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THE

KENTUCKIAN

IN

NEW-YORK.

OR, THE
ADVENTURES OF THREE SOUTHERNS.
BY A VIRGINIAN.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

NEW-YORK:
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS,
NO. 82 CLIFF-STREET.
1834.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1834,
By Harper & Brothers,
In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York.

NEARLY READY.

HELEN. A new Tale. By Maria Edgeworth—forming the tenth volume of Harper's Uniform Edition of her Works. Containing two beautiful Engravings on steel.

TALES AND SKETCHES,—such as they are. By W. L. Stone, Esq. In 2 vols. 12mo.

THE FROLICS OF PUCK. In 2 vols. 12mo.

THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. By A Virginian. In 2 vols. 12mo.

GUY RIVERS. A Novel. By the Author of "Martin Faber." In 2 vols. 12mo.

MRS. SHERWOOD'S WORKS. Uniform Edition. With Engravings on steel. 12mo.

PAULDING'S WORKS. Uniform Edition. Revised and corrected by the Author. 12mo.

THE
KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK.

[CHAPTER I.]
[CHAPTER II.]
[CHAPTER III.]
[CHAPTER IV.]
[CHAPTER V.]
[CHAPTER VI.]
[CHAPTER VII.]
[CHAPTER VIII.]
[CHAPTER IX.]
[CHAPTER X.]
[CHAPTER XI.]
[CHAPTER XII.]
[CHAPTER XIII.]
[CHAPTER XIV.]
[CHAPTER XV.]
[CHAPTER XVI.]
[CHAPTER XVII.]
[CHAPTER XVIII.]
[CHAPTER XIX.]

CHAPTER I.

Towards the latter part of the summer of 18—, on one of those cool, delightful, and invigorating mornings which are frequent in the southern regions of the United States, there issued from the principal hotel on the valley-side of Harper's Ferry two travellers, attended by a venerable and stately southern slave. The experienced eye of the old ferryman, as he stood in his flat-bottomed boat awaiting the arrival of this party, discovered at once that our travellers were from the far South.

The first of these, Victor Chevillere, entered the "flat," leading by the bridle a mettlesome southern horse; when he had stationed this fine animal to his satisfaction, he stood directly fronting the prescriptive Charon of the region. This young gentleman, who appeared to be the principal character of the party just entering the boat, was handsomely formed, moderately tall, and fashionably dressed. His face was bold, dignified, and resolute, and not remarkable for any very peculiar fashion of the hair or beard which shaded it. He appeared to be about twenty-three years of age, and though so young, much and early experience of the world had already o'ershadowed his face with a becoming serenity, if not sadness. Not that silly, affected melancholy, however, which is so often worn in these days by young and romantic idle gentlemen, to catch the errant sympathies of some untravelled country beauty.

The next personage of the party (who likewise entered the boat leading a fine southern animal), was a fashionable young gentleman, about the middle size; his face was pale and wan, as if he had but just recovered from an attack of illness. Nevertheless there was a brilliant fire in his eye, and a lurking, but too evident, disposition to fun and humour, which illness had not been entirely able to subdue. Augustus Lamar, for such was his name, was the confidential and long-tried friend of the first-named gentleman: their mutual regard had existed undiminished from the time of their early school days in South Carolina, through their whole college career in Virginia up to the moment of which we speak.

The third and more humble personage of the party bore the time-honoured appellation of Cato. He was a tall old negro, with a face so black as to form a perfect contrast to his white hair and brilliant teeth. He was well dressed and cleanly in his person, and rather solemn and pompous in his manners. Cato had served the father of his present highly honoured young master, and was deeply imbued with that strong feudal attachment to the family, which is a distinguishing characteristic of the southern negroes who serve immediately near the persons of the great landholders.

Our travellers were now smoothly gliding over that most magnificent "meeting of the waters" of the Shenandoah and Potomack, which is usually known by the unpretending name of "Harper's Ferry." It was early morning; the moon was still visible above the horizon, and the sun had not yet risen above those stupendous fragments whose chaotic and irregular position gives token of the violence with which the mass of waters rent for themselves a passage through the mountains, when rushing on to meet that other congregation of rivers, with whose waters they unite to form the Bay of the Chesapeake. The black bituminous smoke from the hundred smithies of the United States' armory, had just begun to rise above the towering crags that seemed, at this early period, to battle with the vapours which are here sent up in thick volumes from the contest of rocks and rivers beneath.

Old Cato had by this time assumed his post at the heads of the three horses, while our southerns stood with folded arms, each impressed with the scene according to his individual impulses. As they approached nearer to the northern shore, Chevillere, addressing Lamar, observed: "An unhappy young lady she must be who arrived at our hotel last evening. I could hear her weeping bitterly as she paced the floor, until a late hour of the night, when finally she seemed to throw herself upon the bed, and fall asleep from mere exhaustion;" and then, turning to the weather-beaten steersman, continued: "I suppose we are the first passengers in the 'flat' this morning?"

"No, sir, you are not; a carriage from the same tavern went over half an hour ago. There was an old gray-headed man, and two young women in it, besides the driver, and the driver told me that they were all the way from York State,—the mail stage, too, went over."

"The same party," said Chevillere, abstractedly; "Did you learn where they were to breakfast, boatman?"

"About ten miles from this, I think I heard say."

They were soon landed and mounted, and cantering away through the fog and vapours of the early morning. Nor were they long in overtaking a handsome travelling-carriage, which was moving at a brisk rate, in accordance with the exertions of two fine, evidently northern, horses. The carriage contained an elderly, grave, formal, and magisterial gentleman; his locks quite gray, and hanging loose upon the collar of his coat; his countenance harsh, austere, and forbidding in the extreme. By his side sat a youthful lady, so enveloped in a large black mantle, and travelling hat and veil, that but little of her form or features could be seen, except a pair of brilliant blue eyes.

It is not to be denied, that these sudden apparitions of young and beautiful females, almost completely shrouded in mantles, drapery, or veils, are the very circumstances fully to arouse the slumbering energies of a lately emancipated college Quixotte. A lovely pair of eyes, brimful of tears,—a "Cinderella" foot and ankle,—a white and beautifully turned hand and tapered fingers, with perhaps a mourning ring or two,—or a bonnet suddenly blown off, so as to dishevel a magnificent head of hair, its pretty mistress meanwhile all confusion, and her snowy neck and temples suffused with blushes,—these are the little incidents on which the real romances of human life are founded. How many persons can look back to such a commencement of their youthful loves! nay, perhaps, refer to it all the little enjoyment with which they have been blessed through life! We venture to say, that those who were so unfortunate as never to bring their first youthful romance to a fortunate denouement, can likewise look back upon such occurrences with many pleasing emotions. A bachelor or a widower, indeed, may not always recur with pleasure to these first passages in the book of life,—but the feelings even of these are not altogether of the melancholy kind. The fairy queens of their spring-tide will sometimes arise in the present tense, until they almost imagine themselves in the possession again of youth and all its raptures,—its brilliant dreams, airy castles, "hair-breadth 'scapes," and miraculous deliverances,—cruel fathers, and perverse guardians, and stolen interviews, and lovers' vows and tokens,—winding up finally with a runaway match—all of the imagination.

After the equipage before alluded to had been for some time left behind, our travellers began to descry, at the distance of several miles, the long white portico of the country inn at which they proposed to breakfast. The United States mail-coach for Baltimore was standing at the door, evidently waiting till the passengers should have performed the same needful operation. Servants were running hither and thither, some to the roost, others to the stable, as if a large number of the most distinguished dignitaries of the land had just arrived.

But, behold, when our travellers drew up, they found that all this stir among the servants of the inn was called into being by the real or affected wants of a number of very young gentlemen. We say affected, because we are sorry to acknowledge that it is not uncommon to see very young and inexperienced gentlemen, on such occasions, assume airs and graces which are merely put on as a travelling dress, and which would be thrown aside at the first appearance of an old acquaintance. At such times it is by no means rare to see all the servants of the inn, together with the host and hostess, entirely engrossed by one of these overgrown boys or ill-bred men, while their elders and superiors are compelled either to want or wait upon themselves. At the time we notice, some young bloods of the cities were exercising themselves in their new suit of stage-coach manners.

"Here waiter! waiter!" with an affectedly delicate and foreign voice, cried one of these youths, enveloped in a brown "Petersham box" coat, and with his hands stuck into his pockets over his hips. Under the arm of this person was a black riding-switch, with a golden head, and a small chain of the same precious metal, fastened about six inches therefrom, after the fashion of some old rapier guards. He wore a rakish-looking fur cap, round and tight on the top of his head as a bladder of snuff; this was cocked on one side after a most piratical fashion, so as to show off, in the best possible manner, a great profusion of coarse, shining black hair, which was evidently indebted to art rather than nature for the curls that frizzled out over his ears, while the back part of his head was left as bare and defenceless as if he had already been under the hands of a deputy turnkey. He practised what may be called American puppyism, as technically distinguished from the London species of the same genus. "Here waiter! waiter!" said he, "bring me a gin sling,—and half-a-dozen Bagdad segars,—and a lighted taper,—and a fresh egg,—and a bowl of water, and a clean towel,—and polish my boots,—and dust my coat,—and then send me the barber, do you hear?"

"O, sir! we has no barber, nor Bagdab segars neither; but we has plenty of the real Baltimores,—real good ones, too,—as I knows very well, for I smokes the old sodgers what the gentlemen throws on the bar-room floor."

"It is one of the most amusing scenes imaginable," said Victor Chevillere to Augustus Lamar, as they sat witnessing this scene, "when the waiter and the master pro tempore are both fools. The fawning, bowing, cringing waiter, with his big lips upon the qui vive, his head and shoulders constantly in motion, and rubbing his hands one over the other after the most approved fashion of the men of business. In such a case as that which we have just witnessed, where puppyism comes in contact with the kindred monkey-tricks of the waiter, I can enjoy it. But when it happens, as I have more than once seen, that the waiter is a manly, sensible, and dignified old negro of the loftier sort, such as old Cato,—then you can soon detect the curl of contempt upon his lip,—and he is not long thereafter in selecting the real gentlemen of the party,—always choosing to wait most upon those who least demand it."

"I would bet my horse Talleyrand against an old field scrub, that that fellow is a Yankee," answered Lamar.

"He may be a Yankee," continued Victor Chevillere, "but you have travelled too much and reflected too long upon the nature of man, to ascribe every thing disgusting to a Yankee origin. For my part, I make the character of every man I meet in some measure my study during my travels, and as we have agreed to exchange opinions upon men and things, I will tell you freely what I think of that fellow who has just retreated from our laughter. I have found it not at all uncommon, to see the most undisguised hatred arise between two such persons as he of the stage-coach,—the one from the north, and the other from the south,—when in truth, the actuating impulse was precisely the same in both, but had taken a different direction, and was differently developed by different exciting causes.

"The puppyism of Charleston and that of Boston are only different shades of the same character, yet these kindred spirits can in nowise tolerate each other. As is universally the case, those are most intolerant to others who have most need of forgiveness themselves. The mutual jealousy of the north and south is a decided evidence of littleness in both regions, and ample cause for shame to the educated gentlemen of all parties of this happy country. If pecuniary interest had not been mixed up with this provincial rivalry, the feeling could easily have been so held up to the broad light of intelligence, as to be a fertile source of amusement, and furnish many a subject for comedy and farce in after-times."

This specimen was by no means the only one among the arrivals by the stage-coach. Every waiter in the house was pressed into the service of these coxcombs,—some smoked,—some swaggered through the private rooms,—others adjusted their frizzled locks at the mirrors with brushes carried for the purpose,—and all together created a vast commotion in the quiet country inn.

As our two young southerns sat in the long piazza, eying these stage-coach travellers and waiting for breakfast, the same equipage which they had passed on the road, and containing our northern party, drew up to the door.

Not many minutes had elapsed before a black servant stood in the entry between the double suite of apartments, and briskly swung a small bell to and fro, which seemed to announce breakfast, from the precipitate haste with which the gentlemen of the stage-coach found their way into the long breakfasting-hall of the establishment. Our southerns followed their example, but more quietly, and by the invitation of the host. At the upper end of the table stood the hostess, who, like most of her kind in America, was the wife of a wealthy landholder and farmer, as well as tavern-keeper. She was a genteel and modest-looking woman, and did the honours of the table like a lady at her own hospitable board, and among selected guests. It is owing to a mistake in the character of the host and hostess, that so many foreigners give and take offence at these establishments. They often contumaciously demand as a right, what would have been offered to them in all courtesy after the established usages of the country.

On the right of the hostess sat the youthful lady who had spent such an unhappy night at the ferry,—in the hearing of Victor Chevillere,—and whom they had passed on the road. She was still so enveloped in her travelling dress and veil as to be but partially seen. On the same side, unfortunately, as he no doubt thought, sat Chevillere with Lamar. The grave-looking old gentleman, the companion of the youthful lady mentioned, sat immediately opposite to her. The gentlemen of extreme ton (as they wished to be thought), were ranged along the table, already mangling the dishes, cracking and replacing the eggs, and apparently much dissatisfied with the number of seconds they had remained in heated water. Nor were they long in striking up a conversation, as loud and full of slang as their previous displays had been. During this unseemly and boisterous conduct, some more tender chord seemed to be touched within the bosom of the lovely young female, than would have been supposed from the character of the assailants. Victor Chevillere turned his head in that direction, and saw that her face had become more deadly pale; at the same moment he heard her say, in an under-tone, to the old gentleman her companion, "My dear sir, assist me from this room,—my head grows dizzy, and I feel a deathlike sickness."

Chevillere was upon his feet in an instant, and assisted the lady to rise; by this time, the old gentleman having taken her other arm, they carried rather than led her into one of the adjoining apartments, where, after depositing their beautiful burden upon a sofa, Chevillere left her to the care of the hostess, who had followed, and returned to the breakfast-table.

Let us describe a country breakfast for the uninitiated. At the head of the table was a large salver, or japanned waiter, upon which was spread out various utensils of China-ware,—the only articles of plate being a sugar-dish and cream-pot. On the right of this salver stood a coffee and tea-urn, of some composition metal, resembling silver in appearance. At the other end of the table, under the skilful hands of the host, was a large steak, cut and sawed entirely through the sirloin of the beef. Half-way up the table, on either side, were dishes of broiled game, the intermediate spaces being filled up with various kinds of hot bread, biscuit and pancakes (as they are called in some parts of the north). This custom of eating hot bread at the morning and evening meal, is almost universal at the south. Immediately in the centre stood a pyramid of fresh-churned butter, with a silver butter-knife sticking into the various ornaments of vine-leaves and grapes with which it was stamped.

To this fare Chevillere found his friend Lamar doing the most ample justice, nor was his own keen appetite entirely destroyed by the temporary indisposition of the lady who had so much excited his curiosity and his sympathy. He could have congratulated himself on the little occurrence which had given him some claims to a farther acquaintance, and doubtless could have indulged in delightful reveries as to the fair and youthful stranger,—had not all his gay dreams been put to flight by the boisterous laughter and meager attempts at wit of the other travellers. As he returned towards the table, the one whom we have more particularly described elevated a glass, with a golden handle, to his large, full, and impudent eye. Chevillere returned the gaze until his look almost amounted to a deliberate stare. The "bloods" looked fierce, and exchanged pugnacious looks, but all chance of a collision was prevented by the return of the hostess. Notwithstanding the disagreeable qualities of most of the guests at the table, Chevillere found time to turn the little incident of the sudden indisposition and its probable cause several times in his own mind; and, as may be well imagined, his mental soliloquy resulted in no injurious imputation upon the youthful lady,—there was evidently no trait of affectation.

At length the meal was brought to a close,—not however, before the driver of the mail-coach had wound sundry impatient blasts upon his bugle,—general joy seemed to pervade every remaining countenance after the departure of the coxcombs. Both the northern and southern travellers, who were journeying northward, and who had breakfasted at the inn, were soon likewise plodding along at the usual rate of weary travellers by a private conveyance.

CHAPTER II.

The misery of the young and the beautiful is at all times infectious. Few young persons can withhold sympathy in such a case,—especially if the person thus afflicted be unmarried—of the other sex—and near one's own age.

Victor Chevillere could not expel from his imagination the image of the fair stranger. Again and again did he essay to join Lamar in his light and sprightly conversation, as they, on the day after the one recorded in the last chapter, pursued their journey along the noble turnpike between Fredericktown and Baltimore. The same profound revery would steal upon him, and abide until broken by the merry peals of Lamar's peculiarly loud and joyous laughter, at the new mood which seemed to have visited the former. When a young person first begins to experience these abstracted moods, there is nothing, perhaps, that sounds more harsh and startling to his senses, than the mirthful voice of his best friend. He looks up as one would naturally look at any unseemly or boisterous conduct at a funeral. He seems to gaze and wonder, for the first time, that all things and all men are jogging on at their usual gait. Thus were things moving upon the Fredericktown turnpike: Lamar riding forty or fifty paces in front, singing away the blue devils; Chevillere in the centre, moody and silent; and old Cato, stately as a statue on horseback, bringing up the rear.

From hearing sundry merry peals of laughter from Lamar's quarter, Chevillere was induced at length to forego his own society for a moment, to see what new subject his Quixotic friend had found for such unusual merriment; and a subject he had indeed found in the shape of a tall Kentuckian. The name of the stranger, it seems, was Montgomery Damon. He was six feet high, with broad shoulders, full, projecting chest, light hair and complexion, and a countenance that was upon the first blush an index to a mind full of quaint, rude, and wild humour. His dress was any thing but fashionable; he wore a large, two-story hat, with a bandana handkerchief hanging out in front, partly over his forehead, as if to protect it from the great weight of his castor. His coat and pantaloons were of home-made cotton and woollen jeans, and he carried in his hand a warlike riding-whip, loaded with lead, and mounted with silver, with which, now and then, he gave emphasis to his words, by an unexpected and sonorous crack.

Our Kentuckian was no quiet man; but, like most of his race, bold, talkative, and exceedingly democratic in all his notions; feeling as much pride in his occupation of drover, as if he had been a senator in Congress from his own "Kentuck," as he emphatically called it. He was a politician, too, inasmuch as he despised tories, as he called the federalists, approved of the late war, and had a most venomous hatred against Indians, of whatever tribe or nation. We shall break into their dialogue at the point at which Victor became a listener.

"How did it happen," said Lamar, "that you did not join the army either of the north or south, when your heart seems to have been so entirely with them?"

"O! as to jineen the army to the north," said Damon, "I was afraid the blasted tories would sell me to the British, me and my messmates, like old Hull, the infernal old traitor, sold his men for so much a head, jist as I sell my hogs. As to t'other business, down yonder, under Old Hickory, I reckon I did take a hand or so aginst the bloody Injins."

"You prefer a fight with Indians, then, to one with white men."

"To be sure I do; I think no more of taking my jack-knife, and unbuttonin the collar of a Creek Injin, than I would of takin the jacket off a good fat bell-wether, or mout-be a yerlin calf. Old Hickory's the boy to sculp the bloody creters; he's the boy to walk into their bread-baskets; and Dick Johnston ain't far behind him, I can tell you, stranger; he's the chap what plumped a bullet right into old Tecumseh's bagpipes. Let him alone for stoppin their war-whoops."

"You were a rifleman, I suppose," said Lamar.

"Right agin, stranger. Give me a rifle for ever; they never spiles meat, though, as one may say, Injin's meat ain't as good as blue-lick buck's; but for all that, it's a pity to make bunglin work of a neat job; besides, your smooth bores waste a deal of powder and lead upon the outlandish creters."

"Were you ever wounded?" asked Lamar.

"Yes! don't you see this here hare-lip to my right eye? Well! that was jist the corner of an Injin's hatchet. Bob Wiley jist knocked up his arm in time to save me for another whet at the varmints; if so mout be that we ever has another brush with 'em, and Bob goes out agin, maybe I may do him a good turn yet; he's what I call a tear down sneezer (crack went the whip). He's got no more fear among the Injins than a wild cat in a weasel's nest; O! it would have done your heart good to see him jist lie down behind an old log, and watch for one of the varmint's heads bobbin up and down like a muskovy drake in a barn yard, and as sure as you saw the fire at the muzzle of his gun, so sure he knocked the creter's hind sights out. You see he always took 'em on the bob, jist as you would shoot a divin bird, and that's what I always called taking the bread out of the creter's mouth, for he was watchin for the same chance."

"Did you scalp the slain?" said Lamar.

"No!" replied Damon, "we had plenty of friendly Injins to do that, and it used to make me laugh to see the yallow raskals sculpin their kin; that's what I call dog eat dog."

"Do you think an Indian has a soul?" said Lamar.

"Ha! ha! ha!" roared the Kentuckian, giving a crack of unusual emphasis, "that's what I call a stumper; but as you're no missionary, I 'spose I'll tell you. I knows some dumb brutes—here's this Pete Ironsides that I'm ridin on, has more of a Christian soul in him than any leather-skin between Missouri and Red River. Why! stranger! what's an Injin good for, more nor a wild cat? You can't tame ne'er a one of 'em."

"But those missionaries you spoke of, don't you think they will civilize, if not Christianize them?"

"Ha! ha! ha!" shouted Damon, with another loud crack, and rolling a huge quid of tobacco to the opposite side of his mouth, "they might as well mount the trees and preach to the 'coons and tree-frogs; one of your real psalm-singers mout tree a coon at it, but hang me if he can ever put the pluck of a white man under a yellow jacket. Catch a weasel asleep or a fox at a foot race. I rather suspicion, stranger, that I've seen more Injins than your missionaries, and I'll tell you the way to tame 'em;—slit their windpipes and hamstring 'em."

"Perhaps you are an enemy to religion, or prejudiced against the missionaries?"

"No! no! stranger, no! I likes religion well enough of a Sunday; but hang me if I should not die of laughin to see 'em layin it down to the redskins. I'd as soon think of going into my horse stable and preachin to the dumb brutes. Old Pete here knows more now than many an Injin, and he's got more soul than some Yankees that mout be named; but come, stranger, here's a public house, let's go in and cut the phlegm."

"Agreed," said Lamar, "but it must be at my expense."

"Well," said Damon, "we'll not quarrel about that;" and turning to Victor, "Stranger, won't you join us in a glass of tight?"

"No! I thank you," said Chevillere, "but I will look on while you and my friend drink to the better acquaintance of us all."

After the parties had refreshed themselves and their horses, and remounted, the conversation was resumed. "Well now," said the Kentuckian, addressing Victor, "I wish I may be contwisted if you ain't one of the queerest men, to come from the Carolinas, I have clapped eyes on this many a day. You don't chaw tobacco, and you don't drink nothin; smash my apple-cart if I can see into it."

"I am one of those that don't believe in the happy effects of either brandy or tobacco," replied Chevillere.

"Then you are off the trail for once in your life, stranger, for I take tobacco to be one of God's mercies to the poor. Whether it came by a rigular dispensation of providence (as our parson used to say), or in a natural way, I can't tell; but hang me, if when I gets a quid of the real Kentuck twist or Maryland kite-foot into my mouth, if I ain't as proud a man as the grand Turk himself. It drives away the solemncholies, and makes a fellow feel so good-natured, and so comfortable; it turns the shillings in his pocket into dollars, and his wrath into fun and deviltry. Let them talk about tobacco as they choose among the fine gals, and at their theatres, and balls, and cotillions, and all them sort of things; but let one of 'em git twenty miles deep into a Kentuck forest, and then see if a chew of the stuff ain't good for company and comfort."

"But you did not tell me," resumed Lamar, "whether you had ever shot at a white man?"

"No! no! I never did; and I don't know that I ever will. I think I should feel a leetle particlar, at standin up and shooting at a real Christian man, with flesh and blood like you and me. You see, when we boys of the long guns shoot, we don't turn our heads away and pull trigger in a world of smoke, so that nobody can tell where the lead goes; we look right into the white of a fellow's eye, and can most always tell which side of his nose the ball went, and you see that would be but a slayin and skinnen business among white people; but as to shootin and sculpin Injins, that's a thing there is no bones made about, because out on the frontiers at the west, if a man should stand addlin his brains about the right and the wrong of the thing, the red devils would just knock them out to settle the matter, and sculp him for his pains into the bargain. Shooting real Christian men's quite another thing. It's what I ha'nt tried yet; but when we Kentuck boys gits at it, it won't all end like a log-rollin, with one or two broken shins and a black eye. But I'm told the Yankees always sings a psalm before they go to battle. Now, according to my notion, a chap would make a blue fist of takin a dead aim through double sights, with the butt end of a psalm in his guzzle."

"Some person must have told you that as a joke," said Lamar.

"No, no, I believe it, because we had just such a fellow once in our neighbourhood—a Yankee schoolmaster—and we took him out a deer-driving two or three times, and he was always singing a psalm at his stand. He spoilt the fun, confound him! Hang me if I didn't always think the fellow was afraid to stand in the woods by himself without it. I went to his singin school of Saturday nights, too; but I never had a turn that way. All the master could do, he could'nt keep me on the trail,—I was for ever slipping into Yankee Doodle; you see, every once in a while, the tune would take a quick turn, like one I knowed afore, so I used to blaze away at it with the best of 'em, but the same old Yankee Doodle always turned up at the end. But the worst of it was, the infernal Yankee spoiled all the music I ever had in me; when I come out of the school, I thought the gals at home would have killed themselves laughin' at me. They said I ground up Yankee Doodle and Old Hundred together, all in a hodge-podge, so I never sings to no one now but the dumb brutes in the stable, when they gits melancholy of a rainy day. Old Pete here raises his ears, and begins to snort the minute I raises a tune."

"Your singing-master was, like his scholar, an original."

"An original! When he come to them parts, he drove what we call a Yankee cart, half wagon and half carriage, full of all sorts of odds and ends; when he had sold them out, he sold his horse and cart too, and then turned in to keepin a little old-field school; and over and above this, he opened a Saturday night singin-school,—and I reckon we had rare times with the gals there. At last, when the feller had got considerable ahead, the word came out that he was studyin to be a doctor; and sure enough, in a few months, he sold out the school for so much a head, just like we sell our hogs; then off the Yankee starts to git made a doctor of; and hang me if ever I could see into that business. How they can turn a pedlar into a doctor in four months, is a leetle jist over my head. It's true enough they works a mighty change in the chaps in that time. Our Yankee went off, as well-behaved and as down-faced a chap as you would wish to see in a hundred, and wore home-made clothes like mine; but when he had staid his four months out, and 'most everybody had forgot him, one day as I was leanen up against one of the poplar trees in the little town, I saw a sign goin up on the side of a house, with Doctor Gun in large letters. I'll take my Bible oath, when I saw the thing, I thought I should have broke a blood-vessel. Howsomever, I strained 'em down, till an old woman would have sworn I had the high-strikes, with a knot o' wind in my guzzle. But I quieted the devil in me, and then I slipped slyly over the street, behind where the doctor was standing with his new suit of black; one hand stuck in his side, and the other holding an ivory-headed stick up to his mouth in the most knowing fashion, I tell you. I stole up behind him, and bawled out in his ear, as loud as I could yell, 'faw—sol—law—me.' Oh! my grandmother! what a smashin rage he flew into; he shook his cane—he walked backwards and forwards—and didn't he make the tobacco juice fly? I rather reckon, if I hadn't had so many inches, he'd have been into my meat; but the fun of it all was, the feller had foreswore his mother tongue; dash me if he could talk a word of common lingo, much less sing psalms and hymns by note; he rattled off words as long as my arm, and as fast as a windmill. Some of the old knowing ones says they've got some kind of a mill, like these little hand-organs, and that chops it out to the chaps eny night and morning, pretty much as I chop straw to my horses; but I'm going in to see that doctor-factory, when I git to Philadelphia, if they don't charge a feller more nor half a dollar a head."

"I hope we shall travel together to Philadelphia," said Lamar; "and if so, I will introduce you into the establishment, free of expense."

"Thank you, sir, thank you," said the Kentuckian; "but I'm rather inclined to think that we will hardly meet again after to-day; 'cause, you see, I'm 'bliged to do a might of business in Baltimore afore I can go on. After that, then I can go on as I please; as I'm only goin to see the world abit, afore I settle down for life."

"But," said Lamar, "if you will call at Barnum's, and leave word what day you will set out, I will see that we travel together, for I will suit my time to yours; and I would advise you to send your horse a short distance into the country, both for the sake of convenience and economy."

"What! part with old Pete here! Bless my soul, stranger! he would go into a gallopin consumption! or die of the solemncholies, if a rainy spell should come on, and he and I couldn't have a dish of chat together; and then I shouldn't know no more what to do in one of your coaches nor a cow with a side-pocket."

"My word for it," replied Victor, "you would soon enjoy yourself inside of a stage-coach. Come, let us make a bargain. I will engage to have your horse well taken care of in the country, and provide him with a groom that will soon learn his ways, and be able to cheer him up when he gets low-spirited."

"Yes, do!" said Lamar, jocosely; "we are anxious to have your company during our visit to the cities. We are from Carolina, and you are from Kentuck; and after you get through with your business, we shall all be on the same errand—pleasure and improvement."

"And a wild-goose chase it's like to be, I'm afraid; especially if I'm to be of your mess. But suppose you should meet with some fine lady acquaintances, what, in the name of old Sam, would you do with me? I should be like a fifth wheel to a wagon."

"Were you never in the company of fine ladies?" asked Chevillere.

"Yes! and flummuck me if ever I want to be so fixed again; for there I sat with my feet drawn straight under my knees, heads up, and hands laid close along my legs, like a new recruit on drill, or a horse in the stocks; and, twist me, if I didn't feel as if I was about to be nicked. The whole company stared at me as if I had come without an invite; and I swear I thought my arms had grown a foot longer, for I couldn't get my hands in no sort of a comfortable fix—first I tried them on my lap; there they looked like goin to prayers, or as if I was tied in that way; then I slung 'em down by my side, and they looked like two weights to a clock; and then I wanted to cross my legs, and I tried that, but my leg stuck out like a pump handle; then my head stuck up through a glazed shirt-collar, like a pig in a yoke; then I wanted to spit, but the floor looked so fine, that I would as soon have thought of spittin on the window; and then to fix me out and out, they asked us all to sit down to dinner! Well, things went on smooth enough for a while, till we had got through one whet at it. Then a blasted imp of a nigger come to me first with a waiter of little bowls full of something, and a parcel of towels slung over his arm; so I clapped one of the bowls to my head, and drank it down at a swallow. Now, stranger, what do you think was in it?"

"Punch, I suppose," said Lamar, laughing; "or perhaps apple toddy."

"So I thought, and so would anybody, as dry as I was, and that wanted something to wash down the fainty stuffs I had been layin in; but no! it was warm water! Yes! you may laugh! but it was clean warm water. The others dipped their fingers into the bowls, and wiped them on the towels as well as they could for gigglin; but it was all the fault of that pampered nigger, in bringin it to me first. As soon as I catched his eye, I gin him a wink, as much as to let him know that if ever I caught him on my trail, I would wipe him down with a hickory towel."

"But I suppose you enjoyed yourself highly before it was all over?" said Chevillere.

"When it was all over, I was glad enough; I jumped and capered like a school-boy at the first of the holydays."

"Have you never been invited out since?" asked Lamar.

"O yes, often," said Damon; "but you don't catch a weasel asleep again. I like to give a joke, and take a joke; but then the joke was all on one side. If I can take a hand in the laugh, I don't care whether a person laughs at me, or with me."

"But what say you?" said Chevillere; "shall we send your horse to the country with ours?"

"Why! as you gentlemen seem to speak me so fair, and to know the world so well, I don't care if I do send old Pete out to board awhile. I shouldn't be surprised though if he should give me up for lost, and fret himself to death. But I must see the man that goes to the country with them; 'cause Pete couldn't bear shabby talk; he's what I call a leetle particular in his company for a dumb brute."

"The man rides behind us," said Chevillere, "who will perform that duty. Cato! this gentleman wishes to speak to you."

"Did you call, your honour?"

"Yes. Cato! Mr. Damon wishes to give you some charges about his horse, which you are to take into the country with ours."

"Cato," said Damon, "tell the farmer who takes the horses, that old Pete Ironsides here has been used to good company, and that he has been treated more like a Christian nor a horse, and that I wish him indulged in his old ways."

During this harangue, Cato cast sundry glances from his master to the speaker, as if to ascertain whether he was in earnest, or only playing off one of those freaks in which the young men had so often indulged in his presence. Being accustomed, however, to treat with respect those whom his master respected, and seeing his eye calm and serious, he bowed with grave deference, saying, "It shall be done as you direct, your honour;" and then fell back.

"Now," said Damon, "that's what I call a well-bred nigger. I would venture that old Scip would'nt have puzzled me with the warm water; 'cause he knows that I'm not one of them there sort of chaps what knows all their new-fangled kick-shaws. He knows in a case of real needcessity, or life and death, as I may say, either to man, woman, or horse, I'm more to be depended on than a dozen such chaps as went along here in the stage this morning."

"You saw the dandies in the stage, then?" asked Victor.

"Yes, and one of 'em popped his head out of the window, and says to me as they went by, 'Country,' says he, 'there's something on your horse's tail.'—'Yes,' says I, 'and there's something in his head that you hav'nt got, if his ears ain't so long.'"

Thus were our acquaintances and their new companion jogging along when the distant rumbling of wheels upon the pavements and the dense clouds of black smoke which seemed to be hanging in the heavens but a short distance ahead, announced that they were soon to enter the monumental city.

There is not, perhaps, a feeling of more truly unmixed melancholy, incident to the heart of an inexperienced and modest student, than that which steals over him upon his first entrance into a strange city; a feeling of incomparable loneliness, even deeper than if the same individual were standing alone upon the highest blue peak of the far stretching Alleghany. The vanishing rays of twilight were extending their lengthening shadows; the husbandman and his cattle were seen wending their way to their accustomed abodes for the night; and the feathered tribes had already sought the resting-places which nature so plentifully provides for them in our well-wooded land. The sad, and it may be pleasing reflections which such sights produced, were occasionally interrupted by the clattering of a horse's hoofs upon the turnpike, as some belated countryman sought to redeem the time he had spent at the alehouse; or as the solitary marketman, with more staid and quiet demeanour, sped upon a like errand. Occasionally the scene was marred by some besotted and staggering wretch, seeking his lowly and miserable hut in the suburbs. At intervals too, the barking of dogs and the lowing of cattle contributed their share to remind our friends that they were about to take leave of these quiet and pastoral scenes, for an indefinite period, and to mix in the bustle and gay assemblage of city life. Often, at such junctures, there is a presentiment of the evil which awaits the unhappy exchange. Warning clouds of the mind are believed to exist by many of the clearest heads and soundest hearts: we do not say that our heroes were thus sadly affected, nor that the Kentuckian had a fore-taste of evil; but certain it is, that all were silent until they arrived at the place of separation. All things having been previously settled, they exchanged salutations, and departed upon their separate routes. They passed a variety of streets in that most gloomy period of the day when lamp-lighters are to be seen, with their torches and ladders, starting their glimmering lights first in one direction and then in another, as they hurry from post to post. Draymen were driving home with reckless and Jehu-like speed; and the brilliant lights which began to appear at long intervals, gave evidence that the trading community carried their operations also into that portion of time which nature has allotted for rest and repose to nearly all living things. Our travellers now alighted at Barnum's; but as their adventures were of an interesting character, we shall defer them till a new chapter.

CHAPTER III.

After a substantial meal had been despatched, our travellers repaired to the livery-stable, to inspect in person the condition of their horses. The establishment was lighted with a single lamp, swung in the centre of the building. The approach of the two young gentlemen was not therefore immediately noticed by old Cato and another groom (who proved to be the coachman of the equipage they had left on the road), as they were busily engaged in rubbing down their horses, the dialogue between them was not brought to a close at once.

"Who did you say the gentleman was?" said old Cato.

"His name is Brumley," replied coachee.

"And the young lady is his daughter, I suppose?" continued Cato.

"Oh! as to that, I cannot say," continued coachee, "but I believe she is only his step-daughter; they calls her Miss Fanny St. Clair, and sometimes of late the old gentleman calls her Mrs. Frances; but between you and me and the horse-stall, there is some strange things about this family; I rather guess that Sukey, the maid up yonder, could tell us something that would make us open our eyes, if she was not so confounded close; all that I know about it is, that the harsh old gentleman sometimes gives her a talk in the carriage that throws her a'most into a faintin' spell. But I could never see into it, not I; I don't somehow believe in all these little hurrahs the women kicks up just for pastime."

Our travellers did not think proper to listen further to the gossip of the grooms, and having executed their business at the livery, they retraced their steps to the splendid establishment at which they had put up. Notwithstanding the doubtful source from which Chevillere had gained his latest information concerning the singularly interesting young lady whom they had seen at the inn, it made its impression. Corrupt indeed must be that channel of information relative to a beautiful and attractive female, apparently in distress, which will not find an auditor in the person of a sensitive young man just emancipated from college. On such occasions, and with such persons, the credibility of all witnesses is the same, and the most improbable tale is taken at once, and made the foundation of a whole train of reveries, dreams, and plans.

It is not to be denied that Victor Chevillere had worked his imagination up to a very romantic height, and had allowed his curiosity concerning the youthful lady to reach such a pitch that little else gave occupation to his fancies.

He was in this state of mind, leisurely marking time with lazy steps, and in an abstracted mood, as he ascended the grand staircase of the establishment, when his attention was again riveted by the sound of the lady's voice in earnest entreaty with the old gentleman.

"Consider, my dear Frances," said the latter, "that your health is now nearly re-established, and that these are subjects that you must dwell upon; why not, therefore, become accustomed to it at once?"

"For heaven's sake! for my dear mother's! never, sir, mention that fearful marriage, and more fearful death to me again! Why should I recall hideous and frightful dreams!"

Chevillere was compelled to move on, but it must be confessed that his steps were slower than before; and it may be readily imagined, that his fancy and his curiosity were not much allayed by the shreds of conversation which he had involuntarily overheard. When he had ascended to his own apartment, and could indulge freely in that bachelor recreation of pacing to and fro, the two words still involuntarily quickened his movements whenever they flashed through his mind—-"marriage" and "death" were words of opposite import certainly, viewed in the abstract, and we doubt whether he had ever connected them together before;—-"Fearful marriage! and more fearful death!" what could it mean? to whom could they refer? Only one of them could refer to her, that was certain; who then was married and died so fearfully? Ah! thought he, I have it! her mother has married this old man, and died suddenly; and he has got the fortune of both in his hands! Suspicious circumstance! If fortune puts it in my power, I will watch him narrowly! I disliked his countenance from the first!—must be cool, however, and deliberate—must watch—and wait! pshaw, what am I at! Thus ended Victor Chevillere's solution of the enigma, when Lamar stepped into the room and disturbed his revery.

"What! still musing, Chevillere. By my troth, she must be a witch; but it will be glorious news to write to our friend Beverly Randolph, of old Virginia. What say you? Shall I sit down and indite an epistle? Let me see—how do such narratives generally begin? Cupid, and darts, and arrows—blind of an eye—shot right through the vitals of a poor innocent youth that never did him any harm—never was struck before—covered with a panoply, and shield, and armour, and all that; and then worship prostrate before the shrine; and vows, and tears, and tokens; and then the dart is taken out—and the wound heals up—and then—'Richard's himself again!' What say you to that, or rather what would Randolph say to that, think you?"

"He would say that Augustus Lamar was still the same mirth-loving fellow, without regard to time or place."

"Then it is a serious affair, and too true to make a joke of! Well, then I have done! She's a beautiful young creature, it is true; but then from what I had seen of your cold philosophy, I did not think you were the man to be slain at first sight, and surrender at discretion before a single charge."

"I will acknowledge to you, Lamar, that my curiosity is most painfully excited with regard to that unhappy young lady, but nothing more, I assure you. Some facts have, without my seeking, come to my knowledge, with which you are entirely unacquainted, and which have tended greatly to increase that curiosity. I cannot at this time explain; as soon as my own mind is satisfied on the subject, my confidence shall not be withheld from you."

"Lovers are truly a singular set of mortals—-here is a young lady (and a Yankee too, perhaps) of some dozen hours' acquaintance, and with whom you have never exchanged a dozen words; and yet you are already entrusted with profound secrets, which excite you in the most painful manner!"

"Come, come, Lamar, I see you are determined to misunderstand me. Let us drop the subject. What do you think of the Kentuckian?"

"I think he is an admirable fellow; and I intend to patronise him; and induct him into fashionable life; but do you think his singularities are the natural products of the life, manners, and climate of Kentucky?"

"I cannot decide whether there is much in him that is peculiar to Kentucky. Some of the most elegant and accomplished gentleman I have seen were natives of that state."

"He takes a laugh at his expense admirably."

"He does, but you must be careful not to exceed the limits he has laid down for himself and us, in that respect. For my own part, I entertain a serious respect for Damon and his unsophisticated honesty, degenerating, as it sometimes does, into prejudices and ludicrous fancies."

"Good night, and pleasant dreams to you. I will call early to interpret them for you."

As Lamar closed the door, Chevillere drew from his pocket a little basket segar-case, from which he extracted a genuine Havana, and lighting a taper at the candle, and throwing himself into one of those easy attitudes familiar to smokers, with his head back, and his eyes closed, gave himself up to those absorbing reveries, generally delightful in proportion to the goodness of the segar, which a southern knows so well how to enjoy. To be fully relished, segars should be resorted to only in the evening, and then in moderation. The sensibility is blunted by excess, and in that case, tobacco, like the intoxicating drinks, will sometimes conjure up frightful images upon the wall of a dimly-lighted chamber, or among the embers of a dying fire. Victor, however, had not converted his capacity for enjoyment into fruitful sources of mental and physical suffering—-he sat for a long time gently throwing the fragrant results of his efforts into various columns, wreaths, and pyramids. Not that his mind dwelt upon these things for a moment; he was far distant in spirit; his imagination was calling up delightful dreams of love and friendship, with thoughts of a beloved cousin, of his friend and room-mate Beverley Randolph—his mother, his home, and the scenes of his childhood, and finally, of the lady of the black mantle. He beheld airy castles,—romantic adventures,—bridal scenes—and flowers,—assemblies,—parties,—and the high hills of the Santee.

Aladdin's lamp never wrought more rich and highly-coloured scenes of enchantment than did this same Havana; but the most pleasant dream must come to an end, as well as the richest flavoured segar—and so did Chevillere's. Tossing the little hot remnant from him with a passionate jerk, as if in anger at the insensible cause of his interruption, he bounced into the centre of the floor and began to pace to and fro, in his accustomed mood, clenching his fists now and then, and by his whole appearance showing a perfect contrast to the calm and delightful revery attendant upon the first stage of tobacco intoxication.

In this mood we shall leave him to seek his rest, while we recount in the next chapter what farther befel our late collegians on the following morning.

CHAPTER IV.

A brilliant morning found our collegians refreshed in health and elastic in spirits. The more gloomy fancies of the previous night, which had beset Chevillere both in his waking and sleeping hours—like the mists of the morning, had been dispelled by the bright sunshine, and the refreshing breezes of the bay. After the usual meal had been some time despatched; and while Chevillere was leisurely turning over the papers of the day (Lamar having departed in pursuit of the Kentuckian) he was surprised by the entrance of Mr. Brumley (the austere gentleman), who saluted him with the most friendly greetings of the hour and season, and concluded by inviting him into their private parlour. It may be readily imagined that this invitation was not tardily complied with, for he now imagined that the whole history of the lady would be unravelled by a single word—so sanguine is youthful hope, and so apt are we, at that interesting period, to jump to those conclusions which are desirable, without ever considering the previous steps, and painful delays, and necessary forms, and conventional usages which inevitably intervene between our highest hopes and their fruition. How often would the ardent wishes and the bold hands of youth seize upon futurity, despoiling it of the thin veil which separates us from what we wish to know, especially when this could be learned by dispensing with the accustomed formalities and wholesome restraints of refined society. A train of kindred thoughts was passing through the mind of Chevillere as he was ushered into a small but elegant saloon, connected with the back chambers by folding-doors, which were now closed. On the left of the door, and between the windows opening upon a great thoroughfare, sat the lady who occupied his thoughts. She was sitting, or rather reclining upon one end of a sofa, her head resting upon her hand in a thoughtful mood. As is true of most daughters of this favoured land, nature had evidently in nowise been thwarted, either in her mental or physical education. She appeared to possess that naiveté which is so apt to be the result of a mixed town, and country education; with just enough of self-possession to show that native modesty had been properly regulated by much good society, but not too much to forbid an occasional crimsoning of the neck and face. Her eyes were blue, shaded by long dark lashes, and so sparkling and joyous in their expression, that the evident present sorrow which hung over her spirits, could not efface the impression to a beholder, that they were naturally much more inclined to beam with mirth and gayety, than to weeping; her features were regular—arch in their expression, and finely formed—her complexion of the finest shade—with a rich profusion of light brown hair, braided and parted on the forehead without a single curl; her figure was just tall enough to be elegant and graceful, and exhibited the graces of that interesting period, when the school-girl is merging into the reserved woman.

As Chevillere was ushered into the presence of this youthful lady, the old gentleman presented him as Mr. Chevillere, of South Carolina, and the lady by the name of (his step-daughter) Frances St. Clair; she assumed the erect position barely long enough to return the salutation of the gentleman, then reclined again and lapsed apparently into her sad mood; for a moment she pressed her handkerchief to her face as if she would drive away some horrible image, and then waited a moment as if she expected her father to speak upon some previously settled subject. Perceiving, however, that she waited in vain, she with some difficulty forced herself to say, "Mr. Chevillere, I requested my father to invite you to our apartments to"—here she seemed overpowered and stopped. Chevillere seeing her distress, replied, "Madam, you do me too much honour; but I see you are distressed—let me say then, without any farther formality, that if there is any way in the world by which I can lighten that distress, command me."

"It is about these very emotions that I would speak," she answered; "I was afraid you might think the scene at the breakfast-table two days since was got up in some silly girlish affectation, in pretended disgust at the rudeness of the young men present; but believe me when I say, their conduct would at many times in my life have furnished me with an ample fund for laughter; it was not in their manners, it was in the subject of one of their discourses that I felt so much affected—I tried to subdue my feelings, but the more I tried the more they overcame me; the truth is, some painful recollections were awakened"—Here again she covered her face with her handkerchief, and seemed to be for a moment almost suffocated. The lady resumed; "Nor should I have thought it proper to offer this explanation to one who is apparently a perfect stranger; but, sir, I have known you for some time by reputation."

"Indeed, madam, I must be indebted to some most flattering mistake for my present good fortune; I am but just emancipated from college walls and rules, and have, of course, even a reputation to make for myself."

"No! no!" said the youthful lady (a beautiful smile passing swiftly over her sad countenance), "there can be no mistake about it," and drawing from her work-bag a small bit of paper, rolled up in the shape of a letter, she presented it to him; adding, "Do you know that hand-writing?"

He gazed upon the signature for an instant, and then exclaimed, "My honoured mother's! by all that's fortunate! then indeed we are old acquaintances—with your permission; and I am perfectly content with the reputation which you spoke of, when I know that it originated in such a source."

"Your mother was indeed a prudent and a modest, but still a devoted herald of your good qualities."

"Believe me, dear lady, that I shall be more proud than ever to appear in your eyes to deserve some small share of her maternal praise; it was always inexpressibly dear to me for its own sake, but now I shall endeavour doubly to deserve it. You saw her, I suppose, at the White Sulphur Springs?"

"We did, sir; and a most fortunate circumstance it was for me; for being an invalid, she did every thing for me that my own mother could have done. Oh! how I regretted that my mother did not come, merely to have made her acquaintance."

"Your mother! is your mother alive, madam?"

"I hope and trust she is—and well; she was both when we last heard from her, and that was but a few days since; but your agitation alarms me! you know no bad news of my mother?" laying her hand upon his arm.

"None, madam! none. I don't know what put the foolish idea into my head, but I thought that both your own parents were dead."

"You alarmed me," said she. "I conjured up every dreadful image—I imagined that you had been commissioned by some of our friends here, to break the painful intelligence to me—but you are sure she is well?"

Chevillere smiled, as he answered "You forget that I am a total stranger to her, and she to me."

"True! true! But tell me how you left your charming young cousin Virginia Bell, of whom I heard your mother speak so often. She told me, I think, that she was at some celebrated school in North Carolina?"

"At Salem. She is well, I thank you, or was well when I came through the town: my mother intends to take her home with her on her return."

"So she told me," said the lady.

"She did not tell you, I suppose, for I believe she does not know, that I have promised the hand of the dear girl in marriage, though she is scarcely sixteen yet. You must know that I had in college two dear and beloved friends—the one, Mr. Lamar, you have seen; the other is Mr. Beverley Randolph, of Virginia—we were both class and room-mates. Randolph has gone on a journey through the Southern States, as he pretends; but, I believe, in truth, to take a sly peep at his affianced bride. If he likes her looks, it is a bargain; and if not, he will pass it all off for a college joke." Here he was interrupted by the lady gasping; and on looking in her face, he found she was as pale as marble, and terribly agitated. She asked her father for water, which he handed to her instantly, while Chevillere rang violently at the bell.

"It will all be over in a minute," said she; "it is only a return of the suffering to which I am subject."

Many strange ideas flitted through Chevillere's mind during this interruption of the conversation. He now recollected that one of the subjects of discourse between the vulgar fops, at the breakfast-table the previous morning, had been some runaway marriage—and "the fearful marriage and more fearful death" still sounded in his ears, and now the same subject again introduced by himself produced like consequences,—he thought it strange and incomprehensible; he cheered himself, however, with the reflection, that his mother was not likely to form an intimacy with persons against whom there was any charge of crime; nay, more, he felt assured that they must have been well sustained by public opinion, or introduced to her acquaintance by some judicious friend.

"If I have unaptly said any thing offensive, I hope Miss St. Clair will believe me, when I say that such a design was the farthest from my thoughts."

"Rest easy on that score," said she; "I am now well again: you said nothing that it was not proper for you to say, and me to hear, had I not been a poor silly-headed girl."

"Well, Miss Frances, I am anxious to hear your opinion of Western Virginia."

"My opinion is not worth having; but such as it is, you are welcome to it, or rather to such observations as a lady might make. First, then, I was delighted with the wild mountain scenery, and the beautiful valleys between the mountains; such are those, you will recollect, perhaps, in which all of those springs are situated. I doubt very much, whether Switzerland, or Spain, could present as many rich and beautiful mountain-scenes, as we have passed between Lexington and the White Sulphur and Salt Sulphur springs. We have similar scenes along and among the highlands of the Hudson, it is true; perhaps they are more grand and majestic than these; but then, there is such a stir of busy life, such an atmosphere of steam, and clouds of canvass, that one is perpetually called back in spirit to the stir and bustle of a city life. But here, among the rugged blue mountains of 'old Virginia,' as these people love to call it, there are the silence and the solitude of nature, which more befit such contemplations as the scenes induce. We can seat ourselves in one of the green forests of the mountains we have just left, and imagine ours to be the first human footsteps, which have ever been imprinted upon the soil; and we can repose amid the shades and the profound and solemn silence of those scenes, with a calmness and a serenity, and a soothing, delightful, melancholy feeling, which no other objects can produce. The very atmosphere seems teeming with these delightful impressions; primitive nature seems to have returned upon us with all its balmy delights,—quiet and peacefulness. The profound solitude would become tiresome, perhaps, to those who have no resources in unison with such scenes, or to those who admire and feign to revel in them, because it is fashionable just now to do so. But to an educated mind, a natural and feeling, and I may say devout heart, they furnish inexhaustible food for contemplation, and ever-renewing sources of delight and improvement."

"They are such scenes," replied Chevillere, "as I love to dwell upon, even in imagination. But come, Miss Frances, I see by the hat and mantle upon the table, that I have interrupted some intended promenade; shall I have the honour to be of your party?"

"Unquestionably, young gentleman—you may take the whole journey off my hands; Frances was only going out among the shops," said Mr. Brumley.

The plain, but tasteful apparel was soon adjusted, and the youthful pair sallied forth upon the promised expedition.

The tide of human life seems to be ever rolling and tossing, and ever renewing, and then rolling on again. Pestilence, and death, and famine may do their worst, but the tide is still renewed, and still moves on to the great sea of eternity.

Who that walks through the busy and thronged streets of a populous city, and sees the gay plumage, the fantastic finery, the smiling faces, and the splendid equipages, could ever form an adequate idea of the real suffering and wo, which constitute the sum of one day's pains in a city life? If all the miserable—the lame, the blind, the poor, the dumb, the aged, and the diseased, could be poured out along one side of the gay promenades, while fashionables were parading along the other, a much truer picture of life in a city would be seen. Such were the ideas of Victor Chevillere, as he escorted his timid and youthful companion through the gay throng from shop to shop.

As they emerged into a part of the city less thronged, interchange of opinions became more practicable.

"I am impatient to hear your opinion of the Southerns," said Chevillere; "you had the finest opportunity imaginable to see our southern aristocrats at the springs."

"Oh! I was delighted with the little society in which I moved there," replied she; "and, but for one unhappy, and most untoward circumstance for me, my enjoyments would have far surpassed any thing which I had ever laid out for myself again in this world."

"You excite my curiosity most strangely," said he; "and, if it would not appear impertinent or intrusive, I should like to know two things: first, what untoward circumstance you speak of? and next, what great bar has been placed between you and happiness, that you should have laid off so small a share for yourself in all time to come?"

"Oh! sir, your questions are painful to me, even to think of; how much worse then must have been the reality of those circumstances, which could poison the small share of happiness which is allotted to us under the most favourable circumstances. I would gratify your curiosity if I could, but indeed, indeed, sir, I cannot now relate to you the whole history of my life; and nothing less could explain to you the cruel train of circumstances by which I am surrounded, and from which there is no escape."

"One question you can, and I am sure you will, answer me.

"Could a devoted friend, with a cool head and a resolute hand, effect nothing in freeing you from this persecution?"

"I will answer you, sir, most plainly. You misunderstand my allusions, in the first place; for I am not persecuted now, nor can I say that I have been. It may seem enigmatical to you, but it is all that I can in prudence say. There is no person on this side of the grave who can relieve me from the cause of those emotions which you have unhappily witnessed; nay, more! if those persons were to rise from the dead, who were, unfortunately for themselves and for me, the cause of my painful situation, my condition would be incomparably worse than it is now."

"Painful, indeed, must those circumstances be, and incomprehensible to me, which seem to have been produced by the death of some one; and yet, if that person should rise from the dead, you would be more miserable than ever," said Chevillere.

During the latter part of this speech, the lady, as was often her custom, pressed her handkerchief to her face, as if she would by mechanical pressure drive off disagreeable images from the mind; and then said, "Now, sir, let us drop this subject."

"One more question, and then I have done; and believe me, it is not idly asked. Were the circumstances you spoke of developed so recently as your visit to the Virginia springs?"

"Oh! by no means, sir; the untoward circumstance there that I spoke of, was the frequent and unexpected presence of one who forcibly reminded me of all the painful particulars; and what made it so much worse was, that wherever I moved, he moved; he followed the same route round the watering-places, and seemed purposely to throw himself in my way; and even now I dread every moment to encounter him; and the more so, as I have heard lately that his mind is unsettled. Poor gentleman, I pity him."

By this time they had arrived in a part of the city from which Washington's monument could be seen, elevating its majestic column above a magnificent grove of trees.

"Suppose we extend our walk," said the gentleman, "to yonder beautiful grove."

To this the lady readily assented. They found rude seats, constructed perhaps by some romantic swain; or by some country-bred youths, who came there, after the toils of the day, to refresh themselves with the pure and invigorating breezes which sweep the green, fresh from their dear and longed-for homes. Here they seated themselves, to enjoy this delightful mixture of town and country.

"This is a noble monument to the great and good father of our Republic; and worthy of the high-minded and public-spirited people of Baltimore," said Chevillere. "Give me such evidence as this of their veneration for his memory, and none of your new-fangled nonsense about enshrining him in the hearts of his countrymen. Let him be enshrined in the hearts of his countrymen as individuals; but let cities, communities, and states enshrine him in marble. These speak to the eyes; and hundreds, and thousands will stand here, amid these beautiful shades, and think of him with profound veneration, who would never otherwise look into any other kind of history. The effect of such works as these is admirable; not only in showing veneration for the great dead, but also upon the living, in purifying the heart and ennobling its impulses."

"Baltimore, indeed, has set a noble example," said the lady.

"And richly will she be rewarded. A few years hence, the far West will be brought to her doors; and she will grow up to be a mighty city. Standing on the middle ground, between the angry sectionists of the North and the South, she will present a haven in which the rivals may meet, and learn to estimate each other's good qualities, and bury or forget those errors which are inseparable from humanity. But see! Miss St. Clair," said he, "what a singular looking man is just emerging from within the column!"

"Heavens!" said the lady, in extreme terror, "that is the person! Do take me from this place! I would not encounter him for the world!"

She was too late; for already had the object of her apprehension caught a glimpse of her person; and no sooner had he done so, than with rapid strides he advanced directly towards them. The lady shook with terror and agitation. When he had approached almost in a direct line to within some forty or fifty feet, he riveted a long and steady gaze upon the lady, and another of shorter duration upon her companion, still walking onward. Victor stood and gazed after him until he was entirely without the enclosure.

He was a well-dressed man, apparently about fifty-five years of age, tall, and straight in his carriage as an Indian; his hair was slightly silvered; his countenance expressed wildness, but was steady and consistent in the expression of present purpose; his eye was dark and deep, and, when you looked upon it steadily for a short time, appeared as if you were gazing at two black holes in his head; his complexion was sallow; its characteristics—energy and deep determination.

"And that is the maniac?" said Chevillere, in a half-abstracted mood.

"I said not so," replied the lady; "but he is, indeed, that most unfortunate man, whose whole business seems to be to haunt me in my travels; otherwise our meeting has been most strangely accidental and untoward."

"If he is in ill health," said Victor, "he may have gone to the Springs without intending to meet you; and now, when the season is nearly over, and he is likewise on his return, there is nothing more natural than his visiting this monument—every stranger does so,—do not, therefore, aggravate your distress by supposing these meetings to have been sought on his part. I will endeavour to find him, and demand of him whether he seeks to annoy an unhappy invalid by pursuing her from place to place, and what are his motives."

"Oh! sir, for Heaven's sake, do not think of such a thing. He is a powerful and a fearful man, when in his right mind; and even in his derangement, might do you some harm, especially if you went as commissioned by me. Besides, sir, if he was undoubtedly sane and respectful, he might demand, as a right, to see me, and converse with me too. Nay, he might possibly have some claim to control my actions; but you see he does not. Let him alone, therefore, and do not involve yourself in any of my troubles. I am inextricably entangled, and pinioned down to a certain routine of suffering, perhaps unexampled, and that too by no crime of my own."

"Dear lady," said Chevillere, taking her hand, as he saw her blue eye filling with tears, and just ready to run over; "you cannot imagine how much I feel interested for you; and what I am about to say, as it will risk your displeasure, is the very best evidence that I can give of my deep interest in your future peace and contentment. Believe me, dear lady, that though I am young, and may be inexperienced,—I am not an indifferent observer of the secret machinery of men's actions. I have been a steady observer and a thinker for myself, without regard to the opinion of individuals or the world, when I was conscious that I was right, and that they were wrong. Listen to me, then, with patience, while I give you my opinion, with regard to the difficulties which seem to be accumulating around you. Of course, this opinion must be a general one; as the circumstances upon which it is founded are only such as are of a general character. Nor do I seek for more confidence on your part towards me; I cannot expect that you should unfold the intimate relations of your family and your friends to a comparative stranger. This, then, is my (of course vague) opinion—I have generally observed, in my intercourse with mankind, that the most trying situations and the deepset distress are often brought about by a small mistake—misfortune—or crime in the beginning. The latter of these I would defy the most malignant misanthrope to look upon your countenance and charge you with; one of the two former, then, is the point upon which all your distress, and ill health, and melancholy hangs. My advice then is, upon this general view of the case, that you go back to that point, and rectify it as speedily as possible; and do it boldly and fearlessly, as I am sure you can. Burst asunder these chains that fetter you, whatever they may be."

"I see," said the lady (tears fast stealing down her cheeks), "that I am always destined to make the same unhappy impression on every acquaintance, male or female, valued or unvalued. Before I have grown many degrees in their good opinion, some of these unlucky things are seen to develop themselves, and then I am subject to the greatest misfortune to which an honourable and a sensitive mind can be exposed; that is, to be supposed weak or wicked, though at the same time conscious of pure and upright motives. To be plain with you, sir, I must tell you again, that in order for me to be relieved of that which trammels me in some shape or other at every step, the grave must give up its own; and the law must give up its own; and the avaricious must annul their decrees; and the dead of half a century must undo their work; and the wisdom of the sage must be instilled into the mind of a child; and the slanders, and the wild and wicked fancies of the lunatic must be convinced by reason or actual demonstration of the foregoing things—before the point you speak of can be seized upon, and turned to my advantage."

"Then, indeed, is it a hard case, and I will not distress you further on the subject; I will not add my persecution to that of others—I will not say enemies; for one so young and so artless, so innocent and so unfortunate, can have no enemies."

"And therein consists part of my distress," replied she. "Is it not strange that I have not an enemy living, to my knowledge, who has ever wilfully injured me in word or deed? unless, indeed, it be yon wretched old man, whose mind is now, and whose heart, I fear, has always been wrong. Now, sir, let me beg of you, in future, whenever any of these little occurrences embarrass me during my stay here, to take no notice of them whatever; let me move along as quietly and as unobtrusively as possible. I love the retirement of the country, and to the country and retirement I will go. My mother loves me, and knows all my actions, and their motives too; and even my father loves me in his own way. They will be my companions for the remainder of a short and weary life."

The colloquy was cut short by their return to the hotel.

Lamar, as has been already announced, was a humorous gentleman, and would not lose an opportunity of enjoying the remarks of one so new to the busy world and its ways as Damon. He was not long in finding out the retired quarters of the gentleman of the west. At the bar-room he inquired if there was such a lodger in the house.

"No," said the barkeeper (so are these functionaries called), "but he is expected every minute."

Lamar seated himself near the files of morning papers which lay strewed along a reading-desk, and awaited the arrival of his singular new acquaintance. In a few minutes Damon stalked in. A new black hat and blue frock-coat had so much altered his appearance, that Lamar did not recognise him until he took off his hat, wiped his dripping brows with the handkerchief which he still carried in it, and then, seeing Lamar for the first time, waved it over his head.

"Hurrah! for old Kentuck!" was his characteristic exclamation.

"Why, Damon, you have been under the tailor's hands," said Lamar.

"I believe I was in Old Sam's hands last night; but come up-stairs, and I will tell you all about it."

They proceeded to the third story into a small apartment, dimly lighted through a single window. Damon, after seating Lamar, threw aside his coat, and drawing from under the head of his bed the one in which Lamar had first seen him, he quickly inserted his arms through what remained of the garment,—the lappels were torn off on each side down to the waist, so that all the front of the coat was gone, leaving nothing but the long straight back, collar, and sleeves. What remained was smeared with mud, and torn in many places. He next proceeded to pull out of his pocket a collar, and parts of two sleeves of a shirt, spreading them on the bed, as a milliner would do her finery; and holding out both his hands with the palms upward in the manner of an orator,——

"There!" said he, "that's what I call a pretty tolerable neat job, to shirt a stranger the first night he comes to town."

Lamar, who by this time began to see a little into the affair, asked, "But, Damon, how did all this happen? you seem to have been discomfited."

"Now I'll be smashed if you ain't off the trail, stranger, for you see I've only showed you half yet."

Upon which he drew from his other pocket a pair of spectacles, bent, bloody, and broken,—then a wig,—and, lastly, the remains of a little black rattan with a gold head and chain broken into inches. He displayed these on the bed as he had done the others; only drawing his handkerchief as a line between them. Upon this he fell, rather than sat, back into a chair just behind him, and burst out into a loud, long, and hearty laugh, seemingly excited afresh at the sight of his spoils.

"Well, now," said he, "I wish I may be horn swoggled, if ever I thought to live to see the day when I should 'sculp' a Christian man; but there it is, you see; I left his head as clean as a peeled onion."

"But how? and when? and who was your antagonist in this frolic?"

"Frolic!" exclaimed Damon; "well, now, it's what I would call a regular row; I never saw a prettier knock down and drag out in all the days of my life, even in old Kentuck."

"But do tell me," said Lamar, "was anybody seriously hurt?"

"There was several chaps in the circus last night with their heels uppermost, besides them suple chaps on the horses; I can tell you that."

"Oh! you were in the circus, were you?"

"Yes; and there was a rip-roaring sight of slight o'hand and tumblin work there, besides their ground and lofty tumblin they had in the handbills."

"You did some of the ground tumbling yourself then?" asked Lamar.

"No, I did the slight o'hand work, as you may see by the skin that's gone off these four marrow-bones."

"And who did the ground tumbling?" asked Lamar.

"There was a good deal done there last night; the chaps in the ring and the chaps in the pit all did a little at it; flummuck me if I didn't think the heels of the whole house would be uppermost before they were done; what an everlastin pity 'tis, these critters elbows ain't as suple as their heels."

"Then you think all the people of Baltimore a little limber in the heels."

"I can't say as to that; but I wish I may be hackled, if there was not so much flyin up of the heels there last night, that I was fidlin and tumblin all night in my sleep, jumpin through hoops, and tanglin my legs in their long red garters, which the circus riders jumped over; and then I thought they had my poor old horse, Pete Ironsides, jumpin over bars, and leapin through fiery balloons, until at last they smashed his head right into a tar barrel, and then maybe I didn't fly into a tear down snortin rage! I was crammed full of fight then, and so I got to slingin my arms about in my sleep, till I knocked out that head-board there,—then I woke up, and I wish I may be hanged if I didn't think it was all a dream; till I found that the forepart of my coat had run away from the tail, and that I had got an odd collar among my linen. And then on t'other hand I began to think it was all true, and rung the bell, and sent the nigger down to the stable to see if Pete had his head in a tar barrel sure enough; presently the nigger came back, grinen and giglin, and said Pete had gone to the country two hours ago; so I run the little nigger down stairs, and sent my old boots after him to get blacked; and as I was dodgin through that long entry there, I saw the bottles, and tumblers, and lemon-skins; so ho! said I, there's the mad dog that bit me last night."

"Then you began in a frolic at least," said Lamar.

"Only a small breeze or so; a few tumblers of punch, made of that doubled and twisted Irish whiskey; it was none of your Kentuck low wines, run off at a singlin, for I have made many a barrel. It was as strong as pison, and it raised the Irish in me pretty quick, or rather old Kentuck, for I jumped up and kicked the table over, and broke things, afore I would have been cleverly primed with the low wines."

"Were you drinking all alone?"

"No; there was half-a-dozen milksops set down; I believe they board here; but no sooner had I kicked the table over, and begun to smash things a little, than they all sneaked out one by one, until they were all gone but one, and I rather suspicion that he's a blackleg, for he stuck pretty close to me till the row at the circus was over, and then when I had got clear, he come up here with me, and sent for the chap who furnished me with my new hat and coat; but it wasn't all for nothin, as he thought, for he presently proposed that we should go down street a piece, and see some fine fellers, he said, who were friends of his, and who were going to have a night of it. Well, said I, 'a little hair of the dog is good for the bite,' and down we went to a large room up four pair of stairs in a dark alley. And there, sure enough, there was a merry-looking set of fellers; but you see they overdid the job, for I soon smelt a rat; they most all of 'em pretended to be too etarnal drunk. I said nothin though, but 'possumed too a little; only sipped a little wine, and that made me straight instead of crooked. But at last they proposed a game of cards. Well, said I, I'm not much of a dabster at it, but if the stake ain't high, I don't care if I do take a fling or two; so down we set to it, and they pulled out their cards for loo. Stop! stop! said I, we must have new cards; I never play with other men's cards. They began to suspicion, maybe, that they had got the wrong sow by the ear, but they sent and got some new packs, and then we took a smash or two at the game, and I'm a Cherokee if I didn't give 'em a touch or two of old Kentuck. I won all the money they had, but it wasn't much, and they made me pay most of that for the refreshments, as they said the winners always paid for them things."

"But you have not yet told me how you got into the row," said Lamar; "I wish to know the whole story—come, let us have it?"

"Well, it's soon told. As I was telling you, the black-leg chap and I went to the circus, and we had'nt set long in the pit before there was a young gal come in, and set on one end of the same bench. She was'nt so ugly neither, but I took pity on her because she looked like a country gal, and there was no women settin near her. After a while, three chaps come down from the boxes above, and set right down by the gal, and began to push one another over against her; at last the one next her, and he was the same chap you saw in the stage yesterday morning, only he had on them green specks—well, he put his arm round her, and called her his dear, and all that; well, you see, I had heard tell of these city gals, and I thought if she was pleased it was none of my business; but presently I heard her sobbing and crying, with her apron up to her eyes, and she told them they were no gentlemen, or they would not treat a poor girl so away from home. So the Irish whiskey, or old Kentuck, I don't know which, began to rise in my throat. I jumped up and raised the war-whoop. 'Old Kentuck for ever!' said I; and with that, I took the back of my hand and knocked the chap's hat off, and his 'sculp' went with it. Call your soul your own, said I; he jumped up and gin me a wipe with that little black switch across the nose; it had hardly cleverly touched me, afore I took him a sneezer, between the two eyes, glasses and all; he dropped over like a rabbit when you knock 'em behind the head; I rather suspicion he thought a two year old colt's heels had got a taste of his cocoanut.

"Then the other two took it up, and both on 'em seized me, and swore they would carry me to the police office; but I took 'em at cross purposes, for while one of them held the collar of the old home-made, I fetched the other a kick that sent him over the benches a rip roaring, I tell you. The other little chap was hangin on to me like a leech to a horse's leg; I jist picked him up and throwed him into the ring upon the sand, for I did'nt want to hurt him: but then the real officers come up and clamped me. I wished myself back in old Kentuck bad enough then; but while they held me there, like a dog that had been killen sheep, the little gal came up to me, and said she would go and bring her father, to try and get me off; and then she asked me where I lived,—I told her in old Kentuck; then she asked me where I put up, and I put my mouth to her ear and told her; and I could hardly get it away again without givin her a smack, for she would pass for a pretty gal even in old Kentuck; well, this morning, her and her father were here by times to thank me, and the old man invited me to stop at his house as I go home; it's on the same road we came down yesterday."

"Did the girl go to the circus by herself?" asked Lamar.

"No; the old man stopped at the door to buy a ticket, and she went on, and lost him."

"But you have not told me how you came by this scalp," said Lamar, taking up the large black scratch with curled locks.

"Oh! you see, I grabbled that in the scuffle, and slipped it into my pocket."

"How did you get away from the officers?"

"Oh! that's the way I lost the old 'home-made;' you see they began to pull me over the benches, and I told 'em I would walk myself if they would let me, and so they did, but they held on to my coat. I kept pretty cool until they got outside of the house, and then a crowd gathered round, and they began cologueing together, until I saw my way out a little, and then I jist slipped my foot behind one of 'em and pushed him down, and tumbled the other feller over him, and then I showed them a clean pair of heels. They raised the whoop—and I raised my tail like a blue-lick buck, for you see I had'nt much coat to keep it down;—dash me if it was'nt tail all the way to the collar, and stood out straight behind like it was afraid of my pantaloons. I made a few turns to throw 'em off the trail, and then with a curly whoop, and a hurrah! for old Kentuck, I got to my own door, where I found the black-leg chap. Now you know the whole business, and I suppose you can tell me whether there is any danger of their finding me out in that little excuse for a coat that blasted tailor, who was so stingy with his cloth, made me."

"I should suppose there was none in the world. Have no fear on that head; there is not a magistrate in town who would not honour you in his heart for what you did."

"I should think so too, if they had any gals of their own. The fact is, if there was a little knockin down and draggin out once in a while among them dandy chaps, they would take better care how they sleeved decent men's daughters."

"Well, good day, Damon," said Lamar; "send for me or Chevillere if you get into trouble."

CHAPTER V.

It will readily be perceived, by the reader, that Beverley Randolph, the person to whom the following letter was written, is one of the three southerns.

Victor Chevillere to B. Randolph.

Baltimore, 18—.
"Dear Randolph,

"Five long years have we lived under the same roof, pursued the same studies, or rather the same studies pursued us;—engaged in the same dissipation, drank of the same sour wine, shed the same vinous tears, discussed the same dinners and suppers, enjoyed the same dances,—stag dances, I mean,—played the same music, belonged to the same society, and, I was going to say, fallen in love with the same nymphs; but that brings me to the subject of this letter. I am in for it! Yes, you may well look surprised! It is a fact! Who is the lady? you ask. I will tell you,—that is, if I can; her name is St. Clair. O! she is the most lovely, modest, weeping, melancholy, blue-eyed, fair-haired, and mysterious little creature you ever beheld. If you could only see her bend that white neck, and rest her head upon that small hand, her eye lost in profound thought, until the lower lid just overflows, and a tear steals gently down that most lovely cheek; and then see her start up stealthily to join again in the conversation, with the most innocent consciousness of guilt imaginable;—but what is it that brings these tears to sadden the heart of one so youthful and so innocent? 'There's the rub,' as Hamlet says. Yourself, Lamar, and I were unanimous, as you perhaps remember, that men generally suffer in proportion to their crimes, even in this world. I here renounce that opinion, with all others founded upon college logic. A half-taught college boy, in the pride of his little learning and stubborn opinions, is little better than an innocent. But, you ought to see this fair sufferer in order fully to appreciate the foregoing opinion. You would see child-like innocence—intelligence—benevolence; in short, all that is good, in her sad but lovely countenance.

"But to return to college logic; what is it? Conclusions without premises, ends without means; and opinions adopted without any of the previous and inevitable pains and penalties attendant upon the acquirement of human knowledge, or, in other words, without experience! I would take one of our old break-of-day club to tell the flavour of a ham, or the difference between a bottle of Bordeaux and Seignette brandy, as soon as any one; but what else did they know? or rather what else did we know? Nothing! not literally nothing, but truly nothing. If I now wanted a judicious opinion upon any subject, I would go to an experienced man! one that had suffered in order to learn; an original thinker for practical ends.

"You ask me concerning my cousin, Virginia Bell; her with whose miniature, infantile as it was, you fell so desperately in love, and whom, yet unseen, I promised to yourself. She flourishes, Randolph, and is as beautiful as you could desire; she is yet unengaged in heart or hand, so far as I know; but you know, that the little sly, dear, delightful creatures will complete a whole life-time of love affairs, while fathers, and brothers, and guardians, and affianced lords unloved, may be looking on none the wiser. And they will look as innocent, and as demure, and as child-like, as my dear beautiful little enigma of the Black Mantle.

"You say you 'hate Yankees;'—my dear fellow, you forget that you and I would be considered Yankees in London or Paris. The national denomination we have abroad, is 'the nation of Yankees,' or the 'universal Yankee nation.' 'Tis galling to our southern pride, I grant you, that we should be a mere appendage, in the eyes of a foreigner, to a people who are totally dissimilar to us. We must brook it until we can outdo them, in literature at least. They are (say many) retailers of wooden nutmegs—unfair dealers, and a canting, snivelling, hypocritical set; tell me where the country is, where the population is growing dense—where means of living are scarce—land high—trades overstocked—professions run down—and manufactures injured by foreign competition, in which the little arts of trade, and 'tricks upon travellers' do not also flourish. Let the population of your 'old dominion' be once multiplied by wholesome legislation, or rather let the yearly emigrants be induced to stay in the land of their sires, and the same cunning usages will prevail. As to the 'canting and snivelling,' you must allow something for the descendants of the Pilgrims. Besides, tell me, liberal sir, if you have not, in the very bosom of your great valley, as genuine Presbyterians and Roundheads as ever graced the Rump Parliament, or sung a psalm on horseback. And to give the devil his due, these same Presbyterians are no bad citizens of a popular government. But there is the lady of the Black Mantle. Observe that she was born north of the Potomac, yet I would wager any thing that you could not look steadily upon her face for one minute, and curse the Yankees as I have heard you do. I know you will say, therein lies the cause of my sudden conversion to Yankeeism. By no means! I had begun to find out that the Yankees had souls like other people, before I had ever seen her.

"I approve of your determination to travel, and that even to the south, rather than not to travel at all; but is there not some danger lest a Virginian should become more bigoted, by travelling among a people still more bigoted than himself. I know your disposition; it is to hug up your dear southern prejudices within your own bosom. Lamar and I are becoming liberal, and then we will cast out devils for you. Do not forget that I shall have a mother and cousin there by the time you arrive at the high hills of the Santee. Lamar has taken desperately to a six foot Kentuckian, as fine a specimen as you could wish to see; he is what may be called an American yeoman of the west.

"Yours truly,

"Victor Chevillere."

B. Randolph to V. Chevillere.

"Salem, North Carolina, 18—.
"Dear Chevillere,

"Thus far I have flown before the wind—sand, I should have said. At any rate, here I am, in this town of German religionists. Here dwells the first unanimous people I have ever seen. They are Moravians; and every thing is managed by this little community for the common benefit. They have one tavern, one store, one doctor, one tanner, one potter, and so on in every trade or occupation. Besides these, they have a church and a flourishing female seminary. The latter is conducted upon the utilitarian plan—each lady, in turn, has to perform the offices of cook, laundress, and gardener; and, I need hardly say, that it is admirably conducted. After I had visited all these establishments—for every respectable looking stranger is waited upon by some one appointed for that purpose to conduct him thither,—I returned to the large, cool, and comfortable inn, and had scarcely seated myself to enjoy the comforts of nicotiana, when a small billet was handed to me by a handsomely dressed and polite black servant with a glazed hat, which not a little astonished me, you may be sure. I had not a living acquaintance in the whole state that I knew of; except, indeed, old Father Bagby, the master of ceremonies to the little community. It could not be a challenge from some Hans Von Puffenburg of these quiet burghers: so I concluded it must be a billet-doux from some of the beautiful creatures at the seminary on the hill. You can easily imagine, therefore, that I was no long time in tearing it open; when, behold! it was, in good truth, from a lady. Can you guess who? No. Then take the note itself entire.

"'Dear Sir,

"'If, as I believe, you are the same Mr. Randolph who was a room and class-mate of my son Victor Chevillere, in college, I will be very glad to see you. The servant will show you to our little parlour.

"'M. J. Chevillere.'

"'I am the luckiest dog alive,' said I, jumping nearly over the negro's head, 'Is your young mistress here also.'

"'Yes, masta, she is just leaving school for home, so please you.'

"'Please me!' said I; 'to be sure it does please me; I never was more pleased in all my life. For I was just about to forswear these eternal pine-barrens and sand-hills, and face to the right-about. So lead the way to your two mistresses.' Whereupon he led the way, hat in hand, to a room in the inn; and there, Chevillere, sat your honoured mother. Commend me to our southern matrons in high-life. Not that I know any thing against your northern ladies, old or young; but there is in our mothers a mild dignity, hospitality, and politeness, which makes every one at home. But I need not describe to you your own. But I will not promise you as much of the little blushing southern brunette, who gracefully arose on your mother's saying, 'Mr. Randolph, my adopted daughter Virginia Bell Chevillere.' I saw in an instant that you had told her of our college bargain, and my falling in love with her miniature. By-the-by, you ought to break that slanderous miniature, or the head of the dauber who perpetrated it. Her beauty never could be delineated on ivory or canvass. Can any one paint the living, breathing soul of a very young and beautiful female? No! and I'll tell you why. If a man had the genius to do so, the very enthusiasm which always attends it would throw him into very unpainter-like raptures at the sight of such a one; and that's the true reason why artists so seldom succeed in delineating young females. A precious piece of logic for you. But to return to the original of the picture; there was a blushing consciousness about the little Bell, as everybody calls her, which was truly charming. Her jet black hair and eyes shone like ebony; her brilliant white teeth and brunette complexion were radiant with blushing smiles at this first reception of her long-promised husband. There was no girlish pouting, or childish affectation, as is too often the case when the parties have been laid off for each other; she was at the same time modest and self-possessed; her fairy figure glided about, as if her little fairy foot scarcely touched the carpet. I tell you these things, because you asked me to do so in all plainness of speech. Your cousin is all that a cousin of my dearest friend should be—lovely, intelligent, and interesting.

"Your mother intended to wait here for some male friend, who has diverged a day's ride from their route home from the Springs; but she has now determined to leave this place to-morrow. I shall escort them as far as the Chevilleres' proud family seat, Belville. You will, therefore, hear no more complaints of the dreariness of the eternal pine-barrens, or the fever-and-ague appearance of the poor; except, that I will say now, once for all, that the poor of a slave-country are the most miserable and the most wretched of all the human family. The grades of society in this state are even farther apart than in Virginia. Here, there is one immense chasm from the rich to the abject poor. In the valley of Virginia, or in the country where you are, there are regular gradations. The very happiest, most useful, and most industrious class of a well-regulated community, is here wanting. Their place is filled up by negroes; in consequence of which, your aristocrats are more aristocratic, and your poor still poorer. The slaves create an immeasurable distance between these two classes, which can never be brought together until this separating cause be removed. You know I am no abolitionist, in the incendiary meaning of the term; yet I cannot deny from you and myself, that they are an incubus upon our prosperity. This we would boldly deny, if a Yankee uttered it in our hearing; but to ourselves, we must e'en confess it. If I am, therefore, an abolitionist, it is not for conscience-sake, but from policy and patriotism.

"We can never rival those northern people, until we assume the modern tactics in this provincial warfare; that is, throw aside all useless baggage, and concentrate our energies upon a single point at a time. I have done with this theme for the present, and will repair to your friends.

"Your mother knows nothing of our college-treaty, therefore she little thinks what a masked enemy she has let into the camp. Little Bell smiles, and enjoys our mutual understanding highly. But there lies the mischief; she smiles too innocently, and too calmly, and too openly, and has lost too much of that blushing mood in which she first received me; and I have thought several times that the little arch gipsy was laughing at me. If she had not been your cousin, and my affianced bride for the last five years, I should have taken leave. You know I never could stand to be exhibited; and would prefer being shot, at any time, to being laughed at. I shall watch the little fairy, and see if she is making me her butt; if so, I will see them safe to Belville, and then—you shall hear from me again.

"You requested me to point out to you any thing in which I should observe that the Carolinas differed from Virginia. I must say then, with the judges, when they are pronouncing sentence, 'however painful may be the duty imposed upon me,' that your country appears more miserable the more deeply I penetrate it. Not that you lack splendid mansions, and magnificent cotton-fields varied with flowers, rich and tropical gardens, the orange and the 'pride of India,' your wild and fragrant swamp-flowers, princely hospitality, accomplished men and women,—not that you lack any of these. But the seeds of decay are sown at the very point where energy—enterprise—national pride—industry—economy—amusements—gayety—and above all, intelligence, should grow, namely, with your yeomanry!

"I would not, if I could, have your young men and women transformed to spinning-jennies. Heaven forefend! I would have your lowest class of whites elevated to the dignity of intelligent and independent yeomen. How would I effect it? you ask. Apply the grand lever by which all human movement is brought about—hope! Has a poor North Carolinian hope? See him, on some cloudless morning, when the glorious rays of the sun are gladdening the hearts even of the unintelligent creation, standing within the door of his pine-log cabin, his hands in his pockets, his head leaning against the door in melancholy mood. Some half-dozen pale and swollen-faced children are sitting on a bench against the side of the hut, endeavouring to warm away the ague in the sunbeams. The wife lies sick in bed. The little fields are barely marked out with a rotten and broken-down pole-fence, and overgrown with broom, or Bermuda-grass, and blackberry-bushes. A miserable horse stands beyond the fence, doubtful whether there is better grazing within or without. A little short-cotton and sweet-potato patch, flanked by an acre of scrubby Indian corn; and, added to these, five poor sheep, two goats, and a lean cow, complete the inventory of his goods and chattels. You have all his cause for hope! You have, too, his causes for fear. He has in his pocket a summons for debt, contracted for sugar and tea, and other needful comforts, for his sick wife and children.

"Had he any cause for hope? God knows he had none in this world. But you will say the picture is exaggerated. As I am a true man and a southern, it is not.

"I was benighted, and sought lodgings in the very house I have described. 'Who lives here,' said I, on riding to the door. 'One Fifer,' said a white-headed, half-grown girl, so weak that she could scarcely stand. I sat up nearly all night with the sick woman and children. On relieving the poor man's embarrassments in the morning, I received the heart-felt thanks of the wretched family; and almost rode my horse to exhaustion, to get away from the wretched image imprinted on my memory.

"Is this man a sample of the yeomanry of your country? I say, in deep and profound sorrow, I believe that he is. Where, then, does the evil lie? This is a question which every southern must soon ask himself, and one which Nullification cannot answer.

"Here, then, is a triumphant answer—an answer in deeds, instead of words—in the happiness, the prosperity, and the substantial wealth of these simple and primitive Moravians. Here, where I am writing, is an industrious, intelligent, and healthy community, in the very heart of all the misery I before described. Let us then improve by the lesson, seek out the sources of their prosperity, find the point where their plans diverge from ours, and, my word for it (if there be no reason in the case), we become a great, a flourishing, and a happy people.

"But I must take one small exception to the Moravian political economy. They require all the young gentlemen to be enrolled on one list, and all the willing young ladies on another; and the first gentleman on the list must marry the first lady; so that they are drafted for marriage, as our Virginia militia are drafted for duty. I do not know that this is certainly true; but if it be true, that a youth must marry the first that comes up, nolens volens, I would put in a plump negative. This excepted, they are worthy of all imitation, even to the drinking of home-brewed in their pewter mugs, and smoking long pipes around their council-table, when their little legislature meets.

"There are no slaves in this little nation, and labour is no disgrace. In the extensive grounds, belonging to the female seminary, I saw many pretty little arms bared to work; not Moravian young ladies only, but elegant and aristocratic young ladies from all parts of the southern states, without distinction, and of every sect and denomination; and I never saw more beautiful complexions. The little gipsies would come in from their work in the morning, blooming as roses. Here is a complete refutation of the assertion, that the whites cannot work in a southern climate; here are as fine lands, and as fine husbandry and horticulture, as can be found in any country; here are the first paved streets south of Petersburg; here the first town, in which water is conveyed by pipes, as in Philadelphia; here the first stone-fences and grass-plots.

"Your mother and little Bell are cheerful and happy. Indeed, the latter looks as if she had never suffered for a moment. How happy a life is that of a girl at a boarding-school, exempt from all the pains and penalties of collegians—the 'hair-breadth 'scapes'—the formal trials for riding other people's horses,—ringing church bells,—building fences across the road,—hanging cake and beer signs at magistrates' and elders' doors,—burnings in effigy, fights at country weddings and dances,—exploring expeditions in the mountains and caverns, professedly for geological, but really for depredating purposes,—shooting house-dogs,—expeditions upon the water, and skating upon the ice,—swimming, duelling, fighting, biting, scratching,—firing crackers and cannons in college entries,—heavy meat suppers, with oceans of strong waters,—and then headache, thirst, soda and congress-water in the morning, and perhaps a visit from the doctor or the president,—presentments by the grand jury for playing at cards and overturning apple-carts,—personating ghosts with winding-sheets, and getting knocked on the head for their pains,—serenading sweethearts, and taking linchpins out of wagons,—making sober people drunk and drunken people sober,—battling with watchmen, constables, and sheriffs,—running away from the tailors and tavern-keepers,—kissing country girls, and battling with their beaux,—tricks upon the tutors, and shaving the tails of the president's horses,—stealing away the lion or the elephant at an animal show, and pelting strolling players,—putting hencoops upon churches, painting out signs, and carrying off platforms,—throwing hot rolls under the table, and biscuit at the steward's head,—playing musical seals at prayers, and saying prayers at rows,—gambling in study hours, and filching at recitation,—having one face for the president and another for the fellows,—and, finally, being sent home with a letter to your father, informing him that you are corrupting the morals of your teachers in these pranks. These are a few of the classical studies into which the dear little innocents are never initiated, while they form no small part of collegiate education in America, as we can testify from experience.

"Many a fine fellow makes the first trial of a stump speech, with an extract from an Irish sermon at a drunken row; his head perhaps stuck three feet through the window of the little bar in a tavern, and his audience sitting round on the beer-tables, armed with sticks, stones, and staves. One, who with drunken gravity keeps his head and stick moving all the while, says, that he concurs fully in opinion with the speaker; though, if asked what the subject is, he swears it is the Greek question. The question and the laugh go round. One avers stoutly that it is Catholic emancipation; a third vociferates that it is a complete justification of Brutus for killing Cæsar; a fourth thinks it a part of the recitation of the day, while the most drunken man of the company jumps down from his seat on the table, and swears that he can see through the fellow clearly, 'it's nothing but sleight of hand;' with which he exclaims, as he rubs his eyes and looks round, 'Bless my soul, boys, how drunk you all are; come, I'll help you to your room before matters get worse,' leading off the soberest man in the room. The party then breaks up in a regular row; I think I see the old fellows now, marching off two and two with the true would-be sober and drunken gravity, every man thinking that he is completely cheating his neighbour, by his picked steps and exactly poised head and shoulders, like a drunken soldier on drill. One gets into a carriage rut; another climbs into a pig-sty, and thinks he is getting over the college fence. A third falls over a cow, while a fourth takes off his hat to a blind horse, mistaking him in the dark for the president. At length they are lodged in bed, with boots, hats, and clubs, like soldiers expecting a surprise. Some murder a song or two in a drunken twang, while the rest snore in chorus.

"But next comes the awful reward of transgression in the morning; dry throats, aching limbs, torn coats, sick stomachs, haggard countenances, swelled heads. The trembling and moody toilet is made; the bell rings for prayers; and a more repentant set of sinners never assembled under its sound. All wonder what has become of the joyous feelings of the previous night, and think with shame of such actions and speeches as they can recollect. Hereupon follows a gloomy and melancholy day. They are home-sick. Relations, friends, and the scenes of childhood, with all their quiet, innocent, and heartfelt pleasures, glide before the imagination. The head becomes dizzy; the heart palpitates; the hands tremble, and the sight grows double. Then comes the fear of illness, and death in a strange land. Associates of the 'row' are avoided; several chapters in the Bible are read; repentance is promised; sleep settles the nervous system; and next morning they arise gay and happy. This continues until the scene is repeated, and so on, until one half forswear brandy and the other half become confirmed sots.

"Here is a coherent epistle for you. But if you dislike it, send it back, and I will divide it into—first—secondly—thirdly, et cetera, as the old president did his sermons.

"B. Randolph."

"'Dear Sir,

"'If, as I believe, you are the same Mr. Randolph who was a room and class-mate of my son Victor Chevillere, in college, I will be very glad to see you. The servant will show you to our little parlour.

"'M. J. Chevillere.'

CHAPTER VI.

After the visit to the monument, Chevillere daily inquired concerning the health of the interesting invalid; and as regularly was indisposition pleaded for her non-appearance. Late in the evening of the third day, he was slowly pacing the pavement in front of the hotel; now and then throwing a wistful glance at the lighted window of the lady, when all at once he suddenly wheeled round, and grasping in the dark, was surprised to find that a person whom he had supposed to be impertinently dogging his steps, had eluded his grasp. He grimly smiled at his own exasperation for an imaginary cause, hastily adjusted his cloak, and turned down the street leading most directly to the bay.

When he arrived at the quiet and deserted wharf, and the rapid flow of his impetuous blood was retarded by the cool invigorating breeze which swept over the face of the water, he saw an old yawl lying on the dock, with its broad bottom turned to the bay. Negligently leaning his person at full length against its weather-beaten bottom, and drawing down his hat close over his brows, he surrendered himself to one of those habitual reveries which the southern well knows how to enjoy. Had his mind and feelings been attuned to such things at the time, the scene itself would have furnished no uninteresting subject, with its hundred little lights, gleaming in the intense fog and darkness, and the numberless vessels that lay upon the bosom of the waters, with their dark outlines dimly visible, like slumbering monsters of their own element. He heeded them not; yet were his feelings insensibly impressed with the surrounding objects, and deeply tinctured with the profound gloom of the time and scene. The direct current of his thoughts pointed, however, in the direction of the invalid. Her extreme youth, beauty, and apparent innocence,—her deep distress and profound melancholy, naturally produced a corresponding depression in his own otherwise elastic spirits. He was perfectly unconscious of the time he had spent in this way, when accidentally turning his head to one side, he was struck with the appearance of something intercepting the line of vision in that direction. He was just about to approach the cause of his surprise, when a deep voice, issuing from the very spot, added not a little to his superstitious mood, by the exact manner in which it chimed in with the present subject of his meditations.

"A beautiful young woman in affliction is a very dangerous subject of meditation, under some circumstances."

"An honest heart fears no danger from any earthly source," was the reply.

"Honesty is no guard against external danger in this world, whether moral or physical," said the figure.

"Discernment may lend a hand to honesty in such a case."

"Ha! ha! ha!" hideously retorted the intruder; "Discernment, said you? Man's discernment is a mighty thing; by it he reads the past, the present, and the future; what can withstand his mighty vision? He can descry danger at a distance, and bring happiness within his grasp; he can tell the objects of his own creation, and his Creator's first beginning; he can read the starry alphabet in yonder heavens, and fathom the great deep; he can laugh at the instinct of grovelling creation, and thunder the dogmas of reason in the teeth of revelation itself! Discernment, indeed! ha! ha! ha! why, man is not half so well off as the brutes. What is their instinct but God's ever present and supporting hand; but man—he has neither perfect reason nor instinct! He has the conscience of an angel, and the impulses of a devil; and reason sits between them, for an umpire, with a fool's cap upon her head! Impulse bribes reason, and reason laughs at conscience. Impulse leads downward, like the power of gravity; and conscience struggles upward like the nightmare: but reason and discernment will traffic and bargain with impulse for one moment, and blind or cheat conscience the next! Turn mankind loose with all their reason without providence, and they will butt each other's foolish brains out! Bribed conscience makes hypocrites,—frightened conscience makes fanatics,—but reason-drilled conscience makes incarnate devils!"

"But," said Chevillere, involuntarily interested by this wild rhapsody, "a tender, conscience-instructed reason, and christianized impulses, make an honest and a discerning man, too."

"Instructed reason! who teaches man's reason, but the inward devils of his impulses? A few good parents may point upward, periodically, but the impulses pull down! down! down! for ever! no intermission. If they would let go, I myself could plunge into the sea; but the deeper we plunge, the harder they pull! The farther we sink, the heavier they become. Oh! man! of what a cursed race art thou! Think you the inhabitants of the moon are likewise under the ban of God's displeasure?"

"I indulge in no such impracticable dreams," said Chevillere.

"No! no! you dream of paradise; but remember what I now tell you, your paradise will not be without its Eve, and its serpent too!"

"To whom do you allude?"

"To the lady of whom you were thinking but now."

"You know not what you say," said Chevillere.

"Do I not? Perhaps you would have me speak more plainly! Perhaps you could screw up your resolution to the point, that I might amputate your hopes one by one, as a poor fellow sees the surgeon carrying off his bloody limbs; nay, I could do it!"

"Why, sir, you never saw me till within the hour."

"Have I not? perhaps not; I would to heaven I could say as much about the lady."

"To what lady do you so often allude?"

"To the lady with the black mantle."

"Hold, she is all innocence and purity."

"Innocence and purity! Eve was innocent and pure too! yea, and surpassingly beautiful! but she fell! Alas! her daughters are like her."

"Come, sir," said Chevillere, with some exasperation, "let us put a stop to this discourse; it is not pleasing to me, and I feel sure it is not useful to you."

"Be it so," said the intruder, drawing up his long goat's-hair cloak, and pulling a flat cloth cap closely over his gray locks, as they for a moment became visible by the reflection of the long horizontal rays of a lamp from the deck of a neighbouring vessel; "be it so, sir; there is no convincing a child that a beautiful candle will burn until it scorches its fingers."

"In God's name, then, out with it, sir! what is it that seems to burn so upon your tongue? come, out with it!" said Chevillere, sharply.

"For what do you take me, young man? a gossip or a stripling! I am neither one nor the other; I am old enough to be your father; as well born and as well educated as he ever was; and (notwithstanding your southern blood and aristocratic notions) it may be as proud; farewell, sir, and the next time I offer to pull you from the edge of a precipice, perhaps you will listen with more respect to one of double your age, who can have no interest in deceiving you. Farewell, sir!"

"Stay! stay! a moment,—one word more. Did you not visit Washington's monument three days ago, and see me there for the first time?"

"I could answer either yes or no to that question. How do you know, sir, that we have not met before, centuries ago? Do you not sometimes foresee a whole scene, just as it afterward takes place? Do you not sometimes look upon a strange face with a shudder? Does not a feature—a smile—or an expression of them combined—sometimes awake the slumbering memory of ages? Is it not so? have you never communed with the dead?"

"Never, sir."

"I have, often! often!—and many times have I been warned of approaching evils, by these dreamy conversations; I never dream of seeing my father smile upon me, that something good does not speedily follow; nor of snakes and serpents, unattended by bad news or bad fortune. Of these things I usually dream the night before meeting the lady yonder, after a long absence."

"I supposed as much," said Chevillere.

"How, sir."

"I supposed that you had dreamed something against that pure and unfortunate young lady."

"Would to Heaven it were all a dream! Sunshine would again break into the dark regions of my thoughts."

"Suppose I should undertake and pledge my life to convince you that it is so."

"You might convince me of your sincerity, but not of your power. Can you raise the dead?"

"No, but what has raising the dead to do with the lady?"

"More than you imagine, perhaps."

"Ah, I see it is useless to attempt what I proposed and hoped to effect for the sake of the lady's peace. Have you no friends with you in this city?"

"Yes, I have a dog! there sits the best friend I ever had, save one!"

"My dear sir! permit me to say I think you far from being well."

"I never felt better in health than I do at this moment."

"But we are not judges of our own ailments: Physicians do not often prescribe for themselves."

"I tell you, sir, I am well!"

"Have it so, sir! but if you are the person whom I met a few days since at the monument, I would mildly and respectfully recommend to you to think no more of the lady you saw there with me. You certainly labour under some grievous error, with regard to her, at least."

"You will find, when it is too late, perhaps, that others instead of me are labouring under fatal errors concerning that young lady! Farewell, sir, farewell. When next we meet, you will listen with a more attentive ear to what I have to say; you will have observed many strange things yourself, and you will naturally seek, rather than repel a solution of the mystery." Then with a signal to his dog, he hastily went from the wharf, leaving Chevillere in no enviable state of mind.

Youthful thoughts will not long voluntarily dwell upon the gloomy aspect even of the circumstances surrounding themselves; it was very natural, therefore, that Chevillere should reflect with much complacency upon the tendency of his friend Lamar's laughing philosophy; nor was he long in threading his way to the lodgings of the Kentuckian. He had calculated with great certainty upon finding his friend there, and on ascending the three flights of stairs, he heard the voices of both in full chorus of laughter, that of Lamar indicating his most joyful mood. He rapped at the door once or twice before he was heard. "Come in!" shouted the backwoodsman, "what the devil's the use of knocking with every mug of punch." Lamar sprang to his feet at the sight of his friend, with volumes of smoke rolling over his head, and laying one hand on Chevillere's back and another on his breast, cried in the true mock heroic;—"'Be thy intents wicked or charitable, thou com'st in such a questionable shape, that I will speak to thee.' 'Revisit'st thou thus the glimpses of the moon, making night hideous, and us fools of' liquor—'so horribly to shake our dispositions, with thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls; say, why is this?' But, by old Shakspeare's beard, you look like a ghost indeed! why, whence com'st thou, man? see his cloak, too! it is covered with sawdust!"

"Hurrah for old Kentuck!" said Damon, "he's been to the circus! I say, stranger, was there any knockin down and draggin out there. O! black eyes and bruises! what a rascally appetite I've got now for a knock down; I swear I think my hands will git as tender as a woman's, if I don't git a little now and then jist to keep 'em in."

"I may be soiled from leaning against a boat at the dock," said Chevillere.