenzy. He will- dwell upon no other topic. He forbids your love, resolved, as a d *;1 page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 BRiNDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. he says, that with his countenance you shall never wed a portionless stranger beneath your own rank in life. If you wish to preserve his friendship, you must abandon at once and forever all-hopes of Lucy. Else he bids me say he will cast you off for life, and I surely know that he will keep his word. My prayers and tears are all in your behalf, but I cannot prevail with your father. He goes very shortly to the north. I must not counsel you to resist him, but may God help you to change his purpose, as I have failed to." .... . Lucy had soon also from her father a long epistle, in which he wrote more harshy than he had ever spoken to her in his life. He blamed her exceedingly for encour- aging the intimacy, and suffering it to proceed to such a length without consulting him. He expressed entire dis- approval of the engagement, and pained her most cruelly by an' accusation of duplicity, which her total silence regarding it in numerous letters, led him to impute to her. "Duplicity!" said the poor girl, " that is too hard indeed. I did-not tell him, simply because uncle, against my remonstrances, insisted on doing so himself, saying that he could act for me better than I could." Mr. Tyrrell hi truth had written, giving a glowing description of Lucy's splendid prospects in life, but it is in vain to conjecture her father's strong repugnance to the union. Perhaps he was influenced by the thought of his daughter's removal from him to the isouth, or his pride was touched:by her silence when she ought to have, told him all. As soon as her uncle discovered the cause of her sadness he tried to comfort her, told her to dry her tears and all would yet be well; and the kind old gentleman really thought he could do much, and that the lovers might fear nothing. But they both were filled with sadness, and MSFORTUNE. 79 only anticipated disaster, in spite of their efforts to cheer each other. But each assured the other of unalterable affection, and now the strong love of the tender woman manifested itself in a thousand ways to encourage her desponding lover. "We are both very young, dear Charles," she would say; " we shall love each other'all the more :for our trials; let us be true to each other, and in time our parents will relent; heaven will join our hands at last. But fondly as I love you, I could not be yours without the sanction of my father and mother. I could not commit so dreadful a sin." Charles told her that he thought as she did now, but that if time produced no change in his father he should certainly in a few years feel released from his authority, and could she not also be independent? Lucy mournfully shook her head, but made no reply. Her father shortly came, and after long interviews with her and with his cousin Edward, acknowledged that he had been too harsh, and took his daughter fondly to his arms again. He saw Charles too, having much talk with him, and it is more than likely that had everything depended solely on the pastor, the two lovers might eventually have been happily united, although he now I withheld his consent. But when Mr. Brandon came, his I mood was very different. A short angry note to his son announced his immediate advent, and he proceeded at once to the university being unwilling to stay an hour in I Boston. His language too well agreed with Mrs. Brandon's description of it, he would listen to no reason; the connec- tion must at once:be broken off, or he would cast his son from him. It was only after long persuasion, indeed I threats from Charles not to return at all to Virginia, unless he altered his tone, that he consented to see even Lucy's - page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 BRANDON ; OR, A- HUNDRED YEARS AGO. relatives, he positively refusing to meet her upon any terms. But ,the meetings which took place accordingly were produqtive of no good. He first saw Randolph and rated- him severely, being scarce less angry with him than with Charles. He accused him of betraying the interests of his son, by leading him into marriage with an inferior, and also of abusing the hospitality of his house. "I have abused the hospitality of. no man's house," replied the fiery nephew, "but I have favored Charles' intimacy with Lucy, and am proud to have done so. She is one of the sweetest ladies that ever breathed, worthy indeed of my cousin, and at any moment your equal." "Equal, sir! equal, do you mean to say, to the blood of the ancient Brandons?" "The ancient Brandons! let them rest in their graves. Equal to them, yes; superior to any of those beauties at Kingwood; some few of whom at least were more celebrated for fine eyes than virtue. Are we to love and marry only to please dead aristocrats? What is your wish, a princess for your son? Act the part of a man of sense, and see Lucy Tyrrell -before pursuing the cruel course you are about to, of ruining the happiness of Charles." "No, Randolph, I will not see her, but I will speak to your wife." "You shall not do so, sir, as long as you conduct your- self thus; she loves her cousin, whom she at least con-- siders her equal, and any insult to Lucy is shared by Matilda. I shall neither permit you to see her now, nor in Virginia, whither we go shortly. Have you already resolved on whom Charles shall be made to bestow his hand?" "I have, some time since." "Who is she?" . "You probably know already, it is Blanche Estcourt; she is the one appointed for Charles."' "I thought as much; nowlisten to me, uncle. If your son Charles, forgetting the love he bears to Lucy Tyrrell, who is so worthy of it, should ever consent to marry the daughter of that Vile Mildred Estcourt, he will prove a- i fool as well as deceiver, and I will cast him off forever. But he does not love Blanche; he cannot consent; and if he is resolved to resist your will in regard to her, he will have all aid from me, and never shall be forced into such a connection. Little does her mother know, more than you do, why I am thus determined.- Mildred Est- sourt is steeped to the lips in crime, but her evil deeds will not forever remain veiled from the public eye. Rave is you will, sir, Charles shall not marry Blanche," and so ;aying, Randolph left Mr. Brandon, in what frame of mind nay be better imagined than described. Nor did he derive more satisfaction from his interview vith Matilda's father. The meeting was short, stormy, nd purposeless; and Mr. Tyrrell congratulated Randolph n having for an uncle the most preposterous, obstinate Id fool that he had ever seen in his life. Lucy's father was even more justly incensed with his ehavior. . b "Sir," said the haughty southron, " my son may marry our daughter if he pleases; but if he dares do it he is no ,nc'er a son of mine." Kindling with just indignation, Mr. Tyrrell returned, When your son, sir, has my permission to aspire to the md of my daughter, it will be quite time to refuse your ,nsent. Until then you can spare the expression of ,ur edict, and there will be no further conference be- teen us." , 4* "I :ii page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AQO. No entreaties availed from Charles or Lucy; the angry sires were inexorable, and indulging their own resentful feelings, appeared to forget the happiness of their chil- dren.- But there was one meeting for which Mr. Brandon was quite unprepared. Lucy had heard of some of his ex- pressions regarding her plebeian rank, and her desire of alliance with his eon, from ambitious motives. Without informing any one of her plan, she resolved to confront him. He came to the house for some purpose, and while seated alone, was surprised by the appearance of a tall, elegant looking young lady, who suddenly stood before him, pale, but perfectly composed, with eyes that looked disdain. - Her lips quivered for an instant, then she- said haughtily: "You are Mr. Brandon of Kingwood. My name is Lucy Tyrrell. Inme you behold the. woman of whom you have spoken with coarse, brutal invective; did you dream that I was to hear of it tamely without daring to resent it? I am humble and poor, but thanks to kind heaven, not dependent for bread on you. Fear not that I should ever cross your path again; look upon me for the first and last time; do I appear like one who wpuld fawn 'for your favors? Were you the lord of twenty manors like your own, and all at your disposal, you would wait long before I would accept the gift of one poor acre. Your broad lands have as little value in my estimation as your proud pedigree; yours may be the blood of nobles, but mine would curdle in my veins before I could stoop to dishonor. And now you have seen me whom you so despised; remember the meeting, and that I would not permit one syllable from you in reply." She withdrew her gaze and was passing firom the room. :"Stay a moment," he exclaimed, while rising. She turned, MSFORTUNE. 83 waved him off with an imperious gesture, and giving him one look of contempt, silently retired. Mr. Brandon was indeed astounded; he had thought Lucy a rustic, an awkward, bashful child, and he had been completely awed by this lofty beauty. Perhaps if he had seen more of her, and in a different mood, he might have thought her better fitted to grace the Brandon family. But she had so completely and scornfully repelled him, so utterly overborne him with contempt, that it was long before he ceased to feel the effects of her stinging words. He took comfort, however, finally, knowing that he should see no more of her, and hoping that his son would soon forget his passion. I Lucy was now to return to the island with her father. She would permit Charles to be bound by no actual en- gagement, but exchanged with him some golden tokens of remembrance, and each solemnly promised to be true to the other. The long and sad farewell was spoken, and with an aching heart, Charles accompanied Lucy to the packet in which she was to sail for home, her father making no objection to this act. The wind was fair, the canvas spread, and Lucy leaned over. the vessel's side, giving him her last look of unutterable tenderness. The bark moved on,' bearing its precious freight far from him she loved; and Charles stood watching the receding sail until its faintest trace was lost in the waters. , . page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] CaHAPTER X. A MWFOIXNG AND A LERl'ViR. :A ^EW weeks after Lucy's departure, Charles' career a tth-e college was ended. He felt no interest in the exercises of commencement day, or the part he performed in them, for Lucy was not present to listen and smile upon him. With a heavy heart he made his arrangements for returning to Virginia. For the last time he strolled along the avenue where he had frequently walked before, enjoy- ing happy thoughts. He now passed a house which he had always remarked as one of the largest and most ele- gant in Cambridge. This noble mansion was -of square proportions, and, standing back some distance from the street, was elevated above two or three successive terraces, which were planted with trees and shrubbery. It was evidently the home of some rich personage; and its owner, -Mr. Lascelles, had the reputation of wealth without-refinement, and of fondness for coarse convivial pleasures. As Charles paused before the gate of the en- closure, the door of the house opened, and Mr. Lascelles himself came forth, Equipped in long boots for riding, and ready to mount a fine horse which stood saddled for him. Brandon felt only aversion for Lascelles; he did not know him, had never spoken to him in his life, but had taken a dislike to his appearance from the first time of seeing him. Lascelles was but a few years older than he was; but the haughty manner in which he always conducted himself towards the students of the university, had doubtless been felt by the sensitive, proud Virginian. The horseman (84) now came on, swinging a lilght whip and humming a tune, while a look of mingled hauteur and insolence (or what Charles conceived to be such,) appeared on his face, which apparently intimated, "Get out of my way!" Very probably Mr. Lascelles had no such intention, and( was ignorant of the construction put upon his demeanor-; but Charles, although he had no reason to quarrel, :fi! retained a disagreeable impression of-him which ho'eodHi not account for. Such superstitions may be ",trifles light as air," but at times we do meet persons with whom we link associations of the most unpleasant nature, as if they were fated to exert evil influence upon us. On leaving college, Charles addressed a letter to one of his classmates, whom he had intrusted with a knowl- edge of his love affairs. It was written a few days after Lucy had gone. -We have seen this letter; its style is old-fashioned now, but we give it exactly as it reads: "Lucy went last week. I knew not how much I loved, and was beloved by, that dear girl, until we parted. Considering the parity of our fortunes, and the spirit of our parents, prudence forbid an union; and I urged every argument to convince my sweet friend of the abso- lute necessity of separation, though at the very moment the bare idea was pain, was torture inexpressible. She is a most amiable creature, and I am convinced if either of us possessed a competence, both might- be happy. "We parted with mutual professions of the most deli- cate esteem, without any actual engagements, or expec- - tations of seeing each other again; but time shall not efface the deep impressions love hath made. Adieu, Lucy! ' I never felt the weighty curse of poverty until now. A little wealth might have bought my felicity, might ' 1 ,^ page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. have secured the happiness of two too-fond friends. But cruel necessity obliged me to tear myself from her; with this aggravation to my wretchedness, that my generous girl must also suffer the pangs of separation." Thus Charles Brandon had, in less than one year, learned what it was to love, and to be miserable I z J 4. CHAPTER XI. RANDOLPH'S HOME. THE family at Kingwood were again assembled, as in former days. Charles was once more at home, with no prospect of speedily revisiting the north. Nothing bright surrounded him; he was a prey to discontent, and-the misery of requited but hopeless love. He poured out to his mother the whole history of his unfortunate passion; he found relief in so doing, and consolation i:v her sym- pathies. She urged him not to abandon hope, to act the part of a kind and affectionate son, and that his father must eventually change his views. "At all events, Charles, you would consent to no other union, one which you know would cause me unhappi- ness?" Charles easily understood that her meaning referred to Blanche, and he eagerly assured her that she need have no fears. Fate might forever prevent him from marriage with the woman he loved; but he would never be forced into a connection repugnant to his principles, 'even to please the best father in the world. Mrs. Brandon heard this with secret joy; for she had feared that Charles might in time be induced to look: upon Blanche with favor, and then there could be no bar to their union. - The father, now that he had secured his son once more safely under his own eye, was disposed, for a time at i! least, to allow him liberty; he suffered him to pass his ;' : days after his riwn desire; did not hint to him to seek society; nor did he once introduce the name of Blanche - I , (8T) ^1 page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. Estcourt. Time, he thought, would be the best disposer of events; before long his son's grief would be dissipated, he would again become pleased with the glitter of the world, and then a favorable opportunity would occur for consummating his project. Mr. Brandon was not altogether ruled by the insane purpose of making his son think and act as he himself did; he had no such tyrannical motive, 'but, what he deemed Charles' real good, at heartl;and with a rich, loving, and beautiful wife, as Blanche would prove, thought he could not fail to be happy. \ He loved his son; was proud of his appearance and talents. What he did, harsh as it really was, was dictated only by mistaken pride, and a false estimate of the hap- piness of his-heir. Thus some fathers judged a hundred years ago, as some do even at the present day. Randolph Brandon had come with his lovely bride to Virginia; but, -incensed as he was with his uncle, refused to visit Kingwood, although urged to -do so by Mrs. Bra-ndon, who greeted Matilda most cordially in Williams- burg., He settled on -an estate of his own, haltf a day's journey from Kingwood; and, blessed with an affectionate wife and an independent fortune, thoroughly tired of roaming, and not ambitious of political preferment in the colony, he was naturally fitted for the- quiet enjoyments of home. A few months after his marriage, one might have imagined him a husband of ten years, such delight did his own fireside afford him. Charles'finding it impossible to shake off his melari- choly, determined to accept Randolph's invitation to visit him; and, although change of scene brought no termina- tion to his wretchedness, it was soothed in some degree by the kindness of Matilda. How pleasing he thought y the change which had so soon taken place in her. Before marrying, he had considered her rather uninteresting and indolent, if not at times silly; but now she was trans- formed into an active, sweet-tempered, fascinating little housewife. She was anxious to do every thing which could contribute to the charms of her household, and was also much advanced in mental power from contact with her high-souled andlofty, but kind, indulgent husband. "If Matilda is. thus improved by 'marriage," he thought, " oh! what would dear Lucy be, who is by na- ture so superior." Matilda saidnothing to him about his love affairs; she thought it best to letohim brood over those sacred subjects in silence, but she adopted a hundred kind winning ways of diverting his thoughts from melancholy. She would sometimes say- "Come, cousin, Randolph has to leave home to-day,and , I expect you to help me greatly in his absence;" or at another time, "It is a fine day, cousin, and as I have ' nothing to do just now, you must drive me in the park;" or again, "Though I am married, I must not give up all my accomplishments, and you must now instruct me for an hour in drawing, as you promised." Then her pretty black eyes would sparkle, and she would thank him for his kindness so sweetly, that she-almost made him forget his misery. . He often busied himself in gazing at her when she did -I not observe him, marking any slight look or motion which reminded him of Lucy. He read much to her as j he was wont to his beloved, and dwelt upon those scenes - i and passages in the poets, endeared to him by Lucy's love of them. Matilda, with a woman's, tact, fancying : that he took delight in these because her cousin did, would frequently urge him to read some plece that -he - *i ,',? page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. suggested, being sure that it was a former favorite. She was an accomplished musician for that day, and made his evenings pass more cheerfully by playing for him upon her harpsichord, accompanying its measure by her de- lightful voice. She thought the cloud was gradually lifting from his mind, and she urged Randolph to induce him to stay with them as long as he could conveniently absent him- self from Kingwood. Randolph's care led Charles more to out-of-door exercise, which he judged far better for his health than brooding in solitary thought over one fatal passion. He often endeavored to enliven his charge by making him join in a deer-hunt, which in those days afforded better sport than can be had now, and many a fat buck was the reward of their sharp rifle practice. Randolph's mansion was especially delightful to Charles, for he heard no syllable of Blanche, and saw nothing of her mother as he did at home; for that maneuvering lady was in the habit of mlaking friendly calls upon Mrs. Brandon, with kind inquiries for her health; but her visits were in reality meant for the son. She had not paid her respects to Matilda onher arrival in Virginia, being de- termined to see no more of Randolph, whose ill will she returned with cordial hate; but when she learned that Charles was staying at his house, she suddenly recollected her duty, ,and went with a thousand apologies for delay, and the warmest welcome to the bride. Her advances were oolly received, her visit unnoticed, and on her next meeting wi th Randolph in Williamsburg, his profound bow was returned by a dead stare which only caused the imperturbable gentleman to rejoice that his wife would not again be annoyed bty Iher attentions. Randolph, on one occasion, asked Charles if he had written to Lucy since he parted from her. Yes, he KANDOLPU HMUMSj. - had several times, but without any reply, and as sufficient time must have elapsed for her answer to reach him, he knew not what to think. He felt despondent, and had despatched another letter, in which he begged her to let him hear from her, if it was but a word. "How were those letters sent-?" asked Randolph. "In the usual manner from Kingwood to Williamsburg, thence to go northward by post." "So I supposed; are you sure, however, that your fa- ther has not detained them?' "He could not have done so, I provided against such a contingency, and always sent them by special messen- ger to the capital; it is impossible that he could ever have seen one of them." T I am glad to -hear so; now do you imagine that they could have fallen into wrong hands in Williamsburg?" - Of course not; no one there could secrete them, and they would be forwarded with other documents; but our system of posts is wretched, and my letters may have lain idle in the office." "The system is, indeed, poor enough, but will not be improved until we have a great increase of population. Do this, however; give me the next letter you write, and I will see that it goes forward in proper time." It was true, indeed, that the previous letters had not gone to their proper destination, but 'this Was no;-fault of the government officials. - i I The busy Lady Mildred Estcourt, during one of-her visits to Kingwood, by professing great interest in Charles' case had induced his father to tell the whole story of his love; : When, naturally concluding that he would write to Lucy, she determined to intercept the correspondence if possi- ble. By a keen search she discovered Charles' messen- ger, and, making him some small present, told him to be I , page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. sure to come to her whenever he brought letters from Kingwood, as she always desired to write at the same time to some of the same persons. The poor negro, sus- pecting nothing, promised and obeyed; thus twice when the black waited upon her, had she abstracted Charles' letters, giving him in their place for deposit in the office, a package whose direction was to Lucy, but whose con- tents were blank. ^ * , CHAPTER XH. THE YMRTrING WITH A GREAT MAN. RANDOLPH was anxious not only to reinvigorate Charles' bodily health, but to strengthen his intellectual power.- He saw that he was too prone to dreams and reverie, and that if he much longer indulged in such tastes he would become quite unfitted for real life. He fell into conversation with him one day on the sub- ject of mankind in general, and followed up his remarks by sketches of individual character, especially of those who had at one time been borne down by a weight of domestic affliction or extraordinary reverses of fortune, but who, by perseverance and dogged industry, had risen at last triumphant. "There is a young man, my dear cousin Charles," said he, " living in the neighboring county of Hanover, with whom I have become lately acquainted, and whom I consider a most remarkable example of talent which has mastered misfortune. He has overcome vast difficulties, and by almost superhuman efforts placed himself in a position of recognized merit and independence. His name is Patrick Henry, and you may be sure that he will one day be eminent, and that his words will have weight in the counsels of our country. If agreeable to you, we will ride over to Hanover Court House, and see him, as I understand he is there at present." "I will gladly do so, but tell me more about him." I "He is yet very young, but already has a wife and children to support. He was for a long time supposed to be incorrigibly idle and careless; he was twice en- * i :iiA page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] " BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. gaged in trade in which he made two signal failures, reducing himself and family almost to beggary, and he also tried farming with no better success. His friends became worn out with his continued ill luck, insisting that he was fit for nothing but to hunt, and fish, and play the violin, and hang around a tavern, listening to the gossip of any loiterers that chanced to enter. They had no hopes either of his perseverance or talents, when he suddenly determined to become a lawyer; yet, strange to say that, with very short study he has achieved wonderful success. He is formed by nature peculiarlyfor law, or rather for a wondrous and almost intuitive power of seizing upon the strong points, the great facts of cases, and presenting them in language of irresistible eloquence. Of law as ascience he has as yet but little knowledge. He has lately made himself prominent in the great cause of which you have doubtless heard, namely, the revenues of the clergy derived from the impost on tobacco. He took the strongest ground against the holy fathers, and his speech is said by those who have heard it to have done him immortal honor.* I became accidentally ac- quainted with him, and desire you to know him, because I think he would exert an influence on you of the best character, and also for one or two private reasons of my own, which I will not now unfold to you." Charles assented, and shortly afterwards, in the after- noon of a pleasant day, the cousins found themselves at Hanover Court House, and, drawing near the tavern, heard the sound of a fiddle, accompanied by the noise of shuffling feet, and now and then a loud laugh. * This is an anachronism. Patrick Henry did not make this speech' until several years after this period (1755 -6), but, for the purposes of the story, the author has taken a poetic, or rather chronologic, license. THE MEETING :WITH A GREAT MAN. 95- "Some fun is going- on," said Randolph, "let us see what it is." They approached and threw open the door leading into the bar-room of the tavern, and in a moment more found themselves in the midst of the jolly company from whom the noise proceeded. Some dozen or twenty stout fellows, mnostly farmers in appearance, mixed with several indubitable specimens of the tavern lounger, were busily occupied dan'cing with all their might to the sound of a fiddle. It was played in a lively jig, and with considerable skill, by a tall, raw-boned young -countryman, mounted on the top of a barrel in one corner of the room, whence he could overlook the whole crowd beneath him. Though obliged to work his arm hard for their entertainment, he entered into the fun with full zest, and now and then stamping on the head of his barrel, would play with renewed vigor, shouting at the same time, '"Come, boys, that's not half fast enough; I can tire you all out and do twice as much at a time in the bargain.!' - Then suiting the action to the word, he fiddled with such amazing velocity, and with his feet beatsuch a tattoo and double shuffle on the end of his barrel, that it rocked again set the dancers into roars of laughter, and these soon raised such a cloud of- dust that it was almost blinding. "Ah, Mr. Brandon, are you there," said he catching sight of Randolph and his cousin; , glad to see you; will come down in a few minutes." "Who is that man?" asked Charles. "What does all this mean? I thought we were coming to see Patrick Henry.)" "So we have come to see him," replied Randolph laughing. "That is he.' page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. ! "What! you do not mean to say that that clownish- looking fellow in the corner, jerking away at that fiddle, is the great man you have told me of?", "Certainly I do. Remember Ulysses' bow was some- times unstrung." "That was not a fiddle bow." "How do you know it was not? But our friend Henry is no aristocrat in manners more than in birth, and I honor him for his simplicity. He can give a good reason himself for acting so." "What would father think of this?" "Heavens! he would be paralyzed with horror; but here comes Mr. Henry," and the great man descended and came to them. "Glad to see you, Mr. Brandon; hardly prepared to meet you, as you perceive; but the truth is, father-in-law has gone off hunting to-day, and I am keeping tavern for him. It is right; you understand, to make a merry house as well as a good one. Besides, you know, it is my duty to help father, in return for many a kind deed' he's done for me." "But who have we here?" he added, looking towards Charles. "My cousin," said Randolph, "I had forgotten to introduce him." "Mr. Brandon, of Kingwood, I think," said Patrick Henry. "The same, sir; and it would give me much pleasure to see you there, when you can spare time from your profession." "Thank you, sir," said Henry, "thank you; it would afford me much happie s to pay my respects to you there," while at the same:time a quiet smile shot across his face, as he at that moment pictured to himself the reception he would be likely to have from old Mr. Bran- don, whom he knew by reputation as one of the staunch- est aristocrats of the realm, and whom he saw occasion- ally in the streets of Williamsburg, rolling along with the pompous pride of a lord mayor of London. "Now, Mr. Brandon, if you will wait a moment, until I act as barkeeper for these people, as well as fiddler, I will be with you;" so saying, he unlocked a cupboard, and helping each man to a glass of whiskey, brewed a jorum of most excellent punch for Randolph and his cousin. They remarked that Henry did not drink, himself; when he informed them, that he seldom touched any thing but pure water. "It is strong enough for me," said Mr. Henry, " and the more I confine myself to it, the nearer does my mind seem to approach the purity and clearness of that ele- ment, and my flow of spirits is as constant as that of a running brook." Charles had now an opportunity of examining the man, of whom Randolph had so favorably spokqn n In dress he was not to be distinguished from the rust I round him; his clothes were coarse and threadbare, and bore marks of having recently been used in the chase, of which he was passionately fond. His figure was tall and lank; his gait was awkward; his face--long and thin-was of a uniform sallow bronzed tint, without a particle of color in his sombre cheeks. A high forehead and long nose, were his prominent features; but his eyes baffled description, though at once arresting attention. They were not large; deep set in the head and so shaded by thick, bushy, overhanging eyebrows that, at times, they were almost hidden from view, but on the slightest emotion, they darted fire from their bluish gray 5 page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. orbs, in -a- manner well calculated to awe an opponent. His voice was firm and melodious; and *the little awk- wardness he displayed on first entering upon a topic, was rapidly shaken off as he became excited, when his whole frame assumed a port of dignity and power. Such is a brief notice of the man, who afterwards became so celebrated, but who at that period was scarce conscious of his own genius. He declared himself less pleased with the fame he had already won, than the easier circum- stances of his life, after so much poverty; rejoicing, that he was now able to earn a comfortable subsistence for his wife and children, in whom he took the greatest delight, and of whom he spoke with such affectionate warmth, that the tears stood in his eyes. He gave the cousins an outline of his own life, drawn in a ready humorous style-spoke of his truant school days, when the book he loved best, was the book of nature, studied while in pursuit of the stag upon the mountain side, or of his rel- ish for the Epicurean philosophy, while sauntering for hours beneath the shade of the trees, overhanging the brook, into which he cast his line. Yet, he expressed keen regrets for time lost, and desultory habits, which had so grown upon him, that he could scarce conquer them. Then, changing the theme, and speaking of the public men and measures of the day; with true artistic skill, and a few touches of strength, he drew masterly pictures of every prominent individual; displaying the keenest insight into human nature, and laying bare all its secret springs of action. In regard to public affairs, every subject that Randolph could suggest, proved to have previously engaged his attention; in many of which he predicted results, long afterwards verified in the revolt of the Colonies. He spoke of taxation-a sub- ject which, even then, had excited strong feeling in the -n. iME'l'TNG WITH A GREAT MAN. . 99 country; he condemned the measure, and ended his remarks by a sudden and brilliant speech, eloquent in praise of liberal government, and the progressive march of civil liberty, so unexpected, yet thrilling, that his aud - itors--a number of whom had returned to the room, when he began speaking--now rewarded him with many loud cheers. - - He expressed the hope of seeing Charles often, and urged him to join in a hunt to begin on the following Monday. It was to last nearly a week, and would offer to Mr. Brandon the pleasure of camping out. Beford parting, Randolph drew Mr. Henry aside, and asked hi^, "If he had heard any thing lately of Lady Mildred , "Nothing of importance; and you know that one of my condition, cannot approach such an exalted character -'a-a Cecil,' is it not, she calls herself? She does not deign to speak to me." "Nor to me, neither; for which I am very much obliged to her.7' And then Charles could hear nothing more of the conversation excepting that, now and then, the wordsw"ill, and " codicil,, were introduced, and Mr ParchIot'mned " were itroduced, and Mr. Parchmount mentioned. They took their leave then of Mr. enry, and rode "How do you like our friend?" asked Randolph. Very much indeed. I was astonished at his conver- sational power and eloquence; but, does he always dress in Such uncomely style?, "By no means. On proper occasions he is clothed be- comingly and looks like another man; but he cares little for show r and splendor, and displays, as I think[ really better taste by retaining some of his old habits, than by suddenly assuming a different style. But, rely upon page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. it, his career will be brilliant; for he is the very incarna- tion of genius and common sense." "Here we are at home again," he said, after a hard ride of an hour-or two; during which the sun had gone down, and left the travelers to the light of the stars. "Now we will see what Matilda is doing." The young wife was anxiously waiting; and as she came forward to greet them with one of her pretty smiles, Charles was surprised to see the grave Randolph, who for the last hour had said scarce a word, dash himself off his horse, seize her in his arms as if she was an infant, and kiss her a dozen times over; proving, by this affec- tionate behavior, what loving husbands there were a hun- dred years since. Matilda submitted to this treatment without manifest- ing resentment, her blushes only making her lovelier than ever; but she soon disengaged herself, and led the way to her table, which was abundantly supplied with provisions for hungry riders. , ) . *f , CHAPTER XIII. MLDRED AND HER FORTUN-E. THE little that we have seen of Lady Mildred Estcourt, serves to give us some insight into her character, and before proceeding to dwell farther upon her varied quali- ties of mind and heart, we will look back a few years at the history of so marked a personage. We have told that she was of English origin; that her grandsire, the bold, bad statesman, was held up by her as a model of virtue and wisdom beyond that of all his compeers, but that she regarded her own father, who was of mild and deserving character, with contempt, or at least with utter indifference. Would that her grandsire were now living, to recognize his own proud spirit in hers; she would keep bright the lustre of his fame, and she would ever choose to be known and named as " the granddaughter of the celebrated statesman, Robert Cecil," rather than by the name her husband bore. In youth she was handsome; her beauty was of the haughlty style which is marked in the throng, noticed rather as a marvel, than to be loved. She had chosen for her husband Mr. Estcourt, a gentleman of fortune, quite her equal in birth and education, but of a yielding, plastic temper, without much apparent will of his, own, but who, like such vacillating persons in general, when once he had resolved on anything, displayed an obstinacy not to be overcome by persuasion or threats. The Est- courts had been married in England, and were first seen in Virginia when Blanche was about two years of age. They settled on an estate near the city of Williamsburg; ,r01) page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. but the husband did not live log, to enjoy his property. His child had scarcely passed her fourth birthday, when he died of consumption, with which he had struggled for some years. Soon after his demise, his widow sold the estate, and in affluent circumstances, went to reside at the capital.' Short as was the duration of her wedded life, it sufficed for her power to bind him as with fetters of iron. Though she brought no forttune to her husband, she scarce allowed him the expression of opinion even as to his worldly possessions; all were claimed as hers; and she spoke of them always in such a manner as left no doubt on the minds of those who heard her, that she considered her husband's interest in them as solely depen- dent on her will. Mr. Estcourt might occasionally assert his right to be considered her equal, but she always checked him imperiously, expressing astonishment that he should venture to remonstrate, and she a Cecil who had stooped to marry an Estcourt. Stooped to marry him! if she had, it was done only for his fortune; and some persons were charitable enough to say that she would have cast him off on her marriage day, had a richer suitor presented himself. Simple, easy man, he doubtless soon found out that submission only could pur- chase peace, and when once accustomed to her sway it proved so habitual to him, that he went and came, and rose and sat, and did her bidding to the letter in all things, as she commanded, without a murmur. Given up to her himself, mind and soul, he had from the first, when his child began to know the word of com- mand, instructed her ever to be ruled by her mother. She knew best; she was to judge exclusively of every matter, small, as well as great. He was to take no part in -the training of the infant, any more than if it was a stranger; thus voluntarily surrendering one of the most MLDRED AND HER FORTUNE. 103 precious rights, the sweetest pleasures of a parent and a father, to watch the tiny creature expanding in life and loveliness, and aid its growth in- holiness day by day. He did not accept this precious charge; he obeyed not the dictates of his own reason and common sense; and what wonder that the child, soon seeing the difference be- tween her parents, should hold to the one, and despise the other. In the short time which elapsed before Mr. Estcourt's death, Mildred gained the most unenviable notoriety. No one was disposed to pay that profound court to the granddaughter of Cecil, which she thought her due; none would tamely endure the insolence of this woman, whose object in life was to trample everybody in the dust beneath her feet. The Virginia dames, among whom she visited, were proud-spirited as well as lovers of peace; and were neither willing to gratify her propensity for making mischief, nor to bow down to one whose whole life, judging from what they saw of it, must have been one continued quarrel. Many of them, therefore, gave her to understand, that her prejudices, and piques, and hatreds, were not subjects of sufficient importance to warrant her keeping a dozen families in an uproar. And when her husband died, never did a woman quit her home less pitied or less loved than she, accompanied by the scorn, contempt, and execrations of her neighbors. She imagined, when leaving the country, that the gentry would too late discover the fatal mistake they had made, of having suffered to go from them, one so superior, so deserving of homage; that they would sigh for her re- turn, and pray for it with tears. The real truth was, that they rejoiced at the departure of such a fell spirit; that such an incubus was removed; and in fewer days than she had passed months among them, she was dismissed page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. . from their thoughts, and for all time forgotten. In the citof "Williamsburg she pursued a similar course; but the community, having been timely warned of her char- acter, she found her powers for mischief and strife very greatly diminished. It enraged her that she was avoided; but blind to her own faults, as she .was to others' virtues, she regarded herself as the most persecuted of her sex; and often declared that no human being ever had half as much trouble as she did. No one, however exalted her station, if she were the descendant of a hundred Cecils, treats others as Mildred did, without having in return a tremendous retribution; without days of gloom and nights of sleepless sorrow. And who pities when this punishment comes? for come it does and always will. We have said that her husband died; he slowly wasted with consumption, and those who looked upon his daughter's bright, but hectic beauty, remembered the disease of the father, and feared that its seeds were implanted in the child. There was a very singular circumstance connected with Mr. Estcourt's death, in regard to a will which he was said to have made in his last illness. The story went, that two lawyers, Parchmount and Redtape, who were partners, had been employed to draw for Estcourt an in- strument, declared to be his last will and testament, re- voking, as usual, all former wills, and that it ran, not as many persons would suppose, solely in Lady Mildred's favor. In his last hours, thinking, perhaps, that he had done wrong in yielding everything to her guidance, or to show a power after he was dead, which he dared not manifest when living, this will restricted her in a great degree. This will bequeathed his whole fortune to his daughter Blanche, on her becoming of age; but if she died unmarried, the whole property was left to a nephew. Is -4 ^p I MLDRED AND HER FORTUNE. 10U There was but a small provision made for the wife, and this she was to enjoy for life only, without power of be- queathincg it. And if she married again, it was at once to p:ass from her. Rumor declared further, that this will, ,executed without the knowledge of Mildred, was made on the last day of Estcourt's life, in consequence of some news of startling nature concerning his wife; information which had reached him in his dying hours, of transactions in which she had been partaker in former years. Be this as it might, the will was drawn carefully by Redtape and Parchmount, duly signed and witnessed, but not delivered to the lawyers for safe keeping, because at the last moment Mr. Estcourt bethought him of a codicil which he wished to add, but declined doing so that day, feeling too much fatigued to attend to any further business. Besides, there would be plenty of titme on the morrow, for the will was to be drawn in duplicate. But when the morrow came, Mr. Estcourt was a breath- less corpse, having died suddenly in the night. The will which had been drawn up with such precision, and which showed at the last that Estcourt had opinions of his own, if he never before had chosen to exert them, and which now were to put a life-long check upon his wife's pride and power, that will, we repeat, was after the departure of the attorneys placed by Mr. Estcourt care- fully in a drawer of his wardrobe, where hle kept sundry valuables; this drawer was fastened by a secret spring. No one knew that he had placed it there, and he "died and made no sign." But when after his burial, search was instituted by the lawyers and witnesses, two of whom were named his executors, no will could be found; the house was ransacked from garret to cellar, but all in vain. Mildred was sus- pected of having destroyed it, but she bore undismayed 5* page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. / the proof of a most thorough examination by Redtape, which may be imagined did not soothe her irritable temper, but nothing was elicited. She was enraged beyond measure, on being informed of the tenor of the will, and did not scruple to, express her hopes that it would never be found, but the charge of having made way with it she indignantly denied; and she was in truth innocent in this case. She indeed knew nothing of the matter, and when the secret drawer was found at last by some one accidentally pressing the spring, it was empty, she testifying in the most positive manner that she never before knew of its existence. Nor did she, but another was aware of it. A confidential female servant of hers was the real culprit, One of those mean, prying, pimping, wretches, whose ears are always wide open for any little bit of tittle-tattle and scandal, and whose proclivity in this wise was joined to an inveterate love of pilfering, had, unknown to Mildred, been made acquainted by her husband with this secret drawer; and as she always pro- fessed great piety, Estcourt deemed the story safe in her keeping. He had never missed anything, for she was too cunning to rob that treasury, but she had long desired to leave her place,for other reasons, which we shall soon, mention. Fixing her period for doing so at the time of his death, which she judged could not be far off she resolved then on extensive plunder, which should ensure her a handsome sum, and some hope of settled comfort for the rest of her days. She slept in a room adjoining Mr. Estcourt's, being his appointed nurse in his illness; Mildred, who professed to feel too keenly to stay by him at night and witness his sufferings, betaking herself to a remote and solitary chamber, where she could be out of the way and sleep comfortably. ' r' -That last night, this servant was aroused by hearing a noise of distress in her master's room. She-entered and beheld him gasping for breath, unable to speak, with one hand raised to his white face; and as she came he pointed with the other to t-secret drawer. The deliberate wretch looked at hm a few seconds, as she marked the last ripple of life el away, and when he had fallen back upon his pillow, and the hand had dropped by the side of the dead man, she felt his pulse and placed her palm over the motionless heart to be assured that the spirit had fled; and, proceeding to the cabinet, touched thesecret spring. The drawer opened, and the miscreant robbed the dead master who had bestowed his confidence upon her. She concealed the jewels and money securely about her person, and then proceeded coolly to examine the parch- ment by the gleam of that taper whose rays were the last material light that ever shone upon those quenched orbs, which now, with frightful fixedness glared as if with hor- ror, at the creature by its bedside. As she perused the document, a grin of delight, like the mocking sneer of a fiend, sat fixed upon her face, and her first thought was to replace it and wait for the triumph which was sure to come, when her mistress Mildred should hearken to a voice beyond the grave, dooming her to poverty. 3But she thought more deeply, andwith a smooth calculating satisfied smile, refolded the parchment, placed it in her bosom and shut the drawer. If in that dim chamber which death had entered, which the struggling beams of the midnight rising moon faintly lighted, as sole witness of that awfully sudden catastrophe and the deed of cruelty which followed it, that desperate menial prayed; it was that her crime might rest undis- covered; if she rejoiced, as she did, it was at the sudden untimely fulfillment of her hopes of years. When she page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] J08' BRANDON,; oR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. had dimmed the taper again, and carefully marked that the room bore no trace of disorder, prudently forbearing to touch another article, she conveyed her spoils to a biding place of safety; and then, with feigned tears and frantic sobs, rushed to the -room of her mistress, and beat at its door to tell her tale of grief and misery for the loss of the poor dear kind sweet master, she loved so well. She too was examined, but nothing found against her; there was no suspicion of foul play in regard to the dead man, for the physicians summoned, delivered a learned opinion that his death was perfectly natural, and their Certificate to this effect, couched in terms altogether unmntelligible% was of course entirely satisfactory. This servant, Jane Hook, after remaining a few weeks, and receiving the thanks and presents of the neighbors for her noble devotion and self-sacrifice in attachment to her late master, packed up her wardrobe and disappeared, going to another part of the country, where we shall again-encounter her ere long. There was another will which Mildred knew of, and which Redtape knew of, for he had a duplicate copy of it. It had been made some years previous, when the wife's influence over her husband was as yet unlimited, and this one was wholly in her favor. Mildred produced this document in due time. She had retained it in her own possession ever since it Was drawn, and had used her influence to prevent Estcourt from making another, as he somnetimes said he would. She claimed now the entire property in virtue of this will. Redtape resisted her as long as possible, therefore adding himself to the list of her thousand and one enemies, be- cause he always hoped the missing document would be found, and thought that it was some reflection on his own professional skill and caution that such an -important paper should disappear in this mysterious manner, and elude all pursuit. But nothing could be heard of it, and without it, no matter in what way Estcourt wished his property devised, the former will was in full force, and nothing could set it aside. It was acknowledged to be valid by Redtape, and after allowing a reasonable time to recover the other, without avail, a decree of court settled the question, and Lady Mildred took quiet possession of the whole estate. But Mr. Redtape was not satisfied; he always declared that sooner or later the mystery would be brought to light, much to the astonishment and confusion-o f cer- tain parties. He had no positive ill-will to?/Mildred,so as to rejoice in seeing her deprived of property, but he forgot her in his anxiety that the case should- stand upon its proper merits, which he deemed the last will to involve. With this idea, added to the pertinacity which- distin- guishes some of the more terrier-like members of the legal profession, he was ever-snuffing round endeavoring to get upon the scent of this extraordinary matter. He was quite likely, however, to be baffled, for up to the period of which we write, nothing had transpired, and Mil- dred had possessed the estate for about fourteen years. But to hold her fortune was one thing, and to enjoy her life quite another, for it is not very probable that Mildred could pass hers happily, owing to circumstances which we shall divulge. Her temper and disposition were by no means calculated to ensure her peace of mind, for those like her, " the worthless and offensive members of society, whose existence is a social pest, invariably think themselves the most ill-used people alive, and never get over their astonishment at the ingratitude and selfish- ness of their contemporaries.', She had looked, on 'first coming into possession of her - page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] "O BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. estate, for a brilliant career; to bestow her hand and fortune this time on one of established rank among the aristocracy of the country, and thus queen it over those who had incurred her displeasure. But her hopes, year by year had been disappointed; she found no one des- perate or foolhardy enough to link himself with her; she grew more and more alone, in spite of her wish to dazzle and lead society, and in fact was tolerated but for her daughter's sake, who was as much a favorite as her mother was hated. It -burned into her haughty spirit to find that her charms and her fortune were unsought, and that her influence daily grew less. As her daughter grew up and entered society, a striking, beautiful, and fascinat- ing woman, she frequently threw open her house and entertained in elegant style; but now baffled for years, with hopes which promised but brought no fruit to her desires- of a second marriage, this she reluctantly aban- doned, and devoted all her energies to secure a splendid lot in life for her daughter. But Mildred had other and far more harassing sorrows than the world knew of, and her punishment was the more terrible because she could reveal her grief to no one, but was forced, for many reasons, to keep it profoundly secret. That wretch of a servant, who had purloined valuables and stolen the will on the night of Estcourt's death, found in that document an exhaustless mine of wealth, and by its means had wrung from Mildred many a handsome sum of money. The mistress was matched in this instance by one of equal craft and wickedness, and the lower fiend had tortured herto the last degree. Elsewhere we shall disclose scenes in Mildred's former life, in which this servant had taken part; but it: will suffice to say, that she had acquired an .influence and power over her mistress not th be shaken off. A short MLDRED AND HER FORTUNE. ll tnime after her husband's death, Madam Estcourt received a letter from this woman, who had removed to another part of the country, Mildred knew not where, until this missive came from Newport, Rhode Island. Jane briefly referred in her letter to certain days past and persons inter- ested, in a manner which, as Mildred read, curdled the very blood around her heart. She wrote that she had found the will, for which such keen search had been made, and that her former mistress was now utterly in her power, rich though she was. For the price of secrecy in concealing this document, as well as the crime in which Mildred in years past had been an actress, was demanded a certain sum of money, or evil should befall her. The will should be produced, and her possessions should pass from her. Mildred had enough and to spare, and could purchase peace, security, and undisturbed enjoyment of her fortune, by simply ministering to the wants of her poor servant. Jane added, that she was now to be married, and tauntingly concluded by saying, that her love for her mistress was still unabated. The guilty Mildred never doubted the truth of Jane Hook's tale, and complying with her request once, fairly committed herself to the miscreant's power. The money was sent, and from that time she had lived under continual dread of discovery, under constant extor- tion from the wretch who had, as Mildred thought, married one as vile as herself, and whom we shall speak of in an ensuing chapter. Such was the fearful penalty Mildred paid; crime is wept for in tears of blood, but these will not wash away remembrance of the sin; and even if no remorse could find its way into that iron heart of hers, it was yet a prey to bit- ter anguish, rage, fear, and hate. There was also another page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. cause of misery to this woman. On one hand it was said, that when Mildred first came to America from England, that she was accompanied by a sister who was a widow, with one young son; that after Mr. Estcourt's death, they had been domiciled with her for a short period, during which time the sister was subjected to the harshest treat- ment, which she bore patiently as long as she could, being of far more tender nature than Mildred, but that at last, worn out with such a course, she had left her house, and suddenly disappeared with the child, no one lmew whither. She had kept herself entirely secluded, while with her sister, and when she left, there was no one who knew her or cared to ask for her. It was now whispered on the other hand, that this sister had loved not wisely but too well, and that the stem Mildred, who held herself to be without spot or blemish, could never forget or forgive such a sin in one of her kindred. She had harbored her and her fatherless love-child as long as she could, but the unrepentant transgressor had repaid kindness with ingrati- tude, and left at last without Mildred having any suspicion that she was about to take such a step. Henceforth, of course she was not to be named, and ere long it was for- gotten that such a being had ever been seen in the com- munity. Mildred herself, having never taken pains to trace her, was now ignorant if she was 'living or dead, or what had happened to the unfortunate child. But in one of those letters which Jane Hook wrote from time to time, in which demands' for money were spiced with threats in case of refusal, Mildred's sister was named; spoken of as an innocent lamb, as in truth she was -with hints that justice would yet be done her, and that her son would claim his own. And now, wretched as Mildred was, with none to look to for hope and consolation-for this was a subject she MLDRED AND HER FORTUNE. 113 could not name to her daughter--an awful sense of her own guilt and the wickedness of her conduct towards her sister, whom she knew to be blameless, came upon her. She would seek her out; she would be reconciled with her; a plausible story could easily be told to the world how her suspicions, which once appeared actual certainty, were now entirely removed, that she had been found to be innocent, and was received back with the deepest affec- tion; this she thought would go far with heaven in expia- tion of her sins. With this purpose she wrote to Jane, asking information of her sister, and in due time received for answer, that she had been living with her son in New- port, but they had disappeared for some years, and that she knew nothing of either. This letter did not tally with the former, in which her sister was spoken of, and not knowing whether Jane Hook was lying in every part of her epistle, or whether it was partly true, and being unable to find out, because she knew no one else in Newport, she determined before long to visit that place in person, and suddenly pounce upon her tormentors. She would frighten them thoroughly; she would by threats, or bribes get possession of that will, and once in her clutches, it would soon be scattered to the winds; then with her whole energies bent to marry her child to Charles Brandon, and to effect a reconciliation with the discarded sister, she would triumph at last, and in triumphing, be happy. Ah, how easy a task was all this to her in imagination now; how far easier it would have been in reality to have done justly in years past, and her reward would have been abiding. But there must be some reason given for her sudden move to the north, especially to the Brandons, and it struck her that a plausible one could be furnished in the health and spirits of her daughter Blanche. page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] CHAPTER XIV. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. MILDRED EsTCOURT was now not only disappointed and vexed that Charles Brandon should pass So much of his time with his cousin Randolph, who she knew would instil into him any feeling rather than one of affection for her, but for some time past she had real cause for solici- tude in regard to her own child. She, however, attributed the change in her entirely to interest in Charles, the dis- covery that his affections were bestowed upon another, and that her own love could never be returned; knowledge which could only be fatal to her peace and ,happiness. The poor girl had visibly altered ever since that time when she found by Charles Brandon's distant manner to her, that her hopes were futile. She had been insensibly led to regard herself as his destined bride. His atten- tions to her, she was obliged to confess, were not such as a lover would employ; still their union was anticipated, and had been mentioned to her as so natural a possibility, that she had indulged'the pleasing thought too far. Vainly did she regret it now, and more so that she felt, compelled to exonerate him from all blame. A sad change had indeed come over the beautiful girl; she had lost in a great degree her vivacity of spirits, and interest in the society even of her friends who loved her devotedly, and she withdrew from them as much as she could without giving them pain. Her form lost its rounded symmetry; her cheeks grew thin, but their color heightened, and her large eyes shone with a strange light. A slight cough now troubled her, (114) MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 115 which she in vain strove to keep concealed from her mother; and those who looked upon her wasting beauty predicted, that she would sleep in an early grave. She had loved, loved as she felt and knew, in vain; but hers was a timid, shrinking passion; she had scarce dared trust herself with it; she had not breathed it to a single fiend, not even to her mother, who, fully as she was adare of it, had hitherto thought best to say nothing of& -it to Blanche until Charles could be influenced to offer his hand. "He never dreams of me," thought the poor girl. "Would that I could banish this hopeless passion from my breast, and be cheerful once more. But I shall soon die; I feel that life has no happy future for me; let me lie down and be forgotten--then may heaven bless him more than it has me." Mildred thought; "This disease must be cured. I will not see my daughter dying by inches before my eyes, without an effort to save her. Charles shall marry her, and at the first hour of their engagement even, she will begin to revive." But the mother little knew that not love only was se- cretly mining the health of her child; another insidious destroyer was at work-consumption was silently but fa- tally progressing. It deceived her as it has a thousand parents more fond than she. She now deemed it the proper time to ques- tion Blanche, hoping that her daughter's sentiments would accord with her own, for were such the case, she saw little difficulty in the accomplishment of her wishes, "Blanche, my child, I have something to tell you, come and sit by me. I have of late felt exceedingly con- cerned for your health, and I have a proposal to make which I am sure will please you. It is a pleasant season, and a journey will do you much good. Therefore, pre- page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] "6 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. pare in a week to leave for the north. I wish to go to Newport. You saw it as a child, but quite too young to ' rememnber it. Now you will see it with different eyes. You know we landed there when we came from Eng- land." "But mother you astonish me; go to so distant a spot in the colonies at this late season! Can you mean this seriously? Why can we not seek the sea shore at some nearer point. Beside, your proposal sounds to me like a command." "And if it be a command, have I not a right to issue it? You have never disobeyed me." "Nor do I wish to do so now; yet, if I think at all, as I must when a proposal or even a command is made to me, I may surely in this instance." "Well, think, if you desire, biut we must go; I say must. I have much to occupy me during my visit to Newport. Widowed as I am, with the whole manage- ment of our estate devolved upon me, I have'many things to harass me. We must go at once to Newport, I say." "Surely, mother, I will cheerfully accompany you. You have, indeed, heavy cares; but how often have I urged you to let me lend assistance. I could lighten you of much of your load." Innocent creature, thought Mildred, would to' God thou could'st. "No Blanche, you could not help me." "Indeed, I might; but you never would tell me what troubled you. I have wondered at your distress when- those strange-looking letters, which never to Me appeared like those of gentlefolks, came to you; and you would bury your face in your hands, and at times weep so bit- terly, and again be angry. Often have I tried to comfort you, but you turned me away." MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 117 "Child, you know not of what you are talking. The letters were naught naught." "But I have heard you moan piteously in your sleep, and toss upon your pillow, and utter strange words." "Words!" said Mildred, starting in terror. "Oh! mother, do not frighten me with such awful vehemence; if there is something dreadful to be told, I can bear it. How much less could it afflict me than sus- pense, and my wish of sympathy in your misery denied me." "There is no misery Blanche, you are too anxious, child. Have no fears." "But mother, I must feel for you sadly, indeed, al- though you would never allow me to see those letters, or even learn who wrote them. You would only say they were from Newport." "Peace, Blanche, about the letters; nothing worries me now, I tell you, and I go chiefly on account of your health. You require change." "Change has little charm for me, and will not long avail," thought poor Blanche; but she tried-to smile, and said, "Then, dear mother, I will fear no more; it will be delightful to me to visit the north." Mildred mused as to the manner in which she should touch upon Charles; she drew Blanche closer to her side and kissed her. "My daughter, tell me how you feel?" "I am not strong." "Shame," said Mildred, thinking it best to come to the point at once and assume a tone of virtuous indignation, ' shame that your illness should have been caused by the leartless treatment you have received!" "Shame, mother! there is no one at fault." "There is, tell me not so. How dared, Charles Bran. "^ ' ,'i page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "8 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. don act as he has done? win your regard, then throw it lightly by? But he shall not." "Mother," said Blanche, hurriedly, and with a quiver- ing lip, I cannot, will not, listen to this." And has he not worked all this evil? did he not woo and win you? did he not cast himself at the feet of an- other, heartless traitor that he is. You know you love him." "I did once love him," said Blanche, very firmly, but in a sweet and modest manner, " but it is not in my nature to waste affection on those who do not care for it. I am too proud to degrade myself. I have the Cecil's blood in my veins as well as you, mother. 'But Mr. Brandon never did attempt to deceive me; he never gave me any proof of love, by word or deed, and our last meeting, months ago, was one of cold courtesy." "But you say you loved him once; if you do not now, why did you then?" "The heart knoweth its own bitterness nd its own joys and secrets too. Mine told me to love him, but never why." "Blanche, you are a strange girl; but now if Charles did love you, how would you return his affections?" "But he does not love me." "If he could, though? "He cannot." "Do not answer me so, I have no patience with such replies. Would you not love him in return?" "If of his own free will, he were ready to bestow his strong, unselfish, unswerving love, I might again return it; but if only a sense of honor tempted him to offer his hand in reparation for supposed injuries, I would reject it with disdain." - "But, Blanche, he must, he does love you, and you do not blame ". MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 119 "No; for he never sought by smooth words to win me and then desert me. His conduct has been kind and hon- orable." "Then, child, there is no difficulty in the way. It will require but little time; leave me to manage it." "Manage it, manage it! What do you mean, madam, to devise a plan for the purpose of bringing Mr. Brandon to my feet? Excuse me, but I am party to no such manceuvering." "What temper is this, daughter?" ",My own, madam; it is time indeed I find to display my spirit. I will not tamely submit to any such indignity." "Tush! no indignity is meant; do I not know best." "Your judgment must be impaired, mother, if you imagine that the course you indicate will recei*p my sanc- tion. I have always been to you a dutiful and obedient daughter, but I will not in this matter be made a puppet. I warn you in good time, if you approach Mr. Brandon with the intent disclosed to me, he will be obliged also to listen to my sentiments. They will not agree with yours. Let me hear no more of this." Mildred saw that she had gone too far, and had roused in Blanche a noble spirit of resistance. She was surprised but awed, and resolved to let the project rest for a season. And Blanche was resolved too, not only in regard to her own heart, but also concerning the secret troubles in Newport. She now acquiesced the more cheerfully in the proposed visit, being determined, while there, if she pos- sibly could, to fathom the mystery. page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] CHAPTER XV. MR. BRANDON INDIGNANT. HAvING prepared for her journey with Blanche, Lady Mildred Estcourt now determined to test the scheme she had planned for inducing Charles to offer his hand. She saw, with trembling, the great change in her daughter's health and spirits; and although she knew not that con- sumption was at work, she felt the urgent necessity of speedy success in her schemes. Loving Blanche as much as such a woman could love anything, still the possibility of losing her by early death, was not of half the moment that the failure of her designs would be. If Blanche died unmarried, what security had she against the infamous wretches who preyed upon her? After saving a hand- some sum from her tribute, they might prefer to drag her before the public, and make a full exposure of her evil deeds. She did not reflect, that should they dare take such steps against her, they would naturally involve themselves in trouble; but the perceptions of guilt seldom accord with clear judgment. While she believed that Jane Hook's regard for Blanche alone restrained her and her accomplice, the possibility of their ultimate vengeance hung over her like a sword. They had the power, arid perhaps the wish, to reduce her at one fell stroke to poverty and despair; and she cursed the moment when she had been weak enough to yield to them. She could have enjoyed as much, with Blanche in possession of the estate; but it was too late to repent or regret now; a savage resolution seized upon her to gain her ends, no (120) MR. BRANDON INDIGNANT. 121 matter by what means, or in case of failure, despair would kill her. . With this view, she sought her opportunity, and, without going to Kingwood, where she feared that Mrs. Brandon would thwart her scheme, held an interview with her husband in Williamsburg. Mr. Brandon was walking in the street; Mildred, saw him approaching, stepped to the door, and accosted him; quite accidentally, of course. He politely ascended the steps to ask the health of the ladies, and she induced him to enter the house. Blanche was out; the mother considered the chance too favorable to be suffered to pass. After a few momentsl gossip on common-place- topics, she artfully led the con- versation to turn upon-her daughter. "Mr. Brandon, you have a wife, she is a mother, and you can form by her some idea of a mother's feelings for her child. Did I not therefore know that you can sym- pathize with me, I never could persuade myself to speak as my duty impels." ' I listen, madam, all attention; pray tell me what it is that concerns you."- "It is the health of my darling daughter, the dearest that mother ever-had; you do not know, indeed, the depth of my love for that sweet child." Mr. Brandon bowed in a profoundly respectful manner. "So tender a charge has ever filled me with the most anxious solicitude for her well-being, which has most for- tunately been preserved to her until lately ... but.. . truly .. . Mr. Brandon, you do not imagine how much I am pained even to approach this subject." "Madam, -why not inform me at' once? I am ignorant of any cause of your daughter's illness; we ar6 all liable to the evils which flesh is heir to; but is this an affection of the mind?" , 6 , % page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. "Ah, of the mind! now you touch the poinmt' r. Brandon. I was sure that one of your acute perd kop* would soon discover the cause of my, grief;v #e' sitive nature shrunk from the confess!on,. I Bret i sunk back, and wept in touching AS d 4F h^ -' use of tears,.and had drilled them ----:liit ^d: for. "Dear Madam S Estcourt c know before that you sufered: fri : 'om - t , not believe it." "J "Your daughter" ;, :: . '-" ,': ns..- ' .: "You do but recalr me :t'i/6y :ii ^ i a:Cecil,?and the Cecils, who have alwaysi bee so6 noted for their re - culiar sensibility, their tender regard for the feelings Wof others, must sympathize not only for my daughter: but for one, also, almost as dear to me."' "And that one is' ..... "Is Charles,'. dear .boy" said:'l:il/dre, sobbing. he again fell back, and other tears, c- 'i"to add emphasis. They were the italics of her strong: sentences. Madam, madam," said Mr. Brandon, profoundly im- pressed, "you astonish me." And his perceptions being by no means as quick as Mildred's flattery implied, his face denoted bewilderment almost comical. Mildred slowly recovered; not too fast, she was too good a tactician. "'My dear Mr. Brandon, I feel, now that I have told you the secret of my d/ten st chearge, that we can better sympathize witlhi.: .And how will :you generous man, be piai;ed: ]ought that -:loe:s 'been too pointed i: ::"o8ns to -, . . ' .f- A : , MB. BRANDON INDIGNANT. 123 Blnhe! Perhaps I ought not to impute blame to him; itl i evFes ame to do so; yet, can I refuse the evidence of :;: onsense s? I see her drooping,.and he no longer ' -*' a: ohes her. ; . ;A, indfyo i :hae no, doubt that my son's dereliction is t66e -iis e -ir lancholy?'" "^. , so^I w'0:L:ould not have you understand that be; ^^K-f Poeeed to the length of addressing her Uy;, eto&i S of winning; we know ;, . :. .. ..... wtful Woman, how such things are -"*'^/;&^^^^^.^^ her-nman(euvers. She -had toucheh Ti/te - . ?eproud o1d aristocrat wars; ^manza^AO^ ^^ Ldeaf that Ch arh s had ever aventured ' t '. e :: e us of any lady, stirred himto an ger. Biut h^i:e se fho nor was ever inconsist- ent, and he could'see-no wrong in his own course towards "Ucy, whose love Charles had won. With Blanche, however, his son's equal, the case was very different; he- perceived her wrongs clearly, and thought her the modstaggrieved of her sex. He now burst out in a:nger:H ,Jie shall make reparation for his injuries, mada^m: : Aihall, make reparation, and quickly; by heavens he shail marry your daughter!"!, "Oh! not unless he loves her, faintly suggested }Mil- dred, who cared little whether he did or not; "not unless he loves her." . - "It is nothing,' said Mr. Brandon, vehemently; "he ought to love her, madam, and he shall." , But, suppose he cannot?", "annsot;?madam1?-'cannot? Do not talk to me of cannot .he shal too, "B ,m*ftr4ean^l my dear Mr. BrI -a 'd d," -- F A page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. recovering her spirits. I must go to Newport, in a few days, for the health of my sweet charge, and we can man- age it- all on my return." "Of course we can. Yes, madam, we can. You are right, you aie right. Go -to Newport; and I give you the word of a Brandon--a word, madam, which never was broken-and I flatter myself, that few houses can say as much; my word for it, I say, that on your return you shall find my son ready to do exactly as we say. So, go to Newport, madam; bid your daughter put on her brightest looks again, and she shall shortly be the. loveli- est bride in the colonies. Have no fears, madam--have no fears, my command is to be obeyed; never gave a command in my life that was hot. Did I ever inform you what summary work I made with/my son's silly love affair? Would not listen to it; commands, madam, again obeyed, you see; and as for the girl he said he loved, !"--here he stopped short; for a recollection of the man- ner in which Lucy had faced him, gave him a twinge of agony,--'- she went home," he continued, faintly, before detailing to Mildred the tyrannical injustice of his course. "And how did Charles bear it?" asked the plotter. "He naturally rebelled at first; but now is quite sub- dued, and bears it meekly as a lamb. I know that he has thought better of it; in short, madam, he has reflected, reflected, madam; he is a Brandon, and when a Brandon does reflect, he remembers the ancient honor of his house." "Indeed!" thought Mildred, " if your son suffers him- self to be ruled by you, he must have left his brains -at the north;" but she closed the interview, without ex- pressing this opinion aloud, congratulating' herself in the happy prospects of her daughter, and leaving Mr. Bran- don to prepare his son for the destiny awaiting him. MR. BRANDON INDIGNANT. 125 He saw Charles at once, and was much astounded. t find his overtures received in any but a lamb-like manner. Htis eulogium on Blanche, the promised splendor of his wedded life, and the words; ":My son, be a good boy, and think no more of this other silly matter; let it pass from your mind; " was treated, at first, with indiffer- ence, and then, as he pursued the subject, with burning indignation. In a few, fiery words, Charles told his fathel; that he was, and would be, master of his own affections-that he wished no further reference to Blanche--that he did not love her, and never could--that, moreover, grave and insuperable reasons existed to prevent any connection with such a person, as her mother. His heart, he said, was unalterably fixed on Lucy Tyrrell; and, even if he never married her neither time nor trial would change his love. In vain the father swore, and stormed, and threatened, that if his son did not marry Blanche, he would turn him out of the house. "That you may do," said Charles; "but you will not thereby accomplish your purpose. Banish me from your doors, but I will never, never marryr Blanche Estcourt!, The irate maxi threatened, as he had many times before to cast the rebel off forever, without a shilling. "One fact you forget, sir," said Charles, "that the estate is entailed; and in such a manner, that you cannot destroy the provisions of your father's will; you may withhold aid during your life, but the landed property is mine at your death." This was the opening of strife between the father and son; it was continually renewed with increased bitter- ness on the part of the sire, and firmer determination on the part of Charles. His mother was distressed'at it, page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. beyond measure; but she could not counsel her son to change his purpose, and her prayeirs and tears availed not, with her husband. The once joyous household, was happy no longer, and deep gloom settled on the mansion, the former chosen seat of good cheer and revelry. ( HAPT ER XVI. RETEOSPECTION. IN order to understand more clearly the dark purposes of the unprincipled Mildred, and those secrets which she was obliged to conceal even from her own daughter, we must briefly review a portion of her life, antecedent to the mysterious abstraction of the will. In accordance with her husband's- desire of removal to America, soon after their marriage, she left England with him and their daughter Blanche, then a young infant. She was accompanied, also, by a widowed - sister, and her son, a boy of five or six years of age. The deceitful Jane Hook, followed, in capacity of a servant; and the other passengers consisted of Captain Brooke, a naval officer, who was to join his squadron on the Amelican coast, and a petty trader, by the name of Elisha Barlow. He had been valet to Brooke, in former years, and had afterward transacted business in the colonies, sometimes in one place and sometimes in another; and, having broken up his last establishment, was now returning firom a visit to England, -where he had purchased a stock of goods--preparatory to settling in any new place which he might think favorable for traffic. The voyage was a long and boisterous one; the ship crazy and leaky, was much damaged, and during a heavy gale off the coast, the captain fearing. she could not weather it, resolved to run for Newport harbor, instead of trying to fight his way to the capes of Virginia whither she was bound; and accordingly the storm-tossed, wearied (127) page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. passengers, were delighted to cast anchor at last, and ride securely in the beautiful Narraganset Bay. Captain, Brooke was a man of the world, who had pass- ed much of his time amid the gay capitals of Europe, and thoroughly skilled in all the arts of corruption, he sought to make a dull voyage agreeable by the same system of pleasure which he had pursued on shore, and by which he had ruined the peace and character of more than one woman, who had trusted to his words. Bold and unscrupulous, with little belief in female virtue, he was nevertheless restrained by the dignified demeanor of Mildred's sister Miriam, who permitted no approach to familiarity, and he could not but respect the woman who by the simple purity of her nature kept him at proper distance, and even caused him to think better of the sex, in some particular instances, than he ever had before. But with Mildred herself the case was very different; his keen insight into character soon penetrated -her hollow in- sincerity; he saw that she cared little or nothing for her husband, and that her affectation of piety had no more reality in it, than some other attributes of which she boasted. Estcourt was too- much confined by sea sickness to, heed the intimacy which was springing up-between his wife and Captain Brooke, and a cautious management of their affairs, entrusted to Jane Hook on Mildred's part, and to the sneaking trader Elisha Barlow on Brooke's, established a-correspondence which grew more tender as the voyage was protracted. Lost to honor, Mildred lost caste even in the estimation of the wretches who aided her downfall, but she little dreamed that retribution was to, come, and in great measure to be inflicted by their hands. Let us dwell on this no more; the guilty woman ::was soon left by Captain Brooke who went off to joi h::ls squadron, and all the Estcourt family (for Miriam -ore: RETROSPECTION. 129 the same name) determined, before setting out for Vir- ginia, to remain for a- while in Newport, charmed by the beauty of the island. And now Mildred's punishment commenced; she dis- covered too late the dreadful mistake she had made in placing herself within the reach of such creatures as Jane Hook and Elisha Barlow. The trader began the work of torture by such means as a vulgar knave would resort to, a threat, a demand of hush money, or there would be revelationsof damning character, which would produce scenes not easily quieted between Mildred and her husband. Bold and daring as she was by nature, Mildred shrunk with terror at this, for guilt and cowardice are allied. She was reduced to the dire expedient of asking the advice of Jane Hook, whom but a brief season before she would have discharged in an instant had she dared to offer her counsel. The friend in need of course thought that Barlow meant in earnest what he said, that a little money would quiet him, and that though she, hated to gratify such a villain, yet perhaps it was the only course. She would undertake to see him, and oblige him to make oath never to trouble her mistress more, as soon as his demand was satisfied. To this Mildred agreed, little dreaming that the two harpies were combined together to plunder her, and Jane returned from her errand with the information that Barlow was quite content with the sum paid him, and would harass her no further. This was a lie,- for they had agreed to share the booty and extort every shilling they could from her. This resolve of theirs was followed ere long, just as the family were about setting out for Virginia to settle on the estate Estcourt had purchased, by a demand on the part of Barlow of such magnitude, ha' .all the money Mildred had in her own possession - v2 J6* rs' , - ( n * page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. could not satisfy it. Her husband's liberality must be appealed to; here was a dilemma; Jane Hook must again be consulted; and now came the most damnable iniquity of the whole plot. Mildred must be able to give a satis- factory reason for asking this sum of her husband, and step by step, by devilish art in hints, and suggestions, the absolute necessity of the case making it imperative for some desperate move, the baited, distracted woman, was induced to connive at a plan which should give her the money, and discharge her persecutor by throwing her own guilt upon her innocent sister. Horrible as was this scheme there was no other escape for her, and she reasoned with herself; "This cannot last forever., I shall be free from that leech Barlow in Virginia; Estcourt I know will not, cannot live long, he is desperately ill now. The story of Miriam's shame will not be known beyond our own household, and at my husband's death I will renew our intercourse, tell her that I was imposed upon by false stories, and all will be well again." Monstrous wickedness! and yet she adopted it in de- spaii. With the same arts by which she had been worked upon, and to which she now lent her own aid, Estcourt was taught to believe that his sister-in-law's-- conduct had ,beensuch that she could not with propriety become a member of his household, as had been intended. It was much better now that she should be given enough to make her comfortable in retirement in Newport, which could easily be done by adding something to the little property -she possessed, and leaving her to repent of her sins at leisure. Thus, under pretence of aidingher sister, Mildred would secure the money, which would go to feed the insatiate maw of Elisha Barlow. Mr. Estcourt could scarce believe when he heard of Miriam's conduct; but everything, by false swearing, was perfectly proved. There was such exquisite skill in the hints and confessions of Barlow and Jane Hook, when, at Mildred's suggestion, they were questioned on the sub- ject! Such dreadful fears had Jane had, which, alas! had proved too true; and such deep contrition was ex- pressed by smooth-tongued, smirking Elisha, that he un- wittingly had ever had anything to do with the business! "If he'd only knowed the contents of them ere little notes, nothink would have tempted him!" etc., etc., that all appeared to Estcourt as clear as daylight. He was shocked and indignant; but he had a kind heart, and on Mildred making him promise that he would not see her sister, alleging that her distress was too great, he readily offered a larger sum than his wife asked for. She took it, and thus was enabled to carry out a double purpose-to silence the knave's tongue and endeavor to alleviate Miriam's situation by the miserable consolation of money. There was yet another part to play in 'this stupendous game--that towards her sister in person; but it was managed with the same address which- had attended other stages of it, and was rewarded with like success. The loss of Miriam's husband, to whom she was fondly attached, had preyed upon her spirits to such an extent that it was feared, at one time, her reason would be dethroned. She was recovering in some degree; the voyage proved of great benefit to her, and the care of her child began to absorb her attention and draw her thoughts from off their melancholy fixedness. -Nor was it necessary in thi vile plot that she should be directly accused and scorned. The chief points were already established-Estcourt's belief in her dishonor, and the money secured. It was only requisite now that Miriam should be alarmed and disgusted; that she should refuse to have ) page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 -BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. aught to do with one who even suspected her of wrong. This was difficult, but was artfully, accomplished by Mil- dred's denial that any one but her husband distrusted her. The indignant woman, fired with the bare hint of such a doubt of her rectitude, at once saw that by keeping with Mildred, her own position would be one of abject baseness, almost tantamount to a confession of guilt. She determined not to leave the spot she was in, preferring to educate her boy, who had already begun 'to display a froward nature, in the ways of the New England people, rather than amidst the more luxurious institutions of the south. Had she confronted Estcourt, all this structure of lies would have been dashed to the ground; but Mildred's facility in making one falsehood serve to conceal another, prevented the meeting. She assured Miriam that he was far from looking at her conduct in a criminal light, but only thought she had been rather imprudent, and that he loved her too tenderly to breathe to living soul the faintest word of what he scarce credited himself; and fuirthermore that, owing to'her husband's feeble health, a conversation on such subjects would be so exciting that it might injure him seriously. Miriam took for her son the money handed her by Mildred, on the assurance that it did not come from Estcourt, but was her own. Jane Hook had nothing to gain by tainting Miriam's reputation in the mind of any one but Estcourt, and as for the pitiful ElFsha Barlow, he considered the account fairly balanced; that the wrongs inflicted on the inno- cent woman were compensated, or, as he expressed it, "credited," by the punishment dealt out to Mildred; and for his forbearance in not extorting money from her sister, or attempting to do so, he impiously talked of RETROSPECTION. 133 treasures laid up in heaven, from which bank he would receive his own with usury when he came to present his bill upon the day of judgment. He congratulated himself on the great skill he had displayed in the management of this whole matter, frequently chuckling and- remarking, that it was "all right, all 'right," a set phrase of his, which, properly interpreted, meant always, all. wrong! Now the scheme of crime, of cruelty, and of robbery was complete, all was accomplished, and the sisters: parted with tears and sorrow, feigned on the part of Mildred but real with the sufferer; one went with her husband and tchild to Virginia, bearing with her a load of guilt; the other, strong in her own innocence, and happily unconsci- ous of the wickedness which had transpired, remained with her son in Newport. / page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] HAPTER XVII. BABLOW A VESTRYMAN. ELISHA BARLOW, having begun so profitable a business much sooner than he could reasonably have hoped for, determined at once to settle in Newport, then far more populous and flourishing than New York. Some men bear a singular resemblance to certain of the brute creation, their characteristics being at times of marked similarity; and the appearance, motions, and de- meanor of Elisha, invariably suggested the cat. He was of moderate height, thin and meagre, with precisely that stealthy pace in his walk distinctive of the feline race. His white face was constantly moved by a smirk which played about his pale lips; while his starved sandy- colored whiskers seemed stunted in growth by the meanness of their owner. His eyes, which were of greenish grey, dotted in the pupils with minute brown specks, looked as if ever alert for a victim, and a habit of jerking his head up and snuffing at the same time, as if he , scented a rat, added to his cat-like attributes. There must be mentioned another trick, of snapping his long nails, and cracking them between his irregular, and not very white teeth, when he found himself in any position of difficulty, and we complete the portrait of this human grimalkin. His laugh never came from a greater depth than his teeth; one may imagine that an honest dog comes very near laughter, when he wags his tail, and roars out' a good hearty bow wow; but the mirth of a cat consists only in a purr, while its back is up, and its claws, ready for scratching. Thus the puss-like * t BARLOW A VESTRYMAN. 135 Elisha's smirk of satisfaction was the best indication that somebody had been bitten; or that he was preparing for a spring. He was as ignorant a fellow as could well be found in the colonies; his language was a sort of jargon, partly the English of the mother country, and partly- the provincial dialect of the low orders of Virginia; that of whites mingling much with negroes; and while a diffuse talker, his chatter never amounted to any thing worth hearing or remembering. He was a compound of every mean and sordid quality; an insatiate love of money was mingled with such avarice, degibly written on his low, wrinkled forehead,) that these traits frequently stood in the way of his own interest, even when urging him on to commit every petty piece of knavery, as well as fraud, upon a large scale., No villainy was too great or too little for him. Narrow as was his intellect, it could em- brace both extremes of iniquity; while.. extraordinary vanity induced him to think that his evil deeds were quite unknown, and that he was considered a model of industry, honesty, and liberality. His habits of business consisted in fuss, semblance of doing immense work, which was only trivial; low shrewd- ness, dictated by cunning; and adroit concealment of rascality by a show of candor. And his universal mode of blinding all men to his true character, was by hypoc- risy so well worn, that it was as much a part of -him as his' clothes; and which particularly manifested itself by a profession of religion. Conspicuous attendance at church, and at religious meetings, had so imposed upon the sin- cere worshippers of "Trinity," that he had been chosen one of the vestry; and wished it to be thought that he was on terms of great intimacy with the pastor, the Reverend Thomas Pollen. "Well, reelly now," said Elisha very fiequently, "reelly, page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. there is nothink as does my heart as much good, as com- ing up to the tabernickle these ere Sunday'mornin's. If I acted as some of them'are men does yonder, I should'nt like to show my face here; I'd resign my place in the vestry. What I do like, is to see men act 'honest. I always, every Saturday night, afore I say my prayers, try to think if I've done' anythink in the week to keep me from feelin' all fight; and if I haven't, I can walk about the town so peaceful, with the testament of a good con- science; and I can go down to the pier, and feel so happy to think how my vessel will soon come in from the islands, and reward me openly.7" "Neighbor Tilley," Elisha might-add, while waiting at the church door for the pastor to come, and speaking in a soft, smooth voice,"I s'pose you doesn't know what ne- groes is quoted at, now, in Jamaica?" And neighbor Tilley, very likely astounded at such a question, at such an hour, would look surprised, and briefly answer, "no ;" when Elisha would observe, "no matter, merely thought I'd jest mention it." He had a very nice little way of " jest mentioning it," when anxious to sound any one about a matter in which he was not quite sure he could cheat him undetected. Then, without staying to ask neighbor Tilley any more questions, he would enter the church, and with the softest cat motion, steal up the aisle, with eyes humbly bent down, and the most delicate smirk playing about his lips; and then, in the pew, he would smoothly revolve in his mind the price of " wool and ivory," in Jamaica. He would think that just about this time his sharp little brig must have planted a cargo of " niggers " there pretty safely, and at so much a head; she wotld take sugar in return, which, in its rotation, would be melted into rum, in one -of the twenty-two distilleries then flourishing in Newport. BARLOW A VESTRYMAN. 137 The spirit would be shipped out to the coast of Africa, where it would buy another lot of slaves, worth so much. And this delightful calculation was indulged in, until Elisha was in such a frame of mind, as not easily to be moved by a sermon from those startling words, "What shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and lose- his own- soul?"Then, with what excessive humility would he hand round theL plate -for collection; and before he laid it down again, pause, when he felt most eyes were look- ing at him, and with a careful effort at concealment sure to attract notice, place a broad piece of silver in it. Yes, Elisha thought that everything looked "all right, all right!"Doubtless, those numerous half crowns de- posited for so many Sundays in such a number of years, would be cared for with compound interest, and roll e up for him at least a thousand pounds' worth of salvation! Barlow the vestryman had now for some years been doing a pretty flourishing trade; by dlint of lying, cheat- ing, and saving, he had accumulated quite a handsome sum. His shop in the main street, was full of goods of all kinds, including groceries; and a constant throng of buyers from morning till night, indicated a lively business. All things looked fair, and above board; Elisha always endeavoring to impress the public with the extraordinary advantages to be obtained in buying of him; and few knew, excepting his poor clierks, that all was not as it should be. Cutting their wages down to the lowest point, he ground as much work out of them as they could do; but-as sure as any of them began to suspect him of trickery, and manifested the least' distrust, they were im- mediately given notice to quit, recommended to try some other situation as the work was too hard. Then, per- haps, Elisha's partners, for he had various partners, every one of whom he swindled -in turn, wondering at this, ., page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 BRANDON-; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. would be quieted by " he thought he had mentioned it." This phrase was of similar purport to that of " no matter, thought he'd jest mention it;;" and was in frequent use whenever any piece of knavery was to be slurred over, as of no moment. \ It was not known, however, that Eli- sha's business was partly done in a very sly, underhand, underground manner; that, in fact, he had a private understanding with some professional gentlemen, vulgarly called smugglers; who, with that disdain, characteristic of enlightened minds, regarded revenue laws as mon- strous impositions on the spirit of the age; and only to be obeyed by low and grovelling plodders. Elisha fully coincided in this opinion; and carried it out, as far as his own safety would allow; though he would have looked with affected horror upon any one who advocated openly even a belief in their injustice. There was a secret rendezvous out on the island (of which we shall say more in another chapter), and Elisha frequently visited it in the dusk of evening, returning safely laden with silks or cloths, which had not been duly entered at the " receipt of his Majesty's customs." These articles he was enabled to sell at good profit, tak- ing care not to place them so low as to excite any suspi- cion in the minds of buyers, while, at the same time, ad- verting to other dealers who had similar goods in honest possession at a little higher rate, he would observe, "Well, reelly now, it is a shame how them are men tries to keep up prices." But Barlow, with all his nice, smooth, oily manner, now and then found himself in such a corner that, like a cat, he showed his teeth and claws, when a steady determined resistance made him display the mean abject cowardice of his nature. Captain Walrus, a bluff sailor, who had made several BARLOW A VESTRYMAN. 139 voyages to India and also to China, had been in the habit of dealing with him, but having detected him in a piece of rascality by which he would have made a large profit, had prevented his doing so. Elisha was thereby incensed to such a degree that, after " studying over it," as he was accustomed to say, he concluded to scare the captain into compliance with his wishes, and, accordingly, sending for him to come to his shop, asked him to walk up stairs, when he made a show of drawing a pistol, threatening to shoot unless paid a round sum on the spot. Captain Walrus, however, only coolly doubling up his fist, laid it gently on the trader's nose, so that its gigantic proportions and iron weight could be felt with eloquent emphasis, and then slowly backed him around the room, the coward exclaiming with terror, "Now don't, now don't!"The captain, contenting himself with this, and expressing his perfect contempt for him and his threats, took care to inform some of his friends that he considered Elisha only a " paper tiger," an epithet which he had learnt among the Chinese, who by it designate a bluster- ilg fellow without courage. This nickname appeared so well suited to Barlow, that it became the one by which some of the community generally spoke of him, and we shall frequently apply it to him ourselves in the course of the ensuing narrative. , page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] CHAPTER XVIII. LUCY's TRIALS. IT is a frequent cause of annoyance in life that unprinci- pled and designing members of society occupy our atten- tion, to the exclusion of those whose intimacy we desire to cultivate, and who are capable of imparting happiness. Mildred, her deeds, and her accomplices, occupy much of that space which sympathy would lead us to devote to her victims, but the tale must be told in accordance with the truth of its events as they actually happened. When-Lucy Tyrrell again saw her humble home, how changed it appeared. She left the island a child, she returned a woman. As in Tieck's beautiful story of the Elves, the "Serena" of this history came back from fairy Iland, where she had passed bright days, until the King of the Magic Realm came to visit it, and then mortal must tread no more 'Within fairy bowers. The golden gas;tst thenceforth be shut upon her, and conducted i:/the portal, she must bid a long farewell to all that enchantment, and seek again the home once so dear, but never before so homely. But Lucy Tyrrell had a gene- rous spirit, a noble heart, and she felt that it was still her duty, tried though she was, to be her parents' solace, evitn asit had been her. pleasure before, m the happiest hlrs of her childhood. How often then had her merry laugh rung out at some slight mishap in her mother's - household, and such a sparkle of mirth always won good humor from the matron, vexed as she might be. When [140] "UCY'S TRIALS. 141 her father, saddened at the prospect of his lot, had sat desponding in his study, because he imagined that all the thoughts matured in his mind and preached as glad tid- ings unto men, were but as pearls flung before swine, how often had Lucy, by a: gentle kiss upon his brow, roused him from his reverie,:-when looking into her sweet face, as her eloquent lips won him from his desk, had he passed with her into the fresh, pure air, and felt that all. his toil, all his care was amply repaid him; for she led him, as he had her of old, along the strand where the wild billows tossed in the shells, and, pointing over the waste of waters as the sun sunk-from view, reminded him of- her childish days, when he had told her of golden visions to come again with the coming morn, and why not for him? Oh, then he felt the recompense, and fold- ing his darling Lucy in his arms, while he kissed her with a father's holiest kiss, blessed God that he had given him such a child. She was ready to resume her duties, a poor islander, once more; but at first she hurried to her little chamber, whither in days of old she had sometimes fled, and wAS happy, freed from intrusive visitors. There she now, unseen, unheard, sobbed wildly, in the bitterness:: of her heart. At last, drying her tears, she looked a. o her neat; narrow room, its single window opengipcm: a landscape of bleak downs and rocky passes,aind- thati friend from infancy, the mighty sea. Then she turned to the trim, snowy couch which a mother's hand had last smoothed, the rude prints which' -ecked the walls, t he cabinet of shells, and pebbles, and sea mosses which:e had gathered with her own hands. Oh! couldlis picture onilyhang among those prints, it would redeems them alt. His image was glassed in her memory; he hag beeneher. teacher, had led her bright mind onwards day ,. page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] "2 BRANDON: OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. by: day to appreciate a better art; but he was not visible to smile upon these, and how worthless they appeared. But her shells, her pet shells and mosses, which she had taken such pains to gather bright from ocean, these she could still value, for they were the gifts of nature, and he would love to look upon them if ever he came to the island. After she had spent an hour in her chamber and was calmed, she ventured to the door of her father's study. She knocked, but there, was no reply; she lifted the latch / and slowly ventured in, thinking that her father mnight fiot have heard her, but the room was vacant. The win- dows were open, and a soft autumnal breeze stole into the -study, and gently fanned her faded cheek. She closed the door, and seated, looked around on the old familiar objects, but no tears flowed now. For hours she sat gazing listlessly on those volumes which, in her former pride, she had loved to arrange and keep neat for her father's hand. At times she would totter to the shelves, then, in utter brokenness' of heart, sink back upon her chair. She was roused' from her trance at length by a kiss upon her brow, and she' saw her father.-We pass over the scene. She day after day caine to his study and lingered near him; she gave him many a hint to speak of her sorrows, but he spoke not. It is a peculiarity, and a very unfortu- nate one, in the New England character, that it exacts implicit obedience from childhood, yet seldom rewards with praise. Nothing, judged by its cola criticism, is ever well done; it might always have been better done. That old Puritan spirit is harsh and stem; that. spirit wlhich, -like fint, wouldistrike and kindle fire, but never melt,.and though Lucy's father displayed far less of its rigrthan many, and had ever been more like a com- panion to her than a grave parent, yet now she deeply "UCY'S TRIALS. 143 felt it. Now she found in her father's face no -response to her own; no, his name was to be- unheard, forgotten -she could read this in his face. With her mother she had never enjoyed the same communion -as with her father; and now occasionally the good-naturedj but ill- timed jest about crossed love, jarred upon Lucy's ear. Gradually becoming more resigned to her melancholy fate- ' "No longer sle wept, her tears were all spent; No longer she wept, and she thought it content: She thought it content, but her cheek it grew pale, And she drooped like the lily broke down by the hail," But she yet had pleasures in memory. Her uncle, pitying her, and desiring to soothe her by every means in his power, had, with her father's permission, given to her the harpsichord over which she had enjoyed so many happy hours, and now with her music she-could at once please her parents, and solace her own heart, as she drew from the keys those sounds which had delighted Charles Brandon, when he had praised her diligence and exulted in her progress. She resumed her visits to the cottages-not as she was wont, partly with a view to amusement, but only to cheer and help such as were sick in body or in mind, and she would often pass long portions of the day with them, nurse them, and smooth their coarse pillows with her deli- cate hands, or read to them from their Bibles, wlif0iey would tell her that the Word of God from her lips ogd ed dear to them. There were eyes that Hteeda , n their bed of illness, to look after her with a blets. s, she withdrew at evening, and shone brighter as-:ie.: ; again with another morning; and there were h li hands which had grown knotted in the battle of lifetiU page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. they felt like iron, which now, at the least touch of her soft fingers, would open and gently play with them, and give that pressure of gratitude which their feeble words could not express. Sometimes, when the sick would ask her to tell them of her life-while- away from, them in the city, and which they thought must have been a round of pleasure and happiness, she would try to do so, and speak of any sight or amusement which she, deemed likely to interest them, although a constant memory of Charles wove itself into all her thoughts, and pained her, for she could scarcely speak of one experience of that time in which he did not bear part. She had waited long before she heard from him, and with a sick heart, for she had been amazed and shocked at the receipt of the two blank letters which Mildred had sent. She was utterly at a loss to imagine the reason for such strange conduct; the handwriting, too, was un. known, though evidently that of a female. Stranger still that these missives were from nWilliamsburg, the very spot whence Charles had told her his letters would be sent. She rightly thought some evil agency was at work. At last came the letter which, owing to Randolph's care, had escaped the clutches of Mildred. She anticipated many such pleasures, when her father, unwilling that she should indulge hopes which he regarded as vain, at once expressed his disapprobation of the correspondence, and, writing to Mr. Brandon, forbade it altogether. This was cruel, though not intended to be so. Luc' wrote Bto her lover for the last time. She told ho deeply it grieved her not to be even able to continue writing as she had hoped, but that she should never lo0v him the less, that in spirit she would always be with him She urged him to be patient, trusting in God, and not to "UCY'S TRIALS. 145 abandon hope; all might yet be well with them, but that she knew that his sense of honor would not encourage her, in defiance of her father's injunction, to carry on a clandestine correspondence. In conclusion, with womanly delicacy but strong love, she begged him to see as much of her cousin Matilda as he could, and do all in his power to make her happy in her new home separated from her parents. This request was interpreted by Charles as it was meant, for he knew that Matilda would be sure to write to Lucy and speak of him, by which means the lovers would not be utterly cut off from each other, but could yet interchange affection and hope for happier days. But a balm th Lucy's wounded spirit came from the sea; she daily visited the shore, as she always had in childhood, when she watched the sinking sun, its parting splendors flushing over the deep and far heavenward to- ward the zenith; though now her gaze turned, not upon its glories, but like her spirit looked ever to the south, where lay the home of her beloved. Often so sad in heart that she longed, like Sappho, to bury forever/her love and misery beneath the waters, still-she stood stead- fast, watching as if expecting him, though he came not, until the last glow faded from the heavens and twilight fell upon another weary day. Yes, a balm came to her agonized heart from out the sea; she loved it as more than a friend; when but a child it had sent its delicate foam in play across her tiny feet as she trod the shore, and it had told her many a tale of wonder and delight in Te pebbles and pretty shells it had strewn'before her. As she grew older it had become a teacher; its voice, which the Almighty gave, was never to be wearisome, never silent, and even in her sweet slumbers still singing, singing all night long in her little chamber, and around the rude old house, still ever on the watch, hour by hour sounding 7 page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] "6 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. "all's well, all's well." And now, in the saddened expe- rience of her maturer life, that sea seemed to look up into her face with pity, and breathe sympathy, and say that all the trials of that poor heart once cast upon its waters should be lost in its immeasurable depths. And then slowly, but sweetly and serenely, as she sat upon its shore and looked over its far heaving surges, the load upon her soul grew lighter; and she was visited by visions of hap- pier days, days when he should at last obey the magnet s power of those persuasive eyes, and come once more to bless her. In silence she breathed to the deep listening sea all her hopes and fears, all her teider and most secret thoughts, and it gave back peace; peace far better than the hope deferred which maketh the heart sick, and from daily watching by the brink of ocean, she rose with gentler feelings, with new emotions, which, if not of hope, were yet not despair; with strength which enabled her once again to smile, and to cheer her parents in the poor old home. CHAPTER XIX. RACHELS HSTORY. RACHEL, the recluse, heard of Lucy's story soon after her return to the island. As we have before seen, she was on terms of intimacy with DMr. Tyrrell, and he: had told her of his daughter's misfortunes. She had appeared strangely interested when she heard the names of Mildred and Blanche mentioned; and without iiforming the pas- tor of her resolves, sent for Lucy to come and see her, as she now determined to inform her of her own history. She saw clearly, much more so than the clergyman could, what evil spirit was at work; and when she appointed a time for Lucy, she told her to bring with her those blank letters, of which she had been informed, as she wished to examine their superscription. Lucy obeyed, and set out on her visit. It was an October afternoon, chilly, and gusty; and the sunbeams' could scarce pierce the masses of heavry, gray clouds, which hung, lowering, over the sea, imparting to it their own leaden hue, varied by the occcasional slants of light, which fell upon its waters. The wind was rising, the surf dashed upon the shore with a long, moaning sound, as before a tempest; the sea birds flew around with wild shrieks; and one or two ves- sels in the offing, were making all sail for harbor, ere the tempest should gather upon them. Lucy found Rachel, as usual, alone; serene and stately. "I have heard your sad story, my poor child," she said; "I grieve for you, deeply. You can scarce believe me (147) page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8 ;BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. that I may be enabled to do you a service; but you must first listen to the history you have so often asked for. It is little worth the hearing; yet it is the true story of a life, and one life is as much from God as another. Your sorrow has come, but may it be your lightest. Now, wait an instant, and I will tell you;" and she arose. and opening the door, looked, as she was often accustoled to, over the wild sea, as if in search of some vessel; thet coming back, reseated herself, and began. "You know that I came from England. I was born in luxury, and reared with tender care; and at an early age was married to one I dearly loved; but, in a short time after my marriage, my parents were both carried off by a malignant fever which desolated London. ("My father, the son of a celebrated statesman, did not love his father, who was always harsh and unkind to him; and, immigrating to this country, after a few years in it alone, determined to make a permanent settlement with his family. He went back to England for them; when he was seized with the disease I mentioned, which swept off thousands in a few weeks. He left but a small property. My ills began with that first and dreadful be- reavement. Save my husband, I was nearly alone in the world. I had a sister; but she has, indeed, been to me rather as a fiend; and in her the fierce, unloveable spirit of my grandsire early displayed itself. My father used to say, that he feared she would bring down his gray hairs with sorrow to the grave; but I rejoice that he was spared the misery I have borne. My husband was of the same rank in life with me; for both families belonged to the gentry of the land ; but he, being a younger son, did not inherit a tithe of the property which the entail placed in the hands of his elder brother. But that was of little moment, for he loved me dearly, and a happy life I looked RACHEL'S HSTORY. 149 for. But the fever which had killed my father and mother, had ruined his health; for, after nursing them in their dreadful illness, when nurses and surgeons fled from con- tagion, and the only sound in the streets was the dead- cart rumbling by, he himself was attacked by the same disease; and though he rose from his bed of sickness, it was but as another creature, such a change had the fever wrought in him, who was before so strong and handsome. He removed from London to Warwickshire, not far fro m the proud castle of Warwick's earl, with whose family my own had been intimate for a century past. But the sweet country air of England only restored my husband's health for a brief season; then he drooped and died; and lies buried in the yard of St. Mary's church, amid the relics of the haughty Brookes and Grevilles.": Here Rachel paused a few moments, and covered her face with her hands; then, with a voice which trembled with agi- tation as she touched upon another subject, continued: (" he left but one to bear his name, a son ;" and when she thus spoke, she turned her face as if involuntarily, and looked out of the window towards the sea. "One son, sole joy that was left to me on earth. And now, where is he? He was between five and six years of age when my husband died, and I thought it best, because of my small property, to come to America; for here it would support me more comfortably than in England, the country of the rich alone. My sister, too, and her fam- ily, were about coming over, and I joined them in Lon- don, whence we all sailed together. It is a long time past; eighteen long years of sorrow and misery. And yet no end to a11 woe." And here Rachel, whom the reader has already dis- covered to be Mildred's sister, gave Lucy an account of the voyage, and of Barlow and Jane Hook, as well as of page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. Captain Brooke, whom she had known in England; but whom she did not at the time of .the voyage, suspect'of any improper intimacy with her sister. She continued her story, detailing the scenes between herself and Mil- dred at Newport, where they had parted, she uncon- scious of the ignominy which had been heaped upon her. "It was not," she said, " until after the death of my sister's husband, that I found out what a wretch she must be. Thinking she would be glad to have me with her in Virginia, to comfort her in hWr affliction, I took my little son, hoping that the sight of his bright, handsome, bold face would make her happier; as he could be playmate for her orphaned child, her sweet little daughter, But never shall I forget the harsh, bitter treatment I received. Even curses were mine; and blows might have been, had I remained much longer with her. I could scarce dream why, until my unnatural sister, knowing that I was inno- cent, accused me of the worst of crimes but murder, told me that a story which her husband believed, of my shame, was all proved true, that I had sinned with Captain Brooke, and that all the world should know it. I now saw how foully I had been slandered in Newport;" and here Rachel detailed to Lucy, an account of that plot, of which the reader has been informed. "This was too hard, it nearly crushed me; and, gathering my scanty wardrobe, I induced one kind-hearted black to remove me with my child, at night, froh the hateful abode of slander and crime. Yes, crime! for not long after I had returned in wretchedness to Newport, that dreadful Jane Hook appeared there, and confessed enough to make me firmlybelievethat she had committed some foul deed; what it was, she would not sAy, only that she knew I was inno- cent; that she, with Barlow, had been the means of blackening my character, but that my sister's punishment RACHEL'S HSTORY. I B had now begun, and that she should show no mercy-to her, the guilty adulteress, in expiation of her own sins, and in pity for me. All was now revealed; and I could account for my sister's hatred of me. Still, I could have lived down slander. I was not forced to beg bread; and my wretchedness, extreme as it was, I could have, per- haps, forgotten in time, but for my child." Here Rachel's recollections came again, with irresisti- ble power; she bowed her head, and sobbing wildly, shed those tears of frantic sorrow, which give almost as great pain when seen and listened to, as when wept by our- selves. "My poor, poor, lost son," she said; " oh! that I could but see him die, I would ask but to close his eyes, and bury him, and watch by his grave until death should lay me beside him; then could I feel that Heaven would forgive him, and accept us both. My son Ralph early displayed a spirit like that of his great grandsire; bold, rash, and wilful. He was ever fond of escaping from me, ,being absent for hours, and was he grew older, for days. The sea was his passion; he was born to live upon it, and long before he was ten years old, he could manage a boat with perfect skill; and fearless by nature, never hesitated to venture outside of the harbor in the wildest weather. Soon he acquired a perfect knowledge of every winding of the shore, every sounding of the bay.- Frequently it was deep night before he would come into harbor. But this love of the sea did not displease me; for I was glad that he was disposed to lead an active life. I shortly found, however, that he was ruled by no principle; nei- ther fear of God, nor love of me influencing him; though I would have died for him. He neglected his studies; refused at last to go longer to school; and what could I, a weak woman do, but weep and pray for him? His days passed- in idleness, amidst bad companions; he learned page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. their wicked ways, and lost all sense of shame. At last he told me that he wo ld enter some shop, and learn a trade. I had fondly hopel that he would finally change, and take to his books, that the pride of my heart might be gratified in sending him to college; for which purpose, I had saved every penny I could; and had almost denied myself food and clothes. And now, it pained me that he should engage in a calling in which I knew his wild and reckless habits would never serve him. But when I found that he was to be with that wretch, Elisha Barlow, I gave up all hope. What hold the villain had upon him, I could not then tell; but he exercised a fascination that drew my poor boy to him. I kfiew that he had furnished Ralph with money, for some services, which had always been spent with worthless comrades, in drunken revelry. When I begged him on my knees, to shun the miscreant, oh, God! then he mocked me, and I felt that my cup of misery was indeed full. By some means unknown to me, Barlow drew Ralph into his schemes, as he had done others; and my miserable son became, before he was six- teen years of age, one of a gang of marauders and smug- glers. No doubt his tempter was in league with these, one or two of whom, it was supposed, he sent to the gibbet, by information lodged with the government, so well timed, as. to screen himself from suspicion. This Barlow had the audacity to tell me that he knew enough of my son to hang him, when I confronted and upbraided him with his iniquity. "Not long after this, during one of those unlawful ex-. peditions, Ralph's life was jeopardized, and he nearly caused the death of one who had been the means of in- flicting cruel wrongs on me. The little vessel to which Ralph belonged, had landed goods on the coast, intended to be passed into the country without duties, and while t RACHEL'S HSTORY. 153 he and his companions were busy in their hiding place, storing their contraband articles and dividing their spoils, they were-surrounded by some of the revenue officers, led on by a captain in the navy, who had discovered their position, and had cruised off the coast for some time in hopes of capturing their vessel. The smugglers made a desperate resistance; one or two were taken and after- wards executed, the rest fought their way through their assailants and escaped. "Ralph was engaged in a struggle with the captain, and being at much younger and more powerful man, easily overcame him and cut him down. He was no other than Captain Brooke, who had exercised so fatal an influence on our fortunes. And now my tale is nearly told; a price is set upon the head of my son, but he seems to bear a charmed life; he has escaped a thousand snares and dangers, and still pursues his unlawful traffic on the seas, and every man's hand is against him." "But you have not yet told me why you are here, Rachel," said Lucy, now hesitating to call her by that designation. "My real name, Lucy, is Miriam; I took that of Rachel when I came here in order to more completely elude ob- servation. I could not remain in Newport, known as the mother of a robber and a pirate; no, there all things ap- peared to run red with blood," said the unhappy woman; "here at least I can hide my grief from every eye." "And- does Ralph know that you are here?" asked Lucy. "Yes, he has seen me;, now ask no more of him." "Not of him," answered Lucy, " and yet one question more. What was your sister's name?" "Mildred, Mildred Estcourt." I suspected as much, thought Lucy, remembering what page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 154 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. Charles Brandon had said of her ruthless character; but I did not know one could be so wicked. "Now, Lucy, darling," said Miriam, " let us speak of my sorrows no more. We have both suffered from the wickedness of one woman, but do not despair. Let me look at those blank packets which came from Virginia." Lucy showed them. Miriam regarded the superscrip- tions attentively, and said nothing, but she thought,- "Just as I deemed would prove true-her writing, her writing. Merciful heaven! Igrant that in this instance I may prevail ;" and her thoughts took the shape of resolves to write/ forthwith to two persons, who, she hoped, would do good service to Lucy Tyrrell. During Miriam's narrative, the wind had risen to full fury, and as Lucy walked homewards, the whole ocean was lashed into foam; that night a dreadful tempest, ac- companied by thunder and lightning, struck terror to her heart. The frightful creatures of whom she had heard, in her dreams appeared to be connected with her fate; and the tumult of the elements which shook her window, was, to her terrified imagination, some hideous shape striving to burst the casement, and seize her in its grasp. CHAPTER XX. NiWPORT OF OLD. T quaint little town of ewport was very muchthe same one hundred years ago that it is to-day, we mean the portion of it lying along the harbor; for its costly and thbeau potionful vias whihnow make it the most exquisite of ,U -enilvillas which now HM o^ summer residences, are the creations of the last fifteen summer residences, are desjrab it asec years. We need not, therefore, fully desribe its aspet at the time of our story, for it can easiy be seen now bY any one of a party who trustshimself n a pleasure boat, to the pilotage of Captain King of the ,Susan I loyd or old Father Nason of the "Mary " e must imagine that he is a loyal s u bject of King George the Saie, that he ointed, office-seeker under Second, instead of a disa! Then forgetting the administration of James Buchanan. The oen his grumbling, as he shoots past the light-house on the pier at the end ofGoatisland, let him look overght the harbor and he. will see, with one or two slight changes, such as a steeple here and there, the very Newport of our story. Here were stulde many of the same houses which now cause the stranger to wonder at their old quaint gabl se and carved onces and on the brow of the hill stood the classic Redwood Library, then the recent work of the assistant architect of Blenheim the recent work I spretaeed gracefully aloft, Palace. Trinity Churchspire tapered gracefully a ft and the mysterious old stone mill, sc e rendere ahn- dred fold more interesting by the geniusoope d dre05 page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. Longfellow, wore the same ruined look it bears now. The sunny glades, the sequestered dells, and the wild sea- shore, of which such exquisite descriptions live in the poetry of Brooks, and Tuckerman, and Calvert, were scarce different, only more lonely then. The tints of the skies were as pure as those which have inspired the coloring of Malbone and Staigg, in their invaluable miniatures, and the rocky cliff and the blue sea shone bright, but had not then charmed a master painter like Kensett. What a jewel is that little Rhode Island, with which there is nothing to compare on the whole Atlantic coast! Shielded alike from the rigorous cold of the north and the burning heats of southern summers, the Gulf Stream, which plays along its shores, tempers its waters, as if loth to part with so much beauty, kindly freights the gales with sweet remembrances of its warmth, and diffuses in the atmosphere that delicious softness conducing to repose, yet without the langour of tropic climes. The island scenery is of every varied charm, from the craggy v shores, the smooth, hard beaches, where the sea birds circle and fishers cast their seine, to the wooded glens, the rich teeming meadow lands, the round bare hills, crowned here and there with the breastworks of revolu- tionary days, or the ancient windmills which grind the corn, while the old patient pony waits for his load, tethered to the moss-covered stone wall. Who loves not to look upon the dense, dark orchard of gnarled apple trees, the cool, deep wells, and long beam for drawing water, the peculiar sycamores lining the roads for miles, too many of them now touched by decay; the silent, lonely ponds of fresh water, decked with odorous lilies; the historic "Hanging Rocks," where the spiritual Berkeley sat and wrote his deathless works, and the NEWPORT OF OLD. 157 greener cliffs, trod in long hours of religious musing by the eloquent Channing. Lady Mildred and Blanche Estcourt arrived safely in Newport after their tedious journey, and repaired to the public house of that day, which was kept by John Law- ton, familiarly called"Jack." His tavern stood nearly op- posite to the State House, but no sign of it now arrests the antiquarian's attention. The snug, c6sy, high-peaked, gabled inn, of reddish brown, has been destroyed to make room for the present staring white shingle palace, known as the Park House, but yet, "Imagination fondly stoops to trace The parlor splendors of that festive place; The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnished clock that clicked behind the door; The hearth, except when winter chilled the day, With aspen boughs, and flowers and feniiel gay; Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, And news-much older than their ale went round." Jack Lawton did one's heart good to look at; rosy and portly, he stood in his top boots the picture of independ- ence and good humor. His scarlet waistcoat, with shin- ing buttons, set off the shape of his capacious paunch, and was pleasant to behold. One of his eyes had a remark- able twinkle in it, as if he had always something funny to tell of; it was merrier than his laugh, for that began so far down, and had so much fat' to contend with, that it was nearly stifled, and slowly gurgled up like air bubbles from an ale butt. "We shall remain, sir, some time, and wish therefore to have your best rooms," said Mildred. 4 Yes, ma'rm; I will show you one room I can give you, the same one as famous Dean Berkeley used to sleep page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 BRiNDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. in sometimes. Dean he was when he was over Trinity Church; bishop he's been since; dead he is now, ma'rm, these five years. Lord rest his soul, ma'rm," and Jack's countenance would have looked solemn but for his eye, which was twinkling rapidly. "I have heard of Bishop Berkeley, a famous scholar; and did you know himswell, Mr. Lawton?"Mildred con- descended to say. "Know him, ma'rm? would know his bones, poor soul! It's nigh thirty years since he come out to Rhode Island; stayed here two and a half year, ma'rm, and made every body love him. He preached. in Trinity Church, close by here, where you'll see the organ he gave to it; plays most beautiful, with a crownd on top on it." "And he sometimes slept in this room?" asked Blanche. "Yes, miss, sometimes he come in from Whitehall, where he lived; its three mile out from town. I always drives strangers out as- likes to see the place, and I shows 'em the Hanging Rocks, too, where he wrote his books. I has a nice copy of his works, miss." "Ah, have you read them, Mr. Lawton?" "Why no, miss," said Jack, very frankly, and not at all confused; " you see in my youth I has'nt had the benefit of much schooling, and them works of the bishop's is too deep for me; but I am a keeping 'em for my little girls, as now goes a schoolin' to Mrs. Morpus, and I am proud to say, miss, there is'nt two smarter girls as goes to school anywhere. They will understand 'em, in course." "You are very proud and fond of the memory of your good bishop I find, Mr. Lawton." "Yes indeed, miss, and we ought to be, he did a great deal for us in Newport, though he stayed such a short time, only two and a half year; but times is altered NEWPORT OF OLD. 159 now," said Jack, despondingly, " they is not so good as they once was." Tnnkeepers are not apt to take melancholy views of life, but it is a peculiarity of the race all the world over, and worthy of note, that they always inform their patrons that times are not so good as they once were. "Then those days were very pleasant," said Blanche, willing to indulge Jack on a theme which appeared so interesting to him. "Lord' bless us, yes, miss; there was Dean Berkeley, and Mr. Callender, the parson, and Mr. Redwood, him as founded the library, you'll see it on the hill, and other gentlemen of known parts. Sometimes they used to dine here, and always said I gave. 'em good wines. I've many a time since heard it said that there was'nt no such fine society anywheres else in the whole colonies. Ah, them. was times!" and Jack's eye in his enthusiasm sparkled like Siriu "And who is sittled over Trinity Church, now, sir?" asked Mildred, turning the conversation. "' The Revsd Thomas Pollen, ma'rm; he came out from England about four years ago. Nice man, but he can't come up to the Dean. Mrs. Morpus, as my little girls goes to school to, keeps house for him; there she go now, ma'am." Jack pointed out of the window, and the ladies saw a stately figure walking with solemn grandeur -at the head of a troop of little girls. The procession moved with remarkable precision, for Mrs. Morpus prided herself strongly on "deportment,"' and instructed her pupils to assume a queenly carriage in the street. Her presence was rendered more imposing by a bonnet of warlike shape, something like a casque, crowned with heavy ostrich plumes, which to classic readers recalled Hector's helmet, whose "nodding crest" terrified his page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 . BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. infant. A corpulent green umbrella, decorated with a long brass ferule, a ring, and a hooked horn handle, waved in a majestic manner, and rather added to the formidable. state of Mrs. Morpus. The most rash man might well pause before encountering that lance which was a terror to all the little boys in Newport. "So that is Mrs. Morpus?" said Mildred; "I shall become acquainted with her when I see Mr TPollen, as I intend to. Can you tell me, Mr. Lawton, if such a per- son as Elisha Barlow has a shop in this town?" Jack's eye at this question winked more than ever, it glittered like a whole constellation on a clear winter's night. "Yes, ma'rm, he has; but my private opinion is, that Lishe Barlow is no more nor less than a willin. I never lets him come nigh me with his palaver. Mrs. Morpus is the one for him, too. He takes to his heels when he sees her a coming. Does you know him, ma'rm?" "I have heard of him. If we wish for anything more Mr. Lawton, we will call you." "Thank you ma'rm, always at your service;" and mine host bowed and took his leave. When Blanche was in some degree restored from her fatigue, her health being much impaired, as she showed by her altered looks, her mother began, in the first place, to search for her sister Miriam; with what success may be imagined. She could hear nothing of her, but she was told enough, and more than enough, of her son Ralph, whose story was narrated in the last chapter, and whom she heard spoken of as a wonder of deviltry and daring, bidding fair to rival C:iptain Kidd in time, provided his neck was not broken too early in life. Of Miriam, as we shall henceforth call her, she could only hear that she had suddenly disappeared; few knew NEWPORT OF OLD. ; 161 enough of her to pursue any long conversation on the subject; in fact, she had always led nearly as secluded a life in Newport as when Lucy found her in the island. Baffled in her quest, Mildred was surprised one after- noon by a visiter announced as Mr. Castlemain, who de- sired to see her in private. On his entrance, she found- him to be a very presentable personage. He was a law- yer of distinguished reputation in the Providence Planta- tions, a man of about fifty years of age, and of dignified, noble appearance. "Madam Estcourt, I believe," said Mr. Castlemain. "The same, sir; be seated, and inform me, if you please, why I have the honior of your visit."- After some preliminary conversation on general topics, Castlemain said, "I called to see you, madam, in relation to a sister of yours, whom I believe you have not seen for some years. Miriam is her name, I think." "Yes, sir; Miriam Estcourt, a dearly beloved sister, whom it grieves me to find that I cannot hear of. My poor dear sister!" "H-m," said Mr. Castlemain, slowly drawing a long breath; ' you are fondly attached to her, I have no doubt. Pray, madam, have you ever heard of a will made by your late lamented husband in favor of your sister's son?" '"Yes, I have heard such a thing mentioned, but I do not believe he ever did such an act of injustice to Mfe; besides, the will never could be found, and I have been in possession of the estate in full for many years." "Mr. Redtape drew that will, did he not?" "I have told you, sir, that I do not believe there ever was a will; nothing could be learned of it, and we should doubtless have long since have forgotten it but for the pertinacity of Mr. Redtape." \ page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. "Very likely, madam; but he informed you that there was a will, if I mistake not." "Yes, sir," said Mildred, looking at him with wonder, b' how did you know it?" "Oh, we lawyers frequently have .correspondence at long distances; I have known Mr. Redtape for many years. Now, madam, let us suppose for a moment that your husband, in his last moments, did make such a will, can you assign any reason for it, or have you any sus- picion of the cause which could possibly induce him to do so?" "No, I have not," said Mildred, haughtily. "Very good, madam. Now in the second place, I wish to know if you are acquainted with the character of a trader in this town named Elisha Barlow, and his wife, who was a Jane Hook?" "Yes, I know them thoroughly; Jane was my maid." "Your opinion of them is not very- high, I presume." "I hate them!" "I suppose so," said Castlemain, adding suddenly, in the midst of her anger, " how much do you think, that from first to last, you have paid them?" Thrown off her guard completely by Castlemain's manner, "Full three thousand pounds," said she; then dis- covering her mistake, she hurriedly added, "What did you ask, money? I have paid them none, why should I? I mistook your question; paid them!-nothing." "My dear madam, your first answer was the true one; do not attempt to deceive me." "I wish to deceive no one," said Mildred. "Only perhaps in this instance," thought Castlemain. "Now I wish to know distinctly if the sum you named to me is the true one, or is it exaggerated?" ( I will answer you nothing more, sir. IlHow dare you, NEWPORT OF OLD. 163 a perfect stranger to me, put such questions? I should think you were another Redtape." "We are very good friends, and know more of this whole business than you think for; but intend you no harm; and you may do yourself a service by answering quietly the questions that I put to you." "I will not answer them until I learn your authority for questioning me; and above all, the name of the person from whom you received the information you appear to be possessed of." "Are you very desirous of hearing the name of that personage? it might call up recollections not altogether agreeabte to you." "What care I for recollections; you have no one to name, you are thinking to make sport of me; do your worst." - "His name, then," answered the imperturbable lawyer, "since you are anxious to hear it, is Brooke, of his Majesty's naval service; Captain Greville Brooke, and at the time he gave me this information, he- put into my hand a packet of letters, most of them very brief and very pointed. Here they are," he added, drawing them from his pocket, and holding them towards Mildred; "do you recognize the hand-writing?" "Oh, my God!" gasped Mildred, as she heard that name pronounced, and saw her own writing on the fatal notes she had sent to Brooke, " ask what you want of me; be quick, and spare me." "You deserve pity, indeed," retorted Castlemain, "for your kindness to your sister. .She is, however, I believe, far happier this day, with all her misfortunes, than you are. Do not think that I am about to make use of these letters; they have been in my possession for :y years, and no one except Captain Brooke knows of thefr page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. existence, not even my friend Redtape. You, I think, have been justly punished, not only in the loss of money, but the agonies of remorse, for which -there is no balm. Now listen to me attentively, for the punishment towards you is not intended, but is for Barlow, whom I consider even more guilty. Do you know of the actual existence of that will, and where it is?" "I do not believe in the will at all," said Mildred with dogged obstinacy, now recovering herself. "You must, madam," said Castlemain, " or you would not have paid out full three thousand pounds hush money." -' And if there is such a one, heavens, only think of it, the whole property would pass out of my hands!" "Assuredly! but how many years have you helped to keep your innocent sister and her son from the enjoyment of their rights. At this instant you might be living together with far more happiness to you than all your gold has ever bought for you. I know your sister -Miriam well, and had she at the time of your husband's death even known of your guilt as thoroughly as she does now, she would have been too generous to have cast you off penniless. It was a devilish, murderous business throwing your own guilt on her in the way you did; it helped to unsettle her reason for a time; she lost control over her son, who, but for your unparalleled baseness, might at this instant be her support and stay, instead of wandering, as he does, with a price set upon him, as a pirate and a smuggler. Oh, woman, what an awful posi- tion is thine; think upon it! ', "But, indeed," said Mildred frantically, "I never saw that will; if it was made, God knows I am innocent of having secreted it." "And I believe you are," said Mr. Castlemain, "and NEWPORT OF OLD. 100 am happy to say thusomuch for you; all might at this day have been well enough, if, at the first attempt at extortion on the part of Barlow, you had refused and exposed him; even if the will had been found, it was as much as his neck was worth to have had it in his possession. You would have found Mr. Redtape a kind listener, and by no means a harsh man. Have you any of Barlow's or Jane Hook's letters?" "( No," said Mildred, humbled, "I burnt them all for fear of discovery." "That is a pity, they would be strong evidence against them." "Where is Miriam?" asked Mildred. "That, madam, I must n6w decline to inform you; she does not wish to see you." "C Oh, what shall I do! what will-become of me!" "Keep quiet, my dear madam, keep quiet, no evil is likely to befall you just now; let me entreat you, for you now see I have your good at heart, to remain in this place for a while, and do nothing but attend to-yottr daughter's health. The poor young lady, I fear, has much need of care, but you know our Newport breezes are famed for their good effects on invalids. You did not come here exclusively on her behalf, as I well know from Mr. Redtape, but now redeem the purpose of your visit by devotion to her. My daughter, Emily, will take great pleasure in calling upon Miss Blanche. Once more, madam," said the counsellor, rising, (" only one word of advice: Do not go near that detestable Barlow or his wife; you know enough of them. You need have no fear of their extorting any more money from you; I will provide against that. I have my eyes on Barlow, and, will or no will, shall endeavor to trip him up before page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO, long. Again let me beg you, madam, not to go near him." With this warning,. Mr. George Castlemain, bidding good day, sallied forth, and, going to his own house, sat down to write a long letter, and, we hope, a very satis- factory one, to Ranger Redtape, Esq., of Williamsburg, Virginia. I *' d CHAPTER XXI. VISITING A TIGER. IT was a pleasant season in Newport, and Mildred, according to the advice of Mr. Castlemain, remained several weeks without attempting to see' Jane or Elisha. Emily Castlemain made the acquaintance of Blanche, to whom, with that rapidity which ladies use in such matters, she became much attached, although she disliked her proud, haughty mother as others did. Poor Blanche. knew that soft breezes and beautiful scenery could do little for her. She enjoyed the island, and thought a home there would be far better suited to her than in the richer south, but the memory of one passionately loved ever mingled itself with her visions and hopes. "If he could be with me, even for the little time I have to live, how much happier could I die," she thought, and she no longer endeavored to cast his image from her. Deep within she felt the glow and fire of strength growing feebler, while her pulse rapidly beating, like the unchecked spring of the time-piece, was the sure indication that life would soon cease its throbbing and be still forever. Yet she looked'forward with no dread and no sorrow beyond that of leaving her mother, whom she dearly loved, and of whose real character she was quite ignorant; little knowing that for her own purposes of aggrandisement that mother was still scheming to make use of her. But now she passed days of happiness, or what she supposed happiness, sent, as she thought, by (167) page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 168 BRANDON; 1OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. kind heaven-a sort of delicious dreamy existence, in the soft, sunny autumns days, which she knew must before long change for winter's chill. On one occasion, after visiting the shore, now so thronged with pleasure seekers, she composed and dedicated to her friend Miss Castle- main the following copy of verses, on "- THE CLIFF AT NEWPORT." For long bright hours could I sit and dream, And gaze upon the ocean waves, which seem To bring each day new visions of delight, Each day unveil new glories to the sight. Dashing and foaming, with their feathery spray, Onward in gladsome chase they speed their way, Breaking in silvery streams the brown rocks o'er, Or lulled to rest upon the pebbly shore. And oft an instant's pausing seems to fill All things with sacred silence, and to still The water's voice;--again their solemn sound, Rolls like deep organ harmony around. And, Oh I how lovely when the parting day Sheds softest radiance ere it fades away; And the broad vault of heaven's reflected hue In golden lustre tinges Ocean's blue: When far amid the bright and glowing west, The weary sun lies cradled on the breast Of gorgeous clouds,-'neath canopies of light, And dazzling glory, vanishes from sight. Oh, I could gaze forever, and still learn Of thee, exhaustless Ocean I still discern From thy deep volume, thy eternal roll, More that must raise and purify the soul. Still proudly roll I bearing upon thy breast Some to their haven, some to endless rest; And let thy grand, unwearied voice proclaim Thy mighty Ruler-evermore the samel VISITING A TIGER. 469 In spite of the caution which Mr. Castlemain had given her Mildred finally could not resistiher desire of con- fronting Elisha. She saw him in Trinity Church on Sun- days, his face wearing an expression of sanctimonious humility and great appearance of devotion. He handled the plate for collection with an air implying, "I am not worthy to touch it," and she observed him after- wards even partaking of the holy communion, professing to rejoice that he, at least, was " not like this publican." Curiosity, rage, and hopes of vengeance prompted her to seek him, and although the rascal, no doubt well on his guard from the warnings of Mr. Castlemain, had uniformly passed her as if he had never known her, she determined to visit him and open the subject of the will. Accordingly, learning from Emily Castlemain that her father had gone out of town for the day, she Plressed and repaired to Barlow's shop, which the curious in such matters may see to this day in Newp ort, on the main street, nearly opposite to Peckham and Bull's wharf; though, we are happy to say, they will not find Elisha therein. The Paper Tiger, at the moment of Mildred's entrance, was engaged in some nice calculations, a kind of triple rule of three, in which " sugar," and " rum," and "nig- gers," were the quantities involved, and the computation was evidently pleasing, from the rascally smile which lighted his white Tfeatures. No sooner, however, did he hear that commanding voice pronounce his name, than the smile was gone, the " niggers" took to their heels, and he felt nearly as frightened as when Captain Walrus laid his huge fist alongside his nose. "Drat that are woman," thought Elisha, " when I was a susposin' now Mr. Castlemain had made everything all right; but I must try to get her out; let, me study over $ page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] 170 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED'YEARS AGO. it," and Rlisha pretended to be absorbed with his calcula- tions, and not to hiave heard her. "Mr. Barlow," bawled Jimmy Wallk a-small boy, "here, sir, if you please, a lady wishes to see you," and Elisha went forward, looking as innocent as a lamb led to slaughter. "I have come to see you at last, sir," said Mildred, with abrupt hauteur. "Well, now, reelly, ma'am, reelly at this ere instant I cannot noways remember your name. I think you must have made a mistake; its no doubt my neighbor Tilley you called to see, we is frequently mistook for one another; he lives jest acrost the way; Jimmy will show you." "No he will not," said Mildred; "I know nothing of your neighbor Tilley, and I came to see you, Elisha Barlow. My name is Mildred' Estcourt, and you know it well enough." "There now, reelly, jest I come forward I was a think- in' if this could be any old friend of mine, btut, not lookin' to see you in Newport, or herin' of your bein' here, it kind a 'soaped my memory. . Reelly, now, I'm delighted to see you." "False, sir," said Mildred, who was disgusted with Elisha's lying speech; "false, as you 'have ever been yourself sir." "Look out for fun now," said Charley Smith to :Ben Franklin (not the philosopher) ; " how she does give it to the old sinner; glad of it too," and the shopboys giggled with delight. "Reelly, ma'am, upon my word," said the Paper Tiger, looking rather alarmed, " this kind of conduct is most extra-ordinary, ma'am; I makes no profession of bein' a liar. A member of the church, ma'am, and one of the , VISITING A TIGER. 171 vestry to be talked to in this sort'er way! I don't think, if I was'nithonest, I should be allowed to hand round the collection plate on Sunday. Did you not see me, ma'am, engaged in that are trust?" "And if you did not steal the money you received," answered Mildred, " you must be strangely altered. You to pretend not to know me!" "Indeed, now," said Elisha, chuckling, as he thought of what he had gained, and, looking at her with a villain- ous smile, " surely you is'nt able to say that I have ever had any money of yourn; but if I have, and you'll only mention what for, I'll get one of our young men, Lycur- gus Hill, to make out your account." Perceiving that he had stung her, he called out, "Curgy," and resuming his look of injured innocence, paused for a reply. Receiv- ing none, for Mildred was now so enraged that she could not speak, "Now I comes to think on it," he continued, maliciously, " only a short time ago a friend of yourn, Cap- ting Banks, was it! let me see; no, that was'nt the name; no, Capting Brooke, ah, that was it! Brooke, ma'am; ah, I see you recollects him! was in, and".... ":If you have a room, sir," said Mildred, haughtily, ," to which we can retire from the gaze of these striplings, I will beobliged to you f ("Oh, certing, certing," snarled Elisha; "should have offered it before, only when one makes out as how I was a liar and a thief, I is'nt so particular. As I was a sayin', Capting Brooke called to ask about you, and ". ... "Lead on, sir," said Mildred, in a low voice; " lead on, and if you dare to mention that man's name again, I will have you cudgeled in your own shop." As the door of the private room was closed upon them, and they stood face to face without disguise, "Now," said Elisha, turning his pallid, villainous countenance page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. upon her, the foam almost flying from his lips, and his eyes gleaming with fury, "now, damn you, you , talk to me in that are style again, and I'll strangle you." "Cease to damn me, Elisha Barlow, but reserve your curses for yourself; your days are numbered, and I hope to see you end them at the gibbet. The rope that stretches your neck. is already twisted; and did you dream of forever escaping my vengeance? I have proof enough against you, mark my wordsf an Mr. Castlemain shall avenge me." It would have been a singular sight to the lover of w marvellous changes, to have noted that which came over the Paper Tiger, at the sound of that name. His knees literally smote together, his lips quivered, a cold sweat broke out upon his brow, he tottered to a seat, and gasped out, "Oh, Lord! now, Ma'am Estcourt, mercy!" Mildred looked at him with the deadly eye of an ana- conda, before springing upon its victim. "Mercy! you shall have it. I wowld laugh to see you ground to pow- der between mill-stones, or slowly sawn into shreds. I would sit beside you in your dungeon, and make you die a thousand deaths, in the terrors I would paint of that hell into which your coward soul will plunge; and I would see you robed in your ,shroud, and watch you writhe in torture, as you swung in air. Will that do, for mercy's sake? You devil, you leech, who have been sucking my life-blood for years, your time is near at h'and." "Yet," continued Mildred, seeing the effect she had produced on him, to her own astonishment, 'it may be well with you even now. Answer me what I ask you, and, for once in your life, speak truly, or you will rue your lies."- VISITING A TIGER. 173 "I will," said Elisha, faintly; "now ask what you wants as soon as possible, 'cause I expects people begins to wonder at my bein' out of the shop so long., "Let them wait; what care I for that? Now, tell me, sirrah,- when and where you last saw Captain Brooke." "I hasn't seed him for years-not since about the time your sister, Miriam, left here." "I knew you had not. Now, have you anything to say about Miriam? Where is she?" "As sure as there's a God in heaven, I doesn't know. I tried to find out, not long since-the time you wrote'. Janey, askin--and Mr. Castlemain found I was a doin' so, and said if I dared make any more search for her- O Lord, he did talk awful!" "And Ralph-where is he? You have seen him but a short time since, I know." "Oh dear, now, how did you happen to know so? Seems to me like as if hell was breakin' up all round me!" "Of course it is--the devils will soon be on you," replied his comforter; " where is Ralph? I say." "Well, now, Ma'am Estcourt, I am a goin' to tell you somethink, out of the great regard I used to have for you in past times, afore these ere troubles of ourn come on us. Ralph, you know, is jest tied right up; he is at -sea somewhere-somewhere, pursuin' his unlawful trade"--and here Elisha, with hypocrisy that had be- come almost second nature, rolled up his eyes in horror- "but, you see, the Government's on the look-out for him, and next time he tries to land on the coast it'll be right down on him. Now, I'm anxious that Ralph should be spared, if possible, and so is Mr. Castlemain; we has agreed together on that' are pint. How nice it might have been for Ralph, if he'd only tuk my advice, and page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 BRBANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. done jest right. Many a time I've warned him of his sinful course; sez I, Ralph, now . . . ." "Hush!you make me sick with your lies. What of Ralph?" "Well, now, the whole long and short of the matter is, I spose, you want to know concerning that are will, and I think I've hit on a nice little plan I've been a studyin' over. You know, susposin' the will was de- stroyed, you'd feel all right, and so would I. Ralph, as I say, is out of the question. Now, don't you think if I was to make you sure, by actooally destroyin' that are parchment you're a lookin' on, that I ought r have some- think for all the trouble I've had about it? Say some- think quite nice and handsome, now, and I'll set right to work. Then you'll feel all comfortable, as you know I could never ask you for anythink more." The-audacity of this cool proposal was too much for Mildred. "Elisha Barlow," said she, " talk not to me of Ralph being out of the way; he is not dead. You know, vil- lain, thiat you trained him in wickedness from his boy- hood; that he might become tainted with crime and branded as a felon, because he was the heir named in the will. You judged that if he was compromised, you could more easily plunder me, and prevent him fi'om claiming-his own. That has been your plot; was there ever a viler one?" "Well, reelly, now ma'am, you has found me out; I'm sorry, very sorry, but that aint no matter now; lets talk of this ere other plan of mine." The scamp, in greedy hope of more plunder, again urged his proposal. He had, without thinking of it, or intending to do so, informed Mildred of the will, and of his complicity with Ralph, two points which she was glad VISITING A TIGER. 175 to know of. She slowly drew her chair upto ElishaWs, to-ok him by the arm, and fixing on him the gaze of a basilisk, hissed out: "Give me that will, or I will have you murdered. Give it to me; not a penny more of mine shall ever cross your palms, but instead, if you do not pay me a round sum back, you shall swing as sure as there is a gallows in the land. Do you mind me?" she- asked, shaking him fiercely. "Ah, what have I done! When I told you that are, I thought we was agoin to be friends," said Elisha, tremb- ling with fear. Mildred, not condescending to answer this; looked at him with eyes, in which, for friendship, one might read daggers or poison; then repeated, '"Give me that will, and pay what I demand of you, or this day I denounce you to Mr. Castlemain." "Don't, ah don't!" whined the Paper Tiger, appearing now to be bereft of teeth and talons. "I will, by heaven, unless yol take heed; will you obey me?" "Yes, I will." "At once?" 3 ' "Yes, as soon, that is, as I can get that are will; it's not in Newport.", "Mind you do not lie any more to me; how long will it take you to get it?" "A day or two, if you will only keep quiet; but not to make you feel oneasy, I will pay you somethink now. We can settle that are up at onc't. Let me see, I 'spose fifty pounds would make that all right!" "Fifty pounds, you miser! fifty pounds to me! pay me down five hundred pounds, and that for the first instal- ment of what you shall have to disburse, or your neck is not worth a week's purchase. Five hundred pounds; do page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. you supposes I do not know thoroughly, as well as Mr. Castlemain, of your riches, through your connection with smugglers and ruffians; my poor nephew Ralph, among the number, whom you have made what he is!" This random shaft of Mildred's winged home; the wretched Elisha imagining his plots all discovered, was ready tfo promise anything; and after vainly trying to buy Mildred off with one, two, three, four, or even four hundred and fifty pounds, had the inexpressible misery of paying the inexorable woman five hundred to hold her peace, besides agreeing to put the will into her hands in a day or two. Well pleased was Mildred with the result of her visit, -which opened so inauspiciously; while Elisha felt degraded in his own eyes, and completely disgusted at the manner in which he had been -used by the imperious Lady Mildred. ,/ - CHAPTER XXII. TRAITORS IN THE CAMP. THE plotters little imagined that their interview had been known to a third party, who, unseen and unheard, had listened to every word between them. Mildred perhaps would not have cared much, but we "reelly" tremble to think what Elisha's feelings would have been. It so happened that Mr. Castlemain, not having any very firm faith in Mildred's promises, had ordered her to:be watched; and as ministers of police frequently select agents with whom they would not associate, yet employ for their skill, our old acquaintance, Jane Hook, had been chosen foF the service of spy. She passed for Mrs. Barlow, but she was not, Elisha having falsified his promises to her, as he had to every body else, and year after year, put off making his treach- ery to her " all right " by marriage. The woman, whose character we know thoroughly, determined at length to be revenged, and as soon as Mildred made her appearance in Newport, knowing that her visit must beim connection with Elisha, she went to Mr. Castlemain and unfolded a pretty tale of deception towards herself, as well as a long catalogue of rogueries, in which smuggling was not the worst. So much did she -tell, and so true -her words proved, that Castlemain, finding her loje for the wretch turned into hatred, employed her to w ch him as well as Mildred. When they came into that back-room, she being in an apartment overhead, heard their voices, and stealing down a narrow, dark stairway, fastened at its 8* 177) page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] 178 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. foot the doorw yhich opened into the apartment, then ap- plying her eye to the- key-hole, after the most approved chamber-maid-style, she saw and heard every thing with secure delight. Nor was it long ere Castlemain was in- formed of this; he saw Mildred at once, and hinted that the air of Newport was only suited to her on account of her daughter; then perceiving that she did not uhder- stand his meaning, he astounded her by a detail of much of her own conversation with Barlow, and informed her, that if she attempted to see him again, she would be the sufferer. He sarcastically asked her to be content with five hun- dred pounds, and moreover frightened her well by telling her not to open letters again unless they were addressed to herself. She could not imagine how he had derived this intelligence, never thinking it came from Miriam, but supposing that the argus-eyed Redtape, who appeared to be capable of seeing through stone walls, had found out that she opened Charles Brandon's letters. It will be remembered that Blanche had determined to fathom the mystery of the letters which had caused her mother such distress, but the state of her health had not permitted her to do so; and she had been quieted by Mildred, who told her joyfully that she had recovered a handsome sum of money from one who had defrauded her. That had been the only cause of her distress, and Blanche feeling unable to pursue the matter, was obliged to be content with this information. Mildred could secure no further chance of seeing Elisha, except at his devotions in church, and at length took her departure, with Blanche, for Virginia, baffled in regard to the will, when it was almost in her grasp. She had been assured by Castlemain that Barlow could give her no more trouble. RalDh was outlawed; but what if the . , L AlAl AAJA AA]^ $AAA, ,L: l, Vt .ilt - ,-- . I v will should fall into Castlemain's hands, and he determine that Miriam should be reinstated. She shuddered at the prospect before her; she must marry Blanche to Charles Brandon now, or she should go mad with misfortune and despair. We need not detail the interviews which Mr. Castle- main had with Elisha; it is sufficient to say that they were of such nature as to make the trader feel very uncomfort- able and uncertain as to his own position. He consequently tried to be more than ever devotional before men, while he was revolving various plans to save himself, by delivering up some of his freebooting friends to the tender mercies of the government. This being accomplished, and his own safety insured, he was resolved to give up such a dangerous branch of business, and live an altogether different life. A short time after Mildred had left Newport, in the dawn of a January morning, a small vessel might have been descried coming in from sea, and before the sun arose, she had entered the west passage'of Narraganset Bay, and as if seeking to avoid observation, anchored in a sheltered nook between Connanicut and Dutch Islands, quite out of the range of vision. Her sails were not furled, but clewed up, and she swung at her moorings as if ready at an instant's warning to trip her anchor and scud before the breeze. A sharp watch was set, and all that day some'one was pacing her decks, ever, sweeping the horizon with his glass, but no sail hove in sight. The vessel was small, of not more than two hundred and fifty tons burthen, brig rigged, heavily sparred, and spreading an immense area of canvas in proportion to her size; her model was built for speed- as well as strength, and her deck swarming with desperate-looking characters, had also a number of heavy guns which now, page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. however, were drawn in board, and the ports closed; so that to, a stranger's eye, at a little distance, she'would appear only a peaceful trader. But this was the famous smuggler, which had been a slaver too, the "Walk to Windward," as she was named, and which had so long baffled the efforts of his Majesty's ships to take her, had beaten off more than one of supe- rior force, and was almost unmatched in swiftness by any craft that sailed, Ralph Estcourt (he was known on board of ship by another name) had now the command of her; a rapid career of vice and crime had placed him in his position of captain at the age of twenty-six, and well was he formed for such a service. The ruffian who- had commanded the vessel before him, was a disciple of the terrific Black- beard; and when that - monster's haunt on the Carolina coast was broken up in 1718, had sailed several vessels, not so openly piratical in their character as were his mas- ter's. Through the instrumentality of Elisha Barlow, Ralph had been introduced to the smuggler, who took a great liking to him. In one of their voyages, this cap- tain ended a long life of crime in a scuffle with a desper ate negro on the coast of Guinea; and Estcourt, then but about twenty years of age, was at once elected to the command of the vessel. He was now seated in the cabin, gazing listlessly out of one of the stern ports at the distant ocean, and he occasionally hailed the watch on, deck to learn whether he saw anything in the offing. He-was tall and muscular, with atlantean shoulders and chest,: indicating tremendous strength; a bronzed, ruddy face,?strikingly handsome, with large, intensely blue, cold eyes expressed mind in no common degree, while firm-set lips, as well as the massive jaw which showed through his heavy beard, spoke of dauntless courage- and daring. TRAITORS IN THE CAMP. 181 "We must wait till night-fall," Ralph said to the watch, who was pacing the deck above. "Aye," answered the other, " but there is a moon to-night." "A young one, though; it will soon be down; a fog would suit us better, for we could sweep her in, if the wind failed, and I know, by soundings, every inch of the channel." "There will be no difficulty about that, captain," said Estcourt's "first lieutenant" (as he styled himself), who humbly imitated Ralph, and was now seated by him in the cabin. "No difficulty about running in easy enough, but the trouble-will be in getting that rascal Barlow to come off. He must be a damned scoundrel to have served you so about that property of yours, you told me of the other day; how shall we manage to bring him off without creating a brawl?" "Leave that to me, Dick Boltrope," returned Ralph. "Yes, evil blast him, to have kept me from wealth and honor, as he has, and made me what I am, with a price set on me, and as much as my life is worth to run in shore anywhere!" "You are sure, these men, captain, have not trumped up this story to try to noose you?" "No, indeed; Admiral Brooke and Castlemain could have had no interest in hatching such a lie. They know ! I am too old a bird to be caught with chaff; yet, ever since that time, you remember it, when we were landing ; goods up the coast, and I cut Brooke down with:-my hanger, leaving him for dead, as I thought--though idM not then know who he was-those two men have fie:- lowed me up with this same story, communicated toi?:e: by letters, which they took care should reach me in a roundabout way. At first, I thought it as you have, only meant to entrap me; but now I know that their tale /-k - I page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 182 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. is true,/ and that cursed Elisha is at the bottom of the trouble.; If it was only for my own part, I'd give -p UJ quick enough, for I am sick of this infernal life 'but until I know the gienrament will pardon the whole ship's crew of us, I hang out, by God! But if I can only entice Barlow to the pier, to-night, we have him; I'll get the truth out of him and something more, or good-bye to Newport, forever, honest Elisha!" As the twilight fell at length, the anchor was raised; and the better to avoid suspicion, the brig making sail, shot along the shores of the Connanicut, until rounding its northern point, she passed between it and Pru- dence Island, and then dropped down to Newport, instead of entering the harbor by doubling Beaver-tail, as if coming in from sea. The ports were still kept down, but the guns were shotted, and every thing made ready for instant action, if necessary, and just as the moon- about nine o'clock at night-was sinking to the horizon, the "Walk to Windward," anchored off the town. A four oared boat, with two men in the stern sheets, at 'once pulled from her side and made for one of the mqst unfie- quented wharfs. Leaving Dick Boltrope to mind the boat, Ralph, well-armed, stepped ashore, and in a few mo- ments had reached the shop of Elisha Barlow. The moon had gone down, the streets were deserted, and dark as Newport streets only could be before the gas works were established; but, familiar with the place, and glad of the gloom, Ralph at the shop-front gave a signal which he had often used before, and in a few moments the white face of Barlow peered out of the door, he hold- ing a candle in one hand. In an instant, Ralph was inside of the shop, and had fastened the door before Elisha had recovered from his surprise. "Why, reelly, now Ralph, and is that you? I was , . t TAlAuITU AJN THE CMAMP. 15CM jest a wondering why I had'nt seen you this ere long time." )- - :f - "Lead on," said Ralph, "and do not stand Chatter-g here; have you not learnt manners yet?" "He, he, he!" laughed Elisha, "Well, Ralph, you is always so amusin:, Come in and sit down comfortable. There's a fire in the back room, and Mrs. Barlow will be glad to see you," so saying Elisha led the way, and seat- ing Ralphl, repeated, "I'll call Mrs. Barlow down, she'll be glad to'meet you." "Stop; we don't want any Mrs. Barlow's here, and I've not long to stay. What do you stand there for, you fool, gaping at me in that way? I want something to drink." "Oh, indeed, somethink to drink! I forgot, let me see, will you wretch, get me some strong liquor; some aqua vitse, and hurry too." Barlow went -into the shop, and staying, as the impatient smuggler thought, too long, was rated by him soundly on his return; and before Ralph would taste the brandy, he insisted that Elisha should partake of it, which he was forced to, with awful grimaces. "You stayed so damned long, that I thought you were trying to poison the stuff with some of your cursed drugs; you would rather do it, than not," said Ralph; then swallowing the fiery liquor at a draught, added, "rich old stiff, this, and comfortable, too, this cold night. I know it well; it is some I brought in these three years past. As you paid no duties on it, you can save your conscience, I suppose, in not cheating your customers who buy it, more than two hundred per cent, eh?" "Reelly," said Elisha, trying to smile, and looking su- premely miserable in the attempt, "you is so funny." page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] 184 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. "Pshaw!" answered Ralph, "now for the business I have in hand. Here," said he, producing a small bundle, which, being opened, displayed some of the richest silks and laces that ever glistened before Elisha's eyes, " here is only a sample, Barlow, of what I have on board; -I must be off, you know, by dawn of day; and as you want some of these things--in short, must have them-the best way for you to see them undisturbed, is, to come to my vessel, examine them at your leisure, and select what you want. We can bundle them up for you, and set you ashore without trouble; no one will be the wiser for it; you can make your profit on them to any tune you please, and I shall be out of sight, long before the sunrise. Come!" The proposition struck Elisha with anything but favor; he had tricked Ralph too often to feel safe in his presence; and the bare mention of going off to his vessel, among a crew of ruffians, who would put him in the rigging, and flog him, or run him up to the yardarm, in mere sport; frightened him dreadfully. To oppose Ralph openly, would, he knew, end by being carried off by main force; so deception, as usual, came to his aid, and turning to the smuggler, he said, "well, Ralph, I've been a studyin' A over it, and spose I must go. But in the fust place, I'd jest like to look out in the old buildin' in the back yard, where I have my old account books, and see what them are goods I got of you last, was invoiced at, so as to be better able to judge of what I want now. Jest you wait here a few minutes,'" said Elisha, lighting a lantern, " and I'll be right back. Let me give you some more aqua vitae." Ralph made no objections; Elisha replenished his glass, and went out of the door leading ijto the yard. He had no sooner reached it, however, than instead of going to the old building,e - , quicky and noiselessly TRAITORS I1 THE CAMP. 185 threw back a gate that opened on an alley, running by the side of his shop to the street; hurried through it, crossed the main avenue, and in a moment or two, had informed four or-five of his opposite neighbors, of the prize in his house; told them to keep guard at the head of the wharf, and in a few moments he would issue forth with Ralph, when he could be easily surrounded, and se- cured. How Elisha chuckled, as he ran back; all his diffi- culties, present or anticipated, vanished; he would obtain the reward offered for the smuggler; and as for Castle- main, he might go to the devil his own way as quick as he chose to. He reentered, and closed the door, locking it on the inside. Ralph was seated, coolly drinking his brandy, and Elisha little knew, that during his absence, another scene had transpired. No sooner had he, going out, closed the back door, than the one at the foot of the stairs opened, and to Ralph's amazement, Jane Barlow entered. "Mrs.- Barlow!" said he, starting back. "Hush! do not speak so loud, I am not Mrs. Barlow, and that wretch has gone to betray you." Then, in a few seconds, and in these concentrated words which hate only can supply, she told Ralph the story of her own wrongs, of his, of the will, and of his danger where he was. "Defend yourself at all hazards, and you have a good chance to escape." "Shall I take your husband on board my vessel, if I can?, "Don't call the villain my husband. Yes, take him, throttle him, kill him; but don't let him return to me. Be on your guard, here he comes; " and as Elisha's foot- step was heard at the back door, she closed and fastened her own as before. Ralph was not alarmei:dd the sense of danger only page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. heightened his courage. "I'm a match for -a dozen of them," he muttered;. "besides those five bull-dogs of mine in the boat." "Well, now," said Elisha, coming in in high spirits, "you does'nt know how glad I was Ralph, to find it all right, al right. I can take some of them are goods, and we'l/be off at wunst." "Wait a moment; fill my glass again." "That I will," replied Elisha; "and as its cold as you say, PI' try a little myself. Now then." "Look you, Barlow, I had nearly forgotten it, did you not, the last time I was ashore, promise me on my next landing, to give me twenty pounds for distribution among my crew?" "Yes, but reelly, we has'nt got time to attend to it now, I'll do it next time." "No, you wont," said Ralph, sternly; " now or never. And as I think of it, I want twenty more on top of it for myself, and ten more beyond that for Dick Boltrope, my first lieutenant." "Oh, heavens! Ralph, don't now!" "I will, you infernal villain; do you think you are to grow rich all your life, with no fear of the gallows, and not lend a helping hand to us, who do all your work, and brave all the peril! Fifty pounds out of that strong-box, quick, or I'll make you." The terrified Elisha opened his money chest, and handed Ralph the sum he demanded; thinking, doubtless, he should get it back in a few minutes; and then, open- ing the street door, they emerged from the shop. As they did so, Ralph drew a cutlass.. "What do you do that for," asked Elisha. "' To cut you in two, if you play me false." They crossed the street, and at the instant of reaching TRAITORS IN THE CAMP. 187 the head of the wharf, Elisha looked in vain for his friends; at this instant, Ralph, seizing him with an iron grip, said, "your time has come, villain;" and blew at that moment a shrill whistle. It was answered at once from the boat, and Elisha shrieked with terror. His friends, tired of waiting, and thinking some ill might have befallen him, had gone up the alley, intending to burst into the back door, but found it fastened, just as they heard the whistle, and EliSha's yell of agony. They, hurried back; Ralph heard the sound of coming feet, aucd pressing on, he stumbled over some object on the whabrf, letting go his hold of Barlow, who in an instant ran, andrwas met by his friends. There was no time for delay, or struggle in the dark-6 ness. Ralph rose to his feet, and flung himself into the boat. Two or three shots from the party on the wharf fell harmless in the water; and were returned without effect by the smugglers, who pulled with main strength for their bark. They soon reached her, sail was made instantly, And when the morning shone, the "Walk to Windward" danced on the waters of ocean; and Rhode Island lay like a faint cloud on the far horizon. page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] CHAPTER XXIII. "UCY'S NEW HOME. A SPACE of three years has been occupied by the scenes of this narrative, and the incidents about to be re- lated occur in the autuinn of 1758. At this period, the Boston packet brought to the island one morning a letter, sealed with black, for Mr. Tyrrell, which informed him, by Randolph Brandon, that his cousin Edward was dead. He had bequeathed to him a house which he had owned in Cambridge, besides a small sum of money, which would about suffice to maintain him and his family com- fortably, in the frugal manner of their life. The bulk of the property of the deceased was left to his widow, and from. her would pass to Matilda Brandon, who would thus become, in her own right, as rich as her husband. Mr. Tyrrell grieved for the loss of his cousin, and he felt sorrow that his last days should have passed without their meeting; for since Lucy's unfortunate love affair they had had nq intercourse, and Mr. Tyrrell had blamed his cousin Edward strongly for the part he hid taken in it. But now regretting, when too late, that!sty judgment, he was the more penetrated by such kindness, inasmuch as Lucy and her mother too were also left small sums of money and memorials of friendship. It was not until Mr. Tyrrell's wife, of more- practical turn than himself, spoke, after some days, of the valuneof the bequests, that 'his thoughts ceased to dwell solely upon the memory and generosity of his departed i friend. f M(188) L7', s'-^ ,' " "UCY'S NEW HOME. 189 It appeared as if Providence had finally grtnted to them an opportunity of leaving the island; a design which, frequently in former days, had been the subject of their thoughts and conversation, though, indeed, since Lucy's trouble, it had been seldom referred to. Suffice it to say, that after some talk with his wife, Mr. Tyrrell determined to avail himself of his cousin's bequest, and go to reside in Cambridge, where he judged the literary associations and society of the place would solace the latter portion of his life, and prove, too, a happier home for his daughter. Nor had he, as he imagined, anything to dread from a renewal of the engagement. He had forbidden it, as Mr. Brandon had, in the most positive terms; the corres- pondence had long ceased, and he doubted not that Charles, with the fickleness of youth, had already trans- ferred his affections to the wealthy Blanche Estcourt. But poor Lucy heard the news with unmitigated sor- row. She wept with bitter anguish for the loss of her dear, kind uncle, and called up again all the happy hours she had spent under his hospitable roof, when he had been so delighted with all she did, and more proud of her pro- \ gress, her appearance, and art of fascinating, than even of his own daughter's. The blessed times she had known when he was so interested and pleased with her regards for Charles, and had looked upon the youthful pair as so likely to be happy in each other, would return no more. She had gradually become calmed in her grief for her own wrongs, was already resigned to her fate-there was no hour of the day but that she thought of Charles, but with scarce a hope of ever being united to him. The life she was leading, too, had its pleasures, not dependent :on earthly hopes and joys; these were abandoned. Her household duties performed, she was ever as a page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. ministering angel to the sick, and the poor, and the broken in spirit, as with noiseless feet she stole to their bedsides. Her serene, chastened beauty shone in their eyes with soft lustre, like one of the beautiful alabaster lamps, whose radiance ever beams before the shrine in Catholic cathed- rals, and which, withdrawn from the glare of day, re- sembles some watching .pirit, visible only in heavenly flame. And with these poor people she had made a com- munion of interest ad intelligence; she had learned how to draw from them the recital of their lives, their trials, their sufferings, and penetrating the homely garb in which their thoughts were clothed, she found much of the truest beauty in their simple, unaffected stories. These poor people must miss me," she said, " when I am gone, and it pains me to the heart to think of leaving them, for Shave no pleasures to look forward to now as I had of old, when I left the island for the first time." The news afflicted the cottagers greatly. They talked of it together in little groups, with sorrowful faces, and would say to Lucy, "And shall we never see you no more? won't you come again to see us when we are sick, and give us our doctors stuff, and read our Bibles to us? Oh, can't you stay a little longer, Miss Lucy, only a little while, and then we'll try and not complain " Lucy, with tearful eyes, would tell them not to mourn for her, that she would not forget them, but would often send kind messages and tokens of remembrance, and, if she possibly could, would visit them once in awhile. She urged them not to forget the words she had spoken of a better land on high, where they should suffer no more, and to love the words of Him whose teachings she had repeated to them., Her own words, she said, had been weak and feeble, but His were able to sustain and comfort them in all their afflictions. "UtCY'S NEW HOME. 191 She went from house to house, when the time came to say farewell. All blessed her, and many offered to her little articles of their own making, each charging her at the same time, " to think of poor old so and so some- times." She visited alone every little nook of the island, endeared to her firom childhood by some memory con- nected with it; the schoolhouse, with its plot of green before the door, where she had watched the children at their sports; the rude little church, where she had listen- ed with such awe to her father in his sacred desk; the graveyard, with its quaint old tombstones and the heav- ing heaps of earth, beneath which she had been told reposed her little brothers and sisters, there she had sat many a time and wondered, with a child's curiosity, how they could sleep there, and still, as her father said, be in the skies. A She felt that she should miss the reeded ponds from which she had often seen the wild fowl fly; the long glit- tering beach and the rolling breakers which she loVed to watch; and, beyond all, her own dear quiet home, and her sweet little chamber which had been of late a sanctu- ary; undisturbed by the cares and miseries she had known before. Miriam, in saying farewell, told Lucy that she might sometimes hear from her; but she did not again refer to her sister or any part of the story she had narrated! Her thoughts dwelt almost exclusively on her vagrant 6on. -In company with her father and mother, Lucy at length left the island; and, with a heavy heart, she saw it sink from her sight below the waters, as if all that she loved were buried with it beneath the seas. . . . . Once again Lucy entered her uncle's house in Boston; but sawhimnot coming to greet her with that pleasant smile which always lighted his features when they met. It was, page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. indeed, a house of mourning. She passed into the pretty room where she so often sat with Charles, and sung, and studied; it was the same; and the books, the familiar objects of the apartment, spoke in touching memories to her! But when she looked out into the garden, where words of love were spoken, its desolate aspect struck her to the heart; it truly pictured the wintry stern realities of her own life, stripped of all its summer bloom; the bare trees tossed their branches against the cold gray sky, the paths were strewn with sere leaves, and the fountain that had shot its jet upwards in silvery spray, was mute and frozen. She was glad to find that her aunt was not left alone in her sorrow. Randolph and Matilda were still present with their infant son. The cousins had both altered since Matilda was a bride; both had had their griefs, and when Randolph spoke to his wife of Lucy's changed looks, and thin pale cheek, attributable but to one cause, they both mourned over it. "She is a martyr," said he, " she looks good and holy, as if she no longer lived for earthly hopes; but, oh, how sad that her happiness should be ruined, her peace sacrificed, by the narrow-minded prejudice of two self-willed men! Were I my cousin Charles, I would brave ill my father's anger, for such a woman." "True," said Matilda, " but you know that Lucy would not disobey her father, much as she loves Charles; do not, I implore you-,gladly as I would see him marry her, do not try, by one word, to inflence him to break peace with his father; it could :,di: good, and for my own part, I shall endeavor to console Lucy, but speak as though they were never to meet again." With this purpose, Matilda, without actually saying that there could never be a hope of the union with Charles, endeavored, in conversation with Lucy, to impress her with its great im- "UCY'S NEW HlOME. -" !93 probability. But she assured her, and truly, that Charles dearly loved her, and would seek her the first moment that her father relented in the least YShe did not tell her what Charles had really resolved on, and confided to her; namely, his determined purpose, ere long, if Mr. Brandon would not act more justly, to operly set his authority at defiance, and seek to make Lucy his own. Matilda had not encouraged him in his purpose, and was unwilling to tell Lucy, as it would only give her pain, and lead her to refuse his solicitations. It was settled that Matilda's mother\ should go with her children to Virginia, and that the family mansion be sold, which Lucy heard with keen biguish, as she had hoped to visit much at a home so dear to her. Before parting from Matilda, Lucy had another. long conversation with her about Charles. She told her to say that she felt towards him the same deep love she had ever felt-it was unconquerable by delays or ttrials,-butf not to seek her unless his father receded from the position he held., If Matilda saw fit, she might further hint to Charles that her own parents' scruples would be easily removed, at any similar demonstration from old Mr. Brandon. The relatives separated, the household furniture was dis- posed of, the whole estate sold to strangers, and Lucy, and her father and mother repaired to their new house in Cambridge. Lucyjt first was much delighted in arrang- ing the household, and with her mother busied in making their new and pre irniture display itself to the best advantage; in pl,::h er -father's books and papers in the ample, cheerful, sunny roomn, such a contrast to the solemn darkness of his study on the island, but which she loved best after all. Then came the laying out of the geaden, long before the first flower of spring peeped forth' and receiving visits from neighbors, who kindly ' .. 9 page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. called with offerings of help, some -more liberal in gifts even than words. Lucy was glad to see the change wrought in her father and mother, the former especially, who now found for the first time in more than twenty-fivq years the society he loved, of literary character. Books by thousands charmed him in the college library, and he now frequently said that he had lost the best part of his life in obscurity, and that, hard as he had labored, he had done no good, the Gospel seed having fallen upon barren ground. Then Lucy would:not allow this to pass without comment, and would sometimes adduce visible proof of her arguments when she received a letter from one of the old cottagers, almost as pUzzling as Egyptian hiero- glyphics, but once deciphered, found to contain much of sound Christian faith and hope, and almost always bear- ing reference to some text which the good pastor had preached long long ago, and which he had himself forgotten. With the keen relish of years unsated, Mr. Tyrrell would go back again to the library, after the discussion, and revel among folios in the dusky alcoves, pausing now and then to listen to the sound of the college bells, which he declared the sweetest music he had ever heard; though we know they were not more musical one hundred years ago than they are now, and sounded just as hatefully to students at morning prayer time. Lucy had little taste for 'society such as had enchanted her two or three years before, when she first entered upon life in Boston. The company of her father's friends gave her pleasure, yet the enjoyment they afforded her was less than the delight she took in seeing him happy, an ornament of that intellectual society which he appeared so well fitted for, and from which he had been so many years debarred. A . CHAPTER XXIV. EVIL TIDINGS. MR. TYRnELL, nowr absolved from parochial cares, led no longer the recluse life he had spent in the island, and not only sought company to a degree which Lucy thought excessive, but became anxious that she, too, should bear part in it for hbr own sake. Gloomy apprehensions began to nmingle with her feel- ings ; her father was proud of her; he thought her charms too rare to be hidden from the world, and wished her to shine in society, even to lead it, when such display, was absolutely revolting to her. Without totally discarding his clerical character, Mr. Tyrrell was led away by the fascinations of company in a manner that did not eventually conduce to his own happiness or that of his family. Lucy saw with sorrow that her wish of retirement was displeasing to him, and what troubled her far more, that the utter indifference with which she received the attentions of several men, whom the present world would style "most eligible matches,' was not countenanced by him in the manner she expected. She did not live for attention, and wished to receive none; when paid--it annoyed her; she would not suffer herself to be pursued by it, and in such cases assiumed a hauteur which repelled intrusion and forbade t approach. Though her father as yet did not express to her his wishes, his looks indicated his displeasure, and for the first time in her life she thought he judged her un- (195) L page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. justly and unkindly. Had she not in everything been to him an affectionate and dutiful daughter? She had given up at his command the one she loved, and could not even this purchase peace, and the wretched privilege of mourning over her sorrows in secret? Thiswas hard; what could it add to her father's happiness to see her sur- rounded by those whose love and raptures she despised'? At length when, in order to be freed from one or two who hoped to win her by perseverance, Lucy absolutely refused their offers of marriage, and they, like silly fools, could not help talking and being enraged at it, the news reached Mr. Tyrrell's ears. Hd then spoke to his daughter, and, after her descrip- tion ofthese two lovers, which led him to congratulate himself that he was not to be father-in-law to either, he followed up the conversation by asking if she would never be willing to receive attention, provided a person against whom nothing could be allegedi were to present himself. "Never!" said Lucy, looking up to heaven, and speaking most solemnly, " never, while I live!" "But why not, Lucy?" said Mr. Tyrrell. "Oh, my father," said she, bursting into tears, " surely you know too well already," "Lucy, Lucy,r I am sorry to find that you still cherish this youthful love. I was in hopes that it would have been quite eradicated, by this time." 'Father, do you judge m thus, :nd -think I would lend my heart so lightly? No, s'Xr, believe me when I love, I love ardently. I did not cr:st my affections on a fool, or on an ordinary being. I did, I do love Charles Brandon with my whole soul; and never,- never, will I renounce that love, until I know that he deserves it no longer;, or that he has ceased to cherish me with the same tenderness. Then I may listen to you with some EVIL TIDINGS. . 197 patience. But now, my dear father, as you love me do not mention this subj6ct again, for-it will kill me with grief." Lucy buried her face in her hands, and sobbed aloud; and Mr. Tyrrell, for the time abandoning his pur- pose, smoothed her hair with his palms; then withdrawing silently from the room, left his daughter to her own sad reflections. But Lucy was again harassed, ere long, and in this instance by one for whom she had felt instinctive dread from the first hour she Saw him. This was the young Mr. Lascelles, who lived alone in the large house which stood near by; the same person whom- Charles had seen come swaggering down to the gateway. Lucy had, heard with disgust, of her name being toasted at the frequent entertainments which he held in his mansion; when he gathered together a number of boon companions, whose noisy revelry was often carried far into the. night. There was nothing in his appearance to fascinate a woman of refined tastes. His countenance bold, haughty, and sen- sual, looked the proper index of his mind. A red, bloated complexion told too plainly of high living; and his whole appearance would have exactly suited the ideal of a fox hunting, carousing, English country squire. t But his education was not deficient; he was of good familyv--ich, and generous with his money; generally populai; and was received into the society of fashion as a welceme guest. But to Lucy there was something in him ut erly repulsive. She could not endure his undis- guised looks of admiration across the village church; or when she frequently met him in her walks. In spite of he: efforts to shun him, he appeared to cross her path go where she would; and to her dismay, it was not long before he obtained an introduction to her father, and succeeded so well in entering into his good graces, that he 1 page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. received an invitation to visit at the hous%. His jovial, careless, happy style of talking, pleased Mr. Tyrrell. Lascelles, who had been thoroughly educated, could also when he chose, converse well on literary topics; while an intimate familiarity with, classic authors, sometimes 'upplied timely information in learning, which the clergy- man had forgotten. Mr. Tyrrell heard also frequently, anecdotes of his lib- erality and kindness th the poor, all of which were strictly true; for the young man, fond as he was/of company and high living, had many redeeming traits; and-no one could ever Suspect him of a mean action. Nor was he dissolute in his habits; his reputation among women was good; he was even rather a favorite with them, although the report of his wealth may have had- much to do with this kind opinion. Having gaine faccess to the house, Mr. Lascelles was not long in making up his mind, that Lucy Tyrrell, of all the women he had ever seen, was the one, the only one worthy to preside over the destinies-of his drawingsrooms, and drive in his carriage.' Lascelles fell in love. He did not make himself miserable, because he thought he had only to offer his hand and fortune to any woman, and she would rejoice at the chance of securing him. On the contrary, he gave more dinners than ever before; and was pleased in hearing Lucy's name continually linked with his own, until he began almost to feel that matri- mony was to ensue as a natural consequence, without the trouble of courtship. "To think," said he, "of my being in love; I, who deemed the fortress of my heart impregnable. -Well, I do not find it distressing, as I have read in the poets. I am not ' sighing like a furnace ; nor shall I indite 'a woeful ballad made to my mistress' eyebrow.' I'll go and take -? EVIL TIDINGS. 199 a horseback gallop now, and'dream over this love of mine. I will propose for Lucy, next-week." Lucy's father and mother now had frequent conversa- tions, of which she knew that she was the subject. And she soon had too good reason to fear that they looked upon Mr. Lascelles with a favor that would be likely to encourage his suit. Mr. Tyrrell had said nothing to her since that day when she so solemnly begged him to leave her in peace, and to the solitude of her love. But her mother frequently spoke of Lascelles with praise; and as we1have before observed, she had less delicacy of feeling thapn her husband. She often pained Lucy by the abrupt- ness of her remarks, and hero hints that she should not neglect so good a chance of distinction in life; instead, as she expressed it, of "hiding her light -under a bushel.' ' Sometimes in her walks, the -mother would choose the path which led by the great house, and bid Lucy mark it, and the broad lands around, which then'formed a no- ble estate, though now much curtailed. Only a small portion of the grounds now pertain to the mansion; though it stilI stands in its grandeur, known in later times thanf Mr. Lascelles, as the head quarters of the great revolutionary chieftain; and now- as the home of a cele- brated poet. Mrs. Tyrrell would pause before it, and with a mother's pride, hope that ere lona it would be her daughter's. And Lucy would again solemnly repeat, "never! It cannot, shall not be. Never! never! What is his great house to me; what his broad lands! Did I not cast words of scorn in the face of one, who holds an estate to which this is but one of our island freeholds in insignificance, because I thought he had dared to suppose that I could be tempted to sell myself? And this Mr. Lascelles; ,how is it that he has delighted you and papa? What is he? An idler, a spendthrift-, if I mistake not, page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. fond of his jolly comrades, and a coarse jest over the bottle; proud of his stud of horses and his dogs. What value would a Woman be in his eyes, but as something prized for her personal charms alone! She must be one that his friends might- come and look upon, to envy; dressed to shine amidst heartless splendors, and doomed to livewithout one true friend, or one really happy hour." But the mother thought differently; would argue and suggest to no -purpose. Lucy had but one answer; "I love another, dearly, devotedly love him-; and never will I change until I know that he has changed." Lucy now would often wish that she could go back to the quiet island, where of late her life was passing so se- renely, occupied with kind visitations to the poor old parishioners. She sighed for the sanctity of her familiar room; for the quiet churchyard, that she might sit beside the graves of her unknown brothers and sisters, who had always been to her as angels. She longed once more to stand upon the rocks, decked by the long salt seaweed, which rose and-fell with the waters, and watch the sun go down over the billowy waste. She thought of the times when as a child she had looked into the depths of the gorgeous cloud rifts, and fancied she could behold the walk of immortal spirits amidst their splendors; and when she had listened, entranced, to the voice of the sea, which then sung songs of joy to her. Now she heard 'it still, but its notes were sad; it came to her in moaning accents, as though foreboding ill; as she had heard it moan so wild and strangely on that day when she learned Miliam's story. Although the correspondence between Charles and herself had long ce'ased, she now thought it strange that she did not hear of him through Maltilda, who had for. merly often written to her. She felt assured that Charles ci V lb 1XiD1NAS . 21 must know she had left the island, he would hear of it from Randolph, and it would be enough to excite his interest in her new life : he could pot have forgotten his love for her aid turned awaya to another? This would give Matilda pain to inform her; but no! she could nt harbor such a thought; she longed to hear from her cousin, but nothing came, and her sense of propriety forbade her to open the subject. One day she was in Boston, and happening to pass by her uncle's mansion, it was'closed, deserted and gloomy; but in the garden were -igns of life, or rather what to her looked like destruction. The garden wall was broken down, the shrubbery neglected, the vase removed from its pedestal, but the fountain still played on with careless glee, sparkling, but heedless witness alike of joys now forever gone, and of present desolation. Workmen's tools, and piles of lumber strewn about the ground, indicated building, and rough men trod -care- lessly over the spot so dear to her. She turned away with a sad heart, and gloomy forebodings fell upon her. Lascelles now redoubled .his attentions-; he offered himself to her, she repulsed him with cold disdain, She told him plainly of her engaged affections, and even if her heart was not already won, that he could -not gain it. He was earnest, but not presumptuous or indelicate in his pursuit; he hoped that time would induce her to change, and regard him more favorably. Lucy reiter- ated her resolves, and when--he continued to repeat his professions, she heard him in silence, then signified by a bow that the conference i^was ended. Mr. Lascelles, not. daunted, laid the subject)of his hopes before Lucy's parents, and as he expected, found that his proposals were favorably received. They both imagined that a little. tinle would produce a change in their daugh. 9* page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. telr's feelings. Mr. Tyrrell spoke kindly to his distressed child;' he said that he was now growing -old, that in the course of nature he could not -be very long spared, and that it was the great desire of his life to see his Lucy happily married, as he thought she would find a' kind, generous, indulgent husband in Mr. Lascelles:; one in whom no vices could be proved; but much that was exoel- lent. Lucy heard in agonized sorrow, but shook her head in determined refusal. At length, Mr. Tyrrell came-to her room one morning, and put into her hands abletter. a He had been more kind than Lucy thought; he had written to Mr. Brandon greatly against his own inclina- tions, asking news of his son, and if he still clung to the memory of his daughter for although he did not say so in his letter, he had determined, as her happiness was so centered in Charles, to offer no further opposition to their union, provided his father was at all disposed to favor "it. In due time came the answer from Mr: Brandon, who, after dilating on the unexpected honor done him, said not one word of his son's affections, but that he was shortly to be married to the woman of his (Mr. Brandon's) choice, Blanche Estcourt; closing with a panegyric on the beauty and virtues of that young lady, and assuring Mr. Tyrrell of his distinguished consideration. This news Lucy's father considered sufficient, and in- dignant that his daughter should have wasted her noble love on such a deceiver, as he considered Charles, showed \ her the letter without hesitation. She read it, said noth- ing, and when left alone, shed notlone tear, but kneeling by her bedside, she folded her han s, and prayed. CHAPTER XXV. CHARLES JOINS THE ARMY. THE letter spoken of ine last chapter, as written by Mr. Brandon, and which caused Lucy such intense sor- row, had no truth in it, although the writer did not mean to deceive when he penned it. For Mr. Brandon, having made up his mind that Blanche Estcourt -was to be his son's wife, no sooner received Mr. Tyrrells com- munication, in which news was asked of Charles, than he determined to extinguish all hopes in Lucy, and wrote ac- \ cordingly, without infdrming either-his wife or his son of" having done so. But he wrote, thinking that his own plan was of easy accomplishment; that in short Charles was to do as he insisted. Blanche should be Mrs. Brandon, and his son her husband, and thus all would be concluded, and the young couple feel much better that older and wiser heads than their own had regulated affairs of matri- mony for them, and Saved them all trouble. But he was slightly disturbed after dispatching his letter, when, on seeing Lady Mildred, she informed him that the marriage could not take place as soon as they wished; that Blanche had for some time past, made the most serious objections to having the subject named. "My God, madam! 7 said Mr. Brandon, astounded, "what do you tell me? These young-people are mad, madam, absolutely mad! do -they intend to thwart our plans, or tr to do so? for of course they will have to yield to us; I repeat it, madam, do they?" "I have no doubt they do." (208) page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AfQ , Then, as to that son of miIle, if he was aJittle younger, I would horsewhip him, but as it is, I'll . . . ? ' " Stop one moment," said Mildred. 6 No, madam, I will not stop; my son, I say, shall marry your daughter; do you wish him to?" "Certaifay; but your son, it seems, has some will bf his own; and as you cannot horsewhip him into loving Blanche, perhaps plans of persuasion will fail also.} "Loving, madam-! I did not talk of loving; I was thinking of marrying and giving in marriage only; they will love each other afterward; of course they will." "But;" pursued Mildred, without noticing this non- sense, " my daughter, I am sorry to find, has a temper that I never knew of; she has always yielded to me the most absolute submission, but on this point sle -is firm: re- solved not to marry your son Charles even if he were ready at this moment to offer his hand, unless she knew that he devotedly loved her. What-are we to do? noth- can be effected by passion; for on this subject I have never seen one more obstinately determined than Blanche; and passion will not influence, her." ' I will disinherit my son.". "'So I have heard you saysbefore; but what good will be produced by doing so?, "The consequences to liim, madam, will be tremendous, beyond aught I can describe; he might well shudder in contemplation of them," said Mr. Brandon, with awful pomposity. "No doubt he will," said Mildred ironically. "But, Mr. Brandon, do you think that he actually has an aver- sion for Blanhche, or are his feelings those of mere indiffer- ence? Let me ask, does he still profess to love Lucy Tyr- rell?" "I do not know," said Mr. Brandon, gloomily; "but I i:. CHARLES JOINS THE ARMY. 205 think -all ttit mattoer is over, for I wrote a letter to her [fathr i'nmS3wer- to one of his, and told him that his daughter might think no more of my son. I shculd not be surprised if. she really had another love, because I re- member me now, Mr. Tyrrell said that he did not wish his daughter to cling to false hopes, to the disparagement of thos0 qhom it might suit him to admit to his house. Heavens! were she but once married or betrothed, and my son knew of it, all our troubles would vanish." "Very good," returned Mildriea; "now be counselled by me. You can easily by another letters find out if Miss Tyrrell has a lover; for you can base as an excuse for writing, that the marriage with Blanche is postponed. Mr. Tyrrell will be very likely to speak of his daughter's prospects." "Admirable counsel-{! I will at once do so. I will also speak to my son." "You had better not, until you hear'from Lucy's father." "Very well, madam, I will wait then; and now how is my sweet young friend, Miss Blanche, cannot I pay my respects to her." "No, thank you; not to-day. She is ill, quite ill, and cannot bear excitement." "Not seriously ill, I hope?" "Oh, no indeed! nothing is really the matter beyond a temporary weakness; but you know a mother's anxiety." "Then my kindest wishes to her, my dear madam," said Mr. Brandon, and took his leave. Blanche was ill, indeed; she was a dying girl, to whom the world was now but a resting-place, before she should begin her journey into eternity; all the schemes, hopes, and plans of her mother, availed nothing now. She did not suffer herself to dwell upon these; she cherished her page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. love as if for one dead, but no bitterness mingled with her feelings. Thoroughly conscious of her situation, she gave: Ulher last days to religious instruction and thought. Sh9 would say to Mildred;--"Mother, I have ever obeyed you in all things; but I know that the hour of my death is near at hand, and I can not, indeed, will not listen to words concerning earthly and temporal triumphs; I think not of these, let me depart in peace."- But the mother could not imagine that she was about to lose her daughter forever; she saw her apparently recovering, in the full bloom of beauty, more radiant, indeed, than she had ever been. Mildred little knew the nature of her disease-consumption; how it cheats hope to the last, and often wears the mask of loveliness almost to the moment of dissolution. Here we must turn away to pursue our story. Let us not dwell upon a scene of daily decay, but bidto Blanche a long and sad farewell; nor linger beside that form, which, ere many weeks, must be laid down beneath the sod. ....... Notwithstanding the caution which Mildred had given to Mr. Brandon, he was too impatient for the match "Between his son and Blanche, to keep the matter to him- self. He sought out Charles, and at once attacked him upon the subject, in the usual style of coaxing, mingled with threats. To his surprise and extreme displeasure, he found his son less inclined to listen to him patiently, than at any previous period. He treated threats of disin- heritance with indifference; refused to prolong the discus- sion, or give his father the slightest hope that he would ever change; he always closed the interview by saying, that he would never marry Blanche against his own will! - He further plainly told his astonished father that, tired with his course of harshness and tyranny, he had resolved to break loose from him at once; that he should immedi- ately proceed to the north, and offer his hand again to Lucy Tyrrell, to engage her for a future marriage. First however, he was resolved to win for himself a name in the service of his king and country, and had made every preparation to join the army in the Canadas--had already secured a lieutenant's commission in the corps of "Royal Americans;" these had joined the British forces, part with Amherst, the commander-in-chief in the region of Lake George, and part with Wolfe at Louisburg. "Good God, sir!" said Mr. Brandon, smiling incredu- lously; "' and how soon do you intend to put this notable project of yours into execution?" "Day after to-morrow." "You shall not go, sir." "Listen to me, father," said Charles, respectfully, but irmly. I have my commission in His Majesty's army, ny services have been accepted; and, I know you would lot ;wish to see me shamefully resign a post in which I aay win distinguished honor." The old man was touched instantly. "No, my son," said he, softened, "'I would not. You ? rill go, Isee; and you must; you will do your duty, and I I nly wish that His Majesty--God bless his sainted person -could know that another scion of the house of Brandon i as devoted to the royal cause, as the line has been for 3 mnturies. But you have not long to stay with us, my . on; can you not delay a little while, 'tis a very sudden trting;," and as the father spoke, a tear glistened in his "True, father, but I must go." "Who helped you to your commission, without my owledge , page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. "I obtained it, as almost any young man accustomed to arms, as I have been, can obtain it now, when voltn-. teers for the war are sought in all the colonies. The influ- ence of Mr. Robinson, the Speaker of the House of Bur- gesses, availed me in part, and also that of another, who you would imagine had no influence, Mr. Henry. "What! the one who plead against theoclergy; the seditious Patrick Henry! Indeed, I begin to think better of him; but I .had no idea that such a man could have any weight at all." "A good deal th6ugh, you find, my dear father." y I am astonished. I will ride over to Williamsburg very soon, and thank Speaker Robinson, .and I will also extend- my compliments to Mr. Henry, for his zeal in your behalf," said the proud aristocrat, in an unusually condescending manner. "Now, my son, tell me who is going with you? Will you join Wolfe or Amherst?" "I do not know yet, sir; it will depend upon the 'Royal Americans,' whom we shall meet in Boston. We may march through Massachusetts, by way of Worcester and Springfield, to Albany, and from that town join Am- herst, or go to Louisburg by sea. I am for Wolfe, glori- ous Wolfe! Two of our friends, Montcure and' Selden, go with me, and our faithful Bela Tilley insists on accompanying me, as companion and servant." "Heavens!" said the old gentleman, "Bela going too; well, he will make a figure in the camp. And now, Charles, dear boy, you are about to leave us, to fight for your king, God' bless him! I forgive you for intending to leave thus suddenly, withoiut consulting me; but I feel that I 'have done you wrong lately, and made you unhappy." The father saidl this in a faltering voice, but recovering, as if M: :hap med of his weakness, burst out loudly, to conceal his CHARLES JOINS THE ARMY. 209 emotion, "But, damn it, boy, I do love you, and did all for your good!" The mother had known Charles' intention, but was not aware that he was so soon to leave; in short, he had determined to spare the bitterness of parting, and, stealing away, to leave a note of farewell for his parents; but-now, as she learned that in a few hours she should part with him, she made haste to arrange the small wardrobe he required, shedding many a tear, with a mother's anxiety. Charles, scattering quite an amount of small coin among the negroes, charged them to behave well during- his absence, and then -went to Bela's quarters to say that they must be astir betimes in the morning. He received for answer, "Wal, I - never was be-lated yet, 'cept in comin' into this world, and then 'twant no concern o' mine. Jest yeou git ready right away as nigh as I am, then I calculate there'll be a pair on us," and with this notice of readines for a long journey, ,Bela relapsed into silence. Mr. Brandon, beneath an affectation of unconcern, felt deeply; the truth was, he blamed himself for having driven his son from home by his conduct; but he was secretly pleased with Charles' spirit, and proud that he was to become a soldier. He rode .hurriedly over to Williamsburg and bought the most elegant sword he could find in the city, and, always liberal with money, forced on his son more than he really required, although the long heavy purse, filled to its brim with shining gold, was very acceptable to a young officer. To Charles' intense regret, Randolph and Matilda had not returned from the north, whither they had been' called by the death of her father, and during all this period of their absence, a space of some months, he had never heard , ;' ' ^ page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. from them; "But it matters little now," he thought, " we shall meet in Boston.,' The morning came, and the watchfull Bela knocked at Charles, door at the, dawn of day. Breakfast was soon dispatched; an agonized parting with his mother followed. His father was, to go with him as far as Williamsburg, anfd mounting their horses they emerged from under the great tower just as its bells pealed - forth seven. Charles knew not that he never more should hear-their sound, but pursuing his journey, he parted with his father at the city, with many a pressure of the hand. All the pompous mannier of Mr. Brandon for once was laid aside, as he solemnly invoked God's blessing on his son; and then he retraced his way back to Kingwood, thoughtful and melancholy. Charles set off with his two companions and the faith- full Bela Tilley, who, to Mr. Brandon's question, "Think you you can take care of my son, Bela?" had replied, "Somewhat! and bring him back sound as a Rud Island greenin., The whole party were in high spirits; they travelled as rapidly as possible, and reached Boston by the latter/ part of April, 1759. There they at once found, on ap- plication to the proper authorities, that a detachment of "Royal Americans," some twenty in number, would shortly join Wolfe at Louisburg, none going to Lake George to meet Amherst. The season was pleasant, and the vessel for Louisburg not sailing for ten days, Charles at once resolved to go by the regular packet to the, island, burning with im- patience to see Lucy once more. Before embarking, he went to the Widow Tyrrell's house, hoping to see his cousins, but in vain. He saw one of the workmen near CHARLES JOINS THE ARMY. 2" the mansion, who told him that the family had moved away to some other part of the town, but where he could not inform him. The packet was upon the point of start- ing for the island, and thinking he could easily find Mrs. Tyrrell on his return, Charles gave little heed to the mat- ter, his mind being too much occupied with a more im- portant object. He reached the island, and learned to his dismay, that-the family had left it some months before. Gone! gone where? To Boston, he was told. Dis- tracted with this intelligence, he- turned his, face again to the city. A light, baffling wind kept him off the coast until the day before the bark was ready to sail for Cape Breton. ' e rushed again to the mansion of the Tyrrells, but with no better success than before. Perceiving at length the broken garden wall, he entered the spot so sacred to him, and its appearance made him sad indeed. Near the mansion he finally espied one familiar face, it was old Amy, one of the colored domestics of the establishment in former days. "'The Lord gracious Master Charles, how com'd you to be here?" "Tell me, Amy, where are they all? she, she, Lucy, where is she?" \ "Oh! dear master, and didn't you know old master 's dead, and mistress is gone off to Virginnywith Miss Ma- tilda and Mr. Randolph; and Miss Lucy, I does 'nt know, indeed, where she be." "Merciful Father!" said Charles, at length, almost be- side himself. "Yes, I heard, Amy, of Mr. Tyrrell's death, but Miss Lucy, do you not indeed know? where do you think she is?" "I does 'nt know," repeated Amy.- "I was sick away friln here the time old mistress went off, and though I see Miss Lucy once after she come here with her father page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO, and mother, I did 'nt hear her say nothing of where she was going, and I aint never seed her since." Charles did not speak for many minutes; he was con- vulsed with grief; at length recovering, he took some gold pieces from his purse, and handed them to the old -servant, who was weeping to see him so distressed. "Here, Amy, ny good old friend, do not cry; take these and- buy yourself something to remember me by. -You used to like white; summer is coming, buy yourself a handsome white gown.", "Thank you, masteri I will," said Amy, ' and I'll keep it to be buried in." Charles left the spot; he went to his inn, wrote a long but hurried letter of explanation to Randolph, detailing his disappointments; he implored him at once to write to Lucy, and tell her all; then, nearlyfrantic, he repaired to the vessel, ignorant that she whom he loved was with- in four short miles; that she, ad and wretched, was never free from thoughts of him, and--ilat she considered his wanton, heartless treachery. . The wind was fair, the vessel sailed fast; the Massa- chusetts' coast grew fainter to the sight astern, it disap- peared from view, and in a few days, just as the fleet was about to sail for Quebec, Charles and his companions joined the forces of General James Wolfe, in the harbor of Louisburg. CHAPTER XXVI. si A HERO IN HSTORY.?" THE war between England and France had now been waged in the American colonies for several years. In the Canadas and north western frontiers, the fortunes of battle had frequently varied, -sometimes in favor of the French, but more generally - of the English, who weNe slowly gaining ground in the Gallic possessions. But deep anxiety for the result of the war was felt ini England under Pitt's administration; a feeling shared by that mighty statesman, and which cost him many an hour of sleepless care; a feeling which;,extending as far south as Maryland, elicited a martial spirit which was not forgotten, when but a few years . later the troubles with the mother country assumed the shape of open revolt. There was now just ground for apprehension, for a chiv- alrous spirit of union pervaded all ranks of the French, and in the Canadas a spectacle of almost unequalled gran- deur was presented-that of two powerful kingdoms ar- rayed against each other, for the prize of a western em- pire. Well might the gallant Wolfe feel the vast weight of the responsibility imposed upon him. With his little army of eight thousand troops, he was about to sail a distance of four hundred miles into a'hostile country, and afterwards attack the- stronghold of Quebec; even then, before a twentieth part of its stupendous fortifications were reared, regarded as the Gibraltar of America, and (2183) page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 BRANDON ;rB, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. well nigh impregnable. A magnificent enterprise lay before the young general, which, successfully accom- plished, would crown him with glory; but again, a single e false step might cover him with defeat and disgrace. Just at this period the numerous victories of the Brit- ish by sea and land had kindled in Wolfe the loftiest de- sires of emulation, and it was the measure of his ambition to render his own name great, and the campaign the most illustrious in the annals of his country. In the very prime of life, Woffe was marked by his person, his valor, his genius, as the very beau ideal of a chivalrous hero. Owing nothing to nobility of blood, he had already acquired a European reputation as a soldier, and won the favor of his superiors solely by merit. He had fought with honor to himself on the fields of Fonte- noy and Dettingen, and the humanity of his nature was made memorable to the Highlanders, during'the carnage of Clloden. He was but twenty-two years of age, when he was promoted -to a Lieutenant-colonelcy, and scarce ten years older when entrusted with the command of the army, in the St. Lawrence. A strict disciplinarian, he exacted implicit obedience, yet the severity of military rule was tempered by kind- ness of disposition; his battalions were drilled to the highest point of efficiency, while his enthusiasm and de- voted bravery found a response in the breast of his mean- est soldier. Nor was, he merely distinguished as a military chief- tain; a love of literature beguiled his leisure hours; his letters sparkle with animated descriptions of man and na- ture; and his imagination pictured scenes of future do- mestic-bliss in England, where his widowed mother, with all her earthly hopes centered in himn, watched for his triumphant return. ' A "HERO IN HSTORY:' '215 There is a monument in Quebec bearing the name of Wolfe, but na-ture's grand memorial, the Heights ofc Abraham, stands ever consecrated to his fame. War may shatter the bristling bastions of the citadel, or time may eventually leave not one stotne upon. another; but, as long as the St. Lawrence sweeps by the adamantine base of Cape Diamond, the memory of the hero will not be forgotten by mankind. When Charles Brandon presented his credentials and letters of introduction to Wolfe, he was struck with his soldierly bearing, his keen look of command, and the winning sweetness of his address; he felt, in an, instant, that he could follow such a leader to the death.' "I am glad you have come amongus, sir," said the General, "' we want men. In an hour I shall be at leisure. I shall put you through the drill, to see what you are/ made of, and what you know. We sail shortly. Jones," here turning to an aid-de-camp, " will show you to your quarters. Good morning, sir;" and with this Wolfe- bowed, and the interview enqed. "Come on, sir," said Jones to Charles. "I am glad to hear we are to sail soon; it's cursed dull here, 'and I long for a little life. You are accustomed to arms, I sup- pose?" "Yes; I have commanded a company in Virginia,-and' hope to please your general." "You will easily do so, if you only try to deserve his favor. Wolfe is strict, but he has an eagle eye for merit; he will pardon faults, but has no patience with carelessness." Wolfe, as good as his word, sent for- Charles at the proper time, and placing a musket in his hands exercised him for half an hour closely and critically. "Very good, sir," be said, at length, " that will do; I page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 216 BRANDON ; OR, ,A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. see I was not wrong in my first impression of you. A little gunpowder will-soon make you a soldier. You are at iberty OQwm sir, until four o'clock; at that hour I dine, you ill jo :e, he added, )indly. ;Charles; gleatly lreieved, strolled about the camp until it was time to makle tis toilet, joininyg his general and one or two other officers at the hour imeal. "You are punctual, Mr. Brandon, I see. Right, right sir, always mind the minutes.5" They sat down to dinner, and little was said about war or the expedition before them. On the contrary Wolfe banished these from the gayety of the feast; he led the conversation to topics of literature, society, and the fine arts, enlivened it with piquant anecdotes, recollections of European celebrities, and with happy tact saw that each guest wtas drawn out in turn, and made to contribute to the entertainment of the rest. One very old-colonel, a veteran in the-service-dry as a chip-who knew nothing but his profession, was indulged for the thousandth time with his recital of Marlborough's victory at Malplaquet, at which the colonel had fought fifty years before, and had bored the mess table with it ever since. And another, a younger major, who never having read a book in his life, had been forced to look, during a literary disquisition, as if he un- derstood it all, though he was in terror lest he should be mischievously questioned by Wolfe, now had a chance of displaying also; when he told of the sport he had the day before with his gun, and being a capital shot had brought down with one barrel the brace of wild fowl smoking on the table before hitn. Charles Brandon's finished educa- tion and good manners, soon won a place for him in the regards of those present, even with the old colonel, who at first had looked upon him with the most profound in- difference. Wolfe was perfectly familiar with the state A "HERO IN HSTORY." 2i'2 of the country and its history; and the subject of Brad- dock's defeat, being mentioned -he asked Charles if he * had ever seen Colonel Washington. Charles replied, that he knew Washington well. ? "Ah!" said Wolfe, "heiis a, great and rising soldier. I should like to meet him and fight by his side. It is shameful that merits such as his, should now be neg- lected by those in authority, especially since his brilliant triumphs at Fort Duquesne, -now called Pittsburgh, in honor of our prime minister. I hope to meet him some day, and that too before we conquer all,the Canadas. He was, I understand, in the thickest of the fight under Braddock, and yet marvellously escaped unhurt." "Yes sir, he was," said Charles; "and one old Indian, who seldom missed his aim, reports having had seventeen direct fires at him with his rifle, without being able to hit him." "Indeed!' exclaimed the old colonel; "that is aston. ishing; if he had been at Malplaquet, he would have been killed. Did I ever tell you, General Wolfe, how Marl- borough and Prince Eugene, just as the Pretender made his last charge at the head of the French cavalry, said" . . . . . . "INow, colonel," Wolfe gaily interrupted, anxious to avoid an endless story, for he caught the despairing look of the sporting major; "don't let us fight Malplaquet over' again. You beat the French there, roundly; this time reserve your forces for them until we reach Quebec, then give it to them. Now,- fill your glass, and you too, major, and Mr. Brandon; let us drink to the health of the gallant Colonel Washington." 10 . page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] CHAPTER XIXVII. QUEBEC. IT was June, 1759, and the British army, consisting of about eight thousand men, including two battalions of ',Ro -]i.,Americans,' set sail from Louisburg; the fleet which ibre them, comprising twenty-two ships of the line, and about as many smaller vessels, being commanded by Admiral Saunders. Many distinguished naval and military officers, besides Wolfe, made part of the forbe. In command of one of the frigates was John Jervis, then but twenty-five years of age, celebrated afterwards as Earl'of St. Vincent, one of the greatest of England's naval heroes, second proba- bly only to Lord Nelson. There was Cook, of daring genius, thirsting now for renown which he was destined subsequently to gain as the persevering navigator; like another Columbus, to sail unknown oceans, and tell of ro- mantic'islands never before visited by the pale faced stran- ger. Among the army officers was the gallant Richard Montgomery, whose glory is inseparably linked with Quebec, for winning his early laurels at its capture; he -fell before its walls sixteen years later, when having joined the American cause, he attacked the fortress in connection with the traitor Benedict Arnold. The three distinguished brigadiers, the immediate seconds of Wolfe, were Murray, Townshend, and Monckton, severally sons of nobles; the last named, in after years, the ,noble hearted and beloved Governor of New York. Here (218) ii QUEBEC. 219 figured also Lieutenant Colonel Howe, celebrated in revolutionary annals, and chief in command Ofthe British- forces at the evacuation of Boston. As the fleet sailed up the magnificent St. Lawrence, its waters reflecting the snowy sails of fifty ships of war, never could its banks have beheld a spectacle of more imposing grandeur. The mighty armament moved on; the towering bulwark swarming with warriors, their faces lighted with Stern joy at the coming strife, and the Cannon readg'to hurl their iron showers on the foe. ,-On the 26th of June, the great fleet came to anchor at the Isnd of Orleans, before the devoted Quebec. The sun h-one brilliantly on the dark giant forms of the men-of-war; boats were plying between them, and- strains of martial music rose from bands upon their decks; the light, flashed back from the sentry's muskets, and the rich uniforms of the officers; tinged by the clouds, it spread varied glories on the-broad bosom of the river; it bathed the wooded heights with colors like- those of the autumnal foliage; it filled the streets of the city, lying in fancied security beneath the inaccessible cliff; it reste on the bastions of Cape Diamond, crested by the citade and the royal ensign of France, which over that grand theatre of battle waved defiance to the invader. Quebec, now rendered almost impregnable by the science of engineers, is formidable by nature, as surely marked for the site of a great fortress as Gibraltar or the' Moro Castle. , The river which runs before it forms a wide basin, which, four hundred miles from the Atlantic, might float the combined navies of the' world. At the north and east sides of the rock on which the batteries are mounted, the River St. Charles mingles with the St. Lawrence, and thus the Heights assume the shape of a peninsula. The British page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] :.'220 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. army at once disembarked, and encamped on the Islaind of Orleans, opposite to the city. The greater part of the French forces under command of Montcalm, were posted on the Heights on the north bank of the stream, their en- campment stretching along the shores of Beauport to thle River Montmorenci, which, nine miles below the city,e "after fretting itself a whirlpool route, and leaping for miles . down the steps of a rocky bed, rushes with velocity to- ward the ledge, over which, falling two hundred and fifty feet, it pours its fleecy cataract into the chasm."* In a short time, Point de Levi, opposite to the city, was seized by Monckton, and a battery erected there opened fire upon the city; many of its houses in the lower town were injured and set in flames, but the lofty bastions sus- eed; no damage. Meanwhile, the fleet was twice menaced with destruction; fireships were floated down the river by the French, but with cool hardihood, the sailors, grappling with them, towed them out of the reach of the men-of-war, then left them to burn and illumine, with fearful sublimity, the camps, the shipping, and the ortes,: On the 9th of July, Wolfe changed his camp ' i position near Mont'calm's, on the same heights, and :,oni separated from him by the River Montmorenci. ^But it seemed to be impossible to approach the French general; the torrent between the two armies forbade bbats 't:- 'ross, nor could it be forded; ceaseless reconnoitering availed nothing, for every point along the river was de- fended by cannon, and watched by the: devoted soldiers of France. Prepared at all points, Montcalm was con- tent to ,act on the defensive; lihe knew that if the sum- mer went by, the ships could not remain late into the autumn, the 'early rigors of the climate would compel , - * Bancroft. QUEBEC. 21 -, them to return to LoWsburg, and the -expedition result in utter failure. The British commander knew this too, and it made him-: doubly anxious to win the day by some sudden and des- perati conflict. His anxiety was shared by the whole armT,burning to redeem their long repose; it was felt by Charlis himself to the last degree, for his mind was ill at ease, and he-looked forward impatiently to action. His' thoughts were gloomy, for he was far from all his friends, uncertain of the fate of his beloved Lucy, and uncheered by a word of intelligence from home.. The sce'nc:whicih::- otherwise could not have failed to please him, Was:nabw unheeded; the martial appearance of the camp, thedeep- recoesses of the wood which bounded it, the brawling river, the cataract which foamed down- the abyss, inm + bright moonlight nights, arrayed with a beauty Tarbeyo the painter's art, ceased to charm. r - At length, Wolfe, longing for an opportunity of convert- . ing the dullness of inaction into open battle, -had subiit- ted to his faithful brigadiers three plans of attack, -too desperate to receive their approbation, and they had abandoned. But before these were projected On another blow had been attempted without success. . According to the plan of attack, the bed of the Mont- morenci was to be crossed at that part of it which lies between the St. Lawrence and the foot of the-watefJ,: where a ledge of rocks, about a thousand feet in extent, permits a passage when the tide is low.!Monckthn's forctes were to cross from Point de Levi, and join the regiments on the north bank of the river, and thus combined,. scale the Heights and attack the French. The signal was given, and thel troops came over in boats, -but before these touched the shore, they struck upon some hidden rocks in the stream, and were- at once thrown into confusion. page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222 BRANDON ,; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. While endeavoring to clear theiri boats, Wolfe's impetu- osity could brook no delay, and with thirteen companies of the British Grenadiers, and about two hundred men from the second battalion' f "Royal Americans, he judged he could successfully .combat the enemy. But observing some stir in the French camp, he ordered his troops to form upon the beach, and wait until joined by the other regiments, as he was resolved, if possible, to bring the foe to a general engagement. But the sol- diers who had longed so impatiently for action, now, re- gardless of danger, could not be restrained, and dashing forward with wild huzzas, instantly rushed upon the French entrenchments. Brandon, at the head of his com- pany, carried away by the enthusiasm of the moment, stayed not for orders, but cheering on his men, cried, a( Forward, my brave boys." But the assault was met by such a steady and murderous fire, that in a moment he saw his men dropping around him like autumn leaves; it was vain to withstand such an iron shower from an enemy taking cool, deliberate aim in safety behind their defence, and the word was reluctantly given to retreat to a redoubt which had ,been abandoned (by the enemy at the com- mencement of the attack. Here the troops were still exposed to a -raking fire; and while the cannon pealed forth their thunders, a terrific storm, which had -been gathering for some hours, burst in fury, and the roar o ordnance was answered by the artillery of heaven. Wolfe now made haste to withdraw his troops, sending those of Monckton's again over-the liver, and retired to his camp -after this desperate enterprise, with the loss of five hun- dred men. The impetuosity of the troops was censured in general orders, and Charles Brandon, with other offi- cers, received a sharp plivate reprimand for rash conduct. General Murray was now sent with a detachment of twelve hundred men far above the city, to endeavor, if possible, to open a communication with Amherst, the commander-in-chief in the region of Lake Champlain; and though he did not, succeed in doing so, the army was cheered by the intelligence learnt from a party of French prisoners, that Crown Point, and Ticonderoga, had been abandoned by the enemy, and that Fort Niagara had surrendered. These triumphs amply redeemed the dis- " grace of the previous year, caused by the pusillanimous Abercrombie. Amherst was now daily looked for to combine with the army before Quebec; but he came not, and Wolfe fell sick in body and soul. Wasted with fever, feeling his strength leaving him; the prospect of dying without ac- complishing the grand object of his hopes, preyed upon his spirit, and tortured him with the gloomiest fore- bodings. "It is not death that I fear," he said -to Charles Bran- don, on one occasion, when he had called to pay his re- spects to his general; "I have often braved it before. Several times have I felt that I should not survive this campaign; but the misery of dying unsuccessful, or aban:-d doning the expedition, is more than I can bear-; knowing the mighty responsibility that devolves upon me, and how anxiously the ministry and people of England look for glad tidings." But determined that neither disappointment nor delay, nor obstacles of the most formidable nature, should over- come his dauntless spirit; once more Wolfe arose, and once again chose to decide upon desperatemeasures; which his genius taught him would alone serve in his emergency. He broke up bhis camp on the. Heights of Montmorenci; and leaving only a sufficiency of troops to hold the posts on the Tsland of Orleans, and on the page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] ;24 BRANDON OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. southern bank of the St. Lawrence, he marched his army from Point Levi on the 6th of September; and then, placing his troops in transports, landed them at -a spot some miles above the city. The fleet following in a day or two, manceuvered with a view to deceive the enemy. Tut Montcalm was a thorough adept in every stratagem of war, and he despatched fifteen hundred men from the main camp, to a point several miles higher up the river, to watch the motions of the English, and prevent any at- tempt upon the north bank. Cook and other officers were also employed in the work of feints; and wre oc- cupied with sounding along the shores of Beauport, and anchoring buoys in the stream, Meanwhile Wolfe, by indefatigable reconnoitering, dis- covered, about three miles above Quebec, a spot which he deemed available for landing. Thd river at this point- curving, sweeps a narrow ledge or-beach, between it and the cliff; and the general's eagle vision soon descried a narrow path winding up a precipitous height. There he determined that his army should land, and scale the bank in the night. It was a bold plan; such as he alone could have the hardihood to persist in, and which would never have re- ceived -the sanction of the more cautious Amherst, had he been present. Every thing depended on secrecy, concert in actions and the suddenness of the blow. The French were ever on the alert, the magic power of union held them all; a devoted spirit of patriotism was kindled alike in the noble, and the peasant; like the old chivalrous fire that burned in every heart, and lighted every face,when in ancient days the call to battle rang, and ,the gleat and holy standard of France," the " ori- flamme," was unfurled, and borne before its warrior kings. , * . * - QUEBEC. '- , 9 ,. Thus the two armies rested; both watching for the '. slightest chance of success. The French, full of hope, of joy, masters of a powerful stronghold; well posted, well supplied; confident in their leader, whose abilities were a fair match for his great antagonist; and the English, at every disadvantage; At a late season; but thoroughly disciplined, calm, brave, and patient; waiting but, the word from the general they adored, to rush to battle and to victory. -...... Our friend, Bela Tilley, -with his large share of curios- itytook a keen interest in -every thing, as may be readily imagined. His tall, lank figure, and prying, inquisitive face, made hin a conspicuous mark, and it was impossible to give him the slightest military look. He was a jack- of-all-trades, and from his obliging disposition, he became a favorite with the troops; ready as he always was, to lend a helping-hand to any work or sport. "Well, Bela," said Charles -to him} one day, "how do you like this life?"1 "Wal, puty much, puty much; it's a tolerable pattern, only wish though they'd git to work; I'd like to shoot an Ingin." "Why so, Bela?"? "Wal, I was a thinking tother night I mought like to make some money by it. Yer see, arter I'd lout him, I'd kinder like to take him captive; an guess ef I showed * him up reound abeout, folks 'lid -be glad to pay a'shillin' a piece to see him in his Ingin dress. I'd make-him dance, an sing, an yell out onexpected with his warwhoop; an then, likely, they'd pay another- shillin' to hear him over again, in case they war'nt skeered right dead the- fust time by his hollerin'. What du yer think on't?' 'An ingenious plan, truly, and one: that will be sure 1 O - , - page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 BRANDON :OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. to succeed, if you can only take him alive. But Indians are very slippery fellows, and hard to- catch, Bela." ' "Know they be.- Guess I'll doze him with several shot fust, an then nooze him. Calculate neow, ef I got him deown to Rud Island, he'd make my fortin right eout. Show hiim up a spell, an then trade him off for a small farm, I will. Dun know how 'tis, pursued Bela, medi- tatively,- " never took a likin' to Ingins, no how; fust time I ever see 'em. Can't go 'em. Some things I du a-bom-i-nate; an among 'em is snakes, skeeters, niggers, an- Ingins." Changing the subject of his remarks -sud- denly: IGineral Wolfe aint to be caught nappin'; tell yer what, he's a kind er snorter. 'TwaInt long back when I heered he was sick, and could'nt more nor look at his vittles; when the fust- thing I knowed on, I seed hisself a canterin aleong like mad, in all sorts er places. "Tall horse, that o' yourn, gineral," ses I. "Who the devil are. you P? ses he.' "'Bela Tilley,? ses I, ' friend of a friend o' yourn, Mr. Brandon.'" "' What are you doin' here? ses he." "'Jest a practisn with my rifle,' ses I. 'I'll shoot Gineral Mountcalam for you, gineral,' ses I, 'ef you'll only pint him- out.' With- that- he did'nt say nothin', only kinder snickered, and chucked me this yer gould piece,' said BRela, producing the coin. "Calculate tho' he feels kinder ris about lIountcalam.5" ^"Montcalm! Montcalm! how often have I told you how to pronounce the French general's name." "Wall, neow, Mister Charles, taint no use in yer tellin' me over agin, seein' I never could speak my own Rud Island extra-oldinary, correct nohow, 'and it does actooally make me ex-pec-to-rate every time I try to say the name ev one ev them ere French mounseers." QUEBEC. 227 "No matter, then, we attack the French to-night; take care of yourself, andkeep out of harm's way. If I am killed, you must find your way back to Virginia, and tell them how I fell," , -Bela promised, and as he walked off, revolving the chances of-his master's fate, he wiped away a few honest tears from his lank cheeks, with the cuff of his coat sleeve, The night of the 12th of September, 1759, was fixed for the attack. The day and evening were actively spent in making ready for the importantmove, and every pre- caution was taken to keep from the enemy the slightest intimation of the design. The night was still and clear; the stars studded the heavens in unclouded glory, and were reflected on the bosom of the tranquil river. Wolfe went from ship to ship, animating and cheering the troops for the last time, and found them to a man longing for distinction, and imbued with the same spirit which swayed the whole being of their general. It was ,an .hour past midnight when the troops embarked 'in- fathottomed boats, floated down with, the current of the river. Abso- lute silence, under pain of death, was imposed upon the men. They were to keep near the north shore, for fear of passing the little cove in the darkness, but there was imminent danger of, being descried by the enemy's sentinels; in truth one boat was challenged, but a Scotch officer', in command of it, with admirable presence of mind, at once answered,in French, that they were friends on the watch for the movements of the English, and the sentry's suspicions were disarmed. As Wolfe floated down in his boat, Charles, Brandon, who had been so honored as to be chosen of his party, was cheered, for the last time, with some of that delight- ful conversation which made his commander so charming as with whispered voice, he spoke of Europe, its pleasur s page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 v BRANDON ; ORi A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. and the honors awaiting their success. The serene beauty of the night appeared to draw his thoughts towards poetry, when, asking if they had read the if Elegy in a Country Churchyard," which the genius -of Gray had just given to the world, he repeated, with melting pathos, the greater part of it, reciting more than once, with emphasis, the stanza-- "Perhaps in this neglected Spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre." and again-- "For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind?" He closed with' a short panegyric on the Elegy, saying, "Now, gentlemen, I would rather be the author of that poem than take Quebec." The profoundsfilence which followed, proved how com- pletely his officers were penetrated by the exquisite verse, what recollections of home it called up to some who should know earthly homes ho more; and who were now taking their " longing, lingering look,"' with eyes which to-morrow's sun should see:struck blind in death on the battle field; and the stillness was unbroken until the barge grated upon the destined beach. Wolfe and his troops left the boats, and at once began to climb the heights by the narrow pass. Some parties had drifted in ithe darkness a' little below the proper landing- place, and these, without a footpath to mark their way, rose from' crag to crag, and, clinging to the bushes which grew ! QUEBEC. 229 thick upon the steep, dragged their comrades below them to their own position, and thus, aiding each other, gained the summit without the Ioss of a man. The pickets posted upon the heights were driven in, and, after a slight skirmish, a four gun battery, to the left of the English- army, was taken possession of by Lieutenant-tolonel Howe. Flushed with their success, the -troops emerged from their forests; the roads to Quebec were already their own, and when the morning dawned, in firont of the devoted city stood Wolfe and his irresistible battalions, drawn out in array -of war on the Plains of Abraham. The surprise of the French was great indeed when they first learnt of this extraordinary achievement. "Impos- sible!" said Montcalm, "it cannot be the English army, 'tis but -some party of marauders, come to burn houses and run away*"But a second message came with evil tidings and more authentic information. "Then we must -at once give battle," said the intrepid -general, 'and de- stroy them at a blow." Never had the inhabitants Of any city been more com- pletely betrayed by a confidence in safety than those of Quebec; they had looked upon the expedition as well nigh abandoned. The night before there had been joy in the city; the feast was spread, and- the wine-cup sparkled; the dance was enjoyed by lovely women, and the wearied lay down to happy slumbers. Then stealthi- ly the foe came on, and the dreamers started from their pillows in terror, as the bugle call-rang harsh on their ears, followed by the dread summons, "To arms! to arms!"- The sun arose to illume with splendor a scene always grand by nature, and now rendered still more imposing by the circumstances of the hour.' Far below the Heights, wound the majestic St. Lawrence, bearing upon its sur- page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 230 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. face the enormous fleet which more than two months before had cast anchor in its waters, and which now lay silent, but prepared to cover thetroops in case of a retreat. To the east, beyond the plain ,appeared the heavy ram- parts of the citadel, the prize at last in sight, and not now inaccessible;; while to the far horizon, the hills and waters, checkered by the French hamlets and by distant sail, glistened in the morning light. No thought of re- treat, no sense of danger, was apprehended by that gal- lant little army, which had toiled at night, while others slept; they felt a deep thrill of joy, and a wild burst of ardor pealed from their ranks as the rays of the sun rose on their front, and here fell on the scarlet uniforms of the grenadiers, and again on the tossing plumes and rich tartans of the Scotch Highlanders, while the inspiring martial music of the bands sounded triumphant, as though victory was already won. The English army, about five thousand strong, was thus drawn out in ]tattlp array: On the left, Brigadier General Townrshend, with Amherst's regiment, to counter- act a movement of Montcalm's, who endeavored to flank the British, and drive them to the river. These light infantry troops were shortly joined by the "Royal Americans," among whom Charles Brandon found him- self, well pleased with the spirit of his men, anticipating a glorious contest. The fiery Murray, occupied the centre, where stood the Highlanders. Monekton rested on the right, with the Louisburg grenadiers, and immedi- ately in his rear was a reserve of Webb's. Wolfe, at the commencement of the action, occupied a position near the centre. , Opposed to this force, the French army stretched in a long lie,- and on its right were assembled the citizens of Quebec, ready to shed their blood in defence of their QUEBEC. - 231 beloved city, and these were joined by a small force of Indian allies. A cannonade was opened, and keptup for some time on both sides with little effect, when Montcalm decided on closer action. His troops, though equal in numbers to the enemy, were vastly inferior in point of discipline. About eleven o'clock, the French rushed to the combat; their fire was scattering and. ineffective; they had diffi- culties of ground to contend with, and the solid English columns waiting by Wolfe's order until their antagonists were within forty yards, poured in a deadly fire which instantly threw them into confusion. In vain their heroic leader flew firom rank to rank, animating his soldiers; they began to 'give way, when Wolfe, seizing the fortu- nate moment, placed himself at the head of the Louis- burg Grenadiers, charged with terrible fury, and in a moment the enemy broke, they retreated. ,Wolfe, twice wounded, still pressed on; a third bullet Struck him in the chest; he felt that his wound was mortal. "Let not my gallant fellows see me fall," he said to an- officer by him; "I support me." He was carried to the rear; his life-blood oozed away, his brain reeled, he was roused for an instant from his stupor by the exclamation, "They run i" "4 Who run?" he feebly asked. "The French!" was the answer. "Then, thank God, I die happy," murmured the hero, and all that was mortal of James Wolfe lay stretched upon the plain. The victorious troops rushed on; Charles Brandon sword in hand ignorant of the death of his general, was charging at the head of his company, when he was seen to stagger and fall; he was shot down dreadfully wound- ed,: the tide of battle rolled ' over him, the day was won. On the'17th of September, four days after the engage- page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. ment, the brilliant Montcalm meanwhile dying of his wounds, and spared the misery of beholding the surren- der of Quebec, the proud standard of France floated for the last time from the citadel, and the morrow's sun rose on a western empire, whose ensign was the banner of St. George, ***- * \ r CHAPTER XXVIII. A DOUBLE CAPTURE. EVBR since the "Paper Tiger" had so unwillingly paid out five hundred and fifty pounds, he had been a most miserable animal. He likened hims'elf unto that man who went down to Jericho and fell among thieves, and he sighed in vain for some good Samaritan. He was disap- pointed in all his calculations. He had determined not to give Mildred the will, unless she repaid him, but now he was not allowed to approach her. As for the smug- gler, he had thought five minutes of scuffle would suffice to settle him for this world, and the fifty pounds would be restored and quadrupled by the rdward offered for him; but he had escaped, and Elisha was sick at heart. It was evident that the world had not gone " all- right " with Mr. Barlow; that pleasant smirk of self-satisfaction, and -slick tip-toe tread which bore him around so softly were gone; his forehead was wrinkled with anxiety; his snuffing of the air was moie frequent; and the snapping of his nails between his teeth more violent than ever be- fore. The sense of large pecuniary loss preyed upon his avaricious nature, and to add to his distress several small traders who owed him sums of money-and goods gave him the slip, and disappeared at the very moment when he was about to pounce upon them and congratulate him- self for his vigilant foresight. Turn where he would, trouble seemed to menace him; there was Mildred with his five hundred pounds, and to regain them he could have murdered her with (233) page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 234 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. good will; but at that thought the stern figure of Mr. -Castlemain came up in his, imagination, rope in hand, either to belabor him soundly, or'put a noose around his neck, e?could scarce tell whmh. Conversations with Castlemain had made him quake; indeed that gentleman had informed him that he was more than suspected of dealing with smugglers, and that any proof of his hav- ing done so would be followed by summary punishment. Elisha only wriggled out of the lawyer's cross-examina- tion by numberless lies, so -adroit that they almost de- ceived even the questioner, himself. If the trader thought of Ralph and his gang, he shuddered at the idea of filling into their hands. Even in his dreams,-his moneybags appeared to be capering for joy at having escaped the clutches of such a mean rascal; large cargoes of rum and sugar melted away and left him nothing but empty hogs- heads; while even his niggers seemed to have broken the bondage of the slave-ship; and were careering about in mid ocean, bound on pleasure voyages and not for the Brazils. His relations at home, too, with Mrs. Barlow, were no longer pleasant; she dropped hints that made his hair stand on end, and his meal times were hours of torture. "Drat that are lawyer, and Janey, and Missis Estcourt; drat everythink and everybody,', soliloquized Elisha;i" to think now of losing my character in this 'ere way, it's been worth at least two hunted pound to me since I've been here. Reckon, next think, they'll take away the collection plate from me on Sundays!" At last the trader smiled again, his brow relaxed, a plan' had struck him, and- he was, as cheerful as ever. His neighbor Tilley saw and spoke of the change. "Wal," said Elisha, "at first I did feel rather bothered at them men runnin off and not payin' me, but after all I've made up my mind not to worry at it for myself, but only for them, it's A DOUBLE CAPTURE., 235 their loss, the loss of their souls, for if there is any think I do find comfolrtin', its honesty. Honesty, neighbor Tilley, always bear that in mind." "Sound doctrine," said neighbor Tilley-. But very shortly after-this conversation, neighbor Tilley himself had reason to experience the worth of Elisha's honesty, and the exposure his fraud met with was precipitated by the redoubtable Mrs. Morpus. We have already spoken of the wholesome terror with which that lady had inspired Elisha; if he beheld afar off the corpulent umbrella, or the breezes ever so lightly stirred the plumes of the Hectorian helmet, and he thought he should meet her, the valiant trader pre- pared for a scamper. Why? He had once cheated her out of a sixpence, and in consequence her wrath against him burned unceasing. But to the business transaction in which Barlow bun- gled. A man named Cranston owed him some money, and was rather pressed for means. Cranston had often had dealings with neighbor Tilley and held notes of his, X all of which Tilley had paid, excepting only- a small balance; but he had neglected to take away these notes as he cashed them. The "Paper Tiger," always prowling about,- found out that Cranston still held these notes, and as he was-not very likely to pay what he owed him shortly, he deter-, mined to make his iaoney in another way, if he could. He accordingly called upon neighbor Tilley, with all his plans arranged for action. His smile was more bland thain usual. - '"Neilghbor Tilley, I jest called to ask if you would'nt as lief pay them are notes you owes Cranston, to me as to lhim J, "Yes, Mr. Barlow, /but I do not owe the money for the notes." page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 236 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. "Oh yes, you does, sir., Come now, honesty, neighbor Tilley; and the notes is all in my hands; and if you does'nt pay 'em, I shall have to sell your house, onpleas- ant as that would be to me.'" Tilley was alarmed. He knew that he had paid nearly all that was due on the notes, but he did not hold them to show that he had; and he was confounded that Cran- ston should have passed them over to Barlow. The Tiger, seeing that Tilley was frightened, said to him, "I will come day after tomorrow, and we will talk thinks over with your wife. Lem, me see, day after to- morrow's Sunday; we can fix it all right afore church time. I allers likes to git these ere little matters off my mind, and go clean-handed into the sanctyerry." Neighbor Tilley went-home very desponding; but for- tunately, his wife possessed that common sense which he waited; and was, moreover, a sister of Mrs. Morpus. "Have you taxed Cranston with his conduct, husband?" "' No, honey, he's gone out of town." "He is an honest man, I know; and we will learn the truth when he comes back to-morrow. Leave matters to me and my sister." Mrs. Morpus and Mrs. Tilley accordingly waited on Cranston,-when he returned. He was astounded at Eli- sha's villainy. He showed the notes, and handed them to Mrs. Morpus. "I will go this moment, and expose him," he said. "Stop," said Mrs. Morpus, thumping the floor vio- lently, with the fat. umbrella; ' come to my sister's house on Sunday morning. We will then expose him thor- oughly." Sunday morning came; and Elisha, in high spirits, tripped along with the vivacity of a young kitten, to the appointed meeting. That pleasant smile mantled his fea- A DOUBLE CAPTURE. 237 tures, as he thought that in an hour's time, this little business matter would be " all right," anid he would be entering the church to give thanks. He had even re- solved to contribute a double portion to the -collection that day; he would give five shillings. He entered the house, and Mrs. Tilley received him. In a few amiable words he informed her that he had the notes of her husband, and had "jest called to have that little matter fixed up." Mrs. Tilley steadily regarded him: "And you say you have those notes in your posses- sion?," "Yes, ma'am, I has them are notes." At this moment a shadow darkened the threshold, and Elisha, to his terror, beheld Mrs. Morpus. The plumed crest waved fiercely, and the green umbrella was wielded like- the baton of a field marshal. "Elisha Barlow," said she, bringing the weapon down with a treme nous thump near his toes, "do not you dare go to the/house of God to-day. I have been sitting on my bel-cony, to watch- for your coming here, knowing for what your errand was des-tined. See these notes in my possession, you wretched hypocrite." The Paper Tiger looked, and turned pale ;, he trembled. At this moment there was a loud knock at the front door. "Mother," called out a little girl, "here's father come, and neighbor Cranston." "Show them up," thundered Mrs. Morpus. "Don't, ah don't let them come up here," cried Elisha, ! in wild distress. ' "They shall come, sir, and you shall confront them with a lie in your mouth." Elisha darted for the back window; it overlooked the garden, and was but a few feet from the ground.- The page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 238 BRANDON ; ORj A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. hooked beak of the green umbrella was stretched out to catch him by the coat collar; but Mrs. Morpus' alacrity could not equal his; he threw himself out, kicked up a dust as he alighted, ran over the pumpkin patch, dashed across the inclosure, scaled the fence, and was out of sight in a twinkling-; his appearance as he scampered off, being very much like that of a felonious tomcat, hurriedly chased from neighbor Tilley's premises. Elisha did not-go to church 'that -day, and saved five shillings. Mrs. Morpus strode up the middle aisle of Trinity with the air of a conqueror. And after service, Mr. Castlemain enjoyed a hearty laugh as she narrated the adventure. Barlow now soon decided that he must quit Newport. He could play the hypocrite ho longer. Having matured his plan, therefore, "studied over it," as he would ex- press it, he thought fit to disclose it to Mrs. Barlow. She listened with delight, as she anticipated another story to relate to Castlemain; who, considering her now regu- larly im the service of the government, paid her for infor- mation. He did not as yet deem Elisha's guilt so thor- oughly established, as to warrant his taking him into cus- tody; and not having full confidence in Jane, accepted her revelations respecting his doings with some grains of allowance. - Assuming his most benevolent smilej the Paper Tiger drew his chair close to Mrs. Barlow, and said, "Janey dear, I is a goin' to tell you of somethink now for your and my good; for you know how much I loves you, jest as much as you does me." - "Janey dear," listened; abut if the love she had for Elisha was expressed by her eyes, one might read murder in them. "Well," said she, abruptly," what do you want now? A DOUBLE CAPTURE,. -51/ speak the- truth for once, and don't tell me any more falsehoods." "Now, Janey dear, what makes you talk that are way to me; you knows every think I've done has only been for our good; and besides, no one's ever knowed that you aint married to me; I've only delayed for the-best; but as soon as I gits this ere matter off my mind, I'H make it all right, marry you at wunst, and private like, so that nobody will wonder at it. Nobody knows it now, no how." "Nobody but Mr. Castlemain," said Jane quietly. "Good God, Mr. Castlemain! I wisht that are man was down to the bottom of the harbor off long wharf, with a millstone tied round his neck. He is the plague of my life. What in hell did you tell him for?" "' Don't swear, saint, the vestry --might hear of it," said Jane, tauntingly. "Why Janey, what's got into you? you is so different from what you used to be , now, when I'm in trouble, it seems kind er hard I can't find peace and quiet even in the bosom of my own family." "Your family! don't imagine that I belong to it." "Well, Janey, never mind then, dear, you needn't if you does'nt wish to; but as I was a sayin, this 'ere Castlemain, drat him, what made you tell him you wasn't my wife?" "That you will find out, by and by, go on and tell your story, quick, and don't bother me with your whin- ing hypocrisy; I'm sick of it." "I doesn't mean to deceive you." "You had better not. Proceed." "Well, just the whole of the matter is, we must be off this ere island, it's a gittin too hot to hold us. The fact is, I is, as you know, too much tied to that ere Ralph, to page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] 240 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. more'n hold my head up above water. Every hour I'm afraid Castlemain will find out something more, and be down on us. And oh, Lord! what Torrid dreams I has now, nights; if I'm hung wunst I'm hung twenty times afore mornin'. Last night I dreamed" ...... "Never mind your dream; be quick and tell me what your plan is.", "For you and me to run away and go back to Eng- land, and then old Castlemain may hang Ralph and all his crew, for what I care, on G6at Island, where all them are pirates was hung thirty years ago. Yes, Janey dear, we'll jest git ready; we can pack up the most valuable goods to take with us'; I can make ,a sale to a man I know, for hard-money, of all the rest--he's to keep dark about it till we gits off. We leave word, last think, or I'll write a line and contrive to send it to the boys in the shop, sayin' we's a goin' to New York, for a few days only, when, reelly, we'll go to Boston; shipsis constantly cleerin' from there for the old country, and we'll sail under false names. Won't that be fine, now?" said Elisha, chuckling with joy. "Yes," said Jane; "but are you not afraid that Castle- main will find it out?" ' Why, Lord!" said Elisha, turning pale; " how can he, who is to tell him?'" "I don't know," said Jane. "I shan't, of course; all I ever told him, was about myself, and you not marrying me, as you promised. I thought it was hard treatment, and went to see if the law couldn't make you; but Mr. -Castlemain said, though it was a hard case, he could not oblige you to." -"Did he, now?" said Elisha, kissing Jane in a burst of rapture; " well, I declare, but I will -marry you, and we can live in England like a lady and gentleman should; A DOUBLE CAPTURE. 241 give utthis dingy old shop and ride in our carriage all - day.' ^ "And how soon do you mtend to do all this-?" "In a few days. Jest you git ready, and I'llt make all sure. The money's goin' to be paid at wunst for thes stock of goods, groceries, etc.,- and I told the man I would lend him one hundred pounds or so, if he would only keep still; he thinks I am a goin' to set up a larger shop in Boston, and don't want nothin' said about it afore I leave here. Guess he'll feel rather queer when he comes to examine his stock of goods, and wonder where his hundred pounds is. Now we must be smart, and then we'll see who's to be caught in the net; Castlemain or me." "That, in truth you will," thought Jane; ' your hour has come now, and you shall swing for this." Fool-like--for such knaves as Elisha Barlow, are always fools-he had trusted Jane with his plan, even after he had begun to suspect her as a spy; from her confession that she had informed Castlemain of her own wrongs. Elisha's eyes were now opened, and he easily accounted for all the lawyer had found out about him; but -he de- tailed his plan with all kinds of fair promises to her, which he meant to break, fearing that, if he appeared to suspect her, she would at once denounce him. The rogue's true idea was, indeed, to get every thing into ready money, that he could secure, and that accomplished, bid farewell to Newport, leave Jane and escape to England. Jane lulled his suspicions, but was prepared to lodge informa- tion with Castlemain at a moment's notice. Before the day arrived on which he intended to leave, Elisha had again changed his plans. :He despaired of ever getting his money from Ralph; for he knew that, even if he was caught, any attempt at tampering with nZ page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. him, could only result in his own seizure. But the loss of his five hundred pounds so preyed on his avaricious nature, that he now determined to go first to Virginia; and,'bear- ing the will with him, only deliver it into Mildred's hands on the payment of much,'more than she had taken from him. 'He little knew that t Castlemain, anticipating many of his tricks, had written a full description of him to Redtape, with orders to arrest him, if he appeared in the neighborhood of Williamsburg, on any pretext what- ever. Barlow imagined thatfiie would not only secure a round sum from Mildred, but 'completely baffle pursuit-some supposing that-he had gone to Boston, others to New York; and after he had effected his purpose in Virginia, he would either have a chance of going to England direct, or if that failed him, he could go by sea to Boston, and there lie hid until the vessel was ready to sail for London. On the day of his departure, he lavished the tenderest caresses on Janey, and tried to cheat her for the last time, by saying that he was only going out to the caverfi, where he had been accustomed to meet the Smugglers; he should bring back with him some of the valuables from the cave, and that on the next day they would leave the island forever. He intended to go to the cave, secure his booty, and get the will. It was placed there for safe keeping, which Jane did not know, for she had searched for it in vain;-but he had no intention of rejoining his faithful 'partner. He would sell his horse and wagon at the upper end of the islanid, and make his way to Provi- dence, and thence go to Virginia, leaving Janey and every one else in Newport to- whistle for hig return. -,th a smile so cheering that it was almost enough to; di erse the thick fog spreading over the landscape-one of those autumnal sealfogs which every body who has ever A DOUBLE CAPTURE. 243 been in Rhode Island, will remember-our Paper Tiger gathered up his reins and began his journey. Telling Jane to have something hot for his supper, he grinned with de- light as he thought shewould wait a long time at that meal; and, with hypocrisy to -the last, decided before driving out of town, to pay a short visit to the Reverend Thomas Pollen, and having a talk with him about vestry duties and the spread of Gospel truth, leave a good impression on his mind, at least. This took him nearly an hour, for he did not wish to appear in a hurry, and thus excite any suspicion; he was as bland as a morning in. May.. Let us leave him for a little while and return to Jane. No sooner had honest Elisha left the shop, than she made haste to'put on her head gear and shawl, and repair to Mr. Castlemain. The lawyer was at home, but he was closeted with a very important personage, no other than our old acquaintance, Captain, now Admiral Brooke. He could not be disturbed for half an hour. Jane in a fi'enzy of impa- tience, waited double that time. She knew that Elisha was about to give themn the slip, and she was anxious to see him brought back in disgrace. At length Castlemain entered, and she told him all; told him that she feared he was already too late, but that if he set off instantly with a strong posse to scour the roads in all directions, he might succeed'in capturing Barlow. Blaming himself for not having seen her before, Cas- tlemlin instantly assembled a party; by heir advice he resolved to go with one or two able-bodied men to the cavern himself, she- denoting its situation 'on the west side of Eastons pond. The other horsemen were to divide, and endeavor to stop him on one road or another. "This fog is unfortunate," thought Castlemain; "^one can scarce see ten feet, but we will try what is to be done." He at once informed Admiral Brooke, who page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 BRANDON; OR, 4 HUNDRED YEARS AGO. offered to accompany him; but, by the lawyer's advice, was prevented. "You had better return on board your frigate, and be ready to weigh anchor as soon as the fog lifts. If the re. port from your tender which came in this morning is cor- rect, that a suspicious sai is off the coast, 'tis very likely that Ralph is watching his opportunity to run in, though I do not see how he can do it in this dense fog. Thank God, I have discovered at last the smugglers rendez- vous; I have been baffled in my search for it for years, and yet this sneak, Elisha Barlow, knew of it all the time. You had no idea what a devil you had for a valet. I agree wi\th you, that now is your time to capture Ralph, if possible; if you can take him alive, H think the many generous acts he has performed might go far with the government in obtaining-a pardon for him. That done, and a chance of honorable service open to him under your care, may help in some measure to soothe the bitter remorse which you tell me your own past conduct in re- gard to his mother, Miriam, land his aunt Mildred more especially, has entailed upon you, Go now, and God speed you." / It will be seen that Elisha's delay at the minister's had given him but little start ahed of Castlemain and his myr- midons,:and they were now hard upon his track. As he drove out of town upon the West road, never did a fel- low chuckle more than he. "This ere fog is jest what I want, it's better than midnight," he thought. At that instant he saw close by him some fearful looking thing in motion, loom suddenly out of the fog; it uttered a dis- mal groaning sound, and the superstitious wretch felt for a moment that a monster stood in his path ready to seize him; it was only one ofthose windmills which just north of the town formerly stood on the road side, and for a hun- A DVUUBLE. uArr'Uit . T- Ro dred years frightened horses. "Drat that are windmill," said Barlow, " to think I should have been frightened at it when the horse wasn't." He tried to revive his spirits by whistling, but that fog, and the dim objects seen through it, made him feel gloomy, and he whipped his horse into a faster pace. He left the "West" road for that leading to Honniman's hill, and entered the lane on the west side of Easton's pond. This lane runs nearly north and south through the fields, and from it in clear weather a full view of the ocean, the pond, and the beach between them is presented, as well as an extensive pros- pect over the island. But now, nothing could be seen a few feet distant; and nothing was heard but the roar of the ocean as it dashed upon the beach. Elisha left his wagon, tied hiM horse, and then made his way through the long grass down to the cave.* In the fog he had gone a little distance out-of his path; it * Bliss's Cave, the scene of- this part of the story, is worthy of a visit from the stranger in Rhode Island. It lies on the west side of Easton's pond, about a mile and a half from Newport. The writer has visited it several times. It is situated close to the water, and is or was marked by two small trees growing on the bank above it. It is not very extensive, but bears within it the marks of tools, showing that its original proportions have been enlarged by art. It is quite dark, re- quiring the aid of a lantern to explore it. -There is little doubt in the mind of the author, that this cave was at one period the depository of smugglers or pirates with whom the coast formerly abounded. A more secret hiding place can scarcely be imagined, and it could easily be ap- proached from the sea through the creek at the east end of the town beach. In the author's early boyhood this creekwas open, and deep enough to float small boats. It is now choked with sand, yet the wa- ters work through every winter. In the summer of 1851, an arched stone passage way, leading directly from the cave to the pond, was dis- covered by Mr. J. B. Weaver and other gentlemen. This has now fallen in, and is difficult to trace. By whom it was built, or at what period, is-quite unknown. page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.. took a short timne to regain it;. at length he reached lthe entrance to the cave on the water's edge; he pressed through the bushes which effectually concealed itfc he looked around, and saw only the dense mist. He enter- ed, creeping up the dark narrow passage drew his flint and steel from his pocket, struck a light-and went into the body of the cave. -'Ugh," said Elisha, shuddering, "smells -kinder moiuldish here as if some one was dead. I don't like it, and mean to be off at wunst. I wonders now where I left this ere will; ah! here it is," he added, placing his hand upon a small box in one of the clefts of the rock. '; Lem'me see, yes, this is it, all right, now I'll be off;"' but, as he was groping about, he espied another bundle wrapped around with tarred canvass, to preserve its contents from the dampness. "Here 's some of these ere very silks and laces been here since Ralph was im last time, and ! never dared take 'em in and sell 'em, for fear of that; are Castlemain, blast him! The silks will be too heavy for me, and I leave 'em for the next comer, but I will have the laces; they is worth a good deal more than their weight in gold." Untying the bundle which, knotted hard, detained him a few moments, he pulled out the laces, secured them about his person, and groped his way out of the cave, much relieved to find himself once more in the open air. The fog was more dense than ever, the sun had almost set, and night was coming on. At this instant, Elisha thought he heard a noise in the direction of the road; he stood listening intently with his back turned toward the pond, and of course obseiv- ing nothing in that direction. "'T'aint nothink, no how," he said; "I've been scared all the afternoon, what a fool I is.- ;Well, reelly now, I is sorry to leave this 'ere pleasant island; but I've got to, and quick, too, or Janey, drat her! will be wonderin' what 's become of me. All right, off now, for, by the time I gits Ap to the ferry, it will be dark as " .... "Dark as hell, Elisha Barlow," said a rough voice be- hind him, as he felt an iron grip'upon his arm, and, turn- ing his terror-stricken face around, saw Ralph Estcourt, followed by half a dozen of his gang. "Yes, very dark, but no matter; it will be light enough on board my ves- sel. Come!" "Oh! mercy, Ralph dear; Ralph, only let me go, take everythink I 've got, only let me go." "I have no time to talk here," said Ralph, seizing him by the throat, and dragging him as easily as a kitten down to- the pond, and into a boat lying there; "'we will discuss matters on board, shove off quick men, and don't keep us in this damned fog all night. We will land our goods another time; but we have a prize here worth them all." The boat was pushed off, when Elisha, seeing his help- less situation, gave a wild yell of despair. "Just try that again," said Ralph, "and its ,the last sound you ever make;" while as he spoke he forced the muzzle of a pis- tol into Barlow's mouth so fiercely that. it nearly choked him. At this instant the boat's crew, and Elisha, saw running dow n to the edge of the pond, Mr. Castlemain and two or three others. A call from him to put'back was unheeded; another stroke of the oars and they were shut in by the fog, while the wretched captive, fainting away, was flung into the bottom of the boat unnoticed. The rowers pulled to the creek, where, getting out, they dragged the boat through it into the breakers, then bend- ing to their oars again, made for their .vessel, Ralph steer- ing by a compass in the stern-sheets on account of the fog. A mile. from the shore a musket was fired, it was answered to starboard, and in a few moments the hull of page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 248 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. the "Walk to Windward" was descried in the gloom, I and the smugglers, with their prize, stood again upon her decks. When Elisha was roused from his stupor by having water dashed in his face, and brandy poured down his throat, he? found himself stretched on the floor of the cabin, and Ralph sitting by coolly regarding him. So sudden was his seizure, so overwhelming to him the catastrophe, a prisoner in the hands of one who might murder him with little compunction, instead of being on the high road to fortune and to liberty, it was more than he could well endure, and again he sank back in a swoon. "A damned good thing you would have made of it, run- ning away with all this money," said Ralph, when Bar- low was at length able to sit up and listen. "-What in the devil's name were you doing at the cave? there was noth- ing there, that I know of, that you could smuggle into Newport." "No indeed, dear Ralph; I'd made up my mind, in- deed I had, to quit that are trade, 'cause I began to think it was'nt honest. I was agoin' to leave Newport forever, and find out some spot where I could be secure from the temptations of this wicked world of ourn, and try to live peaceable like with every one." "Indeed!" sneered Ralph, '" and leave Janey behind, I s ippos'e! I have some good news to tell you, and you can inform her of it when you get back. Your damned sharp-nosed brig has gone to the bottom, niggers and all; caught in a hurricane off Barbadoes. , ,Them are poor Africans!" shrieked Elisha, Iwho noth take care of f their souls?" ' "Never do you mind their souls, they're whiterl than yours. You must play the .pious main to the list, eh! If you had pocketed the price of their skins, devil a , A DOUBLE CAPTURE. 249 whit would their souls concern you. Well, you made a good haul, with all this gold, and government bank bills too, and this lace,-and what's this you have here!"t said he, snatching the will from Elisha's breast, opening and glancing over its contents; " here, you bloodless hound, is positive proof of the story I have heard so. often from Brooke and Castlemain of my being heir. to a large estate; and I would have had it years ago, but for you and a strumpet relative keeping me from it. And what did you with the will all this time? why am I an outlaw, a price set on my head-? Now, by allt that's holy, this is too much," said the smuggler, ferociously; "down on your knees, and tell me all, and if I detect you in one lie, I'll stave your b-ains out and hurl you through that port." The terrified Tiger did as he was told, making a confes- sion at which Ralph at intervals ground his teeth with fury. "I don't know," he said, when Elisha had ended, "whether I ought not to knock your head in at once, and send such a villain out of -the world. But I'll work you now; I'll torment you; you'll never iget away from me again." "Oh, only let me go Ralph, and you shall have every think I have." "I've got it already," said the ruffian coolly; "and now," he added, opening the door of the cabin, "get out of here and go forward among the men;" at the- same time administering such a kick to the wretched culprit that he spun forwards, howling with agony.,' "Now I've kicked him -out of my sight," added Ralph, musingly, "I'll see what is best to be done about this matter." It may be imagined that Elisha's treatment that night by the crew was not -of the tenderest kind, nor his dreams the most peaceful. Castlemain and his party stood on the edge of the pond "* page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 250 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. for half an hour, shouting until they were hoarse. How bitterly the lawyer regretted the delay which caused hi'n to lose his prize, when he could almost put his hand on him, -but he was beyond pursuit now. - He had heard the wretch's desponding cry, knew his- figure, and was sure that the burly form beside him was that of Ralph; an instant more-and the boat -was lost in the mist. The dis- appointed party remounted their steeds, and taking Elisha's horse and wagon with them, rode back to New- port. Castlemain went direct to Mrs. Barlow, and was not surprised to find that she expressed no pity for the Tiger's fate. He next sent a dispatch out to the frigate, having. great trouble to induce any boatman to venture out into the harbor; and then revenged himself the re- mainder of the evening by- cursing the fog for all manner of misfortunes. He knew th ththe vigilant Brooke would weigh anchor and spread all sail in pursuit of the smuggler, the moment the mist lifted from the waters; and at the dawn of day he ran to the window to look for the tall masts of the man-of-war, but the atmosphere was perfectly clear, and his Majesty's ship Avenger, had already left her moor- ings. "Now, may heaven help us to catch the ' Walk to Windward' this time," said Admiral Brooke to Captain Benson, as they sat at breakfast; " if we do not, Ralph 1 the devil himself, I believe." "He has given you the- slip pretty often, I think, admiral. Why are you so;anxious to see him taken under your own eye? Have -you any particular reason for feeling such an interest in him?" asked Benson. "Yes," said the admiral, in a tone intended to stop further questioning. "-Have you a sharp watch set?" "Yes, sir, a double watch, and a man has gone aloft to I , A DOUBLE CAPTURE. 251 each masthead, in hopes of winning the five guineas you have promised to the one who first sights the brig;" and so Captain Benson, perceiving that his superior was averse to answering questions, finished his meal and went- on deck, without asking more; actingalike a discreet man, as he was. "Sail, ho!" bawled the look out at the mainmast head. "Where away?" shouted out the first lieutenant on deck. "Off the starboard bow, hull down to leeward." The admiral at once came up out -of the cabin, and swept the horizon with his glass. He watched the head sails of a vessel, just peering over the sea; long and keenly did he look to make out her rig. The trim neat" ness and cut of her canvas, even at so great a distance, could not escape his practised eye. "'Tis she!" he ex- claimed, handing his glass to Benson; 'tis the ' Walk to Windward,' and I will wager my life upon it. We are to windward of her though this time, Benson, and if we only manage to keep. the weather gage, she's ours. But a stern chase is a long chase, and she is almost dead ahead of us. Clap on every inch of canvas the frigate can carry, and put the best men at the wheel that ever handed spoke."- The order was no sooner given than a swarm of sailors sprung into the rigging. Sail after sail, aloft and below, was given to the wind, until the ship was almost buried beneath the towering pyramid of canvas; when leaning far over on her side, the waves were dashed in showers of foam from her bows, as she rose and fell on the billows, leaving a long, white, hissing .wake on the blue and glittering brine. The sun shone down upon the sea in unclouded splen- dor, lighting a scene which made the heart beat wild with page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 BRANbON ;, OR, -A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. emotion - ahead lay the chase, every eye fixed upon it, and fired with delight as it became evident, from its greater distinctness in an hour's time, that the flying i Avenger" was gradually coming up with it. Every 'expedient that nautical science could suggest to increase the speed of the frigate was adopted, and as if instinct with the spirit of the chase, she bounded over the waters. "Keep her just as near the wind's eye as she will graze," said the admiral; " nearer now, luff and shake her." The order, instantly obeyed, caused the frigate's topsailsl for a moment to shiver in the breeze, with a sharp fluttering report, then as they filled again and stretched to their utmost, she flew with accelerated motion, as a steed rushes for the goal. Nor was there less exertion on board the "Walk to Windward;" she, too, carried every sail she could spread, and was -steered in the most careful manner, Ralph himself standing by the wheel; but as she was a brig, it soon became evident to him, swift as she was, that in a long chase the frigate would overhaul her. Ralph had co,} e to-no decision in regard to the will; he was afraid to leave his vessel and take one step for the recovery of hisiproperty. Branded as he was, his first move would be the signal for his ar'est. His vessel was under easy sail, and he was about to send - for Elisha, to confer with him again, when the appearance of the "Avenger," the fastest ship in his Majesty's service, at once put these thoughts to flight, and caused him to bend his whole energies towards escape. Het did not, of course- know his pursuer at first, but the nanner in which the frigate was sailed, and had approached him, convinced him ere long that she was no other than Admiral Brooke's celebrated- man-of-war. As to Elisha, he was in a most pitiable state, dreadfully sea-sick, and, coward as he was, .. A DOUBLE CAPTURE. 253 looking forward to a combat and capture by the frigate with the most abject terror. The sun rose towards the meridian, and the frigatehad so gained upon the chase, that her black hull, bristling with guns, now towered- above the waters. The two vessels, prepared for action, were about two miles apart, yet running nearly parallel courses, when Ralph, deter- mined on bold measures, resolved to give the first broad- side, hoping to disable -the '"Avenger." He allowed her to draw gradually close to him, when, suddenly putting the brig about on, the larboard tack, he drove her directly across the bows of the frigate. As the "Aven- ger's" bowsprit nearly grazed his sails, the smuggler fired a broadside into her, but as his shot were intended to injure her rigging, and thus deaden her speed, his guns were aimed too high, and, save cutting away-a few stays and piercing the Sails, did no damage. But the frigate's broadside, which aimed in its turn at the "Walk to Windward's" hull, poured a deadly discharge among the crew, struck down many of the smugglers, and put an end forever to the life and crimes of Ralph Estcourt, as a chain shot cut him in two. He fell dead upon his deck, and in the same instant a round shot took off the right leg of Elisha Barlow. Ralph, heedless of his frantic agony, had refused to let him go below, when the vessels were about to engage, and lashed him to a stanchion, telling him, with a sneer, that in his position he could see the fight to the greatest advantage. The frigate grappled with her adversary, and the contest was short, stern anid decisive. The smugglers fought desperately, but in vain; the boarders from the "Avenger" overpowered and cut them down, until of the once powerful crew but a rem- nant remained, who, perceiving that further resistance was useless; surrendered. They were ironed and sent on page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 254 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. board the frigate, and the "t Walk to Windward," having been taken formal possession of, the two vessels were once again steered-to the west, and before sunset came to anchor side by side in the harbor of Newport. Brooke regretted that 'he had not been able to take Ralph alive, but it had been ordained otherwise; and he felt that even if a pardon could have been obtained from the government, which was by no means certain, it would have been a hard and thankless task to win him from evil courses. While in the cabin of the "Walk to Windward," he found a small desk stored with money, valuables, and manuscript papers. One of the first of these papers on which he placed his hand, was the will, which for so many years had been secreted, and of which he had heard so much from Castlemain. He opened and read it, power- fully affected, as he thought on the premature and mel- ancholy fate of the unfortunate outlaw, so suddenly struck down in his career of guilt; and whom this very document had been intended to benefit. How it came into Ralph's possession, he was unable to imagine, until Elisha Barlow, having undergone the amputation of his shattered leg, sent for Brooke; and in the close, dimly- lighted cockpit, under the agony of mind produced by the fear of his approaching death, which he had every reason to expect, made a full confession of all his iniqui- ties, and particularly those relating to the missing will. Nor was this- all, for subsequently discovering .that the loss of his limb would not be fatal to him, the abject wretch, fearing for his own neck, hinted that he could reveal much in regard to the smugglers; and was per- mitted by the government to testify against his former associates. He proved the means of bringing most of them to the gibbet; for he was accepted as "king's evi A DOUBLE CAPTURE. 255 dence;" a character which some writer has described, as "a villain, pardoned for being baser than his companions." But his infamous course met its due reward; he was spared nothing but his life, and was stripped of every particle of his ill-gotten wealth. He found, on his return to the shore, that his affec- tionate partner, who never came near him in his illness, had chosen a second husband; or rather, a legal one, for the first time; and having induced some one to marry her, had taken her departure from Newport, with many choice pickings of the shop, and he never heard of her afterwards. - Poor, unpitied, and shunned, he dragged out a miser- able existence; sometimes doing a little work for support, until he finally came upon the parish; and dying some years after the period of our story, a pauper in the alms- house, was stretched beneat the sod, without a stone to, indicate the spot. . Brooke and Castlemain agreed, that the will so strangely recovered, must at once be placed on record in the proper court in Virginia; and that simple justice, if not vengeance, should be the part performed against Mildred. But both were desirous, since the heir to the property was dead, and since Blanche Estcourt was in the last stage of life, that justice should be tempered by mercy; so that, if possible, no public exposure should be made of Mildred, unless. she persisted in evil courses. These preliminaries arranged, Castlemain and his daughter Emily embarked with AdmiraI Brooke on board the "Avenger;" and Xwith favoring winds, in a few days she passed within the Capes of Virginia, and came to anchor in Hampton Roads. ( ' . page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] CHAPTER XXIX. CHANGE OF OPINION. THE letters which -Charles had written from the Cana. das to his parents, had informed them of the progress of events, and his own safety, after the attack on the French entrenchments, of the 31st of July. These papers were read with tearful interest by Mrs. Brandon, mourning for the absence of her son. She had scarce smiled since he left Kingwood; and. continually felt, that but for his father's harsh treatment of him, he would still be with her inwpeace. What hadq been gained, she thought, by Mr. Brandon's stern course? He had been thwarted forever by a power mightier than his, for Blanche Estcourt was now dead; she had been borne away at the- season when nature touches the leaves of the forests with the chill blasts of autumn. She died, and with her perished the hopes and plans of two proud spirits, and the'fell plots of one. To Mrs. Brandon this blow was distressing, for she had learnt to love Blanche, although her son could never feel towards her as a lover. Mr. Brandon said little about her death, but it was plain that the old gentleman was ill at ease; he was observed to walk about a great deal, shaking his head and mutter- ing. He talked of his son, though, constantly, and was never weary of praising him for his gallant part in behalf of his sovereign, and predicting that he would acquire distinguished honior in the campaign. Charles' father, laying aside the passion and blind prejudice which had f256) CHANGE OF OPINION. . 257 hurried. him on in his obstinate course, now began seri- Ously }o reflect that he had, been exceedingly unkind to his sob, and had driven him, from his paternal roof; but that all should be made up to him by redoubled kindness on his return. \ Furthermore, he wondered, now that poor Blanche had gone, whether he had not acted very foolishy from the beginning, in his desperate opposition to Charles' love. True, Lucy was not rich, and Blanche would have been, but he should have had a quarrel with her mother in a week, in spite of all his pompous deference to her. "And this island maiden, this Lucy Tyrrell," he thought, "surely she is beautiful, she is well educated, she has spirit-that I can swear to, for on that day when she came into the drawing-room and -spoke so to me, I felt her words in my very bones. "'And what if she is poor? She is proud. So am I. I like pride, and plenty of it. What if she is poor? I am rich; have more wealth than I know what to do with. Charles will have it after me. Why is she not fitted to grace the halls of Kingwood? Let me see if she is not equal to any of the pictures of my fair ancestors." Mr. Brandon examined the beauties that decked the walls of the mansion, and decided at once, that she was superior to them all; and that no other person would or should, by any possibility, be the wife of his son. Having resolved this, with the usual impetuosity of his charac- ter, he informed his wife hoW sorry he felt for his- harsh conduct; how much he longed to repair it by kindness; and that he was determined to write at once to Mr. Tyr- rell, and claim the hand of his lovely daughter for Charles. "'Stay," said Mrs. Brandon, who, accustomed as she was to her husband's peculiar nature, was in this instance page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 258 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. perfectly astounded, and quite unprepared to join her consent to his, so suddenly: "Stay, you have been too precipitate before, you may be so now." "Impossible; do I not tell you that she is lovely, is beautiful, elegant in manners, high spirited, just the very woman for Charles. Love her I know you will, how can you help it. I love her, yes, love her dearly." "Sinice when, Mr. Brandon?" 1 "' Oh! it matters not since when, if I love her now; she shall be your daughter, she shall be Charles' wife, shall, I say; and I will this instant write to her father." "Let me do so," said Mrs. Brandon, not displeased at the turn affairs had taken, for she had heard much of Lucy from Randolph and Matilda; " let me do so. I will act more discreetly than you can? Will you? I repeat." "Yes, I will. Write as you please, but write." "Oh, that they were both here, now!" he added; "they might have been but for my folly." As Mr. Brandon appeared determined to go at once and see Randolph on the subject, Mrs. Brandon sat down to write, not to Mr. Tyrrell, but to his daughter Lucy, such a letter as a mother, and a mother like her, could alone compose under the circumstances of the case. The missive was despatched as usual to Williamsburg, but Mr. Brandon did not go that day, nor the next, nor for a week, to see his nephew. For once a Brandon felt faint-hearted, and he put off from hour to hour a meet- ing which he dreaded, knowing that his course towards Randolph and his wife had not been kind. At last, sum- moning resolution, he rode to his nephew's house, and was told by the servant that he was at home. In a mo- ment more the door opened, and a gentleman emerged; it was Patrick Henry, with whom, ever since Charles' de- I -UR ANUWEj U OPINION1v. 259 parture, Mr. Brandon had been on the most friendly- terms. "I am happy to meet you, sir," said Henry. "I was about to repair to your house to inform you that in a day or two we might require your presence in Williamsburg, in connection with a matter touching Mistress Mildred Estcourt. May I inquire if you have ever known a Cap- tain, now Admiral Brooke, of his Majesty's service? , , "Brooke," said Mr. Brandon; " yes, I remember many years ago a Greville Brooke; we were both young then, and he was an audacious libertine." "The same person," said Henry; "he seems much changed now, and I understand has become a religipus man. He inquired very kindly for you.. That is all I wished to ask now." "'But what is all this about, and what am I required for in Williamsburg?", "I have not now leisure to inform you, sir," replied Patlick Henry; "it is a long story, and will take some time to be told. Good morning to you, -sir, my time is valuable; but I may depend upon you when required?" "You may, sir," replied Mr. Brandon; when, as Henry rode away, he entered the house. "At last, uncle," said Randolph heartily, "we have the pleasure of seeing you; better late than never, and more the welcome for being late. We shall not let you off now, under a day or two to begin with. Here comes Matilda.", This kind greeting made the old gentleman feel at home; he was pleased with Matilda and her little son, stayed to dinner, talked much of the war and of the pro- digies of valor Charles was performing, and after the meal was over at once unbosomed himself to Randolph. He told him how completely he had changed his views, page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 BRANDON: OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. and how anxious he was for his son's happiness, which he knew now could only be accomplished by his union with Lucy Tyrrell. As Mr. Brandon talked, a cloud gathered on. Ran- dolph's brow. ' "It is a pity, uncle, that I could not have heard of this sooner, much as I am rejoiced to hear it now. In truth, we have had bad news from Lucy, which has made her cousin Matilda feel sad." 4"Bad news! iunhappy! h, what a villain I have been!" burst out Mr. Brandon. "Well, dear uncle, you did every thing as you deemed best, I know; and, thank Heavene, is not yet too late to make all happy. Does Charles know of your change of sentiments?" "No, I have not yet written to him about it; I pre- ferred to wait awhile until I heard from him again, as I knew that his resolution would not be broken." "t You should write, though, at once; Charles will fight all the better for it. Now let me tell you as to Lucy and her sad letter. When Charles was in Boston, he took occasion before sailing to Louisburg, to run down to the island to see her, thinking that she was still there; for, as I had not returned to Virginia at the time he left, he was of course ignorant? of the change in Mr. Tyrrell's fortunes, or rather his situation, for he is still quite poor. He was distracted to find that she had left the island, the ignorant-stupid people giving or able-to give no informa- tion as to her residence. They insisted, however, that she lived in Boston, because they had written to her there, and she had answered, dating from the same place; for she was frequently in the city, and wrote at such times as the packet was about starting. Some of these letters the people showed him; but they could have told nothing of Cambridge, which accounts to me for his CHANGE OF OPINIOX. 261 otherwise almost unaccountable ignorance of her home. Poor Charles has been peculiarly unfortunate, not seeing or hearing any thing of her in his distracted wanderings about Boston. Even when he went to the former man- sion of Matilda's father, and met old Amy, one of the domestics of the family, she too was unable to tell him one word of Lucy. Beyond all that, the letter which he wrote me so long since, just prior to his leaving -to join General Wolfe, he confided to a companion who took charge of it for the post, Charles not having time to mail it; and this friend, then utterly forgetting it, had it for some months in his possession. At last, he sent it to me a few days since, and for his carelessness makes a humble apology, which does not mend the matter. It is now the middle of October, and that letter was written on the 2d of last May. Lucy writes in sad spirits; she says that some time since you wrote a letter to her father, in answer to one of his, telling Mr. Tyrrell that Charles was very soon to be married to Blanche Estcourt, heaven rest her soul, poor girl! iWas this so?" "Yes;" groaned Mr. Brandon, "I did write so, think- ing at the time that it was only necessary for me to insist on Charles marrying her, and that he would. Oh, how bitterly I repent it now." "It was indeed a serious wrong, and may do incalcul- able mischief. Lucy, as you may readily imagine, was dreadfully distressed at this news, this fatal treachery, as she thought it, and moreover, after Charles had sailed for Louisburg, she heard of his having been in Boston prior to joining Wolfe's expedition. This only added poison to the arrow's sting. She concluded that, even if the marriage with Blanche was broken off,.of her he thought no longer. She is indeed unhappy. She writes of a suitor for her hand who persecutes her with his attentions, whom page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] 262 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. she has already twice refused; but Mr. Lascelles, such is his name, is agreeable to her parents, and the poor girl is tormented in many ways. She does not love him, never can love him, as she writes, and yet she may yield to the importunities of her parents, and accept him in sheer des- pair. Whatever we do must be done quickly. I shall at once write -to her, and to her father too, explaining eVerything, and, sending Charles' letter, beg her not to act precipitately. 'You had better, by all means, write at once to Charles, and to Mr. Tyrrell also, if you are deter- mined as you say." "Yes, indeed, I am determined; never was more de- termined in my life. I will write to Charles at once, and gladden the dear boy's heart; but Mrs. Brandon engaged to write to Lucy herself. Oh, what a fool I have been!" Randolph could not help thinking that his uncle had appropriately styled himself, although he did not say so; but contenting himself with a pretty sharp reprimand, considering that he was a nephew, which scolding Mr. Brandon bole without any attempt at exculpation, he now changed the subject to Mildrled. -'He detailed what Patrick Henry had said to him, which in substance am- ounted to about the same as he had unfolded to Mr. Brandon, concluding by saying that though in reality he knew little more than his uncle, yet he doubted not that some-catastrophe awtited her, of which they had no pre- sent conception. Then bidding the old gentleman fare- well, as he was mounting his horse, he told him to be of good cheer, and without delay inform Charles of his coming happiness. This the changed old man promised to do, and at once on his arrival at home was as good as his word. His letter, as we shall see later, went direct to its destination, and gave joy to the heart of his son.--We must not, however, anticipate. A day or two after this came the glorious news of the 9 . battle before Quebec, and its subsequent surrender. There was nothing from Charles, and his parents, with agonized feelings, waited thereceipt ofthe lists of killed and wounded, fearing for the worst. The next post brought a letter, not from him, but a queerly tucked, folded, and directed missive, characteristic of no one but Bela Tilley. It described, in plain terms, the state of Charles' case, spoke of his wounds, and of his anxiety to write as soon as the surgeon in attendance would permit him to. The epistle, between tears and laughter, cost Charles' worthy parents an hour's labor in deciphering. Rejoiced as they were to hear such news of their son, whom they had already mourned as dead, and much as they trusted to the faithful Bela, 3Mrs. Brandon was too anxious for Charles' recovery to think of remaining at home any longer-she would go at once to nurse him. The parents determined to set off immediately, and on their way to pause but for a day in Cambridge, to see Lucy and make her happy before pursuing their journey to Canada. But that night Mr. Brandon, who was highly excited with the news, coupled with what he had heard from Randolph and Patrick Henry, was taken ill, and the next morning, being in a high fever, his physician forbade him to rise or to think of leaving Kingwood until he recovered; a few days of rest, he said, would restore his patient to his usual health, and the mother, meanwhile praying often and fer- vently for her son's recovery, was obliged to remain with her husband. She sent for Randolph, who promised to go to Charles himself in a few days, as soon as the busi- ness which Patrick Henry had informed him was of such consequence, and in which Mildred was concerned, could be settled. "It will make scarce the difference of a day, dear Aunt Eleanor," he said, "because I will hurry through my journey and spare neither steed nor money in rapid travelling." page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] CHAPTER XXX. THE FATE OF MLDRED. "ET us, once more, return to Mildred. Blanche was dead, and the mother wore the outward signs of mourn- ing for her daughter. She doubtless felt as much as such a heart could feel, and for such a child, whom she loved next to herself; but, in place of-the deep sorrow, the bit- ter anguish, which mothers of more tenderness, would experience, she struggled with feelings of contending nature. She beheld the ruin of all her hopes and schemes, every purpose forever blasted, and grief for Blanche was almost lost in the agonies of disappointment, and of hu- miliated pride. Death, itself, makes little impression on such natures3 and the composure with which they bear the loss of friends is to be traced not to devout resigna- tion, but to the cold materialism of their marble hearts. No frantic sorrow, no burst of passion, came from Mil- dred; but a pullen gloom, a loathing of all excitement, a lethargic indifference to all outward things, took possession of her. One day while she was in this mood, the stupid negro, who had been frequently employed to convey the letters from Kingwrood to the post office, stopped at her door and asked, as she had instructed him to, if she had any thing of her own to send? Rousing from her stupor, she took Mrs. Brandon's letter to Lucy, from, the hands of the servant, telling him to wait a moment, and she would give him something else to carry. Then. in the mere wantonness of crime, she determined to withhold Mrs. Brandon's letter, and see what its contents were. Then, (264) { THE FATE OF MLDRED. ,265 merely folding a blank sheet of paper, she wrote upon it a fictitious address, and gave it to the boy, whom she knew would observe no difference, he not being able to read. At the same time rewarding him with half a crown; she told him that she had altered her mind about writing, and that he need say nothing about having stopped at her house, as Mr. Brandon might not like it. But the negro boy, thick-headed as he was, on this occa- sion exercised his thinking faculties; it struck him, in the first place, that Mildred's caution wFs singular, and he feared he had done wrong in going to her house instead of direct to the office. In the next place, though he could not read, he imagined the letter looked differ- ently from the one he gave to'Mildred; she returned him one sealed with black- wax, while he remembered that the seal of the other was scarlet. On his way to the office, he asked a gentleman to read the superscription, which being told to him he recollected. Hre made up his mind, after turning the matter over in his head several days, to say something of it to his master; but, Mr. Bran- don being ill, he with great importance of manner, un- folded it to Randolph, as he was at Kingwood. Randolph, merely telling him not to go again to Mis- tress Estcourt, put the boy off by saying, that it was a matter of no consequence, and then informed Mr. Red- tape, who was glad to hear any news about Lady Mil- dred. Mistress Estcourt, after the boy had gone, read the letter to Lucy; it filled hbr with bitter envy and jealousy, while, at the same time, she felt a kind of a horrid joy that her-plots had succeeded so far as almost to extin. guish hope in her victim, and create doubts of Charles' sincerity. With nothing to gain btit sheer revenge, she determined that Lucy should never receive that letter; 12 page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] 266 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. her wounds should be left to bleed; doubtless she would before long wed another--the one hinted at, but not named, in Mrs. Brandon's letter-and feeling at last tri- umphant in this one aim, if in nothing else, she pictured to herself, Charles and his family, and Lucy prostrate at her feet. "And they thought to scorn me and my daughter! who has the power now?" said the fell woman, with flashing eyes, and a lip curling with con- tempt, and her form dilated with passion. She threw the letter into a casket in which were the two others which Charles had written long ago, and which, the reader will remember, she sequestrated in the same manner as she had this. '- She had been accustomed, from time to time, to take them out and gloat over their contents in wanton mockery; but now, with ,this one added, her treasury would be much enriched. "I shall be in no want of amusement now," sneered Mildred; " it will only be necessary to read these letters, from mother and son!" ...... It was but a week or two afterward that, wishing to unlock her casket, she went to her own chamber to open it. The box yielded to the touch of her fingers, without the key; and to her terror -and surprise she found that its contents were gone. She had evidently been robbed; but nothing else in her whole mansioni had been touched. Her servants could not have committed the theft, having no use for letters which they could not read. In their place was a folded paper, which she opened, and tremb- ling, found it thus inscribed: "You lave now, for many years, pursued a triumnphant career of guilt; but the days of your power have passed, and your punishment is nigh at hand. The stolen letters you will see again.") This enigmatical communication was written in a bold hand, which she too well remembered; and she looked forward THE PATE OF MLDRED. 267 with dread to some terrible ordeal; she knew not what it was to -be. No ordinary pilferer had taken those letters; and how and where should she see them again? Then arose in her mind, her own words, uttered so haughtily but a few days before: "Who has the power now?"It was not long before her fears took tangible shape; for, on the very next day she received a note of counsel, which was so professionally expressed, as to amount almost to a com- mand, from the hated Mr. Redtape. He wrote, that several letters, which properly belonged to the Brandon family, had been found in her possession that an explanation was necessary, which she could doubtless give, of the means by which they came into her keeping; and, moreover, that as Mr. Brandon was ill, and could not go to Williamsburg, she would greatly oblige him by repairing to Kingwood, where she would be de- tained but a few hours. She would, therefore, on the afternoon of the next day proceed to the Hall, where he, Mr. Redtape, would meet her. Mildred knew that it would be useless to evade such a meeting, and at once resolved to go, swear most positively,. if interrogated, that she knew nothing of the letters being found on her premises; and, that if such were discovered there, they were so placed by designing persons, to injure her With this purpose, which she now summoned her whole resolution to perform without flinching, and anticipating no other trouble, Mildred left her home, according to ap- pointment, and drove over to Kingwood. It was a gray, gloomy afternoon; the wind was high, and howled through the branches of the trees, scattering their leaves in wild confusion. Mildred felt the influence of the season, and a sense of coming doom seemed to overhang her. She entered that mansion which she had page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] 268 BRXNDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. so coveted, and sinfully sought to make her daughter's own; and was shown into one of the parlors, where sat Mr. Brandon, well enough to be down stairs, and in his easy chair. But as he: bid her good day, there was no tone of welcome in his voice. He looked perplexed, and was very grave. In a moment more the door opened, and several persons came in; Mrs. Brandon not among them, however, as her husband had informed Lady Mil- dred that she would not be visible that afternoon. In those who entered the apartment, Mrs. Estcourt recognized Patrick Henry, and the indefatigable Red- tape; on whose faire was a expression of gratification, as if he were pleased at having discovered something of importance connected with his prophesy, made so many years ago, in regard to the missing will. Just behind him came a portly form, and Mildred turned as pale as ashes, as she returned, with an affrighted stare, the bland smile and bow of Mr. Castlemain.. A "Good God!" she thought, "how comes that man here; he bodes no good to me!" "We are all here. now, I believe," said the' impatient Redtape. "All, sir, I believe," answered Patrick Henry, who, on this occasion, had laid aside the rusticity of his dress, and appeared clothed in the elegant fashion of the time. "All, sir, with the exception of my excellent friend, Mr. Randolph Brandon. He, as you know, has been called to the north within a day or two, in consequence of the discovery of the important letter which we have found, and which made it necessary for him at once to go to his cousins, Miss Lucy Tyrrell, and Mr. Charles Brandon. Are we ready to begin, sir?" he asked, turning to Mr. Redtape. "Quite, quite," said Redtape; "but you, Mr. Henry, THE FATE OF MLDRED. 269 might as well state the case, and we have but a few ques- tions to ask." "Very good," replied Henry. "Now, madam," said he, turning to Mildred, "I wish you to understand, for my own part, and these gentlemen also wish on theirs, that we are not combined together to injure you. Briefly and plainly, I beg leave to inform you, without putting you to the trouble of denying knowledge of them, that several letters, written by Mr. Charles Brandon and his mother, were found on your premises under suspicious circumstances; they were in a casket of yours, under your lock and key. How came you by them?" "I know nothing of them," said Mildred, haughtily. "Think again, madam." "Pshaw!'" returned Mildred, " do you bring me here to tease me like a child? If I do know anything of them, what does it matter to you, or those surrounding you?" . - "Nothing, madam," replied Henry, " except that I act as a friend of Mr. Brandon's family." "Indeed," replied the lady, with a sneer, "and how long since have you gained admission to the aristocratic Brandons? You are of meaner clay!" "Madam," broke in old Mr. Brandon, "Mr. Henry is my very good :riend, and you will greatly oblige me while in my house, by assuming a tone of greater cour- tesy towards him." Without noticing Mildred's rudeness, Henry continued; "do you, or do you not, madam, confess any-knowledge of these letters;" at the same time placing on the table and pushing towards her the three before spoken of. She paused for an instant to look around the circle, and read her condemnation in the faces of the group, conviction, in spite of her denial of guilt; then, a torrent page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. i, of passion, sweeping away all prudence, she violently exclaimed, "Yes, I do, I do know them, and their con- tents well, and thank. God, my plans have succeeded. My child is dead; she loved Charles Brandon, and she died of fruitless love; but I have well avenged her. I withheld those letters which Mrs. Brandon hoped would induce Lucy Tyrrell to become the wife of her son. But many a day he will wait for her; before this, I doubt not, she has wedded another, or plighted a faith not to be broken. Do your worst; I defy you all. And as to you, pilferer," addressing herself direct to Patrick Henry, "have a care of yourself; we shall see if you are to enter houses, and open caskets with impunity. Who wrote those lines I found in place of the letters?" "You will soon find out, madam," said Redtape, coolly, "I am glad you have answered so promptly; I antici- pated much nmore trouble. You have confessed to the letters, and now I will gratify you, in turn, with a piece of intelligence. Mr. Randolph Brandon, who has been the means of our finding these letters, through the story of the poor, ignorant black, whom you deceived, is already far on his way to Miss Lucy Tyrrell, with the full sanction of-Mr. Brandon, to propose for her hand for his son Charles. We have every reason to believe that he will be successful, and that your schemes will be de- feated.' Your threats against Mr. Henry are powerless; here--you may read it-is our search warrant, obtained from the proper authorities. We watched our opportu- nity, and entered your house in your absence in order to avoid a scene. We wished nothing but the letters, and found them easily. Now, my friend Castlemain will in- formi you of another matter; of that will," said Redtape, slowly and gravely; "; you know the will I mean." Mildred leaned back in her chair, and put her hand to *': THE FATE OF MLDRED. 271 her face, in agony. She felt as if on a raging sea, with but a plank beneath- her, and that soon to be dashed from her grasp. Her evil days had come. Castlemain detailed the whole story of Elisha Barlow's capture and punish- ment, of her nephew Ralph's death, and of the discovery of the will, which he read aloud. But in all his narration le did not mention Brooke's name. "You see your position, madam," he added; ' you are at the mercy of the rightful owner of the estate." "Well," said Mildred, suddenly, "at whose mercy, then? Is he not beneath the sea, as you have said? I am the rightful owner, show me another." e She rose from her chair, and once more proudly gaze on those Fgound her. As she spoke, Castlemain left the room; and returning behind her, just as she pronounced the sentence, 'show me another;" said, "behold her!" With a sudden start, Mildred turned her head, and saw a female form, clothed in deep black, supported by an officer; and at the same instant, recognizing her sister Miriam, and Admiral Brooke, she shrieked, and sank swooning into her chair. On reviving, she felt her sister embracing her, and saying, soothingly, " do not fear, dear Mildred, I know and forgive all. Do not dread poverty, for of all I have, you shall share. We will leave this land, and go beck to that of our fathers. Think no more of ills; and let us live to make each other happy; there is yet time." But Mildred heeded not; she glared at Brooke, and muttered incoherently. At length she said, wildly, "Wthere is he--my husband? You! you! Greville Brooke-speak!" She was removed from the apartment, and Admiral Brooke then told his story, saying that it was due to Mr. Brandon, as his family had been harmed by the machina- page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 272 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. tions of Mildred. He said that remorse had preyed upon him for'his sins; -had given him no peace by night or day; he had heard many years before from Castle- main of Miriam's wrongs, of the wicked course of Mil- dred and her accomplices, Jane Hook and Elisha Bar- low; he determined to make the only reparation in his power according to his sense of honor, and for the pur- pose had gone to Mildred's husband to offer that satis- faction which the spirit of the age countenanced, but had found Estcourt too far gone with mortal disease to accept his offer. He had felt intense regret at not hav- ing at that period attempted to carry out his purpose of providing handsomely for Ralph and taking him under his charge, until he found by his delay the boy had been suffered to become-an outlaw. He had then for years sought him with the hope of reclaiming him; and here he detailed to his audience an account of Ralph's at- tempted capture on the coast, and his own mishap, which the reader is already acquainted with. He lastly added a narration of the smuggler's fate; of his having with Castlemain persuaded Miriam to leave the island, after learning of her son's death, to claim the estate left her by a codicil to the will, in case of the demise of Ralph; of his having with Redtape searched Mildred's house, leaving the mysterious paper in place of the letters in her casket-the rest they knew. Then, in a few words, Mr. Redtape corroborated the story, and added that Estcourt had employed him and Mr. Parchmount to draw the will as it now stood, being the only way he could punish his guilty wife. The docu- ment only required another codicil of slight importance to make it complete, when it disappeared so myste- riously. -All was now explained, all revealed. The party of THE FATE OF MLDRED. 273 gentlemen heartily congratulated Mr. Brandon on having so narrowly escaped the schemes of Mildred Estcourt, and wished his brave son all happiness with his destined bride. They then departed for Williamsburg, promising to meet again in the morning, and arrange all things definitely between Mildred and her sister. But it was ordained that that meeting was never to take place within the walls of Kingwood. The misera- ble Mildred had been conveyed to a chamber, and was attended by-her sister and Mrs. Brandon, who used every effort to alleviate her sufferings, but she was alter- nately raving or moping like one in idiocy. At length she was quieted, and lay in apparent slumber. In order more effectually to secure her repose, they concluded to retire to the drawing room, leaving a female servant to guard her, and call them if she stirred. But no sooner had they gone away than the domestic, negro-like, stole off to the kitchen, thinking it much more pleasant to doze there by the fire than to watch a woman whom she feared to remain by. About an hour after this wlred arose, not in her right mind, but wandering -and distress- ed. In her sleep, all the scenes of her evil life had passed in review, and her victims heaped reproaches on her, like the ghosts who cursed the murderer Richard the night before the battle of Bosworth Field. She started up in agony, and to her heated fancy the apparitions of the dead thronged around her, and menaced her with evil. They made companionship with those she knew to be living, those who but a few hours before had humbled her to the dust. There stood her injured husband, by the side of his daughter Blanche, who now looked stern- ly upon her as she never had in life, while close beside them was one dreadful to behold, with blood dropping -12* page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] 274 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. from his limbs, mingled with the water on his dripping sailor's garb. Here, too, were the vile faces of Elisha Barlow and Jane Hook, turned upon her with triumphant leer. It was too horrible; she put her hands over her face and closed her eyes, but still they were there'; only the crea- tures of her delirium, yet to her absolute forms of living death. Surrounding her bedside, they glared at her; she rose in terror, she rushed towards the window, and lifted the sash; but the hellish faces stared in upon her from outer darkness. Turn where she would they pur- sued her. At length, in desperation, she rushed for the door, bursting, as she imagined, through a legion of fiends, and without perceiving what she had done in her chamber, passed down the staircase, which was near by, and, opening a door close to the foot of the steps, went out into the night air, she knew not whither. In her agony in the chamber, she had overthrown a little table with two wax lights upon it; they fell at the foot of the bed, and in an instant the flame was communicated to the muslin drapery. The entire bed and curtains were blazing in a moment, the fire spread from them to the dry panel work, and, fanned by the blast which came in through the window which Mildred had opened, it rolled on, its fury increasing every moment, poured out of the open door with volumes of smoke, and rapidly finding food in the woodwork of the hall anod staircase, grew strong beyond the aid of the household to quell it. An alarm was now sounded by the negroes, and the in- mates of the house were 'aroused, but too late. Not- withstanding the great thickness of the walls, the fire had made too much headway to be subdued; like a subtle and agile enemy, cut off in one place it burst forth more furiously in another, until perceiving the folly of attempt- THE PATE OF MLDRED. 275 ing to check it, the efforts of the crowd were employed in securing such articles as were within reach. All the plate, and many of the pictures and valuables, were re- moved to a safe distance; and then the family looked on in anguish, and saw their proud home wrapped in rain, yet magnificent to the last. )ildred had rushed from the house, and wandered away, pursued by the demons of her imagination. At length, she stopped on the bank of the river, some dis- tance below the mansion. The very winds howled in vengeance around her; the bright stars glowed as in wrath above her, and at that instant rang in her ears the cry of fire. She stood gazing upon the flame as it gathered strength, and lighted up the country for miles around with its awful light; then the fiends once more shrieked in her ears, "Behold thy work accomplished." And, as they screamed and pointed, the; dreadful glare as of hell itself shining in their faces; high above the sound of the winds, the cries of the workers, and the roaring of the fire-blast, rose the boom of the bell in the great'clock tower, as with sullen beat the iron ham- mer smote the stroke of twelve. Midnight had come- her last! None saw her, none heeded her, and as the bell from its burnt fastenings, loosed, fell into the surging fire below, Mildred, who heard to obey its deep knell, turned her face from the scene, and with one desperate leap plunging into the ri er, sunk beneath its lurid waters. : page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] CHAPTER XXXI. "UCY SURVIVES HER SORROWS. OUR tale is nearly told. We left Charles Brandon stretched upon the battle field; he was at first thought to be dead, and dreadfully wounded as he was found to be, some days elapsed before he regained his conscious- ness. When at length he did so, he discovered the faithful Bela Tilley sitting beside his pallet, with his lank countenance covered by his huge hands, moaning dismally 'and keeping time to the noise by a see-saw motion of his body. Charles gazed at him for some moments as in a dream; at length he feebly stirred, and Bela, hearing him move, looked up, burst into tears of joy, and at last found utterance: "Wal! blessed be the Lord's name, ye've come tu again; I guessed yeouwas abeout gone when I fust diskivered yer, all bloody and stuck full o' bag- genet holes, as one o' them ere tarnation porcupines as hed squirted all his quills eout. Gineral Wolfe's dead an' Gineral Mountcalam tu, so I'll jist squat deown and rite Mister Brandon this ere pleasant noos; all yer've got tu du is jist to lie still." So Bela squared his elbows, and, after innumerable efforts to pen an elegant epistle, worthy of reception at aristocratic Kingwood, gave it up in despair, and wisely indited, in his own fashion, the letter which we have already mentioned. As soon as Charles was able to raise his body, his leg having been carefully set by the military surgeon, he was gladdened to his heart's core by the intelligence contained in his father's letter, written in regard to Lucy. - It told (276N "UCY SURVIVES HER SORROWS. 2" him of her present home, that he might at once write to her, making unreserved offer of his hand, and that he had already, together with his mother, written in accordance with this permission to Mr. Tyrrell's family. Anticipat- ing now nothing but happiness, he poured out his whole soul in a letter to his beloved, and, rapt in reveries of bliss, gave himself up with patience to the confinement of his pallet and the orders of the surgeon, a man of few words and great ability. Honest Bela scarce left him for an instant, and continually amused him by his odd remarks. "Where is that Indian, Bela?" said Charles, one morn- ing, " is he secured ready for exhibition?" "Oh, consarn him, no,", said Bela; " them are pesky red skins is more wrigglesomenor eels, they is. I shot one on em, but could'nt keep him alive no how; got his tommy-hawk tho', an his beads, an his 'feathers, so calcu- late I can" jest paint up myself, and the performance 'll come puty nigh on to him." Thanks to a good constitution and careful nursing, Charles soon began to gain strength, and received honor- able mention in the official despatches for his gallant con- duct, though he had, in the first report, been enumerated among the dead. Hoping now daily for intelligence from Lucy, he was suddenly surprised and delighted by the appearance of his cousin Randolph. He looked wearied with his journey from Virginia, and the intense sympathy and pity impressed upon his countenance was at first attributed by Charles to anxious interest in his own shattered and wounded frame. The autumn leaves were fast, fast falling from the elms and maples of old Cambridge, and filling its fields and avenues with their rich yellow and scarlet tributes, as the page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] 278 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. hapless Lucy Tyrrel re)ared, in brokenness of heart, to give her hand to Mr. -Lascelles. She yielded to the solicitations of her parents, who now implored her in language too earnest to be longer resisted. She could no longer exercise the will to oppose them; she was utterly x prostrated by the conduct of Charles, which, to her, was without a parallel in baseness, and she attributed the long, strange silence of Randolph and Matilda to their un- willingness to write on a subject which must have caused them intense sorrow. She had passed days, weeks almost, in passionate grief; she had wept until her tears refused longer to flow; she had indulged in sorrow till she had scarce further power even to sigh over her fate, and when the news came of the surrender of Quebec, and she read, with unutterable anguish, among the lists of casualties, the name of her faithless lover, who had fallen bravely fighting at the head of his company, abandoning forever her dreams of the past, she sent for her father, and summoning almost superhuman resolution, told him, with fearful calmness, that she could no longer oppose his desires, in regard to her union with Mr. Lascelles. She had not a heart to give, but could bestow her hand, were it still worth the asking. For her own choice she would prefer to follow in death the one who had destroyed her happi- ness, but as it pleased heaven to deny her wish, she would now obey her parents. Her father, rejoiced to see this change in Lucy, treated her with the utmost tenderness, at the same time asking that the marriage might soon take place., Lucy was indifferent to the period of the ceremony, but she insisted, and in that determination was inflexible, that the wedding should be one of strictest privacy and simplicity. Mr. Lascelles was forced to submit, and Lucy informing him that in her he would find one who would endeavor to do "UUI bUtVVES HEvj OURK OU WS- OWS.2 her duty by him as a wife, but that she did not and could not love again, bid adieu forever to all hope and joy in life, and became the wife of his bosom,' the inmate and mistress of his stately home. Her parents at once came to live with her; Mr. Las- celles was kind and bounteous in his hospitality, and en- gaged in her household duties, surrounded by those who loved her, she might finally have forgotten her sorrows. But the cup of her misery was not yet full. She had been scarce a month married, when one morning, during the absence of Mr. Lascelles, as she was left alone with her parents, the servant in attendance placed a letter in her hands. She glanced at the superscription, and turned as pale as marble. Could that be indeed the handwriting once so loved and familiar, but not seen for long years? Was it from beyond the tomb, from him she believed to have died on the'field of battle? She summoned strength to open it, and, motionless, read its--entire contents; then listlessly handing it across the table to her father, who had watched her with breathless interest, she placed her hands for a moment to her temples, and one wild shriek of agony burst from her lips, as she fell in convul- sions to the floor. Removed to her chamber, it was many hours before she regained her consciousness. At length, arousing from her swoon she exclaimed, in tones of the bitterest grief, "Oh, God! and have I lived for this; have I suffered in silence so long, and endured patiently, to be thus requited? Write to him, write to him; I cannot, but say that I am dead!" The fatal letter explained all things; it was the one which Charles had written, in spite of the orders of his surgeon to avoid exertion, and at the imminent risk of bringing back his fever, as he yc lay upon his sick bed, but written with high hope, with devoted spirit, detailing page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280 BRANDON ; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. all the circumstances which the reader already knows. Clearly establishing his own innocence, and relying on Lucy's unaltered affection, he concluded with the convic- tion that their mutual trials were now at an end, and joy- fully anticipating the hour when in person he could renew the offer of his hand and fortune to the only woman he - had ever loved, or ever could love. The misery of the distracted parents may/be imagined, as they perused this long epistle. To/add to their troubles, on the afternoon of that very same day, arrived the letters from the Brandons; which ought to have reached their destination a month before, but which, owing to some singular fatality, never accounted for, came, alas, too late. We have but little more to tell. Our story has been a sad one to relate; for though presented in the guise of fiction, the incidents of Lucy's life were those of a real personage, whose history was unfortunate, as we have portrayed it. Mr. Tyrrell briefly answered the letters, informing the Brandons of Lucy's marriage. There was nothing else to be spoken of; neither hopes for her happiness, nor regrets for her fate. A day or two after despatching his letters, he received a visit from a young officer. It was Mont- cure, one of the companions of Charles in his expedition to Quebec; who, on being detached from service, and on his return to Virginia, had promised Brandon to visit Lucy, and bear the news of his convalescence. He heard the sad truth from her father; and hastening homeward, met Randolph in New York; to whom he imparted this intelligence. His hearerwas so powerfully affected, that instead of pursuing his journey to Boston, he proceeded at once up the Hudson river, and made his way to Que- bec by the shortest route. In due time, he told his mel- "UCY SURVIVES HER SORROWS. 281 ancholy story; and, as soon as Charles health would per- mit, returned with his broken hearted charge to Virginia; where they beheld, in Charles' ruined home, too true an image of the destruction of his earthly hopes. The young soldier found his parents in altered health and spirits; greatly changed in the year of his absence. His mother's lovely smile had faded; and her locks were streaked with gray; while his father's portly form was shrunk and bent; and he wandered about, a changed man, often shaking his head, and sadly muttering. The old man took matters much to heart; but Charles, for the remainder of his life, did all he could to soothe him. The proud Hall he so loved to contemplate, was never rebuilt; and ere many years, before the ordinary allot- ment of nature's bound, the softened, chastened father, and the beautiful mother were called from earth. It was when the Revolutionary troubles had begun, that Mr. Brandon, on his dying bed, called Charles to his side, and said, "My son! I have done you heavy wrong, and I fear that I shall not be forgiven for it. I have seen with pain, that for several years you have leaned towards the cause of the colonies, against his sacred majesty, God bless him! but I have not said oyu one word upon the subject. I am old, and weak, and erring; you are yet young and strong; do as seemeth to you best; be faith- ful to your country, as God may incline you. I can only add my blessing, and leave you to act by the advice of these two friends, (turning to Randolph, and to Patrick Henry, who were now often by him,) whom I once also wronged, but now ask of them pardon for my faults. But for myself, bear ye witness for me, I die as I have lived, a loyal subject of my king." The staunch aristocrat was gathered to his fathers; and .when the day of trial came, Charles joined the page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] -282 BRANDON; OR, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. American army, and rose high in the favor of Washing- ton. Had he lived, he might at last have been united to Lucy, .but at the battle of Eutaw Springs, in South Caro- lina, just as that memorable bayonet charge was made by the troops under the command of the good and brave Otho Holland Williams, of Maryland, which decided the fortunes of that day-,Charles Biandon was shot dead; bravely fighting against the royal cause; as he had be- fore fought in its favor on the Plains of Abraham. His large estates devolved upon his cousins, Randolph and Matilda; who continued to dwell in peace in the" land; and their descendants, at this day, hold rank with the best and most affluent citizens of the Old Dominion. Of the other characters of our history, we have to add that Miriam did not long survive her sister Mildred; of whose suicide she continued ignorant; imnagining, as others did, that her fate was accompanied by the dreadful terrors of the fire. It was found that a good portion of her property had been dissipated; and Miriamn bequeathed the remainder, in equal shares, to Mr. Castlemain, and to Lucy. Jack Lawton lived to a good old age; and to the last his merry eye twinkled like a beacon, which weary travel- lers hailed with delight. Peace to his ashes! The Reverend Thomas Pollen, having some difficulty with his flock, left Rhode Island, and went back to Eng- land, in 1760. But for thirty years, at least, after his departure, did Mrs. Morpus, under the shadows of the Trojan helmet, and the-veteran umbrella, continue to train the youthful mind of Newport. Seated on her "bel-cony," she enjoyed the summer breezes, no longer -ruffled by the sight of Elisha Barlow. She formed a strong attachment to the writings of a celebrated Swiss author; and it is related of her, that one of her canons "UUX UKVIVJ 1v MSHERK UtRRUW3. 5 of "deportment,'" instructed young ladies, who would study true elegance, to be found by their morning visi- tors in armusing attitude, and with a finger inserted be- tween the leaves of "Zimmerman on Solitude." As for Bela Tilley, he continued all his life an un- changed specimen of the universal Yankee. Whenever he became disgusted with quahaugs and leather pies, he would leave his family for weeks or months at- a time to themselves, in Newport; his absence causing them about as much anxiety as if he had merely gone after a black fish, off Seal Rock. He often repaired to Kingwood, where he always found warm welcome and plenty of but- ternuts. He was in several of the Revolutionary bat- tles; and though he had a high reverence for General Washington, he always declared, as his opinion, that "he warn't quite so com-plete, as Gineral Wolfe and Mount- ca-lam!" And Lucy-Lucy Lascelles. When time, the universal comforter, had softened the memory of her sorrows, she felt a sense of thankfulness that her lover, unfortunate as he had been, had passed through all trials unspotted with dishonor. She heard indirectly from him, that he acquit- ted her of all blame; and that, although they, could not meet again, he must still love her to the last. As years passed on, Lucy devoted herself to her family with a serene spirit of resignation. She was not blessed with children; and her arts of pleasing were all bestowed upon her husband and her parents. Mr. Lascelles generously performed his part in life; but his tastes were so utterly different from Lucy's, that great sympathy between them was impossible. She was destined to lose both her pa- rents before many years of her married life, and was finally left alone in the world, by the death of her hus- band, some twelve months after she had once more shed page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 284 BRANDON; ORi A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. wild tears of sorrow, as she heard of the tragic end of Charles, on the field of honor; but, "God be praised," she said, " that good, and generouus, and noble, as was his life, it was yijlded at last in a holy cause!" The reckless extravagance and speculations of Mr. Lascelles, left her at his death but ill provided for, except- ing by the bequest of Miriam'; but, by great prudence and energy, she, in time, recovered sufficient from the wreck of her husbland's fortune, to maintain her in-afflu- ence for the remainder of her days. Still in the full bloom of life and beauty, she naturally attracted attention; but, withdrawing entirely from society, she resumed and steadily pursued her literary accomplishments. Those who knew her 'but slightly; sometimes imputed her seclu- sion to hauteur and pride in wealth; but in that stately home she thought not of riches, save as a means of com- fort for the poor and worthy, who never sought her in vain. With Randolph and Matilda she continued on terms of the most affectionate intercourse; and once, at their solicitation, made a journey to Virginia,after peace was declared. She visited, at Kingwood, every spot hal- lowed to her by the memory of Charles Brandon; the little brook, on whose banks he had for many an hour mused of her; the hills he had loved; the forest recesses; the brigit flowing river, James. Eiven the shattered, mouldering iuins of the Hall, appeared no longer desolate; for shrubs and vines now waved in green luxuriance over them, hiding their black- ened masses-to her, emblematic of the new and tender verdure, which the hand of God had sown again in her once torn and wasted heart. She stood daily beside the simple monument erected over the remains of her lover, humbly thanking heaven that her pilgrim feet had been permitted to press the ground which held his honored clay. "UCY SURVIVES HER SORROWS. 285 As her life passed, every summer found her at the dear old island--a friend, as she ever had been, to the poor cottagers. And when she visited the rocky shore, to watch the setting sun, her gaze, as in her days of trial, turned often to the south, where slept the one she loved. But now, she felt only serene felicity; the deep sea had fulfilled its promises of tranquil joy, and as its choral waves rang with notes of triumph, from her soul fled the last memory of pain; and she was filled with that "peace of God, which passeth all understanding., THE END. page: 286-287 (Advertisement) [View Page 286-287 (Advertisement) ] STAN 01U) AND DELISSER JAVVE IE]OVXlTLY PtUBLISHED TtHE FOLLOWING NENW WORKS. "^PE-THOUGHTS' OF GREAT MEN. 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