^S^^^p,; 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://archive.org/details/alamanceorgreatfOwiley 
 
ALAMANCE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE GREAT AND FIIAL EXPERIMENT. 
 
 One good deed, dying tongueleaa, 
 Slaughters a thousand waiting on that. 
 
 Winter's Tale. 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 82 CLIFF STREET, NEW YORK. 
 
 184 7. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand 
 eight hundred and forty-seven, by 
 
 Harper & Brothers, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District 
 of New York. 
 
TO 
 
 
 JAMES IREDELL, ESQ, 
 
 THIS WORK, 
 
 THE FIRST FRUITS OF MY PEN, 
 
 ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED, 
 
 WIT*H A HOPELESS WISH THAT IT MAY RENDER 
 
 THE NAME OF SO GOOD A MAN 
 
 A3 IMMORTAL A3 IT DESERVES TO BE. 
 
 TODR FRIEND, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
DEDICATION THE SECOND. 
 
 TO 
 
 Thy name, sweet friend, should also grace 
 This book, whose heroine thou art, 
 
 And take in fame's proud fane the place 
 It long has held within my heart, 
 
 The brightest, dearest, could I see 
 That this poor offering of mine 
 
 Would, by the world's applause, e'er be 
 For such a name a proper shrine. 
 
 There may, perchance, however, fall 
 Upon the book and on the scribe 
 
 Oblivion's unwelcome pall, 
 Or censure of a heardess tribe; 
 
 And, therefore, I will brave alone 
 The dangers of this untried sea. 
 
 The losses all shall be my own — 
 The glories I will share with thee! 
 
 New York, Sept. 184X 
 
PREFACE 
 
 HORACE LOCKWITTER, OF NEW YORK. 
 
 "Once on a time" it was ray fortune to* pass through that remote and unex- 
 plored part of our country designated on the maps as the State of North Carolina. 
 To my great surprise, I found that the inhabitants were neither Cannibals, Sala- 
 
 % manders, nor Fire-eaters, nor even Pagans, though there was among them a con- 
 siderable sprinkling of Jews. Men and women generally dressed after the Euro- 
 pean fashion, lived in houses with chimneys, and ale three times a-day, though at 
 very unusual hours — breakfast, for instance, was served up at seven in the morn- 
 ing, dinner at about one, poit meridian, and supper at sundown — but, bating this 
 barbarous custom, and the still mote barbarous habit of going to bed at ten o'clock 
 at night, I became satisfied that the better portion of the inhabitants might be 
 considered as a Christian, civilized people. That class of the natives who live 
 naked in the woods, subsisting on acorns, raw snails, and wild onions, I did not 
 see, nor could I ascertain their exact locality. Those with whom I mingled were 
 a plain, unfrizzled people, sadly addicted to sobriety aim matrimony, and greatly 
 -deficient in the art of lying, and other fashionable accomplishments and amuse- 
 ments. It was the fashion among the men to shave their faces, and among the 
 women to preserve the original forms bestowed on them by Nature ; and I was 
 credibly informed that there were many idolatrous worshippers of those fabulous 
 deities. Love and Friendship, whose temples still exist in considerable numbers. 
 True, missionaries are among them, doing all they can to eradicate the seeds of 
 this noxious superstition, especially among the young and enlightened; but the 
 common people still cling, with singular tenacity, to the antiquated notions of their 
 fathers. So much for the inhabitants. Of the face of the country, its locality, 
 climate, and productions, I regret that I did not take fuller notes, and cannot but 
 hope that some enterprising traveller will yet explore those unknown regions, and 
 give the world the benefit of his investigations and discoveries. The State (as it 
 is in compliment called) is situated somewhere between the Arctic Ocean and 
 Cape Horn, and the climate is a medium between that of Siberia and Equador. 
 The principal productions of the soil are tar (so called from Tar River, on which 
 
 ; it grows), tobacco, and Indian maize. The largest cities are those of Henderson 
 (named after General Pinckney Henderson, of Texas), Ashboro', and Buncombe; 
 and the only seaport town is that called Nag'? Head, on account of its having bVen 
 built in a semicircle rguud the bay, into which are emptied the waters of the Yad- 
 kin. This information, scant as it is, exhausts my memoranda in regard to the 
 •country and people at larye. , 
 
Vi PREFACE. 
 
 ! It was my luck, good or bad, to be delayed several,, days at a very neat and 
 pleasant village, the shady serenity and repose of which forcibly reminded me of 
 those South Sea Islands, in regard to which so many enchantftig stories have re- 
 cently been written. My landlord, to whom I herehy make my acknowledgments 
 for his kindness and liberality, formally introduced me to all of his boarders, and 
 thus I became acquainted with — an attorney at law, and a gentleman~ot' some 'local 
 celebrity as a writer. I was informed that this last-named gentleman was writing 
 a book, and it at once occurred to me that he had made a happy hit. A North 
 Carolina book ! What a gem for the curious in literature ! I supposed, of course, 
 that it was a fiction, and I was enraptured at the idea. All the rest of the habit- 
 able and uninhabitable globe has been explored : the character, inhabitants, and 
 manners of all other parts are familiar even to our school-boys. But here, thought 
 I, in this fabulous country — here, in this, the only dark corner of the earth — is a 
 proper scene for the expatiations of genius, and especially French genius. Here 
 can be located wizards, enchanters, hippogriffs, wild giants, swarthy dwarfs, appa- 
 ritions, prodigies, wandering Jews, mysteries, murders, rapes, and rapine. Here is 
 the place to lay the scene ; here all the enginery of a popular fiction-writer's brain 
 may be planted. Hence may stalk forth to astonish, delight, and electrify the 
 world, frightful phantoms, blood-reeking assassins, incarnate devils, celestial wan- 
 tons, spiritual rowdies, angelic rogues, philanthropic villains, holy martyrs, who 
 love other men's wives, chaste vestals, who consume with immortal ardour for other 
 women's husbands, charitable fiends, satyrs, wood-nymphs, and dragons, with all 
 their accompaniments of cross-purposes, horrible rencontres, glorious suicides, 
 heroic murders, magnanimous robberies, blood, thunder, and earthquakes ! Hap- 
 py man ! fortunate genius ! You have a world of your own — a glorious theatre 
 for an infernal tragedy. fcSo thinking, I called one morning at the office of the at- 
 torney, and found him listening, with apparent interest, to the story of an old man 
 who had embarked in a suit to recover three dollars and thirty-seven cents out of 
 an insolvent debtor ! Seven times the old gentleman took his leave, and seven 
 ti me s he returned with new instructions about his suit, and an increased thickness 
 ; of tongue. At last, when tolerably drunk, after many and oft-repeated instruc- 
 tions to his counsel to be vigilant and ferocious, he took an affectionate and final 
 leave. The next instant a host of boys lounged in and sat an hour, and these 
 were succeeded by a very voluble gentleman, who, fearing, as he alleged, that his 
 friend might be alone and suffering in solitude, had come down to cheer him up. 
 In the afternoon I called again, and though I heard voices in the room I could not 
 distinguish a single object in it. The floor w as slippery with spittle, and the 
 Y~smoke from the pipes of a dozen furious village politicians was so thick that it really 
 \ seemed to me I could feel it. Having settled the affairs of the nation, these em- 
 bryo statesmen gave way at last to several octogenarians, who were still telling 
 anecdotes of their youth long after my friend's hopes of even a cold supper had 
 /become utterly desperate. When I returned at night I more than ever felt for^ 
 < the misfortunes of the village writer. He was seated by his table with anew pen 
 in his hand, a quire of clean paper before him, looking with an abstracted and 
 melancholy face at two gentlemen who were silently lounging, much at their ease, 
 in one corner of the room, each puffing a segar Determined to outsit ihese 
 gentry, I remained till half after one, and left them in a most lively and wakeful 
 lmmouiy 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 Day after day I met with the like state of things at the attorney's office, till at '*""" 
 ast I was fortunate enough to find him alone. I at once broached the subject 
 that had been dwelling on my mind, and " on that hint he spake." I can never 
 forget his looks, or his words either, as he launched off into a most pathetic ac- 
 count, of the miseries of his situation, and an eloquent philippic against bores. 
 He concluded by declaring that he had given up in despair, for it was his destiny \s^ 
 to be bored. ."" What a fate ! To have a gimblet boring against each rib every 
 hour of the day, would be delicious titillation compared with the agonies of a 
 moral augerization." I agreed with him that an author, among the hapless and 
 accursed race of whom he spoke, was in a worse condition than the man who lies 
 down to sleep among the spiders, tarantulas, centipedes, chigoes, and musquitoes 
 that swarm in countless thousands about every blade of grass and every leaf and 
 flower in the valley of the Rio Grande : but still, I suggested, he might find time 
 for the production of a fiction of the kind I alluded to. /He astonished me by de- 
 claring that he should "never defile his pen in the composition of stuff to feed the 
 morbid appetites of a delirious public." J Such were his words, and my astonish {/ 
 ment became disgust when he intimated his dislike to the writing of a history of 
 North Carolina, which he might fill with all sorts of portents, prodigies, and mar- 
 vellous adventures. " Notwithstanding the fuss made about it by her literati," 
 said he, "the history of my native and dear old State would be, indeed, an 'un- 
 varnished tale,' and a very brief one, too, for all the most stirring and delightful 
 incidents are of too little general interest to suit the comprehensive purpose of 
 history. In the broad scope of Clio's eye, there is little in Carolina that rises to 
 the level of her vision, but there is a glorious field for another muse. There have 
 been men here who only wanted a theatre to render them world-renowned ; and 
 these men, and the remarkable local incidents in which our annals abound, need 
 only the pen, of a .Scott to render them as famous as the similar men and events 
 in Scottish story."/ Hereupon my friend, who had become confidential, read me 
 portions of his work, which was a sort of book of memoirs, and from the inequal- 
 ities in the style of which the writer's varying humours and constant interruptions 
 and afflictions were clearly discernible, and I even imagined that I could tell where 
 -a sentence had been commenced early in the morning, with a clear head and a 
 lively fancy, and finished late at night, with a foggy brain and jaded body. Still 
 I advised the publication of the book, and, after a vast deal of hesitation, the au- 
 thor concluded to follow my counsel. " I think I could write something," said he, 
 " for I have loved my pen from boyhood, andTTTa ve "Materials ; I want opportu-f 
 nity, however, and if this undertaking succeeds, I will make opportunity. Now. i 
 I have a regular calling of a different character, and my interviews with the musesf 
 are like the devotions of a heathen in a Christian land — brief and secret. I am 
 bored, watched, and suspected of some outlandish and pagan practice; but once » 
 let me be afloat as an author, and name and vocation will be more respected." 
 
 ("And I," replied ourself, "will write your preface, and save your modesty by 
 speaking myself of the disadvantages under which 'you laboured. What else shall 
 I say ? Any thing ad captandum V " No, sir." he exclaimed, " No, sir, not a 
 word : if my book has merits somebody will find them out; if it has none let it i 
 sink. You, however, may say this much : — Say to the North Carolinians., that I i 
 have ever loved my native State as tenderly, perhaps, as those sons upon whom 
 this partial mother has more freely bestowed her smiles and her caresses • that, 
 
vtfi PREFACE. 
 
 like the bard of Ayr, filled with her traditions, and dwelling with fervent delight 
 on her glorious recollections, I have, even from a child, hoped that I, in honour of 
 this good old mother, 
 
 ' Some usefu' plan or book might make, 
 Or sing a sang at least.' 
 
 Say to them, these Carolinians, that they ought to reward me, if only for my in- 
 tentions — but whether they do or not I shall not die of a broken heart. Say to 
 my friends, that if my book is a failure, they will praise and patronize me the 
 more, and tell the public generally to ' consult my title-page.' " 
 
 I thought to myself that a man's friends were apt to be kind in proportion to 
 his success ; but remembering that the author was a simple-hearted Carolinian, I 
 only asked him what more I should say. He earnestly requested me to disclaim, 
 for him any intention of painting or hitting at the characters of any of his cotem- 
 poraries, and to say that his book, its incidents, and the persons introduced are 
 purely historical, and belong to a by-gone age. "In a word," he concluded, "I 
 have written for my own amusement and for the gratification of the public. Yet 
 some will censure, some ridicule, and some will be offended and talk of slander 
 and libel ; and thus a general clamour will be raised by those for whose edification 
 I have laboured. If so, let the world wag on — I shall certainly write on. \ I can 
 truly say I hate no one and I fear no one, and if any petty soul hates me, he is 
 expending his animosity to little purpose, for I shall never feel it or regret it. 
 With a conscience void of offence towards all God's creatures, I have 
 
 y A tear for those who love me, . ■ 
 And a smile for those who hate.' " J 
 
 Reader ! I have given you a brief sketch of the country in which the follow- 
 ing scenes are laid. I have feebly depicted the difficulties with which the author 
 contended, and pourtrayed faintly his good intentions. The book is before you, 
 and though it treats not of Lapland witches, nor of gibbering spectres in old 
 German castles, and contains not, for your fastidious palate, a savoury dish of un- 
 natural and astounding fictions, seasoned with the reeking filth, infamy, and in- 
 iquity of St. Giles and the Faubourgs, it may still interest or amuse you for an 
 idle hour. Peace be with you all ! 
 
 1 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 At UMANCE IN THE OLDEN TIME. 
 
 On a Dright Sabbath morning in June, 
 some three quarters of a century ago. a 
 wayfarer, in passing through one of the 
 middle counties of North Carolina, came 
 to a country church which attracted his 
 attention. There was something in the 
 appearance of things about the place which 
 harmonized with the traveller's feelings, 
 and, dismounting and securing his horse 
 to the bough of a tree, he concluded to 
 wait for the services of the day. The 
 more he looked round him, the better was 
 he pleased with his resolution ; for the 
 church and all about it wore a grave and 
 antique air that impressed him much, and 
 rendered him curious to see what sort of 
 people worshipped there. There were 
 two houses, one of which was very large, 
 the sober gravity of its faded red contrast- 
 ing not unpleasantly with the white sashes 
 of its numerous windows. Over each of 
 the four doorways there was a small, semi- 
 circular shed, supported by arms of paint- 
 ed iron that came out, arched akimbo, 
 from the walls, and decorated round the 
 edges with curiously carved work, about 
 which, and on the fretted cornices, swarms 
 of wasps were sunning themselves, and 
 working on their tiny buildings. The 
 steps, which were all of hewn granite, 
 were, at the end doors, six or eight feet 
 high, owing to the declivities which, from 
 near the centre of the church, ran down to 
 two small creeks that met a few hundred 
 yards north of the edifice. On this side, 
 and in the angle of the plateau, or eleva- 
 tion, was another and smaller house, with 
 a chimney, and surrounded by sycamores. 
 From here the eye ranged over an ex- 
 tensive, open country, and several farm- 
 houses and plantations were in view. The 
 other sides were shaded by a few stately 
 and venerable oaks, which, at a short dis- 
 tance from the house, were merged in 
 thick forests of similar growth, in whose 
 leafy coverts myriads ol sweet-voiced birds 
 were singing. Not far from the church 
 was an extensive grave-yard, walled in 
 with rock, and entered by an arched gate- 
 way, the stone pillars of which were faced 
 with plates of blue slate, on which were 
 Latin inscriptions in honour of the builder 
 
 of the walls. Hundreds of monuments of 
 various kinds, of marble, rock, and brick, 
 and of all ages, indicated that this silent 
 city was peopled with several generations 
 of a large parish or congregation, while 
 the devices and inscriptions on the tomb- 
 stones, the holly-trees and cedars, the 
 green ivy and the beds of flowers, attest- 
 ed the taste and piety of the living, and 
 their tenderness and affection for the mem- 
 ory of the dead, each one of whom must 
 have been followed to his last resting-place 
 by troops of sorrowing friends. The 
 stranger, from the grave-yard, went into 
 the church, which, though not dilapidated, 
 bore unequivocal signs of age. The low- 
 ^r part was divided into five compartments 
 by three aisles, one of which ran the full 
 length of the edifice from east to west, and 
 the other two led from it to the two doors 
 on the southern side. In the centre of the 
 other side was a lofty pulpit of mahogany, 
 ascended by a flight of narrow, balustraded 
 stairs, and overhung by a sounding-board 
 supported by rods from the ceiling, and so 
 wrought and painted as to resemble a mass 
 of billowy clouds just rising above the 
 horizon on a summer evening. Immedi- 
 ately in front of the pulpit, and joining it, 
 but several feet lower, was the "stand" or 
 pulpit of the clerk, and round three sides 
 of the building, a little higher than the pul- 
 pit proper, ran a gallery with balusters in. 
 front. The traveller marked all these 
 things with the eye of a virtuoso; and 
 wondering, whence in a country like this, 
 could come the opulence to build and the 
 people to fill such an edifice, he returned 
 to the yard, where he met a neatly-dressed 
 lad, who at once and strongly excited his 
 interest. The boy was quite young, but 
 on his face was plainly visible the stamp 
 of a bright mind and a good heart, his 
 dark, brilliant eyes, gleaming with an ex- 
 pression tender, pensive, and intelligent. 
 
 " Don't be afraid of me, my pretty friend," 
 said the stranger. " I hope we'll soon get 
 better acquainted, and like each other." 
 
 " I am not afraid of you, sir," replied the 
 boy; " I am not afraid of any one here; 
 but I never saw you before. Do you be- 
 long to Alamance ?" 
 
 " Is that IhTname of this congregation ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " No," said the traveller ; " I came from 
 
10 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 a distant country, and only stopped here 
 to look at the place. But what brought 
 you here so early'!" 
 
 "1 always come early," replied the boy ; 
 " I like to get here before any one else 
 does, to ramble over the grave-yard, and 
 sit on the tomb-stones, and think." 
 
 The answer going straight to the trav- 
 eller's heart, he and his new acquaintance 
 soon became intimate, and sitting down 
 on a bench, in the shade of a tree, the 
 time flew fast with both until the Alaman- 
 cers began to arrive. They came stream- 
 ing in by different roads, on foot, on horse- 
 back, and in gigs ; the young ladies gen- 
 erally dashing up on high- mettled and 
 prancing steeds, which they managed with 
 grace and ease. There was no noise but 
 the /clatter of the horses' hoofs and the 
 rattle of the gigs ; no confusion and bus- 
 tle ; no loud talking and laughing, nor sim- 
 pering and grimacing, and running to and 
 fro by the females, to show their flaunt- 
 ing dresses, their fluttering ribbons, and 
 smirking faces. The traveller noticed 
 that, with a quiet but hearty manner, every 
 body shook hands with every body else, 
 and then the females went into the house, 
 the young ones sitting modestly and silent- 
 ly in their high-backed pews, while the 
 men, gathering in groups under the trees, 
 talked over their neighbourhood affairs. 
 The traveller noticed also, that in that 
 great multitude of every age, from the 
 white-headed patriarch of three-score and 
 ten to the toddling infant, each one, even 
 among the blacks, bore himself with a still 
 and hushed gravity, while their looks, with- 
 out being austere, wore an expression se- 
 date and solemn. He observed also, and 
 he marvelled at the fact, that there was 
 not one meanly-clad person in the crowd, 
 and that even the negroes, of whom there 
 were many, were neatly dressed. He no- 
 ticed, too, that his youthful friend was a 
 great favourite with old and young, and he 
 saw whispered questions frequently put to 
 him, to which he replied by shaking his 
 head. He remained with the boy, and 
 each new-comer cordially shook his hand, 
 but asked him no questions. 
 
 " Who is that fine-looking old gentle- 
 man, who is hitching his horse to the syc- 
 amore behind the .church ?" asked the 
 stranger. 
 
 " That," replied the boy, " is the Rev. 
 Dr. David Caldwell, our minister, sir. He 
 is going into the session-house to put on 
 lus silk cloak, and it's time to go in. You 
 must sit in father's pew, and Til carry you 
 to it." 
 
 The stranger entered, following his 
 youthful guide, and saw that his face was 
 scrutinized by more than one, while his 
 bald head seemed to blush during the 
 whole of the service, as if conscious that 
 it was the grand central object of attraction 
 
 for all the eyes in that crowded audience. 
 He knew, however, that the eyes were 
 kind, and many of them bright, and he was 
 delighted at the edifying silence, attention, 
 and decorum that pervaded the assembly. 
 He was pleased with the sermon, and still 
 more pleased with the singing, the solemn 
 harmony of which impressed him more 
 than he had ever been before on such an 
 occasion. All joined in the song; and, all 
 seeming to know the tunes and to have 
 melodious voices, a strain, grand, solemn, 
 and soul-inspiring swelled through the spa- 
 cipus building, subduing in every heart its 
 worldly lusts and its selfish passions, and 
 lifting it, in devout fervour, above the 
 things of time and sense. After the ser- 
 mon the congregation were dismissed for 
 a short recess, and the traveller, medita- 
 ting on what he had heard and seen, was 
 following a crowd in the direction of the 
 spring, when he was accosted by his ac- 
 quaintance of the morning. 
 
 "Mother wants to see you," said the 
 boy; and, following him, the stranger came 
 to where three persons were sitting on the 
 grass, in the shade of a sycamore. One 
 of them he at once recognized as the min- 
 ister, who, with a smile, said to the boy, 
 
 "Introduce us, Henry, to your friend." 
 
 "I don't know his name," answered 
 Henry, looking inquiringly at the traveller. 
 
 " M'Bride, Hector M'Bride, is my name," 
 said the stranger; "1 am a sojourner, who 
 stopped here to hear a sermon, and an ex- 
 cellent one it was." 
 
 "And my name," said the parson, "is 
 Caldwell, and I am happy to make your 
 acquaintance. Mr. M'Bride, this is my 
 friend, Mr. Warden, and that is his lady. 
 Your young friend there is their son Hen- 
 ry. As the days are long, and your dinner 
 may be late, Mrs. Warden thought you 
 might be pleased to join us in a snack, in 
 which case you will please fall to." 
 
 " 1 thank you, one and all, for your kind- 
 ness," replied M'Bride, "and without cer- 
 emony, will honour your collation with a 
 traveller's appetite." 
 
 " Do you purpose to make any stay at 
 Alamance !" asked Warden, as they were 
 discussing cold chicken, biscuit, and pies. 
 " You must excuse the question, as it is 
 not prompted by idle curiosity." 
 
 " 1 readily excuse it," answered M'Bride, 
 " and, as far as 1 can, will answer it with 
 pleasure. I am. as 1 said, a wayfarer, 
 and I have no particular destination in 
 view, having, like the knights-errant in 
 the old romances, given the reins to my 
 horse, and letting him carry ine whither- 
 soever his pleasure leads him." 
 
 " Surely," said the parson, '' you are not 
 about, to revive that, ancient order— going 
 about in quest of adventures,succouring the 
 distressed and rescuing imprisoned dam- 
 sels. 1 see no helmet, lance, or armour. 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 II 
 
 " I may be said to be seeking tbe same 
 ends, 1 ' replied M'Bride, "though not with 
 sword, lance, and buckler, for I belong to 
 the peace establishment. In short, acci- 
 dents and crosses af an early age gave me 
 a distaste for business; and, having wan- 
 dered about till I hive nearly spent my 
 Blender patrimony, I am looking out for a 
 place where the schoolmaster is needed. 
 When 1 find such a place, if the people suit 
 me— I am hard to please — and 1 suit them, 
 1 shall bring myself to anchor. Indeed, to 
 be plain with you all, though you are 
 strangers to me, I have a theory which I 
 long to see carried out. We all come into 
 the world with ingenuous, innocent, and 
 honourable hearts : where do all the selfish 
 men and — begging your pardon Mrs. War- 
 den — mischievous women come from V 
 
 " We are corrupted by the world," said 
 Mrs. Warden. 
 
 '• Exactly," exclaimed the master ; " and 
 who corrupts the world? We were all good 
 once. The truth is, parents and teachers 
 take it for granted that other children will 
 be corrupted, and, in self-defence, they 
 teach their own to be cunning, selfish, and 
 double minded. Now this is a great evil 
 under the sun, and I wish to see how far 
 the schoolmaster can correct it." 
 
 • " I like your notions," said the parson, 
 " and, if you will remain awhile at Ala- 
 mance, we'll have some further discourse 
 upon these subjects, and perhaps, too, may 
 find a location that, will suit you." 
 
 "In which case," said Warden, "I shall 
 look for you to be my guest, and trust we 
 will be able to make you comfortable." 
 
 The traveller consented to go with War- 
 den that night, and saw that the arrange- 
 ment gave no little satisfaction to the boy 
 Henry, whose admiration he had won, by 
 the facility with which he had translated 
 the Latin inscriptions at the grave-yard 
 gate, and who continued to act as his cic- 
 erone, introducing him to various people, 
 and showing him all the curiosities about 
 the place. When the services for the day 
 were concluded, the gravity of the con- 
 gregation seemed considerably abated, and 
 they went round, taking leave of each oth- 
 er, and pressing the parson to go to their 
 houses. He had, however, kindly to re- 
 fuse all invitations, for he was engaged to 
 go with Warden, who, by the way, had to 
 wait a long time for his reverend friend, 
 as this latter made it a point to attend to 
 their horses all maiden ladies who were 
 without a beau. It may be mentioned, too, 
 by the way, that many of these, who were 
 somewhat advanced in years, desired their 
 spiritual guide to make known to the se- 
 date-looking traveller, that their fathers' 
 houses were ever open for the reception 
 of strangers. Women's hearts are ever 
 kind, and they were moved with affection- 
 ate interest when they saw so grave, gen- 
 
 tlemanly, and decent-looking a bachelor 
 (as they feared) wandering about, solitary 
 and alone, without a companion to share 
 his sorrows and heighten his joys. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE DESCRIPTION OF ALAMANCE CONTINUED 
 BV THE PARSON. 
 
 The Rev. Dr. Caldwell and Hector 
 M'Bride sat up late at Warden's, smoking 
 their pipes and discussing various matters. 
 Each one displayed much learning and 
 acuteness, and the parson was so much 
 taken with his new acquaintance that, to. 
 induce him to remain at Alamance, he gave 
 the following description of that ancient 
 community. 
 
 "Alamance," said he, "was one of the 
 first places settled by the whites in middle 
 Carolina. The lands are fertile, the cli- 
 mate pleasant, and the country healthy, 
 and thus this section of the state early at- 
 tracted the attention of emigrants. Those 
 who came to settle here were, generally, 
 men of character and substance, and were 
 seeking, not so much to advance their 
 worldly fortunes as to promote their hap- 
 piness, which was intimately connected 
 with the enjoyment of civil and religious 
 freedom. They were mostly ' Scotch- 
 Irish,' a race of men who, the world over, 
 have been proved to be true to their coun- 
 try, to their friends, and their principles, 
 which are always of a liberal cast. They 
 are Presbyterians in religion, republicans 
 in their political notions, and are ever 
 ready to fight or go to the stake for their 
 opinions. Such were the original inhab- 
 itants of Alamance, who, far removed from 
 cities and their fashionable follies and 
 vices, were distinguished in their man- 
 ners by a primeval simplicity, while their 
 characters displayed the prisca et incorrvpla 
 fides, the incorruptible integrity, candour, 
 faith, and singleness of heart attributed by 
 the poets to a fabled pastoral age. There 
 was originally in the neighbourhood (and 
 it is a large one) but one merchant, and 
 not a single trader at large, by which last 
 term I mean that sort of professional char- 
 acter that prowls about society, flourishing 
 on the vices which he propagates, and the 
 necessities he creates. Nearly every fam- 
 ily in the whole community was, and even 
 now is, in independent circumstances, and 
 some are even rich. Still there are no 
 grades and coteries in society ; no parties 
 in politics; and no hostile religious sects 
 warring rancourously on each other, and 
 claiming as their object the diffusion of a 
 spirit of Christian philanthropy. My par- 
 ishioners are generally severe in their 
 judgment on themselves, charitable to the 
 failings and shortcomings of others, and s 
 though frugal in their expenditures, ever 
 
12 
 
 ALAMANCE 
 
 ready to entertain the stranger and relieve 
 the necessitous. It is, sir, a remarkable 
 and honourable fact, that every one in 
 my congregation, over ten years old, can 
 read and write ; some are even well read 
 in history and the belles-lettres, and in 
 every house you are sure to meet with 
 well-thumbed copies of 'Fox's Book of 
 Martvrs, 5 ' The Pilgrim's Progress,' 'The 
 Balm of Gilead,' 'The Rise and Progress 
 of Religion in the Soul, 1 and other kindred 
 books. The leaving of my people is thus 
 generally of a theological character, and 
 the midwife, •diA several other good old la- 
 dies in my cure, could hold their own 
 against the famous Aquinas, and put to 
 flight all the doctors of the Sorbonne. 
 Thus religious subjects, with tales of reli- 
 gious persecutions, of Indian massacres, 
 and of civil usurpations, exactions and op- 
 pressions, while away the winter evenings 
 at every fireside, and tinge with a devo- 
 tional hue the sentiments and feelings of 
 the Alamancers. Our people, as 1 have be- 
 fore intimated, would make excellent re- 
 publicans, for there is among them a deep- 
 rooted aversion, I may say detestation, of 
 every species of tyranny, and an attach- 
 ment to liberty — real, true, genuine, and 
 well regulated liberty — stronger than the 
 love of life or the fear of death. They 
 have the virtues becoming citizens of a 
 democracy — that first-born hope of philan- 
 thropy. The old men are sedate, just, 
 free-hearted, and single-hearted, well un- 
 derstanding their rights, thinking for them- 
 selves, and extremely jealous of those 
 who cultivate popularity: the matrons are 
 chaste, dutiful, and affectionate; the maid- 
 ens pure, simple, artless, pious, tender, and 
 beautiful; and the young men brave, in- 
 genuous, and modest. Among all there is 
 no one aspiring to take the lead. There 
 as none of that restlessness, that reaching 
 for family aggrandizement, that desire of 
 change, which characterizes every com- 
 munity, even in perfect democracies. 
 There is also another notable difference 
 between this people and other wealthy set- 
 tlements in this country — " 
 
 "By your leave," said M'Bride, "I will 
 mention one which I have observed." 
 
 " Certainly, proceed," replied the par- 
 son. 
 
 " Well, then, you must know," continued 
 M'Bride, "that I came south expecting to 
 find a different sort of people than those 
 with whom I have had the honour of be- 
 coming acquainted. 1 had heard much, 
 and 1 had believed what I heard, of the sun- 
 ny south, of its simple virtues, its knightly 
 courtesies, and its generous feelings. I 
 found its much-boasted, old-fashioned hos- 
 pitality was but a profuse and wasteful 
 extravagance, dictated by a vainglorious 
 desire for notoriety ; its social gatherings 
 disorderly routs ; its refinement consisting 
 
 in a contempt for all other men and places, 
 and in a supercilious and arrogant assump- 
 tion of infinite superiority, and its intelli- 
 gence limited to the knowledge of games, 
 and of the histories and pedigrees of blood- 
 horses. When I firstcame south, to a neigh- 
 bouring province, I was honoured with an 
 invitation to a great party, given by a weal- 
 thy planter in honour of the nuptials of his 
 son. It was to take place in midwinter, and 
 for weeks before the whole country was in 
 a buzz of conversation about it, every body 
 appearing to be in a state of entire felicity 
 at the bare anticipation of the glorious 
 enjoyments of the approaching entertain- 
 ment. On the day appointed, through 
 sleet, and rain, and snow, 1 made my way 
 to the house of my host. When I arrived, 
 I heard a great tumult, saw loose horses 
 scampering about, carriages and gigs bro- 
 ken and upset, and negroes running to and 
 fro in great confusion, some drunk, and 
 all beside themselves and unapproachable 
 in their new-blown dignities and upstart 
 importance. It appeared that every one 
 had brought his own servant to wait upon 
 him and represent, his dignity, and, as I 
 came alone, I was utterly neglected, until, 
 wiih a handful of silver, I worked upon the 
 sympathies of the most humble-looking 
 negro I saw, got him to show me to the 
 gentlemen's dressing-room and take charge 
 of my horse. I was ushered into a gran- 
 ary, warmed by a villainous old stove, 
 and, in the presence of a parcel of roister- 
 ing gallants, who paid no attention to me, 
 I arranged my dress. Feeling myself pre- 
 pared to be ushered into the company of 
 the ladies, I followed the sound of a fiddle, 
 and found myself at the door which open- 
 ed into the public saloon. As no one met 
 me to welcome me in, and as it was rather 
 moist to wait long out of doors, I follow- 
 ed the example of others, and was soon 
 wedged so tight in the middle of the pas- 
 sage, that I could move in no direction, 
 and could scarcely turn my head. All 
 those around me were chatting and laugh- 
 ing like men in hysterics, making a most 
 for lorn attempt at being perfectly happy, 
 although some were fairly choked by the 
 pressure, some squeezed into a jelly, and 
 all fixed immovably in their stations. 
 Through a door on one side, I saw into a 
 room, around the sides of which men and 
 women were packed together as if put up 
 for exportation, and in the centre of which 
 some young folk were dancing, each one 
 having about eight inches square on which 
 to cut his capers. On the other side of 
 the passage was another room, in which I 
 beheld a sea of old ladies' faces, solemn, 
 prim, and proud, while their bodies were 
 so jammed together that they looked like 
 one solid bale of dry-goods compressed 
 into the smallest possible space. After I 
 had got thoroughly warmed, and even be- 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 13 
 
 gan to perspire, in my position, I fe.lt a 
 disposition to change my location. Ac- 
 cordingly, I learned from a Christian-look- 
 ing gentleman that there were offices in 
 the yard where married and elderly men 
 could amuse themselves. To one of these 
 I went, and found the tobacco smoke as 
 thick as a London fog, and the floor one 
 broad pool of spittle. I could dimly see 
 that the bed was covered with meji,-t-be- 
 fireplace surrounded, and that all were 
 deeply interested in games of whist that 
 were going briskly on at several tables, 
 which were covered with decanters of 
 brandy and whiskey. The other offices 
 I found tenanted in like manner, and so, 
 hungry, cold, and—wretched, I wandered 
 about without meeting a soul who seemed 
 to take the slightest interest in me. That 
 night 1 lay, with a great number of others, 
 in the granary, and the hardest scuffle I 
 ever had was for a single blanket, with 
 which I had covered, thereby depriving 
 several of the only thing ihey had to in- 
 terpose between themselves and the straw. 
 Next day I indulged in some comments 
 not very eulogistic of such entertainments, 
 and was stared at and avoided as an ig- 
 norant and ill-bred booby, totally destitute 
 of all taste for refined and aristocratic 
 amusements. The fact is, I was sadly de- 
 ficient in their fashionable accomplish- 
 ments; for, if you will believe me, when 
 the old ladies are good cooks, the old 
 gentlemen deed-players, the damsels un- 
 tiring dancers, and the young gentlemen 
 accomplished fiddlers, they consider them- 
 selves as entitled to take rank in the high- 
 est circles. Indeed, I found they were a 
 nation of fiddlers, and in every village and 
 hamlet was kept awake by an everlasting 
 scraping of cat gut." 
 
 "The general features in your picture 
 are true," said the parson ; " but the col- 
 ours are too glaring, and the caricature too 
 great. As I was going to observe, a while 
 ago, there is a want of polish among the 
 rich planters of the South. There is little 
 attention paid to the real amenities of life, 
 and a fine scholar or well-read man is a 
 rara avis. Nevertheless, we have the ma- 
 terials—the richest materials. The men 
 are manly, brave, and generous, the wom- 
 en modest, chaste, and beautiful ; and when 
 time and the advance of education have 
 worn away the vices incident to new 
 countries and recently acquired wealth, 
 there will be a population and a society, 
 even in the province of which you speak, 
 not excelled by any in the world. Now 
 
 1 Alamance has already made considerable 
 progress, and is as free from southern ex- 
 travagance and pomposity as from northern 
 avarice and venality. Still human nature 
 is the same in all ages and countries, and 
 not more naturally does the decaying car- 
 cass produce and attract .vultures and ob- 
 
 scene vermin than do communities of men 
 bring together, in the course of time, sharp- 
 ers and speculators, who reap a golden 
 harvest- from the follies they foster and the 
 distresses they produce, as I before ob- 
 served. Some few of these have lately 
 found their way to Alamance, and, though 
 they wear sheep's clothing, 1 have more 
 than once heard the howl of the wolf and 
 the cry of his victim. But this is not the 
 worst — Cicero says that whatsoever is 
 against nature is contrary to happiness. 
 Now, before the time of Nimrod, that 
 mighty hunter of men — yea, even in the 
 days of our first mother, Eve, a certain 
 feud commenced. To speak after the 
 manner of the heathen, Nature was the 
 first goddess — the original queen of men 
 and brutes. Her undisputed reign was 
 shorter than the golden one of Saturn, 
 for soon her empire was disturbed by the 
 pretensions of a rival. Fashion arose, and, 
 laying claim to universal dominion, she 
 soon won followers, and her power and 
 influence have been steadily increasing. 
 Like all aspiring rebels, this latter affects 
 to be exactly and in all things the opposite 
 of her rival, and indeed there is between 
 them the broadest difference. The one, 
 with a cheek like the first purple blushes 
 of the early dawn, an eye like the morning 
 star, a step like that of the startled fawn, 
 and a voice like the dove's in spring-time, 
 retreats timidly to her sylvan covert, where 
 her votaries find her, like Eve before the 
 fall, ' The fairest of her daughters,' chaste, 
 simple, tender, 'and constant. ' Her chil- 
 dren arise and call her blessed ; strength 
 and honor are her clothing.' The other, 
 bedizened with tawdry lace, blazing with 
 jewels, and blushing with paint, with a 
 brazen front, and a form tortured into a 
 shape more uncouth than that of any mon- 
 ster of the deep, flaunts along the highways 
 and the crowded streets, and is heard and 
 seen in the ball-room and the theatre, with 
 a voice like the siren's, and an eye that 
 lures to destruction. Giddy, fickle, and 
 whimsical in her notions ; lascivious and 
 wanton in her manners ; and gross, bestial, 
 and vulgar in her ways, she. amuses her- 
 self at the expense of her followers, mak- 
 ing them perform all sorts of antics, trans- 
 form themselves into the vilest shapes, 
 and martyrize themselves in various ways 
 to show their contempt of Nature. And 
 as this latter makes even brutes respect- 
 able, so the former would degrade men and 
 women below the beasts of the field." 
 
 " By my soul, that was truly and happi- 
 ly said!" exclaimed M'Bride. 
 
 " Such," continued the parson, " are the 
 rival queens. Nature for a long time had 
 undisputed sway at Alamance ; but some 
 of our travelled young gentlemen have 
 lately been to the cities, where they saw 
 and fell desperately in love with Fashioa. 
 
14 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 She has, therefore, a few proselytes of both 
 sexes among us, for I have recently no- 
 ticed some uncouth and frightful appari- 
 tions, sprinkled through my congregation. 
 As I am a Christian man, 1 nearly lost my 
 gravity in the pulpit ; for I could not banish 
 the fancy that I was preaching to a set of 
 peripatetic baboons and solemn monkeys. 
 These fashionables, however, made an un- 
 favourable impression, and have been so 
 ridiculed, that I trust that they are heart- 
 ily ashamed of themselves, and will again 
 assume the shapes and follow the habits 
 of civilized human creatures. They have, 
 I believe, Nebuchadnezzarized (to coin a 
 word) long enough, and will henceforth be 
 satisfied with their lot, as members of the 
 human family." 
 
 " God grant they may," said Hector 
 M'Bride, " but I doubt it. I am half in- 
 clined to believe in the doctrine of Pyth- 
 agoras, with, however, this modification : 
 that the soul, instead of actually migrat- 
 ing, assumes an affinity to that of various 
 beasts, and that the body endeavours to 
 conform itself to these changes. Thus, I 
 have known a man to be transmuted suc- 
 cessively from bear to puppy, from puppy 
 to monkey, and from monkey to ass. 
 Some men have an inherent tendency 
 downward ;,and I can scarcely believe the 
 aggregate human family are advancing in 
 civilization, when I consider what a large 
 majority of individuals seem to grow worse 
 as they grow older." 
 
 " Perhaps," answered the" parson, " you 
 generalize too much. It's a dangerous 
 habit — but, to change the subject : What 
 say you to an experiment of your theory 
 about teaching at Alamance?" 
 
 " I am willing, with all my heart," re- 
 turned M'Eride ; " for I like the people, 
 from your description." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE OLD-FIELD SCHOOL. 
 
 In former times, the Old-Field School 
 was an institution of learning known to 
 and patronized by the highest and lowest 
 in every part of the country. How it got 
 its name is a subject for conjecture. Some 
 are of opinion that it was given in deri- 
 sion, to show that there is no affinity be- 
 tween such places and the great Academia 
 of Plato, which was in the midst of a shady 
 grove, while others derive it from the prox- 
 imity of these country-schools to fields 
 worn out and unenclosed. Be the origin 
 of its name what it may, it is certain that 
 this institution bore little resemblance to 
 the modern academy, and perhaps still 
 less to the ancient. It was never a bant- 
 ling of the Government, State or Federal, 
 which, for the good of both, knew it not ; 
 and, not being incorporated, it was happily 
 
 freed from the fostering care of an enlight- 
 ened board of fat trustees, under whose 
 judicious management the cause of educa- 
 tion fares about as well as would the ma- 
 chinery of a modern steam-mill, when con- 
 trolled by a body of learned mandarins. 
 No such nuisance was ever known to the 
 Old-Field School, nor was it ever subject 
 t g sect arian influences, or affected by the 
 politfCal disputes of tbe country ; and from 
 it, therefore, humble as it often was, flow- 
 ed a stream of morals and literature whose 
 pure waters have refreshed and blessed 
 the country. At Alamance the qualifica- 
 tions of the master were tested by an ex- 
 amination by the pardon and others best 
 qualified to judge ; and it is to be observed, 
 that the fact of being a leading politician, or 
 of holding a commission to be a justice of 
 the peace, no more made a man a scholar 
 than did the possession of land and negroes 
 render him a gentleman. Once installed 
 into office, the master was subject to the 
 control of no impertinent intermeddlers, 
 and, being absolute monarch in his little 
 kingdom, he governed it according to his 
 own conscience and discretion, and with- 
 out favour or partiality. The teacher out 
 of school was the equal, the companion, 
 and Mentor of his pupils; and hence, be- 
 tween him and them there was not that 
 awful and impassable gulf which now sep- 
 arates professor and student, and renders 
 them the implacable and hereditary ene- 
 mies of each other. The master, to diffuse 
 the benefits of his conversation, and to 
 prevent imputations of undue favour to 
 any, was the guest of all his patrons, with 
 each of whom he boarded and lodged by 
 turns, and in the families of all of whom 
 he was an honoured member. It was con- 
 sidered important that he should have at 
 least a moderate share of common sense; 
 he was believed to be subject to human 
 sympathies and mortal feelings, and hence, 
 out of school was regarded as a man and 
 a Christian, and in all neighbourhood affairs 
 had " a voice potential." 
 
 In those Arcadian times, the boys and 
 girls were supposed to belong to the same 
 human family, and were so brought up and 
 educated together as to be the friends of 
 each other. Thus, an honourable emula- 
 tion was excited, the confinement of study 
 rendered pleasant, and the young people 
 relieved from that fatal curiosity to pene- 
 trate the mystery thrown around the other 
 sex, which now absorbs the entire atten- 
 tion of students. 
 
 Such was the general character of the 
 Old-Field School, and it remains only to 
 notice some particulars connected with 
 that of Alamance. Hector M'Bride having 
 been chosen as the teacher, many vague 
 rumours about him got into circulation 
 among the children — some representing 
 him as very mild, and others as extremely 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 15 
 
 expert at the use of the birch. His merits 
 were talked over and discussed at length, 
 and no satisfactory conclusion having been 
 arrived at, all determined to wait till they 
 had tried him. On the day of commence- 
 ment, the scholars, all in new suits, were 
 early at the school-house, and having in- 
 troduced themselves or been introduced by 
 their fathers to the master, this latter took 
 down their names. Having next critically 
 examined each one, he arranged them in 
 classes, and assigned them to their stud- 
 ies, putting many into branches that they 
 had long ago passed over, remarking that 
 it was better to know one thing well than 
 half-a-dozen badly. This done, he made 
 an address, laying down the principles on 
 which he should conduct the school, and 
 thereupon read a long list of rules, com- 
 menting on and explaining each one sepa- 
 rately. They were divided into three 
 heads, and concerned the morals, the man- 
 ners, and the studies of his students. As 
 these iules are still preserved among the 
 master's papers, and may prove interest- 
 ing to pedagogues, a few of them are here 
 given, with the number of each prefixed : 
 
 10. 
 
 11. 
 
 \j 20. 
 
 v •»■ 
 
 \/23. 
 
 r 
 
 v 25 - 
 
 N/-30. 
 
 s/ 31. 
 V/ 33. 
 \/ 35. 
 
 The punishments shall consist of whipping, slap- 
 ping in the hand with the rule, riding the ass, 
 and expulsion, according to the gravity of the 
 offence. 
 
 All the boys and girls may laugh, without noise, 
 when any one is mounted on the ass ; but no 
 one shall speak to him, or make gestures or 
 ugly mouths at him, in token of derision. 
 
 When the master tells an anecdote the students 
 are not bound to laugh immoderately, though 
 it will be considered respectful to give some 
 indication of their being pleased or amused. 
 
 Whenever one enters or leaves the house, if a 
 boy he shall bow, and if a girl courtesy, to the 
 master, and when a stranger comes in all shall 
 rise and do the same towards him. 
 
 When the boys meet a stranger on the road they 
 must take off their hats and bow : they are en- 
 joined to be, on all occasions, respectful and 
 attentive to their seniors, and not to talk in 
 their presence, except when bidden. 
 
 Every boy shall consult the comfort and conve- 
 nience of the girls before his own, and whoever 
 is caught standing between a female and the 
 fire shall be whipped. 
 
 If any boy is caught laughing at the homeliness 
 of a girl, or calling her ugly names, he shall 
 ride on the ass. 
 
 Giggles are detestable, and when a girl is amus- 
 ed she must smile gracefully, or laugh out ; and 
 if the master catches any one snickering he 
 will imitate and reprimand her in presence of 
 the whole school. 
 
 Every offender, when called on, must fully in- 
 form on himself, remembering, that by telling 
 the truth he palliates his offence. 
 
 When the master's rule falls at the feet of any 
 one, he and all his guilty associates must come 
 with it to the teacher. 
 
 The master will inflict on every common in- 
 former the punishment due, to the offence of 
 which he maliciously gives information. 
 
 As it is God who gives the mind, and as he has 
 bestowed more on some than on others, it shall 
 be considered a grave offence to laugh at or 
 ridicule^iny one who is by nature dull or stu- 
 pid, such persons being entitled to general com- 
 miseration rather than contempt. 
 
 WJThe girls must remember that the exemptions 
 V to which their sex entitles them are to be used 
 as a shield, and not as a sword ; and they are 
 therefore enjoined to eschew the abominable 
 and unlady-like habit of indulging in sarcasms 
 and attempted wit at the expense of the boys. 
 Whenever a girl loses the docility, gentleness, 
 and benignity of manners becoming her sex, 
 ,she forfeits her title to the forbearance and def- 
 / erential courtesy of the males. 
 
 <6J^No one shall, out of school, speak disrespect-' 
 fully of the master, or of a fellow-student. 
 
 4y>./Wo one shall ridicule, laugh at, or make re- 
 ^inarks about the dress of another ; the boys are 
 enjoined to be kind and courteous to the girls, 
 the girls to be neat and cleanly in their dresses, 
 and all to act as if they were brothers and sis- 
 ters, the children of the same parents. 
 
 50. Let the words of The Preacher be held in con- 
 stant remembrance, " Remember now thy Cre- 
 ator in the days of thy youth," &c;, &c. 
 
 Such are a few of the many rules which 
 the master declared he would read publicly 
 once a month, and each one of which he 
 said he would rigidly enforce, remarking 
 that it was better to have no laws than 
 good ones not strictly obeyed. 
 
 The punishment of riding on the ass was 
 generally inflicted for long-continued and. 
 gross neglect of study, vulgarity of man- 
 ners, and insults to the girls, and was as 
 follows : — The culprit, with a large pair of 
 leather spectacles on his nose and a paper 
 capon h is head, with the inscription "Fool's 
 Cap," in Roman letters, was mounted a- 
 straddle one of the joists, being assisted up 
 by a few cuts of the master's switch, which 
 sometimes played, at intervals, across 
 his legs during the hour that he held his 
 seat. This punishment was only inflicted 
 on the males, and was considered as so 
 disgraceful that it was rarely merited, and. 
 when imposed attached a stigma to the 
 culprit, which affected his standing in and 
 out of school, for a long time afterwards. 
 
 Having thus got his school under way, 
 the master, to inspire at once an affection, 
 for him as a man, as well as respect as a 
 teacher, dismissed his students for recre- 
 ation, went with them to the old field, 
 helped to lay off the play-ground, and dis- 
 cussed with them the various kinds of 
 sports, teaching them, by explanations and 
 practical illustrations, many new ones, 
 which were considered highly interesting. 
 Thus in the morning he at once establish- 
 ed for himself a high character as a scholar 
 and disciplinarian; by noon he was the 
 fast friend of every scholar he had, and 
 that evening boys and girls went home 
 perfectly delighted with their new teacher, 
 and feeling an emulous desire to excel in 
 their studies which they had never felt be-» J 
 fore. In a word, the master was, in each* 
 scholar's eye, the very perfection of a 
 man, and to be like him was the highest 
 ambition of all. > 
 
 After this auspicious beginning, we will > 
 now leave, for a season, the master and his 
 little kingdom. 
 
16 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 CHAPTER .IV. 
 
 A VISIT TO THE OLD-FIELD SCHOOL. 
 
 The school-house at Alamance was a 
 neat log-building, situated in the skirt of 
 a thick wood, with a large, old field in 
 front. Those who were studying the 
 higher branches were permitted to get 
 their lessons out of doors ; and hence, as 
 we approach we see faces, male and fe- 
 male, peeping at us from behind the sunny 
 side of every fallen tree. We enter, and 
 the whole 'school simultaneously rising, 
 but keeping their eyes on their books, the 
 boys dip their heads forward, the girls 
 courtesy, and again take their seats; the 
 master, who is hearing a class recite, po- 
 litely bowing us to a vacant bench. We, 
 ^jbeing strangers, our arrival is the occa- 
 sion of an energetic application to study, 
 signified by an emulous effort to see who 
 can bawl the loudest and the fastest. With 
 every variety of note, and in every possi- 
 ble key, and ( with a sort of modulated ca- 
 dence or chant, they sing over their les- 
 sons, making a not unpleasant melody, 
 and one which is passing sweet to the 
 master's ears. There, in a corner, with 
 his short legs hooked together under the 
 bench, and the big tears still moist on his 
 swollen cheeks, sits a lately-flagellated 
 urchin, who, in the midst of his sorrows, 
 does not forget the proper sing-song tone, 
 as he sobs out, with long intervening 
 pauses, the letters of his alphabet. Just 
 by him, and swaying to and fro on her 
 seat, like one exercised at a camp-meet- 
 ing by religious influences, sits a girl hum- 
 ming over the Sermon on the Mount, and 
 interjecting alternately an " «m" and an 
 "aA" at the end of every sentence, while 
 on all sides the operations of figures and 
 the results of additions, subtractions, mul- 
 tiplications, and divisions, are announced 
 as if they were set to musici At the end 
 opposite the fire is the writing-bench, a 
 long slab, supported by pins driven under it 
 into the wall, and lighted by a narrow win- 
 dow, whose shutter is a plank swung on 
 leather hinges. Here, with their rounded 
 backs to us, their arms spread out in wide 
 ellipses, their foreheads knit and frowning, 
 and their mouths working and twisting 
 with every motion of their pens, are some 
 eight or ten making desperate efforts to 
 counterfeit their copy ; and there, encir- 
 cling the teacher, stands the grammar- 
 class, reciting their lessons and pinching 
 and sticking pins into each other's backs 
 and elbows. A dense crowd is swaying to 
 and fro in front of the blazing fire, the 
 "duts" pushing hard to get in, and the 
 "ins," whose linsey-woolseys are scorch- 
 ing, making desperate efforts to get out. 
 More than one coy lass is peeping at us 
 over the top of her book, and little strips 
 of paper are constantly and mysteriously 
 
 flitting about, from the male to the female- 
 benches and back again, and yet no one is 
 seen to throw them. The manner of each 
 one, as he takes t lie pass to go out, or 
 hangs it up on his return, excites a smile 
 in which the master sometimes joins. This 
 is more 'especially the case when a white- 
 haired urchin pitches his head forward as 
 if he would snap it off, or some tall gawk, 
 with his eye fixed on his sweetheart, in 
 scraping one foot backwards and bending 
 his body forwards, loses his balance and 
 pitches on all-fours into the middle of the 
 room. In the farthermost corner of the 
 house we observe a knot of little fellows 
 who are totally oblivious of all going on 
 around them, and are making themselves 
 extremely merry over the master's por- 
 trait rudely sketched on a slate, and to 
 which each one gives a touch with his 
 pencil. They are not unseen by a watch- 
 ful eye, and suddenly their amusement is 
 interrupted by the well-aimed rule, the fall 
 of which at their feet startles them from 
 their seats, as if a thunderbolt had struck 
 in their midst. The slate is instantly laid 
 down with the likeness still on it, and the 
 artists, trembling with fear and blushing 
 with shame at the consciousness of being 
 gazed at by all the school, hide their faces 
 with their books, the more timid beginning 
 to whimper, while the stout-hearted look 
 down" on the emblem of justice in sulky 
 silence. '■ Prnxirnus. the next class !" cries 
 a voice of authority, and as the ring round 
 the master is cleared, there is an instant 
 scampering from near the fire, a few cuts 
 of the master's rod hastening the flight of 
 the fugitives ; books that were thrown aside 
 are hastily resumed, some with the wrong 
 end upward, and several gay Lotharios 
 slide softly away from the ends of the 
 benches next to the girls. When this sec- 
 ond class have finished their recitation, the 
 master, with a severe gravity, calls out, 
 " Bring me the rule." There is a dead 
 silence for a minute, the boys marked out 
 for execution hanging their heads and sad- 
 ly gazing on the fatal instrument. " Bring 
 me my rule, I say," repeats the master, 
 " and that slate !" The boldest of the cul- 
 prits now taking hold of the rule as if it 
 were a snake, and slowly edging himself off 
 his seat, marches up to the master, followed 
 by all his guilty associates, one of whom 
 carries the slate. " When you draw my 
 likeness again," says the master, "you 
 must do it better. This is a miserable 
 botch, for which, and for your laughing, 
 you are punished." So saying, he takes 
 the hand of each and gives it a few gentle 
 taps, whereby the whole school is stimu- 
 lated to renewed industry, the din of study 
 rising at least a key higher at every slap. 
 At length is heard that sound, of all others 
 the most pleasant to a school-boy's ears, 
 " Shut up books for play." All is instant. 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 IT 
 
 excitement, confusion, and change — the 
 master descending from his dignity, and 
 the scholar throwing off his reverence. 
 Hats, bonnets and baskets are snatched 
 from the wooden hooks that stud the walls, 
 smd the master is soon surrounded by a 
 bevy of lively, chattering girls, with rose- 
 tinted cheeks, asking him questions, prof- 
 fering presents, and insisting, each one, 
 on his dining with her. Leaving these 
 and the smaller lads by the fire, we will 
 follow to the old field the larger boys, who, 
 with biscuits and slices of bacon in their 
 hands, have hurried off, with a wild clatter, 
 to the playground. 
 
 It seems they are not for sport to-day, 
 for on the farther side of the field, where the 
 sedge is highest and the sun is warmest, 
 they have clustered together, and, appa- 
 rently, are engaged in some mysterious 
 and important discussion. As we near 
 them we find that a. treasonable plot is 
 hatching against some one whose name 
 is not mentioned. One, like Moloch, is 
 for "War, deadly war;" another recom- 
 mends the experiment of a cold bath in 
 a neighbouring stream ; while a third is 
 decidedly of opinion that the individual in 
 question should be tied with his back to 
 the bench, and left to cool in the open a^r. 
 At length, and at the same time, several 
 voices call for the opinion of the judge — 
 and in the person referred to we recog- 
 nize our old acquaintance, Henry Warden, 
 whose fair skin, small, white hand, and 
 slender form seem to indicate that nature 
 had, indeed, designed him for the ermine 
 and the council-room rather than for the 
 rough scenes of the tented field. He owed 
 his soubriquet, however, not so much to his 
 physical constitution as to his habits of 
 thinking and meditating alone, and to the 
 clearness and comprehensiveness of his 
 judgments. All now listened respectfully 
 to his opinion as he modestly, but forcibly 
 unfolded his views. 
 
 "I think there is a middle course," said 
 he, " by which we can gain our ends with- 
 out using violence or showing any cow- 
 ardice. We all know he is a worthy man, 
 and we ought not, therefore, to use rough 
 measures unless we are compelled."' 
 
 " But if we miss this chance," answered 
 a stouter boy, named William Glutson, 
 «' we may never get such another opportu- 
 nity. I tell you I'm for fun." 
 
 " There's not much fun or courage ei- 
 ther in cruelty," retorted the judge. 
 
 *' And who taught you so much about 
 courage ?" asked Glutson. 
 
 "That's my opinion," replied the judge, 
 " and I've often heard my mother say the 
 same thing." 
 
 " That settles the question," said Glut- 
 son, with a sneer; when the judge, with 
 flashing eyes, demanded what he meant. 
 
 "No disrespect," answered Glutson, 
 B 
 
 "only I thought and meant that you and 
 the ladies are competent judges in such 
 matters." 
 
 " Not so good as Mr. Glutson." said the 
 judge, "who will be as terrible to an 
 armed enemy as he is gentle and accept- 
 able to the girls." 
 
 It was now Glutson's time to ask an ex- 
 planation, which he did with a sharp voice 
 and flushed cheek ; and the judge, in mak- 
 ing it, remarked, 
 
 " I mean, if you are brave then bullies 
 are much belied. Do you wish further in- 
 formation as to my opinion V 
 
 Glutson, without replying directly to the 
 questioner, turned to the other boys and 
 observed, that he " wished to hear no more 
 of the sage opinions of the heroic judge, 
 or of his very judicious mamma." 
 
 Henry's eyes again flashed, and his 
 whole frame quivered with emotion, when 
 Ben Kust interfered to put an end to the 
 quarrel. Ben, who was about the age of 
 Glutson, was a universal peace-maker, 
 never being able to endure to see a fight, in 
 which he was not a party militant. His 
 frame was short, compact, and muscular, 
 his chest full, round, and broad, while his 
 large, bushy head seemed to sprout out 
 immediately from between his shoulders 
 without the intervention of a neck : a 
 clear, blue eye, a large, but rather short or 
 snub nose, and a wide mouth, filled with 
 powerful teeth, were the ornaments of a 
 face so formed by nature as to be incapa- 
 ble of any other expression than that of 
 good humour. It was the decided opinion 
 of this interesting worthy, emphatically 
 expressed, that both the judge and Bill 
 Glutson were "too tall for their inches by 
 considerably upwards of a jugful," and 
 that they ought to be ashamed of them- 
 selves for showing so much temper. " You, 
 judge," continued he, " are too cussed 
 smart; your wit shaves like a new-hoiled 
 razor, and you know Bill wants his bristles 
 to grow long. As for you, Billy, my son, 
 don't let me ketch you growlin agin at a 
 smaller boy when your uncle is about. If 
 I do, my Christin friend, you won't know 
 what hurt you. I have a notion — that is 
 to say, my foot has a notion — any how, to 
 kick you till your nose bleeds ; but, hows- 
 ever, jine hands, both of you, and make 
 friends." 
 
 " 1 am not hypocrite enough for that," 
 said the judge. 
 
 "And I," said Glutson, " don't care who 
 knows I hate him." 
 
 " Well, well, my Christin friends," re- 
 joined Ben, "it's a free country, and you 
 can do as you please about that, providin, 
 you listen to what your uncle says. I now 
 lay down the law, that there must be no 
 more quarrels or fusses till the grand bat- 
 tle is over ; and all on you, like dutiful 
 subjects, must jine in and make common 
 
18 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 cause agin the common enemy. I'm 
 your captin-gineral and brigadier-in-chief, 
 and 1 declare for the judge's opinion. 
 We'll go accordin to sarcumstances, and 
 be no harder nor the natur of the case de- 
 mands ; and reinember you must all be on 
 the ground bright and airly to-morrow 
 monun, armed and equipped as the law 
 directs, and wilh ropes, catapults, torna- 
 does, and all the ingines of war; and now 
 this court-martial is dismissed, viva voce, 
 nunc pro tunc and E pluribus unum, as old 
 Proximus says." 
 
 Having delivered this speech, standing 
 and with great gravity, solemnly empha- 
 sizing the Latin words, and particularly 
 rolling out the last ones with deep and 
 swelling tones, Ben whirled a summerset, 
 gave a shout, and, followed by the others, 
 started in a run for the play-ground. As 
 he came up he was violently contended for 
 by the captains of the play : and to settle 
 the matter they cast lots by throwing 
 "cross and pile," as it was called, for the 
 first choice. The new hands were then di- 
 vided off; but the judge, who was moody, 
 made the game unequal by refusing to play. 
 Edith Mayfield, who was on the bthor side, 
 withdrew also from the play, alleging that 
 she waslired ; and the numbers on the op- 
 posing sides being equal, the sport went 
 briskly on. 
 
 " See," said the sweet-voiced girl above 
 named, as she sat down by the judge, "see 
 how the ball has blistered my hand." 
 
 The blister was hardly visible to the 
 naked eye, but the hand was a very white 
 and tender little one, and the judge must 
 needs take it gently in both of his, exam- 
 ine it very attentively, and hold it to as- 
 suage its pain. 
 
 " Does it hurt much]" asked he, as he 
 handled it with the most tender care. 
 
 " Not very much now," answered Edith, 
 looking up into his face with a smile that 
 made him forget his sorrows ; " it was very 
 painful, but it's nearly cured. How I do 
 despise- Will Glutson!" 
 
 " Why, what has he had to do with your 
 hand *" asked the judge, in surprise. 
 
 " He has had nothing to do with it," re- 
 plied Edith, " and never shall ; for I can 
 never endure to shake hands with him 
 again.*' 
 
 " Has he offended you, Edith'!" 
 
 Not knowing exactly what to say, afraid 
 to tell the truih, and still more afraid of 
 telling an untruth, Edith remained silent. 
 
 " Tell me, Edith," continued the judge, 
 becoming excited, "tell nie what he has 
 done to you." 
 
 " He has done nothing to me," she an- 
 swered, and again paused, with her eyes 
 bent on the ground. " I know he's a cow- 
 ard," she at length continued. 
 
 "And why do you think so 1 ?" inquired 
 Henry. 
 
 " I don't know exactly," answered Edith ; 
 "but 1 always thought so. He's always 
 laughing at the girls for being timid, im- 
 posing on the smaller boys, and is very 
 cruel to the servants." 
 
 " Your test is a good one," said the 
 judge ; " but see, the master is going to 
 call to books." 
 
 The judge, who never desired any one 
 to side with him in a quarrel, determined 
 that evening to be miserable, but h;-;d to 
 abandon his resolution; for he felt that 
 his face was constantly shone upon by 
 the tender eyes of Edith, and whenever he 
 looked at her, and this was not seldom, she 
 would smile in such a way that it was im- 
 possible not to feel entirely happy, even 
 in spite of himself. 
 
 The hour for being spelled arrived at 
 last, and all the scholars, except a few 
 very small ones, took their stand in a row 
 extending round two sides of the room. 
 Next to the fire was " the head" or post of 
 highest honour, and by the door was " the / 
 foot" or lowest rank. In the school of 
 Alamance the merit of each scholar was \ 
 estimated by the rank he held when the \ 
 school was "spelled ;" and on their return ' 
 at night, the first information given by the 
 children to their parents was in regard to 
 the number which they stood. Each stu- 
 dent always remembered his place, and 
 took it without confusion. On the even- 
 ing to which we have alluded, Henry War- 
 den, as was usual, stood head. Edith May- 
 field occupied her accustomed place, and 
 Ben Rust, as was very unusual, stood third. 
 He got there by accident several days be- 
 fore, and for some time maintained his po- 
 sition .by the assistance of the judge and 
 Edith, the latter of whom would laugh out 
 when she was amused and no one was 
 offended ; would sometimes whisper pret- 
 ty loud; and do it so openly, and then look 
 so pleasantly and archly at the master, 
 with a bright sparkle in her eyes, that he 
 could not find it in his heart to chide her. x 
 On one occasion, however, Ben could not 
 hear her distinctly, and so he started down- 
 ward. His progress was continuous; and 
 in a short time, and to the amusement of 
 the whole school, he landed at the foot, 
 saying, in a quiet way, " Now I feel more 
 nateral." "Pneumatics!" gave out the 
 master to the one who stood next to War- 
 den, who had purposely missed a word, 
 and who now was second, while Edith 
 stood head. The boy could not. spell it; 
 the next blundered, and the next did the 
 same. The eyes of Rust began to twin- 
 kle ; and as the word still kept coming 
 down, his lips began to move, his hand 
 was on his head, and his face turned up- 
 ward with an expression indicating the 
 profoundest thought. At length the word 
 readied him ; and Ben, after a pause, sud- 
 denly started, asking, 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 19 
 
 . "What did you say the word was?" 
 
 " Pneumatics,'''' answered the teacher : 
 "come, be quick ; for it is the last word, 
 and the sun is nearly down." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Ben : " Peneumatics ! 
 Now let me see ; did you say '•'pneumatics' 
 was the word]" 
 
 " I did," replied the master. 
 
 "And it don't begin with NV asked 
 Ben. 
 
 " I did'nt say so ; but such is the fact." 
 
 " Pneu-ma<-ics ! was it all spelled right 
 except, the first syllable V 
 
 " 1 can*t answer any more questions," 
 said the master. 
 
 " Well," answered Ben, " I know m, a, t, 
 spells '■mat,'' and i,c,k,s, spells 'zcAs;' so 
 the question is as to the ' New.'' What 
 can it be ? Oh, G, n, oo, Gnoo, m, a " 
 
 "Wrong, wrong!" exclaimed the mas- 
 ter; and so Edith had to spell the word. 
 
 The school was now dismissed ; and 
 Henry Warden, who was a general fa- 
 vourite, and whose sadness had been ob- 
 served, had to decline many pressing invi- 
 tations to go with his fellow-students. 
 
 The sun was far down among the trees 
 as the torrent of youthful life, with a mer- 
 ry din, poured out ©f the school-house, and 
 streaming off by different roads, waked 
 with song, and joke, and boisterous laugh- 
 ter, the echoes of those ancient woods for 
 miles around. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE TURNING OUT OP THE MASTER. 
 
 The events related in the last chapter 
 took place two days before Christmas, and 
 after Hector M'Bride had been teaching 
 for some time at Alamance. Before the 
 early dawn on the following morning, near- 
 ly all the boys and many of the girls as- 
 sembled at the school-house, and com- 
 menced fortifying it to bar the entrance of 
 the master. The window over the writ- 
 ing-bench,, though too narrow to admit the 
 body of a man, was closed with slabs, and 
 the door was bolted on the inside with a 
 quantity of bars, beams, and benches, suffi- 
 cient to have defied the efforts of a battal- 
 ion without artillery. Besides the chim- 
 ney, the little window above the master's 
 desk was the only other point of ingress, 
 and here, all the larger boys, mounted on 
 tables and benches, were to take their 
 stand. Through this window, Ben Rust 
 went out and hung on a pole fastened to 
 the roof of the house a small flag, on which 
 were blazoned in large letters, "School- 
 boys' Rights." and then tacked on the door 
 a placard, on which was drawn a coil of 
 ropes, with the sentence, " No admission 
 but on conditions," written at the bottom. 
 These preparations having been com- 
 pleted, although the sun was not yet up, 
 
 the students began to look anxiously for 
 the master. Many felt a strange palpita- 
 tion of the heart ; some wished it was well 
 over, and others secretly rued having em- 
 barked in the business, and thought they 
 had rather study a week than undertake to 
 gain a holyday by such a hazardous exper-, 
 iment. The more timid, making forlorn 
 efforts at looking unconcerned and telling 
 jokes, trembled at every rustle in the 
 leaves, and all spoke in half-whispered, 
 tremulous tones. Some, with great ap- 
 parent coolness, amused themselves by 
 trying to scribble on the sheets of paper 
 that lay scattered about, but their hands 
 were unsteady ; some made lively attempts 
 to entertain the girls, but their teeth chat- 
 tered as if they were in an ague ; and oth- 
 ers clustered about Rust, cracking their 
 wit upon him, and gathering confidence 
 from his quiet, determined manner. Sud- 
 denly the sound of footsteps behiud the 
 house threw all within into a fever of ex- 
 citement, some seizing their books, some 
 rushing to the window and the chinks in 
 the wall, and some walking to and fro 
 without any definite purpose. The foot- 
 steps still approached, and Ben, listening 
 very attentively, exclaimed, 
 
 " There's more nor one, by Jove !" 
 
 " Do you think he's brought assistance !" 
 asked an ashy-coloured lad, trembling all 
 over. 
 
 " Surely, no one would take part with 
 him," remarked another. 
 
 " There's no tellin what may happen," 
 said Ben ; " and it may be the old folks are 
 goin to try to break up the custom, for 
 I've heern'sich chat.'* 
 
 " If that's the case, we can't fight against 
 our fathers," observed one who desired an 
 excuse to surrender; "and suppose they 
 bring pistols." 
 
 "Suppose the devil comes himself," an- 
 swered Rust, " we'll give him a chunkin ; 
 for there's plenty of fire here. Let all Al- 
 amance come ; the more the merrier, I 
 say." 
 
 " And so dol," said the judge ; " and if 
 they choose to fight us, they must take 
 what they get^ 
 
 By this time the footsteps were heard 
 advancing round to the front of the house, 
 and suddenly, an old black horse with a 
 most woful countenance, came in view. 
 He paused when he saw the heads at the 
 window, and gazing at them very solemn- 
 ly for several minutes, he gave a feeble 
 neigh, and then gravely walked off in pur- 
 suit of his pleasure. The occupants of the 
 castle were prodigiously relieved at what 
 they saw ; and becoming by this time used 
 to their situation, they felt ready for a trial 
 of their courage. Ben, now seating him- 
 self in the master's chair, requested all to 
 be silent while he made a few remarks. 
 
 " You see, my Christin friends," said he. 
 
20 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 " how a man's fears can make a fool of 
 him. That old crittur which you all took 
 for a legion of armed men, was so tickled 
 at your fright, that though he seems to be 
 a decent and gentlemanly old hoss, he 
 could'nt hold in, and laughed right in our 
 faces. He was so mightily amused, I 
 could see it in his eyes ; and did'nt you 
 see how contemptiously he switched his 
 tail, as much as to say, 'good-bye, boys, 
 you're green.' I tell you, the way to get 
 out of danger is to face it. : even a painter 
 or a wild cat will walk off if we look him 
 straight in the eyes. You must " 
 
 " Yonder he comes ! yonder he comes !" 
 exclaimed several who were at the win- 
 dow ; and sure enough, the master, with 
 his eyes bent on the ground, a staff in his 
 hand, and a book under his left arm, came 
 in view. All heads were withdrawn from 
 the window, and perfect silence reigned 
 within." Walking leisurely to the door, the 
 master looked for the string of the latch, 
 and finding it was gone, began to rap with 
 his stick. 
 
 " I surely saw some one at the window," 
 said he ; and again he rapped more loudly, 
 calling out " Robert Smith !" 
 
 " Sir," answered the boy, running across 
 the room, and forgetting himself till he was 
 seized and admonished. to be silent. 
 
 " Robert," continued the master, " open 
 this door, my son. Will no one let me 
 into this house 1 ho, you within, what 
 fool's play is this !" 
 
 .As no one answered, he continued to 
 rattle at the door, working himself inio a 
 towering passion, and uttering the fiercest 
 exclamations. The excitement within 
 was now intense, and many, doubtful of 
 the issue of the attempt to bar out, stood 
 with their books in hand, ready to act ac- 
 cording to emergency. The master, after 
 repeated efforts, finding the door firml) r 
 barred, walked off and began to cut and 
 trim a supply of rods, occasionally look- 
 ing back to observe the effect of this 
 manoeuvre. Returning again, "with his 
 switches in one hand and a beam of wood 
 in the other, he said, solemnly, 
 
 " Boys, open this door. If you do not, 
 I shall batter it down, and the blame will 
 lie on yourselves." 
 
 " Read the nouce," said one within. 
 
 "The notice, hah!" replied the master, 
 putting on his spectacles ; " its a bungling 
 fist. Treason, as 1 live — foul treason and 
 rebellion; and -it shall be duly punished. 
 Young rebels ! admit me instantly into 
 my house, or I'll whip every mother's son 
 of you till the blood trickles down your 
 backs!" 
 
 "Kctchin's before hangin," answered 
 Rust, displaying his face at the window. 
 "Praps, my Christin friend, if you'll flog 
 the house you might save yourself a deal 
 of trouble and whip us all in a lump." 
 
 "Benjamin! Benjamin! are you mad 1" 
 asked M'Bride. 
 
 "Not purticularly so," said Ben; "how 
 is it with yourself? I hope your exercise 
 keeps you warm, for its an ontolerable 
 cold mornin." 
 
 " Mr. Rust," retorted" the master, "it ill 
 becomes you to be jesting thus with your 
 teacher, and I can hardly believe the evi- 
 dence of my own senses. Let me in, and 
 I'll forgive the past; but wo be to you and 
 your deluded followers if you do not !" 
 
 Ben, not in the least moved by this ap- 
 peal, very quietly informed the master that, 
 "accordin to the laws of the Medes and 
 Persians, every dog must have its day," and 
 that, therefore, the day of old Proximus was 
 over for the present. "All of which, "he con- 
 tinued, "we'll maintain viva voce'''' — apiece 
 of gratifying intelligence which was follow- 
 ed by a rap of the master's switch rather 
 uncomfortably close to the speaker's face. 
 The teacher's blows now followed in quick 
 succession, and he and Rust were begin- 
 ning to pant with their exertions, the one to 
 enter and the other to defend the window, 
 when the latter exclaimed, 
 
 "Let's parley." 4 
 
 " J have nothing more to say, young 
 rebel," M'Bride answered, preparing more 
 rods. 
 
 " But I have a deal to say to you," said 
 Rust, " and it consarns you to listen. We 
 don't want to harm a hair on your head, 
 and are only defendin our nateral rights ; 
 but our blood may git hot, and then there's 
 no tellin what may happen. I spose you 
 only wanted to show pluck and then. give 
 up ; and as we are satisfied with your cour- 
 age, you had better now surrender." 
 
 " I'll show you whether I am in fun or 
 not, yo.u saucy whelp," exclaimed the 
 master, whose blows soon cleared the 
 window, one of them welting several fa- 
 ces. Seizing the favorable moment, he 
 sprung to the window, and was half way 
 in when he was grappled by Rust, whom 
 he dragged out after him, and one of the 
 skirts of whose coat was left behind on a 
 nail. The judge and several others tum- 
 bled out to sustain their leader: but the 
 foe, breaking loose from the crowd, put 
 his legs into a rapid motion, ill sorting 
 with his usual gravity. The boys, with a 
 loud shout, gave chase, Ben, with his sin- 
 gle-skirted coat, leading the pack, and 
 yelping like a beagle-hound. The game, 
 doubling and wheeling round trees with 
 admirable dexterity, soon tired down his 
 pursuers, and coursed off in gallailt style. 
 The oV)or was flung open, and the woods 
 swarmed with a merry crowd, shouting, 
 laughing, and betting on the race. The 
 tumult made by those in pursuit became 
 fainter and fainter, and finally died away. 
 Suddenly, and in an opposite direction, it 
 was heard again, and soon the master, far 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 31 
 
 in advance of his followers, dashed through 
 the crowd at. the house, darted in at the 
 door, and, slapping his rod on the floor, 
 called sternly, " to books !" The peda- 
 gogue in his chair of authority is a more 
 awful personage than the master out of 
 doors; and, accordingly, M'Bride was now 
 obeyed, and the usual din of study began 
 to be heard when the larger boys entered. 
 They had held a short consultation out of 
 doors, and it was easy to see that their 
 blood was up, and that they contemplated 
 rough measures as they took their stand 
 round the teacher^ 
 
 "Young men," said the latter, "take 
 your seats. I am loath to whip you, but 
 vou will force me to do it if you do not 
 instantly resume your studies." 
 
 " Whipping is a game two can play at," 
 answered the judge, " and we're as loath 
 to do it as you are. I" must, however, in- 
 form you, that if you do not grant our 
 demands we can and we will use rough 
 measures." 
 
 M'Bride made no reply, but rbse to his. 
 feet and raised his chair, when the judge 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " Rust, prepare your ropes ; and now, 
 boys, on." 
 
 As he darted towards the master, the 
 chair of the latter fell harmless, and with 
 a laugh he said, 
 
 " I surrender ; what's your will ?" 
 
 " Here are our demands," answered 
 Henry Warden, and he read the following 
 carefully-written letter : 
 
 " To Mr. Hector M'Bride. 
 
 "Sir, — You are hereby informed that, 
 in accordance with an ancient and well- 
 established usage, you are to be this day 
 excluded from your school-house and pro- 
 ceeded against as an enemy until you 
 agree to the following terms, to wit : You 
 are to let us have this for a holyday extra, 
 and not count it in the calendar, as it is 
 won by our valour. You are also to spend 
 one pound sterling in the purchase of such 
 refreshments and confections as you may 
 deem proper for us, and on your refusal 
 to comply with these conditions we, will 
 Jeel authorized to compel submission by 
 Kuxe : For all of which there are abun- 
 dant precedents. 
 
 "We remain your affectionate pupils, 
 
 " Henry Warden, ^ 
 
 "Will. Glutson, >Com'tte." 
 
 " Ben. Rust, y 
 
 " You have shown your pluck," said the 
 master, "and I trust I have also displayed 
 some courage ; and now we'll laugh" ov-er 
 the little accidents of the day." 
 
 So saying, he sat down and wrote an 
 order for the apples, cakes, candies, and 
 
 cider, which he had before purchased for 
 the occasion and left with his nearest pat- 
 ron. The parents now began to drop in, 
 and were surprised and elated to find their 
 sons had conquered the master so soon. 
 The " barring out" was a high festival at 
 old field schools, and the prescriptive 
 rights of students in regard to it, were re- 
 spected by all. On such occasions the 
 situation of the teacher was a trying one. 
 It was considered as his duty to resist to 
 the last, and yet those who so considered 
 desired to see him conquered. The turn- 
 ing out was considered as a sort of minia- 
 ture war, in Which it was incumbent on 
 the master to teach his pupils coolness, 
 fortitude, and perseverance. 
 
 At the time referred to, the old people 
 congratulated master and scholar, and 
 were highly pleased with the conduct of 
 both. 
 
 Among the visitors was Mr. Cornelius 
 Demijohn, commonly called Corny Demi- 
 john, a sedate bachelor of a grave'presence, 
 and weighing some twenty odd stone. Al- 
 though he had no children, he took a great 
 interest in the school; and having been 
 consulted by the students in regard to the 
 proper method of proceeding in turning 
 out the master, he had arrived early, and, 
 from a concealed position, watched, with 
 lively interest, the fortunes of the day. 
 He was supposed to be skilled in military 
 science, and his heart was as kind as char- 
 ity, and his hand ever ready to strike for 
 his friend. He was by blood related to no 
 one but his mother at Alamance, yet all 
 seemed to be his nephews and nieces, for 
 he was universally known as " Uncle Cor- 
 ny." As usual, his advent created a sen- 
 sation among the young folk, and especi- 
 ally among the girls, who immediately be- 
 gan to cluster about him, and chatter away 
 like a flock of magpies round a grave Mus- 
 covy duck. The old men told long stories 
 of their own exploits on such occasions; 
 the little boys listened, and the young men 
 romped with the females, and assisted 
 them in putting Uncle Corny into trouble. 
 As the day wore towards its noon, the 
 young people became desirous that their 
 parents and teacher should join them in a 
 grand game of town-ball ; and, the Rev. 
 Dr. Caldwell arriving about this time,tho 
 same request was made of him. The so- 
 licitation showed on what terms the par- 
 son lived with his people, respect for the 
 minister being tempered by affection for 
 the man ; while his ready assent displayed 
 the cheerfulness of a disposition which the 
 studies of his calling had failed to tinge 
 with an austere or fanatic feeling. 
 
 All, accordingly, adjourned to the old 
 field, and the sport commenced in earnest. 
 Conscious of innocence, and therefore 
 fearless of the censure of the world, or of 
 Heaven, the sun in his course never looked 
 
22 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 down On a happier crowd than was that 
 day assembled on the play-ground at the 
 Old field school of Alamance. The editor 
 of these memoirs, hurried on by more 
 stirring- incidents, regrets that he cannot 
 stop to describe the play, once so interest- 
 ing to him, and to make a good performer 
 in which required a true eye, a quick hand, 
 and great activity of body. He regrets 
 his inability to chronicle the mishaps of 
 Uncle Corny,* and the sprightliness of the 
 master, both of which created no little 
 merriment ; and he 'regrets still more that 
 he cannot hand down to fame the exploits 
 of the parson, the simplicity of whose heart 
 and the energies of whose body, were alike 
 untouched by the blight of advancing years. 
 The master, whose notes we follow, when 
 he comes to the sports of this day, in the 
 very beginning of his account breaks off 
 with the exclamation, "Eheu, priscos f di- 
 ces lusus ! Eheu, tempora mulata .'" He 
 then continues his remarks with equal 
 beauty and pathos.. 
 
 " We shall not attempt," says he, " to 
 draw a picture of what no pen can de- 
 scribe. If there be any yet living who 
 witnessed that, or similar scenes, where 
 age and learning, wisdom and piety, beauty 
 and innocence, forgetting the world, its 
 vices, and its sorrows, wore away the 
 winged hours in harmless sport and frolic, 
 they will know that his would be a dar- 
 ing pen who should attempt a description; 
 and if all the actors in those merry scenes 
 are gathered to the last mansions of mor- 
 tality, it would be a bootless task to dwell 
 on recollections which none can appre- 
 ciate." 
 
 The editor has witnessed similar scenes, 
 and deep in his memory are those scenes 
 engraven, and there shall they remain, the 
 sweetest picture in the recollections of the 
 past, till that memory is darkened by the 
 shadows of death ! Pray, then, good read- 
 er, excuse the writer if he is tedious and 
 garrulous on trivial matters that interest 
 you but little. Remember that, after the 
 vicissitudes of a long and chequered life, 
 the dear scenes of his early, and happy 
 youth are now before him, softened, chast- 
 ened, and beautified by the moonlight of 
 memory; and surely you will excuse him 
 for taking "one longing, lingering look," 
 before he shuts his eyes upon them and 
 dashes into the more memorable but sad- 
 der scenes which follow. He is only a 
 half-enchanter; he has conjured up from 
 its mossy grave the fair, pale spirit of the 
 past ; but it will not down at his bidding. 
 Bear with him, then, for a little while, and 
 you soon shall be ushered into the midst 
 of stirring times, and of great events, and 
 see enough of 
 
 " Battles, sieges, fortunes ; 
 
 Of most, disastrous chances — • / 
 
 Of moving 'accidents by Hood and field." / 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A GREAT MAN AT ALAMANCE. 
 
 How Nathan Glutson "came into the 
 world, and where he first saw the light, 
 was matter of speculation more perplex- 
 ing than profitable to his neighbours. It 
 is certain that he was the son of his moth- 
 er ; but if he ever had a father, that for- 
 tunate personage must have been fond of 
 obscurity, for, according to the gossips, 
 neither wife nor offspring ever knew him 
 as husband or parent. Nathan, however, 
 as we will see, was not one of those who 
 need the influence of illustrious paternity 
 to push them forward in the world. Like 
 other renowned men, he was born with ay. 
 the elements of greatness in himself, and 
 was destined to reflect from the meridian 
 sun of his own glory an unfading lustre on 
 all his race ; as well on thqse who pre- 
 ceded as on those who came after him on 
 the stage of being. The mystery which 
 envelopes his origin shrouds also his early 
 youth ; and for the interesting bistory of 
 this portion of his eventful life, the world 
 must be indebted to the pen of Nathan 
 himself; Until the publication of his auto- 
 biography, we must restrain our impatient 
 curiosity, and take him where the Ala- 
 mancers found him, at the age of two and 
 twenty. Having attained his majority, and 
 being aware that a prophet is not without 
 honour except in his own country, Nathan 
 left the country of his ancestors and set- 
 tled at Alamance. A disciple of Saint 
 Crispin, he came with hammer and awl to 
 shoe the Alamancers, thus typifying his 
 more important mission, which was to 
 harness with sound doctrine the souls of 
 his new and simple neighbours, and new- 
 vamp their minds, so as to enable them 
 to walk unhurt over the briers and sharp 
 stones of this thorny wilderness. He 
 pitched his tent, or, to speak more cor- 
 rectly, he built his shop at the crossing of 
 two public roads. A painted sign was hung 
 out, to be gazed at with admiring wonder 
 by every mill-boy that passed along, and 
 printed cards were circulated for the be- 
 wilderment of the public generally.. Sign- 
 boards such as his, and cards, ^were new 
 things at ^.lamance ; and, while they con- 
 stituted a novelty interesting to the young, 
 they were regarded by some very shrewd 
 old people as unerring indications of the 
 fast-approaching end of the world. The 
 earth, however, despite their opinions, 
 kept on its usual courses, and the Ala- 
 mancers, satisfied by degrees of Nathan's 
 superior artistical skill, gave him a liberal 
 patronage. Glutson, increasing in world- 
 ly substance, took to himself for wife'an 
 old spinster with a hundred acres of land, 
 one hundred wrinkles in her face, and five 
 hundred crotchets in her temper. Such 
 were the lands, goods, and chattels, which 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 23 
 
 Nathan got by marriage ; and turning all 
 but the crotchets and the wrinkles into 
 money, he took an apprentice to his trade, 
 opened a house of entertainment, and a 
 blacksmith-shop in which he hired some 
 strolling workmen to labour. These shops 
 became the lesort of all the idlers in the 
 community, and Nathan held forth to 
 them daily on law, ethics, and politics. 
 Among other things, he became a bailiff, 
 and by his frequent visits to the distant 
 court-house, augmented his influence and 
 importance. He soon added another to 
 his multifarious occupations, in the prose- 
 cution of which he still kept in view the 
 public good. He became a money-lender 
 and a shaver of paper, in the discharge of 
 'which business, he regulated himself by 
 the wants of the borrower, endeavouring, 
 as far as practicable, to carry out literally 
 the language of Scripture, " from him that 
 hath not shall be taken even that he hath." 
 Thus did Nathan manufacture shoes, point 
 coulters, and entertain strangers, charging 
 only three prices for the same; thus did 
 he serve process and shave bonds at fif- 
 ty per centum discount, until he became 
 a man of such vast consequence as to be 
 appointed a justice of the peace. Then 
 it was that he enlarged his garments and 
 his house, put on a grave and sober face, 
 became a severe and rigid moralist, and 
 spoke as one having authority. Sons and 
 daughters were born unto him, and in their 
 early promise he to.ok a becoming pride. 
 He joined the church, in which he was ap- 
 pointed a ruling elder; took an active part 
 in all public matters, and was the terror 
 of all poor vagabonds far and near. The 
 advice and conversation of such a man 
 could not but be profitable and instruct- 
 ive to old and young ; and as Nathan was 
 aware of this, and deemed it a sin to hide 
 his light under a bushel, his loud and com- 
 manding voice was heard at every public 
 gathering. At such places he was gener- 
 ally the last comer; a proper regard for 
 his own dignity requiring that he should 
 cause himself to be waited for and observ- 
 ed by all eyes when he came. It was 
 therefore late on the day of '-the barring 
 /but" mentioned in the last chapter when 
 [Nathan arrived , at the Old-Field School. 
 He heard a great shout just as he touched 
 the verge of the field, and to his inexpress- 
 ible mortification saw the Rev. Dr. Cald- 
 1 well with the fieetness of a deer coursing 
 'round the circuit of the " town." 
 
 Beyond measure scandalized at what he 
 saw he stood, himself unnoticed, gazing 
 on the merry scene with feelings akin to 
 those of Satan, when, from a lofty hill, he 
 beheld with baneful eye the innocent de- 
 lights of that glorious Eden which his 
 hateful presence was to mar forever. He 
 observed with pride that his own hopeful 
 children, apparently disgusted with what 
 
 was going on, had retired from the play t 
 and seemed engaged in the amiable occu- 
 pation of criticising the conduct of their 
 friends. They were so engaged ; and just 
 at this time, Edith Mayfield, running to 
 catch a ball on which her upturned eyes 
 were fixed, stumbled against and fell over 
 Emily Glutson, and damaged the hitter's 
 bonnet, the finest in the school. Edith, 
 who was the worse hurt of the two, was 
 soon on her feet, laughing at the accident, 
 when a slap in the face by Emily's broth- 
 er, accompanied by a harsh exclamation, 
 changed her merriment to tears, and sent 
 her off bitterly weeping. 
 
 Henry Warden, observing her distress, 
 and hearing in the crowd some remark 
 about William Glutson, hastily enquired of 
 every one around him what had happened. 
 Dreading the consequences, his fellow- 
 students endeavoured to disguise and pal- 
 liate the matter to the'judge, whose sus- 
 picions were still strengthened by the 
 vague answers he received. He was in- 
 stantly by the side of William Glutson, de- 
 manding, in no gentle tones, an account of 
 his conduct to Edith Mayfield. 
 
 " Are you her protector V asked Glut- 
 son, with a sneer, at the same time rising 
 to his feet. 
 
 "I am," was the emphatic response; 
 "and you shall apologize this instant." 
 
 " Not this week, nor ever, to such a milk- 
 faced hero as you," replied the other. 
 
 " Then, take that, and that !" said the 
 judge, striking him several times in the 
 face. 
 
 Before Glutson had recovered himself 
 sufficiently to return the blows, Warden, 
 grappled by powerful arms, was thrown 
 some distance on his back, and Ben Rust 
 stood confronting his now furious antag- 
 onist. The courage of the latter growing 
 rapidly-at the prospect of an interference, 
 he began to let loose a torrent of abuse, 
 and, making an effort to get at his fallen 
 enemy, his nose came into such violent 
 contact with Ben's fist that the blood 
 spurted out, and he yelled with pain and 
 rage. 
 
 " Very well !" coolly observed the keeper 
 of the peace ; " when this you see, remem- 
 ber me," and the ponderous weapon again 
 brushed through Glut-son's face — Ben, with 
 his right leg stuck out, gyrating several 
 times on his left foot, and sweeping his arm 
 through the air as if he were knocking 
 down a circle of adversaries. 
 
 These things all happened in a minute, 
 and all the company, with Squire Glutsonl 
 himself, were soon on the scene of battle. 
 The old field being no place for the inves- ■ 
 tigation of the affair, they adjourned to the 
 house, and Warden and Glutson were prop- 
 erly arraigned and put upon their trial. 
 
 " My practice," said M'Bride, " is first to 
 hear the parties themselves. I desire al- 
 
24 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 ways to put the scholar on his or her hon- 
 our, and to inculcate thus the habit of tell- 
 ing the truth' even against themselves. 
 William Glutson, stand up here and relate 
 the facts connected with the fight between 
 you and Henry Warden." ♦ 
 
 His father, fumbling his watch-seals with 
 his right hand, looked round with magiste- 
 rial gravity and dignity as his son roundly 
 told his story. 
 
 "Because,"' said the latter, "because I 
 would not take his insolence, Henry War- 
 den struck me in the face, and but for 
 your presence and that of my father I 
 would have thrashed him like "a sack." 
 
 "What insolence?" asked the master; 
 "tell all that occurred." 
 
 "Edith Mayfield ran over my sister, 
 hurting her very much, and then making 
 fun of her ; and, because I gave her a little 
 lecture for'it, Henry Warden came to me 
 in a very insulting manner, and demanded 
 an # apology. I refused to give it, and he 
 struck me." 
 
 " Henry Warden, what have you to say !'' 
 asked M'Bride. 
 
 " Nothing, sir," answered the judge. 
 
 " Come, sir, I want no insolence," said 
 the master; "answer at once, what took 
 place between you and William Glutson ?" 
 
 " I do not mean to be insolent," replied 
 Henry, " but I have no statement to make. 
 I might contradict what has beCn said, and 
 I had rather be punished for fighting than 
 to be suspected of falsehood." 
 
 The master, thinking that the judge was 
 in a temporary pet, dismissed him for the 
 present, and called Rust to the witness's 
 stand. Ben told his story roundly, impli- 
 cating no one, and leaving it extremely 
 doubtful whether there had been a fight at 
 all. His testimony not being entirely sat- 
 isfactory to the master, the latter put va- 
 rious questions to him for the purpose of 
 eliciting the whole truth. 
 
 "Did you," asked he, "see the com- 
 mencement of the fight?" 
 
 Rust. — "I can't say adzactly that I did." 
 
 M'Bride. — " What was the first thing that 
 you saw? Were the parties together]" 
 
 Rust. — "When 1 first seed them, they 
 were standin side-and-side, lookin sorter 
 mad, though I could'nt possibly be pertic- 
 ler as to that. Folks sometimes look grum, 
 you know, when they are in a good hu- 
 mour; and, as to. the matter of that, I 
 never saw old Father Gruel look pleasin in 
 my life. He eats his dinner as if it was 
 epicac and salts, and " 
 
 M'Bride.— "Never mind about Father 
 Gruel. Did you hear any words pass?" 
 
 Rust. — " Somthin ivas said after I got to 
 them, but I didn't pay perticler attention 
 to the compliments passed." 
 
 M'Bride. — " Mr. Rust, remember what 
 you say now you are bound in honour to say. 
 You are not acting the part of an odious 
 
 tell-tale, but of a witness whose evidence 
 affects the welfare of your fellow- students. 
 1 ask you now, for your own sake, and for 
 the sake of these two boys, to tell all you 
 know of the fight, its cause, its beginning, 
 and its ending." 
 
 Rust. — " Well, as I said -before, I heerd 
 a sort of fuss or rumpus, and, lookin round, 
 1 seed Henry Warden and Bill Glutson 
 standin close together, and Henry's fis 
 circulatin tolerably freely about Bill's face. 
 They mout have been playin,but I thought 
 I'd see the fun. When I got there, I put 
 an end to it ; and so the game's oyer, and 
 I don't know who won." 
 
 M'Bride. — " Do you pretend to say there 
 was no fight !" 
 
 Rust (after musing a while). — " There 
 was a little skrimmage, sir." 
 
 M'Bride. — " How often did Henry War- 
 den strike the other ?" 
 
 Rust. — "Now, I don't know that he hit 
 him ary time. 1 saw his fist travellin two 
 or three times towards Bill's fate, but 
 whether it called or passed by I can't say. 
 lt"s not onlikely it knocked fur admission, 
 as they say. at his mouth. He seemed to 
 poke it into him faster than Bill could pack 
 it away." 
 
 M'Bride. — " Do you know of any cause 
 of quarrel between the two? Had any t 
 thing happened just before the fight to ir- 
 ritate Henry Warden?" 
 
 Rust. — " They say Bill Glutson struck 
 Eddie Mayfield : butjthe others know more 
 about that "than I do." 
 
 Ben now had permission to resume his 
 seat,- which he did with great gravity, hav- 
 ing first made a profound bow to the mas- 
 ter. Warden was again called on, and 
 again refused to tell what he knew. Hav- 
 ing never been chided by parent or teacher, 
 his sensibility wounded to the quick by hi; 
 present position, mortified that he was 
 even suspected of wrong, and desirous of 
 not calling on Edith Mayfield, no persua- 
 sion could induce him to make a defence. 
 
 "Henry," said M'Bride, at length, "I 
 have a painful duty to perform. You have 
 been my. best student, the pride of the 
 school, and the boast of the neighbour- 
 hood. No one has ever before raised an 
 accusing voice against you, but discipline 
 must be enforced. By the testimony of 
 others, and by your own mute confession, 
 you are guilty of a heinous misdemeanour, 
 and until you sincerely repent, you must 
 be excluded, as unworthy, from my peace- 
 ful fold. With tears I blot your name " 
 
 "Hold!" exclaimed Nathan Glutson;. 
 " you are too severe, my worthy friend. 
 If I might be allowed," continued he, ris- 
 ing with dignity, " if I might be allowed to 
 give my humble opinion, I would advise 
 that the culprit be soundly whipped and 
 forgiven for his recent offence, i am sure 
 my son would be satisfied with this. The 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 25 
 
 in 
 
 boy is giddy, and may have a touch of his 
 father's infirmity;" and Nathan paused 
 and looked round for approbation. His 
 good counsel was, however, thrown away; 
 for something very much Jike disgust was 
 visible in every face. As for the judge — 
 his burning soul flashing through his eyes 
 with a dignity, it may even be said, with 
 a grandeur of manner that impressed the 
 whole assembly — he declared that he never 
 •would survive such a chastisement as that 
 recommended, at the hands of any but a 
 parent. 
 
 " The whip," he cried, " is for the back 
 of the sluggard and the mean-spirited. As 
 for that man," he continued, gazing on 
 Nathan Glutson with a sternness that dis- 
 composed his nerves, " he is a hypocrite 
 and a slanderer; the tyrant of the weak, 
 and the slave of the strong! And now," 
 said he, his great heart swelling within 
 him, " my teacher, the Glutsons, and the 
 world may do its worst, for I shall ask 
 pardon and m^rcy of none but God !" 
 
 Thus spoke the descendant of a puritan, 
 and the protege of the famous Dr. Cald- 
 
 ell. He Was mistaken, though, in think- 
 ing the world his enemy. That little part 
 of it in which he was then acting the early 
 hero loved and respected him, and boys 
 and girls clustered around him, endeav- 
 ouring to soothe his chafed and wounded 
 spirit. Even the parson and master ex- 
 changed secret glances of admiration; and 
 the sympathies of Uncle Corny became so 
 much excited that it would have been dan- 
 gerous for any one to have attempted to 
 lay rough hands on the judge. As for Na- 
 than, he was, in vulgar phrase, greatly 
 flurried and hurt in feeling, and was about 
 to begin a speech, when he was stopped 
 by the silver voice Qf Edith Mayfield. The 
 girl, catching the feeling that animated 
 Henry Warden, came forward, covered 
 with blushes, and told her simple story. 
 She was listened to in breathless silence, 
 and her tale acquitted the judge in the 
 hearts of all but the Glutsons. The repre- 
 sentative and pater -familias of that ilk 
 could now no longer nestrain his indigna- 
 tion, which blazed in crimson glory over 
 his sharp and ruddy face, flashed in con- 
 suming majesty from his small, round, 
 gray eyes, and poured in torrents of per- 
 spiration over his square and narrow fore- 
 head. 
 
 " Sir, Mr. M'Bride, and gentlemen, this 
 is too bad !" he exclaimed ; is my son to 
 be discredited, my counsel despised!" 
 
 " Suffer me to interrupt you, Mr. Glut- 
 son," interposed M'Bride ; " the trial is 
 over, and Henry Warden is honourably 
 acquitted." 
 
 " What !" thundered the enraged justice 
 of the peace ; " is this the way justice is 
 administered! Is this little jade, the sweet- 
 heart, no doubt " 
 
 " Silence !" now thundered the master in 
 his turn. "Mr. Glutson, this is my school- 
 house, and these are my students. I am 
 here judge and jur)', and my authority 
 there is none to dispute. If I have per- 
 mitted you to speak at all it was not be- 
 cause I wanted your opinion, but simply 
 as a mark of respect to one of my worthy 
 patrons. "You are now taking unbecom- 
 ing liberties with the character of my pu- 
 pils, whiclTis as dear to me as my own, 
 and which I will defend with my life. God 
 forbid that I should chastise a gallant boy 
 for resenting and punishing a wanton insult 
 to an innocent girl ! Take your seat, sir, 
 instantly, or leave the house !" 
 
 This command was not to be disobeyed, 
 and taking his children, William and Emi- 
 ly, Nathan slowly withdrew and shook off 
 the dust of his feet against the. school of 
 Alamance. Children, teacher, and parents, 
 seemed to breathe more freely after his 
 departure, and the confections left in the 
 morning were discussed with a lively ani- 
 mation. The roll was then called, and the 
 Rev. Dr. Caldwell rose to make a few re- 
 marks. His discourse was short, simple, 
 and sensible, and listened to with profound 
 and respectful attention. The reverend 
 gentleman was, without effort or ostenta- 
 tious display, eloquent and pathetic, and 
 brought tears from more than one ingenu- 
 ous youth. In conclusion, he touched 
 slightly upon the gathering dangers of the 
 times, spoke of a coming crisis, and ex- 
 horted his young friends to emulate the 
 example of their ancestors, who had sealed 
 with their blood their devotion to civil and 
 religious liberty. A fervent prayer was 
 then offered to the Throne of Grace, and 
 thus ended the ceremonies of the day. 
 
 " A day," says the master in his mem- 
 oranda, " famous in the annals of Ala- 
 mance, as on it the shadows of important 
 coming events were clearly visible." 
 
 What these events were we shall see in 
 the sequel; and, in the mean time, it is wor- 
 thy of mention, that as Henry Warden took 
 leave of Edith he dropped into her basket 
 a note, which, when out of sight, she 
 opened and read as follows : 
 
 " Beware of the Glutsons ; believe no 
 prejudicial story about me, and remember 
 I am your sincere friend forever. What- 
 ever happens, or wherever I may happen 
 to be, know that you are not forgotten." 
 
 The contents puzzled her no little, and 
 so she went home pondering on them. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS DINNER AT ALAMANCE. 
 
 " Eddie, my daughter," said Mr. May- 
 field, on the night before Christmas, " to- 
 morrow there is to be a great party at 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 Warden's, and I wish to give you some 
 advice in relation to your conduct there. 
 You are my only child and heir, the sole 
 representative of my house, and in you 
 its honour must be sustained." 
 
 "Why do you talk so, father?" replied 
 the girl ; " have 1 ever disobeyed you in 
 any thing?" 
 
 " Never, my darling, when you knew 
 my- wishes; and 1 am now going to ex- 
 plain them to you fully, so that you may 
 know how to act in future. Come and 
 kiss me, and I'll begin." 
 
 Edith, seating herself in her father's lap, 
 and throwing her arms about his neck, 
 fondly kissed him, when he thus proceed- 
 ed : — 
 
 " It's dangerous, daughter, to form early 
 attachments, friendly or otherwise. We 
 cannot tell when young, what is most for 
 our interest; and I have known persons 
 to be unsuccessful and hampered all their 
 lives by intimacies they formed when 
 young, and which they could not get over." 
 
 "But, father, we ought not to choose 
 our friends from interested motives," said 
 Edith ; " and I thought attachments form- 
 ed when we are children were the purest, 
 because our hearts are then better than 
 they are when we grow older." 
 
 " It's an old and idle tale," answered 
 Mayfield ; " and no sensible people believe 
 it. It's a sickly sentiment, the mere cant 
 of poets and visionaries." 
 
 " What is a visionary V asked the daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 " A visionary, child, is one whose imagi- 
 nation is stronger than his judgement, and 
 who mistakes the whims and dreams of 
 his fancy for the conclusions of reason. 
 Henry Warden is a visionary, and has, I 
 fear, been tutoring you." 
 
 " Indeed he has not, father," answered 
 Edith, with animation ; " he never taught 
 me any thing but what was right, and he 
 talks more sensibly than any one I ever 
 heard." 
 
 " So you may think now," rejoined the 
 father ; " for you are yet unable to answer 
 his sophisms, and to see the absurdity of 
 hi3 fine-spun theories. My love, you must 
 not be so intimate with Henry. He is a 
 good boy, generous, just, and brave ; but 
 he is, as I said, a visionary, and he may 
 instil into your mind philosophy that is 
 dangerous. Besides, people are beginning 
 to think you and he are fond of each other ; 
 and that affair of to-day will make a great 
 noise. If it is thought a girl is in love, i*t 
 keeps off suitors — and " 
 
 "I want no suitors," exclaimed Edith, 
 rather pettishly, hiding her head in her 
 father's bosom. 
 
 " But you will want them some day," 
 said the old man ; " and for this very rea- 
 son you must not suffer them to come about 
 you now. If you are too free with Henry 
 
 Warden, you may never have any beau 
 but him; and that will be a pretty tale to 
 tell of the beauliful and accomplished 
 daughter of the rich Isaiah Mayfield, Esq. 
 I want you, some day, to be the belle of 
 Alamance ; and after a brilliant career, to 
 marry worthy of yourself and of me. To- 
 morrow, therefore, you must be cautiou3 
 and circumspect towards Henry Warden. 
 Every body will be observing you and him ; 
 and you will be the general talk of the 
 neighbourhood, if you don't take care." 
 
 " Father," said Edith, with tears in her 
 eyes, " if it will please you, I will never 
 speak to Henry again." 
 
 " But it. won't please me ; that is the 
 very thing I don't want you to do. You 
 must not quarrel with him, nor show by 
 your manners and conversation that you 
 think enough of him to get into a pet about 
 him or with him. When you speak of 
 him, do it freely, lightly, and kindly ; when 
 you speak to him, do it with a formal po- 
 liteness, a cold cordiality^ a reserved re- 
 spect. Talk to him familiarly, but not 
 confidentially ; do not smile, but laugh 
 loud and carelessly ; and when you look 
 at him, gaze as earnestly as you please, 
 but let there be no meaning or expression 
 in your eyes. You may think this strange 
 advice, but your father knows what is best 
 for you, and his object is to do it. Poor 
 Henry ! I am sorry for him." 
 
 Edith was, too, but she did not say so ; 
 and, in fact, her commiseration arose from 
 a very different reason from that which 
 prompted her father's. The latter knew 
 exactly the sum total of George War- 
 den's debts ; and though just, honourable, 
 and honest, 
 
 " He had a frugal mind.". 
 
 He was one of those sedate, moral, and 
 careful souls who, though they cheat no- 
 body, have no real affection for any th,ing 
 but money, and who, although respected 
 by all, are loved by no one ; who are non- 
 committal on everything but pounds, shil- 
 lings, and pence ; who risk nothing in he- 
 half of their best friend but advice ; and 
 who graduate their esteem, and regulate 
 their bows by the length of their neigh- 
 bours' purses. They are kind, good peo- 
 ple ; so says every body : they are forms 
 of uncompounded selfishness; animated 
 statues of stone; walking and speaking 
 automatons, whose negative virtues are 
 often worse than positive vices ; so thinks 
 every body. They believe they were sent 
 here for no other purpose than to take care 
 of themselves; and leaving that fair sam- 
 ple of the fraternity, Isaiah Mayfield, fully 
 absorbed in this judicious and pleasing oc- 
 cupation, we will proceed with our history. 
 The mansion of George Warden was 
 considered in its day as a fine specimen of 
 architectural beauty, and its great age evi- 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 97 
 
 denced the attachment felt for it by the 
 descendants of the builder. Jt was, how- 
 ever, too long, too low, and to wide to suit 
 the more polished modern taste ; had too 
 many sheds, porches, and passages ; and 
 had, withal, windows on the roof to light 
 the garret. It was situated on the brow 
 of a long hill, and surrounded by oaks and 
 walnuts, whose brawny arms had buffetted 
 with the storms of a century, and inter- 
 spersed with which were catalbers, locusts, 
 and cedars of a smaller growth. From the 
 great gate in front, a lane led. down the 
 hill to the creek of Liitle Alamance, and 
 on the right and left of the bridge crossing 
 the creek were large and level meadows 
 dotted over with an occasional elm or pop- 
 lar. A row of old and stately sycamores 
 lined each side of the lane from the gate 
 to the creek, and broad and well-cultivated 
 fields were everywhere in view. The 
 great gate stands open to-day, and a troop 
 of negro children are lounging about it, 
 ready to clamour " Christmas-gift" to each 
 new-comer, and to take his horse ; a large 
 log-fire is blazing in the hall, and serv- 
 ants are running to and fro in busy prep- 
 aration. • 
 
 Old black Ben, with a solemn and por- 
 tentous look and an air of authority, is 
 everywhere in general and nowhere in 
 particular; now rectifying the fires, now 
 watching the progress of the egg-beaters, 
 and occasionally at the gate, scolding at 
 the mischievous boys and looking wistfuily 
 down the lane. The quiet of the morning 
 is soon disturbed by a great hubbub, and 
 'the guests come pouring in, till the hall is 
 filled. George Warden is to-day unusually 
 gay, and captivates his guests with that 
 lively and witty discourse for which, in his 
 happy moments, he was more remarkable 
 than any man of his time. Every trace of 
 pride has vanished from his handsome but 
 aristocratic face, every drop of acid seems 
 purged from his temper, and on all subjects, 
 except the literature of the Greeks and Ro- 
 mans, he is a full match for the master and 
 the parson. " His ancient, drouthy, trusty 
 crony,' 1 Corny Demijohn, listens with both 
 his ears, and stares with both his eyes, his 
 heart all the while dancing within him to 
 the ravishing music of Warden's voice, and 
 his thundering laugh exploding at regular 
 intervals like signal-guns or salutes of ar- 
 tillery. Mrs. Warden is also cheerful; but 
 slight lines of care are visible in her noble 
 face, and her stately form has lost some 
 of its majesty by the blight of premature 
 age. She welcomes her guests, however, 
 with a smile, and sends a warm sunshine 
 through every breast. Her three children 
 are petted and caressed by every one. 
 Henry sits surrounded by the old men, 
 who find in him an attentive listener to 
 their reminiscences of the men and events 
 of by-gone times. Kate, the second child, 
 
 is " spoke for" by all the young men, and in- 
 cessantly kissed by all the old maids, while 
 Wash, sturdy little Wash, a miniature 
 hero, is the butt of all the sharp shooters, 
 upon whom he occasionally turns the ta- 
 bles and creates roars of laughter by his 
 witty sallies. Thus things were progress- 
 ing within the hall, when shouts and bois- 
 terous laughter in. the yard brought the 
 crowd to the doors and windows. Emerg- 
 ing from one of the negro cabins, there 
 came, in a sort of running dance, and sur- 
 rounded by a rout of negroes, children, and 
 barking dogs, two fantastic figures "in 
 shape and stature" unlike any thing upon 
 or under the surface of the earth. They 
 were male and female, and as loving as a 
 married couple during the honeymoon. 
 The former bore some slight resemblance 
 to an enormous monkey, walking erect, 
 having on his face a mask to suit, the char- 
 acter, and a black bearskin cap upon his 
 head, while there trailed behind him along 
 and magnificent tail. The other had not 
 the pendulous ornament that' so graced 
 herjjartner, nor were the Egyptian beau- 
 ties of her face concealed. The graceful 
 rotundity of a fat ankle peeped from un- 
 der her short petticoats, a huge turban 
 waved upon her head, and a vast prom- 
 ontory behind indicated the presence of an 
 article of dress which has since become 
 the glory of modern belles. Each was 
 bedizened with party-coloured rags and 
 strips of striped cloth that waved and flut- 
 tered in the breeze, and attached to which 
 bunches of rusty nails kept up a low, jing- 
 ling music. 
 
 " Clear the way for John O'Cooner and 
 his wife !" some one cried ; and on they 
 came, singing as none but negroes can 
 sing, old John O'Cooner's song. 
 
 A ring had been formed, and within it, 
 while singing, John O'Cooner and his wife 
 immortalized their legs by feats which 
 would astonish Ellsler or Celeste. The 
 gallant gentleman, without missing a step, 
 made frequent efforts to kiss his spouse, 
 while she, coy as a maiden of sweet six- 
 teen and active as a roe, would baffle his 
 attempts, and sidle, with mincing airs, to- 
 wards grinning and bashful young negroes, 
 whom, for his wife's partialities, John 
 would send rolling on their backs in the 
 dirt. Sometimes a sedate old bachelor 
 among the white men would be the object 
 of Dinah's favours, and then, while the gen- 
 tleman blushed and ran, the crowd huzzaed 
 and shouted. Uncle Corny seemed to be 
 her greatest favourite, and from place to 
 place she pursued that solemn bachelor, 
 whose troubles excited little sympathy 
 among his friends. Small bits of coin were 
 showered on the hard ground and miracu- 
 lously gathered in a pile between the 
 dancers, and as miraculously disappeared. 
 While, however, Dinah was annoying the 
 
28 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 timid gentlemen with her attentions, her 
 spouse was prodigiously troubled to pre- 
 serve his tail sacred from the rude touch 
 of mischievous boys, until, at length, that 
 glory of his "hinder side" having disap- 
 peared, old John and his partner retreated 
 to the kitchen, there to enjoy, with their 
 fellow-servants, their Christmas grog, and 
 to divide the spoils — one half of which went 
 to John's mother, an aged and decrepit 
 negress. 
 
 Shall we describe the sumptuous dinner 
 prepared by Mrs. Warden for her guests, 
 and how it was duly honoured 1 Need we 
 describe t.he great bowl of eggnogg which 
 stood in the centre of the table, and from 
 which the glasses of the old men were 
 often filled, while those of the young 
 were emptied only once ? Need we tell 
 that, after dinner, old Ben, with his pupil 
 Ike, scraped more music from their fiddles 
 than they had ever done before ] — that the 
 young folks romped, tried their fortunes, 
 and practised (the male ones) with iheir 
 rifles ; ancf that the old ones smoked, told 
 long stories, and discussed the signs of the 
 times? Can we relate the troubles of 
 Uncle Corny with the frolic-loving girls, 
 the antics of Rust, or the discussions of 
 the parson and master, who fell into a fu- 
 rious dispute about the Greek particles, 
 and each of whom would often appeal to 
 Dixon Tubroot, who was listening with 
 edifying attention, and who understood as 
 much of the matter as Sancho's ass did of 
 his master's conversation 1 
 
 Lo ! all these things, together with what 
 befel sundry diffident lovers, are written in 
 the Book of the Chronicles of Christmas at 
 Alamance. It is, however, not recorded 
 there that Nathan Glutson had the temer- 
 ity to be present at this party, and that he 
 was the mildest, the smoothest, and most 
 sweet-tempered man in the assembly — 
 meekly apologized to Warden for the re- 
 mark he had made concerning him the day 
 before, and cultivated Henry with devoted 
 assiduity. Nor do the Chronicles relate 
 the unhappiness of Isaiah Mayfield during 
 the day, and the anxiety with which he 
 watched his daughter. It was not to be 
 expected that Edith, young, artless, and 
 ingenuous, could act the cunning world- 
 ling's part, and, at her first essay, she 
 made a total failure. Recollecting her fa- 
 ther's advice, and endeavouring to con- 
 form to his wishes, she met. Henry War- 
 den with coldness and reserve, excited his 
 suspicions by her conduct, and finally had 
 a quarrel with him, after which they spoke 
 no more to each other during the day. 
 The judge never could catch Edith's eye, 
 though he looked often towards her; Edith 
 remarked, also, that she never met the 
 glance of Henry, though her eyes were 
 bent not unfrequently on his face. Edith's 
 father however, saw with lively sorrow 
 
 that she and Henry were both sad and ab- 
 stracted: he saw that their eyes turned in- 
 cessantly towards'each other, and he ob- 
 served that once, when their glances met 
 for an instant, each seemed startled and 
 confused. His speculations, painful and 
 profound, on the incidents of the day were 
 at last interrupted by the arrival of a stran- 
 ger. The new-comer was a gentleman of 
 at least thirty, rail, muscular, and richly 
 dressed, and seemed, by his air and man- 
 ner, to have been accustomed to the ex- 
 ercise of authority. His features were 
 harsh and prominent, and his complexion 
 swarthy, while a deep scar upon his left 
 temple added to the severity of a face 
 whose expression denoted a fierce and tur- 
 bulent disposition. The stranger at once 
 enquired for Nathan Glutson, to whom he 
 handed a letter, and who, after its perusal, 
 introduced him to the company as a Mr. 
 Ross, a gentleman of character and conse- 
 quence, from a distant part of the province. 
 As soon as this ceremony was over. Glut- 
 son, with his new friend, departed for hia 
 residence, leaving the assembled crowd to 
 speculate on the stranger's appearance and 
 his business. • 
 
 " My friends," said the Rev. Dr. Cald- 
 well, solemnly, "the times are dangerous, 
 and it becometh every man to be watchful. 
 I grieve to say it, but the love of truth and 
 of my country compels me to declare to' 
 you that 1 like not Nathan Glutson. I be- 
 lieve he is unfriendly to the righteous cause 
 of the colonies, and I believe this new 
 friend of his is an emissary from our pres- 
 ent wicked governor. Great events are 
 on the wing — a mighty contest is approach- 
 ing, and the sword alone can decide it. I 
 will not conceal from you my full convic- 
 tion that war is inevitable, and it will be a 
 war of many horrors. Not only will we 
 have to fight a great nation, a nation who 
 hate us as rebels and traitors, but our 
 friends and neighbours will lift their hands 
 against us. Brother will be against broth- 
 er — houses will be divided against them- 
 selves, and kindred will shed the blood of 
 their relations. A long, a fierce, a terrible 
 conflict is before us — sufferings and trials 
 such as the early martyrs endured will be 
 our portion. We must choose these, or 
 we must choose slavery; we must surren- 
 der our lives, or our liberties and our reli- 
 gion. Who will, then, be for his country 
 and his God 1 Who is prepared lo survive 
 or perish with the glorious cause? Let 
 him stand up now, that I may see who will 
 play the coward or the recreant at Ala- 
 mance !" 
 
 . There was a momentary silence and 
 hesitation; when Hector M'Bride sprung 
 to his feet, and instantly followed Henry 
 Warden and his father, Corny Demijohn, 
 Rust, who got upon a chair, Black Ben, 
 and then all, old and young, male and 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 29 
 
 female, excepting only Tsaiah Mayfield, 
 whose painful doubts M' Bride solved by 
 lifting him to his feet and holding him- in 
 thiit position. The evening gloaming was 
 coming on, and the influence of that still 
 and twilight hour was felt. 
 
 "And now," continued the reverend pa- 
 triot, slowly and impressively, "we do 
 here, in the presence of each other, and 
 before Heaven's high chancery, pledge 
 ourselves to stand by our country and by 
 our rights, at every hazard, and at the risk 
 of health, property, and life itself. Out- 
 vow is recorded in heaven, and may the 
 God of battles be with us in the day of our 
 trial!" 
 
 "Amen!" responded many voices, and 
 immediately there arose in the yard a strain 
 of wild and plaintive melody that melted 
 6oftly into the heart of every hearer. It 
 was one of those simple and pathetic airs 
 so common among the negroes of the 
 South, and which, to those who have been 
 accustomed to them in their youth, come 
 like the music of Caryl, "sweet hut mourn- 
 ful to the soul," waking in their breasts in 
 e^*ery clime, at every age, and in the midst 
 of the busy pursuits of avarice, and ambi- 
 tion, recollections, sad and tender, of the 
 homes of their childhood and of their thou- 
 sand hallowed associations, of scattered 
 friends, of parental smiles, and of the mer- 
 ry and dear old times that are gone. 
 Louder, richer, and more melodious swell 
 ed that strain »now sung by the mellow 
 voices of many sable minstrels, till many 
 an aged cheek was moist with tears, and 
 withered hands were locked in friendly 
 embrace, in memory " o 1 auld tang syne." 
 As the last notes, more solemn, soft, and 
 pathetic, died away, the Alamancers took 
 a silent and affectionate leave of each oth- 
 er, the old full of reminiscences of the past, 
 the yomig of bright anticipations for the 
 future. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 Henry Warden retired on Christmas 
 ■night to a sleepless couch. The early 
 beams of the morning had gladdened no 
 bappier heart than his ; the shadows of the 
 succeeding night summoned to rest no one 
 more wretched. For the first time in his 
 life he began to reflect on the strange 
 anomalies in human nature, and, with emo- 
 tions difficult to express, he read a new 
 page in the book of life. He was affected 
 by the conduct of Edith Mayfield more 
 than he chose to acknowledge even to him- 
 self: and for a while giddy with the new 
 train of thoughts which her conduct in- 
 spired, he gave himself up to the most 
 gloomy reflections. The behaviour of 
 
 Edith indicated a disposition that aston- 
 ished him ; and if, thought he, such be the 
 character of the purest and best, what is 
 woman I Alternations of light and dark- 
 ness flitted through his mind, but the fitful 
 gleams of hope seemed only to deepen the 
 quick-succeeding gloom, even as the lucid 
 interval in the fevered patient's dream 
 serves only to enhance the*frightful hor- 
 rors of his perturbed fancy. 
 
 He ran over in his mind the whole his- 
 tory of his acquaintances with Edith, en- 
 deavouring to recollect all her kind words, 
 looks, and actions, to satisfy himself that 
 she once had liked him more than she did 
 any other. He thought if she had former- 
 ly preferred him her recent conduct was 
 caused by jealousy, or some private pique, 
 and was not, therefore, so much to be re- 
 gretted. As soon, however, as he persuad- 
 ed himself into a belief of her attachment, 
 the whole fabric of evidence would dis- 
 solve and melt away, and leave him bit- 
 terly lamenting that he had been the dupe 
 of his own fancy. Then, the sooner he 
 could forget her the better. So he reason- 
 ed ; but as soon as he came to this conclu- 
 sion he would be shocked at the idea of 
 quitting the society and losing the friend- 
 ship of one who, from childhood, had. 
 shared all his thoughts. The dissolution 
 of ties thus formed would, he felt, sever 
 every other that bound him to the world, 
 and make him mistrust, if not actually 
 hate, all .his kind. Thus troubled, the 
 night was far spent when he fell into an 
 unquiet sleep. With the morning came 
 fresher feelings and calmer counsels, and 
 Henry was astonished at his misgivings 
 and irresolution on the night before. His 
 determination was quickly formed, and he 
 was confident that he wouid soon come to 
 a good understanding with Edith. That 
 day, however, she did not come to school, 
 nor the next, nor the next. Impatient at 
 last to see her, he persuaded M^Bride to ac- 
 company him, on Saturday, to her father's. 
 He there, to his great surprise, found Will- 
 iam Glutson and Mr. Ross, the former of 
 whom seemed to be on excellent terms 
 with Squire Mayfield, while the latter was 
 paying not unacceptable attentions to the 
 daughter. Henry was greeted coldly by 
 Edith, politely by her father, and warmly 
 and kindly by Mrs. Mayfield, whose man- 
 ner seemed more cordial to him than it 
 had ever been before. The judge, usually 
 slow and cautious in forming his opin 
 ions, was hasty, firm, and decided when 
 his judgment was fixed, v and threats and 
 persuasions were alike unavailing to move 
 him. 
 
 His determination was fixed the mo- 
 ment he saw Edith, and that, was, to de 
 clare himself a lover, and know at once 
 her opinion of him. For the first time he 
 acknowledged to himself that he did love 
 
30 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 her, and as he gazed on her while in ani- 
 mated conversation with Ross, he wonder- 
 ed that he had never before known how 
 enchanting!)" sweet were those smiles now 
 lavished on another, nor remarked on the 
 beauty of her face and the grace of her 
 figure. In fact, he had seen before only 
 her mind and her heart, and held commu- 
 nion with thern ; but now that these were 
 estranged from him, he looked with admi- 
 ration on the fair casket which contained 
 the jewel now locked from his sight. 
 
 Edith had not reached her fifteenth year, 
 but mind and body had been of rapid 
 growth. Her figure, though slight, was 
 beginning to round with full proportions, 
 and she was in that delightful state where 
 the traces of the girl are fading and the 
 budding woman begins to appear. Her 
 form, cast in a mould rather slender, was 
 perfectly symmetrical, and herlight, bound- 
 ing step showed that, though delicate, her 
 constitution was not frail. Her features, 
 though not entirely regular, were of the 
 Grecian cast, except her lips, which were 
 rather of the pouting Egyptian order, and 
 through which, when parted, were dis- 
 placed two rows of diminutive teeth, which 
 the nicest judge would have taken for pearl. 
 Her complexion, which was a light bru- 
 nette, looked whiter by its contrast with 
 her dark, luxuriant hair, which fell over a 
 round, smooth, and slender neck, and sha- 
 ded the ever-fresh roses in her velvet 
 cheeks. The crowning glory of her face, 
 however, was the expression, more intel- 
 lectual than passionate, and more etherial 
 than intellectual, lent to it by her large 
 and tender eyes.* These were of a hazel 
 colour, were very slightly convex, and 
 gleamed with a perpetual sparkle, express- 
 ing more eloquently than words could do the 
 bright fancies and the innocent thoughts 
 of a heart stainless as her own marble 
 brow ; of a soul where dwelt truth, tender- 
 ness, and sensibility. It was impossible to 
 look on such a creature without feeling an 
 interest in her, and Henry Warden felt, that 
 he had rather not live at all than to live an 
 exile from her society. Here was the sun 
 of his soul, and only in its light could he 
 be happy; and yet, with the whimsical ca- 
 price o.' those in his situation, when the 
 subject of love was introduced, he ridiculed 
 the passion, as the offspring of weak minds 
 and of distempered fancies. He was in a 
 whirl of excitement, intoxicated with emo- 
 tion, and scarcely knew what he said, and 
 yet never had he been so witty or so elo- 
 quent. 
 
 " And do you not believe that there is 
 such a thing as love 1" asked Ross. 
 
 ''There is," answered the judge, "a ten- 
 der, refined, and sublime sentiment which 
 proves the immortality of the soul in which 
 it springs, for it is boundless and insatiable 
 in its desires, and endless in duration. It 
 
 is, in fact, the incense of an immortal 
 spirit, a spark kindled from a celestial 
 source, and marking the heart in which it 
 burns as an altar sanctified by the Deity 
 for the holiest offerings. Perhaps all of 
 our race — the male portion of it at least — 
 are capable of this sentiment. In some, 
 however, the flame, when excited, burns 
 feebly and dimly, and in others the latent 
 heat is so smothered by the intense selfish- 
 ness of their natures that it can never be 
 developed. Fire is said to be an element 
 existing to some extent in every substance; 
 but who can strike sparks from ice, or 
 kindle love in woman!" 
 
 "If she have a soul — and I sometimes 
 doubt it — its higher attributes are, like her 
 personal charms in a fashionable dress, en- 
 tirely concealed and distorted by the freaks 
 of a capricious fancy." 
 
 " I must defend the ladies from your as- 
 persions," replied Ross ; " I will not an- 
 swer by arguments, but by facts— facts 
 which 1 know of my own knowledge. I 
 have seen instances of attachment in wom- 
 en whose devotion was proved by the se- 
 verest trials, and whose disinterestedness 
 was shown by the unworthiness and cruel- 
 ty of the objects of their love." 
 
 " And that," said the judge, " only proves 
 my rule. Woman may love, for she is capa- 
 ble of the passion ; but did a gentleman ever 
 inspire it in her? Is she not a bundle of 
 such singular absurdities that her love and 
 her hatred are always alike misplaced T I 
 sometimes think she is a sort of living 
 phenomenon intended to represent all the 
 passions — a genuine Pandora's box — a 
 piece of patchwork made up of the odds 
 and ends of all animals in creation — a sort 
 of menagerie in herself, where the dove 
 and the kite, the serpent and the sparrow, 
 the gilded butterfly and the unsightly bat, 
 the gluttonous sloth and the air-feeding 
 chamelion, are all exhibited. It is a free 
 show, except in some cases, when a nup- 
 tial ring is necessary to gain admission be- 
 hind the scenes where the wolf and virago 
 play their pranks." 
 
 " Now I know you are jesting," exclaim- 
 ed Ross," for it is impossible that one so 
 young, and with your face, can have a 
 heart so bitter. You have, perhaps, been 
 disappointed, and vent your spleen in 
 charges, which you do not believe, on all 
 the sex." 
 
 " I may be wrong," replied Henry War- 
 den, " and, to tell you the truth, I hope I 
 am. I have sometimes dreamed that I 
 might yet find a creature, gentle, tender, 
 and fair, with a bright, immortal soul, and 
 a heart where pure, fervent, and eternal 
 love will dwell, growing brighter and 
 brighter amid the trials of life and the 
 frowns of adversity. I once believed that 
 such would be my fate, and sweet was that 
 dream of my early boyhood ! It was, I 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 fear, a mere dream. The full fruition of 
 such love would equal the joys of the pri- 
 meval Eden, and we are told that a flam- 
 ing sword forever guards that Paradise 
 against the entrance of fallen and sinful 
 mortals." 
 
 As he spoke, his eye, for an instant, 
 caught that of Edith, and there was a mean- 
 ing in her glance and a slight glbw upon 
 her cheek. She immediately left the room, 
 and, when she returned, her manner was 
 again cold and formal towards her former 
 friend. The judge could get no opportu- 
 nity to carry out. his purpose, and, resolv- 
 ing to write, he and M'Bride, after a rather 
 dull and cheerless dinner, took the road to 
 Warden's. On the way the judge opened 
 his heart to the master, and declared his 
 intention of writing to Edith. 
 
 "Be guided by me," said the master, 
 " and do not be guilty of such folly. For 
 the present, at least, your suit will be hope- 
 less." 
 
 The Judge. — " Do you think, then, she 
 is pleased with Ross V 
 
 The Master. — " By no means : but I 
 know that he is pleased with her. My 
 young friend, I wish you to listen atten- 
 tively to what I say, and remember I speak 
 for your good. Old Mayfield is a man of 
 correct principles and honest, purposes, but 
 he has not the nerve, moral or physical, to 
 pursue or defend the right, when there is 
 the least opposition. He is devoted to pol- 
 icy, or, rather, if I may say so of a good 
 man, to cunning, and squares his life by a 
 few worldly maxims. Such a one may be 
 successful and popular in the ' piping times 
 of peace,' but becomes utterly contempti- 
 ble in a crisis. A crisis has arrived, and 
 our friend Mayfield begins to waver like a 
 reed in the wind." 
 
 The Judge. — "But what is all this to the 
 purpose ?" 
 
 The Master. — " Listen, and you will see. 
 A w^arwith England is inevitable — a long. 
 a bloody, and a trying war. It has already 
 begun, and it will end only with the exter- 
 mination of the patriots or the independ- 
 ence of these colonies. Mayfield sees 
 the coming storm, and he is beginning to 
 trim and shift his sails to suit every wind. 
 His heart is with us, but he wants, in the 
 end, to be in favour with the winning side. 
 Did you observe his conduct to Ross and 
 to Ross's friend, Glutson, who struck Edith 
 the other day?" 
 
 The Judge. — " I did, and I was aston- 
 ished." 
 
 The Master. — "I was not. This man, 
 Ross, is from the Scotch settlements, and 
 his business is to attend to the interests of 
 the royalists. Nathan Glutson is, beyond 
 all question, opposed to the patriots"; he 
 is, no doubt, known to the governor, and 
 he is to give Ross such information as he 
 may want. Glutson knows the character 
 
 of Mayfield ; he has made his son apologize 
 for his conduct to Edith, and has sent Ross 
 there to win the old man over. The 
 Scotchman, I believe, has fallen in love, 
 and is about to forget, his business: and 
 Mayfield, to whom he has talked, has ob- 
 served his attachment and rejoices at it. 
 He is undertaking a deep and heartless 
 game — he will himself cultivate the patri- 
 ots, and he intends that his daughter shall 
 conciliate the royalists." 
 
 The Judge, passionately. — " Then Edith 
 is to be sacrificed !" 
 
 The Master. — "By no means. Old May- 
 field intends that this suit s'hall be in prog- 
 ress during the war. At its end, if we are 
 successful, Ross's hopes are blasted ; if we 
 are defeated, Edith will have you, if she 
 loves you. My friend, forget her, at least 
 for the present." 
 
 The Judge. — "I cannot; I would not, if 
 I could." 
 
 The Master. — " Remember your own 
 conversation of this morning. One con- 
 stituted as you are should never love, for 
 it will lead you to unutterable misery. 
 Your passion will not be requited — it can- 
 not be by any woman on earth." 
 
 The Judge. — "I would fain believe I was 
 wrong this morning; and, indeed, I had 
 rather be dead" than to believe fully what 
 I then said. Let me at least have faith, 
 and hope, for what would life be without 
 them?" 
 
 The Master — "The beginning of happi- 
 ness — such happiness as grows on this 
 barren earth — is skepticism. Credulity is 
 the parent of love, and love is a delirium 
 that injures all — wrecks many. See the 
 loorld as it is and love nothing, and you 
 will then be really wise, and wisdom is 
 peace." 
 
 The Judge.—" Sir, let me remain in ig- 
 norance forever, if such be the wretched- 
 ness of wisdom. But it cannot be so, else 
 why did our Creator endow us with such 
 capabilities?" 
 
 The Master. — " Our Maker did not de- 
 sign that man's sublimest passion should 
 be wasted on vain and perishable things. 
 All must learn this at last. I have learn- 
 ed it by bitter experience, and it is on this 
 account I obtrude my advice upon you. I 
 wish to teach you what experience sooner 
 or later will certainly teach you, that God, 
 and the great and good works in which he 
 delights, must engage those tender and 
 lofty sentiments of which you are capable, 
 and which you are offering now at the 
 shrine of a dumb and senseless idol. la 
 the. infancy of the world the nations wor- 
 shipped gods of wood and stone, the work 
 of their own hands ; even thus all men, 
 when young, offer the pure adoration of 
 their hearts upon the altar of deities blind 
 as Baal and Dagon, and which their own 
 distempered fancies have created and made 
 
33 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 divine. "When, as they will at last, their 
 eyes open, and the altar and the god sink 
 together, the disappointed votary destroys 
 himself, or returns to the true God and to 
 his everlasting purposes, and finds an an- 
 chor for his soul. This Deity is now en- 
 gaged in one of his mighty works, and to 
 that you should' wed your heart." 
 
 The Judge. — " Will this work fill the 
 boundless measure of my love 1 ? Can it 
 satisfy the cravings of the soul after the 
 great, the grand, and beautiful!" 
 
 The Master.—" It will ! it will ! It is the 
 sublimest, the noblest cause that ever yet 
 engaged the affections of men. It is the 
 great cause of the human race, now about 
 to burst its fetters and assert its high pre- 
 rogative ! Prometheus is about to break 
 his bonds ; man is going to claim his 
 rights ! 1 see before me, in the dim future, 
 a glorious spectacle ; I see a new earth, 
 and a new people ; a great, a noble, and a 
 mighty race, whose faces shine with the 
 majesty of freemen ; and tyrants and their 
 slaves lie buried in the wrecks of the 
 past!" 
 
 The Judge. — " Are you not dreaming ? 
 I suspect that even you are sometimes 
 captivated by the creations of your own 
 fancy." 
 
 The Master. — " Henry, I am not an en- 
 thusiast, I hope. 1 have had a varied 
 experience, and the frosts of more than 
 thirty-five winters have cooled the fires of 
 fancy. I have seen much — I have read 
 much — I have thought much* J have, too, 
 enjoyed the friendship and listened to the 
 conversation of one whose name will be a 
 light and a glory to all future, ages. I al- 
 lude to Dr. Benjamin Franklin, who, with 
 me, believes that a new era is about to 
 dawn. A great revolution is about to be 
 achieved, and those who assist in effecting 
 it will be revered through all coming time. 
 In this glorious cause I wish you to enlist. ; 
 I wish you to show what you are, kin- 
 dred with the other mighty spirits that are 
 blended in a union sublime. Will you 
 dedicate yourself to the work?" 
 
 The eyes of the judge filling with tears, 
 he silently took the hand of his friend, and 
 for a moment neither spoke. 
 
 "I understand you," said the master at 
 length; "and now that your purpose is 
 fixed, I will show you the importance of 
 forgetting Edith by a chapter of my own 
 experience. I will, if you will have the 
 patience to listen, give you a sketch of 
 my life; and you will see that, though it 
 has been like that of others, 'of a mingled 
 yarn, good and evil,' the love-touches have 
 all been evil." 
 
 The judge, expressing great willing- 
 ness, and even curiosity, to hear the ad- 
 ventures of his friend, the master thus 
 proceeded : 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE STORY OF HECTOR m'bRIDE. 
 
 My father was a canny Scot ; my mother 
 was also from "the land o' cakes;" and 
 they were married in Scotland. Soon af- 
 ter this event, they emigrated, and settled 
 
 in the village of :, in the colony of 
 
 Pennsylvania. My father had a few hun- 
 dred pounds in ready cash, with which lie, 
 in a humble way, commenced business. 
 By his prudence, frugality, and industry, 
 the small store soon grew to be a large and 
 fashionable dry-goods establishment; and 
 at last he was reputed to be one of the 
 wealthiest men in all that country. Of 
 course, he was not sparing of pains or 
 money in the education of the sole heir 
 to his fortune and representative of his 
 name ; and I flatter myself, that although 
 an only child, I was not altogether un- 
 worthy of this care. I take no credit to 
 myself for not being a rowdy and vaga-' 
 bond, like other sole sons and heirs ; I at- 
 tribute it all to the manner in which I was 
 raised. My mother, who is now a bright 
 saint in heaven, was my first teacher; and 
 under her tuition I remained until I was a 
 lad some thirteen years old, my principles 
 fixed, and my habits formed. Thence I 
 was transferred to a select. Latin school, 
 kept by a clergyman in his own house, 
 and who limited the number of his pupils 
 to ten. From this worthy, exemplary, 
 and pious man, 1 was taken at the age of 
 seventeen, and carried to Philadelphia, 
 where I was put under the charge of the 
 Rev. Robert M'Guire, D.D., an old school- 
 mate of my father, a learned man, and 
 famous divine. He was a bachelor, and 
 his house was kept by an ancient maiden 
 sister, Miss Kitty M'Guire, who was the 
 exact counterpart of her brother, bating 
 only the roughness of his manners and the 
 extreme cultivation of his mind. Miss 
 Kitty was as simple-hearted as a -child; 
 so whs the doctor, her brother, and so was 
 I. My preceptor and myself saw the 
 world as it was reflected from the mirror 
 in our own breasts ; we studied human na- 
 ture in books, learned from Plato the char- 
 acter of love, and believed all women to 
 be Sapphos, Penelopes, and Lucretins. 
 My final destination was the bar; and. as 
 preparatory to this, my Rev. friend — God 
 rest his soul ! — plunged me into the bot- 
 tomless sea of metaphysics and theo- 
 logies. Here T floundered among an end- 
 less jargon of names, terms, sects, creeds, 
 theories and systems, and grappled about 
 with Catholicism, Socinianism, Arianism, 
 Neologism, and a thousand other isms, at 
 the bare recollection of which, even at 
 this distant day. my temples throb and my 
 brain aches. But my teacher was really 
 a man of taste and learning; and so. after 
 fc'adin" me ihrouerh the dead seas of ami- 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 £3 
 
 iquity, he polished me off with the modern 
 sciences and accomplishments; in short, 
 I was what I thought every gentleman — 
 ■especially every legal gentleman — ought 
 to be : a thorough scholar. I was learned 
 in Latin, Greek, and French; mathemat- 
 ics, physics, and metaphysics; well read 
 in poetry, ancient and modern, and could 
 make gentlemanly verses in several lan- 
 guages ; could quote history a4 libitum, 
 talk learnedly with physicians and "natu- 
 ralists, and take a hand in the discussions 
 of divines. 
 
 Such was the furniture with which my 
 ■mind was equipped, and yet I was not 
 happy; for I wanted food for the heart. 
 In all my occupations, a feeling of loneli- 
 ness would creep upon me — a desire, a 
 longing for something, I knew not what. 
 I had an eye for all that was beautiful in 
 nature and art; an ear for all, that, was 
 melodious; and a heart that rung respon- 
 sive to every touch of tenderness. Every 
 change of the seasons — the wild flowers, 
 
 • the solitary woods, the blue heavens, the 
 clouds and stars, spoke to me and sang to 
 me ; but they spoke of the sympathy of a 
 
 ■ gentle being whose constellated soul they 
 but reflected, and the burden of their song 
 was love — love pure as the first blossoms 
 of Spring, tender as the poet's thoughts, 
 bright as the sun, and lasting as eternity. 
 Who was she, this fair and gentle being, 
 whose smile lent all its beauty to Nature ; 
 whose tenderness was the light of the 
 world? I took it for granted she was one 
 of my female fellow-mortals, and so I went 
 to look for her. I was what is called in 
 the schools, verdant, and imagined every 
 woman was like the fairest creations of a 
 poet's fancy. My fortune, education, and 
 connections gave me a passport to the first 
 society in the city ; and I was, so to speak, 
 soon fairly afloat, an unarmed argosy on a 
 pirate sea. Take notice, I was not hunt- 
 ing a wife : I was, in fact, determined not 
 to marry for several years, and was only 
 looking about me for my pleasure, about 
 to try the reality of love. To my aston- 
 ishment, I was everywhere received with 
 kindness ; and I thought all the ladies 
 seemed to vie with each other in efforts 
 to make me happy. I found every one 
 poetical, literary, and sentimental ; every 
 one laughed with me at those gross mor- 
 tals who were distressed with the mar- 
 riage-mania, and every one, believed in 
 pure and disinterested love, for which, and 
 for which only she intended towed. What 
 a delightful world is this ! thought I ; and 
 in the mean time, as I fed on thoughts 
 which " voluntary move harmonious num- 
 <bers," I began to pour out my heart in 
 rhymes, all of which were admired and 
 ■quoted. To show you in what miserable 
 lollies my youth indulged, I will quote a 
 
 -nfew of my epigrams and shorter pieces, 
 C 
 
 all of which were impromptu, and caused 
 by some remark or action of my acquaint- 
 ances. Miss Malvina Tinkerwhittle was 
 often complaining of her name — said it 
 was unpoelical, and had never shone in 
 verse or history. One day, hearing her so 
 speak, I immediately sat down and wrote 
 the following: 
 
 TO .MISS MALVINA. 
 You say you do not like your name, 
 
 And wish you had a sweeter one ; 
 That yours was never known to fame, 
 
 Nor in a poet's numbers shone. 
 If of the past these words be true, 
 
 The future surely shall be thine ; 
 For Fame thy beauty soon shall woo, 
 
 And at thy feet shall be its shrine. 
 E'en now, there's one to whom its sound 
 
 Is sweeter far than any word 
 That is in any language found, 
 
 Or any note in music heard. 
 I've seen it writ a thousand times — 
 
 I've seen it kissed from eve to morn— 
 I've seeu it in a hundred rhymes, 
 
 And know that near a heart its worn. 
 It follows, then, that all that's good 
 
 And fair must in the owner meet ; 
 For none but a dear angel could 
 
 E'er make an ugly name so sweet ! 
 
 Miss Malvina, who was much tickled at 
 the piece, showed it to her friends ; and the 
 next time I saw Miss Sophronia Marryat 
 she attacked me for having been more 
 complimentary to others than to her. 
 What could I do? I went home, and that 
 night composed the following verses, which 
 I sent to her next morning : 
 
 TO SOPHRONIA. 
 
 You say I never speak to you 
 
 In honeyed strains of compliment ; 
 The charge, dear one. in part is true, 
 
 But not as broad as it was meant ; 
 For if my lips refuse to pay 
 
 Just tribute to thy virtues rare, 
 My heart does homage, night, and day, 
 
 And all thy worth is pictured there. 
 There's not a star in yon clear skies 
 
 That has a light so sweet for me, 
 As that which beams from thy blue eyes, 
 
 So full of love and purity : 
 There's not a flower in all the field, 
 
 That is to me so passing fair, 
 As thy dear face, when its frowns yield 
 
 To those sweet smiles more native there ! 
 And now, while nature's locked in sleep, 
 
 And silence rules the witching hour, 
 While stars their quiet vigils keep, 
 
 And bind me with a mystic power, 
 While yon bright queen, with glory crowned, 
 
 Lights earth and heaven with her soft smile, 
 Till night, beneath her sway spell-bound, 
 
 Seems softly sad and sweetly wild, 
 Dear thoughts of thee float through the mind, 
 
 Like moonbeams through the dusky air; 
 And hopes, in darkness long confined, 
 
 Now gleam with soft effulgence there. 
 Sweet lady then forgive the lay 
 
 That breathes my soul's long-cherished.aira, 
 For smothered love will force its way, 
 
 And the neart's secret hopes proclaim. 
 Forgive this once, and never more 
 
 My heart shall force its silent cell, 
 But Ihere, withdarkness curtained o'er, 
 
 Will feed on tho ghts I'll never tell. 
 
 A few days after the. reception of these 
 
34 
 
 A L A M A N C £.. 
 
 stanzas by the lady for whom they were 
 written, the lines to Miss Malvina Tinker- 
 whittle were returned to me, sealer! up in 
 a blank envelope. I do not believe I am as 
 vain as most men.Aet 1 am mortal; and it. 
 is net to be expected that I can with indif- 
 ference see my compositions scornfully 
 treated. The offspring of the brain is 
 dearer to the author than the suckling in- 
 fant to the most tender mother ; and this is 
 true in all cases, whalever be the motive 
 for writing. The father may himself think 
 his progeny ungainly, misshapen, ill-fea- 
 tured, and even monstrous; still, he can- 
 not endure for others to tell him so, and 
 those whose trade it is to point out these 
 blemishes to unfortunate parents are a 
 generation of vipers, or, rather, may be 
 compared to those filthy flies or insects 
 who feed upon the sores in our flesh, and 
 swarm about the butcher's shambles in 
 search of putrid meat. I had written the 
 effusion to Malvina to gratify her vanity, 
 not. my own, and yet when she sent my 
 production back 1 was wounded to the 
 quick. A sharp correspondence sprung 
 up between us, and from pungent it got to 
 be acrimonious, and finally ended in a bit- 
 ter quarrel, in which 1 got worsted ;,for it 
 was generally reponed that 1 had made 
 proposals of marriage and been rejected. 
 ] unfolded all my sorrows to the sympa- 
 thetic Anastasia Grindeman, who agreed 
 with ine that Miss Malvina was very un- 
 reasonable, and who assured me that she 
 herself knew how to treat the coinage of 
 a poet's soul. 1 understood her at once, 
 and, regretting that my muse had slighted 
 so sweei a theme, I endeavoured to atone 
 for past neglect, and wrote to her volu- 
 minously. Now 1 had, in the mean time, 
 and at her request, put a ring on one of her 
 fingers with a wish, and at her command 
 I related the wish in rhyme. 1 will repeat 
 it to you. 
 
 TO ANASTASIA— A Wish. 
 
 We all were wishing t'other day, 
 
 Ami curious was the want of each : 
 Some wished for fortune, some would pray 
 
 For gilts beyond all mortal reach; 
 While others, with ambition fired, 
 
 With princely nower aspired to reign ; 
 Some wished a wife, and some desired 
 
 Exemption from all earihly pain; 
 But what, sweet lady, would \ou guess 
 
 Was then, and is, chief wish with me ? 
 One which I did not then express, 
 
 And do it now most fearfully. 
 You hardly will believe, i fear. 
 
 I wished I were the thousandth part 
 In her unsullied breast as dear 
 
 As she's long been within my heart; 
 For if I were, I'd then belieAe 
 
 She'd spend with me one life at least, 
 Since I could well u tlinnxand live 
 
 With her, and be forever blest ! 
 
 Tn the course of a few days this very 
 innocent production returned to me, and 
 on the margin were these words : 
 
 " Miss Anast'asie has duly considered 
 the offer of Mr. M'Bride, and' regrets that 
 she cannot accept it. She esteems him as 
 a friend, but it is impossible for her ever 
 1o feel for him a mure tender sentiment. 
 She will be obliged if he will forget his 
 unhappy passion, and remember, only with. 
 
 esteem, 
 
 ; Anastasie." 
 
 Suppose the blue concave above us, 
 which some believe a solid body, were to 
 crack and fall, bringing with it sun, moon, 
 and stars, crushing worlds together, and 
 heaping the universe in one pile of ruins — 
 could you, unharmed, witness all this, you 
 would not be more astonished, amazed, 
 than 1 was at Anastasia's note. In the 
 utter simplicity of my heart, I immediately 
 wrote a letter to the lady in question, po- 
 litely informing her that she was mistaken; 
 to which she answered, briefly, that she 
 was sorry I took her for an idiot. I re- 
 plied sharply ; a caustic rejoinder followed, 
 and, finally, she became fiercely hostile, 
 and endeavoured in every possible way to 
 mortify and insult me, and injure my rep- 
 utation. She accused me of falsehood, 
 deceit, fickleness, and double-dealing; ridi- 
 culed me as wife-mad ; and. among her fe- 
 male com pan ions, made herself merry at my 
 expense. My troubles were now thickening; 
 my poetry began to return from all quar- 
 ters of the compass, and every day there 
 was a servant at my door with a bundle in 
 his hand. On some pieces there were the 
 words, " Your rhyming trash is returned ;" 
 some contained notes similar to that of 
 Anastasia ; and, in the course of one week, 
 I received in this way fifteen refusals — at 
 least a dozen of them coming from ladies 
 whom 1 had not seen or written to for a 
 month previous. 
 
 As my unfortunate verses came shower- 
 ing upon me, 1' noticed a singular fact. 
 The ladies, when aiming to be pleasing 
 and sentimental, had a way of Frenchify- 
 ing their names, and I never received a 
 tender or a complimentary note but what 
 it was signed " Bettie," " Sallie," " Marie," 
 '• Florindie," " Peggie," " Jtuthie," " Mar- 
 thie," &c. &c. Such were the holyday 
 signatures with which they shone on state 
 occasions, or when fishing for admirers; 
 but, when venting their indignation, their 
 splenetic effusions came in the homely 
 names of '■ Elizabeth," "'Margaret," and 
 "Sarah," in full. Thus, I began to think, 
 you keep your smiles and sweetness for 
 the public; your frowns and claws for the 
 unfortunate wights who call you wives; 
 but this was a sentiment too dangerous to 
 avow. Accidentally 1 acquired another 
 rare piece of information, and I will detail 
 it to you, that you may understand the true 
 character of those creatures whom we ab- 
 surdly take to be of a more celestial na- 
 ture. Would you think it I I ascertained, 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 35 
 
 from sources entitled to credit, that every 
 handsome girl, as soon as she quits school, 
 sets her brain to work in the composition 
 of a pretty sentence, to be used on cer- 
 tain interesting and momentous occasions. 
 Most of my acquaintances, as 1 under- 
 stood, had spent weeks in this grave and 
 improving occupation, and, after finally 
 suiting themselves, first recorded and then 
 committed to memory the result of their 
 labours. Thus all the suitors of each lady 
 were rejected in precisely the same lan- 
 guage, and thus it was the deceitful things 
 were enabled to speak so prettily on such 
 embarrassing occasions.* 
 
 About this same time, a tall, stout, and 
 whiskered cousin of Sophronia Marryat 
 called upon me; and, after a very dry 
 salutation, he remarked, twirling his whis- 
 kers, that he had come to demand an 
 explanation of my conduct. He was a 
 gentleman with whom 1 had been intimate, 
 and, more hurt lhan alarmed at his manner, 
 I enquired what part of my conduct had 
 given him offence — at the same time as- 
 suring him that I had never to iny knowl- 
 edge desired to injure him in any way. 
 
 "You have trifled with my cousin, sir," 
 said he, fiercely, " and you must fight. 
 Here are two pistols; take your choice, 
 and let us settle the business in this very 
 room. The door is locked, sir, and the 
 key in my pocket ; and if you do not 
 choose to fight like a man, I shall cowhide 
 you like a dog, and post you as a coward 
 all over the city." 
 
 Now, I had been for some time past so 
 much engaged with my many quarrels, 
 
 * Note by the Editor. — The master, from 
 whose papers might be compiled -'The Curiosities 
 of Woman," preserved the formulae alluded to. The 
 writer of this note, believing that no such custom 
 now prevails, hopes he will be gratifying the cu- 
 rious, and offending no one, by inserting here some 
 of those sentences that in their day pierced many a 
 lover's heart : 
 
 " You have my friendship ; ask me for no more." 
 " I cannot love you ; in friendship's name, 1 beg 
 you, do not distress me so again." 
 
 " If you are as truly my friend as I am yours, you 
 will not again ask me for what 1 cannot give ; for 
 the will has no control over the heart." 
 
 " See me no more, or see me only as a friend." 
 " There is no charm to win the heart : its love is 
 free." 
 
 " My heart is free : you never can enslave it." 
 " 1 thank you for the honour you have done me ; 
 I will be your friend, but my heart I cannot control." 
 " The fates decide to us divide, 
 
 For still my little heart says nay; 
 I cannot be your bonny bride, 
 
 But for your happiness will pray." 
 This last was the formula of a nymph who 
 weighed some thirteen stone neat — j. e., without 
 
 her . 
 
 " The spell is over, the charm is dissolved — 
 I love thee no more" 
 Was used by several coquettes ; and the following 
 is a specimen of the formula to be wriitun to ab° 
 sent lovers: » 
 
 " Ob. never must we meet again, 
 Unless you come as but a friend !" 
 
 that I had totally forgotten Sophronia and 
 her poetry, and could not, for the life of 
 me, understand to what my warlike enemy 
 alluded. 1 disliked, therefore, to fight, as 
 it were, in the dark, not knowing for what 
 I was risking my life: but equally great 
 was my dislike of the cowhide. 
 
 Sir, 1 am a schoolmaster, and it ill be- 
 comes me to preach against the use of the 
 rod. There are cases that demand its ap- 
 plication; but the ingenuous soul will never 
 deserve and never permit such a degrading 
 punishment.. My back lias never yet been 
 striped by parent or teacher; and, peaceful 
 as 1 am, and much as 1 fear God and desire 
 to keep his commandments, I tell yoti that 
 whoever lays a whip or a cowhide on me, 
 in anger, must "atone for it with his blood. 
 ] cannot help it; and I pray God to deliver 
 me from the temptation. 
 
 I arose to my feet, and, taking up a 
 chair, I informed Sophronia's cousin that 
 I was opposed to the barbarous and mur- 
 derous custom of duelling, not because I 
 feared for the life of my body, but for the 
 salvation of my soul. I told him, also, that 
 1 was not afraid of him, or any other man 
 on earth, and that if he attempted to strike 
 me with the emblem of infamy which he 
 held in his hand, I should dash his brains 
 out on the spot. "And now," 1 continued, 
 " if you cannot act like a rational man, 
 and specify your cause of grievance, yon 
 will please to leave my room, or 1 shall 
 find a passage for your body, although the 
 door is locked." 
 
 Before he had time to reply, my reverend 
 friend and preceptor, Dr. M'Guire, was 
 making a great fuss at the door, and my 
 room-.mate, who evidently began to be 
 ashamed of himself, immediately admitted 
 the parson. The old gentleman, suspect- 
 ing the business we had been engaged in, 
 roundly lectured us both ; and when he 
 concluded, Sophronia's cousin, who was a 
 passionate but a frank and generous man, 
 at once promised that the quarrel should 
 end for the present, and, to satisfy 'the doc- 
 tor and induce him to withdraw, he hand- 
 ed him all his weapons. I now learned 
 that Miss Marryat had induced her cousin 
 to believe that 1 had solemnly engaged my- 
 self to her, and that after this I had desert- 
 ed her, and had been endeavouring to vic- 
 timize others, until I was found out. I 
 managed to satisfy the gentleman of his 
 cousin's falsehood— only to a near relation 
 would I accuse any lady of falsehood — I 
 showed him a copy of the unfortunate 
 verses I had given her, explained the cir- 
 cumstances under which they were writ- 
 ten, and gave ^ full history of all my other 
 scrapes. Mis indignation was now direct- 
 ed against her, and lie would have gone 
 immediately to her and have upbraided her 
 for her treachery, but 1 would not let him. 
 He, however, became my devoted friend, 
 
36 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 warmly espoused my cause, defended me 
 on all occasions, and is to this day sincere- 
 ly attached to me. 
 
 When he left me, I reflected on what I 
 had heard,- and fearing that Miss Marryat 
 might consider herself in fault, I went im- 
 mediately to her, and made proposals of 
 marriage, which she, of course, rejected. 
 I did not press the matter; and, knowing 
 that a second offer would have been ac- 
 cepted, I was careful not to make it. 
 
 I now made a grand discovery ; I ascer- 
 tained, in the first place, that I had been a 
 .fool, and, in the second, that the ladies had 
 been playing upon me. I found #ut, to my 
 utter astonishment, that every one sup- 
 posed me to be a wife-hunter, and that this 
 was my sole occupation. I soon ascer- 
 tained the cause of this opinion, fori found 
 that the minds of women, long before they 
 grow up. are totally absorbed by the sub- 
 ject of marriage, and that they think every 
 time a gentleman pays them a visit he is 
 looking about for a wife. There is no 
 social intercourse between the unmarried 
 people of different sexes in this country, 
 and it is universally supposed that every 
 man who has attained his majority is rab- 
 id to get married. Hence I was regarded 
 by all as the Great Rejected — as a man who 
 had determined to marry, had tried every 
 body, and been refused by every respecta- 
 ble lady of his acquaintance ; and all this 
 happened, too, before I had ever made up 
 my mind to wed or been in love. I found, 
 also, that women were educated for one 
 purpose, lived for one end, thought of but 
 one thing, to wit, to get husbands; that 
 their simplicity was all art, their tender- 
 ness and sensibility all feigned, their love, 
 to call it by its most polite name, all pas- 
 sion ; that a husband, a mere man with a 
 straight leg, a good estate, and a fine equi- 
 page, bounded all their wants, filled the full 
 ;' measure of their souls' desires, and that 
 hence, because I was not a marrying man, 
 I had got into trouble with the sex. I 
 therefore withdrew, to a great extent, from 
 female society, giving way to a new star 
 that about this time began to culminate. 
 
 (This was a medical student from Virginia, 
 and a very unfair specimen of the cava- 
 liers of that renowned old colony. He 
 was of a low, -squat figure, with a short, 
 thick neck, a harsh, dissonant voice, and a 
 j face indicative of nothing but the most 
 beastly sensuality, while he danced and 
 walked like a drunken satyr. This form 
 was the tenement of a weak and ignorant 
 mind, and of a base and selfish heart. Me 
 was vain, pompous, and impudent as the 
 devil himself; in all his feelings, conver- 
 'salion, and actions, there was never dis- 
 ' played the faintest spark of sensibility or 
 honour, and, take him altogether, he was 
 the purest and most unmixed compound of 
 vulgarity and brutal passions I ever saw. 
 
 He had brought to Philadelphia a letter 
 from a gentleman resident'in Virginia, but 
 known all over the continent ; and in this 
 letter he was recommended to various fam- 
 ilies in the city as the only scion and heir 
 of an illustrious and wealthy house in the 
 colony from which he came. Notwith- 
 standing his high descent, and his great 
 pretensions, he was universally detested 
 by the gentlemen, not a few of whom, dis- 
 gusted with his effrontery and arrogant as- 
 sumptions,denounced him in his presence, 
 and some even went so far as to spit in his 
 face and strike him publicly with whips 
 and cowhides. He bore these things meek- 
 ly among the men, and became a hero 
 among the women, with whom he was ex- 
 tremely popular, and who permitted him 
 to use very unbecoming familiarities. I 
 have observed one singular peculiarity 
 about the sex, audit is worthy of n»to — 
 they are governed by fashion, and they will 
 all do what others do. Let Hyperion and 
 Apollo come among them, and be sup- 
 posed to be unpopular with the sex, and 
 all womankind will hate them; and let 
 Puck and Caliban appear at the same time 
 as characters who have been successful, 
 and all the sex dote upon them. Thus it 
 was with the Virginia student. Possess- 
 ed of a little cunning, he began with the 
 vain and weak, and, succeeding with these, 
 he came to be so irresistible that, in all 
 cases, he saw and conquered. All fell 
 before him, and with some he took un- 
 wonted freedoms ; but, as I detest tales of 
 scandal, 1 shall not repeat the many infa- 
 mous reports that were current. As the 
 popularity of this gentleman increased 
 among the females, mine decreased ; and 
 1 saw that multitudes of my old friends 
 were making capital out of the imagined 
 addresses which I had paid them. 1 as- 
 certained this fact by a peculiar test, in a 
 certain fashionable article of dress. You 
 must know that ladies estimate their own 
 importance according to the number of 
 beaux which they have had the honour of 
 turning off, and that these honours are evi- 
 denced, not like the degrees in our colleges 
 and universities, by diplomas on parch- 
 ment, but after the manner of certain ori- 
 ental dignitaries. Thus we had, in Phila- 
 delphia, the pashaw of one tail, of two. and 
 of three tails, or, what was the same thing, 
 one tale as large as three, and some of 
 our chief belles took so many degrees that 
 their identity was lost, and they were com- 
 pletely swallowed up in the type of their 
 glory. Now I observed that most of my 
 acquaintances had taken a new degree, and 
 supposing that they considered I'his acces- 
 sion to their honours as causing a corre- 
 sponding diminution of my own, I avoided 
 them, and mingled only with those who 
 had not. grown in importance, and who did 
 not seem to fancy the Virginia student* 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 37 
 
 These were the tests by which I and other 
 gentlemen judged the merits of the ladies, 
 and, judging by these tests, there was one 
 who greatly won upon my esteem. She 
 was a quiet and diffident creature, whom, 
 in the days of my glory, I had scarcely 
 observed, and who, perhaps, never would 
 have attracted my attention but for an ac- 
 cident. I was with' her once at a party, 
 and, some one desiring to hear her sing, 1 
 was delighted with the sweetness and pa- 
 thos of her voice, and by the words of her 
 song. As I remember these latter even to 
 this day, and as they have a peculiar relish 
 for me, I will repeat them. 
 
 EOTHA'S SONG. 
 
 "Some love the morn's pale, twilight gleams, 
 And some the evening's golden beams, 
 While others crave, with fond delight, 
 The deep'ning shadows of the night, 
 When the blue canopy above 
 is lit with countless eys of love. 
 Tho' every phase of nature's face 
 Still has for me a matchless grace, 
 Oh, give to me the noon-tide hour, 
 To lie in some fair rustic bower, 
 Where, wafted on the, perfumed breeze, 
 The softened hum of distant bees 
 Falls on the ear in melody, 
 Like far-off spirit minstrelsy ! 
 Sweet fancies, then, of brighter climes, 
 And mern'rics dear of by-gone times, 
 And the day-dreams of early youth, 
 When I knew naught but love and truth, 
 And this cold, thorny world of ours 
 V/as blooming with celestial flowers, 
 And hopes and joys, forever fled, 
 And faces of the early dead, 
 From every taint of eartlv refined, 
 Float softly through the dreamy mind ! 
 I've gazed upon all earthly toys, 
 I've tasted of all worldly joys, 
 I've bowed at Beauty's gilded shrines, 
 I've wept o'er Fiction's melting lines, 
 I've glowed with friendship's thankless flame ; 
 I've felt the stings that follow fame, 
 I've laughed and roamed through festive hall, 
 I've drunk of love's most bitter gall, 
 And, for a short and fleeting hour, 
 Have worn the chains of wealth and power : 
 Yet vain these pleasures now all seem 
 As mocking phantoms of a dream, 
 Am\ not a joy can this earth give, 
 For which my soul would deign to live; 
 But the sweet fancies of the mind, 
 And mem'nes dear 'o'auld lang syne.' 
 Then give to me the still noon-tide, 
 When through the soul sol't visions glide 
 Of vanished hopes, and happier times, 
 Of holier love and brighter climes !" 
 
 These words and the air, as I before 
 said, made a deep impression on me ; and, 
 going to the lady, I was happy to find that 
 this was her favourite song. We soon be- 
 came intimate ; I visited her often, and 
 every time 1 saw her she took a deeper hold 
 upon my feelings. She possessed a distinct 
 individuality of character, a rare thing in a 
 woman, for they are generally cut bv the 
 same pattern. She thought much for her- 
 self — another rare thing — and, to save you 
 a long description, she was one of those 
 precious gems, whose beauty and whose 
 
 value are ever increasing as you exam- 
 ine them, and known only to the nicest 
 judges. She was inclined also to be pen- 
 sive, and finding that the cause was her 
 father's fondness for the young Virginian, 
 and that she detested him, I became still 
 more interested, and soon I loved — with 
 all the fervour of my nature I loved her. 
 Those who can say so, in plain words, to 
 the object of their preference are stran- 
 gers to the passion. My actions, my man- 
 ners, my eyes, my verses, and my presents 
 told her, in a thousand ways, and with a 
 thousand tongues, that she was dear to) 
 me; and a similar language, in similar but | 
 softer ways, she spoke to me. Just at this I 
 time my father sent for me, and I found 
 him a bankrupt. He had invested three- 
 fourths of his estate in a speculation in 
 Boston ; his partner proved to be. dishonest, 
 and incompetent, and he not only lost all 
 his capital, but the debts of the concern, to 
 more than this amount, were coming on 
 him in showers. 1 was informed that I 
 must hereafter rely upon myself, and that 
 1 was now the only prop of my parents in 
 their declining years. I returned to Phil- I 
 adelphia for my books and clothes, and to 
 declare my passion to Rotha. 
 
 This, you will say, was rash ; but you 
 must know that misfortunes subdue the 
 heart, and press out its secrets. I now 
 felt the need of sympathy and of affection 
 to sustain me in my trials, and desired to 
 know certainly that I was beloved ; and 
 then, full of the hope and energy of youth, I 
 would strain every faculty of soul and 
 body to prepare myself for a happy union 
 with the sweet object to whom my soul 
 was wedded. With tears in her eyes she 
 had bade me farewell when. I left the city ; 
 with a bright smile she welcomed my re- 
 turn. I at once declared my sentiments; 
 and, as I pressed my suit with the elo- 
 quence which love alone can inspire, she 
 wept and sobbed in my arms, and referred 
 me to her father. To him I applied by 
 letter — a long, and as I then thought, a 
 masterly production, vindicating my pas- 
 sion and my conduct, and pledging myself, 
 on the honour of a gentleman, never to 
 claim the prize if I did not, to the letter, 
 fulfil any condition which he might im- 
 pose. I asked him to name any possible 
 thing I was to do, any particular time I 
 was to wait, and besought him not, for 
 mere worldly considerations of a tempo- 
 rary character, to consign to despair and 
 endless misery two beings whom God had 
 destined for each other. To this letter 
 there was a polite answer from Rotha's 
 father, informing me that at a- particular 
 hour he would wait upon me. The old 
 man was rich, and his daughter was an only 
 child ; still, he kindly but firmly opposed 
 my suit because 1 was not ready to marry ; 
 and. having enriched me with many "wis© 
 
S3 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 saws and modern instances," he left me. 
 The next time I saw Rotha she received 
 me with a formal courtesy, the next time 
 she was evPft rude, and. when 1 called 
 again sr/,e was not to be seen. 1 had re- 
 course to letters, and they were returned ; 
 I poured out my soul in poetry, and it, too, 
 CJime back. At last I received an invita- 
 tion to a small and select evening party at 
 Rotha's father's, and went there to find, 
 that on that night she was to be married 
 to the Virginian student ! I watched for 
 her with the intensest interest, with feel- 
 ings I shall not attempt to describe. I ex- 
 pected to see her approach the altar a 
 pale, emaciated, and trembling victim ; and 
 lo ! when the bridal party came out, she 
 approached with a light, firm step, and a 
 smiling face, and went through the re- 
 sponses without the least embarrassment. 
 I caught her eye when the ceremony was 
 over, and she smiled without confusion. 
 With a heart beating wildly and a brain 
 on fire, I approached her, and addressed 
 her in a choked and husky voice. 
 
 "Are you unwell, Mr. M'Bride ?" she 
 asked, with the utmost indifference and 
 simplicity. 
 
 "No," I replied — " at least, my body is 
 not sick ;" and, taking her hand, which was 
 not affected by the tremulousness of my 
 own, I asked her if she was happy. I 
 gazed steadily and meaningly into her 
 eyes, which steadily returned the gaze, 
 as she answered, " Perfectly so : why on 
 earth do you ask such a silly question ?" 
 
 My heart was crushed — life lost all its 
 savour — the whole earth seemed instantly 
 changed, and I left Philadelphia to return 
 no more. My father, after settling up his 
 affairs, saved a small estate, enough to 
 make him barely independent; but his 
 anxieties and his misfortunes undermined 
 his constitution, and he went the way of 
 all flesh. My mother soon followed him ; 
 and thus I was left alone in the world, 
 without kindred or family. I built a mon- 
 ument over the graves of my parents, and 
 engraved their virtues on it, sold for cash 
 my small inheritance, and have since been 
 a solitary wanderer, to whom all the world 
 is a highway, and whose only home is the 
 public inn. Still it is true, as Shenstone 
 6ays, 
 
 " Who'er has travelled earth's dull round, 
 Where'er his footsteps may have been, 
 Will sigh to think he still lias found 
 His warmest welcome at an inn." 
 
 Yet I sometimes think others have a 
 better and a wanner home, and a feeling 
 of utter desolation steals upon me. 1 sit 
 in the social circle, tell merry tales, laugh, 
 and sometimes romp with the little ones ; 
 but when 1 retire to my chamber I feel an 
 oppressive burden on my heart; the memo- 
 lies of the past, all clad in mourning, stalk 
 
 before me, and look sadly on me. I go to 
 my window and look out upon the broad, 
 blue expanse of heaven, glowing with its 
 myriads of tender eyes that speak of love, 
 of softly-whispered sympathies, of dear, 
 watching ones, whose affections cluster 
 round as at home ; and then I remember 
 that I have no home, and, sigh, till my 
 wearied soul, soaring above the earth— its 
 petty joys and sorrows — above the clouds, 
 and above the starry canopy, bathes itself 
 in the light of God's eternal love, and is at 
 rest! 
 
 It remains only to be said that my suc- 
 cessful rival was a cheat, a base impostor 
 who had forged the letter which introduced 
 him into fashionable society. The gentle- 
 man from whom it purported to be came 
 to Philadelphia in time to be a week too 
 late. Rotha's father went mad and died 
 broken-hearted, and his son-in-law, soon 
 spending all his estate in the wildest ex- 
 travagance, took his miserable wife and 
 only child, and ran off to avoid his credit- 
 ors. I have never heard of him since ; and, 
 may God forgive me for it, I was almost 
 rejoiced at the woful discovery made by 
 his wretched bride. I can now, however, 
 and do regret it ; and, if in my wanderings 
 I ever find her, I shall endeavour to relieve 
 her wants. 
 
 Now take my advice, love not : it is the 
 forbidden fruit that will entail wretchedness 
 on you here, and may wreck your soul's 
 salvation hereafter. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Then there mustie delusion.' 
 
 -Cain. 
 
 Edith Mayfield came no more to the 
 school of Alamance during the remainder of 
 the session. Henry Warden wondered at 
 her absence ; but, fortified by the counsels 
 of the master, and absorbed in the study 
 of military science, he began to imagine 
 that she had passed from his thoughts. He 
 soon, however, found that he was mis- 
 taken ; fpr a report that she was to be mar- 
 ried to Ross getting into circulation, he be- 
 came nearly maddened. Suspense being in- 
 tolerable, he determined to ascertain his 
 ownfate by letter; and so, after several days 
 of study and composition, the epistle was 
 completed, and committed to the charge 
 of Ben. Notwithstanding the report about 
 Ross, the judge felt that Edith, in public 
 estimation, was too young to be addressed, 
 and he was apprehensive that even she 
 might think so herself. Yet what else 
 could he do 1 He could not see her alone ; 
 she was evidently peculiarly affected to- 
 wards him, and she was surrounded by his 
 enemies. Besides, Henry Warden had a 
 theory of his own in regard to marriages, 
 and this he fully developed and defended 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 39 
 
 in his letter. He believed in long engage- 
 ments and in early marriages, and sus- 
 tained his notions with considerable show 
 of reason. 
 
 "Many parents think," said he, "that it 
 is proper their daughters should not en- 
 gage themselves until some time after they 
 fiave finished their education, and had an 
 opporl unity to look around them. This 
 doctrine is a manifest absurdity: 1st. Be- 
 cause it is well known that woman, at all 
 times, forms her conclusions more from 
 instinct and the impulses of the heart than 
 from the reflections of the mind. Man 
 reasons ; woman feels; Thus, then, as her 
 heart decides the matter at last, why not 
 let it do it when its feelings are purest, its 
 thoughts most innocent, and its impulses 
 most, generous'? 2d. As a general rule, 
 females depreciate daily from the hour 
 they finish their education till the hour 
 they are married. This is obliged to be 
 so. They do not read to any extent; in- 
 deed, they quit books' when they quit 
 school. They are not learning household 
 matters ; for no one understands these un- 
 til she marries, and then she learns almost 
 by intuition. How, then, is she engaged ? 
 In entertaining visiters ; in being courted 
 and flirted with, forming penchants, thinking 
 about this man and about that ; and in being 
 flattered, petted, and perhaps having her 
 hand squeezed every day of her life. Can 
 she be surrounded continually by a troop of 
 amorous, sighing, caressing gallants, pas- 
 sionately teasing and extravagantly com- 
 plimenting her, and still remain unchanged 
 for the worse ! Will not the breath of 
 passion, so continuously and so hotly 
 breathed around her, stain at last the spot- 
 less purityof her virgin heart] In addi- 
 tion to this, is she not daily learning the 
 coquette's arts ? — becoming more and more 
 deceitful, and more and more fond of atten- 
 tions, displays, parties, balls, and public en- 
 tertainments 1 Is a constant attendance 
 at such places at all necessary to fit her 
 for that quiet, retired, and modest life of 
 devotion to a single object, which she 
 should lead when married? I am not 
 afraid, dear Edith, that you will or ever can 
 change for the worse ; 1 am only defending 
 my general proposition." 
 
 He then went on to show the import- 
 ance of long engagements. 
 
 " The great thing necessary to en- 
 sure future excellence or eminence," he 
 continued, "is to have our aims early 
 fixed on some certain and worthy object, 
 no matter what. How many middle-aged 
 and old persons have we heard lamenting 
 that the best, and most important portions 
 of their lives were wasted in aimless, 
 trifling, desultory amusements and studies! 
 But how are the purposes of a very youth- 
 ful mind to be fixed ? I answer, only 
 through, the heart. Let, then, two very 
 
 young persons love each other, and se- 
 riously engage themselves, and what will 
 be the result? Each having a single, cer- 
 tain end in view, neither will have any 
 time to spend in visionary schemes, in idle 
 thoughts, in wild habits, or in vain experi- 
 ments. They would have ample opportu- 
 nities for studying each other's character; 
 for assimilating in tastes, manners, and 
 feelings ; for learning how to bear and for- 
 bear, what foibles to make allowances for, 
 what infirmities to" humour. When two 
 persons are wedded together, they are pro- 
 nounced one flesh; and yetthis entire as- 
 similation of different minds, hearts, and 
 bodies must he effected after, perhaps, a 
 week's acquaintance! It cannot be pos- 
 sible ; it would be a miracle. No ; let us 
 now, while our hearts are fresh and pure, 
 dedicate ourselves to each other; and. if 
 the mere engagement becomes burden- 
 some, then we will happily escape from a 
 more intimate union which would make us 
 wretched. Let us, before Heaven, sol- 
 emnly contract, ourselves to each other; 
 and then, after years of trial, with hearts 
 as pure and fervent as they now are, with 
 chastened desires, with tempers tried, ex- 
 travagant expectations discarded, with 
 kindred and harmonious tastes, sympathies, 
 and feelings, and with' a perfect knowledge 
 of ourselves and of each other, and a proper 
 estimate of the responsibilities and duties 
 of our new relations to each other, we will 
 consummate that union, whose yoke will 
 be easy and whose burden light — a union 
 from which will flow a sweet serenity, a 
 quiet contentment, an entire and unspeak- 
 able, felicity, to which grosser mortals are 
 and ever will be strangers !" 
 
 The letter then concluded with an ur- 
 gent request that Edith would show it to 
 her parents, and return an early answer. 
 
 Black Ben, on Saturday night, delivered 
 it to her maid, and from her learned the 
 very satisfactory intelligence that Ross had 
 made proposals of marriage to her young 
 mistress, and been rejected. Edith, after 
 perusing the epistle carefully some six or 
 seven times, handed it to her father, whom 
 it filled with measureless astonishment. 
 In fact, that worthy old gentleman, not- 
 withstanding his very moderate estimate 
 of Henry Warden's practical or common 
 sense, was completely astounded, and very 
 charitably concluded that love, or some 
 other powerful excitant, had totally de- 
 ranged his young friend's intellects. He 
 suspected also that Ross loved his daugh- 
 ter, and, although he did not know that he 
 had addressed her in a formal way, he sup- 
 posed that he had or would do it soon ; 
 but he also supposed that his object was to 
 marry her immediately. The proposition 
 of Henry Warden, and the sublimated rea- 
 soning by which it was sustained, were 
 utterly beyond his comprehension ; and, 
 
*fl 
 
 A LAMA N U E. 
 
 being a prudent and well-disposed gentle- 
 man, he secretly resolved to keep from the 
 knowledge of the world the mental afflic- 
 tion which had visited the author. 
 
 On tiie next day, Mayfield was early at 
 the church, and meeting, as he had expect- 
 ed, Henry Warden, he proposed to him 
 that, they should take a walk into the 
 woods. 
 
 " Mr. Warden," said he, when they were 
 beyond the reach of interruption, " rny 
 daughter Eddie requested me to hand you 
 this letter ;" and so saying, he returned to 
 the judge his own epistle. 
 
 Henry, hastily glancing over it, saw 
 that not a sentence or a word had been 
 written by Edith ; and, after a rather pain- 
 ful silence, asked timidly, if any one was 
 offended. 
 
 "No one is offended," answered Edith's 
 father; 4i but my daughter was surprised, 
 and requested me to say that she would 
 be pleased if you would not write again. 
 She is but a child, and it is very improper 
 :to be writing love to her now." 
 
 " I an1 sorry I wrote," said Henry ; " but 
 if you will permit me, I will make an ex- 
 planation which will satisfy you of the 
 propriety of my conduct." 
 
 "It's a delicate subject," interposed 
 Mayfield, dryly, " and it is not proper for a 
 father to converse upon it. Let us return." 
 The old gentleman's manner prevented 
 the judge from again alluding to the sub- 
 ject ; but he could not but wonder how it 
 Was proper for a father to carry a letter 
 from his daughter, and yet be improper 
 for him to speak of its contents ; and still 
 more strange did it seem to him, that what 
 was commendable in the conduct of Ross 
 should be censurable in his own. It is 
 needless to undertake to describe Henry 
 Warden's feelings ; every reader who has 
 been a rejected lover will understand them, 
 and those who have not gone through the 
 experience can form no conception of it. 
 It is said to be a crushing, sickening sen- 
 sation, that suddenly comes on a man with 
 overwhelming force, destroying the vital- 
 ity of the heart, and causing one lo feel 
 not only mean and wretched, but utterly 
 indifferent towards the pursuits of pleas- 
 ure and gain, and the prospect of suffering 
 and death. Thus the judge was becalm- 
 ed ; nothing for a while could excite, in- 
 terest, or amuse him. By degrees, how- 
 ever, his elastic feelings began to revive; 
 and after much perplexing deliberation, he 
 satisfied himself Edith's father was labour- 
 ing under a mistake, and that this was 
 the cause of his (the judge's) misfortunes. 
 Would not she, if left to herself at least, 
 return an explicit and satisfactory answer? 
 He supposed she would, and wondered 
 why he had not thought of a matter so ob- 
 vious. He suspected that, restrained by 
 -motives of delicacy, she had not exhibited 
 
 his letter, which was sealed in an enve- 
 lope when he received it back ; and hence 
 he concluded that the old people, thinking 
 he wished to marry now, had become, offend- 
 ed. Every thing now seemed explicable ; 
 and, again resorting to his pen, he wrote a 
 short and polite letter to Mayfield, inform- 
 ing him that he had not made propositions 
 of marriage to his daughter, but had only 
 wished to engage himself to her; a pro- 
 ceeding which, he said, he supposed could 
 give no offence to her parents. He fur- 
 ther remarked, that, if there -was anything 
 about his conduct which he (Mayfield) ob- 
 jected to, or could not understand, he 
 hoped it would be candidly mentioned, and 
 an opportunity given to have it explained. 
 " Let there be no shadow between us," 
 wrote the judge ; " and that there may not 
 be, let us freely unfold our hearts." 
 
 Now it so happened lhat Mayfield had 
 no heart to unfold, while the shadow to 
 which Warden alluded was to the old 
 man an Egyptian darkness, which even 
 a meridian sun could not disperse. He 
 was fully confirmed in his belief of Hen- 
 ry's mental aberration, and, like all men 
 who properly appreciate the gifts of wis- 
 dom and intellectual health, he treated his 
 neighbour's malady with the greatest ten- 
 derness. He wrote to him a polite 'an- 
 swer, in which he declared that he was 
 not offended, that ho fully understood the 
 whole of the judge's conduct, and remark- 
 ed that he would take the liberty of advis- 
 ing his young friend, with great respect, 
 to abandon his purpose. "When you get 
 older," concluded the old gentleman, " you 
 will see the folly of your present course', 
 and will not blame me for having kindly, 
 but firmly, admonished you to cease your 
 fruitless efforts for my daughter. Your 
 conduct is embarrassing and unpleasant to 
 us all." 
 
 " Embarrassing and unpleasant to os 
 all!" ejaculated Henry Warden to himself: 
 " then Edith is, of course, displeased." 
 
 It is said that drowning men will catch 
 at straws ; but, whether this be true oj 
 false, it is very certain that young gentle- 
 men desperately in love give up all hope 
 with extreme reluctance. While fortune 
 •blows fairly and their mistresses smile 
 sweetly they are sensitive, captious, and 
 easily give themselves up to incredulity 
 and despondency ; when they are blown up, j 
 utterly rejected, they are more than ever 
 disposed to believe that they are beloved, 
 and will build immense expectations upon, 
 the most trivial and unmeaning words and 
 looks. The judge strangely convinced 
 himself that Edith must have tender feel- 
 ings for him, and being now, in vulgar 
 phrase, at the end of his row, he again 
 had recourse to the advice of the master. 
 In the mean time his conduct excited no 
 1 little gossip among his friends. 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 41 
 
 " They did gossip, even at Alamance," 
 says the master ; " and where, I should 
 like to be informed, is the place on the 
 whole earth, lo/» ovbr. tcrraiiim, where there 
 are no gossips V Yes, they did gossip at 
 Alamance, and they did have there post- 
 riders, who brought news "in advance of 
 the mails." How ihey got it was a mys- 
 tery ; for Henry Warden and the master, 
 and Edith Mayfield and her parents, were 
 the only persons in the secret, and they 
 strictly held their peace. Nevertheless, 
 information of what had taken place, with 
 numberless embellishments and additions, 
 got abroad, and, for two whole weeks, the 
 names of the judge and of Edith were con- 
 stantly in the mouths of every body. They 
 had expected it — the wise, shrewd, know- 
 ing old ones had expected a blow out, for 
 they had observed that Henry Warden was 
 somewhat daft. The young men and boys 
 had not expected it, nor would they then 
 believe that, as they had heard, their friend 
 had first tried to marry a girl clandestinely, 
 and afterwards, when her father found it 
 out, threatened to shoot him if he did not 
 give up his daughter. As to the old maids, 
 they were entirely satisfied that Warden 
 had been properly punished ; and thus, 
 wished they, may it happen to every fool 
 who has the bad taste to prefer giddy and 
 wayward young children to more sen- 
 sible, affectionate, and riper beauties. 
 Henry's sensibilities were too delicate to 
 permit him to talk upon the subject; in- 
 deed, he was too proud and contemptuous 
 of the world's opinion to make any ex- 
 planations, ani so the public was left to 
 fabricate its owa intelligence, and to dis- 
 cuss it at its leisure. The old censured, 
 the young men warmly defended him, and 
 the girls tittered, and began to regard him 
 as a monster; and thus his popularity was 
 not a little shaken. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A SAGE CONVERSATION AND A 8AGE CONCLU- 
 SION. 
 
 The man who wins our admiration in 
 one respect is endowed by us with every 
 great, and agreeable attribute. Thus Hec- 
 tor M'Bride, to whom every woman's heart 
 was a Cretan labyrinth, and who never found 
 the Ariadne clue to any, was consulted by 
 Henry Warden, and considered by him as 
 his wisest counsellor in regard to his pres- 
 ent straits. The master, though not a 
 misogamist, was certainly not a lover of 
 the diviner sex, and could not be supposed 
 to look with patience, or even tolerance, 
 on the foolery of love-making. Still his 
 was a heart that melted at every tale of 
 wistchedness, and that abhorred every spe- 
 cies of injustice. He was convinced that 
 
 Henry Warden had been wronged ; he 
 was touched with his sorrows, and he was, 
 withal, a little curious tcvsee the progress 
 and conclusion of a suit which had so 
 strange a beginning. He was mortal and 
 a bachelor, ahd was, if not delighted, at 
 least secretly pleased when his friend, the 
 judge, on the first convenient opportunity, 
 disclosed all the particulars connected with 
 his case, and asked advice. 
 
 " Woman is a strange anomaly,'' said 
 the master, " and the more I see of hep 
 the more am I puzzled by her character. 
 I have in my time mastered difficult stud- 
 ies ; I have even gained a reputation for 
 skill in abstruse sciences, and yet, al- 
 though from my youth up I have applied 
 myself with great diligence to the exam- 
 ination of woman's psychology, I know 
 less of it now than I do of the Eleusin- 
 ian mysteries." 
 
 " Edith Mayfield," replied the judge, " al- 
 ways seemed to me to be remarkably can- 
 did, artless, and easy to be understood. I 
 used to think one might tell by glancing at 
 her face the very thoughts that were pass- 
 ing in her mind." 
 
 " That is the way in which they all de- 
 ceive us," returned the master; "if their 
 faces were not so demure and innocent- 
 looking we would not be so completely 
 taken in. We read in their eyes faith, 
 simplicity, and tenderness ; we see in their 
 conduct, deceit, distrust, and heartlessness. 
 Is there any living thing so deaf to the 
 calls of mercy as a lady who has a whim 
 to gratify V Let her but set her heart, if 
 she has one, on a trifle, she would see' 
 cities desolated and the world wrapped in 
 flames before she would abandon her pur- 
 pose. Recollect that Eve, the best and 
 purest of the sex, could not forego the tast- 
 ing of an apple, although she knew, from 
 Almighty God himself, that that simple act 
 would damn millions of her posterity to 
 wretchedness here and eternal perdition 
 hereafter." 
 
 " Eve was cunningly tempted," answer- 
 ed Warden, " and overcome in a thought- 
 less hour. You must remember that the 
 father of lies, the archfiend himself, worked 
 upon her heart." 
 
 " And does not the archfiend work upon 
 the hearts of all her daughters V asked the 
 master. " I have thought much about the 
 matter, and have nearly come deliberately 
 to the conclusion that woman is a general 
 nuisance. It is through her that the devil 
 assaults our race, for she forms the most 
 assailable point through which to attack 
 the soul of man. We would be less vul- 
 nerable if there were no such thing." 
 
 " That was more harshly said than 
 meant," exclaimed the judge ; " for I know 
 you think better of the sex. But we are 
 rambling from the subject. The question 
 now is, what am I to do 1 I desire only 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 the simplest and the easiest thing on earth ; 
 1 want only to know what Edith Mayfield 
 thinks of me. Is it not strange that she 
 and her father should attempt so to mystify 
 tnaV 
 
 " Not in the least," was the master's an- 
 swer; "this would not be the world it is 
 if every body was not trying to mystify 
 every body else. Suppose every one should 
 expose his heart — J do not, of course, speak 
 of the wicked and the evil-designing — but 
 suppose all those whose intentions are 
 good should take pains to make those in- 
 tentions known, how many heart-burnings, 
 quarrels, feuds, and even wars, might be 
 prevented! When man first offended the 
 Maker the worst part of his punishment 
 •was not that he fell to a state of sin and 
 misery. These are but the results of that 
 eternal fatuity with which he was cursed. 
 The world — 1 use the thing for that which 
 it contains — the world is an ass, and it is 
 my settled conviction that it will always 
 remain one. I must write a book." 
 
 " And in the mean time," said the judge, 
 "will you be pleased to tell me what I am 
 to do; for I am incapable of judging for 
 myself, /have exposed my heart to Edith 
 and her father ; what interest can they pos- 
 sibly have in keeping me in the dark ?" 
 
 "That question displays your simplicity," 
 replied the master; " you may as well ask 
 what interest Mayfield has in being a gros- 
 sum caput, a dunderhead, as Swinburne has 
 it ; and what does it profit, a woman to 
 play the fool. Nevertheless, something 
 must be done, and this is my opinion. 
 Every body supposes that every body else 
 is trying to deceive him or her, and hence, 
 when you are exposing your heart, and 
 acting with the most perfect, candour, you 
 create alarm and excite suspicions. It is 
 folly, therefore, to be ingenuous, and you 
 must have recourse to deceit and artifice. 
 Now, if you can in some way astonish 
 Edith, and let me be present at the time, I 
 flatter myself that I can form a correct 
 opinion as to her sentiments concerning 
 you." 
 
 " How would it do," enquired Warden, 
 "to let her know that I am going to leave 
 Alamance soon, and not return for years, 
 if ever V 
 
 "Very well, indeed." answered the mas- 
 ter; "and if you can insinuate this infor- 
 mation in a delicate way so much the bet- 
 ter. You should da ii in such a way that 
 she would not suspect your object, and 
 would believe that you were simply taking 
 leave of her — bidding her farewell in such 
 a way as to represent yourself as being 
 extremely sorry, without appearing to be 
 a lover. Now this can only be done by 
 poetry ; and my advice is, that you write 
 lier a farewell piece, and that you touch 
 upon the most delicate sentimentality, and 
 yet say nothing about a broken heart, 
 
 blighted affection, or eternal love. Yea 
 understand me." 
 
 '• 1 think I do,*' said the judge," and ah 
 though it is hard for me to rhyme, I will 
 try my hand." 
 
 Accordingly, he set himself to work, and, 
 while the master was fast asleep, he com- 
 posed the following piece : 
 
 "TO EDITH. 
 
 ON HEE QUITTING SCHOOL. 
 'Oat of sight, out of miud.' 
 
 None but a gross and fickle soul 
 
 Could such a sentence e'er have penned. 
 For there are those of finer mould 
 
 Whose boundless friendship knows noend; 
 And when the loved are ' out of sight,' 
 
 And distance throws its pall between. 
 How tender, then, in mein'ry's light, 
 
 In every hour they stdl are seen ! 
 Each place where the dear one has been, 
 
 The starry night, the forest lone, 
 And every fair and quiet scene, 
 
 Reminds us of the loved and gone. 
 The loved and gone ! oh ne'er shall fad 
 
 The niem'ry of that gentle one, 
 Till mouldering in the earth is laid, 
 
 The heart where she's the only sun ! 
 The circling seasons stiU may bring 
 
 Their changes in Time's wasting race. 
 From summer skies and flowers of sprint, 
 
 Will smile on me thy changeless face; 
 While autumn's paie and withered leaves, 
 
 And snowy lawn and ice-clad trqe, 
 i And every sigh that winter heaves,*. 
 * Shall whisper sad, sweet thoughts of thee. 
 I'll think of thee as on the dead 
 
 Who left me in my early years, 
 O'er whom unbought affection shed 
 
 Its saddest and its holiest tears : 
 I'll think of thee as on the dreams. 
 
 The happy dreams of by-gone times, 
 Those, ne'er forgotten, hallowed gleams 
 
 From fairer worlds and bflghter clime3— 
 In youth, in manhood, and in age, 
 
 In all the lights and shades of life, 
 When fortune smiles, when tempests rage, 
 
 In festive hall, in battle's strife ; 
 At morn — at noon, at day's still close, 
 
 When "*dewy eve weeps o'er the lea,' 
 And during night's profound repose, 
 
 Oh then I'll still remember thee ! 
 And as I close my fading eyes, 
 
 When life's last mortal sands are run, 
 With visions of the upper skies, 
 
 Shall mingle thoughts of thee, sweet one!" 
 
 " Now," said the master, rubbing his eyes 
 and, taking charge of the above production, 
 "you will see how I can map out an un- 
 known continent. To-morrow night I will 
 bring you a chart of her mind, delineated 
 with as much accuracy as any geograph- 
 ical picture of the moon taken by the 
 sharpest astronomer." 
 
 When M-Bride found himself upon the 
 road to Mayfield's, with Warden's poetry 
 in his pocket, he began to reflect upon 
 his situation. This is a pretty business, 
 thought he, for a grave man and a school- 
 master. What would the world think, if 
 it could see me acting as a go-between for 
 star-gazing lovers? — me, Hector M'Bride, 
 who set out to reform the abuses of th.8 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 43 
 
 world, engaged with sober interest in 
 sounding the shallows of a giddy little 
 maiden's heart. "To what base uses may 
 we return !" Still, this matter is not. alto- 
 gether beneath the notice of the philoso- 
 pher; every man's heart is a little world 
 in itself — every woman's an unknown sea 
 on which the most skilful mariners have 
 been lost. It is worth the while to try 
 this ocean farther ; for, though many an 
 adventurous sailor has been wrecked on 
 bleak and barren shores, who knows but 
 what some one, more fortunate than the rest, 
 may yet reach those fabled islands — those 
 gardens of the Hesperides, where man may 
 dwell in a state of beatitude, inhaling the 
 fragrance of perennial blossoms ! The 
 consentient opinions of all mankind agree 
 that there is such a place in woman's 
 heart, though it has never yet been found. 
 If I should make the discovery, what a 
 figure it will cut in my book ! I will be- 
 come more famous than Columbus, Cabot, 
 or Americas, for I'll lead the way to a 
 Paradise ! 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE CHART. 
 
 "I am almost afraid to ask you what 
 took place," said Henry Warden to the 
 master; "but any known calamity is bet- 
 ter than a state of doubt. Out with it, 
 therefore*, and let me know the worst." 
 
 " I promised to make a chart," answer- 
 ed M'Bride — " to prepare a full and accu- 
 rate map of her heart — and I have done it. 
 Perhaps a careful examination of it will 
 enlighten you more than any thing I can 
 say. Will you look at it 1" 
 
 "Not till I hear what became of the 
 poetry," replied the judge. " Did she read 
 it in your presence ? How did she look • 
 What did she say and do ?" 
 
 " She did not read or see the poetry in 
 my presence or in my absence," said the 
 master. 
 
 " Then what did you do with it ?" asked 
 the judge. 
 
 ," 1 did nothing. Old Mayfield remained 
 with us in the room ; and finding that I 
 should get no opportunity of speaking pri- 
 vately to his daughter, I took my pencil 
 and wrote on the back of a letter that I 
 had something of importance to deliver to 
 her, and asked her how I should manage 
 to get it to her. I then handed her the 
 letter, saying aloud as 1 did so, that there 
 was a Latin sentence which had puzzled 
 the best scholars in my school. 
 
 " If I were to try my hand at it I should 
 certainly fail," she replied, and gave me 
 back the letter. 
 
 Kereat her father, who knows not a 
 word of any language except his mother 
 
 tongue, became curious to hear the sen- 
 tence. 
 
 " Ad solum defunctum conglomeralo in 
 niibibu.s" 1 answered ; and the old man 
 made his daughter take down the words, 
 the sound of which tickled him prodi- 
 giously. He insisted that his daughter, 
 unassisted by me or Ross, should make an 
 effort, and was satisfied that she could ren- 
 der the sentence into English, and there- 
 by enhance her already fair reputation 
 for learning and acuteness. This modern 
 Solomon, in whose head all the wisdom 
 of the earth is garnered up, even tOok a 
 copy of the words himself, being determ- 
 ined, he said, to take Edith's lexicon and 
 try his hand. He has an opinion that the 
 rays of his mind can illumine the darkest 
 subjects, and for weeks he will bruise his 
 brains over the sentence I gave him, and 
 will at least see as far into iis meaning as 
 he can into a mill-stone ; or, what is just 
 as hard to him, into the philosophy of any 
 thing. Here is your poetry, sir." 
 
 " Alas ! what shall I do *" asked the 
 judge, with the most dejected manner. 
 
 " Look at this map, my friend," said the 
 master, "and it may comfort you. It is 
 carefully collated from the most authentic 
 sources, and I'll vouch for its perfect ac- 
 curacy." 
 
 " What sort, of a map do you call this?" 
 asked the judge. " I see nothing here but 
 a blank piece of paper, with the words 
 i terra incognita et fabulosaj written in the 
 centre, and round >}hem, in large letters, 
 ' Vanity, an impassable gulf.' " 
 
 "That," answered the master, " is the 
 most satisfactory description which can 
 be given of any woman's heart. That 
 there is such a thing, we learn from tradi- 
 tion, and the speculations of psycholo- 
 gists ; but its character and its uses have 
 been, and ever will be, shrouded in mys- 
 tery." 
 
 "Alas!" exclaimed the judge, "what 
 shall I do? Every thing and every body 
 is against me, and yet I have never wished 
 injury to any one. What would I not give 
 to know how I stand with Edith? What, 
 Mr. M-Bride, shall I do?" 
 
 "Do!'' cried the master : "do your duty 
 to your God .and your country, and let 
 things take their course. Do you suppose 
 you can mend matters by whining like a, 
 whipped school-boy, who bellows as loud 
 as he can, to excite a general sympathy? 
 If you do, you are much mistaken ; and I 
 am astonished that you will permit the 
 whims and freaks of an idle-brained and 
 silly-hearted girl to so unman you." , 
 
 " Sir!" said Henry Warden, pacing the 
 room in great excitement, " its easy to 
 talk and give advice, and bear with forti- 
 tude the misfortunes of others. It's still 
 easier to prate about our duties to our 
 God and to our country ; but those who 
 
44 
 
 ALAMAN C.E. 
 
 are most ready thus to prate are the most 
 childish when misfortune overtakes them. 
 For myself, I profess not to be one of 
 those stoics who look on paiu and pleas- 
 ure as mere ideas of the mind, and easily 
 to be avoided by a simple volition of the 
 will. There are many ills that, flesh is 
 heir to, and not the least, of them, talk as 
 you will, are the pangs of despised love. 
 What do we live for 1 To be happy ; and 
 the enlightened and generous soul in pur- 
 suit of this object will despise many things 
 that the vulgar and ignorant regard as the 
 most substantial good. You may prate as 
 you will about solid studies, grave pur- 
 suits, important occupations, great desires, 
 and .all such sickly stuff. What "does it 
 amount to 1 Those who cant most about 
 such things are themselves, with solemn 
 concern, grasping at bubbles and chasing 
 shadows. No one can or need desire more 
 than his own happiness; and where can 
 the good, refined, and ingenuous man find 
 it except in the full fruition of love, the 
 highest attribute of immortal beings 1 I 
 leave to others to break their bones and 
 rob their nights of rest in the vain and 
 sensual pursuits of avarice, ambition, mal- 
 ice, and the animal enjoyments of the ta- 
 ble and the bottle ; for me, 1 want only to 
 spend my days on earth with a being kin- 
 dred with those whose society will be one 
 of the chief delights of heaven. She is 
 good ; Edith Mayfield is as pure, as amia- 
 ble, as tender, refined, and generous as 
 she is fascinating and beautiful, and I shall 
 no longer hear with patience reflections 
 on her character. She is dearer to me a 
 thousand times than all the rest of the 
 world put together ; and I will have you 
 to know, that by making you my confident 
 in my troubles, I do not give you licence 
 to use her name so lightly. I respect you 
 more than I do any man except.my father ; 
 but I will not permit even you to abuse 
 Edith Mayfield in my presence." 
 
 The satirical expression of the master's 
 face instantly vanished, and, with his kind 
 heart beaming in his eyes, he said, in his 
 most gentle tones, " If I have offended you, 
 Henry, I sincerely lament it; for God 
 knows I would not designedly hurt your 
 feelings for any consideration. Do you 
 not see that I talk at random 1 DO you 
 not see that my indifference is feigned — 
 that my mock appearance of unconcern, 
 and my vain attempts to ridicule and make 
 myself merry at the expense of the sex, 
 are like the convulsive laughter of a man 
 in fever! My dear friend. I feel for you 
 more than 1 care to say ; there' is a rank- 
 ling sting at my heart, which I would 
 fain forget, and which your grief revives. 
 My humour is an unnatural excitement; 
 you must forgive me, for 1 have a canker 
 here." 
 
 W With all my heart I forgiye you," re- 
 
 plied the judge, " and sincerely ask pardon 
 myself, for I have been too hasty. For, 
 Heaven's sake forget the Harshness of my 
 words and manners, for 1 am not myself." 
 
 " Your warmth was natural and excusa- 
 ble," replied the master, " and it is impos- 
 sible, for you to be otherwise than sad. 
 Your case is a hard one, but a remedy may 
 be found in your own mind. It will soon 
 be itself again; reason will soon triumph 
 over the passions of the heart, though the 
 battle will be a fierce one, and the victory 
 will cost the lives of some of the dearest 
 hopes and sweetest charities and affections 
 of your nature. I leave with you the map ; 
 when you are by yourself, look on it, and 
 it will be of service to you." . 
 
 With this the friends'parted ; M'Bride to. 
 attend to matters connected with his pro- 
 fession, and Warden to seek out Uncle 
 Corny, of whom he had already resolved 
 to make a confident and an agent. 
 
 As he approached the residence of the 
 Demijohns, his ears were saluted by the 
 sound of a fife blown with lively animation, 
 and villainous disregard of tune or har- 
 mony, while at intervals he heard a hoarse 
 and martial voice that seemed to be giving 
 commands to a regiment of soldiers on 
 parade. Aware of Corny's fondness for 
 the art military, and curious to know in 
 what manner he was now exercising his 
 talents, he advanced to a position whence 
 he could see, unobserved, the proceedings 
 in the back yard. The old lady, Demi- 
 john's mother, sat in her arm-crrair in, the 
 doorway, smoking a short-stemmed pipe, 
 and watching with a complacent counte- 
 nance the actions of her son. He, arrayed 
 in the small and faded uniform of his father, 
 and with a naked sword in his hand, was 
 drilling a squad of ragged negroes of all 
 ages and sizes, the most venerable-looking 
 one of whom stood at their head leaning 
 to his music, blowing with all the force 
 of his lungs, and with the most solemn 
 sincerity of manner. 
 
 " Massa Corny," at length said the musi- 
 cian, pausing in his labours, " spose you let 
 me take de fiddle ; I can't blow any music 
 out ob dis consarn, for it haint got none 
 in it." 
 
 " Fiddles are never used in the army, 
 Csesar," answered Demijohn, " and it would 
 be against all the rules of war to march 
 by them. Attention, company ! Forwards! 
 March ! Music in front !" 
 
 At this instant the judge made his ap- 
 pearance, and the soldiers would have dis- 
 persed incontinently ; but their commander 
 was too good an officer to be taken by sur- 
 prise. He halted his men, called over their 
 names, and, regularly dismissing them, 
 then for the first time seemed to be aware 
 of the presence of Warden. After some 
 brief conversation upon the subject, of war, 
 Uncle Corny's visiter took him aside, and 
 
ALAMA'NCE. 
 
 45 
 
 at once unfolded his business. The soldier 
 listened with serious gravity, and indicated, 
 by Iiis manner and his conversation, that 
 be duly appreciated the momentous im- 
 portance of the precious secret committed 
 #o his keeping. 
 
 " If I can serve you in any way," said he. 
 "you may command me. I shall stand by 
 you to the death." 
 
 "You can serve me," replied Warden, 
 " and in this way. 1 wish you to manage 
 to have Edith at your house. Suppose, 
 for instance, you give a party, and invite all 
 the young people of the neighbourhood. 
 You can then get an opportunity of con- 
 4 iersing privately with her; and, if you do, 
 I wish you, in a delicate manner, and 
 without appearing to be acting by my au- 
 thority, to ascertain, if possible, why she 
 treats me so rudely. Finally, you must 
 give her this poetry; and, if you cannot 
 succeed in drawing out, indirectly, the 
 cause of her conduct, you may advance 
 boldly to the charge — tell her I am the 
 most miserable man on earth, that I never 
 breathed a harmful word against her, and 
 that 1 am completely confounded at her 
 conduct. You must take care also to let 
 her know that I regard her name as too 
 sacred to make a public use of it, and that 
 what you know I told you in strict confi- 
 dence, you being a friend to both." 
 
 " 1 understand you, Henry," answered 
 tJncle Corny, "and your .wishes shall be 
 strictly carried out — "to be sure they shall. 
 And, to make sure of her and keep off 
 Ross, I'll go for lier myself — I will, by Ju- 
 .piter — and wo to the man that interferes 
 •with me! I'll consult mother about the 
 day, and send you your invitation this 
 evening. Won't you walk in and take a! 
 glass of brandy? I feel, myself, as if 1 
 • could enjoy one." • 
 
 " I thank you," said Henry, " I am in 
 haste and in low spirits, and must, be gone. 
 Let the day be as early as possible." 
 
 '°t shall be, and I know all things will 
 come right. I'll conquer or die." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 -*. ; CkARACTER IN WHOM ALL OUR READRRS 
 WILL RECOGNIZE AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 In those days there flourished at Ala- 
 mance a gentleman by the name of Phile- 
 mon Blister, who, having no business of 
 his own to attend to, gave his attention to 
 the affairs of the public. His family, all 
 of whom were dead, had been respectable, 
 and he possessed a small but comfortable 
 estate ; but being a heterogeneous sort of 
 man, he failed to obtain what he most de- 
 sired, a wife ; and in process of time the 
 i pursuit of one became with him a matter 
 of absorbing interest and his sole occupa- 
 
 tion. He was one of those men Who am 
 permitted to take liberties with every one, 
 and whom every one treats in the most 
 free and familiar manner, never address- 
 ing them in a formal way, and always 
 calling them by their Christian names in 
 an abbreviated form. Thus Mr. Philemon. 
 Blister was universally called Phil; and 
 the name of Phil, and his sayings and do- 
 ings, were iii every body's mouth. At an 
 early age he gave favourable indications 
 'of genius for prying into the secrets of 
 others ; and by the time he was grown up 
 to man's estate his capacity in this respect, 
 was so fully developed that there was not, 
 at any time, any thing said or done iu any 
 corner of Alamance which Phil did not 
 immediately hear of. Equally great was 
 his ability for reporting what he heard, or, 
 rather, what, he did not hear; for it was im- 
 possible for him to repeat a story without 
 embellishing it with so many and such ex-' 
 traordinary additions that the original au- 
 thor, hearing it from his lips, would not have 
 recognized it. He, being a bachelor, devo- 
 ted himself particularly to the gallantries 
 and courtships of the community — was al- 
 ways the first person who knew of a pro- 
 jected wedding, and was, for many years, 
 one of the standing groomsmen of Ala- 
 mance. His means were not extensive or 
 abundant ; but with what he had he was 
 close, and, although universally regarded 
 as " a good-fellow," he had become some- 
 what selfish. Indeed, like all men who 
 are sensible enough to know they are not 
 smart, Phil was not deficient in a sort of 
 cunning ; and, looking on this life as a state, 
 militant, and every body as his secret foe, 
 he shielded himself with the armour of de- 
 ception. In fact, after much study, and no 
 little experience, he at last obtained what 
 he was wont to call " the points of this 
 world ;" in other words, he came to the 
 conclusion that any one could get along 
 who could deceive all his friends as to his 
 intentions. And thus, though he was a 
 leaky vessel for the secrets of others, he 
 kept his own counsels, and never permit- 
 ted even his nearest and best friends to 
 know his real views and aims about any 
 thing. For instance, while with gentle- 
 men, he was, in his language about the la- 
 dies, free, vulgar, and licentious, in a con- 
 fidential way, however; and then, in the 
 same strict confidence, he would tell the 
 ladies of all the offensive remarks his 
 friends had made about them. He was 
 the sworn friend of every one, bound every 
 one to secrecy, and told every one what 
 he had heard every body else say. Thus, 
 while others were exposing their secrets, 
 and he was briskly circulating them over 
 the community, his own intentions and 
 feelings were a mystery. 
 
 As before intimated, Phil had no partic- 
 ular home; for his house, being desolate* 
 
46 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 and his kindred, at least all his near kin- 
 dred, being dead, he became a rover, and 
 as ten thousand reports travelled with liim, 
 he might aptly be compared to Rumour, 
 with her thousand tongues. As he was 
 powerless, even when he tried for good, 
 and omnipotent when he didn't try for mis- 
 chief, Henry Warden dreaded him. That 
 young man had seen Phil often whispering 
 to Edith, and he shuddered at the conse- 
 quences. It was Phil's habit to see every 
 lady who had been visited by a gentleman,, 
 and tell her confidentially that it was gen- 
 erally reported that she was engaged to be 
 married. Hereupon the lady, especially 
 if young and timorous, would become 
 alarmed and indignant, and would, the 
 next time she saw the gentleman in ques- 
 tion, treat him so cavalierly that a quarrel 
 was inevitable. To avoid, therefoie, the 
 consequences of Phil's unhappy blunders 
 the judge was studiously reserved in his 
 presence, and hence Phil began to culti- 
 vate Uncle Corny. This last-named, warn- 
 ed by the judge, was still more costive 
 than his friend, and thus, as Mr. Blister 
 could ascertain from neither the object of 
 the. approaching party, he scoured the 
 neighbourhood in search of news. He was 
 full of cant phrases and buffoon wit, and 
 every man he met, at the time alluded to, 
 he would quiz with some mysterious ex- 
 pression about the approaching entertain- 
 ment, and set his curiosity agog. Phil 
 himself revealed nothingdirectly ; butthere 
 was a world of unknown meaning in his 
 questions, and he could startle a man even 
 with the simple query, " Have you heard 
 the news'?" 
 
 The answer generally given was, " I un- 
 derstand Uncle Corny Demijohn is going 
 to give a great party." 
 
 Whereupon Phil Blister, assuming a 
 knowing and portentous look, would reply 
 that it would be a party which some folks 
 would long remember. Thus, one morn- 
 ing, he met with Miss Whimididdle, a 
 maiden lady of considerable experience, 
 and, after the usual salutations, he asked 
 her if she intended to honour the approach- 
 ing party with her presence. 
 
 '• If 1 were to consult my own wishes, 
 I shouM not go," answered Miss Whim- 
 ididdle ; " for I have no fondness for such 
 things. Father and mother, however, in- 
 sist on my attending, as a mark of respect. 
 to the Demijohns, and I suppose 1 will 
 have to go." 
 
 '• Of course, you must go," said Phil ; " for 
 you'll see something you little expect." 
 
 "Indeed! And what is to happen?" 
 asked Miss Whimididdle. 
 
 " I'm mum," replied Phil Blister, "and 
 can only say that 1 shouldn't be surprised 
 if somebody is married shortly." 
 
 "'Yon surely don't mean old Mother 
 Demijohn 1" 
 
 " Not exactly, I should think." 
 
 " Then," said Miss W., it must be Uncle 
 Corny. I have heard some rumours abuut 
 him and the widow Fuller, whom, as you 
 know, he has visited twice a month for the 
 last two years. Well, well, and Uncle 
 Corny is to be married at last ! I hope 
 he'll be happy, though I should not covet 
 the place of his bride." 
 
 " Younger folks than Uncle Corny some- 
 times get married," returned Phil. 
 
 "And so they do," answered Miss W. ; 
 " some folks that I think had better be at 
 school, or with their mammas, a precious 
 sight. It's shocking to think what the 
 world is coming to, when every little boy 
 and girl must have a sweetheart, and want 
 to get married as soon as they reach their 
 teens." 
 
 "Do you think Edith Mayfield is old 
 enough to run off to get married V asked 
 Phil. 
 
 " Edith Mayfield want to run off!" ex- 
 claimed Miss Whimididdle, " Edith May- 
 field want to get married ! — however, it's 
 her business, not mine. Who in the world 
 is silly enough to have such a young, 
 giggling tomboy? It must be Henry 
 Warden." 
 
 '• You forget Ross," said Phil. 
 
 " To be sure, I forgot him. Well, is he,, 
 in fact, going to run away with Edith May- 
 field? I always took hinv for a lunatic. 
 Some people think he is a spy and a dan- 
 gerous man, but 1 always told them' he 
 was too big a fool to find the way back 
 to where he came from." 
 
 " I don't know who's a fool and who 
 aint," replied Phil ; " ' and, therefore, I say 
 unto you, as I say unto all, watch.' It may 
 be lioss, and it may be Henry Warden ; it 
 may be Uncle Corny, and it may be old 
 Mother Demijohn. Mind you, I don't say 
 who it is ; only keep a sharp look-out, and 
 you'll see fun." 
 
 Hereupon Phil Blister took leave, and 
 intimated to all whom he afterwards saw 
 that, as he had heard from Miss Whimi- 
 diddle, Uncle Corny or his mother was to 
 be married on the day of the anxiously- 
 expected party. Miss Whimididdle, on 
 her part, met with at least half a dozen 
 during that day, to all of whom she com- 
 municated, as a profound secret, the fact 
 that Henry Warden or Ross was to run 
 away with Edith Mayfield. As Phil Blis- 
 ter had bound her to secrecy, she could not 
 give her author; but she related it as cer- 
 tain that Edith was to marry one of the 
 two named, and that against the will of her 
 parents. Other gossips took up the story 
 where Miss Whimididdle left off, and, add- 
 ing improvements of their own, the whole 
 plan of escape, in all its minutest partic- 
 ulars, became known', and was discussed 
 at length at Alamance. The community 
 was thrown into a feverish excitement, 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 47 
 
 some censuring and some defending Edith ; 
 a thousand rumours got afloat, and all 
 these rumours travelled about until they 
 were received as settled facts. These re- 
 ports, finally, became so general, and so 
 authentic, and so untraceable, that Phil 
 Blister, mounting his horse, kept them in 
 brisk circulation, repeating them every- 
 where as undoubted truths, settled by 
 the authority of various persons, They 
 reached, at last, the ears of the Glutsons, 
 and were by them communicated to Ross. 
 This mysterious individual was still hover- 
 ing about Alamance, making his head- 
 quarters at Nathan Glutson's, and visiting 
 very little except at the house of Edith 
 Mayfield's father. Being a suspected char- 
 acter and but slightly acquainted with the 
 Demijohns, he was not invited to the en- 
 tertainment to be shortly given. He knew, 
 of course, that he was not going to marry 
 Edith ; bnt his ardent and jealous heart told 
 him that Henry Warden would. The more 
 he reflected on what he heard, and on what 
 he himself had recently seen, the more was 
 he satisfied that his youthful rival was 
 about to carry off ihe prize for which both 
 were eagerly contending, and all the fierce 
 passions of his turbulent nature were in- 
 stantly aroused to a fearful intensity. He 
 was a gentleman by birth, by education, 
 and association, and had ever been taught 
 to prize his honour more dearly than his 
 life ; but, then, he was also a lover — a fiery, 
 impetuous lover — and to what follies and 
 meanness will not the mania of love drive 
 its votaries'? That's a question gravely 
 put by the master; and, without stopping 
 to quote his answer, we will simply add, 
 that Ross was not proof against the pow- 
 erful temptation. He convinced himself 
 that a dire misfortune was about to happen 
 to him; and when he saw, early in the morn- 
 ing of the eventful day which was to ruin 
 him, Edith Mayfield conducted by Uncle 
 Corny to the latter's house, his wavering 
 resolution was fixed at once. What that 
 resolution was, and what were its imme- 
 diate and remote results, will in due time 
 appear. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE FISH-FRY — "a KETTLE OF FISH." 
 
 " Fish-fry is a technical term, used in 
 the South to designate a pleasant sort of 
 country- party. A person, having on his 
 premises a stream or pond abounding in 
 fish, invites his friends and neighbours to 
 an entertainment, which is given in the 
 green woods and near the water. A hand- 
 some collation of cold provisions, and 
 sometimes of wines and liquors is brought 
 to the place by the servan-.s ; and here, 
 also, the fish are prepared and cooked im- 
 
 mediately after they are caught. Thus, 
 at such parties, the amusements are va- 
 ried, and partake of that zest and fresh- 
 ness which Nature ever has for her lovers. 
 All persons, old and young, freed from the 
 restraints and conventional forms impos- 
 ed in parlours and saloons, surrounded by- 
 delightful scenes, inhaling the fragrance 
 of buds and blossoms, and listening to the, 
 songs of birds and the hum of bees, enjoy 
 themselves with a peculiar relish ; and 
 with minds improved, hearts bettered, and 
 health invigorated, return again to their 
 respective homes." 
 
 Thus the master writes of fish-fries gen- 
 erally ; and, after some grave and mor- 
 al reflections, inspired by the subject, de- 
 scribes, with great particularity, the famous 
 one given by his friend Cornelius Demi- 
 john, near the latter's mill, on the creek 
 of Alamance. A large number of young 
 and unmarried people honoured the festi- 
 val with their presence; and, as it was a 
 balmy day, the ladies, in their Spring cos- 
 tumes, looked like personifications of pu- 
 rity and simplicity. The woods echoed 
 with the laughter of these gay and inno- 
 cent maidens,, and for a while there was 
 little progress made in the business of 
 catching fish, for all were in a joyous hu- 
 mour; and those arch anglers, the frolic- 
 some gir.ls, were, without being conscious 
 of it, entangling each a string of lovers. 
 In the language of the master, " many a 
 gudgeon was hooked eagerly snapping at 
 the deceptive bait, and quietly suffering 
 himself to be drawn up and prepared for 
 the process of being fried and roasted." 
 As the sun advanced up the clear heavens, 
 and his beams became warmer, the young 
 people ceased their wild pranks, and, pair- 
 ing off, sought, in companies* of two, the 
 most shady nooks on the banks of the 
 pond, and seriously began the business of 
 the day — to wit, making love, and angling 
 for fish. The judge, however, was an ex- 
 ception to this rule. He scarcely dared 
 to speak to or look at Edith Mayfield, 
 who, in her simple dress, shone with such 
 surpassing beauty and sweetness, that she 
 seemed a half-divine Dryad of the woods, 
 in whom there was so little of the mortal, 
 that even the boldest gallants regarded her 
 with a timid and sacred reverence. Henry- 
 Warden, more than ever in love, his fears 
 and despondency increasing with his pas- 
 sion, wandered about, solitary and abstract- 
 ed, and so absorbed with his thoughts that 
 his fishing-pole might have been jerked 
 out of his hand without his being con- 
 scious of the fact. Equally unsuccessful, 
 but for a different reason, was Hector 
 M'Bride. Having attached himself to his 
 unlettered and taciturn friend, Tubroot, ho 
 became extremely talkative, bobbing his 
 line up and down in ihe water with such, 
 an incessant motion, that the most hungry 
 
33 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 roach or noldest catfish would not approach 
 his hook. He entertained and enlighten- 
 ed his silent and staring companion with 
 a learned dissertation on the habits of fish, 
 gave an account of the celebrated supper 
 of Viteilius, as related by Suetonius, and 
 did not forget his friend Walton, of whose 
 life and character he spoke at length. 
 Tubroot was prodigiously astonished at 
 the extravagance of the man who pur- 
 chased two thousand fish for one enter- 
 tainment, and had galleys built for the 
 purpose of conveying them all the way 
 from the Straits of Gibraltar. He was still 
 more astonished at other stories of Roman 
 gluttony and magnificence : but he held 
 his peace, like a prudent man, and became 
 utterly bewildered as the master severely 
 criticised the piscatory eclogues of Sanna- 
 zarius, from which he made frequent and 
 copious quotations in the original. 
 
 During this time, Uncle Corny, mindful 
 of the sacred trust committed to his care, 
 and forgetful of every thing else, w r as re- 
 volving in his mind various plans for the 
 execution of his commission. Of course, 
 lie became very silent and unusually grave : 
 and as he attached himsel£ to Edith, and 
 csrried her to a great distance from the 
 company, she hardly knew what to think 
 of him. She was aware, however, of his 
 eccentric character, felt obliged tp him for 
 his delicate attentions, and, with the ex- 
 pectation of some rare sport at his ex- 
 pense, she readily consented to go with 
 him. They found at last a cool, pleasant, 
 and retired place, and there they sat down, 
 attracting the gaze of all the company, 
 and causing many amusing remarks and 
 comparisons, the most original of which 
 -was that of the master, who said they re- 
 aninded him of a violet peeping up by the 
 side of a huge mushroom. After they 
 had sat some time in silence, Uncle Corny 
 began to blow as if each breath were to be 
 his last, and with eyes rolling wildly, and 
 a husky voice, essayed to speak. 
 
 u Miss Edith," said he. 
 
 " Uncle Corny !" answered Edith, look- 
 ing him straight in the face. 
 
 " Miss Edith," continued Corny, "I'm a 
 poor diplomatist, and therefore will come 
 to the point at once. Why do you hate 
 jny friend Hem;y Warden V 
 
 " 1 don't hate him, Uncle Corny." 
 
 " Then why do you treat him so cruelly 1 
 He is nearly distracted ; but still he adores 
 you." 
 
 Edith blushed and hung her head, and 
 having nothing to say, held her peace. 
 
 "He would give seventeen worlds," re- 
 sumed Corny, " to know what you mean 
 by sending back his letter. PoonJellow ! 
 Low happy he would be if he were only 
 liiiowed to speak to you as 1 do V 
 
 "That he is not allowed ;o speak to 
 iy>e-," replied Edith, " is his own fault. He 
 
 has not come near me to-day, and sesmi 
 very much disposed to cut my acquaint* 
 ance." 
 
 " How can he speak to you after what 
 has happened ]" asked Demijohn. "Real 
 love, they say, makes people fearful and 
 suspicious; and I know that he is afraid 
 to approach you, for he thinks it would be 
 disagreeable to you. A thousand stories 
 have been told on him, every one of which, 
 I say, on my own responsibility, is au 
 infernal lie, and the author a dastardly 
 scoundrel." 
 
 " Why, Uncle Corny !" 
 
 " Excuse me, Miss Edith, my blood is 
 up. Was there ever a more gentle, a 
 more noble-hearted, brave, and intelligent 
 youth than Henry 'Warden] His soul is 
 as bright as the sun above us — his heart is 
 the home of every thing that is honoura- 
 ble, just, generous, and tender; and yet 
 these malignant tattlers have slandered 
 him till you, even you, who are so much 
 like him, are ashamed to speak to him. 
 Nor would you treat my friend so badly 
 if you knew how unjustly and cruelly you 
 are acting. Just think of it. < here is your 
 old playmate, confident, and defender, your 
 best friend, your most pleasant compan- 
 ion who would at any moment be glad to 
 die for you ; here is this frank, manly, and 
 brave 'young man, who is going to the 
 wars, and who does not dare to say fare- 
 well to you ! Upon my soul 1 can hardly 
 keep from crying myself, and yet, though 
 he may be slain, and will die thinking of 
 you to the very last, you cannot afford to 
 give him a kind good-by !" 
 
 "Did you say he is going to the wars, 
 Uncle Corny ?" asked Edith, turning pale, 
 and plainly exhibiting her emotion. 
 
 " He is : he is going to draw his sword 
 for his country ; and though he is but a 
 boy he has a heart as big as that of Mars.. 
 He will be among the foremost in the no- 
 ble cause ; he will, I know, rush into the 
 thickest of the fight, and his fair and youth- 
 ful form will lie stiff, and cold, and man- 
 gled on some bloody field. It is what he 
 wants ; to run a short and bright career, 
 and die a soldier's death, where he will 
 sleep quietly with kindred spirits, far away 
 from that home where his young heart was 
 steeped in bitterness." 
 
 During this speech Uncle Corny was 
 himself too much affected to notice the ac- 
 tions of Edith, who was searching for vio- 
 lets that, did not exist, and who could not 
 have distinguished one from a «uishroom, 
 so blinded was she by the burning U ars 
 that suffused her eyes, and fell, like liquid 
 pearls, on the leaves around her. 
 
 Both were silent for some minutes, when 
 Edith, aftera struggle, asked, with a choked 
 and tremulous voice, " When is Mr. War- 
 den going 10 leave us IV 
 "Very soon," answered Uncle Corny, 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 49 
 
 '** as* soon as he can be allowed to hid you 
 farewell. He is afraid to attempt ft in 
 person, and so lias requested me to say, as 
 his last words to you, ' May God bless 
 you.' and to hand you these verses." 
 
 While, speaking. Demijohn rose to his 
 feet, and, in the agitation and confusion of 
 the moment, stepped backwards, and fell 
 with a loud splash into the water. Th^ 
 ■waves swelled and rolled, as if a storm 
 were blowing, and the whole pond was 
 agitated from end to end. The plunge 
 and the- screams of Edith Mayfield attract- 
 ed the attention of the company, who, 
 with more astonishment, than fear, saw 
 Demijohn midway between the two shores 
 and bareheaded, making a successful, but 
 awkward and energetic effort at swim- 
 ming, splashing the water about him like 
 a chafed sea-horse or furious whale. He 
 landed safely, having sustained no damage 
 but the loss of his hat, and flooding the 
 land wherever he went, with the moisture 
 that streamed from his clothes. It be- 
 came necessary for him to return to the 
 house; and, as Edith's dress was damp 
 from the spray caused by Corny's plunge, 
 she started with him. They had walked 
 but a short distance, when Isaiah Mayfield, 
 accompanied by Koss and William Glutson, 
 came dashing up at the full speed of their 
 horses, old Mayfield being ahead. 
 
 " God be praised, she's yet safe !" ex- 
 claimed the old man, dismounting and seiz- 
 ing Edith in his arms; "my child, my 
 Eddie is yet safe! Oh, daughter! how 
 could you have the heart to serve your 
 father so! Hut never mind, don't weep; 
 for I know you are innocent, and were 
 misled by that visionary and unhappy 
 youth. 1 forgive you," continued he, cry- 
 ing all the tune; "I forgive you before 
 you ask me. Come, darling, return again 
 to your heart- broken mother." 
 
 During this scene Corny Demijohn, bare- 
 headed and in his dripping clothes, stood 
 staring and stupefied with wonder, while 
 he excited equal astonishment in the minds 
 <of Ross and Glutson. Edith, covered with 
 confusion at the strange conduct of her 
 father, and unwilling to see him expose 
 himself longer before his neighbours, said 
 not a word, and quietly and silently suf- 
 fered her father to carry her away. She 
 knew his character too well not to sus- 
 pect that he was labouring under some 
 absurd delusion, but. she thought it best not 
 to seek for or to make any explanations 
 until she was alone with him. The old 
 gentleman, overcome by his emotions, 
 and loving his daughter too well to chide 
 her in public, also became silent, and the 
 party on horseback thus started back with- 
 out caving another word. 
 
 Tl'.e judge witnessed the whole scene, 
 ar.d tearing some mistake, and anxious to 
 come to a full understanding with Edith's 
 D 
 
 father, hurried off to overtake him, when 
 he was arrested by Demijohn, who stood 
 in his path. 
 
 " Let me go, Uncle Corny," said Henry, 
 struggling to release himself; " let me go, 
 for I'm not in a humour to be trifled with." 
 
 " I'll let you go when you are in a con- 
 dition to go,"" quietly returned Uncle Cor- 
 ny ; " yes, of course. I will. For the pres- 
 ent you are my prisoner." 
 
 "If you are deranged, or drunk," ex- 
 claimed the judge, greatly excited, "I 
 must tell you that you must play your 
 foolish pranks on some other person. Let 
 me loose, Mr. Demijohn, or by Heaven you 
 shall rue it !" 
 
 At which words he was firmly grappled 
 in the arms of his keeper, and became as 
 helpless as a child. He threatened, abus- 
 ed, and entreated to no purpose, and 
 seemed at last about to weep, when Corny 
 said, in his kindest tones — 
 
 " Henry, my son, it's useless to talk to 
 me now. I know what is best for you, and 
 I intend to do it — to be sure I do — and there- 
 fore I shall not get angry. Curse away my 
 lad, I'll not remember a word you say." 
 
 " I have not cursed you, sir," replied 
 Warden, " and you know I never swear. 
 I care not whether you get angry or not ; 
 I don't care who may get mad, for I'm 
 done with the world and all that's in it. 
 As you can have no reason for holding me 
 longer, I'll thank you, sir, to release me, 
 and not keep me here to be gazed at, and 
 laughed at by the whole company." 
 
 " Who's gazing, who's laughing?" thun- 
 dered out Uncle Corny; "let me catch a 
 mother's son of them at it and I'll instantly 
 cut his throat — 1 will, by Jove ! I'm your 
 friend, sir, 'I'll stand by you to the death. 
 Heavens and earth! Aint I, Cornelius 
 Demijohn, here at your side, prepared to 
 draw my sword against the world, the flesh, 
 and the devil, in your behalf!" 
 
 Demijohn was himself, as his speech 
 shows, becoming excited, and, working 
 himself at last into a perfect fury, he re- 
 leased the judge, grasped at his side for the 
 hilt of an imaginary sword, and flourished 
 his arms about him, when Hector M'Bride 
 and Ben Rust came up. 
 
 " Stand off!" exclaimed Uncle Corny, 
 planting himself in a defensive position, 
 and raising his sword-arm ; " stand off, you 
 wretches, or, by Jove, I'll split you to the 
 waist ! Who dares approach here while I 
 stand in the front rank?" 
 
 "Angels and ministers of grace defend 
 us!" exclaimed the master; "are we in 
 Bedlam, or is all the world crazy ?" 
 
 "Let all Bedlam and all the world dare 
 touch as much as a hair of his head," re- 
 plied Corny. " if they want to be knocked 
 into a cocked hat. I'm Cornelius Demi- 
 john, sirs, and this is my friend; so ad- 
 proach not '." 
 
50 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 " Uncle Corny's a little soaky," said 
 Rust, " and I'll bet there's an empty tickler 
 in his pocket. Let's examine." 
 
 This remark at once threw a flood of 
 light on the whole affair, and it was soon 
 ascertained that Demijohn, to counteract 
 the effects of the external application of 
 liquids, had copiously moistened his inner 
 man with a stronger fluid. He acknowl- 
 edged, himself, that his brain was a little 
 giddy from his potations ; and, begging the 
 master to return to his guests and apologize 
 for his absence, he, followed by Rust and 
 Warden, started again towards his house, 
 planting his feet at every step as if he 
 would drive them into the ground. His 
 head would reel, notwithstanding all his 
 efforts, and, taking hold of Rust's arm, he 
 said, hiccuping : 
 
 " Benjamin, my son, I do believe — I'm — 
 tipsy. Yes — to be sure — I'm drunk. That 
 last drink did the business ; it was too 
 much, sir — too much. My friend, you 
 must cure me — you must, before the old 
 lady sees me." 
 
 Now, Ben was an excellent physician 
 in such cases, having before attended Un- 
 cle Corny, when afflicted with his chronic 
 complaint, administering to him with skill 
 and success. He now trotted him briskly 
 through the woods, frequently tripped him 
 up, and so heated and worried him with 
 hard exercise, that, by the time he ar- 
 rived at his mother's, he was tolerably so- 
 ber. Dry clothes, and a thorough ablution 
 of his head in cold spring water, brought 
 him entirely to himself, and prepared him 
 to sit with Rust in council on the judge's 
 case. The latter was moody and sad, and 
 seemed little disposed to. speak of his dif- 
 ficulties to any one. He could not but see, 
 however, that he was in the presence of 
 faithful friends ; and his heart, gradually 
 yielding to the influence of kind words and 
 looks, at length fully opened itself, and all 
 its secrets and its sorrows were exposed. 
 
 "It's my decided opinion," said Uncle 
 Corny, " that the wicked little angel loves 
 you— I believe — I know she does — and is 
 only trying the strength of your attach- 
 ment." 
 
 In proof of this he recited what had 
 taken place between himself and her in the 
 morning; strongly painted her emotion, 
 which he had witnessed ; and wound up 
 with an indirect compliment to his own in- 
 genuity. 
 
 " One would hardly think you so cun- 
 ning," said Warden, becoming pleased and 
 interested. 
 
 " Folks don't know me," replied Corny. 
 " They say Uncle Corny's honest, and he's 
 brave, and. good-natured, but he's not a 
 Solomon. I am not a Solomon; to be sure 
 I ani not. But could he have done better 
 than I did ? "Would he have thought of 
 jumping into the water, just as he handed 
 
 Edith the poetry, to prevent her from re- 
 turning it 1 She's got it now in her bosom. 1 ' 
 
 "Is it possible you fell into the water 
 by design V asked the judge. 
 
 " Possible, indeed ! it's a fact — no doubt 
 of it." . 
 
 " Uncle Corny," exclaimed Henry War- 
 den, rising, " here's my hand, and with it 
 goes my heart. Forgive me for my harsh- 
 ness — forgive me, I entreat you ; for from 
 this day I will look on you as one of my 
 best friends, and, what I always thought 
 you, a noble-hearted gentleman. I was 
 deranged, mad, and knew not what I was 
 about." . . 
 
 " I've forgotten every thing you said," 
 replied Corny ; " on my soul I have, and 
 whoever reminds me of it shall taste the 
 edge of my sword— he shall, by Jupiter!" 
 
 " Proximus, the next," said Rust, getting 
 on his feet ; " its my turn now to speak, and 
 I'll jist give my opinion of the whole mat- 
 ter. I'll do like the parson — take a text, 
 and divide my discourse into several heads. 
 I would, then, my Christin friends," con- 
 tinued he in a drawling tone, " direct your 
 attention for a few minutes to the first 
 verse of the forty-second chapter of the 
 Scriptur of Common Sense. It is in these 
 words : ' Man is man, and woman is woman.'' 
 Now, by these words we are to under- 
 stand two things : first, that man aint 
 woman ; and, secondly, that woman aint 
 man. Man is one kind of human, crittur; 
 woman is another kind. Man was born 
 with one kind of natur, and woman with 
 another ; and whoever will jist recollect 
 that fact will know more about females 
 than old Proximus has larned by twenty 
 years of hard study. Man loves war, 
 power, books, paintins, music, and natur ; 
 woman likes show, dress, flowers, and flir- 
 tation. Man judges you by the colour of 
 your principles and the cut of your char- 
 acter ; woman by the colour of your coat 
 and the cut of your breeches. Now, natur 
 has done all this, and what's the use of 
 grumblin about it 1 It's all a matter of 
 opinion ; and, while you are findin fault 
 with a gal for bein deceitful and havin no 
 taste for books and larnin, haint she got 
 as much right to despise you because 
 your back is crooked and your legs aint 
 straight 1 The men look with contempt 
 on women because they've got no minds 
 and never read Shakspur; the women 
 scorn the men what haven't got whiskers 
 and never killed no one in a duel. Who's 
 right and who's wrong is not the queston 
 now. Woman, bein what she is, must be 
 treated accordin to her natur, and must be 
 expected to act accordin to her natur. To 
 undertake to influence her in the same way 
 that you would influence a man is as silly 
 as to bait your fish-hook with a quotation 
 from Shakspur, or abatch of sentimental po- 
 etry. You must use the right bait and what 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 51 
 
 is that 1 The judge has fished long enough 
 with love, wit, larnin, affection, good- 
 ness, and honour ; and if these haint done 
 any good its no use tryin them any longer. 
 Let him go to the wars, kill a dozen or two 
 of Britishers, and come home with fierce 
 whiskers on his face, flamin buttons on his, 
 coat, and red blood on his sword, and, 
 Lord ! how the gals will shoal around him ! 
 Now for the second grand division of my 
 discourse. I don't believe Edith is like 
 some gals ; I know she aint. I will say 
 now what I never said before, but what 
 I've always knowed ; she loves Henry 
 "Warden, she has loved him from a child, 
 and she always will love him while she 
 lives. I've got two eyes and a pair of 
 ears, and I know what I know. As old 
 Proximus says, I'm ' not a prophet, nor the 
 son of a prophet ;' but I'll prophesy one 
 thing : Edith will be a woman, ias a woman 
 ought to be ; and in the very toughest 
 times, in the very hardest trials, she'll 
 shine out like a rainbow in a storm. But, 
 thirdly and lastly, there's a third kind of 
 folks — the betweenity race — who have no 
 natur at all, and who I call man-grannies. 
 Old Mayfield is one of these, and it aint no 
 use to'talk to him at all. He haint got the 
 reason of man, nor the feelin of woman ; 
 and how are you goin to touch him 1 He's 
 opposed to the judge, and he's got a no- 
 tion that Henry and Edith want to marry 
 each other right off; and you may work 
 on him till the day of judgment, and you'd 
 never beat that notion out of his head. He 
 hates and fears every body who aint like 
 himself. Because the judge is open- 
 hearted, smart, and brave, he looks on him 
 as somethin terrible, and thinks he's al- 
 ways tryin to sarcumvent, undermine, and 
 blow him up. He's got these idees into 
 his head, and the more honourable Henry 
 acts, and the more he triesto explain him- 
 self, the more skeery does old Squattle- 
 brain git. He's in an awful fright now, 
 and it'll grow on him till the day of his 
 death. What's to be done? Why, jest 
 wait and watch, and leave the rest to Prov- 
 idence and to Edith. I'll swear by her; 
 for I believe in her, and know she will 
 bring all things to rights. Them's my 
 sentiments." 
 
 The sound sense displayed in some of 
 these remarks, coarse and homely as they 
 were, struck both Corny and the judge, 
 though the latter secretly felt a disincli- 
 nation " to wait." He, however, held his 
 peace, and Demijohn assenting to the ad- 
 vice of Rust, the council adjourned. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A LADY CONFIDENT AND A SENTIMENTAL LADY. 
 
 Impatience that cannot brook delay and 
 a disposition to make confidents, are the 
 
 curses of lovers. On each of these rocks 
 many a gallant bark, freighted with tender 
 hopes, has been wrecked ; and yet wooers, 
 like statesmen, however much they may 
 study and descant on the disastrous exper- 
 iments of the past, will still, when their 
 own time comes to act, follow in the beaten 
 track. Thus it was with Henry Warden. 
 The night after his consultation with Rust 
 and Demijohn, he spent in profound medita- 
 tion, studying not what was best for him, but 
 how he should be able immediately to ascer- 
 tain the feelings of Edith Mayfield towards 
 him. He could not wait for the develop- 
 ments and the just arbitrament of Time, who 
 is, at last, the safest friend of the persecuted, 
 the great vindicator of Truth. The judge, 
 notwithstanding his late experience, still 
 secretly believed in the integrity, the kind- 
 ness, and just discrimination of the sex ; 
 and who that has been raised by a mother, 
 cannot so confide 1 He resolved to make 
 a female confident, believing that such a 
 one would be the most cautious and safe 
 adviser, and would also have the most fa- 
 vourable opportunities of sounding the sen- 
 timents of Edith. Now, there was stay- 
 ing at Alamance a Miss Artemesia Thril- 
 lingpipes, a northern lady, and sister to 
 the wife of a Presbyterian clergyman who 
 was travelling through the country. She 
 was at that ripe age when the tender vir- 
 tues of the maiden-lady are most conspic- 
 uous, and every tongue was eloquent in 
 praise of her amiable and obliging disposi- 
 tion. She lent a patient and attentive ear 
 to the complaints of every one, and every 
 sorrowing heart found in her an active 
 sympathizer, and a friend ready to do as 
 well as to advise. She seemed to be her- 
 self so nicely strung, that the lightest touch 
 of sentiment thrilled some chord in her 
 gentle breast ; and she was withal of a 
 highly romantic turn. She detested the 
 dull common-places of every-day life, was 
 fond of strange dilemmas and unnatural 
 adventures, and was one of those rare 
 creatures who know how to appreciate 
 those persecuted beings whom the world 
 does not understand, and who do not un- 
 derstand themselves ; in a word, she was 
 one of those diviner few who are born in 
 a world of their own, and who breathe, 
 and move, and have their being in a sub- 
 limated and rarefied atmosphere, where 
 grosser mortals can no more exist than a 
 rat in an exhausted receiver. She was 
 literary and sentimental ; and while the 
 gentlemen all called her interesting, the 
 ladies generally agreed that she was very 
 handsome. True, her complexion was a 
 little sallow, and the nicely-braided curls 
 which shaded it, and the eyes which light- 
 ed it, were of an undefinable colour; but 
 then her teeth were very white, her waist 
 very slender, and her hand and her foot 
 of the smallest possible dimensions. Tq 
 
52 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 the master and the judge she had been ex- 
 tremely kind and complaisant, the former 
 finding in her a flattering and untiring lis- 
 tener, who echoed all his sentiments, and 
 the latter an agreeable companion, of a 
 tenderly pensive disposition, who loved to 
 discourse of unrequited love, mysterious 
 communion of souls, flowers, poetry, and 
 broken hearts. To her, the thoughts of 
 Henry Warden now recurred, and he paid 
 her a visit. She received him very gra- 
 ciously, and seeming to divine his inten- 
 tions, wore a look of sad and affectionate 
 interest. He was at first much embarrass- 
 ed, but she kindly helped him on with his 
 story until he was able to finish it himself. 
 She heaved a sigh, and, after musing a 
 while, said, in her softest tones, 
 
 " You have been, indeed, unfortunate, 
 but such is the way of the world. Such 
 people as you are must not. expect to be 
 understood' by mankind, whose persecu- 
 tions are the tax we have to pay for those 
 peculiar enjoyments which are all our 
 own." 
 
 '■ Yes ; but Edith can understand me," 
 replied Warden, '■ if she knew me. and this 
 is all I ask. She must have been misled." 
 
 41 It is quite possible," returned Miss 
 Thrillingpipes ; for there are gossips every 
 where. She is a very pretty and amiable 
 girl, and 1 do not blame you, Mr. W T arden, 
 for taking an interest in this matter. If I 
 can serve you in any way, I should be 
 most happy to do it." 
 
 '.' What I want you to do is this," said 
 the judge : " I wish you to see her ; to tell 
 her my views, and all that 1 have written 
 and done, and let her say candidly what 
 she thinks of my conduct. Ask her if she 
 read my letters, and if she did, what she 
 meant by returning them. It is easy for 
 you, being a lady, to ascertain these things ; 
 and be assured, thaj. if you will do me this 
 favour, you will find in me a true friend 
 while you live." 
 
 " My own heart shall reward me," an- 
 swered Miss Artemesia; "and though the 
 task is more difficult than you imagine, I 
 will do my best for you. I will stay with 
 her to-night, and to-morrow morning, if 
 you have leisure to call on me, 1 will let 
 you know the result." 
 
 " I can always find leisure to call on one 
 so generous," exclaimed the judge, " and 
 hope that I will yet be able to show the 
 gratitude of my heart. I cannot say much 
 to my friends, but I think and I remember.' 1 '' 
 
 " You are a flatterer, Mr. Warden," re- 
 plied Miss Artemesia, with a desperate 
 effort to muster a faint blush ; " for 1 know 
 no one can remember me. Indeed, how 
 can I interest a gentleman so intellectual 
 as yourself!" 
 
 " He is not a gentleman, nor intellec- 
 tual," said the gallant judge, " who knows 
 you and takes no interest in you. Ex- 
 
 cuse me for my bluntncss, for my heart is 
 touched." 
 
 "I'll excuse you for this time," said 
 Miss Artemesia, laughing; "but for fear 
 you commit, a more unpardonable sin, Til 
 turn the subject." 
 
 Hereupon, Miss Artemesia Thrilling- 
 pipes got upon books and romances; and 
 after some not very intelligible discourse, 
 the judge took his leave, impressed with 
 the belief that. Miss Artemesia had a good 
 heart and an enquiring mind* but that, her 
 education had been irregular, and her read- 
 ing somewhat desultory. "It is all the 
 fault of the schools," thought, he, "for sho 
 is capable- of the highest polish." 
 
 . CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A SCENE BEHIND THE CURTAIN, AND ONE IN 
 FRONT. 
 
 " And you think him handsome'?" asked 
 Miss Artemesia Thrillingpipes. 
 
 " I did not say that," answered Edith, 
 blushing; "I said he was not such as you 
 represented him, nor is he." 
 
 " There is no accounting for tastes," re- 
 turned Miss Arty, "and, therefore, we'll 
 not quarrel about the matter. Indeed, ho 
 is hardly worth a quarrel." Edith was 
 silent, and Miss Artemesia resumed : "■ I 
 had heard that he was visionary, but 1 was 
 hardly prepared to meet with one so ab- 
 surd and wild in his notions. He is partic- 
 ularly deranged on the subject, of love, and 
 I do not blame you for having forbid him 
 to speak to you." 
 
 '' Who says that I have forbid him to 
 speak to me ?" asked Edith, raising herself 
 in the bed; "it's astonishing how many 
 stories can get in circulation !" 
 
 "If I have told a story, Miss Edith, I 
 have good authority for it. I should sup- 
 pose Mr. Warden himself is good author- 
 ity." 
 
 " Henry Warden never tells a lie," re- 
 plied Edith. 
 
 " Then, I suppose, you don't believe he 
 said so !" 
 
 " If he did he was deceived by some 
 things that have happened, for I know he 
 would not tell a story on any one." 
 
 " Men are very deceiving," said Miss 
 Thrillingpipes, " and, for my part, I don't 
 trust any of them." 
 
 " But I do trust in Henry Warden," an- 
 swered Edith; "and all the world could 
 not make me believe he is deceitful, or 
 would do a mean thing. As for his being 
 absurd in his notions, people may differ-m 
 opinion. -I have mine, and 1 shall never 
 change it." 
 
 " Take care, Edith, you may rue the day 
 you have been so confiding. You may yet 
 be deceived and betrayed." 
 
 " If I am it will not be by Mr. Warden. 
 
ALA M A N C E. 
 
 53 
 
 I could trust my life and my honour in his 
 hands, and feel as safe as if my own father 
 was watching over me." 
 
 " Out at last !" exclaimed Miss Arteme- 
 sia : " I knew you loved him. The beating 
 of this little heart tells me so. Am I not 
 right, sweet child ]" 
 
 Edith was confused and disgusted at the 
 familiarities of her new friend ; but, shock- 
 ed as her sensibilities were, she was too 
 amiable and too regardful of Miss Arteme- 
 sia's feelings to show her displeasure. She 
 therefore covered her head and said noth- 
 ing; when her companion proceeded: 
 
 " Why do you not make a confident of 
 me, Edith ] I love you as if you were my 
 sister, and I'm sure I'd keep your secret 
 •as sacred as if it were my own. You 
 need not fear me, for every one trusts me 
 with their love affairs. " 
 
 " Please let's go to sleep," said Edith, 
 * for I'm very tired. Would you believe 
 it] I have walked six miles to-day, and 
 done a great many other things besides. 
 Father has a negro quarter about two miles 
 from here, and I have been there to carry 
 some medicines and sweet things to Aunt 
 Hannah, who is very old and sickly ; then 
 I went to see old Mother Johnson, whom 
 I visit once a-week, and who calls me her 
 chatterbox ; then I went to see if the 
 Causeys, who are very poor, needed any 
 thing, and from there I came home. Six 
 miles did I say] It's more than that, for 
 it's two to father's quarter, two from there 
 to Mother Johnson's " 
 
 "Edith," said Miss Thrillingpipes, inter- 
 rupting her calculation, "nevermind about 
 the number of miles. I have a secret of 
 great importance to communicate to you, 
 and it deeply concerns you as well as me. 
 Will you swear to me never to tell to any 
 one what I am going to relate to you]" 
 
 "1 would not. swear to save my life," 
 answered Edith ; " but I'll promise." 
 
 " Will you also be as candid with me as 
 I am with you ] We are both interested 
 in this matter." 
 
 " I will not tell you a story," said Edith. 
 
 "You must know, then," resumed Miss 
 Artemesia, "that I had good reasons for 
 speaking to you as I have about Henry 
 Warden. Pie has actually had the impu- 
 dence to make love to me— lie still, my 
 dear, and hear me out. He has made love 
 to me— don't be so fidgety — and has tried to 
 make me believe that he never addressed 
 you, and never loved you— .I'll get up if 
 you can't be more quiet. He said it was 
 all a story about his being fond of you : 
 that you and he had been friendly and inti- 
 mate, and that all at once you got mad 
 at him, abused and insulted him, and 
 tried to show your spite in various ways. 
 He acknowledged that he had written to 
 you, but he declared most solemnly that 
 lie md it only because he respected your 
 
 father, and did not wish to be at enmity 
 with the daughter of a man he esteemed so 
 much. I did not believe him, but he was 
 so earnest that 1 thought I would consult 
 you before I gave him an answer. He is 
 too much of a boy for me, any how, but I 
 thought I would find him out before Idis- 
 carded him, and give him such an answer 
 as he deserves. Are you asleep] Edith, 
 child, what ails you ] Can't you speak to 
 me ]" 
 
 " I don't want, to talk," answered Edith, 
 with a voice that sounded asjf it were in 
 fact difficult for her to articulate a word. 
 
 " My dear, sweet child," said Miss Arty, 
 " I am almost sorry I told you of Henry 
 Warden's duplicity; but it. is better for 
 you to hear of it now than hereafter. 
 What, a base heart he must have so to de- 
 ceive an innocent and confiding girl ; and 
 me, yes, me too, be has tried to injure ! But 
 it's not too late to punish him, and we will 
 do it. I feel exceedingly indignant at his 
 attempted tricks, for flow I know that he 
 has been tampering with you, and told me 
 a falsehood. Come, child, don't weep so ; 
 why, you sob as if your heart were break- 
 ing. Dry your tears, and let us consult 
 how we shall take revenge." 
 
 " He hasn't injured me," replied Edith 
 Mayfield, sobbing convulsively ; " and, if he 
 had, I don't want to hurt him. It's all my 
 fault, and God knows I am paying dearly 
 for it. Please don't talk to me any more." 
 
 Miss Artemesia slept soundly, and dream- 
 ed sweetly that night ; but her young com- 
 panion did not close her eyes ; and never 
 did a fevered patient look more impatiently 
 for the dawn. 
 
 At early light the latter was up ; and, 
 for the first time in her life, she surveyed 
 with some attention the reflection of her 
 charms in the mirror. She did not believe 
 she was very handsome, but she could not 
 but contrast the fresh roses of her cheeks, 
 the starry lustre of her eyes, and the deli- 
 cate symmetry of her form with the angu- 
 lar person, the dry and yellow skin, and 
 the frightful looks of her who was just 
 rising from her couch. They say, thought 
 Edith, that Henry is a visionary, and sees 
 strange things that other folks cannot see ; 
 it must be so if he loves that horrid wom- 
 an. He can't love her; he don't love her; 
 and therefore she must have told me a lie. 
 But would a young lady commit such a 
 sin] When she asked herself this ques- 
 tion she looked again at her late bed-mate, 
 and she became satisfied that Miss Arte- 
 mesia would be more likely to tell a lie 
 than Henry Warden. Nevertheless, she 
 was still troubled with anxious doubts, and 
 as soon as her visiter left, she hurried to 
 her father's quarter to see the-faithful old 
 Hannah. 
 
 On the same morning, Henry Warden, 
 according to promise, called on Miss Arte- 
 
54 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 mesia Thrillingpipes, and was welcomed 
 in such a benignant manner that he almost 
 believed he would hear favourable news. 
 
 " Tell me at once, Miss Arty," said he ; 
 " for I can talk about nothing else till I 
 know t^/e success of your errand." 
 
 " Edith is very pretty," answered Miss 
 Thrillingpipes. ' 
 
 " She's beautiful," rejoined the judge 
 with animation ; " and that is not all, she's 
 as good as she's beautiful." . 
 
 " Good," replied Miss Arty, " is a word 
 used with various meanings. That Edith 
 is a good sort of a girl, in the common 
 sense of the word, I have no doubt ; for 
 she seems amiable enough. It is not, 
 however, for such as you to call her good, 
 Mr. Warden." 
 
 " What do you mean V asked the judge ; 
 " I don't understand you." 
 
 " I mean that no one is good who can- 
 not appreciate a gentleman like you. Poor 
 Edith is a giddy young girl, with a head 
 filled with novelties? She thinks only of 
 beaux, dresses, the latest fashions, the 
 latest gossip, and all such trifles. I could 
 make nothing out of her." 
 
 " That was because you were somewhat 
 of a stranger to her," said Henry W T arden, 
 " and she was afraid to confide in 3'ou. 
 When you know her better, you will find 
 her totally different from what you now 
 think her." 
 
 " Perhaps I may," returned Miss Arty ; 
 "but I flatter myself I am a pretty good 
 judge of character. I can tell from the 
 bud what the flower will be." 
 
 "What did she say about mel" asked 
 Warden : " Why did she return my let- 
 ters 1 What does she think of me ?" 
 
 " All I could get out of her," answered 
 Miss Thrillingpipes, "was that she hoped 
 Mr. Warden would pester her no more. 
 Those were her very words. She said 
 she believed you were half-cracked, and 
 made herself merry over some of the most 
 beautiful passages in your letters. I am 
 astonished that a gentleman of your sa- 
 gacity should have been so deceived in 
 her. Still, when I get better acquainted, 
 I may find her different." 
 
 " She surely didn't repeat any passages 
 from my letters, and laugh at them, did 
 she?" 
 
 " I don't think she recollected the words ; 
 it was only the sentiment she ridiculed." 
 
 " Never, never shall I like woman again !" 
 exclaimed Warden, passionately. " Hence- 
 forth I am done with the sex forever !" 
 
 " Shame, shame on you, Mr. Warden, 
 for permitting the silly fancies of one giddy 
 girl to make you so ungallant. All ladies 
 are not alike ; for I know there are some 
 who can appreciate the tender sensibility 
 of a heart like yours." 
 
 And here Miss Artemesia Thrillingpipes 
 put on her most intellectually pensive 
 
 looks, while her eyes gleamed with im- 
 mortal and inexpressible tenderness. 
 
 " If Edith Mayfield is what you say she 
 is, I care not what the others are," said 
 the judge ; " and -never shall care to know. 
 I had rather believe she is an angel than 
 to know others really are." 
 
 " I forgive you for the left-handed com- 
 pliment," replied Miss Artemesia, serious- 
 ly ; " for I know you will some day find 
 out who can and does understand you." 
 
 " I know now that you are my friend," 
 replied Henry, rising and holding out his 
 hand ; " and cold will be my heart when I 
 forget your kindness. Farewell !" 
 
 Miss Thrillingpipes softly pressed his 
 hand, and gave him a look whose fright- 
 ful pathos would have deranged his deli- 
 cate nerves had he not been in a condition 
 to notice nothing. On the road he over- 
 took old Hannah, who was hobbling to- 
 wards his father's, and who handed him a 
 sealed paper. He opened it, and found 
 only his farewell verses ; and in regard to 
 the return of which Hannah could make 
 no explanations, except that Miss Eddie 
 told her to give the paper to Master Henry. 
 
 For once in his life the judge made a 
 safe confident. Struck with the honest 
 and intelligent face of the old negress, he 
 explained to her the character and object 
 of the verses, told her of the mission of 
 Miss Artemesia Thrillingpipes, and of its 
 result, and declared that every effort he 
 made to find out the sentiments of Edith 
 only involved him in deeper mystery. He 
 had hopes of gleaning something from 
 Hannah ; but the slave, from ignorance or 
 fidelity, could give him no satisfactory in- 
 formation, and he returned home to pass a 
 night as wretched as the last one had been 
 to Edith. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " I'd rather meet 
 A witch far north than a fine fool in love." 
 Thos. Middleton. 
 
 " Phil Blister, also, to his great joy, 
 found a sincere friend in Miss Artemesia 
 Thrillingpipes. The truth is, things had 
 come to such a pass with Phil, and his 
 matrimonial prospects were so dull, that the 
 main question with him was not ' whom 
 shall I marry 1 ?' but 'whom can I get?' 
 Such a character (I mean the wife-hunter) 
 is of all others the most disagreeable to 
 me, excepting only the woman who is 
 rabid for a husband." 
 
 These remarks are taken from the mas- 
 ter's notes, and are prefatory to some in- 
 teresting incidents connected with the sub- 
 jects of love and romance. That devotee 
 of both, Miss ArtemesiaThrillingpipes, won 
 daily on the confidence of Henry Warden, 
 whom she fed with vain hopes of hearing 
 something definite from Edith Mayfield. 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 55 
 
 Now, Phil Blister noticed the frequent 
 visits of the judge, and, inflamed with jeal- 
 ousy, and satisfied that the lady of his 
 heart was an object of interest to every 
 one, he briskly pushed on his suit. Miss 
 Artemesia, believing that she had three 
 strings to her bow, and having mentally 
 arranged her suitors into a sort of sliding- 
 scale, at the top of which was the judge, 
 and at the bottom Phil Blister, , was not in 
 a hurry to make up her mind in regard to 
 the latter's proposals. Thus was Phil in 
 great mental agony for several weeks, and, 
 putting all his wits to work, and riding day 
 and night, he fairly deluged the neighbour- 
 hood with lies. He gave no credit to the 
 solemn asseverations of the master and 
 the judge, that they had no designs on the 
 susceptible heart of Miss Artemesia, and 
 even thought Uncle Corny was also smit- 
 ten. So convinced was he that his mis- 
 tress was a universal belle, reigning in the 
 hearts of all, that there is no telling what 
 might have happened had not a fortunate 
 accident intervened. Miss Artemesia's 
 brother found it necessary, in the prosecu- 
 tion of the business of his mission, to pay 
 a short visit to Virginia, and his wife and 
 her sister accompanied him thither. The 
 last-named, before she left, promised to 
 correspond with the judge, and was to 
 write the first letter in order to let him 
 know where to direct his. She was not 
 long in redeeming her promise ; and as the 
 letter was followed by important conse- 
 quences, and is in itself a curiosity, as a 
 specimen of the epistolary abilities of a 
 literary and sentimental lady, we give it 
 entire, leaving out only the date and the 
 name of the place where it was composed. 
 The master preserved it with great care, 
 as a most precious document ; and as we 
 therefore copy from the original, which 
 can be inspected by any one, we hope we 
 will not be accused of having added to or 
 taken from this rare production. 
 
 Miss Artemesia to Henry Warden. 
 
 " I hope you will not think, Mr. Warden, that, 
 because 1 have not written sooner, I have for- 
 gotten you or the dear scenes we have passed 
 together at Alamance. Oh, no ! I never can 
 forget you, and have not ceased to think of you 
 every moment since we parted ; hut the truth 
 is, I have been much pestered by the calls of 
 gentlemen, and by invitations to parties. I am 
 compelled, out of politeness, to go to these places, 
 though I never had much fancy for them, being 
 always of a retiring disposition. I often think 
 when the silly dandies are crowding round me, 
 and teasing me with their disgusting flattery, 
 of the lines of my favourite poet Crusoe : 
 ' O for a lodge in some vast wilderness, 
 Some boundless ambiguity of shade !' 
 
 And I may add — 
 
 Where ladies are not fond of dress, 
 And no compliments are paid. 
 
 Thus, you will perceive, I am a sort of poetess 
 myself, though it is very hard for me to write 
 
 my bounding and cerulean thoughts. I often 
 feel poetical indeed, especially in the dim si- 
 lence of the night, when all are locked in the 
 arms of Orpheus, and my eyes only are watch- 
 ing the desultory stars in the void expanse 
 above; but I never yet could acquire any do- 
 cility for making rhymes. And, by the way, 
 speaking of poetry, reminds me of a scene in 
 one of Shakspeare's plays — I think it is in the 
 Prince of Hamlet, where Othello says — 
 
 'I had rather be a cat, and cry mew, than a poet.' 
 Now, will you not agree with me that these 
 were not the author's own sentiments ; for was 
 he not agreat and extraneous poet himself? 
 And were not Sallust, Cato, and Mark Anthony 
 poets among the ancients 1 And were not Mil- 
 ton, Plutarch, Hudibras, and Cromwell poets 
 among the moderns'! And yet who was greater 
 than these? I am a lover of poets and poetry, 
 and I think it the most pleasant reading in the 
 world. With what pleasure have I devoured ' 
 ' the Crusades,' by Julius Caesar, and the ro- 
 mantic wars between the Dutch and Trojans in 
 the fifteenth century ! How have I melted at 
 the tale of the forlorn Dido, whose heart was 
 broken by Henry the Eighth on his return from 
 the Holy Land, and kindled at the strains of the 
 immortal Avon ! I love, too, to read of Richard 
 the Black Prince, who drove the Moors out of 
 Africa. But my favourite hero is Falstaff, who 
 overthrew the Pyramids in a pitched battle, and 
 routed the Troubadours on the plains of Sala- 
 manca, where he left seventy-five thousand 
 dead Saracens on the field. O that I had some 
 one to talk to about these things ! — some kin- 
 dred spirit, like your own, to laugh with me 
 over the humour of the immortal Coke, and 
 weep at the mournful fall of the gallant Goths 
 in Constantinople ! — to tread the flowery fields 
 of Bacon's fancy, and wander, in imagination, 
 through the now deserted streets of Carthage, 
 where Virgil's song is heard no more, and 
 merry ^Esop's tavern lies in ruins ! But I am 
 out of place ; I am among a people who do not 
 understand me, and between whom and myself 
 there is no communion of soul. To show you 
 what sort of gentlemen we have, I will describe 
 to you the belles whom they most admire. Miss 
 Squizzleborough is thought to sing divinely, 
 and yet I had as soon hear a pig in the last ag- 
 onies of death, or the screaming of a hundred 
 and fifty cats all at once. Miss Saddletree is 
 admired for her smartness, and, would you be- 
 lieve me, she cannot tell whether Alexander ¥ 
 the Great or the Duke of Marlborough gained 
 the great battle of Charlemagne, and did not 
 know, until I informed her, that the Prince of 
 Wales is the Governor of Gibraltar, and the 
 chancellor of the woolsack the chief of the 
 Highland Clans. When I told her that the wild 
 Irish were caught in Patagonia, and that the 
 pensioned poets of England generally resided 
 on the Peak of Tenerifle, she seemed as much, 
 astonished as if she had heard some new and 
 startling intelligence. The other two fashion- 
 able toasts, Miss Pendergrass and Miss Riggles, 
 are famous — the one for her beauty, and the 
 other for her dancing. The beautiful lady 
 has carroty hair, eyes more like a New-Eng- 
 land fog than any thing else I can think of just 
 now, and is good for nothing but to ogle and 
 show her teeth ; while the celebrated dancer 
 
56 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 bounces through the room like a showman on 
 a spring-board. I am not envious; gracious 
 knows, I have attentions enough paid to me, 
 without wishing any more from the rustic gen- 
 tlemen of the place, not one of whom lias ever 
 read Pluto, or resembles Jupiter, Syphax.orDon 
 Quixote, or any of the other heroes of Shak- 
 speare's tragedies. When I think, my friend, 
 how few are like you — when I reflect, as I often 
 do, on my lonely and desolated situation, I feel 
 half disposed to turn Pope, and retire into a 
 monastery where I can spend rny life in med- 
 itation, and in the perusal of such romances as 
 the sweet and touching loves of Sancho Panza 
 and Rosa Nautz. If I do, I shall still remem- 
 ber you, and shall constantly pray that you may 
 find some one who can depreciate as she ought 
 the sensibility of a heart like yours, and who 
 will regard you with that fraternal composure 
 which shall forever bOrn in my kindred breast 
 for you. Don't forget to write soon, and at 
 length. I shall devour your letter, and hope 
 you will dila>e at large, with that kindling so- 
 phistry -with which you are so eloquent, and 
 which I so much delight to hear. Brother and 
 sister send their love, and I my respects and 
 my sincere wishes for your utter and total fe- 
 licity here and hereafter. Adieu ! 
 
 " Artemesie. 
 "P. S. — Just before I left Alamance, I heard 
 Edith speak very lightly of you. I hope you 
 have forgotten your unhappy passion for that 
 giddy girl. You will never be yourself uniil 
 you tear her from your heart, of which she is so 
 totally unworthy." 
 
 The master, to whom Henry Warden 
 exhibited this extraordinary epistle, pe- 
 rused it over and over again, first silently 
 and then aloud, falling, at each time, into 
 convulsions of laughter. He finally read 
 it sentence by sentence, wjth a running 
 and extempore commentary on each, and 
 for an hour at least he and the judge were 
 so merry that they forgot all their earthly 
 cares and sorrows. Many of the remarks 
 of M'Bride are preserved in his notes; but 
 as they are extremely caustic and unmer- 
 cifully humorous, and as some of the rela- 
 tives and friends of Miss Thrillingpipes are 
 still in existence, and may read these pages, 
 we feel disposed to save their feelings even 
 by withholding what might be highly ac- 
 ceptable to others. 'The two friends un- 
 derstood at once the character and designs 
 of the writer ; and the master, for the sake 
 of fun, was for keeping up the currespoiwl- 
 ence. The judge, however, was already 
 sick of the game, and immediately com- 
 posed the following answer: 
 
 "Alamance, 17 — 
 
 "Mr. Henry Warden offers his grateful ac- 
 knowledgments to Miss Thrillingpipes for the 
 high opinion she has expressed of him in her 
 
 letter of the , and desires, by this note, to 
 
 close the correspondence. He is of opinion 
 that false impressions might be produced by 
 farther intimacy, and as Mr. Philemon Blister 
 is already jealous of him, he »va:'.-s himself of 
 the occasion to say that he is not and expects 
 
 not to be that gentleman's rival. Mr. W. will, 
 remember Miss Artemesia for the kind and 
 faithful manner in which she complied wiih his 
 request to bring about a reconciliation between 
 himself and his friend Miss E. H. W." 
 
 Hector M'Bride was perfectly enraptured 
 with this note, and immediately carried it 
 and Miss Artemesia's to Editli May-field, to 
 whom he handed them to read, and who, 
 after their perusal felt her innocent heart 
 fairly dance within her. To prevent, her 
 father from observing her emotion, she 
 hastened to her own chamber, and there, 
 falling on her knees, poured out the grateful 
 offerings of her sinless breast to Heaven; 
 and then, throwing herself ou her bed, 
 wept for hours in an ecstasy of pleasure. 
 The master returned with information of 
 what he had done, and of Edith's abrupt 
 departure from the room, and was tolera- 
 bly certain that he saw several tears drop 
 from her eyes as site ran. Warden's note 
 was duly despatched, and as we are now 
 on the subject, we will extract from the , 
 master's notes the conclusion of Phil Blis- 
 ter's history. 
 
 "I may as well," writes he, "make a 
 finish of these characters at once, without 
 awaiting the order of events or stopping 
 now to record previous and more import- 
 ant matters. Philemon Blister and Henry 
 Warden's note reached Miss Thrillingpipes 
 about the same time ; and if the coldness of 
 the latter threw her into convulsions of 
 rage, the warmth of the former acted as 
 an extremely soothing balm to her wounded 
 heart. Although 1 am confident that Phil 
 never read a book through in his life, and 
 had about as intelligible an idea of senti- 
 ment as a man born blind has of colours, 
 he found little difficulty in engaging him- 
 self to the romantic and accomplished Ar- 
 temesia Thrillingpipes. She now, no doubt 
 to enhance her value in her lover's eyes, 
 informed him that Henry Warden and my- 
 self had been at. her feet, and that Uncle 
 Corny had long been desirous of offering 
 himself as a candidate for her hand, but she 
 never could endure his presence. Twice, 
 she said, she had rejected my proposals, 
 and thrice those of the judge, and intimated, 
 in terms by no means ambiguous, that she 
 had fled to Virginia to get rid of our im- 
 portunities. Was not Phil happy at this 
 information'? Did he not feel like Tain 
 O'Shanter, 
 
 ' O'er all the ills of life victorious ?' 
 
 As my friend, Cornelius Demijohn would 
 say, to be sure he did. He forthwith h;:d 
 the blooming and blushing Thrillingpipes 
 united indissolubly to himself, he and his 
 friends regarding the achievement as hav- 
 ing no parallel except the abduction of 
 Helen and the fall of Troy, since the gen- 
 eral deluge. His nuptials were celebrated 
 with great pomp and rejoicings at Aia- 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 57 
 
 Tnnnce, and indeed the whole community 
 felt relieved at his marriage. As for Phil 
 himself, satisfied that he had done what 
 ■was beyond the powers' of any other mor- 
 tal man. he shed his buffoon character, 
 strode about with a consequential air, and 
 became a man 'of settled visage and de- 
 liberate speech.,' His thrice happy bride 
 seemed to pily (lie bachelor condition of 
 the judge and myself, rallied us with play- 
 ful spite on our' inability to get us wives, 
 and exhorted us to keep trying, as no doubt 
 we might yet find some one who would 
 have us. Thus have 1 followed the for- 
 tunes of Philemon Blister and Miss Arte- 
 mesia Thrillingpipes to the beginning of 
 their matrimonial career, and here 1 take 
 leave of them forever. It is usual, in 
 novels, tales, and histories, to conduct the 
 characters to their exit Irom the world, 
 and there bid them adieu. I have done 
 more than this towards Phil and his wife ; 
 I have recorded their lives up to what is 
 called in law the civil death of the female, 
 and have dared to go still farther, and see 
 them each landed in what proved to be the 
 worst of purgatories to both, the society 
 of each other." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE EXHIBITION. 
 
 Most of the incidents recorded in the 
 last few chapters occurred within a short 
 space of lime. They happened without 
 impeding the regular course of things at 
 Alamance, where the master still busied- 
 himself with the affairs of his little king- 
 dom, and where the judge and his school- 
 mates still prosecuted their studies. In 
 fact, the end of the session was near at 
 hand, and as it approached, the exhibition 
 became the absorbing topic of conversa- 
 tion with old and young. It was similar 
 to our modern commencements, being a 
 grand gala day, when there were public ex- 
 ercises by the students, and which were wit- 
 nessed by the parents of the scholars, and 
 all others who took an interest in the cause 
 of education. Great preparations were, of 
 course, made, and for wee'ks previous the 
 boys daily rehearsed before the master, and 
 in the presence of each other, speeches, 
 plays, and dialogues; the grounds around 
 the school-house were cleanly swept, and 
 decorated by the girls wiih the nicest care, 
 and workmen were engaged in preparing 
 seats. All, from the master down to the 
 smallest scholar, got new suits of clothes 
 for this occasion, which many regarded as 
 the most important era in their lives. 
 
 The day, the eventful day, so anxiously 
 expected, come at last. It was in the 
 month of April, just after the vacant throne 
 of Winter had been occupied by her more 
 gentle sister, Spring, whose advent was 
 
 merrily hailed by her unnumbered choirs 
 of gay and feathered minstrels, and whose 
 smile awoke a fresh bloom on the wan 
 and faded cheek of Nature, now crowned 
 with buds and blossoms, and shining in the 
 green robes of her early youth. At an 
 early hour the seats were rilled by the la- 
 dies; and the boys, awkwardly wearing 
 their fine new clothes, were shivering in 
 the house, looking wistfully at the gather- 
 ing crowd, and feeling like culprits who 
 were that day to be led out to execution. 
 All the patrons of the school, and all their 
 relations — all Alamance, with a sprinkling 
 of gallants from distant parts, were there. 
 We said all Alamance, but we should have 
 excepted the Glutsons and George War- 
 den and his wife, the latter two of whom 
 were .absent because their son was to be 
 one of the speakers. At ten o'clock in the 
 morning the curtain rose, and Corny Demi- 
 john, marshal for the day, and arrayed in 
 a suit of faded uniform, stepped out upon 
 the stage. On his head sat a fierce three- 
 cornered cap, a huge red sash -glittered 
 round his waist, and his coat being button- 
 ed to the chin, its long and slender skirts 
 stood widely and stiffly apart, as if too 
 proud to touch each other. Next after 
 Marshal Corny came two negro fiddlers, 
 then the students, ranged two abreast, and, 
 lastly, the clowns or fools in masks and 
 comic dresses, and acting as lieutenants. 
 Uncle Corny, conscious that every eye 
 was bent on him, with his gaze fixed 
 sternly on a point in the distant horizon, 
 his head thrown back, and the point of his 
 sword resting on his shoulder, strode off 
 with the step of an ancient Titan; the fid- 
 dlers, feeling as Uncle Corny did, scraped 
 away as if they were performing the grand 
 finale of all mortal fiddling ; the clowns, 
 believing they were the objects of general • 
 attraction, acted accordingly, and each 
 student, thinking that he himself fixed ev- 
 ery gaze, felt his heart throb within him, 
 and envied the courage and coolness of 
 fiddlers and commanders. In this way the 
 column marched off to the spring, and per- 
 forming a circuit, wheeled, and started to 
 the hotise. The military pride of the com- 
 mander-in-chief, low getting the mastery 
 over his judgment, and forgetting every 
 thing else except the happy opportunity of 
 displaying his skill, he undertook to carry 
 his men through certain difficult evolutions. 
 Of course his soldiers were raw at the 
 business, and hence, by the assistance of 
 his frisky lieutenants, who perverted all 
 the commands, he had some wheeling to 
 the right and some to the left, some fa- 
 cing north and some facing south, some 
 whirling round and some deploying into 
 squads, till the whole were brought to a 
 dead halt in a confused and solid mass. 
 " Forward, by one, inarch !" cried Marshal 
 Corny, in a fury of passion. "To the 
 
58 
 
 ALAMANC E. 
 
 right, by platoons, wheel; rear fronting 
 flank, and flank crosswise !" shouted one 
 lieutenant; "Front ranks face backwards, 
 and centre wheel towards Sunday !" shout- 
 ed the other. Thus they had it, all three 
 of the commanders talking at once ; the 
 fiddlers playing different tunes, and the 
 boys running against and falling over each 
 other, till Uncle Corny, overcome by rage, 
 applied his foot so fiercely to his lieuten- 
 ants, that they gave a respectful attention 
 to his commands. He thus finally got his 
 men into a line, made them fire several 
 rounds with their horsemen's pistols, and 
 got them all safely back into the house 
 without any other accident except one 
 which befel himself. As he strode up the 
 steps of the stage, one of the clowns tripped 
 his legs from under him, and sent him with 
 an accelerated velocity into the lap of a 
 fat widow who sat near. She, in her turn, 
 went over, seizing, as she went, the lame 
 leg of an old gentleman, and sending him 
 some distance forward, his spectacled face 
 striking furiously against the bare head of 
 a screaming urchin. 
 
 Thus they tumbled, one upon another, 
 the crowd in great excitement rushing to- 
 wards them, some shouting " fire," and 
 some crying " murder," and many of them 
 falling over those already down, until Un- 
 cle Corny and the widow formed the base 
 of a circular pyramid of prostrate bodies, 
 and were nearly suffocated in each other's 
 embraces. It was well for the clown that 
 the widow was one of those chiefly affect- 
 ed by his trick, for her influence only could 
 restrain Demijohn from running his sword 
 through the body of the author of the ac- 
 cident. Order was at last restored, and at 
 the sound of a bell the curtain again rose, 
 when a white-haired boy, with his shirt- 
 • collar sawing his ears, his eyes starting 
 from their sockets, and fingers twitching 
 nervously at his pantaloons, advanced a 
 few paces, and halting, dipped his head for- 
 wards as if he would pitch it at the audi- 
 ence. Everybody knows how boys speak 
 "in public on the stage," and the Alamance 
 boys were not an exception to the general 
 rule! 
 
 After the eloquent efforts of two or three 
 of the smaller scholars, and after the play- 
 ing of two or three animated tunes by the 
 fiddlers, the rising of the curtain disclosed 
 Ben Rust, who, with a series of low bows 
 to those in front and at his sides, advan- 
 ced to the edge of the stage. Here he halt- 
 ed, made another profound and oriental 
 salaam, and smiling on the crowd general- 
 ly, and winking specially at two or three 
 of his friends, the loud tones of his stento- 
 rian voice suddenly burst on the astonished 
 audience like a clap of thunder, and Ben 
 was soon some distance in the oration of 
 Cicero against Verres. He stood with his 
 arms hanging at his sides, his mouth 
 
 stretched to its widest limit, and his voice 
 at its very highest pitch, paying no at- 
 tention to stops and periods, and often 
 halting in the middle of a sentence. At 
 these occasional pauses, made at regular 
 intervals, and without reference to the 
 sense of his speech, he would violently 
 flourish his arms through the air at imagi- 
 nary foes before and around him, by way 
 of performing, at these intervals, the ne- 
 cessary amount of gesticulation for that 
 part of his oration last gone over. Now 
 it happened that one of Rust's friends was 
 perched upon a tree near by, and this wor- 
 thy, being carried away by the stormy 
 eloquence of his crony, forgot himself*, 
 and in his excitement shouting " whoorah 
 for Ben !" the limb on which he sat broke, 
 and he came with a crash to the ground, 
 finishing the sentence as he fell. Ben's . 
 attention was arrested by the scene, and 
 his ideas began to swim into each other. 
 At a loss for words, he changed his posi- 
 tion, bowed, and gesticulated. Still, not 
 being able to remember where he had left 
 off, he again bowed, boxed furiously at a 
 circle of ideal antagonists, and took a new 
 position. The master, whose prompting 
 from within Rust could not hear, now 
 started on the stage ; but Ben waved him 
 back with his hand, and on a new key 
 commenced a new discourse, reciting, 
 without pause, emphasis, or varied tone, 
 
 " The starry firmament on high." 
 
 " And now, my Christin friends and feller 
 sinners," said he, " my spoutin's over for 
 the day. Our old friend Proximus made 
 us all git two speeches, one for the mornin 
 and one for-the evenin, but I thought while 
 my hand was in I mout as well make a 
 lumpin job of the whole consarn, and, as 
 the sayin is, kill two birds with one stone. - 
 I never was good at the oratories no how, 
 and when you put me on a discourse of an 
 old heathen Greek or Tartar I'm sure to . 
 make a mess of it ; but if any body will 
 jist give me a speech on liberty I guess I'd 
 shew you how to make the fur fly some. 
 Thank you for your attention." 
 
 Notwithstanding the admirable grace 
 with which Ben thus redeemed his failure, 
 the master was greatly mortified, and de- 
 termined to play his best card next. Henry 
 Warden, by his assistance, had composed 
 an original address on the wrongs of the 
 American Colonies, and this, according 
 to the first design, was to conclude the 
 exercises of the day. M'Bride, however, 
 altered the arrangement, and ordered the 
 music to strike up and the curtain to be 
 let down, and when it rose again, the judge, 
 pale and agitated, came forward. After 
 pausing a few moments to master his 
 emotion, he commenced with a low and 
 tremulous voice, which could be heard only 
 by those on the front seats. Gathering 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 59 
 
 confidence as he advanced, his manner be- 
 came more easy, natural, and bold, his 
 voice swelled louder, firmer, and richer, 
 and his eye flashed with contagious ani- 
 mation. He was soon master of himself 
 and of the hearts of all his excited and 
 delighted auditors, when suddenly, and in 
 the midst of the crowd, a voice exclaimed, 
 "stop the traitor!" It was a single and 
 an unknown voice, but it struck solemnly 
 on every ear, and instantly there was a 
 profound and painful silence. The cry of 
 treason was even then a fearful sound, and 
 the assembly sat in hushed and breathless 
 expectation, each one gazing anxiously and 
 enquiringly at his neighbour. As the judge 
 looked round for the author of the alarm, 
 his gaze met that of Edith Mayfield. Her 
 cheeks were tinged with a hectic glow, 
 her large, deep, dark eyes beamed with 
 unearthly dight, and her whole face was 
 lit up with the fervid feelings and unutter- 
 able thoughts that were burning in her 
 heaving breast. Slowly, earnestly, and 
 solemnly the young orator resumed his 
 speech, steadily watching the impression 
 made on his hearers, and strongly empha- 
 sizing every bold and startling passage. 
 "As for me," said he in conclusion, "my 
 first and fiercest hatred was for the tyrant, 
 my first impressions of history were caught 
 from the simple yet glowing page that re- 
 cords his atrocities, my first, most ardent, 
 and most, lasting love was the love of 
 liberty — liberty of conscience, liberty of 
 speech, and liberty of action. And by the 
 favor of Heaven, though all other blessings 
 be denied me — though fortune prove false 
 and friends forsake me, and envy, malice, 
 and detraction pursue and dog me — yea, 
 even though death itself, in all its horrors, 
 frown before me, while I tread this green 
 earth I shall walk it with the erect soul of a 
 freeman, living as I was born and dying as 
 I have lived, unfettered by any chains that 
 man can forge, and owning no master but 
 God my maker !" A few moments after 
 he had finished, and while he was yet on 
 the stage blushing at the buzz of approba- 
 tion that ran through the crowd, and the 
 encomiums of the master, who held him 
 by the hand, "Arrest him in the king's 
 name !" startled every one, and Ross, with 
 William Glutson and a few others were 
 seen ascending the stage. " To the res- 
 cue ! to the rescue !" shouted Uncle Corny, 
 brandishing his sword in his hand, and 
 trampling over the crowd that stood in his 
 way. " To the rescue !" echoed and re- 
 echoed others, and immediately the stage 
 was covered with men, and the royalist 
 party flung headlong from it. They fell 
 among an infuriated multitude, and amid 
 the shrieks and screams of women were 
 heard the stern threats for vengeance and 
 calls for blood, and loud and defiant shouts 
 for Congress and for George the Third. 
 
 Oaths were mingled with entreaties and 
 expostulations, dirks were drawn, pistols 
 fired, and rocks went whizzing through 
 the air, till at length the authority of the 
 more moderate ones prevailed and peace 
 was restored. The royalists, smothering 
 their resentment and covered with blood 
 and dust, drew moodily off, and while they 
 were yet in sight, Ben Rust, Avho was fran- 
 tic with pleasurable excitement, bounced 
 upon the stage and called for three cheers 
 for Henry Warden and Liberty. Three wild 
 cheers rang through those old woods, and 
 hats, caps, and it is even said bonnets flew 
 thick through the air, not a few of them 
 falling and lodging on the roof of the house. 
 Three cheers for Uncle Corny were called 
 for and given ; three for the master, and 
 three for the parson, whereupon this last, 
 carried away by his enthusiasm, rushed 
 upon the platform, and waving his hand- 
 kerchief above his head, called out, " And 
 now my hearties, three times three glori- 
 ous, cheers for liberty and independence !" 
 Loud, wild, and hearty were those cheers 
 indeed, but they were fearful sounds to 
 some in that assembly. Among these was 
 Isaiah Mayfield, whose heart quaked at 
 every shout, and who, that he might not 
 be compromised by the proceedings of the 
 now stormy multitude, hastily prepared 
 to leave. After searching long for his 
 daughter, he found her at last in a remote 
 part of the crowd, and in the act of re- 
 ceiving a slip of paper from Henry War- 
 den. " Daughter, daughter !" exclaimed 
 the old man, mad with alarm ; and Edith 
 dropped the paper from her trembling fin- 
 gers, while the tears glistened in her eyes 
 as she gave one last, sad look to the judge, 
 and took her father's arm. Henry would 
 have explained, but the cautious and dis- 
 creet Mayfield never could endure an ex- 
 planation, always clinging with the tena- 
 city of death to his first opinions and im- 
 pressions, while his suspicions, however 
 aroused, still grew darker and darker. As 
 he went off, almost dragging his weeping 
 daughter, there was some disposition to 
 hiss him ; but the master was now on the 
 stage and called for silence. " Let them 
 go in peace," said he, "let them go who 
 have no stomach for the fight. As we are 
 about to take a great step and assume a 
 mighty responsibility, I will say to you 
 all, my friends, as the Lord said to Gideon 
 on Mount Gilead, ' whoever is fearful and 
 afraid let him return and depart early,' for 
 we want no timid souls among our host. 
 My friends, 'Othello's occupation's gone,' 
 the schoolmaster's vocation is over for 
 the present, and God knows when it will 
 be resumed. It is said that inter anna 
 silent leges, and I may say the same of 
 letters, for I cannot teach while ' grim- 
 visaged war' still shows his ' wrinkled 
 front.' Yes, my friends and countrymen. 
 
60 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 the terrible blast of war has sounded 
 through our peaceful borders ; a struggle 
 has commenced, and it must end in our 
 slavery or in our glorious emancipation. 
 I, for one, have no fears ; I, for one, be- 
 lieve that the Great Ruler of nations is 
 now about to effect one of his grandest 
 purposes. The magnus ordo sceclorum is 
 about to begin: a new era is dawning; 
 man is about to be redeemed frfltai bond- 
 age. I cannot sit idle while this struggle 
 is going on ; 1 must exchange the rod for 
 the sword, and act my part. And you, my 
 beloved scholars, you, my respected pa- 
 trons, neighbours, and countrymen, where 
 will you be ? Oh ! will you go with me ? 
 Will you join, with one heart and one hand, 
 in this glorious work V A loud shout, of, 
 "We will! we will to the dealh!" answered 
 this question. " Then," continued the mas- 
 ter, " let us record our vow, let us all sign 
 this solemn pledge, which I will read : 
 'We whose names are hereto affixed, ac- 
 tuated by love for our common country, 
 and an unconquerable attachment to liber- 
 ty, do hereby pledge ourselves to devote 
 our time, our property, and our lives to 
 the redemption of that country from British 
 oppression, and to the establishment of 
 that liberty on secure foundations.' When 
 the contest is over, and 
 * Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, 
 Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,' 
 
 the roll of names attached to this scroll 
 shall be called again. Those who have 
 fallen in the strife shall be embalmed for 
 ever in the grateful memories of freemen ; 
 those who have deserted the cause shall 
 be marked for everlasting execration. My 
 name is already to the paper; come up, 
 all you that wish to follow my example.'' 
 There was immediately a tremendous 
 rush to obey this summons, and soon sev- 
 eral sheets of paper were covered with 
 names. As this remarkable document was 
 preserved by the master, and is now in 
 possession of the editor, and as it cannot 
 be inspected by all the curious, we will 
 mention some interesting particulars in 
 regard to it. The name of David Cald- 
 well stands second on the list. There are 
 a great number of female signatures ; and 
 there are some which appear to have been 
 afterwards affixed. All ages are here rep- 
 resented ; for you can. see the tremulous 
 hand of the octogenarian, and the rough 
 and angular autograph of the school-boy. 
 We observe the Demijohn is spelled with 
 two m\<t, and the name of Ben Rust is writ- 
 ten in capital letters, each one of which 
 leans off in a different direction from its 
 neighbour. The only other thing worthy 
 of mention is the following signature at 
 the bottom of one of the lists, 
 bis 
 " Warden's -f- Ben, witness Ben Rust." 
 
 mark 
 
 The signing of this paper anri a fervent 
 prayer from the Rev. Dr. Caldwell ended 
 the ceremonies of the day. The people 
 were not in a humour to hear other 
 speeches and dialogues; the master and 
 his scholars were absorbed with a new 
 train of thoughts, and so all quietly dis- 
 persed, soberly discussing among them- 
 selves the incidents of the day. The judge 
 had, to a great extent, regained his repu- 
 tation, and, occupied with serious prepara- 
 tions for another mode of life, he forgot, 
 hi a measure, his recent grief, and busily 
 prepared for the grave theatre of action 
 on which he was about to enter. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A few years made a great change in the 
 appearance of things at Alamance. When 
 we last closed our narrative, a cloud hung 
 in the political skies; before the time at 
 which we resume this history the storm 
 had burst, and war, with its grandeur and 
 its horrors, had been raging in every part 
 of the country. The schoolmaster's vo- 
 cation was indeed gone, and so was that 
 of every other teacher of the arts of peace ; 
 for the Genius of Destruction was now at 
 work, laying in ruins the labour of many 
 years, that mankind might take a new 
 start where they had begun a century be- 
 fore. There must be wars ; such is the 
 doom of the world ; for the course of things 
 here is, like the stone of Sisyphus, ever 
 aiming at, but never reaching a certain 
 end — a downward progress, invariably be- 
 ginning just before the desired elevation is 
 attained. 
 
 The earth looked worn and wasted ; so- 
 cial intercouse and social harmony were 
 destroyed ; all improvements, moral, art- 
 istical, and agricultural, were arrested, and 
 for the cheerful sounds of thrifty industry 
 were now heard the tramp of marching 
 troops, the hoarse rattle of the drum, and 
 the ear-piercing fife. Every place was 
 drained of its resources, every family was 
 mourning the loss of some valued mem- 
 ber, and all the evils attendant on a pro- 
 tracted contest of arms, unbridled licen- 
 tiousness, depraved morals, drunkenness, 
 famine, and pestilence, were let loose on 
 the land. Many still adhering to the royal 
 cause, the controversy assumed the cruel 
 and murderous character of a civil war, 
 and women and children were not exempt- 
 ed from its injuries. This was more par- 
 ticularly the case in North Carolina, where 
 a large body of citizens still remained 
 faithful in their allegiance to the English 
 crown. The southern part of the State 
 had been settled by families from the High- 
 lands of Scotland, whence they had emi- 
 grated in consequence of the odium into 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 CI 
 
 which they had grown with the reigning 
 family, on account of their former attach- 
 ment to (lie Stuarts. To avoid vexatious 
 exactions and persecutions from the royal 
 governor of North Carolina, and to display 
 their loyalty to the now firmly-established 
 Guelphs, they early espoused the side of 
 England in her disputes with her colonies, 
 and served George the Third with zeal and 
 fidelity. These were honourable and hon- 
 est men, and brave soldiers; and, devoted 
 to their cause, ihey sometimes encouraged 
 and protected another class of royalists 
 who were scattered over the state, and 
 whom they doubtless believed to be true 
 '. subjects, but between whom and them- 
 i selves there was, in fact, the" same differ- 
 ence that there is between the pirate and 
 ! the sailor who fights under the flag of his 
 .country. This other class, the regular 
 I Tories, were lawless marauders, who made 
 use of the occasion to gratify their thieving 
 and malicious propensities. They were, 
 in fact, robbers and assassins, more detest- 
 i able than any race of men of whom Time's 
 records speak. The Moss troopers of 
 Germany, and the banditti of Italy and 
 of Spain, and even the Leperos and Ran- 
 cheros of modern Mexico, rarely joined 
 the external enemies of their countries, 
 and therefore are not to be compared to 
 the American Tories, for whom was re- 
 served the, unenviable distinction of com- 
 bining pillage and patricide, theft and mur- 
 der, without the palliation of necessity or 
 the decent pretext of patriotism. They 
 lurked in every part of i he. state; and, in 
 those, neighbourhoods which were unpro- 
 tected by organized forces, they would 
 swoop down w+th fire and sword, carrying 
 off and burning the property of patriot 
 families, and sparing neither age nor sex 
 in the gratification of their base lusts and 
 sanguinary passions. 
 
 CHAPTKR XX. 
 
 THE IIKROINKS (IF AI.AMAJfCE. 
 
 At the time alluded to in the last chap- 
 ter, the Tories were a terror at Alamance. 
 Many of the Whigs were absent in the 
 service of their country, and their murder- 
 ous enemies overran the neighbourhood, 
 beating women, burnii g barns, robbing 
 bouses, and carrying off cattle and slaves. 
 Such, for a considerable period, was the 
 state of things ; the few remaining Whigs, 
 consisting of old men and invalids, having 
 been driven from their homes and families, 
 and compelled to hide in swamps and thick- 
 ets, where they subsisted chiefly on fruits 
 and berries. To add to the horrors of 
 the times, a malignant and fatal epidemic 
 ' broke out in the community, and scourged 
 nearly every family. The Rev. Dr. (^Id- 
 well, the regular physician, was hunted 
 from place to place with untiring ferocity; 
 
 medicines were scarce, and even the com- 
 mon comforts necessary for the sick were 
 wanting. It was a time that tried the 
 souls of men, and of women, too; and 
 these latter, as, well as the former, were 
 found equal to the occasion. With a pure 
 and heroic devotion to a forlorn but noble 
 cause, the females of Alamance shone 
 with a brighter and serener lustre than 
 ever did the savage Spartan mothers, or 
 the haughty dames and military damsels 
 of feudal times. They formed an associa- 
 tion for their mutual protection; laboured 
 day and night in the manufacture of cloth- 
 ing for the soldiers; and braved the ter- 
 rors of the pestilence and the dangers of 
 darkness and the elements, to tend and 
 nurse the sick, and to carry food to their 
 exiled friends, husbands, and brothers. 
 From the smallest girl to the most aged 
 matron, all were taught to consider them- 
 selves and all they had as belonging to 
 their country, of whose cause they never 
 despaired, and whose defenders they en- 
 couraged to persevere in their glorious un- 
 dertaking. The master's notes are full of 
 instances of individual heroism, virtue, and 
 devotion ; but, as these incidents would fill 
 a volume, we will but briefly notice a few 
 of the most prominent and active charac- 
 ters, who are more worthy of notice only 
 because they were more generally known 
 than others. 
 
 Esther Bell, whose husband and whose 
 sons were in the service, was a woman of 
 a strong mind and a masculine character — 
 active, brave, and untiring. Her husband 
 was rich; and all his negro men being 
 good W r higs, and trained by Big Dan, one 
 of their number, to the use of arms, they 
 protected their mistress, and formed an ef- 
 ficient guard to the plantation. Esther 
 Bell herself, more commonly known as- 
 Dr. Bell, was somewhat skilled in med- 
 icines, and, with pistols at her saddle-bow, 
 rode day and night, visiting and prescrib- 
 ing for the sick. Polly Rust, the mother 
 of Ben, was called, by the Tories, Major 
 Poll, and, with a rifle on her shoulder and 
 a dirk and pistols at her girdle, patrolled 
 the neighbourhood. She was a plain, stout 
 woman, perfectly fearless, and was consid- 
 ered as the military chief of the commu- 
 nity, every part of which felt her protec- 
 tion. Mother Demijohn, like Polly Rust, 
 was also a widow, and her only son Corny 
 was generally absent in the war. She was 
 very old, with a venerable appearance, and 
 a head as white as cotton ; and yet, attend- 
 ed only by a single female servant, she 
 was constantly on the road. She was de- 
 voutly pious, knew the whole Scriptures 
 by heart, and well deserved her name of 
 Parson. Better known and more gener- 
 ally employed, and yet more lender than 
 any of these, was Edith Mayfield, who- 
 was now grown, and whose chaj-ms of 
 
62 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 mind and person were wearing their rich- 
 est bloom. Modest, diffident, and retiring 
 in her disposition in peaceful times, and 
 shrinking with painful timidity from the ad- 
 miring gaze which her beauty won, she was 
 brave, constant, and firm in the hour of 
 trial, facing danger with a serene counte- 
 nance and steady eye,, and lighting with 
 her perpetual smile the gloom of those 
 dark and troublous times. Her long-cher- 
 ished aspirations were now realized ; for 
 she now found herself usefully employed 
 in one of those mighty and glorious causes 
 that had often floated in misty grandeur 
 before her young imagination, and which, 
 from the very days of her childhood, had 
 occupied her thoughts and dreams. It is 
 not often that the good and pure and great 
 in soul find in this world such work as they 
 would like to be engaged in ; and therefore 
 it is that they have recourse to fancy, and 
 live in an ideal world, where they are ever 
 carrying out the noble and grand purposes 
 of their generous hearts. Thus it had been 
 with Edith, and thus it was with Henry 
 "Warden, than whom, in all her imaginary 
 kingdoms, she could not find a more per- 
 fect hero. His character was now proving 
 to be precisely Avhat she thought it ; for 
 in that great revolution going on — the 
 greatest in her and his estimation of which 
 this earth had ever been the theatre — he 
 was acting a conspicuous part. Hers, 
 which she well understood, was less noto- 
 rious, but not less important ; and she en- 
 tered on the discharge of her duties with 
 cheerful enthusiasm and untiring zeal. 
 Her throne was by the bed of the sick, 
 and haggard disease lost half its terrors 
 at her coming. To the young and to the 
 aged, to the helpless and the suffering, she 
 was a ministering spirit of good ; impart- 
 ing peace to the souls of the dying, and 
 irradiating with the mild beams of hope 
 the hearts of the living. Fearless alike 
 of the Tories and of " the pestilence that 
 walketh in darkness and wasteth at noon- 
 day," she was always on the wing, always 
 present where most needed ; the well- 
 known sound of her footsteps falling cheer- 
 fully on the ears of the wretched, while 
 pain and despondency fled before the light 
 of her sweetly-beaming face as she crossed 
 the threshold. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 WAR AT HOME. 
 
 Little Wash, Mrs. Warden's youngest 
 son, fell dangerously ill with the prevailing 
 epidemic, and called daily for his brother, 
 whom he had not lately seen. At his earn- 
 est request Mrs. W. had written to Henry 
 a letter, to'be carried by Ben ; and Esther 
 Bell was sent for, that her skill might save 
 the little patient's life, or prolong his days, 
 
 until he could sde his father and brother. 
 The good woman started in the night, and 
 without an attendant, but had not gone 
 far before the bridle of her horse was seiz- 
 ed, while two ruffians dragged her to the 
 ground and commenced beating her with 
 clubs. She would soon have been horridly 
 mangled, but for her presence of mind, 
 which never deserted her. Looking up the 
 road, she uttered a joyful exclamation, and 
 called on Dan to hurry on with his men, as 
 the Tories were now in his power. She- 
 was instantly released, and, mounting her 
 horse, she put him to his full speed, until 
 she arrived at Wardens'. Here the Tories 
 were also in force; for she had scarcely 
 finished the narrative of her adventure 
 when the house was violently entered by 
 an armed party, some of whom, presenting 
 their guns to the breast of Mrs. Warden, 
 commanded her, on pain of instant death, 
 to reveal the hiding-place of her husband. 
 
 " He is hid in the strength of the Lord, 
 and defies your power," answered Esther 
 Bell for her neighbour. 
 
 " Woman !" exclaimed the leader of the 
 band, " tell us where that rebel, George 
 
 Warden is, or by G , I'll blow you brains' 
 
 out on the spot. Will you speak V 
 
 " I will," replied Mrs. Warden ; " I will 
 speak to you, though you are as deaf to- 
 the calls of mercy as a famished wolf. 
 You call my husband a rebel, and you de- 
 sire to put him to death, because, as you 
 allege, he has been guilty of treason to his 
 royal master. Were his obligations to the 
 English king as sacred and binding as. 
 those of a wife to her husband 1 ? You may 
 kill or torture me, but I will never betray 
 him. Yet, for mercy's sake, do not mur- 
 der me here ; carry me beyond the sight- 
 and hearing of my poor child, who lies 
 there at the point of death." 
 
 Whatever may have been the wishes of 
 the captain o*f the robbers, he was com- 
 pelled to obey the wishes of his associates, 
 and for the present ordered the ladies to be 
 tied and carried into one of the kitchens. 
 The little patient, Wash, who was lying 
 on a pallet by the fire, feeble, sick, and 
 helpless as he was, could not brook the 
 indignities offered to his mother. For a 
 moment his failing energies seemed to ral- 
 ly, and nerve him with unnatural strength, 
 and, rushing against the man who had 
 seized his mother, he endeavoured to push 
 him off. The Tory struck the young hero 
 op the head, and he fell, clinging to his 
 mother's clothes. As she stooped over 
 him to gather him up, he put his arms 
 about her neck and said, with a faint smile, 
 
 " Give my love to brother Henry, and 
 tell him farewell. All of you meet me 
 in heaven. Now kiss me, mother." 
 
 She put her lips to his ; but ere she with- 
 drew them the seal of death was on his 
 serene and manly face, and his heroic young 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 63 
 
 spirit no longer animated its frail tene- 
 ment of clay. 
 
 " Oh God ! oh merciful God, thy will be 
 done !" exclaimed the agonized mother, as 
 she pressed the lifeless form of her son to 
 her bosom. 
 
 The robbers, somewhat touched by the 
 grief of the women, left them with the 
 corpse, and commenced pillaging the house. 
 One of the first rooms which they entered 
 was the chamber of Kate, who, awakened 
 by the noise, and hearing shrieks and cries 
 in the adjoining room, where her brother 
 was, and seeing strange and horrid-looking 
 men in her own room, was "dreadfully 
 frightened. She screamed and started 
 from her bed, when several bayonets were 
 placed against her throat, and she was or- 
 dered to be still. The poor girl, half dead 
 with fear, and believing her mother and 
 brother had been murdered, lay trembling 
 in bed, and saw all the valuables in the 
 room destroyed or carried away. Every 
 part of the house was ransacked ; doors 
 were broken open, bureaus and sideboards 
 smashed to pieces, the beds ripped open, 
 chairs, tables, and bed-clothes flung into 
 the yard ; and money, papers, dresses, and 
 every portable article of value carried off. 
 While these outrages were being commit- 
 ted in the house, a singular incident oc- 
 curred in the yard. The kitchen doors had 
 been cautiously fastened, and a sentinel 
 left at each to prevent any of the servants 
 from escaping to alarm the neighbourhood, 
 or from making resistance to the plunder- 
 ing of the house. Old Ben, whose wits 
 had been much exercised of late, awoke 
 while these preparations were going on, 
 and heard the conversation of the Tories. 
 Raising a plank from the floor of his cabin, 
 he cautiously crept out under the house, 
 and was stealing off with stealthy pace, 
 when he was heard and discovered. 
 
 " Shoot the d — d scoundrel !" shouted 
 one of the company ; but as soon as the 
 word was given Ben shed his single. gar- 
 ment and disappeared in the darkness. His 
 shirt was instantly riddled with balls, but 
 the owner had escaped. Having glutted 
 themselves with plunder, the banditti with- 
 drew, and took the road to Glutson's,upon 
 which they came to a small fire, around 
 which several of their comrades were seat- 
 ed, Waiting for them. 
 
 "Where is George Warden?" hastily 
 demanded one of those by the fire — a man 
 who, from his dress, seemed to be an officer 
 and a gentleman. 
 
 "Can't tell, captain," answered the lead- 
 er of the robbing party ; " I know as little 
 of his whereabouts as you do." 
 
 " You found the whereabouts of the 
 plunder, though," said the other, with a 
 sneer; "and while youreyes were glued 
 to that you could not have seen George 
 Washington and the whole rebel army." 
 
 " That may be so, captain," replied the 
 robber, laughing ; " for when I see the yal- 
 ler boys I'm charmed. Howsever, if I'd 
 a-had my way I would have found George 
 Warden, or sent his wife to wait and pray 
 for his speedy arrival in kingdom come. 
 But my men were women, and the women 
 were she-devils." 
 
 The British officer replied to this speech 
 by remarking, as if talking to himself — 
 " Not at home — he must have been there 
 to-night. Men," continued he, in a louder 
 tone, " listen to me, and see that you obey 
 me. We will go to a place where you can 
 sell or deposit your cursed plunder, and 
 then I have other work for you to do. Let 
 no man straggle off, or drink a drop of 
 spirits, for you are to be engaged in a most 
 important matter. You must ask me no 
 questions, and do only as I bid you ; and 
 remember ! it is in my power to reward 
 you well, or have you hanged." 
 
 In a neighbouring thicket there were 
 watchful eyes marking these proceedings. 
 
 " Good !" quietly observed a hidden spec- 
 tator ; " now that we've got your secrets 
 we'll use the privilege of presentin you 
 with a little lead, accompanied with our 
 respects, viva voce." 
 
 The sharp crack of rifles rung keenly 
 through the woods, and the chief of the 
 robbers and another bounced from their 
 feet, and fell dead in the road, and silence 
 again reigned around. The astonished 
 and terrified Tories dropped their plunder, 
 and were about to disperse, when the offi- 
 cer rallied them, and ordered them to ex- 
 tinguish the fire. As they were scatter- 
 ing the coals, a rifle was again heard, and 
 a third man rolled lifeless on the earth. 
 
 " That's proximus and the last," said 
 one of the concealed enemy ; and, with the 
 fleetness of deer, he and his companion 
 plunged farther into the forest. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A BURIAL AT ALAMANCE. 
 
 On the next evening after the events 
 related in the last chapter, there were 
 mourners in the grave-yard of Alamance. 
 Mrs. Warden, with a large concourse of 
 her female neighbours and a few men, 
 followed to that last resting-place the re- 
 mains of her youngest son. Such scenes 
 were so common that there w«s little 
 weeping except by the sister and mother, 
 the former of whom clung wildly to the 
 coffin ; and the latter, unsustained by the 
 presence of her husband, lost all control 
 over her feelings, and was herself as help- 
 less as a child. As the body was lowered 
 into the pit, the venerable mother of Ala- 
 mance approached to the head of the grave, 
 and, raising her eyes upward, cried out, 
 " ' In Rama there was a voice heard, lam- 
 
64 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 entation and weeping, and great mourn- 
 ing. Rachel weeping for her children, and 
 wouULnot be comforted because they are 
 not.' jf Yet, my friends, why do yon weep ? 
 Is there not an appointed time to man 
 upon earth < Are not his days also like 
 the days of an hireling 1 Man that is born 
 of a woman is of short continuance and 
 full of trouble. He cometh forth like a 
 flower and is cut down : he fleeth also as 
 a shadow and continueth not. He is taken 
 from the evil days to come ; his young 
 spirit has returned to God who gave it, 
 pure and holy as it was when it first ani- 
 mated his little body. He has left us but 
 for a season ; and father and mother, 
 brother and sister, and friends shall meet 
 him again beyond the shores of that stormy 
 Jordan, which he has already passed. For 
 I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that 
 he shall stand at the latter day upon the 
 earth. And though after my death worms 
 destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall 1 
 see God. Such is the hope of the right- 
 eous, and may, our last end be like his! 
 Let us pray." } It was a simple, solemn, 
 and pathetic prayer, and her words fell on 
 the heart of Mrs. Warden like the dews of 
 heaven on the withered flower. Dust 
 Was now committed to dust, and, when 
 the burial was completed, Nathan Glutson, 
 who had officiously assisted in the cere- 
 monies of the occasion, rose devoutly to 
 his feet, uncovered his head, and asked 
 the company to remain until he could 
 make some remarks. 
 
 " My friends," said he, " the Good Book 
 tells us that misfortunes never come sin- 
 gle. We have just buried one sweet and 
 promising youth, and it is my painful 
 duty" — here he again wiped his eyes — " it 
 is my sad duty to inform you that another 
 sweet blossom of Alamance has been with- 
 ered. There is a Providence that tempers 
 the wind to the shorn lamb — so says that 
 great divine, Shakspeare, and it is our duty 
 to submit. This, I hope, my esteemed 
 friends, Isaiah Mayfield and his lady will 
 do: their daughter is no more. She has 
 gone, with little Wash, to heaven !" 
 
 The announcement sounded like the 
 crack of doom to the meek and pious Mrs. 
 Mayfield, and her senses reeling for a mo- 
 ment, she fainted away, and recovered 
 only to faint again and again, till her 
 friends began to fear for her life. Her 
 husband seemed to be totally unconscious 
 of her situation, and of everything around 
 him, and gave strong indications of mental 
 aberration. 
 
 " Dead, is she 1" said the old man, " dead, 
 dead, dead ! Well, that's strange ! Why 
 don't every body die] Dead! what a silly 
 joke, as if my beautiful and warm hearted 
 child could lie down in the cold ground 
 stud rot! Yes," continued he, somewhat 
 recovering, " I thought it was all a dream. 
 
 Mr. Glutson, I've had the vertigo, and as 
 my brain turned I imagined that you spoke 
 of my daughter's death : is it so ?'' 
 
 " I am sorry to say it is so." answered 
 Glutson ; and, after a hundred questions as 
 to the cause, the manner, and time of her 
 death, Nathan asked for silence, and re- 
 lated the particulars. His own daughter 
 Emily had been taken sick — was even con- 
 sidered ao dangerously ill. Kmily, as they 
 all knew, was a great favourite with Eddie 
 — a sisterly affection existed between them. 
 ' ; When, therefore, my daughter was at- 
 tacked, I went yesterday after Edith, as 
 my friend'Mayfield will recollect." 
 
 "Certainly i do," interposed the. old man, 
 "I know you came after her. When will 
 she return] Did you say your daughter 
 was dead V 
 
 " Not mine, my friend, but yours. Please 
 do not interrupt me w for I am hardly able 
 at best to tell the sorrowful st<>rv. 1 went 
 after Edith, and she started with me home. 
 The creeks, as you all know, were swollen 
 with the late rains, and Edilh, you also 
 know, was fearless and frolicksome. She 
 was some distance ahead of me when she 
 came to Little Alamance, merrily singicg 
 and calling to me to hastea on. The foot- 
 bridge, as you know, has no railing, and 
 before she got halfway over it, her head 
 began to reel, and she looked round to me 
 and started to run back. I hurried towards 
 her; but before I got near the creek she 
 had fallen off and was washed down the 
 stream. I ran down the creek, but saw 
 her rise but once — but once — and alter that 
 she disappeared entirely. I went several 
 miles down the stream, but th^ only trace 
 of her I found was this handkerchief, which 
 had caught on a bush. My daughter — whom 
 the news nearly killed — desired to keep the 
 handkerchief as a relic of her dear friend ; 
 but I thought I would first ask permission 
 of Eddie's parents." 
 
 " Give me the handkerchief," cried old 
 Mayfield, 4i I'll strangle your daughter with 
 it! A pretty story, indeed, that my Eddie 
 is drowned — that water can put out her 
 bright eyes! She's just in fun— don't cry 
 Mr. Glutson. Why, man, you're silly ! I 
 know Eddie's pranks well, and, may be, I 
 won't give her a round lecture for scaring 
 us so. I know the place well. I know- 
 where she's hid, the little baggage ; and 
 then, when I go to scold her, she'll bounce 
 into my lap, throw her arms round my 
 neck, and kiss me so sweetly that 1 can*!; 
 say a word .... Drowned, did you say ? 
 Who's drowned'? let's go and drag the 
 creek." 
 
 The creek was dragged next day by 
 some of the neighbours, and the body, not 
 of Edith, but of Isaiah Mayfield. was found. 
 The old man, as it appeared on subseqUfcaH 
 enquiry, had left home but a short lime 
 before his dead body was found, and had, 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 65 
 
 doubtless, thrown himself into the water 
 where he supposed his daughter to be. 
 
 The story of Edith's fate spread far and 
 wide, and even in those glQomy times ex- 
 cited a new and universal sorrow. All 
 now recollected her be.auty and her vir- 
 tues, and all remembered that they had 
 predicted her early death because she was 
 ' too good for earth. They looked on her 
 as a transient visiter from above, sent here 
 for a special purpose — as a celestial flower 
 that blossomed for a moment on the tree 
 of life, to give the world a glimpse of the 
 original purity and brightness of our now 
 fallen and corrupted nature. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 WAR — ON THE EMBATTLED FIELD. 
 
 The history of the battle of Camden is 
 too well known to require a description 
 from us. It occurred about the time of the 
 events related in the last few chapters ; and 
 while it reflects shame on some, it covered 
 with glory many of those engaged on the 
 American side. The Virginia and the 
 North Carolina militia, as is well known, 
 fled early in the engagement ; and while 
 General Gates, the commander-in-chief, 
 was endeavouring to rally them, the ven- 
 erable De Kalb, at the head of the conti- 
 nentals, was left without orders and nearly 
 surrounded by overwhelming numbers. 
 These, the continentals, preferring death 
 to retreat, stood their ground against fear- 
 ful odds, and maintained the fierce conflict 
 until the fall of their gallant leader, and 
 until every corps was broken. We ex- 
 tract the following account of part of the 
 engagement from the journal of M'Bride : 
 "When the militia fled, our captain (Cor- 
 nelius Demijohn) made a desperate but 
 vam effort to rally his company, threaten- 
 ing all sorts of punishments, and promising 
 the most extravagant rewards. He got 
 himself well-nigh out of breath with swear- 
 ing and with running to and fro ; and a*fter 
 all his ado, he was able only to retain those 
 of us who were from Alamance, and who 
 numbered eight, including the captain. 
 Our commander, who was sweating and 
 ■ panting prodigiously, from his efforts, now 
 drew out the little bottle which, he always 
 carried about him, and offered us a drink. 
 A few of "the men helped themselves to a 
 small draught, after which our captain took 
 a long and affectionate embrace, and, with 
 a thundering shout, led us into the middle 
 of the fight. It seemed to me that all en- 
 gaged looked upon their own fate, and that 
 of the Anierican cause, as sealed, and so 
 they were determined to sell their lives as 
 dear as possible, and to build a monument 
 -of dead Englishmen over their own graves. 
 Bidding adieu to time and its vanities, we 
 set ourselves to work with the stern cour- 
 E 
 
 age of desperation ; and I saw many refus- 
 ing to surrender or ask for quarter after 
 they had fallen, covered with wounds, but 
 on their knees and on their backs still 
 fought as long as they could raise an arm. 
 Several times I was covered with brains, 
 scattered from the heads of those near by 
 me, and the ground became so slippery 
 with blood we could hardly keep our feet. 
 I trod upon the shattered skulls of friends 
 and foes, and several times stumbled and 
 fell over heaps of gory and mangled bodies. 
 Sometimes I saw an arm taken off, or a 
 leg shivered, and heard the poor creature 
 scream with pain, but none attended to his 
 calls; and often, when our. nearest and 
 best friends would fall, and plead for help 
 in the name of ancient friendship, we wbuld 
 have to leave them to their fate, not even 
 having time to cool their parched lips with 
 water. Never shall I forget that horrid 
 comminglement of sounds, where, amid 
 the perpetual roll of firearms and the din 
 and clash of swords, were heard oaths and 
 prayers, screams, groans, and pitiful en- 
 treaties — some cursing their Maker, and 
 some uttering, with feeble voices, the 
 names of their mothers, wives, and chil- 
 dren ! At length our noble leader, the 
 Baron de Kalb, fell, with a crash like a 
 mighty oak beneath the repeated strokes 
 of his adversaries ; and, being scattered 
 about, the field, the Americans sought safe- 
 ty, every man for himself. Our captain 
 and myself had kept our eyes on Major 
 Warden, who was ever in the thickest of 
 the fight, and who was by the side of his 
 gallant general when the latter fell. Never 
 did 1 see, in one so young, such cool cour- 
 age, such a knightly bearing. Early in the 
 action he threw the scabbard of his sword 
 away, and several times he sought out and 
 was engaged, hand to hand, with British 
 officers, more than one of whom he van- 
 quished. When the old baron fell, young 
 Warden rushed among the foe, who form- 
 ed a ring around him, and were giving him 
 wound after wound, he still refusing to 
 surrender. It was a critical period with 
 our young friend ; and Captain Demijohn, 
 blowing like a chafed rhinoceros, and 
 glowing like a ball of fire, rushed in with 
 his Alamancers, who, hewing their way 
 through the serried ranks of the adversary, 
 caught the major as he was falling, and 
 carried him safely beyond the reach of 
 danger." 
 
 When the Alamancers, as M'Bride re- 
 lates, carried- Warden off the field, they 
 found him to be in a state of insensibility, 
 from exhaustion and the loss of blood. No 
 time, however, was to be lost, and after 
 stanching his wounds, they hastily con- 
 structed a hand-litter, and, placing him in 
 it, fled as rapidly as they could till dark- 
 ness overtook them. They were now a- 
 the house of a poor widow woman, friend- 
 
66 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 ly to the cause, and who joyfully relieved 
 all their wants. Henry Warden was placed 
 on the best bed in the house, and, falling 
 into a refreshing sleep, he remained uncon- 
 scious until near the break of day.' He 
 awoke at last much bewildered, and for a 
 moment imagined that he was in his tent 
 in the army. »At length, recollecting the 
 scenes of the preceding day, and being un- 
 able to account for his present position, he 
 called out to know if any one was near him. 
 
 " Certainly, ujajor, certainly," answered 
 a hoarse voice ; " I'm here, and other good 
 friends besides." 
 
 " And who are you ?" enquired Warden ; 
 " I cannot see you ; but it seems to me I 
 ought to know your voice." 
 
 " See me ! no, certainly, you can't ; you 
 could hardly see a candie this dark niglit, 
 pr, what is brighter, the eyes of this fair 
 lady. As to my voice, you ought to know 
 it — to be sure you ought, if I had not 
 spoiled the finest one in all the country in 
 cursing George the Third, d n him !" 
 
 "But who are you?" again asked War- 
 den. 
 
 "Demijohn, Cornelius Demijohn, captain 
 af militia in " 
 
 " Uncle Corny i" exclaimed Warden, en- 
 deavouring to rise ; " am I dreaming, or is 
 it really you 1 ? I thought I saw you yes- 
 terday." 
 
 " To be sure you did," said Demijohn, 
 giving his hand to Warden — " to be sure 
 you saw me — that is, I saw you ; but it was 
 no time for friends to pass compliments, 
 major." 
 
 "It was not, indeed, Uncle Corny; but 
 why do you call me major] Such cere- 
 mony between old friends, who have been 
 long parted, is foolish. Call me as you 
 used to do, and sit down here, and tell me 
 all about Alamance. When did you leave 
 there 1 how is my father's family, and 
 Hector M'Bride ? Tell me every thing that 
 has occurred." 
 
 " Not now, not now," answered the cap- 
 tain ; " you must sleep — to be sure you 
 must. This good lady thinks so, and I 
 think so too. To-morrow morning I will 
 — that is to say, Hector M'Bride will tell 
 you every thing." 
 
 "Is he here, the master here?" ex- 
 claimed Warden, again trying to rise ; " is 
 Hector M'Bride here ] Bring him to me 
 this instant. Where is he] 1 must see 
 him immediately — for all the opiates in 
 the world could not make me sleep now. 
 Bring him in, Uncle Corny !" 
 
 " Well, well," said the latter, " you must. 
 be obeyed ; you are my superior in rank — 
 to be sure you are — and the rules of war 
 give you command. Old Hector is asleep 
 now," continued he, as he went out, "and 
 dreaming that he's whipping a boy in the 
 erhool of Alamance; but I'll wake him if I 
 have to fire a ten-pounder over his head." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 RETROSPECTIONS. 
 
 Early in the morning the conversation 
 of the master and his former scholar was 
 interrupted by the entrance of the other 
 Alamancers, led in by Captain Demijohn 
 with military order and precision. The 
 captain's men, however, broke ranks as 
 soon as they saw their old friend and play- 
 mate, whom they affectionately embraced. 
 Warden and his friends gazed on each 
 other with kind curiosity, and, though time 
 had wrought its usual changes in the faces 
 of all, each heart was as warm, as true, as 
 generous, and as simple, as when they had 
 played their last grand game of tow; 
 Henry Warden, who had long been ia the 
 service, and who had not for some time 
 past had an opportunity of visiting home, 
 related the chief particulars of his career as 
 a soldier, with which dry details of marches 
 and of battles we will not trouble the read- 
 er. Suffice it to say that, in answer to their 
 frequent questions, he alluded modestly to 
 his own standing in the army among of- 
 ficers and men ; told how and why-he had 
 been promoted, and satisfied their curiosity 
 by exhibiting high testimonials for probity, 
 courage, and conduct from the first officers 
 in the service of the United States. As to 
 the previous adventures of the master and 
 of Demijohn, it is our purpose to. say but 
 little. The latter had enlisted for short pe- 
 riods several times, while the former had 
 served as a volunteer in various places, 
 going wherever lie thought he could be 
 most useful. When Gates marched ' i the 
 South, Demijohn raised a company and 
 received the commission of captain in the 
 militia. He and his men had joined the 
 main army just before the battle of Cam- 
 d'fen, and Warden, who, till the engagement, 
 had been detailed on duty in the surround- 
 ing country, had not an opportunity o free- 
 ing his friends till after the battle. Imme- 
 diately after sunrise the party were again 
 enj-oute, aiming for the mountains of North 
 Carolina, the militia captain remaining 
 some time with the widow to enquire mi- 
 nutely about the roads. Her information 
 must have been very confused and contra- 
 dictory, for Corny was perpetually at a 
 loss. That good knight had ever been of 
 a grave and taciturn humour, while the 
 martial air of his step, the erect posture 
 of his head, and the upward and stiff pro- 
 jection of his full red face caused by the 
 immense breadth of his girdle, added much 
 to the solemnity and dignity of his pres- 
 ence. He spoke but seldom, and seldom 
 laughed ; but, when he did give, way, no 
 premonitory smile played along and re- 
 laxed his features, which would suddenly 
 convulse with cachinatory thunder and 
 then as suddenly collapse into their stern 
 rigidity. He w^ct now even more than 
 
 
LAMANCE. 
 
 67 
 
 tisually silent, breathed harder than com- 
 mon, and listened to the conversation of 
 his friends with a vacant stare. His situ- 
 ation excited much speculation in the 
 master, who was curious about such things, 
 and who concluded that one of the arrows 
 of the Little Archer had at length pierced 
 through his seven fingers of lard and 
 touched his heart. 
 
 At night the Alamanccrs had the good 
 •fortune of finding comfortable quarters at 
 the house of a Whig, and M'JBride and 
 Warden, being put in a room to themselves, 
 had an opportunity of conversing on sub- 
 jects in regard to which each was anxious 
 to speak. . 
 
 " Now," said Warden, " when they were 
 alone, " tell me all about Edith Mayfield." 
 
 " Ah, my friend," replied the master, " I 
 gee the embers are yet burning — the veteris 
 vestigia flammce still remain. 1 thought you 
 had forgotten that unhappy passion."' 
 
 Warden. — "I have tried, but I cannot. 
 Indeed, when I forget that, I shall forget 
 the happiest as well as the bitterest portion 
 of my life. But, come, tell how Edith is. 
 How does she look'? Who is courting 
 her 1 Where is Ross ? What does she say 
 of me ?" 
 
 M'Bride. — "A genuine lover! forty ques- 
 tions in a breath! Well, to make a long 
 story short, Edith has grown to be a full, 
 ripe woman, and is as beautiful as an angel. 
 I have at times taught privately in her and 
 your father's families, and I found that Ed- 
 die and your sister \Kate were sworn sis- 
 ters, always together. It is said that she 
 is subject to fits of melancholy, but when 
 I was with her she was always apparently, 
 happy, siugJ£2Lhkj3_a nightingaleajjdlaugh- 
 ing like. a siren. FcoTrltr" "never hear her 
 speak muclt~oT*you, but she always- man- 
 aged to know when your mother heard 
 from the army, and would go over to get 
 the news. As to Ross, he haunts still about 
 Alamance, and is often at Glutson's, though 
 secretly. He sees Edith frequently, I 
 doubt not, and I am inclined to believe she 
 has often refused him. What will be the 
 end of it no one can tell ; for you may as 
 well undertake to predict from what point 
 the wind will blow this day sixty years 
 hence as to cast the horoscope of a woman's 
 mind for four-and-twenty hours. Glutson, 
 by the way, is a villain, and I hope yet to 
 see him hanged. He keeps smooth with 
 the Whigs, but he is too much respected 
 by the Tories. Strange stories are whis- 
 pered about in regard to father and son; 
 and if one half of them be true, the world 
 never saw two more finished scoundrels." 
 
 Warden. — " But as to Mayfield : what 
 thinks he of me now 1" 
 
 The Master. — " What does the owl think, 
 as he sits perched on a tree, gazing with 
 wisely-solemn looks upon the moon and 
 stars] Nobody can divine old Mayfield's 
 
 thoughts ; and if he knows them himself, 
 I'm much mistaken. At ordinary times, 
 and among ordinary people, he might be 
 thought to be a man of profound policy ; 
 but the breath of the storm agitates his 
 mind so that a child can see the muddy 
 bottom of that shallow stream he thought 
 so deep. He is a miserable imbecile, the 
 constant prey of his own fears, and per, 
 petually seeking by stratagem to overcome 
 the shadows of his own diseased imagina- 
 tion. The Tories laugh at him and levy 
 black mail from him ; the Whigs pity and 
 despise him. He has got to be so timid, 
 so wary, and so non-committal, that he 
 will not give you a direct opinion on the 
 weather, and instructs negroes about their 
 daily work as if in the character of ambas- 
 sador he was negotiating a treaty of peace 
 between Great Britain and the United 
 States. He speaks of you, of course ; he 
 speaks respectfully, and even kindly, but 
 what does he think'? You will be taxing 
 your brain to a poor purpose to know. 
 You ought patiently to await the course of 
 things ; and if Edith ever loved you, and is 
 worth having, you will get her yet. But 
 you ought not to love her : discard that feel- 
 ing from your heart." 
 
 Warden. — " If you had said from my 
 breast, then, with loss of life,, it had been 
 possible ; as for my heart, it and Edith 
 can never be divided. I will speak to you 
 candidly and, I trust, with some show of 
 reason. When I first listened to your ad- 
 vice about love I was young, ardent, and 
 inexperienced. 1 embraced with zeal the 
 cause of my country ; patriotism was my 
 mistress, and she I expected forever to 
 absorb my soul. I was mistaken — you 
 were mistaken. I love my country as 
 much as any one can ; I am devoted to 
 liberty, and have shown my attachment 
 by more than words. Yet, in all employ- 
 ments — on the long and painful march — in 
 the duties of the camp — in the very rush 
 of battle, and in the hour of victory and 
 defeat, my thoughts were not fully occu- 
 pied with what was around me : my mind 
 would turn to Edith Mayfield. Selfishness 
 is the great spring of action in us all, for 
 we are all seeking our own happiness. 
 The miser finds it in piling up heaps of 
 gold ; the ambitious in the momentary ap- 
 plause of the changeful multitude ; the 
 vindictive in scenes of blood and wretch- 
 edness, and the good and intellectual in 
 the exercise of the affections. I long as 
 much as you to see a republic established, 
 and when it is established I wish to be a 
 happy citizen under it, loving and being 
 loved. You recollect what is said in 
 Cicero de Amicitia." v 
 
 The Master. — " I agree with you in your 
 principles, but not in their application. We 
 all seek happiness ; and cannot a refined 
 nature find it in the cultivation of letters, 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 the pursuits of philosophy, and in the con- 
 sciousness of being a benefactor of his 
 kind ■? I tell you that though we all seek 
 happiness, some of us do not expect to 
 find it here. There are martyrs to princi- 
 ple—men who, from a sublime conception 
 of their duties look, 
 
 ' Beyond this visible diurnal sphere' 
 
 for the reward of their deeds, at leasi-be- 
 yond the period of their own livesi What 
 rewards temporal seek I? What rewards 
 seeks Lafayette 1 What ones did that 
 venerable leader seek, who yesterday of- 
 fered himself a sacrifice for liberty ? Oh, 
 how my heart swelled within me as I saw 
 that noble and stalwart form towering in 
 the thickest of the fight, and heard his 
 clarion voice cheering on his followers to 
 deeds that must live while valour has a 
 name ! Even in the hottest of the strife I 
 wept like a child as I saw him with his 
 white hairs streaming in the wind, yield 
 . at last to the blows that fell upon him like 
 winter hail, and fall with his face to the 
 foe ! There, on that ensanguined field, 
 far from the home of his youth and the 
 graves of his kindred — there, in the cause 
 of strangers, and at the head of a forlorn 
 hope, in a green old age, fell one who had 
 dwelt in palaces, who was himself the mir- 
 ror of knighthood, the flower of modern 
 chivalry ! And was he not happy ! The 
 consciousness that we are acting a noble 
 part, even in tragedy, is the very ecstasy 
 of happiness ; and that old hero, when he 
 fell in his martial harness felt a proud 
 swelling of his soul within him, and his 
 fading eyes beamed with unearthly light. 
 for he knew that he was performing, be- 
 fore the world and before posterity, the 
 last great act in a glorious drama, and that 
 his memory would live fresh and green in 
 the hearts of the brave and free forever! 
 If you must love — if you must sympathize 
 with kindred spirits — hold communion with 
 the mighty ones of the past and present. 
 Sympathize with them in their great, he- 
 roic, and magnanimous thoughts ; walk 
 with them over the flowery and seques- 
 tered vales of poetry, or soar through the, 
 boundless universe, and explore the arcana 
 of nature, the causes of things. Do not 
 waste your most precious thoughts on a 
 creature whose highest ambition is to have 
 the finest equipage, and who is more im- 
 pressed by the colour of your coat, the 
 curve of your leg, and the cut of your 
 whiskers, than by the beauties of your 
 mind and the wealth of your heart. Take 
 notice, I do not charge Edith as being 
 worse in this respect than others : she 
 may not be as bad, though it is no recom- 
 mendation that she is the daughter of one 
 who is a Machiavel on trifles and a palterer 
 and piddler on important matters. As to 
 y-ur quotation from Cicero, that was in- 
 
 tended to apply more to friendship than to> 
 love, of which, in its purity, as I opine, the 
 old Roman knew but little. Besides, it is 
 met by one from a man equally greaw 
 Lord Bacon says that ' great minus and 
 great occasions do keep out this weak 
 passion;' and farther, 'that love is "more 
 beholden to the stage than to real life,' as 
 in the former it appears both in tragedy" 
 and comedy, while in the latter it acts 
 only in tragedy. There is a volume in 
 this sentence, and I commend it to your 
 serious consideration." 
 
 Warden. — " As you are in the mood for 
 quotations, I will give you one from the 
 highest of all authorities. ' It is not 
 for man to be alone,' was said by the Cre- 
 ator, who made him to love. It is a fixed 
 law of our being, and we must obey it. 
 Some there are — you may be one whose 
 affections are blighted for wise purposes. 
 In this way God prepares instruments to 
 work out his ends ; and when I see i 
 whose love has been turned to bitterness, 
 I regard them as branded like Cain for 
 some early sin, or as the high priests, the 
 sanctified vessels of Deity, consecrated by 
 him for some special use. But let us turn 
 the subject, for, I love Edith so well, and 
 you dislike the sex so much, something 
 offensive may be said." 
 
 " Agreed," said the master, " and to 
 sharpen our wits as well as refresh our 
 bodies, Ijnove we_take a^hoxt-exciusion 
 to the land of Nod.*' ~ 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A " MOUNTAIN HOME" IN NORTH CAROLINA.. 
 
 On the next morning, at early light, the 
 Alamancers were again on the road, War- 
 den, whose wounds were not dangerous, 
 being now able to ride the horse brought 
 on for his use. The others were on foot ; 
 and Captain Demijohn, returning to a sense 
 of his duties, enforced a rigorous discipline 
 and manoeuvred his men over broken 
 ground, , through cornfields and swamps, 
 and eluded the foe, who were scouring 
 the country, with consummate skill and 
 ability. The march, however, though .!ls- 
 playing great military capacity and emi- 
 nent strategic power, will hardly justify 
 the parallel which the master insinu; tes 
 might be drawn between it and the. retreat 
 of the immortal ten thousand from the 
 plains of Cunaxa ; and though the re:, n 
 of his memoirs might find a Xenophon in 
 M'Bride, he would scarcely recognize a 
 Clearchus or even a Proxenus in the bulky 
 captain of militia. There is, nevertheless, 
 some analogy between the feelings of the 
 Greeks when the joyful cry of, " The seal 
 the sea!" burst through their ranks and 
 those of Uncle Corny's men, as they be- 
 held the blue summits of the distant mount- 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 €9 
 
 ains. Our travellers were soon among 
 them, and felt awed as they entered what 
 seemed to be the mighty workshops of na- 
 ture, where her terrible energies are most 
 conspicuous, yet most noiseless. Night 
 found them in these solitudes, still clamber- 
 ing over mountains, and winding along de- 
 files that led only against jutting rocks and 
 overhanging precipices. Warden being 
 yet too feeble to sleep in the sharp mount- 
 ain air, the Alamancers continued to grope 
 their way, some of them leading the horse 
 of their wounded friend, and others acting 
 as pioneers, running sometimes against a 
 jutting rock, and then splashing in the 
 water. Captain Demijohn, accompanied 
 by his faithful lieutenant, Hector M'Bride, 
 like all good officers, led the way; and 
 the latter, remarking upon the mishaps of 
 the two, declares that they concluded be- 
 tween themselves they would be devoutly 
 thankful if the morning found them with 
 one whole rib a-piece. As for the master, 
 his falls were not so dangerous, while 
 those of Uncle Corny threatened destruc- 
 tion to himself and all who w r ere in his 
 path. On one occasion particularly, the 
 captain, losing his foothold, went clown the 
 side of a steep hill with a crash like that 
 of a landslide or mountain avalanche, scat- 
 tering rocks and pebbles, and crackling 
 over brush and bushes, till.he landed in a 
 creek. As he rolled along with an in- 
 creasing velocity, starting as he went a 
 huge mass of stones and logs, he was 
 heard to ejaculate, with broken accents, 
 " Gi-gi-g-i-v-e my lo-love to the wi-wid-id- 
 id-0 Powell. Ugh!" His accident, which 
 did not injure him seriously, turned out to 
 be of great importance, for he could see 
 far down the narrow gorge, in which was 
 the faint glimmer of lights. He and his 
 company, following the creek under jut- 
 ting rocks and between steep mountains 
 that seemed to have been split from each 
 other by some convulsion of nature, emerg- 
 ed at last into a broader valley, and came 
 to a very neat but unostentatious dwell- 
 ing. There were five or six negro cabins 
 scattered about the yard, and, as far as'the 
 travellers could judge in the dark, the ap- 
 pearance of things indicated very comfort- 
 able quarters. Demijohn, who observed 
 all the rules of war, ordered M'Bride, 
 with a white flag, to hold a conference 
 with the commandant of the post; in other 
 words, to approach the place in a pacific 
 manner, and ascertain the disposition of 
 the owner, and the state of things within. 
 The master was met at the door by an old 
 man, who enquired his business there at 
 that ! ate hour of the night. 
 
 ""We are belated travellers," answered 
 M'Bride, "and have with us a sick friend 
 who cannot sleep in the open air. "We ask 
 only a bed and shelter for the sick, prov- 
 ender for his horse, and food for ourselves, 
 
 for all of which we will pay you a fair 
 equivalent. As to our politics," continued 
 he, with his usual frankness, " we are 
 Whigs ; but we'll disturb no one provided 
 we are not. attacked ourselves." 
 
 " Wounded, lost, and belated," said the 
 old man, "is enough to say to me, al- 
 though it is not my business to entertain 
 strangers, and there is a tavern-house a 
 few miles distant. You have a further 
 claim on me in being Whigs, and my roof 
 and board are at your service as long as 
 you are desirous of staying. Where is your 
 sick friend, and where are your horses V 
 
 " The wounded officer and our only 
 horse are at the gate, as are also the rest 
 of the company." 
 
 " Bring them all in, while I give some 
 orders about the horse." 
 
 The master reported what he saw and 
 heard, and Demijohn, with fife playing, and 
 colours flying (for he had preserved his 
 company's colours), marched his men into 
 the house and ordered them to stack their 
 arms in a corner of the room. He then 
 called his roll, and dismissed his men for 
 the day, the whole proceeding annoying 
 Warden no little, and exciting an immense 
 sensation on the premises. The Alaman- 
 cers, seated round a large fire in a small 
 but tidy parlour, cast curious glances 
 round the room, observing that the furni- 
 ture, though not rich, indicated that they 
 were in the abode of thrifty ease and in- 
 telligence. There was a book-case filled 
 with books and pamphlets, which attracted 
 the attention of Warden and M'Bride, and 
 they were particularly surprised to find a 
 well-thumbed copy of " Paradise Lost" 
 lying on the candle-stand, and appearing to 
 have been recently, and hastily laid down. 
 The eyes of Demijohn rested, with a cheer- 
 ful and affectionate expression, on an old- 
 fashioned sideboard, the top of which was 
 well garnished with glasses and decanters, 
 while his companions in arms listened, 
 erectis auribus, to the creaking of smoke- 
 house doors and the cackle of hens in 
 trouble. They were thus occupied when 
 their host entered and fixed the gaze of 
 every eye. He was a tall, erect, and mus- 
 cular man, with a dignified air and manner, 
 a broad, high forehead, a mild, intelligent, 
 and kindly eye, and a face expressive o) 
 great serenity of temper and of a virtuou 
 and benevolent heart. His head was a 
 white as cotton, and, although he looke 
 hale and hearty, it was evident that he ha 
 touched the grand climacteric in the ag 
 of man, the three-score years and ten. 
 Such a host could not be long a stranger 
 to such guests as his were, and, on mak- 
 ing known his name, which was Abraham 
 Neal, he was introduced by M'Bride to 
 each of his friends, and informed of their 
 business, their place of residence, and the 
 rank and title of each. 
 
70 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 " After supper," said Neal, " I will get 
 you to relate the particulars of that unhap- 
 py battle to my family. It was a sad blow 
 to our cause, and I had heard rumours of 
 it before — but, bless me ! I had nearly for- 
 gotten the brandy. Here, Peggy, bring 
 me the keys !" 
 
 At these words there came bustling out 
 from an adjoining room a little prim old 
 lady, with a basket of keys on her arm, a 
 very white cap on her head, and a very 
 kind smile playing on her once handsome 
 but diminutive features. 
 
 " My wife," said Neal, and he made her 
 acquainted with each of his guests. From 
 the sideboard they adjourned to the supper- 
 table, where Mrs. Neal presided, showing 
 by her looks that she was entirely happy 
 as long as her guests continued to eat. 
 When the company were again seated 
 by the parlour fire, there glided in by the 
 side of Mrs. Neal another member of the 
 family. 
 
 " This is my daughter Lucy," said the 
 old man, rising and making known to her 
 the names of his new friends, on each of 
 whom she shed a sunny smile. 
 
 "These men, daughter," continued Neal, 
 " are soldiers, good Whig soldiers, and you 
 will now have an opportunity of hearing 
 of battles from men who helped to fight 
 them. Mr. M'Bride, you will please to tell 
 us all about the battle of Camden, and re- 
 member that we are country folk, and want 
 to hear all the littie particulars, such as 
 how the officers looked and acted, and what 
 they said, and what you yourselves did, 
 and how you felt, and how the battle be- 
 gan, and how it ended." 
 
 The master, in no way loath " to fight 
 his battles o'er again" in such a peaceful 
 way, gratified his hearers with a long and 
 minute detail, spicing his narrative with 
 frequent quotations in the original lan- 
 guages, from the lives of Plutarch and his- 
 tory of Livy, and not forgetting the valor- 
 ous achievements of Corny Demijohn and 
 the gallantry of his young friend Warden. 
 This latter was unable to pay a very re- 
 spectful attention to the narrator, being en- 
 tirely absorbed in the contemplation of 
 Lucy Neal, and the thoughts and conjec- 
 tures which she awakened. She sat by her 
 mother in the corner opposite to Warden, 
 and so near the candle that the charms of 
 her face and person were fully developed. 
 As soon as she was seated, Warden caught 
 her eye, and the look of- each indicated 
 that by that glance they became better ac- 
 quainted. Warden looked again, and she 
 looked again, each gazing longer and more 
 familiarly at the other, and becoming more 
 communicative and intimate : they looked 
 again, and they' were old and confidential 
 friends. While M'Bride, therefore, was 
 entertaining the others, Henry Warden 
 and Lucy Neal were silently interchanging 
 
 thoughts, unfolding their minds and dis- 
 closing their hearts to each other. But 
 when the master touched upon that part 
 of his history relating particularly to he* 
 new acquaintance, the bright-eyed girl lost 
 not a single word, and, at its conclusion, 
 glanced upon its subject a look full of sym- 
 pathy and admiration, and which seemed 
 to say, " I knew you were such a man." 
 The old people now pressed Warden for 
 an account of his adventures during the 
 war, and he, yielding to their kind entreat- 
 ies, sketched briefly the most prominent 
 events in his career. Lucy listened in 
 rapt attention, and more than once a bright 
 tear glistened in her eyes. At the conclu- 
 sion of the narrative, a hint, given in no 
 gentle terms from the nostrils of Demi- 
 john, announced that the hour for rest had 
 arrived. The host, taking the hint, began 
 to call the servants and give orders'about 
 the quarters of his guests ; but Corny, in 
 the mean time awaking, declared that it 
 was yet quite early. 
 
 " Never mind, my good friend," said he, ■ 
 " it is quite early yet. My fatigues and 
 my supper made me drowsy, but I'm now 
 wide awake and would be glad to hear 
 more about the widow Powell." 
 
 A burst of laughter followed this speech, 
 and Corny, rubbing his eyes, seemed much 
 confused. Neal, informing jiis guests that 
 it was his wont to hold prayers every 
 night, read a chapter in the Bible, and then 
 all knelt at the throne of grace. When 
 the old man had finished, and all were 
 again on their feet, the huge form of the 
 miiitia captain, propped against the 'wall, 
 was still bending in a most prayerful pos- 
 ture. Neal, thinking him very devout, 
 would not permit his devotions to be dis- 
 turbed, until he began to mutter — 
 
 " It's all as I tell you, to be sure it is, 
 my duck, my dear duck. As the poet says, 
 you shall be adorned with equity and made 
 a silver queen." 
 
 The slumbering knight was waked from 
 his dream of love, and all retired to their 
 respective places of rest, Lucy bidding 
 Warden good-night with a manner, and 
 casting on him a look, that dwelt in his 
 mind like the parting beams of the setting 
 sun, for some time after he was in b .:'. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 ADVENTURES IN THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 M'Bride, at an early hour next morning, 
 was aroused by Captain Demijohn, and 
 desired to walk with him to the woods. 
 After the friends had advanced some dis- 
 tance from the house in silence, the mas- 
 ter, curious to know what revelations his 
 companion had to make, intimated that 
 they had gone far enough. 
 
 "Mr. M : Bride," said Uncle Corny, "I 
 have important business with you. and it 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 71 
 
 must be secret — yes, it must be secret. So 
 please to walk on." 
 
 And on they went, the master much con- 
 cerned to know the object of the excur- 
 sion, and running over in his mind the 
 various incidents of their late march. 
 He did not know but what he might have 
 offended Corny, whose extremely hard 
 breathing, solemnity of manner, and mys- 
 terious looks excited some apprehensions 
 of an unpleasant altercation. They were 
 now far in the woods, when the master 
 again suggested that it was time to return, 
 as breakfast might be waiting. Uncle 
 Corny, halting suddenly, gazed seriously 
 and rather sternly in the face of his friend 
 for at least a minute, and then remarked 
 that there was a secret recess beneath the 
 cliff before them, and that they could there 
 do their business. At this they soon ar- 
 rived — a deep niche in the side of a mount- 
 ain, and which was overhung by huge 
 rocks and darkened by the foliage of trees 
 and a web of luxuriant and tangled vines. 
 
 " Now," said the captain, with a tragical 
 manner, to the agitated master, " now we 
 will settle the affair. I wish to know of 
 you what you think of the widow Powell." 
 
 " If you mean the good woman at whose 
 house we tarried after the battle," answer- 
 ed M'Bride, " I think her handsome and 
 clever. She was kind to us, and I re- 
 member her with gratitude." 
 
 "/think her handsome and clever too," 
 resumed Uncle Corny ; " and as you may 
 have observed — yes, to be sure you did ob- 
 serve, that I was pleased with her. I was 
 — of course 1 was, and if any man has any 
 thing to say against her, lie must fight 
 Cornelius Demijohn ; he must, by Mars !," 
 
 "I'm sure, captain," answered the mas- 
 ter, " that I have nothing to say against 
 her : indeed, I profess to be a friend of 
 hers." 
 
 " You profess to be ! What are you in 
 reality]" 
 
 " A friend ; a good, true, and staunch 
 friend." 
 
 "Beware how you speak," exclaimed 
 Corny ; " tell me truly, do you wish her 
 well]" 
 
 " With all my heart." 
 
 "Then, sir," continued Demijohn, run- 
 ning his hand in his pocket, and speaking 
 with a husky and tremulous voice, " then, 
 sir, I wish to inform you that 1 have brought 
 you here to show you this lock of hair. 
 It's genuine, sir; I cut it myself from her 
 beautiful head." 
 
 " Well, Uncle Corny," replied M'Bride, 
 much relieved, " I should be pleased to 
 know what object you have in showing it 
 to me ]" 
 
 "To be sure you would ; that is very 
 true, I know you would, and I'll tell you. 
 Here is a^lock of mine — I've picked the 
 gray hairs out— here's a lock I wish you 
 
 to preserve. I did not think to give it to 
 her when I saw her, and last night brought 
 my negligence to mind. I could have died 
 satisfied when I rolled down that cursed hill 
 if she had had this lock. I may get killed — 
 you understand — some accident may hap- 
 pen to me ; and, if it does, send her that 
 relic." 
 
 The master promising faithful obedience, 
 and receiving many injunctions to be secret 
 in regard to the sacred treasure given by 
 the widow to Uncle Corny, the two friends 
 returned to th^~HbUSe'"ahrrlc)und breakfast 
 waiting. 
 
 The captain and his little band now- 
 learned with pleasure that an enterprise 
 was on foot in the mountains, and imme- 
 diately determined to join it. A guide was 
 procured, after breakfast, who was to con- 
 duct them to the rendezvous, and they took 
 an affectionate leave of Warden, who was 
 to remain where he was, and of Neal and 
 his family. 
 
 " We'll meet again," said the master. 
 
 " 1 hope so," replied Warden, " and, if we 
 do not, die worthy of Alamance, and re- 
 member my heart is with you." 
 
 "Be valiant," said Neal, "and God go 
 with you and prosper you !" 
 
 At length the adieus were all spoken, 
 the parting over, and the Alamancers on 
 the road. Warden stood watching them 
 till the last man had faded from his sight, 
 and then an oppressive sadness came over 
 him. His recent parting from the friends 
 of his youth seemed like separating him 
 again from the home of his boyhood : he 
 was again in the wide world and far from 
 the sweet object around which the tendrils 
 of his heart had grown from the time he 
 was a child. Left by his discriminating 
 friends to indulge alone his tender melan- 
 choly, he strolled off to gaze on the face 
 of Nature and " chp.wthecnd of sweet and^ 
 j»itte£. fcuicjk" " — -—" " ' 
 " "The house of Neal, as we have said, was 
 planted in a valley, a green and level nat- 
 ural meadow hemmed in on each side by a 
 succession oitridge of mountains. Most 
 of these rose steep and precipitous from 
 the plain, their bold heads shooting straight 
 up from the vale below, and like two rows 
 of hostile Titans sternly and proudly con- 
 fronting each other with silent and awe- 
 inspiring gaze. They seemed as if, in 
 some older time, two armies of earth-born 
 giants, with their mightiest men in front, 
 had marched against each other in hostile 
 array until the foremost r^nks had nearly 
 met'in terrible collision, when, by the fiat 
 of Omnipotence, they were instantly ar- 
 rested and changed to earth, there to stand 
 forever, their huge javelins of rock still 
 clinging in their nerveless grasp. On one 
 side of the plain between them ran a creek 
 some twenty yards broad, the speckled 
 trout being clearly visible as they glanced 
 
72 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 through the silver waters. The stream 
 babbled along over its bed of pebbles, its 
 volume being constantly increased by a 
 succession of fountains that gushed, bright 
 and rapid, from the sides and bases of the 
 mountains, until, within a short distance 
 from its source, it became a river. War- 
 den, with the feeling of one imprisoned, 
 was glad to find a foot-bridge over this 
 creek, and a path winding from it up a 
 sloping acclivity until it reached the sum- 
 mit of the ridge. Following' this path and 
 clambering along as well as he could in his 
 enfeebled state, he arrived, by a tortuous 
 route, at an elevation whence he could 
 look beyond the walls of his castellated 
 prison. On one side, as far as the eye 
 could see, blue peaks on peaks arose into 
 mid air, varying in shape, size, and colour, 
 like the stupendous domes, minarets and 
 cupolas of an endless and magnificent city 
 in fairy-land, or, to use a figure perhaps 
 more appropriate, like the vast tents of a 
 countless host of genii, while the mists of 
 the morning that were gathering in fleecy 
 clouds around their summits might be 
 taken for the banners, streamers, and pen- 
 nons of the chiefs. On the other side these 
 mighty barriers of Nature were gradually 
 dwarfed till they dwindled into hills, and 
 finally disappeared in the illimitable and 
 undulating plain far below. The forests 
 were clad in the russet and yellow-tinted 
 livery of early autumn, and the slanting 
 rays of the sun lit up the landscape with a 
 thousand different hues, the distant planta- 
 tions gleaming like spangles or lustrous 
 specks in the wide and varied scene. 
 
 The air was cool, bracing, and elastic ; 
 the heavens were of a deep, stainless, and 
 enchanting blue ; the clouds were light, 
 ethereal, and transparent. Warden, who 
 had an eye for the beautiful and grand, and 
 whose jaded constitution began to feel the 
 influence of the delightful climate, became 
 animated with new hopes, fresher feelings, 
 and brighter fancies. Inspired by the maj- 
 esty and novelty of the scenes around 
 him, his despondency vanished, and his 
 mind, quickened in its energies, expanded 
 with great and teeming thoughts and high 
 resolves. Still, all his meditations and all 
 his purposes would connect themselves 
 with Edith Mayfield, and in all the castles 
 in the air which his imagination built she 
 was the irradiating sun, the central object 
 of attraction. He had stood some time 
 musing in a rapt mood, and was just be- 
 ginning to contemplate the dark side of 
 the picture which his fancy drew, when 
 he was startled by a light, step behind him. 
 He turned and met the gaze of Lucy Neal, 
 whom, if he had not seen her before, he 
 might well have taken for the genius of 
 the place, the blue-eyed goddess of liberty. 
 Her large, full eyes were indeed blue — 
 blue, soft, and serene as the azure skies 
 
 above them ; her light-coloured, loose hair, 
 scarcely reaching to her shoulders, was 
 parted on her forehead of the purest white, 
 and thrown back so as to expose in full 
 relief the chaste symmetry of a small, full 
 face that looked like a Grecian model chis- 
 elled from stainless alabaster, and in whose 
 expression were blended the most perfect 
 and artless innocence, tenderness, and in- 
 telligence. A small foot and a slender 
 ankle were plainly visible beneath a sim- 
 ple dress that, displayed in all its gracefully- 
 rounded proportions a form that was the 
 handiwork of Nature only. 
 
 When Warden saw her advancing to- 
 wards him with her sun-bonnet in one hnnd 
 and some faded flowers in the other, she 
 seemed not the least confused, and was the 
 first to speak, remarking, with a smile that 
 sparkled in her eyes, that she had found 
 the lost sooner than she expected. 
 
 "And what lost one were you seeking, 
 my sweet friend'?" asked Warden. 
 
 " Who else should it be," replied the 
 girl, "but the stranger who was so silly 
 as to stray off by himself, and sick at that, 
 among these mountains 1 You are the very 
 person I was looking for, and father will 
 call me a witch for finding you so soon. 
 See, I've gathered some flowers for you ; 
 but they have all been nipped by the. frost, 
 though they are very sweet. Shall I pin 
 them on your coatl" 
 
 " Certainly," answered Warden, " and 
 I'll wear them there in memory of the 
 giver when we are far apart." 
 
 " Which won't be soon," said Lucy, fast- 
 ening the flowers to the collar of^jiis coat, 
 and looking up into his face with a smile 
 that tempted him strongly to touch his lips 
 to hers. But he was not yet, in the fash- 
 ionable sense of the word, a gallant, and 
 though sadder and wiser, he was as simple 
 and modest as the trusting child of Nature 
 who stood by his side. Thanking her with 
 few but kind and sincere expressions for 
 her solicitude in his behalf, he learned from 
 her that his melancholy in the morning had 
 not been unobserved, and that as he was 
 seen, in a sad and abstracted mood, to 
 ascend the mountains alone, fears were 
 entertained that in his feeble state he might 
 over-exert himself, or meet with an acci- 
 dent among the precipices which lined his 
 path. Lucy, hearing her father express 
 such fears, had at once, and unattended, 
 started in pursuit of the wanderer. 
 
 "Are you not afraid," asked Warden, 
 " to be alone in these wilds with a stran- 
 ger and a soldier like me 1 You are, I 
 fear, too unsuspecting for such a world as 
 this." 
 
 " Why should I be afraid V) replied she ; 
 " I know you are not a bad man, like somo 
 I have read of." 
 
 " And how do you know it 1 I am a total 
 stranger to you." 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 73* 
 
 " No, you are not a stranger," she an- 
 swered quickly ; " I know you as well as 
 I know my father." 
 
 " Know me !" exclaimed the officer ; 
 " when did you ever see or hear of me 
 before V 
 
 " I never saw you, or heard of you either, 
 till last night. It may seem curious to 
 you, but when I first saw you, you looked 
 like an old acquaintance and friend, or 
 brother, I had known all my life. I know 
 from your looks what sort of a man you 
 are." 
 
 Warden, much impressed by her lan- 
 guage, replied, 
 
 " There is more philosophy in your lan- 
 guage than you are aware of, Lucy, if you 
 will allow me to call you so." 
 ' "Please don't call me by any other 
 name," said she, interrupting him. 
 
 " I will not, and I am proud of the priv- 
 ilege, for I despise to have to Miss my fe- 
 male friends. As I was going to say, you 
 hardly know the full truth of your words. 
 The face is the best index to character; 
 and on it our Maker has stamped our 
 hearts. We may, by our acts and by our 
 words, create false impressions ; our births, 
 fortunes, and positions in society become 
 identified, in the mind of the worldling, 
 with our natures, and elevate and depress 
 us above and below our proper level. But 
 children and intelligent brutes, on whom 
 our positions in society and our worldly 
 means have no influence, read in our 
 countenances our genuine worth, and rank 
 us as we deserve. Rank, wealth and influ- 
 ence are unknown to them, and they see 
 the true heart and soul beaming in the 
 face — the real man or woman. Thus you 
 have seen me ; thus, too, have I seen you ; 
 and I feel towards you as if I had known 
 you all my life. We were friends before 
 we had spoken a word to each other, and 
 such let us ever be, reading and judging 
 each other as God judges us, by the heart." 
 
 Thus conversing, in the most free and 
 confidential manner, and on various sub- 
 jects— men, books, and society — they re- 
 turned to the house, Lucy pointing out, on 
 the way, the most beautiful and interesting 
 scenes and localities, with all of which she 
 connected a legend ; and Warden being 
 astonished and delighted at finding a friend 
 and companion so simple and so cultiva- 
 ted, so refined in sensibility, so rich in fan- 
 cy, and so good at heart. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 LUCY NEAL. 
 
 The character of Lucy Neal daily and 
 hoarly developed itself— daily and hourly 
 exhibited a new beauty for the admiration 
 of Henry Warden. She grew constantly 
 into his feelings, and her society and con- 
 
 versation became indispensable to him—: 
 at least while he was away from home. 
 There were a truthfulness and simplicity 
 in all her words and actions ; an original- 
 ity, brightness, and innocence in all her 
 thoughts that struck him with as much as- 
 tonishment as did her familiar acquaint- 
 ance with the old English classics, her 
 just conception of things, her total want 
 of deception, and her entire ignorance of 
 the world. Cradled amid scenes of the 
 highest beauty and grandeur, and nurtured 
 at the breasts of Nature herself, she was- 
 the pure reflection of her mother, untainted 
 by the gloss of art, fair, chaste, and tender 
 as the first blossoms of spring that, on the 
 untrodden prairie, or by the rugged mount- 
 ain's side, open their soft bosoms to the 
 light dews of April. 
 
 From sunrise till late at night she and 
 Warden were inseparable, reading to each 
 other, visiting together caves, and springs, 
 and noted places, and admiring together 
 the shifting scenery of the country. Can 
 a man love two objects at once ? He may 
 at least love one and revere the memory 
 of another. llenry-Wa*de.n 4 for years ac- 
 customed to think on Edith"~M jayJ|e,ld» had 
 come to regard her as alancTjful creation, a 
 consecrated idea throned apart among the 
 recollections of the past. He never for a 
 moment forgot her ; but, divested now of 
 all mortal attributes, and existing only in 
 memory, she coidd no more fetter his af- 
 fections than an angel or a departed spirit. 
 Thus the sacredness of his feelings to- 
 wards her was not abated, though Lucy 
 began now to mingle more practically with 
 his thoughts and his* plans of life. Indeed, 
 he was now without plans, and so was she ; 
 and, knowing only that they were happy, 
 they thought not of the future. 
 
 Dreams often affect us more powerfully 
 than waking visions : and one night War- 
 den dreamed of Edith Mayfield. When he 
 awoke he loved her still, and she shone 
 with a fresher lustre in his imagination. 
 He concluded that he would, on the follow- 
 ing day, adopt a new course of conduct to- 
 wards Lucy ; but when he met her, fresh 
 and beautiful as the morning, he thought 
 no more of his resolution until he was 
 again on his couch. His moral firmness 
 was great, and he now determined at all 
 hazards to break the spell that bound him 
 to the mountains. On the next day an 
 opportunity offered to test the feelings of 
 Lucy, for she was visited by Sally Ewing, 
 the belle of the mountains. Miss Sally 
 seemed at once to take a fancy for War- 
 den, and he, with the gallantry of his na- 
 ture, repaid with interest her attentions. 
 She remained two days at Neal's, during 
 which time the young Alamancer assidu- 
 ously cultivated her acquaintance, and 
 almost turned her head with compliments 
 and verses which he dedicated to her. She 
 
74 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 was a rosy, lively, giddy young woman, 
 spoiled by the addresses of many suitors 
 and by the fond caresses of her parents, for 
 she was an heiress. She became pleased 
 with Warden, talked about him all night to 
 Lucy, and was perfectly delighted when he 
 accompanied her home. She had an only 
 brother, a young man not deficient in in- 
 telligence and manly beauty, but spoiled as 
 much as herself, and regarded by all the 
 ladies of his acquaintance as a great prize. 
 Henry Warden had often heard Lucy speak 
 of the great family of the Ewings, and he 
 was by no means pleased when informed 
 by Sally that her brother Ned and Lucy 
 had been dedicated to each other by their 
 respective parents, and that beyond all 
 doubt they would some day be married. 
 It was of no consequence to him — so rea- 
 soned Henry Warden ; and yet he was not 
 extravagantly rejoiced when he found that 
 the young mountaineer, compassionating 
 his lonely situation, proposed to go with 
 him to Neal's and spend several days. 
 Miss Sally herself had a hand in effecting 
 this arrangement, and received, for her 
 kind suggestion, the spoken thanks of the 
 person intended to be benefitted and his 
 secret dislike. Accordingly brother Ned 
 got himself ready, and looking on a match 
 between his sister and Warden as a settled 
 thing, he treated the latter with fraternal 
 affection and confidence ; ran over his his- 
 tory on the road, and dwelt voluminously 
 on his exploits in hunting foxes, killing 
 bears arid deer, and catching racoons. 
 Whenever Warden would pause to gaze 
 on some scene of surpassing beauty, bro- 
 ther Ned wouid connect the place with a 
 legend of the chase, for which, and for 
 which only, he supposed all the localities 
 of the region had an interest for his friend. 
 Arrived at Neal's, they were both received 
 with kindness by Lucy; but during the day 
 she exhibited a marked preference for the 
 new comer, and listened with gratifying 
 attention to his disquisitions on dogs, guns, 
 horses, and wild turkeys. Henry bore all 
 Lris very patiently, at first; but as Lucy 
 still grew fonder to the other and colder to 
 him, his vexation began to show itself in 
 various ways. The day passed off, and 
 that night the Alamancer found that he- 
 was jealous. He had once concluded to 
 leave the mountains immediately, for as 
 long as he had no rival in the esteem of 
 Lucy he was fearful of the consequences 
 of his longer stay ; now he felt, what he 
 had not felt before, a desire to win her af- 
 fection, a dread of losing her friendship. 
 But he had not time for much reflection, 
 for brother Ned talked incessantly until 
 both Tell asleep. On the following morn- 
 ing Lucy looked not so well as usual, and 
 met Warden with a tenderness in her man- 
 ner which he was not in a mood to observe 
 or appreciate. Desiring to commune with 
 
 himself, he walked down the valley to a 
 nook, on the sunny side of a mountain, ab- 
 sorbed in his own reflections. He did not, 
 however, fail to observe the romantic 
 character of the place where he sat ; a 
 place that seemed to have been formed as 
 a bower of love for the deities of the wood. 
 It was a semicircular chamber or alcove, 
 cut deep in the base of the mountain and 
 covered over with small trees, whose 
 boughs were woven together by vines of 
 wild honeysuckle ; and seats of turf, and 
 beds of flowers, and sweet shrubs were 
 tastefully arranged over the area. On the 
 front side stood a large and aged maple, 
 and a few yards off was a spring of clear, 
 pure water that gushed up from a bed of 
 white pebbles, and which was walled in 
 with rock. On the other side of the val- 
 ley, and not far off, the creek before men- 
 tioned kept up its perpetual babble ; and far 
 up and down its course the eye ranged 
 along a narrow green valley, on each side 
 of which cliffs of rock along the sides of 
 the mountain were darkly visible among 
 the thick foliage above which they rose, 
 looking like the turrets and towers of an- 
 cient and dilapidated castles. Warden had 
 often lounged in the place before : and as 
 he now sat, reflecting on those past and 
 happy hours, he heard the rustle of a dress 
 behind him, and the next instant Lucy 
 Neal was seated by his side. Laying her 
 small, white hand in his, and looking up 
 into his face w r ith the most affectionate 
 and tender expression beaming in her 
 own, she exclaimed, with a smile, " Now, 
 Henry, you know how it feels !" 
 
 " I am doubtful as to what you mean," 
 said Warden ; " but, if I am right in my 
 opinion, you make me happy indeed. I 
 suppose — excuse me if I am wrong — I sup- 
 pose you have been paying me back for 
 my attentions to the celebrated and accom- 
 plished Miss Sally Ewing. Am I right?" 
 
 Lucy blushed and hung her head for a 
 moment, and then replied, " I was very 
 unhappy, and 1 ought not to have acted 
 so." 
 
 What would the gallant reader have done 
 in Warden's situation 1 what could he have 
 done 1 Few. perhaps, who 'see these pages 
 could be as self-denying as the Alamancer, 
 whose sense of his responsible and deli- 
 cate position again rushed upon him with 
 painful force. He raised her head to his 
 lips — he kissed it over and over again, ex- 
 claiming, " May God bless you forever, 
 my dear, clear friend !" 
 
 He committed himself no farther; but 
 Lucy was happy, entirely so, and totally 
 forgot her suitor, who was impatiently 
 awaiting her return to the. house. War- 
 den, however, remembered him at last, 
 and suggested that it would be rudeness 
 in them to stay away longer from their 
 guest. 
 
 ,.r 
 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 75 
 
 " I don't care if it is," said his compan- 
 ion, "and I hope he'll never visit me again. 
 I don't want to see him, or think of him 
 any more ; for if I do I'll hate him, and that 
 wonld be a sin. I shall never hear his 
 name again without being unhappy." 
 
 "It should not be so," answered War- 
 den; " for I'm sure that, so far from dislik- 
 ing what has happened, it has made me 
 happier than I was. I should never think 
 of your conduct with the slightest vexa- 
 tion, or condemn you in the least." 
 
 "Won't you, in fact? Do you fully for- 
 give me for what I did 1 and will you for- 
 get it all, as if it had never been? Please 
 tell me the truth." 
 
 " This is the seal to my assertion," said 
 Warden, again kissing her hand, and then 
 holding it in both of his. " As I hope to 
 be saved, I declare to you that I will not 
 and cannot blame you, nor shall a shadow 
 of displeasure in regard to you ever cross 
 my mind. . In your own language — please, 
 please forget all that has past. You'll 
 make me miserable if you think of it at 
 all." 
 
 She replied only with a look; and, hand- 
 in-hand, they returned to j,he house. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 / 
 " There is a Divinity that shapes our ends. 
 Rough-hew them as we will." 
 
 Shakspeaee. 
 
 Henry Warden was now fully aware 
 that his. situation had become extremely 
 critical. It was time for him to take some 
 decisive step: yet what could he do'? He 
 was too modest, and had too humble an 
 opinion of himself to believe, merely from 
 her conduct, that he was loved by Lucy 
 Neal; but still, he could not but feel that 
 she regarded him with a tender interest. 
 Was lie to presume that her affections 
 were fixed on him, and, acting under this 
 supposition, to disclose to her frankly the 
 secrets of his own heart, or leave her at 
 once without making any explanations 1 
 The fanner course might grossly insult 
 her ; the latter might involve her in dis- 
 tressing doubts, and shake her confidence 
 in her friend. Besides, was it prudent to 
 forego a certaintv of happiness for an un- 
 certainty of bliss? Edith Mayfield had 
 rejected his suit, had spurned from her the 
 first and brightest coinage of his soul, and 
 had, as he feared, proved to be deceitful 
 and selfish. Thus, it was doubtful wheth- 
 iv he could ever win her; and if he should 
 succeed in that, it was still more doubtful 
 whether a union with her would prove a 
 blessing. It is not the lot of mortals to be 
 entirely blest, thought he, and it is folly 
 to expect it. Lucy is beautiful — she is 
 young, artless, and innocent. She is, in 
 fact, all I could wish a woman to be; and, 
 though I cannot love her as wildly and 
 
 fervently as I once loved Edith, I cannot 
 but regard her with ceaseless tenderness, 
 and we can be as happy together as it is 
 possible to be on earth. My first love 
 was a foolish dream — a delirium, as the 
 master calls it, and the charms and perfec- 
 tions of its object the creations of my 
 own young imagination. When he came 
 to this conclusion he found himself ex- 
 tremely miserable, and he saw at once that 
 it was impossible for him ever to esteem 
 another woman if his early hope should 
 prove to be a baseless fabric. We ask 
 again, what could he do? The wisdom of 
 mortals is often the extremest folly ; and, 
 knowing this, Warden resolved to be guided 
 by circumstances, and to try further the 
 heart of Lucy Neal. In the execution of 
 this plan he one day abruptly informed 
 her that he was going to return to Ala- 
 mance. " I'm in earnest," said he, " for I 
 have over-staid my time and must leave 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Lucy essayed to make a reply; but. not 
 being able to speak, she began to weep, 
 and Warden remained silent, not. knowing 
 what to do or say. Lucy, however, re- 
 lieved his embarrassment by leaving the 
 room, and, hastily washing her face, she 
 returned again, smiling and blushing. 
 
 " Why did you attempt to quiz me so ?" 
 asked Warden, somewhat astonished at 
 the sudden change in her manner. 
 
 " I was just in fun," replied she, and, 
 attempting to laugh, she again burst into 
 tears and withdrew. 
 
 Warden took up her scrap-book, in 
 which she had before requested him to in- 
 scribe some memento, and, going down to 
 the alcove,. wrote the following piece: — 
 
 This book is like the sacred ground 
 
 Where all the parish dead are laid, 
 Where daily o'er some fresh-made mound 
 
 Sad tears are shed and vows are made ; 
 Next day there's silence o'er that grave 
 
 But yester-morn by mourners prest ; 
 And soon th' untrodden grass will wave 
 
 Above our friend's last place of rest. 
 Thus o'er each token graven here. 
 
 You will a moment weep and sigh, 
 But ere the next shall claim a tear 
 
 The last you'll read with careless eye ; 
 And few short years will by you glide, 
 
 With all their varied hopes and aims, 
 Before this book is thrown aside, 
 
 A record of forgotten names. _ 
 But if, like many, you should find 
 
 Each lover false, each friend a knave, 
 When wayward Fortune proves unkind, 
 
 And all your hopes are in the grave ; 
 When from these leaves thy tearful eyes 
 
 Recall fond mem'ries of the past, 
 Then know that, buried here, there lies / 
 
 A heart that thee to the last." J 
 
 Lucy did not read these lines until the 
 author again left the house, and when he 
 returned she hastily closed the book, while 
 her eyes swam with tears. 
 
 " 1 fear I have offended you, Lucy," said 
 Warden, taking up the book, and turning 
 
76 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 to the page on which his piece was writ- 
 ten. 
 
 "Why do you think I am offended?" 
 asked Lucy. 
 
 " You look as if you were." 
 
 " My looks don't represent me fairly, 
 theu ; " replied Lucy ; " and, in fact, it seems 
 that you have all the time mistaken my 
 character." 
 
 " I feared to write, the piece," said War- 
 den, " for it is impossible for me not to 
 speak warmly when the rhyming fervour 
 is on me. They are my true sentiments, 
 however, for I shall ever remember you, 
 though you may not be obliged to me for it." 
 
 Lucy, hurt and surprised at this lan- 
 guage, gave the' speaker a look that fairly 
 made his breast ache, and again a flood of 
 tears drowned those bright and tenderly- 
 beaming orbs. 
 
 "For God's sake forgive me," passion- 
 ately exclaimed Warden, at the same time 
 taking one of her hands in both of his. 
 " Forgive me, Lucy, my dear, sweet friend, 
 if I have wounded your feelings. I did not 
 mean to do it ; indeed, I did not understand 
 you when you said I had mistaken your 
 character. Please, please do not. cry so, 
 for every tear you shed burns upon my 
 heart. Do you forgive me V 
 
 " I meant," said Lucy, drying her eyes, 
 " that you did not know me if you thought 
 me fickle and forgetful. I know, Mr. War- 
 den, I shall never forget you, and I 
 thought you ought not to have believed 
 that 1 would." 
 
 ." So you may now think, Lucy," an- 
 swered he ; " but a few years, and new 
 scenes and new acquaintances will make a 
 great change." 
 
 " So you may now think," said Lucy, 
 smiling; " but when you've tried me you'll 
 change, I hope, and will then be ready to 
 finish " 
 
 " Finish what ?" asked Warden. 
 
 Lucy hung her head and blushed, and at 
 last answered, in scarcely audible tones, 
 " It's no matter, and I ought not to have 
 mentioned it." 
 
 " 1 understand you now," replied War- 
 den, " and will do as you desire. I could 
 not find a word that suited me ; for ' prized" 1 
 and ' likcaV do not express my feelings, and 
 are unpoetical. I'll go down to the alcove 
 and see if your name upon the maple will 
 not inspire me." 
 
 He was now fully determined to write 
 "loved" in the blank in the last line; but 
 as soon as he set his foot in the bower 
 Edith Mayfield came into his mind, and all 
 the early history of his life rushed upon 
 him with overwhelming force. He had, 
 though he scarcely knew it, been long 
 struggling with himself, and now the crisis 
 had come ; and his moral firmness tri- 
 umphed. His resolution was fixed at last, 
 and immovably ; and as he hastened to the 
 
 house he thought he heard at the gate the 
 sound of a well-known voice. It struck 
 strangely on his ear, and, hardly believing 
 his senses, he hurried to the lane, and 
 there, to his inexpressible astonishment 
 and delight, he met with Rust and his 
 sable namesake, Ben. From these he re- 
 ceived his mother's letter, informing him 
 of his brother's illness, and he immediately 
 began to prepare for his return to Ala- 
 mance. 
 
 Lucy Neal no longer urged, as she had 
 formerly done, the further stay of her 
 friend, and had but little to say during the 
 evening and the sad night which followed. 
 She was, however, extremely attentive to 
 the wants of Warden's two friends, while 
 on himself her swimming eyes were con- 
 stantly bent, and her manner towards him 
 was full of timorous and touching tender- 
 ness. Struggling between smiles and tears 
 she glided about the house, preparing va- 
 rious articles for his journey, «md occa- 
 sionally suggesting precautions to him 
 with a voice whose trembling melody 
 melted like a strain of sweet, sad music, 
 into the heart of every hearer. There 
 were few dry eyes that night at the con- 
 clusion of the prayer of Abraham Neal. 
 " Good-night" fell mournfully and softly 
 from the lips of every one, and Rust was 
 the only one who slept that night beneath 
 the roof of The Mountain Home. His was 
 the only appetite at breakfast next morn- 
 ing, and he only said " farewell" when the 
 parting occurred. The tears streamed 
 down the cheeks of the venerable Neal, 
 his wife kept her handkerchief to her eyes, 
 and even the servants wept. Lucy, how- 
 ever, who had cried before when Warden 
 spoke of returning, now, tearless and silent, 
 pressed his hand, and then immediately 
 ran to her chamber, at a window in which 
 her face and handkerchief were visible. 
 Warden himself looked back at every step, 
 till he came to the great maple on which 
 he had carved her name ; and then, taking 
 out his own handkerchief, he waved it at 
 Lucy, kissed it, and hanging it on a bough 
 of the tree, disappeared in the forest. She 
 was soon at the alcove; and, while press- 
 ing the handkerchief to her breast, a note 
 fell out, which she often kissed before she 
 read : " I had much to tell you, but could 
 not. Forgive me, and remember me as a 
 brother. We'll meet again on earth or in 
 heaven, Lucy. Adieu ! H. W." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 HOME AFTER A LONG ABSENCE. 
 
 Henry Warden's feelings became more 
 and more depressed as he advanced from 
 his late pleasant retreat. He little dreamed, 
 until he parted from her, of the hold which 
 Lucy Neal had acquired upon his feelings, 
 
ALAMANCE 
 
 rr 
 
 f ,r d« as is usually the case, he began, when 
 too late, to remember her various excel- 
 lences, her pure a*hd fervent attachment 
 for himself, the happiness which, with her, 
 he might enjoy, and his folly in not ac- 
 cepting the boon which had been thrown 
 in his way. He remembered, too, that 
 Lucy was just such a character as he had 
 once supposed Edith Mayfield to be, and 
 that this latter was not such a being as he 
 had imagined she was. When, however, 
 the mountains, which spoke of Lucy, had 
 melted from his sight, a new train of 
 thoughts came into his mind, and old asso- 
 ciations and recollections were revived. 
 He listened with more attention to the 
 stones of the two Bens, one of whom was 
 constantly talking, and became more im- 
 patient to get home. Guided by the tact 
 and skill of Rust, he was soon at Alamance, 
 arriving in ,the night, at the house of his 
 friend and companion. Here, he heard of 
 his brother's death, of the forfeiture of his 
 father's estate to Nathan Glutson by the 
 terms of a mortgage made long ago, of 
 the disappearance of the negroes, and the 
 flight of his mother and sister, who had 
 taken refuge at p]sther Bell's. He heard 
 also, for the first time, of the fate of Edith 
 Mayfield ; and his heart giving way under 
 its accumulated sorrows, he remembered 
 the advice of the master, and bitterly re- 
 pented his folly in having risked his hap- 
 piness on the chances of such an uncertain 
 hazard. He was more than ever anxious 
 to see his mother and sister, and, despatch- 
 ing a messenger to them that night to no- 
 tify them of his arrival, was informed that 
 they would meet him at sunrise on the 
 following morning, in a place near Esther 
 Bell's, known as the Grape-vine Thicket. 
 Thither, before the appointed hour, Henry 
 Warden went, and was soon locked in the 
 embraces of mother and sister, no one of 
 the three for a long time speaking a single 
 word. The earth was still wrapped in the 
 thin shadows of the morning twilight, and 
 hence neither mother nor son could see 
 the changes which time had worked in 
 the features of the other ; but, dark as it 
 was, Henry observed a great alteration in 
 the person of Kate. When he left her 
 last, she was a mere child, and now the 
 same Kate lay in his arms a beautiful girl, 
 already nearly a woman, and a new pang 
 shot through his heart as he remembered 
 the humble position which, as a lady, she 
 would have to take in society in conse- 
 quence of his father's slender circum- 
 stances. Mrs. Warden was the first to 
 break silence, and avoiding all allusion to 
 the affecting incidents of her own history, 
 she pressed her son for an account of his 
 adventures. His story was very briefly 
 told, for he was now sufficiently master of 
 himself to inquire into the particulars of 
 matters which were burning in the hearts 
 
 of all. After a long and minute account 
 of the life, actions, saymgs, illness, and 
 death of little Wash, and of family trou- 
 bles, Mrs. Warden spoke as follows : 
 
 " I know, my son, what you wish to hear. 
 She has left us, and it is supposed that she 
 was drowned, though some strangely sus- 
 pect Nathan Glutson to be guilty of her 
 death. That she loved you I have no 
 doubt ; for, though she never told me so, I 
 could read it in her actions. She came 
 almost every day- to enquire about you, 
 and the last time I saw her — the very &uy 
 before she disappeared — she was at our 
 house, and seemed so sad that I pressed 
 her to let me know what ailed her. She 
 said she had her sorrow's, which wem 
 known only to herself, and that although 
 every body thought she was happy, she 
 was in reality the most miserable person 
 on earth. My kind words caused her to 
 weep very much, and seemed to open her 
 heart, for she promised to make me her 
 only confident the next time she saw me, 
 and requested me to remember her to you. 
 It is said that people of fine .sensibilities 
 often have presentiments of coming evils, 
 and I begin to believe it, for I never saw 
 Edith look so sorrowful as she did when 
 she bade me farewell. She was so meek, 
 so gentle, so tender and sad, and her eyes 
 shone with such a soft and unnatural light, 
 that she seemed to me to be about to leave 
 this world for a better, and no doubt she 
 and little Wash are now thinking of you 
 in heaven." 
 
 Each of the three, occupied with a train 
 of unutterable thoughts which this speech 
 produced, sat musing in silence for several 
 minutes, and again the mother was the 
 first to speak. 
 
 " My son," said she, " the sun is some 
 distance up, and it is time for you to leave 
 us, for the Tories will hear of you and 
 soon be about." 
 
 " Mother," answered Henry, " I cannot 
 leave you, and my heart reproaches me 
 already for having remained away so long. 
 If the Tories are swarming over the coun 
 try, it is the very reason why I should bo 
 here to protect you and sister Kate." 
 
 " Your presence can do us little good," 
 replied Mrs. Warden, " and may do your- 
 self a great injury. W T e are in no imme- 
 diate danger, for the murderers and robbers 
 never dare to come to Esther Bell's." 
 
 " They have injured you, though," ex- 
 claimed Henry; "and the blood of my 
 brother cries for vengeance. I tell you, 
 mother, I cannot leave you, for I would be 
 wretched, and every moment would im- 
 agine that I heard your dying shrieks." 
 
 " You must go, my son," said the mo 
 ther; "you must go where you can best 
 serve your country, and then you will be 
 serving me. You are not used to the arti- 
 fices and cunning of the Tories, and they 
 
& 
 
 ALAMANCE 
 
 would certainly put you to death in less 
 than a week if" you were to remain. Go 
 again to the army ; put your twist in God, 
 and fight bravely for our rights. Read 
 daily the Bible I gave you when you left 
 before, and if we never meet again on 
 earth, let us prepare for a meeting in a 
 brighter- world.. Come, my dear son, let 
 us part." 
 
 "Stay one' minute," cried Henry War- 
 den, " and let me say another word. Who 
 is to provide for you? Who is to provide 
 for sister Kate, who will soon be a wo- 
 man? You say all our property is gone, 
 and you are perfectly destitute and depen- 
 dent on the charity of others. I cannot 
 endure that such should be the case, and 
 it almost maddens me to think that dear 
 Kate, so tender, so delicate,, and so beauti- 
 ful, should now become a drudge. She 
 must and she shall be a lady, and I will be 
 the drudge. I will throw aside nry arms, and 
 labor till I am worn down with toil before 
 she shall sink from that rank in which she 
 was born and raised." 
 
 " My son, my son, beware of pride ; it is 
 a most sinful passion. It is not fortune, 
 rank, and fine clothes that make the lady, 
 and Kate will be one in any rank and any 
 dress. The first characteristic of the lady, 
 and of the gentleman, is an ability to act 
 worthy of the situation in which God has 
 been pleased to place, them. Kate's heart 
 is as good, and pure, and gentle, as it ever 
 was, and yet she cheerfully performs the- 
 duties of her new position. So let us all 
 act, and may the blessing of Heaven rest 
 on you, my dearest, son. Good-by !" 
 
 The heart-strings of the mother were 
 breaking, yet she shed not a tear, and did 
 not, like her daughter, look back until she 
 was nearly out of view, when she turned, 
 waved her handkerchief, and then rushed 
 into the house, and, locking herself in her 
 chamber, poured the sorrows of her sur- 
 charged breast into that ear that is ever 
 listening to the cries of the desolate. As 
 for Henry Warden,, he became rivetted to 
 the spot where the meeting occurred, and 
 stood gazing towards the house, thinking 
 of a thousand tender things which he 
 ought to have said, and imagining that he 
 could 9tV-[ see the dear ones who had left 
 hi n. All the features of the scene around 
 him were graven in his memory; every 
 rock, and tree, and shrub, became invested 
 with a peculiar interest, and the place was 
 ever after sacred ground to him. At last 
 he remembered his father, and his duty to 
 him, and started for his hiding-place, in- 
 tending to pass in his route the old War- 
 den place, and other scenes where he had 
 spent the happiest portion of his life. He 
 was partially disguised, wearing a slouched 
 hat, which concealed his features, and an 
 overcoat over his arms, and laying aside, 
 as far as he could, his military air and 
 
 manner. Arrived at the Warden estate, 
 he wandered through the fields add mead- 
 ows, living over again the scenes of his 
 i boyhood. Although the plantation looked 
 desolate, blackened by the smoke of fires 
 that had consumed all the fences, the 
 barns, and out-houses, and not a living 
 creature was any where to be seen, it was 
 still to Henry Warden the most beautiful 
 spot on earth, more beautiful than it had 
 ever seemed before. Here -were the old 
 fields over which, with merry clamour of 
 boys and dogs, he had often chased the 
 timid hare in the bright, frosty winter 
 mornings ; the smooth, green meadows, 
 where he had watched the shadows of the 
 clouds sweeping over the wavy grass, and 
 rolled in the sweet-smelling hay, listening 
 to the hum of bees among the flowers, and 
 the song of the neighbouring ploughman, 
 while 
 
 , " Merrily the mower whet his scythe." 
 
 Yonder stood an old birch, a living chron- 
 icler of the past — telling, with its rudely- 
 carved names, and dates, and hearts, pleas- 
 ant stories of times gone by ; and near by 
 it was the patriarch oak, beneath whose 
 leafy canopy he had whiled away many 
 a summer day in rapt meditation, and in 
 building castles, airy, light, and beautiful 
 as the many-tinted clouds that lazily float- 
 ed over him. Every object that he saw 
 had a tale to tell ; around each still clus- 
 tered a thousand recollections ; still lin- 
 gered the bright, familiar spirits with which 
 his happy fancy long ago had peopled it. 
 They come again at his bidding, these 
 shadowy friends of his younger days ; but 
 no voice or sound were heard among them, 
 and their pale faces looked sadly on him. 
 Here, thought he, I spent my innocent 
 childhood, with a thousand fair and tender 
 beings—here, by each hill and vale, and 
 green-margined brook, were the fairy 
 realms where I lived so happy among the 
 bright, pure creatures of my fancy. And 
 these are -now the property of another; 
 these, around which my heart-strings must 
 ever twine, are the possessions of my en- 
 emy. Sweet home of my childhood ! My 
 dear, native earth, I must see you no more : 
 With this determination he turned his back 
 on the place, when his eyes fell on an 
 object that arrested his attention, for it 
 seemed strangely in keeping with the deso- 
 lation that reigned around. This was a 
 very aged and decrepit negro, in gar- 
 ments that looked as aged as himself, and 
 who, with a long stick in his hand, and 
 bent nearly double, was hobbling across a 
 neighbouring field in the direction of War- 
 den. The latter waited until the old man 
 approached, but finding that his hearing 
 was almost totally gone, he deemed it 
 prudent to ask no questions. The negro 
 seemed to know but little; said he be- 
 
A L A M A N E. 
 
 79 
 
 longetl to Esther Bell, and, thinking "Mas- 
 sa stranger," might be lost, he had come 
 to put him in the road he wished to travel. 
 
 "I know these roads well," -said Warden, 
 " and can find my way ; but, nevertheless, 
 I am still grateful to you for your kind 
 intentions." 
 
 " And whar mout young massa be 
 gwine!" asked the negro. 
 
 " I am wandering about for amusement," 
 answered Warden, '-and am going by the 
 school-house and the church. Good-day, 
 old man !" 
 
 "Good-day, massa, and God bless you!" 
 
 It struck the judge, after he had left the 
 negro, that he had been imprudent, and 
 that he ought to change his course ; but 
 not being able to resist his inclinations, he 
 passed on over ground, every inch of which 
 was sacred, and came in sight of the old 
 field school. The place being fixed in his 
 memory as he last saw it, and all the in- 
 tervening tract of time being for the pres- 
 ent forgotten, he almost expected to be 
 greeted by the merry din which he had 
 been accustomed there to hear. As he 
 approached, the utter silence that reigned, 
 and the changes which he saw, brought 
 painfully to his mind the solitary condition 
 of the place, and solemnly impressed him 
 with the suitable character of all earthly 
 things. The paths and the well-trodden 
 play-ground were overgrown with grass 
 and sedge ; the yard was choked up with 
 leaves and fallen limbs, and the house filled 
 with cobwebs and dusti A few old books 
 and scraps of paper lay scattered about ; 
 a rusty slate or two hung against the walls, 
 with half-effaced figures on them ; the mas- 
 ter's desk was overturned, spiders were 
 weaving through the house, and lizards 
 and scorpions ran, frightened, over the 
 floor and benches. Taking with him a 
 few memorials of the past, Warden next 
 directed his steps to the church, and going, 
 first into the grave-yard, he found that it 
 had also changed, but differently from the 
 place which he had just left ; for while the 
 latter had become desolate, the former ap- 
 peared to have been often visited. Fol- 
 lowing his mother's directions, he went 
 first to his brother's grave, and throwing 
 himself upon it, the fountains of his heart 
 overflowed and he wept like a child. He 
 had seen men fall like grain before the 
 reaper ; he had seen death in its most 
 ghastly forms, but never had it appeared 
 to him so awful and so dread as when he 
 reflected that in the damp earth beneath 
 ljim, in its dark, narrow tenement, lay 
 mouldering into dust the manly form of his 
 little brother, so full of life and beauty 
 when he saw him last. He began, too, to 
 think of the poor lad's last hours, and his 
 reflections became so torturing, that, to 
 relieve himself, he strolled over the ground, 
 wondering who filled the many new graves, 
 
 and noting the inscriptions on the ancient 
 tombstones. The modern ones were of 
 marble, but those of an old date were gen- 
 erally formed from slate-rock, were over- 
 grown with moss and ivy, and covered 
 with curious and half-effaced emblems, and 
 passages from Scripture. On one he found 
 only a name, and a circle which he sup- 
 posed was intended to represent eternity. 
 On several there were globes, and sei ; 
 and doves in the act of flying from them ; 
 on others, were broken wheels and extin- 
 guished candles ; and on one, a very an- 
 cient one, was a solitary star. His atten- 
 tion was, however, particularly attracted 
 by an old slab of blue slate,' which was. 
 deeply sunk into the earth, and seemed to 
 be crumbling away. Lifting it out of the 
 ground, and cleaning off the dirt, he saw, 
 roughly carved upon it, a mound, and the 
 figure of a man standing by it and g 
 at a rainbow. Under the name and ago 
 of the person to whose memory the stone 
 was sacred was the inscription, 
 
 " She died in hope— so let us live." 
 
 The inscription had a happy effect on his 
 feelings ; a*nd, casting a parting glance at his 
 brother's grave, he went into the church. 
 Here he had never been alone before, and 
 as his footsteps echoed through the empty 
 building, and he looked round on the va- ' 
 cant pews and pulpit, he w r as strangely 
 affected. He had been so accustomed, 
 when he entered, to see faces around and 
 above him, and multitudes of people, and 
 the house Avere so intimately associated in 
 his mind, that, for a moment, he imagined 
 himself to be the last survivor of the gen- 
 eration with whom he had worshipped 
 there. Unusually large as was the house 
 for a country church, he recollected to 
 whom each pew had belonged, and the 
 place in it where each member of the fam- 
 ily sat during the service. Thus he knew 
 the precise place often occupied by Edith 
 Mayfield, and, seating himself in it, he saw 
 lying on the floor a pocket Bible, whirl! 
 seemed to have been recently used. He 
 regarded it as a sacred relic, for Edith's 
 name was in it ; and, turning over the leaves 
 he found on the margin of a page, and just 
 under the metrical version of the sixty- 
 seventh psalm, the initials "H. and E. 
 W.," enclosed in a heart, around which 
 was the word " Eternity," and under which 
 a date which he remembered corresponded 
 with that on which he had written to her, 
 desiring to engage himself. " Too late, too 
 late !" thought he, kissing the inscription ; 
 " the master was right: the full fruition of 
 love is not to be enjoyed on earth, but 
 surely is to be in heaven. Edith, dear, dear • 
 Edith, I will think only on thee while I live, 
 and prepare to meet thy pure spirit where 
 sorrow and parting are never known!" 
 Thus resolving, he next seated himself in 
 
80 
 
 , A HI A N C E . 
 
 his father's pew, and conjuring up the limes 
 that were gone, and peopling the house 
 with its former Sabbath tenants, bright 
 and familiar faces were gathering round 
 him, and he could almost imagine that he 
 heard the voice of his old friend the par- 
 son, when a noise in the closet under the 
 pulpit aroused him from his pleasant rev- 
 ery to a state of very unpleasant agitation. 
 Reason, education, and experience had 
 not entirely eradicated those superstitious 
 feelings which are inherent in every na- 
 ture, and especially in those of a refined, 
 poetical temperament ; and Warden began 
 to wish himself away. He dreaded no par- 
 ticular danger; but then the very vague- 
 ness of his fears rendered them the more 
 distressing ; and as the noise was again re- 
 peated, his hair rose, and cold shudders 
 ran over him, when the door of the closet 
 flew open and the Rev. Dr. Caldwell made 
 his appearance. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 DISCOVERIES. 
 
 The parson, aware that his situation 
 was an awkward one, began immediately 
 to define his position. " The times don't 
 admit of ceremony," said he, " and there- 
 fore I'll explain to you at once how I came 
 to be here, and I will expect you to do the 
 same in regard to yourself. Now, you 
 must know that under that closet I have 
 prepared a secret door, and that, when 
 hard pushed, 1 take refuge there; and if 
 the closet should be forced open, I can 
 escape under the floor of the house. Such 
 is the cause of my being housed up there 
 this morning. The Tories have become 
 ravenous, and the few Whigs left at Ala- 
 mance have determined to join the army 
 of General Greene. This very morning, at 
 dawn, I parted from your father, he 
 aiming for the army and I for Esther 
 .Bell's, to deliver some messages from him 
 to your mother. I was on foot ; and, as 1 
 came on, three villainous Tories, also afoot, 
 saw me and gave chase, and such a race a 
 parson never had before. As the rascals 
 were gaining on me I dashed in at Alex- 
 ander's, told his heroic daughters to act as 
 I if were hid about the premises, and see- 
 ing that they understood me, I escaped by 
 the back door, plunged into a swamp, and 
 rcfely made my way hither. When you 
 first, entered the church 1 believed you 
 were one of my pursuers ; but when you 
 came to your father's pew, I was enabled, 
 after a long peep, to make out your fea- 
 tures. I knew you were sent for and the 
 cause, and so tell me, in brief, where you 
 came from, how you have been, what you 
 are doing here, and whither you are going." 
 
 "1 have been generally well," answered 
 Warden, "excepting some slight wounds 
 
 I received in the battle of Camden, of 
 which you have heard. I came from the 
 mountains whither I was carried. I am 
 here to gratify a natural feeling, and I am 
 going " 
 
 " Hush ! hush !" exclaimed the doctor. 
 " Do you not hear voices by the creek?" 
 
 Before Warden could answer, three men 
 appeared on the brow of the hill which led 
 down from the side of the church in which 
 the two friends were standing, and the 
 parson immediately knew them to be the 
 same persons who had chased him in the 
 morning. He and Warden also saw that 
 William Glutson wa3 oneof the party ; and 
 the young officer, true to the instinct of 
 the soldier, instantly drew and cocked his 
 pistols, and, handing one to the doctor, 
 said, " Make sure of the man on the left, 
 and I'll pink the one on the right." 
 
 " I will when it is necessary," answered 
 the parson'; "but for the present let us 
 watch and listen. See ! they are coming 
 right under this window, and we may gain 
 some important information. Keep per- 
 fectly still, and we can hear every word 
 through this broken glass." " 
 
 The Tories did come under the window, 
 and seated themselves on a bench by the 
 side of the church, Will Glutson saying, 
 as he sat down, " I shouldn't be surprised, 
 Pete, after all, to find that you've been 
 fooled." 
 
 " How could I be fooled ?" answered the 
 one spoken to ; " haven't I told you what I 
 saw and heard with my own ears and eyes ? 
 The man that fools me will have to rise 
 before day." 
 
 " What sort of a negro was it that you 
 saw 1 Describe his looks, and tell us all 
 that passed." 
 
 " He was a miserable old sinner, with 
 one foot in the grave and 'tother hobbling 
 to it, and was so deaf that I made myself, 
 hoarse in bellowing to him. He knows 
 nothing and nobody, except his master and 
 mistress and the parson, and couldn't even 
 tell that there was a war going on. I told 
 him I wanted to see the preacher badly, as 
 my child was very sick, and he said he 
 had just lent him his horse, and that he had 
 gone off in a prodigious hurry to see some 
 one at Esther Bell's. So you see he has 
 fooled the old negro and given us the slip." 
 
 " The devilish old fox !" exclaimed 
 Glutson ; " his hide and tallow would have 
 been worth a fortune to me. D — n him ! I 
 thought I had him sure," 
 
 "And so did I," said Pete Simmons, 
 " and was beginning to laugh to myself as 
 I thought how we'd roast his ribs. I would 
 have been sheriff; and, gods ! how I would 
 have welted him every pop! (Here the 
 old gentleman alluded to unconsciously 
 winced and felt his back.) I was so sure 
 of him," continued the last speaker, " that 
 I was cutting him about at random to find 
 
ALAMANCE 
 
 SI 
 
 his tender points. Holy Moses ! wouldn't 
 I have made him hop as I jerked him over 
 the naked legs." (The old gentleman did 
 hop, but soon recovered his composure.) 
 
 '• We'll get the old cock yet," said Glut- 
 son, " and then you may tickle him to your 
 heart's satisfaction. In the mean time I 
 have great news to tell you — Henry War- 
 den has returned to Alamance." 
 
 11 What! him they called the judge 1 ?" 
 asked Dick Sikes. 
 
 " The very same ; come, by G — d, right 
 into a trap, and this night we'll take hiin " 
 It was now Warden's time to start ; but 
 a motion of the doctor's hand admon- 
 ish sd him to be quiet, and Glutson con- 
 tinued : "Great times are ahead. I know 
 the sneaking, whey-faced hero well, and 
 he'll stay with Ben Rust to-night, for Ben 
 hi .■: also come with him. We must and 
 can take them both, and these are my 
 plans : There are five of our friends at, fa- 
 ther's, and we three make eight. Do you 
 two prowl about Bell's and Rust's this 
 evening till night, and I will also have spies 
 out in every direction. At ten o'clock we 
 will meet- here, and every man must have 
 a gun, a sword, and two pistols and a dirk, 
 and surely eight of us can storm Captain 
 Poll's castle, and take her and all her 
 friends. We'll surround the house about 
 twelve o'clock, shoot old Poll if necessary, 
 and if not, tie her ; we'll then hang Ben up 
 at her door for a sign, and the judge, as 
 he is called, must be taken alive." 
 
 " For my part," said the Tory who had 
 last spoken before, " I don't care to be en- 
 gaged in this business, for I have nothing 
 against the judge. I never saw him ; but 
 I used to know him by report, and it always 
 spoke well of him." 
 
 ^ " And for that very reason I hate him," 
 exclaimed Glutson; "he has crossed me, 
 too, and I intend that he shall pay for it 
 if it is fifty years hence. I look on this 
 whole war as one between me and him, 
 and I intend to spend my life in perse- 
 cuting him and his family. But there are 
 other reasons for our putting him out of 
 the way, Dick, and you shall be well paid 
 for your trouble if you join us ; and if you 
 don't, your throat shall be cut from ear to 
 ear. Do you hear me 1" > 
 
 "Yes, I hear you and heed you too," 
 replied Dick ; "I am always ready for a 
 fair bargain ; and as you've hired me, and 
 the pay seems to be good, I'll go it. I 
 can't afford to quarrel with my bread and 
 meat, especially as you take all the re- 
 sponsibility." 
 
 " Certainly I do," returned Will Glut- 
 son, laughing. " It's twelve o'clock, boys, 
 and so let's adjourn; and, remember ten 
 o'clock to-night!" 
 
 The Tories now left, and were soon out 
 of sight, much to the relief of the parson, 
 who had a difficult task in restraining War- 
 F 
 
 den from trying his strength with Glutson. 
 "A time will come," said the old man, 
 "when you may have a chance to grapple 
 with him out of sight of this holy edifice 
 sacred to peace. And now let us also be 
 moving, for we must go immediately to 
 Rust's, and consult about our common 
 safety. The vile dogs ! they have not got 
 me yet, nor will they while my trust re- 
 mains in the mercy of God and the speed 
 of my legs." 
 
 The reverend gentleman had no lack of 
 courage — indeed he was as fearless as any 
 man of his time ; but the character of his 
 mission made him averse to the shedding 
 of blood by himself unless in self-defence. 
 He was, besides, a general benefactor, and 
 he knew it, and his fears, therefore, were 
 not for himself; for he was ready at any 
 time to quit the scene of his earthly labors, 
 and render an account of his stewardship. 
 
 On the road the two friends overtook 
 the aged negro whom Warden had met in 
 the morning, and who now came so sud- 
 denly and noiselessly in view that he 
 seemed to have dropped from the clouds. 
 " I mistrust you, old man," said W T arden s 
 " and must handle you a little to see if you 
 are a wizard. Tell me, on your life," con- 
 tinued he, seizing the negro by the collar, 
 " how came you to be dogging me from 
 place to place." 
 
 " Because, Master Henry," answered 
 old Ben, shedding his aged locks, " these 
 here cussed Tories — begging Master Cald- 
 well's pardon — these cussed Tories are 
 monstratious cunnin, and you aint usin to 
 'em. I knowed you'd be strollin about 
 the country in broad daylight, and so, I 
 thought I'd stroll about some, too, and 
 watch.'" 
 
 It appeared that, to protect his young 
 master and to scour the country in search 
 of news, the faithful servant had covered 
 his head with meal, and assumed such a 
 disguise that even Henry Warden did not 
 know him. He had, during the whole of 
 the morning, hovered near the young offi- 
 cer, and beneath his venerable coat were 
 found a brace of pistols, the gift of his 
 master, and a very homely but savage- 
 looking dirk. It was easy now to account 
 for the singular information to the Tories 
 which saved the parson, and Henry War- 
 den also understood why he himself was 
 asked in the morning which way he was 
 going. , 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 WARDEN LEAVEE ALAMANCE AGAIN. 
 
 With all their persuasions, the two 
 friends, Warden and Caldwell, could not 
 induce Ben Rust to leave his mother's 
 house. With a blind obstinacy, he de- 
 clared his unalterable purpose of remain- 
 
82 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 ing where he was, provided his namesake, 
 Ben, were permitted to keep him com- 
 pany. 
 
 " He shall,'" said Henry Warden, "and 
 I will too, in life and in death, if you will 
 not leave." 
 
 " No, you won't, my Christin friend," 
 replied Rust ; " it won't do for the same 
 house to cover us both." 
 
 "How do you meant" asked Warden. 
 
 " I mean," answered Ben, " that though 
 you're a good gineral in a regular-built 
 continental fight, you don't know nothin 
 about the science of Tory tactics. Old 
 Ebony here and I have been studyin it for 
 years as hard as Julius Cassar, and, I tell 
 you, it's so monstrous difficult we've only 
 got to spellin, as it were, in three' sylla- 
 bles. If you stay here, you'll be in your 
 own way and in mine too." 
 
 " I think 1 know enough," said Warden, 
 "to be certain that three men are stronger 
 than two, and that eight are more than 
 twice as many as three." 
 
 " Praps that's true in figures," replied 
 Ben ; " but it won't always hold good in 
 fightin. I've already got my plans laid, 
 and if they fail, old Ebony and I will make 
 sure of four, and then there'll be only two 
 Whigs gone. If you stay you can't save 
 us; and, accordiu to your own calkilation, 
 its better to lose two than three. You 
 must be off directly it is dark, and I ad- 
 vise you to make for the army." 
 
 " Mrs. Rust, at least, must go with us," 
 said the parson, " for the Tories maj- do 
 her an injury." 
 
 " If they do they'll rue it," answered 
 -Major Poll. " I'll fly from my house for 
 no such cursed varmints. Here I mean to 
 spend this night, trusting to my son and 
 my own good rifle, and wo be to the man 
 that lays hands on me!" 
 
 The parson and his young friend War- 
 den, finding it useless to argue longer with 
 the Rusts, and believing it best for them 
 to leave, parted from them at dark ; and 
 knowing that no search would be made 
 that night at Bell's, went directly there. 
 They remained but a short time, and be- 
 fore the dawn of morning were on the road 
 for the head quarters of General Greene. 
 Warden, with feelings that cannot be de- 
 scribed, found himself again, and for an 
 indefinite time, leaving the home of his 
 youth. Far different were his feelings 
 now from what they had been when, in 
 the very morning of his life, he had first 
 started to join the defenders of his country. 
 Buoyant, then, with hope, and strong in 
 the untried energies of mind and body, he 
 had gone, forth, confident of an early and 
 successful termination of the struggle in 
 which he was about to engage, with vis- 
 ions of an honourable distinction, and of 
 bright rewards of love gleaming in the 
 vista of the happy future. He had fought 
 
 — he had bled — he had endured hunger, 
 thirst, fatigues, and privations for years; 
 and the situation of his country seemed to 
 be still more gloomy than ever. He had 
 returned to find his only brother dead, his 
 home desolate, his mother, and his father, 
 and his sister exiles, his friends scattered; 
 and she — the chief, the dearest hope of his 
 life — she, whose affection was to reward 
 him for all his toils — gone forever. As a 
 thief in the night, he was now escaping, 
 and what was the prospect before him? 
 Not fame — its charms had vanished ; not 
 love — for it was now a thing of memory 
 only ; not a bright and happy home *o greet 
 him on his return — for that was gone. For 
 what, then, was he going to peril himself? 
 He had now learned that hardest of all 
 lessons, patiently to submit to the inscru- 
 table ways of Providence, and to labour 
 without hope, because He has made it our 
 duty here. His reverend friend, guessing 
 at his thoughts, endeavoured to amuse him 
 with wise discourse, touching, with much 
 tenderness and delicacy, on the circum- 
 stances of Warden's situation, and gently 
 leading his mind to a just conception of the 
 sublime consolations of the Christian phi- 
 losopher — consolations which few expe- 
 rience, and which none can appreciate, till 
 all the mortal hopes and passions which 
 support them have left them, and the pure 
 mind, like the. pyramids in the sands of 
 Egypt, stands in its now solitary and miked 
 majesty, self-relying and self-sustained. 
 Conversing on such matters, Warden re- 
 marked that he believed he had still about 
 him some verses which he had composed 
 years ago, and which, as it was now light, 
 he would read by his friend's permission. 
 
 "Certainly," said the parson, "1 would 
 be pleased to hear them, for I have myself 
 been a dabbler in rhymes." 
 
 " 1 was young when 1 wrote them," said 
 Warden, " very young, and you must ex- 
 cuse the egotism. But here they are : 
 
 'WHEN TIME ITS SILENT WORK HAS 
 DONE. 
 When time its silent work has done, 
 
 And years have rolled their changes by, 
 When, like the early mists, have gone 
 
 The passions from our mental sky ; 
 When all the hopes and fears that now _ 
 
 Throw lights and shadows o'er the mind. 
 Have vanish'd from the world's stein brow., 
 
 And left it in its bleak outline; 
 When cold reality shall rise 
 
 With wither'd iimbs, in sable serge, 
 Where now gay phantoms cheat the eyes 
 
 Upon the far horizon's verge ; 
 When flowers have faded from the way, 
 
 And all the glitt'ring, laughing band, 
 Who made our morning's path so gay. 
 
 Have left us on Life's waste of sand, — 
 Where then must look the heart for rest, 
 
 On what firm prop its burdens slay ? 
 What then will soothe the aching breast! 
 
 Where will the soul its thirst allay.' 
 Oh' then will fall thai, giddy throng 
 
 Who feed on thoughts of vanity, 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 63 
 
 And Life's sad cares for them foo strong, 
 
 Existence will a burden be; 
 And panting 'neath a tiresome load 
 
 Of foliies changed to grim despair, 
 Their fainting forms will, strew the road, 
 
 Their bootless cries will fill the air! 
 Then wilt thou, like yon tireless sun, 
 
 Break from obscuring clouds, my soul, 
 'With all thy travelling glories on,' 
 
 And speed thee to thy destined goal ! 
 Then mute will be the sland'rer's tongue, 
 
 Vile hate upon itself will p.ey, 
 The envious heart, with madness stung, 
 
 Will flv the withering light of day ; 
 Whilst thou, self-poised and sell'-sn.'i.ain'd, 
 
 Thy every foeinan put to flip' 1 .., 
 Will stride, with all thy Do - -ers unchain'd, 
 
 Still onward in thy ;.uin of light !' " 
 
 " Vz'sy respectable," said the doctor ; 
 "but was not the vanity of ambition here 
 taking the place of other lighter vanities !" 
 
 "I will not say that it was not," an- 
 swered Warden ; " for I know 1 ,had de- 
 ceived myself. I trust my eyes are at 
 last open, and I see, indeed, that all is 
 'vanity of vanities.'" 
 
 " All things earthly are," replied the doc- 
 tor ; " there's nothing true but Heaven." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 " A spirit of health, or goblin damned." 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 William Glutson and his friends from 
 Iris fathers were not without a feeling of 
 awe wh^n they entered the old church of 
 Alamance on a moonless night. Conscious 
 that their intentions were evil, hardened 
 as they were in iniquity, they still had a 
 superstitious dread of churches and grave- 
 yards at night, and, when near them at 
 such a time, feared a visitation from some 
 terrible inhabitant of the land of spirits. 
 They waited some time for the two who 
 were with Glutson the day before, and 
 •who were by no means anxious to be the 
 first aMhe church. These latter came at 
 last, and, mustering courage sufficient to 
 open a door, called out, with their eyes 
 shut, to know if any one were present. 
 'They were answered by William Glutson, 
 ■whom, with his company seated near the 
 pulpit, they were bold enough to join. The 
 Tories chose to assemble and arrange their 
 plans in the house to avoid the keen night 
 air, and also, perhaps, to be out of sight 
 of the white slabs that gleamed with spec- 
 tral lustre in the neighbouring cemetery. 
 Still, they were by no means easy in their 
 location, and as an occasional blast of 
 wind moaned through the doors and rat- 
 tled the loose panes of glass in the crazy 
 windows, cold shudders ran over them, 
 «.nd they pressed more closely together. 
 "These fears, however, gradually left them, 
 snd they were beginning to swagger and 
 tooast of their former exploits, and make 
 themselves merry at the expense of their 
 expected victims, when suddenly one of 
 
 them exclaimed, " What's that?" There 
 is nothing so contagious as terror, and the 
 whole band, instantly electrified with fright, 
 hr.ddied against each other, while they cast 
 fearful glance:: round the v.~«llo of. '-he 
 church. They saw nothing but the shad- 
 owy ouilines cf the great pillars that sup- 
 ported the gallery, and the pulpit that 
 looked up near them, vfllrile the sighing 
 and rumbling of a slight and fitful breeze 
 was the only sound to be heard. 
 
 " It was only the creaking of the doors," 
 at length spoke Glutson, with an effort to 
 command a careless tone ; " who's afraid 
 of an empty old church 1" 
 
 " Tm not afraid of it," said the one who 
 had given the alarm, "nor of all its con- 
 tents of ghosts and devils. But I am afraid 
 of Whigs, when I can't see them ; for they 
 might kill me before I know where they 
 are. I'm certain I heard one sneeze, and 
 all I want is just to see the whites of his 
 eyes, and then I'll feel at home." 
 
 Each one, now ashamed at having been 
 alarmed, began to bluster and swear; and 
 one of them, bolder than his compeers, 
 had the daring courage to leave them 
 several yards, searching the neighbouring 
 pews, and calling on various noted Whigs 
 by name to come out and fight like men. 
 While he was thus engaged a terrific and 
 unearthly scream, wild as the howl of a 
 legion of devils, burst over the heads of 
 the affrighted Tories, and froze them to 
 their seats. Again, wilder and louder, that 
 howl rent the air, a light flashed through 
 the church, and a hideous and gigantic 
 figure, with eyes and teeth of fire, rose 
 from the pulpit. At the same time, and 
 from the same place, two ghostly figures, 
 clad in white shrouds, issued, as it seemed, 
 swift as the wind, while a deep, sepulchral 
 voice cried out, " Bring the sinners to me, 
 their time has come !" 
 
 The astounded Tories, unnerved by their 
 fears, dropped their guns, and, muttering 
 broken prayers and promises of reforma- 
 tion, endeavoured to escape as fast as their 
 palsied limbs would carry them, running 
 against each other, and falling over chairs 
 and benches. The figures in white, emit- 
 ting a sulphurous odour, were soon down 
 among them, and, seizing three of the fu- 
 gitives, bound them with their hands be- 
 hind their backs, and placed thin bandages 
 over their eyes. The others gained the 
 doors, and taking different roads, and aim- 
 ing at no particular place, made off at the 
 top of their speed, their excited and dis- 
 ordered imaginations converting every 
 dead tree and phosphoric stump into a 
 ghost or goblin, while every rustle among 
 the leaves acted as a spur to their jaded 
 energies. The three who were taken suf- 
 fered themselves, trembling and power- 
 less, to be fastened together and led back 
 near the pulpit, being able to distinguish 
 
84 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 only the dim outlines of the terrible being 
 above them, the horrors of his face being 
 magnified tenfold by the ^indistinctness of 
 their vision. One of the v apparitions now 
 left them in charge of his ghostly com- 
 peer, and immediately the deep voice from 
 the pulpit called out, 
 " Who are these V 
 
 "Your names are desired," squeaked, in 
 shrill and harsh tones, the jailer of the 
 Tories. 
 
 They were given as Peter Simmons, 
 William Glutson, and Richard Sikes. 
 The Voice, solemnly. — " Richard !" 
 Sikes. — " Yes, sir, good devil, I hear 
 you." 
 
 The Voice.— " Richard! Sinner! thou 
 cursed and ungodly youth, call me not 
 good. I am the father of evil — the great 
 beast with seven heads and ten horns, and 
 have come to put you in my wallet, and 
 carry you to the lake of fire and brim- 
 stone. Don't you see my raw head and 
 bloody bones'?" 
 
 Sikes. — "Oh good, merciful gentleman 
 devil, please have mercy on me this one 
 time, and I'll .never sin anjr more. I never 
 hated you nor abused you, like some peo- 
 ple, but always defended you, and said 
 you were a good Christian and an honest 
 man, and that you didn't have a fair chance. 
 For G — 's sake let me off now, and I'll 
 serve you faithfully." 
 
 A horrid yell, like the laugh of a demon, 
 followed this speech, and the Voice con- 
 tinued, 
 
 "You've served me already, Richard, 
 and that's why I want to take you with 
 me. You shall dance with me in the fiery 
 furnace, sleep on a red-hot gridiron, and 
 drink my health with melted lead.- Schow- 
 oo ! won't it be fine'?" 
 
 Sikes. — " Thank you, good devil, thank 
 you. I'd rather stay here, if it's the same 
 to you. I'm a poor man, and have nobody 
 to work for me but myself." 
 
 The Voice, impressively. — " Richard ! 
 how came you in such unrighteous com- 
 pany }" 
 
 Sikes. — " Squire Gluts6n and his son 
 William hired me to work for them, and 
 told me the king would thank me for it." 
 
 "You lie! you sneaking villain!" ex- 
 claimed William Glutson, beginning to 
 entertain strange suspicions. " You silly 
 fool, don't you know whose hands you're 
 in ]" 
 
 He began to struggle to release him- 
 self ; but soon another hand, with an iron 
 clutch, had hold of him, and a voice said 
 in his ear, " Bill Glutson ! a pistol is at 
 your breast, and if you call a name, or 
 make another effort to get away, you're a 
 dead man. You know me ; submit and 
 obey !" 
 
 With this admonition, the Tories were 
 led off a few miles, to the heart of a large 
 
 forest, and there Glutson and Sikes (the 
 latter of whom had made promises of ref- 
 ormation) were firmly secured to separate 
 trees. They were now completely blind- 
 folded ; while the bandages were taken off 
 the eyes of Simmons, and he stripped of 
 all his garments but his shirt and panta- 
 loons, and these latter rolled and fastened 
 above his knees. A sapling, from which 
 the limbs had been cut, and the bark taken 
 off for some twenty feet from the roots, 
 stood by, and, pointing to it, one of his 
 keepers thus addressed Simmons : 
 
 " That's what we call the ' Coon's sap- 
 lin,' Pete. When you climb to that ere 
 limb, jist up there you're a safe coon, and 
 may travel. Ebony, keep your gun cocked; 
 and now, my Christin friend (turning to 
 Simmons), to assist you, I'll tickle your 
 legs while you climb. Hangin's the" for- 
 feit if you don't git up. So here goes !" 
 
 The Tory, knowing it was no time to 
 beg, started up the tree, hugging it with a 
 deathlike grasp; but before he had ascend- 
 ed far, several keen cuts across his ankles 
 with hickory switches, relaxed the press- 
 ure of his legs, and dtwn he came. Again 
 and again he was forced to make the ex- 
 periment, and always with the same re- 
 sult, the switches being applied to his 
 back, and shoulders with vigour and vi- 
 vacity as he started up and came down. 
 At length, being entirely exhausted, and 
 smarting all over with gashes from which 
 the blood was trickling, Simmons begged | 
 for mercy. " It's no use cryih," said his 
 tormentor ; " one of two things is got to 
 be done. You must git to that limb your- 
 self, or I and old Ebony must lift you to it 
 with a rope round your neck. Which do 
 you prefer]" The unfortunate Peter chose 
 the former; and, after resting a while, made 
 another and final effort. Swift and furious 
 came the blows over his back and arms ; 
 but these were protected, to some extent, 
 by his shirt, and Simmons was climbing 
 for his life. His energies seemed to in- 
 crease as he went up, and he was six or 
 seven feet above the ground when a few 
 sharp jerks across his naked feet and an- 
 kles brought him rapidly to the earth. 
 He was considerably bruised by his hill ; 
 and, rendered desperate by his sufferings, 
 asked to be hung at once. The penalty 
 was, however, remitted, and Simmons was 
 again Blindfolded and fastened to a tree. 
 
 It now came Glutson's time to receive 
 his dues ; and, accordingly, he was led out, 
 his eyes uncovered, and thus addressed: 
 
 " Bill Glutson, your time has come at 
 last ! I never thought I would have to do . 
 this job ; but you have forced me to it. 
 What have you got to say why you should 
 not die ?" 
 
 " I've got nothing to say or repent of.'* 
 sulkily answered Glutson. 
 
 " Bill, it won't do to be so stout abo«t 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 85 
 
 matters," said the other, " and you know 
 it You needn't think, that because I 
 spared Pete Simmons, that you, who are 
 the greatest sinner of all, will escape. 
 Answer me now, on your life : Have you 
 viot hired others to rob the patriots 1 Did 
 you not assist in beating Esther Bell, as 
 she was going to see the sick 1 Did you 
 not lay plans to catch preacher. Caldwell, 
 and deliver him to the British 1 Did you 
 not lay in wait to kill me and Henry War- 
 den ] Have you not ordered George War- 
 den's fences to be burned — his house rob- 
 bed — and assisted in carrying away his 
 negroes ?- Did-you not murder my cousin, 
 Betsy Deans! Have you -not been a vile 
 Tory, opposing your own country, and 
 robbing, beating, and murdering its de- 
 fenders 1 This is the indictment ; what 
 say you to it V 
 
 ''■ I'm not bound to answer j^our ques- 
 tions," replied Bill, " and you have no 
 right to make me." 
 
 "Bill Glutson, I "have told you your 
 time is come, and you know I don't break 
 ray word. We have played together, Bill, 
 gonq to school together, and have known 
 each other 'since we were children. I 
 never had any ambition against you ; I 
 never wished you any harm ; and yet you 
 seduced my cousin, promising to 'marry 
 her ; and when she got. in a bad way, and 
 was heart-broken and threatened to ex- 
 pose you, you took her up on your horse, 
 telling her you were going to carry her to 
 your father's, and marry her ; and when 
 you got to little Alamance you. threw her 
 in the water and held her under it till she 
 was drowned." The speaker and Glutson 
 were both affected ; and, after a pause, the 
 former continued : " You've also sought 
 my life, Bill, and intended to hang me to- 
 night. You intended to kill Henry War- 
 den, and Esther Bell, and you have led on 
 the malignant Tories in all their rascalities. 
 You must die ! Kneel down and pray for 
 once in your life, for in twenty minutes 
 your soul will be in eternity." 
 
 " I cannot pray, now," said Glutson, pit- 
 eously ; " give me till to-morrow to think 
 over my sins and repent." 
 
 li You'll never see the sun rise again," 
 answered his executioner ; " will you pre- 
 pare ?-" 
 
 " Give me, then, two hours, for old friend- 
 ship's sake, just two hours, and I'll ask no 
 more." 
 
 " Will you pray before you* die ]" de- 
 manded the person implored. " Come, 
 Ebony, he's as ready as he'll ever be. 
 Let's make a finish at once." 
 
 " Oh, for G — d's sake, for mercy's sake, 
 pity me," cried Glutson, now frantic with 
 terror ; i( do not murder me in cold blood. 
 It will be murder if you kill me now. You 
 may beat me every day, put me in a dun- 
 geon, and feed me on bread and water : 
 
 you may have all my property, and all my 
 father's. I'll assist you in defending the 
 country ; I'll tell you where all the Tories 
 hide, and help you to hang them, if you'll 
 just let me live. For your own sake, for 
 your mother's sake -" 
 
 " Mention not my mother here !" ex- 
 claimed the other, " nor my name, or this 
 pistol will do the business at once. It 
 will not be murder *to hang you; and if it 
 was, I have what I consider good authority. 
 I ask once more, will you pray V 
 
 " I cannot now ! I cannot for a while ! 
 Give me just half an hour." 
 
 " The time's up, and five minutes over," 
 was the answer ; " here, Ebony, take the 
 end of this rope and fasten it to that limb 
 up there." 
 
 The person addressed did as he was bid, 
 his coadjutor holding up in his powerful 
 arms the trembling and struggling body of 
 the Tory. 
 
 " Is it fastened V asked the Whig on the 
 ground. 
 
 " Yes, sir, all ready." 
 
 " Bill Glutson, farewell ! and may God 
 have mercy on your soul." 
 
 The Tory was about to make an effort 
 to speak, but the first word was choked in 
 its passage, and his writhing limbs were 
 dangling in the air. In a few moments 
 the convulsive efforts of his body ceased, 
 and a slight tremulous motion indicated 
 that the flame of life was flickering in its 
 socket, when the rope was cut, and he fell 
 heavily and senseless to the earth. 
 
 The binding around his neck was imme- 
 diately undone, and such appliances used 
 as were calculated to restore his suspend- 
 ed animation ; but as he began to give 
 signs of returning life, the incoherent words 
 which he feebly articulated, and the wild, 
 rolling, and vacant stare of his eyes, showed 
 that reason had deserted her throne, and 
 that his brain was seething with fever and 
 delirium. He evidently thought himself 
 in the abodes of the damned, and that the 
 giant trees around him were the monstrous 
 and shageless tenants of those dismal re- 
 gions. His father's house was not far off, 
 and thitherward he was carried by one of 
 his executioners, entreating him to drive 
 off the ghost of Betsy Deans. After pla- 
 cing him in the yard, the Whig returned for 
 his companion and his prisoners, and, ap- 
 proaching to within a few hundred yards 
 of Glutson's mansion, its tenants were 
 roused from their slumbers by a succes- 
 sion of savage howls, and beheld, with 
 speechless terror, the awful visitant ol 
 the flaming eyes and teeth. At the same 
 time a fierce and terrible voice pro- 
 claimed, 
 
 " Wo, wo to thee, Nathan Glutson ! You 
 are a murderer, a swindler, and a thief; a 
 liar, a hypocrite, and a villain ! Your sins 
 are all known to me, and soon I'll call 
 
8G 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 to settle your account ! Repent, for ven- 
 geance is at nana :" : 
 
 The house of Glutson became a scene 
 of lamentation and wretchedness. The 
 tales of cthcrc, the evidence ox ins own 
 senses, and the condition of his son — the 
 pride and hope of his house — satisfied Na- 
 than that an avenging spirit had been 
 abroad. William became a raving maniac, 
 and seemed to be tormented by furies, till 
 at last his malady became so frightful that 
 no one could bear to be in his presence. 
 A fierce and incurable fever preyed on 
 him night and day, and the phantoms of 
 his stricken conscience, in the shape of 
 hideous demons, mocked at his sufferings, 
 till at last he wasted away, and went to 
 realize those untold and unimagined hor- 
 rors of which he had here a faint foretaste. 
 These events put afloat a thousand rumours 
 at Alamance. Many of the Tories believed 
 that the evil one had been made visible 
 among them, while some very pious old 
 ladies among the Whigs devoutly thanked 
 the Almighty for answering their prayers, 
 in sending to them an angel of deliverance. 
 The shrewd patriots held their peace, and 
 Esther Bell and Anne Warden cautioned 
 Black Dan never to let his prisoner, Sim- 
 mons, into the secrets of the huge gourd 
 with teeth and eye-holes, and which, with 
 a lighted candle in it, looked so terrible at 
 night. Dan treasured the gourd as the 
 gift of a friend, kept his prisoner close, 
 and, occasionally, at night, assisted by 
 his fellow-servants, exercised him at the 
 "Coon's saplin." Amid all the specula- 
 tions among the unknowing ones at Ala- 
 mance, two things were reduced to cer- 
 tainties, namely, that the two Bens and 
 Dick Sikes had disappeared, and that the 
 Whigs, for a season at least, had rest from 
 their enemies. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 " Whoever has been once on the sand- 
 hills of North Carolina will not forget 
 them soon. The country is not hilly, as 
 the term applied to it would seem to indi- 
 cate ; but an unbroken plain stretches round 
 the whole horizon, and the face of the 
 earth, never clothed with verdure, and thin- 
 ly covered with leaves, gleams like the 
 desolation of perpetual snow. Still, it has 
 its beauties and its attractions peculiar to 
 itself, and which endears it to the dwellers 
 there. There are occasional mounds of 
 drifted sand to relieve the monotony of the 
 plain; near its streams the air is laden 
 with the fragrance of delicious flowers, 
 and at all seasons the evergreen still wears 
 its summer robes. Nature seems ever to 
 be in a state of soft repose, and the hazy 
 atmosphere invites to that dreamy listless- 
 ness, that middle ground between the hard 
 
 realities of life and the wild phantoms 
 cf :l?°p, cc pIcTvSaiii and soothing to the 
 contemplative mint.. Th p crowni'v- £■•}- 
 r y cf «'.io country, nowever, is its forest of 
 pine. There are no thickets of brush- 
 wood, no tangled webs of vide, no dwarfs 
 nor misshapen woody monsters in this no- 
 ble family of trees. Grouped in squares, 
 circles, parallelograms, and an endless va- 
 riety of fanciful figures, they rise high and 
 straight from the earth, some with the 
 stately grace of matrons, and others with 
 the elegant symmetry and lighter propor- 
 tions of youthful maidens, while the long 
 and slender leaves that, like dishevelled 
 hair, depend in rich luxuriance from their 
 neatly-rounded summits, justify the figure 
 used. Few birds are seen among them ; 
 and had Ovid told us that to these, and not 
 to poplars, the Heliades were changed, the 
 constant moan heard in their midst might 
 well be taken for the endless wail of the 
 sisters for their rash brother Phaeton." 
 
 Thus, with his usual felicitous style, 
 does the master begin the second volume 
 of his notes, and introduces us upon a new 
 scene of action. In one of these groves, 
 and not far from the ancient village of 
 Cross Creek, now the town of Fayetteville, 
 there, was a noted spring, visible a long 
 way off by the green grass that fringed it3 
 waters. Close by the spring was a circu- 
 lar mound, with perpendicular sides, about 
 ten feet high, and one hundred and fifty- 
 yards in circumference. It was ascended 
 by steps cut in several places and covered 
 with seats of plank, which were fastened 
 in the sides of the stately pines. This 
 place was often resorted to in summer 
 and autumn by parties of pleasure, and 
 was called " The Lover's Knowe," from, 
 the fact of its being a famous trysting- 
 place, and the scene of many a courtship. 
 Incidents of this sort had given a name to 
 every locality on and about the terrace. 
 There was, for instance, a small tree called 
 " Sandy's Hope," because the mistress of 
 one Sandy Cunningham had listened en- 
 couragingly to his suit,. while with a pen- 
 knife she was trimming the pine, then a 
 mere twig. " Walker's Nose," was a largo 
 root, on which one Angus Walker sat 
 at the feet of his lady-love \vhen s^ia put 
 his proboscis out of joint, or, in other 
 words, discarded him ; and " The Stane- 
 Bane" was a rock where angry lovers 
 retired to quarrel and settle their difficul- 
 ties. Not far froin this latter, and just on 
 the western edge of the mound, was a 
 place called " The Kelpy's Seat," a name 
 which it held even within the recollection 
 of a Scotch lady who is yet in the prime 
 of life. It was so called because it was 
 the favourite seat of one who, for a short 
 while, mingled in the society of that 
 region, and who formed few acquaintan- 
 ces and still fewer intimacies there. Al 
 
A L AM A N C E. 
 
 67 
 
 all Jhe parties, by daylight or moonlight, 
 £t ihi* T/uroi-'o |Tnowp.. the stranger sat still 
 and silent on that seat; and even when 
 music and the dance put nfe and motion 
 into the oldest, that stranger still sat mute 
 and sad, gazing at the far horizon, or look- 
 ing up through the boughs of the leafy 
 trees at the full orbed moon, or at some 
 distant and lonely star. Tartans, plaids, 
 and plumes, though new to her, excited 
 little interest, and equally were neglected 
 the wild strains of bagpipes and harps. 
 She was usually dressed in deep mourning, 
 and as she would sit with her head thrown 
 back against the tree, at whose roots was 
 the seat, her hands crossed upon her lap, 
 and the moon beaming full in her pale and 
 upturned face, she seemed an ethereal per- 
 sonation of that profound, tender, and 
 nameless sorrow which sometimes dwells 
 in the breasts of earth's finest mould. She 
 came mysteriously into the country ; her 
 conduct and manners were mysterious, 
 and her history a mystery. All knew that. 
 she was beautiful as an angel, meek as a 
 saint,, inoffensive as a dove ; yet whence 
 she came and what her business, were 
 things known only to a few. Great curi- 
 osity was of course excited, but specula- 
 tion exhausted itself, and the strange maid- 
 en was still wrapped in obscurity. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 On a pleasant evening, late in autumn, 
 the strange lady and a female companion of 
 about the same age were sitting on the 
 Lover's Knowe. The stranger, clad in 
 mourning weeds, was gazing, sad and ab- 
 stracted, on the northwestern horizon, 
 while her companion, whose light eyes, 
 flaxen hair, and short plaid dress displayed 
 the Scotchwoman, kept np a continual 
 humming conversation, seemingly but lit- 
 tle concerned whether she had a listener 
 i or not. 
 
 " And ye'U be glowar'n at the west till ye 
 stare yer e'enoot, I am thinking,"' at length 
 said the latter, with some impatience. 
 
 " I must beg your pardon, Nannie," said 
 the other, " for not paying better attention 
 to your tales of fairies and kelpies. My 
 heart, you know, is far distant from here, 
 and I was just now fancying myself in my 
 former happy home." 
 
 " And is na my heart in the heelands o' 
 bonny Scotland, which I maun never see 
 again 1" answered Nannie Scott; "and are 
 not all my kith and kindred in the auld kirk- 
 yard there, and I a puir, lone lassie wi' nei- 
 ther friends nor waurldly gear? An' yet 
 I am as blithe as the mavis in spring." 
 
 '•The linnet would have been more 
 proper, Nannie, for you sing your sweet- 
 est notes in the gloomiest weather. But 
 
 how can you say you have no friends, 
 when you are among your own peoole, 
 and every Doay is Kina 10 you' My c'^se 
 ;5 entirety aifferenl, and I nave no friend 
 here." 
 
 " And am I not your friend, dear ladie?" 
 asked Nannie. " It's true, I am a puir, kin- 
 tra haverel, but I hae a douce and feekfu' 
 heart, and ane that's true to you." 
 
 "And so, indeed, you have, my friend," 
 replied Edith Mayfield, " and I am sorry 
 you misunderstood me. From the time I 
 met with you at that odious place of Glut- 
 son's, you have ever been kind and true to 
 me ; and, but for you, I know not what 
 should have become of me. On your 
 faithful bosom I rely as on a sister's." 
 
 " An' yet," said Nannie, " ye would gang 
 an' leave me this very een, an' ye could 
 have yer ain way anent the matter." 
 
 " It is not you I wish to leave," answered 
 Edith, " but these hateful people. As you 
 know — for I have already told you— -I was 
 stolen away against my will. You saw 
 that when they forced me into the carriage 
 with you that night at Glutson's. Ross 
 has stolen me away from my parents and 
 my home, and put me under the care of 
 his old aunt, who, as you know, watches 
 me strictly, and does nothing but ding-dong 
 me day and night about her relation. They 
 expected to wean me from Alamance and 
 all its memories, and that my dislike to Ross 
 would finally give way ; but it has grown 
 stronger and stronger, and they have found 
 that a thousand years of confinement would ' 
 not bend me to their purposes. They have, 
 therefore, I do believe, resolved to force 
 me, and it was to talk with you on this 
 very subject that I brought you here. I 
 must escape ; I must leave this very week, 
 or be ruined forever. And why should 
 you not go with me? I observed the 
 roads as we came along — I have talked 
 with old Duncan, the piper, and believe he 
 will assist us. These are my plans ■" 
 
 " Whisht, hiney ! is na that Alan Ross?" 
 
 The person named was just in sight; 
 and, soon coming to where the ladies were, 
 Nannie Scott withdrew to the farther side 
 of the knowe, though Edith entreated her 
 not to quit her side. " A favorable omen, 
 ma chere amie, a favorable omen !" ex- 
 claimed Ross, gayly. " 1 came on a mes- 
 sage of love, and I find you at the Lover's 
 Knowe, and your attendant leaves you at 
 my approach. May the god of eloquence 
 inspire my tongue to speak worthily the 
 tale you seem disposed to hear!" 
 
 " You are mistaken, sir,'' said Edith, "if 
 you suppose you can say but one thing 
 that is pleasant to me. It was not by my 
 will that my friend left my side, or that I 
 see you to-day. Would to God our meet- 
 ings depended on my choice !" 
 
 " In that case, fair lady, the light of your 
 glorious beauty would be hid from the 
 
88 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 eyes of your most devoted friend. But, 
 thank Heaven, wilful woman cannot al- 
 ways have her way ; and it is well for her 
 that she cannot. I have no doubt that, 
 if it were left to you, you would refuse 
 an offer which I am now going to make, 
 and which all the world would say is for 
 your benefit." 
 
 Edith made no reply ; but, turning her 
 averted eyes upon him, he continued : " I 
 have at length hit upon a proposition that 
 ought to be agreeable to you, for it will 
 save your life and ensure your happiness." 
 
 The speaker again paused ; but Edith ex- 
 pressing no curiosity, he went on : "You 
 seem to have so little confidence in me, 
 that you will not even deign to enquire 
 what I mean. Well, I will tell you at 
 once, and you will see if I was not right 
 for once. Your health is declining — Henry 
 Warden is dead, as 1 have long ago proved 
 to you by his neighbors, William Glutson, 
 and others — and you will linger out in 
 America a wretched life, and perhaps fill 
 an early grave." 
 
 " Oh, merciful God, grant that it may be 
 so!" exclaimed Edith, passionately, -the 
 tears filling her eyes. " Oh, grant that I 
 may soon rest by his side, and my soul be 
 with his in heaven ! Base man, when you 
 brought this news before, you forced from 
 me the most sacred secret of my heart. I 
 told you then, and I tell you now, that the 
 ashes of Henry Warden dead, are dearer 
 to me than all the living world besides, 
 » and never, never shall I quit the country 
 where they repose ! I ask you again, if 
 you have yet one spark of honour in you, 
 to speak of him no more to me, and I beg 
 you to leave me — oh leave me, for a while 
 at least !" And so saying, she covered her 
 face with her hands and wept bitterly. 
 
 Ross strode over the terrace till her grief 
 had abated, and, returning to her, sat down 
 at her feet, and, in mild and gentle tones, 
 asked her pardon for the unhappy allusion. 
 " Edith," continued he, " I have told you, 
 and you know my history. I have told 
 you that till I came to America, I had a 
 ruling passion which excluded all thoughts 
 of love. That, from my childhood, I pas- 
 sionately longed for the restoration o'f the 
 Stuarts ; that, young as I was, I fought un- 
 der Cameron on the disastrous field of 
 Culloden, and that I afterwards shared the 
 exile of Charles Edward in France ; that 
 my estates, my father dying, were confis- 
 cated, and that a reward was set upon my 
 head. I have now something else to tell 
 you, and I beg you to give me your undi- 
 vided attention. I have heard happy news 
 from Europe. Our gracious sovereign, at 
 the solicitation of my friends, has been 
 pleased to pardon me, and to restore to 
 me my inheritance, and it is not a small 
 one. I am going soon to take possession 
 of it, and with me will return my aunt and 
 
 several other Highland families of distinc- 
 tion. I have prepared a deed giving* you 
 one-third of my estate, and it will support 
 you in that rank and station which you are . 
 entitled to hold. Your health — your spirits 
 demand a change of climate and a change 
 of scenery. You will see great cities and 
 a great people ; you will be treated as a 
 daughter and sister by a large and power- 
 ful connection ; you will move in a society 
 more polished and refined than the best in 
 America, and you shall be mistress of 
 yourself, and never shall I mention love to 
 you until all traces of grief have left your 
 heart, and you are the gayest of the gay. I 
 ask you only to go with us, and leave this 
 miserable desert country, where there is 
 no society, and where you are so entirely 
 unsphered. What a brilliant star would 
 you make at court!" 
 
 " Mr. Ross," answered Edith, " I haye 
 listened as you desired, and the respect 
 which I have paid to your proposition will 
 show that I can yet think you a gentle- 
 man, notwithstanding the injuries and in- 
 sults you have heaped upon me. You 
 must not, however, be deceived by my 
 mildness. What I say now- I say in earn- 
 est, and I will never change my mind. 
 With my own consent I will never leave 
 my parents, I will never accept a present 
 of the smallest value from you, nor will-' 
 I ever leave America alive, even though 
 my parents and all my kindred were dead. 
 If 1 had not even the canker at my heart 
 — if there were here no relics sacred to 
 me, I will not leave my country. Our 
 people are plain and simple, it is true ; our 
 country is yet rough, and comparatively a 
 wilderness, and a terrible war is now ra- 
 ging over it ; but, sir, it is the land of the 
 free ! and more charming to me would be 
 the most savage wilds, where none but 
 freemen dwell, than all the splendours, 
 luxuries, and pleasures of the most mag- 
 nificent court in. the gorgeous East!" 
 
 " A traitress, by Heaven !" exclaimed 
 Ross, smiling. " I have heard of such 
 language among the American dames, but 
 I never dreamed that one so young could 
 preach it with such a flashing eye ! Lady, 
 I know whence those sentiments were in- 
 spired ; and when I tell you you must for- 
 get the teacher and his lessons, I flatter 
 myself that I do but repeat your father's 
 instructions." 
 
 " It ill becomes you to quote my father 
 to me," answered Edith ; " and his name, 
 I should think, ought to fill you with re- 
 morse. I owe my father obedience. I 
 love him, and have and would serve him 
 with devoted tenderness : but he has no 
 control over my conscience ; and as to my 
 soul, God, who gave it, has inspired it with 
 a passionate love of liberty. I know that 
 my country is engaged in a glorious strug- 
 gle. I know my countrymen are in the 
 
 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 89 
 
 right, and I pray daily to Heaven for their 
 success. I reverence the great and good 
 men who are spending themselves in the 
 just cause. I look on them as the best 
 patriots the world has ever seen, and I be- 
 lieve their names will be held in everlast- 
 ing remembrance !" 
 
 "I am a loyal subject' of his majesty 
 George the Third, whom God long pre- 
 serve !" said Ross; "but I care little for 
 these disputes about liberty. I can see 
 that you are now carried away, as I once 
 was, by a sublime abstraction; and you 
 must permit me to say it is a most un- 
 profitable passion. I have forsaken bully 
 Mars, and henceforth I am for the soft 
 pleasures of a more mighty god. Lady ! 
 dear, dear lady ! I love you with a pure 
 qnd single devotion ! Here, at your feet, 
 -kneels one who never bent t<\ beauty be- 
 fore, and here I offer you all the boundless 
 affection of a heart that has ever been true 
 to its friends, and a name that the breath 
 of dishonour has never tainted. You have 
 enthralled my soul! In your smile only 
 can I live, and you would I ever cherish 
 with unspeakable tenderness and affection. 
 Oh! in the name of all you hold dear on 
 earth, pity, pity, I beseech you, the sup- 
 plicant who now humbles himself before 
 you ! Have you not a woman's heart 1 
 Have you not a portion of our common 
 nature 1 Can you, with relentless cruelty, 
 consign me to that despair, compared with 
 which the pangs of death are light 1 Sure- 
 ly, oh ! surely you cannot hate me — surely 
 you are yet kind enough to pity the most 
 miserable wretch on earth !" 
 
 Edith, moved to tears, bade her kneeling 
 lover to rise, or she would instantly leave 
 him. " I have told you,' 1 she continued, 
 " I cannot love you, and that I will never, 
 never give my hand without my heart. 
 Pity I can and do feel for you, who never 
 felt pity for me. Let me appeal to you as 
 you have done to me ; let me appeal to 
 your honour, to your generosity, to your 
 humanity. Repair the wrong you have 
 done to me- and to my parents. Restore 
 me to them and I will not hate you ; I will 
 thank you, and esteem you as a friend. I 
 will forgive all the past ; I will never speak 
 to you harshly again ; I will beg my pa- 
 rents to forgive you ; and in all that I can, 
 consistently with my honour and my hap- 
 piness, I will serve you, and I will even 
 pray for your happiness." 
 
 " Edith," said Ross, solemnly, " I seek 
 supreme bliss : you desire, at best, a short- 
 lived satisfaction — 
 
 ■ ' There is a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 Rough-hew them as we will.' \ 
 
 I should have said a destiny, and no one 
 can resist his destiny. When I first saw 
 you I was plotting no ill against you ; 
 when I fell in love, it was not by my own 
 
 consent. Love is an involuntary and over- 
 mastering passion, and it enslaved me 
 while I was on other business. I cannot 
 help it ; and as self-preservation is the 
 first law of Nature, I must attend first to 
 my own happiness. You are as dear to 
 me as my own heart's blood, and yet, for 
 that very reason, I must insist on your 
 doing what you dislike. You must blame 
 the Fates, not me. Still, I believe I know 
 better than yourself what is for your own 
 happiness, and I thoroughly believe I am 
 consulting it. All ladies are whimsical, 
 and you are now especially so. Your 
 mind is clouded by morbid humours, and 
 you persist wilfully in seeking your own 
 destruction. It must not be. I must save 
 you, and save myself, and I will do it." 
 
 "What do you mean, Mr. Ross"' cried 
 Edith, rising to her feet ; " I do not under- 
 stand you." 
 
 " You will soon, fair lady !" replied he, 
 also rising, and proudly pacing over the 
 mound. Edith stood gazing at him in 
 much bewilderment, until he at length ap- 
 proached her, and, drawing himself to his 
 full height, said, slowly: "I have humil- 
 iated myself. Fool that I was, I have • 
 been too complaisant to the whims of 
 woman, and suffered her to scorn me'and 
 trample on my heart ! I am myself again : 
 to-morrow night you too shall be* your- 
 self, and you shall be mine ! Adieu !" Be- 
 fore she could speak he was gone. 
 
 "Did I not tell you so, Nannie," ex- 
 claimed Edith, weeping, and wringing her 
 hands ; " the base wretch intends to force 
 me to-morrow night." • 
 
 " Djinna fear, dear lady, dinna fear but 
 the Lord will provide," said her compan- 
 ion, with the confidence of her race in. 
 supernatural agencies. 
 
 " But God does not work by miracles, 
 Nannie ; and if you do not devise some 
 plan for me, I'm sure He will work no 
 miracle in favour of a miserable creature 
 like me." 
 
 " He has afore now," answered Nannie, 
 "helpit mony a puir, forfairn lassie in the 
 very bit o' time when their case was maist 
 fearful. What says the Psalmist, ' Surely 
 he shall deliver thee from the snare of 
 the fowler.' " The two friends, unable to 
 come to any conclusion, returned to their 
 residence at Aunt Ross's, laying many 
 schemes on the road, and abandoning each 
 as soon as it was formed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 Nannie Scott was a distant connection 
 of the Rosses ; and, having lost her parents 
 when a girl, had been raised by the aunt 
 of Alan Ross, with whom she now resided. 
 This aunt was the confident of Ross, ami 
 
©0 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 had sent Nannie with him. to Alamance, to 
 S.C. as a companion to Edith Mayfield, 
 Krher. ihai iaay was noaticik'd. Edith and 
 
 Nannie became intimate on the road ; they 
 were lodged in the same room at Aunt 
 Ross's, and were inseparable friends and 
 companions. The Scotch girl, though of 
 a grateful disposition, had little reason for 
 thinking herself under obligations to the 
 people with whom she lived, more in the 
 capacity of a servant than that of a mem- 
 ber of the family. She was, therefore, 
 not disposed to assist in their attempt on 
 her friend, to whom she was now much 
 attached, and whose deliverance from her 
 present position she sincerely desired. On 
 the night, therefore, following the inter- 
 view at the Lover's Knowe, Edith and 
 Nannie discussed between them many 
 plans for the escape of the former, but no 
 feasible one seemed to offer. The latter 
 told many stories of happy and providen- 
 tial escapes made by distressed maidens, 
 which she had heard when she was "a 
 wee bit lassie;" and the former, at last de- 
 voutly commended herself to Heaven and 
 fell asleep. When she awoke the sun was 
 already up, and her companion gone. The 
 family, as muchastonished as Edith at Nan- 
 nie's absence, would not believe but what 
 the former knew where she was, and that 
 some scheme for an escape was on foot. 
 Edith was watched closely during the day, 
 and saw, by the preparations going on, 
 that she was certainly to be married on 
 the approaching night. She had a faint 
 hope that her friend might yet save her; 
 but, with the suspicions natural to those 
 who have been persecuted, she finally be- 
 gan to fear that, even Nannie was against 
 her, and had left on purpose to be out of 
 the way. As the day advanced, these sus- 
 picions were confirmed; and, giving her- 
 self up for lost, she threw herself on her 
 bed, and there remained weeping till some 
 females came to prepare her for the cere- 
 mony. Without assisting or resisting, she 
 permitted them to array her in bridal cos- 
 iame and lead her out. When she saw 
 present only a few friends of the family, 
 and a young and sinister-looking minister, 
 her heart failed her, and she fainted. Up 
 to this time a faint hope had still shone in 
 her breast ; she still cherished a vague ex- 
 pectation of deliverance. She saw at once 
 the awful reality of her position ; her 
 senses reeled, and it was long before her 
 suspended animation was restored. When 
 it was, she was again brought into the room 
 where the company was waiting, and was 
 held on her feet by one of her maids. 
 Her whole life now rapidly passed in re- 
 view before her. She remembered her 
 apparent cruelty to Henry Warden, and, 
 magnifying the enormily of her conduct, 
 she persuaded herself that her punishment 
 was just! With this belief she became 
 
 more composed, took her place by Ross^ 
 and the ceremony commenced. "Edith 
 
 " Hold i not another wora !" shouted a 
 travel-stained woman who darted into the 
 room ; and, rushing between Edith and 
 Ross, stood confronting the minister. 
 
 " Who is this wild woman V asked the 
 astonished preacher ; " let her be taken 
 hence." 
 
 " Who am I ?" cried the new-comer ; 
 "look at me, unholy man, and see if you 
 have forgotten Flora M' Donald !" At the 
 sound'of this name the company stared at 
 each other, and Flora went on : " Little 
 did I think, Alan Ross, that a kinsman of 
 mine would ever disgrace the proud name 
 he bears by such an unmanly deed ! But 
 there is no time to talk ; show us a room, 
 Mother Ross, for the lady has fainted in 
 my arms !" 
 
 When Edith recovered she was in Tier 
 own room, and Nannie Scott was bending 
 over her with the most anxious solicitude. 
 She would have Nannie tell her immedi- 
 ately how she came to he saved; but her 
 friend told her to be easy for the present, 
 and wait for the return of her protectress. 
 This latter remained with the family till 
 all retired moodily to rest, and then stole 
 softly to the apartment of Edith. 
 
 " My young friend," said she, as she 
 came in, "if you are able, give directions 
 to Nannie to get your clothes ready; for 
 you must be off while they think you are 
 yet unable to move." 
 
 " I shall give no directions," answered 
 Edith, "till I know what has happened. 
 How came I to find in you a friend ?" 
 
 " I had seen you, and suspected some- 
 thing was wrong," replied Flora, " and to- 
 day my suspicions were confirmed. It is 
 a long distance from here to my house, 
 and yet your friend there walked it alone 
 by noon, and told me all your story." 
 
 " My dear, dear friend, indeed," exclaim- 
 ed Edith, embracing Nannie. 
 
 " Time presses," said Flora, " and you 
 must thank her hereafter. My husband 
 was not at home ; but I instantly got. ready, 
 and, furnishing Nannie with a horse, we 
 hurried hither. On the way we fell in 
 with a company of three men, two white 
 and one black ; and the leader, who. was a 
 very odd sort of a man, made many enqui- 
 ries about the road to this place. I was 
 in doubt what to do, fearing that they 
 might be confederates of Alan Ross. To 
 try them, I therefore remarked that I sup- 
 posod they were going there to the wed- 
 ding to-night. I was eagerly asked what 
 wedding, *and replied that you were to be 
 married to Alan Ross at such an hour. 
 " No she won't, by the eternal G— d, if you 
 will show me the way !" exclaimed the 
 leader. I was satisfied by the honesty of 
 his look and manner, and, revealing to 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 91 
 
 him my business, he candidly told me his, 
 which was, to carry you to Alamance ; and 
 he is r.ovv' waiting for yoa at the errd of 
 the Ian ." 
 
 Edith felt a new life swelling within her 
 heart ; but then came the sad reflection, 
 "Alas! 1 shall not see him!" She half 
 trusted that he might yet be alive, and 
 that he was at the head of the plans laid 
 for her rescue. She enquired, therefore, 
 eagerly for the names of the Alamancers. 
 
 "I. asked them for their names," replied 
 Flora, " and -the leader said it might not be 
 prudent. He called the black Ben — fre- 
 quently quoted some one he calls Old 
 Proximus, and told me to give you his re- 
 spects viva voce.'" 
 
 '■ Ben Rust, as I live, 1 ' shouted Edith, 
 jumping up, and hurriedly assisting Nan- 
 nie Scott. 
 
 " I had like to have forgotten a mes- 
 sage the negro sent you," continued Flora 
 M'Donald, after a pause. " He desired me 
 to say to you that it was all a lie about 
 Master Henry's death, and " 
 
 "Oh, God! I thank thee!" exclaimed 
 Edith, and she swooned in the arms of her 
 friends. Flora M'Donald suspected a se- 
 cret, but she said nothing. Edith, however, 
 as soon as she could speak, threw her 
 arms around the neck of her deliverer, 
 and, kissing her fervently, said, " My more 
 than mother, you shall see how happy you 
 have made me. I will tell you what I 
 never told mortal before, while I thought 
 he was alive :" and hereupon she gave a 
 brief sketch of her connection with Henry- 
 Warden. Flora shed tears, and, feeling 
 herself more than paid, hastened her young 
 friends to leave the house. It was now 
 Nannie's turn to weep, and she lingered on 
 the threshold, sobbing as if her heart would 
 break. When they arrived at the place 
 where they were expected, Rust shed the 
 first tears that had moistened his eyes for 
 years, and old black Ben blubbered' like a 
 child. 
 
 " Nannie Scott," said Flora, at length, " it 
 is the last opportunity I shall have of giv- 
 ing you some token of the high esteem in 
 which I have held your many virtues. Ac- 
 cept that horse which you rode, and keep 
 him in remembrance of me." 
 
 The poor girl could say nothing; but 
 Rust spoke for her, and declared that the 
 animal should be called Flora M'Donald 
 till the day of his death, and that -he should 
 be buried with military honours. Ben then, 
 forgetting his accustomed caution, pro- 
 posed three cheers for Flora, and it was 
 with much difficulty she could prevent him 
 from carrying out his purpose. " Well, 
 well, my beautiful Christin friend," said he, 
 " when we git to Alamance, and the wars 
 are over, I'll git the whole country together 
 and give you three sich everlastin jo vers 
 as were never heern before." 
 
 Edith promised to write to Flora, and 
 begged her to signify in what way she 
 could shew her ur.bounueu g^at'tuiae. 
 
 -• When I return home," said FIb:*«, "I 
 will let you know where to write, and 
 would be glad to hear your future history. 
 I believe — I almost know — you will be 
 happy yet with him to whom you have 
 been so devoted. • I ?sk only that, when 
 you are at home, and among your own 
 people, you will act a? a sister to Nannie 
 Scott, remembering that you yourself were 
 once a stranger among a strange people, 
 and that you will sometime? remember and 
 think kindly of Flora M'Donald." 
 
 The Alamancers, with Nannie Scott, 
 now left for home, Ben Rust thinking it 
 prudent not now to divulge to Edith May- 
 field the death of her father. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE COUNTRY INN. 
 
 When the Alamancers, under the com- 
 mand of Captain Cornelius Demijohn, 
 parted from Henry Warden, they joined a 
 company of Whigs, with whom they took 
 part in the battle of King's Mountain. The 
 master has much to say in regard to that 
 engagement, and relates, with great mi- 
 nuteness, and in a lively style, some very 
 entertaining and surprising incidents con- 
 nected therewith. The course which our 
 history has assumed compels us, with 
 much reluctance, to pass over these events 
 and proceed with those matters immedi- 
 ately connected with the persons whose 
 desthry the reader is impatient to know. 
 After the battle alluded to, Uncle Corny 
 was no longer able to restrain his impa- 
 tient desire to see the widow Powell, 
 whose memory rendered sacred to him 
 every foot of earth in South Carolina. 
 The master, in compliance with a former 
 promise, agreed to accompany his enam- 
 oured friend, and the Alamancers separ- 
 ated. As neither of the gentlemen was a" 
 cavalier, Corny and his friend were totally 
 unsphered by being mounted, the former 
 on a lean, draggle-tailed pony, whose back 
 swayed beneath its ponderous weight as 
 if it would break in the middle, while the 
 latter received practical instruction in the 
 original mode of churning butter on the 
 back of a tall, gaunt, and hungry-looking 
 animal. 
 
 The captain, with the wish of every 
 lover for the annihilation of time and 
 space, made frequent and furious digs at 
 the flanks of his steed, his armed boot heel3 
 clanging together under its weasel-shaped 
 belly, and hurried on unmindful of the suf- 
 ferings of M'Bride, whose old roan had a 
 gait compounded of every possible motion 
 except that of a direct horizontal progres- 
 sion. Nothing was said, Demijohn being 
 
as 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 busy with his own fancy, while Hector j 
 M'Bride kept pressing his hands upon the 
 pommel of his saddle to create, as far as 
 possible, a diversion in favour of the main 
 point of contact between himself and his j 
 horse. In this way they arrived at an inn, 
 or grocery, upon the roadside, and stopped 
 to refresh themselves. The landlord was 
 a fortunate character, who, by asking no 
 questions and answering none, managed 
 to carry on a flourishing business during 
 all the troubles of the times, and was pat- 
 ronized by Whigs, British,- and Tories. 
 While the travellers were here resting 
 themselves, there came up a roving Geor- 
 gian, a sallow, lank, and bilious-looking 
 customer, whose hat, to use a modern 
 phrase, was extremely " seedy," and whose 
 threadbare dress would have been comfort- 
 ably cool during the dog-days, in any other 
 climate except that where the fashionable 
 summer costume is said to be a shirt col- 
 lar and a pair of spurs. He immediately 
 called for a drink, and, taking his glass in 
 his hand, announced himself as " John 
 Nipper in perticler," a gentleman at large, 
 who was ready to make the acquaintance 
 of any good fellow, and who could " out- 
 run, out-jump, and stick his nose farther 
 in the ground than any man on this side of 
 Jerico." Having swallowed his brandy, 
 he turned, with a patronizing air, to the Al- 
 amancers, arid desired to know if they 
 wished for any sport. 
 
 " We are not sportsmen," answered the 
 master; whereat. John Nipper in perticler 
 looked most particularly hard at him, sur- 
 veying him from head to foot, and from 
 foot to head, and back again. 
 
 " Well, friends," said he at length, in 
 compassionate tones, " I'm sorry for you, 
 and the best we can do is to take a drink. 
 Fill three glasses, landlord ; and now, as 
 we're all ready, I wish to propose a toast. 
 First, here's to ourselves, individually and 
 collectively ; secondly, here's to you and 
 towards you, if I hadn't 'ave seed you 
 I wouldn't 'ave knowed you ; and, third- 
 ly, and lastly, here's to the widow Pow- 
 ell !" 
 
 " I shall not drink that toast, sir, in such 
 company !" said Corny, throwing down his 
 glass with violence. 
 
 " I say you must drink it, though," re- 
 plied John. 
 
 " And I say I will not drink it," retorted 
 Corny. 
 
 " Yes, but you must, old Snuffiebags. , ' , 
 
 " Yes, but I won't, puppy, dog, knave, 
 villain !" 
 
 " Wall, them's hard terms you use, old 
 friend," answered John Nipper, "but I at- 
 tribute it all to your ignorance of the En- 
 glish language. Now I'll prove to you why 
 you ought to drink the toast: aint you 
 fond of good horse-flesh V 
 
 " Not particularly." 
 
 " But don't you like a clean-legged, high- 
 blooded, mettlesome nag, that goes like a 
 bird a-flym?" 
 
 " I can't say but I prefer a more gentle 
 animal," answered Corny; "but what has 
 this to do with the toast ?" 
 
 " Adzactly, and now I'll bring you to the 
 pint. I knowed, as soon as I saw you, 
 what kind of a crittur suited you. You 
 want a good-natered, kind-conditioned, 
 soft-goin animal that'll love and respect 
 you, and that's easy to git on and off of,, 
 don't you?" 
 
 "Such a one would suit." 
 
 " And if it's a mare it will do V 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Good!" shouted John; "now the widow 
 Powell is jist sich a crittur, for John Nip- 
 per in perticler has tried her long enough 
 to know." 
 
 " You scurvy knave ! you foul-mouthed 
 puppy ! you lying scoundrel ! say agaiu'lhat 
 the widow Powell is a mare, and I'll hew 
 you into shavings !" 
 
 " Jemini, Jerusalem ! Stranger, I've heern 
 tell of men bewitched, and who couldn't 
 tell a black sheep from the devil ; but I 
 never before saw one who couldn't tell a 
 hoss from a human bein. If you aint a 
 born nateral then Tin d d ! I say, land- 
 lord, whar did he come from !" 
 
 The individual in question, as well as 
 Hector M'Bride, seeing the mistake, ex- 
 plained matters to the satisfaction of thf 
 parties, and they all adjourned into tire 
 yard to see John's nag. 
 
 " Walk up, gentlemen," cried John, " walk 
 up and see for yourselves. Aint them pas- 
 terns clean and nice 1 Did you ever see sich 
 a head and sich eyes afore ■? She's not per- 
 fection, is she, nor the cream of Tartary, 
 nor the rose of Sharon and the lily of the 
 valley'? No, no, she aint none of these, 
 nor she aint a dove, nor a lamb, nor a hu- 
 man crittur'? Nor she aint gentle and 
 'knowin, and lovin neither: here, Sally, 
 follow me." 
 
 With this he threw the bridle over her 
 head, and, running round the house, she fol- 
 lowed him, wheeling when he wheeled, and 
 keeping close at his heels as he muttered 
 to himself: " No, no, Sally, you can't talk, 
 nor sing, nor read and write and cipher. 
 You're not high-larned, Sally, and never 
 went to school ; but the way you can 
 think is a sin !" With this John mounted, 
 and, putting her into a rapid motion, ex- 
 claimed : " This is what I call the Gor-g-y 
 step ! I could go to sleep here in five 
 minutes by the watch, and never wake till 
 she stopped. If you had the rheumatiz in 
 all your bones, the lumbago in your back, 
 and a side-ache, and a head-ache, and 
 tooth-ache, you'd rather be on Sally's back 
 than on the softest feather bed. If you 
 would'nt, darn my soul!" I 
 
 " Friend," said Demijohn, " I have ttle 
 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 93 
 
 confidence in what you say, but I -want 
 that nag." 
 
 " You can't git her," responded John, 
 emphatically. 
 
 "But I must have her; so there is no 
 use for any more of your foolery." 
 
 John alighted ; and, taking Uncle Corny 
 by the arm, walked off a few yards, and 
 then, looking him seriously in the face, 
 asked, " Are you the Treasurer of the 
 United States'?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " May be you're Gineral Washington V 
 
 " No, I am not Washington." 
 
 " Praps you're Lord Cornwallis V 
 
 " I tell you I am a plain captain of mili- 
 tia," answered Demijohn, impatiently, " and 
 I want your nag." 
 
 " You can't git her, capting," replied 
 John Nipper in perticler; "the price would 
 break you, and wouldn't / be called to ac- 
 count for it 1 for bringing you to poverty, 
 your wife -to want, and makin your little 
 children beggars. No, no ; John Nipper 
 in perticler is too good for that." 
 
 He did, however, yield at last to tempta- 
 tion, and exchanged with the captain, tak- 
 ing the worth of rjoth animals for boot. 
 Hj; now prepared to leave, and insisted 
 that all should join him in a parting cup. 
 Taking his liquor in his hand, he remark- 
 ed, with sorrowful tones, that friends must 
 part ; a sad reflection which was, howev- 
 1 er, in his estimation, fully compensated by 
 the consoling remembrance that they 
 would all " meet at the hatter's." " If you 
 ever visit the upper settlements in Geor- 
 gy," continued he, " call on John Nipper 
 in perticler, and if he does live in a log 
 house he'll give you the best fare and show 
 you the greatest wife, jorehaps, in seven 
 states !" With this he took an affectionate 
 leave, and went on his way rejoicing. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 " Was there ever a sane lover ?" 
 
 Questions for the People. 
 
 The last words of " John Nipper in 
 perticler" stung Captain Demijohn like a 
 thousand hornets. And here the editor 
 would quote an observation of the mas- 
 ter's in regard to jealousy : " Thus we 
 see," writes he, alluding to Uncle Corny's 
 suspicions ; " thus we see an illustration 
 of a principle in human nature. If we love 
 an object, we think it the most interesting 
 and beautiful of its kind ; and, judging oth- 
 ers by ourselves, we believe they think so 
 too. Hence I have known women to be 
 jealous of their monkeys and poodle dogs ; 
 and men of their pet bears, which they ac- 
 tually sold, fearing their mistresses might 
 fix their affections on them." Thus it was 
 with Uncle Corny, Who now hastened, 
 with the master, to depart His toilet was 
 
 arranged with fastidious care ; and embold- 
 ened by his late potations, and by his impa- 
 tience, he forgot his accustomed prudence 
 when on horseback, and forgetful, also, of 
 the master's sufferings, spurred up his nag 
 to a rapid canter. As he came to the skirt 
 of a wood, his skittish animal becoming 
 alarmed, suddenly squatted and wheeled, 
 while her burden, from the vis inertia, con- 
 tinued onward in the original direction, 
 and came to the ground with a thunder- 
 ing crash. The captain realized what he 
 had often sought when a boy, a vision of 
 stars in the daytime ;' but his groans indi- 
 cated any thing else but pleasure at ( the 
 sight. 
 
 For a while he was satisfied that his 
 skull was fractured^ and at least seven of 
 his ribs driven in ; and, as M'Bride came 
 up, he called piteously to him to examine 
 and see if his brains were not oozing out. 
 •The master assured him, after a careful 
 examination, that no serious, damage was 
 done ; and, being assisted to his- feet, he 
 hobbled back to the inn, where his wounds 
 and his impatience threw him into a fever. 
 He was, in fact, slightly delirious, and 
 while the excitement was on him he pro- 
 cured pen and paper and set himself to the 
 serious job of inditing an epistle to the 
 widow Powell. The master, in a chaster 
 style and a. freer hand, would have per- 
 formed the labour for him ; but, to use a 
 vulgar phrase, the steam was up in Uncle 
 Corny, and albeit unused to the author's 
 small and pointed weapon, he now grasped 
 it as if it had been a sword, and panting 
 and expectorating at a furious rate, with 
 his whole system worked up to the fiercest 
 intensity, he wrote as follows : 
 
 " Beautiful Sally — These few lines come 
 from your adorer, who is now, as the French 
 say, horsed in combat. I have been, my beau- 
 tiful pigeon, flying on the wings of love to get 
 a sight of those two stars that shine in the 
 heaven of your face, and had got as far as this 
 inn when a strolling vagabond cheated me out 
 of my noble steed, and gave me, in return, a 
 devilish little animal as spiteful and malicious 
 as himself. The wicked creature threw me, 
 and bruised me so terribly that I can scarcely 
 walk over my room, and must, therefore, for at 
 least a day, forego the pleasure of seeing you, 
 dove of my heart. Oh that I had the wings of 
 the eagle, that I might soar away, with light- 
 ning speed and alight by your side ! Oh that 
 you were now present to lay your snowy hand 
 on my aching head, and cause all my pains to 
 vanish by the music of your voice ! I thought 
 at one time half of my ribs were broken, but 
 what of that 1 When I am with you, duck of 
 my soul, if all my ribs were smashed to pieces 
 I would not mind it, for you'll be my rib, my 
 life, the very breath of my nostrils ; and as you 
 are an immortal beauty, and therefore immor- 
 tal, how could I ever expire 1 But perhaps you 
 love that infernal Georgian, that ■ John Nipper 
 in perticler,' a most particular scoundrel and 
 spabby wretch. 
 
94 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 "My honoured friend, Lieutenant M'Bride, 
 eays the women are all bewitched ; and surely 
 you must have been when you suffered such a 
 snivelling poltroon to storm the castle of your 
 heart. My honour, as well as my happiness, is 
 at stake in this matter, for did 1 not leave my 
 own flag flying over the fortress 1 Did I not 
 cany with me one of your ambrosial curls as a 
 pledge of your fidelity 1 And yet you have 
 turned traitor, succumbed, and surrendered to 
 a straggling interloper, whose achievements 
 have consisted in the scaling of sheep-folds, 
 and the storming of hen-roosts ! And this, too, 
 after 1 had offered you the heart of a soldier, 
 and the hand of an honest man ! while you 
 were dwelling a crowned empress in my soul, 
 living there on honeysuckles and humming- 
 birds, and while 1 was ready, with my good 
 sword, to overturn for you all the kingdoms of 
 the world ! I thought you a Quebec, a Rock 
 of Gibraltar, which even the bravest could not 
 scale in the face of an enemy ; and yet, while 
 my memory and name were guarding the cita- 
 del, its ramparts of mud and cornstalks have 
 been successfully assailed by a grasshopper- 
 lookir.g belligerent, one hundred of whom I 
 could drive througn all »hc ;\var..ps in Geor- 
 gia- 
 
 "Oh my beautiful, my dear, my beloved Sally! 
 oh charming deceiver, oh delicious mocking- 
 bird ! how have I thought of you, and dreamed 
 of you, and kissed, a thousand and a thousand 
 times, the precious token which you gave me ! 
 I wear it next to my heart, in which you are set 
 like a jewel in a watch, and of which you regu- 
 late all the motions. I intended, when the war 
 was over, to carry you to Alamance, to dress 
 you in silks .and calicoes, feed you on pigeons 
 and blue-birds, and make you the most blessed 
 Woman on earth. And you shall be, by Jove ! 
 you shall ; for you are the most beautiful, ten- 
 der, and faithful creature on earth, and who- 
 ever disputes it shall taste my sword. I know 
 you are an angel, a seraph, a celestial cherub, 
 and I am ready to cut my own throat for having 
 reflected on you. Death and perdition ! how- 
 could I have been so flinty. hearted as to have 
 insinuated a reproach against such a bright in- 
 carnation of all that is good and sweet 1 Have I 
 wounded your delicate feelings'! have I touched 
 your sensitive heart 1 Oh dearest, forgive me, 
 forgive me ! I bow humbly in the dust at your 
 feet ; my own heart is broken into a thousand 
 fragments, and I wish I had never been horn ! 
 I ask again, 1 entreat, I beg. that you will for- 
 give me, for my disorderly feelings are in a 
 state of in?'ibordinalion, and will not submit to 
 discip!i:!j as they ought. My understanding 
 has ingloriously fled, and I cannot rally my 
 senses while theyare fronting the battery of your 
 eyes. Forgive me, dearest apple of my eye, 
 and accept the token which I send yon — a lock 
 of my hair — which is the only valuable thing 1 
 have about me worthy of you. To-i.iorrow or 
 next day I hope to present myself and all that 
 I have for your acceptance; and to smother 
 your reproaches with a thousand tender kisses. 
 Lieutenant M'Bride, of my command, will hand 
 this to you, and with ban you can hold a con- 
 ference, as he is endowed with powers pleni- 
 potentiary to represent and act for his senior 
 officer. You will please send a note, a token, 
 
 or a message by him, to relieve my pains and 
 sorrows, and enable me to rise from my sick 
 couch and hasten to your presence, my dear, 
 sweet angel. 
 
 " With sentiments of the profoundest esteem, 
 love, and adoration, I have the honour of being, 
 "Your devoted servant, 
 
 "Corn'elius Demijohn, 
 " Captain in the — Regt. of N. C. Militia." 
 
 The only aid which the mnstcr rendered 
 in the production of this composition was 
 in punctuating the sentences, and correct- 
 ing the spelling of two or three words. 
 When it was finished, to gratify his wound- 
 ed friend, he took charge of it, and started 
 for the widow Powell's, on the road whith- 
 er his reflections, as his own words show, 
 were not the most pleasant. " I became 
 satisfied." writes he, " that men and wom- 
 en who want to marry are decidedly the 
 greatest nuisances in the ws/ici, the grand 
 disturbers of every community. Is it not 
 strange thai oefore parties can come to 
 gethc they must, each one, go through 
 such a tedious course of folly? Here, for 
 instance, is Mr. A. who's known Miss B. 
 all his life, and Miss B. has known Mr. A. 
 equally as well and as long. Now Mr. A. 
 takes it into his head to marry Miss B., 
 and what does he do] Does he go straight 
 to her, and plumply tell his wishes] and 
 does she, like a sensible being, agree at 
 once to the proposition? No. Mr. A. 
 must begin a new series of visits and at- 
 tentions — must rig himself out in new ap- 
 parel, smooth his hair with the nicest care, 
 and add a new strut to his gait. He must, 
 as the saying is. fly round, and round, and 
 round her — must chase her from camp- 
 meetings to balls, and from balls to water- 
 ing-places, galloping after her carriage or 
 gig, picking up her fan, carrying her band- 
 box, and tying her shoe-string, with devoted 
 assiduity — must sigh, blow, and flatter — 
 must send verses, flowers, letters, candies, 
 and presents enough to set up a wholesale 
 establishment of confections, gewgaws, 
 and curiosities. Such is the grand parade 
 which is made about a matter that is the 
 simplest thing in the world, and which the 
 parson could finish in less than fifteen 
 minutes. Why do not people tell their 
 minds at once to each other, and do what 
 they want to do ; As I thought of these 
 things I became confirmed in my inten- 
 tions of writing a book ; yet I much doubt 
 if the world will profit by instruction. 
 Men, when they want to marry, will still 
 assume new and ridiculous characters, that 
 sit on some of them about as gracefully 
 as would the plumage of the peacock on 
 a staid and solemn donkey ; and they must 
 go through these transformations because 
 woman is, and will be till the day of doom, 
 a most incomprehensible absurdity." 
 
 The author of these sage reflections 
 found " John Nipper in perticier," at the 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 95 
 
 ,widow Powell's, disposing of himself in a 
 nianiier quite free and easy. Tlie Geor- 
 gian received the new-comer very cor- 
 dially, introduced him to the widow, and 
 inquired if he would have his horse taken. 
 The master, who saw that it was useless 
 lo tarry long, declined John's offer,, and 
 desired him to retire for a few minutes, as 
 he, the master, had some private business 
 vr'h the widow. John Nipper readily and 
 cheerfully ooe^ ? A and when he was gone 
 M'Bride spoke as folio.: «: 
 
 "Mrs. Powell, I have brought you a let- 
 ter from your friend Captain b£Tiijohn, 
 who lies sick at the neighbouring inn.* 1 
 
 "Poor, dear man, I'm sorry for him," 
 replied Mrs. Powell ; " has he got the 
 fluanzy, Mr. Magfried ] If he'll bathe his 
 feet in warm water, drink some hoarhound 
 tea just before he goes to bed, and tie a 
 stockin round his neck " 
 
 " He's not got the influenza, good wom- 
 an, nor is my name Magfried. 1 am known 
 as M'Bride, madam, Hector M'Bride; and 
 1 -think you ought to recollect me, for 1 
 lodged with you on one occasion." 
 
 " Well, dear me, I thought,-! had seen 
 you afore, Mr. M'Bride. I remember now, 
 it was in the year of the great August 
 fresh, yon sold my poor, dear husband, 
 that's dead and gone, nine yards of green 
 calico, which was the hest bargain he ever 
 made, for it lasted me a twelvemonth, and 
 then made a very good quilt. Are you in 
 the peddler business yet, sir]" 
 
 " Father of Mercies, forgive ns all for 
 our follies!" exclaimed the master. "I'm 
 not a peddler, Mrs. Powell, at least in the 
 dry-gopds line, though my vocation in this 
 world may well be called that of a peddler 
 of pearls among swine. To be brief with 
 you, madam, I and Captain Demijohn, 
 with a few soldiers, lodged at your house 
 on the night after the battle of Camden : 
 and 1 now return you thanks for your kind- 
 ness to us then. On that occasion the blind 
 rascal Cupid pierced the heart of our gal- 
 lant commander, Demijohn, and he has 
 had the tremor cordis ever since. You only 
 can cure him, and that's the object of my 
 mission. " 
 
 " Alack-a-day !" ejaculated the widow, 
 •'I -do now remember Mr. Demijohn, who 
 was a very fleshy man, was he not]" 
 
 '■ Quite so, madam." 
 
 " It's all fresh in my mind now," re- 
 turned Mrs. Powell ; " though I've seen so 
 inch trouble that I can hardly recollect 
 any thing. If the trimble cords is not 
 ke.tchin, Mr. M'Bride, I'll go over and see 
 what. I can do for Mr. Demijohn; but l! 
 haven't got any salts, and the camphire is 
 just out. If he's not too bad oft", I may be 
 able to cure him with yerbs and bleedin. 
 Have you a lance, sir]" 
 
 "You misunderstand me again," an- 
 swered the master, " and I must, therefore, ' 
 
 tell you plainly that my friend is desper- 
 ately in love with you ; and, having been 
 hurt by a fall from his horse, and therefore 
 not able to visit you to day, he has sent 
 his heart on paper. You will please read 
 the letter, and prepare your answer, for 
 I'm in haste. Captain Cornelius Demijohn 
 will visit you in person to-morrow, or next 
 day." 
 
 "Dear! la! it's a love-letter, is it!" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Powell; "well, I do think!" 
 and with this she opened the letter, held 
 it upside down, and regarding it attentively 
 for a few moments, blushed, and said, 
 " Well, the captain is a sassy dog. I'll go 
 h,: a read it to myself, Mr. M'Bride, and- 
 write an an»*T2r." N 
 
 M'Bride, suspecting trial c he could not 
 read, insinuated that he would read the 
 letter for her, as the captain's hand was 
 not extremely legible. She was too mod- 
 est, however, to accept the offer, and so, 
 after being absent several hours, returned, 
 covered with blushes, and handed to M'- 
 Bride a sealed note, with which he imme- 
 diately returned to the inn, suspecting that 
 John Nipper was the author of the pro- 
 duction which he carried, and satisfied that 
 his friend Demijohn was on a decidedly 
 foolish errand. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 CAPTAIN DEMIJOHN SETS OUT TO SEE THE 
 WIDOW POWELL. 
 
 Uncle Corny, before he heard a word 
 of explanation from the master, eagerly 
 tore open the widow's letter, and, to his 
 unbounded astonishment, read what fol- 
 lows : 
 
 " These is to inform Capting Demyjon that 
 John Nipper in perticler lias red the Capting'a 
 letter, and returns his complements in kind, and 
 has the plessure of informing Mr. Fatty that, he 
 had as well return to whar he cum from. Mr. 
 Demyjon has got one widder Powell, who he 
 ses cum near to hreak his rihs, so he had better 
 let the tother widder alone if he dosent want all 
 his rihs smashed and his daylights let out. 
 
 " No more JVom yours till death do us part, 
 "John Nipper in perticler." 
 
 Reason, threats, and entreaties were now 
 of little avail with Uncle Corn)'. He was 
 satisfied, and acknowledged that the w'dow 
 had played him false ; but has it not been 
 the case since the world began that all 
 used-up lovers and injured husbands musl 
 see their own shame with their own eyes] 
 Captain Demijohn formed no exception to 
 the general rule, and was determined, he 
 said, to chastise John Nipper for his inso- 
 lence, and to confuse and abash the widow 
 by confronting her in person, and remind- 
 ing her of her fickleness and treachery, 
 not recollecting that at such interviews 
 
96 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 the gentleman invariably suffers more than 
 the mistress. Accordingly he exchanged 
 horses with the landlord, loaded and primed 
 his pistols, girded on his sword, and array- 
 ed himself in uniform. This done, he held 
 out his hand to M'Bride, saying, " Fare- 
 well, lieutenant ; I cannot — I have not the 
 heart to ask you to trouble yourself any 
 more in my behalf — to be sure I can't. I 
 thank you for all your kindness, and shall 
 remember you when I am breathing my 
 last. Here we part." 
 
 " God forbid !" exclaimed the master, 
 " God forbid that I should leave you, now 
 tnat you have more need of a friend than 
 <you ever had before. You are infatuated, 
 my friend — about madly to rush into un- 
 necessary difficulties, and that is the very 
 time that friendship's zeal should burn 
 more warmly than ever. Go where you 
 list, I am with you to the death !" 
 
 The rage of Uncle Corny was increased 
 to a fury when he found the widow's house 
 deserted ; and there is no telling what he 
 might have done in the extremity of his 
 passion had it not been for a lad who op- 
 portunely passed and informed him that 
 he met the widow, a short distance off, 
 riding behind a stranger. The boy also 
 stated that an old negro woman was in 
 company, riding a separate horse and car- 
 rying a large bundle, and he supposed they 
 were going to the neighbouring village. 
 " Forwards !" shouted Uncle Corny ; and, 
 clapping spurs to his steed, he dashed off 
 at a respectable gallop, followed by the 
 master, whose horse could not be induced 
 to change his long trot for any more ac- 
 commodating motion. Thus they clatter- 
 ed along until they neared the village, 
 when suddenly half a dozen armed men 
 sprung at the bridle of Demijohn's horse, 
 one of them crying, " Hold him fast, the 
 rascal, hold him fast !" The captain's hand 
 was instantly on his sword-hilt ; but be- 
 fore he could draw his trusty weapon he 
 was dragged to the ground, disarmed, and 
 bound. 
 
 " What's all this ado, my masters ?" 
 asked M'Bride, as he rode up. 
 
 •' The other spy^the other spy !" cried 
 the men who had arrested Corny : and 
 soon the master was in the same plight 
 with his unlucky friend. Demijohn swore, 
 threatened, and chafed ; the master ex- 
 plained and entreated, but neither of them 
 was heeded in the least, and both were led 
 into the village ; a great concourse of boys, 
 negroes, and women following after, and 
 seemingly disposed to tear the prisoners 
 to pieces. Uncle Corny, especially, ex- 
 cite- 1 a general indignation, the women 
 tongue-lashing him as he passed along, 
 and heaping on him every sort of oppro- 
 brious epithet, and the boys goading him 
 with sharp sticks and pelting him with 
 rotten eggs. The fat knight, with his face 
 
 distended beyond its usual dimensions and 
 glowing like a furnace, his mouth foaming, 
 and his eyes glaring like those of an en- 
 raged buffalo, appeared to the multitude a 
 frightful monster, while his stubborn si- 
 lence and the vigorous manner in which 
 he applied his feet to the shins and backs 
 of the boys had no tendency to diminish 
 the odium and dread which his presence 
 at first inspired. In this way they were 
 carried to the bar-room of a sort of tavern, 
 the only public room in the place, and here 
 the crowd pressed in until Uncle Corny 
 began to dissolve into streams of perspira- 
 tion. Behind a little table, at the farther 
 end of the room, sat two grave-looking 
 men, and to a small open space in front 
 of them the prisoners were brought, the 
 multitude pushing and crowding round un- 
 til court and prisoners were nearly over- 
 whelmed. 
 
 " Stand back, gentle-men — stand back, if 
 you please !" said one of the court. " The 
 court can't do justice when it's scrouged 
 in this way. Stand back and let us pro- 
 ceed on with our proceedinces, and do all 
 things accordin to law. Prisoners, you 
 will please to tell your names." 
 
 " Cornelius Demijohn and Hector 
 M'Bride," answered the master ; " and I 
 would be pleased to know," continued he, 
 " on what charge we are arraigned. Is it 
 for being Whigs or Tories ?" 
 
 " Never mind, my good fellow," replied 
 the spokesman of the court, "do you speak 
 when you're spoken to, and you'll lam in 
 good time what you are brought here for. 
 Squire, have you got thar names writ 
 down?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, all down." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Demijohn," continued the 
 questioning member, " will you be good 
 enough to tell me, in the first place, what 
 you are doin here ; secondly, why you 
 came here ; thirdly, why you wear that 
 uniform ; and, fourthly, where you live ? 
 Put down all the questions, squire, and 
 leave a place for his answers. Come, sir, 
 the court's waitin." 
 
 " I came from Alamance," answered Un- 
 cle Corny. 
 
 " That's not the first question, sir," in- 
 terrupted the court. " We want no dodgin 
 here. The first query is what are you 
 doin here — eh]" 
 
 Demijohn. — " I was brought here." 
 
 The Court. — " You was brought here, 
 was you'? (a most precious rascal). Well, 
 sir, what were you doin at the inn? Have 
 I got ye now, old fox ? It takes me to sift 
 sich as you, and I'll do it before I'm done 
 with you. Out with it, man, what were 
 you doin at the grocery ?" 
 
 Demijohn. — " I was attending to my own 
 business." 
 
 M'Bride. — " Will you permit me to speak 
 for my friend? He is in a bad humour, 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 97 
 
 and perhaps I can, in five minutes, give 
 you all the information you want." 
 
 The Court. — " Perhaps you can, Mr. 
 Bagoflies, and a precious sight more than 
 we want. You will please to hold your 
 tongue, sir, as it will be time enough 
 for you to speak when your own turn 
 comes." 
 
 " What was your business at the gro- 
 cery, Mr. Demijohn? I've put the ques- 
 tion in a symbolical form, and all you've 
 got to do is to give me a plain answer. 
 It's monstrous easy," continued the Court, 
 in mock-gentle tones, "to tell what you 
 was doin. It won't kill nobody, so jist 
 out with it." 
 
 Demijohn. — " Go to the devil, sir ! I'll 
 answer none of your questions, until I 
 know what crime is alleged against me. 
 So take your own route." 
 
 The Court. — " I'll send you to the devil 
 presently, my bully ; but first I must know 
 why you, bein a malignant Tory and Brit- 
 isher, have on that uniform, eh?. Have I 
 hooked you now, my friend"?" 
 
 " The old squire's a hoss," said one of 
 the crowd. 
 
 " He knows what he's about," spoke a 
 second. 
 
 " Well, he does," said a third. 
 
 " Perhaps," suggested the silent member 
 of the court, " perhaps it would be well 
 enough to search Mr. Demijohn, and see 
 what papers he carries about him." 
 
 " That was well said," replied the other 
 magistrate ; and immediately examining 
 the clothes and pockets of the captain, 
 they found various articles, which were 
 laid on the table for inspection. First was 
 opened and read the letter of John Nipper, 
 and next the captain's tobacco-box, which 
 contained nothing dangerous to the cause 
 of the Americans. At last they found a 
 curious bundle, which at once excited a 
 universal curiosity, and which the magis- 
 trates, with great caution and solemnity, 
 proceeded to examine. It was enveloped 
 in a handkerchief and four or five sheets 
 of the softest silk paper, and, when finally 
 exposed to public view, created no little 
 astonishment and alarm. FifSt, there was 
 a lock of hair, tied with a piece of pink- 
 coloured ribbon, and next there were va- 
 rious scraps of paper, written over with 
 what purported to be amatory verses to 
 some unnamed beauty. Each of these 
 was read aloud by the talking magistrate, 
 who observed, as well as did the crowd, 
 that their production strangely affected the 
 prisoner who had carried them about him, 
 and whose colour now changed rapidly 
 from red to blue, and from blue to white, 
 while he trembled from head to foot. It 
 was evident to the court that some dia- 
 bolical plot was contained in these most 
 unpoetical, rhyming effusions; but they 
 were at a loss to know what it was, when 
 G 
 
 suddenly a bright thought occurred to the 
 leading justice. 
 
 " I see it now," said he, " it's all as plain 
 as the nose on my face. This, squire, 
 is, beyant all question, the hair of King 
 George, for I've heern say that all the 
 Britishers and Tories worship him as if he 
 was their god, and that's the reason they 
 call him lord and master." 
 
 "But what does he carry this lock of 
 hair for?" asked the other justice. 
 
 " Bekase," answered his associate, " be- 
 kase he's a papist. Besides, you see, this 
 lock of hair is. their secret passport, and 
 every Britisher and Tory in the United 
 States has got some of it, and when they 
 show it to each other they know they are 
 among their friends. As to these here 
 papers, I'm thinking they allude to the 
 death of General Washington, or Marion, 
 and it's all plotted out here by Lord Corn- 
 wallis himself. See here, what he says 
 in one place (it's darnation hard to read), 
 ' And death shall end all pains ;' and here 
 agin, he says, ' Right through the heart like 
 — like' — what the devil is this word? — 
 'like' e, 1, e, c, elec — 'like electricity.' If 
 that's not arson, mayhem, and treason, 
 then old Brainchops is a fool, and don't 
 know nothin at all. Gentle-men," contin- 
 ued he, rising, and motioning to the master 
 to be silent — " Gentle-mew, we have this 
 day diskivered a grand plot which mout 
 have ruined us all. I know'd for a long 
 time past that some sich scheme was 
 hatchin, and I told Squire Snapplegrit that 
 somethin was goin to happen. / know'd 
 it ; and i" know'd, as soon as I laid my 
 eyes on this big bully, that he was the 
 very man. I told Squire Snapplegrit, as 
 soon as I seed him, that he was a spy ; 
 and you see that I've worm'd it all out of 
 him, notwithstandin he is so mulish. I've 
 managed sich as him afore, and they nev- 
 er ketch me nappin. Gentle-men, it's a 
 solemn business to take the life of a fel- 
 ler- creetur in cold — Silence ! who's that 
 kickin up sich a row back there ?" 
 
 " Avaunt, and quit my sigtit !" exclaimed 
 Uncle Corny, staring towards the door, 
 and becoming greatly excited — " Oh ! thou 
 she-monster, thou worse than the lewd 
 woman of Babylon ! leave me — leave me, 
 and never let me see you again ' Are you 
 not ashamed? Is not your heart broken? 
 I can bear death— I can smile at the per- 
 secutions of these fools— but, O God ! to 
 think that you, Sally— you, whom I loved, 
 should betray me, and then come here to 
 mock at my sufferings !" 
 
 The whole crowd was in a state of con- 
 fusion — the magistrates storming for si- 
 lence, those about the door swaying to 
 and fro, cursing, cuffing, and kicking each 
 other, and Uncle Corny still staring at and 
 upbraiding the widow Powell, when that 
 good woman made "her way to the mag- 
 
98 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 istrate's table. Her face was red with 
 blushes and with her exertions to get into 
 the room, and being entirely out of breath, 
 it was some time before she could speak. 
 
 " Good woman," asked Squire Brain- 
 chops, at last, "what is your business 
 here ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir — yes, sir ; I'll tell your honour 
 when I take a little breath — My husband 
 that now is, sir " 
 
 " Let me be shot at once !" exclaimed 
 Captain Demijohn, raising his arms to his 
 face. " End the business at once — I'm 
 ready." 
 
 " You shall get your desarts in good 
 time, my friend," said Chief Justice Brain- 
 chops ; " but we must proceed with our 
 proceedinces in regler syllogisms. Go on 
 with your story, madam." 
 
 " Yes, sir, your honour. As I was about 
 say, my husband that now is — I'm married 
 now, sir — married a second time, my poor, 
 dear, first husband, whom you all know'd 
 — he. was a mighty good man, and every- 
 body spoke well of him — he died ; let me 
 .see — it was either on the tenth or eleventh 
 of November, just three years ago — I have 
 it set down in my Bible at home, but I dis- 
 remember now whether it was the tenth 
 or eleventh, but it was one of them days, 
 sure, and I remember that the next day 
 came the great November snow " 
 
 " Good woman," said the silent magis- 
 trate, " tell us at once what you want, 
 and never mind about your first husband, 
 or your second." 
 
 " Yes, sir, your honour. Well, my pres- 
 ent husband — we were married to-day, sir, 
 by Parson Miller, at my relation's, Betsy 
 Tibbleshanks. It was done in a hurry, 
 and I haven't yet got over the fright ; but 
 my husband told me, ' Sally,' ses he, ' I 
 expect that Captain Demijohn and Leften- 
 ant Magfry are in a peck of trouble jist 
 now.' And then he told me that he had 
 told a story on them to have them arrest- 
 ed, and that I must come and tell you 
 about it." 
 
 " Who's your husband ?" asked Squire 
 Snapplegrit. 
 
 " Mr. Nipper, sir — John Nipper," an- 
 swered the lady, modestly ; at which Cap- 
 tain Demijohn started as if a pistol had 
 been fired in his face. The master was 
 more composed, and begging permission 
 to examine Mrs. Nipper himself, he pro- 
 ceeded as follows : 
 
 " Mrs. Nipper, do you not know- the fact 
 that I and my friend there are Whigs, 
 and that we fought in the battle of Cam- 
 den, and lodged at your house the night 
 after ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I remember it now as well as 
 if it was yesterday ; and that night Mr. 
 Demijohn and myself set up all night with 
 a poor sick officer. I never thought then 
 that Mr. Demijohn " 
 
 M'Bride. — " Stop a moment. Is not that 
 your hair V 
 
 Mrs. Nipper. — It looks very much like 
 it, sir, and Mr. Demijohn told me he was 
 going to tie it up in pink ribbon as soon as 
 he got to a store. He spoke to me very : 
 politely, and often told me he could die for 
 me ; and little did I then think he Avas such 
 a man as he is ; but men are mighty de- 
 ceivin, and I've often heern old Mother 
 Suddlepot say, that lives over by the great 
 mill, on the other side of Peedee — 1 used 
 to go there often when I was a girl, for I 
 had a cousin livin there who's been killed 
 in the wars. He was a valiant man, and 
 they say when a cannon-ball tore off his 
 shoulder, he " 
 
 " For God's sake, leave off your cousin's 
 history," exclaimed the master, " and at- 
 tend to the business in hand. Why were 
 you afraid of Mr. Demijohn'?" 
 
 " Why, sir," answered Mrs; Nipper, 
 " didn't you bring a letter from him, and 
 didn't he say in that letter that he was 
 goin to carry me to Tophy and feed me on 
 snails and rattlesnakes 1 That I was ugly, 
 and reformed, and bewitched, and that he 
 and yourself was goin to carry me off next 
 day because he had a spite agin me, and 
 that I hadn't no friends, and needn't make 
 any fuss about it. Here's the letter, sir, 
 which my husband that is requested me to 
 bring to you." 
 
 The master, for the satisfaction of all 
 parties, and to convince the woman and 
 the crowd that they all had been imposed 
 on by the Georgian, desired to read the let- 
 ter ; but Demijohn opposed it, being unwil- 
 ling that the world should know his folly. 
 
 " I have been a fool," said he, " and I 
 am willing to pay for it. Let me be shot 
 rather than be cleared by exposing my 
 childishness ; in fact I prefer death, so let 
 the court proceed." 
 
 The court, however, were disposed to 
 read the letter, and did read it aloud, every 
 word piercing the unfortunate author like 
 a dagger, and creating an immense sensa- 
 tion in the crowd. Hatred for the captain 
 was changed to sympathy, and the public 
 indignatioifrurned against John Nipper. 
 
 " I always suspected he was a knave," 
 said Squire Brainchops, " and told Squire 
 Snapplegrit that I didn't like his looks. 
 Where is he 1 Let him be arrested and 
 brought before us directly." 
 
 The multitude, eager to see some one 
 executed, now dispersed in search of the 
 Georgian, little heeding the entreaties of 
 his wife, who declared that he was sick 
 a-bed. John, however, was not so sick as 
 to be unable to leave the village as soon 
 as he parted from his wife ; and the inhab- 
 itants now searched for him in vain. His 
 wife's old servant and all her clothes were 
 gone, and it was also ascertained that her 
 husband had that very day sold her inter- 
 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 99 
 
 est in the land on which she lived, all her 
 .stock and household property, and pock- 
 eted the money. Whence he had come, 
 whither he had gone, who he was, where 
 he resided, no one could tell, and his un- 
 fortunate bride was overwhelmed with 
 grief. 
 
 As she sa! at her relation's, weeping and 
 wringing her hands, Cornelius Demijohn, 
 who was now at liberty, accosted her. 
 "Madam," said he, "I come to bid you 
 | farewell. You have injured me — don't 
 cry nor say a word, for I forgive you. 
 ; You were deceived — I know it all. Fare- 
 well, and may you yet be happy!" He 
 .gave her his hand, and when he took it 
 away a paper dropped on the floor, in 
 which was found a twenty-pound note and 
 these words : " Expect this sum from me 
 till you marry again. — C. D." 
 
 "Mr. M'Bride, let's go to Alamance," 
 said Uncle Corny, as he met the master in 
 the street. 
 
 " Agreed, with all my heart," answered 
 the latter ; and the two friends were imme- 
 diately on the road. Not another word 
 was spoken by either; but as the captain 
 came to the late residence of the widow 
 Powell that was, he halted his horse for a 
 moment, and a single tear moistened his 
 eyes as he took from his pocket a little bun- 
 .dle and flung it into the yard. The master 
 understood his feelings, and in silence they 
 journeyed on till they reached the inn, 
 where M'Bride, after some persuasion, in- 
 duced his friend to take up for the night, 
 •which had now commenced, and which 
 threatened to be cold and stormy. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 TRAGEDY AT THE INN. 
 
 The master having promised his host 
 extra pay, the latter agreed to receive no 
 other guests that night ; an agreement, by 
 the way, which he supposed he would not 
 be tempted to break, for the wind moaned 
 dismally through the yard, and the sleet 
 rattled against the windows. The party 
 within, though seated round a cheerful and 
 blazing fire, seemed to be affected by the 
 dreariness without, and for some time not 
 a word was spoken. Demijohn especially 
 looked sad and disconsolate, and with his 
 left arm hanging over the back of his chair, 
 bis chin drooping on his breast, and his 
 hat pulled nearly over 1 his eyes, seemed 
 the very picture of melancholy as he sat 
 with his eyes fixed on the giowing embers, 
 and his mind occupied with gloomy re- 
 flections. M'Bride was stooping to read, 
 •by the light of the fire,, a piece of an old 
 copy of the "Prim® Origines" which he 
 had found on the premises ; the host was 
 tinkering and whistling in one corner* and 
 iris wife sat in the other, engaged with her 
 
 knitting and rocking a cradle with her foot, 
 when suddenly a loud'rap at the door start- 
 led all from their seats. 
 
 " Who's that V demanded the landlord. 
 
 " Open and see," was the answer, and 
 again the knocking was repeated. 
 
 " You must tell your name and busi- 
 ness," said the innkeeper, "before I can 
 open the door." 
 
 " I can't afford to holler my name in this 
 night air," replied he outside, " and it's 
 not the fashion for gentlemen to be intro- 
 duced with a door between them. Open 
 this door, I say." 
 
 " Stranger," said M'Bride, " this house 
 is chartered for the night, and is full be- 
 sides. There is a village near by, and 
 there you can be accommodated, so depart 
 in peace." 
 
 " I'll enter in war," answered the stran- 
 ger, "and I'll empty the house in a twinklin 
 if this door aint opened. I say, do you 
 want these planks shivered 1" And at 
 this he thundered against the door with 
 so much violence that the landlord begged 
 him to desist for a moment; and, putting 
 his mouth to the keyhole, asked to which 
 side his would-be guest belonged. 
 • " To the outside," answered the latter, 
 " and a devilish cold one it is." 
 
 Landlord. — " Are you Whig or Tory, 
 many or few V 
 
 Stranger. — " You're almighty perticler, 
 and I must give my answers to them ques- 
 tions at my leisure, after I git warmed." 
 
 "And if you don't answer them now," 
 spoke Demijohn, reaching for his sword, 
 " I'll see very quick who's the stronger, 
 you or we. We are armed — and, by Jupi- 
 ter, if you do not tell to which side you 
 belong, you shall taste of my sword." 
 
 " Liberty, then, and be damned to you !" 
 shouted the stranger; and instantly the 
 door flew open, and Ben Rust was nearly 
 squeezed to death by the master and Uncle 
 Corny. 
 
 " My Christin friends," said the new- 
 comer, " it's no time for compliments, for 
 there are ladies out here, and you may 
 prepare to see a sperit." 
 
 Neither Demijohn nor M'Bride had ever 
 heard of the reported death of Edith May- 
 field, but still they were as much aston- 
 ished to see her as if she had been a ghost. 
 While supper was preparing for the new 
 guests, Rust briefly narrated the adven- 
 tures of Edith and of himself; told how 
 Richard Sikes had conducted him to her 
 place of concealment, and was beginning 
 to give an account of the state of things 
 at Alamance when another knocking was 
 heard at the door. The stranger at once 
 announced himself as a faithful British 
 subject, said he was alone, and that he 
 was so anxious to be admitted that he sur- 
 rendered himself a prisoner on the spot. 
 The door was cautiously opened, and Dick 
 
100 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 Sikes shrunk behind the trembling Edith, 
 for both saw their most dreaded enemy, 
 Alan Ross. He remembered the master 
 and Demijohn, whom he cordially saluted, 
 and, bowing stiffly to Rust and the ladies, 
 said — " Mr. M'Bride you seem astonished, 
 and you have reason to be so. I am now 
 about to end my allegiance to my earthly 
 sovereigns, three of whom I have served. 
 In the service of the first I was rewarded 
 with wounds, poverty, and exile ; in that 
 of the second, with suspicions and distrust ; 
 while from the third I have received a 
 broken heart. Gentlemen, may God pros- 
 per you and reserve you for a better fate 
 than mine ; Edith, farewell, for here we 
 part forever, you for heaven and I for 
 hell !" Instantly, and in quick succession, 
 two pistols were fired, a groan and shriek 
 were heard, and Alan Ross and Edith May- 
 field fell lifeless to the floor. The com- 
 pany crowded so thickly round the latter, 
 that for some time no one knew whether 
 she was dead or only wounded ; but at 
 last, Nannie Scott, lifting her inanimate 
 friend in her arms and carrying her to a 
 bed, ascertained that she had swooned 
 from alarm, being but very slightly wound- 
 ed on the shoulder. Ross himself expired 
 immediately ; and, as the company were 
 gathering round him, and the confusion 
 subsiding, a groan was heard in the corner 
 of the room, and there Dick Sikes was 
 found mortally wounded and weltering in 
 blood. The poor wretch, fearing to be 
 seen by Ross, whom he had once served; 
 had hid behind the ladies, and there re- 
 ceived the contents of the pistol aimed at 
 the breast of her whom he had been in- 
 strumental in saving from an unhappy 
 fate. He asked every one's forgiveness, 
 besought Edith to pray for the salvation 
 of his soul, and then, extending his hand 
 to Rust, said, feebly, " Farewell — you are 
 the only friend I ever had : I hope you'll 
 remember" — and death closed his lips for- 
 ever. A bundle of papers, not sealed, and 
 addressed to f Henry Warden," was found 
 in the pocket of Ross, and then he and the 
 Tory, side by side, and by the light of 
 torches,- were hastily buried in a small 
 neighbouring glade. After the others had 
 left, Ben Rust lingered for a while over 
 the last resting-place of Sikes, and dropped 
 upon his grave the only tear of kind sor- 
 row that had ever been shed for him. By 
 the time he had returned and finished his 
 supper, it was nearly day ; and the land- 
 lord, horror-struck at the tragedy which 
 had been enacted in his house, was urging 
 his guests to be off by the early dawn. 
 " I am at heart a Whig,'.' said he : " but I'm 
 poor and timid, and cannot endure to see 
 bloodshed. I therefore have tried to re- 
 main neutral in action; but I often find 
 ways to serve our friends, and you may 
 rely on my fidelity and prudence. The 
 
 whole country will be excited in a few 
 hours, and, if you do not wish to be seen 
 and heard of by every body, you must be 
 far away by ten o'clock to-morrow. I'll 
 take care that no one gets on your track, 
 if you'll tell me which way you are going ; 
 for I'd die before I'd expose fhat beautiful 
 and innocent lady to any more troubles. 
 
 The master informed him that as the 
 border country was unsettled and danger- 
 ous, he should aim for the mountains of 
 North Carolina ; and accordingly at break 
 of day the Alamancers and Nannie Scott 
 were on the road. As the landlord pre- 
 dicted, the country did become excited ; 
 the most strange and miraculous stories 
 got into circulation, and the glade was 
 considered as haunted ground for half a 
 century. Recently, however, the place 
 was enclosed and put under cultivation, 
 and human bones and a pair of rusty pis- 
 tols were turned up by a ploughman. They, 
 of course, created quite a sensation ; but if 
 these sketches ever reach that country, 
 they will at once solve a mystery which 
 has puzzled the learned men of the vil- 
 lages, and afforded many exciting ques- 
 tions for the debating clubs of the neigh- 
 borhood. 
 
 The master, who was always interested 
 at the sight of manuscripts, could not resist 
 the temptation to open Ross's papers, 
 which he found to consist of his will, a 
 letter to Henry Warden, and a sketch of 
 the author's life, to which the letter was a 
 sort of introduction. The will directed 
 that all the testator's real and personal 
 estate be sold, and the proceeds be divided 
 equally between Nannie Scott, Henry 
 Warden, and Duncan Stuart. " Two of 
 these persons I have injured," said he in 
 the instrument alluded to, " and the other 
 is my relation, and has been a dependent 
 of my family ; may what I leave them pay, 
 in part, the great debt I owe them." 
 
 Of this will Flora M'Donald and her 
 husband were left executrix and executor, 
 and full directions given for the transmis- 
 sion of the funds to the United States. At 
 the first halting-place the master read, first 
 to himself and then to the company, the 
 history of Ross ; and as it was left among 
 the papers bequeathed to us, it will appear 
 in the following chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 SCRAPS OF MY <JWN HISTORY. 
 
 BY ALAN ROSS. 
 
 If ever I should write a book — an 
 achievement I shall attempt as soon as I 
 get time— it shall treat of a new subject. 
 Solomon and his admirers say there is 
 nothing new under the sun ; but, with all 
 due respect for the wisdom of the learned 
 Hebrew, I dissent from the opinion quoted. 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 101 
 
 Who in his day ever heard of a treatise on 
 window-gazing? This is the subject on 
 whicTf Twish to publish a work, and if I 
 die before I do it the world will be a loser. 
 Poets and lunatics proper have, from time 
 ^immemorial, dilated upon the pleasures of 
 star-gazing, moon-gazing, landscape-gaz- 
 ing, and ocean-gazing, but of all the excit- 
 ing, beautiful, or inspiring scenes in the 
 world, commend me to the sight of a lady's 
 — a strange lady's — face at an upper win- 
 dow. There is a great difference between 
 such a sight at an upper and a basement 
 window. In the latter case the fair nymph 
 seems to be associated with ideas of house- 
 hold labours, is not in her own peculiar 
 abode, where she is supposed to think only 
 of love and romance, while the approach 
 to her is easy. Besides, she is within 
 speaking distance, and a single word would 
 dissolve the illusion, and at once proclaim 
 the beauty to be a common fellow-mortal; 
 and all this, in addition to the risk of seeing 
 bad teeth, hearing a coarse voice, and find- 
 ing a very dull and stupid intellect. But 
 when you dimly see a sweet face behind 
 the half-drawn curtains of an upper case- 
 ment, the heart is at once fired with a vo- 
 luptuous glow, and a crowd of pleasant 
 and undefinable ideas rush upon the mind. 
 The imagination has full room to play, and 
 the fair vision is converted into a delight- 
 ful and gracious houri, with a tender heart 
 and a soul where only love and its pleas- 
 ures can ever be thought of. We imagine 
 that she will kindle at a look or gesture, 
 and a mute correspondence immediately 
 commences, we thinking our neighbour 
 affected like ourselves, and that every mo- 
 tion of her head and wave of her hand are 
 intended to convey a world of delicious 
 meaning. Those only are happy who live 
 among the creations of fancy ; and- when 
 is the imagination so bright as when sit- 
 ting at our own window, on a pleasant 
 evening in June, the window just opposite, 
 on the other side of the street, is seen to 
 rise, and a blooming young maiden is re- 
 vealed, her face, and neck, and the begin- 
 ning of her breasts' gentle swell being vis- 
 ible \ Here you have before your eyes 
 an enchanting and lovely creation, with 
 mortal passions and sympathies, and yet 
 totally disconnected with the vanities, foi- 
 bles, cares, and sorrows of mortal exist- 
 ence. On such occasions the being before 
 me seems born only to love and be loved ; 
 and thinking that she has been watching 
 me and is occupied with thoughts similar 
 to my own, I become ecstatic, and forth- 
 with open a communication with her. At 
 first I make acquaintance by a half-averted 
 look or gaze, then I make some very slight 
 and scarcely perceptible motion with my 
 hand, and finally become liberal with signs 
 and gestures. In this way only, except 
 in one solitary instance, have I loved ; and 
 
 I have spent thus hours, days, and months, 
 the most pleasant part of my existence. 
 I cannot love a woman that I know, and 
 with whom I associate. If I converse with 
 her, from lips that seem to be made only 
 to distil nectar and to discourse celestial 
 harmony, I hear coarse, rude sounds, and 
 plain and vulgar ideas ; if I touch her, I 
 find that the apparently ethereal form that 
 floats along in webs of gossamer is a wad- 
 ed mass of dry- goods and whalebone ; and 
 if I mingle with her much, I soon learn 
 that the wihole animal is but a compound 
 of passion and folly. And this brings me 
 to another and a darker trait in my charac- 
 ter. This world has ever seemed to me a 
 great battle-field, where all animated be- 
 ings and the elements of inanimate na- 
 ture are perpetually combatting. In the 
 war of elements among themselves, and 
 against all breathing things, the earth 
 yawns, and mountains are rocked to their 
 bases; volcanoes pour forth their floods 
 of liquid fire, the clouds dart their terrible 
 bolts, shivering and destroying whatever 
 they touch, conflagrations lay cities in 
 ashes, tornadoes and whirlwinds sweep, 
 with desolating fury, over the country, and 
 the raging billows of the seas are ever 
 yawning to engulph in their fathomless 
 depths. These are some of the most nota- 
 ble ways in which the wars of senseless 
 matter are carried on ; but every substance 
 in the material world contains, an element 
 of destruction that wars on other elements, 
 each one struggling for the mastery, for 
 absolute dominion. Which will finally 
 succeed — whether, as some think, fire, or, 
 as others suppose, water — it is to my mind 
 certain this earth of ours, this congeries 
 of hostile particles and principles, will 
 be rent and torn by terrible convulsions, 
 and become a formless and uninhabited 
 chaos, a globe of burning fire — be shattered 
 into millions of fragments, or become a 
 great mass of virus matter, whose putres- 
 cence will scatter pestilence through the 
 universe. As it is with inanimate matter 
 so' is it with man and brute, whose voca- 
 tion is destruction. Are not all men, and 
 women too, fighting each other, openly or 
 covertly 1 Look abroad over the world ; 
 consult history, consult your own expe- 
 rience, reader, whoever you be. War is 
 the chief pastime of kings and rulers, by 
 whatever name they may be called, and at 
 their command mighty armies are ever in 
 the field, strewing the earth with human 
 bones, and moistening its soil with human 
 blood. The first element of a great state 
 is a great and well-appointed army ; and 
 to butcher our species is the surest, the 
 shortest, and the safest way to the venera- 
 tion and confidence of our race. But it is 
 r.ot merely when armed soldiers meet that 
 hostilities are carried on. Every city, and 
 village, and hamlet — yea, every court- 
 
102 ALAMANCE. 
 
 house,. and church, and domestic altar, is a forth to conquer. I never experienced a 
 battle-field. The pastor pounds you from defeat, and soon acquired such a reputation 
 the pulpit, the lawyers baste and the judg- ; that one look was a victory. Thus things 
 es roast you in the forum of justice, the ! stood with me when my political aspira- 
 doctors poison and crucify you, the usurer I tions were extinguished in blood on the 
 and the bailiff pursue you with writs and • field of Culloden, and I had to fly my coun- 
 warrants, the author stings you with his | try, leaving to mourn and wither behind 
 pen, the women ensnare you on every j me a large circle of female friends, who 
 side, and the tongue of slander and de- each gave me a lock of their hair, and 
 traction will follow you beyond the grave, each one of whom had sent to the army 
 
 Every one is trying to pull down others to 
 build up himself, and as each individual is 
 
 and navy several of its most noble and 
 gallant spirits. I carried with me the pre- 
 
 an Ishmael, with his ..hand against every | cious tokens, cherishing them with great 
 man, and every man's hand against him, j care — to exhibit for the amusement of the 
 so are sects arrayed against sects, creeds | ladies over the Straits 
 
 against creeds, classes against classes, and 
 ranks against ranks. Among these classes 
 maybe mentioned the male and female, who 
 carry on an hereditary and inextinguish- 
 able war against each other. Every wom- 
 an is a magazine of destruction, a minia- 
 ture army in herself, from a child, careful- 
 ly equipped for destruction. Her dress, 
 her looks, her words, and her very gait are 
 all designed with a view to the infliction 
 of injury on the opposite sex ; and pretty 
 much the same may be said of them. On 
 both sides fraud, artifice, and deception are 
 practised ; and as some men seem born to 
 be fooled by the women, so are the wom- 
 en destined to be the victims of other men. 
 Now, of all wars I love that most where 
 the braying of trumpets, the thunders of 
 artillery, the glitter of steel and gold, the 
 proud prancing of horses, and the furious 
 shock of contending hosts lend an air of 
 grandeur to the scene and fully entitle it 
 to its appellation of " glorious war." This 
 is my theatre, here I prefer to combat; 
 but I was born a soldier, and ready for any 
 kind of fighting. Although I had rather 
 front a battery of forty well-served can- 
 non than be tied to the side of a termagant 
 who displays her military propensities in 
 curtain lectures and fireside hostilities. I 
 am not the coward to shrink from any 
 contest. I was born a soldier, and born 
 to be a victor ; and, while some of the sex 
 have been victimizing others, they have, 
 with singular infatuation, invariably fallen 
 before me. I am the avenger of my sex, 
 and have inflicted on the wily and heart- 
 less vixens the woes and infirmities which 
 .they had heaped upon the heads of honest 
 : and generous lovers. I happily came into 
 this warfare armed with a brazen face, a 
 cold, selfish, and ambitious heart, and .a 
 lying and fluent tongue— a gentleman who 
 worshipped honour, but only that ceremo- 
 nious punctilio which all gentlemen are 
 bred to observe towards each other. Na- 
 ture was also liberal to my person, for I 
 had a bold stare, a rakish look, a goatish 
 beard, an athletic person, and a strut which 
 a newly-appointed officer might envy. I 
 was insensible to a tender emotion, except 
 at a window ; and, thus prepared, I went 
 
 I did not carry my good fortune with 
 me, however; and so unflattering was rav 
 reception by the lively beauties of France, 
 that I retired to the country town of Ca- 
 hors, and took up my lodgings on a street 
 all the windows on which I had seen filled 
 with female faces. My only acquaintance 
 and companion was a certain Captain Eli 
 Dujant, a droll character, who told me that 
 in the wars in Italy, under old Marshal 
 Villars, he commanded a company of dis- 
 carded lovers, who were the most despe- 
 rate fighters in the French army. They 
 had all gone to the wars to win glorv and 
 break the hearts of their mistresses ] and, 
 as their fate illustrates a certain homely 
 old proverb about biting off the nose to 
 spite the face, I will here record it for 
 preservation and for future benefit. At 
 the taking of Milan seven of these gallants 
 were left on the field of battle, buried with 
 the undistinguished and unremembered 
 dead. Three soon after perished by dis- 
 ease — fifteen were killed under the walls 
 of Parma, and some twenty or thirty Ave re 
 lost by various casualties. One returned 
 home a sous-lieutenant on one leg of bane 
 and flesh and one of Avood, and found his 
 dulcinea a country farmer's wife and the 
 mother of three dirty children: another 
 came back minus an arm, a lip, and half a 
 dozen of teeth, to recognize his quondam 
 spiritual mistress in the fat and grea&y 
 OAvner of a village bakery ; a third iioav 
 hops about a hospital on Avooden pin-: : and 
 the fourth, who Avas the "captain hii::>elf.. 
 ^.ives upon the interest of a small estate. (sj a 
 roistering, boon companion, a village pot- 
 house politician, and carries in his face 
 and on his body the mark of almost even- 
 kind of Aveapon used in Avar. His nose 
 Avas split by a SAA^ord-cut, his cheeks fm - 
 roAved by musket-balls, his chin seamed 
 With 'a bayonet-thrust, three fingers on his 
 right hand broken, and his left ankle fit < - 
 tured by a spent cannon-ball. His mis- 
 tress had, in the mean time, decamped Avith 
 a strolling dancing-master, and Captain 
 Dujant, thoroughly cured of his belief in 
 ideal love, very philosophically concltfcrcd 
 to take the Avorld as it is. I did riot tell 
 him of my intended window campaign, 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 103 
 
 and to give the business a further zest, I 
 would not permit myself to hear of any 
 lady's name, rank, character, or age. I 
 sauntered up and down the street for sev- 
 eral evenings, watching to see who noted 
 my appearance, and when I saw that I 
 was attentively marked, returning imme- 
 diately to my room and presenting myself 
 at my window, I found that I had at last 
 attracted the attention of a beautiful face, 
 and that the lady had ascertained where I 
 lodged, and, as it seemed, my object. This 
 was enough, and so the next day I re- 
 mained at my window, and so did she at 
 hers, frequently exhibiting herself to the 
 shoulders, in the street. The next day I 
 began a communication with signs — slight 
 motions of my hand — and was fairly thrilled 
 with ecstacy when I saw her hand gently 
 wave in return. It was several days before 
 we could make distinct and significant signs ; 
 but at last we became extremely confiden- 
 tial. I was delighted, enraptured, and my 
 happiness exceeded all bounds when she, 
 on a certain day, requested me, by signs, to 
 be under her window at eleven that night. 
 At the appointed hour I was there — a shut- 
 ter opened, a small white hand appeared, 
 and I coughed slightly to indicate my pres- 
 ence. The next moment a ladder of ropes 
 was flung out, and soon I was at the win- 
 dow, reflecting on nothing and glowing 
 with indescribable emotion. The curtain 
 was raised, a light flashed in my eyes, and, 
 without looking before me, I plunged into 
 the room and found myself in the centre 
 of a group of men. I was, of course, em- 
 barrassed, but instantly a merry, ringing 
 laugh behind me caused me to turn, and 
 I beheld, beautiful as an angel, and as 
 innocent-looking, my window acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 Madam , first announcing her own 
 
 name, continued, " This, Mr. Ross, is my 
 father, Monsieur de , this my hus- 
 band, and these my brothers. Thinking 
 you wished to visit the family, Monsieur, 
 and knowing your penchant for making 
 acquaintances at windows, we concluded 
 it would be gratifying to you to be thus in- 
 troduced." 
 
 "We would be glad to see you often," 
 said the husband, " and if such a mode of 
 visiting is most agreeable to you, the rope- 
 ladder will still be at your service, and the 
 window open, though, as we reside down 
 stairs, it would suit us ( best to receive you 
 there. I suppose, my dear," turning to his 
 wife," he can get through one of the front 
 windows on the basement story." 
 
 " Certainly, my love," answered Madame 
 -» — , with a sweet smile that stung my soul, 
 "certainly Monsieur can come' through the 
 window by the chimney, and I will have 
 the furniture moved out of his way." 
 
 Now, if I had had less effrontery than 
 the renowned namesake of Saint Nicholas 
 
 himself, I should have swooned, and have 
 given up my habit of window-gazing ; but, 
 happily for me, the shafts of wit and sar- 
 casm could not penetrate my mail of brass. 
 With the utmost sang froid of manner, I 
 
 bowed to Madame , thanked her for 
 
 her kindness, and intimated that it was true 
 I had wished to make the acquaintance of 
 her family, that I had the utmost horror of 
 doors, and that, having now accomplished 
 my object, I would take my leave, promis- 
 ing to call again. 1 requested permission, 
 to leave as I had entered, and, as I went 
 down, whether by accident or design I 
 know not, but the street was full of peo- 
 ple, who gathered round me, and seemed 
 much amused at my situation. I was, how- 
 ever, consoled with the reflection that they 
 did not know my name, when, just as I 
 touched the ground, Madame's husband 
 bawled out from the window — " Are you 
 safely down, Monsieur Ross V 
 
 Was I cured of my singular passion? 
 Not at all. It had grown with my growth, 
 strengthened with advancing years, and 
 though I was yet young, quite young, I 
 had seen too much pleasure in its pursuit 
 to think for a moment of giving up my 
 most cherished occupation. The French 
 are the most liberal and philosophical peo- 
 ple in the world, and I prove this assertion 
 by citing the fact that I was not next day 
 mobbed by the citizens of Cahors, because 
 I was a mysterious stranger, who would 
 not tell his business or form intimacies in 
 the town. No doubt the kindred and 
 friends of Madame amused them- 
 selves sufficiently at my expense ; but no 
 one talked to me or interrupted me, and so 
 I began to look about for another adven- 
 ture. 
 
 In the suburbs of the town, and stand- 
 ing by itself, was a neat residence, sur- 
 rounded by a wilderness of flowers and 
 shrubbery, and wearing an air of seclusion 
 and privacy. On reconnoitring it atten- 
 tively I saw, to my inexpressible joy, a 
 corner window of the second story open, 
 and a toilet-table, and other indications 
 that the room was inhabited by a lady. I 
 had no doubt but that she was as fair as 
 one of the blossoms of the peach-trees 
 whose glorious bloom made a paradise of 
 a neighbouring orchard ; and the situation 
 of the house, and everything about it, con- 
 spired to keep up the illusion that some, 
 tender Amanda resided there. The win- 
 dow, however, was nearly obscured by 
 the foliage of a great elm, whose leafy 
 branches covered one side of the house, 
 and through which a luxuriant cypress- 
 vine had woven itself into a tangled web. 
 Occasionally I could see the flutter of a 
 dress, and once or twice a gloved hand 
 was thrust out to cull a flower from the 
 vine, but I never could get a glimpse of 
 the owner's face. What astonished me 
 
104 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 still more was the entire stillness which 
 pervaded the place, and the absence of 
 any living' thing, except the inhabitant of 
 the enchanted chamber. I still kept prowl- 
 ing about the house ; and, becoming bolder 
 and more impudent than ever I had for- 
 merly been, I one day went into the yard, 
 and, finding a side door open, I walked 
 into the house. There was a family at 
 dinner : for the first time in my life I felt 
 ashamed. Had the tenants been ordinary 
 people, I might, perhaps, have conducted 
 myself with my usual effrontery ; but at 
 opposite ends of the table sat two persons 
 •whose looks awed and confused me not a 
 little. The one was a hale, but venerable 
 and white-haired man, whose lofty fore- 
 head seemed to have been made for a 
 crown, and in whose face Nature had 
 plainly put the stamp of its highest order 
 of nobility — that of an honest man. His 
 looks were neither stern nor timid, and 
 though they indicated a rather .kind and 
 generous disposition, they showed that a 
 lion's heart beat within his aged bosom. 
 The opposite character was a lady, and 
 such a lady! I saw her but a moment, 
 but in that moment her face was so im- 
 pressed upon my mind that it can never 
 be effaced. In person she seemed taller 
 than her sex usually are, yet her form was 
 so slender, so symmetrical — her move- 
 ments so graceful, every motion of her 
 limbs and body so full of poetry, that, 
 when you did not see her eyes, she seemed 
 an airy, light, ethereal creature, an unsub- 
 stantial embodiment of beauty, grace, and 
 sentiment. Her features, however, were 
 rather prominent, and her pale, blanched 
 skin seemed perfectly white when con- 
 trasted with the raven hair that was gath- 
 ered into a massive pile upon the crown 
 of her head, and with her large, lustrous, 
 fiery, black eyes, that indicated a slumber- 
 ing volcano in her breast. There were 
 other persons at the table ; hut 1 paid no 
 attention to them, stammering out, in 
 French, a hasty apology for my intrusion, 
 and alleging that I had mistaken the 
 house. 
 
 " Your accent declares you to be my 
 countryman," said the old man, in English, 
 " and I will venture to address you as 
 such. Whom were you seeking 1 ?" 
 
 " Captain Dujant," I replied, in the same 
 language, and holding out my hand, con- 
 tinued, " I am glad, sir, that I have found 
 a countryman, and should be still more 
 happy to make your acquaintance." . 
 
 " I am incog, for the present," said he, 
 rather coldly ; and, as he was one of those 
 whose slightest words are to be obeyed, I 
 took my leave. As I went out at the door 
 I cast a longing glance at the lady, and a 
 slight colour mantled her cheeks as her 
 glowing eyes melted into mine. I was 
 now keenly desirous of following up my 
 
 adventure, and taking my friend, the cap- 
 tain, into my confidence, we agreed that it 
 was best to give the lady some hint of my 
 passion in plainer language than that of 
 signs. As every French gentleman can 
 write gentlemanly verses, the captain com- 
 posed, and I translated, the following : 
 
 IMPROMPTU, 
 
 On seeing at Table a beautiful Lady, whose acquaint- 
 ance the Author was not allowed to make. 
 
 " But for the place where first my eyes 
 
 Beheld that pale, fair face of thine, 
 I should have thought thee from the skies, 
 
 And now believe thee half divine. 
 Yet still I must in conscience say, 
 
 I hope you may a mortal prove ; 
 At least that one poor mortal may 
 
 Attain the heaven of thy love. 
 But 1, alas ! may never know 
 
 But what thou art a bloodless sprite, 
 A sweet, but unsubstantial show, 
 
 A beauteous, airy form of light. 
 To solve this doubt within my mind, 
 
 I've wish'd (forgive me) that I could 
 Once clasp thy lily hand in mine 
 
 And feel if it be flesh and blood !" 
 
 That night we treated the strange lady 
 to a serenade, and, as her window was 
 open, I flung into it a perfumed pair of 
 tiny gloves, in which my verses were fold- 
 ed, and then hastily left the place. As ray 
 place of residence was too far from the 
 window to undertake to communicate by 
 signs from my own window, and as it was 
 indelicate to stand in the street gazing at 
 the lady's chamber, I could only pass it 
 and make signals as I walked. On the 
 following morning after the serenade, I 
 could see that the fair stranger was sitting 
 by her window, for a portion of her body 
 was visible, though her face was con- 
 cealed. A hand with a glove on it — not 
 one of those I threw into the chamber — 
 was thrust out, and it waved and moved in 
 answer to the motion of mine. I was en- 
 raptured, and passed often that day, the 
 hand still answering to mine, whose lan- 
 guage became bolder and more significant. 
 The next day the window was closed, and 
 the next ; and again having recourse to my 
 friend, the captain, he soon ascertained for 
 me that the bird had flown. The family 
 had, in fact, left the town ; but their prob- 
 able destination was ascertained by the 
 captain, who had a lively curiosity, and 
 who had become my devoted friend, taking 
 a prodigious interest in my window ad- 
 ventures. The novelty and excitement 
 of such an occupation pleased him greatly, 
 and when I began to prepare for my de- 
 parture to Bordeaux, he declared his reso- 
 lution of bearing me company. At. Bor- 
 deaux the captain had acquaintances, and 
 he learned that the very day before we 
 arrived a family, answering to the descrip- 
 tion of those we were pursuing, had taken 
 passage to the island of Cuba. 
 
 All the soldier in my nature was now 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 105 
 
 fully aroused, and in a few days the cap- 
 tain and myself were on board the Nep- 
 tune, on our way to the port of Havanna. 
 In this last-mentioned city we were both 
 total strangers ; but we paraded the streets 
 morning and evening, scanning every face 
 we saw at the doors and at the windows 
 of the houses, and carriages. At last, in a 
 quiet part of the town, the identical gloved- 
 hand I had seen so often in Cahors waved 
 . at us from an upper window. I was trans- 
 ported with pleasure, and a lively panto- 
 mimic conversation sprung up, the French- 
 man joining in with more zeal than grace, 
 and accompanying the rapid and extraor- 
 dinary evolutions of his hands, head, and 
 body, with a running commentary which 
 brought upon us the gaze of all the neigh- 
 bourhood. After several mute conversa- 
 tions, I at length determined to scale the 
 window, when, one moonlight night, as a 
 carriage passed me, two eyes which I could 
 not mistake gleamed upon me. I watched 
 the vehicle, keeping my eyes fixed upon it 
 among the crowd of chaises that dashed 
 through the streets, and marking every 
 peculiarity about it until I was satisfied I 
 should always know it. That night it 
 passed me several times, and several times 
 the bright meteors within shone upon me 
 with an expression that convinced me I 
 was known. At length I took my station 
 near the house where I supposed the lovely 
 unknown resided, and, to my unbounded 
 astonishment, her carnage drove up to an 
 opposite house, into which its beautiful 
 tenant was escorted. Here was a mys- 
 tery, land it was rendered still darker on 
 the following morning by the discovery 
 that the gloved hand did not belong to the 
 lady I had met at the table in Cahors. 
 The face of this latter I distinctly saw at 
 an upper window ; and as- she seemed to 
 "recognise me with some emotion, I gave 
 up^to the Frenchman the pursuit of the 
 gloved hand, concealing, however, my rea- 
 sons, and only alleging a new adventure." 
 Here the master's reading was inter- 
 rupted by piercing screams and piteous 
 entreaties for mercy, issuing from the 
 neighbouring woods. The master, ever 
 ready to succour the distressed, and Rust, 
 ever keen for an adventure, rushed off in 
 the direction of the sound, and, in a solitary 
 glade, in a deep and darkly-shaded valley 
 or glen, saw what the reader will hear of 
 in the following chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE AND A NEW ONE. 
 
 As the master and Rust approached, they 
 found three men, two of whom seemed to 
 be the prisoners of the third. One of the 
 former was secured to a tree, while at the 
 root of a solitary hickory, in the centre of 
 
 the glen, kneeled the other, his hands tied 
 behind his back, a rope round his bare 
 neck, and his eyes fixed upon his captor, 
 who was in the tree, and preparing to hang 
 the suppliant below. The yquth above 
 had contrived to bring up a heavy beam of 
 wood, and when first seen he was in the 
 act of fastening this to his feet, whereby 
 the master instantly concluded that he in- 
 tended to raise his prisoner by swinging 
 himself to the other end of the rope. It 
 was a singular and novel spectacle ; but 
 before the Alamancers had time to make 
 a remark an eagle-glance was upon them : 
 the man up the tree was instantly on his 
 feet, and, raising his rifle, said, " Stand and 
 tell whether you are Whigs, Tories, or 
 British !" 
 
 The master now recollected his folly in 
 having hurried off without his arms ; but 
 Rust, who had been more mindful, pre- 
 sented his gun, exclaiming, " Fire at your 
 friend ! Blaze away if you can at a Whig." 
 
 The young stranger dropped his piece, 
 and a smile spreading over his thin and 
 sallow visage, he held out his hand, and 
 frankly declared that he also was a Whig. 
 The "master, as he approached, was recog- 
 nised by the culprit at the tree, who proved 
 to be the veritable John Nipper himself, 
 and who was extravagant in his expres- 
 sions of delight at the unexpected meet- 
 ing. The faces of the good and generous 
 cause them to be heavily taxed by two 
 classes of persons : they render them the 
 prey of the evil-designing, and they cause 
 even strangers and brutes, when in dis- 
 tress, to appeal to them for help. John, 
 who had rightly scanned the master's coun- 
 tenance, and had formerly played upon his 
 simplicity, had now the bold effrontery to 
 address him as a friend, and confidently to 
 demand his protection. M'Bride was em- 
 barrassed by the impostor's attentions ; but 
 his kind and merciful heart was touched, 
 and he began to interfere in Nipper's be- 
 half, when the young South Carolinian, 
 searching his face with his sharp, grey 
 eyes, asked, " Is he your friend, sir?" 
 
 " I claim friendship with no such man,"' 
 answered the master, irritated by the ques^ 
 tioner's words and manner ; " but he is a 
 poor devil, and I trust you will not stain 
 your hands with his blood." 
 
 " Look at that paper, sir," said the other, 
 " and see if he is a poor devil. I believe 
 your name is M'Bride." 
 
 The master opened the paper and found 
 what follows: — "A covvy of too, Leften- 
 nant Hector Macbride and Capting Kurne- 
 lius Demmijon. Macbride has short legs, 
 grey eyes, a little bald on the top of his 
 hed, has bin a schoolmaster, talks a grate 
 deel, is verry larned, and a grate fule. 
 Demmijon — verry fat, red in the face, big 
 blue eyes, black hare, and dont say much ; 
 drinks like the devil — a bite." 
 
100 
 
 A L A M A N C E. 
 
 There were other particulars in regard 
 to the Alamancers, their place of residence, 
 their present location, business, and the 
 probable rout they would take after seeing 
 the widow Powell. The master was be- 
 wildered, astounded, and infuriated ; and, 
 looking first at Nipper and then at the 
 Carolinian, the latter said, " I see you are 
 at a loss. Now you must know that this 
 Nipper, whose real name is Joseph Shanks, 
 is one of the greatest rogues, the most 
 diabolical villain and Tory in all the coun- 
 try." 
 
 The master then learned that this Shanks, 
 and several others in Georgia and South 
 Carolina, had banded together to plunder 
 and murder the patriots. That they were 
 ever prowling about the country, singly 
 and in pairs, passing under assumed names, 
 noting the persons whom they met with, 
 and then giving information to the gang, 
 who held stated meetings. He learned 
 also that these robbers added to their pro- 
 fession another occupation which exceed- 
 ed in villainy any thing of which the mas- 
 ter had ever conceived. They would hunt 
 out lonely widows and unprotected single 
 women, insinuate themselves into their 
 good graces, get married to them by one 
 of their band, who personated a clergy- 
 man, and then remain with their supposed 
 wives only long enough to turn their effects 
 into money, when they would desert them. 
 
 " This scoundrel, Shanks," continued the 
 South Carolinian, " while I was upon his 
 track, married and plundered the widow 
 Powell, a simple-hearted woman, and an 
 old acquaintance of my mother. I fol- 
 lowed the incarnate devil, and at last over- 
 took him and two of his associates, who 
 had camped in an old school-house. I 
 shot one through a crack in the wall, and 
 the others surrendered." 
 
 The master found, on further enquiry, 
 that the slave, and effects, and some of the 
 money of Shank's last victim had been 
 returned to her, and that it was the pur- 
 pose of their captor to hang his prisoners. 
 I le endeavoured to dissuade the youth from 
 the commission of such hasty and extreme 
 punishment, urging that it was better the 
 guilt)^ should escape than that they should 
 be executed without due form of law. The 
 Carolinian, however, was determined on 
 his purpose, declaring that he would take 
 the responsibility of executing Shanks at 
 least : and as the master wished not to see 
 the scene, he returned to his friends from 
 Alamance. Rust, who was prodigiously 
 taken with his new acquaintance, remained 
 to assist him in the execution, and for an 
 hour afterwards such piteous moans, en- 
 treaties, and lamentations issued from the 
 woods, as satisfied M'Bride that the other 
 wretch was undergoing a torture not much 
 more desirable than the pangs of death. 
 It was true enough, for the arm of Rust 
 
 had lost none of its vigour, nor had his 
 taste for welting the backs of Tories been 
 at all diminished. When, in his own lan- 
 guage, he had sufficiently curried the Geor- 
 gia Colt, he dressed him, and conducted 
 him and his captor to the presence of the 
 master and his companions. As the youth- 
 ful and strange Whig approached, his coun- 
 tenance and his maimer excited general 
 attention. He was yet a mere lad, tall, 
 slender, and awkward, but with sinews 
 that seemed to be wires of steel. He was 
 plainly, even meanly dressed, clumsy in 
 his address, and simple in his manners ; 
 and, though so lately acting the hero and 
 the executioner, he now showed, by his 
 candour and simplicity, that he was an 
 unsuspicious boy. He believed whatever 
 was told to him, and was greatly pleased 
 with the attentions paid him by the master 
 and his friends, with childish sincerity as- 
 suring them, after their compliments on 
 his bravery, that he was their friend for 
 life. " If ever any of you get into trouble, 
 call on me," said he, " and I'll protect you." 
 
 The company gazed at each other ; Rust, 
 who liked the lad, turned his head to avoid 
 any display of his feelings at such a singu- 
 lar boast, and the master, smiling, said, 
 " You have, my young friend, truly, done 
 wonders, but you must not be too confident. 
 When I first saw you I thought you cruel 
 and revengeful, but I was mistaken ; and 
 I now doubt not that your apparent cruelty 
 is the result of ah ardent and rather hasty 
 desire to administer justice. It's a gener- 
 ous but a dangerous trait, and the best 
 thing I can do for you is to guard you 
 against it." 
 
 " I don't think so," answered the youth, 
 a glow kindling on his well-marked face. 
 " If you know a man has committed a crime, 
 and have him in your power, why permit, 
 him to run the chances of an escape by a 
 tedious trial, where form more than jus- 
 tice is regarded ? Besides, these are rev- 
 olutionary times ; the country is in a glo- 
 rious war for liberty, and, as the people 
 have said all the tyrants and Tories must 
 die, they shall, by the eternal, when they 
 fall into my hands. This rascal, ' turning 
 to the Tory, " I have saved for a particular 
 purpose. You are at liberty, Jack, and 
 mark me ! if you regard your life, igo 
 straight to your masters, the British, and 
 tell them that I shall remember them, and 
 that 1 hope we'll meet again." 
 
 The Tory promised to do as he was 
 bade ; and the young Carolinian, resisting 
 all the importunities of the master to go 
 with him, took leave of the Alamancer.s, 
 declaring that he could take care of him- 
 self. " I wish," says the master in his 
 notes, " I had a sketch of his face, for it 
 was a remarkable one. I have often la- 
 mented my want of ability to draw, for I 
 meet with many strange and uncouth faces, 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 107 
 
 buto'el all I- ever saw that of the rude young 
 Carolinian, for its boldness, sternness, and 
 well-marked and rugged features, im- 
 pressed me most. If the lad lives, he will 
 yet emerge from obscurity, and will at 
 least obtain a local notoriety if he does not 
 become somewhat distinguished in his 
 State. His name, as he told me. was An- 
 drew Jackson." 
 
 V 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ALAN ROSS CONTINUED. 
 
 The* "Alamancers, after the events re- 
 lated in the last chapter, thought it prudent 
 to resume their journey. At noon on the 
 following day they halted again, as on {he 
 day previous, and the master, while his 
 friends were refreshing and resting them- 
 selves, finished the Scotchman's story. 
 
 ",£lne night," continued the manuscript 
 of Ross, "my friend, Captain Dujant, rushed 
 into my room more excited than even any 
 Frenchman I ever saw. His eyes were 
 rolling wildly in his head, his hair stood out 
 like the quills of the fretful porcupine, his 
 nostrils were distended, his dress disor- 
 dered, and his mouth foaming ; and, fling- 
 ing his hat on the floor he stamped, chafed, 
 and jumped about like a madman. 
 
 " What, in the devil's name, is the mat- 
 ter, captain'?" asked I, rising to my feet 
 and avoiding him as I would a frantic bed- 
 lamite. < 
 
 " Mattaire !" shouted he, in broken En- 
 glish, ^Mattaire! Vat de mattaire'? Ciel ! 
 Diable't Tamnation!" 
 
 And here he let forth a volley of excla- 
 mations in English, French, Dutch, Rus- 
 sian, and Sclavonic, for aught I could tell, 
 fot\ leould' not understand a word he said 
 format least half an hour, during all of 
 Which time his arms, legs, head, hands, 
 bodyv and tongue seemed to be talking, for 
 such- vivacity of action, serio-comicality of 
 manner, and volubility of speech it is im- 
 possible for the most lively imagination 
 tb '-'picture to itself. I found out at last 
 that he had scaled his lady's window; but 
 what : terrible accident had happened to 
 him I could not learn. I was, however, 
 dragged by him to the residence of his mis- 
 tress, and,: approaching a basement win- 
 dow,, he suddenly halted; and, staring as if 
 he had seen the great beast spoken of in 
 the Revelations of St. John, he cried, 
 pointing at the window, " Voila, voila — re- 
 gardez!" 
 
 i approached the aperture, and scan- 
 ning -the room, I saw, reclining on cush- 
 ions! and fanning herself, the mysterious 
 owner of the gloved hand. Her skin was 
 as- black as the darkness of an Egyptian 
 night, her hair short and crispy, and her 
 iifose as.fiat ; as a flounder, while her great 
 
 white eyes glistened in the centre of her 
 huge fat face, like two moons in a firma- 
 ment of ink. 
 
 While I was still gazing at her she rose 
 and advanced towards the window, and, as 
 I was hid myself, I was able to obtain a full 
 view of the figure of this African Venus. 
 She was but little taller when standing 
 than she had been in her recumbent pos- 
 ture, and there was about as little undula- 
 tion in her form as there is in a hogshead 
 of Jamaica rum, which she much resem- , 
 bled. Her walk was a sort of a waddle, 
 and through the thin and elegant drapery 
 in which she was attired the perspiration 
 was pouring out in streams, while there 
 was a fragrance about the room which an 
 American planter will readily understand. 
 She came to the window, looked up at the 
 moon, and, heaving a deep sigh, ejaculated 
 in broken French a tender sentiment about 
 Monsieur Dujant. This last-named wor- 
 thy, as if fearful of being devoured by the 
 monster before him, seized my arm, and, 
 trembling like an aspen, hurried me from 
 the scene. When we had arrived at my 
 room, Captain Dujant had sufficiently re- 
 covered to give me a tolerably intelligible 
 account of his adventure. It seems that 
 the abstract of sentimentalism of a win- 
 dow flirtation was too rarefied a diet for 
 a Frenchman's heart, and, from making 
 signs, he took to writing letters, and was 
 finally so far admitted into the lady's con- 
 fidence as to be informed by her that she 
 was the arbiter of her own destiny and im- 
 mensely rich. The Frenchman was so 
 carried away by the enthusiasm inspired 
 by the chase, that he contracted an alli- 
 ance with the unknown beauty, and it was 
 finally agreed that he should see her. 
 What took place at the interview no one 
 will ever know, as the captain becomes so 
 much excited when he gets to this point 
 that the most expert linguist cannot under- 
 stand a word he says. The next day he 
 was on his way to " la belle France," and 
 I have not heard of him since, though I 
 cannot but feel grateful towai*ds him for 
 having taken off my hands the veiled beau- 
 ty of the mysterious chamber. His ab- 
 sence caused me a slight depression of 
 feeling ; and, as I was sauntering about in 
 the cool of the evening, I was accosted by 
 name by a young man who met me. He 
 informed me that he was the son of the 
 gentleman whom I had so unceremoni- 
 ously visited in the town of Cahors, and 
 that his father, having learned my name, 
 lineage, and fidelity to the House of Stuart, 
 was desirous of making my acquaintance. 
 The old man had learned part of my his- 
 tory from the Frenchman, without being 
 known to him, and I was startled at hear- 
 ing that his name was Duncan Stuart. His 
 veins were rich with the blood-royal of the 
 ancient house whose name he bore, and 
 
108 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 he was, in fact, as I knew by the court 
 calendar, but three degrees removed from 
 the throne. Of course he hated the Guelphs, 
 and the Guelphs, as he supposed, hated 
 him, and he was a fugitive from that be- 
 loved land over which his noble ancestors 
 had swayed the sceptre of kings. Such is 
 the course of things here in the eternal 
 race for power — peasants shoving princes 
 from their thrones, and the descendants of 
 princes seeking protection among republi- 
 can rebels. Such was the fate of Duncan 
 Stuart — what glorious names in Scottish 
 annals ! — and he was now actually on his 
 way to America. Thus was I meditating 
 when I entered the house where the Stu- 
 arts were staying ; but my philosophical 
 musing was quickly ended by the flash of 
 those eyes of liquid fire. I was formally 
 introduced to the blushing lady, whose 
 Christian name of Louise was only pro- 
 nounced by Duncan Stuart. I soon found 
 that her mind was quick, profound, and 
 cultivated, her fancy vivid, lively, and brill- 
 iant, and her heart susceptible of the most 
 varied and intense emotions. She was, 
 in fact, the most inflammable creature I 
 ever saw, keenly sensible of pain or pleas- 
 ure, with lively feeling relishing the deli- 
 cate sallies of wit, the bright pictures of 
 fancy, and the sadder, yet. sweeter touches 
 of sentiment. Withal she was passionate, 
 and never was there such a compound of 
 the ethereal and sensual — such a blending 
 in one soul of the celestial tints of Para- 
 dise with the grosser colours of earth. Her 
 conversation was like the display of Chi- 
 nese fireworks, now the sparkles of fancy, 
 with ten thousand varied, soft, and tender 
 hues would gleam, like the spray from a 
 fountain of liquid diamonds, or like a 
 shower of cinders from the altars in 
 heaven ; now the coruscations of her wit 
 would flash in quick succession vividly and 
 brightly as the arrows of the clouds, and 
 anon the meteors of wilder and deeper 
 thought, with their strange and novel 
 shapes, would shoot athwart the dark firm- 
 ament of speculation, leaving long, spiral 
 tracks of light behind them. One strung 
 with nicer sensibilities than myself would 
 have been amused, charmed, awed, and 
 impressed, now with a happy train of 
 thought, and now with a touching strain 
 of unspeakable pathos ; but I was thinking 
 only of a new and brilliant conquest. True, 
 I could fain sentiment ; and, as we sat in 
 the sleeping moonlight, which, in that 
 tropical clime, lit up the earth with hues 
 that seemed to be lent from some dreamy 
 and celestial land of blessed spirits, I was 
 doing my best to entertain my companion 
 with that courtly discourse with which I 
 had shone in the polished circles of Eu- 
 rope, when suddenly the sound of a guitar 
 floated softly through the air, and fell in 
 plaintive melody on our ears. My fair 
 
 friend became instantly attentive, and, fol- 
 lowing her example, I listened also, and, 
 to my astonishment, heard a rich and me- 
 lodious voice accompanying the music 
 with the following song in English : 
 
 " 'Twas in my boyhood's early prime, 
 And in my own fair sunny clime, 
 One hazy, dreamy, summer day, 
 Beneath a willow-tree I lay ; 
 The babbling sound of waters near 
 Fell softly on the drowsy ear, 
 With tinkling bells of browsing herds, 
 And hum of bees, and song of birds ; 
 Above me glow'd a cloudless sheen, . • 
 Around me hills and meadows green, 
 And many a wide and level plain, 
 O'er which there waved the yellow grain: 
 'Twas there that in my waking dreams, 
 Fair as the dawn's lirst trembling beams, 
 And tender as the starry night, 
 
 .Though clothed in Heaven's own purest light, 
 
 fA voiceless spirit smiled on mine 
 
 *And bound it with a, spell divine. 
 And ever since that happy hour 
 In festive hall and rustic bower, 
 Through crowded streets and shady wooda, 
 And Nature's deepest solitudes, 
 I follow'd still that spirit's face, 
 But sought in vain its dweJling-place, 
 Until I saw those eyes of thine, 
 Where faith unchanging, love divine, 
 So meekly yet so brightly shine, 
 And where there beams a heart that now 
 Is stainless as thy marble brow. 
 Oh. dear Louise ! how like a star 
 Of Iran's summer skies you are ! 
 How like a flower that scents the vale, 
 Or maiden in a fairy tale ! 
 So dreamy, light, so sweet, so wild, 
 A sylph in form, in heart a child ; 
 While like the hum of distant bees, 
 Or like the sigh of Autumn's breeze, 
 Or like the notes of birds in Spring 
 When Nature sports her robes of green, 
 Thy voice, low, plaintive, soft, and clear, 
 Doth fall so witching on the ear, 
 That from this earth my spirit flies, 
 And dreams itself in Paradise !" 
 
 I have preserved the words, not because 
 they were beautiful in themselves, but 
 because they recall the happy emotions 
 which their first recital produced, and on 
 account of the singular character of the au- 
 thor. The time, the air, and the company 
 and country in which I then was, caused 
 them to fill me with a glow I never felt 
 before ; and my companion, observing my 
 feelings, seemed to exhibit more sympathy 
 with them than I cared to see. The demon 
 of jealousy was aroused, but I concealed 
 my thoughts, and heard, with apparent in- 
 terest, that the serenader was a young and 
 adventurous American, who had been ship- 
 wrecked, and had had a rather romantic 
 introduction to Louise and the Stuarts. I 
 saw him next day, and one glance showed 
 me the son«of genius and poetry. He was 
 quite a youth, small and tender as a 
 maiden, whom he might well have per- 
 sonated but. for his high, broad forehead, 
 " sicklied over with the pale cast of 
 thought," and the fire of his dark eyes, 
 which threw over his face the light of a 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 109 
 
 bright intellect, and a heart of pure, fer- 
 vid, and exalted sentiment. It was a face 
 beaming with a world of glorious mean- 
 ing, and you could see at once that his 
 unfathomed soul was a crystal sea of light, 
 not coloured by the faintest stain of base- 
 ness or sensuality. It was evident that he 
 loved Louise with the holy and impas- 
 sioned fervour which can only burn in the 
 breasts of earth's finest mould, and I ob- 
 served that he had made a decided impres- 
 sion on the lady. I had the advantage, 
 however, in being an inmate in the house 
 of Duncan Stuart and his most intimate 
 friend, and so I took my time in carrying 
 on the siege, gradually poisoning the mind 
 of Louise with my own sentiments, and 
 endeavouring to give the animal ascen- 
 dancy over the ethereal in her nature. In 
 the mean time we all came to America, 
 and, Stuart continuing his confidence, I 
 remained his guest, and my rival hung 
 about in the neighbourhood, observing, 
 with inexpressible anguish, the palling of 
 his hopes, and breathing his passion in 
 prose and in verse, whose words ought to 
 have melted the most obdurate heart. But 
 Louise was now, mentally, my prisoner. 
 Her sentiment was gradually fading, and 
 she, by degrees, learning to ridicule and 
 hate the man who was so much like her 
 original self. 
 
 Stuart had settled in the southern part* 
 of North Carolina, and soon gallants and 
 suitors, from far and near, gathered round 
 the lady who had grown up under his roof 
 and next to his heart, and between whom 
 and himself there was some mysterious 
 connection. I cared not to unravel it, and 
 was fully satisfied in knowing that I was 
 intensely loved by this fair unknown, and 
 that I was master of her will. The most 
 fiendish passions took possession of my 
 heart. I secretly built me a cottage in a 
 secluded vale on the banks of the Claren- 
 don* river, and began to hint to Louise my 
 infernal designs. At first she was startled ; 
 but I soon overcame her opinions, and she 
 finally began to agree with me that mar- 
 riage was invented only for the animated 
 clods of earth — a slavish institution, which 
 quenched the fires of love, and entailed 
 misery on its votaries. Of course, I be- 
 lieved no such thing ; but my tender friend 
 imbibed the opinion with ardour, and be- 
 came so devoted to me that her principal 
 amusement consisted in the ridiculing of 
 thqge who demanded her hand in wedlock. 
 She even went so far as to make a regis- 
 ter of the names, appearance, actions, and 
 sayings of her suitors, and this she gave to 
 me, and will be sealed up in this history. 
 
 Tales of scandal began, at last, to creep 
 abroad ; and my first rival, who now des- 
 paired of success, and who was one of the 
 
 * Clarendon : this was the original name of the 
 Cape Fear. — Ed. 
 
 noblest characters on earth, was desirous 
 only of saving the reputation and securing 
 the happiness of Louise. With a pure and 
 sublime devotion to the weal of a scorn- 
 ful mistress, unknown before his time, he 
 gently, and by letter, insinuated to her the 
 danger of her position, which was on the 
 crumbling verge of an awful precipice. 
 He professed to have the most unbounded 
 confidence in her purity, but he forcibly 
 reminded her of the danger of braving 
 public opinion, and entreated her to be- 
 ware of an intimacy with me, whom he 
 accused of improper motives. I was pres- 
 ent when she read the letter, and, heavens ! 
 who can describe her looks and manner ?■ 
 Were I to live a thousand years I should 
 never forget the grandeur of her actions, 
 the unearthly fire that blazed in her eyes ! 
 What an actress she would have made ! 
 How queenly, majestic, and awful would 
 she have seemed in tragedy ! She at last 
 became furious ; but I, although a stranger 
 to the feelings of a coward, deemed it pru- 
 dent not to break with her bold lover, and 
 prevailed on her to send him a moderate 
 answer. She could, however, no longer 
 endure his presence ; and, though he begged 
 only a friendly nook in her heart, she 
 plainly told him that, though she knew he 
 was her friend, she could never like him 
 again. She even endeavoured to insult 
 him, and requested him never more to 
 show her his face. Reader, did you ever 
 see a poet, a noble son of Nature, while 
 his heart was breaking 1 It is one of those 
 sublime and impressive tragedies at which 
 angels are the weeping spectators, and no 
 pen can describe it, no scenic representa- 
 tion can convey the faintest idea of it. 
 The South- Carolinian (for he was from 
 that state, or province) felt his generous 
 heart wither within him, and saw the glo- 
 rious hopes of a soul brighter than the sun 
 which lights the universe, set forever ! In 
 fact, the sun of his happiness had gone 
 down, and his harp — the first, best, and 
 dearest friend of his early and guileless 
 youth — poured forth a few sad wails of 
 enchanting melody, and then became si- 
 lent forever. Now, thought I, is the time 
 to vindicate my honour and the young 
 harper received, among his other thick- 
 coming misfortunes, a cartel from me. 
 My second, or friend, was a glorious vil- 
 lain — an old subaltern of mine, whose 
 heart was harder than adamant, and who 
 was never so happy as when carrying out 
 my devilish purposes. As I expected, the 
 discarded lover of Louise desired an op- 
 portunity of seeing his friend, and also 
 intimated a hope that the necessity of a 
 
 fight might be avoided. Old smiled 
 
 grimly, and answered that if the gentle- 
 man had no stomach for the fight he 
 must write and sign such an apology 
 as he should dictate. The young Caro- 
 
110 
 
 LAMANCE. 
 
 linian immediately betook himself to the 
 only military friend he had in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and, stating the whole case, 
 asked advice. Most people consider you 
 brave in proportion to the length of your 
 whiskers, the ferocity of your looks, and 
 the malignity of your heart — and thus 
 my rival's friend judged him. He plainly 
 showed, by his hesitation and embarrass- 
 ment, that he suspected the pale poet of 
 cowardice ; and this latter, divining how 
 matters stood, exclaimed — 
 
 " I know your thoughts ; but you shall 
 not be compromised. I must have a friend, 
 and I must make an explanation to Ross ; 
 but, if you will go with me to the field, I 
 will, to satisfy you, now give you a power 
 of attorney to blow out my brains, if I do 
 any thing you can condemn !" 
 
 This appeal could not be resisted ; and 
 so, next morning we had a meeting. As 
 we took our stations, pistols in hand, my 
 antagonist said, 
 
 . " Before we fight, I wish permission to 
 make an explanation. Mr. Ross, 1 have 
 suspected that you had and have base de- 
 signs on an innocent and unsuspecting 
 lady ; and, thus thinking, I discharged my 
 duty by warning her against you. As I 
 know little of you personally, and as lov- 
 ers are proverbially jealous and suspicious, 
 I may have been mistaken. If you will 
 disavow such intentions as I have charged 
 you with, and give me proof of your char- 
 acter as a gentleman, I will make the most 
 ample apologies to you, and before all the 
 world." 
 
 With a sneer, I answered ; " I expected 
 this. If your heart, sir, is cowardly, say 
 so at once, and I will dismiss you. God 
 forbid I should wish to frighten you to 
 death !" 
 
 u Mistake me not, sir," answered he : 
 " my explanation was to discharge my 
 conscience before God, our master. To 
 you, dog, I have nothing to say, and you 
 shall die !" 
 
 The cool sternness of his manner some- 
 what disconcerted me, and hence I missed 
 him, while his shot wounded me sharply 
 in the thigh. I was not much hurt ; but, 
 choosing to get out of the fight, I fell and 
 pretended that I could not stand. The 
 Carolinian, with his friend, approached me, 
 saying, 
 
 " Gentlemen, I am the challenged party, 
 and I have a right to continue the fight till 
 the challenge is withdrawn. There must 
 be another shot ; and, as I seek no advan- 
 tage, tie my legs together, and lay us side 
 by side, or put the muzzles of our pistols to 
 each other's breasts. The dog must die !" 
 
 Was he not game ? My wound, some- 
 how, became suddenly very painful, and 
 my challenge, from necessity, was with- 
 drawn. The next day Louise received 
 the following : 
 
 TO LOUISE. 
 
 WE MET AS STRANGERS. 
 
 We met as strangers ; but thy star-lit face | ,< 
 
 Long, long ago, and oftentime, I'd seen ; 
 In its soul-speaking features I could trace 
 
 The image sweet of boyhood's early dream, • 
 My waking fancy oft had pictured thee, 
 
 And loved thee, too, as one of fairy birth, .- 1 
 
 Not dreaming that familiar one could be ( 
 
 A native mortal child of this sad earth, 
 #*'•#.'' '■& 
 
 We met as strangers ! Lady, when we 'part. ; 
 
 Not as a stranger from me wilt thou go, 
 With thee must travel still my absent heart, . j 
 
 And mine, alas ! will be a double wo ! 
 ■*-*#'* 
 
 We parted soon ; but oh, if ever o'er 
 
 Thy mem'ry's joyous stream one thought of me 
 Should glide, think of me as one no more, 
 
 Whose viewless spirit still is following thee ! 
 And if some time, perchance, in after years, 
 
 Thy eye, in pensive mood, should meet my name, 
 More dear will be the tribute of thy tears 
 
 To me, than all the laureled meed of fame ! 
 
 * * * : # 
 
 Thy tears ! alas, was ever woman known i 
 
 To shed a kindly tear or heave a sigh 
 For those whose cruel lot stern fate has thrown ' 
 
 Where perils and where hardships thickest lie? 
 We met as strangers ! As a stranger soon 
 
 You coldly bade me from your thoughts depart, 
 Refusing, e'en when begged, the common boon j 
 
 Of friendly habitation in your heart ; 
 Not carirlg, as in cold and proud disdain- 
 
 You sent me forth and doubly barred the door, : 
 What keen and ever-during, fiery pain , ' • 
 
 You planted deep within my bosom's core ! 
 We met as strangers ; and a stranger I 
 
 Must still forever be to one like thee. 
 For naught that's noble can thy haughty eye i 
 
 Discern in unpretending friends like me ; 
 Nor can you see how we can ever feel, 
 
 Or sigh, or writhe, or with keen anguish a 
 When through our souls, like barbed and pointed 
 steel, 
 
 Of wanton scorn, you drove the poisoned dart, 
 
 * * + '.*;.,. 
 
 We met as strangers ! Thus the high and low 
 
 In worldly fortune here must ever meet. 
 Between them must a trackless ocean flow . 
 
 O'er which their kindred hearts can rarely 
 The wise, adventurous men do often sail 
 
 From coast to coast, and mingle frank and, free; 
 But women, land-bound, timid, proud, and frail, 
 
 Still clings to her own narrow coterie, 
 And thinks that all beyond this petty state ' ' 
 
 Are outside savages, a barb'rous race,' 
 'Gainst whom to nourish constant spite and hate 
 
 Are exemplary acts of Christian grace ! 
 * * * #. 
 
 We met as strangers ; and henceforth shall all 
 
 The glare-caught race (whom not a 'few have 
 thought ■. n 
 
 As soulless as they're heartless since the, fajl), , , r 
 
 With all their whims, forever be forgot. , , , ■ . - 
 They not unwisely think who deem them' toys, 
 
 The pretty playthings of an idle hour ; : 
 But strangers to those higher, ]astingjays>-iJ>>' 
 
 That should engage for long, man's nobjerj^wei" ; 
 Unworthy of that love, so pure, sublime,, , , - , ■ 
 
 Celestial product of diviner moulds, j 
 That fervid glow immortal, which no time 
 
 Can ever dim or quench in manly souls : ' 
 That passion which in genius can inspire ; 
 
 These deathless thoughts, those deeds, ,of , high, 
 renown, ,,, 
 
 Which, writ in characters of living fire, 
 
 Through coming ages will undimm'dgb'down; 
 Reflecting o'er its consecrated name , , [■ •, t 
 
 A glorious halo, while 1 those petty souk, 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Who thought its love and adoration shame, 
 Have long been sleeping in forgotten dust ! 
 
 And yet, when on thy sylphlike form I gaze, 
 And see how far above thy sex thou art, 
 
 I mourn to think an angel's gracious face 
 
 Should grace proud woman's selfish, sordid heart." 
 
 This offering, like all the others from 
 1 the same votary, fell on an altar of stone, 
 and the author disappeared — perhaps to 
 pine in some sequestered vale, and drop 
 into an early grave — perhaps to become a 
 desolate wanderer over the earth — or, per- 
 haps, to don the soldier's harness and be- 
 come the iron chief of some ruthless band. 
 To tell the truth, I now had my wits too 
 much employed to think of the hapless 
 disciple of the tuneful nine. One by one 
 the lovers of Louise dropped off, her fe- 
 male acquaintances began to shun her ; and, 
 finally, otd Duncan Stuart himself became 
 suspicious. Fearing every hour that the 
 old lion would set one of his cubs upon 
 me, or demand an explanation of my in- 
 tentions towards Louise, that good girl cut 
 the Gordian knot of my difficulties by 
 taking it into her head to disappear. It is 
 needless to speak of the passionate grief 
 of the brave sons for their adopted sister, 
 or of the anguish that smote the old man's 
 heart ; still more useless to speak of my 
 own desolate feelings. I mingled my tears 
 with those of the Stuarts, and my only 
 source of consolation was found in visits 
 to my relatives, and frequent pilgrimages 
 to Glen-Muise, my unknown cottage on 
 the Clarendon. With Louise all Stuart's 
 good fortune seemed to leave him ; and as 
 I was also very sad. and somewhat short 
 of funds, I had recourse to cards for amuse- 
 ment, and protection from my melancholy 
 humours. The young men became fond 
 of the sport ; they bet high, and so did I. 
 These young gentlemen were patterns of 
 honesty* and generosity ; -they had the 
 princely habit of spending freely, and I 
 the noble trait of claiming my winnings. 
 Hence money, plate, jewels, and negroes 
 vanished ; and, as I disliked to see a good 
 man in distress, I also took my leave. 
 During all this time the search for Louise 
 was continued ; and while one of the young 
 bloodhounds was impertinently nosing out 
 my sweet cottage, to which I had fled from 
 the bustle of the world and the iniquity of 
 men, he was suspected of being a Tory 
 spy, and arrested. I, a notorious Royalist, 
 wrote to the Rebels who held young Stu- 
 art in custody, threatening, in his behalf, 
 the vengeance of the crown, and declaring 
 that he was my most particular friend. Of 
 course my letter only increased the indig- 
 nation for Stuart; and as he was a gentle- 
 man, he escaped only by the loss of all his 
 little estate. 
 
 When the war between England and 
 her colonies was on the eve of breaking 
 out, I found it expedient to leave my neigh- 
 bourhood. Feigning employment in the 
 
 royal service, I started westward ; and, 
 falling in with Nathan Glutson at Ala- 
 mance, that jewel of a man treated me so 
 .kindly and deferentially, that I concluded 
 to remain with him. My letter, which I 
 handed him at your father's Christmas par- 
 ty, was a mere sham, for I had then been 
 at Glutson's several days. I wished to 
 see this meeting of the Alamancers, and I 
 took the mode above mentioned of getting 
 a glimpse of your people, and of seeing 
 for myself what they were about. Now 
 this Glutson seemed a most zealous Roy- 
 alist, and so desirous was he of the success 
 of my mission that he gave me a written 
 description of the character, manners, 
 standing, and feelings of all his neighbours. 
 He was particularly desirous that I should 
 see old Mayfield ; and even went so far 
 as to send with me his hopeful son, Will- 
 iam, whom he caused to apologize to May- 
 field and his family for an unpleasant oc- 
 currence that had taken place a few days 
 before. Thus was I introduced to Edith, 
 and at once my wicked heart was fired 
 with the most fiendish passions. She was 
 artless, tender, and full of sentiment ; her 
 eyes were dark, her complexion brunette, 
 and her lips large and luscious ; and thus I 
 thought she would be an easy conquest. 
 Besides, I was a stranger, a mysterious 
 character, a foreigner, an officer, and an 
 enemy to her country and her people, and 
 these, surely, I thought, make an easy 
 road to any lady's heart. To my surprise, 
 I found that the little vixen disliked me 
 first, and slightly because I was a foreign- 
 er and rather outre in my appearance. -Her 
 dislike became disgust, as she quickly read 
 my character ; and, oh ] wonder of won- 
 ders ! she even detested me when she 
 learned that I wished to cut the throats 
 of all her friends, sweetheart and father 
 included ! Gracious heavens ! I began to 
 think I was dreaming, or had been trans- 
 planted to another world. Over and over 
 she rejected me, until at last I began to 
 think there was one virtuous, rational, and 
 sensible woman in the world. I had long 
 looked in vain for such a one ; and, not 
 finding her, became confirmed in villainy, 
 and determined never to marry. Edith, 
 however, shook this determination, and 
 (you may believe me or not) I became sin- 
 cerely desirous of wedding her. I believed 
 that I had found the rarest and most pre- 
 cious gem on earth, and every day this 
 opinion grew upon me ; every day my love 
 for Edith increased. Ay, love ; for I had 
 now found a chaste woman, with a heart, 
 a soul, and a mind, and I was obliged to 
 love her. The character of this little Ala-, 
 mancer astounded me ; her beauty charmed 
 me ; and so, with honest purposes, and in 
 my most winning manner, I laboured hard 
 to obtain her consent to our union. She 
 refused me with less and less gentleness, 
 
"112 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 until at last her hatred was so obvious that 
 ten thousand devils were roused up within 
 me. I resolved to ruin her; to seduce 
 her, to win her affections, and then turn 
 her off to perish. My plan was, to steal 
 her from her father, carry her to an old 
 aunt of mine, and there endeavour to get 
 her consent to our marriage. If she re- 
 fused I would force her ; and, without the 
 knowledge of any one, employ a scoundrel 
 to personate a clergyman and unite us. 
 After the honeymoon she should be carried 
 to Glen-Muise-; and while she was admir- 
 ing this elegant retreat, its real mistress, 
 the concealed muse, should come out, em- 
 brace me, and turn Edith out of doors, I 
 approving, and showing the girl how she 
 had been deceived and ruined. These 
 
 were my plans and are still. 
 
 * # # # 
 
 Heaven and earth ! the bird has escaped 
 the fowler ! Edith is gone ! The above 
 pages, Mr. Warden, were written weeks 
 ago, audi intended, at my leisure, to finish 
 my own history, and also that of Louise, 
 for the amuseinent and instruction of pos- 
 terity. I thought that if Edith were vir- 
 tuous, and a woman, such as woman ought 
 to be, I had a perfect right to try to make 
 her my wife ; that if she were not such as 
 you and I supposed her, I would be ren- 
 dering you a service by victimizing her. 
 I once thought no woman worthy of you 
 or me ; but I now know that Edith is, and 
 a hell is raging within me because I know 
 you are more worthy of her than I, and, 
 therefore, may be more likely to get her. 
 I must pursue, and if I take her we will 
 die together, and if there is a heaven she 
 will find it. /cannot be worsted, even in 
 a lake of everlasting fire. The good spirit 
 has triumphed in saving Edith — my occu- 
 pation's gone, and I must try another 
 world, if there be one ; and if there is not, 
 I will at least be out of this cursed one, 
 where the star of my friend, the devil, is 
 on the wane !" 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 From the time that Henry Warden left 
 her, he was never absent a moment from 
 the thoughts of Lucy Neal. His looks, 
 when she first saw him, his dress, and all 
 . 1 iiat he ever said or did in her presence, 
 became fixed indelibly in her memory. 
 The books which they had read were 
 thenceforward invested with a new and 
 peculiar interest, and the scenes they had 
 visited together excited in her feelings 
 akin to those that swell within the classic 
 scholar's breast when wandering by the 
 site of ancient Delphi, or that burn within 
 the pious pilgrim's heart as he strays over 
 the sacred hills of Judaea. Raised up in 
 
 seclusion, and having never, until she met 
 with Warden, seen a human being beyond 
 the circle of her own family, who excited 
 in her a tender emotion, all the hoarded 
 affections of her young heart, fresh, pure, 
 and fervent, were lavished on him. It 
 was not mere love in its ordinary sense, 
 implying only passion or kind esteem, 
 which he had caused within her ; it was 
 an intense devotion, a concentration of all 
 the soft and tender sentiments of which 
 our nature, in its purest state, is capable. 
 She found in him an only brother ; he was 
 the first friend she had ever known to es- 
 teem ; her first companion, entertaining 
 and instructive, with sympathies in unison 
 with her own ; the first hero, wit, scholar, 
 and man of intellect she had seen to ad- 
 mire ; the first young, amiable, and polished 
 gentleman of refined sensibilities who had 
 ever kindled a fond glow in her ardent and ' 
 stainless breast. A new era had dawned 
 on her hitherto quiet and passionless ex- 
 istence ■; she seemed to have awakened in 
 a new world, where the mountains and 
 the flowers, the stars and the moon had 
 vanished, and where all beautiful things 
 were but the reflection of an absent face — 
 all sweet sounds were the soft whispers 
 of his voice. Her only happiness was to 
 think of him — her daily occupation to ram- 
 ble over the places where he had been, 
 visit every day the rustic bower and the 
 tree on which her name was carved, read 
 constantly the verses he had written for 
 her, and to take hourly from her bosom 
 the handkerchief he had left her. She 
 never reasoned on the nature of her pas- 
 sion, nor once reflected on what might he 
 its ultimate consequences. She set no 
 particular time for her marriage, she laid 
 no plans for her future life ; she knew she 
 could not live without Henry Warden, and 
 she expected him to return, and this was 
 the extent, of her reasoning on the subject. 
 The present was a blank to her, and she 
 lived only in that hour when she would 
 see him again ; and thus, day by day, and 
 hour by hour, he was becoming dearer and 
 dearer to her, till her soul was, as it were, 
 transfused into his spirit, and her existence 
 became a part of his. Weeks, long, dull, 
 and tiresome weeks, had passed away, and 
 Lucy began to look for his return. Meas- 
 uring his impatience and judging his de- 
 sires by her own, she had concluded that 
 he would not be absent longer than he 
 was compelled to be by the calls of duty. 
 She allowed so many days for his passage 
 to Alamance, a very few for his stay-there, 
 and a certain number for his return. When 
 the computation was out, and another day 
 had passed away, Lucy retired to rest with 
 a light heart, thinking the morrow would 
 bring her friend. The morrow came and 
 went, and now that he had had two extra 
 days to allow for contingencies, she was 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 113 
 
 sure she would see him before another 
 sunset. The sun did rise and set again, 
 and her heart began to be shaded with its 
 first disappointment. At night she was 
 sitting at a window by the parlour fire, 
 gazing at the cold, full, bright winter moon, 
 as she moved with slow and lonely grand- 
 eur over the blue fields of ether, palling, in 
 her royal progress, all lesser luminaries, 
 which were lost in the unmatched splen- 
 dours of their queen. She observed, far 
 up in the heavens, a small, solitary, and 
 exceedingly lustrous star, that twinkled 
 with a soft and te/nder light, the brightest 
 and the sweetest gem on the constellated 
 robe of night. With girlish simplicity she 
 called it her star, and watched it till it fled 
 and vanished at the approach of the gor- 
 geous sovereign' of the night. Lucy sigh- 
 ed as its modest face was hid, and began 
 to conjure up a train of sad reflections, 
 when voices at the gate filled her with 
 tumultuous emotions. Darting instantly 
 to her toilet, she there, with unspeakable 
 pleasure, heard , her father welcoming 
 M'Bride to the shelter of his roof and the 
 hospitality of his board ; and as her door 
 was partly ajar, she watched with intense 
 interest as the guests came in. When all 
 were in she listened for the mention of 
 Warden's name, till she found he was hot 
 of the company. She came out at length, 
 and, after an introduction to those whom 
 she had not before seen, her heart almost 
 bounded out of her breast when she heard 
 her father enquire for Henry Warden. 
 M'Bride first told his story in regard to 
 Edith, giving a short sketch of her adven- 
 tures, and then Ben Rust briefly related 
 the situation of Henry Warden and of his 
 family. At the conclusion of Ben's nar- 
 rative, Lucy felt that Henry was a thousand 
 times dearer to her than he had ever been, 
 and her heart swelled- with pride at the 
 consciousness of its love for one in dis- 
 tress, and one, perhaps, deserted by all 
 others. She was even made happy by 
 his wretchedness ; for, " Oh !" thought she, 
 " how tenderly will I wait upon him, how 
 passionately will I cling to him, and how 
 astonished and delighted he will be at my 
 devotion." Forthwith she began to build 
 castles in the air, imagining all sorts of 
 troubles for her friend, and placing him in 
 the most perilous straits, where .all the 
 world was against him, and where, with 
 ineffable love, she would fold him to her 
 spotless breast and bear him beyond his 
 dangers to some Elysian home where she 
 would spend her blissful life in making 
 him forget his early trials ! 
 
 Edith did not fail to scan, it may be said, 
 with a critic's eye, the features and form 
 of Lucy Neal, of whom she had heard so 
 much. M'Bride, partly from a desire to 
 make her feel for her former neglect of 
 Warden, partly to try her heart; and, it 
 H 
 
 may have been, affected to some extent 
 by real admiration, had told her much 
 about Lucy — had drawn her portrait with 
 a master's hand, and had not failed to 
 speak in exaggerated terms of the impres- 
 sion she immediately made on Warden. 
 When, therefore, Edith heard these things, 
 and reflected on what might have been 
 Warden's feelings towards herself when 
 he left Alamance, and on the effect of his 
 long absence from her ; and when she re- 
 membered, also, that when he first met 
 with Lucy he was wounded and dejected, 
 and that in this condition he was left with 
 her for his only companion, she began to 
 feel a pang, compared with which her 
 other sorrows were light. She was, as 
 may Well be supposed, anxious to see this 
 mountain beauty, and when she did see 
 her, her own ill-boding fancy multiplied 
 and heightened her charms. Indeed, each 
 of the ladies thought the other the hand- 
 somest she had ever seen ; and, although 
 they were entire contrasts, each was such 
 a model of her kind that the other wished 
 herself like her rival. The lily was still 
 fresh and wearing its richest bloom in the 
 cheeks of Lucy ; her short, light tresses, 
 still hung in girlish confusion about her 
 face and neck, and her soft, bright-blue 
 eyes still beamed with an expression earn- 
 est and happy. The rose had faded in 
 Edith's face, whose paleness was height- 
 ened by the raven hue of her luxuriant 
 hair, and lighted with a touching beauty by 
 her dark eyes fringed with long silken 
 lashes, and whose v tender, melancholy 
 sparkle seemed half" extinguished by an 
 ever- rising tear. In the manners of the 
 one the light-hearted ease, the innocent 
 gayety, and half- frolic humour, the quick 
 elastic step, and the merrily ringing laugh 
 of the joyous and careless girl were still 
 remaining ; while those of the other dis- 
 played the graceful dignity, the sober pro- 
 priety, the repose and sad serenity of one 
 whom sorrow had made a woman before 
 her time. Envy, hatred, and jealousy were 
 passions that found no place in the heart of 
 Edith ; yet she was mortal, and subject to 
 mortal infirmities. She did not actually 
 dislike Lucy, but she was averse to the 
 formation of an intimacy with her ; while 
 the latter, suddenly delighted with her new- 
 acquaintance, was disposed at once to be- 
 come communicative and even confiden- 
 tial. Attributing her reserve to her sor- 
 rows, Lucy taxed her powers to entertain 
 her, and chattered away nearly the whole 
 of the night to the silent and abstracted 
 companion who lay by her side. The 
 earliest beams of the morning sun found 
 Lucy again awake, and, leaning over her 
 now sleeping friend, her heart was touched 
 as she saw the marks of recent tears on 
 Edith's cheeks. She was still watching 
 over her when the latter awoke, and, ten- 
 
114 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 derly kissing and embracing her, and soon 
 adjusting her own simple toilet, assisted 
 her companion to dress, talking kindly and 
 sweetly to her all the while, and endeav- 
 ouring to revive her drooping spirits by 
 lively descriptions of the scenes and nov- 
 elties she would see in the mountains. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 " And Ruth said, Entreat me not to leave thee nor 
 to return from following after thee : for whither thou 
 goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge : 
 thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. 
 Where thou diest I will die, and there will I be bu- 
 ried. The Lord do so to me, and more also if aught 
 but death part me and thee." Ruth. 
 
 " Leaving the cause for the discussion and 
 determination of psychologists, I can only 
 relate the fact that Lucy Neai became 
 wonderfully fond of Edith Mayfield. Per- 
 haps it was because the sorrows of the good 
 and beautiful endear them to the generous 
 heart; perhaps it was because Edith was 
 from Alamance, or was the first intelli- 
 gent and accomplished lady Lucy had ever 
 seen ; perhaps the mystery that hung about 
 her, her meekness, the sweetness of her 
 temper, her failing health, and the celes- 
 tial light that began to beam from her face 
 and seemed to mark her as not long for 
 earth, won upon Lucy's heart. Certain it 
 is, Lucy began to love Edith as a sister, 
 anticipated all her wants with the most 
 tender solicitude, and exerted herself to 
 the utmost to make her happy. She almost 
 entirely neglected the rest of us, and, with 
 Edith, went rambling about over the hills 
 and mountains ; watched over her when she 
 slept, and would have forced upon her al- 
 most every thing she had that was rare 
 and valuable. As these two were, there- 
 fore, constantly together, my friend Cap- 
 tain Demijohn, gloomy, taciturn, and ab- 
 stracted, and, as Benjamin Rust and Nannie 
 Scott began to find great entertainment in 
 each other, I was left entirely to the so- 
 ciety of our host, Abraham Neal. We 
 had much discourse together upon men 
 and things, and my time was pleasantly 
 passed." 
 
 Thus does the master begin the narrative 
 of certain incidents which we will now pro- 
 ceed, in a briefer manner, to relate to the 
 reader. Lucy spoke often to Edith about 
 Henry Warden, frequently quoted his re- 
 marks on various subjects, and was every 
 day pointing out the scenes which he had 
 admired. Strange to say, however, the 
 mountains and all they contained became 
 daily more and more distasteful to Edith, 
 and she passionately longed to return to Ala- 
 mance. She soon guessed at the state of 
 Lucy's feelings ; and, taught by her mis- 
 fortunes to condemn herself in all things, 
 she was not long in concluding that Lucy 
 was not to blame. She even went so far 
 
 as to forgive Warden, and to look upon his 
 conduct as perfectly justifiable. She put 
 the case to herself; she imagined, or tried 
 to imagine, what would have been her 
 feelings had she been treated as Warden 
 was ; and. then she looked at Lucy Neal, 
 her beauty, her innocence, her simplicity, 
 intelligence, and, above all, her candour, 
 confidence, and goodness, and she con- 
 cluded that, under all the circumstances, it 
 would have been folly in Warden to have 
 slighted so fair a prospect of happiness for ' 
 one so remote. True, her conduct had been 
 prescribed by her father, but then Warden 
 did not know it, and must have thought 
 her inconsistent, fickle, and cruel. These 
 reflections at first made her extremely 
 wretched; but her great soul, at length, 
 broke out resplendent from obscuring 
 clouds. She believed that her destiny was 
 fixed — that all her once-cherished hopes 
 were blighted, and she bowed with uncom- 
 plaining submission to the behests of Prov- 
 idence. The scenes of the future were 
 now changed, and a new train of thoughts 
 occupied her mind. - Henceforth she was 
 to feel little interest in her acquaintances, 
 and her heart was to be fixed on high and 
 noble aims. She would quit society, at 
 least the society of the young and gay — 
 thus she reasoned — she would succour the 
 patriots, hunt out the needy and distressed, 
 and spend her days and nights in works 
 of charity, till her summons came to quit 
 this scene, where she was not destined to 
 be happy, for the shores of a brighter 
 world. Thus was her plan of life marked 
 out,' and, in its sublime devotion to the weal 
 of others, assistance was to be rendered 
 in bringing about a match between Henry 
 Warden and Lucy Neal. Yet Edith wished 
 to be with her mother before she put her 
 heart to this last and severe test, for she 
 had a mournful foreboding that it would 
 hasten her flight from earth. Her strength, 
 was daily failing, and, resolving at once to 
 brave the dangers on the road to Ala- 
 mance, she one evening told M'Bride that 
 she would start next morning. The master 
 found it useless to resist her inclinations, 
 and so, with internal grumblings at the 
 strange caprices of the sex, and his own 
 singular fate, he set himself to prepare. 
 Lucy was immediately closeted with her 
 parents, and, without much difficulty, ob- 
 tained their permission to visit Alamance. 
 Edith's situation, perhaps, was the main 
 cause of this permission, for the times 
 w r ere dangerous and the old people loved 
 their only child. This latter bounded im- 
 mediately into Edith's chamber, and, throw- 
 ing her arms about her, and kissing her 
 over and over again, exclaimed, " And so 
 we- shall not part after all!" 
 
 "How do you mean?" asked Edith, "I 
 certainly shall start to-morrow." 
 
 "And so shall I," said Lucy, ''for fa- 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 115 
 
 ther and mother have already given me 
 leave." 
 
 Edith was much embarrassed at the 
 rashness of her friend, and scarcely knew 
 what to say. At length she asked, "Are 
 you not afraid, Lucy, to be on the road at 
 such a time V 
 
 " And aint you afraid V asked Lucy in 
 return ; " I am sure I shall be as safe as 
 you." 
 
 " Yes ; but, Lucy, I am going home, 
 where I have not been for a long time. I 
 am going to cheer and comfort my lonely 
 mother, and for this I ought to brave every 
 danger." 
 
 "I have thought over every thing," an- 
 swered Lucy, " and I shall not be afraid 
 when I am with you." 
 
 "Alas !" replied Edith, " that is the very 
 reason why you should, for I am fated to 
 bring 'misfortunes on myself and on my 
 friends." 
 
 " Please, please dotrt talk so sadly," 
 said Lucy, embracing Edith; "it makes 
 my heart ache to see you so melancholy." 
 
 " I cannot, help it, Lucy ; indeed it is said 
 that the shadows of approaching death are 
 often thrown on the heart before it ar- 
 rives." 
 
 " Why do you speak of death ?" asked 
 Lucy, with tears in her eyes. "You are 
 too beautiful, too young, and good to die." 
 
 " And do not the beautiful and the good 
 often die early 1" 
 
 "I've heard it said," answered Lucy, 
 " that whom the gods love die young, but 
 it seems strange and unnatural. But let 
 us look on the bright side of things, and 
 not distress ourselves with our own fan- 
 cies." 
 
 " Well, Lucy, suppose you were on the 
 road, how would you like to ride all day 
 in the cold air, without warming or eat- 
 ing"?" asked Edith. 
 
 " I shall suffer for nothing when talking 
 to you," was the reply. 
 
 " Suppose you have to sleep on the 
 ground?" 
 
 " I shall sleep soundly and snugly in 
 ) r our bosom." 
 
 " Suppose we are taken prisoners V 
 
 " Suppose the sky falls," exclaimed Lucy, 
 laughing — " it's needless to make any 
 further suppositions, for I am a spoiled 
 child, and must have my way." 
 
 " Lucy," said Edith, seriously, " you do 
 not know what you are about. There are 
 a hundred difficulties in the way, and you 
 must not go with us." 
 
 Lucy gazed earnestly at her companion 
 for a minute, and then, the tears falling 
 fast, replied 5 "I feared it would be so. I 
 love you like a sister, but I see you do not 
 like me, and wish to get rid of me. Thus 
 it is with me ; I have no brother or sister, 
 no friends or relations, and am an alien 
 from the heart of every human being." 
 
 These words, and the manner in which 
 they were said, excited the astonishment 
 of Edith Mayfield, and she put her arms 
 about Lucy, saying, " My dear child, you 
 misunderstand me. I do not despise your 
 affection ; I do love you like a sister, and 
 what I have said was on your own ac- 
 count, and for your own good." 
 
 Lucy's sorrows vanished in an instant, 
 and she replied, with animation, " Oh, how 
 happy I am now that you say you love 
 me ! Dear lady, please say so again, for 
 they were the sweetest words I ever heard. 
 Do you really love me in fact V 
 
 " 1 do, Lucy, and you shall be my sister." 
 
 " I will, I will, and you shall prove me ! 
 I will go with you, confide in you, and 
 nurse you like a sister, and live with you 
 forever." 
 
 " What ! after I get married V 
 
 Lucy studied a moment, and answered", 
 " Why not 1 Surely you will not cast me 
 off when you marry." 
 
 " Certainly I would not ; but suppose you 
 yourself get married ?" 
 
 " I could not love my husband if he did 
 not like you," replied Lucy, with great sim- 
 plicity. 
 
 "Perhaps, after all, Lucy," said Edith, 
 " you only want to go to Alamance to see 
 Henry Warden." 
 
 A crimson flush flew over Lucy's face 
 and neck ; but, quickly recovering, she re- 
 plied, with an earnest look, " I would in- 
 deed be glad to see Mr. Warden, and hope 
 we'll meet him on the road ; but, Edith, 
 if you think my affection for yod is all 
 feigned, you do my heart gross injustice. 
 But I see that you cannot like me. Well, I 
 will ever love you, and think of you, and 
 pray for you ; and, though you despise me 
 now, I hope we will meet, in heaven, when 
 I know you will love me, because then 
 you will see my heart." 
 
 Edith's heart incited at these words, and, 
 taking the hand of her friend, she said, 
 with unusual fervour, " Forgive me, my 
 dear, sweet sister, forgive me. You are 
 my sister — I this day adopt you as such, 
 and will forever love you as such. You 
 shall go with me, and you shall see if I do 
 not prove to be your best friend." 
 
 They mingled their tears together now, 
 and were more free and confidential than 
 they had ever been before. Edith did 
 really love Lucy; and, able no longer to 
 continue her reserve, she gave full play to 
 the feelings of her heart. On the other 
 side, Lucy, fairly beside herself with ex- 
 travagant joy, would every minute stop in 
 the midst of her preparations for the jour- 
 ney, to give utterance to some happy fancy, 
 or sketch some bright scene in her antici- 
 pated life with Edith. It was agreed be- 
 tween the two friends that they would 
 spend their winters at Alamance and their 
 summers in the mountains ; but each con- 
 
116 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 cealed a part of the pictured future, that 
 which Lucy hid being, in fact, the sun that 
 was to light that future, while Edith con- 
 cealed a profound sorrow that was to throw 
 a shade over all her enjoyments. In every 
 sketch which the)' - drew, Lucy's joy was 
 secretly heightened by that hidden sun — 
 Edith's darkened b3~ the presence of a sad 
 remembrance.' 
 
 Uncle Corny was not over-pleased at 
 the sudden interest which Edith seemed 
 to take in Lucy ; for her silence, sadness, 
 and abstraction had afforded some conso- 
 lation to him. He now found that he was 
 alone, without a proper companion for his 
 journey; so situated was black Ben, and 
 so was M'Bride, who set out upon the 
 road with his mind fully made up to turn 
 Turk on the first opportunity. His remarks 
 on the road, if not out of place in a work 
 like this, would afford infinite amusement 
 to the reader. It should be added, how- 
 ever, that before the party started for Ala- 
 mance, Abraham Neal took the master 
 aside and thus addressed him : " Mr. 
 M'Bride, I am going to intrust you with 
 an important charge, and though I have 
 the very fullest confidence in your integ- 
 rity and honour, I feel as 7acob did when 
 committing Benjamin to the care of his 
 brethren, when they were going down to 
 Egypt" for corn. His son was not dearer 
 to the old patriarch than is my daughter 
 to me and to her mother. She is the light 
 of our house, the joy of our hearts ; she is 
 young, she is tender and innocent. She is 
 going with Edith Mayfield to Alamance, 
 and when the winter is over at your hands 
 will I look to find her bright and beautiful 
 as the spring." 
 
 " Excepting all unavoidable accidents," 
 answered M'Bride, " may God do so to me, 
 and more also, if I return her not as she 
 now is. I may bring a company with me — 
 at all events I will come myself, and, may 
 be, shall here spend the summer." 
 
 " You will delight me if you do," said 
 Neal ; " and when you bring Lucy safely 
 back, I will tell you something about her 
 that may interest you." 
 
 " And why not tell me now ?" asked the 
 master, always curious about such things. 
 
 " It would, perhaps, not be proper," re- 
 plied the other. " 1 can only say there is a 
 singular history connected with her, and 
 this, as well as her many virtues, renders 
 her peculiarly dear to us, and makes your 
 charge a most precious one." 
 
 "Was there ever a woman's history that 
 was not a tissue of strange events 1 thought 
 the master, but he held his peace. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 EVENTS HASTEN TO THEIR CONCLUSION. 
 
 When Henry Warden left Alamance the 
 last time, he made his way directly to the 
 
 head-quarters of General Greene, and there 
 found his father bearing arms. The stir- 
 ring events which followed, crowding in 
 quick succession on each other, dissipated 
 his melancholy for a while, and fully en- 
 gaged his thoughts. In fact, he was now 
 a witness of and a participator in scenes, 
 which, were they here recorded, would 
 throw an air of romance over the perform- 
 ance, and cause many an infidel reader to 
 look oil the whole book as a fiction. On 
 this account, and because also the under- 
 taking would be too extensive, we must 
 pass rapidly over incidents which, it is 
 hoped, some local historian will yet res- 
 cue from fast-coming oblivion. 
 
 A crisis in the war had now arrived. 
 Both sides, anxious to put an end to the 
 protracted struggle, exasperated, and, per- 
 haps, rendered vindictive by the hardships 
 and casualties' incident to long-pending 
 hostilities, were now rallying their enfee- 
 bled energies for a great and final effort. 
 L On the one side were a thirst for ven-. 
 geance and for glory, and the stings of 
 mortified pride and baffled ambition ; on 
 the other, the courage of despair, the for- 
 titude and unconquerable determination 
 inspired by the memory of past injuries, 
 and by the consciousness of being mar- 
 tyrs in a holy cause. Lord Cornwallis, 
 the commander of the British forces in the 
 south, and a brave and accomplished offi- 
 cer, dreading the effects of time, and know- 
 ing the weakness of his adversary, was 
 anxious for a speedy engagement ; and, to 
 bring it about, displayed all the masterly 
 qualities of a great commander. He had, 
 however, to deal with an antagonist who 
 was equal to any emergency, and whose 
 energies multiplied as dangers thickened 
 around him. Wary, fearless, and untiring, 
 patient of toil, fertile in expedients, skilled 
 in all the arts of war, and animated with 
 an intense love for his country — with a 
 judgment always clear, quick, and com- 
 prehensive, and a manner ever cheerful, 
 placid, and decisive, General Greene was 
 an over-match for any officer in the En- 
 glish service. For some time he and his 
 great antagonist were manoeuvring, march- 
 ing, and counter-marching — one seeking, 
 the other avoiding a collision. The Brit- 
 ish troops, well clothed and well fed, long 
 inured to the severities of the soldier's 
 life, and spurred on by hopes of gain and 
 distinction, were not so severely tried 
 as those on the American side. It was in 
 the middle of an unusually cold and stormy 
 winter that these operations were carried 
 on, and the American army was almost 
 totally deficient in camp equipage and ne- 
 cessary clothing. They often lay upon 
 the bare ground, with the broad heavens 
 for their covering, or, as was most usually 
 the case, the clouds, from which descend- 
 ed, on their shivering and unsheltered bod- 
 
ALAMANC E. 
 
 m 
 
 ies, rain, snow, and sleet. They would, 
 sometimes, go for thirty-six hours without 
 tasting food of any kind ; many of them 
 were half naked, and great numbers were 
 barefooted, and could be tracked by the 
 stains of blood from their feet, cut and 
 lacerated by the hard and frozen earth. 
 Thus hungry, cold, and toil-worn, the ici- 
 cles sometimes hanging from their beards 
 and clothes, day and night, these men were 
 marching, floundering through swamps, 
 and wading swollen creeks. They were 
 in this condition, too, in the midst of their 
 own fruitful country. They saw others, 
 opposed to that country, living on it in 
 ease and security ; and the wan and hag- 
 gard soldier often passed in view of his 
 own plantation, desolated by the ravages 
 of his nearest neighbour. At the head of 
 this host was a chief whose mighty spirit 
 was diffused among officers and men, and 
 all orders were obeyed with a cheerful 
 and ready submission. It was during this 
 trial of skill between the commanders-in- 
 chief, that patriot leaders of lesser note 
 were daily performing deeds of prowess, 
 and executing well-laid stratagems, any 
 one of which would afford material for a 
 handsome novelette. The middle counties 
 were the scene of these adventures, and, 
 could they but speak, every hill, and vale, 
 and brook would tell of some deed of hor- 
 ror, or of some gallant achievement. Ala- 
 mance, especially, became noted for these 
 adventures ; and towards that ancient 
 community, as a focus, the strifes of the 
 country seemed converging. Great armies 
 marched and hovered about it, and from 
 every quarter armed parties traversed 
 through it. All the elements of war were 
 now in motion. It raged in the field and 
 by the fireside, and spent its fury on man, 
 on womah, on children, and on brutes. 
 Every man to be seen by day or at night, 
 in the woods or the fields, was on some 
 hostile and plundering errand. Every fe- 
 male was bewailing some loss, or flying 
 from some danger. Every living thing 
 was in a state of alarm, and the air was 
 thick and humid with the smoke of camp- 
 fires and burning plantations. Rumour, 
 with her thousand tongues, was multiply- 
 ing and exaggerating the terrors and ca- 
 sualties of the times ; and the weak and 
 timid spoke in half-whispers, and went 
 each night to bed shuddering at some re- 
 cent tale of horror. Even the commander- 
 in-chief of the British forces committed as 
 much destruction as he could in supplying 
 his army ; and his progress, like the flight 
 of eastern locusts, carried terror before it, 
 and left desolation and famine behind. Yet 
 his lordship did not do these things with 
 impunity ; for both he and his more savage 
 subordinates were not seldom lectured by 
 the good dames of Alamance and of other 
 places, who bestowed upon them more 
 
 catholic sermons and evangelical denun- 
 ciations of tribulation and wrath to come 
 than they had heard since the beginning 
 of the war. His lordship, however, was 
 a gentleman, and suffered himself patiently 
 to be denounced; but some there were, 
 holding commissions in his army, whose 
 unmanly cruelty and resentment brought 
 a lasting infamy on themselves, and on 
 the cause in which they were engaged. 
 If we knew their names we would give 
 them for the eternal execration of every 
 honourable mind. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 A NIGHT OF ADVENTURES. 
 
 On one occasion, just after'the various 
 corps of the British army had encamped 
 for the night, a scouting party captured 
 two females and a negro man ; and, in the 
 absence of their commander, undertook to 
 have some sport. One of the women was 
 somewhat elderly, plain-looking, and mas- 
 culine, and her only concern seemed to be 
 for the timid and girlish companion, who 
 hung tremblingly by her arm, concealing 
 her face. 
 
 " I say, my pretty mistress," said one 
 of the men, taking hold of the girl, " I 
 wish to see that sweet face of yours. It 
 was not made to be hid." 
 
 " Stand off, you scurvy knave !" exclaim- 
 ed the elder lady, striking the soldier in 
 the face. 
 
 " Well done, beldame ! hurra, she-devil !" 
 shouted his companions, pulling back the 
 discomfited soldier, and forming a ring 
 round the women. 
 
 The heroine who had dealt the blow, 
 now stood, with her arms folded, facing 
 her enemies, and exhausting on them all 
 the terms of abuse in the English language, 
 while her terrified companion clung to her 
 dress, crying, "Oh, for Heaven's sake, hush, 
 or they'll kill us, they'll kill us !" These 
 cries ^vere in vain; for the stout woman 
 continued her harangue, much to the edi- 
 fication of a portion of her hearers, who 
 rewarded her with frequent bursts of ap- 
 plause, some shouting " Mount her on a 
 stump !" and some, " Put her in boots and 
 breeches!" ' 
 
 " Ah, marry come up ! If I was a man, 
 with a sword at my side, I could chase you 
 all into the sea, you cowardly villains, you 
 sniveling scoundrels, you dirty puppies, 
 you red-coated rampscallions !" 
 
 " Three cheers for that !" shouted the 
 men. 
 
 " Yes ; you may give cheers to keep 
 your courage up, you sneaking cur-dogs! 
 General Greene and General Washington 
 will get hold of you soon, and I hope 
 they'll skin you like a parcel of eels, and 
 then pickle you like pork, you dastardly 
 
118 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 rogues ! you robbers, burglars, murderers, 
 thieves, assassins, and pirates !" 
 
 " Look here, old witch," said one of the 
 soldiers, "you mustn't make any reflec- 
 tions on our honour, or we might do you 
 some damage." , 
 
 " ' Our honour V '" exclaimed she, "as if 
 there was honour among such filthy vaga- 
 bonds, such rotten scum ! Where are the 
 mothers that bore you, where are your 
 wives and sisters, that you must run about 
 the country murdering children, abusing 
 helpless women, and robbing, burning, and 
 playing the mischief? What harm have 
 we ever done to you ? what grudge "'' 
 
 " None at all," 'said one of the men, 
 * except in being so d — d ugh*.' 5 
 
 " Ugly, am 1, you son of perdition % 
 Ugly, am I, fou stinking buzzard 1 ? I had 
 rather be ugly than be a liar, a thief, a cow- 
 ard, rind a strolling vagabond, fighting other 
 people's battles, having my back tanned 
 eveiy morning by my master's cowhide, 
 and covered over with vermin, filth, and 
 rottenness, and stinking so vileh' that the 
 very buzzards wouldn't touch me, though 
 ever so hungry !" 
 
 "That's a whopper," exclaimed the stout- 
 est man in the company ; " and, to show 
 you that I think you beautiful as Queen 
 Dulcinea, I'm going to kiss you in spite of 
 your teeth, if you've got any. Clear the 
 way, boys !" 
 
 The girl again implored and entreated 
 her friend not to be so violent. " Oh, do 
 please ask them for mercy," she cried, in 
 an agony of alarm, " or they'll murder and 
 ruin us ! For God's sake, for my sake, 
 and your own, speak kindly to them !" 
 
 " Stand off, child," said the other, " and 
 let me alone. Now come up, you banter- 
 ing villain, and try your tricks on me." 
 At this, as the man came towards her, she 
 let fly into his face, and upon his head and 
 breast, a succession of well-airned and 
 powerful blows, which speedily brought 
 the soldier senseless to the earth. 
 
 At the same instant a voice behind them 
 exclaimed, " What new row's this, you 
 besotted knaves ?" and, the men, turning 
 round, were abashed by the presence of 
 two mounted officers. " "Will you forever 
 disgrace yourselves, and the proud name 
 of air English soldier, b}- your infamous 
 debauches ?" asked the eider officer. " You 
 shall suffer for this, for I know you all. 
 Come hither, good woman, and tell me 
 who brought you here, and what has been 
 done to you." 
 
 This was addressed to the older female, 
 but" the younger, seeing that she was in 
 the presence of a gentleman, walked near 
 him and answered " We were going, sir, 
 with that servant, whom these men have 
 tied, to a neighbour's house, and were ta- 
 ken near this place. No violence has 
 been offered to us." 
 
 " Then, in God's name, fair damsel, take 
 your servant and friend, and go in peace ; 
 and may He who guards the innocent be. 
 with you !" 
 
 " But I must ask a favour of you, sir, be- 
 fore we go," said the girl, with confidence.' 
 
 " I shall be apt to grant any favour in 
 my power that is asked by lips so sweet. 
 How fair she looks by the light of the 
 moon !" 
 
 " My request," replied the girl, "is for 
 your ear alone, good sir ; and if you will 
 walk a little way with me I will make it 
 known to you." 
 
 " By Heaven, she is fj gem ! Here, Do- 
 nald, hold my horse till I act the part of a 
 gallant knight-errant to a maiden in dis- 
 tress. Come on, my enchanted princess, 
 I'm ready to swear I'll kill any giant, hip- 
 pogriff, or dragon that besets your path." 
 
 " My name," said the girl, when beyond 
 the hearing of the others, " is Kate War- 
 den, and that good woman with me is Mrs. 
 Polly Rust, my neighbour. My brother is 
 at her house, and I am going there to see 
 him, and I wish you to escort us safely to 
 the place." 
 
 " By St. George, maiden, you are very 
 rash !" exclaimed the officer. " Your broth- 
 er is a leading rebel ; and, if I mistake not, 
 a major in the service. Did you not know 
 it is my duty to catch him wherever I can 
 find him?" 
 
 " I knew," answered Kate, " that you 
 would kill him if 3'ou could, in a fair and 
 manly fight ; but I thought the brave would 
 scorn to betray the brave, ^or to molest 
 them when they trusted to each other's 
 honour." 
 
 " And so they would, my pretty damsel, 
 under ordinary circumstances ; but you 
 must remember I am a sworn officer, and 
 that my duty to my king compels me to 
 arrest a traitor wherever I find him." 
 
 " It is said a great battle is going to 
 be fought soon," returned Kate Warden ; 
 " and my brother wished to . see me once 
 more, as he might never get another op- 
 portunity. I have betrayed his life, I fear, 
 and I shall never be happy again. Oh, my 
 dear Henry! what will you think of my 
 folly " and the poor girl began to wring 
 her laanda and weep. 
 
 " By the souls of my ancestors," said 
 the officer, "you have not betrayed him. 
 I will not molest him ; but I cannot go with 
 you. Young maiden, you must excuse me. 
 It really seems to me that the suggestions 
 of your innocent heart are the true be- 
 hests of that honour which I profess to be 
 guided by ; and yet the world thinks not 
 so. And so it is," continued he, speaking 
 to himself; "we are all pursuing phan- 
 toms. We profess to make honour our 
 guide, and glory our end, and still we are 
 ashamed to tread what we know to be, the 
 path of real honour and glory. It shall 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 119 
 
 not be so with me, let the world say what 
 it may. Young lady, I grant your request 
 to its fullest extent ; and now let us be 
 off." 
 
 So saying, he led her back to his horse, 
 and mounting her up behind him, and or- 
 dering his companion to take up Mrs. Rust, 
 , and telling the negro to lead the way, 
 struck off through the woods. The older 
 lady was behind the younger officer, and 
 a very handsome one he was, though 
 strangely ungallant. Totally forgetful of 
 the face, feet, and dress of the good dame 
 Rust, he would not keep the road, but 
 must needs dash through the bushes to get 
 alongside of his senior officer. The good 
 woman sometimes uttered an ejaculation 
 as her face got scratched, or a great rent 
 made in her dress, and Donald M'Leod 
 would make a hasty apology, and clash 
 into the bushes again. He said nothing 
 to Kate, noc' did she speak to him ; but 
 though it was night, they became suffi- 
 ciently acquainted to have recognised each 
 other ten years afterwards. Arrived at 
 Mrs. Rust's, the latter was profuse in her 
 thanks, and Kate begged to know how she 
 could return her gratitude. 
 
 "I am overpaid by my own heart," said 
 the senior ; " still, 1 hope you will believe 
 me to be a gentleman according to your 
 own understanding of that word." 
 
 " And me, your faithful .servant," said 
 the other. 
 
 " Ah, Donald ! However, I'm mum," re- 
 marked the senior, v/ith a laugh. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Kate, " here is my 
 handkerchief; if you will wear it about 
 you in battle, it may be of service." 
 
 "As we can't both use it at the same 
 time," replied the older gentleman, " I will 
 give it to him for whom it was meant." 
 
 "And here is mine for you, sir," said 
 Mrs. Rust ; " there is virtue in it." 
 
 " I'll keep it," answered he to whom it 
 was offered, " to remind me of an honest 
 deed ; but as for charms and amulets, I 
 need them not. Miss Warden, you will 
 please to present to yourbrother, the major, 
 the compliments of Colonel Webster, and 
 tell him to be off by the early dawn, or I 
 cannot answer for his safety. Tell him 
 also, that I should be happy to meet him 
 whenever it shall please General Greene 
 to choose his field. And so, my duty to 
 you, ladies, and may peace be with you." 
 
 Kate Warden did not fail to tell her 
 brother all that had happened ; nor Mrs. 
 Rust to express her astonishment at find- 
 ing a Christian and a gentleman among 
 the British. The visit of Henry -Warden 
 was undertaken for a double purpose. 
 He had some things of importance to 
 communicate from his father to his fam- 
 ily, and, labouring under a depression of 
 spirits, he was extremely desirous of see- 
 ing his sister and mother once more. His 
 
 wish was in part gratified, and, after a 
 most affecting interview, he took his leave 
 of Kate, with a sad foreboding that he 
 would see her no more. 
 
 Hector M'Bride and his party happened, 
 on this very same night, to get within the 
 English camp, and all were taken prison- 
 ers, except Corny Demijohn. That valiant 
 knight, having the only sword in the com- 
 pany, and having become a tolerable horse- 
 man, cut his way through the centre of the 
 camp, scorning to turn his back, and cre- 
 ating among the half-sleeping soldiers a 
 terrible alarm. Thinking at first that they 
 were attacked by at least twenty thou- 
 sand .cavalry, and seeing a huge giant, 
 with a blood-dripping sword, bearing down 
 through their midst, the men gathered 
 their arms, and ran hither and thither in 
 confusion ; the officers shouted, the drums 
 rattled, and alarm-guns were fired. To 
 add to the consternation, Captain Corny, 
 seeing the state of things, gave a tremen- 
 dous shout, and as he neared the last com- 
 pany, who were under arras, he cried, 
 " Surrender, you knaves, or you'll be butch- 
 ered in an instant !" The men stood ir- 
 resolute, half-disposed to lay down their 
 arms; and Captain Demijohn was carried 
 by his faithful charger beyond the reach 
 of danger, having killed three men in his 
 perilous passage, and caused the whole 
 British army to be formed for battle. The 
 officers were so much mortified at what 
 had happened that they retained the ladies 
 prisoners, and there is a tradition that one 
 of them fell violently in love with Lucy 
 Neal. Be that as it may, the prisoners 
 were all handsomely treated, though their 
 captivity came near breaking the hearts 
 of Rust and his sable namesake. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 EVENTS STILL HASTEN ONWARD. 
 
 " As it was now confidently expected, 
 from the return from Virginia of General 
 Greene, and from his aggressive move- 
 ments, that a battle was inevitable, the 
 scattered Whigs emerged from their hiding- 
 places, and flocked to the standard of their 
 leader. They hastened off from the im- 
 mediate neighbourhood and from remote 
 quarters, some on foot and some on horse- 
 back ; some singly offering their services, 
 and some in small companies, consisting 
 of not more than half a dozen. They came 
 with such weapons as they had with them 
 in their concealment, and some of them 
 without any arms at all. They came from 
 caves, from swamps, and from hollow 
 trees, their long beards, worn garments, 
 and emaciated forms, giving them a wild 
 and picturesque appearance. They knew 
 little or nothing of the discipline of armies: 
 and, strangers to the feelings of the trained 
 
120 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 soldier, whose trade is war, they came to 
 make a final stand for their homes and 
 their property — to strike one blow in their 
 own way for their country and its liberties. 
 Of such materials consisted mainly the 
 army of General Greene, the last hope of 
 the patriots in the South. It was a bare, 
 sickly, and ragged rout, with every species 
 of rusty arms, without discipline, and part 
 of it without officers, and of whom it 
 might have been said by their scornful 
 foes, 
 
 ' Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggared host, 
 And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.' 
 
 In striking contrast with these were the 
 enemies whom they were zealous to en- 
 counter. Cornwallis, when marching to 
 meet them, took Alamance in his rout ; the 
 tramp of his steeds, the braying of his trum- 
 pets, and the hoarse rattle of his drums 
 startling the echoes of that former abodeof 
 peace, while his streaming banners flouted 
 proudly in the eyes of its inhabitants. As 
 the women of this ancient community be- 
 held, from the crowded windows and balco- 
 nies, the sheen of their glittering arms, and 
 their terrible train of destructive engines, 
 their thoughts turning to their husbands 
 and their brothers in the camp of General 
 Greene, some gave way to despair; 'and 
 others, lifting their eyes to heaven, mutely 
 implored the aid of its avenging arm for 
 their friends and country. When the array, 
 in all the pomp and pride of military show, 
 had passed out of view, and the sound of 
 the music died away upon the distant hills, 
 an awful silence followed ; the elements 
 of local strife were stilled, and all eyes and 
 hearts were turned, in hushed and painful 
 expectation, to the scene of the approach- 
 ing conflict. Confident in their well-disci- 
 plined strength, despising the might of their 
 adversaries, with the savage delight and 
 swift fury of hungry wolves, when about 
 to overtake the spoil that has long eluded 
 them, the royalists hastened on to where 
 their prey had made his final stand, and 
 turned at bay. They found him on his well- 
 chosen ground at Guilford Court House, 
 calm as a summer morning, an eagle in his 
 eyrie, watching with keen and steady eye 
 the coming storm, and prepared to make a 
 4 desperate struggle." 
 
 This is the manner in which the master 
 begins his account of the battle of Guil- 
 fordj-an engagement which he witnessed 
 with lively and varied emotions. He and 
 his fellow-prisoners were kept under a 
 small guard in the rear of the British army, 
 and beyond the reach of danger ; and from 
 here it was that he saw the conflict. He 
 and Edith Mayfield were the only two per- 
 sons in the company whose sympathies 
 were in unison on that occasion. This 
 latter, looking on herself as dead to love 
 and to Henry Warden, and animated now 
 
 with a holy fervour for her country and its 
 liberties, awaited the issue of the struggle 
 with the intensest interest. Nannie Scott 
 kept her eyes on Rust, with an expression 
 that showed how grateful she was that he 
 was not in the strife ; and Lucy Neal, half 
 dead with fright, thinking only of Henry 
 Warden, shook like an aspen at every ex- 
 plosion of the artillery, and fancying every 
 gun was aimed at him she loved, enquired 
 often and. anxiously if the battle was not 
 over. As for the two Bens, they were 
 nearly wild with grief — the one because he 
 could not be near his old master, the other 
 because he was not in the fight. None of 
 the ladies could bear to look upon the field ; 
 but M'Bride, who, with the Bens, stood upon 
 a high rock, gave them, from time to time, 
 information in regard to the progress of 
 the struggle. 
 
 " May the Almighty curse them cow- 
 ards !" exclaimed Ben Rust, soon after the 
 fight began ; " what a glorious sweep they 
 had !" 
 
 " Those are militia, Ben," said the mas- 
 ter, " and never saw a fight before. See 
 what a heap of dead they piled up at the 
 first fire, and see how, like lightning, gleam 
 the British bayonets which dispersed them. 
 That was the first charge, and those poor 
 fellows had not yet got warmed in the : 
 struggle." 
 
 " Is our side giving way V asked Edith. 
 
 " A goodly number of them have fled 
 after a single fire," answered the master, 
 " and 1 fear it is impossible to retrieve the 
 disaster. Yes, I believe we will yet gain 
 the day, for do but see how the second 
 line stands its ground. The bayonets are 
 nearly on them ; and now, my gallant fel- 
 lows, now's the time to show your mettle. 
 Glorious ! what a terrible fire was that ! 
 Gloriously done again !■ Do but behold 
 how their ranks are thinned and torn!" 
 
 " Is not the battle over ?" anxiously en- 
 quired Lucy. 
 
 " Over !" exclaimed Rust ; " If I was 
 General Greene I'd pepper them till every 
 red-coated knave had bit the dust or left 
 the field. Oh that I was jist there, with 
 my rifle !" 
 
 " You forget where you are, young man, 1 ' 
 said one of his guards to Rust. 
 
 "I wish I could," he replied, "but if 
 I've hurt your feelings I beg pardon. Na- 
 tur will have its way." 
 
 " Who now appears to have the advan- 
 tage ?" asked Edith. 
 
 " It's hard to say," answered the master, 
 "for they are every where engaged, and 
 the whole field is one sheet of flame. Who 
 is that British officer mounted on a fine 
 black charger 1 ?" 
 
 " That," said one of the soldiers, " is 
 Colonel Webster, one of the best officers 
 in the service." 
 
 " By my soul, he is showing it to-day," 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 121 
 
 exclaimed M'Bride ; " and he's every where 
 in the thickest of the fray. Oh, God ! our 
 second line is giving way. 1 cannot bear 
 the sight." 
 
 " Are we beaten V enquired Edith, 
 "please look again." 
 
 " There is yet hope," said the master, 
 "for there is still another line to be at- 
 tacked, the brave Continentals as 1 judge." 
 
 " Do you see any of our friends 1" asked 
 Lucy. 
 
 " I cannot tell a man at this distance," 
 replied the master ; " but I have thought 
 more than once that I saw Henry Warden. 
 Yes, it is he, as I live — it must be he ! Oh, 
 if you could only see how gallantly he 
 bears himself! There goes old Greene 
 along the lines, honour and glory to his 
 name ! He must be preparing for a des- 
 perate effort, and now they are at it, man 
 to man, and squadron to squadron. Brave 
 mew, now's the time to put forth all your 
 energies ! May the might of a thousand 
 giants nerve your arms ! Oh, do but look 
 at that noble officer! It is Washington, 
 with his cavalry, and down he comes with 
 an awful swoop, scattering all before him ! 
 Great heavens ! I see among his men the 
 huge form of Uncle Corny! His sword 
 seems to be red with blood ; see, he has 
 split down at least a dozen !" 
 
 "Are we not about to gain the day 1 ?" 
 again asked Edith. 
 
 " I'll tell you when the smoke clears 
 away," said the master. " Indeed," con- 
 tinued he, " I do believe we are. There 
 comes Washington again, like a furious 
 whirlwind, and nothing stands before him. 
 They falter, they are thrown in confusion. 
 Victory! victory!" 
 
 Every one but the ladies now mounted 
 the rock, and watched in silence and with 
 intense interest the progress of the fight. 
 
 " Great God !" exclaimed M'Bride, at 
 length, " Cornwallis is firing on his own 
 men! The field is now a terrible scene, 
 and the last struggle has come. There 
 goes old Greene again ! What a glorious 
 chief he is ! Alas ! in vain has he con- 
 tested every inch : his men are falling 
 back ; we are lost, we are lost !" and in 
 an agony of grief the master sat down 
 and covered his face with his hands. 
 
 " They've paid dearly for their victory," 
 said Rust; " and the old fox is not beaten, 
 though he retreats. He goes off in good 
 order with his bristles up, and growlin as 
 if he wanted to try it over again." 
 
 It was even so. The American com- 
 mander, after a desperate struggle, in 
 which his genius and his courage shone 
 resplendent, was forced to yield a field on 
 which he left dead twice as many of the 
 enemy as of his own men. Had he been 
 able to have maintained the combat an 
 hour longer, Cornwallis, with all his army, 
 would have fallen into his hands : and even 
 
 as it was, the enemy were so entirely crip- 
 pled that they commenced an immediate 
 and rapid retreat, dismissing their prison- 
 ers, and continuing their flight till they fell 
 an easy prey at Yorktown. Thus it ever 
 seemed to be with General Greene. In all 
 his battles he deserved success ; but he 
 was fated never to achieve a victory, but 
 to win laurels for other brows. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 At the grey dawn of the following morn- 
 ing Edith Mayfield was on the field of the 
 late engagement. The birds were singing 
 merrily where lately the din of battle raged 
 so fiercely ; but the shattered trees, the fis- 
 sures in the trenched and furrowed earth, 
 and the heaps of dead bodies that were 
 dimly visible in the dusky twilight, still re- 
 minded the visiter of the late awful pres- 
 ence of war. Attracted by their groans, 
 Edith sought out the living, to some of 
 whom she brought water, bound up the 
 wounds of others, and spoke words of con- 
 solation to the dying, whose parting spirits 
 she commended to the mercy of thfeir 
 Giver. Several expired while she was 
 with them, and, as she was dressed in 
 white, they believed they saw an appari- 
 tion, and their last looks were fixed on 
 her, and their last words called for bless- 
 ings on her head. As some of the wounded 
 men had known her before, and had heard 
 of her death, they confirmed the notion 
 that she was a spirit, a celestial messen- 
 ger of light and peace sent to relieve the 
 wants and assuage the pangs of the suffer- 
 ing patriots. The character of the times, 
 and the sombre hue of public sentiment, 
 lent credit to these opinions, even in the 
 eyes of the early visiters, and thus origi- 
 nated the current tradition of the Pale 
 Lady, whose mission it was to heal the 
 wounded in the American army, and con- 
 sign the souls of the dying to a long and 
 sweet repose. While she was thus en- 
 gaged, and as the beams of the rising sun 
 were gilding the tree-tops, she was met' 
 by a young English officer, who court- 
 eously saluted her, and enquired if she 
 was acquainted with the father of Major 
 Warden. 
 
 " If you mean George Warden, sir, the 
 father of Mr. Henry Warden, I am," an- 
 swered Edith. 
 
 " George Warden is the gentleman to 
 whom I allude," said Donald M'Leod, look- 
 ing at the superscription of a letter which 
 he held in his hand, " and I must beg your 
 assistance in the discharge of a duty which 
 I owe to him. His son yesterday saved my 
 life, took me prisoner, and had me released 
 upon my parole, and gave me a letter to 
 his father, who, it is said, was wounded in 
 
122 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 the engagement. I promised Major War- 
 den that I would immediately seek out the 
 old gentleman, and see that his wounds 
 were attended to ; but, as I do not know 
 him, I will thank you to point him out to 
 mo as soon as you can find him." 
 
 By a small stream on the edge of the 
 field, where the fight had been hardest, 
 Edith saw Hector M'Bride seated, and ap- 
 pearing to be in conversation with a man 
 "who was lying on the ground, and resting 
 his head on the palm of his hand. Going 
 thither with the British officer, she found 
 George Warden, who greeted her with 
 lively demonstrations of pleasure at the 
 meeting, and to whom she immediately in- 
 troduced her companion. After the salu- 
 tations were over, M'Bride requested his 
 friend to continue the account of the battle 
 which he had begun, and George Warden 
 thus proceeded : " As I was about to re- 
 late when these friends came up, the North 
 Carolina militia poured one destructive 
 fire into the ranks of the enemy, and then 
 broke and fled. I am proud, however, to 
 say that this inglorious example was not 
 universally followed, for one company 
 fought gallantly and nobly throughout the 
 engagement. These were the Guilford 
 militia, many of them being from our own 
 Alamance, whence also came, as you know, 
 their heroic commander, Captain Forbes, 
 who was mortally wounded in the engage- 
 ment." 
 
 " Remember that fact," said the master, 
 "and I will also put it in, my notes as a 
 testimony against the charge of cowardice 
 ■which will be hereafter brought against all 
 the militia of the state. But where was 
 our friend Captain Demijohn 1 Did he 
 bear himself with his accustomed gal- 
 lantry." 
 
 " He did," replied Warden ; " in fact, I 
 may say he fairly eclipsed himself. As I 
 have intimated before, he came up mys- 
 teriously, just on the eve of battle, and 
 took his station by my side in the cavalry. 
 He was not in a humour for talking, and 
 briefly told me that my sweet friend here, 
 Edith Mayfield, yourself, Rust, and others 
 were prisoners in the British army. As I 
 pressed him for an account of his adven- 
 tures, an explosion of cannon shook the 
 greund, the chest of my friend heaved 
 with emotion, his eyes flashed fire, and, 
 seizing my hand, he said : ' The master 
 will tell you all ; I allude to Lieutenant 
 M'Bride, who will do justice to my mem- 
 ory. My true and ancient friend, I am in 
 the humour for blows now ; not words — I 
 am for blood— the blood of the tyrants, 
 and by the Eternal it shall flow to-day! 
 When you return to Alamance, and are 
 happy there among your friends, some- 
 times remember and speak kindly of Un- 
 cle Corny. Good by !' So saying he 
 braced himself for the fight, and ati day 
 
 [he was by my side in the thickest of the 
 I fray, saying not a word, and laying about 
 j him like a giant. In the last splendid 
 charge, led by Washington, he actually 
 split down eleven men, over the last of 
 whom he fell himself, saying, as he fell, 
 ' Oh, my mother!' These were his dying 
 words ; for that he is dead I have no doubt, 
 as he fell near me, and 1 have often called 
 to him during the night without an answer. 
 Such was the end of my friend, of whom I 
 may truly say, 
 
 ' In this glorious and well-foughten field 
 We kept together in our chivalry.' 
 
 Peace be to his ashes !" 
 
 " Amen !" exclaimed the master, " and 
 may God rest his soul forever ! A better 
 man or a braver soldier never drew a sword 
 or put a lance in rest ; but it is time to 
 seek him out and bury him with becoming 
 honours on the field of his glory." 
 
 Accordingly, Warden was now conveyed 
 to a neighbouring house, and left to the 
 care of Edith and her female companions, 
 while the master, with Rust and M'Leod, 
 returned to the battle-field. The two lat- 
 ter examined with great curiosity, and a 
 livery interest, the scene of the engage- 
 ment,, the young Englishman gratifying 
 his rough companion by pointing out the 
 most memorable localities, and giving a 
 detailed history of \he contest. As for the 
 master, now satiated with the horrors of 
 war, and profoundly meditating on 
 " Man's inhumanity to man," 
 
 he went strolling about the field, with his 
 hands clasped behind him, taking no no- 
 tice of any one, and being, in return, no- 
 ticed by none. He traversed every part 
 of the field, and his reflections became 
 more sad and solemn from what he now 
 heard and saw around him. Weeping 
 I women and children were now swarming 
 ! in the places so lately covered with mar- 
 tial hosts glittering in the panoply of war, 
 and groans, cries, and lamentations re- 
 sounded through every part of the scene. 
 Mothers, wives, and sisters were wailing 
 i over the dead and wounded bodies of their 
 ' friends, husbands, and sons ; and the mas- 
 ter, to whose ears, in his present mood, 
 these sounds of sorrow and woe were not 
 i ungrateful, became lost in thought, and al- 
 most forgot himself and his friend,' for 
 whose body he had commenced a search, 
 I when he was suddenly and unpleasantly 
 | interrupted by the voice of Rust, who ex- 
 ! claimed, near him, "By Jehu! if the old 
 [ dame don't take a Britisher for me !" 
 
 " I know what I am about, my son," an- 
 
 | swered Mrs. Rust, embracing, with great 
 
 j fervour and lively affection, the astonished 
 
 and blushing M'Leod. "And do you think 
 
 I could ever forget you, my darling, my 
 
 dear child V continued she, as she releas- 
 
 I ed the young officer, and flew upon her 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 123 
 
 son, overpowering him with her embraces, 
 laughing and crying by turns, and address- 
 ing Ben, who stood motionless and silent, 
 with every kind of endearing appellation. 
 
 " You don't seem to notice me, Mr. 
 M'Bride," said a low, soft voice behind 
 him ; and, turning, the master was some- 
 what confused at finding Kate Warden, 
 who had been standing near him, and 
 whom he had not observed. His apologies 
 for his neglect were kindly and graciously 
 received; but he was confounded when he 
 found that the blushing girl and Donald 
 M'Leod, whose cheeks were also red, had 
 been conversing together, and were ac- 
 quainted with each other. To his inex- 
 pressible mortification he heard from Mrs. 
 Rust of her own and, Kate's adventure with 
 the British officers; yet, touched by the 
 chivalrous bearing of Colonel Webster, he 
 was prompted to enquire for his fate. 
 
 " He fell, mortally wounded," replied 
 M'Leod, " and will never again see a field 
 of strife." - 
 
 " His was a noble and a gallant spirit," 
 answered M'Bride, " and he fell on a bloody 
 field, where his peers were few." 
 
 "" I wish he had worn the handkerchief," 
 said Polly Rust. 
 
 " It could not have saved so brave and 
 proud a man, who went into the fight to 
 conquer or die," answered M'Leod. "Nev- 
 ertheless, he treasures the gift, and will 
 send it home to his friends, as an humble 
 but honourable testimony of his humanity 
 and gallantry in this long and savage war. 
 No stain of cruelty will rest on his name ; 
 and the last words he said to me were, 
 that he hoped you, M.iss Warden, and sucli 
 as you, would cherish his memory as one 
 who was a gentleman and aheroinyourown 
 just sense of those terms. My present," 
 continued the speaker, more gaily, " served 
 me to better purpose, and I must needs 
 always wear it next to that grateful heart 
 whose warm blood it saved from being 
 spilled on this ensanguined field." 
 
 Kate blushed crimson, and took the 
 proffered arm of M'Leod, who led her off 
 to see her father; and the master, who had 
 hoped to find a companion in the young 
 officer, fell into a train of unpleasant 
 thoughts. "Thus it is." thought he; "I 
 can find no man who has not had an ad- 
 venture with a lady ; and even on this sad 
 and impressively solemn scene, my sub- 
 lime meditations must be interrupted, and 
 my thoughts brought down to the ephem- 
 eral concerns of giddy young mortals by 
 the foolery of love-making, is there a spot 
 on earth where hands are not squeezed 
 and light hearts palpitate not with lasciv- 
 ious emotions ■? If there is I'll find it out, 
 and build me a cottage there ; but alas ! I 
 shall never find the place. I have heard 
 whispering, and seen blushes, around the 
 couch of the dying; seen ogling done at 
 
 prayers, and soft glances exchanged over 
 the coffin as it was lowered into the grave 
 Verily, I almost believe that if the last 
 trump were to summons earth's grovelling 
 mortals to their final dread account, fond 
 looks and tokens would be exchanged, and 
 lingers squeezed in the vast crowd that 
 gathered round the awful tribunal of their 
 Judge !" 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 On the day of the battle of Guilford 
 Court House, many of the women of Ala- 
 mance assembled at the house of Esther 
 Bell, and joined in prayers to Heaven for 
 the success of their friends. Black Dan 
 had been despatched to bring early tidings 
 of the fight ; and, as the sun descended in 
 the west, anxiety became so intense, that 
 none spoke /but with their eyes, all bend- 
 ing their looks incessantly towards the 
 battle-field. It was a day of doubts, of 
 gloom, and horror. Even conscious na- 
 ture, to the Alamancers, seemed to wear 
 a grave and sombre look ; the air was thick 
 and sultry, the skies were dark and threat- 
 ening, the voices only of the saddest birds 
 were heard, and a solemn stillness reigned 
 around. At length, late in the night, the 
 long-expected messenger arrived, and gave 
 a full and authentic account of the engage- 
 ment. As he finished, a small and aged 
 lady, whose locks were as white as snow, 
 and who seemed to be gradually withering 
 away from earth, exclaimed, ringing her 
 hands and lifting up her eyes, " O my son 
 Absalom ! my son, my son Absalom, would 
 to God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my 
 son, my son !" It was the mother of Un- 
 cle Corny who spoke ; and all, touched to 
 the heart by her misfortunes, mingled their 
 tears in silence, while she sat mutely mov- 
 ing her lips in prayer. At length, master- 
 ing her emotion, she rose, and, with a face 
 beaming like that of an ancient sibyl, wheu 
 under the influence of inspiration, she said : 
 " My friends, if I have given way to nature 
 you must not blame me. I am like a blast- 
 ed tree, whose scions are all withered, and 
 from which no bud or branch can ever 
 spring again. ■ My house is desolate — the 
 light of my heart is extinguished — the prop 
 and staff of my declining years is gone. 
 The last hope of my house is blighted, and 
 with me my name must soon perish from 
 the earth. Yet can I truly say, with the 
 patient Job, ' The Lord gave, and the Lord 
 hath taken away ; blessed be the name of 
 the Lord.' But though my eyes be dim, and 
 the years of my pilgrimage are more than 
 threescore years arid ten, it is yet reserv- 
 ed for me to see the redemption of my 
 land. 'Then, strengthen ye the weak hands 
 and confirm the feeble knees : for the Lord 
 
124 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 hath called thee as a woman forsaken and 
 grieved in spirit, and a wife of youth when 
 thou wast refused, saith thy God. For a 
 small moment have I forsaken thee ; but 
 with great mercies will I gather thee. In 
 a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a 
 
 moment; but with everlasting kindness 'and send off his slaves, and then 'to sell his 
 
 Nathan was himself aware of the odium 
 attached to his name, and finding it impos- 
 sible to restore himself to his former posi- 
 tion in society, and fearing too for his per- 
 sonal safety, he resolved to move. He 
 intended first secretly to hunt out a location 
 
 will I have mercy on thee, saitb the Lord, 
 thy Redeemer. Then shall thy light break 
 forth as the morning; ye shall go forth 
 .with joy, and be led forth with peace; the 
 mountains and the hills shall break forth 
 before you into singing, and all the trees 
 of the field shall clap their hands.' And 
 now to that God who sitteth upon the circle 
 of the earth, while the inhabitants thereof 
 are as grasshoppers before him, let every 
 heart bow in prayer." 
 
 While the company still remained at 
 Esther Bell's during the following day, 
 George Warden and several other wounded 
 men were brought in ; but the person who 
 excited most astonishment, and most joy, 
 was Edith Mayfield. Her mother fainted 
 oftener than she had done when she heard 
 of her death, and it is not extravagant to 
 say that, for a while, she created a sensa- 
 tion of pleasure as lively as if the inde- 
 pendence of the States had been recognized 
 by the parent country. Thus every evil 
 is tempered with some unexpected good ; 
 and, in fact, her return was a general bless- 
 ing, for it was universally regarded as a 
 happy omen. The drooping spirits of the 
 people began to revive, the Whigs came 
 flocking home, industry began to assume 
 its wonted course, and the Tories, left 
 without the protection of the British, quit 
 their predatory habits, and many of them 
 left the country. The family of George 
 Warden, however, were still in straiten- 
 ed circumstances, and, having no home of 
 their own, at the earnest solicitation of 
 Mrs. Mayfield, and of Edith, took up their 
 residence with them. Thither, also, went 
 Lucy Neal, Nannie Scott, and Hector 
 M'Bride ; and, as Ben Rust was a frequent 
 visiter, the mansion of the Mayfields be- 
 came what it had never been before, the 
 head-quarters of the Whigs. The patriots 
 began now to scour the country and exe- 
 cute summary justice on their enemies. 
 As some of their proceedings are worthy 
 of note, the reader will find an account of 
 them in the following chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 " That night a child might understand, 
 The De'il had business on his hand." 
 
 Tam^D'Shanter. 
 
 A thousand strange rumours in regard 
 to Nathan Glutson had long been afloat 
 at Alamance. His house was never visited 
 by the Whigs, and it was even supposed 
 that he secretly kept in pay a number of 
 Tories, who guarded his stolen treasure. 
 
 house and lands for what they would bring, 
 and carry off his family. The night before 
 he was to start in search of a new home 
 set in with a threatening bank of clouds 
 gathering in the south and west. Fre- 
 quent flashes of lightning shot up athwart 
 the heavens, and at intervals the heavy 
 roll of far-off and deep-toned thunder jarred 
 the doors and windows. The night grew 
 darker and hotter, the lightning gleamed 
 more vividly, and the booming of the thun- 
 der became louder and nearer, until Na- 
 than, who was afraid of storms, thought it 
 proper to assemble within the parlour a 
 number of men who were about tb^e prem- 
 ises. 
 
 " What did you want with us ?" de- 
 manded one of these latter, who remained 
 standing. 
 
 " I wished," said Nathan, blinking and 
 letting down the curtains, " to give you 
 all some further directions before I part 
 from you." 
 
 " You've already told us, four or five 
 times, what you want done," replied the 
 man, who had spoken before, " and its 
 growing late. Come, tell your business, 
 and let us go to bed, for I'm sleepy." 
 
 " Sit down, my friend, sit down and make 
 yourself easy," returned Nathan, mildly, 
 and trembling all over as a heavy crash of 
 thunder burst through the air. ; ' Sit down 
 all of you, for I'm going to set out the 
 brandy ; and, as good friends are about to 
 separate, we'll make a night of it. Gra- 
 cious, that was a sharp flash. I believe 
 we'll have a shower presently." 
 
 " A shower, indeed !" exclaimed one of 
 the men, who was standing at the door ; 
 " it will be an awful storm. Just come to 
 the door and see what terrible black clouds 
 are boiling up in the south. Heavens ! 
 the whole sky is on fire !" 
 
 " Come," said Nathan, to 1 whom these 
 words were daggers, " I must shut this 
 door or you'll get frightened. Some folks 
 are afraid of thunder." 
 
 "And why shouldn't they bel" asked 
 the man ; ' ; they say two men were killed 
 by one stroke last week on Haw river ; 
 and I saw a tree in old Hackett's yard that 
 was shattered all to pieces." 
 
 " For my part," said another, " I don't 
 mind common storms, but this one to-night 
 will be dreadful." 
 
 Sheet after sheet of living flame now 
 glared through the lighted room, and peal 
 after peal, louder than the explosion of a 
 thousand cannon, shook the house to its 
 foundations. More candles were lighted, 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 125 
 
 the curtains were drawn closer, and still 
 the fiery arrows of the clouds gleamed 
 and sparkled in the room, blinding with in- 
 tense brightness the eyes, and blanching 
 the cheeks of its terrified tenants, while 
 the rattling thunderbolts seemed to burst 
 above and around them, with a crash as if 
 heaven and earth were coming together. 
 The wind was now terrific, prostrating, in 
 its resistless might, the firmest oaks like 
 rotten stubble, and the rain came down in 
 floods. The wife' and children of Glutson, 
 aroused and alarmed by the commotion in 
 the elements, came running into the room 
 — the females, frantic with fear, clustering 
 round the head of the family, as if looking 
 to him for protection. 
 
 At this instant there was heard, above 
 the din of the storm, a voice crying, "Na- 
 than Glutson ! Nathan Glutson ! your time 
 has come at last." 
 
 "My innocent children, my dear wife," 
 exclaimed Nathan, "pray for me! -pray 
 for me ! pray for us all ! _ Oh. if this night 
 was once over I would' live a different 
 life !" 
 
 " I hear that promise," said a man who 
 came in unperceived at the northern door, 
 and was followed by a file of armed men, 
 all in masks. " Men, guard the doors and 
 wisdows," said the leader, " and see that 
 no one escapes. Do you all surrender 1'' 
 
 " To whom, may I respectfully ask," 
 said Glutson,- " shall we have that pleas- 
 ure V 
 
 " To me," was the brief response. 
 ."Well, friend, you see we are in your 
 power," answered Nathan, meekly, " and 
 I trust, you'll try us fairly." 
 
 " You shall have justice," replied the 
 captain of the armed men. " Here, lieu- 
 tenant, tie them all — I mean all the men." 
 
 This order was promptly executed, no 
 one making the slightest resistance, and 
 the women and children looking on in 
 mute astonishment and alarm. 
 
 " Now," said the captain, " we'll pro- 
 ceed to business. Nathan Glutson !" 
 
 " I hear you, sir." 
 
 "Nathan Glutson, I've come to settle 
 with you a long account." 
 
 " If you owe me any thing, friend," re- 
 plied Glutson, " I don't know it ; and, as 
 for myself, I don't owe a dollar in the 
 world." 
 
 "You are mistaken, sir," returned the 
 captain, " as I will soon show you by the 
 bill and vouchers." 
 
 " It's very likely, friend ; for all our me- 
 mories are treacherous. I'll never deny 
 a just debt, and if you'll show me one I'll 
 pay it with the cash down, principal and 
 interest." 
 
 " Very well," said the captain, "here is 
 the account, and I'll read it to you, item 
 by item." 
 
 " Molly, dear," said Nathan to his wife, 
 
 "bring me my spectacles, and bring also 
 a pen and ink, and some paper, for we 
 may need them." 
 
 " Not at present," replied the captain ; 
 " I am going to show you a new way to 
 write receipts." 
 
 " Will you let me look at your bill V 
 asked Glutson, his wife adjusting his spec- 
 tacles for him. " I do not wish, by any 
 means, to dispute your word, but I make 
 it a rule always to examine accounts be- 
 fore I pay them. Men can't be too partic- 
 ular about such things ; and sharp looks 
 save long suits." 
 
 " That's a fact," exclaimed the captain ; 
 "but the keenest of us sometimes nod, as 
 you will see. I'll read you the account, 
 and then you can examine it at your leis- 
 ure." 
 
 " Very good, my friend, you can pro- 
 ceed in your own way." 
 
 " Well, here's the bill : 
 
 'Nathan Glutson 
 
 To Public Justice, Dr. 
 For assisting Alan Ross to carry of 
 Edith Mayfield, charged • 39 lashes.' " 
 
 • " You are jesting with me, friend," said 
 Nathan. 
 
 " I never was more in earnest in my 
 life," answered the captain, " and I would 
 have you to hold your peace and listen. 
 
 ' To negroes, bonds, many cattle and 
 horses, stolen from the Whigs at 
 his instigation, and for his benefit, 
 charged, a full restitution, with in- 
 terest on the value, and 
 
 To sundries, such as being a thief, a 
 Tory, and a general nuisance, 
 charged, 
 
 To persecuting George Warden, 
 burning his fences and his houses, 
 and destroying his property, charg- 
 ed, £1000 and 
 
 To procuring, aiding and abetting in 
 various murders, burglaries, and 
 assassinations, charged, to be 
 hanged by the neck till you die. 
 
 Sum total : to receive 186 lashes, restore 
 all your stolen effects, with interest on 
 their value from the time of taking, to pay 
 down £1000, and then to die and leave 
 a world where you are a pest.' 
 
 " Now, old gripus, here's the voucher. 
 Here's the affidavits of Dick Sikes and of 
 Pete Simmons, all regularly taken. Are 
 you ready to close the account ?'? 
 
 " Let me speak with you in private," 
 answered Nathan, and the two withdrew 
 into another room. 
 
 They had been gone but a few minutes 
 when the captain returned, leading his 
 prisoner by the collar, and exclaiming, 
 "The old villain as good as confessed, and 
 tried to bribe me. Let him swing instant- 
 ly." 
 
 The family of Glutson now set up a 
 piteous lamentation, begging for his life, 
 
 69 lashes. 
 
 39 lashes. 
 
 39 lashes. 
 
126 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 
 and offering-, if he was spared, (o make him 
 give up every thing, even to the last dollar 
 which he had. 
 
 " We'll give him fifteen minutes to pre- 
 pare," said the leader, " during which time 
 we'll despatch some other business. Tom 
 Barton and Jesse Woods, I wish to have 
 a word with you." 
 
 " Who told ypu our names ?" asked the 
 persons called at the same time. 
 
 " No matter for that. I know you. You, 
 Tom, are charged with various burglaries ; 
 and among them a most heinous one at 
 Ralph Goyvell's. You are charged with 
 an attempt to kill Esther Bell, with being 
 accessory to the murder of Betsy Deans, 
 and with having shot at that good man, 
 Isaac Holt. There are a hundred charges 
 against you, Jesse, and the last one is, that 
 you treacherously shot that brave man, 
 Captain Forbes, while he was fighting for 
 his country, at Guilford court-house. Come, 
 lieutenant, fix the ropes." 
 
 Prayers, promises, and entreaties were 
 vain. The storm having somewhat subsi- 
 ded, the two Tories were led out, and to 
 the limb of an oak immediately before the 
 door they were suspended, side by side, 
 and left — their struggling bodies being oc- 
 casionally revealed by the fitful flashes of 
 lightning, and filling Glutson and his friends 
 with horror. 
 
 " Now> old Jew,'-' said the captain to 
 Nathan, " your turn comes next, and time 
 presses. Are you ready to pay up? Why, 
 man, are you crazy ?" , 
 
 Nathan, standing at the door in a sort of 
 stupor, with his ej'es fixed on the suspend- 
 ed bodies of the Tories oscillating to and 
 fro in the wind, like pendulums, replied, 
 " Yes, my friend, ray good friend, I'm ready 
 to give you every thing I have in the world. 
 Only spare my life, for God's sake ; for 
 these poor innocents' sake, spare my life ! 
 I am not ready to die ; I want time to re- 
 pent of all my sins." 
 
 " Time," answered the captain, " is what 
 you've been v*ery sparing of. I never heard 
 it said of you that you did not demand pay- 
 ment the very minute your debt was due." 
 
 " Yes ; but, friend, you may do good by 
 indulging me, for I swear to you that I 
 will do whatever you want." 
 
 " And so have your debtors sworn often 
 before. The poor wretches in whom your 
 usurious claws were fixed have begged, 
 entreated, and prayed for a little indul- 
 gence. They have pointed to their weep- 
 ing wives and children crying for bread ; 
 they have pointed to their own utter ruin, 
 and shown that a little, just a little, indul- 
 gence would save them, and save, also, 
 your debt. To these entreaties, you, hard- 
 hearted monster — you, son of perdition, 
 have always coolly answered, ' The debt's 
 due, and 1 can't help your misfortunes, I 
 must have my money.' So I now say to 
 
 you, the debt's due, and, what's more, 
 it's just. Recommend your soul to the 
 mercy of God, for your time's up." 
 
 So saying, the captain and his men seized 
 Nathan, and, while he was, yet screaming, 
 and his family clinging to him, he was 
 swung by the side of his friends on the 
 oak. The rope was so fastened that the 
 tension round the neck was not severe, 
 and the wretch suffered the agonies of a 
 hundred deaths. He was finally taken 
 down while life yet remained, and, after 
 some difficulty, was restored to the use of 
 his faculties. He was, however, pale as a 
 corpse, and weak and feeble as a child, and 
 with ready alacrity did whatever he was 
 requested. He brought out all his papers ; 
 and these being handed by the captain to 
 one of his assistants for his inspection, 
 the latter found what he expected — the 
 bonds of Warden, with receipts from Glut- 
 son for nearly the whole amount. A paper 
 was also found, in which there was a re- 
 lease, by Glutson, of his title to the prop- 
 erty of Warden', forfeited by the terms of a 
 mortgage ; and this release was dated on 
 the same day with the receipts, and five 
 days after the mortgage became due. 
 Glutson acknowledged that these papers 
 had been purloined at his instigation, and 
 ordered a secret cash-book to be brought 
 out, that it might be seen what amount of 
 stolen property had come to his hands. 
 The soldiers stared at each other, and now 
 felt that they were truly in a den of iniquity. 
 
 The celebrated book was produced — a 
 book that was long kept as a rare curiosi- 
 ty at Alamance, and known as " the Dev- 
 il's Leger." Fragments of it are now in 
 the author's possession, being a part of the 
 papers left by the master ; and from them 
 it appears that Glutson kept an exact ac- 
 count of his dealings with the Tories, each 
 of which was known and mentioned by 
 some fictitious name. A few extracts will 
 show the manner in which the entries were 
 made : ' 
 
 " Paid Long Thorn 7 pounds 2, for five horses 
 
 imported from -Babylon. 
 Paid King Solomon four and sixpence, for an 
 assortment of leather, sheep, and black- 
 smith's tools, imported from Nova Scotia. 
 Paid Jupiter Jehosiphat 1 pound sterling, for his 
 
 part of the cargo from Constantinople. 
 Paid the Pope 10 pounds sterling, ffir two ne- 
 groes and sundries, imported from Botany 
 Bay." 
 
 The captain and his men, beyond meas- 
 ure astonished, and even amused at what 
 they found in the book, turned oyer the 
 leaves and devoured the contents with their 
 eyes for some time, nearly forgetting the 
 object of their visit. After they had suffi- 
 ciently gratified their curiosity, and learned 
 from Nathan the persons to whom the nick- 
 names were applied, the places indicated 
 by " Babylon," " Constantinople," &c, and 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 127 
 
 that imported meant stolen, the captain 
 spoke as follows : 
 
 " My friends, the night is far spent, and 
 it's time to finish business and be off. Car- 
 ry out these rascals, strip them, and tie 
 each one to a tree and give them one hun- 
 dred and eighty-six lashes a-piece. While 
 you are about it, the leftenant and I will 
 attend to Nathan and his book." The men 
 prepared to do as they were bid ; and the 
 captain continued to his lieutenant: "Add 
 up the items, and see how much plunder, 
 besides the negroes, he' has got." 
 
 The lieutenant did as he was bid, and 
 answered, " Fifteen hundred pounds ster- 
 ling will cover the amount." 
 
 " Count it out, Nathan," said the captain ; 
 " it shall be applied to the benefit of the 
 needy Whig families." Glutson counted 
 out the sum in gold, and the captain pro- 
 ceeded : " Now for Warden's negroes ; 
 where are they 1 ?" 
 
 " They are all in an outhouse," answer- 
 ed Glutson, " except one, who died from 
 ill-usage." At this the captain, his lieu- 
 tenant, and Glutson, proceeded to the house 
 alluded to, and releasing the slaves, these 
 latter were most extravagantly delighted, 
 and eagerly enquired where they would 
 find their master's family. 
 
 "I'll tell you presently," replied the 
 captain ; " and do you wait in the yard 
 here till I call you." 
 
 While these things were going on, the 
 ears of Nathan were saluted by the most 
 dismal groans from the place where his 
 friends were suffering ; and he was in such 
 a constant terror that he trembled all over, 
 and could scarcely speak. At every stroke 
 — and they were sturdy ones — he started 
 and looked as if his own back were smart- 
 ing under the lash. After suffering mar- 
 tyrdom in this way, he was led out, and 
 the captain and his lieutenant marked upon 
 him, between his neck and heels, one hun- 
 dred and eighty-six tokens of remembrance. 
 After this, a solution of salt was thrown 
 over the Tories ; and the cap'tain, after a 
 considerable effort at calculation, remark- 
 ed : " I've been trying to make out the 
 compound interest on one hundred and 
 eighty-six for three years, but figures were 
 always a botheration to me. Well make 
 it an even two hundred. One hundred and 
 eighty-six from two hundred leaves how 
 many]" 
 
 " Fourteen," said one. 
 
 " Let it. be fifteen for good measure and 
 a round tafly." 
 
 The fifteen were given, and the captain 
 again spdke : " Here, Mr. Secretary, I want 
 you to do some writing. Give Nathan 
 Glutson a receipt, and see that you write 
 it plain, and so it won't wear out, for he is 
 a tricky dog." 
 
 The injunction was obeyed with right 
 good will, and the traces of the bold hand 
 
 of the scribe would have been legible for 
 half a century had Nathan lived so long. 
 After these settlements were effected, the 
 Tories were dressed and brought into the 
 house, where the captain, changing his as- 
 sumed voice and manner, thus harangued 
 them : " Ladies and gentlemen, the per- 
 formance is concluded for the night, and 
 all accounts squared up to date. It has 
 been, my sinful friends, a painful job to all 
 parties concerned, and now that it's all 
 over, I would, as old Proximus says, make 
 a few moral observations. Firstly, then, 
 you are informed that your credit is no 
 longer good, and in all our dealings here- 
 after I must have the cash up — that is to 
 say, your uncle is now about, perfectly 
 in town, with his pocket full of rocks ; and 
 if you engage in any new rascalities you 
 may expect to smoke for it immediately, 
 if not sooner. Secondly, I wish you to 
 remember Captain Bolus to all your friends 
 and acquaintances, and especially to show 
 them my letters, and let them know what 
 I'll do for them whenever I find them. 
 Thirdly, you now see the folly of your 
 ways, and how hard it is, as Xhe Scriptur 
 says, to kick agin the pricks. You've 
 brought disgrace on yourselves and on 
 your families ; you've made yourselves 
 hated, betrayed your country, and played 
 the very devil ginerally. You see and feel 
 how you've got part of your reward ; and 
 just as sure as your backs are now smart- 
 in, if you don't repent your souls will 
 scorch in hell-fire to all eternity. And, 
 fourthly — and this is the last and main 
 pint, and the cream of the whole matter — 
 I give you all five days to settle up your 
 accounts and be off, bag and baggage, 
 scrip and scrippage, as old Proximus has 
 it ; and if after that time any of you are 
 caught at Alamance, you will swing like 
 them poor critturs at the door. This is 
 said by Captain Bolus, sometimes called 
 the Devil, and sometimes the Flyin Sar- 
 pint, who sees all round him, and who 
 never breaks his word. And now, my 
 Christin friends, let us leave this cursed 
 abode of sin and misery." 
 
 We will here remark that Nathan Glut- 
 son, who acquitted George Warden of any 
 part in these proceedings, soon visited that 
 gentleman, gave him a receipt in full for 
 the small balance of his debt, and restored 
 to him his lands. After this, Nathan and 
 his friends disappeared ; the Whigs, to get 
 rid of him, giving him the full value of his 
 real estate, and burning his house to the 
 arround. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 A SAD AND SWEET REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 As congeniality of feeling produces inti- 
 macy and . friendship, the party at Mrs. 
 
128 
 
 ALAMANCE 
 
 Mavfield's soon formed themselves into 
 trios. Mrs. Mayfield, Mrs. Warden, and 
 Nannie Scott discussed household mat- 
 ters and neighbourhood and family affairs ; 
 George Warden, Edith Mayfield, and Hec- 
 tor M'Bride discoursed gravely of politics 
 and morals, life and death, time and eter- 
 nity ; while Lucy Neal, Kate Warden, and 
 Donald M'Leod fished, visited, and wander- 
 ed over the fields, gardens, and meadows, 
 talking of love, romance, and marriages, 
 poetry and novels. Kate and Lucy be- 
 came, in fact, extremely intimate, were 
 generally favorites, and had some rare 
 frolics at' the expense of the master and 
 others, doing, at all times, pretty much 
 what they pleased. When the Warden 
 estates were restored to the rightful own- 
 ers, and while preparations for the recep- 
 tion of the family were going on, the two 
 girls went to visit the old place, and see 
 how things were progressing. Kate did not 
 fail to point out to Lucy every beautiful 
 scene, and. after they had rambled about 
 till they were tired, they went into the 
 garden. " Oh, Lucy, dear, run here !" ex- 
 claimed Kate, who had separated from her 
 companion ; " run here, and see what a 
 beautiful sight !" Lucy did run, wonder- 
 ing what had so excited her friend, who 
 continued, as she saw Lucy coming, "Here 
 is the name of Edith Mayfield, just as dis- 
 tinct as it was when planted by brother 
 Henry. He planted these carnations a long 
 time ago, and just see how ihey are still 
 flourishing, and all in bloom !" 
 
 " It is a sweet sight, indeed," said Lucy, 
 " and I admire the fancy very much. How 
 did your brother come to think of it V 
 
 " There is a romance connected with 
 it," answered Kate — " a sad and pleasant 
 story, and I have half a mind to tell it to 
 you." 
 
 "Please do," Lucy cried, seating her- 
 self on the grass by her friend : " please 
 tell it, for I like to hear a romance of all 
 things." 
 
 " I'm a poor hand to tell a story," re- 
 turned Kate, " and always do it very sim- 
 ply ; and yet father never gets tired of hear- 
 ing me talk, and calls me his little ro- 
 mancer. Oh, how happy we used to be 
 before the troubles got to be so bad ! I 
 remember every thing as if it had hap- 
 pened yesterday, and I almost think I hear 
 father calling on me to tell him some tale 
 of love and romance, and trials of the old 
 times that are gone. There sat old mother 
 Demijohn in the great arm-chair in the 
 corner, with her high, stiff cap and her. 
 short pipe, puffing away, and looking so 
 kind and pleasing at us all ; by her side, 
 on a low rocking-chair, was mother; busy, ! 
 with her maid, at work, and every now , 
 and then turning to father; old Ben, whoj 
 then remained in the house, nodded away | 
 in the other corner, occasionally opening 
 
 and rubbing his eyes, and staring as know- 
 ingly as if he had heard and understood 
 every word ; father has his arm around 
 me, and little Wash sits on his stool at my 
 feet, with his elbows in my lap, and gazing 
 earnestly into my face, and believing and 
 wondering at all I say. Those times will 
 never come back, for one, the dearest and 
 best of us all, is gone! Poor little Wash, 
 my heart aches when I think of him !" 
 
 " Dear Kate," said Lucy, shedding tears 
 from sympathy, " you've told a story be- 
 fore you began. Come, dry your tears, my 
 sweet child, and tell me about the flowers. 
 Your next tale will not be so sad, 'I 
 hope." 
 
 "You must know, then," Kate com- 
 menced, " that from a child brother loved 
 
 Edith What's the matter, Lucy \ did you 
 
 see a snake V 
 
 "I thought so," answered Lucy; "but 
 it was only that crooked stick. How it 
 did frighten me !" 
 
 " I despise snakes," said Kate, " the 
 great, ugly creatures ! What a world this 
 would be if there were no serpents, and 
 how happy we could be among the flow- 
 er's ! As it is, we can't go into the meadow 
 or the garden without being in terror of 
 them ; for the sly, deceitful things are al- 
 ways creeping about in the most beautiful 
 places. But, as I was going to say, brother 
 Henry loved Edith Mayfield from a child, 
 
 and she was attached to him Dear Lucy, 
 
 are you sick ? We had better get off this 
 damp ground and go into the house, for 
 you look very pale." 
 
 " I am not unwell," replied Lucy ; " I 
 have not yet got over my fright. Please 
 go on." 
 
 " I was about to tell you that brother 
 Henry was not like other boys ; he took 
 little interest in their plays and pleasures, 
 and, as 1 have heard the master say, his 
 soul seemed to live in a different world — 
 a world of his own, all beautiful and flow- 
 ery as this garden, and where there were 
 no snakes, toads, or scorpions, or reptiles 
 of any sort. There was no one like him 
 but Edith Mayfield, and you might see 
 that she was from her very looks. Her 
 eyes, as M'Bride says, look like the win- 
 dows of Paradise, for the heaven" of her 
 soul is shining through them. Brother's 
 and Edith's hearts grew together before 
 they knew it, and their souls were wedded 
 by God himself, so that, if they do not live 
 together here, I do believe they will be in- 
 separable companions in heaven. Lucy, 
 you must be sick." 
 
 " Indeed," said she, "I have a palpitation 
 at the heart, and I am in a sort of tremor 
 all over ; but it is all caused by my alarm. 
 Never mind me, but finish the tale, for it is 
 very interesting." 
 
 "Where did I leave off? Oh, I remem- 
 ber now. As they grew up, Edith's father, 
 
ALAMANCE 
 
 129 
 
 who was a cold-hearted, worldly man, ob- 
 jected to her being so much with brother. 
 He chided her about her intimacy with 
 him— told her he was a visionary, and 
 made her act in such a way as caused 
 brother to believe she was not what he 
 once thought her. It was only in appear- 
 ance that she disliked him ; but he did not 
 know it, and as she was very dutiful, he 
 never could find out what her feelings 
 were. She returned all his letters and po- 
 etry — How you start ! — even quit school, 
 and would not let him see her when he 
 visited at her father's. He thought she 
 Avas in love with Ross — you have heard of 
 him — and he resolved to go to the wars, 
 young as he was. Just before he went, he 
 made a great speech at the exhibition at 
 Alamance school-house, and every body ap- 
 plauded it. Edith was so pleased that she 
 could not help showing it, and she and 
 Henry had some very kind conversation. 
 That wasthe last time he saw her. When 
 he came home he told me all about it, and 
 I said to him that I knew that Edith loved 
 him, and always would. ' A woman's 
 smiles are like sunshine in April,' he an- 
 swered, and he would not believe but what 
 • her kindness was the result of a sudden 
 whim. As mother was then gardening, 
 brother Henry wrote Edith's name on this 
 bed, and, sowing it with carnation-seed, 
 he laughed and said, ' Now, sister Kate, 
 I'm going away, and you'll see that Edith's 
 love will be like this name : no trace of 
 either will be left when I return !' He went 
 off, and the carnations came up and bloom- 
 ed most beautifully. The first year I show- 
 ed them to Edith, and she laughed and said 
 nothing ; the next spring she was anxious 
 to see if the flowers still remained; the 
 next she looked at them sadly, and carried 
 some away ; the next she visited them 
 every week, and sat by them and wept for 
 hours at a time. You see they are still 
 flourishing, though the garden has been 
 long neglected, and every letter of the 
 name is perfect. It's a happy omen. Edith 
 has gone through many trials, and has at 
 last got home safe, and still loves Henry. 
 I know he loves her, and as soon as he 
 hears that she is living, and at home, he 
 will come on the wings of the wind. I 
 saw him just before the battle of Guilford 
 Court House, and he gave me some little 
 mementoes of Edith, and told me, if he 
 was killed, to bury them with him. All 
 things will come right at last, and turn outi 
 happy." . , 
 
 " They do not always," answered Lucy ; 
 "as, for instance, little Wash. Was he 
 like Henry V 
 
 " Very much, only stouter, and not so 
 intellectual, though he was very smart. 
 Poor little Wash ! he left us in gloomy 
 times, and is not here to see our happi- 
 ness." 
 
 I 
 
 " I'll tell him of it all," said Lucy, with a 
 sad, abstracted manner. 
 
 "Tell little Wash!" exclaimed Kate, 
 with astonishment ;." why, he was buried 
 in the old grave-yard at'Alamance-church 
 long ago. I saw, myself, the cold clods fall 
 upon his coffin, and it seemed to me that 
 I could hear him calling to me and telling 
 me not to let them leave him there by 
 himself in the dark, damp ground. But 
 only his body 'is there, for his spirit is now 
 happy in heaven." 
 
 " And there," replied Lucy, her tears 
 falling like rain, " shall 1 meet him soon." 
 
 Kate looked inquiringly at her, and, with- 
 out knowing the cause of her strange words, 
 wept also, and locked herself in the em- 
 braces of her friend. " We've had a ro- 
 mance, sure enough," at length spoke Kate, 
 " and, like father, you've paid me with your 
 tears. ■ Is it not time to return 1 ?" 
 
 " I think it is," said Lucy, " and, indeed, 
 I feel as if I were going to be sick. I 
 wish I was at my home in the mountains." 
 
 " That's unkind, dear Lucy," returned 
 Kate, " though its natural to be sad when 
 we first leave home. You'll soon get used 
 to it, and be happy with us. I almost wish 
 you were a little sick, that I might have 
 the pleasure of being your nurse, and you'd 
 find me an excellent one." 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 THE MASTER BEGINS TO MAKE A STRANGK 
 DISCOVERY. 
 
 " I have told you I should start to-mor- 
 row," said Lucy Neal, who was alone with 
 the master. 
 
 " And I have told you," he retorted, " that 
 I cannot be a shuttlecock for the women, 
 to be forever knocked about by them ac- 
 cording as whim or fancy strikes them. 
 Your father does not expect-you so soon, 
 the roads are yet dangerous, and you are 
 among your friends. You must listen to 
 reason." 
 
 " I do not wish you to trouble yourself 
 on my account," the girl answered ; " I 
 thought it my duty to inform you of my 
 intentions. I am much obliged to you for 
 your former kindness, and now thank you 
 in my own and my father's name. Aunt 
 Jennie and I can find the way, for I ob- 
 served the road attentively." 
 
 The master, touched more by her man- 
 ner than by what she said, felt himself 
 strangely affected, and, apologizing for his 
 warmth, told Lucy he would go with her 
 to the ends of the earth. Her sudden de- 
 termination and her deep dejection aston- 
 ished the people with whom she was stay- 
 ing, and none more, than Edith Mayfield. 
 That lady, suspecting the state of Lucy's 
 feelings, and having determined to promote 
 her wishes, studiously avoided any allusion 
 
130 
 
 ALAMANCE 
 
 to her own attachment for Henry Warden. 
 She believed, however, that Lucy had heard 
 of it; and when she heard Kate Warden 
 tell her mother of what took place in the 
 garden, she saw', or thought she saw, and 
 so did Mrs. Warden, the cause of Lucy's 
 unhappiness. Edith, in the boundless 
 goodness of her heart, nearly resolved to 
 make a confident of her mountain friend, 
 and renounce in her favour all pretensions 
 to the heart of Major Warden. She con- 
 sidered, however, that he might not agree 
 to this arrangement, and, for this and other 
 reasons, she held her peace. She did, 
 nevertheless, as did also Kate and the 
 other ladies, use every exertion to prolong 
 the stay of Lucy ; but all their arguments 
 and entreaties failed to alter her purpose. 
 It was then settled that the master and 
 black Ben should accompany her and her 
 faithful old female servant, and so they all 
 set about making preparations. Every 
 one, old and young, male and female, had 
 some token to present, and old Ben found 
 that his horse would have a heavy burden 
 indeed. When the parting came, all wept 
 aloud but Lucy, whose eyes were suffused 
 with tears, and who, with a voice that 
 melted into the soul of every hearer, spoke. 
 a few farewell words to each. She was 
 cordially invited to return again ; and when 
 Edith told her that she and Kate would 
 come after her in the summer, she replied, 
 with a look and voice that seemed not of 
 earth, " I shall be gone, sister, like last 
 year's flowers. Still, till my last breath, I 
 shall remember you all." So saying she 
 and her escort took the road, and were 
 soon beyond the limits of Alamance. 
 
 " Mr. M' Bride, can one be saved without 
 being a member of any church V asked 
 Lucy. 
 
 " I think it possible," answered the mas- 
 ter ; " but it is advisable to join. Why do 
 you ask such a question ? Are you a 
 member ?" 
 
 Lucy. — " No, sir ; but I have often thought 
 of such things. What is religion 1" 
 
 The Master. — " That is a question easier 
 to ask than answer. Men have disputed 
 and fought about it, and will, I apprehend, 
 continue to dispute and fight about it, with- 
 out ever coming to any conclusion. For 
 my own part, while I allow every one the 
 free enjoyment of his opinions, I have my 
 own peculiar ones." 
 
 Lucy. — " So have I mine ; and if you will 
 not laugh at my simplicity, I'll tell you 
 what they are. I have never harboured 
 ill-will, nor wished harm to a living thing : 
 I have always obeyed my parents in all 
 things, and preferred the good of others to 
 my own : I have envied nobody, hated no 
 one, and slandered no one : I have wished 
 to see all the world happy, and never de- 
 sired a forbid"den thing: 1 have had an 
 humble opinion of myself, and have looked 
 
 up to God as my father and as one who 
 constantly saw my heart — which prays 
 daily to Him. Do I stand any chance of 
 getting to heaven j" 
 
 The Master. — " By my soul, Lucy, more 
 than half the Christian world would do well 
 to take your chances for their own. Your 
 notions, in my judgement, are correct ; but 
 I would not have you to be overconfident 
 of salvation. This vain and blind confi- 
 dence is the cause of perdition to many a 
 bigoted soul, for it causes them to lose 
 sight of the very first element of religion. 
 Who knows himself to be a sinner has 
 taken the first and greatest step towards 
 heaven; and to know and feel this daily, 
 with inward humility and sorrow, and an 
 humble trust in the mercy of God, this it 
 is to be religious. Our whole life is a state 
 militant, and we must war constantly on 
 our own desires." 
 
 Lucy. — "But are there not some who- 
 become so holy that they have no need to 
 carry on this war, and are positively cer- 
 tain of being saved]" 
 
 The Master. — " That some are positive- 
 ly certain, in their own minds, of being 
 saved, is undoubted ; that any are holy or 
 righteous is in the very teeth of Scripture. 
 I tell you, Lucy, that these people who are 
 righteous in their own eyes are certain of 
 perdition." 
 
 Lucy. — " They never seem to fear it for 
 themselves, and they denounce it very 
 freely to others." 
 
 The Master. — " So they do, the hypo- 
 crites. God and the world judge differ- 
 ently. For example, I will state a case : 
 Here is a sober, sedate, and severe-faced 
 man, who eschews lewd company, indulges 
 in no pastimes, never utters an oath, and 
 attends church punctually every Sabbath — 
 sitting on the front pews, and listening 
 devoutly to the services. He has a gay, 
 wild neighbour who loves his joke, rarely 
 goes to church, is not ashamed of being 
 found with any one who may visit him, 
 and who is guilty of the very irreverent 
 habit of laughing when he's pleased. The 
 world respects the former as a pattern of 
 piety, and scowls upon the latter (more 
 particularly if he's independent in his own 
 opinions) as a miscreant on the road to 
 temporal and eternal ruin. And yet, the 
 all-seeing eye of Heaven beholds in the 
 heart of the grave Pharisee the putrid con- 
 tents of a whited sepulchre, and in that of 
 the other charity, open as the day — rever- 
 ence to God and good-will to men." 
 
 Lucy.—" Is it not strange that the very 
 followers of our meek and lowly Saviour 
 should, generally, be so much like those 
 very Pharisees whom he denounced as 
 hypocrites ?" 
 
 The Master. — " It is, indeed ; but so it 
 has been from the beginning. The de- 
 scendants of Moses and the prophets were 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 131 
 
 ready to crucify Christ for blasphemy to- 
 wards those prophets, for being what they 
 had predicted he would be. I have come 
 to the melancholy conclusion, after much 
 observation and study of history, that to 
 preserve the world's esteem we must wear 
 the cloak of hypocrisy. The first idea of 
 all persons, savage and civilized — of Jew 
 and Turk, Pagan and Christian— is intol- 
 erance. The world demands of you that 
 you should think and act in all things, and 
 especially in religious matters, as it acts 
 and thinks. If you will but be mindful to 
 do this, it will be better for you than to 
 have a heart as pure as the unspotted 
 snow. The world judges not by the in- 
 tentions of the heart, nor by the absolute 
 good or evil of the deed, but by its con- 
 formity or non-conformity to its opinions. 
 "When Lady Macduff is advised to fly, to 
 avoid the assassins hired by Macbeth, 
 Shakspeare makes her say, 
 
 ' Whither should I fly 1 
 I have done no harm. But I remember now 
 I am in this earthy world, where, to do harm, 
 Is often laudable — to do good, sometimes 
 Accounted dangerous folly. When, then, alas ! 
 Do I put up that womanly defence, 
 To say I have done no harm V 
 That defence is available only before the 
 bar of the Judge of the quick and dead. 
 There the wretch, through whose rags the 
 lance of earthly justice pierces, will stand 
 proudly erect, his innocence guarding him 
 with an armour impervious even to the 
 wrath of Omnipotence !" 
 
 Lucy. — " There's nothing I dislike so 
 much as to have to think as other people 
 io, and against my reason." 
 
 The Master. — " No ingenuous and un- 
 corrupted person likes it ; but to this ' com- 
 plexion' we must all 'come at last.' Let 
 a man undertake to follow the dictates of 
 his own heart and judgement, even in the 
 smallest matters, and he will suffer for it. 
 Suppose, for instance, it was customary, 
 in some village, for all the male inhabitants 
 to go bareheaded and barefooted once a- 
 week to the public square, and play at 
 marbles and leap-frog, and suppose this 
 custom had long prevailed ; if a new-comer 
 should happen there and take up his resi- 
 dence, and should fail at the appointed 
 place and hour to make his appearance 
 without shoes or hat, he would become 
 directly the subject of general conversa- 
 tion : from this he would get to be unpop- 
 ular ; thence a suspicious character, and, 
 finally, all sorts of monstrous stories would 
 be believed in regard to him, and he would 
 be hated and dreaded as a savage, an infi- 
 del, a pagan, a magician possessed of a 
 legion of devils. You may laugh, but I 
 tell you it is so. I have seen just such 
 things." 
 
 Lucy. — " You must forgive me, Mr. 
 M* Bride ; I was not laughing at your doc- 
 
 trines, but at the singular illustration. I 
 believe in what you say, yet I shall live 
 and die a non-conformist, a sui generis, as 
 I've heard you say, without an original or a 
 copy. I am like nobody, and there is no 
 communion of feeling or connection by 
 blood between me and a living thing." 
 
 The Master. — " Lucy, you astonish me ; 
 and I fear my speculations have turned 
 your brain. What do you mean by saying 
 you are not connected with a living thing ? 
 Your parents are surely still living ; at 
 least I have heard nothing of their deaths." 
 
 Lucy. — " My parents have long been 
 dead, Mr. M'Bride. Those good people in 
 the mountains are only my foster-parents. 
 My father, who did not stand high with the 
 world, and my mother died about the same 
 time, and left me, then a little girl, alone 
 in the world, without relations and per- 
 fectly destitute. Those good people with 
 whom I live took me and adopted me ; and 
 though they never allude, in my presence, 
 to my early history, I remember it as well 
 as I remember the events of yesterday. 
 Thus, as I told you, I am connected by 
 ties of blood with no living thing that I 
 know of, and the world does not own me." 
 
 The Master. — " There you wrong the 
 world, Lucy, and permit your own imagi- 
 nation to deceive you. You are uni- 
 versally beloved ; and, to show you that 
 you are mistaken, no one but your foster- 
 parents knows your history." 
 
 Lucy. — "The world knows by instinct 
 that I am an outcast, a child of wretched- 
 ness ; and though all respect me, and may 
 even be fond of my society, no one would 
 like to claim kindred with me. They will 
 associate freely with me, visit me, and 
 invite me to their houses ; they pity me 
 and speak softly and kindly to me, but it is 
 as to one who is not of them — one whom 
 they would be ashamed to own as a daugh- 
 ter or sister ; one who between whom and 
 them there are not, and cannot be, those 
 common sympathies, those free commu- 
 nions, those nearer and dearer ties that 
 bind families together." 
 
 The Master.—" This is all the offspring 
 of a fancy diseased by dwelling too much 
 on the circumstances attending your child- 
 hood ; but, true or false, you have one 
 brother who this day is proud to own you 
 as his sister. Lucy, I am not a lover; 
 that I cannot be. Do not, therefore, be 
 uneasy when I tell you that from our first 
 acquaintance I have felt a strange interest 
 in you, and that you only, of all the women 
 on earth, are really dear to me. I say 
 again it is not love — it is a purer and holier 
 feeling." 
 
 Lucy. — "Then we two will form a 
 church to ourselves." 
 
 The Master. — " You speak in riddles ; if 
 you are anxious to commune, why not join 
 some church at once 1 ?" 
 
132 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 Lucy. — "I have told you my reasons. 
 The world shuns me, and I do not wish to 
 thrust myself into its societies. Yet I do 
 wish to be saved, and I do hope that God. 
 as a father, will receive me, and that in his 
 bright, mansions I will find a home." 
 
 M'Bride. — " Fear not. for it is impossible 
 that hell can be peopled by such spirits as 
 yours. But, as I was going to tell you, I 
 too am desolate, and it may be possible 
 that, in truth, I will find a relation in you. 
 I will tell over to you my history, and then 
 you can judge if we are really of the same 
 kindred." 
 
 - "Oh!" exclaimed Lucy, "how have I 
 longed to find some good and beautiful 
 brother, sister, or cousin ! I often think 
 of the situation and feelings of the captive 
 Hebrews, as they sat by the rivers of Baby- 
 lon, weeping and remembering their own 
 beloved land. Oh, how sad it is to be in a 
 strange country and among a strange peo- 
 ple, and to have none of our own kindred, 
 friends, or people with us ! Thus it has 
 been with me all my life ; all the world 
 is a Babylon to me, and among its fairest, 
 scenes T sit and weep, thinking of ,some 
 imaginary country, some beautiful, green, 
 and 'happy land, from which I have been 
 taken, and where I have sweet friends who 
 are like me. anxiously waiting for my re- 
 turn among them, ready to embrace and 
 hug me to their hearts. Where is that 
 dear land?" continued Lucy, dropping a 
 tear ; " where is that beautiful being who 
 will fold me in her arms and softly whis- 
 per ' dear cousin' in my ear? Alas ! I will 
 never find that happy home !" 
 
 The girl, being overcome by her emo- 
 tion, was unable to give further utterance 
 to her thoughts, and the master for a while 
 mingled his tears in silence with hers. At 
 length, however, M'Bride, subduing his 
 feelings, was able to give a brief account 
 of his own history, at the conclusion of 
 which Lucy told him there was a strange 
 connection between them, but she would 
 leave it to her foster-father to reveal it. 
 She was taken, in the mean time, with a 
 violent cold, and during the balance of the 
 journey she and her friend conversed 
 gravely on religious subjects, and she was 
 much edified and soothed by the master's 
 discourse. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 Duke. — And what's her history? 
 Viola. — A blank, my lord ; she never told her 
 love. 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 The master did not fail to enquire of 
 Abraham Neal the history of his foster- 
 daughter ; and the old gentleman, taking 
 him aside, spoke as follows : " Many years 
 ago, there came to reside in a hut on my 
 
 farm a man of my name, who had a wife 
 and one child, then a little girl. As the 
 family seemed to be very poor, I charged 
 them no rent, and often made my negroes 
 assist upon their little farm. The man was 
 a confirmed drunkard — the most entire 
 brute I ever saw. He spent every thing 
 for liquor, was a madman when drunk, and 
 often tried to kill his wife, his child, and 
 himself. The poor woman soon fell ili, and 
 I and my wife remained with her till she 
 died. The scene was an awful one, and I 
 never can forget it. The child clung to 
 her dead mother, begging her to come back 
 to her, while her besotted father uttered 
 the most horrid oaths, cursing God and all 
 his creatures. He soon went off himself, 
 dying from the effects of mania a potw, 
 and, my wife being childless, we adopted 
 the girl, and have loved her as if she were 
 our own offspring. She is my heir, and, I 
 trust, if she yet remembers, she will soon 
 forget her origin." 
 
 " Can you tell me the Christian names 
 of the father and mother," asked M'Bride, 
 " and the place of their former residence V 
 
 " His name was Frank — her's Rotha, 
 and she said she was from Philadelphia, 
 which I believed, for she was a lady of ed- 
 ucation and rare endowments." 
 
 " Oh, my prophetic heart !" exclaimed 
 the master; " I knew it, I knew it!" 
 
 "Knew what, my friend 1 ?" enquired the 
 astonished Neal. 
 
 " Excuse me," answered M'Bride, " but 
 even at this late date my feelings over- 
 come me. That lady, sir, was my first, 
 my last, and my only love. I became ac- 
 quainted with her while I was a student in 
 Philadelphia, and a mutual attachment 
 grew up between us. My father failed ; 
 Frank Neal, who was a student of medi- 
 cine, was reported to be immensely rich, 
 married Rotha, and turned out to be a vag- 
 abond and impostor. He spent all her 
 property, went off, and I never again heard 
 of him till now." 
 
 " It's a strange and sad story," said Neal, 
 " and when I am more at leisure, I will get 
 you to relate it all to me and my wife. You 
 must excuse me now, for Lucy is quite 
 unwell, and I cannot be from her long. I 
 like not her extreme dejection, and fear 
 something is preying on her mind." 
 
 " She well recollects her origin," replied 
 the master, " and alluded to it on the road. 
 I cannot imagine what has brought it into 
 her mind, for she was very happy at Ala- 
 mance." 
 
 " She has taken cold," returned Neal, 
 •' and I fear is going to be very ill. I have 
 noticed that persons finely strung like her 
 have a foreboding of approaching illness. 
 We must go and cheer her up." 
 
 " It will be a work of love with me," 
 said the master ; and with what success he 
 labored will be seen by the following let- 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 133 
 
 ter, sent by Ben to Henry Warden, and in 
 his absence, to his mother. 
 
 M l Bride's Letter. 
 " My Dear Henry — As you will have heard, 
 our interesting and beautiful friend, Lucy Neal, 
 took it into her head to visit Alamance, and 
 from thence I conducted her home. Strange 
 'enough, I found that she was only the adopted 
 daughter of our former host, Abraham Neal, and 
 the real daughter of my beloved Rotha ; but the 
 strangest part of all was the sudden melan- 
 choly illness which overtook her on the road. 
 She was very feeble and extremely sad when 
 she arrived here, and spoke seldom to any one, 
 preferring to be alone. As long as she was 
 able to move herself, she would steal off to the 
 mountain where you had the adventure with 
 her, and frequently we have found her in the 
 Woodland Bower, poring over her scrap-book, 
 which she always carried about her. When 
 she became too weak to walk, she would still 
 insist on being permitted to sit in the door in 
 the evenings, and would watch, in deep dejec- 
 tion, the sunlight fading on the distant hill-top. 
 One day, nothing would do but we must carry 
 her down to the bower, and, while I was left 
 alone with her, I asked her why she carried 
 that book about with her, and if there was any 
 inscription in it she prized 1 ' There is one,' 
 she answered, ' but, like my life, 'the main part 
 of it is a blank. I never understood it till lately.' 
 As she would let no one see it, I know not to 
 what she alluded. I would observe, also — for 
 every thing connected with her history is inter- 
 esting — that she wore constantly about her 
 neck a certain handkerchief, and from these 
 data, I feared, my dear Henry, that the poor 
 girl's heart was not her own. I thought proper 
 once to hint to her that if even you had wronged 
 her, I would see her righted. ' For God's 
 sake,' exclaimed she, ' never let such a suspi- 
 cion cross your mind ; and assure him, from 
 me, I beseech you, that I fully understand, ap- 
 preciate, and approve his conduct.' After her 
 lest trip to the bower she became much more 
 cheerful, but sunk rapidly. To gratify her, we 
 placed her in a room where she could look out 
 on the mountain alluded to, arid see also her 
 cherished bower ; and the best medical aid 
 which the mountains could afford was in at- 
 tendance. She, however, declined daily and 
 rapidly, the beauties of her heart and mind 
 coming into bolder relief, and her astonishing 
 meekness, gentleness, and gratitude increasing 
 hourly. She saw clearly that her end was 
 near, and so boundless was the goodness of her 
 heart, that she actually begged her foster-pa- 
 rents to forgive her for leaving them so soon ! 
 She over and over made them say they were 
 not sorry that she had left them to go to Ala- 
 mance ; and, blaming herself for having been so 
 reserved and silent when she first returned, she 
 said she could now talk to them on every sub- 
 ject interesting to them and to her. And so 
 she did, chatting away with lively animation 
 day and night, except when occasionally she 
 enjoyed a quiet slumber. At these times, and 
 before she fell asleep, she would invariably take 
 an affectionate leave of us all, and then shake 
 hands again when she awoke. On one occa- 
 sion she desired to be raised in bed, that she 
 
 might look out upon the mountains ; and, after 
 gazing for some time in silence, she said, with 
 a faint smile, 'How beautiful does Nature 
 seem ; oh, how I have loved it ! Now, mother, 
 cover my eyes, and let me sleep.' We took an 
 affectionate leave of her as usual, and, casting 
 on us all a look of the most tender interest, she 
 closed her eyes. As she seemed to slumber 
 unusually long, we at last removed the hand- 
 kerchief from her face, and found that she was 
 indeed asleep ! — after life's brief and fitful fever, 
 at rest forever ! Her eyes were closed, her 
 hands crossed upon her breast, and her face — 
 oh, how natural and beautiful did it seem in 
 death ! A smile, a sweet, gracious smile was 
 still lingering on her pale, fair features, and it 
 was only when we touched her cold, earthy 
 flesh we could realize that her spirit had gone 
 back to Heaven, as pure and spotless as when 
 first breathed by the breath of the Almighty into 
 its beautiful tabernacle of clay. It had found 
 at last its native country ; it had gone back to 
 that happy land from which it had been briefly 
 exiled, and her return was greeted, by troops of 
 her angelic kindred, by one of the sweetest an- 
 thems ever heard in heaven ! She had given 
 particular instructions about her burial, request- 
 ing to be laid in her woodland bower, under the 
 tree on which her name was carved, and that 
 no monument be erected to her memory. She 
 had also desired me to bury with her the book 
 and handkerchief to which I have alluded, say- 
 ing, ' These have been my dearest friends, my 
 sweetest companions. They have talked to 
 me of home, of kindred, of love ; they only have 
 connected me with earth, and as they have ever 
 been with me while living, let them lie on my 
 bosom in the grave.' In all things were her 
 wishes obeyed ; and next day, while the dew 
 was yet glittering on the tender grass, when 
 flowers were wearing their richest bloom, and 
 giving out their sweetest odour, and birds were 
 singing their gayest songs, we laid her in the 
 earth in her rustic bower, and there we sat 
 down and wept. It was hard for us to think 
 she was not still among us, while all Nature 
 seemed to be so bright and merry ; and oh, how 
 sore were our hearts when we returned to the 
 empty and silent house, and remembered that 
 we had left her in the woods, deep buried for- 
 ever in the dark, cold, cold earth ! Her soft 
 voice still seems ringing in our ears— =-her sweet 
 smile still irradiates our hearts at times ; but 
 while we are listening for a light and airy step, 
 and some one unconsciously enquires for the 
 cause of her long absence, we involuntarily 
 turn our eyes to the bower, and there see the 
 sad, fresh mound of earth, which tells its own 
 and most melancholy tale ! Our good friends, 
 the Neals, are heart-broken, and I consider it 
 to be my sacred duty to remain with and com- 
 fort them all I can. Though I am unutterably 
 sad myself, my sympathies are strongly awak- 
 ened in behalf of these good old people, the 
 light of whose hearts has fled, and whose gray 
 hairs are rapidly sinking with sorrow to the 
 grave. You will please, therefore, give my 
 kindest regards to all at Alamance, and look for 
 me in the autumn. 
 
 . " My heart is too heavy to write another 
 line, and so, my friend, farewell ! 
 
 " Hector M'Bride." 
 
134 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 Mrs. Warden, her son being absent, 
 opened this letter, according to the direc- 
 tion on the back, and the whole communi- 
 ty of Alamance went into mourning for 
 Lucy Neal. There was not an eye but 
 paid its tribute of tears — not a heart that 
 was not shrouded in black — not a tongue 
 but often ejaculated, " Alas ! poor Lucy 
 Neal !" Some charming verses were writ- 
 ten on her death, and set to a tune so pa- 
 thetic, so sweet, simple, and sad, that the 
 song soon attained a wide popularity, and 
 has been handed down to our own times 
 by the negroes, among whom alone the 
 soul of sweet melody yet lingers. 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 " There is, sure, another flood toward, and these 
 couples are coming to the ark." — As You Like It. 
 
 Kate Warden was very young, and very 
 timid, but she was not too young to fall in 
 love with Donald M'Leod, and not too 
 timid to murmur out, at last, her consent 
 to his propositions of marriage. There 
 was a condition annexed, which was, that 
 M'Leod should become an American citi- 
 zen — a condition to which he very readily 
 consented, for his parents^ were living in 
 one of the northern States. It now be- 
 came necessary for him to visit them ; 
 and when he returned, in the latter part of 
 October, he set Alamance in a blaze of 
 joy by the news of the surrender of Corn- 
 wallis. He brought, also, important intel- 
 ligence to the master, who, in consequence 
 of what he heard, set out in haste for Bos- 
 ton. He found that his father's old part- 
 ner had proved at last to be a fortunate 
 and an honest man ; and from him he re- 
 ceived the whole amount of his father's 
 stock, with a handsome interest from the 
 time it had been under the Bostonian's 
 management. This unexpected discovery 
 of wealth, and of virtue, where he little 
 expected to find either, together with the 
 brightening prospects of the American 
 cause, very sensibly affected the master's 
 feelings, and he returned to Alamance an 
 altered man. It is curious to trace this 
 change in the tone of his notes, from 
 which, with the reader's indulgence, we 
 make a few quotations : 
 
 " This excursion" (alluding to his north- 
 ern trip) " had a most happy effect upon 
 me, and I daily found my heart growing 
 younger and fresher. May God forgive 
 me for it, I began to imagine that I saw 
 virtue and beauty in woman, and formed 
 several acquaintances with whom I spent 
 my time agreeably. I thought that she, 
 woman, was no longer v the semper varium 
 et mutabile of the poet Virgil, and I was 
 guilty* on several occasions, of the miser- 
 able folly of paying compliments and in- 
 
 diting verses in my own name. I saw 
 several of my old female acquaintances in 
 Philadelphia, and, not having witnessed 
 the gradual decay of their charms, I was 
 not prepared for a sight so forlorn as their 
 withered forms and wrinkled faces pre- 
 sented. One of my old gossips — the one 
 at whose hands I had received very ill 
 usage — was still flourishing in a green old 
 maidenhood, the terror of all widowers and 
 sedate and elderly bachelors. She had 
 become extremely devout, was a thorough, 
 bluestocking, and dwelt upon the vanities 
 of the world with an unction that would 
 have honoured the most ranting Indepen- 
 dent in Cromwell's army. She received 
 me, so to speak, with open arms, and a 
 storm of caresses ; but I was vilely un- 
 grateful, and left her as far from the prom- 
 ised land of matrimony as when she first 
 commenced her pilgrimage thither. All 
 things, even inanimate, wore a pleasing 
 appearance. Was this but the reflection 
 of" my feelings, or was old Nature, con- 
 scious of the approaching dawn of better 
 things, glowing again with the charms of 
 her youth 1 I was inclined to this latter 
 opinion, and, in the fullness of my grateful 
 heart, went to see the political redeemer 
 of our race — the man whose career had 
 settled the long-disputed question, whether 
 a son of fallen Adam could be truly great. 
 How shall I describe my feelings when 
 that glorious vision beamed upon my sight? 
 Although he was surrounded by fine-look- 
 ing and illustrious men, I knew him as 
 soon as I laid my eyes upon him; for 
 among them he, 
 
 ' in shape and gesture proudly eminent, 
 Stood like a tower.' 
 
 I stood for a long time gazing on him, 
 and the longer I looked the more was I 
 impressed by the majesty of that face, 
 which 1 felt was to be stamped on the 
 hearts of all generations of men. For a 
 while I could scarcely realize my situa- 
 tion, and was. nearly overpowered by my 
 feelings as I looked down the dim vista 
 of future years, and saw the gathering 
 glories that would cluster around the mem- 
 ory of the man who stood living and breath- 
 ing before me. And this, thought I, is 
 Washington, whose name, in all languages 
 under heaven, will become as familiar as 
 household words ! I reverently took his 
 hand, and hardly thought it flesh and blood 
 till he spoke to me. Yes, I heard the 
 voice of Washington ! I told him I was 
 an humble pedagogue who had ' done the 
 state some service,' and who came to pay 
 his respects to his country's greatest man. 
 'The schoolmaster shall be the greatest 
 man in our Republic' These were his 
 very words; and oh that they were graven 
 with an iron pen and laid in the rock for- 
 ever ! I remembered the language of th» 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 135 
 
 Prophet Isaiah, and thought the time had 
 come of which he spoke when he said a 
 man should be ' as the shadow of a great 
 rock in a weary land.' " 
 
 The master was welcomed back to Ala- 
 mance ; and when it was ascertained that 
 he had seen General Washington he was 
 compelled to relate to every one, children 
 included, every minute particular about 
 the dress, the manners, the looks, and 
 words of the American chief. He was 
 as ready to answer as others were to ask ; 
 and, though usually a discreet man, he 
 ever after, at all places and the most odd 
 conjunctures would allude to this inter- 
 view ; and " When I saw that great man, 
 General Washington," was sometimes the 
 prelude to a story inapropos and tedious. 
 In the mean time the suits of M'Leod and 
 Rust advanced apace ; and the master, 
 gratified by the confidence all parties re- 
 posed in him, used his best endeavours to 
 promote the laudable business of marrying. 
 It is singular, but it is, nevertheless, true, 
 that he even -came to be considered as au 
 fait in affairs of the heart, and every day 
 was visited by some forlorn gallant, who 
 poured into his faithful bosom the oft- 
 repeated tale of woman's folly and perver- 
 sity. He listened patiently to the moment- 
 ous narration of little quarrels and cross- 
 es, and looked on with a sturdy gravity, 
 while his garrulous clients ran over, with 
 many flourishes and circumlocutions, the 
 whole catalogue of the words, looks, 
 frowns, smiles, nods, and gestures of their 
 mysterious mistresses. He gave good ad- 
 vice, assisted in the composition of letters 
 and verses, and sometimes delivered mes- 
 sages. As all the world is ruled by fash- 
 ion, there was in those days a vast deal of 
 love-making done at Alamanca, and a brisk 
 business in the way of weddings was short- 
 ly expected. It was, however, in all cases 
 agreed to wait for the arrival of Henry 
 Warden, and thus the return of that popu- 
 lar young gentleman was expected with a 
 lively interest; a solicitude, by the way, 
 in which some of his female friends par- 
 ticipated. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 HOME AGAIN AFTER A LONG ABSENCE. 
 
 The Warden mansion was refitted, the 
 estate repaired, and the place beginning to 
 wear its former appearance. All the liv- 
 ing, except Henry, were again gathered to 
 their former home, and with them, dwell- 
 ing as a member of the family, was Donald 
 M'Leod. The master chose to reside 
 mostly with Mrs. Mayfield; and to Edith, 
 who had become a favourite with him, he 
 confided all the love secrets which he 
 heard. She shared, with him, an interest 
 
 in such things, and having, from expe- 
 rience, learned the fatal effects of incon- 
 siderate and hasty pets and quarrels, she 
 made it her business to heal divisions and 
 bring about a fair understanding between 
 enamoured couples. Her influence with 
 the ladies was very great, and her advice, 
 which was gently insinuated and never 
 given in the shape of lectures, was always 
 wholesome and judicious, for misfortunes 
 and reflection had made her wise beyond 
 her sex. There was not a poor, an un- 
 happy, or a needy wretch whom her char- 
 ity did not reach, and she was felt as a 
 blessing through all Alamance, though, 
 none but God and the receivers knew of 
 her bounties. She knew all the neigh- 
 bourhood histories by heart, and every day 
 she might be seen in some unhappy home, 
 listening to the good wife's long detail of 
 accideYits and misfortunes. She often vis- 
 ited the Wardens, whom she found much 
 depressed at the long absence of Henry, 
 from whom they had not heard since the 
 battle of Guilford. Indeed, George War- 
 den and his lady began secretly to mourn 
 their son as lost, when suddenly one day 
 the cry of " Master Henry ! Master Hen- 
 ry !" brought the white people to the door, 
 whence they saw old Ben and a troop of 
 negro boys running like mad down the 
 lane, shouting, whooping, and flinging up 
 their hats. In a few minutes a single 
 horseman emerged from the skirt of a 
 wood beyond the bridge, and then from 
 field, cabin, and mansion-house another 
 shout was raised, and Kate Warden, utter- 
 ly forgetting the presence of her lover, 
 bounded off like a young roe to meet her 
 brother. The latter was dragged from his 
 horse at the bridge by the negroes, in the 
 midst of whom he slowly moved along, at 
 least half a dozen of them holding by the 
 skirts of his coat, and the whole crowd 
 keeping up such a crying and yelling as 
 was never heard before. In this fashion 
 they moved up the lane, the negroes, with 
 the whole force of their melodious voices, 
 rolling out a most affecting triumphal song 
 with the burden t 
 
 " O-ho — O-ho, Master Henry's come again !"*j 
 and old Ben, with the big tears streaming 
 
 * The author well recollects having often heard 
 this air when a boy ; and, though very simple, he still 
 thinks it one of the most beautiful and pathetic he 
 ever heard. In all the different sets of words the 
 burden was some sort of family reunion, and the 
 most popular were those beginning 
 
 " O-ho — O-ho, Master William's coming home !" 
 
 The tune is extremely like that known as " Long 
 time ago," of which it is the original. This latter, 
 which is only one of a thousand like it, has been 
 rescued from oblivion by appropriate poetry. What 
 Burns or Moore will confer a lasting obligation on 
 every lover of good music by composing words foe 
 the others ? Here is a wide field for our Southern 
 bards. 
 
136 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 down his face, leading the band, swaying 
 his head to and fro, and clapping his hands, 
 till he became so happy that he suddenly 
 cut the music short, bellowing out, " Glory 
 be to the eternal God 'Almighty, Master 
 Henry's come again !" Henry walked on 
 in silence, and weeping like a very child 
 till he met his sister. The negroes now 
 made way for her, and flying into his arms, 
 she hung about his neqk, kissing him on 
 every part of his- face, as he did also with 
 her, till their overcharged hearts had re- 
 lieved themselves and they were able, with 
 their hands locked together, to continue 
 on to the house. Here followed another 
 scene, the father dropping some silent 
 tears, and the mother holding her son to 
 her breast as if fearful some one would 
 force him from her. M'Leod, who, from 
 proper feelings, had withdrawn, now.came 
 in, and after him a multitude of slaves, in- 
 cluding old and young, male and female, 
 the halt, the lame, and the blind. Among 
 the first things that Henry heard was the 
 news of Edith Mayfield's safe return to 
 Alamance ; and, desiring at once to inform 
 her of his arrival, and that he would visit 
 her early next day, he went out to look 
 for Ben. That faithful servant, however, 
 was nowhere to be found. He had, as 
 it afterward appeared, taken the fleetest 
 horse in the stables, and, like a Highland 
 courier, went flying over the neighbour- 
 hood, shouting, as he passed each house, 
 that Master Henry had returned. Thus it 
 happened, that in the course of that very 
 evening a number of his friends called on 
 Warden, and among them were Ben Rust, 
 Hector M'Bride, and the men who had 
 fought at the battle of Camden. But 
 though Henry was truly glad to see his 
 family and his friends, and though he had 
 much to tell, and much to hear, that was 
 to him the longest evening and night he 
 had ever spent. His toilet next morning 
 was more attended to than it had been for 
 years ; and, leaving the master at his fa- 
 ther's, he started early for the Mayfields. 
 As he neared the house he was met by a 
 servant, who said that his mistress desired 
 him, for God's sake, to return immediate- 
 ly, as Miss Edith had the night before been 
 taken ill with the small-pox. " If there 
 were forty devils in the house I would en- 
 ter it," exclaimed Warden, impatiently 
 spurring on his horse, and paying no at- 
 tention to the entreaties of the slave. In 
 the yard he was met by Mrs. Mayfield, 
 who in vain tried to conceal her emotion, 
 and who, after a considerable struggle with 
 herself, repeated the information of the 
 servant. 
 
 " How is it possible that you can tell the 
 disease so soon V asked Henry ; " I thought 
 it took several days to develope its char- 
 acter." 
 
 " I km familiar with the symptoms," 
 
 answered Mrs. Mayfield, "and so is the 
 doctor, who agrees with me that it is cer- 
 tainly the small-pox." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Mayfield," said Henry, 
 "I am not afraid for myself; and to pre- 
 vent my carrying the disease abroad I will 
 remain with you till Edith recovers. If it 
 is not indelicate, do, I beseech you, for 
 God's sake, let me see her ; let me only 
 get a glimpse of her face." 
 
 " I am extremely sorry that it is impos- 
 sible," replied Mrs. Mayfield. " Edith is in. 
 bed and quite unwell, and it is her own 
 request that you should come no nearer. 
 For myself, I am inclined to gratify your 
 wishes, even at the risk of your safety ; 
 but you know I would not tell you a story 
 when I say she insists that you return at 
 once. I will bear your love to her, how- 
 ever, and bring you her answer." 
 
 " Do, if you please, and ask her how it 
 is possible for me to serve her." 
 
 The good woman soon returned, bring- 
 ing a kind message from Edith, and a 
 request that Henry would instantly return, 
 and wait patiently till she recovered. . He 
 had to submit, and went home with a heavy 
 heart. His news astonished and affected 
 every body ; and the master, who had been 
 inoculated, after arranging with Henry a 
 plan of communication, immediately took 
 his leave. Henry Warden had now leis- 
 ure to hear the history of Lucy Neal ; and, 
 occupied as he was with thoughts for 
 Edith's safety, he found time sincerely to 
 mourn for his tender friend of the mount- 
 ains. He deeply lamented that he had 
 ever seen her, and although while with her 
 he had acted with more than mortal firm- 
 ness and prudence, he bitterly condemned 
 himself, and even went so far as to consult 
 the Rev. Dr: Caldwell upon the morality 
 of his conduct. The reverend gentleman 
 resolved his doubts ; and with a lighter 
 conscience he went every day to see the 
 master, and hear from Edith. She soon 
 took a turn for the better, and rapidly re- 
 covered ; but when Henry thought he might 
 see her with impunity he was astounded 
 by the reception of the following note : 
 
 " Me. Warden : 
 " If you would consult your own happiness 
 and mine, you must forget me. That you may 
 not think me unreasonable, I need only remind 
 you of the sad and lasting injury the small-pox 
 does to personal beauty. It is true I had little 
 before, but then I was not a fright. Think on 
 me as on the dead, and know that I pray for 
 your happiness. Adieu ! 
 
 " Edith Mayfield. " 
 
 Henry sent a thousand urgent messages 
 by the master, and finding them of no avail,' 
 he took to writing ; and as his correspon- 
 dence may be interesting to those in love, 
 it is given in the following chapter. 
 
ALAMANC V E. 
 
 137 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 Letter First, from Henry Warden to Edith 
 Mayfield. 
 "Dear Edith, 
 
 " I am loath to question, in any particular, 
 the reasonableness of your conduct ; but 1 
 must be permitted to say, that I think you are 
 now acting strangely. Do not, I beseech you, 
 understand me as chiding you; I would not, 
 for my own right hand, utter an unkind word. 
 I have never done it. From a child I have 
 ever loved you more than my own life, and in 
 all my wanderings and trials your image has 
 ever been present to my heart. I have never, 
 for a moment, ceased to think of you for years; 
 but how have 1 thought of you 1 Not as (what 
 you were most truly) a beautiful lady ; not as 
 an heiress ; not as connected with any thing 
 temporal or perishable. Having grown up with 
 you, it is your mind and heart, your soul, if I 
 may say so, which I have learned to love ; and 
 as long as these remain what they were and 
 what they are, I shall never cease to love you 
 and think you beautiful. Your voice, I doubt 
 not, still sounds with its wonted melody ; your 
 temper still serene, the goodness of your heart 
 boundless, the beauties of your mind rich, rare, 
 and enchanting. Do you suppose that, had it 
 pleased Providence to unite 'us, I would not 
 have loved you with tender devotion till your 
 latest breath 1 And yet we see that personal 
 beauty soon begins to fade. I declare to you, 
 solemnly, that, be you what you may, you are 
 still as dear, far dearer than you ever were be- 
 fore. Then, if you love me, why not let me 
 see you'? If you love me, why bury yourself 
 from the world 1 If you love me, why need 
 you care what others think of your appearance'! 
 Oh, for Heaven's sake, let me see you, if it is 
 only once. 
 
 " With the most sincere devotion, I remain 
 yours, 
 
 " Henry Warden." 
 
 Edith's Answer. 
 " Mr. Warden, 
 " I had hoped that, after my first note, it 
 would not -be necessary for me to write again. 
 It seems to me that you are infatuated — I say 
 it respectfully — and that you are permitting 
 your imagination to deceive you. You think 
 you regard me with affection, and, indeed, it is 
 possible that you may; but is it not Edith as 
 she was that you love 1 Tell me, when you 
 think of me now, do you see, in your mind's 
 eye, a form emaciated and bent ; a face deeply 
 pitted and scarred, eyes bleared, and head 
 almost entirely bald ? Is not this a disgusting 
 picture 1 And yet you force me to draw it, and 
 would be guilty of the indelicacy of looking on 
 it. As soon as you see me there will be a 
 terrible revulsion in your feelings, and you 
 could not even respect me again. Need I 
 say more to a gentleman of your sensibilities 1 
 Please burn this. Adieu ! 
 
 " Edith Mayfield." 
 
 Letter Second, from Henry Warden. 
 "My Dear Edith, 
 " With natural diffidence I used, in my 
 former letter, the. simple prefix of 'dear? I 
 
 now take the liberty of prefixing ' my' to that. 
 You are mine, for you do not deny that you 
 once have loved me. If we gave our hearts to 
 each other, were we not married in the sight 
 of Heaven 1 And you know the solemn in- 
 junction, 'Whom God hath joined, let no man 
 put asunder !' Edith, my dear, dear Edith, 
 what do you take me for 1 Is it possible that 
 you have regarded me as a giddy body, a light- 
 hearted, gay Lothario, one of those dull com- 
 pounds of animated clay, who are incapable 
 of a feeling that is not conveyed through the 
 medium of the senses 1 If you did, then such 
 a being as you never could have loved me ; 
 if you did not, then you ought to know, that it 
 was not your face, and its fading ornaments, 
 that won the adoration of my soul. I have 
 attentively regarded the picture which you 
 have drawn : I have even added some darker 
 touches ; and I say, in all sincerity, and God is 
 my witness, I love you ! and there is no power 
 in eloquence, or in poetry, to express what I 
 mean by that simple sentence. I can express 
 it only by my actions ; by a constant devotion, 
 a boundless tenderness, a ceaseless exertion 
 of every faculty of soul and body to minister to 
 your happiness while you live. Try me, oh, try 
 me, I beseech you ; and if I prove not, to the 
 letter, what I have promised, may my name be 
 covered with perpetual infamy ! Edith ! I am 
 not infatuated : I am not deceived by my 
 imagination. I have gone through many 
 trials ; I have been sobered by years of ad- 
 versity ; I have had time to, reflect and weigh 
 things dispassionately. We have both gone 
 through a fiery ordeal ; and now, with en- 
 larged and proper views, with chastened de- 
 sires, and hearts purified from all the giddy 
 vanities of youth, although we are yet young, 
 how happy, how lastingly happy could we be 
 together ! Again I entreat you, I beg you, if 
 you have any regard for my happiness — if you 
 would not make me a wreck, a gloomy, mis- 
 anthropic wretch for life, let me see you ! let 
 met touch your hand again ; let me hear, if 
 but once, the dear, dear sound of your voice ! 
 Please, please let me see you, and then you 
 may impose your own conditions. I want , 
 only a chance of speaking to you, for I cannot 
 convey my earnest thoughts by letter, 
 
 " With the most tender and lasting affec- 
 tion, 
 
 " Henry Warden." 
 
 In about a week the following answer 
 was returned : 
 
 " Mr. Warden, 
 "Why do you continue to persecute me? 
 I ask you again — nay, I command you, forget 
 " Edith Mayfield." 
 
 Letter Third from Henry Warden. 
 "My Dearest Edith: I have ever been 
 ready to obey your commands till now. You 
 order ine to do an impossibility, and I tell you 
 plainly, and once for all, I cannot, I will not 
 forget you. Forget you ! Forget the sweetest 
 hope of my life, the only object that binds me 
 to earth ! It is you who are infatuated ; it is 
 you who have permitted your own darkly brood- 
 ing imagination to deceive you. Edith ! my 
 dearest Edith, why do you not listen to reason ? 
 
138 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 Why do you not, if you can, answer my let- 
 ters 1 Does not my whole life prove how ar- 
 dently, how constantly, how truly I have loved 
 youl Has not my affection been tested by 
 every sort of discouraging obstacle — by your 
 own apparent coldness, by long absence, by 
 severe temptations 1 Was I not, after a long 
 absence from you — after you had slighted, in- 
 sulted, and spurned me — thrown into the society 
 of a most beautiful and enchanting creature, 
 whose untimely end we all lament 1 Have not 
 beauty, wit, elegance, flattery, wealth, and par- 
 tiality in vain made attempts upon my heart 1 
 Again, you do not deny that you love me ; and, 
 as you are acting without reason, I'll tell you 
 what I mean to do. I intend to persecute you 
 with letters every day; I'll send messengers, 
 I'll beset your path, waylay you, watch night 
 and day for you until I see you. If you expect 
 to get rid of me, you must lock yourself in your 
 room, and there remain, and never see a hu- 
 man being, for I'll bribe every servant on the 
 place to petition you in my behalf. The siege 
 is now regularly commenced, and you may as 
 well surrender at once. 
 " Yours, in the bonds of eternal love. 
 
 " Henky Warden." 
 
 The next day Henry Warden received 
 the following answer: 
 
 " Mr. Warden : As you seem to be so cruel- 
 minded, I will grant your request, but on this 
 express condition : You are barely to see me 
 and speak to me, and then retire to persecute 
 me no more. You must exhibit no emotion ; 
 speak not of love, and never mention the ugli- 
 ness of my person. I trust to your honor in 
 this, and hope, as you are a gentlemen, you will 
 consult my wishes. 
 
 " Edith Mayfield." 
 
 Warden was so overjoyed at this per- 
 mission, that he was upon the road before 
 he began to reflect on the consequences of 
 his visit. It now struck him all at once 
 that Edith might be right, and the nearer 
 he approached the more he dreaded the 
 effect of her altered looks. His reflections 
 took a gloomy turn, and he again remem- 
 bered the advice of the master. He re- 
 membered, also, Lucy Neal, and she now 
 rose before his imagination more beautiful, 
 more tender and lovely than she had ever 
 seemed before. " What a strange fate has 
 been mine," thought he ; " how do all 
 things conspire to teach me the folly of 
 love. I have contended with fate — I have 
 
 mistaken my destiny — I have " but he 
 
 was now at the gate. 
 
 The servant who took his horse seemed 
 sad; every thing about the place looked 
 gloomy, and even Mrs. Mayfield received 
 him with a mournful look. It appeared to 
 Warden that she tried hard to conceal her 
 extreme dejection, and he thought she 
 looked as if she was sorry he had come. 
 Saying to him, with a faint effort at a smile, 
 " Brace your nerves, Mr. Warden," she re- 
 tired, an opposite door opened, and War- 
 den, turning, beheld Edith Mayfield, blush- 
 
 ing like the morning, beautiful as the first 
 star of evening. She faltered at the door, 
 and Warden, catching her in his arms, the 
 past and the future vanished from the 
 minds of each, themselves, their situation, 
 and every thing else were forgotten in the 
 ecstacy of that blissful moment. The 
 minute-hand of the clock performed a rev- 
 olution, and Warden was still pressing 
 Edith in his arms, occasionally raising her 
 drooping head from his bosom to look into 
 her tearful eyes and fervently touch his 
 lips to hers, while at every kiss she wept 
 as if her heart were breaking. Something 
 was said by each — Warden, particularly, 
 murmured many broken sentences, but 
 neither knew then, nor ever have since, 
 what they were. He at length recovered 
 himself sufficiently to ask her why she 
 wept ; " I cannot help it," was her answer, 
 and again she wept and sobbed convulsive- 
 ly. He must needs press her still more 
 closely and kiss her again, and so they 
 continued, for how long no one knows. 
 She had proved his affection — she was sat- 
 isfied he had loved only her, and so, totally 
 forgetting her promised lecture about per- 
 secutions, she permitted him to set a day 
 for their nuptials. 
 
 The master looked very quizzically at 
 Warden when he returned, and, taking him 
 aside, he asked, with great gravity, " Didn't 
 you find that 1 the small-pox had made her- 
 a real monster ?" 
 
 " Pshaw !" exclaimed Warden ; " why did 
 you try to fool me so ?" 
 
 The services of the Rev. Dr. Caldwell 
 were now in great demand at Alamance, 
 and the good old gentleman eased many 
 an aching heart. 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 " Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
 And never brought to rriind ? 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
 And the days of auld lang syne ?" 
 
 Auld Lang Syne. 
 
 " The taste of Mrs. Warden and Of her 
 beautiful daughter and daughter-in-law 
 suggested these floral decorations ; but I 
 may say, without vanity, that they were 
 indebted to my skill for their execution. 
 It is true I received some assistance from 
 old black Ben, but he was clumsy and 
 awkward ; and as for those young gallants, 
 Henry Warden and Donald M'Leod, they 
 were too entirely absorbed with the con- 
 templation of their newly-married wives 
 to be worth a fig for any other purpose. 
 Upon the arch of the great gate, and on 
 both sides, were arranged festoons of flow- 
 ers, those on the outside being of a lilac 
 colour, and formed into letters so as to 
 spell very distinctly, 'Independence,' and 
 those on the inside and fronting the house 
 being of a deep crimson, and so adjusted 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 130 
 
 as to make the word ' Liberty' legible at a 
 great distance. Above each was the name 
 of ' Washington,' formed of beautiful white 
 roses, and around and beneath were various 
 emblematic representations, all formed of 
 .flowers whose various hues were so blend- 
 ed and contrasted as to make a most de- 
 lightful picture. Again, above the front 
 door of the house appeared the name of 
 ' Washington' in white roses, and under it 
 and formed of different coloured blossoms 
 were, ' Peace, Liberty, and Independence.' 
 Festoons, garlands, and crowns hung from 
 the boughs of different trees, and over the 
 walk, between the gate and house, was a 
 magnificent ' W,' formed of floral chains 
 that ran from tree to tree, and attached to 
 which there hung pendulous ornaments of 
 the most beautiful taste and finish, and 
 representing the thirteen United States." 
 
 This above extract is taken from that 
 part of the master's notes where he gives 
 a very minute and elaborate account of the 
 preparations made at Warden's for another 
 great entertainment. As was the case in 
 regard to the Christmas dinner, of which 
 we have before given an account, invita- 
 tions were sent to nearly all the Aiaman- 
 cers, and though it was an evening party, 
 the guests were expected to arrive at least 
 an hour before night. Accordingly, as the 
 sun was declining in the glowing west, 
 they came pouring in from all quarters of 
 the compass, and soon every Whig family 
 in the whole community was fully repre- 
 sented. When the company had all col- 
 lected, and the usual salutations had passed, 
 they were all requested to attend at a car- 
 peted platform in the yard, which had been 
 formed under one of the largest trees, and 
 on which stoo.d an empty arm-chair. In a 
 few minutes George Warden came leading 
 out an aged matron, and placing her in the 
 chair, spoke as follows : ~" My friends, be- 
 hold the mother of Alamance ! She lost 
 an only son in the war, and lo ! she has 
 found a host, of children !" 
 
 " Hail, mother of Alamance !" cried the 
 assembled multitude ; and each one pressed 
 forward to kiss her hand. 
 
 When they had all paid this. tribute of 
 reverence to their adopted mother, she 
 arose, and, with a trembling voice and 
 outstretched arms, exclaimed—" My chil- 
 dren — my children, the blessing of God be 
 with you all !" She could say no more ; 
 and, completely overcome by her emotions, 
 was supported into the house. There was 
 now a loud cry of " Edith Mayfieid ! Edith 
 Warden !" and, trembling and blushing, she 
 was led by the master and by her husband 
 upon the platform. Her appearance was 
 greeted with a tremendous shout ; and, amid 
 cries of "crown her! crown her queen!" 
 a band of ladies ascended the platform 
 and placed a beautiful coronet of flowers 
 and evergreens upon her head. " Three 
 
 cheers for Henry Warden!" were next 
 called for and given, whereupon Ben Rust 
 mounted the platform, and, calling for si- 
 lence, said, " My Christin friends, you've 
 all heern of the history of Edith Mayfieid, 
 that was, and how she was saved by the 
 beautiful Flora M'Donald. I told her when 
 we all got to Alamance we'd give her three 
 everlastin cheers ; and I want you all now 
 to holler as if you were hallooin to some 
 one in the moon !" The injunction was 
 obeyed, and then came three shouts for 
 General Greene, and three times three for 
 General Washington. The shadows of 
 evening were dispersing into darkness, 
 rows of suspended lamps and candles be- 
 gan to twinkle through the grove, and the 
 master, with a long manuscript in his hand, 
 rose upon the platform. "All hats off," 
 said he, " while I now read over this im- 
 mortal list — this scroll more honourable to 
 those whose names are on it than the 
 lying pages of heraldry or the Golden Book 
 of Venice. Here my friends are the orig- 
 inal resolutions signed at the memorable 
 exhibition at the old field, school ; and now 
 we will see who has fallen in the strife, 
 who proved recreant, and who still live to 
 reap the glorious rewards of their deeds. 
 The names of the miscreants who broke 
 their solemn pledges are marked with the 
 word traitor after each, and those of our 
 friends who are now no more with stars 
 or asterisks. My own name it is unne- 
 cessary to call, for I stand here before 
 you." 
 
 "We'll cheer you though," some one 
 said, and at it they went. 
 
 " David Caldwell !" said the master. 
 " Here !" was the answer, and again three 
 deafening shouts rent the air. The mas- 
 ter continued : " Edward Forbes !" There 
 was a deep silence for a minute, when the 
 master exclaimed, " Eternal honour to his 
 name and everlasting peace to his soul !" , 
 " Amen !" responded the audience ; and at 
 the next call groans and hisses resounded 
 through the company. Thus the call was 
 continued, the multitude sometimes hiss- 
 ing, sometimes shouting, and at others pre- 
 serving a sad and solemn silence. When 
 the names of Ben Rust and Warden's Ben 
 were pronounced, those two worthies were 
 first cheered separately and then together, 
 and finally forced upon the stage, where 
 their awkward appearance was greeted 
 with shouts, laughter, and a variety of ex- 
 pressions indicating their great popularity. 
 " And now," said the master, solemnly, " I 
 will call one for whose name you have 
 all been listening. I have reserved it pur- 
 posely for the last, that meet and proper 
 hOjiiours may be paid to the memory of 
 the heroic dead. Brave in battle, constant 
 in friendship, just and generous in all the 
 relations of life, that mighty heart is now 
 cold forever ! Cornelius Demijohn !" 
 
rio 
 
 ALA M A N C E. 
 
 " Here !" thundered a sonorous and por- 
 tentous voice in the direction of the gate, 
 and the multitude, looking round, were* as- 
 tonished and confounded at what they saw. 
 , Notwithstanding the unspiritual tramp 
 of Uncle Corny's feet, the Alamancers 
 were inclined to the belief that they saw 
 a ghost, and shrunk shyly from the ap- 
 proaching apparition, until Henry War- 
 den, calling for immediate attention, said : 
 " You need not be afraid, my friends. 
 Uncle Corny was with me in the army of 
 General Greene ; he returned with me ; 
 and, as we came to his mother's first, 
 and there learned that he was generally 
 mourned as dead, it was agreed that he 
 should remain secluded at home until 
 some public gathering should take place, 
 when he was suddenly to make his ap- 
 pearance. I assure you that you see no 
 ghost; and if you will handle him, you 
 will find he is a most substantial mass of 
 living flesh." 
 
 They did handle him now, much to the 
 amusement of some, and greatly to his 
 own fatigue ; for, what with the hugging 
 and kissing of the ladies, the shaking of 
 his hands by the men, and the annoyances 
 of the children who swung by the skirts 
 of his coat and climbed up his legs, he 
 was soon completely out of breath, and 
 panted more fiercely, and sweated more 
 profusely than he had done in the hottest 
 engagement on the field of battle. Next, 
 in the fullness of their hearts, the Ala- 
 mancers called for Donald M'Leod ; and, 
 as he rose upon the stage, he was saluted 
 with enthusiastic and prolonged applause. 
 The tears started down the young sol- 
 dier's face ; and as he said, " I know to 
 whom I am indebted for this — neverthe- 
 less, I am now an American in heart and 
 soul," the uproar became tremendous. At 
 length, the Rev. Dr. Caldwell was brought 
 upon his legs ; but had he spoken in trum- 
 pet-tones, nobody could have heard a word 
 he said, so great had become the excite- 
 ment of the multitude, and so furiously 
 did they shout around him. Supper was 
 now announced, and was duly honoured 
 in an arbour constructed for the purpose. 
 After this, to the tune of " Auld Lang 
 Syne," was sung a beautiful song of the 
 master's composition.* 
 
 Those who could, and those who 
 couldn't sing, joined fiercely in the cho- 
 rus, and it is impossible to say how many 
 absurd and foolish things were done while 
 
 * This song, which was long a favourite one at 
 Alamance, is among the master's papers. We 
 have preferred to leave it out, as well as that on 
 the death of Lucy Neat: 1st, because there are 
 innumerable sets of words to both airs, and we 
 might, therefore, be accused of plagiarism ; and, 
 2nd, because we have already given, perhaps, too 
 many specimens of the master's verse, and prefer 
 to keep these, the best, till they are called for in 
 another edition. — Ed. 
 
 all hearts were in a state of fusion. Old 
 ladies and young were very passive — hus- 
 bands were not particular as to whose 
 wives they hugged and kissed, and the 
 master — he confesses it himself — even the 
 master embraced at least a dozen with the 
 most affectionate fervour before he knew 
 what he was about. There were two per- 
 sons, however, whom the music caused 
 only to think of each other. Their eyes 
 met, and their hands were joined when 
 the song commenced; and long before it 
 was over, Edith was weeping, in the arms 
 of Henry Warden, who was straining her 
 to his bosom, and kissing her as tenderly 
 and incessantly as if he had not seen her 
 before for years. But this was done in a 
 corner ; and every body was too busy with 
 his and her own emotions to observe it. 
 What other things were done, and what 
 said, lo ! they are written in the Book of 
 the Chronicles of Alamance. 
 
 Letter from the Master to his friend, J. R., of 
 Philadelphia. 
 Mountain Home, December 1st, 179- 
 
 " My dear Sir — When you were at Ala- 
 mance, you seemed pleased with the perusal of 
 my 'Notes,' and were good enough to express 
 a desire to hear the future history of some of 
 those who had been so happily reunited. The 
 task is a grateful one to me, for I am about to 
 record what should make the heart of every 
 philanthropist throb with pleasure. My friend, 
 there is yet hope for the world ; our race may 
 yet be happy. I have seen with my own eyes 
 two things which, from the beginning, our 
 fathers wished in vain to see — two things of 
 which much has been said and more written 
 since the foundation of the world, but which 
 have been reserved for this our blessed day and 
 generation. / have seen a great man and a hap- 
 py love ; with my own eyes have I seen them. 
 That part of this is true you will not dispute ; 
 that you may know the other part is equally 
 certain, I will detail to you some particulars 
 that must interest every lover of his race. My 
 opportunities for judging have been good ; for 
 though all Alamance is my home, and though I 
 have furnished apartments and keep a servant 
 at George Warden's, Esther Bell's, and here, 
 most of my library is at this place, where I 
 spend the larger portion of my time. I have 
 been, too, a curious observer, and you know on 
 which side my prejudices leaned, 
 
 "I look upon Henry Warden and his accom- 
 plished lady as the most remarkable people I ' 
 have ever known. They have now been mar- 
 ried several years, and, will you believe me, he 
 is as gracious, attentive, and tender, and she as 
 affectionate, gentle, and devoted as on the week 
 of their nuptials. With the native modesty, 
 diffidence, and sensibility for which each is re- 
 markable, they studiously avoid all fond displays 
 in public, and yet it may be observed that in all 
 places and at all times their eyes, full of soft 
 meaning, will steal towards eadh other, and 
 that their souls are thus in constant and secret 
 communion. On all subjects, from the greatest 
 to the smallest, theyjthijji-as.acUy alike, and 
 while he regards her as the perfection of all 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 lil 
 
 that is chastely fair, purely innocent, discreet, 
 and tender, he is, in her eyes, the mirror of all 
 the heroic virtues, of manliness, generosity, 
 and intellectual beauty. They are kind to their 
 Eeighbors, social in their dispositions, and dear- 
 ly beloved through all Alamance ; yet it is evi- 
 dent that their own inclinations would lead 
 thern to seek only the society of each other, 
 and that they are happiest when by themselves. 
 She is his confident in all things, his counselor 
 in all things, his most desired companion and 
 his fastest friend ; to him are all her thoughts, 
 feelings, and emotions imparted, and to him, 
 and him only, does she reveal all she hears. 
 Their sensibilities, so far from becoming blunt- 
 ed by familiarity with each other, become daily 
 more refined, each one improving by the union 
 — he in gentleness and purity of manners, and 
 she in intelligence, prudence, and matronly 
 grace and dignity. His honor and his welfare 
 absorb her existence ; her happiness is the 
 chief end of his. They never separate, even 
 for a day, without a most affecting leave-taking ; 
 he writes to her every day while absent; and 
 when he returns, which is always punctually at 
 the hour agreed, she hangs fondly about his 
 neck, kissing him as tenderly and sometimes 
 weeping as joyfully as if she were a bride of 
 ten days' standing. They sit in church, and 
 walk, when by themselves, with hands locked 
 together ; and often, when he stays longer than 
 usual in his study, she will steal softly to the 
 door, and, if no one is present, will throw her 
 arms about him and embrace him with the 
 greatest playfulness and most tender affection. 
 She is a most tidy housekeeper ; personally su- 
 perintends all her household affairs, and, study- 
 ing her husband's tastes, arranges every thing 
 exactly according to his notions. When com- 
 pany is present, she lets her husband lead in 
 the conversation, and it is gratifying and amus- 
 ing to see how her eyes sparkle and her cheeks 
 glow at every witty or eloquent sally that falls 
 from his lips. Occasionally she reads to him, and 
 copies letters and papers for him ; but at such 
 times she makes little progress, being perpetu- 
 ally interrupted by the amorous caresses of her 
 lord. When they did not know there was a 
 looker-on, I have seen them sitting together in 
 the great arm-chair, reading out of the same 
 book, and being affected by the same emotions 
 at the same time : they would, every now and 
 then, look into each other's eyes, smiling or 
 shedding tears, touch their lips together, and 
 then, without saying a word, continue to read. 
 They have two children — two scions worthy 
 of the parent stock. The oldest is a bright- 
 eyed, sturdy, manly boy, who is the constant 
 companion and sworn friend of your servant, 
 with whom he has some of the rarest frolics. 
 Henry wished to name him Washington M l - 
 Bride, but Edith would have him called Henry 
 Washington. The other is a girl — a real gem 
 — a sweet blossom and the exact miniature of 
 her mother. Her Edith desired to name after 
 the lamented Lucy Neal ; but the husband's 
 wishes now prevailed, and she was called after 
 her whose name is to him the sweetest of all 
 sounds. It is agreed, however, that 1 and Lucy 
 shall be remembered, and, in the mean time, I 
 may observe that I have been duly honoured 
 by others, and particularly by my plain friend, 
 
 Rust, who calls his boy " Young Prox," or 
 " Proximus," though his baptismal name is 
 Benjamin Warden Hector M'Donald Rust.. 
 Ben and Nannie live very quietly and contented- 
 ly ; helookingupto Henry Warden as the central 
 moral sun of the universe, and she being always 
 happy, at any hazard, to pleasure Edith. Don- 
 ald M'Leod and Kate are quite happy, living yet 
 with George Warden and his wife, who are dil- 
 igently employed in spoiling their grandson, 
 George Washington M'Leod. It is settled, 
 however, that Henry is to live at the old place, 
 taking with him his mother-in-law, and that 
 Donald and Kate are soon to remove to a place 
 near by, where buildings are going up. As to 
 Uncle Corny, I am happy to inform you that, 
 a year or two ago, he laid regular siege to the f 
 fat widow with whom he had the adventure at J 
 the exhibition at the old field school ; and thus, 
 it is to be hoped, the race of the Demijohns 
 will not become extinct. The widow, as Ii 
 opine, would be glad to have him any day ; but 
 Uncle Corny began at the beginning and car- 
 ries on his approaches with great exactitude, 
 after the most ancient and approved forms and 
 precedents. 
 
 " I could tell him of a Hudibrastic maxim 
 about the proper way of courting widows ; but 
 he is a grave and punctilious man, and withal 
 a good listener, and I would not wound his sen- 
 sitive feelings for the world. He is a great 
 friend of George Warden ; looks on the father 
 as Rust does on the son, and will resent in- 
 stantly the least reflection on his friend. The 
 old field school is in a flourishing condition, 
 being under the care of an estimable and learn- 
 ed man of my selection, and subject to my 
 constant visitation and supervision. 
 
 " Nathan Glutson, as I have heard, with all 
 our other unworthy characters, settled in the 
 West, where, it is said, he is now a leading, in- 
 fluential, and violent politician, professing to be 
 an extreme republican, and having supplanted 
 more worthy men who had served their coun- 
 try faithfully, but who are not so fluent nor so 
 liberal in their indelicate professions of love for 
 the people. This is a very probable story, for 
 I have myself seen something like it. The 
 Alamancers and many worthy citizens of the 
 county wished Henry Warden to represent 
 them in our State Assembly. Opposed to him 
 was a young man whose father I knew to be 
 one of the vilest Tories, but from a proper feel- 
 ing, I and others who knew the fact, said noth- 
 ing about it. Would you believe it 1 this worthy 
 scion of a traitorous father declaimed furiously 
 about British influence, and had the unblushing 
 impudence to arraign Henry Warden as a friend 
 to England, because his sister had married Don- 
 ald M'Leod ! My young friend, whose refined 
 sensibilities were shocked at such demagogue- 
 ism, withdrew from the canvass, and resolved. to 
 live a private citizen — a resolution by which 
 the public will lose infinitely more than himself. 
 But such things are natural enough, and must, 
 I suppose, be common every where. Those 
 whose love of plunder destroyed all their pa- 
 triotism and their honesty, drowning conscience 
 and all sense of shame, and made them take 
 sides against their country in the day of her 
 trial, still true to their ruling passion, will novr 
 out-Herod Herod, bid adieu to decency, belie 
 
142 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 all history, and, with the roost brazen effront- 
 ery, clamour for the emoluments of office. To 
 what, my friend, will such things lead? What 
 will be the result of the grand and glorious ex- 
 periment we are beginning? Will the people 
 be bestrode by demagogues, and our govern- 
 ment follow in the track of all republics? Oh, 
 that I could live to witness the solution of this 
 problem ! But I am in the autumn of my life ; 
 I have fallen into the "sere and yellow leaf," 
 and, according to the course of nature, must 
 soon be gathered to my fathers. Well : I have 
 seen Washington, and surely his mission was 
 not in vain ; surely, as the Latins have it, 'Nee 
 Deus inter sit nisi dignusvindi.ee nodus incident.' 
 This reflection is a consolation, for he must 
 have been sent for a mighty purpose. 
 
 "I spend my time agreeably, conversing 
 gravely with my reverend friend, Dr. Caldwell, 
 gossiping with my neighbors, superintending 
 the school, correcting my 'Notes,' romping 
 with the children, and poring over Cicero de 
 Senectate, Aristotle's Politics, Seneca's Morals, 
 and Tristram Shandy. If you see , pre- 
 sent my best regards to him, and accept for 
 yourself assurances of my kind esteem. I 
 should be pleased, at all times, to hear from 
 you, and remain, 
 
 "Your friend, 
 
 "Hector M'Bride." 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 CONTAINS MORE SENTIMENT THAN INCIDENT, 
 AND NOT MUCH OF EITHER. 
 
 Though the gentle pressure of Edith's 
 hand, and the soft whispers of her voice, 
 were to Henry Warden like a draught of 
 Lethe's waters, rendering him oblivious of 
 care and sorrow, they did not cause him 
 to forget his duties. Now that his own 
 happiness was secured, he more than ever 
 compassionated the ills of others, and 
 found, in the breast where his own anxie- 
 ties were buried, a sweet sympathy with 
 all his generous wishes and designs. And, 
 first, he remembered the Scotchman whom 
 Ross had injured ; and, fearing that age and 
 want might be pressing hard on the old 
 man, he prepared to pay him a visit. The 
 country was still in an unsettled state, and 
 the roads dangerous ; but Warden, feeling 
 bound to undertake the journey, tore him- 
 self from the arms of his fair young wife, 
 and with his accustomed confidence in the 
 special care of an overruling Providence, 
 assured her that they would soon and hap- 
 pily meet again. He was accompanied 
 by his servant Ben, and by his friend the 
 master, who expected to be able to add a 
 new chapter to his singular experience. 
 
 " I have thought much upon the story 
 of Ross," said the last-named, when they 
 were on the road, " and it strikes me that 
 there are some plausible propositions in 
 his remarks." 
 
 Warden. — " To what do you allude ? 
 
 You surely do not wish to discuss with me, 
 a married man, the subject of love V' 
 
 M'Bride. — " God forbid ! You are in- 
 deed married, my friend, and I would not 
 deserve the name of man or Christian could 
 I be guilty of using in your presence lan- 
 guage calculated to weaken in your mind 
 the sacred obligation which you have con- 
 tracted. Marriage is a divine institute ; 
 and, besides this, you are wedded to one 
 whom none but the steeled philosopher 
 can see and not adore." 
 
 Warden. — " J would join in that praise, 
 but I cannot speak of Edith to my nearest 
 friends. I have often thought that those 
 who talk freely of their wives, even in 
 compliment, are brutes." 
 
 The Master. — " And I think so too. I 
 must, however, make one remark about 
 my sweet friend, and that is this : I ascer- 
 tained, before the day of your nuptials, that 
 she was all you had fancied her — such a 
 being as I once vainly hoped to find. Now, 
 what is the inference to be drawn 1 Some 
 accident must happen, otherwise it would 
 seem that God's curse upon Adam and his 
 seed was intended with exceptions. If 
 two such beings as you and Edith are al- 
 lowed to live prosperously together, you 
 will enjoy an Eden equal almost to that 
 from which all are excluded. The curse 
 is on our race to the latest posterity ; at 
 least, till the ' millennium.' " 
 
 Warden. — " How fallible are men's opin- 
 ions ! How can mortals be wise, when 
 their reasoning depends entirely on their 
 physical organization and on their expe- 
 rience ? Now, here are you and myself ; 
 both are dispassionate, both honestly de- 
 sirous of arriving at truth; and yet how 
 widely apart are we in opinion ! You are 
 forever desponding — I am always hoping. 
 Indeed ' Hope on, hope ever,' is my mot- 
 to ; and in the darkest hours I ever believe 
 there is a good time coming." 
 
 The Master. — " I can demonstrate that 
 you are mistaken. Has not God cursed 
 the race, and allotted to us here toil, dis- 
 appointment, and sorrow 1 Now if one in- 
 dividual can escape this doom all the race 
 may also." 
 
 Warden. — "Premises and conclusions 
 are conceded. Although in Adam's fall 
 the perfect fidelity of the race here was 
 wrecked, yet all was not lost. We cannot 
 be perfectly happy until we are perfectly 
 good, and I very willingly agree that 
 none are or can be righteous. Yet we 
 may, as individuals, or as a nation, ap- 
 proximate the standard of righteousness, 
 and our happiness will be proportioned. 
 For instance, are not you — a pious, let- 
 tered, and temperate man — infinitely more 
 happy than the beastly, vicious, and igno- 
 rant sot who wallows in filth and sin! 
 Even so the man who is better and wiser 
 than you may be proportionably happier. 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 143 
 
 But, as I said before, none can be entirely 
 blest here, for if no other evil were to be- 
 fal us, death— ^death — the most awful ca- 
 lamity, is the portion of us all. I expect 
 to be contented and happy ; yet I also ex- 
 pect occasional disappointments, mortal 
 pains, toil, the decrepitude of old age, and 
 the pangs of dissolution. Still I will be 
 happy ; a good, greater than the evil, will 
 follow me, and in the very hour of death 
 my soul will dilate with glorious anticipa- 
 tions of a blessed immortality." 
 
 M'Bride. — "I acknowledge that there 
 are degrees in happiness, and that we are 
 blest according to our deeds ; but is it not 
 ordained that no one shall go beyond a 
 certain point 1 I think so, and I believe 
 that individuals and nations have hereto- 
 fore been as happy as they will be .hereaf- 
 ter. If you will look back on the course 
 of things, you will find that there is a cer- 
 tain point of improvement beyond which 
 we are not allowed to pass." 
 
 Warden. — " So the ancient navigators 
 thought in regard to the ocean. For ages 
 and ages no one crossed the Atlantic 
 Ocean, and it was supposed that no one 
 could. To attempt it was. believed to be a 
 rebellion against the decrees of the Al- 
 mighty ; and yet the madman Columbus 
 sailed fearlessly over the forbidden line, 
 and discovered a glorious new continent. 
 So will it be with our political Columbus ; 
 and as much as this continent excels the 
 old ones in the fertility of its soil, the 
 wealth of its mines, and the beauty and 
 grandeur of its scenes, so much shall the 
 wisdom and excellence of our government 
 excel those of all other forms. I tell you 
 there is a good time coming." 
 
 The Master. — " So thought the fabled Si- 
 syphus ; so man has thought since the day 
 of his fall, and yet every successive gen- 
 eration has followed in the beaten track. 
 There is, indeed, a good time coming ; He 
 that cannot lie has promised it, but it will 
 be after the head of the Serpent has been 
 bruised— after the old Dragon, man's im- 
 mortal enemy, has been seized and bound." 
 
 Warden. — " But will we not conquer him 
 by degrees ? — gradually narrow the limits 
 of his dominion?" 
 
 The Master. — " He will, I fear, still reign 
 in the hearts of a majority, and while that 
 is the case, what hope is there 1 The 
 fairest, most honest; and best form of gov- 
 ernment is the democratic ; but suppose 
 we had a democracy or republic. For a 
 while the memory of the glorious revolu- 
 tion through which we have passed, and 
 of the virtues of its actors, would keep 
 alive a patriotic spirit ; but this cannot long 
 survive. The world is certainly divided 
 into two great classes, and the evil ones 
 are in the majority. These latter will be 
 forever seeking, in all sorts of ways, per 
 fas et nefas, to promote their own peculiar 
 
 interests, regardless of the rights of others. 
 The others — the minority, who do not so 
 desire, will not be let alone — cannot re- 
 main fixed in one position. The man who 
 resolves to attend to his own business, and 
 to be disconnected with the affairs of oth 1 
 ers, makes a foolish resolution. Even an 
 armed neutrality would be dangerous, for, 
 while he stands with his arms folded, his 
 rights, reputation, and fortune will be leav- 
 ing him." 
 
 Warden. — " Then you think man is the 
 common foe of man ?" 
 
 The Master. — " He is, not by design, but 
 made so by the ends he aims at. The 
 greater number are aiming at pre-emi- 
 nence ; at the possession of peculiar pow- 
 er, fortune, and privileges. Hence man- 
 kind consist, and will consist, of the suers 
 and the sued, of plaintiffs and defendants, 
 oppressors and oppressed. There is no 
 medium class, and those who attempt to 
 form one, and to go harmless through the 
 world, are common spoil, saved only by the 
 contentions of the pirates who may fight 
 among themselves over the prize. It will 
 not do to retire modestly within yourself, 
 hang your head meekly, and shrink timidly 
 from the world. Go where you will, to 
 the most remote and secluded islet on the 
 globe, and some roving plunderer will find 
 you out and spoil you of something, mon- 
 ey, lands, name, or position, with which to 
 enrich himself. I tell you, sir, you are on 
 a hostile coast — a great highway of rob- 
 bers, as old Burton has it, and at every 
 step you must fight or pay tribute to save 
 your skin. Thus it has been, thus it is, 
 and thus it ever will be ; the industrious 
 lowlanders, the honest citizens in the quiet 
 vales of life, must be subject to the black- 
 mail levy. Sometimes — as in our own re- 
 cent case — a whole nation, like a rare in- 
 dividual, will resist this tribute, but, before 
 it is aware of it, will be paying it to others. 
 We refused to be taxed by England, and 
 yet, before your hair is gray, we will be 
 tributary to a host of politicians and dem- 
 agogues, compared with whose exactions 
 the Stamp Act, and all its concomitants, 
 would have been an easy burden. Alas 
 for the world ! I must write a book." 
 
 Warden. — " I have often thought that, 
 of all the professions, an author's is the 
 most pleasant. He stands aloof from the 
 world for whose good he is labouring, and 
 with whose evil passions he never comes 
 in contact. The statesman, the lawyer, 
 and doctor, in the prosecution of their call- 
 ings, and the farmer and mechanic in 
 making a profit on the produce of their la- 
 bour, have to combat with keen-witted and 
 insatiable avarice, treachery, envy, and de- 
 traction. The author is happily freed from 
 this evil." 
 
 The Master. — " You were never more 
 mistaken in your life. First, there is the 
 
144 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 publisher, who wishes to make a fortune 
 out of the hard service of your brain, and 
 many of whom, totally without conscience, 
 would, for a mere pittance, take from the 
 needy son of genius works whose value 
 all the precious contents of Peru's mines 
 could not express. Secondly, there are 
 rival authors who are mortal, and who 
 scowl with the. v green eye of envy on a 
 rising star ; and, lastly, there are your pro- 
 fessed critics, the selfish land-sharks in lit- 
 erature, the thievish highlanders, piratical 
 ;rovers, who scour the seas in search of 
 plunder, making a living by destroying 
 others." 
 
 Warden. — " You are too hard on the 
 critics, who, as I had supposed, subserve a 
 most useful purpose. They are the cen- 
 sors of the press, public benefactors whose 
 vocation it is to purify the literature of a 
 nation from impurities and immoralities." 
 The Master.— "Stuff! stuff! Who's to 
 purify the critics ? If these men were ex- 
 empted from mortal infirmities — if they 
 were the best, the wisest, and discreetest 
 of mortals, there might be some reason 
 in your argument. But who are they, 
 these self-constituted censors, these awful 
 judges, who are to direct and instruct au- 
 thors and tie up the hands of genius ? 
 Miserable scribblers, who, unable to suc- 
 ceed as authors, become the plunderers of 
 authors. They have an origin in common 
 with the footpad and the pickpocket, hav- 
 ing turned their wits to the reputable call- 
 ing of preying on others. This is the true 
 history of your professed critics, and it 
 illustrates my theory of the two great 
 classes of oppressor and oppressed." 
 
 Warden. — " You cannot make me be- 
 lieve that they are not a useful class, and 
 subserve, in fact, a most invaluable pur- 
 pose." 
 
 The Master.—" So does the buzzard and 
 the carrion-crow ; and still they are very 
 filthy birds. When did the critics ever 
 discover the merits of an author before 
 the public found out his worth? Even 
 your honest critics are often at fault ; for 
 genius is not measured by square and 
 compass. Genius scorns all rules, and 
 yet the critic judges by rule. What would 
 the critics have thought of Shakspeare, 
 who violated all their sacred canons ? 
 What did they think of Dryden and Pope ? 
 What were their judgments on my late 
 friend — I call him my friend — the author 
 of Tristram Shandy ?" 
 
 Warden. — " I have never read the work 
 "to which you allude ; but from what I have 
 heard, it is by no means creditable to a 
 minister of the Gospel. It is said to 
 abound in low and vulgar wit, and licen- 
 tious allusions and remarks. Such things 
 are unbecoming in such a character." 
 
 It is impossible to describe the effect 
 which this speech produced on the mas- 
 
 ter. He pulled off his hat, heaved a deep 
 sigh, and then covered his head again ; 
 spurred his horse so furiously, that the 
 animal reared and plunged, and came near 
 breaking the neck of his rider, who at 
 last, placing himself by the side of his 
 friend, and looking him mournfully in the 
 face, exclaimed, " My friend, my friend, 
 you have sent an arrow through my heart ! 
 Oh God. that I should have heard you say 
 so !" 
 
 "What on earth is the matter.?" cried 
 Warden. " I am astonished, and can 
 hardly believe what I see and hear." 
 
 " And well you may be," said the mas- 
 ter ; " for of all the things you have ever 
 done and said, your opinion of Sterne— of 
 my friend Sterne — has hurt me most. I 
 do not regard the censure — he has been 
 used to that — but to hear it from you — 
 from my favourite pupil, my bosom friend, 
 the man whose heart and mind I have 
 trained, and in whom I have so justly glo- 
 ried ! But there is one consolation — you 
 have not read Tristram Shandy, and you 
 have formed yo.ur judgement from the opin- 
 ions and the miserable canting of the crit- 
 ics. The first thing I shall do on our re- 
 turn will be to put Sterne into your hands ; 
 and I know you will give him a fair and a 
 patient hearing. He was witty ; he did- 
 lash vice with an unsparing hand ; boldly 
 unmask the hypocrite, and call things by 
 their proper names. But cannot a clergy- 
 man be pleasant, and smile oftener than 
 frown ? His heart was gentle and as 
 kind as melting charity ; his wit sparkling ; 
 his humour boundless and inimitable ; his 
 taste pure ; his sentiments tender, just, 
 and fearless ; and his mind bright as yon 
 glowing sun. Oh, glorious and immortal 
 Sterne !" 
 
 Here the master, overcome with emo- 
 tion, pulled his hat over his eyes, spurred 
 up his horse, and began to whistle snatch- 
 es of a sad and pathetic air, when a sud- 
 den turn of the road brought him in con- 
 tact with a company of soldiers. 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 "Haply some hapless man hath conscience, 
 And for his conscience lives in beggary." 
 
 Marlowe. 
 
 " Well-bred gentlemen recognize and 
 trust each other whenever and wherever 
 they meet. The man of truth, honour, and 
 cultivated sensibilities is never long a stran- 
 ger to those of his kind when accident 
 throws him with them, and, in fact, he is 
 known as soon as he is seen. Thus it 
 was with Warden, the commander of the 
 soldiers, and myself, though perhaps I 
 should let another say it. I was, I hope, 
 and had always striven to be, a Christian 
 gentleman ; my young friend, Henry War- 
 den, was undoubtedly one in its noblest 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 145 
 
 sense, and such proved to be our new ; 
 companion, the officer alluded to, and in 
 whom I was glad to find and make the 
 acquaintance of Captain Alfred Moore, a 
 patriot partisan-leader of note, the de- 
 scendant of an ancient and honourable 
 family, and worthy himself to be the 
 founder of an illustrious house. I found 
 him to be what all leaders, civil and mili- 
 tary, ought to be, a thorough scholar and 
 well-read man ; and his manners and con- 
 versation fully sustained the character he 
 has borne in the annals of the state." 
 
 Thus speak the master's notes as he be- 
 gins to sketch another portrait, and to 
 illustrate it by a variety of anecdotes and 
 incidents, which at any time and in any 
 place would be interesting. The course 
 of our narrative, compels us, however, to 
 skip the pages devoted to Captain Moore, 
 and to follow the thread of the "story. 
 Moore and his soldiers were in quest of 
 forage, and as he and the Alamancers 
 were going in the same direction, they 
 travelled together for some time, when 
 they overtook an old Scotchman on the 
 road. They were among a Tory people, 
 and only the age and humble condition of 
 the old man shielded him from being harsh- 
 ly questioned. He was plainly dressed 
 and poorly mounted on a small, lean horse 
 of a peculiar species, known as " Sand- 
 trotters," and which manifested little sym- 
 pathy with the aspirations of the rider, who 
 maintained a proud reserve and courtly 
 air. His manner, contrasted with his situ- 
 ation and dress, struck all the company as 
 somewhat ludicrous ; but the old man was 
 with gentlemen, and thus protected from 
 the rude jests of the soldiers. He was 
 still suspected, however, of being a Tory ; 
 and though no injury was offered to his 
 person, nor any insult to his feelings, he 
 was ordered by Captain Moore to lead him 
 and" his men to some place where they 
 could be supplied with what they needed. 
 The aged Scotchman bowed slightly his 
 stately form, saying he was ready to assist 
 the patriots to the utmost of his ability. 
 " Though not in the field against him," he 
 continued, " I am no friend to the usurper 
 on the British throne, nor to any of his 
 race. True, I am one of a suspected race 
 and in a suspected country ; but if these 
 locks had not been whitened, and these 
 arms stiffened by the blight of age, there 
 would have been in all the American army 
 no soldier more zealous than I." 
 
 These words seemed fair enough ; they 
 came from an honest-looking face and 
 were uttered with apparent sincerity of 
 manner, but still the conduct of the Scotch- 
 man was very singular. He was in the 
 midst of a fertile and plentiful country, 
 and smiling fields, well-stored barns, and 
 neat farm-houses were on every side. 
 These were regarded with wistful eyes by 
 
 the soldiers ; but as their guide passed 
 them by in silence, they followed on won- 
 dering what, country could be more abun- 
 dant. All became impatient at last ; but 
 still they rode on, waiting for a signal from 
 the venerable Scotchman, who pressed 
 forward, looking neither to the right hand 
 nor to the left at the handsome residences 
 and the wilderness of luxuriant grain that 
 waved on the sides of the road. At last, 
 in a poor neighbourhood, and opposite to a 
 shabby residence in a small field of stunted 
 corn, the old gentleman halted, and waving 
 his hand as if he were dispensing the 
 bounties of a prince, " There, captain," 
 said he, " is a plantation, the contents of 
 whose barns, cribs, larders, and fields are 
 at your service." The brow of Moore 
 darkened, and, turning fiercely to the 
 Scotchman, he said, sternly, "Old man, I 
 am not to be mocked with impunity. Tell 
 me instantly why you have thus trifled 
 with me in bringing me from well-stored 
 farms to this miserable and wretched abode 
 of poverty. Think you that I would take 
 the means of one so poor ?" 
 
 " The places we have passed," answered 
 the old man, straightening himself upon 
 his horse, "belong to other men. and 1 
 have no right to dispose of their harvests, 
 abundant as they are. This is my land — 
 these are my fields and houses, and their 
 scant bounty I freely offer you." 
 
 Unbidden tears instantly bedewed the 
 manly cheeks of the gallant officer, and, 
 seizing the old man's hand, he exclaimed, 
 " Sir, your humble garb has deceived me. 
 You appear to be indeed poor, and your 
 garments bespeak not the man of rank ; 
 but in your breast, humble as your condi- 
 tion seems, there glows the royal soul of a 
 gentleman ! God forbid that I should touch 
 aught of yours except, in friendship, this 
 honest and honoured hand !" 
 
 The eyes of the .Alamancers were also 
 moist, and even the rough soldiers shared 
 the generous emotion of their leader, 
 when Warden exclaimed to the Scotch- 
 man, "Your conduct has betrayed you; 
 you are Duncan Stuart!" 
 
 " I have no reason to be ashamed of my 
 name," replied the old man, " though it 
 once shone more brightly than it now does, 
 and those to whom it belongs have all seen 
 better days. I am Duncan Stuart, and 
 now, permit me to ask, what am I to 
 you ■?". 
 
 "A friend, I hope," said Warden, "for 
 certainly I am a sincere one to you. I 
 have come from a distant country express- 
 ly to see you, and I bring good tidings." 
 
 " I am too old to be surprised at any 
 thing," said Stuart, " and yet your words 
 puzzle me. The present, however, is not 
 a proper time to unriddle the mystery ; for 
 if you are all as hungry as I am you will, 
 just now, prefer a different sort of discus- 
 
148 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 sion. Gentlemen and soldiers, alight, and 
 Duncan Stuart will endeavour to provide 
 refreshments for all, men and horses." 
 
 The Alamancers instantly obeyed the 
 friendly summons, and Stuart pressed 
 Moore also to partake of the hospitality of 
 his humble board, but that active officer, 
 pledging- himself to remember his aged 
 friend, and wishing him a better fate, was 
 too intent upon the discharge of his duties 
 to tarry longer. Warden, remembering 
 the villainy of Ross, and the calamities 
 it had caused to Stuart, was at a loss how 
 to disclose the object of his visit, until the 
 blunt candour and simplicity of the master 
 solved the difficulty. v He, M'Bride, at once 
 informed his host of the occasion of his 
 visit, and the latter heard it without ex- 
 hibiting the emotion which Warden had 
 feared. Rerhaps his heart was silently 
 breaking within him ; perhaps fit had al- 
 ready been withered, and he was now in- 
 capable of excitement. He manifested 
 but little feeling at what he heard, except 
 that his noble form expanded and his faded 
 eyes kindled with unwonted fire as he 
 quietly said, " 1 shall never touch the ac- 
 cursed bounty. True, I was injured by 
 that Ross you mention, and am now ex- 
 tremely poor ; but my pilgrimage is nearly 
 finished, and I have enough to last me till 
 I drop, like ripe fruit, from the tree of life. 
 My tenure is already frail, and the slightest 
 blast will break the fragile stem. Let the 
 wealth of which you speak be given to his 
 poor relations and to his wretched female 
 victims ; and thus I would advise you to 
 dispose of your own portion." 
 
 " So 1 have intended," replied Warden ; 
 "but I see no reason for your refusal. 
 The testator has injured you — you are old, 
 and, as I fear, nearly destitute. 1 shall re- 
 turn with a sad heart if 1 have to leave 
 such an honest man in distress." 
 
 "If such were the feelings of the few 
 honest men who are prosperous," answer- 
 ed Stuart, "how miserable they would be, 
 did they only know what a vast propor- 
 tion of their kind — of the just, I mean — 
 are pining with hopeless penury and want ! 
 The ways of Providence here are inscru- 
 table, and it is not for us to complain. Be- 
 hold me, the son of a long line of kings, 
 and, I trust, an honest man, living here in 
 a rude hut, supporting myself in my old 
 age with the labour of my own hands, an 
 exile upon a foreign soil, and an ocean be- 
 tween ine and the graves of my kindred. 
 Look at this picture, and theu see the 
 Guelphs, an upstart race, the heirs of petty 
 German princes, lording it in the regal 
 palaces of the mighty kindgom of Britain, 
 and ruling with a rod of iron my own be- 
 loved Scotland — Scotland, where at the i 
 very name of Stuart every gallant and no-' 
 ble heart thrills with emotion! But 'the 
 race is not to the swift, nor the battle to 
 
 the strong, nor riches to men of under- 
 standing; but time and chance happeneth, 
 to them all.' Still, 1 may hope that with 
 me will expire the curse that follows to 
 the third and fourth generations the de- 
 scendants of them that do evil. Some of 
 my kindred had their faults, but their de- 
 scendants have expiated them ; and with 
 my sons — brave and noble lads^— 1 hope a 
 better fortune will commence." 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 Duncan Stuart manifested some curi- 
 osity to hear the story of Ross ; and the 
 master, whose reading propensities need- 
 ed but. a slight touch of the spur, was soon 
 midway in the history alluded to. To the 
 surprise of the Alamancers, their host ex- 
 hibited little emotion at what he heard, 
 and Warden was emboldened to ask the 
 story of Louise. 
 
 " It's a long and tedious tale," said the 
 old man. " and as it has been written', and 
 Mr. M'Bride seems to be fond of such 
 things, the manuscript is his. Here it is, 
 and you can both read it at your leisure." 
 
 " Have you ever heard of the lady since 
 she left you V inquired the master. 
 
 " Only by rumour," answered Stuart, ^of 
 which many strange ones have reached 
 me. That cottage, of which Ross speaks, 
 is, I suppose, the haunted house near the 
 river of which I have often heard, and in 
 regard to which the superstitious Scotch, 
 my countrymen, circulate and believe the 
 most incredible and astounding stories. 
 It is said to be just such a place as the 
 fairies would love. The little palace is 
 embosomed among huge old cypress-trees, 
 and surrounded by a wilderness of flowers 
 of every hue and from every clime, and 
 adorned inside with the most costly and 
 elegant furniture. It sits in a small, soli- 
 tary, and secluded vale, just on the riv«»r 
 bank, and is overhung by huge mossy rocks 
 and jutting precipices. 1 believe, from 
 what I have heard, I could find the place, 
 for, I doubt not, it is in a certain unsettled 
 part of the country, through which I passed 
 years ago; but as Louise has not been in 
 want,. I care not to see her. Poor thing, 
 how dearly has she paid for her folly ! 
 When you read my manuscript you will 
 weep floods of tears for the fair mad muse 
 of the woods, whose plaintive songs echo 
 along the unfrequented vales like airs from 
 a spirit land, and the occasional sight of 
 whom, in her fantastic robes of royalty, 
 with a crown of evergreens on her head 
 and a flowering sceptre in her hand, has 
 alarmed the timid fisherman and belated 
 traveller." 
 
 " I must see her," was the silent resolrs 
 of the master and of his former scholar; 
 and as they sat pondering on her probabhr 
 
 ' 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 147 
 
 history and destiny, a new guest arrived. 
 He was a small, spare man, with a deeply- 
 embrowned skiri, and showed, by 'the brev- 
 ity of" his sentences and his military ?.ir, 
 that he must have been a soldier and an 
 officer. As it was late in the evening, the 
 stranger, in tew and simple words, asked 
 permission to spend the night where he 
 was : a request which greatly embarrassed 
 old Duncan Stuart, for his means were not 
 equal to his princely desires. Observing 
 his anxiety, Warden said, " Let the stranger 
 stay. I am used to the life- of a soldier, 
 and should prefer the floor to a bed." 
 
 "And so would I," said the new-comer, 
 " and I shall not be choice about my diet. 
 I know you're poor, old gentleman, and I 
 know your hospitable wishes. Fear noth- 
 ing, for 1 had rather take any fare with 
 you than travel farther. I will now look 
 to my horse, and then you will see how 1 
 can make myself at home." 
 
 " My servant shall attend to your horse," 
 said Warden. 
 
 " I had rather do it myself," replied the 
 stranger ; and he and Stuart left the house. 
 The curiosity of Warden and the master 
 was excited, and they had a prodigious 
 desire to know the stranger's name; but 
 while they were still consulting about the 
 proper mode of ascertaining what they 
 wished to learn, the person spoken of came 
 in. " What has become of Louise ?•' asked 
 he, turning to Stuart. 
 
 " I have no right," answered Stuart, 
 " to ask your name, stranger ; but your 
 question rather surprises me. Still I have 
 no desire to keep secret what I know 
 .about the poor girl." Hereupon the old 
 man related what he had already told to 
 the Alamancers, and the master soon after- 
 wards read over the history of Ross* 
 
 " The villain ! I knew he was such," 
 exclaimed the stranger; "but the register, 
 where is that V 
 
 " I have purposely kept it sealed till 
 now," said the master, " and I will now 
 open it."" 
 
 "Do, if you please," replied the new- 
 guest, " and let us see how many worthy 
 men sought to make happy a woman who 
 chose a scoundrel." 
 
 "Upon my soul," cried the master, 
 u this must be a fiction. It is not possible 
 that she could have turned off so many 
 illustrious 'suitors. See what a list is 
 here." 
 
 "The list's a true one," said the stranger, 
 " for I see my own name and those of 
 several of my friends upon it. We were 
 all her suitors." 
 
 " May I ask you which is your name V 
 enquired the master. 
 
 " It is the first," replied the stranger. 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Warden, " is it pos- 
 eible I see before me that gallant leader 
 and glorious patriot, Francis Marion ! Yes, 
 
 I know yqu are Marion, and God be 
 praised for the hour that brought us to- 
 gether!" All the company, except the 
 South Carolinian, were fairly electrified 
 with pleasure, and the noon of the night 
 was passed before any eye was closed in 
 sleep. The master and Stuart did, at last, 
 sink to rest in the arms of Morpheus, but 
 the sun of the next day found Marion and 
 Warden still awake and talking. Each 
 learned many curious incidents from the 
 other, and their relative histories were 
 spiced with profound observations upon 
 the course of things. The partisan leader 
 having learned enough of Louise, was, 
 early the next day, on the road for South 
 Carolina, and the Alamancers at the same 
 time set out to look for the haunted glen. 
 They were soon in a wild, unsettled 
 country, and their farther progress along 
 the river bank impeded by a thick under- 
 growth of bushes, and by luxuriant vines. 
 " If you will hold my horse, I will see 
 how far this thicket extends," said War- 
 den to the master; and, dismounting, he 
 soon disappeared in the woods. Half an 
 hour passed away, and M'Bride and Ben 
 became extremely uneasy. During the 
 next half hour they kept up a continued 
 shout, and, at last, the master, leaving the 
 horses with them, went himself into the 
 woods, searching them for miles around. 
 The sun was just setting when he re- 
 turned to the servant ; and now, securing 
 their horses to trees, both men beat 
 through the woods during the whole of 
 the night, shouting and hallooing as they 
 went. They still continued their search 
 on the following day, until, worn down 
 with fatigue and hunger, they were com- 
 pelled to discontinue their labor of love. 
 Exhausted and frantic with grief, they 
 found their way back to Stuart's, where 
 they took a hasty meal, provided them- 
 selves with provision for several days, 
 and again, and in the night, set out to re- 
 commence the search. Duncan Stuart, 
 exhibiting more emotion than the master 
 had seen him display before, insisted on 
 being permitted to accompany the Ala- 
 mancers, and through him the whole 
 neighbourhood was set in motion. Day 
 after day, and night after night, the forest 
 was examined, till, at last, one of the par- 
 ties found a hat upon the margin of 'the 
 river. The master knew it at once, and 
 the melancholy conclusion that Warden 
 was drowned or murdered was forced 
 upon the minds of all. " So, alas ! I 
 knew it would be," thought the master, 
 and he and Ben commenced their melan- 
 choly journey to Alamance. The master's 
 heart was sad enough in its own reflec- 
 tions ; but when he heard old Ben, as he 
 often did, break into fits of hysterical 
 weeping and lamentations, and noticed 
 the led horse and empty saddle, he was 
 
148 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 overpowered with emotion, and the stern 
 philosopher was lost in the helpless man 
 of grief. All the other misfortunes of his 
 life now seemed light as air, and, with a 
 smothering sensation, he 'found that his 
 theory had proved true. He had cherished 
 a secret hope-that he might yet be de- 
 ceived ; but, alas ! that hope was gone 
 forever. What a curse, thought he, is 
 one evil man ! how does his villainy- 
 entail wretchedness on whole families 
 and generations ! This man Ross was 
 born for a scourge, and how fatally has 
 he fulfilled his mission ! Oh, would to 
 God my reasoning had been false ! Would 
 to God it had been proved so by the loss 
 of my own life! Cursed forever be the 
 name of Ross and Stuart ! Next rushed 
 upon him the memory of Edith and of his 
 own unhappy fate, in being the bearer 
 of such mournful tidings. Long did he 
 ponder as to the best means of communi- 
 cating the sad intelligence to Edith, and, 
 at last, resolved to go first to the parents 
 of the deceased. He was aware that the 
 bearer of bad news had a losing task, but 
 he made an effort to brace himself for a 
 proper discharge of his duty, and intended 
 gently, and by degrees, to perform it. 
 But then there were the led horse and 
 empty saddle — how eloquently would they 
 tell the tale of disaster in advance of the 
 master! The horse, after a consideration, 
 was left in the woods, and M-Bride and 
 Ben approached the Warden mansion. 
 Ail about it, to the master's eyes, wore 
 an air of peace, of serenity, and content- 
 ment he had never observed before; and 
 even unconscious nature seemed to be 
 smiling with unwonted beauty. JBen, pre- 
 serving a sad and gloomy silence, walked 
 moodily off to the kitchen ; and the mas- 
 ter, with a throbbing hetut, and wishing 
 he never had been born, entered the hall. 
 To his surprise, he found there the wife 
 of Henry Warden, who, with her mother- 
 in-law, were the only persons that met 
 him. They saw the shadow on his brow 
 — the devoted wife and the tender mother 
 knew, intuitively, what had happened, and 
 they seemed afraid to ask a question. 
 How beautiful did Edith then seem to the 
 master! how his heart emot© him as he 
 looked on her sweet and innocent face, 
 all beaming with love and goodness! He 
 turned from her, and she, at last, in falter- 
 ing, tremulous accents, pronounced the 
 name of her husband. Despite all his 
 philosophy, and all his previous prepara- 
 tion, the master was as much confounded 
 as if a mine had suddenly exploded under 
 his feet; and, losing all self-possession, 
 exclaimed, "He is gone! Oh God, he's 
 lost forever!" A wild scream burst 
 through the hall, and the bewildered 
 master, rushing first to assist the fainting 
 wife, gathered in his arms Henry Warden, 
 
 on whose breast his wife was weeping and 
 laughing by turns! 
 
 " God and his angels preserve us !" cried 
 the master;-" am 1 in tiia land of spirits?" 
 
 " You've been in Dreamland all your 
 life, my friend,"- answered his ancient stu- 
 dent, " and it is my purpose to awake you.'" 
 
 " Such scenes might well awake the 
 dead," said the master, " but they cony 
 found the living. Tell me in one minute 
 how you came here, or my brain will 
 crack." 
 
 " Know, then, in one minute," replied 
 Warden, " that when I left you in the 
 woods, on Clarendon river, I saw a strange 
 vision which avoided me. I at once gave 
 chase, and the singular creature who 
 avoided me darted into a cave. I followed. 
 This cave was an artificial one, and its 
 entrance was so formed that you would 
 hardly observe it did you not suspect its 
 existence. You passed over my head 
 several times ; and in the night, emerging 
 at another door with my new acquaint- 
 ance, she carried me to the fairy palace — 
 a sweet, romantic place, fit for the resi- 
 dence of the queen of the fairies. Here 
 my wild companion told me her story, and 
 well will it become your notes. It was a 
 history of facts more startling and more 
 intensely interesting than the wildest fic- 
 tions in prose or verse, and at a more 
 convenient time" you shall hear it all. 
 Well, while at the Glen an idea struck me, 
 and as every thing seemed to be there in 
 abundance, I obtained a hat, borrowed a 
 horse, and secretly passing down the river, 
 left, my own hat on the bank, and hurried 
 off to get here before you. My conscience 
 upbraided me for playing you such a trick, 
 but I wished to cure you of your malady. 
 I knew, when we left home, you expected 
 an accident to befall me. I knew your at- 
 tachment to your theory, and 1 thought 
 that the only way to make you abandon it 
 was to let you see it carried out. Did you 
 not say to j'ourself, over and over again, 
 as you returned, that you had secretly 
 hoped you were wrong 1 Did you not be- 
 gin to muiisur against Heaven for doing 
 what you h.&& predicted ought to be done ? 
 In a w©rsij did you not conclude that God 
 wasuEjii&il li© is not. His Providence 
 is still antes lis, protecting the innocent, 
 and guiding the good to their own happi- 
 ness, for not a sparrow falls to*the ground 
 without his knowledge. Now look at this 
 face upon my shoulders : do you not see 
 in thai face a hope inspired by Heaven 
 itselfr 
 
 The master glancing at the swimming 
 eyes of Edith, in each of which-shone a 
 promise fairer and sweeter than the bough 
 seen by Noah, replied, " I give it up. I 
 think, however, you might have used a 
 more gentle remedy, for salvation is noth- 
 ing to the pangs 1 have endured; and I 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 149 
 
 have grown ten years older by the regi- 
 men." 
 
 " And fifty wiser," rejoined Warden. 
 
 "And have become .fifty times happier, 
 I hope," said Edith, with a smile that took 
 off twice ten years from the master's 
 heart. 
 
 " Violent maladies require violent rem- 
 edies, jou know," continued Warden; and 
 here the conversation was interrupted by 
 Ben, who, having got drunk in one minute 
 after he heard of his young master's safe- 
 ty, now came rushing into the hall, fol- 
 lowed by a troop of servants, and kicking 
 up such a fuss as was never before heard 
 •but in Bedlam. 
 
 CHAPTER LXI, 
 
 AND THE LAST. 
 
 "When the author, or, rather, editor of 
 these memoirs, was a boy, he went to 
 school at Alamance. There then lived in 
 in that community a bland old gentle- 
 man, somewhat short, in stature, and al- 
 ways dressed in knee-pants and buckles. 
 His hair, which was as white as cotton, 
 and which was thinly sprinkled over his 
 temples, was always nicely combed and 
 smoothed, and never so arranged as to 
 conceal the bald patch upon the crown of 
 his head. The curve of his lip, and a very 
 slight and peculiar turn of the nose indi- 
 cated a disposition somewhat satirical, but 
 you soon forgot the scarcely-perceptible 
 acidity of his features when you heard the 
 mellow tones of his deep-bass voice, and 
 beheld the mild twinkle of his kind, gray 
 eye. Fond of locomotion, yet extremely 
 averse to exercise on horseback, the old 
 gentleman could be seen almost every day 
 of ihe week, except on the Sabbath, with 
 his staff in his hand and a little dog behind 
 him, wending his way through the fields 
 and along the shortest by-paths that led 
 from house to house at Alamance. He 
 was generally met by the children some 
 distance from the house, and he invariably 
 addressed every member of the family by- 
 his or her Christian name, and never was 
 known to say " Mr." or " Mrs." to any one. 
 With boyish curiosity, the editor observed 
 minutely all his habits ; noticed that he 
 conversed much more freely after taking 
 his "grog" (by which name he always 
 called his dram), and that it was his inva- 
 riable custom \o sit with one leg crossed 
 over the other, and, when he was not going 
 to tarry long, with his hands, and some- 
 times his chin, resting on the head of his 
 stick. Having been a careful observer of 
 men and things, he was a living chronicler 
 of the past, and was particularly pleased 
 when the young, as they often did. would 
 cluster round him and ask him questions 
 concerning the events of by-gone times. 
 
 On such occasions he was entertaining, 
 instructive, and pathetic, and would talk, 
 if not interrupted, and if occasionally re- 
 freshed with a sip of grog, the livelong 
 night. He was universally respected by 
 the old, revered by the young, and es- 
 teemed by all as an oracle of wisdom and 
 truth. He had, however, his pets and 
 favorites, and among them was our hum- 
 ble self, whom he often dandled on his 
 knee and took With him in his rambles 
 over the fields, answering with equal sim- 
 plicity and hearing our multitudinous ques- 
 tions about the various operations of Na- 
 ture, and filling our youthful mind with 
 admiration and amazement, as well at the 
 immense stores of knowledge he had gar- 
 nered up, as at his astonishing acuteness 
 and sagacity. This was Hector M'Bride, 
 the former master of the old field school, 
 and then " in the winter of his days." He 
 had a residence in the mountains, his old 
 friends, Abraham Neal and his wife, hav- 
 ing left the world together, and bequeath- 
 ing to him all their estate. At this mount- 
 ain residence he spent part of every sum- 
 mer in study and meditation, and, it may 
 have been, in composition also, for he was 
 a most voluminous writer. In the course 
 of time, the editor left Alamance, and was 
 advancing on towards man's estate, when 
 the following note, sent by express, was 
 put into his hands : 
 
 " Mountain Home, June 4, 18 — . 
 "Dear Sir — I am requested by our mutual 
 friend, Hector M'Bride, to desire your immedi- 
 ate presence here. The good old gentleman i3 
 failing rapidly in health and strengih, and can- 
 not, I greatly fear, long survive. Come' imme- 
 diately. 
 
 " It» haste, yours truly, 
 
 " Henry Warden." 
 
 We hurried off as fast as a swift horse 
 could carry us, and was soon by the bed- % 
 side of the master, and found him sur- 
 rounded by his friends — Henry Warden, 
 Donald M'Leod, their wives and children, 
 George Warden, Ben Rust, an old slave 
 named Bfc.n, and a huge gentleman known 
 as " Uncle Corny," were there. His man- 
 ner was cheerful but sedate, and his con- 
 versation partook of that gravity becoming* 
 his character and his situation. He could 
 not, he said, be indifferent to the pangs of 
 death and the doubts that hung over the 
 grave ; still, he had a rational and abiding 
 hope, and looked with Christian fortitude 
 on the deepening shadows of 'that valley 
 through which all have to pass. " Of all 
 things." he was wont to say, "the idea of 
 annihilation is the most awful that can be 
 presented to a living soul, and it is terrible 
 to think of ceasing to exist, even for a mo- 
 ment." With a severe scrutiny, he re- 
 vised his whole life, and one day said to us 
 all, " My manner of life, from my youth 
 
150 
 
 ALAMANCE. 
 
 up, is known to yon all. I cannot recol- 
 lect that I have ever coveted any one!s 
 goods ; oppressed the poor, the widow, or 
 the orphan; done injustice between man 
 and man, been awed by the rich and povv- 
 • srful to pervert judgment, or spurned from 
 me the friendless wretch. In all cases I 
 have looked to the man and his cause, and 
 not to his circumstances or his influence, 
 and have ever sided with him whom I truly 
 believed was in the right. I have been de- 
 voted to liberty and the emancipation of 
 my race ; I have constantly had before my 
 eyes the fear of God, and have endeavoured 
 to keep his statutes. I will not deny that 
 I shrink from the horrors of the grave ; I 
 will not deny that I feel some apprehen- 
 sions as I go to take my stand at the dread 
 tribunal, where the secrets of all hearts 
 are known. But we must all die ; it is a 
 debt we contract the moment we enter 
 upon existence. ' All flesh is grass, and 
 all the goodliness thereof is as the flower 
 of the field,' yet to all inanimate nature the 
 spring returns, and surely man, the glory 
 of the earth, shall yet be renewed in per- 
 petual youth. I trust in the mercy of 
 God ; such is the staff of my hope as I 
 pass through the dark valley of the shadow 
 of death." 
 
 With such discourse he passed the time, 
 his body sinking daily, and his mind seem- 
 ing to grow brighter, calmer, and steadier. 
 On one occasion, desiring to be alone wilh 
 us, he took us by the hand and said, " My 
 young friend, I' am going to show you how 
 much you have won upon my affection. 
 Here is a key that unlocks a square hair 
 trunk which you will find in my study, in 
 the opposite chamber. That trunk and its 
 contents are yours, with this injunction : 
 You are not to open it till after my death, 
 and then you are to make such a discreet 
 use of what you find as will redound most 
 to the public good and the honour of my 
 memory. A great charge is confided to 
 you — act worthy of my confidence." 
 
 We expressed, in proper terms, our 
 sense of the obligations conferred, and 
 went out to take a stroll. In a niche, a 
 shady niche, in the side of a mountain, we 
 had often heard the innocent prattle of 
 children, and had noticed them every 
 morning strewing flowers upon a green 
 hillock there that was covered over with 
 ivy and violets. We had als,o seen Henry 
 Warden and his lady going often to this 
 place, where, from their manners, their 
 conversation seemed to be of a sad and 
 affecting character. Gur curiosity had 
 been awakened, and going to the place we 
 saw, on a maple that stood at one end of 
 the little knoll, and in letters that had 
 been nearly effaced by time, the simple 
 words, " Lucy Neal." We were musing 
 on what we saw, observing that the alcove 
 had once been trimmed and cultivated, but 
 
 that its seats were now crumbling away, 
 its paths choked up with grass, and its 
 beds overgsown with weeds and wild flow- 
 ers, when Henry Warden accosted us. Ha 
 gave us a brief sketch of the life and death 
 of Lucy Neal, and called our atlention to 
 the fact, that every thing about her rustic 
 bower was still left exactly as it was when 
 she died, excepting only the changes pro- 
 duced by Nature herself. About this 'time, 
 the Rev. Dr. Caldwell arrived in the mount- 
 ains, and the master seemed much edified 
 by his discourse, and got him, in presence 
 of us all, to read his will. He left a con- 
 siderable sum of money to Alamance 
 church, for the purpose of buying a library, 
 and with the will was a catalogue of the 
 books to be purchased ; there were a num- 
 ber of charitable bequests to the poor, 
 and particularly to children whose parents 
 were not able to give them an education. 
 The new teacher was also remembered ; 
 for to him was left his classics, and to 
 every Alamancer he bequeathed some me- 
 mento. To his friends Rust, Caldwell, and 
 Uncle Corny, he left liberal legacies : but 
 the bulk of his property was settled on the 
 children of Warden and M'Leod, leaving 
 to a little daughter of the former, named 
 Lucy, his mountain estate, and to her fa- 
 ther the balance of his books. His strength 
 now failed rapidly, but he still was fond 
 of company, and was particularly gratified 
 by the affection of the .children, whom he 
 kept constantly about him. One day he 
 had himself turned with his face to the 
 wall, and, while holding the hand of a little 
 boy who sat on the bed, the latter uttered 
 a playful exclamation about the coldness 
 of his skin, and we found the master was 
 no more. According to his request, we 
 buried him at the foot of a mountain, carv- 
 ing his name on a huge overhanging rock, 
 and leaving him with that mighty hill for 
 his monument, where none but the feet of 
 the free shall ever tread upon his grave, 
 and where, as he said, he should rise by 
 the side of the pure spirit, of Lucy on the 
 morning of the resurrection. 
 
 Leaving his friends to lament his death 
 and pay proper honours to his memory, 
 we hurried home and impatiently awaited 
 the arrival of the trunk. It came at last, 
 and, eagerly unlocking it, we found it 
 crammed with the master's manuscripts, 
 and our eyes sparkled with pleasure as 
 they ran over the various titles of the rare 
 collection. There were essays on various 
 subjects ; a large bundle of maxims, bon- 
 mots and pithy sayings ; a book of table- 
 talk ; " The Log- Book of a Lady's Whims 
 during One Month of her Earthly Voyage;" 
 a great number of sonnets, epigrams, songs 
 and poems, amorous, didactic, and satiri- 
 cal ; a curious work called " The Rise and 
 Progress of a Politician," another entitled 
 " The Universal Vanities of Men," and a 
 
ALAMANCE. 
 
 151 
 
 production headed, " A Dissertation on the 
 History of Woman, Natural, Moral, and 
 Political, with an Attempt to elucidate the 
 Mysteries of her Heart, and to account 
 for and reconcile the Inconsistencies of 
 her Character." But that which we were 
 most delighted to find was a large and 
 ponderous mass of papers carefully writ- 
 ten and stitched together, and forming 
 several volumes. These were labeled, 
 "Notes, taken on the Wayside of Life, by 
 Hector M'Bride, Schoolmaster," and to 
 them was, pinned a card, wiih the sen- 
 tence, " Await the proper time." For long 
 months our leisure time and our hours of 
 rest were consumed in poring over them, 
 for they contain, in a style chaste and ele- 
 gant, the narrative of many surprising ad-_ 
 
 ventures, family histories, and amusing 
 incidents. For years— long, long years, 
 carefully have we guarded the rich treas 
 ures confided to our keeping, and drawing 
 from them, instruction and amusement in 
 seasons of trial and of sickness. Wo 
 have believed that the "proper time," al- 
 luded to by the master, has come at last ; 
 and, so thinking, we now send forth to the 
 world a selection from his Notes. As to 
 the taste displayed in arranging, and the 
 ability in revising these memoirs, the 
 reader must decide ; of our motives we 
 must be permitted to be ourself the judge, 
 and to say that, with these, we are so well 
 satisfied, we shall little reck of the hoarse 
 croak of the literary vultures who feed 
 upon the offal of authors. 
 
 ra» ENO 
 
A new Classified and Descriptive Catalogue of Harper & Bkothers' Publications has jia» 
 been issued, comprising a very extensive range of Literature, in its several departments of His- 
 tory, Biography, Philosophy, Travel, Science and Art, t..e Classics, Fiction, &c. ; also many 
 splendidly Embellished Productions. The selection of works includes not only a large propor- 
 tion of the most esteemed Literary Productions of our times, but also, in the majority of instan 
 ces, the best existing authorities on given subjects. This new Catalogue has been constructed 
 with a view to the especial use of persons forming or enriching their Literary Collections, as 
 well as to aid Principals of District Schools and Seminaries of Learning, who may not possess 
 any reliable means of forming a true estimate of any production ; to all such it commends itself 
 by its explanatory and critical notices. The valuable collection described in this Catalogue, con-- i 
 sisting of about two thousand volumes, combines the advantages of great economy in price with 
 neatness — often elegance of typographical execution— in many instances the rates of publication- 
 being scarcely one fifth of those of similar issues in Europe. 
 
 *,• Copies of this Catalogue may be obtained, free of expense, by application to the Pub* 
 fishers personally, or by letter, post-paid. 
 
 [n those sections of the country where there may be no local agents or booksellers, it Is re- 
 spectfully requested that orders from the Catalogue, with remittance, may be forwarded direct 
 to Ifea Publishers, Messrs. Harper &. Brothers, New York. 
 
 - 
 
>>^r««;