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THE
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH
smººth
º
*—
Printed by j. Darling, Leadenhall-street, Longon.
-*-*
3 2 9.


THE
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH;
OR,
sºlemoirs . .
OF THE GRAY SONS.
IN THREE Volumes.
Fame, honour, beauty, state, train, blood, and birth,
Are but the fading blossoms of the earth. Sir H. WOTTON.
WOL. I.
NEW - Y OR K :
PRINTed Fort C. WILEY, w ALL-STREET.
L O N DO N :
RE PRINTED for A. K. NEWMAN & Co. LEADENHALL-street.
1825,
$22 &
T & Q wº
) & 2.5
V,
THE
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
wºreve-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-ra wºre ºr cº-wºº & 474°4°4′4°4'4'4”*****
*2,
CHAPTER I.
**.dºº-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º:
ON the banks of the beautiful river She-
mandoah, in the county of Frederick, and
state of Virginia, lived Mrs. Mary Gray-
son, the widow of colonel Grayson, a me-
ritorious officer of the “continental line,”
in the war of the revolution. She had
married at an early period of life the man
of her choice, and as her husband had been
tender, generous, in easy circumstances,
and very generally respected, her life had
passed away in unclouded serenity, until
about eighteen months before the begin-
ning of these memoirs, when a bilious fe-
VOL. I. IB
2 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
ver, in depriving her of her husband, had
first taught her the knowledge of real mis-
fortune. Her grief having gone through
the usual gradations, had now subsided
into a soft and not unpleasing melancholy.
She was the mother of a son and a
daughter, to whose education and welfare
she was determined to devote the residue
of her days; and her thoughts were at this
time principally occupied with the future
destination and pursuits of Edward Gray-
son, who expected to complete his course
of studies at the college of William and
Mary the ensuing winter.
It was about the middle of July, after
early candlelight, that a little mulatto
girl, in blue striped homespun, came run-
ning into the parlour, and exclaimed to
Miss Grayson—“Oh, Miss Louisa, master
Edward is come, and the young géntle-
man is with him ſ”
A mighty bustle ensued, as is usual
when the tranquillity of a life in the coun-
try is interrupted by the return of one of
the family—a consequence, however, on
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 3
the present occasion, which was produced
far less by the weariness of monotony, or
the hope of hearing news, than by the af.
fectionate regard which was entertained
for Edward by every member of the house-
hold. , His sister ran to the door to meet
him—the servants one after another greet-
ed him—and his mother rose from the lit-
tle table, where she had been reading some
work of rational piety, to embrace the fu-
ture prop of her house.
Some time was spent in the exchanges
of affectionate greetings before any notice
was bestowed on Edward's companion;
but he was soon welcomed with the cor-
diality due to a particular acquaintance;
for though he had seen the family only
for a short time, in a visit they had made
to the lower country about two years be-
fore, yet he had particularly recommended
himself to their favour by his agency in a
dispute between Edward and a fellow-
student, which had threatened a serious
issue; and this affair had laid the founda-
B 2
4 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
tion for an intimate friendship between
these young men, though they were wide-
ly dissimilar in character, disposition, and
principles.
James Gildon was the only son of a
wealthy merchant in New-York, and had
been sent to Williamsburg for the pur-
pose of breaking off an attachment which
did not comport with the sordid and am-
bitious views of his father. He possessed
respectable talents, a pleasing person, a
lively, cheerful temper, and genteel and
insinuating manners; he was studious to
please, and often successful in pleasing;
and yet all these social and agreeable qua-
lities were not sufficient to prevent, though
they were but too successful in disguising,
an utter selfishness of disposition.
In his temper Edward was reserved,
somewhat haughty in his manners to those
who were not acknowledged inferiors (to
whom he was all mildness and condescen-
sion), and possessed of the most scrupu-
lous and fastidious honour: in person he
was tall, thin, with grey eyes, light hair,
WALLEY OF SHEN AND OAH. ' 5
and a long, thin, but very pleasing visage.
Gildon, without being positively short,
was lower and stouter than Edward, had
a full, round face, florid complexion, black
eyes, and hair of the same colour. His
talent for, satire, seasoned as it was with a
sprightly vein of wit and pleasantry, was
much relished by the saturnine and some-
what misanthropical humour of Edward.
The latter believed his friend to possess a
good heart and honourable principles, al-
though he occasionally supported, by way
of argument, theories in love and politics
which did not accord with his own refined
and high-minded standard of right; and
their discussions on these topics, while they
served to give greater zest and animation
to their intercourse, commonly terminated
in some witty sally or humorous anecdote
of Gildon, by which he tacitly seemed to
surrender the triumph of the argument to
his adversary, and thus prevented that
coldness and alienation, which difference
of opinion and frequent altercations are
6 VALI, EY OF SHENANIDOAH.
apt to produce among young men of the
same age and standing. *.
Louisa Grayson was now in her eigh-
teenth year: her form had acquired a
roundness and symmetry which it had
wanted when Gildon had first seen her.
Her manners too were improved in ease,
and her face in spirit and intelligence.
His fancy had often pictured to him the
little pretty blue-eyed sister of his friend,
but he found (what does not often happen
on such occasions) that these ideal repre-
sentations had fallen short of the reality.
He was delighted at the discovery, and
with difficulty could repress that gaiety of .
heart and exuberance of spirits with which
beauty naturally inspires a young man of
three-and-twenty, whose heart is not al-
ready engrossed, and who is conscious of
his own powers of pleasing. But this
being the first time he had seen the family
since the death of colonel Grayson, a sense
of decorum made him sober, and as far as
practicable with one so excitable and so
excited, serious and grave.
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 7
+ºss
“Have you not grown very much, Miss
Grayson, since I had the pleasure of see-
ing you in Richmond? I think you
about two inches taller.” -
“Perhaps so, sir; I had an attack of
the ague and fever last autumn, and it is
said sometimes to increase the stature of
those who but for that had attained their
growth,” replied Louisa, not availing her-
self of the implied compliment he intend-
ed to her age.
“Your looks give indications of any
thing but ill health, Miss Grayson.”
“It is true, sir, ever since my recovery,
my health has been unusually good,” said
Louisa, either not perceiving the intended
~ flattery, or not finding it unpalatable.
“But you surprise me,” said Gildon,
“in talking of agues in this part of Vir-
ginia—I thought they were confined to
the lower country; that the goddess of
health had fixed her favourite residence
in the mountains, and that there her vo-
taries sought her in the sickly season.”
“I caught my ague indeed in the lower
8 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
country soon after we met you in Rieh-
mond; but the climate in this part of Vir-
ginia is supposed to have undergone a
change for the worse of late years, and
agues in some situations are now very
Common.” -
“Pray, Miss Grayson, what has become
of that handsome, agreeable young gentle-
man I saw in your party 2”.
“Without being sure I should have
known him by that description, I pre-
sume you mean Mr. Belton; he is now at
his residence in Baltimore.”
The ice being thus broken between
those young people, they were instinc-
tively led to make themselves agreeable
to each other; and the conversation thus
naturally sliding into a subject more con-
genial to their tastes than that of climate
or disease, and more favourable to their
wishes, soon became more lively and in-
teresting. They thus gradually fell upon
the easy footing of old acquaintances; and
partly from the pleasure received, and still
more perhaps from the consciousness of
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 9
the pleasure communicated, each began to
think the other one of the most agreeable
persons in the world: such are the sweet
illusions of beauty and youth ! .
During this time, Mrs. Grayson and her
son were carrying on, in the opposite cor-
ner of the room, a dialogue of a different
description. She made the most anxious
inquiries about her son's studies, and ad-
ventures, and future plans—asked him to
explain what he had occasionally hinted
at in his letters, and dilate more at large
on what he had previously explained.
Nor was she so engrossed with Edward's
concerns as to be unmindful of those of
her friends and acquaintances in Williams-
burg and its vicinity.—“How are the
C 's, my son? you wrote me they were
now living in Williamsburg.”
“Yes, madam, the colonel has purchas-
ed a pretty good house there (the one
formerly occupied by Mr. S.–), for the
purpose of educating his children, and he
means to pass his winters there, and his
summers on this side of the Blue Ridge.”
B 3
IO WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
“I presume Ripley will nowgo to decay.”
“I was there once this spring with my
friend William, and it is very much out
of repair: the portico is rotting down,
and the whole building begins to look like
a ruin.”
“Poor Ripley " said Mrs. Grayson,
with a sigh: “ some of the happiest mo-
ments of my life have been passed there.—
But my aunt B–—, had she returned to
Flowerdale before you left Williams-
burg 2"
“She staid until the fourth of July,
and set off with her granddaughters two
days afterwards. The old lady said, that
the sight of so many of her old friends in
Williamsburg made her young again: but
she took care to tell us, that the old city
is not the place it was. She would insist
on carrying me one morning to see lord
Botetourt's statue, and was quite shocked
to find it exposed to the weather; for not
long ago the corporation pulled down that
part of the Capitol which covered it to re-
pair the other part.”
VALLEY OF SHENAND OAH. II.
**
“ The city must indeed,” said Mrs.
Grayson, “be greatly changed.—What
sort of girls are Mary and Eliza?”
“Mary is very handsome, and, I am
told, very like what her mother was.
Eliza is a pretty figure, and has much
sprightliness, and such pleasing manners,
that she is much more of a belle than her
sister. Young Etheridge, of New-Kent,
is addressing her.”
“What, the son of old Etheridge, who
kept the tavern at the Court-House?”
“The same, madam; but he is a very
clever, genteel young man, and his father
has left him a good estate on Pamunkey.
I told you he had bought Pelham on
York River.”
Mrs. Grayson looked thoughtful for a
moment, and then calmly said—“It seems
to me that estates change hands much of
tener than they used to do; but I suppose
it is right it should be so.”
A new train of thought being apparent-
ly now excited in her mind, the conversa-
tion took another turn, and she commu-
I 2 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
nicated very freely with Edward on the
state of his father's affairs, , and on the
plans she had formed, with the aid of Mr.
Trueheart, her executor, for their settle-
ment. After a free interchange of opi-
nions between the mother and son on this
interesting subject, the conversation be-
coming general, Mrs. Grayson addressed
some inquiries to Gildon, and Edward.
glided round to the chair of his sister, and
in a low voice said—“When did you hear
from the Elms, Louisa?”
“But yesterday,” said she, “I received
a letter from Matilda, and she promises to
spend a week with me as soon as her fa-
ther returns from Hampshire, provided
I will agree to accompany her to the Fre-
dericksburg races in the fall. I cannot
consent to leave mamma; but I shall not
tell her so till we meet, lest I should de-
prive myself of the pleasure of seeing her.”
“I admire your policy,” said Edward,
in a tone of good-natured raillery, though
he was evidently much pleased with the
intelligence.
WALLEY OF SHENANTDOAH. 13
*
Louisa, then turning to Gildon, who
had carried on a conversation with Mrs.
Grayson without quitting his seat, broke
out in a strain of enthusiastic panegyric
on her young friend Matilda Fawkner,
which at once displayed the powers of her
native eloquence, the ardour of her friend-
ship, and those captivating graces, which
animation and generous feeling lend al-
most to any countenance.
Edward, looking at his sister with more
than usual affection, remarked—“I fancy,
my sister, you are endeavouring to repay
the encomiums which Matilda so often
bestows on you;” thus seeking to recom-
pense his sister for the gratification she
imparted to himself. *
Mrs. Grayson looked first at one child,
and then at the other, her inward delight
suddenly beaming through the habitual
pensiveness of her countenance, like the
moon shewing its face from behind the
cloud that had obscured it; and she would
have been completely happy, but for the
º
14 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
recollection that her parental pride and
joy were no longer participated. wº
Louisa, in a little while, for the well-
timed compliment of her brother, soon
took occasion to whisper something in his
ear, which evidently gave him great plea-
SUlfe. t
Supper was now announced, consisting
of a broiled chicken and sliced ham for
the travellers, and of fruits, milk, and
sweetmeats, the ordinary evening's repast
for the family at this season of the year.
They sat at table till eleven, though the
young gentlemen had made rather a long
journey, and they retired to their respec-
tive rooms, to enjoy that repose which
naturally follows bodily fatigue and the
calm pleasures of rational society.
In the morning, after breakfast, Ed-
ward, according to his practice, ordered
horses for himself and his friend, to take
an hour's ride, giving his favourite riding-
horse to Gildon; and aware that he would
have much assistance to give to his mo-
ther towards settling his father's intricate
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 15
and perplexed affairs, as well as in super-
intending the business of the farm, in
which his companion could bear no share,
he thought that politeness dictated that
he should at once begin the course which
prudence prescribed.
As soon as the family had withdrawn
from the breakfast-table to the drawing-
room or parlour, as it was commonly term-
ed there, he went up to him with that air
of mingled frankness and courtesy which
it is so difficult for any one to catch who
has not been bred a gentleman, and said—
“My dear Gildon, I beg that you will
now consider yourself at home: my mo-
ther will often require such little services
as I can render her while I am here, and I
must leave you to amuse yourself in the
library, or with my sister's piano. I have
directed my man Phil to saddle Saracen,
and bring him to the door for you every
morning, and you may exercise your discre-
tion, and ride or not as you like best. If
you please, you may try his gaits this
morning. I am sure you will excuse these
16 VALI.EY OF SHEN AND OAH.
separations, as I can often have the plea-
sure of your company when I cannot as-
sist my poor mother.”
“Say no more, my dear fellow,” said
Gildon; “it would be a very mistaken
politeness which would seek the accom-
modation of a guest at the expence of
one’s own; and I should feel ill at ease if
I saw that I put you out of your way. I
know you have much to do, and I insist,
that while I am here, you will pursue the
same course as if I was away; and I, on
my part, promise you to act as if I was at
home; and as an earnest of this treaty of
accommodation and ease, I will decline
the honour of backing the Saracen this
morning, as I have not more inclination
for riding at present than I have for a se-
cond breakfast: besides, I am desirous of
seeing your sister's improvement in mu-
sic (if she will favour me so far) since the
evening she was so much embarrassed at
Mr. Randolph's, in Richmond.”
“I fear, sir, you will find that my skill
in music has not grown with my growth;
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 17
and the instrument is sadly out of tune;
but it may serve to afford a little variety,
and relieve you from some of the weari-
mess of a country life, after the gaieties of
Williamsburg.”
As she rose to go to the piano, Gildon,
with the familiarity of an old friend, but
the gracefulness of a courtier, offered his
hand, and conducted her to the instru-
ment.
“As you please then,” said Edward:
“I will even ride Saracen myself, and,
until I see you again, good morning to
you both.”
Gildon was lavish of his compliments
to Louisa after the first piece; he extolled
her taste and execution, and mentioned
several new songs, some of which she had
not heard, and others she was then prac-
tising. From music they passed to poetry,
and from poetry to novels; and while
they were discussing the merits of Mrs.
Radcliffe's Mysteries of Udolpho, Mrs.
Grayson made her appearance; on which
Louisa withdrew from the instrument, as
18 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
her mother had never taken any pleasure
in hearing her play since the death of her
father, who had been devotedly attached
to music, and was himself an excellent
performer on the German flute.
This lady was then in her fortieth year,
though, until the late ravages which grief
and care had made in her face, she looked
ten years younger. She was rather under
the middle size—handsome from regularity
of features, but still more so from the ex-
pression of mildness and benignity which
her countenance conveyed. She had been
the mother of five children, but three had
died in very early infancy. Her recent
afflicting loss had thrown a degree of se-
riousness over a character naturally rather
cheerful than gay, and given a pensive
cast to her features, that made them more
interesting. She had received as good an
education as the country afforded; and
while she had been familiar with books,
she had been well instructed in those arts
of housekeeping which have been too
much neglected in modern days. In the
VALI, EY OF SHEN AND OAH. 19
mysteries of the dairy, the kitchen, in all
its branches of roast, boiled, and stewed—
of potting, pickling, and preserving—of
making bread, beer, soap, candles, and cu-
ring bacon, which are so essential to a
Virginia matron, and for which this de-
scription of her citizens was once so dis-
tinguished, Mrs. Grayson was a perfect
adept. In the useful and domestic arts of
spinning, weaving, dying, and bleaching,
she had no ordinary skill.
Mrs. Grayson had been much taken
with Gildon's manners and exterior, and
his studied attentions to herself had not
been without their natural effect. Not
doubting that he, in common with all
who approached Louisa, would feel the
force of her charms, and attributing his
present visit to the impression her daugh-
ter's beauty had already made, she had
taken the subject into consideration, and
finding, on inquiry, that Mr. Gildon the
elder was a man of fortune, and that his
son was about to be received as a partner
in a large mercantile concern in the city
20 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
of New-York, she felt no objection to the
match, except the distance that would se-
parate them; but she made up her mind
to give an assent to what she considered
as so likely to take place; and the rather,
as the penetration of a mother's eye had
soon discovered that the pleasing manners
and sprightly conversation of Gildon had
not been seen with indifference by Louisa.
Colonel Grayson, assured of his wife's
prudence and equal affection, had left his
property to her for life, with the power of
distributing it between his children ac-
cording to circumstances; and she had al-
ready resolved in her mind the details of
such a division, as would at once be just
and convenient to the different parties,
though it pained and somewhat alarmed
her to find that the more insight she ob-
tained into her husband's affairs, the greater
was the amount of his debts, and more
impaired was his fortune found to be.
It was this unpleasant discovery which
had induced her to remove from their man-
sion in Charles City to their estate in Fre-
24'
L ... *
VALI, EY OF SHENANDOAH. 2I
derick, which had been hitherto used as a
summer retreat, and where she thought
she could, by her presence, make a valu-
able estate more profitable, and pursue a
more rigid economy than comported either
with the generous, and rather thoughtless,
hospitality of her husband, or with the
idle, social habits of her neighbours.
She began a system of retrenchment in
the whole of her expenditures—reduced
the number of her domestics from eighteen
to eight—her carriage horses from four to
two, and a house with ten large rooms to
six moderate ones. The furniture of the
family mansion of Easton was partly trans-
ferred to Beachwood, and partly sold for
the purpose of paying off some of the
debts of the estate. Easton was put un-
der the management of Mr. Barclay, a dis-
tant relative.
Beachwood, their retreat in the Shenan-
doah, had very great beauty in the eyes
of one accustomed to the unvarying sur-
face of the lower part of Virginia. The
house was on the brow of a gently-sloping
22 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
hill on the north-east side of the Shenan-
doah, not far from Ashby's Gap. The
low grounds of the estate, which though
somewhat wider than usual, were still nar-
row, stretched above and below the house
more than a mile each way; and were al-
ternately green, yellow, or black, as the
rich soil happened to be bare, or its crops
to be growing or ripe.
In front, the Blue Ridge rose in majes-
tic height, stretching as far as the eye
could reach to the south-west on one side,
and the north-east on the other; though a
bend in the river-hills stopped the view
in the last direction after five or six miles.
The mountains, thickly covered with wood,
presented a high, dark, and somewhat
gloomy barrier to the vision in summer;
but in autumn, they exhibited in gay pro-
fusion the brightest colours of the painter's
pallet. Here, every shade and variety of
red, crimson, and yellow, may be seen in-
termingled and relieved with different-co-
loured evergreens; but as the bright tints
predominated over the sombre, it was a
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 23
very gay and pleasing object to the eye,
and the effect of its lively and varied hues
overcame the melancholy associations
which the fall of the leaf is so apt to
awaken.
The house itself was a modest mansion
of rough blue limestone, in the form of
the letter L, having three rooms on a floor.
Below, were a passage, drawing-room,
dining-room, chamber, and a large closet,
which had been used as a dressing-room,
and was now the lodging-room of Louisa.
The three rooms above were bed-chambers.
A large kitchen garden was on the east of
the house, containing a succession of falls
as the ground sloped to a little rivulet,
which was formed by a limestone spring,
not half a mile from the house. But the
most beautiful part of the view was the
river, presenting always to the eye, ex-
cept after a heavy rain, a smooth surface
and a limpid stream when near, and a
broad sheet of mirror when seen at a dis-
tance, in which the mountains, with its
woods all crimson and gold, its jutting
24 VALI, EY OF SHENANDOAH.
cliffs and patches of cleared land, were
doubled to the eye, and inverted in their
position. --
This beautiful stream was not then
ruffled by those boats that are now waft-
ed on it with their rich freights to George-
town and Alexandria. It furnished no
other variety than a horseman fording, or a
waggon occasionally rumbling over its
rocks; or in floods, a ferry-boat passing to
and fro, with the aid of a rope stretched
across from bank to bank.
Two or three small clearings of land,
with a small cottage, out-houses, and
orchard to each, appearing here and there
in occasional hollows of the mountain,
pleasantly varied the woodland scenery,
especially in early spring. The situation
was equally recommended by the fertility
of its soil, the beauty of its scenery, and
(compared with the situation they had
lately occupied) the salubrity of its air and
climate. Its solitude, and picturesque
scenes, were well fitted to nurture that
tender and romantic cast of feeling for
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 25
which Louisa had already been remarked
by her young acquaintance at Easton–
But it is now time to turn our attention
to Edward Grayson.
CHAPTER II.
wººd” ſº ºdºº ºdºrº" & &
THE same lively interest, the first in the
bosom of a young man of twenty-two,
which prompted Edward's inquiries of his
sister, made him now turn his steps to the
Elms,
Among the most intimate friends of the
late colonel Grayson, was major Fawkner,
the proprietor of a good estate about four
miles higher up the Shenandoah, which
has been already, mentioned, and was called
the Elms. They had both been officers
of the revolution, and although they had
served in different parts of the country,
one having been under general Washing-
VOL. I. C.
9:6 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
ton to the north, and the other under gé-
neral Greene in the south, yet, as they had
at the close of the war been both members
of the Cincinnati, both warm supporters
of general Washington, when the country
began first to be divided into two angry
hostile parties, which threatened to destroy
the happiness of the country, in disputing
about the best means of promoting it, and
had been both thrown into the same neigh-
bourhood, they became extremely attaeh-
ed to each other. During the colonel's
summer excursion to Frederick, they saw
each other almost every day, and the fa-
milies interchanged dinners once a-week.
The major was naturally generous and
high-minded; but being rather of an indo-
lent, easy disposition, he had insensibly
fallen into the views of his wife, and had
become more bent on making money than
had been natural to him. He was a man
of mild, amiable manners, but with some-
thing of that precision and exactness which
military men are apt to acquire. -
He had married an heiress, from whom he
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 27.
derived the estate on which they then lived,
a woman narrow-minded and ambitious,
priding herself on her own wealth, and
graduating her respect to others by theirs.
A few years before, they had a son and
two daughters, the youngest of whom had
died of a prevailing epidemic when nearly
grown. Her son had been, next to the
sale of their crops, the chief object of her
anxious thoughts; so that her excessive
and mistaken fondness had made a consti- *
tution, originally a weak one, yet more
feeble and delicate. This youth had died
of a pulmonary complaint about four years
before, and Mrs. Fawkner's desire of amas-
sing property, which had before seemed to
exist only for the sake of her son Steener,
as he was called, seemed, if possible,
augmented and redoubled when this ap-
parent motive was taken away : she was
more pinching in her household, more
pressing on her husband to collect the debts
that were due to him, more disposed to
chaffer with the merchants with whom she
C 2
28. VALLEY OF SHENANDoAH.
dealt in the neighbourhood, than ever, and
more on the look-out for good bargains in
land, negroes, or bonds.
As her daughter Matilda, who was not
thirteen at the death of her brother, and
who had, with her sister, been always
treated as an inferior, grew to womanhood,
and improved in person and mind, she
presented a new object on which her ava-
rice and ambition, and restless intriguing
disposition, could operate; and she began
to look around for a suitable match for
her—a match by which she might bring
into the family an estate still larger than
her own.
When her darling Steener was alive,
she had considered Edward Grayson as a
very desirable match for Matilda, and in
the frequent intercourse of the families,
she was ever extolling to the children the
good qualities of one another; and her
course of policy might, if their own re-
commendations had been far less than
they were, have made them pleased with
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 29
each other. But in truth her agency was
entirely unnecessary. º
Edward, as we have seen, possessed all
those qualities of manners, mind, and per-
son, that were calculated to recommend
him to the heart of a woman of taste and
discrimination, who is perhaps, after all,
the best judge of merit in the other sex.
And Matilda Steener, besides being one
of the loveliest in face and person, possess-
ed a sweetness of disposition, and kind-
ness of manner, united with dignity, which
had made her an universal favourite.
She was tall and slender, had dark brown
hair and eyes, and a skin that rivalled the
conch shell in the fineness of its texture,
and in the brilliancy of its tint. She had
long viewed Edward Grayson with the
partiality which his own merits, as well.
as his pointed attentions, were calculated
to inspire; and on his last visit he had
come to an explanation, though they had
indeed long understood each other before;
and she, without any disguise or affecta-
tion, candidly confessed that his pure and
30 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH,
virtuous attachment was cordially recipro-
cated. . -
When she communicated the fact of
his declaration to her mother, she was
surprised and distressed to find that it did
not meet her approbation. Mrs. Fawkner
remarked—“That major Grayson's affairs
were not settled—that his estate had not
been profitable for some years, and it was
well known that he had incurred con-
siderable debts in Alexandria—that Mrs.
Grayson had confessed to colonel Fawkner,
that the farther she looked into her hus-
band's affairs, the more discouraging she
found them ; and that Barbawl, colonel
Fawkner's attorney, had told her in confi-
dence the week before, that the estate was.
threatened with a security debt, which, if
it was made to pay, would nearly swallow
up the whole—that Edward Grayson was
to be sure a very genteel and amiable
young man, of good talents; but if he
should lose all chance of being able to
keep Easton or Beachwood, he would be
no better match than Barbawl or young
WALLEY OF SHENANT)OAH. 3H
doctor Cutaway, both of whom had ven-
tured to declare themselves lovers of Ma-
tilda, and had been rejected by the general
consent of the whole family.”
She insisted that Matilda should think
no more of Edward, at least for the pre-
sent; and finding that she persisted in ac-
knowledging her decided and unchange-
able preference, she made Matilda consent
not to think of marriage until some fur-
ther developement of his affairs; which
Matilda the more readily agreed to, as she
was convinced, that if her mother's ill-
omened predictions should prove true,
Edward's pride would not suffer him to
insist on obtaining her hand, until he had
first obtained a respectable standing in
his intended profession.
From this time Mrs. Fawkner put every
engine at work to change her daughter's
affection, and to break off the match; and
her efforts, though meant to be conducted
with art, both with a view to save appear-
ances and to ensure success, were so mani-
fest, that they had greatly diminished the
32 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
intercourse between the two families, and
substituted form and ceremony between
the elder members in the place of the
most friendly and unreserved intimacy.
With the young people there was no
diminution of friendship or cordiality.
Matilda and Louisa saw each other often,
and the former endeavoured to disguise
the motives of her mother's objection as
much as she could; and as she was known
to be planning a match between Matilda
and her cousin Frederick Steener, she as-
cribed this preference on the part of her
mother to her well-known partiality for
her own family. -
This young man was an orphan child of
a deceased brother, possessed of a good
estate in Berkley, and for whom her fa-
ther was guardian; and no more eligible
match, in point of fortune, presenting
itself to Mrs. Fawkner's imagination, she
was entirely bent on promoting it, though
her kinsman was, in fact, an awkward,
unpolished, yet good-natured clown; and
had a richer rival offered for the hand of
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 33.
*º-ºw
her daughter, Frederick's pretensions,
though of the noble house of Steener,
had been as promptly rejected as were
those of Edward. - -
Mrs. Fawkner had not manifested her
opposition before Edward had left Fre-
derick, in the preceding autumn, for Wil-
liamsburg; and he had been ignorant of
it, but for some slight intimations in the
letters of his mother and sister, who, how-
ever, unwilling to pain him, and confiding
in the undisguised affection of Matilda,
had given a softened representation of the
fact. -
As the time approached for an inter-
view, his fears gradually augmented, and
he began at length to imagine to himself
the vicious arts which so intriguing a wo-
man may put in force to effect her object;
and in spite of himself, to fear that Matil-
da’s constancy would not be proof against.
the busy, well-planned schemes of her
mother. • * . .
. The Elms are situated near the banks,
C 3 -
34. WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
of the river, having a small rivulet mean-
dering on one side of the house, and dis-
charging itself into the Shenandoah in a
gentle current, through a rich black loam.
Two rows of elms, which old Cornelius
Steener, the father of Mrs. Fawkner, had
planted in remembrance of his native
country, Holland, form a long avenue
from the gate on the public road to the
house; and the same association of ideas
made him prefer this low situation, sur-
rounded by water, to a beautiful eminence,
about half a mile back of the house, which
commanded an extensive view of the
river and the adjacent country. Yet, as
the irregular mansion he had built was
encircled by grass of the brightest verdure,
and the grounds about it were decorated
with clumps or rows of weeping willows,
poplar, aspin, and such shrubs and vines
as delight in moist situations, all flourish-
ing in unusual luxuriance, it was not de-
void of a certain species of beauty, and
conveyed the agreeable ideas of fertility,
abundance, and comfort, —
v.ALLEY of SHENANDoAH. 35
Nor was it as unhealthy as might have
been at first supposed; it being found by
experience that the fogs and noxious ex-
halations from the river often pass over
(like the boasted policy of the Romans)
the lowly dwellings on the river's banks,
to attack those who had sought to elevate
themselves above their reach.
A large kitchen garden, and another of
fruit trees, in which old Steener had been
very curious, occupied nearly three acres
Ón the other side of the house; and in its
walks and bowers, Edward and Matilda
had passed many a delightful moment,
and had tasted that purest and sweetest
of human enjoyments which love imparts
to two young and innocent bosoms. Nor
did they know the full extent of their
happiness, until they were threatened
with its loss. - . . .
In the corner of this garden, where a
fight railing separated the two parts, Ma-
tilda had obtained permission to exercise
her fancy in the erection of a summer.
house, not being pleased with the heavy
36 WALLEY. OF SHENANDOAH.
and tasteless structure which her mother
had put up in the centre of her own gar-
den, as she always called the first enclo-
sure. This was Matilda's favourite re-
treat; and here, when Louisa Grayson
visited her, they passed their summer
mornings and evenings in reading, needle-
work, or painting, in which art she gave
indications of a great natural talent.
Here it was too that Edward, a few even-
ings before he set out for Williamsburg,
the preceding autumn, first ventured to
make a declaration which his words, and
looks, and actions, had plainly indicated a
year or two before. This circumstance -
had made the retreat doubly dear to Ma-
tilda; and it had been her favourite
amusement in the following spring to
plant around it new shoots of the coral
honeysuckle, to trail those vines of the
multiflora so as to close every remaining
aperture by which the rays of the sun
could enter; to add to the damask roses
and jasmines on the outside, and to deck
the little knots of flowers in front-with
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 37
the rarest and most beautiful exotics she
could procure. It seemed indeed to en-
gross her so entirely, that major Fawkner,
in his frequent journeys from home, when-
ever he procured any valuable flower-
seed, would say to his daughter that he
had brought her something for her hobby;
while Mrs. Fawkner would sometimes
complain that Jerry, the gardener, was
half his time in waiting on Matilda—that
her own garden was overrun with weeds
—and Mrs. Busker would, that year, have
pease and cucumbers a month before her.
It was in this favourite spot, still
dearer from the reflections it awakened,
and the visions it raised, than from its
shade, and beauty, and fragrance, that
Matilda was engaged in her usual morn-
ing pursuits, when a servant announced
Mr. Edward Grayson to his master, then
sitting in the dining-room with a bundle
of papers before him. Edward immedi-
ately entered. He was cordially welcomed
by major Fawkner, and with a show of
politeness by Mrs. Fawkner. The major
38 ‘VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH,
said to the servant—“Where is Miss Ma-
tilda 2 run and tell her Mr. Edward is
here.—I suppose she is in her hobby, ac-
eording to custom.”
Edward, secretly flattered by the intima-
tion which this remark conveyed, quickly
said—“Nay, do not send for Miss Matilda
—let me see what improvement she has
made in her summer-house.” *
“Stop, Mr. Grayson,” said Mrs. Fawk-
ner, “I believe Matty is in her dishabilles
this morning; she won't like to be taken
by surprise.” -
“Why, wife,” said the major, “for the
matter of that, Matilda is always neat and
tidy.” * ex - - - . . . .
“ She is meat enough in all conscience,”
said Mrs. Fawkner. “But—” * -
When the lovely object of dispute en-
tered the room, having, as soon as her
kindly-officious maid Nelly had informed
her of Edward's arrival, obeyed the im-
pulse of her feelings, and run into the
dining-room. Her hair, indeed, in wild
disorder, hung over her forehead and down
VALI, EY OF SHENAND OAH, 39
her shoulders, in rich profusion, and so far
justified the remark of her mother; but
in every part of her dress besides, which
was a light muslin frock, drawn at the
bosom and wrists with pale blue ribands,
she was dressed with the neatness of a
new doll, and the precision of a Quaker.
. She ran towards Edward, and held out
her hand, but immediately reading the
displeasure in her mother's countenance,
and remembering that he was now her
declared lover, she checked herself and
made a formal courtesy, but still giving
him her hand. Edward saw at once the
change, and felt an undefinable sort of
uneasiness; for what sudden coolness in
his mistress ever escaped the lover's vigi-
lance 2 : A
After the compliments and inquiries
usual on such occasions, Mrs. Fawkner,
whose mind had been brooding over the
attachment which she had once so much
encouraged, but which so little accorded
with her present views and wishes, said—
“I hope you left all well this morning,
40 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
Mr. Grayson, at Beachwood. I hardly
ever see your mother now. I laugh, and
tell her that pride keeps her so much at
home now that she drives but two horses.”
“That is the last motive in the world
to operate on my poor dear mother,” said
Edward; “but perhaps she has some
right to complain of you, on the score of
visiting.”
“Why, indeed, I have not been out as
much of late as formerly. Major Fawk-
ner has been obliged to go to Alexandria
and Baltimore this spring, and I must
attend to the business of the farm. Every
thing is at six and sevens when we are
both away. You know overseers require
as much looking after as the negroes them-
selves.—They tell me the fly has been
very troublesome in your wheat, and that
your harvest turned out badly.”
“I have been so little a while at home,
that I have not yet learnt the condition
of the farm.” - -
“Well, the major thinks, now the old
general has resigned, the price of wheat
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 41
will fall; and if it does, and the fly con-
tinues to destroy our crops, I know not
what will become of us. The times are
hard enough already. Barbawl tells me
that people on the other side of the moun-
tain are mightily in debt.—Oh! has that
suit of the sheriff, whom your father was
security for, been decided yet?”
“It has not, madam,” said Edward,
with an impatience that he in vain strove
to suppress.
Matilda endeavoured to change the con-
versation, by asking if they had a splendid
exhibition on the fourth of July, at Wil-
liamsburg; and, on his proceeding to
answer her, said Mrs. Fawkner, with a
view of concealing her real sentiments—
“Barbawl says he thinks they cannot re-
cover, or at least that they ought not.
And if they should, that all the other
securities must contribute an equal part;
and that it will not be more than four or
five thousand dollars a-piece.”
“The whole claim, madam, I thought
4? "WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
was but four thousand dollars, and that it
was likely to be reduced considerably.”
“I am very glad to hear it. Well,
your father was so willing to be every
body's security. There's Joe Cheekby,
Frederick Steener's guardian, with his
oily tongue, would have persuaded the
major to have been one of his securities,
if it had not been for me; and they tell
me that he is in a fair way to be ruined.”
“You were my guardian angel then, I
admit,” said major Fawkner; “but I hope
Cheekby will come out yet,” he added,
“for the sake of my neighbours.” -
To Edward, these last remarks gave
more serious concern, as he knew that his
father, with his accustomed good nature,
had been one of this Cheekby's sureties to
his guardian's bond; that he had vested
the large funds of his ward in purchases
of waste lands, which had at first yielded
great profit, but which, by excessive com-
petition, and the flagrant frauds which
had been practised by the land speculators,
had now proved very unsaleable, and that
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH, 43
mostof the co-securities had partaken of
Cheekby's speculation, and were sharers
in his loss ; and he was alarmed on ac-
count of his mother and sisters. Sup-
pressing, however, his feelings, he again
attempted to have some conversation with
Matilda; but finding he was liable to per-
petual interruptions from Mrs. Fawkner,
who would always contrive to say some-
thing that was calculated to mortify or
alarm him, he now, indeed, felt the full
force of his mother's remark, that she
feared he would find things much changed
at the Elms, and he rose to depart, when
the major, with his usual good nature and
kindness of heart, urged him to stay to
dinner; and on his refusal, expressed a wish
that he would ride over often and take a
hunt with him, adding, that though he
was getting rather too unwieldy to start,
his rifle would do as much execution
as ever at a stand; and he was about
naming a day, in the following week,
when his considerate wife reminded him
44 WALLEY OF SHENAND OAH.
that he was to go over to Hardy, by ap-
pointment, to survey his new purchase.
“You are right, my dear—See what it
is, Edward, to have a wife —it will be well
to appoint a day as soon as I get back.”
Edward took his leave, with feelings
very different from those with which he
entered the dwelling. His horse was
brought out by old Jeffrey, formerly the
valet of major Fawkner, but now his ost-
łer, a shrewd, artful, ready-witted knave,
who having long assumed the privilege of
great familiarity with his superiors, was at
length suffered quietly to enjoy it; and
who, looking on Edward as his future
master, had been in the habit of address-
ing him in that style, which he supposed
most likely to conciliate his favour, pre-
sent as well as future.
“Ah, master Edward, I’m glad you've
got back; we have all been wishing for
you; we haven't killed a buck since you
left us. Master can’t hunt without you
—we have all been wishing for you.
There have been a good many fine gen-
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 45
tlemen here this spring; but I tell the
black folks here, that there's nobody like
master Edward.” -
“Poh, poh " said Edward, “you are
at your old game, Jeffrey,” throwing him
a quarter of a dollar, and less displeased at
his flattery than at the ideas of rivalry
which his remarks, connected with Mrs.
Fawkner's behaviour, had indicated.
“There is young Mr. Stevens, with his
two fine nicked bays, with black manes
and tails, and doctor Sticquein, from Lou-
doun, in a mighty fine sulkey; but it all
would not do,” looking to see how far he
might venture in his career of impudent
familiarity.
Edward, making no reply, suddenly
mounted and rode off. As he slowly
trotted along the avenue of venerable elms,
he recollected the high and buoyant feel-
ings which had filled his bosom when he
last passed through them an hour before;
and contrásting them with those he then
felt, he could not but indulge in the most
gloomy anticipations of the future. He
46 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH,
even fancied that the behaviour of Matilda
was constrained, and had something of
coldness in it, and he asked himself if it
were possible that his absence for six
months, and the attentions of two or three
coxcombs, could have wrought the change.
When he passed through the gate which
terminates the avenue, he instantly cast a
last look at the house which contained
what most interested him, and found all
his hopes and confidence revive, as he saw
Matilda standing at the window, and fol-
lowing him with her eyes, as she was wont
to do in her first days of unconscious love.
He gave the reins to Saracen, and in less
than half an hour was at home.
CHAPTER III.
wº-ººººººººººººººº-
Edward had not been long gone, and
Matilda retired to her own room, before
Mrs. Fawkner, in that sharp tone of re-
*
VALLEY OF ' SHENANDOAH. 47
primand with which she often addressed
her husband, exclaimed—“I wonder, ma-
jor Fawkner, you can give that young
man such pointed encouragement, always
inviting him to hunt, and to visit, and
what not: you know he has addressed
Matilda, and you must see that he is not
disagreeable to her; but, for my part, I
have no notion of allying myself with a
failing house. If what Barbawl tells me is
true, they will certainly have that debt to
pay, and then I suppose we must main-
tain the whole family.” ---
The major, who sat apparently in deep
thought, said—“Why, really, that seeu-
rity ship of poor Grayson gives me a good
deal of uneasiness, and if the whole should
fall on his estate, it would leave little else
but the land; but as to Edward, I think
him a fine young man—one who will rise
in his profession; and I fear that matters
have gone too far between him and Ma-
tilda to be now broken off; so that I
think, wife, we had better make the best
of it.”
48 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
“That is always your way now, major
Fawkner—letting every thing take its own
course, and sitting down contented. You
would have given up that debt of Eaton
and Shewaway, if I had not teased and
worried you till you made them give you
a mortgage on their property in Alexan-
dria; and you would never have bought
the Briarfield, if you had had your way,
and deferred the purchase a week longer.”
“Well, my dear wife,” said the major,
partly convinced by those examples of her
superior foresight and decision, and partly
to put a stop to further reproaches, “what
would you have me do? I must treat
the son of my old neighbour and friend
with civility: I could do no less than ask
him to visit us.”
“But, you are under no necessity of
making him an inmate, and getting up
visiting parties to keep him for ever dang-
ling after your daughter. Matilda shall
never marry a beggar, with my consent;
and I think, if you were to speak your
mind plainly to the girl, and tell her of
t
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 49
the imprudence of the match, that she
could be brought to turn him off, though
she is very much disposed to be headstrong
of late. Depend upon it, my dear hus-
band (for she had found by experience it
was best to infuse a little kindness in her
peroration), if we do not put an end to
this business in time, we shall live to re-
pent it; and, for my part, I cannot make
up my mind to see a child about to sup
sorrow, and not try to dash the cup from
her lips.”
The easy temper of the major was
alarmed at this picture of distress; and
without giving himself the trouble to ex-
âmine into its probability, he said—“To
be sure, my dear, it would be as well to
see how Edward can maintain a family,
before he encumbers himself with one;
and, at any rate, until he is settled in his
profession, I will advise Matilda to keep
matters in suspense; or perhaps, my dear,
you had better tell her what we think on
*the subject, and she can tell Edward.”
vol. 1. D
50 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
Mrs. Fawkner, content with her pre-
sent success, did not urge the matter fur-
ther: she had not brought her husband to
that point of opposition that she wished,
and was determined on effecting.
Edward, on his return, found his sister
and her lively friend yet engaged in an
animated dialogue, in which the parties
being secretly pleased with each other,
and both too conscious of pleasing, the
hours passed off unheeded in their flight.
Gildon had detailed some of his college
adventures with his happy vein of hu-
mour—described with witty satire some of
the belles of his acquaintance—entertained
his fair and delighted auditor with a de-
scription of the theatrical, wonders of the
New-York and Philadelphia theatres—
Mrs. Merry and Mrs. Whitlock, Hopkin-
son and Fennell—with also the fashion-
able scandal which was then current in
the better classes of society.—“Bless me,”
said Gildon, with some surprise, purposely
exaggerated, “have you returned already?,
You made but a short visit; it seems
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 51
scarce half an hour since you left the room.”
“Did you find the family at home,
brother?” said Louisa.
“They were,” said Edward, “and your
friend sends you this geranium. I am
glad to find that your time does not pass
heavily.” 4.
Mrs. Grayson cast an anxious and in-
quiring glance towards her son, and read
in his countenance a look of care and per-
plexity which were not usual with him on
a return from the Elms; but she was afraid
to discover the current of his thoughts.
“When do our neighbours talk of vi-
siting us, my son 2"
“Not soon, I apprehend, madam, as
major Fawkner's business calls him fre-
quently from home this summer; and you
know Mrs. Fawkner hates to leave the
farm, when he is away. Matilda hopes to
be able to spend a day with you in the
following week, and desired me to present
you with this product of her little garden,”
handing a beautiful half-blown moss-rose.
* D 2
52 VALI, EY OF SHENANDOAH.
Mrs. Grayson, who had long been in
the habit of regarding Matilda as her in-
tended daughter-in-law, and felt for her
the affection of a mother, received the gift
as a sure omen that whatever may be the
sentiments of the rest of the family, the
most interesting member of it was un-
changed; and yielding to the sanguine
hopes of an easy temper, and of a mother's
partiality, she thought that any obstruc-
tion which Mrs. Fawkner might raise,
would finally yield to the constancy of
Matilda's affection, and the rare merits of
her son.—“She was always the sweetest
girl in the world,” she said, as she received
the fragrant gift.
Louisa then launched out in a strain of
the most rapturous praises on her young
friend, whose superiority of understanding,
accompanied by the greatest good-nature,
without the least particle of pride, had ob-
tained its natural ascendancy over a mind
ardent as was Louisa's, and much given
to admiration.
Gildon then observed—“How easy it
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 53
is to see, Miss Grayson, that you were
brought up in the country Now, you
may meet with fifty young ladies in our
large cities, before you would see one who
could be thus lavish in her praises of an-
other.”
“Because,” said Louisa, “we can sel-
dom meet with one so deserving.”
“Well,” said Gildon, “I shall write to
my friends that the rarest thing I have
yet met in the mountains of Virginia,
is one young lady, not yet twenty, and
not without some small pretensions her-
self,” in a tone of good-natured raillery,
“who extols a neighbouring belle to the
skies. From your description, and the ec-
stacies of Edward, in his occasional rhap-
sodies by moonlight, I should like to see
this phoenix—but, for my part, I think
there is sometimes as much merit,” giving
a significant look towards Louisa, “ in be.
stowing praise, as in being the object of it.”
A trampling of horses was now heard in
front of the house; and in a minute, a tall
raw-boned man, with sandy hair, pale
54 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
grey eyes, and rather rugged features,
dressed in grey home-spun, entered the
I’OOOO.
“Oh, Mr. M'Culloch, Mr. M'Culloch tº
they all exclaimed.
He ran up to Edward.—“How goes it,
my young friend? you're welcome back
to the mountains. I am rejoiced to see
you in the back-woods again, safe and
sound from the Tuckahoes. I have been
afraid that you were engaged in some of
the riots which have lately broke out in
old Williamsburg; and I know you are as
good pluck, my lad, as if you were a tho-
rough-bred Cohee, though you were born
and raised in Oyster-land. In riding out
this morning, I met with my old neigh-
bour Hatchett, who told me he was coming
here, and that you returned yesterday; so
I thought I must give you a shake by the
hand, and see whether the lowland air had
worsted your complexion, or city airs had
spoilt your manners.”
“I flatter myself you will find me not
much altered in so short an absence. But
VALLEY OF SIHENANDOAH. 55
how are Mrs. M'Culloch and your little
folks P”
“Why, the chicks, God bless them, are
all well, and merry as a brood of young
partridges; but the old squawis a littlecom-
plaining of late. I tell her she frets her-
self sick about debts, and short crops, and
such scurvy plagues of life—begone dull
care is my motto. If the fly destroys
4two or three more crops, we must push off
to Kentucky, and feast on bear-hams and
buffalo-hump; unless citizen Hatchett
here could lend me about seven or eight
thousand.—What say you, old cent per
cent P” with a loud good-natured laugh.
The personage whom he addressed, who
had entered soon after him, and who had
been received by the family in a style that
betokened acquaintance merely, but no
intimacy, was a sharp-visaged, pock-mark-
ed, sallow-looking man, apparently about
fifty, dressed in a coat and vest of a rhu-
barb colour, with his thin grey hair tied
close to his head.
“Mr. M'Culloch is always running his
56 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
rig on those who live on such poor lands
as we,” said Hatchett, with a self-com-
placent smile. “If I had ever so much
money by me, it would have been gone
long ago. I never heard such complaints
of the scarcity of money.”
“What, old buck, you have been doing
a brisk business this summer, have you?
Did you ever see the time when it was
not scarce with some people—with sūch-
runagates as myself, who see no use in the
dross but in spending it; and who will
neither pinch my belly or back, so long as
a dollar can be had in an honest way ?
And I doubt, friend Benjamin, whether I
do not have more pleasure in spending an
hundred dollars, than you have in making
a thousand—and I am sure mine is the
easiest task of the two.”
“Every man to his taste, Mr. M'Cul-
loch,” said the money-lender, who, win-
cing under the unrestrained banter of his
companion, and not knowing what would
come next, told Edward, he wished to say
a word to him in private; and with great
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 57
awkwardness of gait, but an air of no lit-
tle self-importance, shuffled out of the
TOOTY).
“Now look at old Maw-worm,” said the
free-spoken mountaineer, “with his face as
yellow as the gold he worships, and his heart
as hard as theiron chest which contains it.
I suppose he has picked up some bond of
the poor major's, or like enough, one for
which he was some worthless fellow's se-
curity; and as soon as he hears of Edward's
arrival, he loses no time in exacting pro-
mise of payment out of the present crop;
or, perhaps, will offer forbearance for the
trifling consideration of thirty-three and a
third per cent. I shall tell Edward to have
as little to do with the old Jew as possible.”
“Why, Mr. M'Culloch, I thought you
and Mr. Hatchett were on very friendly
terms,” said Mrs. Grayson.
“He, an old bloodsucker—the Shylock
of the valley ! It is true Isometimes make
a convenience of him, and get money from
him when I can get it nowhere else; but
D 3
bj8 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
I never spare the old curmudgeon the less
on that account. I know that he bears me
no good will; but so long as I have an
acre of the Clover Field left, or a woolly
head to work it, he will always be ready
to take my paper at a discount. I think
that every bond he gets of me affords
the old hunks double pleasure; for it
at once gratifies his malice by helping me
to my ruin, and his avarice by his uncon-
Scionable gains. I pray, dearmadam, that
you will tell Edward to beware of him.”
“I hope,” said Mrs. Grayson, “if your
suspicions are just as to the subject of his
application, that he will not be so unrea-
sonable in his exactions as you suppose,
nor Edward so imprudent as to submit to
them.” *
Young Grayson now entered the room,
with a face in which chagrin might be ea-
sily seen through an assumed appearance
of careless ease. $
“Well, has old Screw.tight been pester-
ing you already with his d d claims,
as he calls them?” said M'Culloch.
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 59
“He merely spoke of a small matter of
business,” said Edward, with seeming in-
difference.
“Yes, of business that is no business of
mine.—Excuse my freedom, madam, but
I always scent out mischief when such ver.
min are near—But tell me, Edward, how
run politics in old Williamsburg? I fear
you have come back an errant jaeobin. I
was a bit of Frenchman myself at first;
but ever since the bloody work of the
guillotine, and the attempt of citizen Ge-
net to bully the old general, I have given
them up, and I am now afraid they will
lug us into this war before they are done.”
Edward and Gildon now both took up
the cudgels for the cause of liberty and
France—regretted that the United States
had not generously given their aid in the
noble struggle in which that gallant people
were engaged for their independence, in-
stead of adopting the cold, timid, selfish
course of neutrality; and they unhesita-
tingly expressed their conviction that our
policy might be fairly ascribed to the un-
60 WALLEY OF . SHENANDOAH.
bounded influence of England and her nu-
merous partisans and adherents, dispersed
over every part of this country.
The dispute was waxing warm, and
while one party forgot the respect due to
age, the other made no allowance for the
ardour and impetuosity of youth; when
Mrs. Grayson, to whom such scenes were
not less rare than unwelcome, considerate-
ly interfered, and with that characteristic
mildness and sweetness which it was diffi-
cult to resist, said—“Fie, gentlemen, do
you dispute on politics before ladies? If
so, we will leave you. Mr. M'Culloch, I
thought you had more gallantry.”
“Nay, madam,” said the veteran, “ex-
cuse me. I don't in general regard these
political railers. Your thorough going
democrat is so prejudiced, it does no good
to reason with him; but I confess it makes
me sorry to see the son of my old friend,
who you know, madam, was always ready
to fight at the least disparaging word
against the old general, taking sides with
this faction; and I wish to put him in the
vaLLEY or shes.ANDoAH. 61
right path if I can'; but I fear,” added he,
with a good-natured smile, “that he was
so thoroughly inoculated with the disease
while in Williamsburg, that he is past all
cure, except what time and experience
may bring. I will then even leave him
to their salutary operation.” * - \
Edward, brought to his recollection by
the gentle admonition from his mother,
observed, that as he despaired of making
Mr. M'Culloch a convert in politics, he
hoped he could now convince him of the
efficacy of plaster of Paris, which was
then getting into use in that part of the
country; and proposed they should take a
walk to a clover field, on which it had
been used by way of experiment. The
ladies left the parlour, and the gentlemen
repaired to the field of clover. Here nar-
row slips or belts, of a more luxuriant
growth and a deeper green, traversing the
whole field, were as plainly marked to the
eye as the different colours on a piece of
striped cloth. - *
“In these,” said Edward, “plaster has
62 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
been scattered at the rate of a bushel to
the acre; while on the intermediate spaces,
where the clover is yellowish and thin,
and of a stinted growth, there has been
none.”
“This indeed looks as if there was some
virtue in this French plaster. But how
are you sure you have not, like other pro-
phets, taken some pains to verify your
own predictions, and ploughed these green
slips deeper or better, or sown the seed a
little thicker, or that your manager has not
done it for you? for, as David Hume
says in his chapter on miracles, it seems
much more probable that there has been
some trick practised, or some mistake
committed in one of these ways, than that
such wonderful effects should be produced
by peppering a little dry chalk over the
ground. I could as easily believe that a
man would fatten sooner by smelling a
beef steak than by eating it. No, no, my
boy, you must try this again and again
before you will convince me.”
Edward and Gildon were diverted at
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. '63
their friend's incredality. Grayson ob-
served—“It is no wonder we cannot con-
vince him in matters of politics and spe-
culation, when he won't yield to the evi-
dences of his senses.”
The sturdy enemy of prejudice and in-
novation remarking then that the old
squaw, as he often termed his wife, would
wait dinner for him, insisted they should
dine with him the first time they went
abroad, and spend as much of their leisure
hours with him as they could; and mount-
ing his large, raw-boned, iron-grey horse,
he paced out of their sight in a twinkling.
Edward then observed—“There goes
one of the honestest, best-hearted men I
ever knew ; but, as you perceive, one of
the most opinionative and inflexible. For-
tunately, his feelings are always amiable
and good, or he would often be intolerable.
He is of Scotch-Irish extraction, as we call
those who emigrate to this country from
the north of Ireland. They form a con-
siderable portion of the population of that
part of this state which lies west of the
64 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
Blue Ridge; and those who are fond of
such curious general speculations, often
dispute which make the most valuable
description of population, these, or the
descendants of German emigrants, or
Dutch, as they are commonly called, with
whom they form a most striking contrast.”
“I did not know,” said Gildon, “that
these two descriptions of settlers made any
considerable part of your population in
Virginia, as I knew it did in Pennsylva-
nia. I thought your people were more
homogeneous, and were principally of
English descent.”
“That is true with the eastern part of
Virginia,” said Edward.
“I should like to know,” Gildon then
remarked, “the great leading features of
these classes, and in what particulars they
most strikingly differ.”
“Well,” replied Edward, “let us sit
down on the log at the foot of yon shady
sycamore, and I will endeavour to exhibit
to you the characteristic virtues and faults
of each. My old friend M'Culloch is a
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 65
favourable specimen of one class, and a lady
in this neighbourhood is an unfavourable
specimen of the other.”
They walked on to the place proposed,
where a sycamore, on the river bank,
bending its large white trunk and massy
branches over the stream, formed a shade
impervious to the rays of a July sun. But
as Edward's dissertation may seem very
dull prosing to some of my readers, it is
put in a separate chapter, that those who
choose it, may pass it over without break-
ing the thread of the narrative; though
we would modestly hint, that sometimes
the mountain, whose waste and barren
surface exhibits neither flower nor leaf,
often contains valuable materials to those
who will take the trouble of searching a
little deeper for them.
66 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
CHAPTER IV.
**@@^^^^*****
“THE German settlers with us have ge-
nerally migrated from the western parts of
Maryland and Pennsylvania, and are for
the most part born in those states, and not
in Germany. But they retain their origi-
nal characteristics in the first generation
without much change; and when they
have lost the peculiarities of language, and
manners, and customs, there are some traits
of character less visible to ordinary eyes,
which they will probably retain long after-
wards, which will impress themselves on
their posterity for many generations, and
will, no doubt, have some effect in form-
ing the compound that is hereafter to
make our national character.
“They are, with few exceptions, a pains-
taking, plodding, frugal people; and so-
ber, more in consequence of their indus-
WALLEY OF SHENAND(@ATH. 67
trious pursuits, their slight relish for social
pleasures, and their habits of thrift, than
indifference to liquor. On the contrary,
they seem to have that love of strong
drink, which, natural to man in every cli-
mate, is strongestin wet and cold countries;
they are, in short, mere Germans in this
propensity; and many a one will get drunk
at another's expence, who will scarcely
drink at all at his own, and will lay aside
his sobriety altogether, when he has fallen
into habits of idleness: he is, in general, a
good domestic character, a kind and faith-
ful husband, and a provident master of his
family: his contentious humour spends
itself among his neighbours, and is shewn
not in riots and brawls, but in lawsuits—
not in the court-yard, but within the walls
of the court-house. When once engaged
in law, they never quit it until every ex-
pedient of new trials, rehearings, chan-
cery suits, and such like instruments of
the ‘law's delay' are exhausted; and so
long as the lawyer can keep up the jig,
these his favourite clients are ready to pay
68 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
the piper. There is nothing for which
they will part with their money so freely.
I remember to have heard a gentleman of
the bar tell my father, that a Dutchman
(as they are inaccurately termed, the few
Hollanders among us being distinguished
as low Dutch), called at his office one day,
and wished a suit brought against one of
his neighbours, with whom he had had
some petty dispute. As he gave a tedi-
ous, unintelligible account of the quarrel,
the attorney thought it best to question
him. *
‘Did he strike you?”
* No, he didn't shtrike, or I would have
peaten his d d prains out.’
* Did he offer to strike?”
* No; dat’s de same in law.”
‘Well, did he slander you?”
‘I has no proof of dat.’
* Has he got any of your land?”
‘No, indeed! do you think I would
let him get any of my land?”
“Has he done any injury to your cat-
tle, or any of your property?”
"VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 69
* I don’t know that he has.”
“Well, friend Stophal, I cannot see
that you have any ground of action: I
don't know what sort of suit I can bring.”
‘Don’t know !" he indignantly asked—
‘why bring a spite suit !” and persisted
in his wish, though he was assured he
would eventually have the costs to pay.
“In selecting sites for their habitations,
they always place them near the water,
commonly on some little stream, on whose
margin they can have a meadow—if large
enough to turn a mill, so much the bet-
ter. The grass and hay which these wet
situations afford, enable them to keep their
horses and cattle fat, and to supply at
moderate prices their less provident neigh-
bours with butter, cheese, small meats,
and some excellent vegetables. Most of
them mingle the pursuit of some handi-
craft trade with that of husbandry, and
are blacksmiths, wheelwrights, hatters, and
the like—in which occupations they some-
times attain a skill far above mediocrity,
though they are commonly very deficient
70 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
in taste. Their gardens furnish them
abundantly with potatoes, beets, peas,
beans, and other culinary vegetables; but
the favourite product of their kitchen gar-
den is the cabbage, which, by pickling
and subjecting to the acetous fermenta-
tion, they convert into sourkrout, an ex-
cellent antiscorbutic, and well adapted to
counteract the effects of eating salt meat.
They cultivate buckwheat very generally,
partly on account of the cakes they make
of its grain, and partly for the sake of
their bees, of which they keep great num-
bers, since this plant continues to bloom
long after all other flowers have disap-
peared. The honey thus extracted from
the buckwheat, is again brought into con-
tact with it at their tables, as it is com-
monly eaten with their nice buckwheat
cakes.
“Their wardrobes are abundantly sup-
plied with such clothing of linen, cotton,
and wool, intermingled in different pro-
portions, and variously striped with blue,
red, and yellow, as their own looms can
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 71
afford; and, except that they are not suf.
ficiently attentive to cleanliness, every
thing about them exhibits both comfort
and abundance.
“Thus possessed of the means of gra-
tifying his principal wants, which are
chiefly sensual, without ambition, and
without literature, the mind of the Ger-
man settler is contracted, and his disposi-
tion selfish. He takes little concern in
public affairs; he votes indeed at the elec-
tions, but always for the candidate by
whom he can make the most ; or in the
absence of the motive of interest, for him
who can flatter the best. A stranger to
all literary gratification, and knowing that
he has succeeded very well without learn-
ing, he gives little or no schooling to his
children. Having the wants which are
merely animal gratified, and being of a
phlegmatic temperament, he is compara-
tively without emulation, without gene-
rosity, without public spirit: he cares lit-
tle what is passing beyond the walls of his
little pomoerium; and all questions of po-
72 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
litics, or religion, or learning, which stir
up the busy passions of men, and have
awakened, the feelings of his ancestors, are
less than shadows to him, for they are
not even perceived.”
“Your picture is a very unfavourable
one,” said Gildon. “ Methinks they re-
semble these great worthless sycamores ;
they hold a place on the rich banks, which
a more useful tree would occupy if they
were away.”
“Not so,” said Edward; “for though
they are in many respects not altogether
to my taste, yet I hold them to be an use-
ful class of citizens in their place, and to
perform a good part in the great drama of
life. They are the dray-horses of society
—not fitted for the turf, as the high-met-
tled racer; nor for the chase, as the Chick-
asaw; or our own old field breed; nor for
war, as the Arabian; but well qualified to
execute that coarse but useful labour
which society, requires; and to keep up
the comparison you have made, you see
this tree is not without its use, as it af.
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 73
fords to us, and occasionally to the cattle
that pasture in these fields, the benefit of
its shade. It makes the best coal for our
smiths' shops, and growing kindly to the
water's edge, and very rapidly too, it keeps
the river in time of floods from washing
away its banks. They rapidly start up
where nothing else would spontaneously
grow; they enrich the ground by shading
it, and by much that they return to it;
and in good time they will give place to
trees of more value and usefulness, and be
themselves consigned to the smiths' shops:
though I am not sure but other trees
may be found that would afford these ad-
vantages, and yet be further useful for
timber, firewood, or fruit; if so, the time
will come when we shall have more lei-
sure to cultivate them, and they will take
the place of these barren sycamores.”
“But go on,” said Gildon, “with the
other part of your picture.”
“The Irish character presents, in almost
every thing, a strong contrast to that
WOL. I. E
74 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
which I have just placed before you ; as
ardent and impassioned as the others are
cold and phlegmatic—as imaginative as
the others are dull, they run into the most
violent extremes. Yet the Irish who
have migrated to this country, being for
the most part from the North of Ireland,
which was settled by the Scotch, partake
of the character of the latter. When bent
on the pursuits of gain or ambition, they
manifest great enterprise and perseve-
rance; but are often idle, indolent, and
improvident. Nothing is more common
here than to see one of the Scotch-Irish,
who has inherited a piece of good land,
when it was to be had for the trouble of
surveying it, and paying two dollars an
hundred acres into the public treasury, on
which he might easily have got rich, by a
course of extravagance and bad manage-
ment, be obliged to sell it before he is
thirty. And some of the best estates in
this valley are constantly passing from the
hands of the Irish, who were among the
WALLEY OF 'SHENANDOAH. 75
earliest settlers, into those of the more fru-
gal Dutch.
“The Scotch-Irish have both the vir-
tues and vices of bold, daring characters,
and sanguine temperaments. Hardy, rest-
less, brave, and enterprising, they have
been the most successful warriors against
the aboriginal proprietors of the country,
and the advance guard of civilization; and
when once society, in this our wilderness,
was accommodated with the useful arts,
and broken to the restraints of law and
civil government, they have ever proved
its most conspicuous ornaments. They
exhibit nothing of that frigid sameness of
character which distinguishes the Dutch-
man, whose phlegmatic temperament
makes him indolent, and sometimes reck-
less of the future, and sometimes patient
and persevering in amassing wealth. If
our Irish are uniform in any thing, it is,
that whatever may be the course they
take, they push it to extremes. Should
you here see one wasting his substance in
E 2
76 WALLEY OF SHENAND OAH.
N
thoughtless extravagance and unwarranted
luxury, you may there behold another en-
gaged in a course of rapid and adventu-
rous speculation. And even when aspiring
to build up à fortune by the slow gains of
Some regular pursuit, there is an extraor-
dinary boldness and decision in his career.
As a grazier, or a miller, or distiller, his
operations are carried on upon a large
scale, and if he fails (as it must be con-
fessed he often does), he can commonly
say with Phaeton, “tamen magnis eacidit
ausis.’
“In the affairs of the government he
feels the liveliest interest; and being com-
monly a presbyterian in religion, he has
more than the usual pride and intolerance
that that sect has been thought to inspire.
They have been, for the most part, fede-
ralists, since our country has been divided
into two parties, though I hear a large
majority of them belong to the other party
in Pennsylvania. It is somewhat curious,
but it has justly been remarked of the
Irish emigrants to America, that when
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 77
settled together in great numbers, they
are commonly good democrats; but when
dispersed about singly, or in small parties,
they are apt to be federalists.”
“I suppose,” says Gildon, “the fede-
ralists, who beat us in the art of making
proselytes, are able to gain over small
numbers, but they cannot convert large
Ones.”
“I don’t think that the reason,” said Ed-
ward. “When they are collected in great
numbers, they retain their original feelings
of resentment to the British government,
and zeal for the rights of the people, and
they find the principles of the democratic
party, and its systematic opposition to the
existing administration, accord better with
the character of this party, than do those
of the federalists; but when single, their
original political feelings, having nothing
to keep them up, die away after a while;
and being often regarded as Englishmen
by our countrymen, who are not very nice
in their distinctions, and consider every
European speaking English as an Eng-
78 VALI, EY OF SHENANDOAH,
lishman, and all others as Frenchmen, they
gradually get the feelings and predilec-
tions of those with whom they are con-
founded. They thus more naturally asso-
ciate with the federalists, who view the
English with favour, and most of whose
principles of government differ not widely
from those of an Englishman, except in
the article of hereditary right. You know
an Englishman or a Frenchman always
continues the same wherever he may live;
but it is otherwise with an Irishman, who
feels his country degraded by its depend-
ence; he readily identifies himself with
the country he adopts, and becomes a
Frenchman in France, a Spaniard in Spain,
and an American in the United States.”
“I believe,” said Gildon, “we must be
proud of our country, before we can love it.”
“But to return.—The Irish every where
shew a ready disposition to encourage
learning, and every other liberal institu-
tion. Where there is one German who
is taught the dead languages, there are
fifty Irishmen. These speaking the same
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 79
language with us, and having no irrecon-
cilable peculiarities in manners or modes
of living, they are more assimilated to the
natives, and occasionally hold places in
the legislature, the militia, and the magis-
tracy. If the German settler may be com-
pared to the dray-horse, the Scotch-Irish
resembles the light and spirited riding-
horse, a nobler animal by nature; and,
when free from defect, destined for wor-
thier purposes, but more liable to accident;
and if by some mischance, unfitted for the
saddle, of less utility than one of a heavier
and a coarser breed,
“My old friend, M*Culloch, who has
left us, has most of the characteristic vir-
tues and faults of his race. He has their
intolerance in religion; their intemperance
in politics; their prejudices local, personal,
religious, and political. He is an intole-
rant presbyterian—an intemperate fede-
ralist—has a general prejudice against all
Tuckahoes—a particular one against old
Hatchett, and was equally warm in his at-
tachment to my father. This affection he
80 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
has transferred to every member of the fa-
mily, and it is this which makes me for-
give him his politics, and bear with his
narrow prejudices against republican
France. Though he affects to speak rather
carelessly of his wife, he is known to be a
most tender husband, and she well deserves
his utmost affection. Indeed, it has been
his extreme indulgence to a numerous
tribe of children, and a restless, scheming
disposition, which has impaired a good es-
tate, and will drive him, I fear, at last, into
the wilds of Kentucky or Tennessee. But
while he suffers himself to fall into the
nets of old Hatchett, he is ever putting
me on my guard; and a little before we
parted, he urged me most pressingly to
take no steps towards relieving my father's
estate from a debt which it may have to
pay, on account of a securityship, without
first consulting him, who has experience
in these matters, and like a guide-post, as
he says himself, can shew the way to
others, though he cannot take it himself.”
Perceiving now, some distance above
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 81
them, a number of reapers, which, by rea-
son of a bend in the river and an inter-
vening hill, had been previously inter-
cepted, Gildon inquired if they had been
mowing hay?
“No,” replied Edward, “we are now
in the midst of our oat harvest; and as I
have not seen many of our field negroes
or people at the quarter, as we call it, if
you have no objection, we will return that
way to the house.”
* With all my heart; I want to see as
much as I can of your system of farming,
and of managing a plantation in Virginia.
I have sometimes a thought of turning a
southern planter or farmer myself. I hate
our long winters and harsh springs; and
there must be something very pleasant, af.
ter all, in having so many persons over
whom you are supreme and sovereign
lord. Do not you feel, Edward, when
riding over these vast domains of yours,
something like a feudal baron 2 My fa-
ther had a little farm, in Duchess County,
E 3
82 VAL LEY OF SHENANDG)AH.’
on which he worked from four to five
slaves; and although he had much more
valuable lands rented out (and a large te-
ritory gives a man no little consequence),
yet my view of these fertile lands never
gave me half the gratification that was
afforded by a sight of the blacks. I
thought that the tenants were always jea-
lous of the superiority which they believed
I assumed; and except now and then a
mean fellow, who wanted indulgence for
his rent, or had not complied with the co-
venants in his lease, they were always ta-
king pains to shew me they regarded them-
selves my equals. There is something
very fascinating, now confess it, Edward,
in this unlimited control, let us fiery re-
publicans say what we will. Indeed what
is the love of liberty, but the love of doing
what we please? and, consequently, he
who is proud of his own freedom, is equal-
ly gratified at controlling the freedom of
others.”
“A very ingenious piece of sophistry,
upon my word,” said Eward. “You
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 83
think, then, that the same sentiment which
makes a man wish to be master of his own
actions, makes him wish to control the ac-
tions of others; or, in other words, that
the love of freedom and the love of tyran-
ny are one and the same thing. No; be
assured that he who has a proper sense of
his own rights, has a due respect for the
rights of others; and common sense must
dictate to every rational mind, that the
wish which he recognises of being his own
master, is also felt by others; and that that
is the most perfect system öf civil liberty
which can best gratify the desires of all :
and it is imperfect in proportion as it falls
short of this result, until it degenerates
into downright despotism, where only a
single person isfree, if indeed the fears and
dangers that environ him suffer him to
be so.” -
“A very pretty dissertation this for a
Virginia planter,” said Gildon. “You
must have intended it for part of an ora-
tion on the fourth of July. I dare ven-
ture to say there is an audience in sight
84 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH,
which would readily subscribe to your
doctrines.”
“I was aware,” said Edward, “ that
you consider these principles as inconsis-
tent with our practice——but nothing can be
more unfair than the charge of inconsis-
tency. We, of the present generation, find
domestic slavery established among us,
and the evil, for I freely admit it to be an
evil, both moral and political, admits of no
remedy that is not worse than the disease.
No thinking man supposes that we could
emancipate them, and safely let them re-
main in the country; and no good or pru-
dent man would run the risk of renewing
the scenes which have made St. Domingo
one general scene of waste and butchery.
Nor has any practical scheme as yet been
devised for sending them abroad—and we
should pause a while in deliberating on
its practicability, when we recollect that
history tells us of no country which has
ever been able to rid itself of so large a
part of its population, as the blacks now
compose in the southern states. The ex-
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 85
pulsion of the Moors from Spain, comes
nearest to it; but, besides that their num-
bers were much fewer, they had only a
narrow sea to cross, and they were in an-
other continent. Their banishment too
was complete, and for ever. While here,
they must either be colonized on our bor-
ders, at all events on the same continent,
or they must be transported to the dis-
tance of three thousand miles. In this
choice of difficulties, what are we to do—
what can we-do, but to select the least
formidable 2 and since we cannot confer
on them, or restore to them (if you will)
some of those rights which we ourselves so
highly prize, without endangering not
only these, but every other we possess, we
must even sit down contented, and endea-
vour to mitigate a disease which admits of
no cure. Because we do not indulge in
idle declamation about the injurious con-
sequences of domestic slavery, yet do not
infer that our politicians are insensible
to them. The theme is an ungrateful one
—like any other natural defect or misfor-
86 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAHſ.
tune which is incurable, we are fully
aware of its disadvantages—that it checks
the growth of our wealth—is repugnant to
its justice—inconsistent with its principles
-injurious to its morals—and dangerous
to its peace. Yet after giving the subject
the most serious and attentive considera-
tion, and finding it admitted of no other
safe remedy but what time may bring
some centuries hence, they are fain to ac-
quiesce in their inevitable destiny, and
now consider all speculations on rights
which cannot be enforced, but at the ex-
pence of still higher and dearer rights, ei-
ther as the ebullitions of well-meaning but
short-sighted enthusiasm, as sheer folly, or
the hypocritical pretences of the lovers of
mischief. And while we set taskmasters
over our slaves—give them coarse food
and clothing, and occasionally subject them
to punishment—while those who are most
successful in the management of them,
spend the profits of their labour, sometimes
foolishly enough, yet neither is their situa-
tion so bad, nor ours so enviable, as you
WALLEY Qif SHENANDOAH. 87
might at first suppose. They are perhaps
better supplied with the necessaries of life
than the labouring class of any country
out of America. They have their plea-
sures and enjoyments according to their
station and capacity, and probably enjoy
as much happiness, with as few drawbacks,
as any other class of our population. The
error on this subject proceeds from a white
man's supposing himself in the situation
of a slave, without recollecting that these
people were born slaves, and that there is
as much difference between their feelings
respecting their condition, and those of a
white man, as is the privation of sight to
one who is born blind, and one who has
become so. *
“Nor is the pride of conscious power
so strong a sentiment as you seem to ap-
prehend. I believe that slaves are more
often regarded as instruments of gratify-
ing avarice, than the love of power. If I
know myself, I am, as a slave-holder, a
stranger to the latter sentiment. Those
who are born masters are no doubt very
88 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
authoritative—very impatient of disobe-
dience or contradiction; but they find lit-
tle more to flatter their pride in their
power over their slaves than in that they
possess over their horses or dogs; or (if
that sounds harshly, and conveys an idea
of their degradation, which I certainly did
not mean,) no more than the authority
which a parent exerts over his children.
It will be found that the average profits
of their labour does not permit us to ex-
tend to them greater indulgences and
more comforts; for, as things are, where
there is one who derives a large profit
from their labour, there are two or three
who barely make both ends meet; and
not a few who every year, without much
extravagance, eat into their capital, and
find, that after deducting the cost of their
maintenance, the fruits of their labour
yield little over a rent for the land.”
“Your estate is a profitable one, is it
not ?” said Gildon.
“I know not what it might be under
judicious management; but under the
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAHſ. 89
system pursued by my father, of extra-
ordinary confidence in his agents, and
extraordinary indulgence to his slaves, I
imagine, from what I have been able to
see of his affairs, that it did not yield him
two per cent. On his capital.”
By this time they had reached the
harvest field, in which Gildon saw nine
strong, athletic negro men, in, the prime
of life, cutting down a heavy crop of oats
with their long scythes and cradles; while
about twice the number of women and
boys were following them, some of whom
were binding up the sheaves, and others
forming them in small stacks. They
were plentifully supplied with whiskey,
which no doubt contributed to their good
humour, though every where the gather-
ing in the fruits of agricultural labour is
an occasion of feasting and hilarity. An
overseer, a middle-aged man, of a serious
aspect and steady demeanour, was looking
on the work, directing their operations,
and occasionally assisting. He greeted
Edward very cordially, though respect-
90 vaLiFY OF SHENANDOAH.
fully; and Gildon saw that the slaves all
welcomed “Master Edward,” and “my
master,” “ and my young master,” in a
manner that convinced him, whatever
might be the condition of other slaves,
the bonds of those of Beachwood sat
lightly upon them. .
. Those who were near came up and
shook hands with him, and to each of
them he had something to say, by in-
quiries about their children, or their own
little crops or gardens, or poultry. They
all testified the most unaffected joy at
seeing him, with the exception of a young
man about his own age, who, hanging
down his head under the pretext of pick-
ing up the oats, never ventured to ap-
proach, or even turn his eyes towards
Edward. He had, it seems, won the
affections of a favourite housemaid of
Mrs. Grayson's, when he had been the
chief dining-room servant, which trespass,
the same dame nature who had inspired
it, had also brought to light; and for this
act of gallantry, which had not been sanc-
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 91
tioned by the consent of their elders, nor
was warranted by the immature years of
his sable Helen (she not being fourteen),
though he was ready to make honourable
amends, and did so in fact, he was sent
to the crop, and put under the overseer,
by way of punishment. As the negroes
about the mansion-house are better fed,
better clothed, and more intelligent, they
look upon themselves as the superiors of
the crop hands; and no degraded courtier
feels deeper mortification than a slave who
is thus taken from the house and put in
the crop, or sent to the quarter.
Edward yet felt an attachment for this
boy, who had been brought up with him,
and had been the humble playfellow of
his early years until this act of profana-
tion. When he saw his deep shame and
humility, he felt his ancient good-will
return, and approaching him, carelessly
said—“Well, Peter, how do you like
working in the crop 2 how are you?”
-holding out his hand.
Peter, who had long since been recon-
92 VALI, EY OF SHENANDOAH.
ciled to his new situation, and wanted
only Edward's sanction to address him,
seized his hand, and with the graceful
bow of a courtier, and a countenance light-
ed up with joy, strongly manifested by
two rows of large white teeth, and a pair
of prominent staring eyes, said, he hoped
his young master had been well since he
had been down the country. In answer
to the question put to him by Edward,
he replied—“I like it very well, sir; but I -
would rather wait upon you.”
“I have often heard,” said Gildon,
“ that the labour of a slave was but half
that of a freeman, yet I scarcely think
that I ever saw our stoutest and most
active labourers work more willingly, or
with better effect, than these bondsmen
of yours.” .
“Perhaps,” said Edward, “this is not
a fair specimen of their ordinary perform-
ance, both on account of our presence,
and because harvest is a kind of holiday
work. The occasion of securing the re-
ward of the year's toil is always a cheerful
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 93
one; and they have, at this time, an extra
allowance of food, and a liberal supply of
whiskey, of which they are all extrava-
gantly fond. But on a well-regulated
estate, on which the slaves have been pro-
perly brought up and well managed, their
labour, when they are actually engaged,
differs little from that of freemen. They
have, too, their feelings of pride and their
emulation with the neighbouring farms,
and with one another, which though not
operating so generally, or so steadily as
self-interest, operates sometimes, and on
some individuals, quite as efficiently. I
am sure there are several men in that row
who as completely identify themselves
with our family as if the crop was their
own. See that man who is third from
the leader of the set: he was long the
foreman, that is, deputy overseer, on the
Easton estate, and it was his pride to lead
the row in every rural employment, whe-
ther of topping or suckering tobacco, or
planting, or pulling fodder, or cradling;
but he is now getting in years, and nothing
94 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
consoles him for being obliged to yield
the post of honour, but that it is occupied
by his sons, who, for strength, activity,
and faithful attachment, are treading in
their father's steps. Their grandmother
is yet alive, and though weak in sight and
somewhat deaf, is otherwise healthy in
body and mind. She has successively
nursed my paternal grandmother, my
father, and us, and seems to feel for us, in
regular succession, all the attachment that
she could feel for her own children. She
almost wept this morning when I called
at her cabin to see her.” -
“You think, then, that considered
merely with the eye of an economist,
slavery is not a national evil?” said Gildon.
“Far from it,” replied Edward. “It
does operate to lessen very greatly the
productive labour of a country—but not,
I think, in the way it is commonly sup-
posed. It is obviously the interest of the
slave to make as little, and consume as
much as he can, if you attribute to him
the first feelings of our nature, the love of
WALLEY GE SHENANDOAH. 95
ease and enjoyment—and this seems a
sufficient cause why their labour, and skill,
and care, should be less than that of free-
men. But if they are disposed to work
less, they are sometimes compelled to
work more; and fear, and habit, and the
little emulations I have mentioned, make
the result not materially variant from that
of freemen. And in like manner, if they
are inclined to consume more, they are
often compelled to consume less than they
would do if they could command the fruits
of their own labour. There is many an
industrious, ingenious slave, now clothed
in oznaburg and napt coating, who, if the
master of his earnings, would wear fine
linen and broad cloth. No ; it is in the
effect which slavery has on the whites,
that the chief mischief is produced. It
consigns this half of the population to idle-
ness, or tends to consign them, both by
making their labour less necessary, and by
making it degrading. You observe that,
twice the number of menials are necessary
to a man of small fortune here, than are so
96 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
to a man of large fortune with you ; for
none of our citizens, male or female, will
perform the smallest domestic duties for
themselves. Believe me, it surprised and
a little shocked me, when I first saw, in
the houses of some substantial farmers in
your state, sensible and well-bred females
get up from table to hand bread, or cyder,
and aid in setting dishes on the table—or
the master of the house saddling and bri-
dling his own horse, and bringing in logs
of wood for his fire. As our whites who
can command the labour of slaves are not
permitted to work, by their prejudices and
their pride, for want of other employment
they are very much exposed to the seduc-
tions of gaming and drinking. Its moral
effects," however, present a wide field for
speculation, and are not unmingled with
good.—But whither is this discussion lead-
ing me? Our dinner-hour is now at hand,
and my mother, who is a disciple of the
old school, will expect us to make some
alteration in our dress for dinner, if it be
only to have our boots brushed, and our
v'ALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 97
heads powdered.—Good morning—I beg
pardon—good evening, Mr. Snead;" and
they crossed the fresh stubble till they’
reached the hill which runs parallel to the
river, and following the path at the foot of
it, they proceeded to the mansion-house.
When within an hundred yards of the
house, the kitchen bell sounded, and Gil-
don expressed his fear they would not be
in time, but was told that it was the prac-
tice to ring twice, with an interval of half
an hour, both for breakfast and dinner, by
which the members of the family had time
to give a punctual attendance, and to
make those preparations in dress that were
then deemed indispensable in the best
houses in Virginia, but which are now
pretty generally dispensed with. w
Gildon found Primus in his room, with
all the apparatus of water, towels, brushes,
powder, and pomatum, by the aid of
which he soon made himself more com-
fortable as to his feelings, and not the less
so, I imagine, from the persuasion that he
• VOL. I. F
98 - VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
would appear to more advantage in the
eyes of the fair Louisa. While under the
operation of this youth, a slim, black, and
rather ill-favoured chap, but shrewd, live-
ly, and obsequious, he felt a disposition,
which is rather more natural than strictly
proper, to glean some information upon
the subject that had most occupied his
thoughts since he had reached Beachwood.
“Upon my word, my good fellow, you
are a most accomplished friseur—old La-
font never made a better pigeon wing
than you have given me.”
“I served my time in Fredericksburg,
sir.” º -
“You must have kept your hand in
since your young master was away. I
suppose you have dressed many a fine
gentleman within the last six months.”
“I have sometimes tried my hand, sir.”
“Well, and what spruce beaux have
you dressed?” looking in the glass, and
pressing down one of the side curls then
in fashion. . . . -
“Why, sir, there was lawyer Barbawl,
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 99.
and Mr. Jim Dunder, and Mr. Ben Dun-
der, and doctor Tiresang, and Mr. Bel-
main, from South-Carolina, sometimes.”
“And why,” said Gildon, “did you
not always dress him 2*
“Because he brought his own servant,
sir.” -
“And which of all these fine gentle-
men did you like best ?” said Gildon,
taking up a clothes-brush, arid looking in
the glass while brushing his clothes.
“Why, sir, they be all very clevergen-
tlemen to me—but I think Mr. Belmain
was the spryest man among the ladies:
he be so handsome—he dress so fine—he
talk so sweet.”
“I suppose, then, you would like him,”
hesitating, and rather doubting whether
he was not going too far, “for a young
master.”
“I prefer master Edward to any other
gentleman—he is so generous and so good;
but Mr. Belmain have no chance to be
my young master this time: my young
mistress is so hard to please.”
F 2
IOO VAI, LEY OF SHENANDOA. H.
“How do you know that?” y
“Oh, can't I see 2 You think nigger
got no eyes! He is mighty rich they say,
and his man tell me he was a going to call
here again on his way from the springs this
summer. He had such a pretty phaeton,
and two such elegant bays, and a led horse
besides. But, according to my notion,
Miss Louisa won't go to South-Carolina;
it is too sickly.”
Gildon having now nothing more to
adjust or to brush about his person, by
way of pretext for continuing this dia-
logue, and satisfied for the present with
the information he had obtained, descend-
ed to the parlour, where Primus soon ap-
peared with a nimble step, but a face as
demure as if he had never seen Gildon be-
fore, and presented to him a silver salver,
on which was a black bottle and some
glasses.
“Is that toddy cool P” said Edward.
“It is just taken from the spring, sir.”
“I believe that is a drink which is not
much known out of Virginia.”
WALLEY OF SHENANIDOAH, 10 I
“Not much with us, except in some
southern families, or when it is provided
specially for them. But I have learnt to
drink it, and it is now my favourite beve-
rage.”
Louisa was dressed in a loose muslin
tunic, trimmed with her favourite pink-
coloured riband, and a straw gipsy, lined
with the same colour. The heat of the
curling-irons had given an unusual glow
to her complexion, naturally delicate,
which the reflection from her gipsy
heightened still more, and she stood in
the full blaze of youthful innocence and
beauty. º t
Gildon thought he had never seen a face
half as lovely, and could scarcely forbear
complimenting her on her good looks and
taste; but the bright vision which so won
his admiration, also chastened it, and pro-
duced an unusual degree of respect. He
however paid what is a much truer ho-
mage to her charms, and the force of
which all females know by instinct—he
turned his eye towards her, and in a fixed
102 vaLLEY OF shBNANDoAH.
gaze seemed for a moment unconscious of
all besides. He soon recovered his pre-
sence of mind, and addressing himself to
Mrs. Grayson, began to speak of the plea-
sures of farming and of rural life—varied
in summer by a trip to Bath, or some other
watering-place; and in the winter, by a
visit to the metropolis, or some of the
northern cities. Louisa, pleased, and flat-
tered that one who was familiar with
scenes which her imagination had repre-
sented as so fascinating, should find any
thing desirable in so secluded a situation,
could not but take credit to herself for
some part of his animated eulogium on the
pleasures of retirement; and while she was
conscious that more gay and social scenes
were coveted by her youthful heart, excited
as it was by an ardent fancy, she did not
seek to weaken or controvert a taste that
she could not but consider an indirect tri-
bute to her charms.
They were summoned to dinner in very
different frames of mind—Mrs. Grayson
and her son, thinking, in spite of them-
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 103
selves, on the difficulties in which the
debts and pecuniary engagements of colo-
nel Grayson were about to involve them—
while they each had their separate causes
of anxiety, which sadly harmonized with
the gloomy and unpleasant picture that
was common to both. Every thing that
looked like difficulty, or threatened disas-
ter, reminded her of the loss of that friend
who bore the chief brunt of such evils, and
when misfortune, by the balm of conjugal
sympathy, was deprived of more than half
its force. The very virtues and attractions
too of her children, gave a keener edge to
her sufferings when she recollected with
how much pride he would have beheld
the fondest anticipations of his early life
completely realized. There mingled too
with Edward's anxieties, fears for the loss
of Matilda, whom her friends might pre-
vent from accepting his hand, and whom,
if that obstacle were removed, his own
pride and sense of honour would not per-
mit him to marry, if he should be reduced
to indigence. Gildon and Louisa, how-
I04 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
ever pleased with themselves and pleased
with each other, and their fancies kindled
by the power of personal beauty and the
blandishments of flattery, already swam in
visionary bliss. They sat down to a neat,
well-dressed dinner, which, though little
better than that which the table exhibited
every day, Gildon supposed manifested
extraordinary preparation on his account.
He had spent much of his time in
Albany and the city of New-York, and
he was forcibly struck with the contrast
which he thought he perceived between
the house and furniture of his friend's
family, and their table and style of living.
If the former fell short of his expectations,
the latter certainly exceeded them. A
canvas floor-cloth, nicely waxed indeed,
but with its original colours and figures
almost effaced, nearly covered the floor;
the chairs were of dark walnut, with high
backs, and an antiquated form, with stuff.
ed leather seats. Family portraits of Mrs.
Grayson's grandfather and grandmother,
in carved frames, and six prints of Ho-
v.ALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 105
garth's Marriage a-la-mode, decorated the
walls. On a sideboard, whose form and
dark 'ebony colour bespoke its age, shone
two well-polished mahogany knife-cases,
several drinking-glasses, and what alone
came up to his ideas of congruity, three
or four pieces of well-kept plate. On the
table, however, every thing indicated lux-
ury the most refined, as well as neatness
and comfort. The fine damask table-
cloth, and blue mankin china, set off each
other to the best advantage. The dinner
consisted of soup; a savoury ham, gar-
nished with young cabbage; a green
goose; boiled chicken, and a stew of ve.
nison. The drink was toddy, household
beer, and Madeira. Gildon shewed that
he was not insensible to the display of
hospitality that had been made on his
account. He did ample justice to every
dish, but he was seen to prefer both the
beer and the Madeira to his favourite
beverage; nor did he fail to bear a liberal
part in the dessert, which, though it con-
F 3
106 vaLLEY OF SHENANDoAH.
sisted of nothing but baked pears and
such dainties as every day affords, and a
bit of English cheese, was excellent in its
kind. º
Gildon, with such substantial reasons
for being in a good humour, was in the
happiest vein of pleasantry. Sometimes
he amused them with little anecdotes of
his college adventures; sometimes he made
Edward the subject of a playful raillery,
as to his conquests with the ancient
maidens of Williamsburg, or his occasional
abstraction and absence of mind, or fits of
enthusiasm; selecting such topics (for he
could have found no other) which under
his skilful banter, though they might raise
a laugh, were upon the whole calculated
to exalt him; so that Mrs. Grayson, for a
time, forgot her sorrows and perplexities,
and good-naturedly suffered herself to be
pleased with the playful gaiety of the
lively New-Yorker; and Edward, always
delighted to see his mother's countenance
Highted with a smile, not only forgave,
WALLEY GF SHENANDOAH- I07
but even invited and encouraged the sal-
lies of his friend.
The agreeable transformation thus
wrought on the countenances of her mo-
ther and brother, acted anew on Louisa.
They gave a richer glow to her cheek, a
more dazzling brightness to her eyes; and
she felt gratitude for those pleasing talents
which could so diffuse the charm of cheer-
fulness around them, and which were in-
trinsically so admirable in themselves.
She thought she had never seen so agree-
able a young man.
“I wonder, brother, you do not reta-
liate on Mr. Gildon, and let us into some
of his secrets,” said Louisa, awaiting his
answer with eager curiosity, but half afraid
of betraying it.
“Oh I believe I can defy him,” said
Gildon : “he is too much in the clouds
to know what concerns such a son of earth
as I am. Whenever he formally sets out
on a tour of knight-errantry, I shall ac-
company him, that I may catch some of
108 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
the spirit of the mirror of modern chi-
valry.”
“That, I presume,” said Edward, “will
depend upon whether I direct my course
northerly or not.”
Louisa felt a degree of uneasiness at
this remark, which was almost unperceived
by herself; and, with an awakened cu-
riosity, she observed—“Why people ge-
nerally go abroad, and not towards home,
to seek adventures.”
“True, my dear sister, but though
Don Quixote went abroad in search of
adventures, he was not unwilling to return
to Toboso.”
“Oh,” said Louisa, not much gratified
with the explanation, though affecting to
smile, “I had not been thinking of a
dulcinea P’
Gildon, whom the turn the conversation
had now taken at first a little embar-
rassed, soon recovered his self-possession.
—“Oh, certainly, ma'am, you would not
think so unfavourably of me as to suppose
me wanting in this necessary appendage
vALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 109
to every one who aspires to the honour of
chivalry. Yes; I too have a dulcinea.
I have often described her to my friend
Grayson, and I will now describe her to
you.” And he began, and in his happy
style of the burlesque and mock heroic,
delineated a little fat, blowsy, red-headed
girl of Troy, who had honoured him with
a valentine, the poetry of which he recited
very ludicrously as follows:–
“The rose is red, the violet blue,
They both are sweet, and so are you—
Oh prove you're not more sweet than true.
“As sun-flowers to the sun incline,
My face still turns to follow thine,
And hence you are my Valentine.
‘The rose, when from the stalk 'tis torn,
Soon sheds its leaves, but keeps its thorn—
Oh, serve not thus thy Ann Vanhorn?’
You see,” said he, “ that this damsel of
Troy was another Sappho as well as a
Helen'; and I could do nothing less than
vow to her beauty and genius a service of
seven years, which, (after a pause and a
II.0 WALLEY OF SHENANE)OAH4.
comic, but significant look to Louisa) ex-
pired last evening.” *
All this was said with such a careless
ease, that Louisa was satisfied her bro-
ther's allusion meant nothing serious; and
Edward, admiring his dexterity at evading
the subject, and carried away by his
friend's diverting sallies, spared all further
attack; especially as Gildon had long since
assured him, that the early preference to
which Edward had at first alluded, he had
entirely overcome.
The ladies soon retired from table, and
Louisa said to her mother—“ Mamma, do
you not think Mr. Gildon very witty 2”
“He is very entertaining indeed, my
dear,” replied Mrs. Grayson; “but I value
him more for his friendship and generous
services to your brother, than for those
qualities, which, though they may gain
the applause of a crowd, do little in pro-
curing solid happiness, either to the pos-
sessor or to those who are joined with
him in the same family circle.”
“But, mamma, I have often heard you
VALI, EY OF SHENANDOAH. III
say, that nothing was more important
than good humour in making those around
us happy.”
“True, my child; but there is a wide
difference between the good humour which
is the result of a mild temper and con-
tented mind, and the mere exuberance of
animal spirits united with a sprightly
fancy. The one may dazzle and please
at the festive board—the other makes all
around us happy at home. We admire
the one as we gaze at a flashing meteor,
with surprise and delight; but in a mo-
ment it passes away and is forgotten. It
is the other, which, like the mild rays of
the sun in winter, cheers and warms us
when every thing around is bleak and
dreary. This quality can easily be asso-
ciated not only with great violence of
temper, but with a very cold heart and
great selfishness of feeling.” But recol-
lecting the pleasure she had so recently
derived from Gildon's sprightly powers,
she added—“It is, however, an amiable
talent that can cause a smile or a laugh
} 12 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH,
at pleasure, and cheat life of some of its
cares and vexations, as I have this day
experienced.” f
Louisa was delighted to find her mo-
ther's opinion thus far coincide with her
own; but had an undefinable repugnance
to herself to let her feelings be known;
and without further reply retired to her
room, to pursue some one of her usual
occupations of reading, needlework, or
writing to her female correspondents.
Edward being remarkably temperate at
table, and Gildon having done ample
justice to the Madeira, the former pro-
posed to take a stroll towards the river,
and look at their corn, then in the silk,
when (as in animals approaching maturity)
it is in the most rapid state of growth.
As they passed along a row of small huts
or cabins, somewhat irregularly arranged,
with a little garden or truck patch roughly
enclosed attached to each, Edward pro-
posed to step in and see old Granny Mott,
whose long services and numerous pro-
geny he had spoken of in the morning.
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 113
They entered a low cabin made of hewn
logs, notched at the ends so as nearly to
touch; and the more effectually to ex-
clude the cold and the air, the small spaces
between were filled in with mud. The
chimney was made of the same materials
as the house, except that the logs were
smaller, and the inside was also plastered
with a thick coat of mud. The door
afforded the only aperture for the ad-
mission of light or air. The floor was of
the original earth, made hard by long use,
and clean by sweeping, which a tidy mu-
latto girl of fourteen, her granddaughter,
regularly performed every morning.
The old woman sat near the door,
winding from a reel some hanks of cotton
thread which little Milly had spun. She
was dressed in a yellow and white striped
homespun wrapper and petticoat, and had
a cap tied under her chin that partly dis-
covered her grisly locks, and round her
neck a handkerchief, which (as well as the
cap), from its whiteness and fineness, had
probably once the honour of belonging to
114 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
some more dignified member of the family.
She was of a yellowish complexion, with
features more raised and delicate than
belong to the African face, and eyes that
still retained much of the fire they had
once emitted.
As soon as Edward darkened her door,
she turned round her head and said—
“God bless my young master—how has
he been this long time? I thought you
would come to see Granny. I was afraid
my poor old eyes would never see you
again. And how did you leave them all
at Williamsburg 2—master James's family
—Miss Betsy's, and your uncle Wil.
liam's?”—running over a long list of
names as they suggested themselves to
her enfeebled memory, like one soliloqui-
zing.—“Well, my young master, you
find old Granny here still.”
“And how are you, Granny—and how
have you been this winter?” said Edward.
“Oh, it was mighty cold !—I can't stand
cold as I used to do, and the overseer
stints me in wood: but my mistress, God
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 115
bless her, make Joe’sometimes take the
cart and bring me a load. But this coun-
try colder, my child, than where you
been.”
“Not much, Granny, I think.”
“Oh yes, my master, this place so near
the mountains. Snow be there one or
two days; but be here upon the moun-
tains all the year. Did you see cousin
Phoebe, that belonged to old counsellor
Carter P” -
“Yes, Granny, I know her very well:
she asked after you : she is very fond of
talking of old times.”
“Why, my master, Phoebe could tell
you all about it—phew,” with a sort of
half whistle, expressing at once her admi-
ration of the past, and contempt of the
present times—“there is nothing like it
now-a-days. Yes, Phoebe know what grand
doings took place when the governor drive
down from the palace to the capitol in his
coach and six, and the soldiers march up
and down with their scarlet coats, the
drums a beating and colours flying: and
116 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
then such show and parade at the palace.
It was in the time of the great lord Bote-
tourt, whose image they afterwards had
all cut out of marble. And my old mas-
ter, my mistress's grandfather, was such a
grand gentleman, with his great rich cha-
riot and outriders, and his gold-laced
waistcoat that reach down to his knees—
not such little, pinched up things, as you
all wear now-a-days, child; and the ladies
with their stomachers and long laced cuffs,
and their hoops, and their toupees, and
curls, and silks, and brocades—they are all
gone. Bristol beer and London porter
were as common then as whiskey is now;
and all the gentlemen had their waiting-
men in such fine liveries—my old master'
was orange and green; and all wore i.
finest and the best, and all brought in
from England every year of their lives.
These old eyes have lived to see great
changes, master Edward.”
“What is your age, old woman 2" said
Gildon. º
“I am eighty-four the tenth day of
VALLEY OF SHENAND OAH. 117
}ºf
next October, please God I live so long.
My old master of all put down my age,
and gave me to his eldest daughter, that
is, Miss Betsy's mother. I remember
when general Braddock march out of
Williamsburg, with his soldiers and rifle-
men, and cannon and all. I was there
waiting on my young mistress, and had
done had my last child. There was a
mighty fuss then about the French and
the Indians; and they took up a French-
man that went about dressing hair, and
put him in gaol; and old lawyer Randall
spoke for him, and got him clear; and the
governor was so mad he would not speak
to lawyer Randall, My old master then,
your mamma's grandfather Allen, had a
great tract of land here that he bought of
the Indians; and I have heard my young
master, that is your grandfather Harrison
say, that the first quarter he settled here
was where major Fawkner now lives, and
which he afterwards sell to the Dutch
people; and the father of old Steener come
in as a waiting man; and that after he
IT 8 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.’
had served out his time, he turned in,
and was a mighty sober, hard-working,
careful man—bought him a little piece of
land, and went on saving while my old
master went on spending, until he bought
them very Elms—and now they are as
great as any body. But I tell Milly they
an’t quality after all.”
“I thought, Granny, the Fawkners
were people of great consequence in old
times,” said Edward.
“And so they were: old counsellor
Fawkner was one of the grandest people
on James River. I know folks talked
mightily when his son married the old
Dutch grazier's daughter; and they al-
lowed that the old colonel would never
have give his consent if he had not run
through his estate. But for my part, I
think they are all upstarts now-a-days.
There is only a few of the old families
left, and they can just keep their heads
above water.”
Edward, to whom this topic was an
unpleasant one, by way of changing it,
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 119
said—“Bless me, Granny, what a fine cap
you have!”
“Ah, major Fawkner's daughter, that
went to school with our little Louisa, and
is so fond of her, sent it to me. She is a
sweet young lady. She and my young
mistress used to come and sit here by the
hour, helping old Granny to wind broach-
es; and sometimes,” added the old dame,
with a chuckling laugh, “doing Milly's
task for her. Milly was always mighty
glad to see them here.”
Edward felt not a little gratified at her
reply, as this act of Matilda's considerate
kindness not only evinced a feeling heart,
but his self-complacency told him, that
possibly it had been partly on his account,
as the old woman had been his nurse, and
he was known to be much attached to her.
“She is very beautiful then, is she 2"
said Gildon.
“Oh yes, master, she is mighty good—
pretty enough too; but not so pretty as
my Louisa.”
Edward Smiled and said—“Well, Gran-
120 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
ny, if they won't bring you wood, or these
young chaps refuse to wait upon you, let
me know. Now we must leave you—
good bye to you.”
“Heaven bless my young master!” said
the old dame.—“Good bye, master,” to
Gildon.—“He puts me so much in mind
of his grandfather, colonel Harrison,” said
she, in a sort of soliloquy, after they had
gone.
Having left the cabin, they proceeded
on their walk towards the field. Edward
told Gildon, that “the old woman being
naturally an admirer of past times, dwelt
with peculiar fondness upon those circum-
stances of show and expence which had
most excited her youthful imagination—
and that she still retained all the reve-
rence for every thing English, which was
prevalent in those times; and consequent-
ly, her predilections for rank and official
dignity, had given her a distaste to the
equality which now prevails, and to those
persons who had newly made their for-
tunes—upstarts as she called them : in
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. I21
short, she is what is now termed a rank
aristocrat; but one may tolerate in her,
ignorant and uneducated as she is, pre-
judices to which M'Culloch ought to be
superior.”
Having diverted themselves with the
old woman's aristocratic pride, and viewed
the crop of Indian corn then tasseling and
displaying all the luxuriance that heat,
moisture, and a fertile soil could bestow,
they returned to the drawing-room a little
before candles were lighted; when the
fire-fly is first seen to emit its bright but
transient flash, like stars shooting across
the firmament, and the whippoorwill com-
mences his monotonous but expressive
II].Oar1.
VOL: I. G.
122 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
CHAPTER V.
wººdºº-ºººººººººººººº
THE old woman's prejudices in favour of
birth and family furnished Gildon with a
fine subject of pleasantry when he re-
turned to the drawing-room, and he said
he did not wonder his friend Edward
was so high-minded, and so much in the
heroics, when he had been brought up
under so aristocratic a nurse. A few
lively sallies of this sort, drinking tea, and
a little music, filled up a short summer's
evening, and about ten they retired to
their respective apartments.
Several days glided away at Beachwood,
pretty much after the fashion of the one
we have somewhat circumstantially de-
tailed, with only that limited variety which
a country situation affords—a variety
which, however dull in the recital, or to
one accustomed to the tumultuous bustle
*
vallFY OF SHENANDOAH. 123
and agitating stir of large cities, is yet,
after a while, sufficient to make life en-
joyed, and perhaps more thoroughly en-
joyed than in more heart-stirring situa-
tions.
They usually rode from about two to
four hours every morning after breakfast
—sometimes to the fields, where the over-
seer and the slaves were engaged in some
operation of the farm; but sometimes they
crossed the river, and following the public
road through Ashby's Gap, found amuse-
ment or obtained intelligence from any
traveller they chanced to meet. Occa-
sionally pursuing some small track to the
right or left, they were led to one of the
many settlements scattered through the
mountains, when, alighting, they entered
the humble dwelling, (with the owner of
which Edward was in general well ac-
quainted,) and whiled away an hour or
two. Or if the place invited, they scram-
bled to the top of some prominent point
or crag, from whence their view was not
G 2
124 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
intercepted by the trees, and enjoyed an
extensive prospect of mountain, river, and
champaign country, apparently covered
with one dark interminable forest, un-
varied by any vestige of human improve-
ment, or by any apparent swell in the
surface; and as the distinctness of vision
was diminished by distance, and the in-
tervening hazy atmosphere, the prospect
to the east resembled, in tint and apparent
level, an extensive view of the ocean.
The river appeared to meander along the
foot of the Blue Ridge with the tortuous
windings of a snake. Sometimes the sight
of it was lost altogether by the shutting
in of projections of the mountain, and
then it would shew its glassy surface some
distance beyond, in the likeness of a small
lake.
They occasionally tried the sport of
fishing, but it suited not the taste of Ed-
ward or Gildon; nor was the situation
favourable. Now and then in their rides
they would visit some gentlemen of their
acquaintance; and once a week, if the
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 125
weather was fair, they went to Battle
Town or Berryville (for little towns, like
little men, are more apt to have an alias
than great ones), the post-office nearest to
Beachwood, where they had an oppor-
tunity of reading or hearing the confused
statements of the same occurrence, made
by the different newspapers, which were
the organs of the two great political par-
ties of the day.
It seldom happened that one of those
rides did not furnish materials to the ready
humour and inventive genius of Gildon,
“to make some entertaining anecdote or
good story on his return. And so inqui-
sitive was he in obtaining a knowledge of
facts, and so acute and sagacious in draw-
ing inferences, that it was thought he, in
a month, had acquired more accurate
knowledge of the people in the neigh-
, bourhood, than Edward had acquired in
his whole life before. After they returned
to Beachwood, they either took up a book
and read, in the parlour, or retired to their
-rooms—then dressed, dined, took a short
126 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
stroll along one of three or four walks
leading from the house; and passed the
evening with the aid of music, reading,
and conversation. The scene was further
varied by their dining with one or two
neighbours, or these dining at Beach-
wood; some of whom, it may, for the
purpose of making this veracious history
better understood, be hereafter necessary
to introduce to the reader. This life, so
far from fatiguing by its sameness, became
every day more and more agreeable to
Gildon, for all-powerful Love had cast his
gay and brilliant tints over the whole
surrounding scene. -
Nor could the gentle Louisa help bow-
ing to the sway of this tyrant of the heart;
and the passion she inspired in the bosom
of another, was yet more deeply felt by
her own. The circumstances of her edu-
cation, temper, and situation at the time,
peculiarly exposed her to its seductive
influence. Treated, from her infancy, with
extraordinary delicacy and tenderness, ex-
periencing nothing but kindness and in-
VAf,LEY’OF SHENANDOAH. I97
dulgence from both parents, she was all
softness, gentleness, timidity, and affection.
She had been a great reader of romances,
and had thus formed false and exaggerated
conceptions of human life—of the elevated
and transcendent virtue of lovers—the rap-
tures of sentimental love, and the neces-
sity of loving to fulfil the destiny of every
human being, at least of every young per-
son. Forming her notions of excellence
from these ideal models, though her beau-
ty and other attractions had, within a year
or two, procured her many admirers, yet
they all differed so widely from the stand-
ard she had created for herself of a hero of
romance, that they had served, in a great
measure, to keep her heart as yet free and
untouched.
TBut Gildon, whose person was handsome
—whose manners were polished and insi-
nuating, and whose conversation was ani-
mated and intelligent, evidently possessed
qualifications superior to any of her former
lovers. His fashionable air, and the tone
of superiority he was often seen to assume,
128 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
were also imposing — and the circum-
stance that he came from a distant state,
with which she associated nothing but
gaiety, wealth, and splendour, contributed
still further to excite her imagination in
his favour. s -
In addition to his personal recommenda-
tions, she regarded him as the friend whose
prudent counsels and spirited conduct had
rendered essential service to her brother,
perhaps saved his life—and (what was per-
haps not the least important item in the
summary of causes) the opportunity of
seeing one another every day, and of hear-
ing the blandishments of his flattery, in
which he was very skilful, and which he
began to use from habit, but soon conti-
nued from inclination, greatly contributed
to the same end. When all these things
are considered, it is no wonder that he
Soon made a strong impression on her sus-
ceptible and unoccupied heart, until at
length the full-grown passion stood con-
fessed to herself, occupied her most secret
thoughts by day and night, and prompted
.VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 129
and nearly governed all her words and ac.
tions. .
. It had made considerable progress be-
fore it was perceived either by Edward or
Mrs. Grayson. The affairs of the estate
necessarily engaged much of their atten-
tion; and the inspection of accounts, the
consultations with lawyers, and writing
letters, frequently took them away from
the parlour; so that the opportunities
which Gildon and Louisa had of being
together, seemed rather the result of ne-
cessity or accident, than to have been con-
trived by themselves. The anxiety, too,
which the investigation of creditors' claims
occasioned to Mrs. Grayson and her son,
and which events served but to increase,
made them both less observing than they
had otherwise been. Edward also was
too much racked with doubts and appre-
hensions about his own love affairs, to use
that vigilance towards his sister, that an
unoccupied mind would have permitted.
He knew Gildon was an avowed dealer in
* G 3
'130 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
common-place gallantry; and as his own
love had grown with his growth, and been
many years in maturing, he had no con-
ception that a residence of a few weeks
could have produced anything more than
a little transient flirtation. And if a se-
rious attachment to his sister had appear-
ed probable, he would have had no objec-
tion to it, as he had great regard for Gil-
dod—entertained a favourable opinioni of
his temper and character, and knew that
his prospects in life were all that could be
wished. . . . . . .
Mrs. Grayson was not quite as unob-
serving. She naturally expected that Lou-
isa would, in time, captivate a young man
of Gildon's taste and discrimination; but
his fine flow of spirits and lively rattle
seemed so much like a mind at ease, that
she did not think his preference amounted
to any thing serious; and from the unre-
served confidence which Louisa had re-
posed in her on all former occasions of this
sort, she was sure that she should hear of
a declaration as soon as he had made one.
WALLEY OF 'SHENANDOAH. 13]
In the mean time, she was more attentive
to his manners, sentiments, and deport-
ment, for the purpose of judging how far
his character was such as was likely to en-
sure her daughter's happiness—determin-
ing within herself to dissuade Louisa from
accepting his offer, though it were in all
other respects eligible, if she should form
an unfavourable opinion of his heart or
principles, and not in the least doubting
that her advice would be implicitly fol-
lowed on the occasion, by her with whom
that advice had always been as a law.
Besides, Mrs. Grayson never dreamt
that Louisa could feel a lively attachment
for any man before he had addressed her,
because she had sedulously, and as she
thought successfully, inculcated on her
daughter's mind the lesson, that both pru-
dence and feminine dignity required that
a woman should never feel a decided pre-
ference for any man till she was first sure
she had inspired one. Yet, not disposed
to underrate her daughter's charms, she
thought it natural and probable that she
I 32 WALLEY OF SHENAND OAH.
would, in time, make a conquest of Gil-
don; and after a rigid scrutiny, seeing I}O-
thing in him to object"to, and much to
recommend him, she favoured in every
allowable way so advantageous a settle-
ment, now doubly desirable, as her daugh-
ter was not only an orphan, but likely to
be a portionless one. Taking it for grant-
ed that he had not yet manifested his
views, which his unvarying attentions be-
gan plainly to indicate, she waited for the
expected disclosure, with all the solicitude
of a tender and affectionate mother, whose
thoughts often run far more upon their
children's happiness than their own.
The little conversations in the parlour, be-
fore Gildon and Edward took their morning
ride, were insensibly prolonged, and once
or twice the ride was declined altogether
by Gildon, under the pretext of a head-
ach, or an appearance of approaching
rain. It was the practice of the family, at
that season of the year, to drink tea a lit-
tle before sunset, in the small porch which
fronted the river, and which, encompassed
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. I33
with the homey-suckle, sweet-briar, and
convolvulus, formed an impenetrable bar-
rier to the rays of the morning sun; but
in the evening the bower was recom-
mended only for the beauty of its flowers
and foliage, and the delicate perfume they
exhaled. &
Here, after tea, it was usual to sit till
candles were lighted, and when there was
no fog from the river, or unusual damp-
ness in the atmosphere, a good while
longer. Occasionally left by themselves
in this verdant bower (and bowers have
ever been propitious to love), when the
concerns of her household called off Mrs.
Grayson, or those of the estate claimed the
attention of Edward, the lovers inter-
changed their sentiments more freely; and
Gildon had in such a variety of ways pass-
ed compliments on the taste and beauty
of the young lady, and had manifested
such an interest in all her concerns, parti-
cularly as to the state of her heart, and her
future movements, that nothing was want-
ing to convince her of his sentiments but
I34 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH,
an open declaration of them. Nor would
that have been necessary, if her own heart
had been free from those doubts and fears
that Love never fails to conjure up in the
bosoms of his votáries.
When the moon happened to be above
the horizon, the view was enchanting. In
front, and to the south, rose the mountain,
whose lofty outline was distinctly visible
in the heavens, though its sides presented
only one uniform dark mass; while the
light of the moon, reflected from the sur-
- face of the Shenandoah, in addition to the
direct rays of that sweet luminary, made
the grounds between the house and the
river almost as visible, and far more plea-
sing than they ever appeared by day. Al-
though the lovers praised the beauty of
the landscape, and really admired it, they
were perhaps still happier when this same
lovely landscape was shrouded in utter
darkness, save when it was illuminated by
the beautiful lightning bug, flitting across
the yard in every direction, and enliven-
ing the gloom with his brief, but vivid
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 1:35
flashes; or when its stillness was broke in
upon by the drone of the unwearied saw-
yer. Then the world forgetting, with all
its toils, and cares, and strife, they drank
large draughts of the delicious poison ;
sometimes manifesting, by expressions of
kindness or tenderness, the excited state of
their feelings, but more often enjoying in
silence a delight which each perfectly un-
derstood without words, and which words
would have served only to diminish.
There was something so new and de-
lightful in these silent trances of impas-
sioned feeling, that Gildon, though he
could not mistake the state of Louisa's
heart, felt unwilling to put an end to them
by coming to an explanation. Indeed it was
on account of this very certainty that he
was less disposed to make a declaration,
undetermined as he was which course he
should finally pursue. But there soon arose
another consideration, which made him
doubt whether he might make one at all.
To understand which, it is necessary to let
the reader into that part of his previous
136 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
history which has already been slightly
alluded to.
James Gildon had, from the days of his
boyhood, been remarkable among his com-
panions for being an admirer of the fair
sex, and also (as is the natural conse-
quence) with being a favourite with them.
Thus early invited to the practice of gal-
lantry, he had attained consummate skill
in the arts of pleasing; and if his attach-
ments were not very lasting or intense,
they had been very easily formed. Among
his youthful preferences was one for a dis-
tinguished young lady from the city of
New-York, whose father (a little while
before an eminent merchant) had, by de-
predations made on the commerce of neu-
trals after the declaration of war between
Great-Britain and France, become bank-
rupt; and had sent his family, consisting
of a wife and two daughters, to reside with
their brother, a gentleman of good estate
in the country, until he could wind up his
disordered affairs, or chalk out some new
line of business. *
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 137
Emily De Peyster was a very showy
and attractive woman, and had been
still more so if she had been less con-
scious of her powers, and less eager to ex-
ert them. Naturally possessed of an af-
fectionate, generous heart, her better feel-
ings had been deadened, and almost extin-
guished, by the ambition of conquest, the
desire of admiration, and the love of glit-
ter and show. The change in her circum-
stances mortified her pride, without chan-
ging her character—it merely changed her
theatre of action—and those charms which
would have produced their natural effect
any where, if accompanied with modesty
and humility, but which required, in a
large city, the influence of fortune to tem-
per the haughtiness that had accompanied
them, she was determined to show off in
the country. She accordingly soon began
to look about her, for the purpose of see-
ing for whom her net was to be next
thrown, and in a short time selected Gil-
don from among the sons of two or three
of the most wealthy country squires,
*~~
138 vALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
He saw in this high-bred city damsel,
with her rich wardrobe in all the extrava-
ance of fashion—her bold and forward,
though easy manners, an object more wor-
thy of attack than any he had before met
with. He entered the lists, and by his
superiority of address, improved as it was
under such a]] instructress, soon gained
the victory over all his competitors. What
he had begun in sport, he soon found was
like to end in downright earnest. He was
beaten at his own game, and he at length
found himself sufficiently in love. Her
want of fortune was, however, a serious
obstacle to marriage with him, in whose
mind his father, a man of sordid principles,
had always inculcated the folly and absur-
dity of marrying without fortune; and
had, by descanting on the advantages of
obtaining a wealthy heiress, and judici-
ously complimenting the skill and success
of those who had been thus fortunate,
made it present itself to his eye as an ob-
ject of pride and ambition, and he had
v.ALLEY OF SHENANDoAH. 139
been thus brought to look upon it almost
as much a matter of honour as of profit.
Whether this bias of éducation would
have been sufficient to have overcome the
great bias of nature, is not known, if his
calculating father, fearing the worst, had
not thought proper to send him off to
William and Mary College, in Virginia,
after which time Miss De Peyster, who
had not been more interested with Gildon
than she had been with others half-a-dozen
times before, directed her artillery against
a rich young South Carolinian, then tra-
velling for his health in the western parts
of New-York.
Gildon made no serious opposition to
this prudent retreat, and in speaking of it
to Edward, had called it a boyish prefe-
rence, which being disagreeable to his fa-
ther, he had in good time overcome. It
had been part of the old man's calculation
as well as the son's, that in all probability
James would pick up a rich Virginia heir-
ess, in which case it was settled between
them that he should turn the lands and
#40 VALI, EY OF SHEN AND OAH.
slaves into cash, and establish a large mer-
cantile house in the city of New-York, for
which, as a place of residence, Gildon had
formed a decided predilection. And when
accident had brought him and Edward
Grayson acquainted, and had enabled him
to render the service that had induced the
invitation to accompany Edward home,
Louisa seemed to him to afford the promise
of a 'good speculation, as colonel Grayson
was known to have a large property in
possession, though it was somewhat em-
barrassed with debt.
Hitherto every thing had seemed to fa-
vour his views and wishes, and even to ex-
ceed them. The estate, of which he had
only heard, made more impression now
when he was an eyewitness of the rich
fields and loaded barns—the long reti-
nue of slaves—and when he beheld the
numerous household, and very abundant
style of living which prevails in the
slave-holding estates; and when he more-
over learnt that a still larger estate was
owned by the family in Charles city.
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 141
Besides, Louisa was far more beautiful than
he had expected to find her. This child of
nature too seemed to feel a sincerity of at-
tachment of which Miss De Peyster was
incapable. The manifestations of partiali-
ty, which are so captivating in a pure and
innocent mind, and which are more studi-
ously concealed as they are more deeply
felt, touched him far more thoroughly than
the coquettish blandishments of Emily.
The want of serious occupation—that va-
cuity of mind and pursuit which with
young people so often create the besoin
d’aimer, had also its effect on Gildon, and
he gradually gave himself up to the sweet
delirium of loving and being loved, in the
full persuasion that he should advance his
worldly interests as much as gratify his in-
clinations—that the family and fortune of
the young lady would make her as accept-
able to his parents as her lovely person
and tender attachment was to himself.
Hitherto he had learnt nothing of the
affairs of the family but what indicated
wealth. He had heard and seen enough
I42 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
during his present visit to know that there
were numerous debts due from the estate
of colonel Grayson; but he supposed that
this was probably the condition of every
large landed estate in Virginia, and that
the crop of one year might discharge it of
these burthens. *
But certain occurrences soon undeceived
him. After they had been at home about
a fortnight, a letter from Richmond evi-
dently gave Edward much uneasiness.
He left the room, and remained out for a
long time, as Gildon supposed, with Mrs.
Grayson. That worthy lady soon after-
wards complained of a headach, and did
not make her appearance at dinner, and in
the evening was more serious and dejected
than usual, though Edward evidently
made extraordinary exertions to raise her
spirits. The day after, old Hatchett called
in the morning, and taking Edward out
to a clump of trees in front of the house,
remained conversing with him a long
time; they then returned to the house,
and Mrs. Grayson went with them to the
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. I43
dining-room, where they continued a full
hour; in which time he occasionally heard
Edward's voice raised to a tone that shew-
ed expostulation and resentment; and the
same symptoms of uneasiness were per-
ceived.
By this time Gildon had learnt the cha-
racter of old Hatchett, and he began to
entertain some doubts whether the match
would be so eligible, or would be deemed
so by his worldly-minded parent.—Some-
times he determined to use caution in the
course he should pursue, and not only to
forbear making any declaration of love,
but to guard against getting his affections
too far enlisted to break off, in case he
should conclude to do so. At other times,
when he witnessed the blooming beauty
of Louisa, her easy, graceful manners,
and her charming sweetness of disposition,
and received from her one of those tender
but timid glances which so plainly spoke
the state of her feelings, he resolved to
brave his father's displeasure, and to en-
counter the evils of poverty, until he could,
*
144 v ALLEY OF SHENANDoAH.
by his industry and talents, win the means
of a livelihood.
But these generous emotions, which her
loveliness when present inspired, yielded,
when it was withdrawn, to the cold sug-
gestions of avarice and ambition; and after
vacillating for some time between these
conflicting inclinations, he made up his
mind to come to no definite conclusion,
but to shape his course according to events;
though he hoped that the unpleasant sus-
picions which had been newly awakened
in his mind, would prove unfounded. His
object was to ascertain the true state of
facts, as near as could be, and as soon as
possible; though to do so he knew no cer-
tain mode without a great violation of de-
licacy, and giving offence to Edward, for
whom he entertained the most profound
respect. - & .
In the mean while, the great frequency
and the increased length of the interviews
between Louisa and Gildon, prompted in-
quiries on the part of Mrs. Grayson to her
daughter; and finding that he continued
*
vALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 145
tic temper and feeling heart.
? f
w
*
j
f
silent, or had made no open declaration of
love, she felt not a little anxiety, lest this
gay youth should be merely sporting with
the feelings of her child, without enter-
taining any serious thoughts of marriage.
She trembled at the probable effect of dis-
appointment on one of Louisa's enthusias-
- Soon after old Hatchett had gone, and
she had conferred with her son on the pro-
position which Hatchett had made, to re-
ceive the amount of his bond by instal-
ments, secured by such a conveyance as
colonel Grayson had authorized, her to
& • ? * * * *
J; 's ‘’’: 1 * * * v i y
... . .ſ.l.. ." . y s.r. *
give, she said—º My dear Edward, the
conduct of this young friend of yours to-
+ 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . * , , , ‘’s. . . . . . .
wards your sister, is somewhat strange:
*A { * t - * ~ * * * … m.
| * \s. {} \ . } ; --- * L & tº
he pays her every where the most point-
ed attentions—he never stirs from her side
; : ( - w is . . . . • gº
when he can help it, and he has as yet
* . * * * b \ r * * * }
used no other language than that of gene-
Jº 's ! { } { * } n gº
ral and common-place compliments. A
ſ * A . * . . . . * , i.
week ago indeed I found, upon question-
* ry - * } , ) * ºf -- * , , , s - 3 *. =s; *
ing Louisa, that he had repeatedly used
WOL. I. v H
*-
146 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
expressions, that might have admitted of
no other interpretation than that he meant
to address her; but he has seemed for a
few days to speak as if he had no such in-
tention. Surely he cannot be one of those
odious and contemptible beings which are
called male coquettes.”
“I am sure, my dear mother,” said Ed-
ward, “you do him injustice. He has in-
deed been accustomed to deal in unmean-
ing gallantry, and on one occasion I know
he went too far; but he would not dare,”
said he with emotion—then checking the
rising sentiment of indignation, he calmly
added—“ he would not think of such a
thing with Louisa.”
“But, my dear son, whatever may be
his views and intentions, his conduct is
calculated to do mischief; for, besides that
such marked attentions, when nothing se-
rious is meant, make a girl the subject of
ill-natured remarks, I dread lest Louisa,
romantic, and inexperienced as she is, and
evidently pleased with Mr. Gildon, should
get her affections entangled.”
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 147
“I should hope, mother, that a sister of
mine, and a daughter of yours, would be
in no danger of giving her heart to a man
who never asked it; she must certainly
have too much pride and maiden delicacy
for that.”
“I should be sorry, Edward, if I thought
your sister wanting in either. But with
the opportunities which this young gen-
tleman possesses, and the advantages under
which he is introduced, she may, under
the guise of esteem and friendship, insen-
sibly feel a more tender sentiment; and
the mischief may be done before she is
aware that she is exposed to danger. In-
deed I greatly fear that this is, in a great
measure, already the case; for I came upon
her suddenly yesterday morning in her
room, and saw she had been weeping.
On the first impulse of feeling, I asked the
cause, and finding she evaded my inquiries,
I did not think it wise to press the sub-
ject further.”
“If I thought,” said Edward, with in-
H 2 wº
I48 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
dignant look and tone—“but no—it is
impossible; he either meditates addressing
-Louisa, or ſhe has not; interided to make
an impression on her heart: but if you
think it possible that Louisa may draw a
different inference from his attentions, or
may find his society too agreeable for her
peace, she ought immédiately to be put
on her guard, and he, perceiving a change,
will then disclose himself, if he means to
do so at all. But then; mother, on another
account, our honour urges us to have some
explanation; for Louisa' has, methinks,
appeared to Gildon in the character of an
heiress; and if the storm' that has been
gathering for sometime past'should finally
burst upon our heads, Louisa will be por-
tionless, or nearly so; and although I can-
not think so meanly of Gildon as to be-
lieve...that, this would, altert his views to-
wards one on, whom he had placed his af.
fections, yet. I think it would make a
mighty difference , with his avaricious
father, whose wishes might therefore con-
trol.those of his son; at all events, I don't
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 149,
mean that any one should have it to say
that we held out false pretensions to for-
tune. I will then take occasion to disclose
to him the disasters which threaten us, to
be regarded by him as he sees fit.”
It was then agreed by the mother and
son, that the one should sound. Louisa
more closely on the state of her affections,.
and give her such counsel, as the occasion
should require; while Edward should let
Gildon, know, without discovering hismo.
tive, the embarrassments in which the
affairs of the family were involved.
CHAPTER VI.
***Mººſººge
AN opportunity very soon presented it-
self to young Grayson's purpose. When
he returned to the parlour, where Gildon
was looking over some maps, he observed
—“That neighbour of yours, Edward, has
a most unfortunate physiognomy. With-
150 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
out consulting the rules of Lavater, nature
has legibly written in his face, ill-temper,
cruelty, and selfishness. If a stranger had
lost his way in a town, he would never
ask a man with such a face to put him
right. If a beggar wanted alms, he would
never, from such an one, expect to receive
them. Were he one of the jury in a
criminal case, no pathetic appeal would
be addressed to him, he looks so much as
if he would rather hang than acquit—and
yet he has an air of great composure, and
sedateness, and self-satisfaction.”
“He is received too every where,” said
Edward, “ with respect, and sometimes
with seeming kindness. His wealth is a
sort of public convenience, as it is at every
man's service who will pay for it; and
though he never does a generous action,
he always complies with his engagements
—for which punctuality, he has the cha-
racter of being an honest, and in some sort,
a just man. Nay, more—although when
we consider his motives, it is impossible
to feel any regard for one so devotedly
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 151
bent on gain, and so indifferent to the
concerns of others, yet such people are not
without their use, especially in Virginia,
where there are so many improvident per-
sons who yet would honourably comply
with their other imprudent contracts; and
one can get money from these people when
it can be got nowhere else.”
“But,” said Gildon, who thought this a
good opportunity of getting some insight
into a subject which so nearly interested
him, “I cannot but wonder how a money-
lender can find employment for a large
capital in this retired part of the country,
where there is little or no trade, and where
the chief business of buying and selling is
carried on with Alexandria, or some other
of the commercial towns; yet they tell me
that this old Shylock has fifty or sixty
thousand dollars engaged in the business
of buying bonds or shaving, as I am told
they now call it.”
“You forget,” said Edward, “that you
are in an agricultural and a slave-holding
country, the inhabitants of which have al-
152. WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
ways been remarkable for spending their
incomes before they made them, and for
rating them very extravagantly. As the
profits of a landed estate come in but once
or twice a-year, the means of the proprie-
tor are then ample, and if he is not in debt.
he is likely to become so, by underrating
unforeseen contingencies, and by getting
into habits, formed when his purse was
full, which cannot be changed when it is
empty. Consequently, in order to conti-
nue them, he is compelled to run in debt.
Again, brought up in ease and idleness,
he has a taste for expensive pleasures and
enjoyments—he loves good wine, liberal
hospitality, fine horses, furniture, and dress.
Though he has no money in his pocket,
he has a promising crop in the ground,
which, by the estimate of the overseer,
(who is always ready to put his employer
in a good humour, and to compliment his
own industry) he is sure to overrate in
quantity. This crop, at the present prices,
with the expected rise, from this or that
probable event, will bring so much. It
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 153
would seem not very rash to purchase such
little articles as may afford present gratifi-
cation to himself or his family, by buying
on a credit what he can so well afford, and
can so speedily repay. He is readily
trusted for what he wants, not that the
more judicious merchant expects to be
paid out of the growing crop, but he knows
that the lands and the negroes of his cus-
tomer will make him eventually safe—
that he will get a part of the proceeds of
this overrated crop, which will be some-
thing, and he compensates himself libe-
rally for the indulgence he gives by extra-
ordinary profits on his goods.
“In the mean time, the crop turns out
to be far less in quantity than was esti-
mated, which the overseer ascribes, and in
part correctly, to the cut-worm or the
drought, the gust, or the rust, the smut,
or the frost, or the squirrels, or ground
hogs, and the other countless casualties to
which our principal crops are liable; which
disasters being well known, and visible
H 3
154 vALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
causes of failure, conceal the deficiency
arising from his own mismanagement or
miscalculation. Then the prices may have
fallen as well as risen. The waste, more-
over, and expence of carrying it to market,
exceeds all previous estimates in the same
proportion; and lastly, when the account
of the merchant is rendered, it is always
found to be about three times as much as
the farmer supposed it to be, trusting as
he does to the memory, whose pictures,
like those of Hope, always assume more
or less the hue we like to give them.
“If he has made a special promise to
pay any particular sum from the proceeds
of his crop, as the price of a pair of horses
that hit his fancy at the last races, or the
bill of some carpenter or bricklayer, or
the account of his regular merchant, who
is compelled to raise a large sum by a
certain time, he resorts to one of those
convenient reservoirs of cash, such as our
neighbour Hatchett, and either sells him
a bond he has received for a piece of land
he has sold, or gets his own (given to
vALLEY OF SHENANDOAH, 155
some friend for that especial purpose),
converted into cash, at a loss of from
twenty-five to thirty-three and one-third
per cent.
“Sometimes he runs on in this heed-
less course of expence every year, cheat-
ing himself with the same vain hopes and
false calculations, and consequently get-
ting more and more in debt, until finally
he gives a deed of trust (mortgages were
formerly in use), on some portion of his
land. When that is about to be brought
to the hammer for cash, the certainty that
it is sold in this way, instead of on a credit
of three or four years, induces him, for the
sake of preventing so great a sacrifice, to
resort to one of those money-lenders.
These furnish him with the means of
redemption, at the same exorbitant rates,
on his securing the repayment by pledg-
ing the same property, and as much more,
until like a horse in a quagmire, in at-
tempting to draw out one foot, he gets in
the other twice as deep, till he finally
sinks the whole four as far as they can go.
156 WALLEY OF SHENANDoAH.
“Such is the course of many a landed
gentleman in the ancient dominion, and
thus are her best estates constantly pass-
ing from the hands of those who have
inherited them, to those whose frugality,
or industry, or rapacity, furnish the means
of their purchase. . All this is perhaps as
it should be, but the change often fur-
nishes subjects of melancholy contempla-
tion to those who can feel for the fallen;
and with a good deal of blame on the
reckless course of expence they have pur-
sued, and contempt for their deplorable
incapacity for business or labour, and their
silly pride, there is mingled a lively pity
for their humiliation and distress.”
“What a picture do you give me of
the Virginia aristocracy " said Gildon :
“how different had my imagination once
portrayed it !” .
“It is nevertheless just,” rejoined Ed-
ward, “as you yourself have lived long
enough with us to testify. But there are
other occasions than those I have men-
tioned, which may make such men as old
v.ALLEY of she NANDOAH. 157
Hatchett convenient, though it must be
confessed,” he added with some hesitation,
“in spite of the temporary relief they
afforded, they may eventually lead to
ruin. A man is frequently involved in
the misfortunes of his friends, by becoming
a surety for his engagement, as sheriff, or
guardian, or executor—by endorsing his
notes, negotiable at bank, or his bills of
exchange. My good father, more kind
to his friends than prudent to his family,
was remarkable for affording this species
of favour to his acquaintance, and his wife
and children are likely to be material
sufferers by his unguarded generosity.
Old Hatchett has a bond in which he was
bound jointly, with two others, but which
he alone of the three, or rather his estate,
is able to discharge; and there is now de-
pending in the general court a suit on
this bond, which, if determined against
him, will leave a mere pittance to my
mother and sister. As to myself. I value
it not, but on their account I feel the
most painful anxiety; and in this state of
158 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
uncertainty, it will not be prudent in me
to remain long in Williamsburg. I shall
go into a lawyer's office in a short time,
qualify myself for the profession, and en-
deavour, by my exertions, to render their
situations comfortable, if I can do nothing
more. A few weeks ago I had other
views and hopes; but I dare not now
indulge them. I shall try to banish them,”
said he, with agitation; and engrossed, at
the moment, with the ideas which this
topic awakened, he strode with long and
hasty steps across the room, and for a time
forgot the first object of the communica-
tion he had made.
Gildon listened to what fell from Ed-
ward with the deepest attention. Inde-
pendent of the disappointment of his own
selfish views, he felt sincere compassion
for the threatened downfal of a family so
amiable, so reputable, and living with one
another, and with the world, in such per-
fect harmony; and he felt the liveliest
sympathy for Edward, who was not only
about to be suddenly reduced to poverty
vaLLEY of SHENANDOAH, 159
from affluence, but to give up the long-
cherished hopes of as pure and ardent an
affection as had ever warmed a human
breast.
When he contemplated the generous
and heroic sacrifices his friend was about to
make, and contrasted them with his own
narrow and selfish views, he felt his own
inferiority; and the noble elevation of
Edward's character, which he had always
admired, had never commanded such pro-
found respect as at this time, when he was
seen most wanting in that wealth which
he himself had been always taught to ve-
nerate. In the strain of good feeling in
which he was, he would, he thought, have
been willing to share his father's fortune
with the noble-minded Edward and his
lovely sister; and an alliance with such a
family appeared to him, for the moment,
more honourable and more desirable than
mere opulence could ever have made it.
“Perhaps, Grayson,” said Gildon, “you
overrate the danger—the debt may not be
so large; you have in your favour the
160 vaLLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
chances of law, which I have always un-
derstood were not inconsiderable; and if,
after the litigation of some years, the cause
should be decided against you, the inter-
vening profits of your estate may be able
to pay off the debt.”
“All this,” said Edward, “ may by pos-
sibility take place; but if the past profits
have not been sufficient to defray the ex-
pence of my father's establishment, I can-
not expect, that with my little knowledge
of such matters, they will be able to dis-
charge those heavy debts, with their ac-
cumulation of interest, which will be at
least equal to any additional profits that I
can promise myself by any practicable
course of economy. I wish to see Mr.
Trueheart, thy father's lawyer—as'honest
a man as he is an able counsellor—and
by his advice I'shall be governed. My
course is determined—I will devote my-
self night and day to my profession, 'until
I have earned, if not an independence, at
least a competency.” . .
“I do not think,” said Gildon, “that
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 161
colonel Fawkner would wish such a sacri-
fice.” g
“I hardly think he would,” said Ed-
ward; “but do not mistake me—I do not
mean to give up all thoughts of Matilda;
I cannot if I would—no, I feel that it is
impossible; but I cannot bear to be de-
pendent on her fortune—I cannot submit
to the taunts of some of her family, even
if their influence and authority were not
exerted to frustrate my wishes, as they
certainly would be. I shall make known
my intention to Matilda; and though my
want of fortune would be no objection to
her generous and disinterested nature, yet
she knows it would be to one of her pa-
rents, and she would rather I should be-
come a member of the family with their
entire approbation. I know not; indeed,
whether she would consent to give me her
hand against the decided wishes of her
parents. But I shall not test her affec-
tion in that way: I shall put it to the
stronger proof of time; and I beliève her
162, VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
constancy will be as fixed and immove-
able as the base of yonder mountain.”
“I see, Edward,” said Gildon, “you
can act as well as talk heroically, when
the occasion requires it. I confess I should
not be equal to such self-denial, at any
rate not until I found it necessary. I
would try the old people first; if they
objected the derangement of your father's
affairs and your probable want of fortune,
you should insist on your prospects of
professional success—that a good income
was as much the natural product of talent
and industry as the soil itself; and it was
of no sort of importance whether a re-
venue was derived from abundant crops
or abundant fees. If they refused to listen
to these strong dictates of reason and jus-
tice, I would even persuade the young
lady to cross the Potomack; and though
there might be a little fretting and threat-
ening at first, the storm would soon be
over, and in one month, you would find
yourself well settled at the Elms, with
money enough to bid old Hatchett de-
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 163
fiance, and turn shaver yourself, if you
wished it—enough at all events to relieve
your father's estate, for the occasions of
yourself and your family.”
“It is,” said Edward, “ not a little I
would be willing to do or to suffer for
them; but I cannot consent to aught which
would be a sacrifice of honour. Nor would
my mother, who, though mild and gentle
as a dove, possesses a loftiness and pride of
character of which you have no idea, ap-
prove of such a course. I am convinced
she would never wish me to ally myself
with any family, much less with one that
she regards as her inferiors, and which she
knows to be purse-proud, against their
consent. No, I will pursue a straight-
forward and honourable course, come what
will of it, and hope for the best.”
“Well, my dear fellow, all I can say
then,” said Gildon, “is, that I wish you
the success you so richly deserve.”
Since generosity and magnanimity are
contagious, as well as humbler and more
ignoble sentiments, Gildon was now half
164 vALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
disposed to imitate the disinterestedness
of his friend—and added, after a short
pause—“I hope it will soon be in my
power to lend you some little aid in your
praiseworthy efforts, if they should un-
fortunately prove necessary.”
This remark recalled Edward's thoughts
to the affair of his sister—and he listened
attentively for some less ambiguous dis-
closure of the course Gildon meant to
pursue towards her. As Edward made
no reply, Gildon proceeded (the generous
emotion he had felt dying away almost
as soon as it was formed)—“My situation
at present, as I have already told you, is
altogether dependent on the bounty of my
father; but I have reason to expect that
he will soon establish me in business
which promises to be profitable, and to an
extent that will enable me to render you
that aid, which I am sure you would ren-
der me under similar circumstances.”
Edward would have been better satis-
fied if his friend had then avowed his
partiality for his sister; but he felt grate-
vALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 165
ful for the kind and generous, feelings he
manifested, whether they proceeded, from
friendship to himself or affection for. Lou-
isa, of both of which they afforded an evi-
dence; and, he was doubly, pleased for
having, frankly disclosed, that, she would
be, in all probability, without a portion;
as he had thereby not only discharged an
act of duty to himself, but it had afforded
his friend an opportunity of shewing, his
disinterestedness.
. He thanked Gildon warmly for his prof.
fered kindness, and said that there, was
no other to whom he would sooner, owe
an obligation; but his present intention,
as well as ambition, was to owe his extri-
cation to his own efforts, if possible; but
should they prove abortive, or need the
support of a friend, that Gildon should be
the first, he would apply to.
. Thus terminated the explanation which
Edward had imposed upºn himself as, an
act of duty ; and,though, inclined to draw
the most favourable inferences from Gil-
166 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
don's friendly offers, he was left in utter
uncertainty as to his precise views.
After the ladies had retired from the
dinner-table, Mrs. Grayson proposed that
she would assist her daughter about a
pieced bed-quilt, in which she was then
engaged, and withdrew to the chamber of
Louisa for that purpose. She again re-
newed her inquiries on the subject of Gil-
don's addresses, rather for the sake of in-
troducing her advice, than to obtain in-
formation, as she inferred still more from
Louisa's thoughtful and dejected look,
than her silence, that nothing particular
had occurred between them.
“My dear child,” she then added, “I
have for some time wished to have a seri-
ous conversation with you on this subject.
Mr. Gildon's attentions are very pointed,
such, I think, as no man is warranted in
bestowing on a lady, except from the ho-
nourable view of soliciting her hand; and
yet his entire silence makes me doubt
whether he seriously has any such inten-
tions. It behooves you, my child, while
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 167
he pursues this equivocal conduct, to be
on your guard, to keep a watch on your
affections, and not to bestow your heart
when it is not solicited, and where it is not
deserved.”
Louisa was at first alarmed at the sup-
position that his sentiments were other
than his conduct indicated, and blushed at
the consciousness that she had not been as
wary as her mother thought she ought to
have been. She said—“ She hoped she
should never forget the respect due to her-
self, and that she was not sensible that she
had acted towards Mr. Gildon in any way
that did not entirely comport with female
dignity and propriety.”
“I am sure you have not, my child,”
said Mrs. Grayson, with her usual gentle-
ness of tone; “ but as Mr. Gildon is an
agreeable man, I have feared (to speak
without reserve) that you might feel too
lively an interest in his attentions for a
mere acquaintance. This of course would
make you the subject of idle remarks, and
what is of much more consequence, en-
168 VALLEY OF SHENANDoAH.
danger, your peace of mind. Tell me
frankly, Louisa, do you view, this young
sman with indifference? Would it not af.
fect your happiness, to hear that he was
about to leave us for his native state, never
to return—and, that, he was to meet a
young lady there, to whom he had been
long engaged?” ^. A
Louisa turned pale at the thought of a
successful, rival, and, for the mornent be-
...lieved that, under the form of mere sup-
Joositions, her mother was communicating
facts. In the interest excited by her sus-
..picions, she overlooked her mother's ques-
tion, and with vivacity replied—“I do not
believe it! Who told you, mamma”
... “I was merely supposing a case, child;
and your look and manner already answer
my, question. . Well, but if he has that
preference, for you, without which you
would not, I am sure, have entertained
your present sentiments towards him, how
do you account for his silence?”
“I can't but think, mamma, that he has
good.reasons for deferring a direct avowal
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 169
of his preference,” said Louisa; “but his
favourable sentiments it is impossible to
doubt. On this point, no female, mam-
ma, can be mistaken :” thus assuming a
“degree of confidence to her mother she
was far from acknowledging to herself.
“I agree with you, that no woman can
mistake those attentions of a man which
solicit a return of affection, for those of
mere kindness or friendship; but it is
sometimes difficult to distinguish between
the real and pretended lover. The prac-
tice of making love to every pretty face,
is the ordinary amusement of some men,
particularly in the gay world; and what
I wish to guard you against is, that this
common-place gallantry, which may be
sport to him, should not be fatal to you.”
“Oh, I am sure that Mr. Gildon can
have no intentions to deceive; he is too
much of a gentleman. Brother Edward
thinks so highly of him, it is impossible.”
“I am far,” said Mrs. Grayson, “from
thinking it probable; but still our confi.
WOL. I. I
I70 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
dence may be misplaced. He may be very
upright and honourable in all his transac-
tions with his own sex, and have very
false and mistaken principles as to ours.
He may be a very safe and agreeable com-
panion to your brother, but a dangerous
lover to you. I do not mean to prejudge
him, I merely mean to put you on your
guard.”
“What then, mamma, would you have
me do? Must I avoid Mr. Gildon's com-
pany, and thus betray my weakness, by
acknowledging my fears?”
“No, my dear, that is not the course I
would recommend; I would have you
meet him in the parlour and in the porch
as usual, and behave to him with all the
forms of politeness; but encourage no se-
cret whisperings, and be not alone with
him, unless he seriously solicits an inter-
view, for the purpose of explanation. If
he is a real, and not a pretended lover, he
will not be easy under this constraint, but
will declare himself; and if, on the other
hand, he has been merely playing the gal-
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 171
lant, for the sake of whiling away the
time, he will see that his conduct is at .
once noticed and disapproved, and he will
change it.”
Louisa, who had the most implicit faith
in her mother's good sense, as well as af.
fection, and whose own doubts and anx-
iety about Gildon's conduct were greater
than she was willing to confess, promised
to fulfil her mother's wishes and injunc-
tions, and to watch narrowly their effect;
stoutly resolving to banish him from her
thoughts if his conduct continued longer
equivocal, but persuading herself, at the
same time, that he was as sincere and ho-
nourable as he appeared to be tender and
devoted.
After tea, according to their custom,
they all walked out to the little porch;
and Gildon, taking a seat by her side, in
that low key in which he often compli-
mented her, or conveyed other flattering
insinuations of his sentiments, asked her
why she looked so serious? for the con-
*
I 2
172 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
versation she had just held with her mo-
ther, and the recollection of the new part
she was about to act, had impressed her
countenance with an air of thoughtfulness.
She, instead of merely listening as usual,
or making some short reply, that was suf-
ficient to keep up the ball of conversation,
without attracting the attention of those
around them, answered in a loud voice—
“Mamma and I have been moralizing a
little on the affairs of life; but I will try
to dispel the cares which so solemn a
theme is apt to inspire with a little music.
—Brother, pray join me with your flute;"
and with the same seeming careless gaiety
which she had shewn on his first' arrival,
she went into the parlour, sat down to the
piano, and played with unusual spirit and
effect. z
Of late it had been her practice to spend
the chief part of her evenings in the porch,
alleging in favour of it either the sweet-
ness of the moonlight, or the sultriness of
the evening, or the fragrance of the eglan-
tine after a shower, or some other pretext
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 173.
equally plausible, in which females the
most ingenuous are at once so ready and
so skilful. And here Gildon found his
most favourable opportunities of saying
those agreeable trifles which form so large
a part of the conversation between youth-
ful lovers, and to which she listened with
a continued and still increasing delight.
This new movement therefore surprised
him, and he imputed it at first to female
caprice, which was disposed for awhile to
torment him; but perceiving something
of rather a formal and measured courtesy,
both in Mrs. Grayson's conduct and Ed-
ward's, he began to suspect the truth, and
to apprehend that the time had come when
he must either make an open declaration
of love, or consent to abandon Louisa for
ever. He too then became serious and
thoughtful; and, as is always the case
among parties who have mutual suspicions
and come to no explanations, the evening
passed off heavily and disagreeably. He
passed an agitated and sleepless night, and
finally determined to ask his father's con-
174 vaLLEY of SHENANDoAH.
sent to his marriage with Louisa, after
giving him a representation of the young
lady's fortune, which would better accord.
with the property then possessed by the
family, than that which they were long
likely to hold; and in the mean time to
ascertain, if possible, whether the altera-
tion in Louisa's conduct was the effect of
a sudden and transient whim, or of a set-
tled course of conduct.
After breakfast, the next morning, he
spoke to her on the subject of a new
French air, which she had just received
from Alexandria, and which he very highly
extolled, to give her an opportunity of
gratifying him, as she had often done be-
fore; but when she retained her seat, and
contented herself with remarking that she
was not quite mistress of it, he asked her
if she would not then favour him with
some other piece of music. She begged
to be excused, as “she must write some
letters that morning.”
“The post is not until the day after
to-morrow,” said he. . . . .
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH; I75
“But to-morrow I am to go to Mr.
Buckley's, and I find, when I put off
writing to the last day, something is apt
to prevent my writing at all.”
Gildon now saw too plainly, from these
repeated evasions, that she did not wish
to be alone with him. He did not doubt
but Mrs. Grayson had recommended the
plan she was pursuing, and his love, as
well as his vanity, were mortified, to find
she could so readily and so successfully
carry it into execution.
CHAPTER VII.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
| THE next morning a note from Mr. and
Mrs. Buckley, a friend of Mrs. Grayson,
who lived about seven miles from Beach-
wood, invited Mrs. Grayson and her house-
hold over to dinner the next day, to visit
a sister of Mrs. Buckley, Mrs. Browne,
who, with her husband, was to pass a few
176 VALI.EY OF SHENANDOAH.
weeks, during the months of July and
August, in the county of Frederick. Mrs.
Grayson excused herself, as she had never
since her husband's death made a visit,
except in a private way; and indeed had
seldom left her own home except to attend
divine service at a private chapel in the
neighbourhood, which she never missed,
or to see some sick person, whom she
could assist by her nursing, or cheer by
her society. She however advised Louisa
to make her promised visit to Fanny
Buckley, who, as well as Matilda Fawk-
ner, had been to the same school with her
in Alexandria.
Edward and Gildon accepted the invi-
tation of course; and the next day the
chariot was driven up, with the harness in
nice order, and the horses better rubbed
than usual, to make some amends, as old
Phill thought, for the reduction of the
number. Gildon hinted that Miss Gray-
son ought to have a beau in the carriage;
but she gaily said she liked to see her
knights on horseback, and manifested a
wALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 177
steady adherence to the course she had
prescribed to herself.
The road was partly the main highway
to Winchester, and partly, for about three
miles, a cross-road diverging from it. They
had not gone far before, as they were
ascending a steep stony hill, in which the
road was washed in deep gullies on each
side, so as barely to leave room for a single
carriage to pass in safety, they espied a
waggon with six horses, at the top of the
hill, just beginning to descend. The
coachman called out to the waggoner to
stop; but he, either not hearing or not
heeding the request, still moved on, and
Gildon seeing that Edward was some
distance behind, put spurs to his horse,
and rode up to him, saying—“My good.
friend, there is not room for two carriages
to pass each other; wait a little till our
carriage goes by.” - -
The waggoner, a sturdy fierce-looking
fellow with a black bristly beard, smiled
maliciously, and without answering, still
* - - - I 3
178 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
moved on. Gildon then raised his Voice,
and not being certain but he was a Ger-.
man or deaf, pointed to the carriage and
said, more loudly and distinctly—“There
is a young lady in the carriage, wait and
let her pass.” The fellow then said, “I
am going to market, I shall not stop nor
get out of the way for nobódy;” and giv-
ing his fore horses a crack of his whip,
quickened their motions.
“Why to be sure you would not be
such a brute as to stop a lady in such a
place!” said Gildon, with half-smothered
anger. º,
“The carriage may drive on one side,”
said the man of the whip; “and lady or
no lady, she has not a right to stop me
from going to market.—As for you, my
young sprout, give us none of your slack
*jaw, or I will let you feel the weight of
my waggon-whip.—Gee, Jock!—ho, De-
vil” at the same time jerking the wheel
horses. . tº
Gildon, having a hickory switch in his
hand, instantly replied—“Nay, take that,
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. I79
you savage,” and struck the waggoner across
his eyes, which for a moment blinded him.
He then rode up to his adversary and
attempted to push him off his horse. But
this he found to be not so easy as he
expected. The waggoner kept his seat,
and having recovered from the smart of
the blow, seized Gildon by the arm, and
throwing away his whip, by dint of his
superior strength, attempted to pull him
to the ground; but Gildon, who was an
excellent horseman, making effectual re-
sistance, they grappled each other, and in
the scuffle they both came down together,
the waggoner being undermost. The wag-
gon all the while slowly descending the
hill, by a sudden effort of self-preservation
they both managed to clear themselves
from its track, except as to one foot of the
driver, which both wheels passed over,
pressing his thick leather shoes into the
earth, and squeezing the foot until the
blood gushed out. The injury had pro-
bably been much greater, but the ground
180 WALLEY. OF SHENANDOAH.
was wet and soft with the shower that had
fallen the evening before.
This serious accident not only disabled
the suffering combatant, but completely
disarmed the resentment of his antagonist.
The latter attempted to help up his pros-
trate foe, who smarting under a violence
of pain that hardly allowed him breath,
requested Gildon to stop his horses.
Edward, who had finished reading the
letters which he had received from . Pri-
mus, on his way from the post-office, and
whose presence would no doubt have pre-
vented the accident, from the waggoner's
fear of the odds, put spurs to his horse, on
witnessing the scene at the top of the hill,
and got up just as Gildon had stopped
the waggon horses and was scotching the
wheels. Seeing what had happened, he
proposed to the waggoner, whom he slightly
knew, that he would ride back, and get
one of his mother's servants to drive the
waggon back, while the man himself should
go in the carriage to his own house, where
a physician should be sent to attend him.
*WALL’ÉY OF SHENANDOAH. I81
But the man obstinately refused either
to go to the carriage, or to the house, or
to suffer them to perform any other ser-
vice, except to carry him to a little tavern
hard by, from whence he could let the
owner of the waggon know of the accident,
that he might supply his place, and get
himself carried home in a cart. He also
refused to accept any compensation, which
was repeatedly offered to him, but pre-
served a sullen and resentful silence to all
the expressions of regret which Gildon
expressed, muttering occasionally that he
would see “if a man was to be stopped
in the highway by any whipper-snapper
in a fine coat; and whether there was not
as much law for a waggoner going to mar-
ket, as for gentlemen and ladies in their
carriages.”
Finding they could not appease his
wrath, nor contribute any farther to his
accommodation, they rendered him the
only service he would consent to receive,
and while they were carrying him to the
I82 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
little tavern, Edward rode on before, to
send a surgeon to look at the injury.
Let us now turn to Louisa, who, not
anticipating any difficulty at first, was
greatly alarmed when she saw a quarrel
was likely to arise. She knew the fierce
and surly disposition of some of these
people, and saw the waggoner's robust form
and threatening gestures; but when she
beheld the parties engaged in actual com-
bat, forgetting her cautious resolution, she
screamed out for help, and urged Phill
the coachman to run to Mr. Gildon's as-
sistance. She was indeed so peremptory
in her commands, that Phill seemed in a
state of uncertainty, whether he should
not leave his horses without a guide, when
Edward appeared in sight.
“Oh, brother' brother ſ” she exclaimed,
before he was within hearing, “Mr. Gil-
don is attacked by a waggoner —for God’s
sake ride up!”
These evidences of Louisa's lively inte-
rest had not escaped Gildon's ear, and had
produced on him the same animating ef-
VALI.EY OF SHENANDOAH. I83
fect as the trümpet or bagpipe has upon
the warrior in the heat of battle; and
after the conflict was over, the recollection
of them was still more lively (to the shame
of his humanity and prudence be it spo-
ken) than either sympathy for the suffer-
ing waggoner, or alarm for the effects of ~
his vengeance.
While Edward was gone for the needed
assistance, the carriage drove slowly by the
waggon, and stopped at a small distance
beyond it, on the level ground, until Ed-
ward's return. Gildon went to the car-
riage door, and Louisa recollecting the
extraordinary interest she had manifested,
and knowing the source from whence it
had proceeded, blushed most deeply, and
in great confusion remarked—“I never
witnessed such a scene before. I hope the
poor man is not seriously hurt.”
“His foot is severely bruised,” said
Gildon, “but I hope not permanently
injured. I am truly sorry to have been
the cause of so much alarm.”
Louisa conscious of having betrayed her
184 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
feelings, attributed to Gildon's words a
sense he did not intend them to convey,
and observed, with a serious air and a
tone of self-defence—“It would have been
strange if I had not been alarmed, to see
two persons in a situation of so much
danger, and which has proved so serious
to one of them.”
“I did not flatter myself,” replied Gil-
don with equal gravity, “ that the interest
was felt for me exclusively, or that Miss
Grayson could feel more on this occasion,
than her generous nature would expe-
rience for any human being in distress.”
Louisa, perceiving her mistake and
softened by his humility, remarked with
her wonted sweetness of countenance and
manner—“Yet I trust I can discriminaté
between strangers and friends. I hope
you escaped unhurt.” *
“I received a slight bruise or two in
falling; but if they excite any interest
with you, I shall think myself fortunate
in having received them.” *
Louisa remarked—“I flatter myself you
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. I85
are not indeed much hurt, as you have
your usual readiness at compliment.”
“Do you question my sincerity, Miss
Grayson?”
“Not exactly so,” said Louisa; “but
I am not silly enough to receive literally
every civil speech a gentleman may be
pleased to utter.”
Now when a young man entertains fa-
vourable sentiments towards a lady, which,
for some reason or other, he does not wish
to disclose, or a lady is anxious to conceal
the partiality that is springing up in her
gentle. bosom, let them beware of being
together alone—let them beware too of
talking of the opinions of each other—
and, let them doubly beware of encoun-
tering these hazards when their bosoms
have been recently agitated by passion, no
matter what that passion is. Such was
the situation of this youthful pair. The
indisposition and subsequent alarm of Gil-
don, and the lively terrors of Louisa, had
not yet subsided when they met, but had
left their nerves in a state of tremulous
186 VALLEY OF SHENANDoAH.
susceptibility to any new cause of excite-
ment, and the flame which had been
growing for some weeks, and which had
derived strength from the late check it
had experienced, received a new accession
of force, from the very opposite passions
of fear and anger.
“And is it possible,” said Gildon with
emotion, “that you could not have un-
derstood my sentiments towards you?
Have my looks and manner so imperfectly
expressed the feelings of my heart? or,
rather, must I not infer that you are a
slow, an unwilling interpreter of what is
disagreeable?”
He went on in a species of eloquence,
of which he was a great master, and which
was, on the present occasion, more the
language of passion than it had ever be-
fore been; but which, though excessively
touching and beautiful in the ears to which
it was addressed, would appear very dull
in the repetition to the sober reader.
Louisa, much agitated as well as de-
lighted, sought some relief in fanning
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 187
herself, and by the noise she made, would
have prevented his words from being heard
by old Phill, if his ears had been better
than they were. As it was, he took it for
granted they were merely carrying on the
conversations which they were seen daily
to hold together in the little porch, and
which all the servants considered to be a
prelude to courtship, if they were not the
thing itself.
Encouraged by her timid and blushing
silence, he ventured to expostulate on her
marked coldness for a day or two. She
hinted, as delicately as she could, that it
was by her mother's advice, as their private
conversations had already attracted notice,
and might give rise to reports for which
there might be no foundation. Little ex-
planation was sufficient, considering the
footing on which they had for some time
been, and in a few minutes his love was
declared and not rejected. Thus surprised
into an avowal of his passion, he briefly
intimated that he was dependent on his
father, whose opinion as to his marriage
I88 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH,
he had already been sounding; that he
anticipated a favourable result, and he
hoped she would in the mean time allow
him to assume the character of a decided
lover. Louisa, who had no humble idea
of the merits and dignity of her family,
not having dreamt of any opposition on
the part of Gildon's father, and possessing
a very imperfect knowledge of the grounds
that existed for any, indirectly acquiesced
by observing that she should be governed
in the affair by her mother.
. By this time Edward made his appear-
ance, with the owner of the little tavern,
who, divided between his sympathy for
his crony the waggoner, and his unwilling-
ness to give offence to Edward, gave a
hearty and uncourteous nod to Gildon,
and going up to the waggoner, said—“Oh,
Jaque, are you here? you’ve made a short
trip on it. By Jolly, my lad, you’ve had
a narrow squeak for it—you're like old
Mike Overhill, who was caught in his
own, wolf-trap.”
“Come, come, I'm in no humour for
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. I89
jokes now,” says Jaque, “help me up, and
carry me where I can get something done
to my foot, and let me see whether I am
to be a cripple for life.” *
They carefully lifted him into the wag-
gon, laying him on the blades of Indian
corn with which the upper part was cram-
med, and the tavern-keeper mounting the
wheel-horse, drove on. The wounded man
called out, as soon as the waggon lighted
on a rut or a stone, to drive more care-
fully, and not jolt his life out; whereupon
the sympathizing Louisa urged that he
should be taken into the carriage, while
she would walk on; but he still obstinately,
and even rudely refused, saying—“He
had had enough of their carriage for tha
day.” .*
The delay which this accident had oc-
casioned created some anxiety at Mr.
Buckley's about the absentees, for all the
other guests had been some time assem-
bled, and dinner was on the point of being
ordered in. Mr. Buckley was a plain man,
of moderate understanding, prüdent cha-
190 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
racter, and a disposition that was friendly,
without any pretensions to generosity.
His wife was a motherly housewife and
matron, fond of bustling about in her house,
and dairy, and garden—of managing, and
talking about management. They had
two daughters, the youngest of whom had
seen her fifth lustre; they both were re-
markably homely and fat, possessed of
more good-nature than protracted celibacy
in females is apt to produce.
Mrs. Browne, the sister of Mrs. Buck-
ley, had possessed beauty in her youth,
and very sedulously cherished that portion
of it which yet remained. Her husband
was a thriving, intelligent merchant of
Alexandria, and as they had no children,
the profits of his business enabled him to
live in a style of more than ordinary show
and expence; and thus, with Mrs. Buck-
ley and her daughters, “my sister Browne,”
and “my aunt Browne,” was the stan-
dard of elegance, taste, and fashion. They
commonly passed the summer months, or
rather those of autumn, with their relatives
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 191
in Frederick, and Mrs. Browne's nieces,
Peggy and Fanny Buckley, had alternate-
ly passed winters with her, without ever
having any nearer prospect of what was
ill-naturedly conjectured to be the chief
motive of their visit, except that Miss Mar-
garet, as she was called when from home,
was addressed by a New-London captain,
at a time when flour happened to be
twelve dollars a barrel, and her father was
reported in Alexandria to be a great far-
mer; but whether she rejected him, or he,
getting more accurate information of the
extent of her fortune, left her, like another
Calypso, to flourish in immortal virginity,
is not certainly known, as there are many
conflicting rumours on the subject.
Miss Fanny too, the youngest, it was said,
had been solicited at home, to change her
state, by an aged widower; and a Dutch
coppersmith had made her several visits, as
it was supposed, with a view of paying his
addresses if he was properly encouraged.
Saving these offers, all of which were some-
what apocryphal, they had never been
I92 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH,
tempted to change their life of single bless-
edness; and this perhaps was the cause,
that the thoughts both of themselves and
their sympathizing mamma ran very
much in this particular channel. They
seemed to think and speak as if it was,
and ought to be, the sole business of a fe-
male to get “settled in life;” and being
good-natured people, they were always
ready to act as brokers for others in that
sort of business, as they had none of their
own to do. They were never so happy as
when they were made confidants of a
love affair—were the bearers of the tender
protestations of some enamoured Corydon,
or the soft confessions of his gentle Phillis.
They knew of every match in embryo for
twenty miles round; and sometimes, by
their long-practised skill in such subjects,
foresaw them even before the parties them-
selves had thought of the matter.
When the party from Beachwood en-
tered, they found in the drawing-room at
Buck-Hill, besides the family and their re-
lations from Alexandria, the Fawkners,
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 193
Mr. Wilson, a respectable magistrate of the
country, and now a widower, with his only
daughter, and their old friend Mr. M'Cul-
loch, with his wife and eldest son.
They were received with the same min-
gled cordiality and respect that they had
ever experienced in colonel Grayson's life-
time, by all the company, except Mrs.
Fawkner. She returned Edward’s bow
with a cold and stately salutation, and
turning to Louisa, remarked—“I suppose
your brother has a mind to introduce Wil-
liamsburg fashions among us, by coming
so late.”
“We had been here more than an hour
ago, madam,” said Louisa, “but for an
unpleasant accident;” and she then nar-
rated all that had taken place, except that
which was all the while uppermost in her
mind, her own alarm and Gildon's avowal
of his passion. She had now recovered
from the effects of her fright, as well as
of the interview; and giving way to emo-
tions of unmingled delight, she told the
* , VOL. I. K
194 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
^
story with infinite grace and pleasantry,
and bantered her brother about his being
in the clouds, meditating a sonnet she pre-
sumed, or planning, perhaps, a new con-
stitution for France.
Edward,' notwithstanding Mrs. Fawk-
ner's haughty airs, made the usual inquiry
about her health, and passed on to the
other ladies, bowing and speaking to each,
until he reached Matilda, who was sitting
on the opposite side, between the Miss
Buckleys. He bowed to her respectfully;
but she, with her usual frankness, held out
her hand to him, as if she was determined
to make amends for her mother's unkind-
ness. He used a few common-place terms
of civility, but there was a mixture of ten-
derness and respect in his manner that a
nice observer might have easily perceived,
and which was not lost on either Matilda
or her mother, though it was seen by them
with very different eyes.
Old Mr. M'Culloch then came up to
Gildon, and said—“So, my young gen-
tleman, you have had a little taste of Vir-
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 195
ginia play? 'Twas well he was caught
by the waggon wheel, or he would soon
have had his fingers in your eyes. I know
Jaque Scryder, and a bullying, insolent
fellow he is.” . . . *
Fanny Buckley here whispered to Lou-
isa—“Now would it not have been a
shame to have spoiled such a face? And
besides,” winking significantly, “he could
not then have seen you. Indeed, Louisa,
I never saw you look so well in my life.
They say that things go on swimmingly
at Beachwood.”
Louisa, fearful of this prattle being over-
heard, endeavoured to check her, but was
unable, until finding that Louisa was se-
riously displeased, she desisted.
Gildon then gave a ludicrous descrip-
tion of the encounter, in which he affected
rather to underrate, than to make a dis-
play of his prowess. The ladies were loud
in their denunciations of unruly waggon-
ers—several stories were told of their in-
solence in stopping up the road, upsetting
|
K 2
196 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
gigs, and preventing carriages from pass.
ing them.
“Why, sir, that is a specimen of buck.
skin independence,” said Mr. M'Culloch
to Mr. Buckley. “Now I’ll warrant you
that Jacob Scryder, with his blue-painted
waggon, and a dozen or more tinkling bells
was as proud as one of your South Caro.
lina dashers, which is being proud enough
or some of your old-fashioned James Ri.
vergentry——”
“Which is being prouder still,” says
major Fawkner. w"
Mrs. Fawkner thought such “low, im.
pertinent fellows ought to be severely pu.
nished.” r *
“Softly, my dear madam,” said Mr
M’Culloch; “as to punishment, Jaque
seeins to have had his full share of it thi
bout, though I should have given him
crack over the pate myself, for his inso
lence to my little Lilly of the Valley, if
had been present; and as to the matter o
making him pay for his rudeness, Jaque
has the advantage there, and I am think
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. I97
ing this young gentleman will learn that
to his cost.” -
This incident furnished the company
with conversation till they were summon-
ed to dinner, when they all repaired to a
well-spread board—Mr. Buckley being as
attentive to his part, in providing good
mutton and other meats, as was Mrs.
Buckley to hers, in superintending her
poultry-yard, dairy, and kitchen-garden.
Now, while the rest of the company
were eying with delightful anticipations
these tempting specimens of their enter-
tainers’ good management, and thinking
of nought besides, there were four persons
of the company (can ye believe it, epi-
cures?) whose minds, disregarding what
was on the table, were occupied solely and
exclusively on the places they should oc-
cupy at it, and who endeavoured to get as
far from the upper end (where the ladies
in that day commonly sat by themselves)
as they could, without attracting observa-
tion. But there not being room for all
the guests, and the elder Miss Buckley,
I98 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
with Miss Wilson, betaking themselves to
a side-table, Matilda insisted on joining
them, notwithstanding Mrs. Fawkner told
her there was room enough by Mrs. M'Cul-
loch. — Old Mr. M'Culloch then said—
“Nay, these girls shall have a beau.-How
is this, Edward? why you have lost all
your gallantry since you’ve lived with the
Tuckahoes. By Jove—no, by Venus and
the Graces, the lads now-a-days have nei-
ther taste nor spirit; they are fit for no-
thing but to talk French politics, and
preach mad philosophy.”
Mrs. Fawkner now addressing herself
to Mrs. Buckley, again remarked, to make
her words good — “ There was room
enough,” and was squeezing up to the
mistress of the house; but Edward, ob-
serving the manoeuvre, promptly said—
“I cannot stand such a rebuke, and must
endeavour to retrievemy character.” Then
turning suddenly round, he seated himself
between Matilda and Margaret Buckley.
Mrs. Fawkner thus foiled, plainly shew-
, ed internal vexation by her lowering brow,
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 199
and rather peevishly observed—“For my
part, I never have side-tables, they give
so much trouble to the servants.”
The lady of the house good-naturedly
replied—“That is what sister Browne al-
ways tells me; but I could not well help
it to-day—and then the young people like
to be by themselves,” accompanying her
last remark with a significant smile and a
wink, as she had not yet learned the new
system of politics at the Elms.
Mrs. Fawkner, still further fretted by
Mrs. Buckley's last observation, tartly re-
plied – “Yes, indeed, they are always
liking best what least suits them.”
“But,” said the well-meaning but mis-
taken hostess, “ you cannot say that of
Some young people of my acquaintance,”
still smiling and winking. But the im-
portant interrogatory—“ Madam, what
do you choose, sir?” “What will you
be helped to ?” somewhat less in use now
than formerly, put an end to the dialogue,
as Mr. Fawkner, by way of effecting the
same object, was complimenting Mrs.
200 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
Buckley on her green geese, which, how-
ever excellent as they were, and the first
of the season, she was unable to enjoy,
her thoughts were so engrossed by another
subject. g
Ever and anon she would cast an eye
to the side-table, to watch the movements
of Edward and Matilda, and was loud
enough in her praises of Gildon to have
been overheard by him, if he had not been
totally occupied by the short and broken
conversation he was holding with Louisa,
by whose side he was so fortunate as to
obtain a seat. She, gratified and delight-
ed, found in the secret contemplation of
the morning's disclosure, a complete sub-
stitute for the delicacies of the table, and
ate not a morsel. Her lover too, yielding
to the luxury of his present feelings, ba-
nished from his mind all fears of oppo-
sition from his father — all his former
schemes of prudence or ambition.
The dinner passed off with the usual
incidents. The company complimented
the good housewifery of Mrs. Buckley,
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 201
the merit of , which she was content to
share with Peggy and Fanny on this oc-
casion; and they gave by their actions
good proof of the sincerity of their lan-
guage. The wine, which had been select-
ed by Mr. Browne, was first commented
on and discussed after dinner, and then the
merits of the federalists and republicans be-
came the subject of animated debate, which
beginning in good humour, and ending
in ill-disguised anger, gave a zest of bit-
terness to the otherwise pure and tranquil
pleasures of the day.
The state of political parties at that pe-
riod is yet fresh in the recollection of half
the readers of this authentic chronicle.
After the French revolution had made
some progress, and it appeared to be the
struggle of a great nation for those civil
rights which are justly the pride and boast
of this country, the sympathies of a large
proportion of our citizens were enlisted
on the side of the conductors of the revo-
lution. And this feeling was so strong
K 3
202 WALLEY OF SHENANT)OAH.
that it made many overlook some of the
enormities with which that great event
was attended, and apologize for those to
which they could not be blind. In pro-
portion as they loved the French and
wished them success, they hated their
enemies, especially the English, with
whom they had been in open war, and
against whom their enmity was the more
inflamed as they had more and warmer
friends here than any other European na-
tion, many of them being natives of Great
Britain, who spoke the same language,
and accustomed to the same manners,
laws, and religion, readily identify them-
selves with the people of this country.
The attachment of this party to Eng-
land was supported by those whom they
could influence in the character of agents,
shop-keepers, lawyers, in short, all those
who could profit by an extensive pa-
tromage; by many who did not expect
a happy termination to a revolution began
in violence, and carried on by cruelty and
rapine; and by a few whose sympathies
VALI,EY OF SHENANDOAH. 203
were on the side of the proscribed classes
in France. These conflicting causes of
our partiality and attachment were lively
and intense in proportion to the magni-
tude of the events which gave rise to
them; and as the revolution advanced,
with small fluctuations of fortune, in one
continuous career of success, the parties
became more distinctly formed and more
completely separated from each other.
The British treaty, or Jay's, as it was
most frequently called, was ratified by
general Washington the year before, 1795,
and was then the subject of defence and apo-
logy on one side, and of bitter denuncia-
tion on the other. The objections to this
treaty were argued and repelled in every
circle, low or high, from one end of the
country to the other. Zeal for the suc-
cess of the French became louder and
bolder, till the friends of the English were
finally borne down, and only by cautious
and indirect means ventured to oppose
their adversaries. Many of our citizens
were proud to wear the tri-coloured cock-
204 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
ade. The popular songs of the Marseillois,
Carmagnol, Ça Ira, were sung, not only
in private houses, but at public places,
and even in the streets, both by young,
and old, with rapturous enthusiasm. The
term of “citizen,” often superseded the
ordinary titles of respect. One party was
branded by their opponents with the name
of “jacobins,” the other with that of “aris-
tocrats.” Sometimes they were called,
Frenchmen and Englishmen. And as
men embraced , their different sides, not
according to any great motives of self.
interest, but according to the accidental
circumstances of temper and character, or
the company they had chanced to keep, it
was not unusual to see on opposite sides,
those of the same family, whose altercations
inflaming them to mutual hatred, destroy-
ed all harmony of social intercourse.
It was now publicly known that general
Washington, wearied and somewhat dis-
gusted with these party feuds, and with the
censure which began to be very openly cast
upon' some of his political measures, on.
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 205.
the ground that he had abandoned those
principles for which he had once fought,
was about to return to private life, and
seek in the shades of retirement and in
the pursuits of agriculture, for that happi-
ness which the highest honours of his
country, a nobler fame than mortal man
ever before enjoyed, (or aught, it may be
added, that this world can afford,) was not
able to bestow. Mr. Jefferson had with-
drawn from the cabinet, dissatisfied with
the course pursued by the administration,
and, as his admirers said, had abstracted
himself from active politics, and passed
his time in building, in experimental agri-
culture, and the cultivation of letters.
But he was the rallying point of opposi-
tion, and those who were in the secret
knew that he was engaged in an exten-
sive political correspondence, and that
A. B—, from New-York, was then
on a visit to Monticello for the purpose of
marshalling their hosts, and, taking the
field, as soon as, the veteran chief had
sounded his retreat.
206 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
The dining party at Buck-Hill happen-
ed to be all federalists, except Edward,
Gildon, and Mr. Wilson, a plain honest
man, who had been once a colleague from
the county of with old George Ma-
son, and who, (as most of those opposed
to the adoption of the constitution were
also now opposed to its administration,)
had continued his attachment to the same
party, through their successive denomina-
tions of anti-federalists, jacobins, and de-
mocrats. But as he was a man of few
words, and not so zealous as most of his
associates, he proved a weak ally to the
young collegians against the ardour of
old M'Culloch, and the shrewd well-in-
formed Mr. Browne.
Mr. Madison having been given as a
toast by Edward, the president's procla-
mation of neutrality soon came under dis-
cussion, and was loudly censured by the
small band of democrats. Driven from
that ground, the British treaty was then
vehemently condemned ; but unable to
reply to the arguments of an experienced
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 207
and intelligent merchant, they filed off, as
political disputants often do, into general
declamation against the policy of the go-
vernment—their manifest partiality to the
English, and aversion to the French, until
Edward (whose temper was ardent, and
impatient of contradiction) and old M'Cul-
loch had the field of controversy to them-
selves, the rest of the party being wearied
out with their own efforts.
Passing from the subject of controversy
to the person of his opponent, each of the
disputants charged the other with being
the slave of prejudiee—of forming his opi-
nions under some bias of interest or acci.
dent, or of yielding to the influence of
some particular individual; and the dis-
pute growing more and more warm and
personal, there was no saying how far the
young man would have forgot the respect
due to his senior, or the old one the respect
due to himself, and both, the respect due
to the company, if Mr. Buckley had not
proposed to drink a good afternoon—the
208 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
customary signal for rising, and joining
the ladies in the parlour.
After they came out into the cool air
they strolled awhile under some shady
locusts that grew in the yard, and then
rejoined the ladies. Good humour seemed
to be completely restored, at least on the
part of old M'Culloch, though Edward's
violence of temper, when once roused,
could not so suddenly subside. M'Cul-
loch, going up to Louisa, said to her, in
his wonted jocular style—“My little lily,
or rather, my rose-bud I may call you, for
you have a fine colour to-day, these young-
sters are such furious democrats I know
not what I shall do with them. And if
the lasses don’t reform them, they will
prove as arrant jacobins as citizen Genet
himself.”
“I will willingly put myself under the
tuition of Miss Grayson,” said Gildon with
a smile, “whose discipline will be more
efficacious, as it will be not quite so rough
and ungentle as Mr. M'Culloch's.” .
“I never meddle with politics, said
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 209
Louisa, but I confess I have always been
taught to place unbounded confidence in
the wisdom and patriotism of general
Washington.”
“And well taught you were, my little
mountain daisy,” said M'Culloch.-‘‘ And
now, young man, I trust that you and Or-
lando Furioso there,” pointing to Edward
across the room, “will hardly venture to
attack me again when I have such a re-
inforcement.”
“Indeed, Mr. Gildon,” said Mrs. Fawk-
ner, “I should not have thought you
had belonged to the democratic party—I
thought,” hesitating, as if doubtful of giv-
ing offence, “I somehow always consi-
dered the federalists the genteelest party.
—Oh, I beg pardon, Miss Wilson; I mean
that there were more people of fortune
and family on our side.”
“I don’t know how that can be,” re-
plied the young lady, who, though dimi-
nutive and of a sickly appearance, seemed
nowise deficient in spirit; “there's our
member of congress, and the governor of
210 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
the state, and the Nelsons, and the Pages,
and 32 *
“Stop, ladies,” said M'Culloch, who
hated to see the flames of war so soon
kindling again, and who, in fact, seldom
engaged in controversy, except when
prompted to it in defence of a favourite,
or some other generous motive; “forbear,
I pray you, I've had enough of this sort
of wrangling in the dining-room, till Ed-
ward and I liked to have had a quarrel,
and it must not set you pulling caps. If
you must have an argument, let it be
about who has the largest brood of young
turkeys, or the greatest quantity of home-
spun; in which contest I think my old
woman there will be likely to eclipse you
all.—What think you of my new coat,
ladies?” inviting their attention to some
remarkably fine grey homespun, by draw-
ing it across his breast and looking at
himself in a small mirror with the most
good-humoured self-complacency.
The conversation very readily took this
turn, it being not only better understood,
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 21:1
but also more relished by most of the
company. By this time, however, the
ladies were preparing to return home, and
Louisa, who had had some thoughts of
passing a few days with her friends, the
Miss Buckleys, having changed her mind
for the purpose of communicating the
most imporiant occurrences of the day to
her anxious mother, also ordered her car-
riage.
Before the party broke up, major Fawk-
ner, having first whispered to his wife,
asked Mr. Browne and the young gen-
tlemen to dine with them the next day,
and Mrs. Fawkner, not with the best
grace in the world, extended the same re-
quest to Louisa, and not content with her
husband's invitation to Gildon, she gave
him one herself, without noticing Edward.
Matilda, hurt at so pointed a slight, handed
Edward a sprig of myrtle, as he led her
to the carriage, and in a low voice said, “I
trust we shall see you to-morrow.” Mrs.
Fawkner's flaunting yellow coach, with
two large black horses, came prancing up,
212 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
having in a brisk trot passed the more
unpretending, but genteeler looking cha-
riot of Miss Grayson. Old Phill would
willingly have disputed the road, if Louisa
first, and then Edward, more peremptorily,
had not ordered him to give place, which
he did with a most reluctant and mortified
air, and thus terminated the visit to Buck-
Hill. '
Louisa went to her mother's room about
sunset, and with more embarrassment
than she had ever before experienced in
addressing her, communicated the events
of the day, especially the one which had
exceeded all others in interest. Mrs. Gray-
son, whose generous, unsuspecting nature
could no longer allow her to entertain
doubts of Gildon's sincerity, was truly de-
lighted, and was at no pains to conceal
the pleasure she felt. But after indulging
awhile in those felicitations, she reminded
her daughter that, as it was yet possible
that Mr. Gildon, the father, might be op-
posed to the match, it would be prudent
to prepare for such a result, and to observe
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 213,
the same reserved conduct as she had
lately done. v
“But, mamma,” said the disappointed
Louisa, “what objection can he have 2
He cannot object to the connexion.”
“I presume, my dear, he will not. But
if he should be a mercenary man, as your
brother thinks he is, I fear he will object
on the score of fortune.”
“Supposing he is so narrow-minded, I
never knew my father considered to be a
poor man,” said Louisa, looking appre-
hensively at her mother.
“My child, I hate to communicate any
thing which will give you pain; but it is
now become necessary. Know then that
the debts and claims against your poor
father's estate, of which you have some-
times heard me speak, are far greater than
he was aware of; and that some are hang-
ing over it, which, if they prove well
founded, will leave us a very moderate
fortune. Knowing (with a long drawn
sigh) that sufficient for the day is the evil
thereof, I have forborne to make this un-
214, VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
welcome communication until it was dic-
tated by something like necessity.”
“I cannot think, my dear mother, that
Mr. Gildon will allow himself to be in-
fluenced by such mercenary considerations.
I am sure he is too generous—too noble.”
“I hope he is, my dear, and I am the
more encouraged to think so because your
brother has felt it his duty to make a
frank disclosure of the fact without ma-
king known his motives, and it seems that
a knowledge of the true state of things
has not prevented him from addressing
you.”
“You see, mamma, he has given a
proof of his generosity and disinterested-
ness. I knew his nobleness of soul was
not to be swayed by such sordid consi-
derations.” *
“I trust not—I believe not, my child.
But old men and young men see this
matter very differently, and a lover chooses
his mistress by another rule than that by
which a father chooses his daughter-in-
law. If such a diversity should unhap-
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 215
pily exist on the present occasion, I trust,
my daughter, you know too well what is
due to yourself and your family to need
my suggestion. You will not readily
consent to intrude yourself into any fa-
mily an unwelcome member of it; and
you would not be the means of alienating
the man of your choice from the counte-
nance and regard of his relations—of re-
ducing him from affluence to poverty—
of converting his preference for you into
an instrument of his destruction.”
“Never, never, my dear mother,” in-
terrupted Louisa ; “I would never con-
sent to that which would put his happi-
ness to hazard by losing him the affections
of his family, and impairing his standing
in society.”
“In such a determination, my daugh-
ter, you act like yourself, and as I ex-
pected. I see that candles are lighted.
Let us go into the drawing-room.”
Gildon, who thought that now the pre-
vious impediment was removed, he should
have the happiness of an uninterrupted
216 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
tête-à-tête, was disappointed at learning
from Louisa that she meant to retire early;
which she did with a heart much less
elated and buoyant than it was before she
had heard the prudent suggestions of her
mother. The other three, from different
causes, were all in low spirits; and not be-
ing in a humour to enjoy each other's so-
ciety, soon followed the example of Louisa.
CHAPTER VIII.
sºº ºdºrºººººººº-ººr
THE next morning, just as Edward and
Gildon were about to take their custo-
mary ride, a tall young man, with a pair of
saddle-bags on his left arm, entered the
passage; and being recognised as Mr.
Cruise, one of the acting sheriffs of the
county, he informed them, with a smile,
that he had a warrant to summon them be-
fore a magistrate, the one as a party, and
the other as a witness, on the charge of
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 217
Jacob Scryder, who had sworn the peace
against Mr. Gildon for stopping and as-
saulting him on the highway. The young
men being both inexperienced in these
matters, were somewhat disconcerted and
vexed at first, until the nature of the pro-
ceeding was explained by the deputy she-
riff. They mounted their horses and rode
over to Mr. Buckley's, who, being the
nearest magistrate, had issued the war-
rants, and who, as a matter of course, re-
cognised Gildon to appear at the next
county court, held in the town of Win-
chester, and Edward was the surety for
his appearance. . . . ... ?
. The official business being dispatched,
they took leave without waiting to see
the ladies.
“That was an uncommonly civil peace-
officer,” said Gildon. “I see that the
courtesy of Virginia extends even to her
sheriffs.” -
º “They are, indeed,” replied Edward,
“in general very civil in their demeanour,
VOL. I. L.
218 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
*
and discharge their disagreeable functions
in a way to give as little offence as possi-
ble. For most of them look upon the
office as a steppingstone to future pro-
motion; and as their official duties give
them access to every man in the commu-
nity, they avail themselves of the circum-
stance to court popularity, which they af.
terwards turn to good account. I have
little doubt that three or four years hence
you might see that young man transformed
from a supple and accommodating deputy
sheriff, to a delegate from the large county
of Frederick to the general assembly.”
“I fear,” said Gildon, “ that the same
court is paid every where to sovereigns,
whether the sovereignty resides in one or
many; and that flattery is always the
instrument by which cunning manages
power.” t
“But flatterers are a contemptible race,”
said Edward haughtily, “whether they
aim to cheat a prince or people; and yet,”
continued he, “the ambition of political
advancement on the part of our deputy
f
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 219
sheriffs is not without its advantages to
the public. . It makes them more indul-
gent and accommodating in levying exe-
cutions and collecting taxes. It often pre-
vents them from practising those petty
frauds and unconscionable extortions which
their office invites them to, and which are
familiar to many of the tribe. The dif-
ference which exists between this class of
public officers and the clerks of our coun-
ties, strongly shews the intimate connex-
ion between morals and habits. Our clerks,
not exposed to the same temptations as
our sheriffs, but having their quiet duties
plainly marked out by law, habitually be-
come methodical, correct, and honest in all
their dealings.” tºº.
“You know,” said Gildon, “ the Ro-
mans used the same word to express mo-
rals and habits.” Qe
A little black boy, with no other clothes
than a shirt and pantaloons, or overalls of
hempen cloth, without any covering on his
head but his own knotted and sunburnt
– ' L 2
220. WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH,
wool, but whose appearance indicated that
he was plentifully fed, though scantily
clothed, came riding up to them, in as brisk
a gait as a tall, lean, ragged-hipped sorrel
gelding could be made to bring him. He
brought a note from Mr. M'Culloch, say-
ing, that the next day being the first of
August, when the powers that be give us
permission to eat venison, he proposed to
start a buck, and should expect Edward
and his friend to be on the ground at his
house by dawn the next morning, if they
wished to share in the sport, and that he
had a gun for the young New-York demo-
crat—that Edward must bring old Thun-
der and Juno, and might also try his two
young black tans; and that, if they meant
to join in the chase, they must meet him
- then on the other side of the river, at the
forks of the road, near the shoemaker's, by
daybreak.
Edward, who had often accompanied the
old sportsman on these parties, had no ob-
jection whatever to obeying the summons,
especially as he reproached himself for some
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 221
expressions the day before, that were not
only intemperate, but unbecoming the re-
spect due to the years of his opponent.
Gildon, too, promised himself the gratifi-
cation of novelty. Arrangements for an
early start were made over-night, and
orders were given to have the horses sad-
dled before day. Accordingly, before the
least appearance of dawn could be per-
ceived by an unpractised eye, Primus
came to call the young gentlemen to their
intended sport. Edward was already up
and dressed, and lost no time in seeing
that his orders of preparation over-night
had been complied with; but Gildon re-
quired to be repeatedly shaken by Primus,
and coaxed to rise, before he could make
the requisite exertion; and he might yet
have decided to forego the pleasure of the
sport, and have fallen again into slumber,
if the ready-witted Primus had not said
—“Doctor Manifee start a buck before
this; Mr. Gildon lie and sleep like Mr.
Bolmain, from Carolina, the day master
Edward kill the old buck at the river.”
222 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
The reproach of effeminacy, and the
wish to take part in the sport, perchance
to distinguish himself in the eyes of Louisa,
roused him from his lethargy, and he was
soon dressed with the ready aid of Primus,
who continued to retouch the string which
he had found to vibrate so readily. Mount-
ed on a spirited and well-trained hunter
(knowing the keen impatience of M'Cul-
loch), they set off at a round gallop, and
got to the house a little before sunrise,
just as the old man was loading his last
rifle. * -
“A pretty pair of sportsmen,” said the
veteran, “you are truly. Why, Edward,
before you became such a democrat, you
would be here before cockerow, and now
we have been waiting for you this half-
hour. Meinwether and Sandy have reach-
ed the starting-ground by this time, and
we must be quick and get to our stand.—
Jack Martin, don’t let these dogs out un-
less the deer should take to the river.—
Here Slut—Ringwood—Leader — where
are you?—Mr. Gildon, as you are a young
WALLEY - OF SHENANDOAH. 223
huntsman, you shall have my favourite
stand, and my best shot gun,” handing
him a long clumsy fowlingpiece.—“Ed-
ward; I shall place you at the walnut-tree,
and I shall stand myself at the hazel
thicket, near the mouth of Bull Branch.
Dick Mole and Whittle have gone across
the river, in case the deer should come
down Poplar ridge. Come on, my lads !
come, take a julep before you start.”
- As some of my readers may mistake
the meaning of this beverage, and think
the worthy mountaineer meant to recom-
mend some peculiar medicine by way of `
preparing them for the enterprise, he
must be informed that nothing more nor
less was intended than a morning dram,
consisting sometimes of spirits and sugar,
with an infusion of garden mint, but at
present of peach brandy, sweetened with
honey. The hunters all partook of it,
some of them repeatedly; and Gildon
would not be singular. They left their
horses at the house, and also the hounds,
as they were too late to join the rest of
224 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
the pack, and each one set out with a rifle
or fowlingpiece, properly charged.
The mode of hunting deer in that part
of the country then, and no doubt at pre-
sent, is for a party who are well acquaint-
ed with the localities of the woodlands,
and the haunts of the animal (and who
are commonly well mounted) to set off
to the places frequented by the deer, as
early in the morning as possible, taking
the hounds with them, for the purpose of
starting the game. And as it is known
by experience that those creatures when
pursued have particular tracks, commonly
leading to the river, other hunters are
posted in ambush, near the line of the
tracks, where they remain idle and un-
occupied, until they hear the opening cry
of the hounds. Then, knowing that the
deer is some distance in advance, they
keep a close look-out for him, and as soon
as he comes within reach of their guns, a
noise is purposely made by the one he is
nearest to; on hearing which the deer in-
variably stops for a moment to see whence
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 225
it proceeds, and to change his course, if
necessary. This pause, if the hunter is
prompt, and a good marksman, is often
fatal; but sometimes the animal bounds
off before the piece can be discharged, and
is shot at, and often hit, running. Where
there are several tracks, all equally likely
to be taken according to the known habits
of the animal, only one of the stands on
the same side of the river is likely to have
a shot; but where there is but one fa-
vourite track, the stands are placed on
each side of it, and the deer is fired at by
several, as he passes them, in regular suc-
cession.
The freshness of the morning air at this
season, the novelty of the scene, and the
lively anticipations of the experienced
hunters, producing their usual contagious
effect on Gildon, raised his spirits very
high, and he began to feel some foretaste
of that warm enthusiasm which field sports
so often excite, and which are beyond the
comprehension of the uninitiated.
L 3
226 vALLEY OF SHENANDoAH,
They had to walk about a mile and a
half from M’Culloch's house before they
came to the stands usually occupied by the
hunters in the intended drive. Each one
was then posted at his stand, about three
or”four hundred yards apart. They had
waited upwards of an hour near the river
bank without hearing any thing but the
dull murmuring sound of the gentle She-
mandoah, as it flowed rippling over the
rocks or bars in its channel—the occasional
cooing of one or two wood-pigeons—or
the cawing of a flock of crows, when Gil-
don began to think it but a dull business,
and to regret that he had not been with
the party which were more actively em-
ployed in starting and pursuing the game.
He would indeed have found the long in-
terval of fruitless expectation wearisome
in the extreme, if the lovely image of his
mistress, in some past : Scené of endear-
ment, did not always present itself to the
youthful lover, and keep him company in
the wildest solitude. . . . . . " *
While both he and Edward were in-
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 227
dulging these luxurious meditations, and
the rest were supported in their patience
by their keen love of the sport, the hounds
were heard to cry. In a moment they
were all attention. The sound was then
lost, and again was heard something plainer
than before. As the intervals of its return
grew shorter, the cry became louder and
more distinct. Suddenly they were heard
in full chorus in the bosom of the wood,
making that music which is far more sym-
phonious, in a sportsman's ears, than would
be the divine warble of madame Catalani
herself, and were evidently drawing rapid-
ly near. Gildon was in breathless expec-
tation. The pulsations of his heart were
so strong he thought he could almost hear
it beat. He listens—he hears a rustling
sound in the woods in a rather different
direction from the cry of the hounds; he
turns his head and sees a large and beauti-
ful buck, with his branching antlers thrown
back, and his nose in the air, make lopes
and bounds through the wood, more as if
in sport than to avoid pursuit. After
228 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
one moment of surprise, and another of
admiration at the beauty of the animal
and the grace of its movements, he recol-
lected his lesson and made a noise. But
it was too late; for the deer, with his
usual quickness of sight, had discovered
him on his first movements, and diverging
a little on one side, had darted like an ar-
row in the direction most likely to avoid
both his new enemy and his first pur-
suers. He fired, nevertheless, though the
deer was two hundred yards past him,
and had then reached the river. The dis-
charge of the piece was a signal to the
hunters to run to the river side, by which
time the buck was nearly on the opposite
bank. Two rifles were however discharged,
one of which seemed to check the ani-
mal's progress as he ascended the bank of
the river. Whittle, who, as well as Mole,
had been keeping a sharp look-out, as soon
as he heard the hounds, and was some dis-
tance above Gildon, took him in the flank as
he was ascending the hill, and Mole, who
was nearer, endeavouring to get before
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 229
him, fired nearly at the same time, and
evidently crippled him. The animal sud-
denly wheeled about, and by one or two
almost supernatural bounds, again took to
the river, and endeavoured to follow its
downward current. By this time the
hounds had reached the river, into which
they all, except two or three young yelp-
ing curs, readily plunged, when old M'Cul-
loch, whose cries could be heard above
that of all others, bawled first to the hun-
ters and then to the hounds. Those who
were at the lowest stand levelled the rifle
which had done so much execution in its
time, and lodged a ball in his neck just as
old Thunder, as if to make amends for
being out of the way in the morning,
seized him by the haunch—though the
deer had received his death wound, he did
not yet surrender. By a sudden effort he
disengaged himself from old Thunder's
fangs, posting himself in a shallow part of
the river, and presenting his bristling front
to the old hound, kept him awhile at bay
until a reinforcement came up. The hun-
230 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
ters then plunged into the river from both
banks, until the buck, overpowered by
fatigue, loss of blood, and superior num-
bers, ceased to make resistance, and was
seized by three or four hounds just as the
hunters came up in time to prevent them
from tearing him to pieces.
Such was a sketch of the scene as it
presented itself to Gildon. But ten times
the space would not be sufficient to give
in full the various details which each actor
reported of what had been done, or seen,
or heard. The qualities and activity of
the several hounds—the minutest move-
ments of the deer—the particulars of each
shot as to time, place, and effect, were
narrated, commented upon, and repeated,
until they returned to M'Culloch's, and
the operations of the breakfast-table sus-
pended the talking faculty by employing
that of eating. Nor did they, in the midst
of their joyous exultations, forget to spare
Gildon, whose awkward début was the
subject of unceasing raillery. He was
much mortified that he could take no
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 23i
share in the glory of the day, but was at
length consoled to learn how common a
thing it was to fail in the first essay of
deer-hunting; and several others, of the
company became in turn the theme of
banter on their blunders, or want of self-
possession on some former occasion.
Another julep was thought to be a
proper preparative for breakfast, and they
sat down with keen appetites and glad-
some faces to the plentiful and hospitable
board of one who, though not without his
share of perplexities, was at that moment
the happiest man in Christendom. , Mrs.
M’Culloch was a silent, placid, meek-
hearted woman, who accommodated her-
'self in all things to her husband's humour;
and while that love of sport and jollity
which had made such inroads on his estate
were not thwarted by her, a course of in-
dustry, frugality, and thrift, if such had
been his nature, would have met with
equal counténance from her, and a sup-
port more congenial to her character. She
was one of those happy and gentle natures
232 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
which suffer themselves to be moulded
by the circumstances in which they are
placed, and which, though not exactly
fitted for the firm and rugged duties of
the warrior, or statesman, or legislator,
are admirable in the character of a com-
panion or wife. -
It was often the humour of her face-
tious spouse, to affect to be under her
government, and to say that for all her
seeming mildness and gentleness, the little
woman had a high spirit, which she more
effectually refuted by her silence and con-
tented smile, on a face that was still
pleasing, than she could have done by
any direct contradiction. When he would
descend to particulars, and give some dis-
torted and extravagant account of how
she had scolded the servants, quarrelled
with her weaver, and even hated him, he
would sometimes succeed in calling up a
slight emotion of displeasure, and a flush
into her cheek; and even in provoking
her to-day—“Mr. M'Culloch, I am sur-
prised at you—what will people think of
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 233
me?” On which, exulting at his success,
he would exclaim—“Ah, the little woman's
mettle is up—I see it rising—I must stand
clear now :” which ungenerous teasing
commonly excited (such are our vicious
tastes), the diversion of the bystanders
rather than their pity or indignation. But
though fond of thus wantonly plaguing
his patient unoffending wife, he did it
without any real malignity of disposition,
and was known to be most truly and
devotedly attached to her. Sandy was a
rough, good-natured, two-fisted youth of
eighteen; an unbroke, untrimmed, uncur-
ried colt; blest with a good appetite, ro-
bust, healthy, an easy temper, and a good
conscience: his two next children were
daughters at boarding-school, and his four
youngest were three boys and a girl; all
healthy, bluff, and good-natured, none of
them evincing sprightliness of mind even
in a parent's eye, except the youngest boy,
on whom his father's hopes were fixed,
who was intended by him for the bar, and
was called Hamilton.
234 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
*
Gildon, on casting one of his inquisitive
glances around, saw at once evidences of
the liberal thoughtless disposition, as well
as the bad management of his host, and
the easy good nature of his wife. The
house was a framed one, and had once
been painted; but every vestige of this
ornament and defence was nearly effaced.
Most of the windows required glazing;
in some, wooden panes had been put, in
others, a pillow or great-coat, or whatever
else was at hand, had been used by the
servants to keep out the cold or the rain.
The yard and garden were surrounded by
pales, many of which had fallen off, and
whole panels were leaning on this side
or that, and in some instances would have
fallen but for the support of some prop or
forked stick. The gate was a pretty good
one (being comparatively new) except that
the upper hinge, having been broke, it
required so much time and trouble to open
and shut it, that the most active members
of the family commonly got over the
fence. Most of the chairs had something
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 235
wanting; either the back had been broken,
or some of the legs were loose, or the seat
swas split across. A new carpet, lately
purchased at Attick's, covered the floor,
and some tolerable prints in gilt frames
hung around the room. Their occasional
display of luxury, together with the
abundance with which their table was
supplied, with a fare rather substantially
good than remarkably mice, removed the
impression of poverty, which the exterior
of the house was calculated to convey;
but left that of bad management in all its
original force. Mr. M'Culloch was con-
stantly deluding himself with the hope of
making better crops, as the casualty which
had disappointed him this year was not
likely to recur the next. But to his vex-
ation and surprise, some new disaster was
ever befalling him, nowise inferior to
those which had preceded it. Finding
his situation growing worse and worse,
and that his land and slaves were gradu-
ally slipping from him, in casting his eye
around for future relief, he looked to the
236 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
west (the el Dorado of all bad managers)
as the place of his final retreat, and in the
full confidence that he should, at last, find
a comfortable asylum there, he continued
on the same reckless course of expence
and waste as ever. By thus constantly
recurring to the probability of removing
to the western country, the idea had be-
come familiar to the whole family, though
at first very repugnant to Mrs. M'Culloch
and her daughters, and was considered,
like death, as an event which was certainly
to take place, though nobody knew when.
“You see us, Mr. Gildon,” said the old
man, “a little out of order, but if the
Hessian fly will let me alone another year,
I mean to furbish up, and will stick to the
old hunting ground a little longer. Yes,
if the cursed fly will keep away for a few
years, and, Edward, your friends, the
French, continue to keep them busy in
Europe, I hope to kill as fine a buck in
your mountain twenty years hence, as
that we have just killed. I sometimes
talk of going to Kentucky, but the old
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 237
woman protests she won't stir a foot; and
I am sure, my boy, I shall never meet
with a place that I shall like as well as
these mountains—nor friends,” he added,
with evident emotion, “I shall love as
much as those I am used to, though (en-
deavouring to disguise his feelings) some
of them are such vile democrats.”
The painful ideas which these remarks
were calculated to raise, produced serious-
ness and silence in the company, when his
second son came running in and told him
Mr. Slop's hogs were in the corn-field.—
“Set the dogs after them, Wash—I wish
old Slop, his hogs, and distillery, were all
at the devil together.” *
“I see, sir, you have one bad neighbour
then,” said Gildon. *
“Bad yes, d n him—he buys my
grain of my negroes—then corrupts them
with his whiskey—is trying to cheat me
out of a piece of my best land—and to
crown all, he wants to fatten his hogs in
my corn-field. I verily believe he has a
slip-gap in my fence.” The dogs were
238 vaLLEY of SHENANDoAH.
promptly let loose by his son Washing-
ton, and they as promptly drove out the
hogs, wounding some and killing others;
for which the Dutchman afterwards sued
and recovered damages, having proved
that the fence was not a sufficient one
according to law, and that he had even
offered to assist M*Culloch's overseer in
repairing its breaches.
CHAPTER IX.
*****@^&P ºdºº dº
AFTER the little interlude of hog-hunting
was over, Mr. M'Culloch, whose passion
for sport was now excited to the utmost,
proposed they should take a turn round
the corn-field with their rifles, and see
who could in an hour kill the greatest
number of squirrels for a dozen of porter,
of which article he had just got up some
very good. Edward and Gildon excused
themselves, as being desirous of receiving
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 239,
some letters they expected, they would
ride to the post-office at Battle-town be-
fore dinner. Though the bet was de-
clined, old Mr. M'Culloch, Sandy Whit-
tle, and Mole accepted the other part of
the old man's proposal, to make war on
the little animals which threatened such
destruction this year to the growing crop.
On their way Edward expressed his regret
at the improvident course his old Scotch-
Irish friend was pursuing, and his fears
that ere long his debts would so accumu-
late, that he would be entirely broken up;
and that his mother, as well as others,
would lose a most kind-hearted neighbour,
as well as merry, facetious acquaintance.
“But to say the truth,” he added, “I
don't know we shall not choose to go with
him, for it is painful and difficult to de-
scend from the style of expence and mode
of living which one has been accustomed
to, and that seems now to be almost in-
evitable.” ... . . . . .
Gildon, who was one of those mixed
and imperfect characters, which though
240. VALI.EY OF SHENANDOAH.
seldom found in novels, are very commonly
met in real life, had had his mind in
a constant state of oscillation and doubt
ever since the avowal of his passion. When
in the presence of Louisa, her beauty and
sweetness, and artless affection, made him
forget the cold dictates of prudence and
ambition, and think only of the happiness
of calling such a lovely creature his own;
and he moreover thought that he had gone
too far to recede. But when out of the
immediate influence of her beauty, selfish
and worldly considerations acquired the
ascendancy over him, and he sometimes
even called in the assistance of love to
plead their cause ; for he thought to him-
self—if my father was so decidedly hostile
to my marrying Miss De Peyster, merely
because she was without fortune, he will
not be less opposed to my union with this
young lady, especially as his cautious tem-
per will apprehend that I shall be involved
in the embarrassments of the family; and,
indeed, how could I forbear to assist Ed-
ward in his difficulties, when he became
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 241
my brother-in-law, and in so doing, I
should involve myselfin ruin without ma-
terially benefiting him. And again, ought
I to wish to marry a woman who has been
accustomed to every indulgence and lux-
ury the country affords, and consign her
to poverty 2 If I were rich indeed, and
independent, I should be happy to make
her my wife, without a penny; but cir-
cumstanced as I am, I ought to stifle my
rash and ill-placed affection, or, at any rate,
before I give it further indulgence, wait
and see if I can provide for her in a way
suitable to her condition. Prudence, duty,
honour, and even love itself, recommend
this course, and allow of no other.—Such
had been the character of his reflections
the evening before, and such his determi-
nation. The subject then of Edward's re-
marks was somewhat awkward and em-
barrassing to Gildon, as in his late inter-
view with Louisa, he had encouraged the
idea (and he was himself deluded by what
he really wished at the time), that his fa-
VOL. I. MI
242 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
ther would not long withhold his consent,
and he did not doubt that Edward had
been made acquainted with these his ex-
pectations—knowing therefore Edward's
frank and honourable character, he dread-
ed entangling himself in any course of dis.
ingenuousness or duplicity. He content-
ed himself however with expressing his
hopes that Edward's affairs were not so
irretrievable as he seemed to apprehend,
and asked him if he had received any late
information on the subject. Edward told
him, that in the morning he had quitted
his own stand and gone to Mr. M'Culloch's,
before the deer was started, and he had
then learnt from his neighbour, that old
Hatchett had been invited to purchase
the claim that was litigated, and that he
had been shewn the opinions of two of
the ablest counsel of the Richmond bar,
that the claimants must eventually suc-
ceed, on the strength of which the usurer
was disposed to become the purchaser;
“and he accordingly advised my mother
and myself to make proposals of compro-
v.ALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 243
mise to the creditor, as he might thereby
save something handsome ; and we are
waiting for the advice of Mr. Trueheart,
my father's trusty counsel, who will call at
Beachwood on Sunday evening, on his way
to August court, before we determine on
the course we shall pursue. Gildon, who
had at first intended to confer with Ed-
ward unreservedly on the subject of his
own prospects and views, now considering
he had better put off the eclaircissement
until he learnt the result of the advice
which Edward expected, and until he
himself heard from his friends in New-
York, replied—“And I too am expecting
letters from home, on a most important
subject, on which I wish to communicate
with you.” *s
“I presume I am aware of the subject,”
replied Edward; “and as things are likely
to turn out, I must say, Gildon, that I
think it unlucky, and I sincerely regret,
for your sake, that you ever thought of
linking your fortune with our ill-fated
M 2
244 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
house; but I shall insist that you abandon
all idea of such a union, except with your
father's entire approbation.” . . . . . . .
Gildon was not displeased at this ad-
vice; but merely remarked, that “he had
flattered himself his father would not ob-
stinately oppose his wishes, without signi-
fying what would be his ulterior course in
case he did.” He then inquired of Ed-
ward, in a delicate way—“What he meant
to do in his own love affair?” who at once
declared, with emphasis and emotion,
“ that he was more and more confirmed
in the course he had prescribed to himself,
when they last conversed on the subject;
that he would render himself worthy of
Matilda, not only in her eyes, but in the
eyes of her relations, and of the whole
world, or he would surrender his preten-
sions; and such being my fixed determi-
tion,” said he, “...I am not sure that I act
rightly in putting myself in the way of
seeing her often ; for though it, may not
swerve me from my purpose, it will na-
turally increase the difficulty of my own
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 245
struggle—and perhaps—but as soon as I
have rendered all the assistance in my
power to my mother towards settling my
father's perplexed affairs, I shall set out for
Williamsburgh, as I told you, and not re.
turn, but with a licence in my pocket.” . .”
- Gildon felt that the manly course of his
friend was the one that he ought to pur-
sue, and he secretly extolled the extraordi-
mary self-denial he exhibited, especially
when it had the additional motive of gra-
tifying and assisting a parent; but what
he so much admired he was not able
to imitate, and he could neither forego
the delight of Louisa's society, nor frankly
avow his weakness, nor boldly, at all ha-
zards, pursue the course of honourable in-
clination ; but acted upon, first by: one
impulse, and then by another, and able to
adopt no plan that he approved, he suffer.
ed greater anxiety at times than Edward,
whose passion was far stronger and deeper,
but who was supported in his purpose by
self-approbation. f
... “You act like a hero, Edward,” said
246 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
Gildon, “and I trust your reward will be
in proportion to your sacrifice.” . . . e., sº
* As they entered Battle-Town, agentle.
man of a middle age, on a handsome horse,
having a valise behind him, who proved
to be doctor Manifee, overtook them, and
after an interchange of civilities and an in-
troduction to Gildon, he informed them
that “he had seen Jaque, that morning,
and that he was able to walk 2 with a
crutch, and might walk without one in a
week; but he still threatened the venge-
ance of the law on the tam'd Yankee, for
so he called Gildon.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
This village contained about a dozen
houses, built irregularly on each side of a
street, which was a continuation of the
main road leading from Inisken's Gap to
Winchester; and though denominated
Berryville by act of assembly, the people
perseveringly call it by its old name of
Battle-Town, which is derived from the
circumstance of its being the scene of
many a fierce rencontre between different
parties of waggoners, who often made this a
WALLEY.OF SHENANDOAH. 247
place of rendezvous; in which violent con-
flicts old general Morgan, then a mere
waggomer, used to distinguish himself, and
afford a presage of the same impetuous va-
lour which he afterwards displayed in the
war of the revolution. They reached the
post-office soon after thé mail had arrived,
and already five or six of the neighbour-
ing gentlemen, as many servants, and most
of the inhabitants of the village, had 'as-
sembled, in the store or shop in which it
was kept, for the purpose of hearing the
news, foreign and domestic. The Phila-
delphia papers were most in request, some
taking Fenno's Gazette, and a few the
Aurora. Without quitting the store, each
one eagerly seized a newspaper, wet as it
was, and began to read, occasionally giving
to the company such paragraphs as hap-
pened to favour his own party. The re-
plies which these would produce, would
Sometimes give rise to an argument, which
commonly extended itself to others of the
company. Some however took no part in
the discussion, either feeling a contempt
248 VALI.EY OF SHENANDOAH.
for their adversaries, or believing from past
experience such disputations were more
likely to confirm the parties in their re-
spective opinions than to change them.
The number of letters was then much
smaller than at present; that of the news-
papers something larger. There was little
of domestic politics at that season, except
such scurrilous abuse of the great political
parties as either could bestow on the
other, or on its leading politicians. Mo-
reau and the archduke Charles were then
fiercely contending for victory; but the
price of wheat was, with, all the zeal in
the cause of liberty and France, first look-
ed to. After those who were before them
had been waited on, Edward inquired for
letters for Gildon and himself. He re-
ceived several, as usual, most of which
either contained accounts, or related to
claims on his father's estate, and two only
were from debtors, one from a merchant,
who yet owed for a quantity of flour,
purchased some time before, informing
bim that the writer had been unfortunate
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 249
in business, and was not able to pay his
creditors, which he greatly lamented; but
such being his desperate situation, it was
unnecessary to bring suit against him.
The other was from an honest boot-maker,
who wrote that colonel Grayson had, a
little before his. death, ordered a pair of
boots, for which he had paid at the time;
that supposing, after the colonel's death
they would not be wanted, he had dis-,
posed of them, and he then returned the
money, not having certainly known, until
he saw Edward's late advertisement, who
was his representative. -
All his other letters, to those who ap-
peared to be debtors on his father's books,
in which he had urged that there was
pressing occasion for the funds belonging
to the estate, remained unanswered.—Two
letters were handed to Gildon, one from
his father, expressing his surprise at his
thinking of a matrimonial connexion with
a woman without fortune, brought up in
habits of idleness and luxury, and accus-
250 valley of SHENANDoAH.
-va.
tomed to be waited on by slaves—“a cir-
cumstance,” he said, “by-the-by, very little
favourable either to a wife's obedience; or
good temper—that he was disposed to
share with him what he had, which, with
prudence, might give him a good start,
but which would not be sufficient to sup-
port a high-bred Virginia dame in her
southern notions of style. . But if he was
determined to throw himself- away, then
he must understand that what little he
had, he had made by industry and strict
economy, and he could not see it fooled
away in fine houses and fine clothes; that,
in short, if he married, he must not count
upon any aid from him; for if his wife
should turn out to be rich, as he seemed
to hope, he would not require it; and if
poor, she would have no right to expect
it, so that he had better give up the silly
notion at once, and return to his own
state, where he would find women: that
would please him quite as well, and suit
him a great deal better.” The other letter
was from Livingston, his confidential
*
VALLEY of SHENANDOAH. 251
friend, who told him that his father was
seriously displeased ; but his letter had
better speak for itself—it was as follows:
--sºm-
“MY DEAR JAMES,
- . “You are fated, it seems, to be
ever entangled in the snares of beauty.
Scarcely are you extricated from one dan-
ger of this character before you are in-
volved in another. In flying a Charybdis
in New-York, you run upon a Scylla in
Virginia. Who could haye thought, that
in those wild and rugged mountains, you
were to meet with a person of such per-
fection as you describe? I think, however,
that some part of your extravagant, en-
comiums is to be ascribed to the absence
of rival attractions; and you see elegance
and grace in this little wood-nymph, in
her own nafive wilderness, which you
would be scarcely able to discern in Broad-
way or Wall-street. But a truce to ba-
dinage. Your father was out of all pa-
tience at this truant humour of yours, and
W
252 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
I believe would have given you up in
despair when he first got your letter, but
for the fast hold you have on his heart,
by being his only son. His objection to
Miss G n is yet greater than it was to
Miss D r, as he is prejudiced against
her for being a Virginian, in addition to
her being without fortune, though I think
but for those losses and debts you speak
of, the first objection might have been
overcome. But this is not all; six months
have made great changes in the commer-
cial world here, and with no one more
than with Mr. W m D r. His
claim against the Marine Insurance, which
compelled him to stop payment, has, con-
trary to the general expectation, been
decided in his favour, and he has been
able to begin business again with a re-
spectable capital. Commerce was never
so profitable as at present; and should his
mercantile skill and experience be re-
warded with success, would it not be bet-
ter for you to forget this romantic at-
tachment, and return to your first love,
X.
^
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 253
or rather, I may say, to your fourth or
fifth 2 All will go on smoothly. Emily,
I’ve good reason to believe, with all that
disposition to coquetry which fine women
are so apt to possess, is still attached to
you, and I cannot but think that in man-
ners, accomplishments, and understanding,
she must be very superior to this little
Virginia rustic, and more fitted to shine
as Mrs. Gildon in the fashionable circles
of the city. My advice to you therefore
is, to extricate yourself from this unfor-
tunate connexion, as I understand you it
is yet in your power to do with honour,
and seek safety in flight, if you can save
yourself in no other way. Sharpe is again
seeking to play the agreeable; but a word
of encouragement from you would no
doubt put an end to his hopes, or, at any
rate, would make her defer them. Your
father's friends amuse themselves greatly
at his expence, and say that you have
fairly jumped, out of the fryingpan into
the fire; and that if you were now sent
into exile to the farthest west, the first
254 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
letter from you would bring accounts of
your sighing at the feet of some “lovely
and interesting dame. Excuse the free-
dom of this letter, and believe that it
proceeds from the interest taken in your
welfare by your friend,
“John A. LIVINGSTON.”
Gildon read these letters with less of
surprise, than chagrin. It seemed to him
as if his attachment to Louisa was stronger
now that he knew it was disapproved by
his father, whose cool irony displeased him
more than Livingston's lively persiflage.
There was, indeed, in the letter of his
friend, more than one passage which gave
him pleasure, and after awhile awakened
new and flattering trains of thought. It
gratified his vanity to hear that the gay,
the elegant, the volatile Emily, still dis-
covered a preference for him; and the
eharms which had once fascinated him,
did not lose in his recollection of them by
the great probability that they would soon
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 255
beam with the additional lustre of fortune,
like a diamond, which shines all the
brighter for being tastefully set.
After the first feeling of disappointment,
and the value that one is apt to set on
every good in proportion as it is more out
of our reach, he was again thrown back
from his generous and romantic resolu-
tions, and brought down from his air-built
castle to be a mere son of earth. But yet
he had not the ingenuousness or the firm-
ness to disclose the true state of things to
the open-hearted, unsuspecting Edward,
who, perceiving the mortification of his
first looks, and the perplexity of those
which succeeded, observed that “he hoped
he had received no unwelcome intelli-
gence.” ^.
“It is very far from being such as I
expected,” said Gildon. “My father has
greater unwillingness to my marrying than
I had anticipated, and,” hesitating, “seems
particularly unwilling that I should marry
in a southern state. I believe I have
mentioned to you some of his prejudices
256. VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.,
on this subject; and a friend writes me to
the same effect. But I yet flatter myself,
his objections will yield to my firmness,
if not to my arguments.” . . . . . . . . . .
“Indeed, Gildon, I think you had bet-
ter give up the thoughts of a connexion
which is so much disliked by your friends,
and which may prove a source of future
misfortune and regret. My sister, I be-
lieve, is not insensible to your merits, but
she has, with warm feelings, great good
sense, and unbounded generosity; and she
could now, in the present stage of your
acquaintance, consent to surrender you up
for your own benefit, and make a sacrifice,
to which by-and-by she may not be equal.
Leave a family which too much appre-
ciates your worth, and is too sensible of
the distinction you bestow on it, to con- -
sent to do...you an injury. Leave us to
descend in silence from that state of pros-
perity and happiness in which you once
saw us, and do not embitter our feelings
by the consciousness that we have involved
one of our best friends in our misfortunes.”
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 257
Gildon, whose instability of purpose
was the sport of every new gale, began to
yield to his admiration of Edward's dis;
interestedness, and to the unseen opera.
tion of love, said—“ How happens- it,
Grayson, that you give me advice which
you do not take yourself? You are not
willing to surrender Matilda, but are
merely willing to postpone the gratifica-
tion of your wishes until present impedi-
ments are removed—not to give them up
altogether—allow me then, my friend, to
do the same.” y
“I have not been unmindful of the
similarity of our situations,” replied' Ed-
ward; “ but the inconsistency of which
you speak is rather apparent than real. I
wish my sister to take the same course
that I have prescribed to myself; and I
ask you as a friend to aid in carrying it
into effect. It is true, I propose to you
to break off the connexion altogether;
but female delicacy and dignity require
that this should be done; though should
you hereafter be able to renew your ad-
258 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
dresses with the consent of your father,
and Louisa should be still disengaged,
you cannot doubt that you would be re-
ceived with the same cordial welcome as
ever. Besides, the ties which bind you
together are but as of yesterday, while
those which link me with Matilda have
grown with our growth and strengthened
with our strength; they have been che-
rished and encouraged by our families,
and can be now rent asunder only with
those that bind us to life.”
Though Edward was then arguing in
support of a proposition which favoured
Gildon's secret wishes, and which he had
a few minutes before almost resolved to
pursue, yet he felt more repugnance to
it when it was so strongly pressed, and
still more to let his real inclination be
seen. He told Edward that he under-
rated the force of his attachment to Lou-
isa; that when the heart was exclusively
filled with one adored object, it could gain
no accession of strength from time; and
that it was no more practicable or proper
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 259
for him to abandon or forget his sister,
than, it was for Edward to renounce, Ma-
tilda; and while he was willing to release
Louisa from the obligation of an engage-
ment, he must be allowed to continue his
entire devotion to her, and, wait in the
hope that the present difficulties to their
union would not prove insurmountable.
He added, that if his father should remain
obdurate, he also had his prospects and
chances of, making himself independent,
in which case he should hope Louisa's
scruples might be removed. * * * *
“I cannot answer for my sister,” said
Edward; “but if she were to take my
advice, she would never become a mem-
ber of your family, or any other, against
the consent of the heads of it. And this
makes the difference in our situations. I
have hopes of one day being able to re-
move the objections of Matilda's family,
but you have no prospect of removing
the repugnance of yours, as Louisa's lot.
is, I fear, lasting, and hopeless poverty.
Put on this subject, Gildon, my sister
260 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
must judge for herself; and if you do not
overrate the strength and constancy of
your attachment—if your purpose is fixed,
I cannot further object to it. I felt my-
self in duty bound, however, to advise
you otherwise.”
When they reached the house of their
Scotch-Irish friend, they found him with
his coat offin a little porch on the north
side of the house, with a string of seven
or eight squirrels hanging over the rail of
the porch. He had been returned some
time, overcome by the intense heat of the
day, and was then regaling himself with
a drink of cool toddy, in company with
Mr. Buckley and Mr. Browne.
“What news, young gentlemen? Come,
open your budgets,” said he; “but first
wet your whistles with the toddy. Any
new tidings from your friends the French 2
How is wheat in Alexandria P”
Edward threw down a bundle of news-
papers, saying—“I will thus answer all
your questions at once. I believe, how-
ever, there is nothing material on any of
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 261
the subjects of your inquiry.” Each one
then took a favourite newspaper and began
eagerly to read. . . .
“ Why, what a lying unprincipled
scoundrelis this Bache” exclaimed M'Cul-
loch; “ he is here endeavouring to prove
that general Washington is a public de-
faulter.” {.
“While I appreciate Mr. Bache's ser-
vices very highly,” said Edward, “I really
wish they would let the old general re-
main in peace and quiet the remnant of
his days. If they were, to succeed in es-
tablishing that he had forfeited his inte-
grity, after his long course of public ser-
vice, the people of the United States
would feel like the husband who had dis-
covered the infidelity of a beloved wife.”
“And in encouraging these slanders,”
said Mr. Browne, “we act about as wisely
as a husband would, who should listen to
false accusations against his wife; for
though they may not have the effect of
corrupting her purity, they are very like-
ly to sour her temper and alienate her af.
262 vaLLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
fections, and he is sire to share in her
disgrace. This scurrilous attack, in my
opinion, had some effect in making him
form the resolution from which no per--
suasions of his friends have been able to
shake him, of retiring from public life at
the end of his present term of service.
Mr. Lear, his private secretary, dined with
me the other day, and told me that the
old gentleman had been for some time
past engaged in preparing a farewell ad-
dress to the people of the United States,
which is to appear in the course of this
year, and which, he says, will be greatly
admired both for its political wisdom and
its good taste in point of composition.”
“I wonder who will succeed him,” said
Mr. Buckley, taking the cigar he was
smoking from his mouth. *
“Mr. Jefferson to be sure,” says Ed-
ward; “ New-York, as well as all the
southern states, will support Mr. Jeffer-
son, and nobody else will get a vote in
Virginia I should think.”
“"I am not so sure of that,” said M'Cul-
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 263
loch. “We choose here by districts, and
not by the legislature, or by what they
call a general ticket in some of the states,
and I am thinking that John Adams, the
vice-president, will get several votes in
this state. I think we shall choose federal
electors here.”
The gauntlet was now thrown, and the
merits of these candidates and their re-
spective probabilities of success were ban-
died to and fro until they were summoned
to dinner, when M'Culloch put on his
coat, saying, at the same time, that if it
were not for fear of “the old woman,” he
should wave ceremony, and dine without
it. They found, among several other
dishes, the fruits of the morning's toil,
served up in a variety of ways. Gildon
could not help remarking that the same
air of disorder and waste was exhibited at
the dinner-table as was manifested about
the rest of the establishment. But the
substantial comfort of the entertainment,
and yet more the kindness and hearty
welcome of the entertainers, counteracted
264 vaLLEY of SHENANDOAH.
every unfavourable impression from aught
besides. The venison was very good, and
was highly relished by the company,
though they were compelled to wash it
down in toddy, porter, and some indiffe-
rent muddy wine, which had been pur-
chased that day at Battle-Town, in com-
pliment to the stranger guests. The ad-
ventures of the morning's chase were re-
iterated, and they naturally introduced
other hunting anecdotes, with which
M’Culloch, availing himself of the pri-
vilege of a host, exclusively entertained
them; but the subject being rather dull
to all the company, except the narrator,
they soon rose from table, and in a short
time afterwards Edward and Gildon took
leave of their warm-hearted and jovial en-
tertainer.
Returning early in the evening, they
found Mrs. Grayson and her daughter in
the porch. The rays of the setting sun
decking the western horizon with crimson
and gold, glimmered here and there
through the thick foliage of the vines
^. VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 265
which were planted on each side of the
porch, and shed a rich and mellow light
within their verdant bowers, without im-
parting any of his heat. Mrs. Grayson
welcomed them with her usual serene be-
nignity, and after inquiring into the suc-
cess of the day, she read the letter which
Edward handed to her.
Louisa cast an anxious and inquiring
look towards Gildon at the mention of
letters; and Mrs. Grayson and Edward
having retired to confer on those they
had received, he drew near to her, and
told her he had indeed heard from his
father, who, he said, (endeavouring to
soften his opposition as much as he could,)
was unwilling he should marry until he
was settled in business, saying nothing on
the subject of Miss De Peyster.
According to the promise she had made
to her doubting, anxious mother before
their return, Louisa, with a reluctant and
somewhat embarrassed air, then said, that
she feared he had been precipitate in the
VOL. I. N
266 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
step he had taken in making a tender of
his affections, and that it might lay the
foundation of much future. regret—that
she begged him to weigh these things,
and wait until a more auspicious moment
should arrive for the expression of his re.
gard; or—hesitating, and unable to stifle
the rising sigh—perhaps as there was no
probability that the present obstacles would
be soon removed, he had better forget he
had ever known her.
Louisa had been dressed that evening
with unusual taste and care. Her fine,
silky hair, hung in careless profusion over
her neck and forehead, and the walk she
had taken, together with her mental anx-
iety, had, by raising a colour in her cheek,
given to her face all that it wanted. The
seriousness, not to say sadness with which
these sentiments were expressed, and the
sighs and tears of tenderness which so
plainly contradicted them, drove from him
all his previous selfish resolutions, and he
gave himself up, for the moment, to the .
enthusiasm of love.—“Oh, Louisa could
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 267
your own heart teach you rightly to judge
of mine, you would see how impossible it
is for me to comply with what you pro-
pose. Leave you, my angelic Louisa
No—so long as life and sense remain, I
shall cherish my passion as that which
makes existence dear; and indulge the
hope that it will one day meet its just re-
ward.”
“It would be in vain to deny,” said the
artless Louisa, “that my request is found-
ed more on a sense of duty than on my
own wishes. I have not disguised from
you my feelings; and, had I wished it, I
fear my actions have sometimes expressed
them a little too plainly.”
“Say not so, my lovely Louisa; your
frankness and sincerity of manner is a
thousand times more captivating than the
most studied graces of art; and of all your
attractions this has ever pleased me most.
—Do not then try to divest yourself of
any portion of this amiable simplicity—
this absence of all artifice and dissimula-
N 2
268 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
tion—this pledge of innocence and purity;
and be assured you can never appear so
lovely, or make me so happy, as when you
favour me, with expressions of esteem and
regard.”
“But, my friend,” said she, “ought I
not to be more reserved while matters re-
main thus uncertain 3”
“Why so, my beloved Louisa 2 My
heart is as wholly and truly yours as it
can ever be; and you, who are the soul of
generosity and ingenuousness, can you re-
fuse to afford such affection as mine some
portion of the reward it covets—something
to solace and support it when compelled
to taste the bitterness of hope deferred?”
“I cannot reason with you,” said Lou-
isa half playfully; “but I have told you
enough already; and if—you must guess
the rest—until—but mamma expects
me in the porch 2"
“Oh, do not leave me yet, Louisa If
you will not favour me with expressions
of kindness, do not treat me thus distantly
—cruelly I may say!”
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 269
* Ah, Mr. Gildon, we know not what
is best for us. I am guided by the coun-
sels of the best and kindest of mothers,
and she has prescribed my course.”
“You have indeed an affectionate mo-
ther; but parents always apprehend the
worst. Your mother's imagination takes
a tinge from her own domestic misfor-
tunes; and she magnifies the difficulties
that oppose our union. She, however,
knows me not. Could she appreciate the
strength and purity of my affection, she
would not require of you to withhold from
me the happiness of your society, and
treat me with the distance of a stranger,
instead of the confidence of a lover or even
of a friend. I trust, Louisa,” taking her
hand, “ you know me better; and I ex-
pect more justice from you. Do not re-
fuse me.—Sit here with me, or in the par-
lour as you were wont to do, when,
thoughtless and happy, you were kindling
in my bosom the passion which it depends
upon you to make a blessing or a curse.”
270 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
“If mamma approves it, I will grant
your request.—Do not insist further.”
“Oh, Louisa, how coldly prudent you
are I deceived myself—my too flatter-
ing hopes deceived me. You would never
bring yourself to refuse me a boon so easily
granted, so reasonable in itself, if I had
been able to inspire you with one spark of
that affection which I feel.”
“Believe me,” she said, “you do me
injustice. But I have passed my word to
my mother, and you would not have me
forfeit it.”
“Well, I acquiesce; but I shall not de-
spair of convincing you of your error.”
The rest of the evening passed in gene-
ral conversation, somewhat restrained on
the part of Mrs. Grayson and Edward,
from a knowledge of the continued oppo-
sition of Gildon's father; and on the part
of the lovers, because all other society ap-
pears dull except that which they have
with one another, and even that when
had in the company of third persons, com-
pared with the perfect interchange of
vALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 271
thoughts and feelings, and overflowings of
the soul which take place when left en-
tirely to themselves.
They had not been many minutes in the
parlour before Primus came in, and told
Edward there were two gentlemen at the
gate. “I hope,” said he, “one of them
is Mr. Trueheart.”—And so it proved.
The other, a Mr. Hardy, was also a gentle-
man of the bar, going from the county of
Rockingham, with Trueheart, to Win-
chester, to attend the quarterly court for
the county. Gildon, who had formed his
ideas of an eminent lawyer from what he
had seen in the city of New-York, was sur-
prised to see two middle-aged men, clad
in grey homespun coats, some light sum-
mer wear for waistcoats and breeches, and
long white-top boots, each with a pair of
leather saddle-bags on his arm, resembling
those carried by the deputy sheriff.
They both were well acquainted with
the family, and were very cordially greet-
ed; indeed, Trueheart had been left one
of colonel Grayson's executors; and ‘ al-
272 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
though he had not qualified, he seemed to
feel the same interest, and to render almost
as much service, as if he had. He was a
stout, square-built man, of a healthy com-
plexion, and a countenance naturally good-
natured, but marked with traces of thought,
and occasionally of severity. The other
was a small man, about forty, of a lively,
acute, and rather satirical cast of face; he
was very talkative, and his whole air and
manner indicated great confidence in him-
self, which amounted often to an oppres-
sive self-sufficiency. In answer to Gildon's
inquiries, Edward told him they both be-
longed to the republican party—were men
of high standing in their profession, as well
for integrity as talents; but the elder was
still more distinguished for his rare gene-
rosity and benevolence.
They had been in the habit of calling
here on the evening before the quarterly
courts, during colonel Grayson's lifetime,
but these visits had been partially discon-
tinued since his death. The table was now
ordered to be set, and a light supper pre-
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 273
pared, suitable at once to the season, and
to those who were fatigued with travel-
ling. Mr. Trueheart was disposed to con-
verse with the young gentleman on the
miscellaneous subjects of literature, poli-
tics, and the present state of William and
Mary College, which had been his own
alma mater. But Hardy, who was a man
of less general information, though a more
able advocate, would frequently speak of
some litigated case in court, which had re-
cently occurred, or which they expected
to meet with, and commented on it in a
tone of dogmatism, and somewhat of defi-
ance, and seemed at all times cocked and
primed for argument, not always indeed
from the hope of obtaining a triumph, or
with a view of displaying his learning, nor
yet from a parade of business (motives
which had once operated on him with great
force, but had now lost much of their in-
fluence), but by the mere dint of habit
which these motives had greatly contri-
buted to form. But finding all his efforts
N 3
274 VALI.EY OF SHENANDOA.H.
at discussion parried by Trueheart, who,
though “cunning in fence” himself, good-
naturedly endeavoured to direct the stream
of conversation into that channel in which
they all might bear a part. Hardy then
addressed himself to Gildon, and inquired
of the relative standing and probable pro-
fits of business of Burr, Harrison, and
others, eminent lawyers in New-York, of
whom he had heard. Gildon, whose
thoughts were otherwise occupied, and
who wished to continue his conversation
with Louisa, made as brief answers as po-
liteness would permit. But being then
pressed to give an account of the organiza-
tion of their courts, with their respective
powers and jurisdictions, a subject with
which he had but a limited acquaintance,
and in which he felt no interest, he became
impatient, and by way of ridding himself of
his persevering querist, began to inquire,
in his turn, of the system of jurisprudence
in Virginia, in the hope of starting some
game which his tormentor and the rest of
the company might pursue, and leave him
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 275
to that most delightful of all employments
to a young man, of conversing with the
woman that, he loves.
Hardy readily took the bait, and at
once gave a rapid detail of the whole sys-
tem of Virginia jurisprudence, beginning
with the county courts, and ending with
the court of appeals. He proceeded then
to speak of the mode of appointing the
county-court magistrates, which he vehe-
mently deprecated as an odious feature of
aristocracy.
At this word Trueheart and Edward
pricked up their ears, and the former, who
approved what Hardy so denounced, and
had frequently argued the matter before
with him, not liking that a stranger should
be prejudiced against the constitution of
Virginia, and fearing lest a young man of
Edward's promise should receive such a
wrong bias, undertook the defence of this
part of the institutions of his country, and
a dialogue, or rather argument ensued, in
which Gildon and Edward took little
part, not only because they were less
276 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
+
competent to discuss its merits, but be-
cause the vehement earnestness, and ready
fluency of the disputants, allowed of no
interval of time for them to put in a word.
But, for the convenience of my fair read-
ers, for I expect these pages to be ho-
moured with their perusal, from the At-
lantic to the Pacific, I shall insert it in a
chapter by itself, to be passed over by the
lovely creatures, hating, as they do, what
is serious and dull, but to be read with
some interest by those minds which, at
once patient and inquisitive, are not averse
to dry speculations.
CHAPTER X.
vº º dº º ſºº-ººººº dº
“YEs, sir,” says Hardy, addressing him-
self to Gildon, until finding his attentions
engrossed by a very different object, he
turned to his old adversary, and him
whom he wished to make a proselyte,
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 277
“yes, gentlemen, I am sorry to be com-
pelled to use so harsh a term in speaking
of the constitution of the old dominion,
which, in the main, I am very proud of,
and very highly approve; but I repeat it,
the justices of our county courts consti-
tute a sheer aristocracy, and for aught I
know, the only one in these United
States.”
“I little expected,” said Edward, “such
a charge against the constitution of Vir-
ginia. I had thought 35 p
“I will explain,” interrupted Hardy.
“You must, kind sir,” again making an
effort to engage Gildon's attention.—
“These courts are composed of the ma-
gistrates or justices of the peace of the
county, consisting commonly of from
twenty to fifty, according to the size of
the county. Vacancies are filled by the
governor and council, on the recommen-
dation of their own body; and thus they
have the means of perpetuating them-
selves for ever, independent of the people,
278 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
or of any of the representatives of the
people.” *
“I believe,” said Edward, “ that the
governor and council, whose offices are
elective, have exclusively the power of
making the appointments, and of course
they have that of rejecting the recom-
mendations.” &
“That is true, but this has become a
matter of mere form ; magistrates are
wanted in a county to try little neigh-
bourhood disputes, under forty shillings—
that is, sir,” again turning to Gildon, “six
dollars and two thirds of a dollar; to take
depositions and affidavits, recognisances,
‘and that sort of out of door business; and
although the persons recommended may
not be such as the people, or any other
unbiassed electors would choose, yet in-
different magistrates are preferred to no
magistrates; and public opinion, on which
all our other functionaries more or less
depend, insists on an appointment, which
must accordingly be made. Now the na-
tural consequence of giving to these ma-
WALLEY OF SHENAND OAH. 279
gistrates the right to perpetuate them-
selves is, that the office is apt to be kept
always in the same families—so that three
or four parties, or juntoes, will engross the
whole political power with which they are
invested (and a formidable array it is), as
I shall shew you by-and-by. Sometimes
two of these families, more numerous, or
ambitious, or intriguing than the rest, fall
out in a squabble for some office of honour
or emolument, or perchance from mere
emulation and jealousy of influence, be-
come opposed to each other, and form two
rival parties under which all the others
enlist, and thus disturb the peace of the
county, and sully the pure stream of jus-
tice, by their intrigues and their feuds.
This is more especially the case in the
smaller counties; but in the larger ones,
there are commonly too many of these
petty nobles, and their power is too much
divided to be thus melted down into two
divisions; and every family has a weight
and influence in proportion to its num-
bers and talent for intrigue, which num-
280 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
bers it is constantly trying to augment.
Occasionally, some one family has obtained
such an ascendency that it controls the
county, without a rival, and without re-
sistance. But the worst consequence of
this mode of appointment is, that it lays
the foundation of a future aristocracy. A
few families, accustomed to monopolize
all the civil honours of the county, will
gradually begin to think themselves bet-
ter than the rest of their fellow-citizens.
The people, too, under the like influence
of habit, will be brought in time to ac-
knowledge their superiority; and when
once this feeling of inferiority becomes
engrafted on public opinion, the chief sup-
port of our political equality is removed,
and the laws themselves, which take their
form and colour from the sentiments of
the people, may be moulded to confer
superior privileges on a particular class,
in conformity with that superiority of
rank which public opinion had already
bestowed. Power will invariably com-
mand flattery and respect: make the power
VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 281
permanent, and limit it to one or a few,
arid you virtually prepare men's minds for
a monarchy or oligarchy.” *
“But,” said Edward, “I should not
suppose that the power possessed by these
courts could ever become formidable. It
is the humblest tribunal of that depart-
ment of civil powers, the judiciary, which
is commonly considered the weakest of
the three.”
“True,” said Hardy, “but the powers
possessed by our county court are not
merely judicial, though these, subordinate
as they are, give them great weight in the
community. Our magistrates not only
unite common law and chancery juris-
diction to an unlimited extent, as to pro-
perty, but they also have jurisdiction in a
numerous class of small cases, from which
the superior courts are excluded. The
power of deciding small disputes without
appeal, is felt by a much larger number of
persons, than the power which has cog-
nizance of more important controversies.
Their courts sit every month; in the cha-
282 VALLEY OF SHENAND OAH.
racter of examining courts, they have a
portion of criminal jurisdiction, which also
gives them the greater influence, as it is
complete as to acquittal, and restricted
only in the power of producing conviction.
They can absolve the worst offender
against the laws from punishment, which
is more than any judge can do. But this
is not all. They have ample powers re-
lative to the police of the county; they
can tax the people ad libitum for certain
specific objects, such as repairing roads,
building bridges, gaols, and court-houses.
All apprentices and poor orphans are
under their exclusive cognizance. They
recommend to the executive all militia
officers below the rank of brigadier-ge-
neral, which is virtually the same as ap-
pointing them. The sheriff and coroner
are always members of their body, recom-
mended by themselves; and thus possessed
of these large powers and means of po-
pular influence, they may use them to
become members of assembly, or of con-
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 283
gress, from which neither the constitution
nor laws have excluded them.”
“But how does all this operate,” said
Gildon, who did not wish to seem alto-
gether inattentive to so animated a dis-
cussion; “does not this accumulation of
powers create a jealousy on the part of
the people? and the magistrates who are
eligible, I presume, are seldom elected.”
“Quite the contrary, sir,” said Hardy.
“The means of influence which they pos.
sess produce their natural effect. I would
observe, sir, that the general results of
moral causes are as uniform as those in
the physical world, though they may not
be calculated with the same precision. At
least one half, and sometimes more than
half, of the members of the legislature are
justices of the peace, that is, members of
the county court; and the number would
be yet greater, if many of the profession
to which I happen to belong, profiting by
their extensive personal knowledge of the
people, and having superior qualifications,
were not often their successful rivals. But
284 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
this superiority is but temporary; and
when our county-court magistrates shall
become more intelligent and capable, as
they will no doubt be in time, their num-
ber in the legislature will be probably still
greater than it now is. This change in
their qualifications, so naturally to be ex-
pected by the general progress of wealth
and improvement in our country, and
especially in a class that possesses so many
means of advancement, will make a fearful
addition to their power. At present there
is nothing like general concert or combi-
nation among them—nothing of an esprit
du corps, I believe the French call it;
and if there were, they have not the ta-
lents that would be requisite for success,
in any conspiracy against the liberties of
the people, or for the extension of their
own privileges. But when the union of
powers legislative, executive, and judicial,
which, by-the-bye, our bill of rights pro-
nounces to be incompatible with free go-
vernment, shall be wielded by abilities
capable of turning them to the best ac-
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 285
#
count, we shall see the pernicious effects
of this strange anomaly in our constitu-
tion. Our present safety consists in their
ignorance, and that security is every day
growing weaker.”
Hardy having made a pause here, True-
heart, who had sat patiently watching for
an opportunity to reply, occasionally smi-
ling at his companion's vehemence, but
sometimes shewing emotion when he
thought his adversary had used a plausible
argument, then took up the subject, and
said—“I dare venture to assert, Edward,
that you never expected to hear such
bitter denunciations against any part of
the constitution of Virginia by a good
republican, nor to hear from any quarter
whatever her institutions charged with
being of an aristocratical tendency. Vir-
ginia, who was one of the first, if not the
very first, to aspire to national indepen-
dence, presented in the revolution which
ensued, a firm, undivided phalanx of pa-
triots and whigs, who, with one voice,
has hailed the dawn of liberty in France,
286 WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
whose extreme jealousy of power and
attachment to republican principles has
erected the standard of opposition to the
most illustrious of her sons, and who is
considered as the fountain-head of the
spirit of liberty and republicanism. You
must attribute the strictures of my friend
Hardy to an excess of this very spirit by
which our state has been so distinguished.
But when the subject is looked to, with
that sobriety and moderation which are
indispensable to just reasoning, I think a
great part of his censures will be found
unjust and his fears visionary. It is true,
that our county-court magistrates have
the right-of recommending persons to fill
up vacancies in their own body, and that
they often select those who are related to
themselves; but it will commonly be
found that they are guided by the public
wishes in the discharge of this duty. Such
is that resistless sway of opinion which
Hardy speaks of; and if they were to
attempt to make any recommendations of
persons decidedly incompetent, the ex-
WAIALEY OF SHENANDOAH. 287
A
ecutive would be quickly apprized of the
fact, and bowing, as (from the mode in
which it is constituted) it may be expected
to do, before, the public will, it would
refuse to make the appointment, and the
censures of the community, which wanted
new magistrates, would fall where it was
due, on those whose character or corrupt
motives were the real cause of their dis-
appointment. But let us test this part of
our system by its effects; let us judge of
the tree by its fruits. Are there any
more upright, pure, impartial, and inde-
pendent magistrates, on earth than those
which compose our county courts? They
have large and various powers, but they
as rarely abuse them as any class of men,
we have, to whom power has been con-
fided. Compare their decisions with those
of the superior court.—In a late conver-
sation, with the venerable Pendleton, he,
told me that their judgments were more
often confirmed in the court of appeals,
than those of , the superior courts. No.
one ever heard of bribery or corruption
288 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
among them—and we never knew a ma-
gistrate to sit on any judicial question, in
which any, the remotest connexion, had
an interest. Their powers ºre great to be
sure, but great by their number and va-
riety, rather than in any one subject or
department; and in thus cutting it up
into small portions, and distributing it
among some thirty or forty persons in
each county, the power that concentred
into one hand would be formidable, is
divided into fragments, harmless and in-
significant. It is moreover almost always
subordinate to other powers. If they do
wrong, or refuse to do right, they are
liable to be controlled by appeal, by man-
damus, or prohibition, so that their judi-
cial functions, the most important they
possess, are limited to doing good. As
instruments of mischief or oppression, they
are utterly feeble and unimportant: it is
true they are often elected to the assem-
bly, but it is by precisely the same means,
the same arts of winning popular favour,
as other citizens; and we know that there
#
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 289
is also among the people a lively jealousy
against them on this very account, which
counteracts their official influence, and is
sometimes sufficient to defeat their elec-
tion. This salutary check, like every other
vis praedicatria, will no doubt become
stronger as the occasion calls for it; and
the people, who have the power, will also
have the inclination to correct the evil, as
soon as it needs correction.
, “As to the office being limited to a few
families, I admit there is some force in
that objection—but there is connected
with it an advantage which ought to out-
weigh a good deal of inconvenience. From
the manner in which the county courts
are constituted, they are likely to have a
uniform and consistent character — and
amidst the perpetual fluctuations of party,
and changes of popular opinion, it is de-
sirable to have somewhat in our institu-
tions that is permanent and unchanging.
The county courts eminently possess this
advantage; they are our political sheet-
WOL. I. O
290 VALLEY OF SHENANDOAH,
anchor to keep the vessel of state steady,
in all the storms of civil faction and sud-
den veerings of popular caprice. They
guard us against the imperceptible opera-
tions of time. We have nothing in this
state, or in any of the states, so far as I
am acquainted, that is equal to them for
giving steadfastness to the character of
the nation, or endurance to its policy—
and hence you see us the same people
now that we were twenty years ago—that
our state has been disgraced by no insur-
rection or internal commotion, and that it
never pauses, or wavers, or deviates in its
party politics. For this singular advan-
tage, which republican constitutions are
apt to want, I am willing to put up with
a good deal of inconvenience, some of
which I allow to exist, though my friend
here has greatly overrated them.”
“I have,” replied Hardy, who had long
manifested an impatience to speak, “often
heard you insist on this advantage, but I
neither admit that it is as great a one as
you claim it to be, nor that it is attribu-
VALLEY OF SHENAND OAH. 291
table to our county courts. It is true, our
state has been remarkable for its internal
tranquillity, and its obedience to the laws.
But we are a more homogeneous popula-
tion than most of the other large states—
New-York, or Pennsylvania, for example.
We are not only the same people now
that we were twenty years ago, but we
are also the same that we were before the
revolution, which was before such large
powers were given to the county courts,
and even before the courts themselves
were organized. We owe our tranquility,
our love of order, our submission to the
laws, to the circumstance that our yeo-
manry are people of property and common-
ly of education. As the labouring class are
slaves, those who are free must be of a su-
perior character—and the same self-respect,
the same regard to the rights of property,
or whatever it may be, whether a gene-
rous or selfish motive, or both, which
kept us quiet during the trial of Callender
for sedition in 1800, made us loyal sup-
O 2
292 TVALLEY OF SHENANDOAH.
porters of Charles I., against the Parlia-
ment, a century and a half before. No,
sir, annihilate the county courts and you
would still find in us the same sobriety,
and I may say dignity of character,
which has ever distinguished us. But if
the agency of these courts were as great
as you suppose, I confess I would run a
little risk of disorder and change, rather
than incur that of a privileged order.—I
mean no pun, sir, (seeing Gildon smile)—
and when our country is constantly un-
dergoing such rapid changes in its physical
circumstances, and some of its political,
ought not its laws and constitutions to be
capable of being moulded to suit them 2
As we increase in numbers and in wealth,
and improve in science and art, our habits
and manners change, and our laws and
civil institutions ought to change with
them. You think, friend Trueheart, too,
that the popular jealousy of their great
power will prevent any mischief from their
eligibility to the legislature, whenever
that power becomes dangerous; but you
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 293
@
forget that public opinion is itself the
creature of our institutions—and in the
silent, unseen operation of the county
courts on the public mind consists their
greatest danger. The ambition and love
of power of individuals is always awake
and active—but the jealousy of the people
may perchance fall asleep. You speak of
their present moderation in the exercise
of power, and of their personal respecta-
bility. So far as respects their judicial
functions, I readily pay them that tribute
of praise—but they are kept from intrigue,
and in a faithful discharge of their duty,
partly by their ignorance of the powers
they possess, and partly by their conscious
inferiority to those lynx-eyed and jealous
sentinels of public freedom, the members
of the bar. Let there be a considerable
portion of able, well-educated men among
them, incited to ambition by the posses-
sion of all the means of gratifying it, and
see if the course of justice would flow in
the same placid and unpolluted stream as
at present; if the power of adjudication
294 VALLEY OF SHENANE) OAH.
would not be as much abused then, as the
power of appointment often is now ; if
self-interest, and intrigue, and, corruption,
would not manifest themselves in all their
acts; and naturally extending from the
public functionaries to the mass of the
people, sap the principles of republican
government to their foundation—believe
me, sir, we can have no safety for the per-
manence of our democratic principles,
until by a change of the constitution, the
body politic is rid of this foul excrescence,
and restored to a healthy action.”
Mr. Trueheart manifested more of im-
patience than, he had done before, and
evidently shewed that he was prepared to
answer the arguments of his opponent
with some hope of success. But Primus
entering with his wonted brisk step and
bow, that would not have disgraced a
preux cavalier, announced that supper
was ready, upon which he contented him-
self with saying, he should take some
other opportunity of vindicating the most
favourite part of the constitution of Vir-
WALLEY OF SHENANDOAH. 295
ginia from the ingenious attacks that had
been made upon it.
They then joined the ladies at supper,
in which Mr. Hardy attacked the ham,
and boiled chicken, and tea, and buck-
wheat cakes, with even more keenness
than he had done the county courts, and
Mr. Trueheart proved the goodness of his
own constitution as zealously as he had
done that of his country. These worthy
limbs of the law, having discharged a
goodly cargo of argument, and taken in a
more substantial one of provisions, set sail
for the land of Morpheus, which they soon
reached in a pleasant voyage. In other
and better language, they retired to rest
in one of the best-furnished lodging-rooms
of Frederick, where, at that period, a mat-
tress was a rare luxury.
END OF WOL. I.
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