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THE 
 
 AMERICAN LOUNGER; 
 
 TALES, SKETCHES, AND LEGENDS 
 
 GATHERED IN SUNDRY JOURiVEYINGS. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF " LAFITTE," &c. 
 
 PHILADELPHL\: 
 
 LEA & BLANCHARD, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO CAREY & CO. 
 
 1839. 
 
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1839, by 
 Lea & Blanchard as proprietors, in the Clerk's Office of the 
 District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 Philadelphia: 
 
 T. K. & P. G. Collins, Printers, 
 
 No. 1 Lodge Alley. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 My Lodgings, 15 
 
 The Romance of Broadway, 25 
 
 Sights from my Window, 35 
 
 Yankee Aristocracy, ------.-45 
 
 The Kelpie Rock, or Undercliff, 59 
 
 The Mysterious Leaper, 79 
 
 The Last of the Whips, Part I. 89 
 
 The Last of the Whips, Part II. 101 
 
 The Illegitimate, 113 
 
 The Snow Pile, 131 
 
 An Essay on Canes, 145 
 
 The Black Patch, 159 
 
 The Student, Part I. 173 
 
 The Student, Part II. 181 
 
 The Student, Part III. - 201 
 
 The Student, Part IV. 211 
 
 The Student, Part V. - - - 217 
 
 Spheeksphobia, -. 223 
 
 The Cluadroon of Orleans, 255 
 
 iviilGOSa 
 
«> 
 
t 
 
 NOTE BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 The absence of the Author m the South during 
 the progress of the following pages through the press, 
 will, it is hoped, be received as an excuse for rather 
 an unusual number of typographical errors contained 
 in them. 
 
 Philadelphia, June, 1839. 
 
TO 
 
 N. P. WILLIS, Esq 
 
 OF 
 
 GL ENM AR Y. 
 
MY LODGINGS, 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO THE READER, 
 
MY LODGINGS 
 
 I AM a bachelor, dear reader ! This I deem neces- 
 sary to premise, lest, peradventure, regarding me as 
 one of that class whose fate is sealed, 
 
 " As if the genius of their stars had writ it,'* 
 
 you should deem me traitor to my sworn alliance. 
 For what has a Benedict to do with things out of the 
 window, when his gentle wife — (what sweet phra- 
 seology this last! How prettily it looks printed!) his 
 " gentle wife" with her quiet eye, her sewing and 
 rocking chair on one side, and his duplicates or tripli- 
 cates, in the shape of a round chunk of a baby, fat as 
 a butter-ball; two or three roguish urchins with tops 
 and wooden horses, and a fawn-like, pretty daughter 
 of some nine years, with her tresses adov/n her neck, 
 and a volume of Miss Edgworth's "Harry and Lu- 
 cy" in her hand, which she is reading by the fading 
 twilight — demand and invite his attention on the 
 other. 
 
 No, my dear reader, I am not married! If I were, 
 
16 THE AMrRICA.N LOUNGER. 
 
 I should have brief leisure to gaze by tlie hour from 
 roy dot ma ni vvindow. Dormant window ! Thereby 
 hangs a tale I Not ona only, but many tales; vide 
 the " Lives of the Poets.'^ If I had hinted in the 
 beginning, that my dormitory was lighted by a dor- 
 mant window, it would sufficiently have indicated to 
 the sagacious reader my peculiar state. To him or 
 her not initiated in all the mysteries appertaining to 
 localities in great cities, and the " ways and means" 
 whereby single gentlemen manage to keep the grim 
 enemy at bay, I will merely hint that dormant windows 
 are sacred to us single gentlemen, particularly to 
 poets and certain fundless members of the literati. 
 They are situate on the roof, protruding above it like 
 the rampant nasal organ of the Knight of La INIancha, 
 from the plane of his grave physiognomy, himself 
 recumbent, and the barber's brazen basm upon his 
 sconce. The apartment to which they admit the hght 
 of heaven is called the attick — certainly a most classi- 
 cal appellation — but in vulgar parlance it is degrad- 
 ingly ycleped " a garret." I always hold a preference 
 for att'icks and dormant windows. I do not thereby 
 mean to challenge the inference naturally deducible 
 from this confession, that considerations unworthy of 
 the minds of Croesus, Girard, or Astor, had aught to 
 do with my choice. No, courteous loiterer — whether 
 of needle or cigar — over this page, I beg you will 
 not for a moment harbor such an uncharitable sus- 
 picion. That a room in an attick draws more tenderly 
 and considerately upon the purses of single lodgers, 
 cannot be denied. I prefer an attick for many good 
 and weighty reasons. A basement is too low — too 
 low, hterally and figuratively. It is base both nomin- 
 ally and literally. ^It is, nevertheless, convenient to 
 the street and to' the kitchen! But I eschew this domi- 
 ciliary subdivision altogether. Four feet lower than 
 the pave! It is associated too intimately with our 
 last abiding-place. I cannot abide the basement. 
 
MY LODGINGS. 17 
 
 The attick is cheaper! The mst • Hour," as it is called 
 by way of fashionable .misnomer, is, of course, ^unat- 
 tainable. In all the d\yellinp:s'. in Gothaui, this " flat,*' 
 as it is likewise denominated, is appropriated to draw- 
 ing-room and parlour. Couch or laver never dese- 
 crates its precincts; for here stand the long, polish- 
 ed dining-table, the eighteen chairs, the carpet, piano, 
 centre-rable, looking-glasses, and sideboard of the es- 
 tablishment. Reader, this floor of two rooms, sepa- 
 rate or made one by folding doors intervening, is 
 sacred to the god who presides over eating. His name, 
 if there be such a heathenish deity set down in Tooke's 
 Pantheon, has slipped from my memory, or I would 
 give it you. 
 
 The second floor, so called, which is properly the 
 third, (but modern language is not used to express, but 
 merely to suggest ideas,) is still more sacred than the 
 last. It contains sleeping-rooms — and withal, sleeping- 
 rooms containing double beds. You can see, compas- 
 sionate reader, with " half an eye," (as the speculators 
 in Wall street say, in pointing out natural beauties, 
 invisible to two whole ones, when they would sell 
 estates on paper,) — with half an eye, my dear reader, 
 you can see that this floor, thus qualified, is no cara- 
 vansary for a single gentleman. I yet aspire to such 
 a room! The third floor is the legitimate dormitory 
 of the '^single-hearted," provided always a fourth 
 floor intervene not between this and the gar — attick^ 
 I would say. But this floor hath this objection; it is 
 habitually and pertinaciously, in all houses in Man- 
 hattan, honey-combed; desperately cut up and parti- 
 tioned ofl" in the merest slips, that fit a man almost as 
 closely as his coffin. They contain, by actual ap- 
 praisement, a narrow laver-stand, one chair, and a cot- 
 bed, so narrow that one would apprehend a fall if he 
 moved in his sleep, were he not comfortably assured 
 of the impossibility of such an adventure, after taking 
 a second glance at the friendly proximity of the two 
 
 2* 
 
18 . , . , THi; A^IERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 sides of ttie roam. -I'like a roomy room. Such boxes 
 arj6, not rocm&j <^th^re is nqa'op;n in them. Perversion 
 of is^iigim^e thus ta term Uiemj seven by nines as they 
 are! It was in May I sought rooms. We changed 
 our lodgings every May morning in this city, distant 
 reader, as regularly as our grandsires did their ruffled 
 bosoms, which, in those tidy days, was every other 
 morning. Now, Heaven save the mark ! if ive change 
 once in a week, Ave do, we think, sufficient homage to 
 the spirit of Brummel! Dickies obtain, as the law- 
 yers phrase it, in these degenerate days! But I am 
 becoming digressive, and episodical, for which I crave 
 your indulge'nce, kind reader. 1 was seeking lodgings 
 of a fine May morning in a '' genteel private boarding- 
 house.'^ I had completed my survey of the third story. 
 
 " Have you another floor above this?'' I inquired 
 of the pretty — (I am very susceptible of pretty faces) 
 — Jille de chamhre. 
 
 She looked at me steadily and anxiously for a mo- 
 ment, inspecting me from the apex of my cranium to 
 the slightly, very slightly, worn toes of my boots. 
 My habiliments, constituted of a black satin hat, ironed 
 that very morning, for the ninth time, and all the 
 whitish places, renewed whh ink, so that it shone like 
 silk. It was presentable, or at least I felt myself to 
 be so in it. Her eyes lingered over it for an instant, 
 and, as I thought, approvingly, before she replied, 
 and then, dropped to my stock, vest, and bosom. The 
 first bore the scrutiny with confidence ; it was of silk 
 velvet, and only slightly defaced. The vest was of 
 Valencia, and worn a trifle about the pockets, from the 
 protrusion of sundry pennies, and a penknife. Thes,3 
 dilapidations were, however, invisible. My black 
 broadcloth coat, very opportunely buttoned by the 
 second button, concealed it. My shirt bosom passed 
 well; yet she cast her eye down to see if I had wrist- 
 bands. I put my hands gravely behind me. Her in- 
 ventory of the coat seemed less satisfactory; at least 
 
MY LODGINGS. 19 
 
 SO said her eye. Woman's eye is a natural telltale; 
 he that runs may read it. I flatter myself in possess- 
 ing peculiar tact at reading this pretty picture-book 
 with wonderful accuracy. Her eye expressed, though 
 with scarce perceptible shade, dissatisfaction. INly 
 coat was undoubtedly a perfect coat; it fitted me well. 
 I had had it upon my back only a twelvemonth from 
 the tailor's, when I made my search the ]May preceding 
 for lodgings. It was now colourless; that is, black. 
 Possibly it might have acknowledged a slight modifi- 
 cation of black — an inclination to a delicate shade of 
 gray. I was also lintless. It had been well brushed 
 that morning; and by dint of brushing, it could not be 
 told, I verily believe, a short distance ofl", from the 
 finest bombazine. It once had been graced by lappels, 
 but when the late fashions came round, I had taken 
 them off. There was economy in that. I have since 
 found use for them! I consider my coat ahogether 
 conime il faut. But woman's tact and penetration! 
 Oh, woman! 
 
 " In our hours of ease, 
 Uncertain, coy, and hard to please!" 
 
 Fortune favor the wretch who has to pass the ordeal 
 of your inquisitive and searching glance! I foresaw 
 the result! 
 
 My nether teguments next passed muster. I trem- 
 bled for them. One can preserve a coat longer than 
 pantaloons. He can take it off when he enters his 
 room, and be almost ever without it, except in Broad- 
 way. It is not so with the pantaloons. One would 
 not like to write or read in drawers, if he had such 
 useless and expensive under garments. A coat, reader 
 — this for your private ear — will last twenty-seven 
 months, where pantaloons will dilapidate at nineteen. 
 I know this to be the case, my friend, for I proved it 
 experimentally. My pantaloons called forth a glance 
 
20 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 of decided disapproval. They were only a little 
 whitish about the angles of my limbs — (my ink had 
 been getting pale for several days, or I should not 
 have been so betrayed) — and although I "kindo' 
 dropped'^ — (bless Jack Downing for this morceau of 
 expressive phraseology) — my handkerchief before me 
 when I saw what I had to pass through, I could not 
 conceal it. But I had done better to let it remain perdu 
 in my coat pocket. It did not benefit me; but rather 
 coming itself in such questionable shape to the aid of 
 its friend, the trousers, it operated materially, I could 
 see by the lurking devil in her eye, to my disadvan- 
 tage. The fashion of my trousers — (for I used care- 
 fully to have them "taken in" when the tights came 
 about, and "let out" when the fu/ls had the ascend- 
 ant) — their fashion was indisputable. My boots were 
 highly polished; the heels were worn a little one sided, 
 but, thank heaven! as she stood in front of me, she 
 could not discern this contingent feature; and also 
 there had been a rip — merely a rip, sir — on one side 
 of the left boot, which had been carefully closed with 
 a neat patch. Her eye rested — (how much these 
 women understand! how faithfully they discriminate! 
 verily, I stand in fear of the whole sex)— for full 
 twenty seconds upon that little, very little patch, 
 which a man with his obtuser organs, would never, 
 upon my honor, certainly nerer would have detected 
 — (oh, woman, woman is — young and pretty ones I 
 mean — the d — 1!) — and then glanced to a pair of kid 
 gloves, somewhat soiled, held, for certain obvious rea- 
 sons, folded together in my hand. 
 
 This whole survey and inventory of my personal 
 habiliments, consumed about twenty-eight seconds by 
 the watch. I wear a watch! It is of massive silver, 
 with a single case and a double case. It had been my 
 great uncle's. It was now and still is mine. Ifiter 
 7ios; the pawnbrokers wouldn't take it! 
 
 "Yes, sir," came at last the reply to my query, 
 
MY LODGINGS. 
 
 21 
 
 "there is a large room in the garret," and her pretty 
 Hp curled as she said it. Cupid befriend me! I saw 
 she took my cloth at once. 
 
 Sympathising reader, that "large room in the at- 
 tick'' became/ after certain necessary preliminaries 
 between the landlady and myself— interesting only to 
 the parties concerned, but which finally were amica- 
 bly adjusted— became my domicilium; my drawing- 
 room, parlor, library, dormitory, and study. It be- 
 came, emphatically my home! It was square in shape, 
 the ceiling descending obliquely from the top of the 
 back side of the room to the floor on the front side. 
 This surface was pierced about midway, and in the 
 cavity, and jutting far out of the roof, was inserted a 
 dormant window. This window was accessible by a 
 flight of three steps, springing from the centre of the 
 apartment. The upper one was broad and could con- 
 tain a chair. I am now seated in it, and at the win- 
 dow. It is a comfortable nook; and the fresh wind 
 from the sound and Long Island comes gratefully in 
 as I sit here in the evenmg, and watch the moving 
 spectacle from the streets below. I love an at tick! 
 You are nearer heaven, and beyond the reach of 
 kitchen odors and scolding housewives; above the 
 dust and noise of the streets, with a glorious prospect 
 of the verdant country outspread beyond a thousand 
 roofs, unknown by, and denied to, the cooped up cits 
 on the first and second floors. What an invigorating 
 breeze! Not the tainted current, circulating stagnant 
 and slow through the close streets, but the sweet 
 breath of summer, laden with a thousand fragrant 
 spices, stolen from the hills, meadows, and gardens 
 over which it has passed. For these blessings the cits 
 go to the country, with much expenditure of time and 
 money and patience. I can have them all by going 
 two pair of stairs higher than fashion will allow them 
 to mount. 
 
 From my attick window, then, courteous reader, 
 
22 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 we will look forth for subjects that shall both benefit 
 our philosophies, and withal contribute to our diver- 
 tisement. This paper is only introductory thereto. If 
 prolix, attribute it, patient reader, to the excellency of 
 thy companionship; for when a man findeth good 
 company he is loth to take leave soon, and his hand 
 lingers long in the friendly grasp, ere the tongue can 
 reluctantly repeat "farewell." 
 
THE 
 
 ROMANCE OF BROADWAY. 
 
THE ^ 
 
 ROMANCE OF BROADWAY. 
 
 " I HAVE earned three shillings, York, this blessed 
 afternoon!" I exclaimed with ill-suppressed exulta- 
 tion, as I threw down my pen, which I had been dili- 
 gently using for four hours — (I was penning " an ar- 
 ticle" for a certain " monthly," dear reader) — pushed 
 my closely written manuscripts from me, and compla- 
 cently took a yellow cigar from my hat, which 1 have 
 made my chief pocket since my fifth year, the time, I 
 believe, when my discriminating parents exchanged 
 my infant cap for the manly castor. Three York 
 shillings have I made this blessed day, heaven be 
 thanked! and now I can conscientiously take a little 
 " ease in mine inn!" Whereupon, I ignited my cigar 
 Avith a self-enkindling apparatus, a gift from my con- 
 siderate landlady — pray heaven she charge it not 
 in her bill — to save her candles, and ascending the 
 three steps to my window I seated myself in my 
 accustomed chair, and forthwith began to speculate 
 on things external. It was that calm, lovely time, 
 which is wont to usher in the twilight of a summer 
 evening. The roll of wheels in Broadway beneath 
 me was ceaseless. Bright forms flashed by in gay 
 carriages! The happy, the gallant, and the beautiful, 
 3 
 
26 THE A3IERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 were all forth to take the air on the fashionable even- 
 ing drive! Why was I not with the cavalcade! Where 
 was my Rosinante? Where was my "establishment?" 
 Echo answered, "where?" I puffed away silently 
 and vigorously for a few seconds, as these mental 
 queries assailed me; and, blessed soother of the 
 troubled, oh, incomparable cigar! my philosophy re- 
 turned. 
 
 Diagonally opposite to my window, stands one of 
 the proudest structures on i3road\vay. It is costly 
 with stone and marble, lofty porticoes and colonnades. 
 This edifice first attracted my attention by its architec- 
 tural beauty, and eventually fixed it by a mystery, 
 that seemed, to my curious eye, surrounding one of its 
 inmates! But I will throw into the story -vein what I 
 have to relate, for it is a nouvellette in itself. I can 
 unveil you the mystery, lady! 
 
 A lady of dazzling 'beauty was an inmate of that 
 mansion! and, for aught I know to the contrary, its 
 only inmate. Every afternoon, arrayed in simple 
 white, with a flower or two in her hair, she was seat- 
 ed at the drawing-room wmdow, gazing out upon the 
 gay spectacle Broadway exhibits of a pleasant after- 
 noon. I saw her the first moment I took possession 
 of my dormant nook, and was struck with her sur- 
 prising lovhness. Every evening I paid distant hom- 
 age to her beauty. Dare a poor scribbler, a mere 
 penny-a-Uner, aspire to a nearer approach to such a 
 divinity, enshrined in dollars and cents? No! I wor- 
 shipped like the publican, afar off. " 'Tis distance 
 lends enchantment to the view." But she was not 
 destined to be so worshipped by all. One afternoon 
 she was at her window, with a gilt leaved volume in 
 her hand, Avhen a gentleman of the most graceful 
 bearing rode past my window. He was weU mount- 
 ed, and sat his horse like an Arabian! He was what 
 the boarding school misses would call an elegant fel- 
 low! a welfbred woman of the world, a remarkably 
 
THE ROMANDE OF BROADWAY. 27 
 
 handsome man! Tall, with a fine oval face, a black 
 penetrating eye, and a moustache upon his lip, together 
 with a fine figure, and the most perfect address, he 
 was, what I should term, a captivating and dangerous 
 man. His air, and a certain indescribable co77i 772 e z7 
 faut, bespoke him a gentleman. As he came oppo- 
 site her window, liis ey^, as he turned it thither, be- 
 came fascinated whh her beauty! How much lovelier 
 a really lovely creature appears, seen through " plate 
 glass!'' Involuntarily he drew in his spirited horse 
 and raised his hat! The action, the manner, and the 
 grace, were inimitable. At this unguarded moment, 
 the 'hind wheel of a rumbling omnibus struck his 
 horse in the chest. The animal reared high, and 
 would have fallen backward upon his rider, had he 
 not, with remarkable presence of mind, stepped quiet- 
 ly and gracefully from the stirrup to the pavement, as 
 the horse, losing his balance, fell violently upon his 
 side. The lady, who had witnessed with surprise the 
 uivoluntary homage of the stranger, for suchf from 
 her manner of receiving it, he evidently was to her, 
 started from her chair and screamed convulsively. 
 The next moment he had secured and remounted his 
 horse, who was only slightly stunned with the fall, 
 acknowledged the interest taken in his mischance by 
 the fair being who had been its innocent cause (un- 
 less beauty were a crime) by another bow, and rode 
 slowly and composedly onward, as if nothing unusual 
 had occurred. The next evening the carriage was at 
 the door of the mansion. The liveried footman was 
 standing with the steps down, and the handle of the 
 door in his hand. The coachman was seated upon 
 his box. I was, as usual, at my window. The street- 
 door opened, and, with a light step, the graceful form 
 of my heroine came forth and descended to the car- 
 riage. At that moment — (some men surely are born 
 under the auspices of more indulgent stars than oth- 
 ers) — the stranger rode up, bowed with ineffable grace 
 
2S THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 and — (blessed encounter that, with the omnibus 
 wheel!)— his bow was acknowledged by an inclina- 
 tion of her superb head, and a smile that would make 
 a man of any soul seek accidents even in the "can- 
 non's mouth.'' He rode slowly forward, and, in a 
 few seconds, the carriage took the same direction. 
 There are no inferences to be drawn from this, reader! 
 All the other carriages passed the same route. It was 
 the customary one! At the melting of twilight into 
 night, the throng of riders and drivers repassed. The 
 "lady's" carriage — (it was a landau, and the top was 
 thrown back) — came last of all! The cavalier was 
 riding beside it! He dismounted as it drew up before 
 the door, assisted her to the pave, and took his leave! 
 For several afternoons, successively, the gentleman's 
 appearance, mounted on his noble animal, was simul- 
 taneous with that of the lady at her carriage. One 
 evening they were unusually late on their return. 
 Finally the landau drew up before the door. It was 
 too dark to see faces, but I could have sworn the 
 equestrian was not the stranger! No! he dismounted, 
 opened the door of the carriage, and the gentleman 
 and lady descended! The footman had rode his horse, 
 while he, happy man! occupied a seat by the side of 
 the fair one! I watched the progress of this amour 
 for several days, and still the stranger had never en- 
 tered the house. One day, however, about three 
 o'clock, P. M., I saw him lounging past, with that 
 ease and self-possession which characterized him. He 
 passed and repassed the house two or three times, and 
 then rather hastily ascending the steps of the portico — 
 pulled at the bell. The next moment he was admit- 
 ted, and disappeared out of my sight. But only for a 
 moment, reader! An attick hath its advantages! The 
 blinds of the drawing-room were drawn, and imper- 
 vious to any glance from the street; but the leaves 
 were turned so as to let in the light of heaven and my 
 own gaze! I could see through the spaces, directly 
 
THE R03rA>rCE OF BROADWAY. 29 
 
 down into the room, as distinctly as if there was no 
 obstruction! This I give as "a hint to all concerned, 
 wlio have revolving leaves to their Venetian blinds. 
 Attick gentlemen are much edified thereby! The 
 next moment he was in the room, his hand upon his 
 heart — another, and I saw him at her feet! Sir — 
 would that I had language to paint you the scene! 
 Lady — I then learned the "art of love!" I shall have 
 confidence, I have so good a pattern, when I go to 
 make my declaration! The declaration, the confes- 
 sion, the acceptation, all passed beneath me, most edi- 
 fyingly. Then came the labial seal tliat made his 
 bliss secure. By his animated gestures, I could see 
 he was urging her to some sudden step. She, at first, 
 appeared reluctant, but gradually becoming more pla- 
 cable, yielded. In ten minutes the landau was at the 
 door. They came out arm in arm, and entered it! I 
 could hear the order to the coachman, " drive to St. 
 John's Church." "An elopement!" thought I. "Hav- 
 ing been in at breaking cover, I will be in at the 
 death!" and taking my hat and gloves, I descended, 
 as if I carried a policy of insurance upon my life in 
 my pocket, the long flights of stairs to the street, bolt- 
 ed out of the front door, and followed the landau, 
 which I discerned just turning the corner of Canal 
 street! I followed full fast on foot. I eschew omni- 
 buses. They are vulgar! When I arrived at the 
 church, the carriage was before it, and the "happy 
 pair," already joined together, were just crossing the 
 trot loir to re-enter it! The grinnnig footman, who 
 had legally witnessed the ceremony, followed them! 
 
 The next day, about noon, a capacious family car- 
 riage rolled up to the door of the mansion, followed 
 by a barouche with servants and baggage. First de- 
 scended an elderly gentleman, who cast his eyes over 
 the building, to see if it stood where it did when he 
 left it for the Springs. Then came, one after another. 
 
30 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 two beautiful girls; then a baiidsorne young man. 
 " How glad I am that I have got home again," ex- 
 claimed one of the young ladies, running up the steps 
 to the door. " I wonder where Jane is, that she does 
 not meet us?" 
 
 The sylph rang the bell as she spoke. I could see 
 down through Ihe blinds into the drawing-room. 
 There was a scene! 
 
 The gentleman was for going to the door, and the 
 lady, his bride, was striving to prevent him! " You 
 sha'n't!"— « I will!" — " I say you sha'n't!"—" I say 
 I will!" — were interchanged as certainly between the 
 parties, as if I had heard the words. The gentleman, 
 or rather husband, prevailed. I saw him leave the 
 room, and the next moment open the street door. The 
 young ladies started back at the presence of the new 
 footman. The old gentleman, who was now at the 
 door, inquired as he saw him, loud enough for me to 
 hear, " Who in the devil's name are you, sir?" 
 
 ^'I have the honor to be your son-in-law I" 
 
 " The devil you have! and ivho may you have the 
 honor to be?" 
 
 "The Count L y!" with a bow of ineffable 
 
 condescension. 
 
 "You are an impostor, sir!" 
 
 " Here is your eldest daughter, my wife," replied 
 the newly-made husband, taking by the hand, his love- 
 ly bride, Avho had come imploringly forward as the 
 disturbance reached her ears. " Here is my wife, 
 your daughter!" 
 
 "You are mistaken, sir, she is my housekeeper!" 
 
 A scene followed tliat cannot be described. The 
 nobleman had married the gentleman's housekeeper. 
 She had spread the snare, and like many a wiser fool, 
 he had fallen into it. 
 
 Half an hour afterward, a hack drove to the ser- 
 vants' hall door, and my heroine came forth, closely 
 
THE ROMANCE OF BROADWAY. 31 
 
 veiled, with bag and baggage, and drove away. The 
 Count, for such he was, I saw no more! I saw his 
 name gazetted as a passenger in a packet ship that 
 sailed a day or two after for Havre. How he escaped 
 from the mansion, remaineth yet a mystery ! Hence- 
 forth, dear reader, I most conscientiously eschew mat- 
 rimony. 
 
\ •■ \ 
 
 SIGHTS FROM MY WINDOW. 
 
jjUmi^^'''^ 
 
 ^ s 
 
SIGHTS FROM MY WINDOW. 
 
 It is my custom, clear reader, to mount the three 
 steps leading from the centre of my quadrangular at- 
 tick to its only window, every evening, just before 
 twilight steals upon the streets. The city is then all 
 abroad. Carriages are thenplentier than pedestrians! 
 With a brown Havanna, elastic and fragrant, be- 
 tween my lips, I mechanically take my seat in the lit- 
 tle dormant nook, and, while the b!\ie wreaths of 
 smoke curl idly above my head, floating along the 
 sloping ceiling, and perfuming, with its delicious nar- 
 cotic odors, the whole room, to the utter discomfiture 
 of my foes, the moschetoes, I observe, with a philoso- 
 phic and speculative eye, the passing multitude. This 
 has been my habit since the evening of the first of 
 ]\Iay last, when I was formally inducted into my ele- 
 vated domicil, which, for the moderate charge of two 
 dollars and one shilling per week — (I only room and 
 lodge here, dear reader, preferring to take my mea^k 
 in quiet independence, at the restaurateur's. One's 
 hours are his own, then, you know! Besides — but I 
 have other reasons of my own which I need not men- 
 tion) — I am privileged to call my home, my castle! 
 My window looks down on Broadway — that part of 
 
36 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 Broadway near Bleecker street. — A quiet, and withal, 
 the <' court-end" of the town, reader! A slight pro- 
 jection of the roof and its gutter conceals from me 
 the side-walk on this side; but the middle of this great 
 thoroughfare— the grand artery of the city — and the 
 opposite trotioir, are exposed, like a map, to my vis- 
 ual espionage. 
 
 Look with me forth from the window, complaisant 
 reader! Take my chair there in the nook, and I will 
 stand (for there is room only for one) on this step be- 
 side you. Vou need not first cast your eyes about 
 my apartment. It contains only a single cot-bed — the 
 birthright of bachelors — two chairs, one of which you 
 now honor me by occupying in the window, a small, 
 drawerless,pine table, covered with loose manuscripts, 
 poems, a well thumbed novel, " Clinton Bradshaw," 
 a Dictionary of Quotations, and a Bible. It is also 
 adorned by a bowl and pitcher, a drinking glass, with 
 a shght flaw on its rim, and a napkin of no particular 
 hue. A circular mirror, the size of a hat-crown, a 
 strip of old carpet, stretched from the bed to the win- 
 dow, and a leathern trunk much worn by dint of 
 travel, and containing my wardrobe, complete the tale 
 of my personal goods, chattels and appurtenances. 
 Turn your back, sir, upon these uninteresting domes- 
 tic items, and let us together survey the living drama 
 beneath. 
 
 The evening is most delightful. The tree-tops are 
 waving and rustling with a cool wind which comes 
 fresh from the sea. The sun is near the horizon, and 
 flings his yellow beams aslant the city, gilding, as if 
 they were touched with a pencil dipped in gold, the 
 ^tlines of the spires and towers. See how the red 
 glow lingers upon the woods of Long Island, as if 
 they were indeed on fire, and with what dazzling 
 splendor the windows of the houses on the heights 
 send back the sun-beams! How such an evening 
 gladdens the heart ! One feels at peace with himself 
 
SIGHTS FROM MY WINDOW. 37 
 
 and all around him. See how the city has poured 
 forth its beauty and fashion to do homage to the beau- 
 ty of the hour. Bend forward a little, a very little, 
 and you may see down Broadway a mile, till the 
 street' terminates in a point. The summits of the 
 trees on the Battery rise still beyond, here and there 
 relieved by an intervening spire, pointing, like the 
 finger of faith, to heaven. What a confused specta- 
 cle^the whole! What a labyrinth of carriages, mov- 
 ing in every possible direction, threatening every in- 
 stant to come in dangerous contact, and yet passing 
 each other safely! And the side walk — you can fol- 
 low it with your eye till it is lost beneath the project- 
 ing shade from the stores in the distance — for your 
 gaze penetrates the business section of Broadway. 
 How the people pour along both pavh! more on the 
 west one, for it is the most fashionable and pleasant. 
 How, in a long, dark line, like trains of emmets, pass- 
 ing different ways, to and from their habitations of 
 sand, they seem to move along. You can watch them 
 till you can contemplate them only as long lines of 
 these busy insects, passing and repassing. To the eye 
 where is the distinction? Which is the immortal? The 
 emmet performs its allotted destiny, so does man. 
 Both alike spring from and return to the earth. In 
 this world, the one appears as useful as the other, its 
 pursuits as earnest and as dignified. It is in the next 
 world where man shall stand forth in his destined 
 greatness, either for good or evil. Here he is as the 
 brutes that perish! 
 
 Having given utterance to this brief morceau of a 
 moral, lefus survey more particularly the crowd flow- 
 ing past like a human river. 
 
 Do you observe that barouche with claret-colored 
 pannels and lining, drawn by two large bays, with an 
 elderly gentleman on the back seat, clothed in deep 
 mourning? As he turns his face this way, it wears a 
 cast of sadness. Two months ago, that carriage con- 
 4 
 
38 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 tained one of the lovliest girls ever whirled along 
 Broadway on an evening drive. She was always 
 arrayed in simple white, with a neat cottage and green 
 veil. (What a pity the ladies should have given up 
 the pretty, fascinating cottage ! nothing was ever so 
 becoming to a pretty face ! ) She sat upon the forward 
 seat, with her face to her father. Such a face as hers 
 angels must wear! It was lovely beyond description. 
 Raphael would have thrown aside his pencil before 
 her in despair. Her eyes were large, black, and lus- 
 trous. All her soul beamed in them when she spoke 
 to her parent. Tenderness, passion, love, devotion, 
 and each and every gentle quality, that makes woman 
 ethereal and heavenly above men, dwelt in them, and 
 played in a brilliant smile upon her lips. Every even- 
 ing, for three weeks, she rode past; and every even- 
 ing she was the same brilliant and beautiful creation. 
 The sound of her carriage-wheels were at length 
 looked for by me with habitual expectation. One 
 evening I sought in vain for her lovely face among 
 the throng of carriages. Twilight was lost in night, 
 and I had seen neither the claret barouche nor the ob- 
 ject of my solicitude. Two weeks passed away, and, 
 with slower motion, the long-looked for barouche 
 came in sight. The father and daughter were in it. 
 She sat upon the back seat; but oh, how changed! 
 Her pale and sunken cheek leaned upon his shoulder, 
 while with tender parental anxiety, he supported her 
 drooping form. She had been ill, and, no doubt, was 
 now taking the air for the first time. Poor girl, she 
 was but the shadow of her former self Two more 
 evenings she passed, and she seemed weaker each day. 
 The third, the fourth, and the fifth evenings, the claret- 
 colored barouche was withdrawn from the gay cav- 
 alcade. The sixth, there appeared a long line of car- 
 riages, proceeding at that slow pace which indicates 
 a funeral procession. A hearse, covered with a pall, 
 and decorated with black plumes, came first; then 
 
SIGHTS FROM MT WINDOW. 39 
 
 slowly behind it, the claret-coloured carriage, lined 
 with crape. He was in deep mourning, his face bu- 
 ried in a white kerchief. He was alone in the ba- 
 rouche. His daughter was beneath that pall. He 
 was following her to the grave! There is a sad tale, 
 and full of strange interest, I have since learned of 
 her. I may tell it you in some still, twihght hour. 
 
 There rolls a carriage more splendid than any we 
 have yet seen, and we have seen many gorgeous 
 ones. — A black footman in a sort of half-livery — (for 
 cis-atlantic aristocrats ape^ but do not copy, the aris- 
 tocracy of Europe) — is behind; and there is a black 
 coachman, with the same fancy-colored hat-band and 
 button on his cape, pompously mounted upon the 
 coach-seat. Observe his air. He feels himself a greater 
 gentleman than his master. There is a lady within, 
 both graceful and pretty, yet she sits mopingly beside 
 that noble-looking gentleman. Two months ago they 
 rode out together in a landau. She was then all 
 smiles and animation. Shortly after, a wedding par- 
 ty passed beneath my window; this lady and gentle- 
 man were sitting side by side, the happiest of the 
 happy. They now ride out as you have just seen. 
 They are married! I rather think I shall not aspire 
 to the room with a double bed ! 
 
 There go two " middies,'^ in a sulkey. One of them 
 is " larking" it on shore with much grace. See the 
 air with which he reins in his noble animal! Mark 
 his position — turning his side partly to the horse, and 
 as erect as the mizzen-top-gallant-mast of his frigate! 
 He is evidently creating a sensation; at least he thinks 
 so, which is virtually the same thing. His shipmate 
 beside him is equally as gay in navy blue and buttons; 
 but he is visibly raw. He is not at home. His hands 
 are sadly troublesome. The sulkey is open all round, 
 and he is much embarrassed by his exposure to all 
 eyes. He wishes himself in the cook's coppers, rath- 
 er than where he is. The self-nossession and ease of 
 
40 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 his more graceful and knowing companion, contrasts 
 admirably with his bashful awkwardness. Yet he 
 will go aboard to-night and swear bravely what a glo- 
 rious drive he had up Broadway. 
 
 There trots a magnificent creature! See, he scarce 
 touches the pavement. But see what a gawk is 
 mounted on him! That fellow has been leaniing to 
 ride every evening for the last two months; and look 
 at him — I could mount a pair of crutches on a horse 
 more gracefully. His spurs are too long, and he car- 
 ries his legs as if he had neither knee nor ankle joint. 
 I will find you a pair of compasses will do better. 
 
 Here is a hack trundling by loaded with " loafers." 
 Heaven bless the inventor of this most expressive term! 
 Two Irish women and three children on the front seat, 
 and two men in white roundabouts behind. The chests, 
 and bags, and boxes, are piled like a catacomb around 
 the driver and behind his coach. The children are 
 bawling, yet the women are laughing and chattering, 
 and the men lovingly sharing a boltle of whiskey be- 
 tween them. There they turn down a cross street, as 
 happy, no doubt, in their own way, as any who have 
 rode by this evening. There rolls a carriage, contain- 
 ing but a single lady. She always wears that same 
 sweet smile. She is now alone, but I have seen her 
 carriage full of noisy, beautiful children. She takes 
 them out with her twice a week. She is arrayed in 
 half mourning; for so I should read that black riband, 
 passed with such elegant simplicity about her hat. 
 She must be a widow, for I have never known her to 
 be accompanied by a husband-looking man. These 
 husbands are marked men! There are signs by which 
 I know them! 
 
 There is a grave looking gentleman, walking with 
 a stout orange stick. He never rides. He takes his 
 airings on foot. He knows how to preserve his health. 
 That miserable little boy has risen from the steps of 
 that marble portico to solicit his charity. See! he 
 
SIGHTS FROM MY WINDOW. 41 
 
 looks at the lad and then at the crowd. IMark the 
 struggle between pity for the wretched beggar-boy, 
 and reluctance at givmg in so pubUc a manner. His 
 amiable sensitiveness prevails. He takes another look 
 at the crowded /?f/fe, and turns hastily and passes on. 
 Observe him! He looks back — his step falters — his 
 hand seeks his pocket. He has turned back and placed 
 a quarter of a dollar in the child's hand. Now see 
 how he withdraws from the public eye, as if he 
 thought all had seen him give what he would rather 
 should have been given in secret. How elastic his 
 step! He will sleep soundly to-night, that good man! 
 and with a clear conscience ! 
 
YANKEE ARISTOCRACY 
 
YANKEE ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 " He that hath a trade hath an estate."— Poor Richard. 
 
 Edward Belden was the son of a New England 
 country merchant. He had ten brothers and sisters, 
 the majority of whom were younger than himself. 
 The head and front of these offences was a merchant; 
 that is, he kept a grocery, next door to the principal 
 tavern, at the corner of the stage road and Main street 
 of a certain village in the State of INIaine. — All per- 
 sons who buy goods to sell again across a counter, are 
 in New England, styled " Merchants," not tradesmen 
 or storekeepers, but emphatically and aristocratically 
 — merchants. Merchants are gentlemen; therefore 
 Mr. Belden was a gentleman. In the land of steady 
 habits, a gentleman is one who is not a mechanic or 
 operative. Mr. Belden had never soiled his hands 
 with tools, although he sold eggs and fish-hooks, nuts 
 and raisins, tea and sugar by the pound, and retailed 
 at one end of his dark crowded store, rum at three 
 cents per glass. He would sell oats by the peck and 
 "strike" the measure himself, whiten his coat by 
 shoveling flour and meal from the barrel or " bin" 
 into the scales, and grease his gentlemanly fingers with 
 the weighing of butter, cheese, and lard. Yet, Mr. 
 
46 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 Belden was a gentleman! he knew no vulgar occupa- 
 tions! IMrs. Belden was, of course, a lady — her hus- 
 band was a merchant ! She gave parties, and her en- 
 tertainments were the envious gossip of the village. 
 
 " Oh," says Mrs. Belden, confidentially to the law- 
 yer's lady, who had hinted in a very neighborly way, 
 that she thought Mrs. Belden was becoming somewhat 
 extravagant, " oh, my dear Mrs. Edgerton, they don't 
 cost us nothing at all, hardly — we get ^em all out o' 
 the store!" 
 
 Mrs. Belden never visited mechanics' wives, nor 
 allowed her children to associate with mechanics' chil- 
 dren. 
 
 " Marm; what do you think Ned did, comin' home 
 from school?" shouted a httle Belden, bolting into the 
 door, with his eyes and mouth wide open, his mother's 
 injunctions fresh in his memory; "he spoke to Bill 
 Webster, he did, for I seed him!" and the little aris- 
 tocrat's eyes were popped two inches further from his 
 head as he delivered the astounding information. 
 
 " Edward ! did you speak to that Bill Webster?" in- 
 quired his mother, in a tone of offended dignity, as she 
 scraped the dough which she was kneading from her 
 lady-like fingers; "didn't you know his father was a 
 cabinetmaker, and hasn't I and your pa repeatedly 
 told you not to speak to such boys?" 
 
 " Well, ma, I only asked him about my lesson," 
 pleaded the culprit in defence. 
 
 "About your lesson!" exclaimed the angry parent; 
 " and what had Bill Webster to do either with you or 
 your, lesson?" 
 
 " Because he's the best scholar in the academy, and 
 at the head of the class, and even Judge Perkins's 
 son is glad to get Bill to help him when he's got 
 stuck." 
 
 " I guess if his father knew it, he'd soon stick him," 
 exclaimed the injured parent, " and 1 shall go right 
 over after dinner and tell Mrs. Judge Perkins directly. 
 
YANKEE ARISTOCRACY. 47 
 
 — It's a shame that those mechanics' children should 
 be allowed to go to the academy and associate with 
 gentlemen's sons. Here's your father! now we'll see 
 what he says about it." 
 
 Mr. Belden, a short, stout man, inclined to cor- 
 pulency, with half whiskers, bluish gray eyes, and ra- 
 ther pleasing physiognomy, entered from the store, 
 which was situated but a few yards distant from his 
 two story white house, with green blinds, and a front 
 yard with stone steps, as Mrs. Belden was wont to 
 describe it. His coat was dusted with flour, and grea- 
 sy by contact with various unguinous articles which 
 his store contained. 
 
 " What's the matter, what's the matter, my dear?" 
 he inquired, in a quick, good-humored tone, seeing the 
 children grouped around their mother, listening in 
 timid silence, while the placidity of her features was 
 considerably disturbed. 
 
 ^' Have the boys been at any of their capers?" 
 
 '• Capers!" repeated his otfended lady; " all I can 
 do and say, I can't get these children to mind me — I 
 wish you would take them in hand, Mr. Belden, for 
 they have tried my patience, till I can't stand it no 
 longer." And she looked as if she was the most 
 aggrieved woman in the world. 
 
 '' Why, why, what have they done?" inquired the 
 perplexed husband, still holding the handle of the door 
 by which he had entered. 
 
 ^•Done! Here's Edward been speaking to that 
 Bill Webster, when I have told him over and over 
 again, not to have any thing to say to any such boys, 
 and expressly told him and all the children, to speak 
 to no boys nor girls whose fathers an't merchants, like 
 their'n, nor lawyers, or doctors, or ministers, and they 
 know it well, too." 
 
 " Well, well, wife, I'll settle it," replied Mr. Belden, 
 soothingly and good humoredly, for he had just made 
 
48 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 a good bargain with a country customer — *^ Edward, 
 come hereto me." 
 
 The culprit came forward and placed himself by his 
 fother, who had taken a chair near the fire, conscious 
 that reproof or advice comes clothed with more digni- 
 ty from one seated than standing. 
 
 " Edward, you are now in your fifteenth year," said 
 the parent gravely. " In two or three years more you 
 will enter college,' and you should now learn to choose 
 your associates." 
 
 ^- Children, Usten to your father," commanded Mrs. 
 Belden, seeing the turn her husband's remarks Avere 
 likely to take; '• he speaks to you as well as to Ed- 
 ward." 
 
 " In the first place, my son, you must remember 
 that your parents are respectable — that is, move in the 
 first circles, and are not mechanics. Now, in America, 
 where there is no nobilitr or titles, to say what is or 
 what is not ^respectable,' why we must have certain 
 rules by which we can tell who are and who are not 
 so. Now the only way you, Avho are a boy, can tell 
 what boys are ^ respectable' and what are not, is by 
 knowing what profession their parents are of Now, 
 a mechanic of no kind is respectable; they all belong 
 to the ' lower class.' " 
 
 Here his youngest daughter interrupted, '^ Isn't mil- 
 liners and nianty-makers ' respectable,' pa?" 
 
 " No, my child, they are female mechanics, and are 
 therefore not ' respectable.' " 
 
 " Well, then, I spoke to Miss (Mrs., generally in 
 New England, is pronounced Miss,) Miller's little 
 Jane, and^walked most home from school with her to- 
 day. Oh, Tm so sorry I" The penitent criminal, af- 
 ter receiving a severe reproof from her mother, re- 
 treated behind a chair, and the father continued. 
 
 " The question is, my son, when you wish to select 
 your companions at school, or at college, first to learn 
 whether their fathers are rich! for rich men cannot, of 
 
YANKEE ARISTOCRACY. 49 
 
 course, be mechanics. The next place, whether they 
 are lawyers, merchants, doctors, or ministers; for in 
 these four ' professions' are included all American gen- 
 tlemen, except senators, state officers, and such like, 
 who are respectable by their office. With no other 
 families should you associate, for you should at all 
 times endeavor to keep up the dignity of your family. 
 Now, my son, you may sit down to your dinner.'' 
 
 Here the merchant' concluded with an emphatic 
 « ahem," and was about to turn his chair to take his 
 seat at the table, when one of his younger boys hesi- 
 tatingly inquired, '' if a watch maker wath respecta- 
 ble?'^ 
 
 " Why so, my child?" rejoined the self-complacent 
 parent. 
 
 «' Coth, if ta'nt no thpectable people ought to thpeak 
 to you." 
 
 *' Come to your dinner, children, and ^o?/, you lisp- 
 ing chit, shall' wait, for your forwardness," exclaimed 
 the now justly provoked'mother, (for jMr.Belden,reader, 
 was unfortunately the son of a watch-maker!) Ed- 
 ward laughed in his sleeve; ISIr. Belden carved the 
 joint in silence, and in silence Mrs. Belden helped 
 round the vegetables. During the recess of that very 
 afternoon, the aristocratical scion, Edward Belden, 
 plaved at catch and toss with that young democrat, 
 Bill Webster. This brief family scene is not intro- 
 duced as affecting, materially, the general interest of 
 our tale, but to disclose a state of manners and mode 
 of thinking, by no means uncommon, in New Eng- 
 land; presenting a strange anomaly in the society of 
 American material that hereafter may afford materi- 
 als for a pair of volumes.— Yet it is to such principles 
 as those we have just heard dictated by a parent to 
 his child, that the adverse fortunes of that child and a 
 thousand others of New England's children are to be 
 referred. The income Mr. Belden derived from his 
 store, was from eight hundred to tw^o thousand dollars 
 5 
 
50 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 per annum. His domestic expenses, which could not 
 possibly be very great, as every thing, from the chil- 
 dren's shoes to their spelling books, from the -'kitchen 
 girl's" caHco and handkerchief to Mrs. Belden's silks 
 and laces, besides all the provisions, " came out of the 
 store.'''' — How they came into the store never entered 
 into the brain of Mrs. Belden. She was satisfied her 
 housekeeping could cost nothing; ''never mind, it 
 came out of the store," was the coup de grace, by 
 ^vhich she silenced every qualm of conscience or 
 friendly hint from envious neighbors, upon her own 
 extravagance in household matters. For Mrs. Bel- 
 den sought to keep up appearances, and there were 
 other merchants' ladies in the neighboring town she 
 must rival. What with Mrs. Belden's expensive 
 habits, and Mr. Belden's moderate profits, he seldom 
 laid by more than two or three hundred dollars a year. 
 Yet on this small income, whhout the prospect of hav- 
 ing a dollar to give them when they became of age, 
 his children must be educated! — gentlemen and ladies! 
 as if heirs to principalities. Let us see what gentle- 
 men and ladies he made of them. It will serve brief- 
 ly to develope a system of gentility and genteel edu- 
 cation, lamentably prevalent throughout the villages 
 and small towns of New England. 
 
 Amelia, the eldest daughter, grew up tall and well 
 formed, pale and romantic. She had attended the vil- 
 lage female academy from her youth upward. At 
 eighteen she left school tolerably well educated. That 
 is, she was versed in geography, and could tell you 
 the capitals of every European state more readily 
 than those of the various States of her own country; 
 and knew, (so deeply learned was she,) more about 
 the lives of the kings of England and of Egypt, than 
 of the Presidents of the United States. She could 
 paint fruit pieces and mourning pieces, which still 
 huna: over her mantle in testimony of her skill: write 
 a neat hand, cypher tolerably, and play a little on the 
 
YANKEE AKISTOCRACY. 51 
 
 piano. Yet, with all these accomplislinients, she 
 found herself at the age of twenty-seven unmarried, 
 and, at last, to escape her mother's tongue, which 
 grew sharper as she grew older, and wagged particu- 
 larly against " old ma'ids," and to find the wherewithal 
 to purchase dresses, for she had inherited her mother's 
 love of finery, she accepted an offer to keep the 
 school (this not being mechanical, except in cases of 
 flagellation, is theretore " respectable," and conferring 
 no disgrace) in a neighboring village, in which delight- 
 ful task, peradventure, she is still engaged. 
 
 The second child, who was a son, having a natural 
 mathematical turn, and much mechanical ingenuity, 
 at the age of seventeen, when his father proposed 
 taking him into the '' store," pleaded hard to become a 
 machhiist, or go to sea — any thing but to be tied to 
 the counter of a country grocery. His parents were 
 shocked at his vulgar tastes. The young man, after 
 staying behind the counter, three months, during 
 which time he was placed at the station at the further 
 end, where rum was retailed, because his careful pa- 
 rent could trust no one else there, and, after hearing 
 more oaths and seeing more intemperance than would 
 have corrupted a Samuel, yielded, disgusted with 
 his employment, to the offers of an intelligent sea cap- 
 tain, and amid the tears, groans, and prophecies of his 
 mother, (for the caste of sea captains is not exactly 
 comme il J'uiit,) went to sea with him. He is now, 
 though young, the first officer of a packet ship from 
 New York, and a gentleman, in spite of his father. 
 
 The third son, a fine spirited boy, who widied to 
 become a jeweler rather than succeed his sea-struck 
 brother in the store, eventually followed his brother's 
 example, by eloping, and after various adventures, 
 during which he lost both health and reputation, be- 
 came one of the lowest supernumeraries on the New 
 York stage. The cholera of 1S32 put an end to his 
 misery, his dissipation and pecuniary wretchedness, 
 
52 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 and the Potter's field has become his last resting place. 
 The fourth was apprenticed to a respectable whole- 
 sale dry goods merchant in Boston. When he became 
 of age, and desired to enter into business on his own 
 responsibility, his employer, to whom he looked for 
 assistance, "failed," and he was at once thrown upon 
 the world with but a few hundred dollars in his pos- 
 session. He again became a clerk to another house, 
 on a scanty salary, for, although a man of business, 
 integrity, and industry, he was not a man of capital. 
 He knows no trade— he is fit for nothing but a mer- 
 chant's clerk. He is still clerking, although nearly 
 thirty years of age, while he finds about him men of 
 wealth and independence, although mechanics, like 
 their fathers before them, whom, when at school he was 
 taught to despise. With what bitter curses upon the 
 foolish system to which he was a victim, did he con- 
 trast their situations, happy in the bosom of their fami- 
 ly, with his own, a lonely salaried bachelor. " How 
 much it costs to be a gentleman!" thought he. 
 
 The fifth, and next youngest child, who was a 
 daughter, married a young merchant of her native 
 village, who failed the following year, died intempe- 
 rate the next ensuing, leaving his wife and two chil- 
 dren to the tender mercies of her parents or the 
 world. 
 
 The sixth child, a less intelligent and active boy 
 than his brothers, his father succeeded in retaining in 
 the store: this being the portal through which all of 
 them made their debut into active life. He soon ac- 
 quired the habits and tastes of the loungers in the 
 store; to their language and beastly intoxication he 
 soon became familiarised; and imperceptibly by com- 
 mencing with cordials and sherbets, he acquired a 
 taste for ardent spirits; and at the age of twenty-five, 
 after having been for three years a common di'unkard, 
 he died in his father's house of mania a poiu. 
 
 This, reader, is no fiction. Name and locahties are 
 
YANKEE ARISTOCRACr. 53 
 
 only requisite to identify those facts in the memories 
 of many, with the history of a family now almost ex- 
 tinct. Yet, even without this key, too ready an appli- 
 cation of it may be made to numerous families, with- 
 in the observation of every New England reader. 
 
 Besides Edward, there were two brothers and a sis- 
 ter, who fortunately, did not survive long enough to 
 become either lady or gentleman! 
 
 Three years after the conversation recorded above, 
 Edward entered the sophomore class at Cambridge. 
 His manners were polished, his address winning, his 
 talents of a high order. After six weeks he was the 
 most popular of his class, both with the faculty and 
 his class-mates; while many young gentlemen of the 
 upper class sought his acquaintance. His associates 
 were among the wealthiest in college; his good nature, 
 gentlemanly air, irresistible wit, and high standing in 
 liis class, rendered his society universally sought alter. 
 
 The first year, his bills were paid by his father, and 
 he was allowed fifty dollars daring the year forspend- 
 ing money. This he laid out in books, tor he neither 
 gambled, nor indulged in the expensive habits Avliich 
 could be afforded by others. When in the height of 
 his prosperity and scholastic fame, a letter came in 
 reply to one he had written to his father for a remit- 
 tance, to purchase a few necessary books, stating that 
 "business was dull, his profits small, and that it was 
 more expensive at college than he supposed it would 
 be!'' After two pages of advice in relation to the 
 necessity of preserving his standing as a gentleman, 
 he wound up with the suggestion, "that as he could 
 not afford to pay such large bills any longer, he had 
 best work the rest of his way through college by 
 keeping school during the vacations." A bank note 
 for twenty dollars was enclosed, with the intimation 
 " that he must expect but little more assistance from 
 him, as he had his two brothers and sisters to educate; 
 that he was getting old, and times were hard." 
 5* 
 
54 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 It would be difficult to picture the mortification of 
 a sensitive, high-minded young man, at such an an- 
 nouncement. Minor accounts usually liquidated at 
 the same time, were also unpaid. But these diffi- 
 culties, though instantly occurring to his mind, did not 
 so much affect him as the sudden change this conduct 
 of his father must produce in his situation. Educated 
 like a gentleman, his most intimate associates had been 
 with those young aristocrats of the college who had 
 wealth to support their pretensions. With the " bene- 
 Jiciaines,^^ these noble-minded young men, who seek 
 science through her most thorny parts, those of pov- 
 erty and contumely, he had never associated — they 
 were a species of literary operatives, whom he had 
 not yet decided whether to class as mechanics or gen- 
 tlemen. He groaned bitterly as he felt he was de- 
 graded to their caste. It was late at night when he 
 received the letter, and after pacing the room a long 
 time in mental agitation, he seized his hat and hasten- 
 ed to the president's room. The usual lamp shone in 
 the window; he tapped lightly at the door and enter- 
 ed. The venerable Doctor Kirken, who was engag- 
 ed over his desk, raised his head and politely invited 
 him to be seated. 
 
 Edward laid his father's letter upon the desk, say- 
 ing hastily, "A letter from my father, sir." 
 
 The president read it, and shook his head, as if dis- 
 pleased at its contents. 
 
 " I sympathise with you, Belden. This is not the 
 first case of the kind I have met with since my con- 
 nection whh this institution. This infatuation among 
 the class to which yonr father belongs, of making gen- 
 tlemen of their sons, when they cannot allow them the 
 means to sustain the rank of such, has been the ruin 
 of many promising young men. It is a mistaken no- 
 tion, and one fruitful with the most baneful conse- 
 quences, that a youth to be made a gentleman of, must 
 become a member of one of the learned professions; 
 
YANKEE ARISTOCRACY. 55 
 
 and that to be a member of one of these, he must 
 first pass through college. It is a mischievous error, 
 and must be eradicated. It is daily doing incalcula- 
 ble injury to society. Experience must soon teach 
 such persons the unsoundness of the position they 
 have assumed, and convince tliem, that an independ- 
 ent farmer or mechanic (which all may become who 
 will) is intrinsically a better gentleman and a far more 
 useful member of society, than an impoverished law- 
 yer or doctor, or a minister who has become such that 
 he may be one in the ranks of (to use an English 
 term, for which, in America, we neither have or should 
 have a corresponding word) the ^ gentry.^ '' 
 
 The president concluded by giving him much judi- 
 cious advice for his future conduct in life, and the 
 young man took his leave and went forth into the 
 world, alone, friendless, and almost moneyless. 
 
 We briefly pass over h^s short and laihappy career. 
 He went to New York, where he remained several 
 weeks, seeking some genteel employment, (for of any 
 mechanical trade or art, he was totally ignorant.) At 
 length, a situation offered, after he had spent his last 
 dollar in paying for an advertisement applying for a 
 clerkship or tutorship. 
 
 The subsequent events in the lile of Edward Bel- 
 d( n, (save the ni} stery that still hangs over the place 
 of his exile,) are familiar to all who have not forgot- 
 ten the tragedy which a short time ago agitated our 
 great commercial metropolis, and filled the minds of 
 all men with horror. 
 
 This brief outline of what could easily be extended 
 to volumes, is written to expose the rottenness of a 
 mischievous custom, founded in vanity and perpetuat- 
 ed in injustice to its juvenile victims, which reigns all 
 over New England. Alas, that men should think that 
 because they give their sons an education, they must of 
 necessity, make professional men of them, or suppose, 
 if they wish to make them gentlemen without the 
 
56 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 trouble and expense of education, that they must make 
 merchants of them! 
 
 Let every parent, whether farmer or country mer- 
 chant, country doctor, country lawyer, or country par- 
 son, if he have five sons, educate them all well if he 
 ivill, but make four of them tillers of the soil or mas- 
 ters of a trade. He will then be certain of having 
 four independent sons about him. If he have seven 
 daughters, let him make seven good milliners and man- 
 tua makers of them, and they will then be indepen- 
 dent of the ordinary vicissitudes of life. Let him do 
 this, that is, provided he has no fortunes to leave them. 
 But even if he have, still it would be better for them 
 that he should do this, than if he should leave it un- 
 done. It is the opposite plan to this, the reaching af- 
 ter gentility or respectability^ as it is termed, for Their 
 children, that throngs our metropolitan streets with 
 courtezans and inundates all cities from New York to 
 New Orleans with pennyless adventurers. 
 
 # 
 
THE KELPIE ROCK, OR UXDERCLIFF; 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE HUDSON HIGHLANDS. 
 
a^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
77// 
 
 THE KELPIE ROCK 
 
 " Fairy, Fairy, list and mark! 
 
 Thou hast broken thine elfin chain; 
 Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark. 
 And thy wings are dyeii with a deadly stam — 
 Thou hast sullied thine elfin purity 
 
 In the glance of a mortal maiden's eye!" 
 
 The Culprit Fay, Canto, VII. 
 
 Thus happily did they pursue their course, until they <ntered upon those 
 awful defiles, denominated the Hightands. where it would seem that the gi- 
 gantic Titans had erst waged their impious war with heaven, piling up clifl":* 
 on cliffs, and hurling vast masses of rocks io wild confusion. — The History of 
 JVcjc Y'ork, by Deidrick Knickerbocker. 
 
 So long as we have the inspired poet who first 
 struck his woodland harp among the Hudson High- 
 lands, and suns of fairy land and the two vast lahors 
 of the Culprit Fay so long as we have that veri- 
 table historian and authentic chronicler of great sublu- 
 nary events, the profound and erudite Deidrick Knick- 
 erbocker — be his memory thrice honored! — to stand 
 by us in support of our legend, which is not a jot less 
 true than his own veracious history, we do not care a 
 whifi' of tobacco-smoke, if the incredulous and the 
 critics believe not one word of it. We have fortified 
 ourself in the outset, like one when he putteth on his 
 armor for the battle, with a quotation from this sweet 
 
60 THE AMERICAN LOUXGER. 
 
 poet of fairy land, and another from the pen, dipped 
 in Hybla, of this great man and learned historian, and 
 feel that confidence whhin, which inspireth courage, 
 and that will enable us to hold out stoutly to the last. 
 It was late one August day, after a fruitless hunt 
 for game through the wild ravines and along the 
 heights of" Ball Hill," that emerging from a forest of 
 oak and larch, I found myself upon the summit of the 
 lofty clitf, which, with a sheer fall of a thousand feet 
 to the verdant plateau beneath, ternrinates the range 
 of eastern highlands above West Point, to the south. 
 The wide and glorious scenes that burst upon my 
 sight, fixed me like a statue. The Hudson lay at my 
 feet, completely land-locked — a lake sleeping among 
 mountains — looking like a mirror of polished steel. 
 Old Cro'nest lifted his " shaggy breast" from its 
 bosom, and hid his hoary head in a cloud which had 
 lazily rolled half-way down his sides. West Point, 
 with its lovely plain, its snowy tents, its charming 
 villas, seemed like a picture done by a lady's fingers, 
 so delicate was the pencilling of each outline, so ex- 
 quisite the play of lights and shadows. From the 
 height above, ••' Old Put," looked down with a pro- 
 tecting air — Avith his hoary front and war-worn look 
 — a fine feature in the far and varied scene. At my 
 feet lay the quiet and picturesque village of Cold 
 Spring. Its dusty streets, with a group of children at 
 play, a goodwife with an apron over her head, cross- 
 ing to a neighbor's; a wagon, with a solitary occu- 
 pant slowly wending toward Iiis farm; a cow, lounsr- 
 ing homeward at her leisure, whisking her lone tall, 
 and doubtless chewing her cud in peace and content- 
 ment; its little cove sprinkled with boats: a single sloop 
 unloading at the wharf, where one or two Tittle ur- 
 chins are fishing for cat-fish; its chapel, romantically 
 perched on a rock overhanging the water, all present- 
 ing a lively contrast to the dark, solemn majesty of 
 the surrounding highlands. 
 
THE KELPIE ROCK. 61 
 
 At the very base of the cliff, and seemingly so near 
 tliat I could have dropped a St. Nicholas-^' '^ry/i ban 
 adowii its chimneys, in the centre of a wide verdant 
 plateau, sloping to the water, lay, like a map open 
 upon my palm, Undercliff, the romantic seat o 
 
 General , with its noble villa, its gardens, its 
 
 fountains, its pleasant groves and its winding avenues, 
 all exposed, as they would be to the eye of a bird in 
 its empyrean flight. 
 
 Tliere was not a breath of air to fan a lady's check, 
 or stir a child's ringlets. The lake-like Hudson was 
 a mirror, and old Cro'nest threw his " huge, gray 
 form,'' 
 
 " ill a dark-blue cone on the wave below." 
 
 A far-extended fleet of vessels was dispersed upon the 
 water — their idle sails furled to the slender yards, or 
 drooping gracefully from the masts — waiting the eve- 
 ning breeze. So clear was the element on which they 
 were suspended, that beneath each, another was seen, 
 its ropes, spars, even the sailors moviiig about, so ac- 
 curately copied, that it could not be told from its fel- 
 lows, save that the wrong end was upwards. Occa- 
 sionally, a light skiff, with a single oarsman, would 
 shoot from the shore and dart along this mirror, leav- 
 ing a widening wake of tiny waves to sport and 
 glance their little minute in the sun-light. Just before 
 me, in a romantic inlet, called Kelpie Cove, with a 
 vast rock lying solitary on its curving beach, a family 
 of geese, whiter than snow, sailed gracefully along, 
 wheeling about at times, now facing the land, now the 
 open river, as if expecting an attack, and were pre- 
 pared to meet it. 
 
 On looking again toward old Cro'nest, I observed 
 
 the fleecy cloud which I had seen sluggishly rolling 
 
 down its sides, gradually to assume a darker hue, and 
 
 to shoot oft' from the mountain: and then it slowly 
 
 6 
 
62 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 sailed through the air towards tlie difF on which I 
 stood; and nearly on a level with my eye. Soon other 
 clouds from the hills to the north and west, also came 
 sweeping majestically along, at the same level, and in 
 a few moments the summit of the cliff was enveloped, 
 and the river, with the rich pictures painted on it, gra— 
 dually disappeared in a veil of mist, as the scenes on 
 a magic mirror fade before the waving wand of the 
 magician. 
 
 For a moment I was as bewildered as if sudden 
 blindness had come upon me. The union of the seve- 
 ral masses, which came trooping along as if to a storm- 
 gathering, momentarily increased the density of the 
 cloud, which at first was so rare, that I could see twice 
 the length of my gun, whereas I now could touch a 
 tree and not see it. The heavy moisture saturated my 
 garments, and run off the barrel off my fowling piece 
 in a trickhng stream. 
 
 It occurred to me that I must be in the lowest stra- 
 tum of the clouds, which, on approaching, did not ap- 
 pear to hang six feet lower than my position. I re- 
 membered that, not far off, there was a cleft which 
 with a bold descent, obliquely approached a lower 
 shelf of the cliff. With some difficulty I found it, and 
 cautiously descended. I had advanced thirty feet, 
 and was still within the cloud, which, on touching the 
 mountain, had settled heavily about its summit, when, 
 all at once, it rolled up like a curtain, and the scene 
 below once more burst upon my sight. The under 
 surface of the clouds stretched away to the opposite 
 mountain, discolored with a dark, murky hue, and 
 were rolling and heaving like an inverted sea. They 
 cast over the landscape a sombre shade, giving a wild 
 and cheerless aspect to the face of Nature before so 
 smiling. Through an opening in their dark bosom, 
 there suddenly shot a bright, glorious beam of golden 
 sunshine. It fell upon the water where a vessel was 
 furling her canvass to encounter the br-ewing tempest, 
 
THE KELPIE KOCK. 63 
 
 and gave to the white sails, contrasted with the sur- 
 rounding gloom, a lustre as if overlaid with burnished 
 gold. Slowly passing off from this solitary object, 
 leaving it, to the eye, almost black from the sudden 
 contrast, it travelled across t'le water, gilded the roof 
 of the Chapel of the Rock, " Our Lady of Cold Spring," 
 and then the envious clouds closing up, shut it in, and 
 it disappeared. 
 
 The spot on which I now stood was a shelf, about 
 thirty feet lower than the highest part of the cliff, and 
 had the appearance of an excavation made by the 
 falling of a detached fragment. There remained be- 
 neath, however, no traces of a fragment one twentieth 
 part large enough to have filled the space. After giv- 
 ing the subject a moment's thought, and saying, half 
 aloud, " By St. Nicholas, I should like to know how 
 this cavity was formed!" I turned to retrace my steps, 
 and gain the delightful shelter of Undercliff, which, 
 although it seemed as if I could lay my hand upon its 
 balconies, it would take a good mile's stout walking 
 to reach. The thunder already muttered audibly in 
 the distance, and the clouds threatened every moment 
 to break out into rain. My situation was one of sub- 
 limity, and I was at one time tempted to remain and 
 outbreast the storm — companion of the lightning and 
 thunder; but there was no sublimity in a wet jacket, 
 and so I shouldered my gun, and turned to go. JNIy 
 retreat was unexpectedly and strangely intercepted. 
 
 On a projecting lap of the rock, and directly in 
 the narrow path by which I had descended, was seat- 
 ed a singular looking being, but evidently of flesh and 
 blood, from the rosy hue of his ample cheeks, and the 
 energy with which lie ejected currents of tobacco- 
 smoke, now throngli either orifice of his carbuncled 
 iiose, now through both, now from between his lips, 
 which quietly closed over the stem of a fair long 
 pipe, of the days of Peter the Headstrong. Volumi- 
 nous brown trunk-hose encased his capacious ribs, and 
 
64 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 Flemish boots were rolled around his ample calves. A 
 green jerkin, of a queer, old-fashioned cut, covered his 
 upper man, and studiously left open in front, displayed 
 a broad Flemish ruff, soiled with tobacco-sniDke. A 
 high, peaked hat, briskly cocked in front, and surmount- 
 ed by a rusty plume, he wore jauntly on one side of 
 his head. One hand rested upon an antiquated spy- 
 glass, which lay across his knees, and he had a cock 
 in his left eye, as if he was still spying. I should have 
 mentioned, also, that a brace of enormous pistols, 
 with rusty locks, and barrels, were stuck in his belt, 
 and a whinyard, half a fathom in length, hung by his 
 left thigh. Altogether he was a very formidable and 
 truculent-looking personage, especially, to be encoun- 
 tered in so wild a spot. 
 
 He permitted me to survey him from head to foot; 
 while, shutting one eye, he deliberately, with the 
 other, took the same liberty with me. He then dis- 
 tended his cheeks with smoke till they were as round 
 and sleek as a pippin, then emitted it from either cor- 
 ner of his mouth and both nostrils, and, as it seemed 
 to me, also from his ears and eye, so multitudinous 
 were the currents — so dense the volume of smoke that 
 rolled from him. It soon hid his head, and all but 
 the tip of his rusty plume, which I could see nodding 
 at me above it, the twinkling of his gray eye, and the 
 gleam of his fiery proboscis, which I could discern 
 glowing through it like the end of a stout, red-hot 
 poker. He at length spoke, and his voice seemed to 
 come from the mouth of a speaking-trumpet, though 
 it had a tone that was meant to be courteous. 
 
 ''Youvas vish, mynheer, how in der duyvil von 
 rock pe proke vrom de kliff, here, an no pe to de pot- 
 tom, dere?*^ 
 
 He then puffed away within his cloud, and seemed 
 to await my remarks. I was not altogether at my 
 ease, and was doubtful of my company; I neverthe- 
 less spoke confidently: 
 
THE KELPIE ROCK. 65 
 
 " I merely expressed a passing wish," I said, care- 
 lessly; "but, nevertheless, should be glad to have my 
 curiosity gratified. You have the advantage of me 
 with your telescope," I added, wishing to draw him 
 out, and to show him that I was nothing dashed at 
 his sudden appearance and fierce aspect. " I see you 
 are a judicious rambler. Distant scenery, after the 
 surprise of the first coup-d-c£il, should always be 
 viewed in detail. For this a spy-glass is most essen- 
 tial. A happy thought in you, sir." 
 
 " By St. Nicholas, mynheer, I know every shtone 
 in de Highlants petter nor mine pipe. I hash not put 
 dish shpy-klass to mine eyes ror more dan two hun- 
 tret ant vivteen years." 
 
 "Two hundred and fifteen years!" I repeated with 
 umningled astonishment, and a slight degree of alarm, 
 casting, as I took a step backward, a suspicious glance 
 at each of his feet, which, much to my relief and grati- 
 fication, were, I observed, both well-shaped, and, save 
 being rather broad and large across the toes, as we 
 often see those of fLit gentlemen, unexceptionable. 
 
 He made no reply to my exclamation, but puffed 
 away in composure and in silence. The sunset gun 
 from the military post, at this instant reverberated 
 among the Highlands, starting a thousand echoes, 
 which grew fainter and fainter as one answered to 
 the other, till they died away far to the north, like the 
 distant growling of thunder. Then the hoarse voice 
 of my companion was heard from the cloud of blue 
 vapor in which his upper man was enveloped. 
 
 " Tunder and blickzens ! ven I vaked dese echoesh 
 de first time two huntret and venty years ago, mit de 
 guns of de Halve Mane, more nor ten tousant eaglish 
 vas scared vrom de kUffs! Dere is only dat one left 
 now!" he said, pointing with a jerk of his spy-glass 
 to a noble, white-headed eagle, sailing through the air 
 a hundred feet below us. " Dis gap vas not here den 
 
 6» 
 
66 THE ArvIERICAN LOU>'GER. 
 
 neider. Dat creat rock dere vas den on dis klifF vere 
 ve stant/*' 
 
 He extended the end of his telescope through the 
 smoke, m the direction of an inlet of the river, which 
 gracefully curved towards the foot of the cliff, in the 
 shape of a crescent. Its northern horn terminated in a 
 bold, rocky headland, extending far into the water; its 
 southern boundary was a low, verdant tongue of land, 
 with a shelving, sandy beach, and terminating in a 
 rude pier-head, crowned by the whhe parsonage of 
 the village pastor. On the smooth beach, conspicuous 
 and alone, reposed a vast rock, or boulder, of n:iany 
 tons weight, the same I had before noticed. At low- 
 tides it was many yards from the water, at high-tide 
 the waves flowed around it. Its shape was irregular. 
 It lay far from any other rocks, and a third of a mile 
 from the cliff. Past it wound the road to Fishkill, and 
 the plateau, which here gently inclined to the beach, 
 was verdant. Its position there was evidently acci- 
 dental. I gazed upon the rocks several seconds, took 
 its shape in my eye, and turned to apply it mentally 
 to the cavity in which we stood, yet I could arrive at 
 no satisfactory result. He saw my perplexity, and 
 said, coolly: — 
 
 " Dat rock was vonce in dis place, mynheer. Ash 
 you vish to know, I vill tell you de storish/' 
 
 " By all means," 1 said, forgetting the gathering 
 storm, the thickening twilight, and the mystery hang- 
 ing about my companion, in my curiosity to hear a 
 veritable legend, from a source seemingly so well en- 
 titled to do it justice. Moreover, if I had desired to 
 beat a retreat, the antiquated stranger had so com- 
 pletely monopohsed the only avenue of escape with 
 his bulky form, and seemed so quietly to enjoy his 
 seat, that I doubt, if I had made the attempt, it would 
 have succeeded, even if it had been safe, of which I 
 also have my own opmion. I therefore seated myself 
 opposite to him, on a fragment of the rock, and pre- 
 
THE KELPIE ROCK. 67 
 
 pared to listen. The elements favored a story of dia- 
 blerie, as I anticipated this to be. The lightning 
 vividly illuminated the vast fields of clouds, and the 
 thunder bellowed among the opposite mountains, and 
 rumbled through the long ranges of hills in ceaseless 
 reverberations." After one or Two prefatory whiffs, he 
 took his pipe from his lips, whereupon the cloud of 
 smoke slowly ascended from below his face, and min- 
 gled with the cloud a few feet above our heads, dis- 
 playing a good-humored physiognomy, with the roy- 
 sterring, devil-me-care look of a merry Dutch skipper, 
 who loves to smoke his pipe, drink schiedam,and tell 
 a long story. Settling himself more at ease on his 
 seat, he then commenced his narration, which I give 
 word for word as he related it, saving here and there 
 the substitution of the king's English for his peculiar 
 phraseology. 
 
 " That vast and rugged boulder you see in Kelpie 
 Cove, looking so lonely and so out of place, the fair, 
 smooth beach, and springing grass around it, goes by 
 the name of KELPIE ROCK, and, within my me- 
 mory was a portion of this cliff. You doubtless may 
 have heard that from the oldest time, these highlands 
 were the abode of ogres, kelpies, and other superhu- 
 man, yet earthly beings;— that when they dwelt among 
 these mountains, a lake, and not, as now, a river, 
 reflected their huge sides. The lake and highlands, 
 which shut it in, were also the prison-house of evil 
 demons, and the dark spirits, who, from time to time, 
 had rebelled against their master. Here were they 
 penned up until the time approached that this new 
 world was to become the inheritance of the children 
 of the old. Then were they all unbound, for the good 
 spirit had designed their vast abodes for mortals; but 
 they murmuring and rebelling at this decree, he bound 
 them in eternal chains, and confined them in horrid 
 dungeons, in that adamantine prison, now called the 
 Palisadoes. They are there walled up to the light of 
 
63 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 heaven, and although above the earth are unable to' 
 behold it. There are they doomed to pass their pain- 
 ful years in hideous clamors and howl and yell away 
 their dreadful bondage. The giants, ogres, gnomes, 
 and kelpies, he suffered to remain, yet bound them by 
 certain laws; then opening the hills that walled it in 
 toward the south, he let the waters of the lake seek 
 the distant sea. I'earful was the roar, and loud the 
 clamor of the imprisoned demons, when, from their 
 gloomy cells, they heard the roar of its wild v/aters, 
 as in one vast flood the unchained lake rolled thun- 
 dering past their dark abodes, washiig their founda- 
 tions for many a league. Now it was that the titans, 
 the gnomes, the kelpies, the giants, and the ogres, be- 
 came greatly enraged at the destruction of their seclu- 
 ded lake, and this opening of their fearful haunts to 
 the intrusion of daring mortals. Besides, these ma- 
 levolent and awfnl beings, perhaps you may have 
 heard that in the mountain opposite, the queen of fai- 
 ries holds her elfin court. Fairies, who are beings of 
 a gentle nature, and favor mortals, and the geniijVho 
 are stern, implacable, and f erce, and hate "mankind, 
 are always hostile toward one another, and let no 
 chance escape of showing their ill-wilL Now, it was, 
 that after the lake was changed into a river, wide and 
 vast, as now it rolls, the Europeans had laid their 
 hands upon this continent as a new and bounteous 
 gift from nature, and their ships had entered this 
 river's mouth, that a young fay, called Erlin, a favor- 
 ite page of the fairy queen, was swiftly flying through 
 the air, his wings glittering like silver, ibr it was a 
 moonlight night, when he espied a little vessel gliding 
 along between the river shores, with all its canvass 
 spread to the favoring breeze. His curiosity at the 
 novel sight was instantly aroused, for he had never 
 seen a vessel, and thought, at first, it was a large white 
 bird. After surveying it curiously for a t'lme, he 
 folded up his purple wings, and descended like an 
 
THE KELPIE ROCK. 69 
 
 arro\r. He hovered long above it, with mineled won- 
 der, fear, and admhation. At length, having gratified 
 his curiosity, he was about to mount again to the 
 upper regions of the air, when there appeared upon 
 the deck^a beauteous virgm, her fair head rich with 
 clustering ringlets of elossy brown; a mouth, dimpled 
 over with the play of merry smiles; a cheek, in which 
 the lily and the rose exquisitely were blended; and a 
 form, for sylph-like symmetry and female grace, he 
 thought was every whit as perfect as that of fairy 
 queen. Altogether, he was convinced that she was 
 the most radiant being he had ever seen, and forth- 
 with became enamored of her. He hovered around 
 her, invisible, till he began to fear he should be called 
 to answer for his prolonged stay, for he was bound on 
 diplomatic business to an elfin court, far distant, when 
 the barque of Hendrick Hudson arrested him in his 
 arrow V flisht." 
 
 "Hendrick Hudson!" I exclaimed; "it was then 
 the vessel of this great navigator?" 
 
 '' It vas, mynheer," he answered complacently, and 
 nodding with the gratified air of a man who has re- 
 ceived a flattering compliment, putting the long stem 
 of his pipe in hrs month, and taking half a. dozen 
 quick, short whiffs, to keep the fire in the bowl from 
 going out, " ant te young laty vas hish taughter." 
 
 " I have often heard of Henry Hudson's lovely 
 daughter," said I. 
 
 "When the Fay Erlin returned to his mistress," he 
 continued, after having slowly emhted from one cor- 
 ner of his mouth a slender thread of smoke, which 
 curled gracefully upward like a wreath of mist, and 
 mingled with the cloud, " the queen sharply inquired 
 why^he had lingered on the way. He invented a 
 ready lie, as pages are used to do, and so for the pre- 
 sent, escaped; for you must know either fay or fairy 
 who s^lances on mortal with an eye of love, breaks its 
 elfin bond, and is, in a manner, guilty of high treason 
 
70 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 The penalty of an offence so dire is weighty, and pro- 
 portioned to its enormity; the culprit's lamp is extin- 
 guished, wliich is the same thing as the hreaking of 
 the criminal's sword by a mortal king; and its purple 
 and silver wings are st;iined with dark unsightly hncs, 
 which is eqnivalent to the blotting out of the escutch- 
 eon of an attainted noble. Besides these marks of 
 degradatio'i, they are also punished by the imposition 
 of severe and ponderous tasks. 
 
 "The little vessel continued slowly to ascend, an- 
 choring each night with cautious fear, for it was enter- 
 ing a gloomy region, wild and vast, and all unknown. 
 Tlie Fay Erlin, impatient to beiiold once more the fair 
 and beauteous mortal, who from his faith and sworn 
 allegiance to his queen, had seduced him, stole from 
 the court, spread his purple wings, and glancing 
 through the moonlight like an arrow shot by Dian, 
 lighted in an instant after on this cliff. From it, as 
 you can see, the eye in looking south, takes in the 
 river for niany a mile. The white sails of the ap- 
 proaching vessel glimmering in the distance as the 
 moon shone down upon them, caught his eager sight. 
 His little heart bounded wildly with the joy he felt, and 
 opening wide hisplnmes, he was about to fly towards 
 it, when a low, deep muttering, mingled with horrid 
 sounds, fell upon his ears. He balanced himself on 
 his half-spread wings and listened to the uproar, which 
 seemed to come from the bowels of the cliff. This 
 cliff is hollow, and was then the council chamber 
 where the fearful beings I have before made mention 
 of, held their dark and direful consultations, and plan- 
 ned and plotted mischief against the human race. 
 Erlin bent his ear an instant to the ground, and bod- 
 ing danger from their secret councils to the lovely mor- 
 tal, he stole softly along, and entering the cave with 
 noiseless step and wing, beheld themto his wonder, all 
 in full assembly. 
 
 '• There was an ogre with a flaming eye, a horrid 
 
THE KELPIE ROCK. 71 
 
 aspect, and hideous form, who, in a vast, black cavern 
 under Old Cro'nest made his abode, growling and 
 grumbhng if the thunder chanced to break his after- 
 dinner nap, and shake his house. There was a gnome, 
 to mortal eyes invisible, but whom Erlin saw in all 
 her fearful power; in whose awful form beauty and 
 hideousness were strangely blended, whose eyes were 
 lamps, whose limbs were writhing serpents, whose 
 wings were like a bat's, whose face and bosom sur- 
 passed in loveliness the lovehest of mortals. Tiiere 
 is a single grotto beneath the cliff in Kosciusco's gar- 
 den, noV hid from human eye; that was her abode. 
 There was a kelpie, with a human head, and breast, 
 shaggy and hideous, and clothed with hair; m size he 
 was a leviathan. He haunted the rocks and beach of 
 Kelpie Cove, and lived in caves beneath the water. 
 
 "There was a giant, of enormous stature; along 
 black beard and a fierce mustache, made his wild as- 
 pect still more fierce. He leaned upon a sapling, torn 
 up by the roots, which served him both for staff and 
 weapon. There were besides, whom also Erlin saw, 
 beings still more wonderful and monstrous both in 
 shape and size. He gatliered from their speech and 
 clamors, that the rumor of the coming ship had readied 
 their ears, and that they now were met in council to 
 devise some present means of averting from their 
 heads the impending evil. 
 
 "' If,' said the osre, roUing as he spoke, his only 
 eye, which, set in the middle of his forehead, glared 
 strangely, all over the assembly, and making most hi- 
 deous grimaces, while his voice rumbled like an earth- 
 quake,"' if we permit these blue-eyed mortals to enter 
 our abodes, our power is gone. The fairies opposite 
 are troublesome enough to us. I cannot sleep of 
 moonlieiit nights for their dancing and capering over 
 my head. There is the queen's page, Erhn, a mere 
 hop-o-my-thumb, who loves mischief as he does moon- 
 shine, shoots his sharp steel arrows into my eye when 
 
73 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 I sleep after sim-iip, as if he could find no better 
 mark.' 
 
 " ' So, ho! grim ogre!' said Erlin to himself; ' I owe 
 you one for that!' 
 
 " The gnome then rose, and gleaming with her 
 lamp-like eyes round upon each one, rested them 
 upon the ogre as he took his seat, and then spoke in 
 tones half hissing, like a serpent, and half articulate, 
 like a sweet female voice. 
 
 " ' The ogre is right. These mortals must not pass 
 the old barrier which confined the river when a lake. 
 The ogre is again right. The fairies are troublesome; 
 they are always fickle. They may aid the mortals to 
 spite us whom they hate. There is also an old tradi- 
 tion, 
 
 Ogres, giants, kelpies, gnomesi 
 Fly — fly your ancient homes! 
 When an elf shall tlirice defend 
 A maid 'gainst whom ye all contend, 
 Then, then your power shall endl' 
 
 ^' The giant then rose, shook himself, and in a voice 
 of thunder delivered the following speech: 
 
 " ' It is my opinion we destroy these mortals with- 
 out delay, lest the fairies put their finger in, and spoil 
 the pie.' 
 
 "The kelpie, in a shrill voice, which sounded like a 
 horse's neigh, save that it was shriller, also rose to say 
 that he acquiesced in the general sentiments of his 
 friends, the honorable members of the council. Just 
 at this moment, a huge, lazy than, lounging in the en- 
 trance of the cavern, said that a strange white bird 
 had lit upon the water. ' The Mortals! the mortals!' 
 was the cry. The council broke up in hurry and con- 
 fusion, and the members made for the outlet, so hasti- 
 ly, that Erlin just escaped, through his great alertness, 
 from being drawn into the vortex of the ogre's mouth 
 
THE KELPIE ROCK. 73 
 
 as he inhaled an immense draught of fresh air. while 
 rushing from the cave. 
 
 " When they gained the summit of the cliff, the ad- 
 venturous vessel appeared in open view, bravely 
 roundins the west point of yonder headland, It was 
 a fair and novel sight to these gaping, wondering mon- 
 sters, to see her ghde along like a living creature with 
 snow-white wings, flinging the foam about her prow, 
 and leaving a boiling wake stretching far behind. 
 Erlin, impatient to light upon her deck, did neverthe- 
 less restrain the impulse, and waited unobserved the 
 motions of the group, himself concealed in the vel- 
 vet folds of a mullen leaf. 
 
 *•' The gnome proposed flying from the cliff, lifting 
 the vessel in mid-air, and dashing it on the rocks. 
 This was approved unanimously. Erlin gained the 
 bark before her and balanced himself upon the truck. 
 The gnome could not raise it an inch, and defeated 
 flew back again enraged. The ogre was for creating 
 a storm. The waves began to roar and the winds to 
 whistle around the lonely bark: but it sailed on unharm- 
 ed, for the elf was there perched upon the yard, protect- 
 ins: his lovely mistress. The giant tore up a vast tree to 
 hurl at it, but could not lift it^rom the earth, for Erlin 
 sat upon it. Great was their rage at these repeated de- 
 feats. They knew their foes, the fairies were at work; 
 and the prophetic rhymes the gnome had spoken, made 
 them quake with fear that their time had come. The 
 kelpie, in his fierce and boundless wrath, struck the 
 cliff' with a violent blow of his hoof and loosened a 
 huge fragment covered with earth and trees. It was 
 falling, to be dashed in atoms at the base, wdien the 
 titan l^eized it with both his hands, whirled it round 
 about his head, with a roar like a hurricane, and hurl- 
 ed it through the air with deadliest aim toward the 
 fated vessel now abreast the clift'. Erlin was not pre- 
 pared for this, and as he saw the missile fly, roaring 
 through the air, he uttered a cry of agony. The next 
 
74 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 moment, ere it had flown one-half the distance be- 
 tween the cliff and vessel, he lighted upon it. Instant- 
 ly it was arrested in its onward course, and with the 
 swiftness of a lightning-bolt it descended to the earth, 
 and buried itself deep in the sand, just on the water's 
 edge. 
 
 " Loud bellowings and wailings filled the air. 
 Hurled back into their cave by some power invisible, 
 the hideous monsters who had met in council, were 
 bound down in chains of adamant and shut up for 
 ever in the cliff's dark womb. Their bowlings are 
 distinctly heard when the storm against their prison 
 loudly beats. The thunder never fails to stir their 
 fierce wrath up, and long and direful are their yells 
 and groans when thus disturbed in the eternal dun- 
 geons to which the victiories of the fay have doomed 
 their monstrous race.'' 
 
 Having finished this wild legend of diablerie, the 
 narrator rose to his feet, placed his spy-glass beneath 
 his arm, refilled his waning pipe, from an antiquated 
 silver tobacco-box, which he drew from a deep pouch 
 by his left hip, and seemed about to go from whence 
 he came. I thanked him for his narrative, warmly 
 expressing my gratification, and then courteously ask- 
 ed him to whom I was so greatly indebted. He took 
 his pipe, which he had resumed, from his mouth, and 
 thus answered me: 
 
 " Mortals, after death, do hover over these terrestrial 
 scenes, pursue those pleasures or those labors, and 
 mingle in with all those affairs which occupied them 
 while alive. Departed poets have a region of their 
 own, inhabiting romantic solitudes, wandering by the 
 banks of rivulets, and roaming amid sublime scenery, 
 dehghting their souls with the essence of that beauty, 
 the grosser parts of which were only enjoyed by them 
 as mortals. Philosophers, statesmen, authors, and all 
 others have each his own spiritual region, which is, in 
 a manner, the soul of the sublunary, for it is to the 
 
THE KELPIE ROCK. 75 
 
 globe what the soul of man is to his body. It is in 
 this vast soul, which envelopes the earth, that they pass 
 their spiritual existence. Nothing is now dark or ob- 
 scure to their intellects, nothing beyond the grasp of 
 their comprehension. All things before hid in myste- 
 ry are now clear as the sun, to their spiritual vision. 
 Navigators, who discover continents, islands, lakes, 
 and rivers, do, in an especial manner, haunt the scenes 
 of their earthly fame, and are more immediately their 
 presiding and protecting genii. All these essences or 
 spirits, whatever the variety of their several pursuits, 
 however elevated their rank, are bound to obey the 
 call of mortals, appear before them in their earthly 
 form, and answer to all questions when rightly and 
 sincerely applied to. I am the presiding spirit of this 
 vast river. You \vished for me, and I am here." 
 
 <-' You are then " 
 
 " Hendrick Hudson." 
 
 A loud clap of thunder at this instant broke above 
 our heads, while the liglitning, which .-iccompanied 
 rather than preceded h, blinded me tor several seconds. 
 ^Vhen I recovered the use of my eyes, I looked around 
 and found myself alone. 
 
 Twilight was rapidly breaking into night, the clouds 
 be^an to hang down the sides of the mountain as if 
 heavy with water. Embracing the little of dayhght 
 that yet remained, I succeeded in regaining the villa 
 of Underchff, amid tempest of wind and rahi, ac- 
 companied by wild flashes of lightning, and appalling 
 thunder, which rattled among the hills, awakening, as 
 I now understood the apparent echoes, the howhngs 
 of the troubled spirits confined in their cavernous 
 bowels. 
 
 The next morning the sky being without a cloud, 
 the atmosphere sot\ and transparent, the sun bright 
 and cheerful, and all nature smiling and gay, I sought 
 the Kelpie Rock. On the south side I discovered to 
 my entire satisfaction, the deep points of a gigantic 
 
76 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 hoof six times the size of a horse's and as plainly to 
 be seen as the nose on a man's face, which at once 
 testified to the veracity of the ancient Schipper, and 
 the genuineness of his wonderful legend.* 
 
 * For the trial of Fay Erlin for loving a mortal — the catastrophe 
 of the council of monsters having led to the detection — the curious 
 dipper and believer in legendary lore, and lover of fairy tal-s is refer- 
 red to Drake's ininsitablc poem, entitled " The Culprit Fay," to 
 which, as well as to the history from the pen of that enligiitened his. 
 torian and profound scholar, ?»tr. Knickerbocker, the writer acknow- 
 edges his indebtedness. 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS LEAPER; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 COURTSHIP OF MINE HOST^S DAUGHTER. 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS LEAPER, 
 
 In one of llie loveliest villages in old Virginia, there 
 lived in the year 175- and odd, an old man, whose 
 daughter was declared by universal consent, to be the 
 loveliest maiden in all the country round. The vete- 
 ran, in his youth, had been athletic and muscular 
 above all his fellows; and his breast, where he always 
 wore them, could show the ornament of three medaJifi^' 
 received for his victory in gymnastic feats, when a 
 young man. His daughter was now eighteen, and had 
 been sought in marriage by many suitors. One brought 
 wealth — another a fine person — another industry — an- 
 other military talents— another this, and another that. 
 But they were all refused by the old man, who became 
 at last a by-word for his obstinacy among the young 
 men of the village and neighborhood. At length, the 
 nineteenth birthday of Annette, his charming daughter, 
 who was as amiable and modest as she was beautiful 
 arrived. The morning of that day her father invited 
 all the youth of the country to a hay-making frolic. 
 Seventeen handsome and industrious young men as- 
 sembled. They came not only to make hay, but also 
 to make love to the fair Annette. In three hours they 
 had filled the father's barns with the newly dried 
 
80 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 grass, and their own hearts with love. Aniiette, by 
 her father's command, had brought them malt hquor 
 of her own brewing, which she presented to each ena- 
 mored swain with her own fair hands. 
 
 " Now my boys," said the old keeper of the jewel 
 they all coveted, as leaning on their pitchforks they 
 assembled round his door in the cool of the evening 
 — " Now my lads, you have nearly all of you made 
 proposals for my Annette. Now, you see, I don't care 
 anything about money nor talents, book larning nor 
 soldier larning — I can do as well by my gal as any 
 man in the county, But I want her to marry a man 
 of my own grit. Now, you know, or ought to know, 
 when I was a youngster, I could beat any thing in all 
 Virginny in the way o'leaping. I got my old woman 
 by beating the smartest man on the Eastern shore, 
 and I have took the oath and sworn it, that no man 
 shall marry my daughter without jumping for it. You 
 understand me, my boys. There's the green, and here's 
 Annette," he added, taking his daughter, who stood 
 timidly by him, by the hand. " Now the one that 
 jumps the<furthest on a' dead-level' shall marry An- 
 nette this very night. 
 
 This unique address was received by the young men 
 with applause. And many a youth as he bounded 
 gaily forward to the arena of trial, cast a glance of 
 anticipated victory upon the lovely object of village 
 chivalry. The maidens left their looms and quilting 
 frames, the children their noisy sports, the slaves their 
 labors, and the old men their arm-chairs and long 
 pipes, to witness and triumph in the success of the 
 victor. All prophesied and many wished that it 
 would be 37-oung Carroll. He was the handsomest 
 and best humored youth in the county, and all knew 
 that a strong and mutual attachment existed between 
 him and the fair Annette. Carroll had won the repu- 
 tation of being the ^' best leaper," and in a country 
 where such atretic achievements were the sine qua 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS LEAPER. 81 
 
 non of a man's cleverness, this was no ordinary ho- 
 nor. In a contest like the present he had therefore 
 every advantage over his fellow uthletx. 
 
 The arena allotted for this hymeneal contest, was a 
 level space in front of the village-inn, and near the 
 centre of a grass-plat, reserved in the midst of the vil- 
 lage denominated '-the green." The verdnre was 
 quite worn off at this place hy previous exercises of a 
 similar kind, and a hard surface of sand more hefit- 
 ting for the purpose to which it was to be used, sup- 
 plied its place. 
 
 The father of the lovely, blushing, and wiih^i happy 
 prize, (for she well knew who would win,) with three 
 other patriarchal villagers were the judges appointed 
 to decide upon the claims of the several -competitors. 
 The last time Carroll tried his skill in this exercise, he 
 "cleared" — to use the leaper's phraseology — twenty- 
 one feet and one inch. 
 
 The signal was given, and by lot the young men 
 stepped into the arena. 
 
 "Edward Grayson, seventeen feet," cried one of 
 the judges. The youth had done his utmost. He 
 was a pale intellectual student. Bnt what had intel- 
 lect to do in such an arena? Without looking at the 
 maiden he slowly left the ground. 
 
 "Dick Boulden, nineteen feet." Dick with a laugh, 
 turned away, and replaced his coat. 
 
 " Harrv Preston, nineteen feet and three inches." 
 " Well done, Harry Preston," shouted the spectators, 
 " you have tried hard for the acres and homestead." 
 
 Harry also laughed and swore he only "jumped for 
 the fun'of the thing." Harry was a rattle-brained fel- 
 low, but never thought of matrimony. He loved to 
 walk and talk, and laugh and romp with Annette, but 
 sober marriage never came into his head. He only 
 jumped for " the fun of the thing." He would not 
 have said so, if sure of winning. 
 
82 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 " Charley Simms, fifteen feet and a half." " Hur- 
 rah for Charley! Charley'll win!'' cried the crowd 
 good-hnmoredly. Charley Simms was the cleverest 
 fellow in the world. His mother had advised him to 
 stay at home, and told him if he ever won a wife, she 
 would fall in love with his good temper, rather than 
 his legs. Charley, however, made the trial of the lat- 
 ter's capabilities and lost. JNIany refused to enter the 
 lists altogether. Others made the trial, and only one 
 of the leapers had yet cleared twenty feet. 
 
 " Now," cried the villagers, " let's see Henry Car- 
 roll. He ought to beat this," and every one appeared, 
 as they called to mind the mutual love of the last com- 
 petitor and the sweet Annette, as if they heartily 
 wished his success. 
 
 Henry stepped to his post with a firm tread. His 
 eye glanced with confidence around upon the villagers 
 and rested, before he bounded forward, upon the face 
 of Annette, as if to catch therefrom that spirit and as- 
 surance which the occassion called for. Returning 
 the encouraging glance with which she met his own, 
 with a proud smile upon his lips, he bounded forward. 
 
 "Twenty-one feet and a half!" shouted the multi- 
 'tude, repeating the announcement of one of the 
 judges, "twenty-one feet and a half. Harry Carroll 
 forever. Annette and Harry." Hands, caps, and 
 kerchiefs waved over the heads of the spectators, and 
 the eyes of the delighted Annette sparkled with joy. 
 
 When Henry Carroll moved to his station to strive 
 for the prize, a tall gentlemanly young man in a mili- 
 tary undress frock-coat, who had rode up to the inn, 
 dismounted and joined the spectators, unperceived, 
 while the contest was going on, stepped suddenly for- 
 ward, and with a " knowing eye," measured delibe- 
 rately the space accomplished by the last leaper. He 
 was a stranger in the village. His handsome face and 
 easy address attracted the eyes of the village maidens, 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS LEAPEIl. 83 
 
 and his maiily'ancl sinewy frame, in which symmetry 
 and strength were happily united, called forth the ad- 
 miration of the young men. 
 
 " Mayhap, sir stranger, you think you can beat 
 that," said one of the by-standers, remarking the man- 
 ner in which the eye of the stranger scanned the area. 
 *^ If yon can leap beyond Harry Carroll, you'll beat 
 the best man in the colonies.'^ The truth of this ob- 
 servation was assented to by a general murmur. 
 
 " Is it for mere amusement you are pursuing this 
 pastime?'' inquired the youthful stranger, " oris there 
 a prize for the winner?" 
 
 " Annette, the loveliest and wealthiest of our vil- 
 lage maidens, is to be the reward of the victor," cried 
 one of the judges. 
 
 '^ Are the lists open to-all?" 
 
 " All, young sir!" replied the father of Annette with 
 interest— his youthful ardor rising as he surveyed the 
 proportions of the straight-limbed young stranger. 
 " She is the bride of him whooutleaps Henry Carroll. 
 If you will try you are free to do so. But let me tell 
 you, Harrv Carroll has no rival in Virginny. Here 
 is my daughter, sir, look at her and make your trial." 
 
 The young officer glanced upon the trembling 
 maiden about to be offered on the altar of her father's 
 unconquerable monomania, with an admiring eye. 
 The poor girl looked at Harry, who stood near with a 
 troubled brow and angry eye, and then cast upon 
 ti e new competitor an imploring glance. 
 
 Placing his coat in the hands of one of the judges^ 
 he drew a sash he wore beneath it tighter around his 
 waist, and taking the appointed stand, made, appa- 
 rently without effort, the bound that was to decide the 
 happiness or misery of Henry and Annette. 
 
 "Twenty-two feet one inch!" shouted the judge! 
 The announcement was repeated with surprise by the 
 spectators, who crowded around the victor, filling the 
 air with congratulations, not unmingled, however, with 
 
84 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 loud murmurs from those who were more nearly inte- 
 rested m the happiness of the lovers. 
 
 The old man approached, and grasping his hand 
 exultingly, called him his son, and said he felt prouder 
 of him than if he were a prince. Physical activity 
 and strength were the old leaper's true patents of no- 
 bility. 
 
 Resuming his coat, the victor sought with his eye 
 the fair prize he had, although nameless and unknown, 
 so fairly won. She leaned upon her father's arm, 
 pale and distressed. 
 
 Her lover stood aloof, gloomy and mortified, ad- 
 miring the superiority of the stranger in an exercise 
 in which he prided himself as unrivalled, while he 
 hated him for his success. 
 
 "Annette, my pretty prize," said the victor, taking 
 her passive hand — " I have won you fairly." An- 
 nette's cheek became paler than marble; she trembled 
 Uke an aspen-leaf, and clung closer to her father, while 
 her drooping eye sought the form of her lover. — His 
 brow grew dark at the stranger's language. 
 
 " I have won you, my pretty flower, to make you 
 a bride! — tremble not so violently — I mean not for 
 myself, however proud I might be," he added with 
 gallantry, "to wear so fair a gem next my heart. Per- 
 haps," and he cast his eyes around inquiringly, while 
 the current of life leaped joyfully to her brow, and a 
 murmur of surprise run through the crowd: " perhaps 
 there is some favored youth among the competitors 
 who has a higher claim to this jewel. Young Sir," 
 he continued, turning to the surprised Henry, "me- 
 thinks you were victor in the lists before me — I strove 
 not for the maiden, though one could not well strive 
 for a fairer, but from love for the manly sport in which 
 I saw you engaged. You are the victor, and as such, 
 with the permission of this worthy assembly, receive 
 from my hands the prize you have so well and honor- 
 ablv won." 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS LEAPER. 85 
 
 The youth sprung forward, and grasped his hand 
 with gratitude: and" tlie next moment Amiette was 
 weeping from pure joy upon his shoulders. The wel- 
 kin rung with the acclamations of the delighted vil- 
 lagers; and, amid the temporary excitement produced 
 by this act, the stranger withdrew from the crowd, 
 mounted his horse, and spurred at a brisk trot through 
 the village. 
 
 That night Henry and Annette were married, and 
 the health of the mysterious and noble-hearted stranger 
 was drunk in over-flowing bumpers of rustic beverage. 
 
 In process of time, there were born unto the mar- 
 ried pair sons and daughters, and Henry Carroll had 
 become Colonel Henry Carroll, of the Revolutionary 
 army. 
 
 One evening, having just returned home after a 
 hard campaign", he was sitting with his family on the 
 gallery of his handsome country-house, when an ad- 
 vance courier rode up, and announced the approach 
 of General Washington and suite, intorming him that 
 he should crave his hospitality for the night. The ne- 
 cessar^' directions w^ere given in reference to the house- 
 hold preparations, and Colonel Carroll, ordering his 
 horse, rode forward to meet and escort to his house 
 the distinguished guest, whom he had never yet seen, 
 although serving in the same widely-extended army. 
 
 That evening at the table, Annette, now become 
 the dignified, matronly and still handsome Mrs. Car- 
 roll, could not keep her eyes from the face of their 
 illustrious visitor. Every moment or two she would 
 steal a glance at his commanding features, and half- 
 doubtingly, half-assuredly, shake her head, and look 
 again and again, to be still more puzzled. Her ab- 
 sence of mind and embarrassment at length became 
 evident to her husband, who inquired, affectionately, 
 if she were ill. 
 
 '• I suspect, Colonel,'' said the General, who had 
 been for some time, with a quiet, meaning, smile, ob- 
 S 
 
S6 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 serving the lady's curious and puzzled survey of his 
 features, " that Mrs. Carroll thinks she recognises in 
 me an old acquaintance.'' And he smiled with a 
 mysterious air, as he gazed on both alternately. 
 
 The Colonel stared, and a faint memory of the past 
 seemed to be revived, as he gazed, while the lady rose 
 impulsively from her chair, and bending eagerly for- 
 ward over the tea-urn, with elapsed hands and an eye 
 of intense, eager inquiry, fixed full upon him, stood 
 for a moment with her lips parted as if she would 
 speak. 
 
 " Pardon me, my dear madam — pardon me. Colo- 
 nel — I must put an end to this scene. I have become, 
 by dint of camp-fare and hard usage, too unwieldy 
 to leap again twenty-two feet one inch, even for so 
 fair a bride as one I wot of." 
 
 The recognition, with the delight, surprise and hap- 
 piness that followed, are left to the imagination of the 
 reader. 
 
 General Washington was, indeed, the handsome 
 young "leaper," whose mysterious appearance and 
 disappearance in the native village of the lovers is 
 still so traditionary, and whose claim to a substantial 
 body of bond Jide flesh and blood, was stoutly con- 
 tested by the village story-tellers, until the happy de- 
 nouement which took place at the hospitable mansion 
 of Colonel Carroll. 
 
THE LAST OF THE WHIPS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 FOUR-IN-HAND versus LOCOMOTIVE. 
 
 IN TWO PARTS. 
 
THE LAST OF THE WHIPS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 *^ALLin!" cried the stage agent, as he turned the han- 
 dle of the door. The coachman or "driver," as he 
 is denominated in the parlance of New-England, till 
 this announcement had been listlessly seated upon his 
 box, with a half-smoked long-nine projecting from his 
 lips. He now gathered up the ribands in the palm of 
 his left hand, shook them slightly, and with an air pro- 
 fessional, settling himself the while with a forward in- 
 clination of his body more firmly upon his seat. Draw- 
 ing them through his fingers, till he ascertained to his 
 satisfaction that they " pulled" upon the bits of his 
 four-in-hand equally and uniformly, he took his long 
 ■whip, constructed of an oaken staff, some five feet in 
 length, to which appertained a lash nearly twice as 
 long, flourished this "baton," of his station scienti- 
 fically, and with the grace of a professeur three or 
 four times around his head, winding up with a loud 
 report of the snapper close to the ears of the leaders. 
 
 "T — t — t! cam! accompanied this startling saluta- 
 tion to his favorite barbs, and away they sprung, toss- 
 ing their slender heads into the air, and flinging out 
 their fore legs wide, their fioofs clattering upon the 
 
90 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 round pavements of the streets of Providence. The 
 rattling of the wheels, the loud crack of the lash, 
 which, with reiterated reports, still played skilfully 
 about their heads and flanks, and the encouraging in- 
 terjections of the coachman, momently infusing ad- 
 ditional fire into the spirited animals. In a few mo- 
 ments we had left the town, (for Providence, in 1S32, 
 dear reader, was under the good old-fashioned patri- 
 archal government of select men, modest and unas- 
 suming the honors of mayor and corporation,) and 
 were flying over the smooth turnpike, which was the 
 only line of communication either for the mail or tra- 
 vellers between that place and Boston. This route in 
 the day of improvement is superseded by the railroad, 
 on which travellers are transported in two hours over 
 a section of country, which, three years ago, consumed 
 from six to seven. The day was delightful. The sun 
 was warm, but not oppressive. It was late in the 
 month of July, and nature was arrayed in her love- 
 liest apparel. I had taken my seat by the side of the 
 *' driver," to obtain a prospect of the finely cultivated 
 country through which our route lay, and draw upon 
 him for information respecting objects we passed. No 
 man should ever ride inside when he can ride outside! 
 This should be an axiom for all travellers. Preserve 
 me from immolation in a stage-coach on a dusty road 
 of a summer's day, nine passengers inside, with chil- 
 dren and bandboxes to fill up the interstices. If sins 
 are ever expiated in this life, such a mode of travel- 
 ling must speedily produce the complete absolution of 
 the most hardened transgressors. 
 
 My companion, the coachman, was a finely-form- 
 ed, athletic man, about five-and-twenty, with a hand- 
 some, good-humored and benevolent countenance, a 
 merry twinkle in his clear blue eye and florid com- 
 plexion, with hght-brown hair, curling about his fore- 
 iiead and neck. He was dressed in light-green panta- 
 loons of corduroy velvet, and a short drab coat, adorn- 
 
THE LAST OF THE WHIPS. 91 
 
 ed with pearl buttons, the size of a Spanish dollar; 
 and wore, a little depressed over his eyes, a white hat, 
 with a broad brim, encircled by a straw-colored ri- 
 band. On the seat lay his blue dreadnanght, or box- 
 coat, which served him as a cushion when fair, but in 
 which in cold or Avet weather he comfortably envelop- 
 ed himself We were rolling along through a finely- 
 tilled country, with farm-houses, black and moss-co- 
 vered with age, lining the road, the rich farms apper- 
 taining to them spreading around in all the opulence 
 of waving grain, green pastures, witk flocks and herds 
 — complete pictures of comfort and independence. 
 Rural happiness seemed to have made this her abid- 
 ing-place, with peace, plenty and repose dwelling 
 around her. 
 
 Invited by the good-natured physiognomy of the 
 coachman, I entered into conversation with him. He 
 was intelligent and communicative, and, like all New- 
 Englanders, in his station in society, with a good com- 
 mon education. His information relating to the ob- 
 jects on the way, was valuable. He was an fait re- 
 specting any historical, or otherwise interesting event 
 associated with the surrounding scenery, through 
 which we were passing. In alluding to the subject 
 of the projected railroad, then in agitation, between 
 Boston and Providence, he remarked that it might be 
 beneficial to many, but it would inevitably ruin all 
 engaged in "staging." 
 
 '• For my part," said he, " I don't know what I 
 should do if this line should be broken up. I have 
 been, some eight years next September, driving on this 
 route, and this is my only means of supporting mv 
 family." 
 
 "You are tlien married!" 
 
 " Yes, sir; I have been married five years and little 
 better, and have a httle curly-headed rogue that knows 
 now almost as much as his father; and one of the pret- 
 
92 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 tiest little babies perhaps you ever laid your eyes on, 
 sir." 
 
 I smiled at the naivete with which he said this. He 
 detected the expression of my eye; and, coloring, he 
 shook the lines and cracked his whip — although his 
 team were doing their best over a level road — with a 
 report like a pistol in the ears of his bay leaders, and, 
 after a momentary pause, continued apologetically— 
 
 '^ Why, I didn't mean to flatter myself when I said 
 it was pretty, sir; although the neighbors do say it fa- 
 vors its father." 
 
 '• I have no doubt that it is as lovely as you repre- 
 sent," I replied, *' and that, nevertheless, it resembles 
 yourself." I said this sincerely as 1 watched the 
 changes of his handsome, but sun-browned face, as 
 the pride of the father and husband, called up there- 
 upon, the finest expression of which the human face 
 divine is susceptible. 
 
 The shades of evening were falling around us, and 
 we had just commenced the ascent of a long hill 
 clothed with forest trees, which often overhung the 
 road, enveloping it in gloom. 
 
 The "driver" dropped his reins upon the back of 
 his team, permuting it to toil slowly and laboriously 
 to the summit. He was silent and musing, and his 
 thoughts were evidently with his wife and little ones; 
 for his features wore that mingled expression of sad- 
 ness and joy, which at twilight, will steal over the 
 face of the absent Avanderer when the heart is present 
 with loved ones. The spell of twilight had fallen upon 
 my companion, and, in imagination, he was beside 
 his young wife, with his " little rogue" and lovely 
 babe upon his knee ! Suddenly he turned, and look- 
 ing me full in the face, said respectfully and with in- 
 terest — 
 
 " Are you married, sir, if I may be so bold?" 
 
 Poor fellow! he sought for sympathy! Alas, forlorn 
 biped that I was then, I had none to bestow ! 
 
THE LAST OF THE WHIPS. 93 
 
 »* I am not/' I answered; "but I can picture the 
 bliss of nuptial life.'' 
 
 "Allow me to say, sir, that you can never judge 
 rightly unless you do so from experience," he inter- 
 rupted with some energy. " I have been married 
 about five years. I never knew Avhat it was to be 
 happy and enjoy Ufe till then. I have had more real 
 comfort in these five years, than in all my life before. 
 Oh, sir, if you could see how nicely I live; there's my 
 little cottage, just back from the road, almost hid in 
 the trees, its httle flower-yard in front, which ^Mary — 
 that's my wife's name, sir — tends herself: and the gar- 
 den behind, which I cultivate myself when I am not 
 on the road. Oh, sir, if you could but see the sweet 
 smile with which Mary meets me when I get to the 
 house, the nice supper she sets for me, and hear her 
 tell how much she has missed me, and how often the 
 little prattlers have talked about ^ Pa.' " 
 
 The coachman became eloquent as he proceeded to 
 detail the individual features which conduced to the 
 perfection of his matrimonial felicity. The picture he 
 presented to my imagination, was glowing. The 
 goodness of heart and native nobility of character he 
 displayed in the recital, filled me 'with admiration, 
 while my heart warmed toward him. He spoke of 
 his early courtship — how Mary had refused wealthier 
 suitors for him, lier " dear Henry." He discoursed of 
 her maternal and conjugal love: how she would weep 
 at a tale of sadness: mourn with the sorrowful and 
 rejoice with the mirthful. How she loved her chil- 
 dren—nightly kneeled by their bedside, and com- 
 mended them to the protection of her Heavenly Parent. 
 Of her piety he spoke long and ardently. 
 
 "Mary!" I mentally exclaimed, "thou art well 
 called MARY!" 
 
 The night had set in dark, and we were near the 
 end of the stage or route where we were to change 
 horses and driver. A little village was before us. 
 
94 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 with a light twinkling here and there from a dwelling 
 on the roadside. The horses flew forward with in- 
 creased speed: the wheels whirled rapidly along the 
 smooth pike, and loud and frequent were the reports 
 of the long lash in the air over the heads of the lead- 
 ers. We were entering the native village of my senti- 
 mental and happy companion upon the coach box! 
 
 " Do you see that light, sir?" he inquired, with a 
 tone of pleasure. I looked in the direction indicated 
 with his whip. One light burned higher, brighter, and 
 more cheerfully than all the rest. 
 
 *' That bright light is in Mary's window," he said; 
 "she always sits there waiting for my return. Now, 
 sir, I will gladden her heart." 
 
 As he spoke he drew his stage-horn from a " beck- 
 et" in which it hung, and placing it to his hps, blew 
 a long and cheerful blast. The horses, as if catching 
 inspiration from the sound, darted ahead with re- 
 newed swifrness, and the next moment the coach 
 wheels were rattling merrily over the paved street of 
 the quiet village. 
 
 The stage rolled along through the avenue-like 
 street, and stopped before the principal hotel. The 
 driver dismounted, and surrendered his box to anoth- 
 er, a hard-featured stranger, with a harsh voice and 
 vulgar manners. I disliked him at once, and deter- 
 mined to go no farther that night, for my curiosity was 
 roused to see more of my new friend. 
 
 " Coachman," I said to him, " you have created an 
 interest in me; I wish to go with you to your house; 
 I should be gratified in witnessing vour domestic 
 bliss." 
 
 " Nothing would make me happier," he replied; " I 
 was wishing to ask the honor of you, but was afraid 
 it would be too bold in me." 
 
 "x\ll ready, gentlemen!" cried the new coachman, 
 ascending to his box. " We are waiting for you, sir." 
 
THE LAST OF THE WHIPS. 95 
 
 " Pitch me my valise, driver; I shall go no farther 
 to-night!" 
 
 The valise, with a heavy sound, accompanied by 
 an oath from the driver, struck the gallery, and with a 
 flourish and crack of the whip, the stage rolled away 
 from the inn, leaving me standing beside my Bene- 
 dict. 
 
 After having engaged a room for the night at the 
 inn, I was, in a few minutes, on my way to the cot- 
 tage of the happy husband; a quarter of a mile from 
 the inn we turned into a narrow and crooked lane, at the 
 termination of which a light gleamed steadily; a bea- 
 con of love, guiding the married lover to his young 
 bride ! 
 
 We had walked half way to the house when the 
 gate of the flower-garden was thrown open, and a 
 graceful female figure hastily advanced towards us. 
 Her white dress glanced in the moon, which was just 
 rising above the trees; our figures, at that moment, 
 were partly concealed, mine wholly so, in the shadow 
 of a venerable tree which overspread the path. 
 
 "Henry, is it you? Oh, I have been waiting for 
 you so long," and she darted forward and threw her- 
 self into his arms. " Two long days you have been 
 away, and I have been so lonely!" As she spoke she 
 drew back from his arms, which had encircled her; to 
 gaze into his face, her eyes full of love, when the form 
 of a stranger caught her eye. I was gazing upon her 
 fair face in undisguised admiration. Her beauty, soft- 
 ened by the moonlight seemed angelic! 
 
 " Sir, I beg your pardon," she said, while her blush- 
 ing brow was visible even in the moonlight. " Henry, 
 why didn't you tell me some one was with you?" she 
 added with playful reproof, half ashamed that a stran- 
 ger's eye should mark the fervor of her devotion to her 
 husband and lover. 
 
 We passed through the neat white gate along a 
 
96 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 pebbled walk bordered with flowers, and entered the 
 cottage, a simple, snow-white dwelling, adorned with 
 a humble portico, half hidden in honey-suckle and 
 woodbine. With courtesy, I was ushered into their 
 happy abode. A room on the right of the little hall 
 served the young and frugal housewife as sitting-room 
 and kitchen. The floors were snowy-white, the fur- 
 niture plain and neat. Simplicity and taste reigned 
 over every domestic arrangement. Under a small 
 mirror placed against the wall, stood a side-table spread 
 with a white cloth, on which was laid the evening 
 meal. There were two plates — for the wife had de- 
 layed her meal. She would not partake without her 
 husband! The httle ones had long before taken their 
 bread and milk, and were sweetly and soundly sleep- 
 ing — " the rogue" in a crib by the side of a bed visi- 
 ble in an adjoinmg room — the infant in a cradle by the 
 table, 
 
 I partook with the happy pair of their evening 
 meal, which remained religiously untouched, after we 
 were seated, until the lovely wife sweetly and devo- 
 tionally sought the divine blessing upon it. x\fter 
 supper the sleeping infant was placed in my arms by 
 the fond father. It was, indeed, a lovely child — a 
 sleeping cherub! The eldest, a chubby, rosy -cheeked 
 urchin of some four years' growth in mischief, was 
 also taken from the inner room and shown to me. It 
 was a beautiful curly-locked fellow, the miniature of 
 its father. I told him so, and he smiled delightedly; 
 while his charming wife's face beamed more happily 
 than if the compliment had been paid to herself. That 
 night, after kneeling with them around the family al- 
 tar, and listening to a petition from the lips of the 
 young husband, which, for its spirit of devotion and 
 humble faith, I have seldom known equalled, I return- 
 ed to my hotel, and laid my head upon my pillow a 
 happier and better man! 
 
THE LAST OF THE WHIPS. 97 
 
 Alas! that my story must end as it will! If the 
 reader will be content with but one side of the shield, 
 let him glance only at the first part of this tale of real 
 life. The second is for him who will weigh human 
 life in a balance — who seeks for the knowledge both 
 of good and evil. 
 
THE LAST OF THE WHIPS. 
 
 PART II. 
 
THE LAST OF THE WHIPS. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Ox one of the loveliest afternoons of June last, I 
 stepped from the dusty pier upon the deck of the 
 steamer Benjamin FrankUn, bound for Providence. 
 Of this fine boat I need not speak. Every one who 
 knows the patriarch of the " line'' Captain Bunker, 
 knows the Benjamin FrankUn, and all who have 
 " travelled" know him, and how very comfortable he 
 makes his large family of passengers. His kind con- 
 sideration for their comfort is characterised by quite a 
 paternal sort of feeling. 
 
 '• Go ahead!" shouted the first officer, as the clocks 
 of the city were striking near and afar off, the hour of 
 five; and amid the ringing of bells from surrounding 
 and rival steamboats, the loud and repeated adieus in- 
 terchanged between friends on deck and those they 
 were leaving behind on the pier — this noble packet, 
 shot swiftly out from the dock, and in a few minutes 
 under the ' highest pressure of her immense power, 
 was gliding past an hundred craft anchored and on 
 the wing, passing the fleetest among them as if it 
 were staUonary, so imperceptible was its really swift 
 motion compared with the bird-like velocity of the 
 
 9* 
 
102 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 Steamer. A few minutes after leaving the pier, the ' 
 Battery, with its green carpet, broad avenues, noble 
 trees, and gay crowds, appeared in sight; but the 
 next moment, like a scene of a brilliant and a fleeting 
 panorama, it disappeared, as making a majestic 
 sweep the boat doubled the Castle Garden — the lively 
 evening rendezvous of tired and cooped-up cits. 
 Rounding Whitehall, once more we were involved in 
 an anchored fleet of merchantmen, through which 
 our boat skilfully threaded its intricate way, passing 
 on one side crowded piers and long lines of stores; on 
 the other the bluff's, trees, green slopes, colonnaded 
 mansions, and Navy Yard of Brooklyn. Onward we 
 sped at th'^ rate of seventeen miles to the hour, yet 
 the long line of brick buildings seemed interminable. 
 The city appeared to stretch away to the north to in- 
 finity, while on the eastern side the shores of Long 
 Island, studded with villages and dotted with villas, 
 surrounded with highly-cultivated grounds, relieved 
 the eye when turned thither, fatigued with surveying 
 the brick and mortar scenery of Manhattan. 
 
 Six miles from the Battery we passed a charming 
 recess of the sound, or " East River," as it is strange- 
 ly denominated, called " Hallet's Cove." It is an am- 
 phitheatre of country seats, embowered in the green- 
 est and densest foliage. On an elevated esplanade or 
 bluff", overhanging the water, the site of a delightful 
 village — that is to be — called Ravenswood, was point- 
 ed out to me. It is to be laid out with the most accu- 
 rate adherence to symmetry in the arrangement and 
 architecture of the houses and the disposition of the 
 grounds and foliage. Grant Thorburn, celebrated for 
 his flowers and eccentricities, and withal his hospita- 
 lity (?) has a plain economical-looking mansion in the 
 vicinity, behind which appeared the glazed roof of an 
 extensive hot-house. His dwelling is utterly destitute 
 of foliage. Singular it is, that one who has passed 
 his life amid flowers and verdure, should choose a 
 
THE LAST OF THE WHIPS. 103 
 
 dwelling in which to spend the decline of his days 
 unadorned or unblessed by sheltering tree or shrub. 
 
 But, dear reader, all this is digressive. It is the 
 story of " The Stage Coachman/' to which I would 
 invite your sympathy. Farther, to your imagination 
 I leave our eventful passage of the " Hurl Gate/' 
 honored by traditionary veracity as the boiling caul- 
 dron of Sathanas — and how, as the sun went down, 
 we entered the gradually-widening sound — how, far 
 in the noon of night we accomplished the perilous 
 passage of the " Race." How, the deep sea rolled 
 landward its majestic waves, unbroken and unimped- 
 ed, till they burst with a noise like thunder upon the 
 shores of Connecticut. How the " inner man" of the 
 major portion of my Jbllow-passengers rebelled at this 
 imwelcome demonstration of Neptune's power over 
 mortals. How " Point Judith" — that region of horror 
 to all v/ho adventure between Manhattan and Provi- 
 dence — " tried men's souls;" and how the smooth 
 waters of the quiet basin of Newport, like the pool of 
 Siloam, cured most miraculously all the wilom sea-sick. 
 (Newport — your indulgence, dear reader, for a brief 
 disression) S'ewport is a lovely spot! The air is elas- 
 tic; its scenery rural: its daughters fairer than you see 
 in dreams! It abounds in rural beauties, and is rich 
 in historical associations. What a charm of romance 
 has the pen of Cooper thrown around it! The socie- 
 ty, in the summer season, is refined and southern — 
 for Newport is the Nahant of the southerners — I mean 
 the Carolinians and Georgians! Cooper's tower alone 
 invites a pilgrimage. An ex-governor, by-the-by, is 
 its keeper. The Tower of London has a " keeper," 
 and why, forsooth, should not the romantic pile of 
 Newport? The curious tourist should be careful to 
 be provided with the "needful," to obtain a sight of 
 it; for it is carefully fenced round about, and, in the 
 opinion of his excellency, who forbids all to approach 
 it who come not with proper credentials in their pock- 
 
104 . THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 ets, is too sacred ground for the feet of plebeians to de- 
 secrate. Such spots are the property of the civilised 
 world — shrines to do pilgrimage to! In two hours 
 after leaving Newport, we arrived at Providence. The 
 steamer came slowly and majestically to the wharf, 
 and the cars could be discerned from the deck, stand- 
 ing in a long line upon the track awaiting their occu- 
 pants. Who may faithfully describe the hurry and 
 confusion attendant on the debarkation of passengers 
 from a steamer to take their seats in the cars! The 
 ugly deity, Self, rules over the multitude then without 
 a rival. Trunks, bandboxes, and carpet-bags — how 
 they take to themselves wings and fly then! The 
 wrangling — the jostling — the crowding and squeezing 
 — the smashing of hats, and utter annihilation of corns 
 — who but Madame Trollope can find pen or language 
 to paint the scene? 
 
 My portmanteau was among the missing! On in- 
 quiring, I learned, little to the benefit of my philoso- 
 phy, that, placed accidentally on the right or starboard 
 guard, under an ominous sign lettered " Newport 
 Bas:goge,^^ which, alas, met my eye too late, it had 
 suffered the fate of Newport baggage — videlicet — tum- 
 bled ashore at Newport, some two hours before Som- 
 nus released me, reluctantly, from his lethean embrace. 
 In silence I watched the rapidly loading cars, and saw 
 the well-filled train, each man (the more blest he who 
 owned none) in confident possession of his baggage. 
 After finding there was no remedy, I resolved to bear 
 my detention with suitable patience, until I could re- 
 turn in the evening boat, for the truant valise; and 
 turning to enter my state-room, the only occupant of 
 the deserted steamer, I was accosted by one who in- 
 quired, if " I had baggage to take to town." I turn- 
 ed quickly to annihilate the untimely joker upon my 
 misfortunes with a look, w^hen my ocular anathema 
 was converted into an ejaculation of pity. A more 
 pitiful object has seldom met my gaze. ' His panta- 
 
THE LAST OF THE WHIPS. 105 
 
 loons, which scarce served to conceal his limbs, were 
 a strange medley of shreds of cloth, more strangely- 
 put together; jacket or vest, he had neither; his feet 
 were thrust into shoes almost abridged, by long and 
 hard service, to sandals. He wore upon his neglect- 
 ed locks an old stjaw hat, much shorn of its original 
 honors. His face was rubicund and bloated — his eyes 
 red, wild and sunken; and, together, his whole ap- 
 pearance indicated the drunkard in the last stages of 
 his fatal and unnatural insanity. His face had, cer- 
 tainly, once been handsome, and still bore traces of 
 manly beauty. With a quivering lip, hollow voice, 
 and palsied hand, he stood beside me, and solicited the 
 means of earning a pittance, evidently to be applied 
 to the fatal object for which he had already sold his 
 constitution, if not also his life and soul. 
 
 ^' I have no baggage," I replied, and turned away 
 from a sight so degrading to humanity. He followed 
 me to the,^door of my state-room; his unequal gait, 
 even at that early hour, telling of that morning's im- 
 molation of his human nature upon the altar of the 
 drunkard's god. 
 
 " Stop, sir! I'll brush your boots or coat for you." 
 Unfortunately for the^ applicant, both^were unexcep- 
 tionable. 
 
 Half an hour afterward I stepped from my cabin, 
 where the deUghtful pages of my gifted countrywo- 
 man, Mrs. Sigourney, had served to soothe me into 
 forgetfulness of my travelling mischance, and the 
 bloated features and ragged person of the drunkard 
 confronted me. 
 
 " If I give you money, will you not use it to mad- 
 den your brain?" I inquired, balancing a shilling on 
 my finger. 
 
 " I shall do that, you may depend upon it I" he an- 
 swered grufflv. 
 
 '• Then I ought not to give this piece of money to 
 
106 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 you. Wretched as you appear, you do not deserve 
 it.'' 
 
 " Who does deserve it, then?" he inquired. 
 
 " The man it will render happier." 
 
 " Then I am your man," he said, quickly, while his 
 eye lighted with a strange expression of drunken fe- 
 rocity. "Give it me!" and, as he spoke, he caught 
 my hand and clasped the coin in his fingers with a 
 frenzied clutch upon it. " Now, sir, I am happy for 
 to-day!" and he laughed in his throat as he staggered 
 away, his voice and manner subdued to their former 
 mere animal apathy, muttering, " Happy! happy! yes! 
 this will make me happy, indeed!" 
 
 There was something, aside from the strange lan- 
 guage and deportment of the man, which singularly 
 interested me in him. His features seemed familiar; and 
 disguised as his voice evidently was by the corrosive 
 poison with which he was daily lacerating his lungs, I 
 was confident I had heard it before, and under peculi- 
 arly interesting circumstances. I searched the records 
 of memory, but they gave no clue, and finally, I deter- 
 mined to follow and' question him. But when I cast my 
 eyes over the pier for him, he had disappeared. I step- 
 pedonshore,turned my steps toward a small "grogery" 
 situated near the water, and found him there! The 
 already emptied glass was in his hand, and he was re- 
 placing it upon the counter when I caught his eye. 
 With a light step and sparkling eyes, he approached me. 
 
 " I feel happy nowP^ he said, striking his hand em- 
 phatically upon his breast, and coming close to me. 
 '• Click! if I was on my box now how I would make 
 my four little four-in handers walk!" and he placed 
 himself upon a barrel which stood behind him, exten- 
 ding his left hand, advancing his body, and elevating 
 his right hand, in which he held a switch, precisely in 
 the attitude of the most practised "whip." 
 
 " Good heaven! my friend," I exclaimed, as this 
 accidental position became, at once, the key to unlock 
 
THE LAST OF THE WHIPS. 107 
 
 the mystery which had enveloped the reminiscence of 
 him, "can you be Henry, the stage-coachman?" 
 
 He started and looked me, for a moment, fixedly in 
 the face, and then grasped my hand with much emo- 
 tion — 
 
 '*' Ha, sir, you are the stranger I took home to see 
 INIary and the little ones!" and his eyes filled with 
 tears. 
 
 Poor fellow! my presence, as he recognised me, un- 
 locked the buried and liappier past. The last time, 
 four years before, I knew him a happy and enviable 
 man; blessed with a lovely and virtuous wife, and the 
 delighted parent of two beautiful babes. iNIy heart 
 swelled and my heart sympathised with his own, as I 
 contrasted his situation then, with his present wretch- 
 ed condition. 
 
 "Where is your wife, Henry!" I inquired with 
 commiseration. He released my hand, and clenching 
 his fist, struck his temples with sudden violence, and 
 then hid his face in his hands. 
 
 "Dead! dead!" he answered after a moment's 
 pause. " I killed her, sir!" he said this in the extrem- 
 ity of abandonment. 
 
 "How? what mean you?" 
 
 " / broke her heart, sir/'^ 
 
 " And your children?" 
 
 " In the work-house." 
 
 I sat by him upon the rude seat he had chosen, and 
 he told me (for he was now sober, the mental excite- 
 ment having mastered the artificial,) the sad tale of 
 the last four years of his life. 
 
 The morning on which the rail-road cars w^ere to 
 proceed on their first trip, the line of stages, painted in 
 their gayest colors and drawn by fleet horses, assem- 
 bled as usual, at the head of the pier, to receive their 
 passengers, as the long expected steamer came plough- 
 ing her way up the bay. Crowds collected to witness 
 
108 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 the spectacle of the opening of this new and novel 
 mode of transporting travellers, surveying, alternately, 
 the singular-looking cars, with their smalHron wheels, 
 standing in a long train, upon the yet untrodden path, 
 the empty stages, more numerous than the cars, with 
 their anxious drivers mounted, each upon his elevated 
 box, and the approaching boat, whose arrival was 
 about to decide which of the two mediums of convey- 
 ance — the good old standard line of stages, or the new- 
 fangled, whizzing, fly-away and wicked-looking cars 
 — was to hold the ascendency. 
 
 The steamer came gallantly up to the pier, amid a 
 shout from the assembled multitude on the shore. In 
 a few minutes all had disembarked. The " drivers," 
 in their white hats and coats, and with their long 
 whips, were flying about among the passengers with 
 additional activity and perseverance, none of them 
 exerting more than my friend Henry. But, to every 
 hasty, anxious inquiry, '' Coach, gentlemen? — Boston 
 and Providence line?" The reply immediately was, 
 "I take the rail-road," or ^' I take the cars." 
 
 After some litde delay, attendant on the first trial 
 of a new means of locomotion, the bells rung, the can- 
 non roared, and an:iid the shouts of the multitude the 
 long train of cars moved ofl", propelled by an unseen 
 power, from the pier. At first slowly, as if to try her 
 powers, the train rolled over the first section of the 
 track; but gradually, as if confident in itself, its speed 
 increased, and darting rapidly forward, in a few mo- 
 ments it was lost to the sight of the wondering crowd. 
 
 Alas ! the poor coachmen ! they had assembled at 
 their usual post, near the head of the pier, confident of 
 their usual " fare," and never dreaming that men, who 
 had a suitable regard for the weal of their own souls 
 and bodies, would intrust them to the tender mercies 
 of such a fierv"- winged monster as the black, puffing 
 engine, which all the country round had journeyed to 
 gaze at as an eighth wonder in the world. Their laugh 
 
THE LAST OF THE WHIPS. 109 
 
 was merry as ever, and their jokes as numerous, when 
 the boat, her decks crowded with passengers, hove in 
 sight. But when they saw, one after another, their 
 legitimate fare preferring the new mode of locomo- 
 tion, the joke died unuttered on their lips, their faces 
 grew long, and their hearts sunk, and, some with 
 curses upon " all new-fangled inventions, to steal ho- 
 nest people's bread out of^their mouths," and others 
 with depressed bosoms, gathering up their now use- 
 less ribands, they moved slowly and silently back to 
 town. 
 
 About two months from that day three individuals, 
 thus thrown out of employment, bound themselves by 
 a solemn oath, to give all possible hindrance to rail- 
 road travelling. The next day after this conspiracy 
 was formed, by some means unaccountable to the pub- 
 lic, the train was thrown from the track, but fortu- 
 nately without injury. The next day a similar " ac- 
 cident," as it was heralded, occurred, and one person 
 nearly lost his life by the violence with which he was 
 thrown from the cars. The next day the cars were 
 only saved from total demolition by the presence of 
 mind of the engineer. It was now sufficiently clear 
 that some enemy was abroad who was busy at this 
 mischief. A watch was set, and one of the perpetra- 
 tors was detected. I grieve to say it — but the guilty 
 man was Henry I In his defence he pleaded that he 
 had stuck to the line till it was broken up and his 
 "vocation" gone; then he had sought fruitlessly, and 
 in vain, for employment on other lines, but that " no 
 man would hire him," and that his money was all 
 expended, and his family calling upon him for the 
 reward of a husband and a father's toil. " What could 
 I do?" he said; " I could not see them suffer. The 
 short and long of it is, sir, that I took to drink and 
 treated Mary cruelly. One night several of my old 
 mates met me at the tavern close by my house, and, 
 in an unlucky moment when the liquor was in, I 
 10 
 
no THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 agreed to join ^em in breaking up the rail-road. I was 
 arrested." His punishment was Hght, but he never 
 recovered from the degradation consequent on the 
 piibUc exposure of his crime; nordidhis wife, the gen- 
 tle Mary, long survive the shock thus given to her re- 
 fined and virtuous sensibility. In a few months after- 
 ward she died of a broken heart — thus ever, it appears 
 to me, die the fairest of earth's flowers — and was laid 
 by her friends in a lonely and tearless grave in the 
 village churchyard. Her husband knew not of her 
 death till the earth had closed over her form. For 
 many days previous he knew no other home than the 
 grog-shop, no other nutriment than the contents of his 
 bottle. 
 
 When, during a lucid (sober) interval, he returned 
 and found his hearth deserted, and his child taken 
 away by the charitable, (for there are a few such even 
 in this world,) a new possessor of his once happy cot- 
 tage told him the sad tale. From that hour he had 
 been descending till I met him, the low and abject 
 thing I have described him in another page, outcast 
 from his fellows, an alien from society, striving, in 
 vain, to bury the recollection of the past. 
 
 " Sir, will you give me another shilling?" he asked, 
 as he concluded his sad recital. " I cannot bear to 
 think of these things. I must drink andforget!^^ 
 
 On my return from Boston, a few weeks afterwards, 
 I was informed that Henry Salford, " the last of the 
 stage-coachmen," had ended his miserable existence 
 by a suicidal death. 
 
THE ILLEGITIMATE; 
 
 PROPHECY OF UIQUERA. 
 
THE ILLEGITIMATE 
 
 " A curse be ever on thy race — 
 Down to a well-earned doom they go — 
 Thankless and dishonored slaves.'" 
 
 The life and times of Charles of England, the gay- 
 est and most gallant monarch, since the days of that 
 oriental potentate, so famous for wisdom and architec- 
 ture, have been prolific themes, not only for the ele- 
 gant pens of the elegant courtiers of the period, and 
 the graver historian, but for the exercise of the genius 
 and talents of graceful female biographers of the pre- 
 sent age. 
 
 It is at the close of this era of gallantry, beauty and 
 wit, an era in which the warlike knight began to 
 merge into the pacific gentleman of hound and horn, 
 and tournaments gave place to contests in the political 
 arena, and when the memory of this erring but ami- 
 able prince lived only in the hearts of his subjects — 
 his vices forgotten, his virtues alone remembered — that 
 we open the first scene of our tale. 
 
 " Nay, sweet Lady Mary — your eyes betray vour 
 10* 
 
114 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 heart I That diamond trembling upon their rich'frin- 
 ges contradicts your words;" and the speaker spurred 
 the high-blooded animal upon which he was mounted, 
 closer by the side of the ambling palfrey, ridden by 
 the lovely girl he addressed. ^' Say not I must forget 
 you, Mary! On the morrow, my uncle sends me to 
 Eton. May not your love bless me, absent from you? 
 Oh, recall, dear cousin, that chilling word! Say not 
 there is no hopeV 
 
 A moment's embarrassing silence ensued, when, 
 crushing a tear which glittered beneath her dark eye- 
 lashes, the maiden drew her veil closely over her face, 
 and shaking her silken bridle, bounded forward with 
 velocity, as if in the fleetness of her movements, she 
 would annihilate the feelings which tortured her young 
 bosom. With equal speed the youth galloped by her 
 side down the solemn glades of the old forest, until 
 they came in sight of the towers of an ancient castle, 
 lifting themselves with gothic grandeur above the ma- 
 jestic oaks, which for centuries had encircled them. 
 
 The maiden was the daughter of its noble earl; and 
 the honors, titles and wealth she inherited, were only 
 equalled by her surpassing loveliness. Her complexion 
 was like the purest ocean-pearl, which a mellow sun- 
 set cloud has delicately tinted with its own roseate 
 hue. Her dark chesnut hair escaped from beneath her 
 riding hat, and floated around her shoulders in a cloud 
 of natural tresses. Her eyes were large, and eloquent 
 in their expression, and of the same rich brown shade 
 as her hair. She had not yet numbered fifteen sum- 
 mers — a gay, wild, fascinating child, yet all the wo- 
 man in the depth and fervor of her feelings. 
 
 Her form was moulded with the symmetry of a 
 sylph's; and as she bounded on her fleet courser 
 through the wood, imagination might have deified her 
 as the queen of the sylvan empire, through which she 
 rode, and leader of its train of fairy nymphs. 
 
 The youth who accompanied her, was also surpass- 
 
THE ILLEGITIMATE. 115 
 
 ingly fair; a fitting mate for so sweet a dove. His 
 hair was black as the raven's pkime which danced 
 over his riding hood, and flowed in thick curls about 
 his neck. His brows were arched and dark, and his 
 forehead wore that lofty and noble air, said to be the 
 birthright of England's nobles. His eyes were 
 exceedingly black, and a voluptuous languor dwelt 
 about his mouth. The upper Up was curved slightly, 
 evincing a native haughtiness of spirit. The contour 
 of his face was a fauhless oval. He counted perhaps 
 seventeen winters and summers. 
 
 They were lovers. 
 
 As they came in sight of the distant turrets, the 
 maiden reined in her spirited animal, and putting aside 
 her veil, turned with a smile, like an April sunshine, 
 whilst tears danced in her brilliant eyes, towards her 
 companion: 
 
 " Charles — you well know I love you. It is useless 
 for me to attempt to disguise it. But, but — " and as 
 she paused and hesitated, the rich blood mounted to 
 her cheek and brow, whilst she dropped her eyes in 
 painful embarrassment. 
 
 " But what? sweet Mary! Why, cousin, this silence 
 and emotion?" he inquired with animation — his brow 
 paling with the presentiment of evil; and he laid his 
 hand emphatically upon her arm as he spoke. 
 
 " Charles ! They tell me — that— that— " 
 
 " Nay ^torture me not with suspense," he cried, as 
 she hesitated to proceed; and springing from his horse 
 he grasped with eager and inquiring anxiety both of 
 her hands. 
 
 "They tell me, my dear Charles — but oh, 1 will not 
 believe it," she added, bending her head till it rested 
 upon his shoulder, to conceal her emotion — '• they tell 
 me — you are the late king's son!" 
 
 The poor youth relaxed his hold upon her bridle, 
 which he had suddenly seized — the hand locked in the 
 maiden's, convulsively unclasped, and with a brow 
 
1 1 6 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 changed to the hue of death, he fell without a word, 
 or sign of life to the earth. 
 
 A gay anniversary was announced for celebration 
 in the halls of Eton. The princes, and nobles, and 
 the beauty of the land were assembled there to honor 
 the fete. 
 
 The venerable religious pile in which the concluding 
 ceremonies of the day were held was living with 
 beauty, and gorgeous with the display of diamonds 
 and jewels, and the magnificent dresses of knights and 
 gentlemen. 
 
 A youth, whose striking figure and handsome fea- 
 tures created a murmur of surprise throughout the as- 
 sembly, whilst one or two dowager countesses were 
 seen to draw forth miniatures, and whispering, com- 
 pare them amid many signs of intelUgence, with his 
 appearance, advanced with grace and modesty to re- 
 ceive, above all competitors, the highest collegiate ho- 
 nor of that day, to be conferred by the royal hands of 
 James himself 
 
 As he bent on one knee, and inclined his head to 
 receive the golden chain and medal, a youth, near his 
 own age, his unsuccessful rival for the distinction, with 
 a lowering brow, and small, deep set eyes, his hair, 
 and such portions of his dress as were not concealed by 
 his gown, cut after the popular fashion of the times of 
 the Long Parliament, rose boldly from his chair and 
 cried in a loud harsh tone: — 
 
 " Hold! He whom you would thus honor, is the 
 illegitimate son of Charles!'^ 
 
 All eyes turned in the direction of the audacious 
 speaker, and the brow of the monarch grew black 
 with indignation. 
 
 " Young Cromwell! It is young Cromwell !" passed 
 from mouth to mouth, while surprise at this sudden 
 
THE ILLEGITIMATE. 1 17 
 
 and singular announcement, fixed every eye, alter- 
 nately upon the malicious interrupter of the ceremo- 
 nies, and upon the ill-fated Charles. 
 
 With a cry of despair that filled every hosom, and 
 burying his face in the folds of his robe, the sensitive 
 and disgraced youth rushed forth from the Chapel. 
 
 •Many days afterwards, the rumor was rife among 
 the Etonians, and in the higher circles of the king- 
 dom, through Avhich this strange tale was circulated, 
 that the victim of young Cromwell's malignity and 
 revenge, who with the true spirit of his grandsire, had 
 expressed his bitterness against all associated with roy- 
 alty and THE CHARLES, had fled an exile over 
 sea to the " New World," as the continent of Ameri- 
 ca was denominated, even at that comparatively late 
 period. 
 
 The province, formerly, and now state, of Maine, 
 where we transfer the scenes of this tale, is constituted 
 of lands, originally possessed by several tribes of war- 
 like Indians. The most powerful of these were the 
 Kennebec and Penobscot tribes — names harsh and 
 uneuphonious in the ear of an European.* The 
 
 * The languages of the tribes once occupying the territory of the 
 United States, follow the same laws characteristic of the languages of 
 Europe. 
 
 The dialects of Europe become softer or harsher as they are spoken 
 more northerly or southerly; so in Italy we find a language which has 
 become but another term for poetry and melody. 
 
 Harsh consonants, gutturals, and abrupt monosyllables, are peculiar 
 to the northern tribes of America; and Penobscot, Androscoggin, Nor- 
 ridgwock, Saccarapac, Schohegan, Monadnock, Cochreah, and Kenne- 
 bunk, are sounds as characteristic of the languages of those tribes once 
 inhabiting New England, as, Chitalusa, Homachitta, Alabama, Atcha- 
 falaya, Altamaha, Natches, Natchitoches, Mississippi, (whose original 
 name is Mesach^be,) of the tribes of the South. 
 
1 IS THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 former dwelt on the banks of the beautitul river, to 
 which they have left their name. Their hunting 
 grounds extended west and south to the river Saco. 
 Their eastern boundary was the Damariscotta river, 
 which also formed the western limits of the Penob- 
 scots. This tribe possessed the lands watered by the 
 river bearing its name. Their eastern limits were un- 
 defined, but constantly enlarging with the progress 
 of their conquests over their less powerful neighbors. 
 
 Between this tribe and the Kennebecs, an hereditary 
 war had existed, to use the emphatic figure of a late 
 chief, " since the oldest oak of the forest was an 
 acorn.'' 
 
 They were also of different religions. The Kenne- 
 becs worshipped a spirit who they imagined presided 
 over their rivers and lakes, whom they denominated 
 Kenlascasca, or. The Angel of the Waters. In the 
 Umpid bosom of their divinity, they buried their dead, 
 worshipped him in the descending rain, and propitia- 
 ted him by human sacrifices, which they immolated in 
 deep waters, when, in his anger, he sufiered them to 
 swell above their banks. 
 
 The Penobscots worshipped the great mountain, 
 Coalacas,* which lifted its blue head to the skies in 
 the midst of their hunting grounds. When the storm- 
 clouds gathered about his summit, and he veiled his 
 face from them in displeasure, when his voice was 
 heard in the loud thunder, and the glance of his angry 
 eye seen in the lightnings, they trembled; and as a sa- 
 crifice, which should at the same time avert his wrath, 
 and manifest their obedience and submission, they 
 sacrificed by fire, a fawn of one spring. 
 
 Upon the summit of this mountain dwelt the priest 
 of their religion, who administered in a rude temple, 
 to which the whole tribe once a ^^ear performed pil- 
 grimage, the sacred duties of his office. At this shrine, 
 
 * Blue Hill, Gainpden, Maine. 
 
THE ILLEGITIMATE. 119 
 
 the young warrior sought success in battle — the maid- 
 en, in love, the injured, in justice or revenge. 
 
 The sage and prophet of his people, and visible pre- 
 sence of their divinity was denominated Uiquera, or 
 The priest of the Mountain. He was aged, and gray 
 hairs thinly sprinkled his bronzed and time-worn 
 temples. 
 
 It was evening — an evening of that mild and hazy 
 time, when autumn, is losing itself in winter, termed 
 the Indian Summer, and peculiar to New England — 
 when the aged patriarch stood upon a rock in front of 
 his hut, gazuig upon the vast landscape beneath him, 
 mellowed by the peculiar atmosphere of the season, to 
 the soft, dreamy features of an Italian scene. 
 
 To the north, forests, tinged with mingled gold and 
 purple, orange and vermillion, and dyed with a thou- 
 sand intermediate hues — a gorgeousnes of scenery- 
 found only in America — and yet untrodden by others 
 than the beast of prey, or of the chase, and his Indian 
 hunter, stretched away, league added to league, till 
 they met the horizon. Still farther north, breaking 
 with unequal lines this meeting of sky and woods, 
 towered the summits of a chain of mountains, consti- 
 tuting the dividing ridge, between the waters flowing 
 into the great river of the north, and the less majestic 
 streams, that, coursing southward, seek the Atlantic 
 sea. To the east and west, forests alone bounded the 
 view. On the south, bays penetrated far inland nearly 
 to the base of the mountain, and beyond was the deep, 
 restless sea, extending far away, until sky and ocean 
 alone met the eye. 
 
 The aged man gazed upon the vast prospect thus 
 spread out, like a map beneath him, and wondered as 
 he gazed, at the greatness and power of the Great 
 Spirit who created it. 
 
 " Father!" spoke tremulously a sweet and child-like 
 voice. 
 
 " My child!" he said calmly turning, and placing his 
 
120 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 hand upon the head of a lovely maiden kneeling at 
 his feet, the only daughter of the chief of her tribe. 
 
 " Father — they teach me that you are favored by the 
 good Manitoula. His aid I have come to seek, through 
 you, his minister!" 
 
 " It is thine, daughter — speak!" he replied with dig- 
 nity, and in a mild and encouraging tone. 
 
 " Anasca, the young chief of the Kennebecs, with 
 many gifts and promises of land, and offers of peace 
 and amity, demands me of my father in marriage!" 
 and the Indian maid bowed her head to the earth in 
 silence, awaiting his reply. 
 
 "Does this please the chief, thy father?" 
 
 " Oh, I know not — the offer is tempting; and yet he 
 should love me better than thus to sacrifice me!" 
 
 " Will it be a sacrifice, if it is to obey thy father's 
 will, my daughter?" 
 
 " Oh, yes — yes — " 
 
 " Lina, dost thou cherish hatred against the young 
 warrior?" 
 
 "No, oh no! but I love him not. I fear him I" she 
 added with energy. 
 
 " Whom then dost thou love, child, that thou canst 
 not love this youth? They tell me he is a brave young 
 chief, and of noble bearing, though, perhaps, hasty and 
 passionate withal." 
 
 "Love? love? oh, none but you and my father!" 
 she replied with the undisguised artlessness of her sim- 
 ple nature. 
 
 " Daughter," said the seer solemnly, "it becomes us 
 to make peace. If friendship may ensue between 
 those so long at enmity, by this proposed union, it 
 should be sought, but not at the sacrifice of thy hap- 
 piness. Wilt thou wed him maiden?" he added ab- 
 ruptly, taking her hand and looking steadily into her 
 face. 
 
 " Oh no, no, no, father ! I would rather the lightning 
 
THE ILLEGITIMATE. 121 
 
 of the Great Spirit in his anger, should consume me, 
 than wed him! Oh save!— save me— my falher!" she 
 cried, imploringly chnging to his robe. 
 
 " Fear not, thou shalt not wed him, Lina," he said, 
 smiling, raising her from her suppliant posture. 
 " Where is this youth?" he inquired, atfectionately and 
 soothingly, parting the dark hair from her face as he 
 gazed down into it. 
 
 " I left him three mornings since, with many of his 
 warriors, encamped opposite the council island. When 
 I learned for what he came, with the swiftness of the 
 brood-bird, when she seeks her nestling from the com- 
 ing storm, I fled to the holy mountain, and thee, for 
 shelter! Oh, wilt thou not give it me, holy father?" she 
 added clasping his arm, and looking up into his face 
 beseechingly. 
 
 " Daughter— thou hast it already!" he replied with 
 emotion r "thou shalt not wed this stranger." 
 
 ^- False priest— thou liest!" shouted a voice behind 
 them; and a spear, thrown by an unseen and unerring 
 hand, simultaneously pierced the bosom of the patri- 
 arch. He fell to the earth with a deep groan, and the 
 maiden uttering a shriek o{ terror and dismay, cast 
 herself upon his bleeding body. 
 
 " Welcome, my gentle" fawn of the lakes! thou hast 
 found thy holy mountain will not protect thee, and 
 thy priest is mortal — " said the young Anasca, taunt- 
 ingly, approaching and raising her from the form of 
 his victim. " Old" man, I would not have slain thee, 
 but thou wert poisoning this little bird's talons and 
 turning them against thy own breast." 
 
 '^ Sacrilegious murderer!" suddenly exclaimed the 
 seer, raising upon one arm — his white hair sprinkled 
 with blood, that in a warm current oozed from a 
 wound in his breast, where the spear which inflicted 
 it, still vibrated, — " Scorner of reUgion and the Great 
 Spirit of earth and sky! Thy doom and that of thy 
 11 
 
122 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 race is sealed!" and his eye dilated and became radi- 
 ant with prophetic inspiration as he continued: " Here ! 
 on the holy altar thou hast desecrated, do I anathema- 
 tize thee! Every drop of this gurgling blood shall 
 beget a curse upon thee and thine ! Accursed be thy 
 impious race! A people greater than thine — more 
 numerous than the stars of heaven— shall take thy 
 lands, thy power, and thy name! Another century 
 shall roll by and thou shalt be remembered no more! 
 Last chieftain of thy tribe!'' he continued with addi- 
 tional energy, " on thee, come all evil and all woe! 
 Cursed of sky and sea — cursed of air and earth — be 
 thou accursed forever!'' 
 
 *' Daughter !" he continued with supernatural excite- 
 ment, whilst the young chief stood appalled and trans- 
 fixed with horror, before the wild air and prophetic 
 language of the dying priest — " daughter, blessed art 
 thou above all the maidens of thy tribe ! Thou shalt 
 become a Saviour of thy people and thy name. For 
 every curse that follows this unholy assassin, shall a 
 blessing come upon thee and thine. The people who 
 shall bring woe to him, shall bring joy to thee! Thou 
 — thyself — art destined to become the preserver of thy 
 father's tribe— and when all the nations of this land 
 ^ shall have dwindled like the mountain dews before 
 the morning, at the approach of a race from the East, 
 [ with faces white like the moon, and arms brighter 
 khan the sun, and more terrible than thunder, thy name 
 -^hall exist — thy people be yet numbered among their 
 h^Ltions. And,' whilst the tribe of this impious assas- 
 sin shall expire in their ignorance, a new and purer 
 religion, revealed from the heavens, shall be taught 
 thee by this new race, who with eyes like the deep 
 blue of the noon-day sky, and faces white like a sum- 
 mer cloud, are to rule our land — and in the bosom of 
 their great empire, thine own tribe shall dwell forever!" 
 Thus speaking, the last prophet of his religion and 
 
THE ILLEGITIMATE. 123 
 
 people, sunk back to the ground, and upwards, from 
 the mountain altar of his religion and worship, his 
 spirit took its flight to the world of mysteries. 
 
 Podiac, is a romantic, rocky promontory projecting 
 mto the sea, and forming the southern shore of the 
 bay of Casco, which, with its three hundred and sixty- 
 five islands, penetrates the heart of INIaine. 
 
 It is on this promontory, now called Cape Elizabeth, 
 in honor of the Maiden Queen, that the scenes of our 
 fifth chapter are laid, a few days after the death of 
 the venerable seer, Uiquera. 
 
 One of the wild storms, peculiar to that coast, had for 
 three days poured its fury upon the sea, lashing it into 
 foam. The fourth morning broke with cloudless bril- 
 liancy, and discovered the wreck of a ship, dismasted, 
 and in pieces, lying in a crevice on the extremity of 
 the southern cape of the promontory — which, here 
 dividing, form two points projecting farther into the 
 sea than the main head-land. At the present day, 
 both of these points are crowned by light-houses, the 
 upper one of which is a favorite resort for the gay 
 citizens of an adjacent sea-port,* situated on a penin- 
 sula a few miles farther inland. But at the period of 
 our tale, it was the abode only of the sea-gull, who 
 nested in the crevices of the cliffs, and bears, and 
 wolves, who mingled their bowlings with the roaring 
 of the tempests. 
 
 The storm had subsided, yet the waves rolled land- 
 ward with violence, dashing against the cliffs with a 
 loud noise, flinging the spray high over their summits 
 and reverberating in hollow sounds through its deep 
 caverns. 
 
 The rising sun shone cheerfully upon the scene, dis- 
 
 * Portland, Maine. 
 
124 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER 
 
 sipating the hurrying clouds, and shedding an enUven- 
 ing radiance over nature. 
 
 Firmly wedged between two rocks, at the extremi- 
 ty of the southern point of the cape, lay the wreck, 
 its masts broken off, a jury-mast, upon which a sail 
 was brailed up, and only a portion of the hull visible 
 above the waves, which rolling continually over it, 
 surged against the overhanging rocks. 
 
 The only living being upon which the sun shone, 
 was a young man, the sole sm'vivor of the ill-fated 
 bark, who, pale from fatigue — his dark hair and gar- 
 ments heavy and dripping with brine — was laborious- 
 ly ascending from the wreck, the sides of the rock, to 
 escape the surge, which, several times, nearly washed 
 him off into the sea. 
 
 With a bold eye and a strong arm, although nearly 
 exhausted, he still clung to such projections as the face 
 of the cliff afforded; and soon gained a secure footing 
 upon the summit of a flat rock, beyond the reach of 
 the waves. Here, he bent devoutly on one knee, and 
 lifted his eyes and hands in a prayer of thankfulness 
 for his deliverance. 
 
 Whilst in this attitude, a female figure, flying, rath- 
 er than running, along the verge of the cliff above 
 him, intercepted his vision. Surprised, he followed it 
 a moment with his eyes, when it disappeared in a 
 crevice of the promontory. The next moment, anoth- 
 er form clad like an Indian hunter, with equal speed, 
 as if in ])ursuit, bounded along the cliff and was also 
 lost to his sight in the gorge. 
 
 An instant of surprise and expectation elapsed, 
 when the airy and graceful figure he had first seen — a 
 young and beautiful Indian maiden, issued from the 
 gap which for a few seconds had concealed her, and 
 with the fleetness of a dove pursued by a hawk, ap- 
 proached the spot where he still kneeled. Her raven 
 hair flew wildly about her head, and her robe of varie- 
 gated feathers fluttered like wings around her person. 
 
THE ILLEGITIMATE. 125 
 
 Over the sharp-pointed rocks and slipper^' sea-weed 
 she bounded safely, and was darting past liim with 
 the air of one who would plunge headlong into the 
 sea, when her eye caught the form of the youth. 
 
 She suddenly checked her flight, and gazed upon 
 him for a moment with a look of timidity and inde- 
 cision — one foot advanced as if she would still fly, 
 and a hand extended towards him entreatingly. For 
 an instant, like a beautiful statue, she stood in this at- 
 titude, and then, with strange confidence advanced to- 
 wards him — rested one hand upon the rock by which 
 he kneeled — gazed steadily into his face for a second, 
 and then with the unsuspecting confidence of a child 
 who fears no danger, softly and timidly placed her 
 hand upon his arm, while her dark eyes full of elo- 
 quent pleading, silently sought his protection. 
 
 The youth, at once, understood this language, more 
 eloquent than that of the tongue or pen. Scarcely had 
 they interchanged this mutual understanding and con- 
 fidence, when the young warrior, Anasca, who had torn 
 her from the corpse of the prophet, and borne her to his 
 tribe, who were then hunting on the south shore of 
 the CascOjfrom whom she had just escaped, preferring 
 death to a union with one she loved not — appeared in 
 sight, his eye flashing with rage, and his arm extend- 
 ed in the act of launching his hunting-spear. 
 
 The stranger drew from his breast a small Genoese 
 stiletto, sprung to his feet, and met him face to face. 
 The surprise of the Indian was unlimited! The sud- 
 den appearance of one of a race he had never before 
 seen — his hostile attitude — his manifest design to pro- 
 tect the lovely and trembling fugitive, combined with 
 a recollection of the prophecy of the dying seer, para- 
 lysed and fixed him to the spot, with astonishment and 
 dismay. 
 
 Ashe stood thus under the influence of these emotions, 
 the youth sprang upon him and seized his spear. The 
 act restored liini to his self-possession. He became 
 
 11* 
 
126 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 once more the warrior, whose name — Anasca, The 
 fearless — he had won by his prowess and deeds of 
 arms, by which he had already signalised himself 
 al)0ve the warriors and preceding chieftains of his 
 tribe. 
 
 For a few moments the two young combatants con- 
 tended, with all their skill and bravery, when with 
 a well-aimed blow of his stiletto the youth laid the 
 3'oung chief dead at his feet. 
 
 With a cry of joy, Lina rushed into the arms of her 
 preserver. ■■ 
 
 The warriors of the Penobscot tribe had assembled 
 upon the island in the river which bears their name, 
 where their chief resided, and the national councils 
 convened — to consult upon the expediency of mak- 
 ing an excursion upon the Kennebecs, for the re- 
 covery of their chief's daughter, and to avenge the in- 
 sult they had received. In the midst of their delibe- 
 rations a birch canoe was discovered ascending the 
 river, with a small white sail, such as the oldest war- 
 rior had never before seen, spread to the south wind 
 and containing two persons. As no danger was to be 
 apprehended from so small a party, the chief and his 
 warriors awaited its approach in silence. 
 
 As the boat came nearer, a visible emotion was 
 manifest among the spectators. 
 
 " It is the chief's daughter!" 
 
 "It is Lina!" 
 
 "My child! my daughter!" cried the old chief, 
 rushing to the strand, where he embraced his child, 
 as she bounded from the canoe into his extended 
 arms. 
 
 Her companion who had been concealed by the can- 
 vass sail he had taken from the wreck, to forward their 
 escape, after, with Lina's guidance he had secured one 
 of the boats of Anasca's tribe, now stepped upon the 
 
THE ILLEGITIMATE. 127 
 
 beach; and baring his head, he placed his hand upon 
 his heart, in token of amity. 
 
 The chief started back with an exclamation of sur- 
 prise at his strange beauty and attire, and in the first 
 emotion of his feelings, fell with his face to the ground, 
 followed in this act of reverence, by all the warriors 
 surrounding him, who shared his astonishment and 
 superstition. 
 
 " It is the Good Spirit of the ^Mountain!-' at length 
 exclaimed the chief arising from his posture of 
 adoration. " It is he, to whom the holy prophet many 
 moons ago, bade me resign my authority, my daugh- 
 ter and my^ religion, if 1 would preserve them alll" 
 
 And as he ceased speaking, he placed his bow and 
 quiver, spear and coronet of feathers at the feet of the 
 young Englishman. Then taking the hand of his 
 daughter, he placed it in that of the youth, and com- 
 manding his warriors to yield them obedience and al- 
 legiance, he, slowly, and with his hands clasped over 
 his b#east, retired through the crowd, who silently and 
 with reverence gazed wonderingly after his retreating 
 form. Secluding himself on the holy mountain, he 
 there passed a life of devotion, having, after the abdi- 
 cation of his power, been converted to the Christian 
 faith, by his daughter, who became a convert to the 
 religion of her husband. 
 
 The aboriginal tribes of New-England, with but 
 one exception are now nearly extinct. The warlike 
 and ambitious Kennebecs have melted away like snow. 
 The Penobscots still exist, inhabitants and possesors 
 of the river-island, originally and still the seat of their 
 national councils, and the abode of their chief. Their 
 existence and independence are acknowledged by the 
 state which includes their territory, and the delegates 
 have represented them in her legislative conventions. 
 
128 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 They are devout Catholics, and in a neat chapel 
 erected upon their island, worship the God of the 
 Christians. 
 
 They are governed by a young Chieftainess, whose 
 personal charms bear testimony to those of Lina, her 
 lovely ancestress, the bride of the exiled Charles, and 
 which if tradition says truly, are transmitted to her de- 
 scendant. 
 
 The graves of the two lovers, who died — in the 
 spirit of that love which will bear no separation — 
 within a few hours of one another, are still pointed 
 out by the aged warriors of the tribe, in a grove of 
 dark pines, on the site of the sacred fane of their an- 
 cestors, and near the entrance to the cave where dwelt 
 the venerable Prophet of the Holy Mountain. 
 
THE SNOW PILE. 
 
THE SNOW PILE 
 
 Young Spring, with her opening buds, her spring- 
 ing grass, her soft south wind, and singing birds, was 
 fast subduing stern old Winter. His icy bosom, all 
 unused to the melting mood, dissolved beneath her 
 warm glances and showers of April tears. I had been 
 confined to my chamber through the long winter by 
 a tedious illness; but when the sun with summery 
 warmth, shone through my window, I grew rapidly 
 better. How grateful to the convalescent is the mild 
 hue of the spring sky, the tender green of the grass 
 and young leaves, and the smiling face of nature 
 awaking from its wintry sleep! 
 
 When my chair was first drawn to the window, and 
 I looked up and down the streets thronged with pas- 
 sengers and gav equipages, I felt as if I had come into 
 a new world. ' How happy every thing and eveiy 
 body looked! All seemed gladness, and my own heart 
 thrilled with a new and strange dehght. 
 
 I am, or rather was at the period to which I allude, 
 a bachelor, on the verge of thirty-five. My abode was 
 in the heart of the city, at a corner where four streets 
 met. Opposite my window was a row of stately elms 
 and young locusts, the brown of their myriad buds 
 
132 THE AMERICAN LOUXGER. 
 
 just tipped with green, so that the branches of the 
 trees looked as if studded with emeralds. Along the 
 outer edge of the opposite side walk, Spring had just 
 commenced working a border of new grass; ladies had 
 laid aside, or rather chrysalis-like, come out of their 
 unsightly cloaks, and tripped along the pave in light 
 dresses and sylphide forms. How odd to see slender 
 waists in the streets after they have been so long con- 
 cealed! It seems, when we first view the fair crea- 
 tures, as if there was something improper in their ap- 
 pearing out in such undress, as if some modest article 
 of apparel was forgotten; and it is some days before 
 one is quite reconciled to the propriety of the thing. 
 
 Notwithstanding these signs of Spring that every 
 where met my eyes as I gazed out of my window, 
 there was one object amid all the sunny cheerfulness 
 that chilled my heart, and cast a wintry veil over all. 
 This was a huge bank of snow lying against the curb- 
 stone directly beneath my window. The winter had 
 been severe, and in the middle of April, there was a 
 heavy fall of snow. My man John, in shovelhng it 
 from the walk, had formed a pile four feet in depth 
 before the door; and after the snow had disappeared 
 from the streets, from the fields, and from the distant 
 hills, and the trees had put forth their leaves, that pile 
 obstinately resisted the warmth of the sun and the soft- 
 ening influences of the rain. From my bed, I had seen 
 through the upper lights of my window the mild deep 
 blue of the sky, and felt the cheering presence of the 
 April sun as it shone in a bright glowing beam through 
 the half-opened shutter, and lay like a golden belt 
 along the carpet. How different the sunlight of sum- 
 mer and winter even to the eye I How readily does 
 the invalid recognise and welcome the first smile of 
 Spring in the warm glow of the returning sun! I 
 should not have known whiter had departed, if I had 
 not seen the green tops of the budding trees, and had 
 not been told that Spring had come— Spring, that 
 
rffi 
 
 THE SNOW PILE. 133 
 
 haven of hope for the suffering valetudinarian! They 
 had told me, too, that the snow was gone from the 
 earth. 
 
 I was wheeled up to the wmdow, and the bound of 
 the heart with which I looked forth on the gay and 
 moving scene, was suddenly stopped as my eyes 
 rested on that bank of snow. I sighed, and threw my- 
 self backwards in my chair in the bitterness of disap- 
 pointment. In that heap, to my excited imagination 
 lay buried the body of the dead Winter! Although I 
 soon became in some degree accustomed to it, I ner- 
 vously watched its gradual disappearance. I marked 
 the scarcely perceptible melting away of its edges, the 
 slow diminution of its height. It seemed to me that 
 it would never dissolve. I at length became so inte- 
 rested in its disappearance, that I sat for hours toge- 
 ther with my eyes intensely fixed upon it, and forget- 
 ful of every thing else. It lay like an incubus on my 
 thoughts. It was a walking nightmare to my mind's 
 repose. If a passing wheel bore a portion of it away 
 clinging to its spokes, I involuntarily clapped my 
 hands. If a vagrant school-boy abstracted a handful 
 to make up into a snow-ball, I blessed him in my 
 heart. If a cloud passed over the sun, I impatiently 
 watched its slow passage across its disk, and with jea- 
 lous impatience noted every shadow that obstructed, 
 for a moment his melting beams. Three day^s passed 
 in this manner, and the snow pile had diminished but 
 one third. Its shape, I remember, was an irregular 
 oval about nine feet in length, five in breadth, and 
 two deep in the centre, the depth gradually lessening 
 to the edges, which were thin and icy. 
 
 The fourth morning came, and the buds of the locust 
 trees had burst into leaves; a robin had begun his nest 
 on the branch of an elm, and the almanac told me it 
 was the first day of May. Yet there lay Winter in the 
 lap of Spring. I formed an instant resolution. The 
 12 
 
134 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 tassel of the bell-rope was within my reach, I leaned 
 forward and pulled it with an emphasis. 
 
 John entered in haste, with alarm depicted on his 
 rubicund visage. 
 
 "John!'' 
 
 "Sir." 
 
 " Take a shovel and remove that eternal snow bank 
 from the street." 
 
 " Bank?" 
 
 "Yes, bank. Snowbank! A more hideous mon- 
 ster than the great Hydra-Bank to my eyes. Remove 
 it, I say." 
 
 " Yes, Sir." 
 
 John departed, and I gazed from the window on 
 the pile of snow with a sort of savage triumph and 
 relief of mind I had not experienced for some days. 
 While I was anticipating its demolition by the muscu- 
 lar arm of my man John, two school-boys, of unequal 
 size and years, came in sight. As they got beneath 
 my window, the stouter began to bully the smaller 
 boy. I am naturally humane; a lover of justice and 
 hater of tyranny. My feeUngs forthwith became en- 
 listed for the weaker lad, who showed proper spirit; 
 and so long as tongues continued to be the only wea- 
 pons, he rather had the better of his adversary. At 
 length the big boy stung by a biting sarcasm, gave 
 him a rude push, and sent him spinning across the 
 trottoir into the snow. It broke his fall which else 
 would have been violent, and I blessed the snow pile 
 for his sake. But so far as my sympathies with the little 
 fellow were concerned, I soon had additional cause to 
 bless it. 
 
 No sooner did the brave little lad touch the snow 
 than he grasped both hands full, and hastily and skil- 
 fully patted it into a hard round ball the size of a three 
 pounder; then taking sure aim at his lubberly torment- 
 or, who stood haw-hawing at his victory, he threw, 
 
THE SNOW PILE. 135 
 
 and hit him fairly in the left eye. His tune was now 
 changed to a yell of pain, and clapping both of his 
 huge dirty paws to his extinguished orb, he went off 
 limping as if the hurt had been in his heel instead of 
 his head. The victorious little fellow compressed his 
 lips with a decided air, gave an emphatic nod, and 
 glanced at my window with a sort of apologetic look 
 that meant " he deserves it, sir, if it does put his eye 
 out!" " So he does, my brave lad," said I, in a look 
 that he understood to mean as much; " that snow pile 
 has done thee good service." At this moment John, 
 who is somewhat deliberate in his movements, made 
 his appearance from the basement front, shovel in hand 
 and devastation in his eye. I rapped at the window 
 as he prepared to attack the bank, and for that gal- 
 lant boy's sake, the snow pile remained inviolate for 
 that day. 
 
 With the ensuing morning I had well nigh forgotten 
 the incident of the snow-ball, and the summary pun- 
 ishment of tyranny that I had witnessed, and which 
 had afforded me so much gratification. The first thing 
 that met my eyes after I took my usual place at the 
 window, was the snow-bank, giving the lie-direct to 
 gentle Spring, who each day laid the flecks of green 
 thicker and darker on the tree-tops, and I resolutely 
 determined to demoHsh without delay that last vestige 
 of winter, and banish a sight so full of December asso- 
 ciations. 
 
 With hasty zeal I laid a hand on each arm of my 
 easy-chair, and half rose to reach the bell rope, when 
 I saw a very pretty boarding-school girl, in cottage 
 bonnet and pantalets, and neat white apron, with the 
 roses of fifteen summers in her cheeks, in crossing trie 
 street, driven by a rude equestrian from the flags into 
 the mud. My ire was roused, (for my feelings are 
 readily enlisted for the gentler sex,) and I forgot the 
 bell to turn, and anathemise the careless horseman. 
 Although in two or three light steps she safely gained 
 
136 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 the side-walk, I saw that she had grievously mudded 
 one of her nicely-fitting Cinderillas. She stopped on the 
 curb-stone, looked down at her soiled slipper, shook 
 her head, and seemed to be very much distressed. She 
 was neatly and tidily dressed after that simple and be- 
 coming manner peculiar to school-girls. It was Satur- 
 day, and she was doubtless going a visiting; and to be 
 made such a figure of by a lubberly tyro in horse- 
 manship, was not a little annoying. I sympathised 
 with her from the bottom of my heart. She was very 
 young, very pretty, and in very great trouble. I could 
 have taken my cambric handkerchief, and, on bend- 
 ed knee, with it removed the offensive soil. She 
 surveyed her little foot all about. The mud came 
 within a quarter of an inch of the top of her shoe, and 
 she was (as by her perplexed looks she evidently her- 
 self thought) in too sad a plight to walk the street. She 
 essayed to scrape off the tenacious earth on the outer 
 angle of the curb-stone, but this operation only left it 
 in frightful streaks. 
 
 " Dear me ! What shall I do?'^ I could almost hear 
 her say to herself; and then with a very prolonged 
 and mortified air, she looked up the street and down 
 the street; glanced over at the opposite windows, and 
 those above her head, and at last caught my eye. I 
 had been waiting for this, and eagerly pointed to the 
 snow-pile. 
 
 She glanced up her dark eyes full of thanks; and in 
 two minutes, with the aid of a lump of snow, and by 
 rubbing her foot on the pile, now on this side, and 
 now on that, she cleaned her snug little slipper till it 
 outshone its unsoiled fellow. Then looking me a 
 heart full of gratitude, she tripped on her way rejoic- 
 ing. For her sake the snow-pile remained inviolate 
 another day. 
 
 Forgetfulness of the yesterday's courtesy came with 
 the next morning, and there remained, as I gazed from 
 the window, only the consciousness of my annoyance. 
 
THE SNOW PILE. 137 
 
 The voice of Spring came to my ears in every sound, 
 and the winds murmured by laden with the odors of 
 May flowers. But the snow-pile fixed my eyes like 
 a spell. There is a kind of fascination in hideous ob- 
 jects, which, while the heart revolts, irresistibly draws 
 the eye. In vain I resolutely turned my eyes away 
 from it, and strove to forget it in the contemplation of 
 the fleecy cloud, which Winter has not; of the sum- 
 mer blue of the sky; of the umbrageous foliage; the 
 bright streets, and their lively pageants; but scarcely 
 were they averted, before they flew back again as if 
 moved by a watch-spring. 
 
 "That eternal snow bank!" I exclaimed, as my 
 eyes, for the fiftieth time averted, again rested on it; 
 " will it never melt?" 
 
 I reached the bell rope, and rung a quarter of an 
 hour without ceasing. I had just regained my chair, 
 when John came into the room as if he had been eject- 
 ed from a catapult. 
 
 " Good Lord, sir! I am here, sir." 
 
 "That pile of snow, John!" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " I shall have no peace till it is scattered to the four 
 winds." 
 
 " The shovel is below, sir, shall I " 
 
 " Do, John, do. Spread it on the street. If the sun 
 won't melt it, then carry it in baskets to the kitchen, 
 and boil it. It might as well be winter all the time 
 for what I see," grumbled I, as John departed. 
 
 I had hardly issued, for the third time, this mandate, 
 and turned to the window to take a farewell look at 
 the glistening object of my annoyance, when half a 
 dozen seamen, on a shore cruise, came sailing along 
 with that independent and inimitable swagger charac- 
 teristic of the genuine tar. In their wake followed a 
 little foreign saUor boy, whom, by his olive skin, black, 
 glossy hair, ghttering eyes, and slight, flexile figure, I 
 knew to be a West Indian. His restless gaze rested 
 12' 
 
138 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 on the snow, and he uttered a loud exclamation of sur- 
 prise and delight. 
 
 "Halloo, manikin! what's in sight astern there?" 
 sung out an old tar just ahead of him, hitching up his 
 trousers, and coming to an anchor in the middle of the 
 side walk. 
 
 " Soogare! soogarer^ shouted the little imp, point- 
 ing to the pile of snow, and dancing up and down as 
 if the sunny pavement had become red-hot to his naked 
 feet. 
 
 " Sugar, be " said the old sailor, with a look 
 
 and tone of supreme contempt; "try it and see!" 
 
 The boy bounded toward the delusive pile, grasped 
 both hands full of the deceitful substance, and was in 
 the act of conveying one portion of his treasure to his 
 jacket pocket and to cram his mouth with the other, 
 when a shrill cry of pain escaped him; and, dropping 
 the snow, he capered about, snapping his fingers, and 
 working his flexible features into the most ludicrous 
 grimaces. 
 
 His shipmates hove to at his signal of distress, and 
 roared, one and all, with lusty laughter, catching off 
 their tarpaulins, and swinging them aloft, and slapping 
 each other on the broad of the back in the excess of 
 their merriment. 
 
 " Avast there, my little hop-o-my-thumb," said one 
 of the sailors, as their mirth gradually subsided; and 
 steering up to the boy, who continued to yell with un- 
 diminished vigor, " dontee set up such a caterwauling 
 in a calm." 
 
 "Burnee! burnee!" 
 
 " Burnee my eye! Ho! shipmates, all hands to put 
 fire out. Little Carlo's scorched his fingers with a 
 snow-ball." 
 
 All hands now gathered round the young West In- 
 dian, and made themselves merry at his expense, with 
 quip and joke, cutting the while many a boyish prank. 
 
 " Come, Jack," said one, making up a large lump 
 
THE SXOW PILE. 139 
 
 of snow into a ball, " lets take aboard a two pounder 
 apiece, and pepper some o' these land lubbers that 
 come athwart our hawser." 
 
 *' Aye, aye!" was the unanimous response. 
 
 Forthwith, indifferent to the gaping passers-by, each 
 went to work to make snow-balls, and soon, with two 
 apiece stowed away in either jacket pocket, they got 
 the httle West Indian in their midst, and moved otf, a 
 jolly troop, in full glee, and ripe for a lark. 
 
 John, who had been kept in the back ground by the 
 belHgerent preparations of these sons of Neptune, 
 having ascertained by a cautious survey through the 
 iron railing of the basement — his head protruded just 
 above the level of the side-walk — that they were quite 
 hull-down, now made his appearance beneath the 
 window, shovel in hand. Influenced by the whim of 
 the moment, I rapped on the window, and made a 
 sign for him to come in, resolved, for the amusement 
 it had atlorded me, to spare the snow-pile another 
 day. 
 
 The following morning, the sight of the scarce di- 
 minished snow-heap rendered me obUvious of the mer- 
 riment I had received from the little West Indian the 
 day before, and mindful only of the present. My phi- 
 lanthropy deserted me, and with a round oath I as- 
 severated that for sailor nor saujt, woman nor angel, 
 would I let that snow remain another moment longer. 
 
 Ho! Ding a ling^ a ling ling! Ho, John, John, ho! 
 Ding, ling, ling! Ding, ling, ding! Ho, John, John! 
 Ding ling, ling ding, I " and the bell-rope part- 
 ed at the ceiling, and came down in my hand. My 
 crutch stood beside my chair. '• Thump, hump, ump! 
 Ump! unipH Thump!!! 
 
 The door burst open; the bolt head flew across the 
 room, and half-buried itself in the opposite wall, and 
 John pitched headlong in, and landed on his face 
 in the centre of the apartment. " C-c-c-comin', sir!" 
 was ejected from his mouth as his head struck the 
 
140 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 floor; " C-c-c-comin', sir!'' scarce articulated he as he 
 rolled over and over towards my chair; " C-c-c-comin', 
 sir," he gasped as he got to one knee and pulled at 
 his forelock, as he was wont to do when he addressed 
 me. The next movement brought him to his legs. 
 " Here I am, sir. Bless the mercies, sir! Avhat is the 
 matter, sir?" 
 
 "John!" 
 
 « Yes, sir." 
 
 I pointed silently to the snow-pile. 
 
 John vanished. 
 
 I looked forth from the window (I need not here 
 apologise to those who have been invalids; such will 
 readily sympathise with the interest I took in this mat- 
 ter,) and enjoyed in anticipation the devastation about 
 to be made. In less than a minute John made his 
 appearance beneath the window, laden with two bas- 
 kets, a large and a small one, a bucket and coal-hod, 
 and lastly, his broad wooden shovel. He ranged these 
 various receptacles along the outer verge of the side- 
 walk; moistened the palms of his hands after a sum- 
 mary mode, well known to the school-boy, when about 
 to handle his bat-stick; seized hold of, and struck his 
 instrument deep into the snow; placed his right foot 
 firmly on one of the projecting sides thereof, and bent 
 his shoulders to raise the gelid load. 
 
 I watched each motion with eager gratification. I 
 noted the muscular shoulders of John as he essayed 
 his task, with emotions of delight. I marked the 
 opening chasms in the pile as he stirred the bulk, and 
 felt a thrill of joy as I beheld a huge mass yield before 
 his well-applied sinews. He stooped to lift the sever- 
 ed fragment to place it in one of his baskets, when 
 there arose a sudden shouting, followed by the quick 
 rattling of wheels, and cries of warning and alarm. 
 I had scarcely drawn a breath, when two blooded 
 horses, wild with terror, harnessed to a landau, con- 
 taining, I could see, a young and beautiful lady, and 
 
THE SXOW PILE. 141 
 
 an elderly gentleman, came dashing furiously up the 
 street. The fore wheel struck and locked with the 
 wheel of a doctor's chaise standing before the third 
 door from mine: and the landau dragging the chaise 
 with it, was drawn a few yards further on two side 
 wheels, then upset and pitched its contents out upon 
 the pile of snow beneath my window. 
 
 The gentleman was thrown upon his shoulder, and 
 lay senseless. The lady's fall was arrested by John, 
 who caught her ere she reached the ground; but she 
 had fainted, and her fair brow was like marble as I 
 looked down upon it. I broke two panes of glass 
 knocking with my crutch, and shouted through the 
 opening to have them both conveyed into my front 
 parlor. John, assisted by a gentleman, carried the 
 lady in, while two or three others took up the old gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 I had not left my room for three months, and the 
 rheumatism had made me a cripple. I seized my 
 crutch snatched a cane, and was down stairs and in 
 the parlor just as the lady was bemg laid on the sofa. 
 She was still senseless. How beautiful her alabaster 
 features! the veined lid! the polished and rounded 
 neck! Her hat was removed. Her abundant hair 
 fell in waves of gold about her shoulders. I gazed, 
 entranced with the bright vision. A rude hand dash- 
 ed a glass of water in her face. It roused me, and I 
 lent my aid to effect her restoration. After repeated 
 ablutions — animation continuing suspended — the Doc- 
 tor, who was out lamenting over the fragments of his 
 gig, was called in. But no blood followed the inser- 
 tion of his lancet in the exquisitely veined arm. The 
 old gentleman, in the meanwhile, (thanks to the snow- 
 pile for saving his collar bone.) had recovered his 
 senses, and was bending sorrowfully over his daugh- 
 ter. A happy thought struck me. I had heard in my 
 boyhood, among the snow-covered hills of Maine, that 
 snow was an unfailing restorative in cases like the 
 
142 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 present. I despatched John from the room, and he 
 instantly returned with a cubic foot of snow in his 
 arms. I assiduously laid a large piece on her fore- 
 head; a fragment, the size of an almond, on each eye- 
 lid; placed a piece on the back of the neck, and hint- 
 ed to the father to lay one on her swan-like throat, 
 and, taking her two hands, I placed a lump between 
 them, and clasped them in mine, till it melted and 
 trickled in drops upon the carpet. What a delicious 
 moment of my existence was that ! 
 
 In a few seconds she began to revive, and in half 
 an hour afterwards thanked me with her own lips and 
 eyes for saving her life as she chose to believe. The 
 father thanked me also, I made a very pretty disclama- 
 tory speech in return, and begged they would say no 
 more about it. 
 
 I had them to dine with me that day. I went to 
 bed without any rheumatism. In the morning I bade 
 John to keep watch, and see that no one removed a 
 flake from that sacred snow-pile — he having previ- 
 ously, by my order, filled my ornamental cologne bot- 
 tle with a portion of it, and placed it on my toilet. 
 
 The time of this sketch is six years ago. I was 
 then a bachelor. I am now married. That lovely 
 young matron sitting sewing opposite me, while I am 
 writing, in whose person simplicity and elegance are 
 charmingly united, is my wife. That old gentleman, 
 sitting by the fire reading a newspaper, is her father. 
 There is a slight scar on his left brow, which he re- 
 ceived when he was thrown from his carriage before 
 my door. If a blot could be printed, you would just 
 here find a sad one, made by a chubby little blue 
 eyed girl of two years, in her exertions to climb on 
 my knee after her black-eyed brother Bob — who has 
 playfully stolen her doll, and is climbing up my back 
 to get it out of her way. 
 
AN ESSAY ON CANES 
 
AN ESSAY ON CANES 
 
 Leovardi. Wilt go up Vesuvius, my lord duke? 
 
 Duke of F. What's ho, Leonardi? {starting from his couch.] 
 
 Leonardi. The countess Cervi with her Florentines — 
 The noble ladies that came up from Rome, 
 And the gentlemen that do attend them. 
 Are all afoot with expectation; 
 And Greitz, the trav'ler, as I hither catne. 
 Bade me, with its suppressed impatience, say 
 They wail for theo. 
 
 Duke of F. Got thee eone, I^eonardi! T must sleep. 
 
 Leonardi. The sun hath climb'd the mountain's side, and now 
 Rides high above the headmost pinnacles. 
 
 Duke of F. Let him get down and walk, an he w ill, so 
 He let me lie and sleep. 
 
 Leonardi. Compass not Vesuvius, noble sir— 
 A feat that trav'lers most do covet. 
 And achieving, boast of through a life after — 
 And men will cry out " shame," when we return 
 To Florence. 
 
 Duke of F. Leonardi! 
 
 Leonardi. My lord Duke. 
 
 Duke of F, My staff. 
 
 Leonardi. 'Tis here, my Lord. 
 
 Duke of F. I cut it from Leb'non in Ih' Holy Land- 
 He who hath gone up Lebanon need not 
 To climb Vesuvius— Take it! 'T has been 
 Mycomrade, friend, and fellow traveller 
 Full thirty years. My long, close grasp 
 
 13 
 
146 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 Has warm 'd life into't, till it has ta'en 
 My nature, and of myself become a part— 
 A new limb, a leg, an arm additional 
 With fellow-feeling animate throughout. 
 Bear it to the mountain's topmost peak! 
 When thou com'st down bring't to me again 
 And I shall have gone up Vesuvius. 
 
 Canes timidi vehentissime latrant. 
 
 Fragment Unwrittek MS. 
 
 Lat: Dis: Sic: 
 
 Canes make the timid dogs to bark vehemently. 
 
 Translation. 
 
 The origin of canes is of very remote antiquity. 
 The earliest mention of them is in the thirty-eighth 
 chapter of Genesis, where it is recorded that Jiidah 
 gave his " Stajgi', signet, and bracelets," in pledge for 
 the payment of a kid he had promised to Tamar, his 
 daughter-in-law. Certain antiquaries there are, how- 
 ever, that contend it has a still earlier origin. Such 
 assert on the doubtful authority of some unauthenti- 
 cated Jewish pandects, that Cain slew his brother with 
 his staff, which, for protection against wild beasts, was 
 doubtless, say they, a much heavier and more warlike 
 weapon than the modern walking stick, and therefore 
 easily convertible into an instrument of death. This 
 assertion is without a shadow of proof, and they who 
 have advanced it omit the very first step to the sub- 
 stantiality of their theory, by neglecting to prove in 
 the premises that Cain carried a staff at all. If, in re- 
 ply, they refer us, as their authority, to the picture 
 books, where he is always represented with a club or 
 staff, we have only to say that the picture-makers 
 ought to know; but until they can satisfy us by point- 
 ing to creditable authorities, we shall remain in our 
 present opinion. On the authority of a well known 
 passage in Home Tooke, wherein he has satisfactorily 
 as well as ingeniously proven the English tongue to 
 have been antecedent to all other languages, and the 
 
AN ESSAY ON CANES 147 
 
 identical speech spoken by Adam and Eve in Eden, 
 these unreasonable antiquarians asseverate that the 
 name " Cain" was given to the fratricide from the fact 
 of his having caned Abel to death; and they reconcile 
 the variation in the orthography of the word on the 
 plea that at that rude age of the world there existed 
 neither district-schools nor dictionaries, whereby the 
 just method of spelling words might be learned and 
 preserved. 
 
 Without entering into the discussion of the mooted 
 question whether Cain be derived from "cane" or 
 cane from " Cain," we will only say, in reference to it 
 that in our opinion, in which we are sustained by 
 many Gemian, Jewish, and Arabian antiquaries, nei- 
 ther is correct. The learned Belibus, Dioces, the Ara- 
 bian scholar, Hosea Meles the erudite Jew, besides 
 Fra. Quirinus the Latin scribe, are of opinion, with 
 which our own accords, that cane is plainly an angli- 
 cism of the Latin word canis, a dog; that this is the 
 true and original derivation of the word we shall pro- 
 ceed to show. 
 
 It is well known to classical readers, that from the 
 time of Romulus and Remus, dogs in great numbers 
 have infested the streets of Roman or Italian cities: 
 vide,'m attestation of this, T. Pomp. Atticus; the epis- 
 tles of Democritas the Greek; the letters of Cadmus; 
 and AnnibaPs commentaries on the battle of Apulia, 
 wherein he asserts, that from the adjacent village of 
 Cannae, so called from the multitude of its dogs (canes) 
 there did issue after the battle from the gafes of the 
 town, thirty thousand of these animals, which, being 
 attracted hither by the dead, did cover with their vast 
 numbers all the plain, and appal the very gods with 
 their howls. 
 
 This being the condition of things in an obscure 
 Roman town, how great must have been the multi- 
 tudes of these brutes in Rome itself! That their num- 
 ber was so large as to defy census, and remain alto- 
 
148 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 gether unknown, may be gathered from Caesar in his 
 letter to TulUus Brutus, informing him of the death of 
 his sister Appicia by hydrophobia, and also, by infe- 
 rence, from the third oration of Cicero against Cata- 
 line: further, Junius Brutus is recorded by C. Laelius 
 to have been pursued on horseback by a pack of hun- 
 gry dogs from the quarter of the Jews to Mons Pala- 
 tine, and barely escaped with life by seeking shelter in 
 the temple of the Muses. Such being the danger in 
 the streets of Rome, it became customary for pedes- 
 trians to go provided with stout birchen cudgels, arm- 
 ed at one extremity with a short, sharp pikey for the 
 purpose of defending themselves against these demi- 
 savage animals.* This cudgel, by a natural substitu- 
 tion of cause for effect, was called cani, the dative sin- 
 gular for canis, which means literally, ''for a dog,^^ 
 a more significant and befitting term than which could 
 not have been chosen. The plural of canis is canes, 
 and this is the precise appellation by which they are 
 now known. We hold this to be the only and true 
 origin both of the cane and its name the " staff," of the 
 Old Testament, which certain visionary antiquaries 
 would make us beheve the primitive cane, with their 
 jargon about Cain and Abel, being unworthy of no- 
 tice; inasmuch as it is plain to every one at all con- 
 versant with the subject, that it was neither more nor 
 less than a shepherd's crook, or, at the best, a knotted 
 club carried across the shoulder. 
 
 The introduction of the cani into Rome, we learn 
 from Neevius Metellus, was in the year 67 B.C. 
 Within the two weeks immediately preceding the ides 
 of August the same year, we arejtoldby the same au- 
 thor, no less than, eighty thousand dogs were killed 
 with this instrument alone, besides nine thousand sup- 
 posed to have been torn in pieces by their species in 
 
 * That triumph of modern jurisprudence the " Dog Law," was un- 
 known to ancient Rome, 
 
AX ESSAY ON CANES. 149 
 
 fishtin? over the carcasses of the slam. But a sweep- 
 iiie pestilence succeeding this exposure of so vast a 
 quantity of animal matter to the sun of the dog days, 
 and on account of the alarming increase of murders 
 among the common people with this weapon, with 
 which all the men went armed and readily used in 
 the slightest quarrel, the emperor w^as forced to pro- 
 mulge an edict prohibiting any one beneath the patri- 
 cian^rank from carrying the cani.* This imperial edict 
 at once made it a privileged thing, and forthwith it 
 was taken into high favor by the aristocracy of Rome. 
 Within a few days subsequently, the Tiber was 
 choked with drowned puppies; and theatres, baths, 
 and forum were thronged with young nobles, each 
 ostentatiously armed with the privileged cani. 
 
 In the hands of the patricians it for a while retained 
 its original shape — a round statT, three feet in length, 
 terminating in a sharp triedged pike. But the taste 
 of individuals soon made important innovations on the 
 usual form. The first change was suggested by a 
 wreath of flowers that Hortensia,the beautiful daugh- 
 ter of the distinguished orator Hortensius, entwined 
 around the c««/ of her lover, Julius Curtiu^j, the hand- 
 somest gallant in Rome, for protecting her with it from 
 a pack of ferocious dogs while she was returning along 
 the Appian way from her villa to the city. Julius 
 made his appearance in the baths with it thus adorned, 
 and the following day the enwreathed cani was 
 adopted by all the exquisites of Rome. In a few days, 
 natural gave way to artificial flowers, and these to 
 wreaths of sprigs of diamonds and precious stones; so 
 " that," observes M. Cellius, ^' the canes of the patri- 
 cians were more valuable than their estates, which 
 
 * In lieu of the cani, Scipio the Blind tells us how it was promul- 
 gated by Julius Caesar, that, whosoever could prove that he had thrown 
 into the Tiber a pup eight days old, should receive one twentieth of a 
 silver sesterce. 
 
 13* 
 
150 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 they impoverished to adorn them." This fashion 
 of the wreathed cani contimied until L. Octavius, ne- 
 phew of the emperor, openly appeared in the foram 
 with a cane in the form of an elegantly twisted ser- 
 pent, enamelled with green and gold, and having two 
 large diamonds glittering in its head for eyes. This 
 idea was doubtless taken from the " Hortensian gar- 
 land'' as the wreath was termed, which in a few days, 
 with its straight staff, gave place to rhe Octavian ser- 
 pent. This, in its turn was displaced by some tasteful 
 innovator, who came out with a straight, highly bur- 
 nished ebony stick without a pike, but containing in 
 the handle a short dagger, and with a gold head, in 
 which was exquisitely set the miniature of his mis- 
 tress. The novelty of the idea at once commended it 
 to the gallants of the day, and it was universally re- 
 ceived into favor. This was succeeded by other fash- 
 ions, each still more unique and elegant than its pre- 
 decessor; till, observes Cellius, to such a pitch did this 
 canine* madness reach, that half Rome thought and 
 dreamt of nothing besides the shape and fashion of the 
 cani. The custom extended to the ladies, who car- 
 ried with them on all occasions, costly and elegant 
 baubles of this kind, made of pearl, ivory, and even 
 gold and silver rods, with which, when in angry mood, 
 they struck their slaves, and peradventure, also, their 
 lovers. 
 
 At first, the cane was worn beneatli the left arm, 
 the ornamental head protruding from the folds of the 
 toga: but when Julius Curtius made his appearance 
 openly with his garlanded staff, to avoid crushing the 
 flowers he ostentatiously but gracefully displayed it in 
 his right hand. After this, canes got to be universally 
 carried in this manner. 
 
 From Rome, the cane was introduced into Britain 
 
 * One of the few Latin puns that can successfully be rendered into 
 the English tongue. 
 
, A>' ESSAY ON CANES. 151 
 
 somewhere about the time of the division of the em- 
 pire, or early in the fifth century: and until, and for 
 several years after, the conquest, it retained its exclu- 
 sive patrician rank. But the Roman laws, limiting its 
 use to the nobles, not affecting England, it got at 
 length to be adopted here by all classes. In the hands 
 of the populace, however, it went through many modi- 
 fications, till finally it lost its original form and charac- 
 ter, and became fairly fixed in the plebeian sliape of 
 the '• quarter-staff," the boasted weapon of English 
 yeomanry, and, as at first in Rome, was carried be- 
 neath the arm. Cavaliers who had laid aside the cane 
 when it came into popular use, seeing that, in its vari- 
 ous modifications, it retained in the hands of the com- 
 mon peo{)le no part of its original shape or purpose, 
 chose to recosnise no resemblance to it in the quarter- 
 staff, and once more resumed it in its primitive ele- 
 gance. It soon became an indispensable article 
 of luxury and ornament; and we are told by Philip 
 Balfour that the gallants of Henry the Third's 
 court vied with each other " in ye fantastick 
 shaipe, beautie, and costlinesse of their caines, whilk 
 dyd haue wouiide about ye haundles thereof braides 
 of sylken and goolde corde, withe twain tassells ap- 
 pended thereunto." From a tract written in the tliird 
 year of the reign of the first Edward by a Franciscan 
 monk, we learn, that besides the tassels, which are 
 worn similarly about modern canes, some of the gay- 
 er nobles had little bells attached to them. •' Where- 
 fore,*' reads the tract, •'•'ye Kinge his excellente royall 
 majestic dyd pass a statute forbyding all knyghtes 
 under ye estate of a lorde, esquyer or gentylmanne, 
 from wearying lytell belles of golde or sylvere, or 
 other metalls, on theyr caynes, under ye forfeyture of 
 fyftie pence.*' 
 
 According to a manuscript written a few years 
 later, we find that canes were constructed with lutes, 
 shepherds' pipes, and •• an instrument of manye keyes, 
 
1 52 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. i 
 
 cunnynglie clevysed,on whilk, bye breathyinge there- 
 on, these gallantes dyscoursed ryghte pleasaunte mur 
 syke to fayre ladyes underneath their balconie.'' 
 
 The original intention of the cane no longer exist- 
 ed; for, in London, dogs were comparatively few in 
 number, and these less ferocious, and better provided 
 with food, than their species in Itahan cities: the pike, 
 therefore, fell into disuse, and its place was supplied 
 by the ferrule in its present form. Besides this, there 
 are two additional reasons for their abandonment, 
 given by historians of the period. The venerable 
 Gregory, in his Memoirs of the Confessor says, some- 
 what obscurely, however, that in " Hys dale gentles 
 dyd carrye a pyke fyve ynches yn lengthe, verie 
 sharpe, and oftyn foughte ye duello therewyth yn 
 cyvick broyls; wherefore dyd Kynge Edouard ye 
 Fyrste comande that they delyver them to his royall 
 armourer, who dyd breake therefrom three ynches, 
 leavynge yt pointlesse; and bye statute ye Kynge for- 
 byde such to ben usen more wythinye walles of Lon- 
 donne.'^ 
 
 Duncan Grime, who is nearly cotemporary with 
 Gregory, says, that by an edict of the last year of 
 Henry III, " alle knyghtes and noblesse," were for- 
 bidden to Avear any " stycke statfe or caine, or anny 
 kynde of wepon save their goode swoorde, mace of 
 stele, or other knyghtlie armes,yn as moche yt ys un- 
 semelie in knyghtes to go swyngeing toe and froe a 
 tynklynge baubell yn their fyngeres." 
 
 In an ancient poem still extant, written by a certain 
 John Loufkin entitled ^' Ye Dedes of ye Lord Rych- 
 ard of Potrelles," who lived in the reign of Edward 
 III, we find that the pike was not only restored to the 
 cane, but this lengthened to five feet, and in this form 
 resembling a light spear, was frequently used in tour- 
 naments, and sometimes even in battle. John Louf- 
 kin has given at some length an account of jousts held 
 
AN ESSAY ON CANES. 153 
 
 near Salisbury, where the combatants were armed 
 alone with the "spere-caine." 
 
 " The partyes were sender set, 
 
 Togyder they ranne without let 
 
 Lorde Rychard gan hym dysgyse 
 
 In a ful strange queyntyse. 
 
 He bare a schafte that was grete and stronge, 
 
 It was ful five footen longe, 
 
 And it was both grete and stout, 
 
 Four and a halfen ynches about. 
 
 Of oaken wood it was, and cole blackc, 
 
 Of sylver bells yt had no lack. 
 
 From the valaye he forlhe strode, 
 
 And in the lists ful bravely stode. 
 
 The Kynge came out of a valaye, 
 
 For to see of their playe — 
 
 A goode Knyghte he was of valour and main, 
 
 And well dyght in ye spere-caine. 
 
 And hymself toke a caine grete and stronge, 
 
 That was hevy and longe. 
 
 With wilk, yf he stroke a man's gorgcre, 
 
 Hym repented that he cam there." 
 
 After telling us that these jousts were fought on 
 foot and without mail, and that the " atyre" of the 
 combatants was " orgulous, and altogedyr cole black," 
 the poem says: 
 
 The trumpettes began for to blowe: 
 
 Lord Rychard tlien did runne for to mette, 
 
 And ful egyrly hys foe hym grette. 
 
 With a dente on the forehede delde 
 
 He bare hym down in the felde. 
 
 And the youth fell to the grounde, 
 
 Ful nigh ded in that stound. 
 
 The next that he met thare 
 
 A grete stroke he hym bare. 
 
 Thrust his gorgelte with his cane thro'; 
 
1 54 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 Hys necke he breake there atwo. 
 The kynge behelde this from hys stede, 
 And was grieved for that, the man was dede, 
 And swore on his sworde good blood again 
 Shoulde not be shede wythe a spere cane." 
 
 On account of the fatal termination of this joust, 
 King Edward confirmed the oath he had made in the 
 Usts, and passed a law prohibiting the '* spere cane, 
 mace cane, pyke cane, or any manner of cane Avhat- 
 soever;'^ declaring it henceforward an " unknyghtlie 
 appendance." 
 
 In the subsequent reign, during the crusades, the 
 cane was revived among knights, in undress, by one 
 John Lord Montacute, who, being wounded in an as- 
 sault of Jerusalem, and his sword being broken off, 
 sustained himself back to his tent by a branch pluck- 
 ed from a tree on the mount of olives ; which branch, 
 on account of its sacredne^s, his pious armorer subse- 
 quently adorned with " fine Steele, golde, and precious 
 stones sette aboute ye handle,^^ which was cut in the 
 form of a cross. On his recovery, the knight continu- 
 ed to retain this cane, and bear it, when not in battle. 
 From what can be learned of him, at this period he 
 was a gay and youthful cavalier, of great personal ac- 
 complishments; and forthwith, his example was follow- 
 ed by both French and English Knights, who, emulous 
 to combine piety with fashion, had well nigh stripped 
 the groves about Jerusalem of every branch, ere the 
 commanders of the Christian hosts interposed to save 
 the hallowed trees. The knights, on their return to 
 Europe, brought with them their sacred staffs, and until 
 the close of the crusades the cane was once more in 
 vogue in all the European cities. 
 
 At first, it was confined exclusively to such as had 
 done pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and made only of 
 wood that grew in Palestine; so that, like the scallop- 
 shel], it was recognised as an authentic badge of pil- 
 
AN ESSAY ON CANES, 155 
 
 grimage. By and by, however, impostors assumed 
 the badge, and substituted ordinary wood from unhal- 
 lowed soil, and the cane lost much of its sacred cha- 
 racter: but what it parted with in sanctity, it gained 
 in elegance. At the close of the last crusade, it was 
 worn by all of gentle birth; and for many years run 
 a brilliant career, exhausting, in the invention of its 
 myriad forms, the purses and tastes of its votaries. 
 At the close of the seventeenth century it got to be 
 worn by schoolboys almost exclusively, and finally 
 became a portion of the necessary wardrobe of the Lon- 
 don chimney-sweep. When boys began to wear them, 
 gentlemen gradually laid them aside and substituted 
 the small sword. This was originally worn suspend- 
 ed from a belt at the left side; but it soon got to be the 
 fashion to carry it without sash or belt beneath the 
 arm: a few years later it was used sheathed, exclu- 
 sively as a walking-stick. With trifling modifications 
 it continued in vogue till near the close of the last 
 century, when it again became the fashion to wear it 
 at the side: the neglected cane, in the meanwhile, af- 
 ter being cast ofl* by the sweeps, adopted by the stu- 
 dents of Oxford and Cambridge, and by them resigned 
 to the apprentices of London, seemed to have a 
 legitimate abiding-place in the liands of powdered 
 footmen, valets, and lackeys generally, consigned to a 
 degradation from which it appeared destined never to 
 rise. 
 
 Shortly after the American Revolution, at which 
 period all the Christian world was more or less bel- 
 ligerent, the side-arm was laid by, (for all men were 
 tired of war and its insignia,) and the popularitv of 
 the cane began to revive. It made its way into favor, 
 at first, but slowly; elderly and middle aged gentle- 
 men, lawyers, and officers of the army, alone adopt- 
 ing it. Its form was also exceedingly simple, resem- 
 bling strikingly, the original Roman cani. Its mate- 
 rial was usually the limb of an Indian tree, stout. 
 
156 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 Straight, and of a bright brown color, having a steel 
 ferrule and a plain gold head, with an eye, through 
 which was passed a black silk cord terminating in two 
 tassels. This form of the cane, and its limitation 
 to the personages above mentioned, prevailed until 
 the commencement of the present century, when this 
 exclusiveness gradually disappeared; younger gentle- 
 men beginning to make their appearance with it on 
 the Sabbath, and by and by some few, who were gen- 
 tlemen of leisure, wearing it all times. It was not 
 long before it got to be worn by aspiring youths of all 
 classes, but rather as a portion of holyday attire than 
 an article of ordinary convenience and ornament. It 
 has been growing steadily into favor ever since; and 
 men now wear canes, not, as twenty-five years ago, 
 as the badge of a gentleman or the indication of dan- 
 dyism, but, with certain exceptions to be mentioned 
 hereafter, as a useful, convenient, and agreeable com- 
 panion, a friend to stand by in the hour of danger, 
 and to him who is worthy of wearing it, wife, horse, 
 dog, friend, all in one. 
 
THE BLACK PATCH; 
 
 OR. 
 
 A YEAR AND A DAY 
 
 14 
 
^^^ 
 
 'p 
 
Jl 
 
 /' 
 
 THE BLACK PATCH; 
 
 OR. 
 
 A YEAR AND A DAY.* 
 
 One Christmas eve, not many years ago, the long, 
 paved room of an old and renowned cafe, near the 
 cathedral in Charles street, New Orleans, was brilliant 
 with lights and gay with the sound of many voices. 
 Nearly^every one of its little marble tables, arranged 
 at regular intervals around the wall, was occupied by 
 one or more individuals, either sipping strong Arabian 
 coffee, (for which this house was famous,) from cups 
 the size of half an egg shell; playing at the everlasting 
 game of " domino," smoking, reading the gazette, or, 
 by the loud and energetic conversation, adding to the 
 confusion characteristic of a well frequented restaura- 
 teur. Waiters in white jackets, white aprons, and red 
 caps, were flying, jostling to and fro, bearing on Uttle 
 salvers, coifee, in pots and cups, in size and appear- 
 ance like children's tea-sets; liquors of every name 
 and hue; cigars, and multitudinous glasses of brandy 
 
 » This is a simple relation of facts which actually occurred. It is 
 one of a series of sketches under the title of " Ultra Montaine;" the 
 scenes and incidents of which are laid beyond the Allcghanies, which 
 the author has written for publication at some future time in a pair of 
 volumes. 
 
160 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 and water, a favorite New Orleans beverage. A cano- 
 py of tobacco smoke, the density of which, all were 
 contributing to increase with commendable industry, 
 (for nearly every one smoked either cigar, pipe, or 
 segarillo,) concealed the upper half of the columns 
 supporting the ceiling, and hung low above the heads 
 of the crowd, which, judging from costume, speech, 
 and complexion, represented every christianised nation 
 on the globe. 
 
 Apart, at the upper extremity of the room, sat a 
 young gentleman, who, from his dress and air, was 
 evidently a Parisian. He was not more than twenty- 
 five years of age with a slight, almost feminine figure, 
 of strikingly elegant proportions. His eyes were of a 
 clear gray color, with an eagle-like expression. In his 
 small beautiful shaped mouth, softness, I may say 
 sweetness and manly decision, were equcrlly blended. 
 His dress was rich and in the fashion of 1830, the 
 period of our story. He had been taking coffee with 
 a companion who had just departed and was now 
 seated facing the room, with one arm on the table and 
 a foot upon a chair, and with his hat off, leaving ex- 
 posed his fine head and temples, over which rich 
 brown curls fell with natural grace. He was smok- 
 ing and surveying the motley assembly, occasionally, 
 as it seemed, by a slight smile, or a humorous twinkle 
 of his eyes, amusing himself with the ludicrous fea- 
 tures which an apt and observing mind will always 
 detect in such a scene. He had finished his third Ha- 
 vanna, the hour waxed late, and by degrees the ten- 
 ants of the tables tooktheir departure. The compara- 
 tive stillness of the room first appeared to rouse him 
 to a consciousness of the lateness of the hour. Hastily 
 rising, he threw a crown upon the table, and was 
 about also to depart, when two persons who had 
 entered as he rose from his chair, advanced up 
 the room. One of them was a tall, handsome Eng- 
 hshman, with a large muscular frame, his fine fea- 
 
THE BLACK PATCH. 161 
 
 tures were bloated by dissipation, and his whole air 
 was that of a fashionable roue. His companion, by 
 the brown cheek, full, black eye, light and symmetri- 
 cal form, small hand, profusion of jewels and general 
 indolence of action, betrayed the wealthy jNIexicau 
 exile, many of whom were at this period in New Or- 
 leans. He threw himself into the seat vacated by the 
 young Frenchman, and ordered the officious " gargon" 
 to bring a glass of absente. The Englishman was 
 about to take the opposite chair, calling at the same 
 time refreshments in a boisterous voice, as if he was 
 partly intoxicated, when fragments of cigars, little 
 heaps of ashes, empty cups, and other signs of the 
 recent occupancy of the table, met his eye. 
 
 "What the deuce, Garcia! Take another table. 
 Some cursed Frenchman has just left this. Faugh! It 
 smells of garlick. Come, senor, take the table oppo- 
 site. These Frenchmen! with their frogs and onions! 
 Pah! come along.'' 
 
 As the speaker turned, his eyes encountered those 
 of the young Frenchman, sparkling with fierce resent- 
 ment. ' For a moment he bore his steady gaze, and 
 then looked away, as if ashamed, but the next instant, 
 as if to show that he meant what he had said, and 
 would abide by it, (for the Frenchman's eyes convey- 
 ed a menace,) "he doggedly added, as men sometimes 
 will do in such cases, "yes, frogs and garlick soup, I 
 say — ay and all Frenchmen to boot!" 
 
 He fixed his eyes for an instant after he had spoken, 
 with a brow-beaten look upon the young man, and 
 then sitting down, carelessly repeated his order to the 
 " gargon."^ The Frenchman gazed on him fixedly for 
 a few seconds longer, and then advanced a step and 
 spoke, while his eagle eye sparkled with angr^^ excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "Was that remark meant for me?" 
 
 " As you please," replied the Englishman, coolly. 
 " Garcon, a sardine with my brandy and water." 
 14* 
 
162 THE AMERICAN LOUXGER. 
 
 " I must consider your words as personally aimed, 
 monsieur, and shall expect satisfaction." 
 
 " Lest you should be in doubt as to its personality 
 take thatl and be careful how you interfere with my 
 remarks a second time." 
 
 With the word, the EngUshman gave the French- 
 man a blow in the face, which staggered him. For a 
 moment he stood as if bewildered between surprise 
 and pain, surveying his antagonist with a burning 
 cheek and a heaving breast. He thrust his hand into 
 his bosom as if to grasp a weapon, but instantly with- 
 drew it, and placed it upon his cheek, where he had 
 received the disgraceful blow. Then, as if governed 
 by some new feeling, he approached the EngHshman 
 with a look and manner from which all excitement 
 was banished, and bending to his ear, as he sat by the 
 table, whispered, so as to be heard only by him, "your 
 blood, sir, shall wash out this disgrace. I bide my 
 time. If it be a year hence, I will be revenged." 
 
 " I will give you a year and a day to win back your 
 honor." ^ 
 
 " A year and a day." 
 
 The next moment the young Frenchman disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Eugene Berthoud was the only son of a wealthy 
 Parisian banker. His grandfather lost his head on the 
 guillotine for the crime of being noble. His father had 
 been bred a merchant, to Avhich pursuit he educated 
 Eugene; and when he became of age, gave him a co- 
 partnership in his extensive house, of which there 
 were three branches, in the cities of Liverpool, Cadiz, 
 and New Orleans. Once a year Eugene made the 
 tour of these marts, to supervise the immense business 
 which flowed through these channels from the parent 
 fountain. He had arrived in New Orleans but ten 
 
THE BLACK PATCH. 163 
 
 days before we met him in the cafe, and had not yet 
 contemplated the object of his visit. He had with- 
 drawn to the restaurateur with one of the partners of 
 his house, after a laborious day, to take coffee; and, as 
 we have seen, was about to retire, when the language 
 of the Englishman arrested his ear. A Frenchman is, 
 perhaps, above other men, keenly sensitive in all that 
 concerns national honor. His country — "la belle 
 France" — is his idol. To praise or censure it, is to 
 praise or censure him individually. They are one, 
 and indivisible. Eugene Berthoud felt like a French- 
 man; and like a Frenchman resented as personal the 
 insult cast upon his countrymen. Who would not 
 have done the same? 
 
 When he received the blow, his first impulse was 
 to take the life of the aggressor upon the spot. But 
 he was unarmed. Next^ the physical power of the 
 tall, muscular Englishman left him no chance in an 
 encounter, where success would depend wholly upon 
 physical superiority; and defeat, he knew, would only 
 add to his. disgrace. His mind rapidly surveyed these 
 features of his position, and grasped them in all their 
 bearings. There was yet another argument which had 
 its weight upon a mind so honorably balanced as his, 
 and which alone prevented him from making the cer- 
 tain sacrifice of his life to wipe out his disgrace. This 
 was the consequences of his death to others. This 
 reflection is too apt to be disregarded by honorable 
 minds. A man's honor is as much bound for the in- 
 terests of others as for its own reputation; and there 
 can be no greater absurdity than for a man rashly to 
 stake his life to uphold his honor, when the loss of his 
 life would bring ruin upon those to whom he is bound 
 by some one of the ties of life. It is with honor to 
 purchase dishonor. The reflection of the injury his 
 father's commercial affairs, of which he had almost 
 the sole management, would receive by any fatal rash- 
 ness on his part, checked his hand, as he was about to 
 
164 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 throw the Englishman his card preparatory to a meet- 
 ing the ensuing morning. And feeUng that it was his 
 duty before he acted for himself, to be able to do so 
 without involving the interests of those with whom he 
 was connected, he instantly decided on the course he 
 should pursue; and signifying to his foe that he should 
 hold him accountable for the insult he had received, 
 he left the apartment. We leave the most finical of 
 our readers to decide whether Eugene Berthoud acted 
 in this instance as a gentleman and merchant should 
 have done, or whether it would have been more ho- 
 norable for the gratification of personal hostility, to 
 have sacrificed the fortunes of his commercial part- 
 ners. 
 
 "Have I been struck?" he groaned in mental an- 
 guish, giving vent to his emotion as he gained the 
 street. "Struck! and the man is free who gave the 
 blow! That Eugene Berthoud should have lived to 
 suffer such disgrace!'^ 
 
 He hurried along Rue des Chartres with his hand 
 to his cheek, which he had not uncovered since the 
 blow, as if he would hide the spot from every human 
 eye. Arrived at his hotel, and answering no question, 
 returning no nod of recognition from friends who 
 passed him in the halls, he sought his room, shut and 
 locked the door behind liim, and cast himself upon his 
 bed. 
 
 "A blow!" he cried, as he buried his face in the 
 pillow, "and revenge is forbidden me!" 
 
 The feelings of a high-minded man, under the cir- 
 cumstances in which he was placed — injured honor 
 pointing to instant revenge — but a more sacred and 
 legitimate honor, withholding, for a time, the expres- 
 sion of his resentment, are better left to the imagina- 
 tion than to the pen. 
 
THE BLACK PATCH. 165 
 
 The following day, and, indeed, for several days 
 afterwards, a young man might have been seen in the 
 streets of New Orleans, apparently absorbed in busi- 
 ness, wearing a large black patch covering one side of 
 his face. He answered no questions from inquisitive 
 friends, and left strangers to wonder. It was Eugene 
 Berthoud. In a few days it was known -that the 
 ''Stranger with the black patch," as he was designated, 
 had left the city. Men shrugged their shoulders, won- 
 dered, guessed, and grew no wiser. A few months 
 afterwards, " the stranger with the black patch" ex- 
 cited successively the curiosity of the citizens of Liver- 
 pool and Cadiz. At length one evening, about the 
 first of November, 1S:U, the diligence rumbled up to 
 the door of one of the principal hotels in Paris. A 
 gentleman, wrapped to the eyes in a cloak, descended 
 from it, and walked away at a rapid pace. Hastily 
 traversing the Rue de Richelieu, he entered a narrow 
 alley, and soon emerged in an open square, surround- 
 ed by stately dwellings. He crossed the area to one 
 of them, ascended the steps, and without ringing ap- 
 plied a master-key, entered, and closed the door. He 
 passed through the hall with familiar footsteps, and 
 opened a door at its extremity, and entered what might 
 be either a library or a counting-room. Before a table 
 covered with check and account books, bills of lading, 
 receipts, and all the abstract signs and appendages of 
 commerce, sat a fine-looking gentleman, about sixty 
 years of age, poring over an invoice. He raised his 
 eyes; the stranger dropped his cloak, and Eugene 
 Berthoud stood before his father. 
 The parent rose to embrace him. 
 "Forbear, sir! I am unworthy of your embrace." 
 "Wounded, Eugene?" he exclaimed, his eyes hav- 
 ing been arrested by the black patch. 
 '''To the heart's core. I have been struck!" 
 "Ha!" cried the chivalrous old Frenchman, with a 
 sparkling eye. " But you gave back the blow?" 
 
166 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 " I did not." 
 
 " A Berthoud struck, and the man unscathed who 
 did it!" 
 
 " Lives, and untouched." 
 
 " Then, Eugene Berthoud, you are not my son," 
 said the old Frenchman, turning from him with indig- 
 nant contempt. 
 
 "Sir! " 
 
 " Not a word. In your person the blood of a chi- 
 valrous race has been attainted." 
 
 In a few words, Eugene, with a burning cheek, re- 
 lated the scene in the caf6, and his motives in delay- 
 ing his revenge. 
 
 M. Berthoud commended his nice sense of honor, 
 and restored him to his affection. 
 
 "My affairs," concluded Eugene, "and those of 
 our house are all settled. I have devoted the last ten 
 months to it. You will find by these papers that 
 every thing is correct. I had no right to expose my 
 life to the injury of others. Adieu, sir! when we meet 
 again, the son shall not be ashamed to encounter the 
 eye of his parent." 
 
 ' Placing a packet on the table, he wrapped himself 
 in his cloak, left the house, and hastened to the hotel. 
 The next evening but one, the hills of " sunny France" 
 were just sinking beneath the horizon, as the eyes of 
 the young Frenchmen surveyed from the deck of a 
 packet ship, perhaps for the last time, the shores of 
 his native land. 
 
 On Christmas eve, one year after the events related 
 in the commencement of this sketch, the cafe St. Louis 
 presented a scene very similar to that we have before 
 described. There stood the same little marble tables 
 arranged along the sides— there sat what appeared to 
 be the same domino-players — the same smokers — the 
 
THE BLACK PATCH. 167 
 
 same brandy and water and liqueur bibbers — the same 
 newspaper porers, and the same gargons in white 
 jackets and red caps, with httle salvers in their hands, 
 running the same endless round: and as usual, there 
 was a constant coming and going of hungry and 
 thirsty bipeds. By and by their number decreased, 
 till not more than twenty individuals remained in the 
 room. No one had entered for some time, when the 
 door swung open, and Eugene Berthoud, with the 
 black patch upon his clieek came in. He passed up 
 the apartment, attracting all eyes, but indifferent to 
 observation. His piercing glance rested an instant on 
 every countenance, as he traversed the apartment, but 
 the face he sought was not among them. He had 
 been ten days in New Orleans, and night and day had 
 been seeking the Englishman, whom he knew to be a 
 resident of the city, in all his haunts. For the tenth 
 night had he entered the cafe St. Louis, and waited 
 till midnight, if perchance he might make his appear- 
 ance. " The year expires to-night," he thought, as 
 he leaned against a column, and with folded arms 
 fixed his eyes steadfastly on the distant door, with the 
 intenseness of a tiger lying in wait for his prey. Who, 
 in the slight, elegant figure and youthful face of the 
 young Frenchman, would have looked for that deep, 
 settled determination of spirit which he possessed — for 
 the least trace of that fearful vengeance which he was 
 about to exhibit? 
 
 Nine — ten — eleven o'clock passed, and he contin- 
 ued to lean against the column with his gaze concen- 
 trated on the door. At length it opened, and a party 
 of young gentlemen entered in high spirits. From 
 their conversation, they evidently had just come from 
 the theatre. One after the other he examined their 
 features till six had entered. The door was still ajar 
 — there was a moment's delay, and a seventh came 
 in. It was " the Englishman!" 
 
 Reader! you should have witnessed the expression 
 
168 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 of Eugene Berthoud's face at that moment! The 
 party walked up the length of the room; and all had 
 passed him but the Englishman. He came opposite 
 the column, and Eugene stepped out and confronted 
 him. 
 
 " The time has come!" he said, in a low and calm, 
 but strangely impressive voice. 
 
 " Who are you, sir?" 
 
 "Your foe!" 
 
 " I never saw you before." 
 
 " Do you not remember that just one year ago this 
 night, on this spot, you struck a Frenchman in the 
 face?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I am he. This patch has ever since hid the spot." 
 
 This was said in the even, quiet tones of familiar 
 conversation. There was no sign of passion visible 
 in his countenance. The companions of the English- 
 man had gathered round and listened with surprise. 
 
 " But it is so long ago — there is no cause for quar- 
 rel," said the EngUshman. 
 
 " That you may have cause, I will strike you," said 
 Berthoud, quietly. 
 
 Instantly the Englishman received a blow on the 
 face, from his open hand, which made the apartment 
 ring again. Eugene then took a step backward and 
 coolly folded his arms. The Englishman would have 
 returned the blow, had not his friends held him back, 
 with cries of " No, no! all fair. He is right! blow for 
 blow! you must meet in the morning!" 
 
 After a few moments of excitement and loud talk- 
 ing, during which Eugene remained calmly standing 
 before them, as if an unconcerned spectator, cards 
 were exchanged, and the parties separated. 
 
 The ensuing morning witnessed a scene by no 
 
THE BLACK PATCH. 169 
 
 means rare in the metropolis of the south-west. In a 
 shehered field, in the suburbs of the lower Faubourg, 
 on what is termed the " Gentilly road," two hostile 
 parties were discovered preparing to engage in mortal 
 combat. They were the Englishman and Eugene 
 Berthoud. They have taken their stand at ten paces, 
 with pistols in their hands. 
 
 "Are you ready?" asked Berthoud's second. 
 
 " All ready," was the reply of the second of the op- 
 posite party. 
 
 '• One— two — three — fire!" 
 
 The two pistols went off with one report. The 
 Englishman leaped half his height into the air and fell 
 dead, pierced through the heart. Berthoud at the 
 same time clapped his hand to his side and staggered 
 backward. Recovering himself, he walked steadily 
 toward his antagonist and sunk down by his side. 
 Then, as the warm stream spouted from his breast, he 
 tore the black patch from his cheek, bathed his hand 
 in it, and washed the place it had covered. 
 
 " Now has his blood wiped out the foul blot his 
 hand placed there. The honor of Berthoud is with- 
 out stain. I am satisfied!" 
 
 Eugene Berthoud, then, with a smile on his lip, 
 breathed out his spirit, and the aggressor and avenger 
 lay side by side in death. 
 
 15 
 
THE STUDENT; 
 
 OB. 
 
 LOCKET RING. 
 
THE STUDENT. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Hastese. Prove me this rogue a villain, good Jicol. 
 
 Jicol. That will I, and on the book too. fair hostess! 
 Me is most damnably in debt! Is't not a rogue? 
 
 Hostess. By the mass is he! a double-dyed villain! 
 In debt, say'st thou? I would have sworn 'fore God, 
 Thou couldst not have proved him such a rogue. 
 
 " A LETTER, 'Bel," said Colonel Willis, without lift- 
 ing his eyes from the morning gazette, in which he 
 was reading an account of Perry's victory — for at that 
 period of the late war our story opens, " it is from 
 Charlotte, no doubt. Pray Heaven that scape-grace, 
 her husband, may have run away from her." 
 
 'Bel, who had entered the breakfast room, brilliant 
 with health and beauty, turned pale, and with an eager 
 yet trembling hand, took the letter from the table, and 
 retiring to a recess of one of the windows, hastily tore 
 the seal, and earnestly perused its contents. 
 
 " My dearly beloved Isabel: 
 
 " How I yearn to be once more folded in your sisterly 
 embrace, to lean my aching head upon your bosom, 
 and pour my heart into yours. It is near midnight. 
 
 15» 
 
174 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 Edward has gone out to seek some means of earning 
 the pittance which is now our daily support. Poor 
 Edward! How he exists under such an accumulation 
 of misery, I know not. His trials have nearly broken 
 his proud and sensitive spirit. Since his cruel arrest, 
 his heart is crushed. He will never hold up his head 
 again. He sits with me all day long, gloomy and de- 
 sponding, and never speaks. Oh how thankful I feel 
 that he has never yet been tempted to embrace the 
 dreadful alternative to which young men in his cir- 
 cumstances too often fly ! May he never fly to the 
 oblivious wine cup to fly from himself. In this, dear 
 Isabel, God has been, indeed, merciful to me. Last 
 night Edward came home, after offering himself even 
 as a day laborer, and yet no man would hire him, and 
 threw himself upon the floor and wept long and bit- 
 terly. When he became calmer, he spoke of my suf- 
 ferings and his own, in the most hopeless manner, and 
 prayed that he might be taken from the world, for Pa 
 would then forgive me. But this will never be. One 
 grave will hold us both. I have not a great while to 
 live, Isabel! But I do not fear to die! Edward! 'tis 
 for Edward my heart is wrung. Alas his heart is har- 
 dened to every religious impression — the Bible he 
 never opens, family prayers are neglected, and afllic- 
 tion has so changed him altogether, that you can no 
 longer recognise the handsome, agreeable and fasci- 
 nating Edward you once knew. Oh, if pa Avould re- 
 lent, how happy we might all be again. If dear Ed- 
 ward's debts were paid, and they do not amount to 
 nine hundred dollars altogether, accumulated during 
 the three years of our marriage, he might become an 
 ornament to society, which none are better fitted to 
 adorn. Do, dearest Isabel, use your influence with pa, 
 for we are really very wretched, and Edward has been 
 so often defeated in the most mortifying efTbrts to ob- 
 tain employment — for no one would assist him because 
 he is in debt — (the very reason why they should) that 
 
THE STUDENT. 175 
 
 he has not the resolution to subject himself again to 
 refusals, not untrequently accompanied with insult, 
 and always with contempt. J\Iy situation at this time, 
 dearest sister, is one also of peculiar delicacy, and I 
 need your sisterly support and sympathy. Come and 
 see me, if only for one day. Do not refuse me this, 
 perhaps the last request I shall ever make of you. 
 Plead eloquently with pa, perhaps he will not perse- 
 vere longer in his cruel system of severity. Edward 
 is not guilty — he is unfortunate. But alas, in this 
 world, there is little distinction between guilt and mi- 
 sery! Come, dearest Isabel — I cannot be said " No." 
 I hear Edward's footstep on the stair. God bless and 
 make you happier than your wretched sister, 
 
 ^' Charlotte." 
 
 With her eyes overflowing with tears, Isabel folded 
 the letter, and buried her face in the drapery of the 
 window to hide her emotion. Colonel Willis, still in- 
 tent upon the gazette, was at length startled by a sup- 
 pressed sobbing, as if the mourner's heart would break. 
 Hastily crushing the paper in his hand, and laying 
 aside his spectacles, he approached the window: 'Bel, 
 my love, what has caused this violent agitation?" he 
 said, passing his arm around her waist, and gently 
 drawing her to his bosom. 
 
 She threw her arms about his neck exclaiming, 
 "Poor, poor Charlotte!" and the tears fell faster. 
 
 *• What, what of Charlotte? no worse news I hope?" 
 
 '' Oh, pa, you must do something for them," and she 
 looked up into his face with her liquid eyes, which 
 pleaded with all the eloquence of sisterly atfection. 
 
 '• Isabel," said Colonel Willis, sternly, ''have I not 
 sworn that I never will forgive them? Why will you, 
 my child" he continued in a milder tone, *' incur my 
 displeasure by a request so often made, and so repeat- 
 edly refused!" 
 
 '• Yes, but pa, consider that poor Charlotte : " 
 
176 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 '' Charlotte is only receiving the reward of her own 
 folly," interrupted the parent impatiently; " when she 
 eloped with this fortune hunter of a poor student, she 
 knew the consequences. As she has sown, so let her 
 reap. I forhid you, Isabel, on pain of my severest dis- 
 pleasure, to name the subject to me again." 
 
 " Oh, no, no! hear me this once, my dear, dear pa," 
 continued the lovely pleader, following him to his arm- 
 chair, in which he had reseated himself and resumed 
 the paper, " I have just received such a letter from 
 Charlotte!" 
 
 " And haven't I been pestered to death with letters, 
 till I have ordered the post master to direct back all 
 letters, addressed to me bearing the Covington post 
 mark? Isabel, it is useless for you to say any thing 
 more. My mind is made up — The laws of the Medes 
 and Persians were not more unchangeable than my 
 determination. 1 would not aid them to keep him 
 from the gallows, and her from — " 
 
 " Pa, pa!" cried Isabel, placing her hand upon his 
 mouth, " Oh, my dear father, why will you be so ri- 
 gid?" and the distressed maiden burst into tears. 
 
 Colonel Willis was moved by the depth and energy 
 of her emotion. " Forgive me, my child," he said af- 
 fectionately embracing her, "you, at least, have never 
 disobeyed me, and I would not intentionally wound 
 your feelings. You are now my only child," he added 
 with tenderness, yet with better emphasis; and he press- 
 ed for a moment his hand to his forehead, as if pain- 
 ful thoughts were passing through his mind. 
 
 "Pa," said Isabel, in a low, sweet, coaxing tone, 
 seizing a mood so favorable to her wishes, determined 
 not to be defeated in her benevolent object, " now 
 wont you read poor Charlotte's letter?" 
 
 " I am very busily reading," he said in a gruff, de- 
 cided tone, rattling the paper and bringing it closer to 
 his eyes emphatically, as if to silence importunity. 
 
THE STUDENT. 177 
 
 " But, pa, sister Charlotte writes me to visit her for 
 a few days!" 
 
 The whole attention of Colonel Willis was directed 
 still more perseveringly to the columns of the gazette, 
 notwithstanding his spectacles, without the assistance 
 of which he could not see a letter, were lying behind 
 him on the table. 
 
 " She writes me," continued the persevering girl, 
 " that she is very ill." 
 
 " 111! ill, did you say, Isabel?" he cried, thrown off 
 his guard, all the father struggling in his bosom for the 
 master)'. 
 
 "N — no, not exactly ill — ^just now, pa— but — 
 but — " and the confused and blushing girl hesitated. 
 Turning sharply round at her embarrassment, her fa- 
 ther repeated — " ' N — no, not exactly ill — but — but — 
 but — ' What is the meaning of this hesitancy, Isa- 
 bel? I have never known you to deceive me, and I 
 cannot think you would fabricate an untruth even to 
 see your worthless sister. Give me the letter!" he 
 added, sternly. Isabel gave it to him in silence. He 
 adjusted his spectacles and commenced perusing it; 
 uttering a "pshaw" at even,- few lines; but when he 
 came to the sentence in which his daughter alluded to 
 her approaching illness, earnestly beseeching her sis- 
 ter to be with her at that time, Isabel, who had 
 watched every movement of his features, observed a 
 softened expression pass over them, and a tear which 
 he in vain strove to crush with his eye lid, steal down 
 his browned cheek. Nature, true to herself, at such 
 a moment, would assert her empire. " Poor Charlotte 
 indeed!" he said, half aloud, closing the letter, as the 
 tear dropped upon it and blotted her name, " Isabel, 
 you may go to her." 
 
 The next moment she was weeping for joy in her 
 father's arms. 
 
THE STUDENT 
 
 PART II. 
 
THE STUDENT 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Edward Carrington had been two years a stu- 
 dent of divinity, when liis heahh, impaired by inces- 
 sant toil beside the midnight lamp, exiled him to a 
 more genial clime than that of New England. A gra- 
 duate of Dartmouth college, he had supported himself 
 through his collegiate course on the scanty pittance 
 realised by keeping a village school during the winter 
 vacations, for he was the only son of his mother, and 
 she was a widow, pious, humble and poor. Through 
 his triennial course of Theology, to his individual ex- 
 ertions alone he also looked for support. He chose 
 the ministry, not to promote his worldly interests, to 
 have a " profession" or from any other improper mo- 
 tives: but from a sense of duty, and because, as a min- 
 ister of the gospel, he felt that he would be most use- 
 ful to his fellow men. Answering the apostle's 
 directions for this sacred office, he was vigilant, pa- 
 tient, sober, apt to teach, and withal conscientiously 
 and sincerely pious. He therefore chose the ministry. 
 
 There remained but one year to complete his course 
 of study, when that last hope, and often, ultimately, 
 the grave of the northern consumption — a southern 
 16 
 
182 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 climate — wooed him to health. He left home with 
 bright hopes, a light purse, and his mother's blessing. 
 
 On board the packet carrying him from Boston to 
 Charleston, was the president of a southern Univer- 
 sity, returning home from a tour among the lakes of 
 New England. The unassuming manners and agree- 
 able conversation of Edward, united with his fine 
 talents and high scholastic attainments, ripened, in the 
 space of a few days, from a mere traveller's acquaint- 
 ance, into an intimacy which promised to promote 
 materially the interests of our young adventurer. On 
 his arrival at the port of their destination, the Presi- 
 dent proposed to him that he should accept a tutorship 
 in his university, until he could obtain a private situ- 
 ation in a planter's family, when his duties would be 
 less laborious, and more time could be found for study. 
 In a few days, Edward was busily engaged in fulfil- 
 ling the duties of his new station. 
 
 The officers of the college were occasionally invited 
 to the dinner parties given by the neighboring planters. 
 On one of these occasions, six months after his arrival 
 in the south, at Laurel Hill, the residence of her fa- 
 ther, Colonel Willis, a surviving revolutionary soldier, 
 Edward saw for the first time the lovely and accom- 
 plished Charlotte Willis, the eldest of two daughters, 
 the only children of this gentleman. Charlotte was at 
 this period, just entering her nineteenth year. Her 
 figure was faultless. Her hair was jetty as the raven's 
 plumage, her eyes large, black, and full of intellectual 
 expression. She was altogether a graceful and fasci- 
 nating creature, with an excellent but susceptible 
 heart, an amiable disposition, and an accurately culti- 
 vated mind. Her beauty — for she was surpassingly 
 fair — like chef dfceuvres of painting or sculpture, 
 would not at first strike you, but won upon you as you 
 gazed. She could not be termed " beautiful" exactly, 
 nor ^' handsome," nor, indeed, " pretty:" none of these 
 terms, which have their own proper applications, how- 
 
THE STUDENT, 183 
 
 ever pen^erted, would suit her style of beauty. She 
 was lovely — a Rose Bradwardine, rather than a Flora 
 Maclvor. Her manner was gentle, and in conversa- 
 tion, her eyes were oftener concealed behind their 
 drooping lids, and long silky fringes, than lifted to the 
 faces of those with whom she spoke. She was a 
 woman for poets to deify — for men to love. 
 
 Edward Carrington saw Charlotte Willis as he 
 entered the drawing room at Laurel Hill, and from 
 that moment the destinies of the two became forever 
 united. Edward, at this period was a strikingly hand- 
 some young man. Health had returned to his cheek 
 and animation to his eye. His features were noble, 
 and his person manly and elegant. His general man- 
 ner was grave, or rather quiet; but when he strove to 
 please, few men have displayed higher powers of con- 
 versation than he exhibited — his wit flashed, but was 
 harmless, while his humor was irresistible. Although 
 college professors, or " teachers," as they are com- 
 monly termed in the south, are not there recognised of 
 the "caste" which entitles them to free admission into 
 the best southern society (for teaching is a sort of 
 mechanical employment, and therefore, not exactly 
 comme ilfaut.) Edward Carrington, on account of his 
 pleasing address, soon became a frequent and wel- 
 come visiter at the mansion of Colonel Willis. What 
 with mingling voices in the same air, bending till 
 cheek touched cheek, over the same drawing — for 
 Edward drew and sung delightfully — riding out 
 nearly every evening, and other opportunities placed 
 in their way by Cupid, and to which Isabel was par- 
 iiceps crimim's, Edward and Charlotte became within 
 two months after their first meeting, as deeply in love 
 as any author of moderate ambition would wish his 
 hero and heroine to be. Charlotte loved with her 
 whole heart. Her love was deep, pure, and un- 
 changeable. For Edward she lived, moved, and had 
 
184 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 her being. Love had changed her whole character. 
 It was to her a new existence of the purest bUss, 
 which she would not exchange for any other. In the 
 heart of Edward, this new passion which he had in- 
 troduced there, assumed an alarming aspect. None of 
 the officers of the institution were professors of 
 religion. 
 
 Among the surrounding planters, its forms were 
 loosely observed. Gaiety and pleasure, and the 
 amusements and business of life seemed to absorb all 
 minds around him. None were congenial with his 
 own. His opportunities of private devotion, when he 
 first attached himself to the University were few and 
 interrupted, as the rulers of the institution required 
 that the tutors should room with the most troublesome 
 students. That privacy necessary to devotion, not 
 being always attainable, occasional omission of closet 
 devotions, finally ripened into a total neglect of them. 
 The lively society he met with at " Laurel Hill" was 
 not calculated to foster religious feeling, and at length, 
 hke a plant that withers for want of nourishment and 
 care, his religious impressions gradually faded from 
 his heart, and Edward Carrington became a gay and 
 worldly young man. When love took possession of 
 his heart, the image of Charlotte Willis wholly dis- 
 placed that of the Savior, and the closet and the Bible 
 jcwere altogether given up for the drawing room and 
 works of fiction. 
 
 Four months had expired, each day closer binding 
 the lovers in those pleasing chains, which, it is said, 
 no doubt slanderously, that only Hymen can unloose, 
 when the eyes of Colonel Willis were opened. The 
 lovers had never thought of " Pa." They loved each 
 other, and looked not beyond themselves or the pre- 
 sent moment. One afternoon Colonel Willis suddenly 
 entered the parlor, and the lovers did not recover 
 themselves soon enough to prevent him from observ- 
 
THE STUDENT. 185 
 
 ing that Edward had been seated by Charlotte, with 
 his arm enfolding her waist, and that she was just 
 placing a large agate upon his finger. 
 
 Edward was sternly but politely forbidden the 
 house — for Edward Carrington was a poor student, 
 and Charlotte Willis was an heiress! The third morn- 
 ing after this event, the carriage of Colonel WilUs 
 rolled down the avenue to the high road, followed by 
 an open barouche, containing servants and baggage, 
 and by the evening of the next day, it was known 
 generally throughout theneighborhod, that the family 
 at Laurel Hill had departed on a tour to the Virginia 
 Springs. 
 
 Before his departure, Colonel Willis had so far ex- 
 erted his influence with the board of Trustees, of 
 which he was a prominent member, that he received 
 the promise that Mr. Carrington should be removed 
 so soon as one could be found to supply his place. In 
 the course of three weeks, therefore, Edward was 
 displaced from his tutorship. The president, his friend 
 and patron, had previously resigned his oflice on ac- 
 count of ill health, and, notwithstanding he was one 
 of the most efiicient officers in the institution, Edward 
 was sacrificed to the vindictive displeasure of Colonel 
 Willis. Ill news will fly, while good tidings move at 
 a snail's pace. In a few days, it was known to all, 
 who had known Edward, that he had been removed 
 from his tutorship. There were a hundred causes de- 
 vised, but no one was the true one. The victim him- 
 self well knew the author of his disgrace, and bore 
 up against the adverse tide of his fortunes with manly 
 fortitude. His efforts to obtain a private tutorship 
 were unsuccessful, for busy rumor had begotten preju- 
 dice and suspicion, and all his applications were coldly 
 received. At length, mortified at his disappointment, 
 he determined to try his fortune where his ill-fame 
 had not yet preceded him, and with the balance due 
 him of his small salary, he set forth on foot, for he was 
 16* 
 
1S6 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 too poor to ride. The wanderer proceeded to a neigh- 
 boring village, where he passed the night, and in the 
 morning made a detonr through the adjacent planta- 
 tions to seek a private tutorship in some family, but 
 his exertions were unsuccessful. He passed several 
 days, going from village to village, and from plantation 
 to plantation, in a fruitless search for a situation, until 
 his money was exhausted, he entered a remote village 
 and threw himself upon the benevolence of the Metho- 
 dist clergyman of the place — for he felt that if human 
 sympathy still lingered on earth, it must have its home 
 in the hearts of the followers of Christ. Through the 
 kind assistance of this good man, he obtauied a small 
 school in the village, and was once more comparatively 
 happy. But Avhen he thought of Charlotte, melan- 
 choly and despondency reigned in his bosom. 
 
 One evening he was leaning over the railing of a 
 rural bridge on the skirts of the village, thinking of 
 Charlotte, and brooding over his poverty and blight- 
 ed hopes. His disposition had become soured by his 
 misfortunes, and he dared not fly for consolation to 
 that religion, which in prosperity he had neglected. 
 He had grown misanthropic; and at times, during his 
 greatest destitution, had even dared to question the 
 existence of an overruling Providence. So rapid is 
 the descent from belief to infidelity, when once the 
 hold is loosed! As he gazed into the dark flood glid- 
 ing stilly beneath, tempted to plunge into it, and ter- 
 minate at once his life and sufferings, the sound of 
 distant wheels and the clatter of horse's hoofs roused 
 him from his guilty meditations, and turning round, 
 he saw a carriage descending the hill to the bridge, and 
 the next moment, with the speed which benighted 
 travellers are wont to exert, it rolled past him across 
 the bridge and drove into the village. In a country, 
 where every planter keeps his carriage, there was 
 nothing extraordinary in the appearance of a hand- 
 some travelling equipage entering an obscure hamlet, 
 
THE STUDENT. 187 
 
 in a remote district. Yet an undefinable sensation 
 that he was in some way interested in the appearance 
 of this carriage, induced him to retrace his steps to the 
 village inn. When he arrived there, he saw the car- 
 riage, with a barouche which had passed him just 
 after he had left the bridge, standing in the yard of 
 the hostlery, and, in reply to his inquiries, was inform- 
 ed by a communicative slave, that - a gemman and two 
 young misusses had come to stay all night.'' On en- 
 tering the inn, the landlady told him that she had given 
 his room to the two young ladies, as it opened into 
 the gentleman's, who was their father, and that '• she 
 had spoken to neighbor Bryan, across the way, to 
 give him a bed at her house. As Edward was only 
 the '-'teacher," he could be stowed away any where, 
 as well as be ejected from his room. He quietly 
 acquiesced, and occupied, in common with four little 
 chubby urchins, his scholars, a bed at "neishbor 
 Bryan's.'' 
 
 '' Oh dear!" exclaimed one of the young ladies, on 
 entering the student's bed room, '• we might as well 
 sleep in the coach as here, for this bit of a box isn't 
 much bigger." 
 
 '' It will do, Isabel: any accommodations will be 
 good enough tor me — if you can only put up with 
 them. I am wearied of this journey:" and the speaker 
 leaned her head upon her beautiful hand, sighed, and 
 gazed with an absent air into a small mirror before 
 her, which reflected a face pale but strikingly inter- 
 esiinir. 
 
 '• If pa thinks this driving about here, there, and 
 everywhere," said the other, '* is to drive Edward out 
 of your head, or mine either, for that matter, Charlotte 
 — for I love him almost as much as you do — I can tell 
 him he is sadly mistaken. Heaven's! Charlotte, look 
 at this ring!" she exclaimed, taking from one of the 
 little toilet drawers of the bureau, into one after an- 
 other of which, with true female curiosity, she had 
 
ISS THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 been peeping, and holding before her sister a ring set 
 with a very large agate, of peculiar form; ^' It is the 
 very ring you gave Edward.'^ 
 
 Charlotte sprung forward with a faint, but joyful 
 exclamation, seized the ring, gazed on it eagerly for 
 an instant, then with trembling fingers pressed a con- 
 cealed spring. The agate flew open, displaying a 
 mmiature locket, Avithin which was enclosed a lock 
 of her own brown hair. She could not be mistaken! 
 It was the self same ring she was placing on Edward's 
 finger, at the fatal moment her father entered the room, 
 a moment of mingled joy and bitterness to both lovers, 
 and from which all their subsequent and future mise- 
 ry was dated. She kissed the recovered treasure, 
 over and over again, until Isabel, who thought she 
 never would have done, proposed the very sensible 
 query, " I wonder how it came here?" 
 
 Poor Charlotte! she was too happy in the posses- 
 sion of such a memento of her lover, to think of any 
 thing else but the joy of possessing it. " I wonder 
 how it did?" she at length repeated, thoughtfully and 
 looking into Isabella's face for an explanation. They 
 began to puzzle their heads by a good many possible 
 and impossible ways, by which it might have come 
 there. The idea never occurred to them that Edward 
 himself might have brought it there. Of his dismis- 
 sion they had not heard, nor indeed received any in- 
 telligence of Edward since they had left Laurel Hill 
 three months before, and supposing that he was still 
 in the University, ihe hope of soon meeting with him, 
 as they were now travelling homeward, alone sup- 
 ported Charlotte, whose health and spirits were hour- 
 ly passing away, during the fatigues of the journey. 
 That he should be, therefore, one hundred miles from 
 home during term-time, v\^as not probable. 
 
 In the midst of their perplexities, a little female 
 slave entered the room. 
 
THE STUDENT. 189 
 
 " Can you tell me, you little chit," eagerly inquired 
 Isabel, " whose ring this is?" 
 
 The slave looked for a short time closely at the ring 
 with her large, round eyes, as if decyphering hiero- 
 glyphics, and then replied with great confidence: 
 
 " Yes, missis, Pse seen him on um massa teacher's 
 fing'r." 
 
 *^ The teacher!" repeated Isabel, looking archly at 
 her sister; " what teacher?" 
 
 " Him what's got dis room, missis." 
 
 " Does he keep a school in the village?" 
 
 " Yes, missis, he do, dis five, six week." 
 
 "Six weeks! Itcan't be, Charlotte. Where is he now?" 
 
 *< Gone over to massa Bryan's." 
 
 " Do you know his name?" 
 
 " Massa teacher, missis." 
 
 " No, no, but his name?" interrogated Isabel impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 <^ I don't know, missis; dey al'ays call him massa 
 teacher." 
 
 This information not being very satisfactory, and 
 despairing of further intelligence from such a source, 
 they retired for the night — not, however, without 
 coming to the determination to take possession of the 
 ring, arguing that he who left it there had no honest 
 title to it. 
 
 The ensuing morning at dawn, they resumed their 
 journey, and on the evening of the fourth day arrived 
 at Laurel Hill. Here they soon learned the fate of 
 Edward. 
 
 " Charlotte," said Isabel entering her sister's room, 
 the morning after their return, and a few minutes 
 after they had learned the fatal news, '^ dry your eyes 
 — Edward is not lost to you, after all pa's persecution." 
 
 The weeping girl raised her tearful eyes, and fixed 
 them with a hopeless gaze upon the animated face of 
 her gayer sister. 
 
 " Now don't look so like a monument of wo. Char- 
 
190 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 lotte," continued Isabel, smiling and embracing her, 
 " and I will tell you something that will make your 
 heart jump. Do you remember the little inn at which 
 we slept four nights ago?" 
 
 Charlotte pressed the agate which was upon her 
 finger to her hps, in reply. 
 
 " Well, then, it is my belief that Edward left the 
 ring there — that it was his room we occupied — and 
 in fine that he himself, and none other, was ' raassa 
 teacher.' '^ 
 
 Charlotte hung upon her sister's words, trembling 
 between hope and fear, and then threw herself with a 
 cry of joy upon her neck. 
 
 That night Charlotte Willis mysteriously disap- 
 peared from the mansion at Laurel Hill, leaving the 
 following note on her father's dressing table: 
 
 « My DEAR Father:— 
 
 " I have learned the extremity of your anger against 
 Edward. Your vindictive cruelty has cast him friend- 
 less upon the world, and I fly to share his fortune. I 
 must ask your forgiveness for the step I am about to 
 take. I am betrothed to Edward by vows that are 
 registered in Heaven. — Alas! it is his poverty alone that 
 renders him so hateful to you — for once you thought 
 there was no one like Edward. God bless you, my 
 dear father, and make you happy here and hereafter. 
 
 " Your still afiectionate daughter, 
 
 " Charlotte." 
 
 When Colonel Willis read this note, the morning 
 after her departure, the violence of his rage was un- 
 bounded. Isabel was calm, and so far from being dis- 
 turbed or surprised at her sister's absence, she wore a 
 smile of peculiar meaning, as one after another the 
 servants rode into the court, bringing no tidings of the 
 fugitive, that betrayed more knowledge of Charlotte's 
 movements than she would have been willing her fa- 
 ther should know. 
 
THE STUDENT. 191 
 
 The tenth morning after the mysterious disappear- 
 ance of his ring, which the Uttle slave informed him 
 she had seen one of the strange young ladies place 
 upon her finger, Edward was sitting in his room, 
 brooding over the shipwreck of boxh his temporal and 
 spiritual hopes, without the moral power to retrieve 
 either, when he heard the stage, which three times a 
 week passed through the village, stop at the door of 
 the inn. In a few seconds the landlady's voice reached 
 his ears. 
 
 " Yes, my pretty lad, he is. That's the room at the 
 top o' the stairs, right side of the bannisters." A light 
 footstep on the stairs, and a faint tap at his door, fol- 
 lowed this very audible direction. 
 
 " Come in," said Edward, mechanically, without 
 raising his eyes, for domiciUary visits from his scho- 
 lars were not unusual. 
 
 The door slowly opened, as if the intruder wanted 
 confidence: and a youth, enveloped in a cloak, with a 
 cloth travelling cap, such as is worn by female eques- 
 trians, but without the plume, upon his head, entered 
 the room. Love penetrates the cunningest disguises. 
 One glance from the student was sufficient. The re- 
 cognition was mutual. 
 
 "Charlotte!" 
 
 " Edward!" And the lovers were in each other's 
 arms. 
 
 The natural consequence, when true lovers will 
 not be twain, followed in this instance. They were 
 made one the same morning, by Edward's friend, the 
 benevolent Methodist clergyman. Edward now felt 
 that his privations and sufferings were terminated, 
 " For," he said, folding her to his heart, " there can be 
 no suffering with so sweet a sharer of my vicissitudes." 
 
 Happy as this marriage made Edward Carrington, 
 as a lover, it involved him in greater difficulties as a 
 member of society. Until now, he had, by strict econ- 
 omy, just lived within the limits of the small income 
 
192 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 derived from his school. By his marriage his expenses 
 were doubled, while the number of his scholars re- 
 mained the same. Although the gentle Charlotte, in 
 uniting her fate with Edward's, had acted with an 
 energy and decision contrary to her native character, 
 (for what metamorphoses will not love effect?) she had 
 not acted without reflection. By the legacy of a de- 
 ceased aunt, she possessed in her own right five thou- 
 sand dollars, which was placed in the bank of Charles- 
 ton, subject either to her own or, until she was eigh- 
 teen years of age, her father's check. For this sum 
 she drew a check the day after her marriage. But 
 the first act of her father, on recovering from the burst 
 of rage to which he gave way on discovering his 
 daughter's elopement, was, as its trustee, to withdraw 
 this legacy from the bank. 
 
 This source so unexpectedly dried up, the youthful 
 pair, wretched in their fortunes, but happy in their 
 loves, exerted every means in their power to meet the 
 exigences of their situation, still continuing to occupy 
 the httle study which Edward had originally tenanted. 
 
 It would be painful to recount the various vicissi- 
 tudes, which they had to encounter the first year, dur- 
 ing which period the pittance from Edward's school 
 scarcely supplied them with the necessaries, and none 
 of the comforts of life. At length Charlotte was taken 
 ill, and he was compelled to incur debts with a phy- 
 sician, and the stores in the village; and for some time 
 he continued to struggle through debt and poverty, 
 when the landlord of the humble inn, which they had 
 so long made their home, finding, that on account of 
 Mrs. Carrington's illness, her husband's debts and ex- 
 penses increased, and that bills from others were pre- 
 sented against him, which he could not meet, began 
 to look out for his own interests, which were in dan- 
 ger on account of six months' arrears due him for 
 their board. He, therefore, entered his room one 
 morning, and very politely requested Edward to settle 
 
THE STUDEXT. 193 
 
 his bill, or find rooms elsewhere. He could not 
 do the foraier, and chose the latter. 
 
 Over his school-house was a vacant room, some- 
 times used by the erudite school committee as a place 
 of meeting. This he was permitted to occupy, and with 
 the scanty furniture he had from time to time accumu- 
 lated, he furnished it, and moved there amid the abu- 
 sive language of his landlord, and the sneers of the 
 villagers^ many of whom that day took their children 
 from school because " the master was such a bad cha- 
 racter, alvx^ays havmg constables after him," Ed- 
 ward indeed experienced the fate of most debtors, par- 
 ticularly those who are professional men or students. 
 A merchant may owe his thousands, and if unable to 
 meet his notes at maturity, he "breaks," and at one 
 fell swoop settles with his creditors, perhaps at ten 
 cents on the dollar. His character stands as fair as 
 before. He has only failed! But a literary or pro- 
 fessional man, whose small and uncertain income may 
 render the contraction of small debts necessary, alas! 
 'cannot '-fail." His accounts, presented one after an- 
 other, are put by in hopes of better times: these never 
 arrive, and constables, armed with writs, besiege his 
 door, and he soon gains the reputation, worse than 
 that of the thief, or gambler, of" not paying his debts.*' 
 A gentleman, of sterling integrity, with a narrow in- 
 come, may contract, with the most upright intentions, 
 several small debts, whose aggregate, like Edward's 
 shall not exceed nine hundred dollars, by which he 
 will suffer more annoyance and lose far more in 
 reputation, if he is not able to pay them when due, 
 than the bold gambling speculator, who suddenly 
 *• breaks," and leaves his protested name on paper to 
 the amount of one hundred thousand dollars. Truly, 
 it would seem less venial to be a delinquent on a 
 large scale, than suffer the obloquy consequent of 
 petty otfences! 
 
 Edward Carrington tinally became a shunned man 
 17 
 
1 94 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 — for he was in debt! His school was gradually- 
 dwindling away, and he in vain sought to obtain some 
 additional or a more lucrative employment. Day after 
 day he traversed the vicinity on foot, seeking the 
 means of livelihood. — Once he was absent nearly two 
 days, when a report flew through the village that the 
 unhappy young man had " run off," leaving his wife 
 on the charity (Heaven save the mark!) of the town." 
 — But when at length he returned, dispirited and 
 broken-hearted, and cast himself in despair upon 
 the floor of his wretched abode, unable to meet the 
 eyes of the patient and suffering Charlotte, the villa- 
 gers changed their gossip to surmises, " that these fre- 
 quent absences could be for no good." And a high- 
 way robbery having been perpetrated about that 
 period, he was generally suspected of being its author. 
 This latter rumor had not got well whispered over 
 the town, before all Edward's creditors sent in their 
 bills, each anxious to get the first share of the wind- 
 fall. Alas, for the reputation of the poor debtor! No 
 crime is so enormous that he is not capable of com- 
 mitting it! Let me be a pirate — a bandit — a high- 
 way robber — a gambler — a drunkard — anything but 
 a poor debtor! 
 
 Edward's afflictions, aided by the patient example 
 and quiet infiaence of Charlotte, gradually drew him 
 back to his religion. On her gentle nature, deep sorrow 
 exercised a heavenly influence, and unable to find hap- 
 piness on earth, she looked forward with the strong hope 
 of the christian, for a resting place in Heaven. Affliction 
 had made her a Christian! Her sweet influence drew 
 Edward back to the altars he had deserted, and as he 
 kneeled beside her in morning and evening worship, 
 he felt that chastisement had been indeed a blessing. 
 His reUgious exercises at length became weapons for 
 his neighbors. — They very reasonably thought, that 
 for a man to pray in his family, morning and night, 
 and not pay his debts, must be the very height of hy- 
 
THE STUDENT. 195 
 
 pocrisy. Therefore, his unassuming piety became ra- 
 ther his own enemy. Daring all these severe trials, 
 the gentle Charlotte was his guardian angel. She 
 checked his murmurings, soothed his wounded spirit, 
 and poured the balm of consolation into his broken 
 heart. While he was going from place to place seek- 
 ing a situation — for his little school was now entirely 
 broken up — she was on her knees in her closet, pray- 
 ing for his success. When he returned wearied and 
 disappointed, ready to lie down and die with the accu- 
 mulation of his sorrows, for their last dollar, (the 
 remnant of a remittance from Isabel, who knew their 
 situation, and who sent them every dollar she could 
 command,) was gone, she exerted all those little ten- 
 dernesses of voice and manner which a young affec- 
 tionate wife knows so well how to avail herself of, to 
 encourage him to stem the adverse current. The 
 last sum they had received from the noble Isabel, 
 was parted with before night, to an inexorable, 
 lynx-eyed creditor, who kept up a system of espi- 
 onage upon the post office, (for he knew Edward 
 had received money by letter,) the good natured post 
 master's lady having sent him the information, that 
 " a letter containing money had just arrived for ' the 
 teacher.' " 
 
 A month after this, a traveller was knocked down 
 and robbed near the school-house. The same day a 
 small donation from Isabel arrived, and Edward paid 
 a small bill with all that his necessities could spare of 
 it, to save himself from the degradation — worse than 
 death to his sensitive spirit— of a jail. The bank note, 
 which he gave in payment chanced to be on the bank 
 of the United States, and the money of which the tra- 
 veller was robbed was in notes on the same national 
 institution. There was ample proof of guilt where a 
 poor and friendless man, and withal in debt, was the 
 suspected person. Edward was arrested on suspicion, 
 
196 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 by the A^ery creditor to whom he paid the money, and 
 no doubt would have fallen a victim to popular preju- 
 dice, had not a negro, while his examination was going 
 on before the village magistrate, ignorant of its value, 
 offered a one hundred dollar note on the same bank at 
 a grocery. He was dragged before the magistrate — 
 and on the appearance of this more probable criminal, 
 the justice discharged Edward, unable to prove any- 
 thing against him, advising him " to pay his debts and 
 become an honest man." 
 
 There are men who censure, pity, nay, shun their 
 neighbors in distress, when by the offer of a fraction 
 of their means, their countenance or advice, they might 
 advance him to a situation where he would command 
 their respect, instead of exciting their contempt or com- 
 miseration. The magistrate was wealthy and a bache- 
 lor, and might have enabled Edward to follow his in- 
 sulting advice, without the diminution of a single 
 bottle of wine a year, or a less quantum of sleep. But 
 Edward was poor and in debt — two very excellent 
 and sufficient reasons why he should not receive as- 
 sistance. Through the hands of this magistrate, who 
 was a member of the church, and ate and drank at the 
 communion table, had passed all the demands against 
 Edward. He consequently was aware of his circum- 
 stances, his resources, and his inabihty to liquidate his 
 debts, nevertheless took no steps to relieve him. Yet 
 this man was a Christian, made long prayers at 
 monthly concerts, and professed to love his neighbor 
 as himself ! How little there is to distinguish the pro- 
 fessor from the non-professor, in the daily transactions 
 of life! 
 
 From the moment of his arrest, Edward abandoned 
 himself to his fate, and sat for hours, without speak- 
 ing, beside his patient and dying wife, for unexpressed 
 grief was silently, like the worm in the bud, feeding 
 upon her damask cheek, and sapping at the germ of 
 
THE STUDENT. 197 
 
 life. At this period of their melancholy existence, 
 when she began to look forward to the hopes and plea- 
 sures of a mother; Charlotte addressed the letter to 
 her sister, with which we commenced this tale of real 
 life. 
 
 17' 
 
THE STUDENT 
 
 PART III. 
 
THE STUDENT 
 
 PART III. 
 
 Ox a pleasant afternoon in June, six clays after 
 Charlotte had written the letter the reception of which 
 formed the introduction to our tale, the arrival of a 
 handsome close carriage, with dark bay horses, and a 
 footman, its pause at the stairs, leading on the outside 
 of the school house to Edward's room above, and the 
 descent from it of a beautiful young lady, created 
 quite a sensation throughout the gossiping village of 
 Covington. Before sunset, there was not a soul, from 
 the bedridden grandam to the squalling infant, that 
 did not know that the " elegant fine lady" was Isabel 
 Willis, sister of ''that Mrs. Carrington" who had 
 come to pass a few days with her. 
 
 We pass over Isabel's sensations at witnessing 
 Charlotte's wretchedness, the half of which had not 
 been told her. She lost not a moment in looking for 
 a better house, and easily obtained, for she wore the 
 exterior of opulence, a neat white cottage, in a plea- 
 sant situation. Paying the first quarter in advance, 
 and purchasing several necessary articles of furniture, 
 the next day she saw them take possession of it, both 
 far happier than they had been for a long period. The 
 
202 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 little cottage was ornamented with a portico, honey- 
 suckles wound around the columns, and climbed up 
 the windows, there was a white paling before it, en- 
 closing a little green front yard, and altogether their 
 new abode wore an air of comfort and seclusion that 
 was soothing to the senses. The first evening under 
 their new roof was sanctified by the erection of the 
 family altar. Edward's heart was touched by this 
 change in his condition, and he gave utterance to his 
 overloaded bosom, in grateful and humble thanksgiv- 
 ings. They kneeled together there — a holy family; 
 the beautiful Isabel beside the bedside of her sister, 
 who lay with her transparent eyelids closed, her ema- 
 ciated fingers clasped and her lips parted — pale and 
 ethereal in her fading loveliness; while Edward, his 
 haggard, yet intellectual face lifted upward, his eyes 
 streaming with tears of penitence and gratitude poured 
 forth his soul in prayer. It was a scene for angels to 
 linger over, as they passed on their celestial messages. 
 But Isabel, although with the limited means her 
 father had allowed her, for her own expenses, she had 
 done so much to promote their comfort, could not re- 
 lease Edward from the incubus — debt, which weighed 
 down his spirits, and continued to spread a blight 
 upon his reputation. Early, the morning after they 
 had taken possession of the cottage, Isabel settled a 
 small bill presented to her by a Shylock to whom her 
 brother was indebted. This soon got wind, and in 
 the course of the day nearly every debt he had in- 
 curred, with interest added, was presented for settle- 
 ment to the " rich young Miss." What could poor 
 Isabel do? Her only resources were from her father, 
 who limited them. She finally rid herself of the flock 
 of greedy cormorants, by promising on her return, to 
 state her brother's circumstances, and their claims, to 
 her father, and take measures for satisfying them. 
 This had the effect of a temporary cessation of hos- 
 tilities, and Edward, when he went into the village 
 
THE STUDENT. 203 
 
 Street, which he had so long shunned, was accosted 
 as if he were a fellow being, instead of being pointed 
 at with the finger of rudeness and contempt, or dunned 
 and insulted. 
 
 Isabel had been nearly two weeks with her sister, 
 whose health and spirits daily improved, when ono 
 morning Edward, once more wearing a cheerful coun- 
 tenance, brought her a letter from the post office. It 
 was from her father, who was confined to his bed by 
 the gout, and earnestly requested, or rather command- 
 ed, her immediate return. She entered Charlotte's 
 room to communicate its contents, and found her in 
 tears, her eyes wild, and her whole manner expres- 
 sive of the intensest alarm. " Dearest Charlotte, what 
 has distressed you?'' she exclaimed throwing her 
 arms about her neck. 
 
 Charlotte, nervous from the state of her health, and 
 sensitive as the delicate plant that shrinks from the 
 touch, wept for a moment upon her sister's neck be- 
 fore she spoke. ^' Oh, Isabel! such a dream! God 
 grant it may never be reality!" 
 
 " Only a dream, Charlotte! Why should a foolish 
 dream so distress you?" 
 
 "Oh, that it were only a dream, sister — but it was 
 a vision — so vivid — so real! And yet I thought I 
 was dead, too." 
 
 *• Dead! dearest Charlotte! Now banish such idle 
 fancies from your head. You are a little nervous, and 
 imagination magnifies trifles. Lie down, and I will 
 finish the tale of Eloise and Abelard." 
 
 " No, no, Isabel," replied the invalid, grasping her 
 sister's hand and looking very serious — " I must tell 
 you my dream, for it weighs heavy upon my mind. 
 Sit by my pillow, Isabel — nay, do not smile, dear sis- 
 ter — there is something prophetic in what I have had 
 revealed. Poor dear Edward! has he not real trials 
 enough, that even dreams should arm themselves 
 against him?" 
 
204 THE AMERICAN LOUXGER. 
 
 Charlotte's voice and manner were very solemn 
 and impressive, and it was with feelings allied to su- 
 perstition that Isabel took her sister's hand within her 
 own, and placed herself by her pillow. 
 
 " After Edward rose," said Charlotte, shuddering 
 at the recollection of what she was about to relate, 
 " I slept and dreamed that I was dead — that I had 
 died by night in my bed, and that Edward was ar- 
 rested as my murderer. I thought I saw him tried, 
 condemned and borne to the gallows! I beheld the 
 rope placed about his neck, and saw the clergyman 
 leave him! The drop was just about to fall when you 
 entered and awoke me. Oh, God! how vividly real 
 it all is!*' she said, pressing her fingers upon her eyes 
 as if she would shut out some appalling vision, while 
 her whole frame shook with intense agitation. Isabel 
 vras not unmoved, yet tried every means to soothe 
 her sister, and divert her thoughts, in vain. But Char- 
 lotte was not to be turned from the subject. " Sister," 
 she said, ^' I feel your kindness, but you exert it in 
 vain. You may think me foolish — but I must make 
 one request of you. This ring," she continued, with 
 increasing solemnity, taking the agate locket from her 
 finger, " was a gift from me to Edward, in happier 
 days. Write the particulars of my dream, the date 
 and circumstances, on a piece of tissue paper, enclose 
 it in the locket, and drive to Judge Ellice's and place 
 it on his finger, telling him that I desire him not to 
 remove it imtil you or I ask him for it. This request 
 may appear foolish to you, Isabel, but I entreat you 
 to comply with it, as my last and dying request." 
 
 Isabel was awed by the solemn earnestness of her 
 manner, and promised to obey. Charlotte smiled and 
 kissed her affectionately, and her face once more as- 
 sumed a cheerfulness to which it had long been a 
 stranger. Isabel religiously fulfilled her promise. She 
 drove that morning to Judge Ellice's mansion, nine 
 miles distant, in the country. The Judge had formerly 
 
THE STUDENT. 205 
 
 been a frequent visiter at Laurel Hill, and received 
 the daughter of his friend, Colonel Willis, with cordial 
 hospitality, and accepted the bequest of her sister, al- 
 though surprised at its singularity, and promised not 
 to remove it from his finger until requested to do so 
 by one of them. Isabel did not make him acquainted 
 with the contents of tlie locket, nor indeed that the 
 ring contained a concealed spring. 
 
 " I regret I did know your sister was residing so 
 near me, my dear ]Miss Willis," he said, as he attended 
 Isabel to her carriage; " it is strange she should not 
 have let me know it. Good morning — I will keep 
 the ring safe — for my head is rather freely sprinkled 
 with snow, for me to hope for a repetition of such a 
 gift from fair hands. 'Tis odd enough," he said to 
 himself, as the carriage drove down the avenue, " but 
 ladies at times will have strange whims in their 
 heads." 
 
 The ensuing morning, Isabel left her sister, appa- 
 rently much improved in healtfi and spirits, and trav- 
 elling rapidly homewards, arrived at Laurel Hill on 
 the evening of the third day, and found Colonel Willis 
 lying dangerously ill. Her presence and kind nursing 
 contributed, at first, to his convalescence; but the pro- 
 mise of returning health was delusive. In a few days 
 after her return, he became so much worse, that he 
 made his will in favor of Isabel, to which, a few hours 
 before he expired, he voluntarily added a codicil, in 
 which he bequeathed " to the child or children of Ed- 
 ward and Charlotte Carrington, the sum of ten thou- 
 sand dollars, to be placed in bank for their use, the in- 
 terest of which, until the children were of age, to be 
 drawn quarterly by Edward and Charlotte Carrington, 
 for their own proper use." It further stated, that in 
 case the child or children should die before they were 
 of age, then the principal should be vested in Charlotte 
 Carrington, wife of Edward Carrington, in her own 
 right, but at her death, without further issue, the said 
 18 
 
206 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 Edward Carrington should become sole heir to the 
 bequest." The testator also expressed his entire for- 
 giveness of Charlotte, and shortly after expired. 
 Death, with his icy fingers upon the heart, is a won- 
 derful humanizer! The approach of death had sof- 
 tened Colonel Willis's heart. When men feel that 
 they are soon to appear before the bar of God as 
 pleaders for pardon and mercy for themselves, they 
 then willingly forgive, as they hope to be forgiven I 
 
 After the funeral ceremonies were over, some days 
 were consumed by the executors in fulfilling the will 
 of the deceased. They immediately wrote to Edward, 
 informing him of the bequest in his favor. It was, 
 however, necessary for three months to elapse before, 
 by the accumulation of interest, he could derive any 
 benefit from it. Isabel, after the first deep passion of 
 filial grief had moderated, determined to invite her 
 brother and sister to make Laurel Hill their future 
 home. Circumstances prevented her writing for this 
 purpose, until three weeks after her father's death. 
 She had just completed a letter on the subject to Ed- 
 ward, when Dr. JMorton, one of the Executors of Colo- 
 nel Willis, unannounced, entered the library where she 
 was writing, and said hastily, without noticing her 
 invitation to be seated, " is not your brother-in-law's 
 name Carrington — Edward Carrington?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," repUed Isabel, agitated and foreboding 
 evil. 
 
 " A school teacher, or has been such?" he continued, 
 drawing a country newspaper from his pocket, and 
 loking steadfastly at a paragraph, " God forbid that it 
 should be him! Read M«/, my poor girl!" he said 
 with emotion, giving her the newspaper, and pointing 
 to a paragraph headed " Unparalleled Murder." Isabel 
 grasped the paper convulsively, and read with a pale 
 cheek and glazed eye, the following characteristic 
 newspaper notice to its close. 
 
 " One of the most cold-blooded, deliberate, and atro- 
 
THE STUDENT. 207 
 
 cious murders, it has ever been our province to record, 
 was perpetrated on the night of the 10th instant, in 
 the neighboring village of Covington. The victim, 
 was a lovely woman, the daughter of a distinguished 
 planter of this state, but recently deceased — the crimi- 
 nal, her own husband, late a school-teacher in that 
 place. It appears, that by a long course of dissipation 
 and idleness, he had squandered away both his own 
 fortune and hers, which was large, and has for some 
 months past been notorious in that village, as a worth- 
 less fellow — although a man of education and supe- 
 rior talents — deeply in debt, and altogether unworthy 
 of confidence. For one or two highway robberies, 
 committed in the vicinity of his dwelling, he has been 
 before arrested, but for vv'ant of sufficient evidence he 
 was acquitted. While, from his occasionally having 
 sums of money in his possession, which he had no os- 
 tensible means of coming honestly by, the presumption 
 is, that he is an old offender. The present crime, how- 
 ever, leaves all others behind, and what adds to its 
 atrocity, is, it appears from subsequent information, 
 
 that his wife's father, the late Colonel W , who 
 
 had disinherited her for making such an imprudent 
 match, in his will bequeathed her and her husband 
 the interest of twenty thousand dollars, the principal 
 being placed in bank, until the child, of which the lady 
 was then enceinte, should become of age. But if the 
 child should not live to that period, the principal was 
 vested in the mother, secure from the husband's con- 
 trol, and in case of her death, without further issue, 
 the husband himself was to become sole inheritor of 
 this noble bequest. This was a will too favorable to 
 an unprincipled man, to be suffered to go unimproved 
 for his immediate personal benefit. On Tuesday 
 morning last, therefore, when the lady's confinement 
 was daily expected, she was found dead in her bed! 
 Suspicion was immediately directed to the husband, 
 which his character and the circumstances strength- 
 
208 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 ened. He was seized by the infuriated villagers, and 
 carried before a magistrate, who committed him to 
 prison, where he now lies awaiting his trial, which 
 will take place next Monday, the court being noAV in 
 session. The name of the murderer is Edward Car- 
 rington.^' 
 
 Isabel, by a supernatural effort, read the paragraph 
 through, and then fell lifeless to the floor. For nearly 
 four weeks she was confined to her bed, a maniac. 
 When she recovered her reason, her first act was to 
 order her carriage, command the attention of Doctor 
 Morton, and proceed with all speed to Covington. 
 
THE STUDENT 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 1S» 
 
THE S T U I) E iN T . 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 We will retani to the humble cottage occupied by- 
 Edward and Charlotte, and present to the reader the 
 lovely scene it exhibited one evening about three 
 weeks after Isabel's departure, and a few days after 
 they had learned of Colonel Willis's death and bequest. 
 Edward's religious feelings had returned in their full 
 power, whh his improved circumstances and more 
 softened feelings — but he first past through a peniten- 
 tial ordeal of agonising and mental suffering. He was 
 seated by her bedside, reading the twenty-fifth psalm, 
 selected as being peculiarly appropriated to his present 
 circumstances. Charlotte lay with her hands clasped 
 in his, listening to the sublime language of inspiration, 
 lier eyes lifted prayerfully, or now turned fondly, and 
 beaming with happiness, upon him. Her face was 
 very pale, and illness liad given her features the deli- 
 cacy of chiselling. Occasionally, she would draw a 
 long breath as if in pain, but not a murmur of impa- 
 tience escaped her lips. Edward, at length, reverently 
 closed the book, and kneeled by the couch of the in- 
 valid, and 'addressed the throne of grace, his counte- 
 nance as he proceeded, becoming eloquent with sorrow, 
 
212 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 love, gratitude, and devotion; his words burned, and 
 his language was impressive for its fervor and strength, 
 and for its unaffected humility, such as became a re- 
 turning wanderer to the fold, from which he had so 
 long strayed. Affliction softens or hardens the human 
 heart — it either leads man to cast himself humbly 
 upon the mercy of the chaslener, or to murmur against 
 his dispensations and accuse him of injustice. In the 
 Christian, their dispositories are more remarkable, and 
 elevate his spirited character, or steel him to insensi- 
 bility. The Christian who cannot profit by chastise- 
 ments, is the most deplorably wretched of all men. 
 Edward Carrington, during the height of his temporal 
 wretchedness was one of these. But he had now 
 learned to bless the hand that chastened him. 
 
 Rising from his evening devotions, he kissed Char- 
 lotte's blue-veined temples and retired. 
 
 In the morning Edward awoke to find Charlotte 
 cold and dead beside him, buried in that sleep that 
 " knows no waking.'^ She was indeed dead and 
 lovely even in death! 
 
 The first sensation Edward experienced, was that 
 of horror. The next, when the awful conviction of 
 the dreadful reality pressed upon his senses — of un- 
 bounded grief We will briefly pass over the scenes 
 that followed the publicity of that event. Edward's 
 creditors had waited several days after Isabel's depar- 
 ture, but hearing nothing further from her, they again 
 became more clamorous than ever, and Edward again 
 found himself the object of suspicion, hatred and con- 
 tempt. During the brief suspension of their siege, 
 which Isabel's influence had effected, his creditors 
 seemed to have gathered fresh vigor. — There are some 
 men of naturally tyrannical dispositions, and who love 
 the exercise of power if their dog is only the object, 
 who, when they have a debtor in their power, love to 
 make him feel it, and the more worthy the individual, 
 the higher he is above them in the moral or social scale, 
 
THE STUDENT. 
 
 213 
 
 the more tyrannical they are in using the power with 
 which the misfortunes of a fellow being may have 
 given them. Of this character were the majority of 
 Edward's creditors, and we regret to state, that he 
 found no difterence between those of them who pro- 
 fessed religion, and were members of the church, and 
 those who made no profession; indeed in one instance, 
 his bitterest persecution was from an elder who had 
 sold him, from his store, certain articles of clothing. 
 The feelings of the prejudiced community of the vil- 
 lage, therefore, were easily aroused against so ripe a 
 victim. Edward was seized by the infuriated mob, 
 and borne to the office of the magistrate, who, as he 
 beheld him, humanely said,^' I prophecied you'd come 
 to the gallows, young sir!" Lynching, that praise- 
 worthy substitute for trial by jury, and which leaves 
 the magna charta in the shade, was not then in vogue, 
 or our tale would soon end. He was fully committed 
 for trial. Alas, how fatal to be poor and friendless! 
 How criminal to be in debt! If a wealthy individual 
 had awoke in the morning and found his wife a corpse 
 by his side, he would have been permitted to follow 
 her in peace to the grave. Charlotte was buried by 
 strangers, who, slandering her while living, commis- 
 erated her, dead! She was lowered in her lonely 
 grave, at the moment that Edward, overwhelmed by 
 the accumulation of his sorrows, cast himself upon 
 the floor of his dungeon in sleepless despair. 
 
 The day of trial came. Public excitement was im- 
 mense — its prejudices strongly against the prisoner. 
 Edward had fortified his soul with prayer, and bowed 
 with resignation to the divine will. He was happy! 
 for he soon expected to rejoin Charlotte in heaven! 
 The judge, and the officers of the court assisting him 
 in his solemn duties, had taken their usual places upon 
 the bench, the court was opened, and the Attorney Gen- 
 eral announced in the customary manner to the court 
 that he was ready to proceed with the trial. After 
 
214 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 the jury were empannelled, and the usual prelimina- 
 ries of a trial were completed, there was a simultane- 
 ous movement of heads throughout the thronged court, 
 and " The prisoner — the prisoner!" was repeated in a 
 hundred whispers. 
 
 Edward entered the court with a firm step and col- 
 lected manner; his face was very pale, but its expres- 
 sion was that of settled resignation. As he entered, 
 he cast his eye over the pavement of human heads, 
 and as a thousand curious eyes encountered his own, 
 his cheek glowed, and dropping his eye lids, he raised 
 them afterwards only to his counsel, the jury, or the 
 bench. The clerk rising, informed him of his right to 
 a peremptory challenge of the jury; and although he 
 observed three or four of his most unrelenting credit- 
 ors among them he remained silent. The prisoner 
 having already been indicted, the indictment was read 
 to the jury, the cause was opened, and the trial pro- 
 ceeded. The details of the trial can only be very 
 briefly noticed. The circumstantial evidence was so 
 conclusive, combined with " the well-known charac- 
 ter of the prisoner," that the testimony on both sides 
 closed. The judge then charged the jury, recapitulat- 
 ing the most important features of the testimony, and 
 explaining at some length, the law for their guidance 
 on so solemn an occasion. He finally charged them, 
 that "if they entertained any doubts as to the guilt of 
 the prisoner, they should be thrown in the scale for 
 his benefit, and they would be bound to acquit him: 
 but, if they had no doubt of his guilt, it was their 
 duty to find him guilty." 
 
 After an absence of ten minutes, the jury returned 
 into court with a verdict of " Guilty." 
 
THE STUDENT 
 
 PART V. 
 
THE STUDENT. 
 
 PART V. 
 
 The morning of Edward's execution arrived, and 
 the sun shone brightly through the bars of his cell. 
 A clergyman, his friend the IVlethodist minister, who 
 had been the past year on a distant circuit, and hear- 
 ing of Edward's fate, hastened to give him spiritual 
 consolation, was seated beside him. Edward's face 
 Avas as placid as a child's. His pulse throbbed evenly, 
 and his whole manner was composed, for Edward was 
 prepared to die ! The clergyman who came to admin- 
 ister hope and consolation, in his last hours, felt that 
 he could sit at his feet, and learn of him! 
 
 The turning of keys, and the grating of bolts, at 
 length disturbed their heavenly communion. The 
 chaplain, in tears pressed Edward's hand, as the cell 
 door opened and the officer of justice entered. Polite- 
 ly accosting the prisoner, he said witli a faltering voice, 
 " I am ready to attend you, jNlr. Carrington.'' 
 
 Edward heard the summons without any other 
 
 emotion than a heightened color and slight tremor 
 
 of the lip. This Tribute due to nature, passed, 
 
 and all was again serenity and peace. Taking the 
 
 19 
 
218 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 arm of the sheriff, he was conducted by him to a car- 
 riage in waiting at the door. The clergyman and 
 Judge Ellice, who had manifested a deep interest in 
 the prisoner, accompanied them in the carriage. They 
 then slowly moved through the dense multitude to- 
 wards the gallows, which was erected on a common 
 near the town. The prisoner descended from the car- 
 riage, and leaning upon the sheriff and chaplain, 
 walked with a firm step to the foot of the scaffold, 
 which he ascended unsupported. His head was bared, 
 his neck-cloth removed, and his collar turned back 
 from his neck. His youthful appearance and resign- 
 ed air, created in his favor a general sensation of sym- 
 pathy. After the chaplain had addressed the throne 
 of grace, and embraced him, Edward, by the direction 
 of the sheriff, placed himself upon the " drop." He 
 then cast his eyes over the blue heavens, the green 
 earth, the vast multitude, as if he were bidding adieu 
 to all, then exchanging last adieus with the judge, the 
 chaplain, and the sheriff, he raised his eyes, and gazed 
 steadfastly up to heaven, as if he had bid farewell 
 to all earthly scenes. 
 
 The sheriff was adjusting the fatal knot with pro- 
 fessional dexterity, when a loud shriek mingled with 
 the shouting of men's voices, and the rattling of dis- 
 tant wheels, broke the awful silence reigning over the 
 dense multitude, and drew the eyes of every one from 
 the scaffold towards the southern extremity of the com- 
 mon, over which, in the direction of the place of exe- 
 cution, a carriage was whirled with the speed of the 
 wind. Out of one of the windows leaned a young 
 lady, waving a handkerchief, and uttering shriek on 
 shriek, while a gentleman on the coach-box wildly 
 waved his hat, and added his voice to hers, " Stop! 
 stop! Hold! for mercy hold! He is innocent! Hold!" 
 The next moment the carriage dashed into the crowd, 
 which retired on all sides in confusion at its reckless 
 approach. It drew up suddenly, within a few feet of 
 
THE STUDENT. 219 
 
 the gallows, when Isabel sprung out, and fell senseless 
 into the arms of Judge Ellice, who had recognised, and 
 flown to open the door for her. 
 
 " For God's sake, Mr. Sheriff, stay the execution 
 for a moment! There is certain proof of this young 
 gentleman's innocence," cried Dr. JMorton, springing 
 from the coach-box to the ground. 
 
 The sheriff was a man of humanity: and as there 
 were yet several minutes to expire before the time 
 would elapse for his prisoner's execution, he waited 
 in surprise the result of this extraordinary interrup- 
 tion. 
 
 In a few minutes Isabel revived, and gazmg round 
 upon the fearful apparatus of death, cried, with a 
 shudder, as she covered her eyes with her hand, " He 
 is innocent! Oh God, he is innocent! The ring! the 
 ring! Oh, bring me to Judge Ellice!" 
 
 "He is here! by your side, Miss Willis," said the 
 judge, with sympathy. 
 
 She looked up into his face steadily for a moment, 
 as if not fully recognising him, and then exclaimed 
 with Ihrilling energy, " Yes! it is you — you I want! 
 Oh give me the ring!" and seeing it upon his finger, 
 as he hastily drew off his glove, she seized it and tore 
 it from his finger, touched the concealed spring, and 
 tremblingly drew forth the concealed paper, which she 
 herself had placed there, and faintly articulating, 
 "Read!~read!" again fainted away. Judge Ellice 
 unfolded the paper and read its contents, with which 
 the reader is already acquainted, in speechless amaze- 
 ment. The next moment springing upon the scaffold, 
 he placed it in the hands of the sheriff, briefly explain- 
 ed the manner in which he had received the ring. 
 This gentleman read it with no less surprise, and as 
 he finished it, he threw the rope from his hand, ex- 
 claiming, "He is innocent!" 
 
 "There is no doubt of it," said the judge; " what 
 a wonderful interposition of Providence!" 
 
220 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 They both embraced the prisoner, expressing their 
 firm beUef in his innocence. The multitude shouted, 
 "A pardon!— a pardon!'^ though subsequently the 
 facts were made public. 
 
 The sheriff, on his own responsibility, suspended the 
 execution, and Edward was reconveyed to prison, to 
 await a pardon from the governor, to whom commu- 
 nicating all the particulars, both the judge and sheriff 
 immediately wrote. The judge informing him that 
 he was wholly ignorant that the ring was a locket — 
 that it had never been removed from his finger from 
 the moment it was placed there by Miss Willis, by the 
 direction of the deceased Mrs. Carrington — and that 
 the ring was on his finger four weeks before her sup- 
 posed murder. " I confess," he concluded, "that there 
 are more things in heaven and earth, than are dream- 
 ed of in my philosophy. So remarkable an interpo- 
 sition of Divine Providence, to term it nothing else, 
 should not, by short-sighted mortals, be treated with 
 neglect. In such cases it becomes us to wonder and 
 obey." 
 
 The governor granted Edward a reprieve for a 
 second trial, or a full pardon, as he chose. He accept- 
 ed the pardon, and was conveyed in Isabel's carriage 
 to Laurel Hill. Pie lingered here a few weeks, and 
 then his spirit departed to join that of his beloved 
 Charlotte, in that world where there is neither sorrow 
 nor sighing, and where all tears shall be wiped away 
 from our eyes. 
 
SPHEEKSPHOBIA; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 ADVENTURES OF ABEL STINGFLIER, A.M. 
 A TRAGIC TALE. 
 
 19^ 
 
SPHEEKSPHOBIA. 
 
 A hundred mouths, a hundred longuep, 
 A throat of brass inspired with iron lungs. 
 
 Dryde.n. 
 
 One sultry summer afternoon, in eighteen hundred 
 and thirty-five, I was riding with my umbrella held 
 perpendicularly above m^^ head, and at an easy amble 
 — for the sun was fiery hot, and I had travelled far — 
 through the principal street of Port Gibson, one of the 
 pleasantest villages in the state of ^Mississippi. As I 
 was about to cross a long and venerable looking 
 bridge, on the northern outskirts of the town, I was 
 startled by aloud and prolonged outcry behind me, as 
 if its utterer was in imminent peril and great bodily 
 fear. I turned my head, at the same time reining up, and 
 beheld a strange figure swiftly approaching me, send- 
 ing forth at the same time the most lamentable cries, 
 the last still louder than the preceding. But his voice 
 did not so much surprise me, as the eccentricity of his 
 locomotion and the oddity of his appearance. He was 
 a tall and gaunt man, without hat or shoes, and a ca- 
 lico scholar's gown streamed behind him in the wind, 
 
224 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 created by his rapid motion. His advance was not 
 direct, but zig-zag: now he would dart with velocity 
 to the right, and now as swiftly to the left, anon plung- 
 ing under the bushes lining the road-side, and then 
 diving down, and scrambling on all-fours in the mid- 
 dle of the road, kicking his heels into the air, and toss- 
 ing the dust about him in clouds, so as to render him 
 for the time invisible: he would then rise again with 
 a fearful yell, and bolt forward in a right line, as if 
 charging at me, filling the air with his cries all the 
 while, and waving his arms wildly above his head, 
 which at intervals received blows from his desperate 
 fists, each one sufficient to fell an ox. I gazed in ad- 
 miration on this singular spectacle, it may be, not witli- 
 out some misgivings of personal damage, to qualify 
 which, in some degree, I turned the head of my horse, 
 so as to interpose it between my person and the 
 threatened danger. Onward he came, enveloped in a 
 cloud of dust, and the best speed human legs 
 could bestow; and disdaining to fly, I prepared to 
 meet the charge as firmly as the valiant knight of La 
 Mancha would have done in the same circumstances. 
 My steed, however, showed the better part of valor, 
 and, notwithstanding much coaxing and soothing, be- 
 gan to wax skittish, and as the danger grew more im- 
 minent, he suddenly made a demi-volte across the 
 bridge, and turned broadside to the enemy, which was 
 close aboard of us, thereby effectually blockading the 
 highway. Hardly had he effected this change in his 
 position, before the madman or apparition, for I deem- 
 ed it to be one or the other, coming in " such a question- 
 able shape," instead of leaping upon me like a hyena, 
 as I anticipated, drove, and with a mortal yell passed 
 clean under my horse's belly, and, before he could di- 
 minish his momentum, disappeared over the parapet- 
 less bridge into the river beneath. On hearing the 
 plunge I alighted from my horse, who was not a little 
 terrified at the unceremonious use the strange being 
 
SPHEEKSPnOBIA. 225 
 
 had made of his body, hastily descended ihe precipi- 
 tous bauk of the stream, and as the diver rose to tiie 
 surface, which he did after a brief immersion, a few 
 yards below the bridge, seizing him by the skirts of his 
 long gown, I dragged him pn shore. Gathering him- 
 self up slowly, he at length, after much spluttering and 
 blowing, and catching of his breath, stood upright on 
 his legs; then grasping my hand by dint of a great 
 deal of gulping and sobbing — for the poor man could 
 barely articulate for want of wind — he essayed to ex- 
 press his thanks for my timely aid, without which, he 
 asseverated, he should assuredly '' have died in the 
 flood of great waters which passed over his soul: but 
 that he had been saved from the great deep, and also 
 from the barbed arrow of the pursuer, from which lat- 
 ter danger, by the help of the Lord and ray horse, and 
 peradventure through his sudden ablution, he had mar- 
 vellously been delivered." 
 
 The speaker was a tall, spare man, with thin flanks, 
 broad shoulders, and high cheek bones, having a Scot- 
 tish physiognomy, with an homely expression of Yan- 
 kee shrewdne^ and intelligence. His long, sharp nose, 
 flanked by hollow cheeks, his peaked chin, and lantern 
 jaws, made up a configuration, which has not been in- 
 aptly been denominated a " hatchet face.'^ His mouth 
 was of formidable width, garnished with very firm, 
 white teeth, generously displayed by the flexibility of 
 his loose lips, which, whenever he spoke, retired as it 
 were from before them. His eyes were of a pale 
 blue color, round and prominent, "hereby promising, to 
 speak phrenologically, the organ of language large, 
 which promise his lingual attainments, as subsequent- 
 ly ascertained by me, did not belie. A pair of red, 
 shaggy brows, projected over them, like a well wood- 
 ed crag; they were rather darker than his hair, which, 
 if owned by a lady, I should term auburn; but grow- 
 ing as it did on a male pow, which for raggedness of 
 outUne, might have been hewn into its present shape 
 
226 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 with a broad-axe, I shall call it red^ unqualifiedly. His 
 age might have been forty; and in his stockings as he 
 now was, he stood no less than six feet one inch in height 
 — of which goodly length of limb and body, a pair of 
 white drilling trowsers, woollen short hose, a cotton 
 shirt, with a broad ruffle, and his long calico gown 
 aforesaid, constituted the only outward teguments. 
 From all points, including the points of his chin and 
 nose, and every available corner of his strait and mat- 
 ted hair, here, in continuous streams — there, in large 
 drops, chasing one another in quick succession, the 
 water descended towards the earth from the person of 
 this dripping Nereus, while the woful expression his 
 physiognomy, which judging from the combination of 
 features it exhibited, was naturally sufficiently lugu- 
 brious, was now enhanced ten-fold. His first act on 
 getting to his feet, and after gazing wildly about in the 
 air, and minutely surveying his person, as if in search 
 of something which he dreaded to encounter, was to 
 grasp my hand, and gasping for breath, at intervals 
 strive to articulate his thanks for the service I had ren- 
 dered him. Although I could not bu^ smile at his 
 ludicrous figure and aspect, I felt disposed to commise- 
 rate and serve one whom I believed not to be in his 
 right mind, in which opinion I was confirmed when 
 he alluded to an '- armed pursuer," whom he seemed 
 every now and then to seek in the air, there having 
 been none yet visible to my eyes. 
 
 At my suggestion, and with my assistance, he strip- 
 ped ofi" his gown, and by dint of twisting it into a sort 
 of a rope — a process well understood by the washer- 
 woman — we expelled the water, visibly to the com- 
 fort of its unfortunate owner, who thrust his lengthy 
 arms into its sleeves again, with an ejaculation or grunt 
 of satisfaction. The once gentleman-like ruffle, shorn 
 of its honors of starch and plaiting, hung saturated 
 and melancholy upon his broad breast: this we saw 
 was a damage irremediable: and altogether passing 
 
SPHEEKSPHOBIA. 227 
 
 the shirt by, and also his nether tegument, which ad- 
 hered to the cuticle hke asuper-liide, the aqueous gen- 
 tleman gravely and silently seated himself upon the 
 bank, and pulled off his short hose (whose brevity, it 
 should have been before remarked, in conjunction with 
 the brevity of his pantaloons, left at all times an inch 
 of his brawny shins visible in the interstices,) and hav- 
 ing rung them vigorously, drew them on again with 
 much labor, ejaculating at intervals, ^'^/c labor est, 
 hie labor est, (juidem^'^ being now shrunk to one third 
 of their original size, before covering the ancle, where- 
 as, now, only aspiring to that altitude with full two in- 
 ches of interval. Then rising and rubbing the water 
 out of his tbick hair, with the skirt of his gown, he 
 addressed me, as I was about to re-ascend the bank to 
 my horse, seeing that my Samaritan-like services were 
 no longer in requisition. His face was now dry, and 
 he had recovered both his voice and self-possession — 
 and so ooUected was the expression of his eyes, and so 
 sedate his demeanor, that I changed my opinion as to 
 his sanity, and believed that he must have been under 
 the influence of some inexplicable terror, when he ac- 
 complished those gymnics I have described, which 
 were so foreign to his present respectable appearance 
 and discreet deportment. I therefore listened with 
 some curiosity to what he was about to utter, antici- 
 pating a strange Maircissement. 
 
 " Certes, my friend, I should feel inclinated to be 
 facetious at this expose, as it may be termed, of my 
 natural infirmity, but I never was more sorely 
 pressed. Verily, the danger was imminent that beset 
 me! Periissem ni periissem: by ablution was I 
 saved from greater detriment. That I should have 
 passed beneath the stomach of your equns, or steed, 
 is a rudeness that calleth for an arto?.oyta, or apology, 
 which herewith I formally tender, as is befitting one, 
 whose vocation lieth in instilling the himiane letters 
 into the minds of the rising generation. Verily I could 
 
228 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 laugh with thee, were I not sorely vexed that my 
 fears should have betrayed me into such unseemly 
 and indiscreet skipping and prancing, like one non 
 covipos mentis, rather than grave senior and instructor 
 of youth. Surely, experience hath long shown me, 
 that in these flights, ciirsus non est levare, which 
 being interpreted, signifieth — the swift of foot fleeth 
 in vain. Reascend thy steed, my friend, and I will 
 accompany thee to yonder hostelry or inn, where, 
 peradventure, through the agency of mine host's 
 kitchen fire, I may restore my garments to their pris- 
 tine condition, and there will I unfold the causes of 
 these effects, to which thou hast but now borne wit- 
 ness." 
 
 Remounting my horse, the stranger gravely strode 
 along by the bridle, until we came to the tavern he 
 had pointed out, when inviting me in, he led the way' 
 into a little parlor adjoining the bar-room, and closing 
 the door behind him mysteriously, he placed a vacant 
 chair for me on one side of a small stand, while he 
 occupied another opposite. After a short and rather 
 awkward silence, during which he leaned his arms 
 upon the table, and manifested much embarrassment, 
 while the blood mounted to his forehead, as if he felt 
 that he was about to make a humiliating explanation 
 — an inkling of humor, nevertheless, lurking the while 
 about his mouth and in the corner of his eye, as if he 
 felt a disposition to smile at what really gave him 
 pain. I therefore remarked that, although I felt a 
 certain degree of curiosity to learn the causes which 
 led to his catastrophe, I did not wish him to feel that 
 the circumstances of our meeting called in the least for 
 the extension of his confidence towards me, and that 
 if it gave him pain to make the explanation he had 
 vohmteered, I should insist upon his withholding it; 
 and thus speaking, I rose to leave the room, and pur- 
 sue mv journey. 
 
 " Of a surety, friend," he said, laying his hand light- 
 
SPHEEKSPHOBIA. 229 
 
 ly upon my arm, " rightly hast thou interpreted my 
 inward emotions. It is true I possess not the moral 
 virtus, or courage, needful to the laying open of my 
 weakness. But thou shalt not be disappointed; that 
 which I have spoken, I will do; leave me thy name 
 and place of abode, and by course of post I will trans- 
 mit in writing that, which from mains pudor, or fool- 
 ish shamefacedness, I have not the tongue to give thee 
 orally, and so shalt thou be informed of the vis-a- 
 tergo, wliich is to say, the rearward propelling force, 
 which urged me so discourteously beneath your 
 steed, and into the deep waters; and moreover, of that 
 which liath been the cause of all my terrestrial trials, 
 yea, even an arrow under my fifth rib." 
 
 This was uttered like his former language, with a 
 nasal twang, and in a slow and peculiar manner, with 
 a distinct articulation of every syllable, and accenting 
 the participial termination, ed, and tlie adverbial, ly, 
 with an emphatic drawl. 
 
 Leaving my address with this singular character, 
 with my curiosity no ways abated, I resumed my 
 journey. Three Aveeks afterwards, I received the fol- 
 lowing manuscript, inclosed in a stout envelope of 
 brown paper, superscribed in handsome and clear chi- 
 rography, which was evidently penned with elaborate 
 care, and post marked Paid: besides the address to 
 the superscription were appended the following Avords: 
 " Covering seven sheets of Foolscap, with an Epistle. 
 These ivith speed and carefulness,''' which were 
 written in somewhat smaller character than the su- 
 perscription, and near the left hand corner. 
 
 Omitting the writer's learned epistle, addressed to 
 myself confidentially — slightly revising the style, 
 which Avas cumbrous, somewhat prolix, and pedantic, 
 and extracting about one-half of the Greek, Latin, and 
 French quotaTions and phrases, unsuited to the pre- 
 sent prevailing taste, whh which it was interlarded — 
 like the lemons, cloves and raisins generously sprin- 
 20 
 
230 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 kled through a Christmas pie— I faithfully impart the 
 mamiscript as I received it from the author. 
 
 '' I am an unfortunate victim of Entomology: not of 
 the science, but of every species of insect of which the 
 science treateth; more especially the bee, wasp, and 
 hornet, and all and singular of the irritabile genus, 
 besides the horn-bug, dragon-fly, and each and every 
 of those loud-humming insects that buzz about at 
 night — yea verily the whole tribe of svTfofia, or insects, 
 are my aversion, from which I stand in bodily terror, 
 the comparatively harmless house, or domestic fly, 
 herein not even excepted. My life has been a period 
 of discomfort and torture on account thereof — more 
 especially in the seasons when Sirius or the Dog star 
 rageth. This ^o3r;ua, or fear, I sucked in with my 
 mother's milk, herself an insect-fearing woman, who 
 stepped into a nest of wasps two months before my 
 birth, the whole ireful population of which pursued 
 her half a mile — whereby, on my being brought into 
 the world, the mark of a wasp of vast dimensions, 
 timncus, thorax, proboscis and sler7iiim, not to forget 
 a/as and pedes, was plainly visible to the eyes of the 
 admiring midwife and her cronies, in the small of my 
 back: hinc i/iss lachrymxl This fear, therefore, is 
 maternal, originating in the ros vetulis, as Virgil ex- 
 presseth it; and therefore being natural, cannot be 
 combatted with effectually, and overcome. The first 
 time of which my memory is authentic, that I gave 
 symptoms of possessing this hereditary horror of 
 winged and stinging insects, a horror which has 
 drugged with bitterness the cup of my sublunary ex- 
 istence, was at the tender age of three years, I being 
 then a stout, well-grown boy to be in petticoats, as I 
 remember that I was. I was sitting in the back-door 
 sunning myself, for it was summer, and quietly suck- 
 ing a lump of molasses candy, when I heard all at once 
 a fierce buzzing in the vicinage of my left ear, where- 
 upon, without knowing or understanding its cause, I 
 
SPHEEKSPHOBIA. 231 
 
 instinctively shut my eyes, and opening my mouth, 
 sent forth a loud cry. The buzzing contmued to grow 
 louder and approach nearer, and my cries increased 
 proportionably. At length the object of my terror 
 and the instigator of my cries, in the shape'of a formi- 
 dable honey-bee, ubi mel, ibi apes, saith JNI. Plautus, 
 which is no doubt equally true of molasses, lit upon 
 the tip of my nose, lavishly besmeared with the candy, 
 which I had been dihgently conveying to my mouth. 
 CUnging there, he balanced himself with his wings, 
 and staring me in the face with his great glaring eyes, 
 for my infant fears marvellously magnified his ocuU, 
 he proceeded with the greatest sang froid, as the 
 French tongue happily expresseth it, briskly to convey 
 with liis proboscis the candy from my nose to his sto- 
 mach — brandishing his anteiuix, or horns, all the 
 while to and fro before my eyes, in a manner dread- 
 ful to witness, to hold me as it were in ierrorem. I 
 was paralysed with fear, and lost the command of 
 every bodily member, save my tongue — which, for 
 the time, I may truthfully asseverate, did duty for all 
 the rest. There chanced to be no soul in the house at 
 this crisis; and although any one, even half a mile dis- 
 tant, could have heard ray piteous voice uplifted in 
 the notes of unlimited terror, yet my mother, whose 
 name rose loudest upon my tongue, did not come to 
 my relief, until I had been allowed, for full five min- 
 utes, to ring a gamut upon her monosyllabic mater- 
 nal appellation, with every possible variation familiar 
 to infant lungs. At length she entered at the top of 
 her speed, and with her voice pitched to a scolding 
 key, when she espied my condition, and the extent of 
 my misfortunes. Her tongue then struck up a treble 
 to my tenor, and snatching up a broom, she advanced 
 it like a pike, edging round until she got in front of 
 me, and then made a desperate charge against the 
 rear of our mutual foe, who had thus taken me in the 
 van, and with her whole force thrust the end of the 
 
232 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 broom bodily into my face and eyes, laying me at the 
 same timi^ flat on my back, while she followed up her 
 success by standing over me and imprisoning the 
 enemy, by pressing the broom firmly down on my 
 face. ' As the spiculee of this female weapon assailed 
 the bee on the tergum, he sonnded a sharp note of 
 alarm, and inserting his aciileiis, or sting, into my un- 
 otfending nose, therein instilled a sufiicient modicum 
 of poison; and then deliberately depressing the barbs 
 of his sting, he drew it forth and secreted himself 
 among the straws of the broom, (for my mother, good 
 woman, by holding stoutly against my face, twisting 
 and working it, in the attempt to immolate the mon- 
 ster, gave him ample time for this,) from which, when 
 she finally removed it, he effected his escape, by dart- 
 ing through the door, with a quick trumpet-like sound, 
 no doubt ^pxan in honoT of his victory. What with 
 the broom and the sting, one of which pricked and 
 nearly suftbcated me, while the other penetrated to 
 the quick, I now began to yell to a pitch, in compari- 
 son with which, my previous roaring forsooth, was 
 but the wailing of a ncAV-born infant. I rolled over 
 the floor with my nose in my fist, and^ would not be 
 comforted. But I will not dwell upon this early remi- 
 niscence; it is but the first of a series of misfortunes 
 — the memorabilia of my life — such as few men have 
 lived to experience. 
 
 " Although not a summer's day passed that I did not 
 endure corporeal fear from the approach of insecia, 
 there are five important periods or crises of my life, 
 when my evil star reigned especially malignant. One 
 of these,' which I have just recorded, is, peradventure, 
 of small moment, but the subject of it was but small 
 at that time. Each, however, thou wilt observe, in- 
 creased in importance as my shoulders expanded for 
 its burden, verily greater at seasons than I could well 
 bear. iNIy second crisis was at the puerile age of 
 eleven. 
 
SPHEEKSPHOBIA. 233 
 
 "I was seated in school, near an open window, when 
 a Uttle eirl on the outside offered to barter a basket of 
 blackberries with me, for two large red cheeked ap- 
 ples, balancing each other in ray jacket pockets. I 
 slyly effected the exchange, * the master' (as New 
 England instructors are very improperly termed — In- 
 structor being the proper and more respectable ap- 
 pellative.) having his back turned, and poured the ber- 
 ries into my hat, which I placed in my lap beneath 
 the bench, and forthwith began eating them one by 
 one with my forefinger and thumb, my eyes the while 
 immoveably fixed on my open book, (alas! how early 
 do we begin to practise deceit!) when, at length, in 
 the midst of my delectable feast, I was conscious of a 
 strange, portentous titlllation upon my forefinger, 
 which sensation gradually extended along the mem- 
 ber towards, the hand. I trembled from a sort of pre- 
 sentiment of the cause, and fearfully looked down, 
 when, mojistrum hoi-rendum, infurme^ ingensi as 
 Maro hath it, I beheld a tight-laced, long-legged, yel- 
 low-streaked wasp, with a sticky, sluggish motion, 
 dragging his slow lengih along the back of my hand, 
 his winas and feet, clotted with the juice of the ber- 
 ries, among which he had till now been secreted, 
 whether designedly or not, I will not be so unchari- 
 table as to determine, albeit, my playmates, aware of 
 my weakness did not refrain when occasion offered, 
 from putting upon me unpleasant jests of this nature. 
 When I beheld the wasp (it was an individual of the 
 species called the yellow-jacket, exceedingly veno- 
 mous and ferocious of aspect.) I incontinently uplifted 
 my voice in such a cry — Scottice a skirl, as birch nor 
 ferule never expelled from the lungs of luckless urchin 
 within those walls — long, loud, and terri :c, subsiding 
 only, to be renewed on a higher key. At the same 
 time stretching forth my hand, upon which clung the 
 dreaded object which I had not the power to touch, 
 fearing lest the attempt to dislodge him, would be the 
 
 20* 
 
234 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 signal for the insertion of his sting into my hand, I 
 leaped from the window with a loud yell, Avhich was 
 echoed sympathetically by the whole school, and with 
 my hand waving in the air, which I filled with my 
 cries, directed my course for home, a third of a mile 
 distant, with all the boys of the school let loose, and 
 shouting like a pack of devils born, at my heels. In 
 my career, I remember leaping over two cows lying 
 and quietly ruminating in my path, and that I run full 
 tilt against the deacon, sending hat,'wig and deacon 
 in three diverse directions. After running a muck, as 
 IMr. Pope useth the word, through*\he village, I at- 
 tained my father's house, into which I broke without 
 lifting latch, so impetuous was my course — and cry- 
 ing in a loud voice, "a wasp! a wasp!" thrust my 
 arm (for the insect had now crawled up to my elbow) 
 before my mother's eyes. It chanced that, as I en- 
 tered she Avas lifting from the fire a pot of boiling 
 water, in which she intended to scald a couple of barn 
 door fowls, for the meridian meal. Alarmed at my 
 cries and sudden appearance, and terrified beyond 
 measure at beholding the terrible -insect thrust so near 
 her face, and at the same time trembling on account 
 of my own danger, v.^ith something between a yell 
 and a shriek, she grappled the handle of the pot with 
 one hand and its bottom with the other, and dashed 
 the scalding contents over my arm and body. With 
 a yell finale, I again darted out through the door, 
 leaving the wasp scalded to death on the floor. En- 
 countering on the outside the host of my schoolmates, 
 \vho were running towards the house, I passed 
 through their midst Uke a rocket, giving blows to the 
 right and left, and leaving, as I was afterwards told, 
 five prostrate upon the earth. At length, exhausted 
 through fatigue and suffering, I fell in the street in a 
 swoon, and was carried home and put to bed, from 
 Avhence I rose not until two painful months had ex- 
 pired. The two periods I have recorded, involved 
 
SPHEEKSPHOBIA. 
 
 235 
 
 merely physical suffering. The third, and remaining 
 two, record distresses bolh mental and physical. The 
 third period, which may, with reverence, be denomi- 
 nated the third plague of insects, happened at college 
 in my twenty-first year. I have enjoyed the benefit 
 of collegiate erudition, although my mother had in 
 her maidenly estate been of the sect called Quakers, 
 and my father was a preacher after the Methodist 
 persuasion— neither sect, in that day, distinguished 
 patrons of the humane letters. Uy mother had se- 
 ceded from the Society of Friends, yet retained their 
 simplicity of language and manners, at least so far, as 
 a naturally sharp temper would allow; Certes, it may 
 not be concealed that the neighboring gossips averred 
 that she was too fond of that spousely privilege of 
 scolding, to be a Quaker, and therefore had come 
 over to^a more liberal faith. However this may be, 
 she exhibited in her person the opposite characters of 
 a scolding wife and demure Quaker, as the thermom- 
 eter rose or fell, tempered nevertheless, with a little 
 of the leaven of Methodism. ]My f^ither was a sturdy 
 apostle, morose and gloomy, given to antique phrase- 
 ology in his speech, after the manner of my grandfa- 
 therj who was a staunch old Presbyterian. There- 
 fore, between the three, my domestic education and 
 habits, were hke Joseph's'coat of many colors, and 
 when I arrived to the years of discretion, it would 
 have been a hard matter to determine, which pre- 
 ponderated most in my character, the T^Iethodist, 
 the Quaker, or Scotch 'Presbyterian. The second 
 person t/ioif, and its objective singular thee, I nev- 
 ertheless always use colloquially; firstly, from ma- 
 ternal induction, and secondly, that it is classical, and 
 moreover well approved by scriptural and ancient 
 usage, and I am somewhat given to philological anti- 
 quarianism— a lover, or as the Gallic hath it, an atna- 
 teur of antique customs of phraseology. 
 
 *• I had assumed the toga viri/is, and passed through 
 my quadremiial course," how I might here mention, 
 
236 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 but it becometh me not to speak in mine own praise ; 
 suffice it to say, that I was appointed to a thesis on the 
 day of commencement, that 1 ascended the rostrum, 
 or stage, made my obeisance to the audience, and fortli- 
 with began to declaim with sonorous enunciation. I 
 had got in the midst of my thesis, and, flattered by the 
 attentive silence with which I was listened to, I grew 
 warm with my theme; my right arm was stretched 
 forth with a rhetorical flourish, my eyes were illu- 
 minated and sparkling with excitement, and my brows 
 were flushed as I threw my whole soul into the rush 
 of eloquence (verily the reminiscence maketh me elo- 
 quent even now,) and I was altogether on what may 
 be termed the high horse of success and public admi- 
 ration, when, mirabile clictu, as Virgil hath it on a 
 less occasion, suddenly an ominous and well-known 
 buzzing above my head fell like a knell on my ears. 
 Be it premised, that the meeting-house in which the 
 commencement exercises were held, was decorated 
 with evergreens, and adorned with numerous sweet- 
 scented flowers, with one of which, I had, in my 
 youthful vanity, graced the button-hole of my white 
 waistcoat. I lifted my eyes at the sound, more dread- 
 ful to my tympanum than the horn of the hunter to the 
 timid deer, and beheld my hereditary foe, in the shape 
 of a long, slender, yellow-ringed wasp, darting in wild 
 gyratioiis above my head, and at each revolution, ap- 
 proaching nearer and more near to my ill-fated person. 
 Fox faucibus hxsit , as Virgil again expresseth it, my 
 voice clung to my jaws, my extended arm remained 
 motionless, and with my eyes fastened, as if fascinated, 
 upon the intruder, I lost all presence of mind, every 
 other consideration being swallowed up in the con- 
 sideration of my great peril. I stood nearly the space 
 of one minute, the audience being all the while silent as 
 the grave, as if transfixed and petrified, exhibiting no 
 signs of life save in my eyes, which followed the ec- 
 centric circles of my foe as he wheeled around my 
 
SPHEEKSPHOBIA. 237 
 
 head, which he had chosen as the conspicuous centre 
 of his aerial corkscrew, the pillar of salt nito which the 
 wife of Lot was converted, did not stand firmer or 
 more motionless. Gradually contracting his spiral 
 circles he came close to ray head, and tlicn with a sud- 
 den movement roared past my ear and settled upon 
 the fragrant flower adorning, vunitus vanitaiis, my 
 waistcoat. The roar of his passage past my ear, aug- 
 mented in my imagination to that of a dragon (pro- 
 vided always there be such creatures, and being such 
 if they do roar, which are points controverted by the 
 learned) and his fearful attack upon my person, was a 
 consummation which restored me to the use of my 
 paralyzed faculties. jNIy first act was to leap from the 
 rostrum with a suppressed cry, and seize a branch of 
 hemlock, thrust it towards the nearest person, who 
 happened to be a lady, and make signs for her to brush 
 it otf. I never had dared to snap tlicm oti^ or disturb 
 them. ISIy mother, whose conversaiion (as those 
 who fear ghosts, most love to liold midnight converse 
 about them) was prolific on this theme, had early in- 
 ducted me into the most approved plans of conduct, 
 when one of the irritabile i^envs approached or lit on 
 the person. One of her rules was, ' never to snap it 
 oti; for it is sure to sting before it fly ; but run and let the 
 wind blow it oftV Another was, ''if it will still stay on, 
 then get some other person to brush it off and its anger 
 will be turned from you to that obliging person." 
 These rules of action, and many others, were fresh in 
 my memory, and I was at all times religiously govern- 
 ed by them. 
 
 " The branch of hemlock chanced to be attached to 
 a festoon connecting a succession of others around the 
 pulpit, where sate"' the President in all the dignity 
 which an austere air, a corpulent person, a broad brim 
 could confer, presiding over the exercises of the hour. 
 Immediately behind him rose to some height a young 
 eradicated pine tree, whose pyramidal summit formed 
 
238 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 the central support and apex of the chain of festoons, 
 answering in relation thereto, to the stake which up- 
 holds the drooping centre of a clothes-Une. At my 
 attack the whole paraphernalia gave way, pine tree 
 and all, with a tremendous rustling and crashing, car- 
 rying away in its headlong rush the President's broad 
 brim and one of the capacious sleeves of his black silk 
 gown or surplice, his reverend dignity alone saving 
 himself from sharing the same fate by ducking beneath 
 the balustrade of the pulpit and permitting the danger 
 to pass over him, which it did, descendmg upon the 
 respected heads and sacred persons of the honorable 
 Board of Trustees sitting beneath. The uproar and 
 confusion — laughter mingled with exclamations, was 
 without limit, and while every soul seemed to be ab- 
 sorbed in the crash and its consequences, I, the luck- 
 less author of the w^hole demolition, saw, heard, felt 
 and was conscious of nothing but the presence of the 
 dreaded insect, that had fastened on me, who was now, 
 having evacuated the flower, hastily effecting a retreat 
 within the gaping bosom of my shirt. My tremen- 
 dous pull at the twig, left it however in my hands, and 
 while the wreck of matter was going on above and 
 around me, oblivious of all else save my own pecu- 
 liar misery, I darted, as I have before said, toward an 
 elderly maiden lady, and thrusting the branch in her 
 unwilling hand, cried in a loud voice, ^ brush it off! 
 oh brush it off!' So impetuously did I thrust it to- 
 wards her, that I lost my equilibrium and fell into her 
 lap, entangling as I fell, the branch of hemlock in her 
 red curls, which, as is the fashion among women, were 
 only attached to her head, and as I rolled from her pro- 
 faned lap to the floor, 1 carried with me on the branch 
 waving like pennons, the elderly maiden lady's false 
 and fiery tresses appended thereto. She lifted up her 
 voice and screamed with combined affright, rage and 
 mortification, and jumping up she stamped upon me 
 as I lay at her feet in ungovernable ire. ^ But there 
 
SPHEEKSPHOBIA. 239 
 
 is no evil unattended with good.' (I give the Saxon 
 or Enghsh words of the proverb, the original Latin 
 having shpped my memory.) The wasp, the direct 
 cause of all the mischief, who had adhered to me like 
 my evil angel, received the full weight of her heel on 
 the tergum and was crushed to atoms, upon the snow 
 white bosom of my shirt. I heard every section of 
 his body crack, and as I listened I felt a savage joy fill 
 my breast, tempered, however, as I now remember, by 
 an incipient apprehension, lest even in death, he might 
 avenge his fall by penetrating my linen and cuticle 
 with his sting. 
 
 Now that the danger was over, I had time to reflect 
 for an instant and feel the ridiculous peculiarity of my 
 situation, and at once decided upon taking to flight, to 
 escape facing the audience. The next moment I was 
 on my feet, and forcing my way to the door fled to- 
 wards the college, as if a whole nest of hornets was 
 in full cry in pursuit, followed by a motley crowd, 
 who are comprised in the French word canaille, some 
 shouting '' there goes dragon-fly — there goes bumble- 
 bee! Stop thief! murder!" and all the various cries the 
 populace are used to utter, when they pursue, without 
 knowing why or wherefore, the wretch who fleeth. 
 The next day I departed from the scene of my dis- 
 grace and disaster, and in course of time found myself 
 in the pleasant village of Geneva in the western part 
 of the state of New York, teacher of a respectable 
 school. I may say here in passing, that from inclina- 
 tion I have adopted teaching as a profession — for 
 although not ranked among the learned professions it 
 verily should be. This profession or vocation I still 
 pursue, even here, far off in Mississippi, whither my 
 wanderings have at length driven me. 
 
 The fourth plague of stings was when I had attain- 
 ed the discreet age of thirty-one years, I being then a 
 resident and schoolmaster of the then infant town of 
 Rochester, having taught with divers degrees of sue- 
 
240 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 cess in many othes villages after I left Geneva, which 
 I departed from after a sojourn there of twelve calen- 
 dar months. Having laid by a small store of worldly 
 coin, and being held generally in good repute among 
 my neighbors, I began to bethink me that it was best 
 to take unto myself a wife, according to the command- 
 ment. When I came to this resolve I, the next Sun- 
 day, cast my eyes about the church to see on whom 
 my choice should light, revolving in my mind, as my 
 eyes wandered from one bonnet to another, the capa- 
 bilities of each for the dignity of nidter-famUias to 
 Instructor Stingflyer (for such is my patronymic, my 
 given name being Abel) when I decided propounding 
 the question of matrimony to Miss Deborah, or as she 
 was called among her acquaintance and kinsfolk, Miss 
 Debby Primruff, an excellent maiden lady, only a few 
 years my senior, tall, straight, comely, and withal fair- 
 haired. Turning the subject over in my mind during 
 the week while the scholars were engaged at their 
 tasks, and seeing no cause to change my mind, I ar- 
 ranged myself on Saturday evening in my Sunday suit 
 of black broadcloth, ook my walking-stick and gloves, 
 and with a bold step and confident demeanor, sought 
 the mansion of the fair maiden, whom I intended 
 should be the future Mrs. Stingflyer. I was received 
 very graciously, for I had met Miss Deborah before at 
 a quilting-party at the dwelling of a worthy gentleman, 
 one Mr. Lawrie Todd, one of the select men of the 
 town, and an active member of the school committee. 
 Yet, Cupid nor Hymen never entered my thoughts in 
 connection with Miss Deborah until now. Whatever 
 courage I had mustered for the occasion, proved to be, 
 when I stood in her maidenly presence, a mere flash 
 in the pan. After beating about the bush fruitlessly a 
 long time, and appearing more awkward than I could 
 have desired before my lady-love, after much pulling 
 on and ofl" of gloves, tracing, as it were musingly, ca- 
 balistic figures on the floor with my walking-stick, 
 
SPHEEKSPHOBIA.. 241 
 
 twirling my well brushed hat in my fingers, rising and 
 going to the open window many times, and as often 
 returning to my chair, while Miss Debby, oblivions of 
 her knitting, followed my movements with wondering 
 eyes, I at length desperably determined to come to 
 the point. 
 
 "^ Miss Debby, that is, I mean to say, ^Nliss Debo- 
 rah,' I said, drawing my cl^ir near to her own, and 
 taking the strand of yarn between my forefinger and 
 thumb, and giving it a nervous, yet affectedly careless 
 twist, while the perspiration exuded from my fore- 
 head, for it was a warm July evening, * Dost thou 
 ever read the Bible?' 
 
 "^The Bible, Mr. Stingflyerr' she fairly vociferated, 
 laying her knitting on her lap, and turning round and 
 staring me full in the face; ' why, what c(m you mean 
 by asking me such a question? Do you take me for a 
 'homadown — and my uncle a deacon too?' 
 
 " ' Nay, Miss Deborah,' said I, hastening to inter- 
 pose between her anger and my love; 'nay, I pray 
 thee, be not wroth with me. I well know the savor 
 of thy sanctity. I did intend to ask of thee if thou 
 retainedst in thy excellent memory, verse ISth, chap- 
 ter the 2d of Genesis.' 
 
 •' ' Why, I don't know if I do rightly, but I can easily 
 find it,' she answered complacently, soothed by my 
 grain of flattery, for herein Ovid had taught me the 
 sex is accessible; and laying her knitting upon my 
 knees, she hastened to bring the family Bible, which 
 she spread open on a small light stand discreetly placed 
 between us, and began diligently to turn over the 
 leaves of the quarto, but rather as if she were seeking 
 the book of Revelations than that of Genesis. I made 
 bold to hint that it might be better to begin at the com- 
 mencement of the book, when, turning thither, much 
 to her delight, and as her manner betrayed, much to 
 her surprise, she found the book named, and soon af- 
 21 
 
242 THE^AMERIC AN LOUNGER. 
 
 ter, the chapter and verse, and forthwith commenced 
 readmg aloud : 
 
 " ^ It is not good that man should be alone; 
 
 1 will make a help meet for him.'' Why, what is 
 there in this verse so very remarkable, Mr. Stingflyer?^' 
 she interrogated, neverthless blushing consciously, and 
 without looking up. 
 
 "Although I felt my courage oozing, as it were, from 
 beneath my finger nails, and exudating from every 
 pore in my body, I nevertheless felt that I had broken 
 the ice — and already placed my foot on the pons asi- 
 novum of lovers, and that it was easier to advance 
 than to retreat; I therefore determined to persevere in 
 my suit and leave the rest to the gods. 
 
 " * Dost thou not apprehend the application thereof, 
 Miss Debby?' I said, in my most insiiuiating tones, 
 edging my chair a few inches closer to her own, and 
 taking her slightly resisting hand in mine. 
 
 " ' Not in the least, Mr. Stingflyer,' she replied with 
 that perverse blindness which at such times is wont to 
 characterise the sex; while I am well assured in my 
 own mind, she knew full as well what I would be at 
 (for the sex have much acumen in these matters) as I 
 did myself. 
 
 " ' Then,' I said, borne irresistibly onward by the 
 fates, which direct the passion amor, ^may it please 
 thee to turn for an illustration thereof, and for further 
 light thereupon, to chapter ix. verse the 1st of the same 
 book?' and after I had ceased speaking, I assumed an 
 aspect of much gravity. She sought and found the 
 passage designated; but this time, after casting her 
 eyes upon it, her color increased, and without reading 
 it aloud as before, she shut the book quickly, saying, 
 'I do declare! what can you mean, Mr. Stingflyer?' 
 and she looked both pleased and offended; although I 
 opine, the latter was assumed as a sort of vanguard to 
 her maidenly discretion. 
 
 " ' I mean, my dear Miss Debby,' I exclaimed, seiz- 
 
SPHEEKSPHOBIA. 243 
 
 ing both her hands, and droppmg on both my knees 
 before her, impelled by the amoris stimiiliyiox amende 
 et sapere is hard for man to do, <that it is not good 
 for me to be alone — that my soul yearneth, yea, verily, 
 crieth aloud for a lielp meet — therefore, oh Deborah, 
 I fain would obey the commandment, Genesis 9-th, 1st, 
 if thou wilt take part and lot with me in this matter; 
 for Debby,' and here my voice, which had been lifted 
 up in the eloquence of my passion, fell to a more ten- 
 der key, 'Debby, light of my eyes, I love thee!' here 
 I laid my hand upon my waistcoat, over the region of 
 the heart, and continued vehemently, ' and from this 
 posture will I not rise until thou hast blessed me.' 
 
 " Miss Deborah turned pale, then became red, and 
 then became pale again, giggled, simpered, and looked 
 every way but towards me, but made no answer. 
 Emboldened by her silence, which I interpreted favor- 
 ably, remembering the Latin proverb, qui Jion negat 
 faUtur, whose English parallel is " Silence giveth as- 
 sent," I leaned forward, drawing her gently towards 
 me, for the purpose of placing the sigillum or seal 
 upon her lips, when an enormous door-bug, or hedge- 
 chafer, a clumsy, uncouth species of the black beetle, 
 bounced with a loud hum into the room through the 
 open window, aiming point blank for the candle, 
 which chanced to stand in a hne between me and the 
 aforesaid window, and with the force of a cross-bolt, 
 struck me between the eyes, as I continued to remain 
 in my attitude of genuflection, and partly from terror, 
 and in part from the force of the blow, with a loud 
 exclamation, I fell backwards upon the floor like one 
 who had been wounded even unto the death. The 
 next moment, alive to the ludicrousness of my situa- 
 tion, I recovered myself — which recovery was not a 
 little expedited by the undisguised laughter of the 
 merry maiden, on whose lips I was about to place the 
 seal of requited afl:ection: experience having not then 
 instructed my youth, omnium mulierum fugianiiir 
 
244 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 oscida. Bat my sufferings were not terminated. I 
 fain would have laugiied my disaster off, pretending 
 that it wks only a conceit of my own, to fall as if shot 
 with a bullet, had not my ears been assailed, as I rose 
 again to my feet, by the appalling burring and whiz- 
 zing of the enemy, darting fiercely about the room, 
 now thumping violently against the opposite wall, 
 now buzzing by my head with a hum like a hundred 
 tops,»the whole more dreadful on account of the dark- 
 ness of the extremities of the apartment, which ren- 
 dered it exceedingly dithcult to follow, with any cer- 
 tainty, the motions of the insect, and thereby guard 
 against his approach. My first impulse was to leap 
 from the window, to the utter demohtion of Miss De- 
 borah's flower-beds. But, guessing my desperate re- 
 solve, by the frenzied roll of my eyes in that direction, 
 and the preparatory movements of my limbs, she 
 closed it, oh faemina, semper onutahile! with a sud- 
 den jerk, and a loud laugh, as if delectating herself 
 with \T^ terrors. Certes, since that period, my senti- 
 ments m relation to the softness and charity of woman- 
 kind hav6 been revised! Thwarted in this point, my 
 next impulse was to endeavor to gain the door — which 
 purpose I at'length effected, after dodging the trans- 
 verse,i<course of the beetle as he traversed the room; 
 and throwing it open, I sprang through it, not into the 
 passage, but into Miss Deborah's china closet, and 
 striking my foot against a jar of preserves, upset it, 
 and pitched irresistibly against the lower shelf laden 
 with her choicest domestic wares, and amid a jangling, 
 crashing, crackling, and rattling, sufficient to make 
 even the deaf hear, I fell to the floor, receiving in my 
 fall, by way of corollary, divers contusions from the 
 falling ruins, and lay, like Samson, buried in the wreck 
 I had myself created. 
 
 " The laughter of Miss Debby was hereupon sudden- 
 ly changed to a loud key of mingled surprise, anger 
 and grief, in which she attacked me with a volley of 
 
SPHEEKSPHOBIA. 245 
 
 undeserved vituperation and abuse, considering that 
 the hedge-chafer, and not I, was the author of the mis- 
 chief Bruised, mortified and exceedingly chop-fallen, 
 I at length dragged my unlucky body forth, notwith- 
 standing I still heard the buzz-wzz-z-i, of the formida- 
 ble bug in his flight about the room, but between his 
 whizzing and the clamor of jNIiss Deborah's tongue, 
 I was left to choose between Scylla and Charybdis. 
 But I will dwell no longer upon this event. I etlected 
 my escape as well as I could, and the next Monday 
 morning made up the loss of earthen vessels in coin, 
 to the mother of ]\Iiss Deborah. And verily here 
 ended my first and last attempt to secure a mater 
 Jamil ins, to perpetuate the ill-fated patronymic of 
 Stingflyer to posterity. 
 
 " Four woes have passed, and yet another woe Com- 
 eth. My adventure in the china-closet having been 
 bruited about the village, my pupils, (such being ever 
 ready to fasten a nickname upon their instructors,) 
 conferring upon me the unseemly appellation of 
 * Hedge-chafer,' determined me to change my place 
 of habitation I next, after divers wanderings, pitched 
 my tent in the state of Ohio, which hath been called 
 ' the paradise of schoolmasters,' drawn thither by the 
 reports that reached mine ears, of the richnes^jf the 
 land; and in a town a few miles from Cincinnati, I 
 resumed my occupation of instilling knowledge into 
 the minds of the rising generation. It came To pass 
 after I had sojourned here nearly the space of two 
 years, I was appointed the orator for the Fourth of 
 July, A. D. 1825. My thesis, or oration, prepared for 
 this occasion, was previously read by me to two or 
 three village oracles, with much applause, which, in 
 justice to myself, and more especially to the judgment 
 of the committee, by Avhom I had the honor of being 
 appointed, I must confess my composition fully 
 merited. 
 
 The procession was formed opposite the Masonic 
 21* 
 
246 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 Hall, I being appointed to an honorable rank therein, 
 even the foremost of the van, save the musicians and 
 marshal; the music struck up, and with martial pace 
 it proceeded through the principal streets of the town,, 
 towards the church, which I flattered myself I was 
 about to fill with Demosthenean eloquence. As I 
 moved forward, a bhie ribbon waving its pennons at 
 the button hole of my coat, my bosom swelled with 
 a due consciousness of the conspicuousness of my 
 situation, and I felt that every eye was fixed upon me 
 in admiration, if not envy: my step was firm, as it 
 rose and fell to the strains of music — my chest expan- 
 ded, and my head was elevated — and gracefully did 
 I carry in my hand, the manuscript, also garnished 
 with a gay knot of blue ribbon, whose written elo- 
 quence was that day to enchain men's minds, and fill 
 their souls with patriotism. No Roman, entering the 
 imperial city after a victory, on a triumphal car, ever 
 bore a prouder heart than I did that day — alas, dies 
 infaiistus! In our circumambulatory progress 
 through the village, traversing its every lane and 
 alley, that all might witness the pageant of which I 
 was 'the head and front,' we passed through a 
 stragghng angle of the town — a sort of detached sub- 
 urb, #hen the music was all at once drowned by a 
 loud and discordant din, caused by the beating of tin- 
 kettles, the clattering of warming-pans, the jingling of 
 sleigh-bells, the tooting of horns, and clamor of women 
 and children, saluting the tympana Avith a Babelion 
 confusion not unworthy of the precincts of the infernal 
 regions, while at the same time, a wretched alley just 
 in advance of us, poured out a motley crowd of slat- 
 tern wives and breechless urchins, armed with a thou- 
 sand tongues, and beating every instrument whereof 
 the chronicles of discord have made mention. But a 
 sight more dreadful, a sound more horrible, alone 
 filled my ears, and concentrated my optics. Over the 
 heads of this clamorous multitude hung a dark cloud 
 
SPHEEKSPHOBIA. 247 
 
 of bees, whose million wings sent forth a sound like 
 the roaring of the sea. Appalling vision! each parti- 
 cular hair of my head stood on end, and my heart 
 leaped into my throat. 
 
 " At the sight of the procession the clamor ceased, 
 and the women, duces factl, retreated from view, 
 while the vacillating swarm, attracted by the music, 
 now alone heard, wheeled towards the head of our 
 column, and darkened the air above my head. There 
 are, it hath verily been asserted, some persons wiiom 
 bees will not sting, (an asseiwation which I am in- 
 clined to controvert,) and reversely, that there are 
 others, whom they will take pains to sting, of whom 
 I am one especially honored. From childhood to 
 manhood, whether a boy in a crowd of boys, or a man 
 in a throng of men, a bee never chanced to hover in 
 the air, who did not single me out, and descend upon 
 my ill-fated person, whether from a sympathetic at- 
 traction towards the honey-bee imprinted in the small 
 of my back or not, is a question whose solution I leave 
 to metaphysicians. Knowing, however, from expe- 
 rience, how powerfully I was magnetised, and seeing 
 these myriads of attractive atoms so near my person, 
 I felt that I should not long stand my ground. At the 
 moment the swarm approached, the whole band 
 chanced to strike up with a loud clang, in a sort of 
 chorus, and simultaneously the bees descended close 
 to our heads, and as they swept round like an army 
 wheeling, two or three stragglers or flank-riders 
 brushed past my cheeks, while amid the dreadful roar 
 of their passage I had nearly lost my wits, and should 
 no doubt have lost them altogether, if they had not 
 quickly reascended; and as the music ceased, by the 
 command of the marshal, settled to my great relief, on 
 an umbrageous tree in the vicinity. 
 
 " I congratulated myself on retaining my self-posses- 
 sion in so large an assemblage of witnesses— philosophy 
 with my advance in life, having enabled me in some 
 
248 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 degree to control my emotions on these occasions, 
 although no mental effort can effectually overcome an 
 inherited nervous infirmity. Prouder than if I had 
 been the victor of Waterloo, I lifted my foot to the 
 time of the music to proceed in my march, when I felt 
 a sensation as if something was crawling on the back 
 of my neck. I trembled, and my blood run cold to my 
 finger ends. I was afraid to reach my hand to the spot 
 for fear it should be stung; for I foreboded a stray bee 
 from the swarm had lighted on my collar, and I dared 
 not ask those behind me to brush it off, lest it should 
 sting me in revenge. Moreover, the very conscious- 
 ness of this dangerous vicinage of my hereditary foe, 
 caused in my mind too much terror to articulate such 
 a request, or to yield to any other impulse, than my 
 customary one of flight, in obedience to my mother's 
 laws, in such cases made and provided. Therefore, 
 as I felt the tittillation of his progress along the junction 
 of my cravat and cuticle, I shouted involuntarily aloud 
 and broke from the procession, and with wonderful 
 speed darted up the street, my flight not a little accele- 
 rated by discovering a second bee, clinging to the 
 blue ribbon which fluttered at my button-hole. This 
 last invader, however, the wind of ni}^ motion soon 
 dislodged, but instantly recovering his wings, he turned 
 and pursued in full cry. Of a surety, this was an un- 
 pleasant strait for a man of my consequence on that 
 day to be placed in — an enemy in pursuit, and another 
 equally ferocious in possession of my unlucky body. 
 The faster I fled, and the stronger became the wind, 
 which fairly whistled past my ears, the closer the in- 
 sect stuck to my skin, having now achieved, by creeping 
 Avith much circumspection, half the circumference 
 of my neck, and entangled his antennae among my 
 half-whiskers, which I am accustomed to Avear, in 
 order that my hebdomadal labor of shaving may be 
 more of a sinecure. But I Avill not linger over the 
 details of my flight, the wonder of the procession, the 
 
SPHEEKSPHOBIA. 249 
 
 hootings of the boys, the dispersion of the pageant, 
 and the consternation of the musicians, whose vocation 
 fled with me — I will only as a laithful recorder of my 
 woeSjSay that I ran half a mile straight into the conntry, 
 was grievously stung by the enemy wlio had lodged 
 on my cheek, before I had effected half that distance, 
 that the pain added wings to my flight, and that my 
 pursuer came up with me as I desperately plunged at 
 risk of life and limb, into a hedge at the termination 
 of the half a mile, hoping to leave the hedge between 
 us, and thus baffle him, and how, instead of clearing 
 the hedge, oh, accumulation of woes! I leaped into 
 the middle of it, and sunk into the midst of a nest 
 of hornets. 
 
 " Wliether I should lie down and die like a martyr, 
 or rise up and fly, was the debate of a moment in my 
 mind. I chose the latter, for verily, life is sweet, and 
 scrambled back into the road, malgre the bee on the 
 other side of the hedge (but greater dangers swallowed 
 up the lesser,) I fled back to the town at greater speed 
 than I had left it, a score of angry hornets singing in 
 my ears. When I arrived once more in the village, to 
 use the words of a pleasing poet, in facetiously de- 
 scribins: a less memorable race — 
 
 '3 
 
 'The dogs did bark, the cliildren scream'd, 
 
 Up flew the windows all; 
 And every soul cried out, " well done I" 
 
 As loud as they could bawl.' 
 
 I fell upon the threshold of my landlady's door, almost 
 lifeless, my body having, as was ascertained by subse- 
 quent enumeration, been perforated by the aculei of 
 the hornets in the thirty-seven different places. After 
 being confined with my wounds and a consequent 
 fever for the space of four weeks, I once more became 
 a wanderer, being too sensitive upon my disaster to 
 remain where my adventure afforded too much mer- 
 
250 THE AMERICAN L0L3GER= 
 
 riment with my friends and gossips, for me to share in 
 it with any especial grace. I v/ould observe, how- 
 ever, in passing, that my oration, which I had thrown 
 down in my flight, was picked up by the ]\larslial of 
 the day, who got the procession once more into march- 
 ing order, and that it was read from the pulpit, by a 
 young lawyer, with much taste and execution, vastly 
 to the delight and edification of the audience, who 
 bore testimony that such a gem of Fourth of July 
 oratory had never been listened to — nay, that it even 
 surpassed the homilies of the minister himself — who 
 was, allow me to remark, a scholar of great erudition. 
 This sugared news was breathed into my ear by my 
 sympathetic landlady, while I lay bedridden after- 
 wards, and verily it was a salvo both to my wounded 
 flesh and spirit. 
 
 ^' My next place of abode, after divers journeyings, 
 was in the beautiful city of Natchez, which verily for 
 Arcadian attractiveness of aspect, hath not its equal 
 among the cities of the West. Here, for there was 
 no want of instructors of youth, I foregathered with 
 an elderly and worthy gentleman, a God-fearing and 
 coin-getting man, who agreed with me for my daily 
 bread, and the sum of eight shillings per week, to sum 
 up his accompts. This labor I faithfully executed, and 
 at length, learning by the public print, that a teacher 
 of the humane letters v/as needed in this village, from 
 which I address you, on foot I came thither, bearing 
 my recommendation in my countenance, God, I trust, 
 having given me an honest one, and forthwith entered 
 on my occupation, wiiich I still delightedly pursue — 
 for, though southern boys are not so studious as north- 
 ern lads, they nevertheless possess a natural quickness 
 of parts, which I may denominate intuition, whereby 
 with little diligence they learn much, arriving at con- 
 clusions per saltum by a leap as it were, which ren- 
 dereth it a pleasing task to instruct them. 
 
 ^' The day I had the felicity of meeting with thee, my 
 
SPHEEKSPHOBIA. 251 
 
 friend, being a Saturday, and therefore, by prescription, 
 a holiday, I had doffed and laid aside my outward 
 garment,' and enveloped in my wrapper or summer 
 gown, was seated in the little room which I occupy as 
 my sanctum sanctorum^ perusing my favorite Maro, 
 (for Virgil hath ever been my favorite, saving the 
 Georgic which treateth of the nurture of bees,) when 
 I heard the well-known sound of a wasp singing about 
 the room. I immediately sprung from my cliair, with 
 so sudden a movement, that the sagacious insect no 
 donbt mistook it for a hostile one, though, Dii imnior- 
 tales! I had not the most distant idea of assuming a 
 belligerent attitude — and with a sharp note darted 
 towards me. I evaded the charge, by dodging my 
 head, and fled forth into the street en dishabille, my 
 terrible enemy in close pursuit. Thou didst witness, 
 my worthy friend, the result, and to thee am I indebted 
 for aid in mine affliction, saving me, peradventure, 
 from a watery ^rave. In part liquidation of this my 
 debt of gratitude, I pen and transmit to thee these 
 brief records of my eventful life, believing that after 
 the perusal of them thou wilt not withliold thy sym- 
 pathy from him, to whom the sound of a flying insect 
 is more terrible than the whizzing of a bullet; and who 
 feareth less the thrust of a javelin than the barbed 
 sting of the irrit a bile genus, a race he verily beheveth 
 created to torment him, and himself created to be their 
 miserable victim. 
 
 " Your servant, faithfully to command, 
 
 " Abel Stingflyer, A. M." 
 
 [Note by the Author of" Lafitte."] 
 
 Being in the village of Port Gibson a few weeks 
 ago, I learned that the unfortunate hero of the above 
 memoirs, had left that rural village and returned to 
 the city of Natchez, where, in copartnership with a 
 man from the land of Connecticut, he dealt in mer- 
 
^ 
 
 252 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 chandise, having exchanged the honorable occupa- 
 tion of " teaching the hnmane letters,'^ for the less in- 
 tellectual one of heaping together riches through the 
 buying and selling of goods. 
 
 When I was last in Natchez, I therefore sought 
 him out and found him, although his name in the 
 firm is modestly and unassumingly concealed under 
 the abbreviation, CO., and was pleased to learn from 
 his own lips that he was prosperous. Although his 
 stock in trade is multifarious, he took pains to inform 
 me that the leading stipulation in his agreement of 
 copartnership was, that neither sugar, nor molasses, 
 nor any thing dulcis naturx holding out temptations 
 to the irr it abile genus, should be allowed admittance 
 into the store as part of their stock of merchandise. 
 It was in this interview with him I obtained the per- 
 mission to make such disposition of his manuscript as 
 I should deem most fit. Therefore in giving it this 
 present publicity no confidence hath been betrayed. 
 
 Hose Cottage, Jidams^ County^ Miss, 
 January 17, 1838, 
 
0iQaj.yllk^J/ 
 
 THE 
 
 QUADROON OF ORLEANS 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 22 
 
THE QUADROON. 
 
 I. 
 
 The last solemn peal of the organ ceased; the wor- 
 shippers rose from the pavement; the priest descended 
 from the altar; the candles were extinguished, and the 
 mass for that day was over. Slowly the dense cloud 
 passed out, and silence and solitude took the place of 
 the murmur of the late worshipping assembly. 
 
 Two persons yet remained. One of these, a female, 
 was prostrate before an image of the virgin, her fore- 
 head laid against the marble floor. She was in deep 
 black, and a rich veil fell in thick folds and hid her 
 face, which, if in harmony with the exquisite symme- 
 try of her figure, could not be less than beautiful. A 
 lovely woman kneeling in prayer, is, at all times, an 
 interesting sight; but when she is clothed in mourn- 
 ing, (v/hich gives to women that kind of effect, which 
 in a temple is produced by " dim, religious light,") 
 the sight is peculiarly touching, and not unfreqnently 
 is vested with the power to awaken the finest emo- 
 tions of our hearts, and make even the sceptic ask of 
 himself, if a religion, that numb(!rs among its votaries 
 such grace and beauty, may not have its foundation 
 in truth? 
 
256 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 Such at least were the thoughts passing through the 
 mmd of a handsome young man who leaned against 
 a pillar not far off, with his eyes fixed on the kneeling 
 devotee. His head was uncovered, leaving free 
 masses of rich brown hair, that fell to his shoulders. A 
 slight mustache curved above his well-shaped mouth. 
 His figure was tall; his brow fair and open; his dress 
 in the latest foreign fashion; and an air of high breed- 
 ing, combined with a certain haughtiness of carriage, 
 and his foreign appearance, marked him as one of the 
 French nobles who had fled from their country to 
 escape the guillotine, which was daily drunk with the 
 best blood of France. 
 
 II. 
 
 Our story is laid in New Orleans at the close of the 
 year 1793. The city, during the ascendancy of Ro- 
 bespierre, became the refuge of many of the oldest 
 families of the aiicien regime. The young Baron 
 Championet left Paris in disguise, just five minutes 
 before the myrmidons of Robespierre entered his 
 hotel. The ship in which he took passage at Havre, 
 arrived at the levee in New Orleans as the bell was 
 ringing for mass. Stepping on shore, he fell gradually 
 into the moving current of people, and was borne to- 
 wards the Cathedral. He entered it with the rest — for 
 he bethought him, as its venerable towers met his 
 eye, that he would return thanks for his safe passage. 
 Eugenie Championet was a Roman Catholic; and like 
 all of hissect,heneverneglected the outwardsignsof his 
 faith, whether his heart was religiously disposed or not. 
 
 In company with half a dozen others of every hue 
 and degree, the young baron dipped the tip of his 
 fingers in the marble vase of holy water by the stair- 
 case; reverently made the sign of the cross on his fore- 
 head and breast; and kneeling among slaves and arti- 
 sans, maidens and matrons, he bowed to the earth as 
 
THE QUADROON. 257 
 
 the Host was elevated, and mingling his own with 
 thousand tongues, worshipped this visible presence of 
 the Redeemer. Having disburthened his heart of its 
 weight of gratitude, he rose to his feet and gazed 
 about him. Presently an object nearer the altar ar- 
 rested and fixed his eye. ^^"ith his chapeaii brus be- 
 neath his arm, and pressing his sword close to his side 
 to avoid entaiigUng it among the throng of scarfs, 
 veils, and roquelaures, he slowly edged his way to the 
 upper extren#ity of the cathedral, and stopped with 
 his eyes resting on the most faultless female figure he 
 thought he had ever beheld. His practised glauce had 
 singled, her out from her station near the door, and 
 although he passed a score of houris, that opened their 
 large black eyes, and were ready to fall in love with 
 him, he took not his eyes from her he sought till he 
 came where she stood. Her face was turned from 
 him, and her fingers clasped a prayer book on which 
 she seemed too intent to look up. She stood so close 
 to the altar, that, without subjecting his movements 
 to particular observation, if not remark, he was una- 
 ble to get a siglu of her features. That she must be 
 very lovely, the faultless proportions of her truly 
 feminine figure gave him no room to doubt. 
 
 HI. 
 
 The services closed and the congregation departed. 
 The lady lingered to pray. Doubtless she felt more 
 than usually penitent that morning. As the echo of the 
 last footstep died away, apparently unconscious of ob- 
 servation, she closed her missal, and crossing to the 
 shrine of Madonna, fell upon her knees before it. The 
 young foreigner softly approached, and leaning against 
 a pillar within a few feet of her, with his soul in his 
 eyes, and his eyes full of devotion, continued to gaze 
 upon her. Impatient at length to obtain a glimpse of 
 her face, he noiselessly approached the shrine and lin- 
 
 22* 
 
258 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 gered over a crypt, under a pretence of deciphering 
 the letters cut into the marble slab laid over it. The 
 echo of his step, Ught as it was, reverberated through 
 the vaulted pile, and caught her ear. She lifted her 
 head from the stone floor, the veil fell back from her 
 face, and the eyes of the two met. She rose in con- 
 fused surprise. The young man uttered an exclama- 
 tion of admiration at her strange and extraordinary- 
 beauty. 
 
 She was very litde above the middle height, with a 
 strikingly elegant figure, a lofty carriage, a superb 
 neck and bust, and surpassing symmetry of arm and 
 foot. Her age could not have been more than eighteen. 
 The soft olive of her complexion was just tinged with 
 the rich blood beneath. Her profile was accurately 
 Grecian, her lips a little too full, perhaps, but her finely 
 shaped mouth lost nothing of its beauty by their rich- 
 ness. They were just parted in her surprise, and dis- 
 played small white teeth; not that glaring ivory white, 
 which is so much admired by those who have not seen 
 such as here described, but of the liquid lustre of pearls. 
 Her silken eye-brows were penciled in perfect arches 
 over large-orbed, jet-black eyes, that seemed to float 
 in lakes of liquid languor. They were exceedingly 
 fine. Human eyes could not be finer. But there was 
 an expression in them, strange and indefinable; beau- 
 tiful yet unpleasing, as if a serpent had been looking 
 through the eye of a gazelle. Dark fires burned deep- 
 ly within, and the intensest passion there slumbered. 
 The singular expression of her eyes did not weaken 
 their effect on the susceptible temperament of the 
 young man, although he gazed into them with sensa- 
 tions such as woman's eye had never before created 
 in his bosom. Her raven hair was gathered behind, 
 and fell in rich tresses about her finely shaped head. 
 She wore no bonnet, but instead, a black veil, that fell 
 from a gold comb set with precious stones, down to 
 
THE QUADROOy. 259 
 
 her feet, which were remarkable for their small size, 
 high instep, and symmetrical shape. 
 
 ^s she encountered the ardent gaze of the young 
 man, the rich brown hue of her cheek, became richer 
 with the mounting blood. Hastily wrapping her veil 
 about her head, she passed him with a stately, undu- 
 latins" motion, and by a side door, hitherto concealed 
 by a^curtain, left the Cathedral, though not without 
 glancing over her shoulder ere she disappeared. The 
 baron did not hesitate to follow her. With a peculiar 
 ease of motion, in which grace and dignity were femi- 
 ninely blended, she slowly moved along the thronged 
 trottoir of Chartres street.* The style of her face; the 
 perfection of her person: the harmonious concord of 
 every movement: the queenly carriage: the uncovered 
 head: the basilisk fascination of her eyes, were all 
 unlike any thing he had ever seen, and altogether al- 
 lured, bewildered, and captivated him. His own ele- 
 gant person attracted the eyes of many a lovely woman 
 as he passed along, but he had no eye or thought for 
 any one but the devotee of the Cathedral. He lost 
 not si^ht of her, initil he saw her enter, in one of the 
 most aristocratic districts of the city, a cottage-like re- 
 sidence, like the most of those in New Orleans at that 
 time, adorned with verandahs, half buried in orange 
 and lemon trees, with glass doors and windows to the 
 ground: the whole thrown open, displaying within 
 apartments furnished with oriental magnificence. The 
 lady elanced one of her fine eyes towards him from 
 behind her fan, as she stepped up the verandah; he 
 laid his hand, between gallantry and sincerity, upon 
 his heart, in acknowledgment, impressed the dweUing 
 on liis memory, and with a sigh turned away to seek 
 a hotel and deliver his letters. 
 
260 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 IV. 
 
 An old French exile, M. Beranger, to whom one of 
 his letters was addressed, could not call on the Baron 
 Championet, but sent his son, a gay young Creole, to 
 Avelcome him to New Orleans. They dined together, 
 were soon fast friends. Over their wine, they began 
 to converse, as young men will do, of beautiful women. 
 The baron related his inkling of adventure in the Ca- 
 thedral, and ended with declaring himself irrevocably 
 in love, and hinted at matrimony. 
 
 His friend heard him through with composure, and 
 when he had ended, gave way to uncontrollable laugh- 
 ter. The baron looked both surprised and oflended, 
 when yonng Beranger, composing his features, said: 
 
 "Dark eyes, arched brows like satin, olive com- 
 plexion, slightly tainted with the rose, and a veil 
 thrown over her head." 
 
 "You repeat my words, monsieur," said the baron, 
 coldly. 
 
 " A veil only you are sure?" 
 
 " A black lace veil, that dropped to her feet. A be- 
 coming mode, and one I wish to see take the place of 
 the unsightly bonnet with which the European women 
 choose to disfigure their heads." 
 
 " You have fallen in love with a quadroon, Cham- 
 pionet." 
 
 " If 'quadroon' be American for angel, by the mass ! 
 you say truly!" 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha! Pardon me, my dear baron! I see I 
 must initiate you, or you will be getting into more of 
 these Cathedral adventures with dark-eyed devotees 
 veiled to the feet. First let us fill a bumper to your 
 olive-browned divinity." 
 
 The toast was drunk with mock sentiment by the 
 one, and with genuine gallantry by the other. 
 
THE QUADROON. 261 
 
 " Now, my dear baron," began the gay Creole,* 
 " you must know that there is among us a class of 
 citizens called quadroons. They are one-fourth part 
 African blood." 
 
 "Saint Marie! You do not mean to say that " 
 
 " Peace, my dear Championet. I will explain this 
 thing, so that you will thank me for the Mahomedan 
 paradise my words shall unfold to you. The descent 
 and blood of a quadroon is as follows: The offspring 
 of a white man and a pure negress, is what we call a 
 mvlaflo, or mulairessjaccorHins: to the sex. The off- 
 spring of the mulatto and pure while is a mufitizoe, 
 pronounced mustife, and in this class I have seen blue 
 eyes and light hair, albeit the complexion might have 
 been somewhat objectionable. The offspring of the 
 mestizoe and a pure white, is termed a quadroon, or 
 quatreunej being four parts white, with one part (the 
 blood of the original African progenitor) black. By 
 these four removes the African blood has become 
 nearly extinct, and the quadroon shares the character- 
 istic traits common to the European race. The fifth 
 and sixth removes are also called quadroons; indeed 
 the term is applied so long as there remains the least 
 trace of the slavish blood. By the sixth generation, 
 however, it entirely disappears. I know some beau- 
 tiful quadroons in the fifth descent, who, save'a certain 
 indescribable expression in the centre of the pupils of 
 their fine eyes, have the appearance of lovely Italian 
 women." 
 
 " This singular expression," interrupted the baron, 
 " struck me in the eyes of this superb creature. — What 
 it was I could not tell, but it had a strange effect upon 
 me." 
 
 " It is the mark of the quadroon even to the sixth 
 
 * Creole, as used in Louisiana, has no other meaning than the word 
 "native." In this acceptation, one is a Creole of Pennsylvania, or of 
 Maine, who is a native of either of those States. 
 
f{ 
 
 262 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 generation, when all other signs of her African de- 
 scent are lost. I have tried to analyze it, but like the 
 pecuUar and undefinable expression that stamps the 
 Jewish physiognomy, it defies all explanation or ana- 
 lysis. We often speak of the fine e^^-e of a spirited 
 woman, as having a little devil in it. In the eye of 
 the quadroon there lurks the devil, but it is a wicked 
 one. I do not mean in the playful sense of the term, 
 but in its worst. Yet they show none of it in their dis- 
 positions. They are warm hearted and full of passion, 
 and fire, but it is difficult to vousc them to anger. They 
 are, on the contrary, universally affectionate, good-na- 
 tured, and remarkable for a child-like simplicity of 
 manners, in which much of their fascination lies. 
 These quadroons of both sexes present, perhaps, the 
 finest specimens of the human race. The young men 
 are perfect ApoUos. The females — but you have seen 
 one of them, and can judge for yourself. Notwith- 
 standing all this, such is the prejudice where Africans 
 are held as slaves, against admitting any of the blood 
 of this degraded race to an equality with ourselves, 
 that, however accomplished they njay be, they are not 
 only interdicted from society, but the law against the 
 intermarriages of the white with the blacks, extends 
 eqiially to these. Many of them are the daughters 
 of gentleman of fortune, who lavish money on them, 
 rear them in the lap of luxury, and sometimes send 
 them to Paris to be educated. Abroad, some of them 
 have married rank and wealth. Last summer I met, 
 
 driving on the Prater of Vienna, the Countess , 
 
 whom I knew as a quadroon in this city, till her thir- 
 teenth year, when her father sent her to Paris, where 
 she completed her education, and as his legitimate 
 
 daughter married the Count present husband. 
 
 She is called the most handsome woman in Austria. 
 
 " Prohibited from society here, and debarred mar- 
 riage, (for reared and educated as they are, of course 
 they will not marry the young quadroons, who are 
 
THE QUADKOOX. 263 
 
 lower in the social circles than even themselves, whose 
 own equivocal elevation is owing to causes easily to be 
 divined,) their maternal education consists in adorning 
 their persons; and, by their still lovely mothers they 
 are taught to regard beauty of person and the arts of 
 blandishment, as the highest qualifications of their 
 sex, and to look forward to the station of a mis'tress 
 with the same hopes, fears and sensations that a vir- 
 tuously educated maiden contemplates that of wife. 
 In fact, to their perverted minds, illicit love is divested 
 of guilt, and is connected neither with shame nor 
 moral degradation." 
 
 *'But the fathers? Have they no voice in this mat- 
 ter?" 
 
 " In this climate sixteen or seventeen years, when 
 their daughters are in market, (I speak plainly,) make 
 great changes in regard to most of these. — Death, 
 travel, or matrimony, gives the quadroon moiher, 
 while yet young, to choose another protector and edu- 
 cate her daughter as she pleases. When at the age I 
 have mentioned, the mother, who has kept her till 
 now in great seclusion, begins to cast about for a pro- 
 tector fo^ her. She allows her with this object in view, 
 to attend balls and masquerades, frequent public 
 walks, and go to mass, but always attended by a con- 
 fidential slave, or herself in person; while her eye is 
 ever watchful, and the reins of maternal vigilance are 
 drawn with careful hand, lest the daughter, from feel- 
 ins, should torm an unprofitable liaison. It Avill 
 not be long before she attracts several admirers, ar.d 
 proposals are made in due form to the quadroon mo- 
 ther—for the system, as you will discover, is as regu- 
 larly organised and understood here, as that for the^ 
 buying and selling Circassian girls. In the choice of 
 suitors, three things are especially considered, viz: the 
 wealth, the respectability of the individual, and the 
 inclinations of the daugh'ter. If there are possessions 
 on her side, that are not incompatible with the other 
 
264 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 two considerations, her wishes decide the choice ; for 
 it is the managing mother's desire, not only to get her 
 daughter well esiahlished, but established happily also. 
 When the suitor is fixed upon, the others are notified 
 that Mademoiselle is not at liberty to form engage- 
 ments. Then come the preliminary settlements, pre- 
 viously agreed upon, between buyer and seller. Some 
 of these scenes, were it not for the moral degradation 
 with which they are associated, I doubt not, would be 
 extremely amusing. The two are closeted together 
 witl» pen, ink and paper. The mother, who lias tlie 
 conditions drawn upon a piece of paper she holds in 
 her hand, insists on a house containing a certain num- 
 ber of rooms, richly furnished, particularises each arti- 
 cle of their furniture, demands a certain number of 
 servants; bargains for a specific sum to be paid quar- 
 terly to her daughter for pin-money, and insists that 
 she shall be indulged in all the expensive luxuries of 
 her class; many other things besides are agreed upon, 
 depending mostly on the taste, ambition and high 
 notions oY the quadroon mother. In her care for 
 her daughter, she does not neglect her own interests, 
 but bargains for a present in hand for her own part, 
 such as an expensive shawl, a costly veil, a set of 
 jewels, or something of that sort. The suitor agreeing 
 to all this, pays a certain sum down, often so high as 
 two thousand dollars, and seldom less than one thou- 
 sand, and receives his unmarried but virgin bride. 
 From that time he openly lives with her, if unmarried, 
 save dining at the hotels.— If he is a married man, he 
 is more cautious. The quadroon mothers usually pre- 
 fer the latter class, as promising, their daughters a more 
 stable and permanent life, than it would be likely to 
 be, dependent on the roving caprice of a young bache- 
 lor. Hundreds of young gentlemen, and I know not 
 how many with hymenial ties, live in this way in this 
 city." 
 
 «« A singular state of society.'^ 
 
THE QUADROON. 265 
 
 " Yes; and this facility of thiogs is why we are such 
 a community of bachelors." 
 
 "Are these quadroons faithful?" 
 
 " There has never been known among them a single 
 instance to the contrar^\ Indeed, then: attachment in 
 these cases is proverbial." 
 
 The young man balanced his wine glass on his fore- 
 finger, and mused awliile; then abruptly speaking he 
 said." 
 
 " Do you think the lovely creature I saw this morn- 
 ing is one of this class?" 
 
 His countenance was so expressive of mingled doubt 
 and hope as he waited for a reply, that the lively Creole 
 smiled as he answered. 
 
 " Yes. Her veil marks her, if nothing more. — Quad- 
 roons alone wear veils. Why, I know not, unless bon- 
 nets are prohibited to this class as well as to the slaves, 
 which I believe is the case, but whether by the muni- 
 cipal law, or the stronger one of public opinion, 
 I am not prepared to say. The extraordinary beauty 
 of many of these women has been noised abroad, and 
 if common fame speaks the truth, has been the sub- 
 ject of convivial conversation even with one or two 
 of the princes of the royal family who have been 
 here. Apropos, I could tell a tale here if I would. 
 But another time." 
 
 " It is strange," said the baron, thoughtfully, " that 
 a trait scarcely discernible, except to the initiated, 
 should shut them out of society." 
 
 " The cause, if we look closely into the subject, does 
 not lie so much in the drop of African blood in their 
 veins, as the fact that they are descended, at least on 
 one side, from slaves. Indeed, many quadroons are 
 really slaves, whose maternal ancestors have been for 
 generations in the same family. If the mother be a 
 slave, say our laws, so is the otfspring, no matter what 
 its hue may be. A prejudice so deeply fomided as 
 that against slavish blood, will forever resist reason. 
 23 
 
266 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 It is true the quadroons are its victims. Its tendency, 
 doubtless, is to preserve the purity of society, but I do 
 not know if its effects are not more than balanced by 
 the laxity of morals it originates and fosters. But a 
 truce to this prosing. It is now near sunset, and the 
 population is all out of doors to enjoy the cool of the 
 evening. If we walk in the direction of the dwelling 
 of your inamorata, we shall find her no doubt in the 
 verandah. I think, from your glowing description of 
 her, I can divine who she is. If it is Emilie, as I be- 
 lieve, she is a prize worth winning and wearing." 
 
 The young gentlemen sallied forth together, and arm 
 in arm lounged carelessly along the street towards the 
 abode of the devotee. It was near sunset, and the 
 doors, balconies and verandahs of that gay city were 
 animated with cheerful people, and brilliant with 
 beauty. Families were gathered in their own doors 
 or about a neighbor's, standing or sitting in groups 
 gossiping and taking the air. Young, bonnetless girls 
 laughed and talked with one another across the street, 
 or smiled at passing beaux. Children every where 
 played up and down the side walks; the artisan, his 
 apron thrown aside, sat in his open shop window and 
 smoked his cigar, or chatted with a neighbor: all was 
 cheerfulness, hilarity and content. One would have 
 thought there was not in the whole town a sad heart. 
 
 Beranger bowed to nearly every other pretty woman 
 he saw in the overhanging balconies, while his elegant 
 companion drew after him many a dark eye, and 
 caused many an inquiry to be passed along the galaxy 
 of beauty, of who might be the handsome cavalier. 
 
 They arrived at Rue de , and Championet 
 
 pointed to the residence of the devotee. 
 
 <• 'Tis Emilie!" cried the other. " She is scarcely 
 
THE QUADROON. 267 
 
 seventeen, and though 'tis not two months since she 
 made her first appearance in public, she has aheady 
 had half New -Orleans at her feet. But her mother, 
 deviating from the usual mode, has left her to her own 
 choice, of course subject to her sanction. So the lovely 
 quadroon will not sell her person sav^e to the bold 
 cavalier who shall first steal her heart. Courage, mon 
 ami ! From what you have told me, you have already 
 made an impression. You are a stranger here, and 
 women, if you have noticed, always like strangers." 
 The young gentlemen approached the elegant resi- 
 dence of the fair quadroon, and in one month after- 
 wards the gay baron Championet boasted the finest 
 estabUshment and the lovliest mistress in New-Orleans. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The death of Robespierre, by the guillotine, July 
 28, 1794, was the signal for the return of the French 
 exiles. The Baron Championet, settling upon Emilie 
 a noble income, took passage for France, promising, 
 so soon as he should arrange his effects, to send for 
 her. Absence is like the waters of Lethe, to most 
 men. The stirring times he encountered on his return 
 to France, left him little time for love and dalliance. 
 He recovered his confiscated estates, entered the army, 
 rose rapidly to distinction, and in twelve months 
 Emilie was' forgotten. He became suitor for the hand 
 of the only daughter of a neighboring noble, whose 
 broad lands seemed only wanting to make his own 
 patrimony a princely domain, and, as in New-Orleans 
 he had loved for love's sake, so in France he married 
 for mammon's sake. A son was the fruit of the politic 
 union. The baron, now General Championet, fol- 
 lowed Bonaparte in most of his wars, and his thoughts 
 never wandered to the lovely quadroon, save when 
 
26S THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 some dark eyed Italian in his southern campaigns, 
 forcibly recalled her to his mind. 
 
 VII. 
 
 A few months after the departure of the baron, 
 Emilie gave birth to a daughter. During the long 
 period of his intimacy with the beautiful quadroon, 
 he had taken pleasure in storing her mind with the 
 nobler branches of literature, and elevating the stand- 
 ard of her intellect. He taught her to reason and to 
 reflect. After his departure, reason and reflection be- 
 came to her the tree of the knowledge of good and 
 evil. For the first time she began to view in its true 
 light her moral and social degradation. She loathed 
 herself, and passed hours in unavailing tears. She 
 was proud, and her pride was humbled, her spirit 
 broken. One evening she veiled herself, and went to 
 the Cathedral. Kneeling on the spot where she had 
 first seen the young foreigner, she made a solemn vow 
 to the Virgin, " that her daughter should never know 
 her mother's degradation nor the race from which she 
 herself had sprung.'' She rose and returned home 
 with a lighter heart and a firm purpose. 
 
 When the little Louisa was in her fifth year, she 
 left New Orleans, where the fulfilment of her vow 
 would have been impossible, and went to the Havan- 
 na; from whence she took passage to JNIarseilles, and 
 then proceeded to Paris. Here as Madame D'Avigny, 
 and representing herself as the widow of a West 
 India planter, she took up her abode, and pursued the 
 education of her daughter. Her income was great, 
 and the style of her establishment had scarcely a rival 
 in Paris. She gave soirees, was courted, and when, 
 at the age of nineteen, Louise came out, a new star in 
 the constellation of fashion, the saloons of Madame 
 D'Avigny were among the most thronged and cele- 
 
THE QUADROON. 269 
 
 brated in Paris. The beauty of Louise now became 
 the universal theme, and in all public places she was 
 the "cynosure of all eyes." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 One morning shortly after the introduction of the 
 lovely quadroon into the fashionable world of Paris, a 
 noble looking and extremely handsome young man, 
 not more than twenty one years of age, was idly pro- 
 menading one of the less frequented" streets of Paris, 
 when his attention was drawn to an elegant and well 
 appointed equipage that stopped just" before him., 
 not far from the door of the cathedral— Two ladies 
 descended from it and approached the church, to 
 which the obstruction of a line of carriages lining the 
 pave prevented the coachman from coming closer. 
 One of them was an elegant shaped woman, who 
 moved with the slow and stately measure becoming 
 a queen. By her side moved a less stately figure, but 
 what was lost in dignity was made up in grace and 
 feminine delicacy. Her undulating movement, as she 
 gently stepped along, was the poetry of motion. Her 
 feet were the neatest, and prettiest, and smallest in 
 the world, and they left the pavement and lighted 
 upon it again with the lightness of a bird. The young 
 man quickened his pace and passed them. The face 
 that met his gaze, as he turned round at the door of 
 the church, was wonderfully fair. He thought he had 
 not seen its equal for that soft and dreamy" loveliness 
 which is usually found in the climes of the south. 
 Her large black eyes, as she lifted them to the face of 
 the elegant young man, seemed to him Hke fountains 
 of love, with which her heart, like a deep well, was 
 full. The moulded bust, the rounded waist, the su- 
 perbly feminine figure, the shapely foot and hand, the 
 faultless neck and stag-like carriage of the fine head; 
 
270 THE AMERICAN LOUNGER. 
 
 the indolent grace of every motion from the gUding 
 curve of each swimming step, to the fall of tlie fringed 
 hd, filled his soul with those delightful but indescriba- 
 ble sensations which are the incipient workings of 
 youthful love. Aside from the charms of her person, 
 there was about her a something which strangely 
 drew his heart to hers. The emotion was mutual; 
 for, as she passed him to enter the cathedral, her eye 
 lingered on his face with singular interest. 
 
 The appearance of her companion Avas very little 
 less striking, thougli she must have been thirty-five 
 years of age. The full-blown rose was the emblem 
 of the one; the half-open bud of the other. From 
 their surprising resemblance to each other, they were 
 mother and daughter. 
 
 They advanced to a distant part of the cathedral, 
 and kneeled at diff'erent shrines. The young man, 
 who followed them into the church, approached the 
 shrine where the younger kneeled, and with a singu- 
 lar union of boldness and timidity, and assuming a 
 look of playful submission that disarmed reproof ere 
 it rose to the lip, he knelt beside her. She started, 
 turned, and would have risen to move away from the 
 daring intruder, but the respectful yet tender expres- 
 sion of his fine eyes, the elegance of his person, his 
 becoming humility, all pleaded in his favor. With his 
 hand laid on his heart, he awaited her decision. The 
 silent eloquence of his manner prevailed. She smiled, 
 dropped her eyes, and opened her missal. Her trans- 
 parent fingers trembled with agitation; the gilt leaves 
 fluttered, and the book fell from her hands. The 
 young stranger arrested it ere it reached the pavement; 
 and, opening it, returned it to her with his finger on 
 this passage: — 
 
 ^' Give ear unto me; my soul hangeth upon thee. 
 I will love thee all the days of my life. Incline thine 
 ear unto my calling.'^ 
 
THE QUADROON. 271 
 
 The maiden read it; raised her full dark eyes, and 
 smiled, while, with a mantling cheek, she placed a 
 finger carelessly on a passage. He caught it from her 
 hand, and read', with eyes that sparkled with delight, 
 the following verse: — 
 
 " 1 will dwell in thy tabernacle for ever; and my 
 trust shall be under the shadow of thy w4ngs." 
 
 He seized and pressed her hand to his heart, then to 
 his lips, and thus in one minute was consummated an 
 affection which contained all the elements of genuine 
 love; which some people think takes a year to grow, 
 when every body knows it is a plant that, like Jonah's 
 gourd, springs up in one night. 
 
 With the "material before one, enough to fill two 
 volumes, it is difficult to write a mere sketch. We 
 must therefore, to keep within any bound, leave a 
 great deal of the iiUing up of our story to the imagi- 
 nations of our readers; to which, to begin with, we 
 shall leave the remainder of the scene in the Cathe- 
 dral, telling them, however, what doubtless they have 
 already guessed, that the elder lady was Emilie, the 
 quadroon, or as she was known in Paris, INIadame 
 D'Avigny, and the younger daughter, the lovely and 
 widely famed Louise. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Two months had not passed after the love passage 
 in the Cathedral, when all Paris knew that the West 
 India beauty, Louise D'Avigny, was to be led to the 
 altar by a scion of one of the oldest houses in France, 
 the young Baron Caronde. 
 
 The day of the nuptials arrived, and before the altar 
 of the same Cathedral which had witnessed the first 
 meeting, the lovers stood surrounded by their friends, 
 prepared to enter into the marriage covenant. 
 
272 THE AMERICAN- LOUNGER. 
 
 The father of the bridegroom had been expected 
 from the army, where he was in command, to honor 
 the ceremony v/ith his presence; bnt the rites could 
 not longer be delayed, and the priest opened his book, 
 and, after the imposing forms of the Romish church, 
 the marriage was solemnized. 
 
 Emilie embraced her daughter. Her vow had been 
 fulfilled. Her triumph was complete. x\t this mo- 
 ment an officer of high rank entered the Cathedral, 
 and hastily approached the star. It was the Baron 
 Championet, now INIarquis of Caronde. He embraced 
 his son, and was presented to the bride. He started 
 with an exclamation of surprise. But as he directly 
 recovered himself, and tenderly embraced her, his emo- 
 tion was supposed by the bystanders to have been 
 caused by her extreme beauty. His son next present- 
 ed Madame D'Avigny, or, as we better know her, 
 Emilie, who had been sur^^eying his features between 
 doubt and eager curiosity. He advanced to take her 
 hand, when, fixing his eyes on her still beautiful face, 
 he recognized her. 
 
 ^•Emilie!" 
 
 "Championet'.-' 
 
 " Speak," he cried, looking at Louise, " is she " 
 
 " Your daughter. But, tell me ! he ! is he " 
 
 "My son!"^ 
 
 A wild shriek filled the temple, and Emilie fell on 
 the marble floor, and the blood gushed from her tem- 
 ples at the feet of the Baron Championet. 
 
 The surprise and horror of those around was raised 
 to a feverish degree of excitement and curiosity. But 
 Emilie never spoke again, and the baron kept the se- 
 cret locked up in his own breast. 
 
 Louise was removed to a convent, and in a few 
 months died of a broken heart. Her husband and 
 brother threw his life away shortly after in battle. 
 
 Such is the end of characters who reallv existed, 
 
THJE QUADROON. 273 
 
 and the sad conclusion of a story founded on actual 
 occurrence. It has been written to illustrate, in some 
 degree, a state of society which once existed in New 
 Orleans, many of the most prominent features of 
 which are still retained. 
 
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