i i 
 
HARi 
 
 LIBRARY-OF-AMER1 J 
 
 THE VIRi 
 
 H ~\ v ffli 
 
 ^ oucl 
 
 
 OHN E'ST-EM 
 
 NUMB? R 14 
 
 
 
Harper's Library of Select Novels. 
 
 
 PBICE 
 
 HARPER'S Library of Select Novels- 
 Continued. 
 
 154. The Commissioner. By James $0 CO 
 
 155. The Wife's si.<ter. By Mre. Hubback 35 
 
 156. The Gold Worshipers. 85 
 
 15T. Tin- Daughter of Night. By Fullom 35 
 
 15S. Stuart of Dunleuth. By Hon. Carolina Norton. 35 
 
 I.V.). Arthur C. Hi way. By Captain 1-1 II. Milman .. 40 
 
 !<;<>. The Fate. By James 40 
 
 1(51. The Lady and' the Priest. I'.y Mrs. Maberly. . . i)5 
 
 102. Aims and Ob-tad. -s, Bv James 50 
 
 1C,:!. The Tutor's Wan) i',0 
 
 1-il. ll'.rence Sackville. By Mrs. Burbury 50 
 
 lo.\ KaveusclifTe. By Mrs." Marsh 40 
 
 lt',0. Maurice Tiernay. By Lever 50 
 
 107. The Head of the Family. I'.y Mi,s Mulock. . . . 50 
 
 m. ] ;y \\arburton 35 
 
 lti'.. 1 alkenbun,' 50 
 
 ITii. The Dalt r 75 
 
 171. Ivar; or, The Skjute-Boy. By Miss Carlen... 35 
 
 uinillo. By James 40 
 
 173. Anna ] lamim-r. By 'IVmmc 40 
 
 171 A Lire of Vicissitudes. By James 25 
 
 175. Henry F.snu.nd. By Thackeray. . .' 50 
 
 170, 177. .My Novel. By Buhver 75 
 
 173. Katie Stewart. ..." 20 
 
 179. Castle Avon. By Mrs. Marsh 40 
 
 ISO. Ague- Surd. By James 40 
 
 lia'a Unhand. By the Author of " Olive" 35 
 
 1S-J. Yilh-tte. By ( urrer Bell 50 
 
 r's Stratagem. By Mis* Carlen 35 
 
 184. Clouded Happiness. By Countess D'Orsay 30 
 
 Is5. Charles Aiidiesti-r. A Memorial 50 
 
 186. Lady Lee's Widowhood 40 
 
 1ST. Dodd Family Abroad. By Lever CO 
 
 ' asper Carew. By Lever 50 
 
 1^9. Quiet Heart 20 
 
 100. Aubrey. By Mrs. Mar,h 50 
 
 191. Ticonderoga. By James 40 
 
 1!>2. Hani Times. By Dickens 25 
 
 193. The Young Husband. By Mrs. Grey 55 
 
 1'.'4. The Mother's Kecompense. I!y Grace Aguilar. 50 
 
 1<i5. Avillion, &r. By Miss Mulock Co 
 
 llif.. North and South. By Mrs. Gaskell 40 
 
 197. Country Neighborhood. By Miss Dupuy 40 
 
 I'.'s. Uotutance Herbert ByMin Jewabory . 3o 
 
 10'.'. Th.- Heiress of Haughton. By Mrs. M'arsh 35 
 
 20u. The Old Dominion. ByJaun'-s 40 
 
 201. John Halifax. By the Author of " Olive," A-c. 50 
 
 202. Evelyn Murston. ' By Mrs. Marsh i!5 
 
 '_'::. FortWMi of GleJMora By Lever 5o 
 
 iora d'Orco. By Jame* 40 
 
 .in- New. By Miss Mulock 30 
 
 2"G. The Hose of Ashurst. By Mrs. Marsh 35 
 
 V07. The Athdinu's. By Mrs. oliphant 5<i 
 
 . s of Clerical Life 50 
 
 !>w. My Lady Lodtar. By Mrs. (laskell 20 
 
 tierald Fit/.gerald. By Lever -in 
 
 Mi. A Life for* Life. By MiM Mulock 4" 
 
 -I and (iown. By Geo. Lawreoea 2u 
 
 '_'!. Mi-re|.n-entation. By Anna II. Dniry <>0 
 
 J15. The Mill on tin- I i liot 50 
 
 ..f Th.-iu. By L.-ver 50 
 
 217. A Day's Ili.le. Bv I.- v, r. Illu-trated 40 
 
 2is. Notice to Quit. By Wills 40 
 
 :ani:.- Sti.ry. Illu-tra'.-d 50 
 
 '."Jo. Brwn. Jon.-, and Kot.iM-'.n. By Tr..l|.,pe i'>5 
 
 221. Abel Drak.- 1 - \\ ii... By John Sannden 5o 
 
 222. OliTe Blake's Good Work, By J. c. Je : . tTn-.n. 5o 
 
 2-.3. Th rr..f. ..r 1 - La.ly. IllMtntcd 20 
 
 2'-'4. Mi-tress and Maid. By M i->- Mul-.ck I'.o 
 
 ra Fl-.y.l. I'.v M. I!. Bl.'.ddon 40 
 
 iunton. I'.y Lever 40 
 
 vers. By Mr-. Ga-ki-ll 4 
 
 ttB. A ln-t 1'ri-n.l-lii). 25 
 
 199 A Dark Niirhr* Work Bv M r-. ( . .-kell 25 
 
 Marlitt lllu-trated.. BO 
 
 2.-.I. St. l.liza '1'ahor 4o 
 
 iut of Honor .".o 
 
 it Down. I CiO 
 
 2.TJ. Martin l'.le. By'Saini 3o 
 
 v Lvnd-ay. By Ladv l'..n-..til.v 40 
 
 kimVi Victory. \--- M i Bradd-n. lll>. fio 
 
 Trollop* .".5 
 
 2.'S. John Mnrchmoot' Ix-ira'-y. Bv M. I'. Braddmi 5n 
 \t Warleitrh's FoitunM. Bv ll'-hii- I.. 
 
 240. T|,,, wifi-N l-'.videnc- I'.v Wills 4" 
 
 . Bv Amelia B. I'dwanD.... M 
 
 24-2. C..u-in Bhillis '.'0 
 
 2::. What will he do with It? By Buhver 75 
 
 244. The I Adder of Life. By Amelia B. Ld ards. . . 2.'. 
 
 PRICE 
 
 HARPER'S Library of Select Novels- 
 Continued. 
 
 245. Denis 1 >uval. By Thackeray. Illustrated $0 25 
 
 240. Maurice Dering. By Geo. Lawrence 25 
 
 247. Margaret Denzil's History 
 
 24s. Quite Alone. By George Augustus Sala. Ill's. 
 
 24'.. Mattie : a Stray 40 
 
 250. My Brother's Wife. By Amelia B. Edwards... 25 
 
 251. Uncle Silas. By J. S. Le Fanu 40 
 
 252. Lore! the Widower. By Thackeray 20 
 
 25::. Miss, Mackenzie. By Anthony Trollope 35 
 
 254. On Guard. By Annie Thomas 40 
 
 255. Theo Leigh. By Annie Thomas 40 
 
 250. Denis Donne. By Annie Thomas 4 
 
 257. Belial 
 
 968. < arry's Confession , 50 
 
 25!). M iss ( 'arew. By Amelia B. Edwards 35 
 
 200. Hand and Glove. By Amelia B. Edwards 30 
 
 201. Guy Deverell. By J. S. Le Fanu 40 
 
 202. Haifa Million of Money. By Amelia B. Edwards. 
 
 Illustrated 
 
 2G3. The Beltoti Estate. By Anthony Trollope 
 
 204. A.mies. By Mrs. Oliphant 
 
 205. Walter Goring. By Annie Thomas 
 
 20,;. Maxwell Drewitt. By Mrs. J. II. Iliddell 
 
 207. The Toilers of the Sea. Bv Victor Hugo. Ill's.. 
 
 20s. M iss Marjoribanks. By Mrs. Oliphant 50 
 
 209. True History of a Little Ragamuffin. By James 
 
 Greenwood 35 
 
 270. Gilbert Itugge. By the Author of "A First 
 
 Friendship " 60 
 
 271 . Sans Merci. By Geo. Lawrence 35 
 
 272. Phemie Keller. By Mrs. J. 11. Kiddell 35 
 
 27::. Land at Last. By Edmund Yates 40 
 
 274. Felix Holt, the Radical By George Eliot 50 
 
 275. Bound to the Wheel. By John Saunders 50 
 
 27G. All in the Dark. By J. S. Le Fanu 
 
 277. Kissing the Rod. By Edmund Yates 
 
 27<. The 1,'ace for Wealth. By Mrs. J. H. Kiddell. . 
 271). Lizzie Lorton of Greyrigu:. By Mrs. Lin ton. . . 
 
 2SO. The Beauclercs, Father and Son. ]u C. Clarke 
 
 2>1. Sir Brook Fossbrooke. By Charles Lever 
 
 >2. Madonna Mary. By Mrs. Oliphant 5o 
 
 .dock Nowdl. By II. D. Blackmore 
 
 284. Bernthal. From the" German of L. Miihlbach. 
 
 2^5. Hachd's Secret 40 
 
 2SG. TheClaverings. By Anthony Trollope. Ill's.. 50 
 2S7. The Village on the Cliff. By Miss Thackeray. 
 
 Illustrated 05 
 
 288. Played Out. By Annie Thomas 4') 
 
 >'.. mark SI p. By Edmund Yates 40 
 
 290. Sowing the Wind. By E. Lynn Linton 35 
 
 291. Nora and Archibald Lee 40 
 
 292. Baytuond's Heroine 40 
 
 t>H3. Mr. Wynyard's Ward. By 1 Inline Lee 25 
 
 294. Alec Forbes. By George "Macdonald f,o 
 
 295. No Man's Friend. By F. W. Kobinson 50 
 
 290. Called to Account. By Annie Thomas 40 
 
 2H7. Casre 35 
 
 29S. The Curate's Discipline. By M n. Kiloart 40 
 
 2 ( .9. circe. By Babington White 35 
 
 loo. The Tenants of Mai, TV. By J. S. Le Fanu... 
 
 ::ol. Carlyon's Year. By James J'ayu 25 
 
 ::o2. The Waterdale N'ei-hbora 35 
 
 ::o:!. Mabel's Progress 40 
 
 ::o4. C.uild Court, p.y C,, .. Macdonald. Ill's 40 
 
 L The Brothers* Bet By Mir-s Carlen 25 
 
 :;oO. Playing for High stakes. By Annie Thomas. Ill'd 25 
 
 ::i>7. Mar_ran t's r.tiu'.-iireiuent 25 
 
 :tos. One of the Family By James Payn 25 
 
 ::o;>. Fire Hundred Pound* Reward. By a Banister.. 35 
 
 :;io. Brownlows. By Mrs. oliphant.. ." 5< 
 
 :;n. Charlotte's Inheritance. P.V Mi-* p.raddon. .. ::5 
 
 2. Jeaiii.-'s Quiet Lite. By Eliza Tabor ;:o 
 
 :;i::. Boor Humanity. By F. W. Roblmwn 50 
 
 :i14. Urake-<peare. By ( ;. o. A. Lawrence. "With an 
 
 Illustration. . .' 40 
 
 ,,-. By J. S. ! e FatiU 40 
 
 .'.10. Love or Marriage T I'.y w. Black :M 
 
 :',17. Dead-Sea Fruit. By Miss P.I -addon. Illustrated. 50 
 
 :'.!*. The Dow,. r Ho,,. e.' By Annie Thomas :;:, 
 
 .:i'.. The Braiiilrigli* of Bishop's Folly. By Ix-ver. 
 
 lllu-trat.'d 50 
 
 Mildred. By Georgiana M Craik ?0 
 
 :521. Nature's No'hleman. By the Author of " Ila- 
 
 dlel's Secret" 85 
 
 122. Kathleen. By the Author of ' Kaymond's H- 
 
 n.ir, ! 50 
 
 . ThatBoyof Noroott'H, ByCharleo Lever. Ill's.. 25 
 
 324. In Silk Attire. By W. Black .".5 
 
 . Hetty. By Henry King-ley 
 
 25 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 
 
Harper's Library of Select Novels. 
 
 I'BICE 
 
 HARPER'S Library of Select Novels- 
 Continued. 
 
 326. False Colors. P.y Annie Thomas $0 40 
 
 3-27. Mi ta's 1 aitli. By Eliza Tabor 35 
 
 M.I Dead, lly James Payn '25 
 
 82l>. Wrecked in Port. By Kdmund Vales 3f> 
 
 330. The Mini.-ter's Wife.. By Mr-. Olipliant 50 
 
 331. A lieiru'aron Horseback. ' By James 1'iiyn 3'> 
 
 33-2. Kitty. By M. Bethwn-KdwanU 35 
 
 333. Only Iler.-elf. By Annie Thomas 3ft 
 
 334. Hhvii. ByJokntoimden 40 
 
 335. Under Foot. I'.y Alton Clyde. Illustrated... 40 
 :;n<;. Bo Rana the World Aw*?. By Mr.-. A. ('. Steele. 35 
 
 337. BatH. d. Hy Julia Goddard. Illustrated 50 
 
 33*. Beneath tin"- Wheels 50 
 
 339. Stern Necessity. By F. W. Robinson 40 
 
 340. Gwendoline's Harvest. By James Payn 25 
 
 341. Kihueny. By William Black 35 
 
 34-'. .lolui: A Love Story. By Mrs. Oliphnnt 25 
 
 343. True to Herself. By F/W. Kobinson M) 
 
 344. Veronica. Hy the Author of "Mabel's Progress" 50 
 
 345. A Dangerous Guest. By Hie Author of "Gil- 
 
 bert Rugge" 30 
 
 346. F.stelle Russell 60 
 
 347. The Hdr Expectant, By the Author of " Ray- 
 
 mond's Heroine" 40 
 
 343. Which is the Heroine ? 40 
 
 349. The Vivian Romance. P.y Mortimer Collins.. 35 
 
 350. In Duty Hound. Illustrated 35 
 
 351. The Warden and Barchester Towers. By A. 
 
 Trollope CO 
 
 353. From Thistles Grapes ? By Mrs. Eiloart. ... 35 
 
 353. A Siren. By T. A. Trollope 40 
 
 354 Sir Harry Hotspur of Humblethwaite. By 
 
 Anthony Trollope. Illustrated 35 
 
 355. Earl's Dene. By R. K. Francillon M) 
 
 35t>. 1 )aisy Nichol. By Lady Hardy 35 
 
 857. Bred in the Bone. By James Payn. Ill's.... 40 
 
 :!.')*. lYnton's Quest. P.y Miss Braddon. Illustrated.. 50 
 
 35'.>. Monarch of Mincing-Lane. By W. Black. Ill's. 50 
 
 3(>'t. A Life's Assize. By Mrs. J. H. Riddell 40 
 
 301. Anteros. By the Author of "Guy Livingstone." 40 
 
 36-2. Her Lord and Master. By Mrs. Ross Church. . 30 
 
 8(53. Won Not Wooed. By James Payn 35 
 
 304. 1 or Lack of Gold. By Charles Gibbon 35 
 
 3(55. Anne Furness 50 
 
 300. A Daughter of Heth. By W. Black. 35 
 
 307. 1 hirnton Abbey. By T. A. Trollope 40 
 
 3CS. Joshua Marvel. By B. L. Farjeon 40 
 
 309. Levels of Arden. By M. ]:. Braddon. Ill's. 50 
 
 370. Fair to See. By L. W. M. Lockhart 40 
 
 87 1. Cecil's Tryst. By James Payn 30 
 
 37'2. Patty. By Katharine S. Macquoid 5<> 
 
 373. Maud Mohan. By Annie Thomas 25 
 
 374. Grif. By B. L. Farjeon 35 
 
 375. A Bridge of Glass. By F. W. Robinson 30 
 
 376. Albert Luuel. By Lord Brougham 50 
 
 377. A Good Investment By Wm. Flagg. Ill's.. 35 
 ::-. A Golden Sorrow. By Mi's. Cashel lloey 4(> 
 
 379. Ombra. By Mrs. Oliphant 50 
 
 380. Hope Deferred. By Eliza F. Pollard 30 
 
 381. The Maid of Sker. By R. D. Blackmore . . 50 
 
 382. For the King. By Charles Gibbon 30 
 
 383. A Girl's Romance, and Other Tales. By F. W. 
 
 Robinson SO 
 
 384. Dr. Wainwright's Patient. By Edmund Yates. 35 
 
 o85. A Passion in Tatters. By Annie Thomas 50 
 
 3?6. A Woman's Vengeance. By James Payn 35 
 
 : J 87. Strange Ad ventures of a Phaeton. By W. Black. 50 
 
 383. Tc the Bitter End. By Miss M. E. Braddon. Ill's. 50 
 
 389. Robin Gray. By Charles Gibbon 35 
 
 390. Godolphin. By Bui we r 35 
 
 391. I^eila. By Bufwer. Illustrated 25 
 
 392. Kenelm Chillingly. By Lord Lytton. Ill's.. 5<i 
 
 393. The Hour and the Man. By Harriet Martineau 50 
 
 394. Murphy's Master. By James Payn 20 
 
 395. The New Magdalen. By Wilkie Collins 30 
 
 390. "'He Cometh Not,' She Said." By Annie 
 
 Thomas 30 
 
 397. Innocent. By Mrs. Oliphant. Illustrated..!.'! 50 
 
 398. Too Soon. By Mrs. Macquoid 30 
 
 399. Strangers and Pilgrims. By Miss Braddon. Ill's. 50 
 
 400. A Simpleton. By Charles Reade 35 
 
 401. The Two Widows. By Annie Thomas 25 
 
 402. Joseph the Jew. By Miss V. W. Johnson 40 
 
 403. Her Face was 1 ler Fo'rtune. By F. W. Robinson. 40 
 
 404. A Princess of Thule. By w'. Black 60 
 
 405. Lottie Darling. By J. C. Jeaffreson. .. 60 
 
 406. The Blue Itibbon. By Eliza Tabor 
 
 407. Harry Heathcote of Gangoil. By A. Trollope. 
 
 Illustrated .. 2 
 
 I'UIOK 
 
 HARPER'S Library of Select Novels- 
 Continued. 
 
 40S. Publicans and Sinners. P.y Mies Braddon... $0 50 
 
 4"H. Colonel Dacre. By tin- Author of "< 'a-le". .. 35 
 
 410. Through Fire and Water. P.y FivderickTulln.t. 
 
 Illustrated 20 
 
 411. Lady Anna. P.y Anthony Trollope :: 
 
 412. Taken at the Flood. By Miss Braddon 6J 
 
 413. At Her Mercy. P.y -lames Payii 80 
 
 411. Ninety-Three. l!y Victor Hug,... Ill's 25 
 
 415. For Love and Life. By Mrs. < Miplmnt 6, 
 
 41(1. Doctor Thorne. By Anthony Trollope 50 
 
 417. The Best of Husbands. By James Payn 25 
 
 41S. Sylvia's Choice. By Gcorgiana M. Craik 3H 
 
 ll'.i. A Sack of Gold. By Miss V. W. Johnson. ... D5 
 
 4-20. Squire Arden. By Mr.-. Oliphant 60 
 
 4-.' 1. Lorna Doone. P.y U. D. I'.lackmore. Ill's... 60 
 
 422. The Treasure Hunters. By Geo. Manville Fenn. 25 
 
 423. Lost for Love. By Miss M. K. Braddon. Ill's. 60 
 
 424. Jack's Sister. By Miss Dora Havers 60 
 
 425. Aileen Ferrers. By Susan Morley 30 
 
 426. The Love that Lived. By Mrs. Eiloart SO 
 
 427. In Honor Bound. By Charles Gibbon 35 
 
 428. Jeseie Trim. By B. L. Farjeon 85 
 
 4 - _".. Hagarene. By George A. Lawrence 85 
 
 430. Old Myddelton's Money. By Mary Cecil Hay. 25 
 
 431. At the Sign of the Silver Flagon. By B. L. Far- 
 
 jeon ' 25 
 
 432. A Strange World. By Miss Brrfffdon 40 
 
 433. Hope Meredith. By Eliza Tabor 35 
 
 434. The Maid of Killeena. By William Black.... 40 
 
 435. The Blossoming of an Aloe. By Mrs. lloey... 30 
 430. Safely Married. By the Author of kt Caste.". . 25 
 
 437. The Story of Valentine and his Brother. By 
 
 .Mrs. Oliphant 60 
 
 438. Our Detachment. By Katharine King 35 
 
 439. Love' a Victory. By B. L. Farjeon 20 
 
 440. Alice Lorraine. By R. D. Blackmore 60 
 
 441. Walter's Word. By James Payn 50 
 
 44-2. Playing the Mischief. By J. W. De Forest. .. 60 
 
 443. The Lady Superior. By Eliza P. Pollard.... 85 
 
 444. Iseulte. By the Author of " Vera,' 1 " H"'tel du 
 
 Petit St. Jean," &c 30 
 
 445. Eglantine. By Eliza Tabor 40 
 
 440. Ward or Wife ? Illustrated 25 
 
 447. Jean. By Mrs. Newman 35 
 
 44S. The Calderwood Secret. By Miss V.W. Johnson 40 
 
 449. Hugh Melton. By Katharine King. Ill's.... 25 
 
 450. Healey. 35 
 
 451. Hostages to Fortune. By Miss Braddon. Ill's. 50 
 
 452. The Queen of Connaught 36 
 
 453. Off the Roll. By Katharine King 50 
 
 454. Halves. By James Payn 30 
 
 455. The Squire's Legacy. By Mary Cecil Hay. . . 25 
 
 456. Victor and Vanquished. By Mary Cecil Hay. 25 
 
 457. Owen Gwynne's Great Work. By Lady Augusta 
 
 Noel 30 
 
 458. His Natural Life. By Marcus Clarke 50 
 
 459. The Curate in Charge. By Mrs. Oliphant .... 20 
 
 460. Pausanias the Spartan. By Lord Lytton 25 
 
 461. Dead Men's Shoes. By Miss M. E. Braddon. . 40 
 402. The Dilemma. By the Author of u The Battle 
 
 of Dorking." W> 
 
 4H3. Hidden Perils. By Mary Cecil Hay. 25 
 
 464. Cripps, the Carrier. By R. D. Blackmore. Ill's. 50 
 
 465. Rose Turquand. By Ellice Hopkins 35 
 
 466. As Long as She Lived. By F. W. Robinson ... 50 
 
 467. Israel Mort, Overman. By John Saunders 50 
 
 468. Phoebe, Junior. By Mrs. Oliphant. 35 
 
 469. A Long Time Ago. By Meta Orred 25 
 
 470. The Laurel Bush. By the Author of "John 
 
 Halifax, Gentleman." Illustrated 25 
 
 471. Miss Nancy's Pilgrimage. By Virginia W. 
 
 Johnson 40 
 
 472. The Arundel Motto. By Mary Cecil Hay ?5 
 
 473. Azalea. By Cecil Clayton 30 
 
 474. Daniel Deronda. By George Eliot 5( 
 
 475. The Sun-Maid. By the Author of "Artiste.".. 35 
 
 476. Nora's Love Test. By Mary Cecil Hay 25 
 
 477. Joshua Haggard's Daughter. By Miss M. K. 
 
 Braddon. Illustrated 50 
 
 478. Madcap Violet. By William Black 50 
 
 479. From Dreams to Waking. By E. Lynn Linton. 
 
 4SO. The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. By B. L. Farjeon 35 
 
 481. Anne Warwick. By Georgiana M. Craik 25 
 
 482. Weavers and Weft. By Miss Braddon 25 
 
 483. The Golden Butterfly. By the Authors of 
 
 " When the Ship Comes Home," &c 40 
 
 484 Juliet's Guardian. By Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron. 
 
 Illustrated 40 
 
 4S5. Mar's White Witch. By G. Douglas 50 
 
Harper's Library of Select Novels. 
 
 
 HARPER'S Library of Select Novels- 
 Continued. 
 
 4S6. 1 leaps of Money. By W. E. Non i< $0 25 
 
 4->7. The American Senator. By Anthony Trollope. 50 
 
 -.Arthur. By Mr*. Oliphant 40 
 
 4S.. Winstowe. By Mrs. Leith-Adains 25 
 
 490. Mai j,, i -i.? linic ."'a Lovers. By Mary Patrick. .. 25 
 
 491. Romola. by George Eliot Illustrated 50 
 
 It*. By Mn. Oliphant Illustrated 50 
 
 4::;. Middlemarch. By George Eliot 75 
 
 4'.'4. F.>r Her Sake. $7 F. W. KoUnaon. Ill's.... 60 
 
 495. Second-Cousin Sarah. ByF.W. Uobinson. Ill's.. 50 
 
 4%. Little Kate Kirby. By F. W. Robinson. Ill's. 50 
 
 497. Luttrell of Arran. By Charles Lever CO 
 
 4'.. I..,rd Kilgobbin. By Charles Lever, Ill's.... 50 
 
 :y Butler. By Charles Lever CO 
 
 500. Breaking a Butterfly. 13y George A. Lawrence. 
 
 Illustrated 35 
 
 501. Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy. By Charles Dickens. . 10 
 
 502. The Mystery of Edwin Drood. By Charles 
 
 Dickers. Illustrated 25 
 
 503. The Parisians. By Bulwer. Illustrated CO 
 
 .Edge. \VithanIllustration 20 
 
 506. The Bate of the Monk. 67 Garibaldi 30 
 
 M >'.. I n.-ide. By W. M. Baker. Illustrated 75 
 
 507. Carter Qiiarterman. By W. M. Baker. Ill's.. GO 
 
 Mis. Three Feathers. By Wm. Black. Ill's 50 
 
 501). Bound to John Company. By Miss Braddon. 
 
 Illustrated 50 
 
 510. Birds of J'n-y. By Mi.-a Braddon. Illustrated, 50 
 
 Ml. The Prey of the Gods. By Mrs. Ross Church. 30 
 
 512. The Woman in White. By Wilkie Collins. Ill's. 60 
 
 513. The Two Destinies. By Wilkie Collins. Ill's. 35 
 
 514. The Law and the Lady. By Wilkie Collins. Ill's. 50 
 
 515. Poor Miss Finch. By Wilkie Collins. I11V... CO 
 Mr,, x,, Name. By Wilkie Collins. Illustrated... CO 
 
 M7. The Moonstone. By Wilkie Collins. Ill's CO 
 
 Ms. Man and Wife. By Wilkie Collins Ill's CO 
 
 .'.!'.. Armadale. By Wilkie Collins. Illustrated... CO 
 
 r>-'n. My Daughter Elinor. By Frank Lee Benedict. 80 
 
 r>Jl. .J..hn Worthington's Name. By F. Lee Benedict 75 
 
 r.j-j. Miss Dorothy's Charge. By F. Lee Benedict. . 75 
 
 r>-':;. Miss Van Kortland. By Frank I^e Benedict.. GO 
 
 5.' 4. St. Simon's Niece. By Frank Lee Benedict... CO 
 
 r.-.T,. Mr. VanghanV Hi-ir. By Frank Lee Benedict. 75 
 
 5-26. Captain Brand. By 11. A. Wise. Illustrated. 75 
 
 tier or Later. By Shirley Brooks. HIV. . . 80 
 .VJx 'Die Gordian Knot By Shirley Brooks. With 
 
 an Illustration 50 
 
 520. The Silver Cord. By Shirley Brooks. Ill's... 75 
 
 . r .::o. ( ord and (Jr-s. By James De Mille. Ill's. . . GO 
 
 631. The Living Link. By James De Mille. Ill's.. CO 
 
 .'::_'. The American Baron. By James De Mille. Ill's. 50 
 
 r>:::;. The cryptogram. By James De MUto Ill'c... 75 
 
 .V.4. The King of No-Land. By B. I~ Faijeon. Ill's. 25 
 
 .',:;:.. An I, Ian. I Pearl. By B. I, Farjeon. Ill's Mo 
 
 r.:n'i. P.lade-o' -Grass. By B. I* Farjeon. Illustrated. 80 
 T>37. Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses. By B. L. Far- 
 
 ji-oii. Illustrated 35 
 
 len Grain. By B. ! Farjeon. Illustrated. .-55 
 
 Inn's Heart. By B. L. Farjeon. Illustrated. CO 
 
 M". Shadows on the Snow. By B. I-. Farjeon. Ill's. 30 
 
 Ml. N. ' I'.y John Cordy JeaiTVeson CO 
 
 54-J. The Island Neighbors. By Mrs. A. B. Black- 
 
 well. Illustrated CO 
 
 M.".. The Woman's Kinu'dmn. By Mi-s Midock. Ill's. CO 
 
 Ml. Hannah. By Mis- Mul^k." With Three Ill's. . 35 
 
 M:. A P.mve Lady. Bv M i- Mnlork. Illustrated. Co 
 
 Mother and L By Mi- Mul.K-k. Illnstn.ted. 40 
 
 M7. Uhrooietof Of Carllngfnrd. By Mrs. (iliphant CO 
 
 M Soil. I'.y Mrs. Ol'iplnmt 50 
 
 M'.t. The Perpetual Curate. Ily Mrs. Oliphant 50 
 
 r,r,0. did K-ii-in-_'t..n. arkcray. Ill's.. CO 
 
 .V.I. Mi-j An-.'l. P.v Mi-" Thacker.-iv. Illustrated. f>o 
 
 |laneouWritlng. Ill's. 90 
 
 5.'a Vanity Fair. P.v W. M. Thackeray. Illu-tratc.l. so 
 .V>4. The liistorv of "ivudt-ntii-. By \V. M. Thiick- 
 
 1 75 
 
 DBS. ThVlrgtnlaiM By \V. M. Thark.-niy. Ill's.. !0 
 
 By W. M. Thackeray. Ill's.. 90 
 
 PEICS 
 
 HARPER'S Library of Select Novels- 
 Continued. 
 
 557. The Adventure.-! of Philip. By W. M. Thack- 
 eray. Illustrated $0 CO 
 
 55S. Henry Esmond, and Lovel the Widower. By 
 
 W. M. Thackeray. Illustrated CO 
 
 559. Put Yourself in His Place. By Charles Reade. 
 
 Illustrated 
 
 560. A Terrible Temptation. By Charles Keade. Ill's 
 5C1. The Cloister and the Hearth. By Charles Reade. 
 .%->. The Wandering Heir. By Charles Heade. Ill's. 
 563. Hard Cash. By Charles Reade. Illustrated.. 
 .V.4. Griffith Gaunt. By Charles Reade. Ill's 
 
 565. It is Never Too Late to Mend. By Charles Reade. 
 
 566. Love We Little, Love Me Long. By Charles 
 
 Reade. With an Illustration 35 
 
 567. Foul Play. By Charles Reade 35 
 
 f>C>S. White Lies. By Charles Reade 40 
 
 569. Peg Woffiugtou, Christie Johnstone, and Other 
 
 Stones. By Charles Reade 50 
 
 570. A Woman-Hater. By Charles Reade. With 
 
 Two Illustrations CO 
 
 571. Orley Farm. By Anthony Trollope. Ill's.... 80 
 57'2. The Vicar of Bullhampton. By Anthony Trol- 
 lope. Illustrated 80 
 
 573. The Way We Live Now. By Anthony Trol- 
 lope. Illustrated 90 
 
 f>74. Phineas Finn. By Anthony Trollope. Ill's.. 75 
 
 575. Phineas Redux. By Anthony Trollope. Ill's.. 75 
 
 576. Ralph the Heir. By Anthony Trollope. Ill's. 75 
 
 577. The Eustace Diamonds. By Anthony Trollope. 80 
 
 578. The Last Chronicle of Barset By Anthony 
 
 Trollope. Illustrated 90 
 
 579. The Golden Lion of Granpere. By Anthony 
 
 Trollope. Illustrated ; 40 
 
 5SO. The Prime Minister. By Anthony Trollope . . 60 
 581. Can You Forgive Her? By Anthony Trol 
 
 lope. Illustrated 
 
 5S2. He Knew He Was Right. By Anthony Trol 
 
 lope. Illustrated SO 
 
 583. The Small House at Allington. By Anthony 
 
 Trollope. Illustrated 
 
 584. The Sacristan's Household. By Mrs. F. E. Trol- 
 
 lope. Illustrated 
 
 5^5. Lindisfarn Chase. By T. A. Trollope 
 
 5^6. Hidden Sin. Illustrated 
 
 5S7. My Enemy's Daughter. By Justin McCarthy. 
 Illustrated 
 
 5SS. My 1 1 usband's Crime. By M. R. Housekeeper. 
 Illustrated 
 
 5S9. Stretton. By Henry Kiugxley 35 
 
 5'.M). Ship Ahoy ! By G. M. Fenn. Illustrated 35 
 
 591. Debenham's Vow. By Amelia B. Edwards. Ill'd. 50 
 
 -V.'-J. Wives and Daughters. By Mrs. Gaskell. Il- 
 lustrated CO 
 
 593. Recollections of Eton. Illustrated 
 
 T>'.)4. Under the Ban. By M. 1'Al.lw * * 
 
 595. The Rape of the Gamp. By C. W. Mason. Il- 
 
 lustrated 
 
 596. Erema; or, My Father's Sin. By R. 1). Black- 
 
 more 
 
 97. What He Cost Her. By James Pnyn 40 
 
 .V.N. Giv.-n Pastures and Piccadilly. By Win. Black 50 
 
 599. A Young Wife's story. By llarriette Bowra.. 25 
 
 coo. A Jewel of a Girl. By "the Author of " Queenie." .35 
 
 Col. An Open Verdict, By Miss M. E. Braddon... 35 
 
 CO-_'. A Modern Minister. Vol.1. Illustrated 35 
 
 603. A Modern Minister. Vol. II. Illustrated 40 
 
 Cii-l. Young Mnsirrave. By Mrs. Oliphant 40 
 
 605. Two Tales of Married Life. By Georgiana M. 
 
 rraik and M. ('.Stirling 30 
 
 . The I-ast of the Haddons. By Mrs. Newman. 25 
 
 tin;. The Wreck of the "Grosvcnor" 30 
 
 N6L P.v Proxy. By James 1'ayn 35 
 
 elia'-s Arbor. P.v Itesant and Kire f>0 
 
 610. Deceivi rs I'.ver. By Mr-. <':mier<>n 30 
 
 HI I, -P.lMck than We're Paint. .!. p.y James Pnyn. 35 
 
 61'.'. Mine is Thine. By L. W. M. Lockhart 40 
 
 t',13. The Primrose Path. By Mr-. Oliphant 50 
 
 614. Madeod of Dare. By Wm. Black. Ill'd 60 
 
 80 
 
 
THE VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS 
 
 Noucl 
 
 BY JOHN ESTEN COOKE 
 
 AUTHOR 9F L 
 
 "STORIES OF THE OLD DOMINION" "MR. GRANTLEY'S IDEA" "HENRY 
 ST. JOHN, GENTLEMAN" "PROFESSOR. PRESSENSEE" 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 
 
 1880 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 

 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. p 
 
 IN BOHEMIA 
 
 v;r. 
 
 9 
 10 
 10 
 11 
 13 
 15 
 16 
 17 
 19 
 23 
 
 27 
 30 
 33 
 38 
 
 39 
 
 42 
 
 48 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 52 
 56 
 59 
 62 
 64 
 67 
 70 
 72 
 76 
 81 
 86 
 
 89 
 91 
 95 
 
 98 
 101 
 103 
 
 107 
 
 II. 
 A LOITERER 
 
 XIX. 
 T.HE REVEREND MR GRVNTH\M 
 
 III. 
 
 XX. 
 
 MR GRANTHAM'S GUESTS 
 
 IV. 
 DADDY W T ELLES EN FAMILLE 
 
 XXI. 
 
 BRANTZ ELLIOT 
 
 V. 
 
 A STARTLING INCIDENT 
 
 XXII. 
 DADDY WELLES SURPRISED 
 
 VI. 
 
 PIEDMONT WAKES UP 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 VII. 
 A TRIFLE LEADING TO A GRE\T DEAL 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 SOME NEW RESIDENTS OF BOHEMIA 
 
 IX. 
 MR. DOUGLAS LASCELLES .. . 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 X. 
 
 THE LADY-BIRD'S NEST , 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 THE TRAMPS 
 
 XI. 
 THE UNRIVALLED COMBINATION AND ITS 
 MANAGER 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 THE HOME OF THE HOMELESS 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 XII. 
 
 SOME CHILDREN OF THE RING 
 
 XIII. 
 MOUSE 
 
 .XXX. 
 
 DADDY \VELLES RECONNOITRES 
 
 XIV. 
 AN ACCIDENT 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 XV. 
 THE DRESSING-ROOM 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 MR. LASCELLES MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINT- 
 
 XVI. 
 
 OF THE HEAVY BLOW INFLICTED ON THE 
 UNRIVALLED COMBINATION AND ITS MAN- 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 MR. LASCELLES KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 AT TRIANON 
 
 XVII. 
 
 GENERAL LASCELLES. .. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Miss BASSICK... 
 
XXXVI. TAGE 
 
 A STRUGGLE 110 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 THE BOHEMIANS.. .. .. 112 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 FLOTSAM . 
 
 11G 
 
 XXXIX. 
 SHINGLES 118 
 
 XL. 
 A SLIGHT SILHOUETTE OF Miss GEUNDY. 120 
 
 XLI. 
 Miss BASSICK'S PRIVATE POST 123 
 
 XLII. 
 NAILS 12G 
 
 XLIII. 
 THE DANGER OF DELIRIUM... ,. 128 
 
 XLIV. 
 THE CLOD AND THE STAR. 
 
 130 
 
 XLV. 
 A FEMALE MANCEUVRER ....................... 132 
 
 XLVL 
 
 GENTLEMAN Jos AND HIS GHOSTS ........... 135 
 
 XLVIL 
 MR. RUGGLES REAPPEARS AT CROW'S NEST 138 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Mi:. RUGGLES FINDS HIS SITUATION RATH- 
 
 i.i: IM I.l.V.SANT ............................... 130 
 
 XLIX. 
 Is TIII, BOHMI;KWAI.I> ........................... 142 
 
 L. 
 MOUSE'S VISITOR ................................. 145 
 
 LI. 
 L Ix Tin; WYI; WOODS ............................ 148 
 
 LIT, 
 
 THE TRAVI.I.UN<.-I;\<; .......................... i:,o 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Is THE LlKKAKY 
 
 LIV. 
 
 TIM: MOI:MN<; l'\n i: 
 
 1 :,',} 
 
 LV. 
 
 MKS. AUMSTI:' iir.u NAII.S ....... 15'.) 
 
 LVI 
 
 AN i I i:\ II \v ................. 1G1 
 
 LVII. 
 JUI.IKT... ............. 104 
 
 LYIII. 
 A Ti:i:uinLE ISCIM.N i .... 
 
 168 
 
 LIX. 
 THE FOE OF RITUALISM 172 
 
 LX. 
 THE BURGLAR 175 
 
 LXI. 
 DOVES 180 
 
 LXII. 
 THE BANK-NOTES 183 
 
 LXIII. 
 IN THE TRIANON WOODS... 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 THE OLD CHAPEL. 
 
 188 
 192 
 
 LXV. 
 
 JULIET'S SECRET 195 
 
 LXVI. 
 MRS. ARMSTRONG'S GREAT BLOW 198 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 GENTLEMAN JOE TELLS NELLY THE WIND'S 
 STORY 
 
 LXVIII. 
 A MEETING OF MOONSHINERS 205 
 
 LXIX. 
 A FORTUNATE VICTIM OF MISFORTUNE.... 209 
 
 LXX. 
 
 MR. LASCELLES REFLECTS DEEPLY AND 
 WRITES A NOTE... 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 A HAPPY FAMILY. 
 
 21; 
 
 LXXI I. 
 A MAN OF THE BOHMERWALD 214 
 
 LXXIII. 
 UNDER THE ICE 21G 
 
 LXXIV. 
 MOUSE CHOOSES 
 
 LXXV. 
 THE DEAD AND LIVING 22] 
 
 LXX VI. 
 BLUE COATS IN BOHEMIA 224 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 THE LAST GREETING 22( 
 
 I. XX VIII. 
 
 THE ADVANCK INTO Tin: GORGE.... 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 FvUI.WKLL TO BOHl MI V... 
 
 LXXX. 
 THE BARRICADE 230 
 
 I, XXXI. 
 THE SONG OF AN ORIOLE.... .. 231 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 IN BOHEMIA. 
 
 BOHEMIA was in all its glory : not the 
 Bohemia of the Austro-Hungarian mon- 
 archy, but the valley of that name under 
 the shadow of the Blue Ridge in Vir- 
 ginia. 
 
 It nestled, this Virginia Bohemia, down 
 between two ranges the main great crest 
 of the real " Blue Ridge Mountains " roll- 
 ing off to the blue distance in long surges 
 tipped with the foam of the snow in 
 winter; the fleecy charm of the white 
 clouds when the summer sun was shin- 
 ing ; and a much lower range, a chain 
 of wooded hills, which hemmed it in on 
 the west. Clasped by the two, Bohemia 
 slept like a bird's-nest cradled in a rift of 
 foliage. 
 
 Northward the valley had its embou- 
 chure, and the view sweeping far beyond 
 Front Royal, where the branches of the 
 Shenandoah melt together, lost itself on 
 the infinite horizon of the Maryland 
 mountains. Southward, Bohemia stole 
 away into a wooded gorge shadowy, si- 
 lent, full of mysterious gloom. It was 
 the Virginia Hartz, this gorge and moun- 
 tain for above it was the " Hogback " 
 peak, a bristling crest whose name de- 
 scribes it, where the country people said 
 that witches gathered in the midnights, 
 bent on unknown ceremonies. Standing 
 in the mouth of this fantastic gorge, Bo- 
 hemia is mysterious, almost sinister. The 
 sun scarcely enters. Yonder is the bat- 
 
 tlement he rises over late, and the oth- 
 er battlement he sets beyond, soon. A 
 glimpse, and then night descends. 
 
 But if you turn your back upon the 
 gorge and enter the valley, travelling 
 northward, all is changed. Bohemia 
 smiles and holds out caressing arms in 
 the summer days and the moonlight 
 nights ; in the summer days, when the 
 little stream of Falling Water running 
 yonder laughs under its sycamores with 
 the mottled arms; in the moonlight 
 nights, when the dreamy splendor sleeps 
 on the tulip-trees and the winds whisper. 
 The hills sloping to the Shenandoah as- 
 sume feminine outlines: the wheat rolls 
 its long amber waves in the wind ; and 
 the frou-frou of the corn mingles with 
 the silence. Then you follow this path 
 through the long grass of the meadow, 
 and down the stream to the wooden bridge 
 where the stage-road crosses the stage- 
 road coming from the west across the 
 hills, and winding up the mountain yon- 
 der, like a yellow ribbon with an emerald 
 border, through the Gap, beyond which, 
 on the eastern slope, lies the village of 
 Piedmont. 
 
 The scene is wild, but that only makes 
 it lovelier. Few houses are in view 
 those you see perched on the heights, or 
 in the little gorges, are the lodges of hunt- 
 ers. Bohemia has nothing whatever to 
 do with the stupid outer world. It is 
 not a part of that real world at all. It is 
 Dream-land, and the Dream-land is await- 
 ing something or somebody. 
 
10 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 II. 
 
 A LOITERER. 
 
 THE stage old-fashioned and deep- 
 laden, which ran, or walked, between the 
 railway station and Piedmont was go- 
 ing eastward one September afternoon, 
 and stopped on the western range of hills 
 to rest its horses. As the horses had just 
 d it through the Shenandoah and 
 then up the steep road, they were entitled 
 to that. 
 
 A young fellow with brown eyes, in a 
 brown travelling suit, and carrying in his 
 hand a breech-loading carbine and jointed 
 fishing-rod strapped together, got down 
 from the stage. After looking down into 
 the valley, he said, 
 
 " I think I'll stop here, driver." 
 
 The driver, who was stooping to ex- 
 amine his linchpins, raised a head and 
 neck encased in an ancient felt and volu- 
 minous bandanna, and responded in a 
 friendly way, 
 
 "You say you'll stop, sir?" 
 
 " Yes ; I'll tell you good-bye here." 
 
 " I thought you were booked for Pied- 
 mont " 
 
 "So I was; but I am a sort of bird 
 that lights on the first tree. I am a hunt- 
 er by trade. I'll take lodging at some 
 house in the mountain here, and stay a 
 few days. I might get a shot at a buck." 
 
 The driver nodded, and the traveller 
 said, 
 
 "You can leave my valise at Pied- 
 mont, and I'll send for it. If no one will 
 DM, I'll call for it on my way back 
 A- York." 
 
 "All ri-ht, sir." 
 
 "I a house yonder on the- side of 
 the mountain; that would suit me. Can 
 you tell me who lives there?" 
 
 Daddy Welles is his name." 
 
 " 1- he a hunter, and the soil of man 
 I would be apt to like P 
 
 For some reason best known to him- 
 self, the driver of the stai;v uttered a 
 short laugh. The traveller, who had a 
 pair of bright, rovin_ in a ruddy 
 
 face, looked at him with euriity. 
 
 " You don't answer me," he said. 
 
 " Oh, the Daddy's a great hunter," the 
 driver said, with the same laugh. 
 
 " And you think I'd like him ?" 
 
 The driver again nodded. 
 
 " Oh yes, you'd be certain to like the 
 Daddy," he said. " He's one of the best- 
 natured men you ever met, and if people 
 tell queer stories about him, that's nei- 
 ther here nor there. It's none of my 
 business." 
 
 " Queer stories ? What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Well, I don't mean anything in par- 
 ticular; and p'rhaps I've said too much. 
 Oh yes! you'll like the Daddy. Here 
 you are, gentlemen, will you get in ?" he 
 added to the passengers, who re-entered 
 the stage. 
 
 "You think you'll stop at Daddy 
 Welles's, sir, do you ?" said the driver to 
 the young traveller." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, don't let him know I said peo- 
 ple told queer stories about him. It might 
 me bad luck." 
 
 "I won't." 
 
 III. 
 
 A MOUNTAINEER. 
 
 
 THE stage went on its way, and the 
 traveller, with fishing-rod and carbine 
 swung over his shoulder, followed it down 
 toward the bridge. 
 
 His appearance was that of a city man 
 his walk was very different. He had 
 the long, swinging gait of the mountain- 
 eer or pedestrian in rough countries. At 
 the foot of the hill he came on the bridge, 
 and stood still for some minutes looking 
 at the landscape. A light wind stirred 
 the magical colors of the foliage on the 
 of the mountain ; a translucent 
 mi>t descended slowly: from a field of 
 corn beneath came up a low, faint rustle, 
 like the rustle of a woman's dn- 
 \\as nearly sunset, and lon^ shadows ran 
 I 1 ... hernia, or lay motionless, rather, 
 in the grass and on the leaves. They 
 whispered like the corn, and then were 
 silent au'ain. Not a breath stirred, 
 hernia had re-entered into Dream-land. 
 
 r 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 11 
 
 The young man nodded to the valley 
 it was his salute and said, " You will 
 do." He then shifted his rod and car- 
 bine to the other shoulder, and, striking 
 into a path obliquing to the right from 
 the bridge, entered the valley beyond, 
 followed the path through a meadow, 
 and, crossing a brush fence, found him- 
 self upon a country road winding south- 
 ward in the direction of the gorge. 
 About a hundred yards farther another 
 path went up the slope. Into this the 
 traveller turned. As the ascent was grad- 
 ual, it did not tire him in the least, and in 
 a quarter of an hour he reached a plateau, 
 on which stood a small mountain house. 
 
 The house was within fifty yards of 
 him, when a pack of deer-hounds rushed 
 out, baying furiously. The traveller ad- 
 vanced to meet them, and patted them 
 on the head, whereat they changed their 
 minds, and leaped up to be caressed. He 
 then looked at the house. It was of wood, 
 with a veranda in front, whose roof was 
 an extension of that of the building. 
 The yard was enclosed with split palings, 
 and a small gate with a horse-block in 
 front gave access to it. In rear of all 
 was a stable, and a building probably 
 used as a kitchen. 
 
 This was plain and home -like. It 
 seemed to please the new-comer. He 
 went into the enclosure, and walked up 
 to the house. As he reached the small 
 porch, the host, a man of tall stature, 
 with long gray hair falling on his shoul- 
 ders, and clad from head to foot in home- 
 spun, made his appearance. 
 
 The traveller seemed to have travelled : 
 he was off-hand. 
 
 " Are you Daddy Welles ?" he said. 
 
 " The same, friend." 
 
 The voice uttering these words was 
 cordial, and a guileless smile went with 
 them ; but the visitor inwardly decided 
 that he never had yet seen a more pierc- 
 ing pair of eyes. 
 
 " My name is Brantz Elliot, and I am 
 on my way to New York," said the vis- 
 itor. "I saw your house from the hill 
 yonder, and liked its looks. People tell 
 me there is a great deal of game here ; I 
 
 thought I'd try to get a shot at it before 
 I went back." 
 
 The voice communicating these, partic- 
 ulars was frank and straightforward. It 
 evidently made a favorable impression, 
 but the master of the mansion as evident- 
 ly hesitated. 
 
 " I've all the money I want, and of 
 course I expect to pay," said the traveller. 
 
 Still the old mountaineer seemed du- 
 bious, though it was plain that the allu- 
 sion to a money payment had strength- 
 ened his good opinion of his visitor. 
 
 " Well, well, friend, we'll have time to 
 talk about things to-morrow," he said. 
 " You'll stay to-night plenty o' room." 
 
 He went in, followed by his guest, to a 
 small, low-pitched apartment on the right 
 of the entrance. Here everything was 
 very plain, but very neat. On the nar- 
 row mantel-piece stood a wooden clock, 
 and there were some cheap prints on the 
 whitewashed walls. The furniture was 
 simple enough; a few stiff "split -bot- 
 tomed " chairs stood against the wall, 
 and two others, with rockers, at the cor- 
 ners of the fireplace. In the middle of 
 the room was a round table of stained 
 pine, holding a family Bible, a copy of 
 the "Pilgrim's Progress," "Short Ser- 
 mons to Believers," and a temperance 
 work in handsome binding, entitled " Fly 
 the Bowl." 
 
 " Sit down, friend," Daddy Welles said, 
 drawing forward one of the rocking- 
 chairs. " You must be hungry, but my 
 old 'oman's busy at supper, and here she 
 is to say it's ready, I ruther think." 
 
 This was followed by the appearance 
 of the old woman, a motherly dame in a 
 snuff-colored gown and a frilled cap, who 
 came in, smiled in a friendly way, and 
 welcomed the visitor. 
 
 " Supper's ready, Daddy," she said. 
 
 IV. 
 
 DADDY WELLES EN FAMILLE. 
 
 DADDY WELLES led the way across a 
 narrow passage, decorated with a pair of 
 deer's antlers supporting a rifle, a hand- 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 net, and some fishing-rods, into the room 
 opposite, where a table was spread with 
 an excellent supper. All about this room 
 was plain, like the former, and the table- 
 service was as unassuming. The plates 
 and cups were of cheap white china, and 
 the knives and two -pronged steel forks 
 had buck-horn handles. The table was 
 of pine, and the chairs had split bottoms ; 
 but then there was smoking venison, and 
 wheat and corn bread, and good coffee 
 with rich cream, and the chairs looked 
 extremely comfortable. 
 
 Mr. llrantz Elliot, traveller, evidently 
 took this view of things and congratu- 
 lated himself. He was probably accus- 
 tomed, if an opinion could be formed 
 from his dress and general appearance, to 
 much more imposing menages, but possi- 
 bly liked this better. 
 
 As they were sitting down, a girl came 
 in and made a shy courtesy to the stran- 
 ger. She was very poorly clad, but very 
 pretty. Her dress was a checked linsey, 
 confined at the waist by a black patent- 
 leather belt with an imitation silver 
 buckle, worth only a few cents, and her 
 shoes and stockings were of the com- 
 monest material. In spite of these draw- 
 the rustic beauty of the girl im- 
 pressed the vi>itor. She had a fine suit 
 of dark hair which fell upon her shoul- 
 i'chind, and very largo eyes, which 
 were half hidden by long eyelashes. 
 bynen made her awkward; but 
 the young man said to himself that some 
 <f thi-i- day- this mountain maid was 
 probablv be a beauty. 
 
 !! had not much lime to look at her 
 at the moment. There is something 
 even more attractive, than a pretty face 
 to a heart v Yonn<_r fellow, who has bn-ak- 
 fa-trd early and had no dinner: this is 
 a good Mip|H-r. Mr. II rant/. Elliot, there- 
 fore, concentrated his attention on the 
 vrnisnn ami eolL-e, and subsequently re- 
 tired with I>add\ Welles t> the room op- 
 po-itr, to which a lamp had hern taken, 
 as it was ni^lit now, in a state of perfect 
 physical and mental satisfaction. !! 
 idently pleased with his ipiarters, 
 and, drawin-jf a ci^ar-ease from his pock- 
 
 et, asked if any one minded his smok- 
 ing. 
 
 " Oh no," said Daddy Welles, with tl 
 guileless smile which seemed to be tl 
 habitual expression of his features ; 
 mostly smoke myself after supper, friend. 
 I s'pose you don't keer about this sort of 
 thing?"' 
 
 He went to a corner and produced a 
 box containing smoking-tobacco, and red- 
 clay pipes with long stems of reed root. 
 
 " You are mistaken," said Brantz El- 
 liot, promptly depositing his cigar-case 
 on the table and filling one of the pipes. 
 " I like a pipe a great deal better than a 
 cigar. Cigars arc rather sloppy." 
 
 He then sat down, and they began 
 smoke, falling into easy conversation. 
 
 " I think I've come to the right place,' 
 said Elliot. "This looks like a g( 
 neighborhood for game they told 
 I'd find a plenty around Piedmont." 
 
 "Well, Bohemia beats the Piedmont 
 neighborhood for that a long way, 
 friend," Daddy Welles said, smoking 
 tranquilly. "You see, around Pied- 
 mont's thickly settled. Bohemia's wild- 
 er, as stands to reason, being mostb 
 mounting." 
 
 The word "Bohemia" thus used twi< 
 by his host plainly excited the curiositj 
 of his guest. 
 
 " What do you mean by Bohemia 
 he asked. 
 
 " Well, I mean here in the mounting,' 
 said Daddy Welles. "People call the 
 deestrict here Bohemia, as they call an- 
 other deestrict in these parts Arabia* 
 I don't know why it is, but hereabouts 
 was called Bohemia as far back as when 
 I was a boy." 
 
 " Well, that's odd enough," said El- 
 liot. " It's not a bad name, and I rather 
 think I'm something of a Bohemian my- 
 self. I like to rove around better than 
 living in cities. The houses are bigger 
 and finer in town, but I don't care mucl 
 f>r that. Every man follows his owi 
 taste, you know." 
 
 * "Arabia" is the name given to one of tl 
 neighborhoods, or precincts, in Clarke county. 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 13 
 
 " Jest so, friend, that's reasonable," said 
 the host, much pleased with his guest. 
 
 "I've been to the Springs," Elliot ex- 
 plained further; "but there's too much 
 of town even there it's pretty much all 
 dress and show. I'd rather g<> deer-stalk- 
 ing I have done a good deal of it in 
 Scotland ; so I thought I'd stop here for 
 two or three days, or a week, and try my 
 luck. My valise has gone on to Piedmont, 
 but that's no great matter. What puzzles 
 me is to know where you are going to 
 put me." 
 
 "Never you mind about that," Daddy 
 Welles said. " There'll be no trouble, and 
 if we can accommodate you, I'll go for 
 your baggage to-morrow. I'm going 
 over to Piedmont, any way, as my darter 
 Nelly that's her you saw at supper 
 says she wants to see the circus." 
 
 "Is there to be a circus at Piedmont?" 
 
 " They say it's to be there to-morrow." 
 
 " \Yell, if there's anything I like, it's a 
 circus!" Elliot said, with animation. "It's 
 ahead of the opera, in my opinion. I 
 reckon, as you say in Virginia, there'll be 
 no trouble about taking me as a lodger 
 for a few days, and we can all go for the 
 valise, and then to the circus." 
 
 The manly delight of the circus-lover 
 evidently pleased Daddy Welles. 
 
 " To be sure," he said. " I've got a 
 spring-wagon that'll take us all I mean 
 you and me and Nelly ; the old 'oman 
 mostly stays at home." 
 
 " The wagon 's the thing, Daddy 
 Welles," said Mr. Brantz Elliot, with great 
 satisfaction ; and as he yawned soon af- 
 terward, his host rose and said he reckon- 
 ed he was sleepy. Elliot replied that he 
 was a little tired, and so he was conduct- 
 ed up-stairs to his bedroom. 
 
 The chamber into which Daddy Welles 
 led the way, lamp in hand, was a small 
 room, with a dormer-window in front and 
 another in rear. A single glance showed 
 Elliot that the chamber belonged to a 
 woman or a girl probably to Nelly 
 Welles. There was a small white bed 
 with one pillow, an old toilet-table with a 
 cracked looking-glass, and on the mantel- 
 piece stood two cheap jars with colored 
 
 pictures pasted upon them, and holding 
 some autumn flowers. There were more 
 (lowers at one window creepers in a 
 rude box. Cheap white curtains hung in 
 front of the windows, and on a small ta- 
 ble in the middle of the room were a few 
 tattered old books, and a girl's work-la- 
 ke!, which had probably been overlooked. 
 It was not the sleeping - room of a man, 
 evidently, but a sort of bird's -nest, and 
 the bird was evidently a female. 
 
 "This is your daughter Nelly's room, 
 Daddy Welles," Elliot said, stopping at 
 the threshold, " and you are turning her 
 out on my account. That won't do ! I 
 can sleep anywhere." 
 
 " Never you mind about that, friend," 
 returned his host. " Yes, this is Nelly's 
 room, but there's her bed in our room 
 where she slept when she was little 
 though she's not so big yit." 
 
 Elliot shook his head doubtfully, and 
 said, 
 
 " I really can't think of that. She'd 
 have no opinion of me if I deprived her 
 of her room." 
 
 " Who Nelly ? Bless you, you don't 
 know Nelly. She never thinks about 
 herself. You couldn't please her better." 
 
 " Are you certain she won't mind ?" 
 
 " To be sure she won't." 
 
 " Well, it will be for only a few days 
 at most. Everything's so neat and nice 
 here that I begin to think more than ever 
 that I had a streak of luck when I turn- 
 ed into the path to your house, Daddy 
 AVelles." 
 
 The off-hand and friendly manner of 
 the speaker evidently had its effect on 
 the Daddy. He bade his guest good- 
 night, and on rejoining his family deliv- 
 ered a mild eulogium upon him. 
 
 V. 
 
 A STARTLING INCIDENT. 
 
 BRANTZ ELLIOT retired promptly, 
 stretching himself luxuriously in his 
 small bed, which was only a straw mat- 
 tress but then the sheets were as white 
 as snow, and fragrant from the rose-leaves 
 
14 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 in which, after the country fashion, they 
 had been packed. 
 
 This attention was due, of course, to 
 the old woman or to Nelly ; and that made 
 him think of the girl whose bed he had 
 invaded so unceremoniously sending her 
 away t<> sleep where she slept " when she 
 was little." She was a very handsome 
 child, indeed, he informed himself for 
 she was no more than a child. He never 
 had seen finer eyes, though she was so 
 shy that he had scarcely been able to ob- 
 tain a good look at them ; and her feat- 
 vvere delicate and lady -like, by no 
 
 
 means such as he would have expected 
 in a rustic maiden of the plainer class. 
 Altogether, she \vas an agreeable feature 
 of the mountain establishment, and adorn- 
 ed her somewhat rude surroundings like 
 the flowers on the mantel-piece and in the 
 window. 
 
 " I hope she won't feel any malice 
 against me for turning her out of her 
 room," he muttered, smiling a little and 
 yawning. " I would rather be friends 
 with everybody and decidedly I like 
 Daddy Welles and his old 'oman ; and I 
 to shoot a buck and express it to 
 the Huh, and when I go back they'll pass 
 rcsoluti"iis and give me a reception !" 
 
 A delighted extension of the limbs, fol- 
 by another yawn, succeeded these 
 words. It then became plain, as Mr. 
 Brantz Elliot's . in to close, that 
 
 he \\a< thinking in a vague sort of way 
 of tli- I tin- evening. 
 
 "Bohemia!" lie muttered; "that's a 
 queer name! And thru the queer stories 
 about I>addy AVi-11. '-ems to be 
 
 a plain enough old fellow, with nothing 
 mysterious about him. U In- a brigand 
 of the mountains? Jle don't look like 
 it, and his old 'oinati is not in the 1,-a-t 
 my id.-a of a 'brigand's bride.' And 
 
 then \elly : she's an 
 of a maiden ; can't read or write, I sup- 
 pose y-s she can, there arc the old 
 book- mi the table; but her eyes shy, 
 but there is nothing at all sly about her 
 i/nccr atnrirs? The driver said 
 4 <jueer stories ' I wonder " 
 Mr. Brantz Elliot was fast asleep. 
 
 . 
 
 s 
 
 He was waked by a wild and startling 
 cry, which rang through the whole estab- 
 lishment, and made him rise suddenly in 
 bed and listen. 
 
 Now to be aroused at midnight 
 was about that hour by a shrill and 
 piercing shriek, apparently, in a strange 
 house in the lonely solitude of a moun- 
 tain, is not agreeable. It tries the nerves. 
 In one's dwelling-house or hotel in a city 
 there is the bell to ring, or a burglar alarm 
 to sound ; or other resource against house- 
 breakers and possible murder. On the 
 present occasion the surroundings of M 
 Brantz Elliot w r ere quite different, 
 was in a secluded fastness of the Blue 
 Ridge, in the midst of strange people, of 
 whom " queer stories " were told ; and 
 he had suddenly been aroused at dead 
 of night by a piercing cry was it one 
 of pain or menace ? What did it mean ? 
 
 Sitting up in bed, the young man lis- 
 tened. The moon had risen above the 
 mountain, as a long yellow bar of light 
 upon the floor of the room indicated. 
 He could hear the melancholy sigh of a 
 low wind in the foliage without. AVit 
 this exception, there was profound 
 lence. 
 
 All at once, within a few feet of hi 
 apparently, the wild cry rang out again 
 a cry shrill, piercing, and filling the 
 night. Brantz Elliot started back; then 
 he burst out laughing. The cry was ar- 
 ticulate now. It was "whip poor 
 will !" In fact, a harmless member 
 that fraternity, which loves the vicinit 
 of human dwellings, had lit in an oak 
 nearly brushing one of the dormer-wi 
 
 and uttered its startling cry. 
 the young man, according to his habit, 
 had raised the sash to admit the fresh air 
 before retiring, the sound had rung in his 
 ear> like the notes of a clarion. 
 
 " Well that's not in the least HI 
 Broadway or Fifth Avenue, at least 
 he muttered, laughing. " I suppose tl 
 night patrol will retire pretty soon." 
 
 A dusky shadow flitted across the win- 
 dow as lie spoke. The whip-poor-will 
 had already flown elsewhere, as a di? 
 complaint a moment afterward indicate 
 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 15 
 
 and Elliot was about to drop asleep again 
 when IK' heard voices beneath his window. 
 lit' lay still for some moments listening 
 there were the voices. This was curious 
 it was at least midnight. Who was 
 abroad at so late an hour? He got up 
 and went to the window. As he reach- 
 ed it and looked out, he saw two dusky 
 ligmvs disappearing in the shadow of 
 some evergreens near the house. 
 
 Interested more and more by this in- 
 cident, Elliot remained at the window, 
 and soon saw a figure come back through 
 the moonlight and re-enter the house. 
 This was the figure of Daddy Welles. 
 From a hospitable desire, no doubt, not 
 to disturb his guest, he entered noiseless- 
 ly. Then a slight sound on the stair- 
 case indicated that the Daddy had cau- 
 tiously mounted to the room opposite 
 that occupied by his visitor, the door of 
 which was heard to close quietly. 
 
 Brantz Elliot went back to bed in a 
 state of great curiosity. What did it 
 mean ? Old rustics like Daddy. Welles 
 did not go to bed at nine o'clock, and 
 then hold business interviews subsequent- 
 ly with people at midnight. Then the 
 voices had been low and guarded. What 
 could it all mean? 
 
 " I don't know," Brantz Elliot mutter- 
 ed, as if somebody had asked him the 
 question ; " but I'll try and find out the 
 mystery before I go back." 
 
 He then fell asleep. 
 
 VI. 
 
 PIEDMONT WAKES UP. 
 
 PIEDMONT was an ancient and stereo- 
 typed village lying east of the Blue 
 Ridge, a mile or two from the Gap. 
 
 The place had been finished for a num- 
 ber of years, and life had gone to sleep 
 there. The arrival of the daily stage was 
 the one event of the twenty-four hours. 
 As this lumbered up to the antique tav- 
 ern, with the battered sign-board hanging 
 at an angle of forty-five degrees from a 
 bough of the aged elm in front of the 
 hostelry, Piedmont nearly opened its eyes ; 
 
 the loungers on the tavern porch were al- 
 most interested. They were not at all in- 
 terested in the outer world or its people ; 
 but then human nature must absolutely 
 have something to stare at, even to spec- 
 ulate about. Travellers afforded this sol- 
 are. IVaee or war, in Europe or else- 
 where, were not matters of interest, but 
 the arrival of the stage was an event. 
 In the absence of this distraction from 
 ennui they attended to the business of 
 their neighbors. This was done with as- 
 siduity and almost with energy, and a 
 scandal aroused in these worthy people 
 a sort of mild excitement. If it was a 
 slight and feeble scandal, they nursed it 
 and set it to grow, until it attained cred- 
 itable proportions ; if it was strong and 
 full-grown, they patted it on the back 
 and made the most of it, smiling and 
 whispering about it under the breath. 
 In other words, the human mind was 
 cramped at Piedmont. There was no 
 public library ; and, after reading the 
 newspapers, there was nothing else to do 
 but discuss, in a feeble and vacuous man- 
 ner, the affairs of their neighbors. The 
 days succeeded and resembled each oth- 
 er. Piedmont and the Piedmontese were 
 asleep. 
 
 It was very much like other towns. In 
 the suburbs were two churches, belonging 
 to the Episcopalians and Methodists. The 
 main street was broad, and there were 
 several shops and private residences upon 
 it, some of the latter quite handsome, 
 with lawns and large trees in front. 
 The town-pump stood at a corner, with 
 a warning to drivers not to water stock 
 at it. Near one extremity of the main 
 street was the blacksmith's shop, where 
 small boys watched with delight the 
 grimy bare-armed smith hammering out 
 sparks to the anvil chorus. In front of 
 the stores were boxes with rolls of dry 
 goods upon them ; and the smug clerks, 
 afflicted with ennui, were generally seen 
 standing in the doors, watching maidens 
 with an attack of the " pull-back " mania 
 lifting their skirts as they crossed the 
 dusty or muddy street. 
 
 The tavern was near the middle of the 
 
16 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 village, and was the favorite resort of 
 idlers. These were occupied general- 
 ly in laboriously killing time. Some 
 smoked, and others chewed tobacco, ex- 
 pectorating thoughtfully at intervals. 
 An observation from any one went a 
 great way, and occasioned meditation. 
 When weary of the burden of thought, 
 they dropped into an apartment where a 
 personage, generally in his shirt-sleeves, 
 disseminated liquids behind a counter. 
 Having thus refreshed existence, the 
 idlers came back to the benches on the 
 porch of the tavern, and resumed the 
 sleepy talk until dinner-time, when they 
 dispersed for an hour or so. Then 
 Piedmont subsided into its sleep of 
 sleeps. Even the banging of the anvil 
 chorus sunk to silence; not a cur was 
 heard to yelp; not a hoof -stroke re- 
 sounded on the streets. The silent Blue 
 Ridge leaned above, with the stage-road 
 descending through the Gap, as if it led 
 from Drowsy-land to a country of the 
 same description. The wind had not 
 even strength to move the leaves of the 
 trees; and the long shadows crawled, 
 evidently not at all in a hurry, toward 
 evening an-1 the representative of Pied- 
 mont sleep. 
 
 One morning, however it was the 
 morning after the day upon which this 
 narrative begin* a great change came 
 over the village of Piedmont. From 
 mouth to mouth passed the startling in- 
 telligence, " The circus is coming!" 
 
 The fact had been announced by gi- 
 gantic posters on the walls and fences, 
 containing highly-colored representations 
 of ll\ ing-trapeze performers ; living horses 
 in splendid capari-mi- ; Hying bare-back 
 rid'T-, male and female, fur the m>t part 
 nearly drMitnte as to clothing; and a MI- 
 pcrb Mr. Mrrmiian in party-colored cos- 
 tume, who jumped and grimaced at the 
 crack of the ring-master's whip. There 
 were also pictures of imposing wild ani- 
 mals fT it was a circus and menauvrir 
 combined that was coining. Elephants. 
 nearly of natural si/.i-, stepped carefully 
 o\cr their prostrate masters on the post- 
 ers ; and sea-lions, giraffes, rhinoceroses, 
 
 and other wonders of more than life-size 
 filled the bosoms of small boys with wild 
 enthusiasm. The procession was to enter 
 the town that morning, and perform in 
 the evening at which the village of 
 Piedmont opened its eyes and grew wide 
 awake. The tavern porch was crowded 
 with loungers, who expectorated fearful- 
 ly. The bar within did a tremendous 
 business. If intelligence had arrived at 
 the moment that the empire of Russia 
 had been incorporated with the Brit- 
 ish dominions, the announcement would 
 have been received with complete indif- 
 ference. 
 
 VII. 
 
 A TRIFLE LEADING TO A GREAT DEAL. 
 
 
 I 
 
 THE triumphal entry was a triumph- 
 ant affair. The cages containing the 
 wild animals were in rear of all; pre- 
 ceding them were the elephants; in 
 front of all came a mighty car of blue 
 and gold, filled with the performers of 
 the troupe, with excited musicians, and 
 drawn by twenty -four party -colo 
 horses. 
 
 The drums roared; the trombones 
 groaned ; the French bugles split the 
 air; the immense crowd of small boys 
 and negroes who accompanied the pro- 
 cession uttered cheers ; and the only por- 
 tion of Piedmont which did not relish the 
 ceremony was the horse-flesh tied to posts 
 here and there on the street. There was 
 danger to bridles as the pageant drew 
 on, and the riders hastily looked to their 
 property. 
 
 One person did not seem under any 
 apprehension in reference to his own 
 horses. This was a gentleman in a light 
 carriage, with a young lady beside him. 
 lit- drove two very fine animals, and 
 seemed to have no difficulty in control- 
 ling them, as he drove past the long line 
 of party-colored animals, in a direction 
 opposite to that taken by the procession. 
 
 But the moment came. He was not 
 to pass. The carriage had just reached 
 a point opposite the front wheel of the 
 chariot of the circus men, when a deaf- 
 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 17 
 
 ening crash from a combination of brass 
 instruments burst into their faces. Ter- 
 ror maddened them. They reared, wheel- 
 ed, caught the delicate wheel of the vehi- 
 cle in the huge mill -burr affair of the 
 chariot and then horses, gentleman, and 
 young lady seemed to disappear in one 
 confused mass beneath the wheels. 
 
 The dust, no doubt, produced this con- 
 fused impression. They were not really 
 beneath the wheels. The gentleman and 
 his daughter were standing unhurt, a mo- 
 ment afterward, upon the sidewalk. 
 
 One of the circus men had swung from 
 the high perch in front of the car, and 
 caught the young lady in his anus as she 
 was about to fall under the wheels. This 
 act of agility could only have been per- 
 formed by an acrobat ; but who the per- 
 son was, or what was his place in the 
 troop, no one knew, inasmuch as he had 
 immediately taken away his arms when 
 the young lady was safe on her feet, re- 
 mounted the car, and the whole had dis- 
 appeared in the dust-cloud. 
 
 The gentleman and his companion were 
 looking somewhat ruefully at the fract- 
 ured wheel of their vehicle the horses 
 had each been brought under control 
 again w r hcn a family carriage, contain- 
 ing two ladies, drove up and stopped. 
 
 " Good heavens ! my dear Colonel Gary ! 
 an accident ?" 
 
 It was the elder of the two ladies in 
 the family carriage who uttered this pret- 
 ty exclamation. 
 
 "A slight one it really is of no im- 
 portance, my dear Mrs. Armstrong. It 
 was my fault ; but my horses are so ex- 
 cellently broken that I am imprudent. 
 An hour's detention will be all." 
 
 Meanwhile the gentleman's companion 
 had fraternized with the younger occu- 
 pant of the carriage, whom she evidently 
 loved very much, as she kissed her with 
 enthusiasm, though the syllogism may ap- 
 pear doubtful to the cynics. 
 
 " Do go home with us, or at least let us 
 take dear Frances !" exclaimed the elder 
 lady. 
 
 And when Colonel Gary declined this 
 invitation with smiles and great courtesy, 
 
 the lady shook her head, as if she really 
 could not consent to leave them in their 
 extremity. Persuaded at last that things 
 were not so bad, as the carriage was led 
 away to the shop by a servant, she made 
 more pretty, friendly speeches, and smiled 
 anew; and then, bowing with fascinating 
 grace to the gentleman and his compan- 
 ion, she directed her respectable old black 
 coachman to drive on. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A BEAUTY WHO YAWNS. 
 
 SHE was a very handsome person in- 
 deed, this elderly occupant of the family 
 carriage, which returning apparently 
 from a shopping expedition now drove 
 out of Piedmont in a southern direc- 
 tion. 
 
 She was fifty, and had the air of thirty- 
 five ; but it did not impress you as in the 
 least in bad taste, any more than her 
 dress, which certainly was very rich for a 
 morning dress. You realized, however, 
 at a single glance that this lady could do 
 what others could not. She had taste, 
 and whatever she put on became her. 
 Even her French vivacity did not impress 
 people as insincere. She w r as fascinating, 
 indeed, in her dress and address, and won 
 people. As to the possibility that under 
 the caressing smile of the exquisitely 
 dressed young-middle-aged beauty there 
 were traits not precisely as fascinating as 
 the smile to inquire thus were to inquire 
 too curiously. Don't go below the sur- 
 face if you wish to get on in the world. 
 A great deal lies beneath surfaces. Mrs. 
 Armstrong of " Trianon " was quite 
 charming and was not that enough ? 
 
 It was her daughter Juliet, aged twen- 
 ty-three, with superb dark hair, superb 
 dark eyes, and an air of queenly compos- 
 ure, who leaned back in the cushioned 
 seat beside her. Juliet was unquestion- 
 ably a beauty. She was tall, with a fig- 
 ure of extreme grace in every movement, 
 and an apparent indifference to everybody 
 and everything around her which was 
 piquant, if not engaging. She was look- 
 
18 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 ing out of the window when her mamma 
 said, with light annoyance, 
 
 " My dear Juliet ! I really don't believe 
 you've heard a word I have said. You 
 certainly have not asked where we are 
 going." 
 
 "Going, mamma? I thought we were 
 going home, as we have finished shop- 
 ping" 
 
 " And nearly been finished by that hor- 
 rid Miss Grundy ourselves !" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Armstrong. " Good heavens ! was 
 there ever such a chatterbox ! She posi- 
 tively paralyzes me ! And you go away 
 after meeting her with the fearful convic- 
 tion that she will tear your character to 
 pieces for the amusement of the next 
 friend she meets !" 
 
 "It is very probable. I suppose she is 
 fond of talking, as Piedmont is a very 
 dull place," returned Miss Juliet, in an 
 uninterested tone. 
 
 " Frightfully dull, and the arrival of 
 the circus must be a blessing to them. 
 Would you like to go ?" 
 
 "To the circus?" 
 
 The young lady stopped before the 
 word " circus " for an instant to indulge 
 in a slight yawn. 
 
 " My dear child!" her mother exclaim- 
 ed, "you are positively yawning! This 
 life in the country, with no resource but 
 riding out now and then, is wearying you 
 to death." 
 
 " It is tiresome enough, mamma," Miss 
 Juliet said, candidly. 
 
 irfully so, and that is the reason 
 why 1 asked if you would not like to go 
 to the circus. I took you once when 
 you wore a child, and you seemed to en- 
 joy it." 
 
 "Go to the circus? I don't know. 
 Do ladies go? I really don't can-. Yes 
 no that i>, ju-t as you j>! 
 
 The elder lady sighed. It was very 
 plain that Mi>s Juliet was considerably 
 boivd, and in a very indifferent si 
 mind, indeed. 
 
 "The trouble \vmld be about an M 
 said the youn^ lady, looking ut of the 
 window. " You know the ni^ht air ;rivr> 
 you the rheumatism, and I should not 
 
 like to go by myself with L^ncle Wil- 
 liam " this was the old driver. 
 
 Her mother smiled with the air of 
 person who has already provided fc 
 things. 
 
 " Well, perhaps you might find soi 
 one to escort you a good many persoi 
 will no doubt be going. What a lov( 
 day, and just see what superb corn ! G( 
 eral Lascelles is an excellent manager." 
 
 Miss Juliet contemplated the far-reacl 
 ing expanse of corn, with its ripe tassel 
 and broad blades, rustling in the light 
 breeze, and said, 
 
 " Why, this is the road to Wye, mam- 
 ma." 
 
 " Yes, my dear, I thought I would call 
 on our way home. It really is an age 
 since we have been to see Mrs. Lascelles ; 
 she is a most agreeable person, and Gen- 
 eral Lascelles and myself are great friends." 
 
 " I like Mrs. Lascelles very much," said 
 Miss Juliet, composedly, " and Anna Gray. 
 She is one of the sweetest people I have 
 ever met." 
 
 " Well, my dear, I am glad I thought 
 of calling, as it seems to please you. We 
 shall find Mrs. Lascelles and Anna at 
 home, I have no doubt, as they rarely go 
 out. It is not so certain that we shall 
 see the general or Mr. Douglas Lascelles." 
 
 " Very doubtful, I suppose," the young 
 lady said, with indifference. 
 
 " Do you like Mr. Douglas 
 
 " I scarcely know him. There ha 
 been no parties lately, you know, and 
 n. v. r comes to see us." 
 
 "He very seldom goes into society 
 hear, which is a pity, as he is very hand- 
 some, and a young man of excellent man- 
 ners. He ought not to be so unsoc 
 I am informed, however, that he reads 
 great deal, and is very intellectual/' 
 
 "Is he?" said Miss Juliet, serenely. 
 
 "People say so, but he is very 
 served, though that is frequently a g 
 si^n. He will improve, no doubt, wh 
 he is married. He must be nearly thirty, 
 and at that n<;-c a young man should think 
 about matrimony don't you think so 
 my dear .'" 
 
 " I should suppose it would depe 
 
VIRGINIA T.OIIKMIANS. 
 
 1!) 
 
 upon whether lie wished to marry or not, 
 mamma.' 1 
 
 " Hut he mit at marry some one, my 
 dear," said Mrs. Armstrong. u lie is an 
 only child, and will inherit the whole 
 Wye property; and as (ieiieral Lascelles 
 is old, he may do so at any moment. 
 Then, how couhl lie remain unmarried in 
 so laruv an establishment, with the great 
 estatr attached to it, my dear Juliet? It 
 would be absurd. There would be no 
 one but his mother to receive company. 
 The income from the property must be 
 thirty thousand a year, and how could 
 lie ever spend it, unless some one assisted 
 him ! It is at least thirty thousand." 
 
 " Is it, mamma ?" Miss Juliet said, com- 
 posedly. 
 
 " At least, if not more ; and thirty 
 thousand a year is a very pleasant sum, 
 indeed, to have at one's disposal, my dear. 
 Perhaps you do not know what it means. 
 It means travel in Europe, winters in 
 Paris, and the opera, and suites of apart- 
 ments elegantly furnished, and many oth- 
 er agreeable things. Just think of hav- 
 ing a magnificent equipage and footmen, 
 of diamonds, and entertainments, and a 
 superb wardrobe, and desirabilities gen- 
 erally !'' said Mrs. Armstrong, at a loss for 
 a climax. "Upon my word, if I were a 
 young lady, I am not sure I should not 
 set my cap at the fortunate youth my- 
 self, and try to become Mrs. Douglas Las- 
 celles !" 
 
 Miss Juliet again yawned slightly, and 
 said, with great composure, that she sup- 
 posed Mr. Lascelles would be very wealthy 
 at some time; and as she made this ob- 
 servation the carriage rolled into the 
 grounds around "Wye," the abode of 
 the prospective Croesus. These grounds 
 were quite extensive a sort of park with 
 a rolling surface covered with green turf, 
 and dotted here and there with groups of 
 very old oaks. A flock of sheep dotted 
 the greensward in the distance, and some 
 very fine young heifers, evidently of choice 
 breeds, grazed in the shadowy glades be- 
 tween the trees. The carriage-road wound 
 through this peaceful scene to the house, 
 which stood on a hill, and was a large 
 
 building of lead-colored brick, with a flat 
 top surrounded by a heavy balustrade, 
 above which rose an octagonal <>b-erv- 
 atory. On both sides were exten>i\<- 
 wings, in rear of which were th 
 vants' quarters, with the stables beyond. 
 In front of the main building was a broad 
 porch with a flight of stone steps, much 
 worn, and the large front-door folded in 
 the middle, and had an antique iron knob 
 which you pressed upon to open the door. 
 Above was a semicircle of triangular 
 panes. In front of the house stood an 
 ancient sun-dial. Everything about tin- 
 place was plain and unassuming, and took 
 visitors back in thought to "old times." 
 Mrs. Armstrong and her daughter were 
 shown, by a silent and respectful old ne- 
 gro servant in black, through a large hall, 
 wainscoted in oak, into a room on the 
 right of the entrance. This was a large 
 apartment, with a matting of white and 
 ashes-of-roses on the floor. The furniture 
 was antique and ugly, but would have de- 
 lighted a lover of bric-a-brac. Some new- 
 er arm-chairs had been added, however, 
 and a modern mantel-piece of gray mar- 
 ble, flanked by fluted columns at each 
 side of the wide fireplace, in which stood 
 a pair of huge old-fashioned brass andi- 
 rons. The former mantel-piece, which 
 was of wood, and very high and narrow, 
 had been left, the newer one supported 
 a little bijou of a clock, very unlike the 
 tall white -faced old affair, rising like a 
 ghost in the hall ; and at each end was a 
 vase full of roses. Above the wooden 
 mantel-piece the wall was wainscoted to 
 the ceiling, and around the room hung 
 some family portraits, slowly fading from 
 age. ^ 
 
 IX. 
 
 MR. DOUGLAS LASCELLES. 
 
 As Mrs. Armstrong subsided into an 
 easy-chair, she said to Juliet, 
 
 " It is always a pleasure to me to come 
 to Wye everything is so quiet and solid. 
 I invariably feel, when I enter a room like 
 this, that the family belong to the best 
 people. It is much better than to have 
 
20 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 money only," added the lady, succinctly, 
 " though money is a verv good thing, in- 
 
 "It makes people very disagreeable," 
 said Juliet, with indifference ; " that is, it 
 is the disagreeable people who generally 
 seem to have it." 
 
 " There is no gem-nil rule," responded 
 the elder lady, with a little smile; "it 
 R great deal and there is often a 
 great deal in people that is best hidden ; 
 but here you have both wealth and 
 charming people too, and " 
 
 AYhat Mrs. Armstrong was about to 
 say will, in all human probability, never 
 be known. The door opened and two 
 ladies came in one of them tall and 
 about sixty, in a black bombazine dress 
 and a white cap, with a placid smile upon 
 her thin lips; and the other a plump lit- 
 tle personage of about twenty, in a sim- 
 ple but scrupulously neat morning toilet, 
 smiling as cordially as her companion, 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong received them with ef- 
 fusion. Her face beamed, and she utter- 
 ed exclamations of pleasure. 
 
 " My tJvnr Mrs. Lascelles," she said, 
 u how MTV glad I am to see you ! We 
 have not met before for a century. I 
 am so much engaged at home with dear 
 Juliet, and looking after things, that I 
 r sec my very best friends." 
 
 Mrs. Lascelles greeted this apology 
 with her sweet smile, and replied, in a 
 soft voice, that she was very glad indeed 
 to see her visitor. She had brought with 
 h'-r a leathern key -basket, in which she 
 had thrust a stocking vJiich she had been 
 knitting and n<>\v glanced at it from hab- 
 it ; but she probably thought it. would 
 be a little unceremonious to IVMIIHC her 
 knitting so >he did BOl Mean- 
 
 while .Juliet ami Mi-s Anna Gray, a niece 
 of Mrs. Lascelles, were talking 1-y the 
 window, thiMiigh which tin-re was a tine 
 view of the mountain, and the rich ex- 
 tent of open land at its feet. They were 
 evidently friends, ami enjoyed each oth- 
 
 iciety. Miss .Juliet's 
 bright and her face animated. She was 
 smiling now, not yawning, and looked 
 quite charming. 
 
 luu 
 
 : 
 
 "While thus engaged with her friend, 
 she sat with her back to the door. All 
 at once she heard her mother exclaim, 
 
 "My dear Mr. Lascelles! You cer- 
 tainly are not going to pass and not 
 come in and see me ?" 
 
 These words were addressed to a per- 
 son who was passing through the hall. 
 lie had come down the staircase, appar- 
 ently bent on reaching the library oppo- 
 site the drawing-room, unseen. But the 
 drawing-room door was open, Mrs. A 
 strong sat facing it, and the above 
 clamation followed. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles he was evidently 
 Mr. Douglas Lascelles of whom the lady 
 had spoken during her ride at once 
 turned round, exhibited great surprise 
 and pleasure, and came into the draw- 
 ing-room, bowing low as he approached 
 the ladies. Mr. Lascelles was a man of 
 about thirty -five, and very simply and 
 neatly dressed in the last fashion. His 
 features were delicate and rather hand- 
 some, his manners very courteous, and 
 his air a little foreign. lie did not im- 
 press strangers as a man of strong char- 
 acter rather, perhaps, as shallow. Af- 
 ter awhile, as people came to look more 
 closely at him, that appeared doubtful. 
 There was something in his eyes which 
 seemed to show that under this quiet ex- 
 terior there were traits of character which 
 were very far indeed from being com- 
 monplace. Now and then a shade 
 weariness fell on the face, which left 
 impression that Mr. Lascelles had seen 
 good deal of life in his time, and that the 
 springs of enjoyment in him had perhaps 
 lo>t their elasticity. He was verv courte- 
 ous, but wanted the charm of unrein e. 
 People never got closer than within a 
 certain distance of Mr. Lascellcs. It was 
 time thrown away to endeavor to become 
 intimate with him. lie was, apparently, 
 not the material to make a friend of; but 
 those who caught a certain flash of the 
 eye which characterized him at times felt 
 pretty certain that he would make a very 
 good enemy, lie was invariably polite, 
 however: if you made an enemy of him 
 it would be your own fault. 
 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 21 
 
 "This is an unexpected pleasure; you 
 really a iv such a hermit !" saiil Mrs. Arm- 
 strong, graciously extending one of her 
 jewelled hands. 
 
 Mr. Lascdlcs irently pressed it, bowing 
 above it, and smiling deferentially as he 
 did so. 
 
 "It is quite natural, you know," said 
 the lady, laughing, "that one should be- 
 come excited at meeting a recluse ! Is it 
 not, Mr. Douglas? pardon my want of 
 ceremony I 1 am an old woman, and de- 
 test formality !'' 
 
 " I am very much flattered, indeed, to 
 have you drop it in my case, madam," 
 said Mr. Lascelles, with his most cordial 
 smile, " and I feel that your words arc a 
 reproach. It is my own fault that I am 
 such a stranger to you, but I have con- 
 tracted the habit of shutting myself up at 
 home, even when society the most charm- 
 ing is near at hand. I am aware that it 
 is a bad habit. I wish I could break my- 
 self of it." 
 
 " Oh !" said Mrs. Armstrong, with an 
 affected pout which ended in a smile, 
 " that is very easy to say. But do you 
 know, I think you are not quite frank !" 
 
 " Not frank, madam ! How could I be 
 otherwise with you ?" 
 
 " I am very much obliged ; but you 
 cannot have a very high opinion of us 
 poor country people." 
 
 At this accusation Mr. Lascelles coun- 
 terfeited sincere astonishment. 
 
 " What could possibly induce you to 
 take up such an erroneous impression, 
 my dear Mrs. Armstrong ?" he said. " Is 
 there any society better than our coun- 
 try society in Virginia? I do not know 
 where it is." 
 
 " That is very easy to say, sir ; but if 
 you appreciate us so highly, why do you 
 fly off to Paris every year or two, and re- 
 tire to your holy cell on your return ?" 
 
 " You adhere, I see, madam, to the her- 
 mit illustration ! As to Paris, I have not 
 visited it for some years, and rarely travel 
 at all. It is very tiresome." 
 
 " Tiresome ? You cannot be in earnest ! 
 I really adore travelling there is so much 
 pleasant novelty and incident. Country 
 
 life is fearful, and I do grow so very tired 
 sometimes of its sameness. I fed tempt- 
 ed to set the house on fire, or do some- 
 thing desperate." 
 
 "That is truly dreadful," said Mr. Las- 
 celles, smiling. 
 
 " Is it not ? This morning, after a vi>it 
 to Piedmont and hearing Miss (Irundy's 
 chatter, I became quite wild ! It was 'in- 
 monotonous, fearful, steady How, and pros- 
 trated me so that I nearly resolved upon 
 an act of desperation." 
 
 " What was that, madam ?" 
 
 " To go to the circus at Piedmont to- 
 night. Are you convinced now of my 
 desperate condition of mind ? The circus ! 
 and at my time of life, and subject as I 
 am to neuralgia !" 
 
 " But no doubt your force of character 
 enabled you to resist, madam." 
 
 "Barely; I felt very much as our 
 great-grandmamma Eve must have done, 
 with the apple before her. I thought of 
 the lights, the music ; think how charm- 
 ing it will all be ! But it is impossible ! 
 my dreadful neuralgia I can't venture 
 out at night. And worse than all, dear 
 Juliet cannot go without an escort." 
 
 At these words Miss Juliet turned her 
 head and looked at her mother with sud- 
 den displeasure and a contraction of her 
 brows. Mrs. Armstrong was not, or pre- 
 tended not to be, aware of this. She 
 gazed with an expression of dove-like in- 
 nocence through the window, and seemed 
 about to direct the conversation to anoth- 
 er topic, when Mr. Lascelles said, 
 
 "If the want of an escort is all that 
 prevents Miss Juliet from going, I shall be 
 only too glad if she will accept my own/' 
 
 " Yours !" Mrs. Armstrong exclaimed, 
 with extreme surprise, before Juliet could 
 speak. " No, indeed ! I could not hear 
 of such a thing. What would you think 
 of me?" 
 
 "I should retain my present opinion, 
 madam," Mr. Lascelles said, gallantly. " I 
 will not tell you what that is, as you 
 would accuse me of flattery." 
 
 "No, indeed impossible! To pick 
 you up with so little ceremony, and make 
 use of you in such a shockingly free-and- 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 easy manner ! You really must not men- 
 tion it. I cannot imagine what I was 
 thinking of, and shall never learn to hold 
 ngue and not say the first thing 
 which comes into my poor head. If 
 Juliet wishes to go, there will be no trou- 
 ble at all about it. The night will be 
 clear, and the distance is so short. Old 
 William is entirely reliable, and can escort 
 you, my dear," she said, turning to the 
 young lady ; " and when you reach Pied- 
 mont you can join some party of friends. 
 A number will, no doubt, be going." 
 
 " I am sure I do not care in the least 
 to go, mamma," said Miss Juliet, with ex- 
 treme stiffness and hauteur. The young 
 lady did not toss her head, but looked 
 VI.TV much as if she would have been re- 
 lieved by doing so. 
 
 " Why, you said this morning that you 
 would like to go, my dear !" her mother 
 said. 
 
 "Indeed,! did not!" said Miss Juliet; 
 ' you must have quite misunderstood me." 
 
 Mr. Lascellcs interfered to still the ris- 
 ing storm, and said, earnestly, 
 
 " I hope you will change your mind, 
 
 Juliet, and accept my escort. I go 
 
 from home so little, that the circus has 
 
 the charm of novelty. 1 am sure I shall 
 
 enjoy it, and I think you will. You will 
 
 a canter on horseback, at least I 
 
 know you will enjoy that." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles touched a responsive 
 'ii'-rd, for Mi<s Juliet Armstrong was al- 
 >nately fond of horseback rid- 
 .<! had a small man; nearly thor- 
 ough-bivd, who ran as swiftly as a bird 
 flies. Hut in spite of the temptation 
 diet pelted in politely declining. 
 This, however, only made Mr. Lascelles 
 more \ Might he not be permit- 
 
 ted to call at Trianon, say at half-; 
 -n that evening: 1 Tin; night would l>e 
 .:.t ; there would bi- a moon ; and a 
 ride by moonlight was enjoyable to him, 
 
 Mi>s Juliet's eyes sparkled a little, and 
 
 while she yielded, though Jlot with 
 
 a very good grace. Her enthusiasm in 
 the direction of Mr. Lascelles v. 
 dently much more moderate than her 
 
 mamma's, and it was probably the pros- 
 pect of a ride on horseback which de- 
 cided her. She consented to go, and it 
 was arranged that Mr. Lascelles should 
 be at Trianon by half-past six in the 
 evening; and soon afterward the ladies 
 took their departure. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles escorted them to their 
 carriage, and assisted them to enter it. 
 He then made a smiling and deferential 
 bow, and the vehicle drove away. 
 
 For some moments Mr. Lascelles stoo( 
 on the porch looking after it with a 
 culiar smile. 
 
 " I have heard of the cool of the ev 
 ing," he said, " and here is Madame Cre- 
 puscule in person. She was in want of an 
 escort for mademoiselle, and quietly made 
 use of me I never saw a thing done bet- 
 ter ! Well, a man seldom makes anything 
 by opposing a woman when she has map- 
 ped out her programme. Madame want- 
 ed somebody to go with mademoiselle, 
 and he is going ! It's not so dreadful a 
 bore either. That girl is superb I never 
 dreamed she was so handsome ; and she 
 had nothing to do with this little come- 
 dy I could see from her eyes that ma- 
 dame's proceedings outraged her. I nev- 
 er saw a finer pair in my life !" 
 
 These latter words apparently referred 
 to Miss Juliet Armstrong's eyes, and not 
 to herself and her mamma. After his 
 soliloquy Mr. Lascelles went into the 
 house, looking into the drawing-room as 
 he passed; the ladies had gone up-stairs. 
 lie then decided, apparently, upon going 
 into the library, where General Lascelles 
 was writing his letters, and took some 
 steps in that direction ; he, however, 
 changed his mind, and proceeded to an 
 apartment in rear the dining -roor 
 Here he drew a small key from his 
 et, yawning as he did so, and opened 
 old -fashioned mahogany cellaret in a 
 corner. From this he drew a square de- 
 canter of brandy, poured some into a ci 
 u'la-s tumbler, which he took from 
 sideboard near, mixed some water wit 
 it, and drank it. 
 
 " I >ry work I' 1 he said, as if apologizing 
 to the brandy. 
 
 room, 
 pock- 
 
 ii'd an 
 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 X. 
 
 THE LADY-BIRD'S NEST. 
 
 "Tui.vxox," the somewhat fanciful 
 name !' Mrs. Annst rone's residence, 
 was a handsome cottage orne, rmbow- 
 ercd in foliage, not far from Piedmont. 
 All about the place was feminine and at- 
 tractive, for this l;uly was a person of ex- 
 cellent taste, and knew very well how to 
 sun-omul herself with what gratified the 
 oycs above all, with what made a good 
 impression upon visitors. The veranda 
 was supported by light fluted pillars, and 
 surrounded by scroll-work. The green- 
 sward, dotted with ornamental shrubs, 
 was elosc trimmed, and guiltless of a 
 single leaf or twig to mar its beauty. 
 The carriage-drive was of white gravel, 
 and swept round a diminutive circle, in 
 the midst of which stood a large wick- 
 er-work basket overflowing with green 
 creepers in full bloom. And in the 
 small, neat hall of the house a glimpse 
 was caught through the open door of 
 delicate bookcases and aerial stands the 
 former containing handsome volumes in 
 gilt binding, and the latter a profusion 
 of flowers, which filled the air with fra- 
 grance. If Wye was a good type of the 
 old " solid " class of houses, and the an- 
 cient regime in general, Trianon repre- 
 sented the new regime; which you pre- 
 ferred was a matter of taste. One was 
 antique and substantial, and had memo- 
 ries about it; but the other was very 
 pretty and attractive. 
 
 Trianon, in its ensemble, was the result 
 of a conviction on Mrs. Armstrong's part 
 that when one has an unmarried daughter 
 home ought to be made attractive to 
 visitors; and these visitors must be per- 
 sons of a certain class. The Armstrongs 
 ( were people of excellent family. They 
 had lived in an adjoining county, but had 
 been forced to remove from it some years 
 before. Mr. Armstrong had been a gen- 
 tleman of great elegance and jovial in- 
 stincts, who liked society, and had run 
 through a large estate by entertaining the 
 very best company in the very best man- 
 ner to the very last day of his life. Then 
 
 the crash eaine. The skies had been 
 cloudless, but suddenly a snow-storm of 
 "writs" he^-in to fall. The estate waa 
 quite insolvent, and his wife and daughter 
 were left penniless. 
 
 But Mrs. Armstrong was a woman of 
 energy. Sin- had an old bachelor uncle 
 who was very well off, and had enjoyed a 
 great deal of good wine at her table. I If. 
 was fond of Juliet; and the homeless 
 lady promptly appealed to him for a tem- 
 porary refuge she could then look about 
 her, she said. They went to live with 
 the old bachelor uncle, and Mrs. Arm- 
 strong paid him charming attentions. 
 When he died, not long afterward, he left 
 her a good legacy, and with this legacy 
 the lady purchased the small estate of 
 Trianon, and built the house upon it. Af- 
 ter paying for the land and cottage, there 
 was very little of the legacy left. A por- 
 tion remained, however, and Mrs. Arm- 
 strong exhibited her good -sense in the 
 disposition of it. She did not spend it 
 in trifles to gratify her tastes, though no 
 one had a greater fondness for the ele- 
 gant nothings which money purchases. 
 She invested it in good stocks, which 
 brought her a moderate but certain in- 
 come ; and with this and the proceeds of 
 her estate, which was managed for her by 
 a reliable person living in a small house 
 on her land, she lived in comfort her 
 neighbors said in luxury. 
 
 In fact, Mrs. Armstrong was one of 
 those persons who give to a little the ap- 
 pearance of a great deal. Everything 
 about her small establishment was in per- 
 fect taste. Her silver was the old family 
 plate, which she had managed to rescue 
 from the wreck, and her table-service was 
 of snowy china, thin to transparency, and 
 decorated with moss - rose - buds. As to 
 her napkins and table mats, they were the 
 despair of her lady acquaintances; the 
 falling snow was not whiter. In the 
 drawing-room there were loves of easy- 
 chairs, with ornamental tidies on their 
 backs. .The table in the centre was of 
 carved walnut, and supported the goddess 
 Vesta in bronze, holding aloft a superb 
 lamp. On the table lay volumes contain- 
 
24 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 ing the poems of Mr. Tennyson, Mrs. 
 Browning, and others English copies, 
 bound in embossed leather. The paper 
 on the wall was fawn color, with a small 
 gilt figure at intervals. The matting was 
 white. The elegant couches everywhere 
 made you indolent, they looked so com- 
 fortable. From all this there resulted a 
 conviction on the part of visitors that Mrs. 
 Armstrong " had investments," which in- 
 vestments would, of course, one day fall 
 to Miss Juliet. 
 
 It is possible that this was the impres- 
 sion which Mrs. Armstrong desired to pro- 
 duce. If it was an illusion she did not 
 attempt to dispel it. On the contrary, 
 she encouraged it. It would do no harm. 
 She was in the habit of alluding incident- 
 ally to the rise and fall of stocks, to the 
 good-sense of people who preferred safe 
 investments at a moderate rate of interest, 
 to those promising larger dividends, but 
 which could not be depended upon. Af- 
 ter thus expressing her financial views 
 Mrs. Armstrong would sigh, and, rustling 
 her rich silk, trimmed with Valenciennes 
 lace, deplore the pecuniary straits to which 
 she, in common with everybody, was re- 
 duced. This, of course, had convinced 
 her listeners. Mrs. Armstrong, of Trianon, 
 was evidently as easy in her circumstances 
 as she was charming. And that dear Ju- 
 liet I how fortunate she was, in having 
 such a future of ease and comfort before 
 her! 
 
 N\v, Mr-. Arm-tr'-nu; knew perfectly 
 well that this carefully-nursed impression 
 in the community was <juite illusory, and 
 that Juliet would be plaerd in a very ein- 
 l>aiTa-M!i'_T situation, indeed, at her own 
 death. This event she hoped would not 
 take place for a long time to come; but 
 then life was uncertain, and it was incum- 
 bent upon her as a good mother to pre- 
 pare f..r rontiii'jvncirs. She ITM a MTV 
 good mother, for she was devotedly at- 
 tached to Juliet, and a sudden chill always 
 followed the reflection that the irirl miirht 
 be left unprovided f<>r. At her death Ju- 
 liet would l>e practically homeless, for it 
 would be impossible for her to live at 
 Trianon ; and without her own careful 
 
 management the estate and their small in- 
 come from the investments would not go 
 very far ; Juliet would at once become a 
 poor and unprotected girl ; and at this 
 idea Mrs. Armstrong positively shudder- 
 ed. Juliet must marry. 
 
 It was a bitter thought that she might 
 one day be separated from her daughter ; 
 but then it would be far better for the 
 daughter to marry and settle down, and 
 this worldly person did not hesitate. She- 
 determined to effect a brilliant match for 
 Juliet it must be brilliant, and her child 
 should be surrounded with every luxury. 
 This pearl of pure water should have a 
 golden setting; and for two or three 
 years now Mrs. Armstrong had been in 
 search of this setting. She and Juliet 
 had spent their winters in the cities, and 
 their summers at the watering-places. A 
 number of admirers had appeared, and 
 the young lady had not wanted offers; 
 but the suitors were not eligible in the 
 mother's eyes, and she quietly dissuaded 
 her daughter from encouraging their at- 
 tentions. Juliet had done so with appar- 
 ent alacrity, and there it ended. 
 
 Miss Juliet Armstrong, indeed, seemed 
 not to have the least desire to marry any- 
 body. But she was very reserved ; her 
 mother had never understood her precise- 
 ly; and it seemed impossible that sho 
 should not desire to make a brilliant 
 match. She was not much pleased, she 
 confessed, with their humdrum life at 
 Trianon. "What more natural than th; 
 the young lady should be willing to e: 
 change it for new scenes, the pleasure 
 travel, and all the incident and novelty 
 attainable by persons of ample means? 
 She had often suggested this attractive 
 future to Juliet, clearly intimating that 
 all depended upon the discovery of the 
 Cni-sus. As Mrs. ( rojsus she would en- 
 joy all the delights of life. It would 
 be better to look out for him, and not 
 repulse him when he appeared. 
 
 Juliet a^ented with an air of extreme 
 indifference to her mother's views, and 
 then they seemed to pass entirely out of 
 her mind. She was a peculiar person, 
 with a quiet air which probably exp 
 
 ;!ie 
 
 . 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 ed her character. She was very com- 
 posed ami pleasant in society, and read a 
 great deal; but the one pa-i-m of her 
 life seemed to be music unless horse- 
 back riding could be added. Her voice 
 was a clear soprano, and she sang tin- 
 niest ditlieult passages from her favorite 
 operas with the greatest ease. At such 
 moments she seemed to become another 
 person: her inditlerent air disappeared: 
 her cheeks became Hushed; and her tall 
 figure seemed about to rise from the pi- 
 ano and act the scene which she was sing- 
 ing. One day her mother said to her, as 
 she was executing a passage after this 
 fashion from Bellini, " Well, my dear, if 
 you are ever cast on your own resources, 
 you can become a prima donna." The 
 excitement lasted, however, for a few mo- 
 ments only. When she shut down the 
 lid of her piano the young lady's face 
 grew composed again, and resumed its 
 air of indifference. 
 
 This was the state of things at Trianon 
 when the present narrative opens. Croe- 
 sus had not appeared, or at least the par- 
 ticular one whom Mrs. Armstrong desired. 
 
 An aged millionnaire at the Springs 
 
 had plainly been ready to lay his wig and 
 money-bags at Miss Juliet's feet, but she 
 had quietly turned her back upon him. 
 Mother and daughter were once more at 
 Trianon, and it seemed doubtful whether 
 they would leave it for a long time. 
 Their travelling expenses had been large, 
 and the dividends from the investments 
 were not due until the ensuing January. 
 Seclusion at home was thus rendered 
 necessary, and, with a sigh, Mrs. Ann- 
 strong gave up the thought of further 
 pleasure excursions and Croesus for 
 that year. 
 
 This was sorrowful to think of, but 
 suddenly a brilliant idea occurred to the 
 lady it was wonderful that it had never 
 occurred before. There was Mr. Las- 
 celles, of Wye, who was a very good parti 
 indeed ! Why should not Juliet marry 
 Mr. Douglas Lascelles, and become the 
 mistress, in due time, of that desirable 
 establishment? Having conceived this 
 idea, Mrs. Armstrong proceeded to give 
 
 it careful reflection. The more she 
 thought of it, the more attractive it ap- 
 peared. The estate was a large one, and 
 the- Laseelles family were among the very 
 best people of the country. Everything 
 connected with Wye was agreeable 
 more than agreeable. As Mrs. Douglas 
 Lascelles, of Wye, Juliet would be. estab- 
 lished in life in a manner which suited 
 her mothers aspirations. 
 
 Various points, however, remained to 
 be considered. \Y<>uld Juliet accept Mr. 
 Lascelles? Would that gentleman ;^k 
 the young lady to accept him ? And was 
 his personal character such as to warrant 
 her in intrusting her daughter's happi- 
 ness to him ? Upon this latter point 
 there seemed to be no reasons for dis- 
 trust. Mr. Lascelles was a very quiet 
 and gentlemanly person, against whose 
 good character no one had ever breathed 
 a word ; and whon a man reached thirty 
 or more thus exempt from criticism, Mrs. 
 Armstrong reflected that it was a very 
 favorable sign indeed. Young enough 
 for Juliet, without vices of any descrip- 
 tion, intellectual, good-looking, domestic 
 in -his habits, and evidently a cordial 
 and amiable person as his demeanor 
 showed, Mr. Lascelles had positively no 
 drawbacks whatever that she could think 
 of. Juliet might not agree to all this 
 but then, again, she might. If Mr. Las- 
 celles laid his heart and hand at her feet, 
 she might accept them. But would he 
 do so? Would it be possible to bring 
 the young people together even? Mrs. 
 Armstrong knit her brows and reflected. 
 
 It would be difficult to manage ; Mr. 
 Lascelles had paid a few short and for- 
 mal visits to Trianon in past times, but 
 he had not been at the house for a very 
 long while now. Indeed, he seemed to 
 go nowhere, since his return from Eu- 
 rope some years before, and remained 
 quietly at Wye, preferring books, ap- 
 parently, to ladies' society. He was rare- 
 ly seen abroad, and only then seated in 
 his elegant drag, which was driven by his 
 servant, on his way to dine and spend 
 the evening with a bachelor friend a few 
 miles distant. This bachelor friend, it 
 
26 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 was true, bore an indifferent reputation, 
 and it was whispered that his dinners 
 generally terminated at two or three in 
 the morning, witli packs of cards and 
 empty bottles scattered around. But 
 this was probably a mere scandal. At 
 all events, Mr. Lascelles certainly took no 
 part in the drinking and gambling. He 
 was much too correct a person to indulge 
 in such proceedings, and, no doubt, vis- 
 ited his friend to enjoy his jovial society 
 after protracted study at Wye. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles thus led a life of great 
 seclusion, and it would probably prove a 
 very diilicult undertaking to bring Juliet 
 and himself together. It would be a 
 delicate affair, and every precaution must 
 be taken to conceal her design. Nothing 
 would be easier than to defeat it com- 
 pletely in the very beginning by a single 
 -top. Juliet was extremely proud, 
 and Mr. Lascelles, at his age, had probably 
 made the acquaintance of many match- 
 making mammas. Energy in the prose- 
 cution of her design would be essential ; 
 hut another thing would be more essen- 
 tial still not too much energy. 
 
 The result of these reflections had 
 shown itx-lf in the visit to Wye. Mrs. 
 Armstrong knew Mrs. Lascelles very well, 
 and nothing certainly could be more nat- 
 ural than that she should make a morning 
 call. When she left Wye she had suc- 
 ceeded in her object, and taken the first 
 Mr. 1 )ou u la> Lascelles would escort 
 Juliet to 1'irdmont on horseback; the 
 night promised to be fine, with bright 
 moonlight, and Juliet looked superb on 
 horseba-'k. Thence consequences might 
 6HMI& Sin- had been, compelled to be a 
 little too plain in the matter of the es- 
 cort but then that was unavoidable. 
 The fact had to be Miuuv-ted in some 
 manner, and she had done to as delicate- 
 ly as po il.le. Juliet had evidently been 
 <li-plea<'d, and Mr. Lascelles mi^ht have 
 hal his private views but, then this 
 would soon pa^s. If Juliet's beautiful 
 made the impression which she 
 hoped they would make, Mr. Lascelles 
 would be the first persm to thank her 
 when he became her son-in-law. 
 
 lat 
 
 Mr. Lascelles made his appearance at 
 Trianon punctually ; and Juliet, who nev- 
 er kept anybody waiting, had on her ri< 
 ing-habit. In this dress she was vei 
 handsome ; it exhibited her figure to pei 
 feet advantage, and the small riding-hat 
 set off her erect head admirably. It was 
 plain that Mr. Lascelles was much struck 
 with her appearance, but evidently won- 
 dered a little at the stiffness of his recep- 
 tion. This resulted from the fact that 
 Miss Juliet had been much outraged by 
 her mother's proceedings at Wye, and, in 
 fact, had sulked all the way back to Tri- 
 anon. If she had been able to do so, she 
 would have broken her engagement ;-but 
 as this was impossible, she solaced her- 
 self with a mild continuation of the 
 sulks. 
 
 Tea was served on the brilliant little 
 table in the bijou of a supper-room, which 
 was fragrant with the perfume of flowers. 
 Then Miss Juliet's small mare was led up 
 to the veranda, and her ill-humor disap- 
 peared her eyes sp'arkled. She had her 
 foot in the stirrup before Mr. Lascelles 
 could assist her, and, arranging her skii 
 with a single movement, looked over 
 shoulder to signify that she was readj 
 She was a beauty, sitting lightly thus on 
 her spirited little animal, with her cheeks 
 glowing, and Mr. Lascelles silently infoi 
 cd himself of the fact. 
 
 "Take care of yourself, my dear! 
 be careful you ride so recklessly!" 
 claimed Mrs. Armstrong, "and don't 
 late, Mr. I>,,tiM-la>." 
 
 "You need not be afraid, madam, 
 will bring Miss Juliet back in goc 
 time, 1 ' replied Mr. Lascelles. 
 
 He then mounted his own horse, which 
 was a very fine one, and they set out at 
 full gallop in the direction of Piedmont. 
 The moon had just risen, and Mrs. Arm- 
 strong, standing upon the portico, could 
 see Juliet's long hair waving in the mel- 
 low light. She stood for some moment 
 musing, and quietly smiling. She tl 
 said, in a low tone, 
 
 " Mrs. Dnuiiliis Lascclles, of Wyel- 
 it does not sound badly." 
 
 She then turned round to go into tl 
 
 JiiCO 
 
 E 
 
 idy. 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 house, when a sort of shadow flitted across 
 
 the passage. 
 
 " Who is that?'' said Mrs. Armstrong. 
 
 There was no reply to this. 
 
 u \Vas that you, Miss Hassick?" 
 
 The words were addressed to a young 
 ladv wlit) \\as hovering iu an assiduous 
 manner over the tea-table, arranging the 
 cups. 
 
 "Me, ma'am f said the young lady, in 
 a cooing voice, and turning her head with 
 an innocent look. 
 
 "At the door! You certainly were 
 there, with your shoes of silence! You 
 were listening !" 
 
 " Oh, ma'am !" 
 
 " I have called your attention before, 
 miss, to my views upon that subject," 
 said Mrs. Armstrong, haughtily; "and 
 you will please remember them give me 
 my tea !" 
 
 XL 
 
 THE UNRIVALLED COMBINATION AND ITS 
 MANAGER. 
 
 THE circus opened in its great tent, 
 full of dazzling light, to a crowded audi- 
 ence. 
 
 The huge canvases had risen in an open 
 field in the suburbs, as if by rnagic. One 
 of the tents was for the cages containing 
 the wild animals, and the other for the 
 bare-back performances. From the sum- 
 mits floated proudly the national flag. 
 Around were grouped smaller tents for 
 the exhibition of " side shows." On 
 these were pictures of women with beards 
 glued on ; of men weighing five hun- 
 dred pounds, or any weight you chose 
 stuffed out with pillows ; of three-legged 
 pigs, five-legged dogs, and woolly horses; 
 the price of admission being fifteen cents. 
 There was also a merry-go-round, where 
 rustics gyrated rapidly on a wooden horse. 
 Insinuating personages with sweet smiles 
 exhibited revolving wheels, where one 
 could bet with a tolerable certainty of 
 losing. Cakes, candy, and lemonade 
 were for sale in every direction ; and the 
 crowd moved to and fro, laughing, jest- 
 ing, and in extreme delight. 
 
 It was a motley crowd, and had been 
 arriving all day. At an early hour the 
 streets had begun to fill with persons 
 from the Mirrounding country old farm- 
 ers iu homespun, with their motherly 
 dames; rustic beaux, who munched gin- 
 gerbread, and saluted their sweethearts on 
 the street with loud laughter; and with 
 these mingled many gentlemen of the 
 neighborhood on horseback, for the cir- 
 cus was dear to all classes. From this it 
 resulted that the main street of Piedmont 
 presented quite a holiday appearance. 
 The sidewalks were full of pedestrians, 
 and the shops overflowed. The old rus- 
 tics cheapened the goods, and hesitated 
 long before purchasing; or they repaired 
 to the tavern and mildly refreshed them- 
 selves with drams, while their " old wom- 
 en " waited in the porch. 
 
 The tavern porch was the centre of 
 things. The circus men had "put up" 
 at the place ; and they were a very pe- 
 culiar-looking set of people, as they stalk- 
 ed about slowly, drank at the bar, and 
 contemplated the crowd with the air of 
 animals belonging to another species. 
 They wore citizens' clothes, but you could 
 see that they were not citizens. Some- 
 thing about them produced the impres- 
 sion that it would not be advisable to 
 quarrel with them. They would be dan- 
 gerous people, probably, in a brawl. They 
 were not rude or threatening in the least, 
 but looked a little ferocious, which may 
 have resulted from a familiarity with the 
 animals in the menagerie. A man accus- 
 tomed to enter the cage of a lion when 
 he is tearing raw meat, acquires the habit, 
 perhaps, of looking a little stern, not to 
 say fierce, as that gives warning; and there 
 was an expression in the faces of these 
 men, whose muscles were plain under their 
 clothes, which said, " It would be best for 
 you not to get into any difficulty with 
 me." There seemed a probability at one 
 time that such a difficulty would take 
 place, as one of the busybodies thronging 
 the tavern accidentally trod upon the 
 toes of a heavy-browed and powerful in- 
 dividual imbibing liquids at the bar, and 
 was treated to a ferocious scowl, accompa- 
 
28 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 nied by a growl, which made him recoil 
 and look outraged. But a friend took 
 the busybody aside, and said to him, " You 
 had better let these fellows alone their 
 trainers put too much muscle on 'em;" 
 and a portly individual in a suit of black, 
 a white waistcoat, and a tall "stove-pipe" 
 hat, went up to the Hercules, and tapping 
 him on the shoulder said, in a low tone, 
 with a significant look, " No making trou- 
 ble with citizens !" Then the gentleman 
 with the stove-pipe hat approached the 
 offended busybody and said, in honeyed 
 tones, 
 
 " I hope, my dear sir, you'll not think 
 hard of my boys. They are a well-mean- 
 ing set, and as peaceful as lambs, but they 
 are overworked sometimes, and that tells 
 on the nerves, you know ! We shall have 
 the pleasure, I trust, of seeing you to- 
 night." 
 
 Here he slipped an admission ticket 
 into the hand of the mollified citizen, and 
 they parted with mutual bows and smiles. 
 
 He was, in fact, a very good judge of 
 human nature indeed, this Mr. Brownson, 
 manager and proprietor of Brownson's 
 Unrivalled Combination of Attractions. 
 The object of his existence was dollars, 
 and he was devoted to it. He had max- 
 ims by which he regulated his conduct, 
 and would have them respected. One was, 
 " Never have any difficulty with citizens;" 
 another, "Don't give the legal authorities 
 a hold on you ;" ami a third was," Receipts 
 are the great thinir." II*' had his expla- 
 nation always ready, showing the good- 
 sense of the>e maxims. DilHcultics pro- 
 duced "rows," and arrests followed, and 
 there wa- a scandal and nothing injured 
 18 mrc than to acquire the reputa- 
 tion of having a i|iiarrelsoine and di-au'iv- 
 al'le vet ,,f performers. Citizens would 
 not stand that. They would not attend 
 the pcrf'-nnancex, and as receipts were 
 the great, thing, that would be disastrous. 
 
 r.e\nd this Mr. r.rownson did not in- 
 pat riaivh mildly ruling his 
 band of wild animals, and if they only per- 
 formed to his satisfaction, he made not 
 the least objection to their enjoying them- 
 selve-. Kverything was permitted that 
 
 was not forbidden private life was sa- 
 cred. Cards ? Certainly ; where was the 
 harm in social relaxation in hours of lei- 
 sure? Drink? "Why not? Wine cheered 
 the heart of man, and he himself, at inter- 
 vals throughout every day, retired to in- 
 dulge in that solace. But it must never 
 be forgotten that receipts were the great 
 thing. Drink to any extent, so there was 
 no quarrelling and the nerves were steady. 
 That must be understood. These condi- 
 tions complied with, no questions would 
 be asked, for he, Mr. Brownson, was not a 
 police-officer or a detective, to be shadow- 
 ing gentlemen and interfering with them 
 in their private relations. But no rows, 
 and the nerves must be up to time. If 
 anything unfortunate happened it was 
 unfortunate, and the matter ended. If 
 the performer on the flying-trapeze broke 
 his neck in consequence of being drunk, 
 it was his misfortune, and his sorrowing 
 comrades would drop a tear. It would 
 be an inconvenience, and subject the man- 
 agement to loss the victim might even 
 have obtained an advance on his salary. 
 But then accidents would happen in the 
 best-regulated companies, and there was 
 the element of compensation which min- 
 gles with all human affairs. For a per- 
 former to break his neck was a superb 
 advertisement. It was "thrilling!" 
 crowds flocked to the next performance in 
 hopes that another neck would be broken 
 and ho, Mr. Brownson, clad in a whit 
 waistcoat and irreproachable black coz 
 had the opportunity of making a feclii 
 address : " It was his painful duty to ai 
 nounce that since his last visit to his 
 
 friends at , the distinguished Senor 
 
 Gomez, in executing his great feat of 
 throwing himself fifty feet backward on 
 the flying-trapeze had missed the roj 
 and, falling, hal broken his neck! His 
 fate had moved the sternest of his com- 
 rades t. tears. 11,- was mild and amia- 
 ble, and exempt from every vice, especial- 
 ly from the great curse of intemperance. 
 His friends mourned his loss, but consoled 
 themselves with the reflection that he had 
 died on the field of honor, a bright exai 
 pie to all ; and the same feat would no\ 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 29 
 
 be performed by Mr. Welby Brown, after 
 which Mr. Donald Melville, the foremost 
 bare-back rider of the world, would exhib- 
 it his daring iini-um-uin, and the perform- 
 ance would now commence." 
 
 After making this little address Mr. 
 Brnwnsini was aeeustoined to wave his 
 stove-pipe hat and bow respectfully to 
 the audience, after which lie retired with 
 his head erect and an air of the highest 
 respectability. When the next accident 
 happened the same speech was taken out 
 and aired, and the same lament was ut- 
 tered over the comrade who had fallen on 
 the field of honor. It was the command- 
 er -in -chief issuing his order of condo- 
 lence, and giving voice to the general 
 grief. Dead, the fallen one was mourn- 
 ed living, he had not been shadowed or 
 interfered with. The attention of his 
 surviving comrades was called to that 
 fact. No interference with the private 
 affairs of gentlemen off duty. Drink 
 and cards? Certainly. Liberty to cut 
 each others' throats? If they chose. 
 But no difficulties with citizens ; and, 
 drunk or sober, the nerves must be up to 
 time. The performance advertised must 
 be performed. No shirking. Business 
 was business, and receipts the great thing. 
 
 This slight sketch of Mr. Brownson is 
 a digression ; but then the worthy man- 
 ager of the "Unequalled Combination" 
 was a type and types are always worth 
 looking at. In addition, Mr. Brownson 
 is destined to appear in a few scenes of 
 this narrative ; hence this brief sketch in 
 passing of the excellent man. 
 
 Night came at last, and the crowd 
 flowed toward the ground where great 
 domes of light the tents, " lit from the 
 inner" were seen glowing. The tent 
 containing the wild animals was already 
 crowded. There was general enthusiasm. 
 Men, women, and children, absorbed in 
 the spectacle before them, moved to and 
 fro over the green turf forming the floor 
 of the canvas house, laughing, jesting, 
 exclaiming, and enjoying to the utmost 
 what is one of the greatest enjoyments 
 of this world the being ardently inter- 
 ested in something. 
 
 It was a very good menagerie, and the 
 animals, ranged in their cages against the 
 canvas \\alls, looked with languid interest 
 at the ridiculous creatures with two legs 
 who were inspecting them. There was a 
 huge rhinoceros, who could have crunch- 
 ed half a do/en of them at one mouthful ; 
 lions, tigers, and leopards, who could have 
 torn them to pieces; and a grizzly bear, 
 one of whose hugs would have sufficed 
 for the strongest man present. Why 
 were they put in cages? they may have 
 asked themselves sometimes. They were 
 stronger, swifter, keener of sight, keener 
 of ear: did the little contents of the 
 brain -cavity make such a difference? 
 They were there at least, and the rustic 
 beaux poked at them with their sticks, 
 and made the rustic belles laugh ; and the 
 children shouted over the monkeys, and 
 drew back from the elephant's trunk ; and 
 the sea-lions splashed, and a young hip- 
 popotamus yawned portentously ; and al- 
 together it was a very interesting men- 
 agerie. 
 
 An opening led into the next tent, 
 where the performances of the ring were 
 about to take place. The spectacle here 
 presented was the familiar one of a cir- 
 cular space covered with sawdust, and 
 enclosed by a low barrier. Clusters of 
 lamps encircled the large pole rising in 
 the centre, and rows of benches extended 
 from the ground to the canvas eaves. 
 Opposite the entrance was another open- 
 ing leading into a third tent, containing 
 the performers and horses. Near this 
 opening the band was seated they were 
 already tuning their instruments, and. 
 stray notes mingled now and then with 
 the hum and buzz of anticipation. 
 
 The benches were already filled nearly 
 to overflowing. On the left were the 
 sons and daughters of Africa, a wild- 
 eyed, grinning mass of bright colors and 
 ebony, who always start with delight at 
 the announcement that a circus is com- 
 ing. On the right was the white audi- 
 ence, composed of persons of every class 
 and both sexes. The rustic and urban 
 mingled in harmonious union the Cau- 
 casian facing the African ; the Mongolian 
 
30 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 was not there yet, though he may make 
 his appearance some day in spite of Mr. 
 Dennis Kearney. In some seats divided 
 off from the rest, and comfortably cush* 
 ioned, sat Brantz Elliot and Nelly Welles, 
 and not far from them Mr. Lascelles and 
 Miss Juliet Armstrong. 
 
 It was really a very dazzling spectacle 
 with its brilliant lights, and there was an 
 aura which excited and raised the spirits. 
 it crowd exerts a certain magnetic 
 effect. You may be a philosopher, and 
 smile serenely at the general excitement, 
 but you end by sharing it. And this 
 crowd was very much excited, as crowds 
 at circuses almost always are, for the cir- 
 cus is one of the great popular institu- 
 tions of the modern world. It replaces 
 the Olympian festivals of antiquity, and 
 with its lights, resounding music, splendid 
 dresses, and wonderful feats, exactly satis- 
 fies the demand of the populus. The eye 
 and ear are enormously delighted, if not 
 the mind. It is not Lear or Hamlet, 
 where the human soul is dissected, and 
 there is nothing resembling the sweet 
 charm of Juliet's love-dream. But then 
 there is Mr. Merry man, the clown, who 
 supplies tho place of Touchstone, if not 
 of Falstail; and fine horses, and superb 
 bare-back riders and athletes, all in won- 
 drous costumes, climbing, leaping, and 
 living, and chasing the flying hours, 
 under da/./ling lights, to the sound of 
 music. At this the populus 
 thrills. Look at the faces packed to- 
 gether on the benches yonder. There 
 is no trace of ennui there. You of the 
 may u'" in kid gloves and opera 
 to your city theatres, to enjoy 
 Mr. liooth in tragedy or Mr. Jefferson 
 in comedy. Yon may listen \\ith critical 
 car- to the inline of Mr. Thomas or the 
 of Madame I'atti; your enjoyment 
 is ;e>thetic, hut the pnpulus docs not even 
 undeistand the meaning "f the word. It 
 flocks to the circus, as the ] 'nonius Ro- 
 manus once thr< mired to the amphitheatre' 
 n and the lighting of the 
 gladiators. 
 
 Suddenly the music burst forth, and 
 the wonderful wonder began. 
 
 XII. 
 
 SOME CHILDREN OF THE RING. 
 
 IT was a very good circus. Six Hun- 
 garian horses, jet black, with silver-plated 
 trappings, and rosettes on their heads, 
 darted into the ring, driven by long silk- 
 en reins in the hands of a woman. She 
 was a brilliant young creature with flash- 
 ing eyes and rosy cheeks, and her costume 
 chiefly consisted of stockinet, and a very 
 scant gauze skirt. She drove, standing 
 on the point of one satin slipper, on the 
 horse in rear, and the other foot was 
 pointed at an angle behind her, as if the 
 laughing maiden had just spurned some- 
 thing. This was Mademoiselle Clare de 
 Lune, as any one could see from the 
 handbills. She was a light-hearted girl, 
 who evidently enjoyed life, and thought 
 pirouetting before a crowd charming 
 amusement. Having flashed around the 
 ring, kissing her hand, and changing 
 from one foot to the other on her steed, 
 she began to exhibit the accomplishments 
 of her Hungarians. At the signal they 
 stopped suddenly and wheeled in circles, 
 and were mixed up hopelessly ; then they 
 promptly untangled themselves, and re- 
 sumed the gallop in a long, streami 
 line. Then Mademoiselle Clare de Li 
 placed her extremities upon two ho 
 and drove the rest. Then the rush be- 
 came more furious; the plated harness 
 clashed, the steeds broke into line again, 
 and, kissing her hand amidst applause, 
 Miss de Lune was borne away out of tl 
 ring. 
 
 Mademoiselle Zephyr succeeded her 
 a milk-white steed without saddle 
 bridle, and clad in a costume scant 
 even than Miss de Lime's. Then 
 unequalled male performers of the I'nri- 
 valled Combination came on in their turn ; 
 the ring was one great melee of flashing 
 costumes and rushing steeds. Then they 
 vanished as they came, at a furious gallop, 
 and the audience hurst into shouts of ap- 
 
 and lauhter. 
 
 
 
 The applause was meant, no doubt, f< 
 the unequalled bare-back riders, but the 
 lauirhter was caused by Mr. Merry] 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 31 
 
 That gentleman rose apparently from the 
 earth beneath the feet of the horses, and 
 came forward, bowing and grimacing. 
 
 He was a singular liguro in stockinet 
 and short pantaloons, surrounded by red 
 stripes. His legs were as thin as pipe- 
 stems, and lie wore a fool's-cap with a 
 tassel. Ilis cheeks and lips were daubed 
 with carmine, and his corked mnstaehe 
 curled toward his ears. This was the 
 figure, which came forward grimacing 
 with intense enjoyment, and bowing un- 
 til his frame described an exact right 
 angle. 
 
 Mr. Merryman made an address, in 
 which he congratulated the audience 
 upon seeing him again. "His own feel- 
 he said, " were inexpressible, and he 
 would therefore not express them. This 
 very large and intelligent congregation of 
 miserable sinners had a great pleasure be- 
 fore them. They had seen the animals, 
 their first cousins according to Mr. Dar- 
 win the Syrian jackass, the tiger, and 
 the monkeys. They would now have a 
 rarer enjoyment than this, or his own 
 society even the wonderful feats of the 
 celebrated Senor Karl." 
 
 The brass band burst forth, and a man 
 came slowly into the ring on foot. Hav- 
 ing reached the middle of the ring, he 
 made the professional salute by raising 
 one hand to a level with his face and 
 letting it fall. As the assistants had not 
 arranged some weights which he was to 
 lift, he stood looking at the audience and 
 they at him. lie was broad-shouldered 
 and powerful. As he wore no clothing 
 but stockinet, and velvet pantaloons reach- 
 ing from his waist to the middle of his 
 thighs, the huge muscles of his chest and 
 limbs could be seen plainly. His head 
 was striking. A heavy black beard and 
 mustache nearly concealed his face. His 
 forehead was broad, and there was a great 
 space between the eyes. His eyebrows 
 were black and heavy, and had the pecu- 
 liarity of nearly uniting in the middle, 
 which had the effect of giving his whole 
 physiognomy a stern, almost savage ex- 
 pression. Otherwise the face was a frank 
 and honest one, and the man's glance not 
 
 at all fierce. His complexion was ruddy, 
 apparently from drink, but 6X0688 had not 
 yet undermined his immense physique. 
 His walk was firm, and his carriage erect, 
 lie was evidently as hard as iron from 
 head to foot a Titan trained and devel- 
 oped to the highest degree of plnViral 
 force by the prospect of two hundred 
 dollars a week, probably spent for the 
 most part in drink. 
 
 When the weights were arranged on 
 the platform, supported on two carpen- 
 ters' benches, the Seiior Karl placed his 
 shoulders beneath the platform, braced 
 himself by resting his hands on his 
 knees; then his muscles rose in ridges, 
 and the mass ascended about a foot. As 
 the weight was two or three thousand 
 pounds he could not support it long. 
 When he allowed the platform to fall 
 back with a crash, and came out drawing 
 a long breath, the audience testified by 
 their loud applause that they were satis- 
 fied. 
 
 Feats on the trapeze followed, in which 
 performers of both sexes took part. 
 Some of these were very curious, and 
 seem to nullify the Newtonian princi- 
 ple of gravity almost to reverse it. 
 When Mademoiselle Clare de Lune wrap- 
 ped the instep of one of her feet around 
 a rope hanging from the summit of the 
 trapeze frame, and, hanging head down- 
 ward, kissed her hand, it was a mystery 
 how she supported the weight of her 
 person in that position; and how, when 
 she fell, she managed to light upon her 
 feet. 
 
 The Senor Karl, it seemed, had another 
 performance to go through with, and, af- 
 ter an interlude of bare-backers, he reap- 
 peared in the ring. His performance, 
 like the first, was to be an exhibition of 
 strength. One of the leopards of the 
 menagerie had been trained to participate 
 in it, and it consisted in ascending the 
 trapeze ropes with the animal perched on 
 the performer's shoulder. 
 
 He advanced to the middle of the ring, 
 looking toward the opening into the first 
 tent, and the keeper there loosed the ani- 
 mal, which bounded into the arena. He 
 
32 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 was a large and very beautiful leopard, 
 with fur as soft as velvet, streaked and 
 spotted with black and yellow. The cat- 
 like eyes sparkled, and the leopard sprung 
 at the man growling it was apparently 
 a part of the performance : a glance at 
 his face, however, made this doubtful, 
 lit- had caught the leopard by the throat 
 as if to defend himself, and was looking 
 at the animal with an expression of some 
 surprise, his black eyebrows nearly joined 
 in the middle. 
 
 For nearly a minute the man and the 
 animal preserved their statuesque atti- 
 tudes, the leopard growling, and the man 
 apparently only preventing him by main 
 strength from fixing his teeth in him. 
 ere fixed on the animal's, and 
 seemed to have a magnetic effect. The 
 leopard ceased to growl, at length, crouch- 
 ed down with a sidelong and submissive 
 glance, and at the order sprung and 
 perched himself on the man's shoulder. 
 
 Then the performance began, and the 
 man raised himself slowly, hand -over- 
 hand, by a single rope, ascending to the 
 summit of the trapeze. Once there he 
 paused. A moment afterward a furious 
 gn.wl was heard from the man 'and the 
 animal in unison, and they descended 
 rapidly, and reached the sawdust. AVhat 
 had happened ? Was the whole a part of 
 the performance? If so, the performer 
 . very excellent actor. He seized 
 the. leopard by the throat at the moment 
 when the animal was apparently attempt- 
 ing t" eteap fn>m him, and, throwing 
 him upon the ground, placed one knee 
 on his biva-t. 
 
 The audience burst into applause, but 
 tin- perf-T. '1 in no mood to ac- 
 
 knowledge it he ^ as plainly furious. 
 His blaek eyebrows had made the 
 >traight line across his face, and the 
 gasps and struggles of the animal left 
 no doubt that the performer's obje.-t Wtt 
 m irk 1 him. All at once the worthy 
 Mr. Irownson ru>hed into the rim:. Hi- 
 face was red and his eyes lla-hed. Tin- 
 good man had<|uite lost his self-possession, 
 and discharged a volley of oaths, winding 
 up with a demand what all this meant. 
 
 The 
 
 The performer rose to his feet, 
 leopard lay still. 
 
 " He bit me and I strangled him !" he 
 said, in a deep voice with a foreign ac- 
 cent. " That is the meaning of it." 
 
 " Strangle my best leopard, that cost 
 me two thousand dollars !" came in 
 howl of wrath and anguish. 
 
 "He nearly cost me my life; but T\ 
 done for him, and I'm glad of that." 
 
 Having made this response in a 
 phlegmatic and unimpressed voice, the 
 athlete made his professional salute to 
 the audience and went out of the ring. 
 
 " What is the matter, Lefthander ?" said 
 Clare de Lune, running to him. 
 
 The Lefthander which seemed to be 
 the Senor Karl's designation in private 
 life put his finger under the rosy chin 
 of Miss de Lune, and laughed slightly. 
 
 " I choked the leopard to death for 
 biting me, and old Brownson is furioi 
 he said. 
 
 " Choked the leopard !" 
 
 " The vermin sunk his teeth in my 
 shoulder. You can see it." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Lune had been lai 
 ing, but suddenly cried, 
 
 " Oh me ! you are hurt, Lefthan< 
 you are bleeding !" 
 
 Before he could prevent her she took 
 her white gauze skirt and pressed it 
 the bleeding shoulder. 
 
 " There, you've ruined your dress just 
 look at it!" said the Lefthander. "I'm 
 not hurt in the least: you are a gc 
 girl, petite." 
 
 They then parted. As to the leopard, 
 he had been dragged out of the ring, and 
 the bare-backers had rushed in. The in- 
 cident was apparently forgotten. 
 
 It was not forgotten by one person 
 Mr. Lascelles and had impressed Mi>s 
 Juliet Armstrong. 
 
 " A very strange incident," she said. 
 " Was it real, or a part of the perform- 
 ance ?" 
 
 " I think the incident was a real one," 
 said Mr. Lascelles, suddenly recovering, 
 apparently, from a fit of the deepest ab- 
 straction. 
 
 "The leopard must have bit hit 
 
 ^V-Ifc. 
 
 : 
 
 - 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 33 
 
 What a singular- looking person!" .-aid 
 Miss Juliet. 
 
 " Very singular," said Mr. Lascelles, 
 with a peculiar expression upon his face. 
 It was hard to read tin 1 expression it 
 seemed one of vague astonishment ; and 
 it had been there from the moment of 
 the Lefthander's first entrance. 
 
 " What is his name ? 1 mean the leop- 
 ard-slayer," said Miss Juliet, with mild 
 interest. 
 
 "His name? I do not know. How 
 
 Should I- 
 
 Mr. Lascelles stopped suddenly. What 
 was he saying ? He laughed, and begged 
 his companion to pardon his rudeness 
 he was growing so absent-minded that 
 lie felt really ashamed of himself. The 
 performer's name? He would ascertain. 
 And having procured a bill from the 
 attendant stationed at the entrance to 
 the reserved seats, he brought it back, 
 and presented it with a bow to the young 
 lady. 
 
 " He is called the Seiior Karl," he said, 
 with an air of indifference. 
 
 And as the acrobats at this moment 
 entered, the subject of the Senor Karl 
 quite disappeared from Miss Juliet's men- 
 tal horizon. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 MOUSE. 
 
 HAVING parted with Clare de Lune, 
 ;he Lefthander to adopt the private 
 name of the Senor Karl went to a slit 
 in the canvas, opened it slightly, and fix- 
 ed his eyes on Mr. Lascelles, who sat in 
 the full light of a circle of globe lamps. 
 For some moments he scrutinized him 
 closely, with a very moody expression on 
 :iis face. He then muttered, 
 
 " It is the man or his ghost ! I am 
 sure of him. What is he doing here I" 
 
 After a few minutes he walked away 
 and went into a side compartment of the 
 .arge tent. Here he sat down on an 
 empty box, upon which lay a short meer- 
 schaum pipe and a pouch of smoking to- 
 bacco, which he had probably placed there 
 when he went into the ring. He filled the 
 3 
 
 pip* 1 , lit it from a match taken from the 
 pouch, and, leaning one of his ponderous 
 elbows on his knee, began to smoke 
 looking thoughtfully, as he did so, at tbe 
 linely caparisoned horses without, with 
 their riders standing beside them, which 
 he could do through the opening. At a 
 signal the horses and riders passed at a 
 swift gallop and darted into the ring. 
 The Lefthander then concentrated his 
 attention upon two figures seated upon 
 some bags of oats opposite his box, 
 smoking his pipe tranquilly with an air 
 of enjoyment, and looking at them with 
 interest. 
 
 They were a picturesque little group 
 a slender young fellow of about twenty, 
 clad precisely like the Lefthander in close- 
 fitting stockinet and velvet pantaloons; 
 and a child, apparently about ten, dressed 
 as a ballet girl. This dress consisted of 
 a blue satin body, and a white muslin 
 skirt reaching about to her knees, where 
 it was joined by flesh-colored stockinet, 
 ending in red morocco boots fitting tight- 
 ly to her tiny feet. All about the child, 
 in fact, was tiny her slender limbs, her 
 delicate arms, which were bare, and her 
 features. Her hair was of a dark auburn, 
 and fell on her bare shoulders in short 
 curls; when she raised her eyes you saw 
 that they were large and blue, and had 
 a very earnest little-womanish expression. 
 At the moment she was seated upon one 
 of the bags, with her left foot over her 
 right knee, chalking the sole of her boot 
 a proceeding which both the young 
 man, who was leaning back on his elbow, 
 and the Lefthander, who was smoking 
 his pipe, contemplated with interest. As, 
 after rubbing away with the chalk for a 
 moment, the child uttered a slight sigh, 
 the Lefthander, taking his pipe out of his 
 mouth, said, 
 
 "Tired, Mouse?" 
 
 The voice which asked this question 
 was not the same which had said briefly, 
 " He bit me and I strangled him !" to 
 Manager Brownson. It was quite differ- 
 ent, and had something caressing about it. 
 
 " No, I am not much tired ; but it's a 
 tiresome sort of business, this dancing and 
 
34 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 prancing," said the small lady addressed 
 as Mi nise ; " but I suppose I'll have to put 
 up with it." 
 
 " I don't know. I don't altogether like 
 it. You ought to be at school, Mouse." 
 
 "Me, at school? Away from you? 
 What in the world would become of 
 you ?" 
 
 Having reflected on this, the Lefthand- 
 er said, 
 
 " Well, you are right, perhaps. I 
 couldn't very well get along without 
 hearing my Mouse squeak sometimes, and 
 would feel a little lost, probably." 
 
 "And Gentleman Joe, and Harry, what 
 would they do ? What would you all do, 
 if I was not here to take care of you?" 
 Mouse said, with a business air. 
 
 " Really, I never thought of that," said 
 the Lefthander, lost in reflection; "the 
 fact is, we would all probably go to the 
 dogs, which is not a very good place to 
 go to." 
 
 He smoked for a moment, and then 
 added, " But we might all tramp off some- 
 where together." 
 
 " Oh, that would be grand, poppa !" ex- 
 claimed Mouse, with enthusiasm. She 
 called it "pop ah," emphasizing the 
 -liable, and gesticulated with the 
 hand holding the chalk as she spoke. 
 
 " Would you like to give up dancing 
 on the tight-rope, Mouse?" 
 
 "Give it up! I'd get down on my 
 knees and bless the day ! I'm all the 
 time thinking my foot's going to slip and 
 I'll fall; and the crowd always looks at 
 me as if I was well, a whole menagerie, 
 including the rhinoceros and the griz/.lv 
 
 bear!* 1 
 
 The Lefthander uttered a slight grunt, 
 which might have indicated either amuse- 
 ment at or sympathy with this view of 
 thii, 
 
 "And, then," he said, "the way of liv- 
 ing i> n't BO \rry \f 1 a way of living 
 
 fr a small bndy like you. The life of 
 circus men and women is n<>t an ca>y life 
 it is a very hard life." 
 
 "I should say it was I" M-.u-e returned, 
 with aristocratic scorn ; " sleeping in hay- 
 stacks half the time, and prancing about 
 
 
 from one place to another, and having 
 boxes to sit on instead of easy-chairs ; and 
 being Mademoiselle Celestine Delavan, in- 
 stead of a body's real name ! It's not re- 
 spectable !" 
 
 Mouse was evidently resenting among 
 other things her designation on the play- 
 bills, which was " Mademoiselle Celestine 
 Delavan," as she intimated ; her more fa- 
 miliar appellation being that by which 
 she was known among her friends. 
 
 " Well," the Lefthander said, grunting, 
 and looking with a meditative air, as he 
 smoked, at the child's delicate face and 
 curls, "the fact is, you're a very little 
 body, Mignon, to be a public character. 
 You were made for a lady, and to have a 
 big doll, about the size of yourself ; and 
 to be tucked in bed at night, not sleep in 
 hay-stacks. You look like a sylph in the 
 operas: I have acted in operas. The 
 first wind would blow you away, if it 
 blew tolerably hard; it needn't be very 
 hard. You oughtn't to be doing this 
 tight - rope business ; money's not so 
 much." 
 
 " Well, I don't mind it," said the 
 consequential Mouse, "and I have 
 money, as I don't allow my poppa to hi 
 anything to do with it." 
 
 " Your poppa don't mean to have any- 
 thing to do with it. It's laid up what 
 you call invested." 
 
 " What's in rested r said Mouse. " You 
 let me give it away." 
 
 " Yes, to poor people and the ones that 
 suffer. That's imrxtnt" said the Left- 
 hander, smoking. " That's why I let you 
 do the rope business you would go on 
 plaguing me till I consented to it. You 
 were tired idling, you said but I want 
 you to be idle." 
 
 Mouse shook her head by way of pro- 
 test, but the Lefthander persisted in his 
 
 new. 
 
 " What business is it of a mite like you 
 to work for money?" he said. "1 nev.-r 
 meant you to follow this tradt I'm tit 
 for nothing else myself, but that's differ- 
 ent. I've stuck at it so long that I'm 
 set in the grooves. I go to it like a 
 wagon - horse, and do my work out 
 
VIKCIXIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 35 
 
 out hew to the line ; but I'm rather tired 
 of it." 
 
 "Arc you really?" Mouse said, ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 " Uather, Million; and sometimes I 
 think I'll take you and go off and live 
 quietly somewhere. You'd have the flow- 
 ers and the sunshine, you see, and go to 
 sleep when the birds do, instead of hop- 
 ping up and down on a tight-rope till mid- 
 night. I think I'll take you." 
 
 Mouse was chalking her boot, but at 
 these words she stopped. Her eyes spar- 
 kled. 
 
 "Do you think you will?" she ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " I really do. I don't see what better 
 I can do than look after my young one. 
 I'm a big fellow, and can lift heavy 
 weights, and when animals fall out with 
 me, as one did to-night, I can do for 'em 
 but that's not much. The best thing 
 to do is to look after the young ones." 
 
 A wonderful expression of softness 
 came to the rugged face as he looked at 
 the child. It quite changed its whole ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 " Yes," he added, with a nod ; " I think 
 I'll retire from public life before long." 
 
 "Do you really really, poppa?" 
 Mou so, repeated, in ecstasies. 
 
 " Yes, and you and I will go off to the 
 country, and live in a quiet way. I'll 
 put on a plain suit of clothes, and you 
 will have a little frock reaching down be- 
 low your knees, and good black shoes 
 not a gauze skirt and fancy boots like 
 that, made of red morocco and go to 
 school, and see the grass and the flowers 
 grow, and hear the birds sing from morn- 
 ing till night." 
 
 The Lefthander stopped to utter his 
 grunt of mild enjoyment. 
 
 " I think I could stand 'em, and keep 
 away from the bar-rooms," he said, " on 
 your account, Mignon. Yes, I could stand 
 that, and I could work for you like a good 
 poppa; and smoke my pipe and live re- 
 spectably, as you said just now didn't 
 you \ But then there's a difficulty." 
 
 Mouse, cast down from her eminence 
 of joy, turned her head suddenly. 
 
 " What would you do without Harry '." 
 said the Lefthander, nodding toward the 
 third member of the group. This was 
 the young fellow in stockinet who \\as 
 leaning back on one ell>ow on the bags 
 of grain, and had listened to the whole 
 conversation with a smile. 
 
 " There's Harry to think of," the Left- 
 hander said. 
 
 "And Gentleman Joe," said a melan- 
 choly voice behind them. 
 
 At this all looked up and saw Mr. Mer- 
 ryman. He had just come out of the 
 ring, and the expression both of his faec 
 and figure had completely changed. The 
 tumbling, dancing, grimacing Mr. Merry- 
 man had given way to a rather melan- 
 choly old fellow, who stood calmly erect, 
 and looked quite sad. Looking at him 
 you were apt to recall the legend of the 
 poor jester on the stage who threw the 
 crowd into ecstasies, and then retired 
 behind the scenes to the bedside of his 
 dying child. 
 
 lie was given to such changes of mood, 
 even in private, this eccentric old Gentle- 
 man Joe. His comrades said there was 
 a "crack" in him somewhere a screw 
 loose in his mental machinery. He al- 
 ternated between extravagant mirth and 
 depressing sadness. The least circum- 
 stance made him laugh or brought tears 
 to his eyes. Sighs and smiles chased 
 each other over his thin old face; and 
 there really did seem to be something the 
 matter with him. His memory was very 
 unstable, and he could not tell the name 
 of the last place which he had performed 
 at after an interval of two or three days. 
 As to his past life, it seemed to be a blank 
 to him, and nothing more was known of 
 him than that he had been connected for 
 a long time with the company, and that 
 his name was Vance. He and his son 
 Harry, the young fellow leaning on the 
 bags of oats, were both very popular 
 with their comrades. Gentleman Joe 
 was an especial favorite. He A\ 
 amiable, and so ready to do an act of 
 kindness, that everybody was his friend. 
 He was treated with the utmost regard, 
 but never with undue familiarity, in spite 
 
36 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 of his undignified position in the troupe, 
 for there was something about Gentle- 
 man Joe which completely discouraged 
 intrusive people. He was very easy and 
 friendly, but no one had over been known 
 to slap him on the shoulder or indulge in 
 liberties with him. Even Manager Brown- 
 son, who was a dictatorial person, never 
 spoke imperiously to GentU-maii Joe a 
 name which had evidently been bestowed 
 upon him from the mild courtesy of his 
 manners. 
 
 " And Gentleman Joe what would 
 poor old Gentleman Joe do without you, 
 Mouse?" he said now to the child. 
 
 .Mouse seemed equal to the occasion, 
 and promptly replied : 
 
 " Why of course you and Harry would 
 go with us, Gentleman Joe. You don't 
 for one minute think that I could get 
 along without you and Harry, any more 
 than you could get along without me ?" 
 
 " It would be a hard business, a very 
 hard business, indeed," said Gentleman 
 Joe, shaking his head ; " and as to Har- 
 ly'fl not having you to tease, he would 
 lose his good spirits and pine away." 
 
 "I certainly would, Mouse," said the 
 young fellow, laughing. " I'd miss my 
 grandma every hour." 
 
 "Would you, really, you good-for- 
 nothing plague?" Mouse said, affection- 
 ately. " Well, I can tell you one thing 
 it would IT had for you. If ever there 
 . young man who required looking 
 after, and to have somebody to keep him 
 straight, it's you!" 
 
 u Li-ten to grandma!" was the response. 
 "The old ladyV begun her di.seoursc. It's 
 a weakness with her." 
 
 ?or you mind, >ir. You'll come to 
 a bad end if you don't take can mark 
 my word-." 
 
 "I liopi- not," the young fellow said; 
 ''ami you oughtn't to he thinking !' go- 
 ing a. . if I iv.juiiv moral 1,-ct- 
 uring so much." 
 
 " You and (lentlVman Joe can come 
 with us. What is to prevent you. -ir.'" 
 
 "I don't think that would suit ; would 
 it, father 
 
 " I'm afraid it would not," Gentleman 
 
 Joe replied, shaking his head ; " not 
 that I like being Mr. Merryman. I do 
 not like it at all ; but I am growing old 
 now, Mouse, and old people find it hard 
 to give up their pursuits and follow dif- 
 ferent ones. I was not a clown always 
 though I can't say I remember exactly 
 what I used to be. My memory is not 
 so good as it was. I lived somewhere 
 I forget precisely where and was not a 
 clown. It amuses me to laugh and make 
 the crowd laugh sometimes. I don't 
 think I should like altogether to give up 
 the old trade." 
 
 "But we'd be so happy, Gentleman 
 Joe !" Mouse persisted, with great earnest- 
 ness. " Think of the birds and the flow- 
 ers ; and then, we needn't give up every- 
 thing. We might come to it by degrees, 
 you know. "We might make up a little 
 troupe of our own, and go about the 
 country, and perform in a quiet way." 
 
 " Really, I never thought of that," said 
 Gentleman Joe. 
 
 " Nor I," said the Lefthander ; " tlu 
 not a bad idea, Harry." 
 
 " Not a bad idea at all," said the yoi 
 man. 
 
 " It's a very good idea," said Gentlei 
 Joe. 
 
 Mouse saw that she had made an 
 pression, and this always stimulates 
 to further eloquence. 
 
 " I am glad to find that you lords of 
 creation have some good-sense left after 
 all," she said. "If 1 tnn a mouse I can 
 squeak what's reasonable, and not non- 
 Mfflse such as I generally hear from that 
 good-for-nothing young man there, who 
 is looking at my ankles while he is pick- 
 ing his teeth with a straw!" said Mouse, 
 severely. "Of course it's a good idea! 
 Think! 1'oppa could lift weights and 
 perform on the ropes, and you and (leii- 
 tleinan Joe could do the juggling, Harry !" 
 
 u And the Mr. Merryman business," 
 said Gentleman Joe, reflecting. 
 
 "And I could play the tambourine!'' 
 said Mouse, "and take around the hat! 
 And we could get a hand-organ and a 
 little monkey a small one with a red 
 (oat, and a feather in his cap !" 
 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 37 
 
 "Really, tli.it sounds like business, 
 Mouse," said the Lefthander. " \Ve could 
 buy a light wai^-ii and a horse to rarry 
 the properties, and a small tent and the 
 rest and there you are. We'd be a 
 troupe of Bohemians, which is not a bad 
 tiling to be. \Ye would have no more to 
 do with this beastly old Brown8on,andyou 
 would not have to pirouette any more " 
 
 " Before coin UK m people and servants," 
 Gentleman Joe said, with the air of an 
 aristocrat. " That is the best of all isn't 
 it, Mouse ?" 
 
 " Oh yes ! yes, indeed !" exclaimed the 
 delighted Mouse, "and we will be free 
 free ! \\Y needn't act unless we want to. 
 We can stop anywhere we choose on 
 the side of the road in the grassy fence 
 corners, or under the trees ; and I'll boil 
 the pot, poppa, and cook for everybody ; 
 and you shall smoke your pipe, and Har- 
 ry shall be just as good-for-nothing as he 
 pleases ; and you and me, Gentleman Joe, 
 will walk off and hear the birds sing, and 
 you'll pet me, and maybe take me up and 
 carry me if I am tired, as there's not 
 much of me for you know you always 
 liked me better than anybody in all this 
 wicked world !" 
 
 Mouse stopped, out of breath. Sud- 
 denly a sort of growl was heard near 
 them, and turning in the direction of this 
 sound they saw Manager Brownson. He 
 was very red indeed in the face, probably 
 the result of recent potations, and scowled 
 fiercely, striking his stick upon the ground 
 as he did so. 
 
 " What does this mean ? What are 
 you trifling here for ?" cried Mr. Brown- 
 son. "Don't you hear the audience 
 howling, and getting the devil in 'em ?" 
 
 "I have just returned from the ring," 
 said Gentleman Joe, with dignity; "and 
 I will add that your tone of voice is un- 
 pleasant, sir." 
 
 "Curse my tone of voice hear 'em! 
 they're breaking down the benches ! 
 There's nobody in the ring !" 
 
 He turned furiously to Mouse and said, 
 
 "This is your private parlor, eh? 
 
 ou're entertaining y< 
 your turn to go on !" 
 
 Mou si- shrunk a little from the inflamed 
 eyes. 
 
 "Get up!" cried Mr. Brownson. 
 
 " I haven't chalked my shoos I will 
 soon be ready, sir," the child said, with 
 alarm. She then hastily rublu-d her shoes 
 in a nervous manner, and rose hastily to 
 her feet. 
 
 "Hear Yin!" evlaimed Mr. Manager 
 Brownson, digging his cane into the 
 ground with fury as the prolonged thun- 
 der of impatience came from the main 
 tent. "Hear 'em they'll split the 
 benches !" 
 
 These words were addressed to the 
 Lefthander, who had continued quietly to 
 smoke his pipe, while Mouse, Gentleman 
 Joe, and Harry hastened off. 
 
 " Do you hear ?" cried the manager. 
 
 "Hear what?" said the Lefthander, 
 tranquilly. 
 
 "That infernal row the audience arc 
 wild." 
 
 " Yes, I hear it it is loud enough for 
 that," said the Lefthander, with great 
 composure. 
 
 " And that girl's the cause of it it's 
 her neglect !" 
 
 " Neglect of what ?" 
 
 " Her business !" 
 
 "That is a lie!" said the Lefthander. 
 
 Manager Brownson stood for a mo- 
 ment looking at the personage who utter- 
 ed these calm words, with a species of 
 stupor. The world was plainly coming 
 to an end. Could he believe his ears? 
 He, Manager Brownson, proprietor of the 
 Unrivalled Combination of Attractions, 
 had been informed to his face that a 
 statement which he made was " a lie !" 
 
 " Wh what do you mean ?" he gasped. 
 
 The Lefthander rose erect slowly, hav- 
 ing first knocked the ashes from his 
 pipe and laid it upon the box 1-oide 
 him. 
 
 " Well," he said, in a calm and matter- 
 of-fact voice, "I mean that what you 
 say about Mouse is a lie she was not 
 called ; she's always ready, and brings 
 you in double what you pay her. As for 
 you, I will tell you what I think of you: 
 you are an old beast ! And I will give 
 
38 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 you a little advice. Let Mouse alone ; 
 it will be better for you." 
 
 There was no doubt at all about the 
 meaning of these words, and the expres- 
 sion of the speaker's face was not encour- 
 aging. The black eyebrows had united 
 in the middle, and the ponderous left 
 hand slowly closed. Manager Brownson 
 changed color; a personal collision with 
 the athlete seemed imminent; when a 
 cry was heard from the main tent, where 
 Mouse was going through her perform- 
 ance. Something had evidently happen- 
 ed. Had Mouse met with any accident? 
 
 The Lefthander turned his back on 
 Manager Brownson, and hastened to the 
 opening in the canvas through which his 
 figure disappeared. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 
 
 MOUSE had, in fact, met with an acci- 
 dent. After the angry colloquy with the 
 manager, she and Gentleman Joe had 
 .ed into the ring, which was unoc- 
 cupied at the moment by any of the per- 
 formers hence the impatience of the 
 audience. It was a fixed habit with old 
 Gentleman Joe to thus act as the child's 
 escort, lit- was very much devoted to her, 
 and saw that the sight of the great sea 
 i if heads and eyes generally frightened 
 her a little ; so he always ki went on" with 
 IPT, and thus diverted to himself a part 
 of the public attention. This was a proof 
 of Gentleman .Joe's deliejiey of M-ntiment, 
 as well as of his affection for Mouse. 
 This thin-faced old clown was not a mere 
 raeny-andrew ; you eould see that, lie 
 
 had about him the indescribable some- 
 thing which indicates elevation of char- 
 and his manner, and the tone-, .,f 
 hi- roice, when he was speaking to the 
 child, hail that suavity which marks high- 
 bred pel-suns. 
 
 As they entered the riinr, < ientleman 
 Joe's expression changed at once. 11, 
 executed a Ljrimaee, and, bending his 
 hoi ly forward at a ri^ht angle, extended 
 his left elbow horizontally toward Mm>e. 
 
 ,t 
 
 "lie 
 
 aen 
 set, 
 
 ;:: 
 
 who took the arm offered. He then 
 stepped out with his right foot, putting 
 it down cautiously, as if he were walking 
 upon eggs, and escorted Mouse to the 
 spot where a tight -rope was stretched 
 over forks about ten feet from the ground. 
 
 " Ladies and gen-tle-men," said Gen 
 man Joe, " I have the honor to introdu 
 to you my young friend, Mademoise 
 Celestine Delavan, who will perform for 
 your amusement upon what is called, 
 the common people, the tight-rope." 
 
 In the midst of applause, Gentlem 
 Joe then released his arm from Mouse 
 grasp, knelt on one knee, and held out 
 his hand. The child placed her small 
 foot in it. and Gentleman Joe tossed her 
 up to the tight-rope, and handed her the 
 long balancing - pole ; he then smiled, 
 retired backward, looking at her admir- 
 ingly as he did so, fell over a wooden 
 block behind him, turned a somer 
 and lit upon his feet, grimacing. T 
 performance then began. 
 
 It was evident that the child was 
 ease, and a little afraid to begin her per- 
 formance. This was so plain that Mi 
 Juliet Armstrong, who seemed to be mu 
 interested in her, said to Mr. Lascelles, 
 
 " It is very wrong to make such a p 
 little thing perform in public. She 
 afraid of falling ; I hope she will n 
 fall." 
 
 "There is probably no danger," Mr. 
 Lascelles replied ; " these people are al- 
 ways well trained." 
 
 "But she is such a wee body," said 
 sympathetic Juliet very earnestly for 
 calm a person, "and quite a little beau 
 too." 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 "Don't you?" 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Lascelles, rather 
 differently, "I really had not looked a 
 her. Yes, she is tolerably good-looking, 
 and a mere child, as you B8J, Mitt Juliet." 
 
 "She is too young. Look, she 
 tainly is frightened she is clinging 
 the rope with her feet like a bird." 
 
 This was true. Mouse's boots \\ 
 not sulliciently chalked, which is csse 
 tial in performances on the tight -ro 
 
VIRGINIA IlolIKMIANS. 
 
 39 
 
 Alarmed by tlic angry expression and 
 rough address of the manager, the child 
 had hastened in to go through her per- 
 formance In-fore she \vas ready t<> d<> BO, 
 The smooth soles of her boots made hei 
 foothold insecure, and her feet were 
 wrapped around the tight - rope in the 
 manner noticed hy the young lady as a 
 bird grasps the hough of a tree. 
 
 Nevertheless, Mouse attempted to exe- 
 cute her part. She advanced nervously, 
 moving her long balancing-pole up and 
 down her foothold was evidently uncer- 
 tain, and once or twice her feet slipped, 
 but she regained her equilibrium. 
 
 "The poor little thing! look at her 
 face," exclaimed Juliet; "she is fright- 
 ened, and is going to fall !" 
 
 Mouse fell her foot had slipped, and 
 she was precipitated from the tight-rope. 
 As she fell she endeavored to grasp the 
 rope, but only bruised her arm, causing 
 the blood to flow. She struck the saw- 
 dust heavily, and lay still, moaning. 
 
 Gentleman Joe had rushed forward to 
 catch her in his arms as she fell, but he was 
 too late. The child was lying with one of 
 her tiny limbs doubled beneath her, and 
 her bleeding arm above her head, as if to 
 ward off a blow. Some of the blood 
 from it had fallen on her light curls. At 
 sight of this Gentleman Joe had uttered 
 the cry, and the audience had risen to 
 their feet with exclamations of sympathy. 
 It was an affecting sight to see Gentleman 
 Joe, with a sudden rush of tears wash- 
 ing the paint from his cheeks, kneel by 
 Mouse's side, calling to her. But he was 
 all at once thrust aside, and the Lefthand- 
 er caught the child in his arms. 
 
 "AYhat's the matter, Mignon ?" he ex- 
 claimed. " Are you hurt ? Your arm 
 is broken. You fell !" 
 
 "Yes, I fell, poppa. My shoes were 
 not chalked," faltered Mouse, trying to 
 smile. 
 
 "Your arm is broken! It was his 
 fault I'll kill him !" 
 
 The tone of these words frightened the 
 audience, who distinctly heard them. The 
 Lefthander's voice and face were, in fact, 
 ominous. His black brows had made 
 
 the straight lino. Another person prob- 
 ably heard him, and saw the eyebrows, 
 through tin 1 opening of the tent Mana- 
 ger Brownson, who \\a^ ohsrrved to retire 
 hastily to his private apartment, away 
 from the general confusion. 
 
 The Lefthander raised Mouse in his 
 arms growling as he did so like one of 
 the wild animals. JIc was evidently, in- 
 deed, a very dangerous animal at the mo- 
 ment, and it was probably just as well 
 that Mr. Brownson had business which 
 occupied him elsewhere. Mouse was 
 quite pale, and her white skirt was 
 stained with the blood flowing from 
 the wound upon her arm. The Left- 
 hander had clasped her close to his 
 breast, as a mother holds a baby, and 
 was talking to her. He then rose, with 
 Mouse in his arms, and went out of the 
 tent, muttering, " If he gets in my way 
 I'll kill him !" 
 
 The audience did not hear these words, 
 but they looked after the big athlete car- 
 rying the tiny being in his arms, and 
 could see the yearning expression of his 
 face as he leaned over the child and re- 
 peatedly kissed her. A murmur rose at 
 this sight it was the 'touch of nature 
 which makes the whole world kin.' Miss 
 Juliet Armstrong quietly passed a small 
 white handkerchief over her eyes, and 
 then restored it to her outside pocket, 
 where it was convenient to pick-pockets. 
 
 " He must love her very much," she 
 said, half aloud. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Lascelles, " or pretends 
 to. There is never any certainty with 
 these people that what they do is not a 
 part of the performance." 
 
 XV. 
 
 THE DRESSING-ROOM. 
 
 IF it was a part of the performance the 
 Lefthander performed his part to the life, 
 and continued to do so when out of sight 
 of the audience. Gentleman Joe had 
 hastened after him with a piteous ex- 
 pression. The fact that no one was left 
 in the ring seemed a subject of profound 
 
40 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 indifference to the poor clown. Manager 
 Brownson might rage if he chose. There 
 was Mouse to think of. 
 
 The circus men, standing by their 
 horses, ready to go on, flocked about 
 the Lefthander inquiring what had hap- 
 pened. The rough fellows in their glit- 
 tering costumes were not the sort of per- 
 sons to look for womanish sympathy 
 from, one would have supposed; but 
 there was the sympathy, and it was plain- 
 ly strong and real. 
 
 " What's the matter with Mouse, Left- 
 hander?" 
 
 "Poor girl!" 
 
 " Broke her arm !" 
 
 These evidences of feeling came from 
 the crowd, but the Lefthander did not 
 stop. He only said, as he passed, " If he 
 gets in my way I'll finish him !" 
 
 He went on, carrying Mouse close to 
 his breast, to a small compartment on the 
 left, which was divided from the main tent 
 by a breadth of canvas. This he pushed 
 aside and went in. In the room was a 
 mattress, covered with an old counter- 
 pane, a small pine table, two chairs, and 
 a cracked looking-glass hanging by a 
 string tied through two holes in the 
 canvas. On one of the chairs was a pile 
 of female clothing, evidently discarded 
 recently by its owner or owners for the 
 scantier costume of the ring. The place 
 was evidently a dressing-room for the fe- 
 male performers, and if there had been 
 anv doubt of this the presence of Clare 
 dc Lune and the Zephyr would have es- 
 tablished the fact. The Zephyr was en- 
 gaged at the moment in tying the rib- 
 bon of her slipper, and Clare de Lune 
 was standing in front <f the cracked 
 looking-glass rouging her cheeks with 
 one hand, while the other hand held a 
 powder-puff with which she had just been 
 powdering her shoulders. Both were in 
 full ring costume, and their appearance 
 was airy and sylph-like. 
 
 The Lefthander entered without cere- 
 mony. As the Zephyr went on with her 
 occupation, and Clare de Lune at first did 
 not turn her head, it was obvious that the 
 intrusion was not at all resented the 
 
 >ne of 
 
 
 
 n. 
 
 "' 
 
 I think it's sprain- 
 
 : 
 
 new-comer was probably only "one 
 the family." As Clare de Lune finish- 
 ed rouging her cheeks, however, at the 
 moment, and had secured the smile which 
 she had been practising for some mo- 
 ments in front of her mirror, she turned 
 her head with mild curiosity, and looked 
 at the intruders. Then she suddenly 
 cried, 
 
 " What has happened ?" 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you what has happen- 
 ed," said the Lefthander, in his bass voice ; 
 " Mouse was made to go on, before her 
 shoes were chalked, by that beast Brown- 
 son, and she's broke her arm, I think; 
 she slipped and fell." 
 
 He laid Mouse on the old matt 
 and passed his large hand over her arm. 
 
 " Only bruised," he said. " Where 
 you hurt, little one ?" 
 
 "It's only my foot, 
 ed, poppa," said Mouse, in rather a faint 
 voice ; " but I don't think it's much, and 
 it's not worth making a fuss about i 
 only hurts a little." 
 
 Mouse tried to say this in a matter-of- 
 fact tone, but she uttered a slight moan, 
 which indicated very plainly that she 
 in pain. 
 
 The sound seemed to act upon the 
 let-girls like magic. Clare dc Lune for- 
 got her rouge and the Zephyr her slipper, 
 and ran to Mouse, throwing their arms 
 around her and crying. One laid her 
 head easily on an old pillow and drew 
 the tattered counterpane over her. The 
 other ran for a stone pitcher with a bro- 
 ken spout, and began to bathe the sprain- 
 ed ankle in cold water. Mouse look 
 up, smiling the Lefthander's arm w 
 around her neck. The group, with the 
 circus girls on their knees in the sawdust 
 and covering the child with caresses, mi 
 quite a picture. 
 
 They were not wrong, perhaps, tin 
 worthy ballet-girls, in supposing that ca- 
 and petting were good for people 
 in Mouse's condition. Kisses soothe, and 
 tones of love and sympathy heal the 
 wounds of the body as well as the mind. 
 They arc wholesome. So Mouse smiled 
 as she received the caresses of these youm 
 
 ;! 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 41 
 
 Amazons of the ring, whom their hard life 
 had not hardened. 
 
 "There, girls, that will do! 1 ' said the 
 Lefthander; "let the young one be quirt 
 now and rest a little." 
 
 lie looked at them from under his shag- 
 gy eyebrows and intittered, 4 ' (lood girls!" 
 
 A boy appeared at the opening of the 
 dressing-room as he was speaking, and 
 called out, " Lefthander!'' 
 
 " Well T he growled. 
 
 " It's your turn, Lefthander. The bare- 
 backers arc off." 
 
 "Go to the devil!" said the Left- 
 hander. 
 
 The boy's face rilled with delight, and 
 he chuckled. 
 
 M Must I tell old Brownson that?" 
 
 " Yes, tell him! I'll probably send 
 him there before the night's over." 
 
 The boy disappeared, apparently over- 
 whelmed with delight at these words. He 
 was a call-boy, of a humorous turn, and 
 probably did not like "old Brownson." 
 As he let the flap fall, the faces of Gen- 
 tleman Joe and Harry were seen watch- 
 ing and waiting anxiously to hear if Mouse 
 was really hurt. There was no time to 
 tell them at the moment. They and 
 Clare de Lune and the Zephyr were suc- 
 cessively " called." The two girls, obey- 
 ing the inexorable summons, went out of 
 the dressing-room; and the Lefthander 
 was left alone with Mouse. 
 
 She was lying quite easily, and did not 
 seem to be suffering. Her paleness had 
 disappeared, and the delicate lips were 
 smiling. She had closed her eyes, ap- 
 parently to shield them from the light of 
 a cluster of lamps high up upon the large 
 pole supporting the tent; and the Left- 
 hander, half stretched upon the old mat- 
 tress beside her, looked at her quietly. It 
 was a great contrast, the huge athlete 
 with the ponderous chest, and limbs rug- 
 ged with muscle, leaning on his elbow 
 near the child, who seemed, as he had 
 said, light enough to be blown away by 
 the first wind. While he was looking at 
 her with a tenderness which made the 
 rough features wonderfully soft, Mouse 
 opened her eyes. 
 
 "Well, old lady," said the lefthander, 
 quietly, " how is the foot?" 
 
 " It's easy," said Mouse, "and it ivallv 
 don't, amount to much, I do assure you, 
 poppa/' 
 
 " How about the arm .'" 
 
 " Well, it's the least, bit bruised; I 
 wonder it bled so, and it doesn't hurt 
 now. Here's a rumpus," added Mouse, 
 "all about a small body that could be 
 put in a thimble." 
 
 " You may be a small body in the eyes 
 of other people, but you are a big body in 
 mine, Mignon," the Lefthander said. " I'd 
 rather see the whole Unrivalled Combina- 
 tion sunk to the depths than have your 
 little finger hurt." 
 
 "The Combination sunk?" Mouse re- 
 joined; "that would be a bad thing to 
 happen ; for you know, then, Clare de 
 Lune and the Zephyr would be sunk too." 
 
 " Well, that would be bad," the Left- 
 hander acknowledged. 
 
 "And there's Gentleman Joe and Har- 
 ry. They oughtn't to be sunk instead of 
 playing away yonder just listen to that 
 music and the applause. I think Long 
 Tom must be turning his back somerset." 
 
 Long Tom was Mr. Donald Melville, 
 chief of the bare-back riders, and a friend 
 of Mouse. 
 
 "No, it wouldn't do to sink Gentle- 
 man Joe and Harry," she said, shaking 
 her head. " I don't think I could get 
 along without them ; and then you know 
 we couldn't go off and make up that 
 troupe I Ayas telling you about." 
 
 "The travelling company? So it's all 
 arranged ?" 
 
 " Of course it's all arranged. I am 
 now considering about the monkey," said 
 Mouse ; " he is to have a red jacket 
 trimmed with gold braid, and a blue vel- 
 vet cap. I will train him to play the 
 tambourine and carry round the hat." 
 
 "And you'll look after the flowers and 
 the sunshine ?" 
 
 " In my moments of leisure, when I've 
 nothing else to do." 
 
 Mouse spoke with a matter-of-fact air, 
 but her eyes sparkled at the thought of 
 the flowers and the sunshine. The Left- 
 
42 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 Lander evidently saw the expression and 
 said, 
 
 k ' Well, I think I've about made up my 
 mind, Mignon; and we'll go off and get 
 up the company/ 1 
 
 Mouse started with joy. 
 
 "Are you really in earnest, poppa?" 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 "I really am." 
 
 "And Gentleman Joe! and Harry! 
 Do you think they will go with us?" 
 
 "I think I can talk both into it I 
 don't know ; I think I can. Harry's 
 rea<ly, and old brute Brownson's getting 
 < Gentleman Joe in a bad humor with him." 
 
 Mouse forgot her foot, and clasped her 
 small hands with delight. 
 
 " It's too good to be true ! it is not go- 
 ing to happen !" she exclaimed. " There's 
 no such luck to be expected, and I'll nev- 
 er see that monkey no, never !" 
 
 " You would like to ?" 
 
 "Like to? I'd take him on my back 
 and carry him all day, only to have him ! 
 Oh, poppa ! we'd be so happy. Think ! 
 there'd be no more tight-rope dancing, 
 and falling down and getting hurt we'd 
 act in the daytime and the sun would 
 shine so, and the grass and flowers just 
 think of it all! You'd be happier than 
 you ever were, and I'd take such good 
 care of you !" 
 
 " I really believe I would be happier, 
 Mignon and I'd keep away from the 
 har-room<. And there's another thing; 
 if I stay hen- I'll put an end to old 
 Brown-' MI some day." 
 
 "Oh, n>! that would be sinful. You 
 kn<\v what I read you in my Bible, pop- 
 
 " Fe, I know, and that's \\liy 1 want 
 to get away bcfon: I do him any damage. 
 I'm not a bad sort of fellow if people let 
 me alone; but I'm rather hard to manage 
 when I'm trifled with. I begin to sec 
 ivd! Some day or other old Drown-on 
 will provoke me; then I'll give him one 
 of my left-handers that will do for him. 
 What noise is that 
 
 "Somebody's quarrelling," Mou- 
 Intening. 
 
 A loud hubbub was heard without, and 
 
 the sound of voices in angry discussion. 
 Curious to know what occasioned it, the 
 Lefthander got up, raised the canvas Hap, 
 and telling Mouse that he would return 
 in a moment, went out of the dressing- 
 room. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 OF THE HEAVY BLOW INFLICTED ON 
 UNRIVALLED COMBINATION AND 
 MANAGER. 
 
 THE accident to the child had be 
 forgotten by the audience a few minutes 
 after its occurrence. The general enjoy- 
 ment interrupted for a moment recovered 
 its full force. This was natural ; human 
 life and the world of the stage, or the 
 ring, are much the same has not Shak- 
 speare told us that ? You may have your 
 private tragedy, and people pity you, per- 
 haps ; but then it is your tragedy, not 
 theirs. It makes a ripple on the surface, 
 but ripples soon disappear. The comedy 
 goes on, for the audience have come to 
 be amused, not to shed tears. Your he 
 is broken? Your life is desolate? t 
 is very sad. Your foot has slipped o 
 the slippery arena of this weary world ? 
 poor fellow ! But feet will slip, and hearts 
 will break. There really is no time 
 sympathize with you. There is Mr. M 
 ryman making one die with laught 
 Ha! ha! ha! ha ! did you notice that 
 grimace? What a funny fellow he is 
 without a care in the world! And here 
 come the bare-back riders in their brilliant 
 dresses! The lights dazzle; the nm-i 
 roars; the great arena is full of noise 
 and splendor and rejoicing, as your life- 
 blood is oozing out yonder behind the 
 curtain. 
 
 So the gay performances went on ; and 
 the jugglers tossed their plates and halls; 
 Clare de Lune and Zephyr pirouetted on 
 their velvet -addles; and Mr. Donald Mel- 
 ville, d/i'is " Long Tom," executed splen- 
 did back somerset s; ami Harry and his 
 eomrades hounded lightly over a dozen 
 hor.-es abreast; and Gentleman Joe, with 
 a heavy heart, grimaced in a manner indi- 
 
 :: 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 43 
 
 eating the very height of human enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 lie was very heavy-hearted, indeed, this 
 poor old Gentleman Joe, in his striped 
 costume, exploding with jests, and dou- 
 bling himself up in the ecstasies of his 
 mirth, lie was thinking of Mouse the 
 whole time. The child was very dear to 
 him, as lie had no one of his own only 
 Harry, who was grown now and he 
 could not bear the thought that she was 
 lying there in pain, a few feet from him. 
 This thought made Gentleman Joe ex- 
 tremely unhappy ; and as he had an op- 
 portunity at length of temporarily absent- 
 ing himself from the ring, he went out, 
 and directed his steps toward the corner 
 where the colloquy had taken place be- 
 tween himself and his friends just before 
 the child's accident. Perhaps the place 
 recalled her, and lie thought that he 
 would go there for a moment before pro- 
 ceeding to inquire into her condition. 
 He was wiping his face on his arm, and 
 unconsciously removing some of the 
 paint, when a voice behind him said, 
 
 " What is the matter, father? Some- 
 thing troubles you." 
 
 It was the voice of Harry. He had 
 just finished his leaping performance, and 
 seeing the figure of his father disappear 
 in the direction of this corner, had follow- 
 ed him. 
 
 " What makes you look so sorrowful ?" 
 he added. 
 
 " Mouse," said Gentleman Joe, sighing 
 deeply. 
 
 " She is not much hurt," replied the 
 young man. "Clare de Lune said so. 
 Only a sprain and a slight bruise." 
 
 Gentleman Joe shook his head de- 
 spondently, and put his hand to his fore- 
 head a common gesture with him as 
 if something was wrong there. 
 
 " I can't bear it, I can't bear it !" he 
 said, in a piteous tone. " She ought not 
 to be here. It is not suitable for a little 
 slip of a thing like Mouse to live in such 
 a rough world as this I mean, to be a 
 circus girl. She is a bud with the dew 
 on it. The dust and heat will dry up 
 the dew. I can't bear it !" 
 
 It was really a piteous sound that is- 
 sued from tlu* lips of Gentleman .lo.-. 
 The sigh which lie uttered seemed to be 
 siilH.'ient to "shatter all his hulk." The 
 young man looked troubled at his fa- 
 ther's trouble, and seemed to be thinking 
 of Mouse too, for lie said, 
 
 kk You are right, father. I wish she 
 was oil' somewhere, living easily and in 
 quiet, as a child should, as much a- y>u 
 do. It is strange how much Mouse 
 makes everybody love her. I don't 
 know how I would get along unless I 
 heard her laugh and tease me and it is 
 all pretence ; she is devoted to all of us." 
 
 "She has a warm heart too warm 
 for this hard business," sighed Gentleman 
 Joe. 
 
 His eyes grew dreamy as he said this, 
 and he added, in a thoughtful tone, 
 
 "A hard business, a very hard business. 
 I have been at it now for let me see 
 for well, for nearly three years, and I 
 know all about it." 
 
 " For three years, father !" 
 
 "At least that, my boy. Maybe for 
 twenty or more. You sec my memory 
 fails me a little, sometimes. I can't fix 
 the exact time ; but it has been a very 
 long time indeed, and I have seen a great 
 many things as I travelled about." 
 
 Harry looked a little sorrowful at this 
 aberration of his father's memory, al- 
 though he was used to it. 
 
 " Some things were very sad," Gentle- 
 man Joe said, with sudden tears in his 
 eyes. "There was little Charley, Long 
 Tom's nephew. They were training the 
 child. You know they hold them by a 
 cord through a ring as the horse gallops. 
 One day the cord broke, and little Charley 
 fell under the horse's feet and was tram- 
 pled to death, lie was bleeding from a 
 wound on his forehead made by the hoof 
 of the horse. "When they took him up 
 he was dead." 
 
 Gentleman Joe uttered a sob. 
 
 " That was enough to make people cry 
 poor little Charley ! he was very fond 
 of me." 
 
 " Well, father," said the young man, 
 "I wouldn't think of these sorrowful 
 
44 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 things. There is enough of trouble in 
 this world without looking it up." 
 
 "That is very true," said Gentleman 
 Joe, resuming his equanimity. 
 
 " There are bright things and scenes as 
 well as sad ones. You must think of the 
 bright <>nes." 
 
 M 1 do, Harry, I do," said Gentleman 
 Joe, cheerfully. "I remember a great 
 many of that sort, too. I could make 
 you split your sides laughing if I told 
 you about some things I have seen. 
 There was the old farmer in Ohio, who 
 waddled into the ring and squared off to 
 fight me for pointing at him, and asking 
 him if he ' wanted to be a Granger, and 
 with the Grangers stand?'" 
 
 Gentleman Joe smiled with sudden de- 
 light at the recollection. 
 
 " lie was angry, I suppose," said Har- 
 rv, humoring his father. 
 
 "Angry? He was wild!" exclaimed 
 Gentleman Joe, in immense enjoyment. 
 "He doubled up his fist and struck at 
 me; but I stooped down and ran between 
 his legs, and sent him sprawling in the 
 sawdust ha, ha'/' 
 
 The speaker shook from head to foot 
 in ecstasies of mirth, after which he exe- 
 cuted a series of grimaces from the force 
 of habit. 
 
 "That was amusing enough," he said, 
 at length, assuming an air of dignity, as 
 though ashamed of his outburst; "but 
 everything 1 have seen was not so comic 
 as this. \Ve can't always laugh." 
 
 "'It is better to lau^h than be sigh- 
 ing' you know what the song says, fa- 
 
 " Well, I'm not so certain of that," was 
 the thoughtful reply. "A man who is 
 always laughing is like an empty gourd 
 with pebbles in it. You grow tiivd af- 
 ter awhile of the empty rattle, and long 
 for quiet and an opportunity to think. 
 But then thinking hurts the head. You 
 ivnirinber things, too, when you think, 
 and that hurts tin- heart." 
 
 lie looked at the young man dreamily. 
 It was a sorrowful, absorbed look, and his 
 mind was evidently busy with thoughts 
 of other persons or places. 
 
 " I often think of Ellen when I look at 
 you, my boy," he said. 
 
 " My mother ?" Harry said, in a low 
 tone. 
 
 " Yes. She is dead now it has been 
 a long time. I wish I was dead, too !" 
 
 " Don't talk so, father." 
 
 "Why not? It is true," Gentleman 
 Joe said, with a sad dignity in his face 
 and voice which was wonderfully in con- 
 trast with his clown's dress. "Do you 
 think it so very strange that a man 
 should wish to die when he has lost his 
 wife?" 
 
 " But what would have become of 
 me ?" said the young man. 
 
 "True; I ought to think of that. In 
 fact, I did think of it," said Gentleman 
 Joe, calmly. "You were a little one 
 then, and put your arms around my neck 
 and kissed me, and I saw what was to be 
 done. My place was to live and take care 
 of you." 
 
 As Gentleman Joe spoke, he looked 
 at Harry with such tenderness that the 
 young man's face flushed and his 
 trembled a little. 
 
 " When did mother die, and where 
 it, father ?" he said. 
 
 " Hush !" said Gentleman Joe in a 
 voice, with his eyes swimming suddenly 
 in tears; "it was a long time ago I 
 don't remember the place, but I remem- 
 ber how she looked," he added, piteously. 
 
 The young man did not speak again 
 for some moments; he was plainly en- 
 deavoring to regain command of his voice. 
 At length he said, 
 
 " Well, well, father, as it distresses you 
 so I will not ask any more quest ions. 
 You will tell me some of these days, when 
 we are quietly settled down somewhere. 
 I wish that was now. You ought to give 
 
 Up this bll>iness. M 
 
 " I'm afraid that will never be, my boy," 
 Gentleman Joe said, shaking his head. 
 " You can't teach an old dog new tricks." 
 
 "But it is wearing you out, father ! 
 And such a life does not suit your char- 
 acter in the least. You are entirely dif- 
 ferent from these people it may surprise 
 you to hear me talk so, when I have 
 
 avc nev- 
 
VIRGINIA HOIIKMIANR 
 
 45 
 
 cr known any other sort and they are 
 good friendly fellows too. But they arc 
 diilerent from >/on. You have no idea 
 how 1 fed when I see you in this clownV 
 dri-ss, making fun for negroes and com- 
 mon people ! 1 hate it ! And I hate my 
 own trade of a circus -man. I'd rather 
 live ly digging ditches !" 
 
 " I>ut what are we to do we are so 
 poor, Harry I" 
 
 " I will work for you, father. It is mv 
 duty you have worked for me. It is a 
 very small return for all your love and 
 care since I was a child." 
 
 "No, no the fathers must do their 
 part. When they are old and weak, the 
 children can take care of them then." 
 
 " You are getting to be both, father, 
 and I mean to take care of you," said 
 Harry. " You may think I am a thought- 
 less boy, and I am thoughtless cm nigh, 
 but I am not bad-hearted. It is my place 
 to watch over you, and keep you from 
 wanting anything. I never had a want 
 that you did not supply when you could, 
 and you have never been anything to me 
 but the very best father that a boy ever 
 had. Xow I am a man, and I intend to 
 try and make you some return for all 
 you've done for me. Only say the word, 
 and we'll leave the company and settle 
 down quietly, and I'll do the working for 
 both of us you couldn't please me bet- 
 ter." 
 
 " Leave the company, Harry ? Leave 
 the Lefthander, and Long Tom, and Clare 
 de Lime she's a good girl and Mouse, 
 worst of all ? I don't think I could do that, 
 my boy. Xo, I never could leave Mouse." 
 
 " We might talk the Lefthander into 
 the idea of going off with us. I don't 
 think he's very much pleased of late with 
 the business and Manager Brownson. He 
 was drinking at the tavern this morning, 
 and a man trod on his foot, which made 
 him angry, and Brownson spoke roughly 
 to him. lie wouldn't have liked the 
 Lefthander's look if he had seen it as he 
 turned his back." 
 
 " Well, he is getting more ill-tempered 
 I mean Mr. Brownson. Still he is not 
 discourteous to you or me, Harry, and " 
 
 " What the devil are you doing idling 
 when you ought to be on?" cried a voice 
 near them. They looked up there \\as 
 the gentleman of whom they had just 
 been speaking. 
 
 Manager Hrownson was not in a good- 
 humor, that was very plain from \\\^ face. 
 Indeed, several circumstances had com- 
 biiii-d to mar the worthy man's serenity 
 on this day, and during the performance. 
 In the morning the Lefthander, while en- 
 gaged in the discreditable procecdim;' <>f 
 drinking at the village tavern, had nearly 
 gotten into an altercation with a citizen, 
 which was prejudicial to receipts, and 
 had cost him, Manager Brownson, an ad- 
 mission ticket, by way of salve to the 
 citizen's feelings. Then, since nightfall 
 other things had irritated the good man. 
 The performers had not been as prompt 
 as he expected. Things had gone wrong 
 generally. The Lefthander had in mere 
 wantonness, and evidently from personal 
 malice, strangled the African leopard, one 
 of the finest animals in the menagerie, 
 which was a dead loss of more than two 
 thousand dollars. And even that was 
 not all : this big bully had dared to tell 
 him, Manager Brownson, to his very face, 
 that what he said was a lief and when 
 he was " called " to his performance, sub- 
 sequently, had sent him word that he, 
 Manager Brownson, might go to the devil! 
 Was this the manner in which the man- 
 ager and proprietor of the Unrivalled 
 Combination of Attractions was to be 
 treated by one of his subordinates ? What 
 he said was a lie! ! and he might go to 
 the devil! !! 
 
 Instead of going to the devil, Manager 
 Brownson went to his private retreat in 
 the rear and solaced himself with brandy. 
 He had solaced himself repeatedly before, 
 and his face became redder, and his tem- 
 per more irascible. He was ready to 
 confront all the Lefthanders on earth by 
 this time; and, going toward the ring, 
 his heavy cane striking the ground a< he 
 walked, he chanced to see Gentleman Joe 
 talking with Harry. As the phrase "go 
 to the devil" was rankling in his mind, 
 he naturally uttered the words " what the 
 
46 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 devil," etc., as above. He then grasped 
 his large walking-cane about a foot from 
 the head in a threatening manner, and 
 scowling at Gentleman Joe, who was 
 nearest to him, said, 
 
 " What do you mean, I say, by this 
 fooling here ? Look yonder ! Not a 
 soul in the ring and hear the audience 
 growling and howling like a whole men- 
 agerie !" 
 
 Gentleman Joe's frame stiffened, and 
 his face assumed an expression of wound- 
 ed pride which was very striking. 
 
 "I was only conversing with my son 
 for a few moments, sir," he said, formal- 
 ly. " I am not aware that I am your 
 servant, to be addressed in a manner so 
 very unpleasant." 
 
 But the dignity in the tone of the 
 speaker was quite thrown away on Man- 
 ager Brownson. If he noticed it, he paid 
 no attention to it. 
 
 "Don't try to be palming off your ex- 
 cuses on me !" he exclaimed, wrathful ly. 
 "You and that fellow, the Lefthander, 
 and his daughter, cut down your business 
 one-half. It's robbing me ! no better 
 than taking my purse !" 
 
 Gentleman Joe colored with indigna- 
 tion, and said, 
 
 " It is not true that I neglect my part, 
 sir." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" cried Mr. 
 i, raising his heavy stick. 
 
 "I mean I am an honest man, and not 
 a worm for you to tread upon, if I am 
 a clown in your company," 1 said Gentle- 
 man Joe. 
 
 " Give me another word and go on, I 
 r " 
 
 "You have been drinking, sir. I will 
 not go on. I will leave your company!" 
 exclaimed Gentleman Joe, in a firm voice. 
 
 These, words excitrd Manager I'.rown- 
 son in the high- . and uttering a 
 
 volley of oaths, he raised his stick and 
 struck at Gentleman Joe. As he did so, 
 the young man, who had listened to this 
 colloquy with a Hushed fare, sprung 
 straight at him. 
 
 There was no personal collision, how- 
 ever, between Harry and Manager Brown- 
 
 ed. After 
 
 son : a third person interposed. 
 leaving Mouse in the dressing-room, the 
 Lefthander had looked in the direction of 
 the sounds of angry discussion which had 
 attracted his attention, and a glance was 
 sufficient to explain everything. Mana- 
 ger Brownson had raised his heavy walk- 
 ing-stick above the head of old Gentle- 
 man Joe, uttering a volley of oaths as he 
 did so. This made the situation of af- 
 fairs quite plain, and the Lefthander act- 
 ed promptly. It took him only a mo- 
 ment to reach the spot. Just as the 
 manager's cane descended, something re- 
 sembling a falling sledge-hammer passed 
 through the air, and Manager Brownson 
 staggered, reeled backward, and fell at 
 full length on the sawdust. The Left- 
 hander had delivered what he called his 
 "left-hander," and the manager, struck 
 between the eyes, had gone down under 
 it like an ox under the axe of the butcher. 
 A crowd of the performers, leaving 
 their horses standing, hastened to the 
 spot. The manager was lying on the 
 
 sawdust, 
 
 his face bleeding, ai 
 
 growling out curses. 
 
 " I have intended to let him have tlu 
 for some time," said the Lefthander, 
 will be good for him." 
 
 As Manager Brownson rose to his feet 
 almost without assistance, it was obvious 
 that his injuries were not serious, 
 directed a single look at the athlete, in 
 which tlie venom of all the serpents in 
 his menagerie was concentrated, and then 
 retired without speaking, probably for the 
 purpose of washing the blood from his 
 face. 
 
 The Lefthander had stood by quietly, 
 without saying anything more. He now 
 took Gentleman Joe by the arm, and, 
 pushing through the crowd, went to a 
 retired corner, and talked with him for 
 a few moments. They then separated, 
 and the Lefthander returned to the group 
 of circus -men, who had resumed their 
 places by the horses and shook hands 
 with them one after another. It was 
 evident that he was taking leave of 
 them, and that the men regretted the 
 fact their faces showed that. The 
 
 
VIK(; I MA P.01I KM I A NS. 
 
 Lefthander then went back to the dress- 
 ing-room, whore he found Mouse lying 
 quietly on her old matti 
 
 " I low's the foot now. Minium ?" ho said. 
 
 kk Well, it's nothing to give a body any 
 anxiety," said Mouse. " A sprain's not 
 much. Was there anybody quarrelling, 
 poppa .'" 
 
 " A small diflieultv not mueh. I say, 
 Mignon, would you like to go away with 
 ino t. .-night?" 
 
 " Go away to-night !" 
 
 " We are going away it will be bet- 
 ter. I'm getting in i bad humor with 
 old Brownson, you see. I might do him 
 some harm, and it is best to avoid that. 
 Do you think you would like to go and 
 see if we can't try to find the flowers and 
 the sunshine?" 
 
 "Oh yes, poppa! Yes, yes! I can 
 easily walk." 
 
 " You'll not have to walk. What's a 
 big fellow like me worth if he can't carry 
 a young one like you ? It's like carrying 
 a leaf, or a puff of smoke blown on the 
 wind." 
 
 " But Gentleman Joe, and Harry !" 
 Mouse exclaimed, suddenly. 
 
 " That will be all right I've seen about 
 it." 
 
 " Will they go, poppa?" 
 
 " Yes, they will go. Now, if Clare de 
 Lunc was here you'll have to dress " 
 
 " Here I am, Lefthander !" cried a voice 
 at the opening. " What's this badness 
 of yours? quarrelling with that dear old 
 darling, Brownson ! You ought to be 
 ashamed of yourself. I heard about it !" 
 
 Clare de Lime showed a fine set of 
 teeth as she said this, and laughed in a 
 way which indicated enjoyment of the 
 manner in which the old darling had 
 been treated. Behind her appeared the 
 Zephyr, still flushed with her exertions in 
 the ring; and the Lefthander proceeded 
 to inform them that he and Mouse were 
 "going to take French leave." At this 
 announcement exclamations and wailing 
 ensued. The prospect of seeing Mouse 
 and the Lefthander leave them evidently 
 upset these excitable beings; and one 
 could see from the tears in the eyes of 
 
 Clare de Luno, and her heaving bosom, 
 that sin- was ready to hurst out cr\ in^. 
 "Can't bo helped, "the Lefthander said, 
 
 concisely. " Engagement wound up, and 
 
 receipts signed and delivered. We are 
 going on our travels get Mm>e ready. 
 girls. I'll soon got these circus things 
 off and come back for her." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, she shall be ready ! 
 You're not really going > She can't walk ! 
 The idea of going!" 
 
 This combined wail arose from Clare 
 dc Lunc and the Zephyr at the same mo- 
 ment. The Lefthander paid no attention 
 to it, and went out of the dressing-room. 
 Thereupon the girls promptly set about 
 getting Mouse ready for her expedition. 
 This was not difficult. The child was ac- 
 customed to sleep indifferently at public- 
 houses or under the circus tent with the 
 young women; and a small travelling- 
 satchel containing her few clothes was ly- 
 ing op the sawdust at the head of the old 
 mattress. From this Clare de Lune now 
 drew out a neat child's dress, a pair of 
 black morocco boots, a small felt hat, and 
 other articles of Mouse's wardrobe. She 
 and Zephyr then removed the child's 
 dancing-dress and replaced it with that 
 taken from the travelling -satchel, tying 
 her light curls behind with a ribbon, and 
 the strings of the hat under her chin. 
 They then retreated a few steps and look- 
 ed at her critically as she leaned upon the 
 old mattress. Mouse presented a very 
 attractive appearance thus dressed, and 
 resembled a child just ready to set out 
 after breakfast for school a resemblance 
 which was assisted by the satchel lying 
 beside her. After contemplating her 
 with admiring eyes for a short while, 
 Clare de Lune and the Zephyr rushed at 
 her, burst into sobs, and covered her face 
 with kisses. In the midst of this the 
 Lefthander reappeared, lie had discard- 
 ed his stockinet and velvet, and wore a 
 plain brown citizen's suit, in which it was 
 difficult to recognize him. The athlete 
 had vanished, and the citizen had taken 
 his place. 
 
 " Come on, Mignon," he said, " we are 
 burning daylight. It's time to go." 
 
48 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 Thereupon new wails arose, and new 
 sobs and k ; 
 
 "Don't take Mouse away, Lefthander !" 
 
 "How can we do without you and 
 Mouse?" 
 
 \< cds must, girls," the Lefthander 
 said ; " who knows ? we might meet again 
 some of these days. But nobody ever 
 knows about that. You are good girls " 
 
 lit- went up to them and put his arms 
 around them and kissed them. 
 
 "Good-bye!" he said. "You don't 
 wear long frocks, and they're cut low in 
 the neck, but there's something under 
 them that fine ladies don't always have 
 a heart." 
 
 He took the satchel, and then lifted 
 Mouse in his arms. Clare de Lune came 
 and kissed her, crying, and then fixed her 
 eyes on the Lefthander. 
 
 " I thought you would not leave me" 
 she said in a low voice, sobbing. 
 
 "It is hardest of all," said the, Left- 
 hander, in the same tone ; " but remem- 
 ber what I said. You are a good girl 
 now be a good girl still. Then some 
 day that will arrange itself." 
 
 II'- touched the cheek of Clare de 
 Lune with his lips and went out of the 
 tout, leaving the girl covering her face 
 and sobbing. 
 
 AY hen Manager Brownson woke on the 
 Morning his head felt exceedingly 
 
 in mfortable, but far greater was his 
 
 mental di'piv>si<n at certain intelligence 
 vJii<-h was promptly conveyed to him. 
 The Lefthander, Gentleman Joe, Harry, 
 
 and Moii>e hal all vanished; at one fell 
 swoop he had been deprived of the pride 
 and glory >f the 1'nrivalled Combination 
 its athlete, its Mr. Mcrryman, its tight- 
 rope attraction, and one of its best acro- 
 bats. Manager I'.rou n-<>n groaned; n<>t 
 even his morning bitters iv\i\cd his 
 spirit*. 
 
 By >unri>.' the tents were struck, and 
 nrivalled Combination of Attrac- 
 tions disappeared from Piedmont for 
 parS unknown. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 GENERAL LASCELLES. 
 
 THE library at AVye was a pleasant 
 spectacle on the evening of the circus. 
 The family had assembled there after tea, 
 and spent the time in pleasant talk, as 
 people were accustomed to do in the 
 cheerful little Piedmont neighborhood. 
 For it was a very friendly and pleasant 
 little neighborhood. Once the families 
 had lived in affluence, and the houses had 
 overflowed with company, and carriages 
 stood at the doors at any and all hours 
 of the day, apparently waiting for some- 
 body to come and ride in them. There 
 was a plenty of hospitality still, but few 
 servants were seen now ; and the wolf 
 was at the door much oftener than the 
 coach. Still this did not seem to matter 
 much. The good people in the old coun- 
 try homes accepted their reduced fortunes 
 cheerfully, and kept up their kindly asso- 
 ciation with each other as before. Cer- 
 tain persons, it is true, called them aris- 
 tocratic and " exclusive ;" which means, 
 "You consider yourself better than I 
 am." This was not just, however. They 
 simply preferred the society of their own 
 people and their blood relations; for 
 which reason they were sneered at and 
 styled ridiculous. They had not been 
 sneered at once, when they rolled in their 
 coaches and had plenty of means. If 
 they had ever been an aristocracy, they 
 were a very poor aristocracy now, and it 
 is well known that little can be looked 
 for from that sort of people. A rich 
 aristocracy ought, of course, to be saluted 
 respectfully certain advantages may be 
 derived from conciliating it. AYith a 
 
 O 
 
 poor aristocracy it is very different. It 
 is an offensive anomaly, and has no right 
 t<> exist certainly not to be holding its 
 head up, as if it were somebody. Y.MI 
 can laugh at it, and despise it even no 
 inconvenience will result since nothing 
 is to ] expected from nothing. 
 
 The worthy people saw the difference, 
 
 but did not care much. They had al- 
 
 -aluted every one, and saluted still 
 
 with friendly courtesy, whether anybody 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 49 
 
 returned their salutes or not. The 
 "freedmen" always returned them, with 
 more respect even than when they were 
 slaves. This was singular luit true, and 
 
 was even commented upon. The old 
 regime was gone, but the old ways lin- 
 gered. The suave old gentlemen and the 
 serene old ladies, with their sweet smiles, 
 weiv the same people. The very boys 
 and girls were the same boys and girls, 
 and one could see that they respected 
 good morals and good manners. Youth 
 raised them above fortune, and they were 
 as bright as the spring sunshine. You 
 cannot change nature, and the bright days 
 return in defiance of everything. The 
 rrass and tlowers will bud and bloom in 
 spite of the ruts made by cannon-wheels. 
 And here in the little neighborhood nat- 
 ure had come to heal the old wounds. 
 Her face smiled and her great heart 
 throbbed under the desolation; and old 
 and young smiled too, making the best 
 of things. 
 
 In the small neighborhood, here and 
 there, however, were a few families who 
 were comparatively very well off. 
 Among these was the Lascelles fam- 
 ily, living at Wye, at the head of 
 which was General Lascelles a title 
 of courtesy merely, derived from his 
 former rank in the militia. Wye was 
 a very good estate, indeed, and covered 
 more than three thousand acres. In old 
 times several hundreds of Africans, nom- 
 inally slaves, had enjoyed the proceeds of 
 the estate. These were now free, and 
 enjoyed the franchise, which they were 
 quite willing to dispose of for a glass of 
 whiskey; but the ancient establishment 
 went on in something resembling the old 
 style. The chief difference between the 
 old and new regime was that the freed- 
 men were paid a fact which did not 
 seem, however, to impress very deeply 
 the gray -haired "uncles," who shook 
 their heads, and made no scruple of in- 
 timating that, since no home was to be 
 provided for them in their old age, free- 
 dom was a snare and a delusion ; but 
 they were free, and must make the best 
 of it. The main thing was to be allowed 
 
 to remain at Wye, and look to the family 
 for things. So they remained, and look- 
 ed to the family. 
 
 General Lascelles made a good deal of 
 money. It is true, he spent a great deal. 
 He was an excellent manager, and what 
 went in at the spigot nearly made up for 
 what gushed out at the bung. He sowed 
 annually nearly a thousand acres in wheat, 
 and raised vast crops of corn on his low 
 grounds, chiefly for his stock. He was 
 extremely fond of stock-raising. Mis 
 cattle, sheep, and hogs were his pride, 
 and no one was more successful with 
 them. He gave large prices for fine 
 cattle, but said that it paid. He had a 
 small bull, much less imposing than Paul 
 Potter's, for which he had given fifteen 
 thousand dollars, and congratulated him- 
 self upon purchasing him so cheap. He 
 had the purest breeds of Southdowns, 
 Cotswolds, and Leicesters, and carefully 
 crossed them, experimenting how to pro- 
 duce the finest mutton and the heaviest 
 wool. His hogs were as carefully man- 
 aged. Crossing the big white Chester 
 and the small black Essex he produced a 
 species like the Berkshire, which he said 
 was the best hog of all. For his calves, 
 lambs, and pigs he received very large 
 sums, and stock-breeders came from all 
 parts of the country to purchase them. 
 All this pleased General Lascelles very 
 much, apart from any question of profit ; 
 but his supreme passion was for horses. 
 He could begin and tell you one after 
 another the points of a good horse, from 
 his pasterns to his ears, and looked at a 
 thorough-bred as a bridegroom looks at 
 his bride. His young stallion Roland, he 
 said, was the very finest colt ever sired 
 by Revenue, and everybody knew that 
 Revenue had not a drop of blood in his 
 whole body that was not thorough-bred. 
 The general's colts were a little fortune 
 to him, and were in training in all parts 
 of the country. He had nothing to do 
 with the turf now, and rarely attended 
 even his dear Maryland races at Balti- 
 more ; but it would never do not to train 
 such horse-flesh. He would not sell his 
 best colts to anybody. He called them 
 
50 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 his "beauties," and kept them for the 
 pleasure of looking at them. It was his 
 habit, generally after breakfast, to hobble 
 out, leaning on his old body-servant for 
 the rheumatic gout had attacked him of 
 late years and have the beauties in 
 glossy coats led up and down for his in- 
 spection. This was his pastime, and near- 
 ly all the personal part which he took in 
 matters at Wye; for it was a somewhat 
 singular fact that General Lascelles spent 
 the whole day nearly in writing letters or 
 reading the newspapers, and had very lit- 
 tle to do with farming operations person- 
 ally. It is true that he controlled every- 
 thing to the minutest details ; but he did 
 so through an old and reliable manager, 
 who had been with him for thirty years 
 or more. He saw this personage every 
 morning and gave his directions, and 
 the instrument performed what the brain 
 planned and ordered. 
 
 This slight sketch of Wye, and the 
 ways of things there, may leave the im- 
 pression that everything was prosperous 
 and the family wealthy. " Wealthy " is 
 a very general term. Persons who re- 
 ceive and spend a great deal of money 
 are not always wealthy. Large sums 
 flowed into the general's exchequer from 
 his agricultural operations and his stock 
 breeding; but he employed a great deal 
 of labor, and his outlay was in every way 
 very large. To raise grain is expensive. 
 The cost cuts down the profit immensely, 
 especially when u railway is mingled with 
 the equation. There was such a railway 
 with which General Lascelles and his 
 neighbors wen- mixed up the B. M. 
 It. It. ( Uiir Monopoly Railroad). 
 
 The Big Monopoly Railroad was con- 
 ducted on strictly business principles. 
 Every one was to look out for himself. 
 You were informed that you were not 
 obliged to send your grain OVt the IJig 
 Monopoly Railroad. You were free to 
 transport it to market in wagons if you 
 preferred. It was true you <-ouM not do 
 so without incurring a ruinous expense, 
 and that you were absolutely compelled 
 to do business with the Big Monopoly 
 Railroad. They were ready but the 
 
 " way freight" must pay for the "through 
 freight." This was one of the great prin- 
 ciples of moral philosophy. There was 
 competition in the matter of the through 
 freight there was none as to the way 
 freight. It was therefore plain, from the 
 nature of things, that the Virginia grain- 
 grower must be charged an amount which 
 would be a fair division of his profits 
 with the railroad : half to himself for 
 raising the grain half to the Big Mo- 
 nopoly for transporting it to market. 
 That was just. They were bringing grain 
 thousands of miles from the West at a 
 dead loss ; for there was active competi- 
 tion with other lines of railway. There 
 was none in this case. It was way freight, 
 and they transported it at least one hun- 
 dred miles. If the profits on grain at 
 Wye were ten thousand dollars, was not 
 the Big Monopoly Railroad fairly entitled 
 to one-half that sum ? 
 
 This was one thing which prevented 
 General Lascelles from becoming rich. 
 There were two other obstacles. He 
 spent a great deal of money, and owed a 
 great deal. His mode of living all his 
 life had been profuse ; and then he was 
 generous to everybody. He had endorsed 
 for many friends in difficulties, and had 
 been called upon to pay. This he had 
 not been able to do in many instances, 
 and the debts remained unpaid: people 
 had not pressed him. He was very pop- 
 ular and very well off, which quiets cred- 
 itors. So the general went on paying 
 heavy interest, and making a great deal 
 of money, and spending it generously ; 
 living, in a word, like a fine old Virginia 
 gentleman, who is going to die some day 
 with his affairs probably "tied up into a 
 double bow-knot." It might not prove 
 so l)ad in the case x>f the worthy general ; 
 but there was the fact. Wye was a fine 
 e>tate, and the proceeds from the lane 
 were large but the general owed a great 
 leal of money. 
 
 He was the head of everything at Wye, 
 although he rarely left his library the 
 faet has been mentioned. To say this is 
 to say that he was a man of ability. This 
 was conceded by everybody, and, indeed, 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 51 
 
 he had filled a prominent place in public 
 affairs. He had always l>eeu influential 
 from his early manhood, and had prompt- 
 ly gone into politics served a term in 
 the State Legislature represented his 
 district in Congress and filled out the 
 unexpired term of a member of the I-Vd- 
 eral cabinet who had died suddenly. 1 It- 
 was then offered the post of minister 
 plenipotentiary to one of the first courts 
 of Europe, hut as the Civil War was plain- 
 ly imminent at the time, he declined it. 
 lie returned to Virginia, and the war fol- 
 lowed ; hut General Lascelles took no 
 part in it. This was due, people said, to 
 the scant respect with which he was treat- 
 ed by some of the Confederate officials, 
 from which a bitter quarrel had resulted. 
 Whether this was true or not, the general 
 returned to Wye in great dudgeon. He 
 simply announced, in a curt manner, that 
 there seemed to be no place for a worn- 
 out old dog like himself in the Confeder- 
 ate councils : he would go into the army 
 if he was able to do so ; as he was unable, 
 he would stay at home they could do 
 without him, he supposed. So he stayed 
 at home, and sent every surplus barrel of 
 flour and pound of meat to the army ; 
 and fed the soldiers by hundreds at his 
 table ; and scowled haughtily at the blue- 
 coats when they intruded on him. "When 
 peace came there he was still, with a great 
 torn -down establishment, and scarcely a 
 fence upon the estate ; but he and his old 
 manager had set to work and labored 
 with combined energy and here was 
 Wye, at last, looking a little like its old 
 self. 
 
 Personally the general was a rather 
 imposing but a most agreeable old gen- 
 tleman. He was tall and gray -haired, 
 with a face ruddy from good living ; for 
 his appetite was still excellent, and he 
 drank good wine at his dinner, as he had 
 done throughout his life. He dressed in 
 the old fashion, in a broadcloth coat and 
 black satin waistcoat, with a lofty stock 
 and standing shirt -collar. He wore his 
 watch in his pantaloons pocket, and 
 from the chain hung a bunch of seals, 
 one of them a blood-stone, on which was 
 
 the Lascelles coat of arms. When he 
 walked the seals jingled: this jingle 
 was a part of General Lasedlrs. A- t.. 
 his walk, it was the. walk of the Senator, 
 but he was not in the least, stiff very 
 far from it. lie was not only a most 
 courteous person to everybody, high and 
 low, but his manner was easy-going, and 
 put people in a good-humor. lie was 
 perfectly unpretending, and the model of 
 a plain old planter. He jested, had his 
 humorous views of things, and the hum- 
 blest man felt at his ease with him. It 
 is true that he probably had a very good 
 opinion of himself, for we all have our 
 weaknesses except ourselves. But this 
 trait in the general did not offend peo- 
 ple. He was entirely simple and friend- 
 ly, and shook hands heartily with the 
 humblest person, as he would probably 
 have done with the Emperor of Germany 
 or Russia if he had been presented to 
 him. He was a communicant of the 
 Episcopal Church, and helped a great 
 many poor people. Critical persons 
 laughed at him, but they were obliged 
 to respect him. Here was a genuine 
 man, whatever might be his foibles. 
 
 Such w r as Wye and the head of the 
 establishment. It was quite an old 
 house, built by the general's grandfather 
 or great-grandfather, the Sieur Lascelles, 
 of Touraine, in France a Huguenot ref- 
 ugee. The old Sieur Lascelles had es- 
 caped to England, after privately dispos* 
 ing of his landed estate, and married an 
 English lady, with whom he had after- 
 ward come to live in Virginia. Here he 
 had erected this old house, giving it the 
 name of " Wye," his dear wife's English 
 home, and the ancient mansion had duly 
 descended to the present representative 
 of the family. The antique character of 
 everything about it has been noticed. 
 The oaks in the grounds, through whose 
 vistas you had a fine view of a rich coun- 
 try, with rolling fields and belts of woods, 
 with the mountain in the background, 
 had evidently been there a long time, for 
 they were gradually dying at the top. 
 The old post supporting the sun-dial in 
 the circle was leaning from age. The 
 
52 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 old steps leading up to the portico were 
 nearly worn away. The ponderous fold- 
 ing-doors and iron knob took you back 
 to old times. In fact, many generations 
 of the Lascelles family had lived here, 
 and the place had about it an air of 
 births, christenings, and marriages it 
 was too cheerful to make you think of 
 funerals. In the time of the present 
 head of the house there had been a large 
 family there. The mansion had over- 
 flowed with children, but they had died, 
 or married and gone elsewhere. Besides 
 General Lascelles there were now only 
 three persons in the family the aged 
 Mrs. Lascelles, her trim little niece, Anna 
 <'i'ay, whom she had adopted some years 
 before, on the death of the young lady's 
 parents, and Mr. Douglas Lascelles, only 
 surviving son, who was approaching mid- 
 dle age, and had spent several years of 
 his life in Europe. 
 
 Such was this agreeable old Virginia 
 country-house of Wye at the time of the 
 present narrative. It was not precisely 
 like its old self under the past regime, 
 but as near an approach to it, perhaps, as 
 the last half of the inexorable nineteenth 
 century will tolerate. It tolerates a great 
 many things that it would be better for 
 it to put its heel upon, but the ancient 
 regime is not one of them. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 ELLIS ORANTIIAM. 
 
 IT is time to come to the pleasant 
 group in the library at \Vye. This was 
 the habitual resort of the family, for 
 <Jeneral Lascelles was not at all solitary 
 in his tastes; indeed, just the contrary. 
 He conducted a large political e<'i K -pond- 
 ence with his former associates and read 
 endless newspapers, but this did n<>t in- 
 terfere with anybody's coming and go- 
 ing. Some persons arc unable to write 
 if they are interrupted. The general 
 seemed rather to like it. 1 1 is children 
 had invaded his sanctum in old days 
 when there were children at Wye he 
 would have liked to have had them there 
 
 still and he had not repulsed them in 
 the least. Instead of frowning he had 
 smiled, and laid down his pen. Then 
 the little one would be on his knee, 
 and would be encouraged to express his 
 wishes. If these were a piece of candy, 
 the general unlocked a drawer in which 
 he always kept a supply of that child-lux- 
 ury, and produced some. If it was a toy 
 horse which required a string around his 
 foreleg to pull him by, the general got 
 up and looked for a string. If the 
 young one was suffering from ennui, 
 which afflicts children in common with 
 adults, he relieved it by telling a story, 
 after which the visitor retired, and the 
 ex-statesman resumed his correspondence 
 and discussion of public affairs. 
 
 The children had gone away now, and 
 there were no more little pattering feet 
 to produce a pleasant interruption ; but 
 General Lascelles made the best of it. 
 He would have everybody understand 
 that the large drawing-room, or "up- 
 stairs," was not the proper resort of the 
 family. The library was the point of 
 union. When Mrs. Lascelles was not ei 
 gaged with household affairs, here was 
 cool refuge in summer and a cosy fireside 
 in winter to bring her knitting and sit 
 by. If Mr. Douglas wished to read and 
 smoke his cigar, why not come and do so 
 in the library ? Or Anna Gray might 
 seat herself on the opposite side of his 
 writing-table, and flow on interminably 
 in epistles to her female friends. It was 
 not a bad thing to have her there. He 
 fcraa very fond of her, and if he wished 
 to ejaculate denunciations connected with 
 contemporary politics, it was rather pleas- 
 ant to have a bright face rise up and a 
 pair of smiling lips say, " Did you speak 
 to me, uncle?" 
 
 It was a very good place to hold family 
 reunions in, this snug library at Wye. It 
 was surrounded by oaken bookcases full 
 of volumes, ranging from dignified his- 
 tories and collections of public docu- 
 ments to the last books of travel, literary 
 BMiyftj biography) and fiction for the 
 general was an omnivorous reader. The 
 walls were ] tainted in oak, and in the 
 
 
YIKGIXIA JiOHKMlANS. 
 
 53 
 
 centre of the room was a heavy writing- 
 table of carved walnut with a green cloth 
 top, on which were pens and ink, a port- 
 folio, a bronze lamp at night, and the last 
 magazines and paper-bound novels. As 
 
 t> newspapers, they pervaded the room 
 chielly the window-sills. The fireplace 
 was large, and hail in it a pair of old 
 bra>s andirons. On the wooden mantel- 
 piece were vases, In-hind, which letters 
 were thrust. "Where the walls were not 
 hidden by bookcases there hung some 
 old portraits, delineating people of the 
 Lascellcs family in the times of Louis 
 XIII. and XIV., in huge flowing wigs 
 and lace doublets, or steel hauberks. 
 Everywhere were seen easy-chairs, chief- 
 ly of the " Sleepy Hollow " pattern. 
 There was a neutral- tinted carpet on 
 the floor, which remained there through- 
 out the year. Everything in this room 
 seemed to ask you not to look at it, only 
 to be content with it. 
 
 On this evening the bronze lamp was 
 lit, and diffused a mild light through its 
 ground- glass shade. The general was 
 leaning back in a large Sleepy Hollow 
 chair, reading his newspaper just brought 
 from the post-office; Mrs. Lascelles was 
 seated near him, knitting the stocking 
 which never seemed to be finished, and 
 Anna Gray was on the opposite side, talk- 
 ing with a. young man of about twenty- 
 five, who had made his appearance at 
 AVye just before tea. This was Ellis 
 Grantham, only son of the Rev. Mr. 
 Grantham, the aged rector of the Pied- 
 mont parish. He was the picture of 
 health, with black hair, ruddy cheeks, 
 very fine black eyes, and manners full of 
 cheerfulness and modesty. There was a 
 great charm in this unaffected candor and 
 sweetness. It was very plainly unaffect- 
 ed, and expressed his real character. In 
 fact, Ellis Grantham was an exceptional 
 person ; he belonged to that very small 
 class of human beings who seem to be 
 born good. With most persons it is a 
 terrible effort to remain pure in the midst 
 of temptation, especially when youth heats 
 the blood, and the mouth is not broken 
 to the bit ; but Ellis Grantham really 
 
 seemed to have kept himself pure with- 
 out any dillieulty. This was strange but 
 true. It was natural to him to be good. 
 He bad avoided what was vicious, and 
 loved what was pure, from native im- 
 pulse. He had no vices whatever. A 
 cynical person said of him one day that 
 there must be some hidden depravity 
 about him, as every young man had a 
 certain amount of badness in him, and 
 that if it did not come out in one way it 
 would in another. If Ellis Grantham 
 had any, it had never come out up to 
 this time. He had been a good child 
 and a good boy, and was a good young 
 man. The result was that good people 
 loved and respected him, and that certain 
 other persons, finding that they themselves 
 inspired a different sentiment, sneered at 
 him. He was simply " goody," " milk- 
 and-water," a hypocrite, and had, under 
 all his mock-modesty, a very high opin- 
 ion of himself, they said. One day lie 
 heard of these criticisms; one has always 
 kind friends to communicate agreeable 
 things that are said of us. He listened 
 with the greatest surprise, but said noth- 
 ing. He had a very poor opinion of 
 himself ; rated his intellect, indeed, much 
 below its just value, and had never acted 
 a part in all his life ; what his critics 
 meant was, therefore, a mystery to him. 
 He never concealed anything, but said 
 plainly what he thought of vice name- 
 ly, that it was hateful. As to vicious 
 people, he did not hate them in the least ; 
 very far from it. He was going to enter 
 the Christian ministry soon, and to begin 
 by hating people would have appeared to 
 him a very bad beginning indeed. He- 
 was, in fact, full of sweetness and charity, 
 and had in his heart a broad love for hu- 
 manity in all its phases, which disregarded 
 dogmas and the worldly view of things. 
 This country youth had discovered one 
 great truth that the human heart is 
 never wholly debased, and that it is never 
 too late to try to touch it and make it 
 throb. The same heart, he said to him- 
 self, beats under the squalid rags of the 
 outcast and the criminal as under the 
 neat black coat and spotless linen of the 
 
clergyman and the "highly respectable" 
 person. The difference was in circum- 
 stances. Some men took the right path 
 and others the wrong one. His business 
 was with the latter. It was quite as im- 
 portant to move the heart under the rags 
 as that under the broadcloth. If it was 
 the heart of a thief or a prostitute, all 
 the better. One who had walked about 
 preaching in Judea, eighteen hundred 
 years before, had preached from prefer- 
 ence to that sort of people. 
 
 As Ellis Grantham was going to return 
 to the Theological Seminary on the next 
 morning to finish liis last session there, 
 he had come to tell his friends at Wye 
 good-bye. They had had a very long 
 and familiar talk with each other he 
 and Mrs. Lascelles and Anna Gray which 
 ry natural, as he was a great favor- 
 ite with both ; and his mother, now dead, 
 had been an intimate friend of Mrs. Las- 
 celles. 
 
 " Well, my dear," the lady said, with 
 the sweet smile which made her thin face 
 so attractive, "I am very sorry you are 
 going to leave us ; but young men must 
 prepare for their duties in this world, and 
 ought not to forget that youth is the 
 spring-time, when the seed must be sown. 
 If we do not sow we cannot expect to 
 reap. The fall and winter will come after 
 awhile, and seed-time and harvest will be 
 pa-t, and then we will want bread. Old 
 age is like night, and when that comes, 
 you know, none of us can work. I am 
 very glad, indeed, my dear, to see that you 
 are resolved to do your duty." 
 
 " I mean to try, Aunt Maria," 1 he said, 
 cheerfully, u-ing the title by which he 
 had always addressed her from his child- 
 hood, although there was no relationship. 
 
 ' I am certain you mean to, Kllis, and 
 I am just as certain that you will be a 
 i and useful man." 
 
 " Well, you could not wish me better 
 than that, Aunt Maria; 1 know you wish 
 me well in everything." 
 
 "Indeed I do; it would In- strange if 
 I did not," said Mrs. Las.-dlrs knitting 
 tranquilly. "Your mother wa* a very 
 dear friend of mine she wa- a >aint on 
 
 earth and I have always loved you as a 
 son. We shall miss you very much, and 
 I don't know what Anna will do without 
 you. You are very much indeed like 
 your mother: she was very dear to me." 
 The expression of the speaker and her 
 tone of voice went to his heart ; a slight 
 color carne to his cheek. Indeed, the 
 voice of this lady moved people, touching 
 a secret chord. Here was a thoroughly 
 good woman, whose presence was a bless- 
 ing to all around her; one with a wise. 
 mind intent on common duties, and a 
 warm heart thinking of the happiness of 
 others. An exquisite sw r eetness and res- 
 ignation made the thin face beautiful. 
 She had suffered a great deal in her time. 
 Many of her children had died; others 
 had married and left her; but she had 
 not become at all gloomy. She was evi- 
 dently looking beyond. As to controver- 
 sial points connected with the relations 
 between man and the Beyond in ques- 
 tion, they seemed not to interest her in 
 the least. If you cited Dr. Calvin or 
 Bishop Butler, she said, " My dear, 
 knew no more than you and I do th 
 Bible is enough." If you discussed tl 
 Mosaic account of creation from a g\ 
 logical point of view, or propounded Mr. 
 Darwin's or Mr. Spencer's theory of de- 
 velopment, Mrs. Lascelles smiled tranquil- 
 ly, and said that there were a great many 
 difficult questions which we could not be 
 expected to understand but we could 
 understand the Sermon on the Mount. 
 She was always extremely cheerful, and 
 smiled as she came back from the Holy 
 < 'ommiinion. When you were in trouble 
 she did not sigh and quote texts, as many 
 excellent people do. That was a very 
 good medicine, but perhaps not the right 
 medicine at the time. "You will find 
 after awhile that it is all the same, my 
 dear," she said, with her placid smile; 
 "there i^ a place where people who are 
 separated from each other see each other 
 again." The thin finger moved slightly, 
 pointing upward when she said this, and 
 you knew what she meant. She herself 
 had looked in that direction for consola- 
 tion, and had found it. She, therefore 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 advised you to do so in your turn. Of 
 such human beings it may l>e said tliat 
 they are the salt that keeps a sorrowful 
 world from the decomposition of despair. 
 
 "Arc you going in the morning, my 
 dear.'" she now said to Ellis (Irantham. 
 
 "Yet, after breakfast, Aunt Maria; 
 there will be time enough to catch the 
 train." 
 
 u And when will you be back? 1 ' 
 
 "Before Christmas, 1 hope, for a few 
 days. I have never spent Christmas 
 away from home, and would not like to 
 miss one with father." 
 
 "It would be a very serious matter 
 with him, I am sure, Ellis. You are the 
 apple of his eye, and he would feel very 
 lonely." 
 
 " I will certainly be back, if possible." 
 
 " And some of these days you will re- 
 turn not to go away any more, I hope. 
 If you could only be your father's assist- 
 ant, after you are ordained, I am certain 
 it would please every one. Then you 
 could think about being married, and set- 
 tle down with us." 
 
 A slight color came to the already rud- 
 dy cheeks of the young man, and he look- 
 ed for just half an instant toward Anna 
 Gray, who, in mild unison with the em- 
 ployment of Mrs. Lascelles, was crocheting 
 a table -mat. The young lady did not 
 meet this glance, and Ellis Grantham 
 said, 
 
 " I am too young to think of that just 
 yet, Aunt Maria, and you know I am not 
 competent to be father's assistant I hope 
 I will be some day." 
 
 Further discussion of the subject was 
 interrupted by the sound of horse's hoofs 
 without. The rider was then heard com- 
 ing in, and Mr. Lascelles entered the li- 
 brary, politely saluting its occupants. In 
 reply to a question from his mother, he 
 1 said that he had passed a very pleasant 
 evening, and Miss Juliet seemed pleased 
 with the circus performance they had, 
 however, come away before it had ended. 
 Having made this communication, Mr. 
 Lascelles said to Ellis Grantham, 
 
 " Mrs. Armstrong mentioned a visit 
 which you paid them this afternoon, and 
 
 I presume you are well acquainted with 
 the family at Trianon." 
 
 ' Ye S I know them very \\vll," Ellis 
 said. 
 
 "Can you tell me who Miss Bassick 
 is?" 
 
 "She is a young lady who lives with 
 Mrs. Armstrong." 
 
 " In what capacity ?" 
 
 " I do not know, precisely." 
 
 " A relative ?" 
 
 "I think not." 
 
 "Then she is probably a house-keeper 
 or lady's companion," said Mr. Lascelles. 
 
 Mrs. Lascelles here interposed, and 
 said, 
 
 " Miss Bassick is a young lady who as- 
 sists Mrs. Armstrong in her house-keeping, 
 and is a confidential friend and compan- 
 ion, I believe. She rarely leaves home, I 
 have heard, and seldom comes to church. 
 You might have seen her there." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles did not, apparently, con- 
 sider it necessary to call attention to the 
 fact that he rarely went to church. He 
 said, 
 
 "Well, I was a little struck by Miss 
 Bassick ; she is handsome enough, but 
 rather peculiar in her appearance. AVhen 
 we came back from Piedmont Mrs. Arm- 
 strong was probably up-stairs, and Miss 
 Bassick opened the door, when I was 
 introduced to her by Miss Juliet, with 
 a simple * Mr. Lascelles, Miss Bassick.' 
 There certainly was nothing in Miss Ju- 
 liet's manner not the least nuance, as 
 the French say to show that Miss Bas- 
 sick was not her social equal in every 
 particular." 
 
 "Juliet is much too well-bred for 
 that," Mrs. Lascelles said. " She is very 
 proud, and has a great deal of feeling, 
 too." 
 
 " She is certainly very fine-looking, and 
 Miss Bassick, the companion, is decidedly 
 handsome, too. It strikes me she is rather 
 hiding her light under a bushel. I was 
 particularly struck by her eyes, and don't 
 know whether to call them diabolical or 
 angelic," said Mr. Lascelles, smiling, and 
 lighting a cigar, after politely offering 
 one to Ellis Grantham, who declined it. 
 
56 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 " She must be a perfect little devil !" 
 came, in a sort of explosion, from General 
 Lascelles. Every head turned quickly, 
 but it was evident that this exclamation 
 had nothing whatever to do with Miss 
 Bassick. The ex-statesman, during the 
 conversation between Mrs. Lascelles and 
 Ellis Grantham, had been absorbed in his 
 newspaper. In this occupation the en- 
 trance of Mr. Douglas Lascelles had only 
 interrupted him for a moment. He had 
 been reading the Washington letter in his 
 New York journal, from which it appear- 
 ed that those who differed with the po- 
 litical opinions of the writer were all 
 rogues, and wretches of the deepest dye; 
 and, as the general was personally ac- 
 quainted with some of the individuals 
 thus characterized, he acknowledged that 
 there was a grain of truth in the corre- 
 spondent's strictures. He had then pass- 
 ed to another paragraph, in which the 
 letter-writer drew the likeness of a certain 
 female lobbyist then haunting Washing- 
 ton. The picture was bit in with acid, 
 and was not unlike the portrait of Mr. 
 Thackeray's Becky Sharpe, except as to 
 personal appearance the fair lobbyist 
 being much handsomer. Her "tricks 
 and her manners" were drawn with 
 much gusto, and an amusing story was 
 told of her attempt to black-mail a prom- 
 inent statesman. Hence the appreciative 
 exclamation of General Lascelles " She 
 must be a perfect little devil !" 
 
 Mr. Lascelles smiled with an air of en- 
 joyment. 
 
 " Do you mean Miss Bassick, sir ?" he 
 said. 
 
 "Miss Bassick?" the general said, rais- 
 ing his head with a bewildered air. 
 
 " You say she is a little devil." 
 
 " Miss Hassick a devil ? I really do not 
 know in the least what you mean. Who 
 is Miss Bassick '.'' 
 
 Mr. Lascelles explained, and much 
 amusement was caused by the general's 
 apropos or mo/opropoi interjection. 
 
 " I am sure I did not mean to express 
 any opinion of Mrs. Armstrong's friend, 
 Miss Bassick," he Mid, laughing with tin- 
 rest. "I was reading an account of a 
 
 person in Washington but, really, I will 
 not introduce the ladies to such bad com- 
 pany. And I owe you an apology, my 
 dear Ellis, for my absorption in this pes- 
 tiferous journal. I fear reading the news- 
 papers is becoming a mania with me. Are 
 you really going to-morrow, my boy ? I 
 am sincerely sorry to hear that you are 
 going to leave us." 
 
 And then the conversation proceeded 
 until Ellis Grantham rose and bade the 
 family good-bye. Mrs. Lascelles drew 
 him to her and kissed him affectionately, 
 and then he shook hands with the two 
 gentlemen, and lastly with Anna Gray. 
 As he went out of the room she rose 
 quietly a movement which Mr. Douglas 
 Lascelles noted out of the corners of his 
 eyes, after a somewhat sarcastic fashion 
 and followed him into the hall. She and 
 Ellis Grantham conversed there together 
 for a few moments in low tones, and the 
 young lady went with him to the door. 
 Then the front -door closed, and Anna 
 Gray came back with a slight color in her 
 cheeks and moist eyes. 
 
 " Why, my dear, you are crying," said 
 Mrs. Lascelles. 
 
 " I am sorry Ellis is going, aunty," 
 Anna Gray replied, in a low voice. She 
 then rose quietly and went up-stairs. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 THE REVEREND MR. GRAXTIIAM. 
 
 IN a room on the right of the front- 
 door of a small house, in the suburbs ol 
 1 'it-dim >nt, a man was seated at a table on 
 thU >ame night writing. 
 
 It was a very pleasant-looking little es- 
 tablishment within and without. Tlio yard 
 was covered with greensward, and some 
 zinnias, petunias, chrysanthemums, and 
 other flowers of autumn, were still in 
 bloom. A honeysuckle was trained upon 
 one of the pillars of the small porch, and 
 a madeira-vine upon that opposite. Both 
 were in flower, and you thus entered un- 
 der a fragrant arch. A neat railing 
 divided the house from the street, and 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 with its lilacs ami ovenhadowmg ti 
 was ncarlv embowered in verdure. 
 
 The room mentioned was evidently a 
 stiuly. Tin 1 walls were nearly covered 
 with book- shelves containing leather- 
 bouml volumes, some of them ponderous 
 folios. In one corner was an old mahog- 
 any secretary, with drawers opened by 
 brass handles. Opposite the single win- 
 dow was a hard and narrow lounge, which 
 looked very uncomfortable. The table 
 which stood in the centre was covered 
 with books and papers; and at this table 
 the student a man past sixty, with 
 || g l ' a y hair, and clad in black, with a white 
 I neck-cloth. His face was one of strong 
 I character, but had the mild expression 
 I peculiar to those who pass their lives in a 
 I round of simple duties, out of the great 
 I whirlpool of the world. Such, in fact, 
 I had been the life of Mr. Grantham, rector 
 I of the Piedmont parish. 
 
 He was an altogether excellent person, 
 I and had officiated at Piedmont for more 
 than thirty years. He had frequently re- 
 ceived calls elsewhere, for he was a very 
 good preacher and one of the ablest theo- 
 logians of his diocese, but he had declined 
 them all. He would not sever his con- 
 nection with the parish of his affections. 
 The bait of a larger salary and "a more 
 extended sphere of usefulness " had not 
 moved him. As to the salary, he did not 
 want it, he said, as he had daily bread 
 which was more than half the world, and 
 many better people than himself, were 
 certain of when they got up in the morn- 
 ing ; and in regard to the more extended 
 sphere of usefulness, there was a sufficient 
 sphere for anybody in a parish with a 
 dozen families. If he could look after 
 that number of people, and keep them 
 from stumbling, he would be satisfied. So 
 Mr. Grantham had declined with friendly 
 acknowledgments all the calls. II is work 
 was here. He had gone on marrying and 
 christening and burying the people of his 
 little parish year after year, and doing his 
 best to console the heavy-hearted in their 
 trouble. He was a very good preacher in- 
 deed earnest and persuasive rather than 
 given to chill logic, and habitually avoid- 
 
 ing the discussion of eternal torment as u 
 means ,.f touching the heart. His theol- 
 ogy began and ended, apparently, with 
 the parable of the Prodigal Son. His 
 wife had died some years before, but he 
 was very calm and cheerful. He had 
 bent for a moment, but risen upright 
 again like a tree with a sound heart. He 
 preached as usual on the Sunday succeed- 
 ing her death. It is true that he had 
 fainted as lie entered his house, on re- 
 turning from church, but nobody knew 
 about that. 
 
 Mr. Grantham was a Low-Churchman. 
 Almost all Virginia Episcopalians are. 
 Sometimes high-church friends from oth- 
 er dioceses said to him, " You people in 
 Virginia are not Episcopalians; why not 
 call yourselves Methodists, or by any 
 name that suits you, at once?" AVhen 
 such things were said to Mr. Grantham, he 
 smiled and shook his head. His reply 
 was mild but incisive: "It was better to 
 be low-church than on the way to Rome" 
 he said. " Rome was seductive she knew 
 human nature, and how to appeal to it. 
 He would like to be a Romanist him- 
 self, if he could be, conscientiously 
 it was a tempting theory that we could 
 be washed clean from sin by confessing 
 and doing penance. That was alluring 
 it was better to be on our guard. The 
 only safe rule to follow was, * Touch not, 
 taste not, handle not.' If you touched it 
 you would probably taste it, and then 
 handle it ; and if you handled it, you 
 would be apt to end by fondling it, 
 which would be unfortunate and he was 
 afraid many good people were begin- 
 ning to fondle it. As to the charge that 
 the Virginia Church was low-church, that 
 was true, but it was a very good Episco- 
 pal Church for all that. Its bishops 
 claimed no * mysterious sanctity ' for 
 themselves there were Articles XX I II. 
 and XXV. But they were apostolic, if 
 not Romanist, and were all the better for 
 it. In fact, Rome was schismatical, and 
 heresy and schism were denounced in the 
 prayer-book. In Virginia, however, peo- 
 ple did not lean on ordinances but on the 
 Word ; they were evangelical, and not 
 
58 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 sectarian. It did not matter very much 
 what Church you belonged to or what 
 dress you wore. The important question 
 was whether you were travelling the right 
 road; if you were, by God's help you 
 would arrive." 
 
 This good man went a step further: 
 lie had a lurking sympathy even with the 
 " Reformed Episcopal" movement, though 
 he did not approve of it. Under all the 
 circumstances it was unnecessary. The 
 word "regenerated," and other expres- 
 sions in the prayer-book, ought not to 
 hurt anybody's conscience: regenerated 
 meant "grafted into the Church" see 
 Article XXVII. When you grafted on 
 a young scion you did not change its 
 nature, but you placed it where the new 
 life could course through it. And then 
 there was the point of linguistics. If you 
 altered regenerated, you would have to go 
 on and alter a great many things. It was 
 unnecessary to reform the whole English 
 language. Certain terms had changed 
 their meanings. There w r as u the Lord 
 preventing us;" which, nevertheless, was 
 not a prayer to be hindered in our good 
 deeds. The letter killed ; it was the spirit 
 that gave life. 
 
 A warm personal friendship for Bishop 
 Cummins, the leader of the Reformed 
 Episcopal movement, may have had its 
 inlluence upon Mr. Grantham. It was 
 ditlicult to believe that any views which 
 he espoused were unfounded. Bishop 
 Cummins he often said, was "a heavenly 
 man. His appeals were addressed too 
 much to the mere feelings, perhaps. He 
 wa* not wanting in strength, for no man 
 had a dearer or sounder intellect ; and he 
 broke down the sceptical objections of 
 the infidels who came to hear him by 
 sheer force of logic but then he did not 
 keep to that. He appealed too passion- 
 ately to the emotions, which should not 
 be looked to so e\elu>ively. This apart, 
 IJislnip ('nnmiins was a man of the 
 apostolic type, with no thought but hi* 
 work, and roolved to wear out his life in 
 it. lie wa> al-o a man of kindling en- 
 thusiasm, and devoted to what was pure 
 and of good report. He had the utmost 
 
 sweetness of temper. Children came to 
 him unconsciously. His heart was ex- 
 ceedingly soft, and his hand open to 
 distress. He liked humble people, and 
 smiled sweetly upon them ; but did not 
 smile so readily at young ladies and oth- 
 ers w r ho made a clerical Mion' of him, 
 and sent him delicacies, and burnt in- 
 cense before him. He had no time or 
 desire to be made a celebrity of, and did 
 not want the delicacies there were the 
 poor. He lived his life as seeing the end." 
 This was what Mr. Grantham was accus- 
 ed to say of Bishop Cummins. One day 
 he read a few words with black lines 
 around them in a newspaper; he dropped 
 the paper, and said aloud, 
 
 " Take him for all in all, we shall not 
 look upon his like again." 
 
 On this even iii^- Mr. Grantham had 
 come into his study after tea to reflect 
 and work. As Ellis had gone to call on 
 his friends before his departure for the 
 Seminary, which would take place on the 
 next morning, the good man felt verj 
 lonely and depressed. Since the death 
 of his wife, all his love for her had con 
 centrated itself upon his son. The thought 
 that he was going away was very sorrow 
 ful indeed. Life was uncertain, and IK 
 himself was growing old now might not 
 this be their last parting? He leaned 
 forehead on his hands, and his hands on 
 the table. The light of the two candles 
 in old - fashioned candlesticks, fell upon 
 his gray hair, and a deep sigh followed 
 it was very sad, indeed, to think of part 
 ing with his beloved Ellis. 
 
 After awhile the forehead rose, am 
 Mr. Grantham got up and walked up am 
 down the floor. He was thinking of 
 some parish affairs demanding his atten 
 tion on the next day. lie could not neg 
 lect these. There was the poor familx 
 near the Riduy, \\lio were terribly in wan 
 of clothing; and as he had appealed t< 
 smile of his lady parishioners, he hopcc 
 to be able to supply them before the Col( 
 weather set in. There were also som< 
 orphan* in a wretched cabin which IK 
 had visited. It had made his heart bleec 
 to sec how destitute they were. Some 
 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 59 
 
 must be done for thorn. Whatever 
 his private troubles or labors were lie could 
 not neglect "his poor" a name he call- 
 ed them by: that indieated his personal 
 concern with them. Other people had 
 their own, no doubt. These were his. 
 
 lla\ing reflected maturely upon the 
 wants of his poor, and resolved what he 
 would do at once to relieve them, he sat 
 down, and opening an old portfolio began 
 to write, lie was evidently composing a 
 discourse, or perhaps a treatise, as from 
 time to time he rose, consulted a volume 
 on the shelves, laid it open on the table 
 before him and made quotations, and oth- 
 erwise demeaned himself as a historical 
 or polemical writer. In fact, the compo- 
 sition on which the good man was en- 
 gaged was very polemical indeed. It 
 was his "History of Ritualism," upon 
 which he had been at work for many 
 years a crushing and vindictive expose 
 of the Tractarian movement in the Angli- 
 can Church, with trenchant and by no 
 means complimentary references to its 
 influence on the misguided clergy in cer- 
 tain portions of the United States of 
 America. To this congenial* occupation 
 the mild Mr. Grantham applied himself 
 with ardor. His face glowed some 
 reverend divine was probably receiving a 
 severe thrust. All at once Ellis came in ; 
 then there was an end of further work 
 on the " History of Ritualism," since it 
 is impossible to compose when one is 
 looking at another person, and can scarcc- 
 e the person through tears. 
 
 The low conversation between father 
 and son continued until nearly eleven, 
 when Mr. Grantham said that it was time 
 for the young man to go to bed. AVhat 
 they said to each other was personal to 
 themselves and ought not to be repeated ; 
 for the words and looks of certain human 
 beings on certain occasions have a species 
 of sanctity about them. Are there any 
 more sacred than those of a father and 
 son who are going to part from each 
 other ? 
 
 " Yes, you must go now ; young peo- 
 ple require rest," Mr. Grantham said ; " it 
 is very late for children to be up." 
 
 He <miled, but it was a very sorrowful 
 smile. 
 
 " You will always be a child to me, 
 Kllis. It seems only yesterday that your 
 mother held vou up in her arms f..r me 
 to kiss !" 
 
 He placed his arms around the young 
 man's neek and said, in a faltering voice, 
 
 "Good -night, my boy I" kissing him as 
 he spoke. Tears were in the eyes of 
 both. Without speaking, Kllis (Jrantham 
 went to his chamber; his voice had quite 
 failed him. 
 
 XX. 
 MR. GRANTHAM'S GUESTS. 
 
 MR. GRANTIIAM did not feel in the 
 least like working any more, and resolved 
 that he would not do so. He went back 
 to his seat, however from habit, no doubt 
 and, sitting down, assumed the same 
 depressed attitude, his forehead resting 
 upon his hands, and his hands on the ta- 
 ble, or rather on the page he had been 
 writing in the "History of Ritualism.'' 
 
 He remained immovable in this attitude 
 for some time. Then he raised his head 
 and listened; he had heard a knock at 
 the front-door of the house. 
 
 " Some one needs me who is in greater 
 trouble, perhaps, than myself," he said, in 
 a low voice. 
 
 He took one of the candles from the 
 table, and going to the front-door opened 
 it. A man with a heavy black beard, 
 holding a child in his arms, was standing 
 in the moonlight on the little porch ; and 
 as the man at first looked at him without 
 speaking, the incident was a little star- 
 tling. Mr. Grantham did not appear, 
 however, to regard it in that light, and 
 said mildly, 
 
 " Come in, friend : can I be of any 
 service to you ?" 
 
 "You are the priest of this village?" 
 said the man. 
 
 " I am a pastor, my friend though 
 priest is a very good word." 
 
 " I heard you never turned away any- 
 body in distress." 
 
60 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 " I have never done so ; I trust I never 
 shall." 
 
 "I am in distress. My child here is 
 sick ; her foot is sprained, and her arm 
 hurt," 
 
 " Come in, friend." 
 
 " I am a common man a circus-actor 
 and Lave my reasons for not going 
 to the tavern to-night. Will you lodge 
 us?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "You know nothing about me. I 
 may be a tramp or a thief. You are not 
 afraid?" 
 
 Mr. Grantliam placed the candle on a 
 chair in the passage, and took Mouse in 
 his arms. 
 
 " No, I am not afraid," he said. 
 
 Worn out by the many incidents of 
 the evening and night, Mouse had fallen 
 into a doze in the Lefthander's arms, and 
 Mr. Grantliam took her into his own so 
 gently that she did not wake. 
 
 " If you will take the candle," he said, 
 " I will show you your room." 
 
 lie then went slowly up the narrow 
 staircase, followed by the Lefthander, and 
 opened the door of a chamber over the 
 study, containing a bed, a table, an old 
 sofa, and a few chairs. He laid the child 
 upon the bed, drawing the counterpane 
 over her, and as he had carried her with 
 precaution she did not wake up. 
 
 Mr. (Iraiitham stood looking at her for 
 a moment, and admiring her delicate feat- 
 ures. 
 
 "What a little snow-drop!" he said; 
 for he was fond of flowers, and often 
 used them as illustrations. He added, 
 
 " It is getting chill, and there is no fire 
 here. Your child ought not to suffer for 
 want of it." 
 
 He looked round him and saw some 
 light wood in one corner, which had 
 probably been there for a long time. 
 With this and an old newspaper he kin- 
 dled a cheerful fire, and then rose with a 
 gratified expression as the bla/.e be^-m 
 to lick the sticks. The Lefthander Wtt 
 standing in the middle of the room, look- 
 ing at him from under his straight black 
 eyebrows. He had placed the candle on 
 
 the table, and one of his large hands rest 
 ed beside it. 
 
 "I have money," he said. "I wi! 
 pay." 
 
 As lie spoke he took a roll of bank 
 notes and some gold from his pocket 
 Mr. Grantliam put them aside gently. 
 
 " Are you hungry ?" he said ; " you o 
 your child? You see I come to tli 
 point. What we want most of all, some 
 times, in this world, is food and sleep." 
 
 " I am not at all hungry, or Mignon 
 that is her name," said the Lefthandei 
 " I see that what I heard about you wa 
 true. I was afraid you would turn u 
 away." 
 
 " I do not turn away people, friend 
 I have a son. Perhaps he may want a 
 shelter some of these days I should no 
 like to have him turned away." 
 
 Mr. Grantliam went to Mouse an< 
 smoothed the hair gently back from he 
 forehead, looking at her with a smile. 
 
 "Poor little one!" he said; "it is sa( 
 to think she should want a shelter." He 
 added to the Lefthander, " If you shoulc 
 require anything during the night, friend 
 you will find me in the room under this 
 Wake me without any ceremony. There 
 is no bolt on the door." 
 
 " You are not afraid of my robbing 
 you ?" repeated the Lefthander. 
 
 Mr. Grantliam shook his head. 
 
 "There is no danger of that," he said 
 " Men who look at their children as yoi 
 look at your little girl never rob people.' 
 
 He went out and closed the door be 
 hind him. As he passed the room oppo 
 site he stopped, hesitated, and then turne< 
 the knob softly and went in. This was 
 Ellis's chamber, and he was sound asleep 
 As tlie moon was shining brightly, his fa 
 thcr could sec him very plainly, and bend 
 inu: over his narrow bed he kissed him on 
 his forehead. 
 
 "How can I live without him!" ho 
 said. 
 
 After taxing at the sleeper for som< 
 moments in silence, lie sillied and wen 
 out of the room, down-stairs to bis study 
 Here he looked round him, and scemcc 
 to be searching for something, whicl 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 61 
 
 seemed to be an old buffalo-robe, used in 
 his light carry-all in winter; it w;is lying 
 | in a corner, and Mr. Granthain brought it 
 and spread it upon the narrow and un- 
 comfortable lounge opposite the window. 
 lie then put out his remaining candle, 
 and stretched himself upon the hard 
 lounge, drawing- the ImlTalo-robc around 
 him. It was not a very pleasant couch, 
 but then Ellis's bed was too narrow for 
 two persons. As to his own chamber, 
 his guests had that. 
 
 People do not sleep late in the morn- 
 ing in beds as hard as the lounge in Mr. 
 Grantham's study. lie woke a little after 
 daylight, and, remembering the incident 
 of the preceding night, listened to dis- 
 cover whether his guests were yet stir- 
 ring in the chamber above. The whole 
 house was perfectly still, and as Mr. Gran- 
 tham did not wish to wake any one soon- 
 er than they desired, he lay wrapped in 
 his buffalo -robe, engaged in reflection. 
 After awhile the first rays of sunrise 
 came in through the window, and the 
 old servant of the household was heard 
 going up-stairs. Mr. Grantham then re- 
 flected that his guests would be aroused, 
 in any case, so he rose and went up the 
 staircase, to ask if they needed anything. 
 There was no reply to his knock, and he 
 knocked again. Still no answer came, 
 and he quietly opened the door. 
 
 The room was empty. 
 
 Mr. Grantham looked round him w r ith an 
 air of great surprise. What had become 
 of the wayfarers ? It was a proof of this 
 good man's confidence in human nature, 
 that it never even occurred to him that 
 perhaps the rough-looking man with the 
 singular eyebrows had gone off in this 
 cautious manner, in order to take some- 
 thing which did not belong to him away 
 with him. Having made his estimate of 
 the man by the look bestowed upon his 
 child, he held to it this was not a thief. 
 But what had induced him to go off dur- 
 ing the night? 
 
 He scanned the appearance of things. 
 The bed had been slept in, but not by the 
 man, who had probably spent the night 
 on the old sofa. The impression of the 
 
 child's head was still on the pillow. All 
 at once he saw a slip of paper lying on 
 the table by an old inkstand ami pen 
 which generally stood on the mantel- 
 piece. Tin- paper was folded, and as Mr. 
 (Jranthain took it up a gold eagle drop- 
 ped upon the floor. The paper contain- 
 ed the following words, in the handwrit- 
 ing of a man apparently not accustomed 
 to penmanship, but not illiterate : 
 
 "You took a poor man and his child 
 into your house without asking any ques- 
 tions. You would not take money for 
 yourself, but you will take this gold 
 piece for some poor people who may 
 want it." 
 
 Mr. Grantham read this paper with a 
 bright smile upon his face, and picked up 
 the gold piece and put it in his pocket. 
 But why did his guest go away so quiet- 
 ly ? He looked round him there was 
 nothing to throw light upon the subject. 
 He was just on the point of leaving the 
 room when something on the bed attract- 
 ed his attention. It was a dark object, 
 half covered by the counterpane, which 
 seemed to have been accidentally thrown 
 over it. He drew it out, and found that 
 it was a travelling-satchel of black leather, 
 which the wayfarers had probably over- 
 looked in the haste of their departure. 
 
 Mr. Grantham stood for some minutes 
 looking at the satchel, which was about 
 the size of an ordinary carpet-bag. 
 Should he see what it contained? It 
 would be easy to do so. The satchel 
 was unlocked the key had been lost, or 
 its small mistress 'might have it in her 
 
 O 
 
 pocket; there would be no trouble, there- 
 fore ; but, for all that, Mr.( Jrantham hesi- 
 tated. He was a conscientious man, and 
 did not like the idea of opening people's 
 satchels. He could see through the 
 opening that the bag contained some 
 articles belonging to a child's wardrobe, 
 and thought that he felt a book and a 
 package of papers at the bottom ; but 
 he had no right to look at people's pa- 
 lters. He would keep the satchel ; no 
 doubt the owner of it would call and ask 
 
62 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 for it; if he did not, it might be defen- 
 sible to examine its contents and endeav- 
 or to ascertain the ownership, with a view 
 to its restitution. There would be time 
 enough for that. 
 
 As he heard Ellis come out of his room 
 at this moment, he put the satchel under 
 his arm and went down-stairs. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 BRANTZ ELLIOT. 
 
 ONE morning Brantz Elliot came out 
 of the front -door of the house in the 
 mountain with a fishing-rod on his shoul- 
 der ; and the dogs, who were his intimate 
 friends by this time, greeted him with joy, 
 leaping and frisking around him. 
 
 It was a clear crisp day of late Septem- 
 ber, and the rich sunshine bathed the foli- 
 age of the valley and the slopes burning 
 away under the fiery finger of autumn. 
 You could see a long way through the 
 transparent atmosphere, but over the far 
 headlands hung a dreamy smoke, round- 
 ing and idealizing them. October was 
 near, and October in Virginia is the 
 month for dreams, if you fancy wander- 
 ing into the beautiful woodlands to in- 
 dulge them. 
 
 Brantz Elliot had not left Daddy 
 Welle^'s at the end of three days in 
 fa-t, more than three weeks had passed 
 since his arrival. This had resulted from 
 two circumstances, lie had found the 
 life of the mountains precisely to his 
 taste, and his presence seemed to be a - at- 
 isfaction to everybody. Nothing further 
 had l>een said by the master "f the man- 
 sion implying hesitation a* to lodging the 
 young sportsman; on the contrary, he 
 was treated a-> a permanent gue*t. Pad- 
 dy Welles evidentlv wished to have him 
 remain as niurh as he himself de-iivd to 
 do so. They were hunt-men, and ra<-h 
 recognized a comrade. 
 
 Hunting was the master -passion of 
 Brant/ Elliot. He had not wanted op- 
 portunities to substitute other pursuits for 
 it. He was the only son of a merchant 
 of New York, and as Elliot, 8r., was 
 
 wealthy, the young fellow had pursued 
 the career of youths with rich fathers who 
 are devoted to them. He had gone to 
 college and afterward to Europe, to think 
 what he would do in the world, when the 
 news reached him that his father had sud- 
 denly died. An uncle had taken charge 
 of the estate, however, and managed it 
 for him, and the young fellow remained 
 in Europe, endeavoring to assuage his 
 grief by travel : it was a distraction, but 
 gave him little pleasure, and nothing af- 
 forded him much satisfaction but open- 
 air sports. He did not wish to be a law- 
 yer, or a politician, or a merchant; and 
 looked forward with no pleasure to re- 
 turning to his home on the Fifth Avenue, 
 where an aunt still kept up the establish- 
 ment for him. 
 
 lie was essentially a rustic in his tastes, 
 and cities bored him. Neither Paris nor 
 Rome aroused any enthusiasm in him. 
 While strolling along the boulevards, look- 
 ing at the crowd and the brilliant equi- 
 pages, he was generally thinking whether 
 he could not get up a hunt somewhere in 
 the country, and have woods and water 
 and peasants around him, instead of shops 
 with plate -glass windows, and flaneurs 
 with waxed mustaches. If the peasants 
 were poachers it would be all the better ; 
 but anything was better than kid gloves 
 and the opera. He had hunted a good 
 deal in Scotland and the Alps, and liked 
 the Mer de Glace and the lakes. The 
 Bernese Oberland was an attraction. He 
 spent some weeks in the Tyrol; then he 
 came back at last to New York, to reflect 
 more maturely as to what he would do in 
 
 life. 
 
 lie could not decide. It was really 
 very sal indeed, but New York, his na- 
 tive place, bored him just as much as 
 Paris and Rome. It was a terrible strug- 
 gle to get through his day. The club 
 helped him a little there were a great 
 many good fellows there, laboriously en- 
 gaged in the same employment of killing 
 time. They were horse-men for the most 
 part, and spoke of organizing an amateur 
 eoaehing-ehib, to drive four-in-hand, and 
 run regularly a day's stage from the city. 
 
V1KC1NIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 63 
 
 coaches were to be strictly English 
 also the costunn's, the equipments, 
 ^bove all, the demeanor ami pronuncia- 
 tion of the gentlemen coachmen. " Strict- 
 ly English" was to he tin- motto of the 
 [club, and everybody was to bo a coach- 
 llman of the strictest sect as to apparel, and 
 ipassengers were to be "booked" and rail- 
 ed for, and there was a horn that was to 
 be blown, and the whole alTair was to be 
 ||a lark of the first magnitude, indulged in 
 I by the very best fellows of the club, in 
 la fashion strictly English. As the de- 
 Jtails were not yet arranged, however, Mr. 
 iBrantz Elliot, who was fond of horses, put 
 Ion the drab costume of a groom, and di- 
 fccting his real groom to ride behind him, 
 jllrove his drag in the Central Park the 
 ilreal groom looking on with folded arms 
 ;o see that it was properly done. Even 
 his, however, was slow. After all, he was 
 'in town," and to be in town* was his 
 nomination. Cities were all sameness in 
 iis eyes. He was accustomed to express 
 Iris views with great frankness to his in- 
 timates. Men who lived in crowds, he 
 paid, were all rubbed down to a fearful 
 uniformity ; there was no character 
 about them. You could pick out any 
 lone hundred city men, and lay one of 
 them down on pasteboard and cut out his 
 figure, and it would fit the other ninety- 
 ine. They all wore the same clothes 
 land hats, and in the same way. They all 
 walked with their arms at exactly the 
 same angle. They all took off their hats 
 alike ; said " really !" suppressing the r, in 
 Ithe same tone; and were painfully like 
 leach other. What he wanted was people 
 Iwith angles and individuality. If they 
 Iwere rough, it did not matter much. Af- 
 ter saying this, he generally yawned and 
 IB it a cigar. 
 
 In fact, what has been called " the wild 
 JBidc" was strongly developed in Brantz 
 Elliot. Not that he was a lawless or 
 reckless person, unobservant or careless 
 of the proprieties of life, or at all want- 
 ling in culture ; on the contrary, he was 
 m very exemplary young man in his daily 
 Wife. He had never soiled himself with 
 the vices which lie in wait to entrap 
 
 youth, when the possessor of this dan- 
 gerous luxury is absent from hoinr and 
 exempt from familv restraints, with plen- 
 ty of money in his pocket. He had no 
 taste for ignoble indulgence, and was very 
 far frm bring deficient in literary cult- 
 ure. He had improved his time at col- 
 lege, and read I'Yeiieh and (Jerman <jiiite 
 fluently; but, in spite of all, this innate; 
 "wildness" predominated lie liked 
 hunting, fishing, and rambling in the 
 woods a great deal better than reading 
 or "good society." His tastes were ro- 
 bust. He preferred the open air to the 
 atmosphere of the study, lie would 
 have been delighted with the company 
 of Cooper's Leatherstocking, and the 
 acme of enjoyment to him would have 
 been to hunt lions in Africa. Not find- 
 ing these luxuries within his reach, he 
 looked round for substitutes, and had 
 enjoyed an expedition to the Adiron- 
 dacks. Afterward, hearing from a friend 
 who had visited the White Sulphur Springs 
 in Virginia that the mountains of the re- 
 gion were full of deer and old hunters, he 
 had determined to try his fortune in that 
 direction. 
 
 He had, accordingly, visited the Virginia 
 springs in the summer of this year, and 
 had made some satisfactory forays into 
 the neighboring wilds. On his way back 
 to New York now, he had taken the fancy 
 to stop for a few days and pursue his fa- 
 vorite amusement under the auspices of 
 Daddy Welles, who seemed to be a little 
 of everything hunter, agriculturist, prin- 
 cipal or agent in some mysterious busi- 
 ness, or what not; and thus it was that 
 Mr. Brantz Elliot had become an inmate 
 of and lingered day after day in the 
 mountain house in the secluded little 
 valley, cut off from the rest of the world, 
 and known by the eccentric name of 
 "Bohemia." This, he said to himself, 
 was really a coincidence. He was some- 
 thing of a Bohemian himself for there 
 were Bohemians of the woods as well as 
 Bohemians of the purlieus of cities. It 
 was, therefore, perfectly appropriate that 
 this young Bohemian of the fields and 
 forests should set up his rest in the small 
 
64 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 vale of " Bohemia." He had not regret- 
 ted doing so for a moment. There was 
 no doubt at all about the fact that he 
 was enjoying himself. There were a 
 plenty of pheasants, wild turkeys, and 
 deer, too, in the mountains; and the 
 small stream traversing the narrow valley 
 afforded excellent fishing. Now, to ram- 
 ble along the grassy banks of a water- 
 course, fishing-rod in hand, or go out be- 
 fore sunrise and "drop a buck" at eighty 
 yards, was to this young gentleman the 
 height of human felicity. He had drop- 
 ped several, and shot countless pheasants 
 and turkeys. He could easily have paid 
 for his board and lodgings with the game 
 he had killed. When he was not hunt- 
 ing or fishing he was smoking 'a pipe, 
 and reading the last magazines sent him, 
 or talking with Daddy Welles on topics 
 mutually congenial to their tastes. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 DADDY WELLES SURPRISED. 
 
 Tins serene old Daddy Welles was a 
 great puzzle to Brantz Elliot. He was 
 made up of piquant contrasts, and afford- 
 ed a study in human nature. He was 
 hospitable and liberal to his household, 
 l>ut evidently loved money. His guest 
 liad a supply of gold; and, when he paid 
 J)addv Welles, the mountaineer's face in- 
 dicated unmistakable pleasure at sight of 
 the glittering coin. But he was not close 
 in his dealings. He simply loved the 
 siirht of money, apparently. Then, for 
 other contrasts: the guileless smile of the 
 Daddy plainly concealed an acute and 
 oljN.-rvant mind. He was uneducated iii 
 books, obviously it was doubtful, even, if 
 he could write his name but, as obvious- 
 Iv, he was very well educated in the book 
 of human nature, lie uttered observa- 
 tions which were apothegms, and inclined 
 now and then to the epigrammatic. The 
 oil, he said, that made a woman's tongue 
 run glib was scandal; and the axle-giva-e 
 that carried a man downhill very fa-t wa- 
 whiskey. He called lawyers " the 1'yers ;" 
 and when one day Nelly was paring some 
 
 apples to make apple - butter, he said, 
 "You're not looking well, Nelly ; go and 
 take a walk and let the apples alone 
 pity old mother Eve hadn't." For Daddy 
 Welles had his quiet humor. 
 
 What particularly struck Brantz Elliot, 
 however, was the fact that something] 
 mysterious was going on around him; 
 and that of this something Daddy Welles 
 was evidently the mainspring and master- 
 spirit. He had frequently recalled the] 
 words of the stage -driver that "queer 
 stories " were told about his host. There! 
 really seemed to be some ground for tl 
 stories in question, whatever they migl 
 be. At certain times Daddy Welh 
 would disappear, and remain absent ft 
 two or three days. When the good mi 
 returned on his old raw-boned steed, 
 would smile in his guileless way, and 
 ually let fall the observation that businc 
 took him away oftener than he likc( 
 but as to the precise character of tl 
 business in question, he apparently cc 
 sidered it unnecessary to enter into anj 
 explanation. Then certain roughly -cl 
 persons frequently called to see Dadc 
 Welles, and they held confidential intei 
 views looking round them now and thei 
 apparently from a desire to satisfy thei 
 selves that they were not overlie 
 Once they were overheard. Brantz Elli< 
 had gone out to hunt one morning, bi 
 finding no game, had returned, and goi 
 into the sitting-room, where he learn 
 back in one of the split-bottomed chaii 
 to look at the engravings in a new mj 
 zine. While thus engaged, he had IK 
 voices, and observed Daddy Welles 
 by the house toward the rear in eompai 
 with a visitor. This visitor was a leal 
 crow figure in a ragged felt hat, with 
 sarcastic smile on his tobacco-stained lij 
 
 "I don't altogether like it, Daddy/ 1 
 said the owner of the ragged hat, in a lo\ 
 tone. 
 
 "No danger, no danger, Barney," 
 
 dy Welles replied. 
 
 " Well, if you say so, it's so, Daddy, 
 the visitor responded ; " but strangers 
 
 mighty onsartain, and it's je^t as well 
 be on the- lookout. I wouldn't like 
 
VIRGINIA UolIKMIANS. 
 
 have to empty my double-barrel at any- 
 body in the mounting."' 
 
 IJrantz Elliot could not see the fan- <f 
 the speaker, a-* In 1 \vas walking away from 
 him, but the tone in which he spoke set-m- 
 od to indicate that a grin accompanied his 
 words. Thence food for thought. The 
 stranger who was mighty uncertain was 
 apparently himself, and he it was who 
 might have a double-barrelled gun emp- 
 tied at him in the mountain. All this was 
 more interesting than agreeable. What 
 did it mean? After asking himself that 
 question, without receiving a reply, he de- 
 termined to propound it to Daddy Welles 
 himself. One morning, therefore, he join- 
 ed his host in the vicinity of the cow- 
 shelter, and said, in his straightforward 
 way, 
 
 " What's going on here, Daddy 
 Welles?" 
 
 A sweet smile illumined the counte- 
 nance of Daddy Welles, and he said, inno- 
 ccntlv, 
 
 "Uoin' on, friend?" 
 
 "Yes," said Elliot; "there's no doubt 
 of the fact that something is going on." 
 
 " Why, what makes you think so ?" 
 
 "A friend of yours came to see you 
 yesterday morning, didn't he?" 
 
 "Yistiddy mornin'? Oh yes; you 
 mean Barney Jones." 
 
 " Well, what were you and Barney 
 Jones whispering about, like two conspir- 
 ators? I was in the house and heard 
 you, as you went by." 
 
 " Whisperin' ? Me and Barney !" said 
 the Daddy, with surprise. " Oh no ; he 
 was only talkin' about things in general, 
 as neighbors \|^11, you know, when they 
 drop in to chat." 
 
 " So you talk about strangers, and their 
 being onsartain, do you, Daddy Welles ? 
 and of emptying double-barrels at 'em in 
 the mountain ?" 
 
 "Well, I do declare!" Daddy Welles 
 said, with guileless smiles ; " did anybody 
 say that P 
 
 "Yes, they did your friend Barney 
 said it." 
 
 " Well, well ! but that Barney always 
 was given to foolish ways of talkin'. 
 5 
 
 You see there's a catamount was met in 
 the mounting last week not a common 
 wildcat, but a regular painter the first 
 seen in these parts for a long time. I Ir's 
 a stranger hereabouts; and if \<>u got a 
 good look at one, you'd think a light with 
 him was mighty onsartain, indeed, unless 
 you got a chance to empty both barrels 
 at him before he got to you !" 
 
 " Come now, 1 )addy ; you know your 
 friend Barney Jones didn't mean a cata- 
 mount. Last week ? was there one seen ? 
 I mean to have a pull at him !" 
 
 " We'll go after him, if you say so, 
 friend." 
 
 The conversation was apparently pass- 
 ing to other topics, which did not seem to 
 displease the Daddy. 
 
 " Agreed ! but about Barney Jones," 
 persisted Elliot ; " what were you and he 
 talking about ? It's none of my business, 
 but" 
 
 " Talkin' about ? Oh yes ; he did men- 
 tion he had killed two wolves. They're 
 mighty skeerce now, and nothin' hardly 
 brings 'em but a dead horse." 
 
 Brantz Elliot fell into the trap. The 
 connection between wolves and a dead 
 horse evidently excited his curiosity in 
 the highest degree. Forgetting all else, 
 he said, 
 
 " A dead horse ! What has a dead 
 horse to do with wolf -hunting, Daddy 
 Welles?" 
 
 " Law bless you !" the Daddy said, with 
 an air of innocent surprise, "don't you 
 know? Well, that shows you are city- 
 raised, friend, much as you do know about 
 huntin'. That's the way we hunt w r olves. 
 Only last year we got four that way. 
 You ought to 'a been here." 
 
 " Tell me about it !" said Brantz Elliot, 
 with a hunter's ardor. 
 
 " Well, you see, a wolf's a mighty cun- 
 nin' varmint, and hides all day, and only 
 comes out at night. He won't go in a 
 bear-trap. He jest smells around it, and 
 shakes his head and goes away. In the 
 mornin' he ain't in the trap, and there's 
 your twenty dollars gone !" 
 
 Elliot, intent on thoughts of wolves, 
 forgot all about Barney Jones. 
 
66 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 " Twenty dollars !" he said. 
 "Didn't you know about that? 
 
 The 
 
 law pays twenty dollars for a wolfs hide 
 and sculp they kill all the sheep and 
 calves they can find, and are worth it. 
 Well, we set a dead horse last year, and 
 made nigh on to a hundred dollars by 
 him." 
 
 " A dead horse !" repeated Elliot, now 
 highly interested; "tell me all about it, 
 Daddy." 
 
 " Well, this is the way we did it : You 
 see, snow was on the ground, and every 
 mornin' you could see the wolf-tracks 
 around the sheep-pens ; and if a cow and 
 calf strayed away in the mounting, the 
 cow came back but the calf was missin'. 
 This went on some time, and at last it 
 was onsupportable. So me and some 
 neighbors bought an old horse for five 
 dollars, and took him up in the mounting 
 and cut his throat." 
 
 "What on earth was that for?" 
 
 " Well, you see he was the trap. When 
 he was done kicking we slit him open 
 from his forelegs along his belly and put 
 strychnine in him, and went back home." 
 
 " Strychnine ! Oh yes ; I begin to 
 understand." 
 
 "That's the way we do when dogs 
 worry our sheep, and the owners won't 
 keep 'em at home, spite of a civil re- 
 quest. We put stryclmtfti in a dead 
 sheep, and on the next day there's a pile 
 o' dead dogs by that sheep." 
 
 Here Daddy Welles laughed cheerfully. 
 
 " And your horse-trap answered ?" 
 
 "You ought 'a been in the mounting 
 when we went up next mornin'! There 
 was four big wolves, and ;i wild-cat, and 
 crows, and hawks, no end of 'em, all lay- 
 in' around dead in the snow nearabouts ! 
 
 They were the very Li-'u* -t wolves you 
 ever laid your eyes on, and we irt eighty 
 dollars for the hides and sculps." 
 
 " \Vell," said Elliot, "that's a new kind 
 f trap, Daddy Welles, lint you have- 
 not told me about those people goim: and 
 coming Barney Jones ami the re>t." 
 
 "Goin' and comin' ! Why you must 
 'a deceived yourself, friend." 
 
 Elliot shook his head. 
 
 " There is something going on, Daddy 
 But then it's no business of mine, and I 
 don't care. You are not counterfeiters, 
 are you ? If you are, it's nothing to me ; 
 but I am pretty certain you are not. If 
 you are, go ahead ; I'm not an officer of 
 the United States Mint. I'm a hunter, 
 and I have come here to drop a buck 
 when I can, and see the sun come in at 
 my window and tell me good -morning. 
 I don't belong to the detective police, and 
 I've got nothing to do with it. Things in 
 this direction suit me exactly, and I mean 
 to stay at least a week longer. The men 
 of cities delight me not, nor the women 
 either see Shakspeare. All I ask is 
 that Broadway will attend to its own 
 business and let me attend to mine." 
 
 " Well, that's right, friend," said Daddy 
 Welles, cheerfully. " I can't say I've got 
 much notion of towns and sech like my- 
 self. I'm mostly country -raised in my 
 ways." 
 
 Which Brantz Elliot, looking at his 
 gaunt old host in his homespun, regarded 
 as a just statement. 
 
 " So am I," he said. " Shall we have 
 a tramp, to-day ?" 
 
 " I'm ruther afeerd I can't go with you 
 this mornin', friend," the Daddy respond- 
 ed. " I've got to ride over to Piedmont 
 to see the land-sharks on some business. 
 That's what we call tlte 1'yers." 
 
 " The lawyers, eh ?" 
 
 "The same. The court people grind 
 us poor folks every chance they git. But 
 I s'pose they have to live, like the rest of 
 us," added the Daddy, philosophically. 
 
 He then mounted his raw -honed old 
 charger and set out for Jfiedmoiit, when,' 
 he really did seem to have important busi- 
 ness cither there or elsewhere for he 
 did not return until the evening of the 
 next day. Mr. Harney Jones, on a h<T><> 
 as much of a scarecrow as himself, had 
 parted with him at the foot of the path, 
 and r'uhlen on to his own home farther 
 up the valley. 
 
 : 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 NELL Y. 
 
 "NELLY!" said Mr. I'.rant/, Elliot, on 
 
 this morning, patting the head of <>ne of 
 tlio dogs who sprung up to he caressed. 
 He tunu'd his head and looked into the 
 
 house. 
 
 "SirT said a voice. 
 
 "There it is again, eternally sirT 
 said the young man, laughing. " You will 
 ne\i-r break yourself of that stiff mono- 
 syllable, Nelly !" 
 
 Nelly had come out to the door ; she 
 was smiling a little, and blushing a good 
 deal. In her linsey dress, secured around 
 her slender waist by the cheap black belt, 
 and her hair falling behind, tied with a 
 ribbon, she looked attractive; and the 
 smile and blush did not interfere with the 
 general impression which she produced. 
 
 " I say, you will not drop that formal 
 'sir,' in spite of all I can say," Elliot 
 added. " Xow I like to be at my ease 
 with people, and have them at their ease 
 with me." 
 
 " Why, what am I to say sir?" Nelly 
 replied. 
 
 " No, you are not to say sz>, unless it 
 is necessary to your personal comfort or 
 convenience, in which case I have no more 
 to say. I know I am an ancient and dig- 
 nified sort of person, and ought to be 
 treated with respect by a child like you ; 
 but then* it's a bore, Nelly, and, if it goes 
 on, I\e made up my mind what I will 
 do. I will address you as Miss- Welles" 
 
 Nelly laughed at this : it was a brief, 
 shy laugh, but not a rustic giggle ; very 
 far from it. There really was very little 
 that was really " rustic " about Nelly, and 
 Brantz Elliot had not heard her " giggle" 
 once since they had been acquainted. 
 
 " I meant to ask you if you would go 
 fishing with me," he said. " It's a great 
 bore to spend a whole morning by one's 
 self there's nobody to say anything to 
 if you wish to talk. I'm not much in 
 the way of talk, and no great hand at 
 making myself agreeable in ladies' society. 
 In fact, I don't care much for them in 
 general but you are an exception !" 
 
 The statement in reference to liim-lf 
 by Mr. I'.rantx Klliot \\as perfeotl 
 rect. He cared little or nothing for the 
 society of the opposite sex, and gave them 
 very little thought. He, had admired 
 them now and then after a lazy sort of 
 fashion. Sometimes a pretty face on the 
 Parisian boulevards, or in passing equi- 
 pages in the Bois or Cascine, had plea-ed 
 him. He had looked, too, with indolent 
 satisfaction at the graceful slips of girls 
 promenading Broadway <>r Fifth Avenue 
 in the afternoons, with taper wai>t>, niee- 
 ly arranged curls, and dainty feet peeping 
 out from their painfully pulled-back skirts, 
 as the gallant policemen escorted them 
 safely through the tide of vehicles. But 
 they were scarcely real people to him. 
 They were simply a gallery of pictures, 
 all these feminine faces and figures ; and 
 the young fellow had looked at them as 
 at paintings admiring them as pi- 
 objects, but forgetting them at the next 
 moment. lie had never been the I--a-t 
 bit in love with any of them. In fa<-t, 
 what pleased him about Nelly Welles was 
 the fact that she was not at all like them. 
 
 It was a little unceremonious, perhaps 
 in him to address the girl as " Nelly " 
 but then there were reasons for that, 
 They had been thrown together hourly 
 for nearly a whole month; and when we 
 associate with persons familiarly for that 
 length of time, they become friends if 
 they do not become enemies. Then ev- 
 erybody called her " Nelly," and almost 
 unconsciously Brantz Elliot had come to 
 do so, too. A last explanation was the 
 fact that Nelly Welles was very young 
 for her age, which was about seventeen. 
 Some girls of seventeen are children, and 
 others women. Nelly was a mixture of 
 the two, but more of the first. She had 
 the shyness and simplicity of girlhood 
 nothing of womanhood at all, in fact, but 
 a certain sweet seriousness attimo which 
 strongly attracted him. The wonder was 
 where she had acquired that expression 
 of countenance and her real refinement. 
 There was very little in her MUTOUndingB 
 to account for it. Daddy Welles and his 
 motherly helpmate were excellent people, 
 
68 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 but then they were not what is called 
 high-bred. Nelly was really high-bred, in 
 spite of her poor dress and all about her. 
 She was a little awkward, but that evi- 
 dently arose from youth and inexperience. 
 She had none of the "ways" of rustic 
 belles, who look side;vise at you and de- 
 ploy their unpleasant wiles. She was 
 very quiet, and even dignified. Her mind 
 was almost a blank, indeed, as to educa- 
 tion a tabula rasa nearly, Brantz Elliot 
 said to himself, but then she, too, seemed 
 to know that, and to quietly Jament it. 
 
 As to Nelly's personal appearance, she 
 was certainly pretty. This fact had grad- 
 ually dawned on Brantz Elliot, who was 
 not curious in such matters. But youth 
 is youth, after all. A young fellow may 
 like to rise at daylight, and go and hunt 
 deer, far better than to whirl in the waltz 
 or German at the same hour with an arm- 
 ful of satin in his grasp. He may care 
 very little for the smiles and wiles of such 
 chance partners, in chance moments, when 
 the object of each is only amusement. 
 But there is always a heart somewhere in 
 a young man's breast. It thus happened 
 that Drantz Elliot had begun to follow 
 Nelly "Welles about with his eyes. She 
 really was very pretty, he said to himself. 
 Hi T figure in its linsey drew his attention, 
 and was more graceful to him than the 
 satin-encased corsages of the beauties he 
 n in cities. There was something 
 in her dark eyes, and hair gathered be- 
 hind and tied with the cheap ribbon, which 
 pleased him. Sometimes he realized that 
 fact, and it made him laugh. Was he go- 
 in^ to fall in love with the " mountain 
 
 B 
 
 maid?-'' The idea struck him as rather 
 absurd. To be in love with a girl meant 
 to wish to tell her so, and to ask her to 
 marry him. Now, to a-k Nelly Welles to 
 become Mrs.Brantz Elliot was a wild idea. 
 Daddy Welles would not do in the lea^t 
 for a father-in-law. Such a paterfamilias 
 would create a sensation in Fifth Avenue 
 drawing-rooms. He might bring his long 
 rifle with him and shoot somebody ! 
 Having permitted his thoughts to roam 
 idly in this fanciful direction, Elliot ended 
 by laughing quietly and dismissing the 
 
 whole subject as a chance vagary of the 
 brain, engendered by idleness. He did 
 not go away, however ; either Nelly or 
 the delights of deer-hunting detained him. 
 And as there really was nothing of much 
 importance to take him back to New 
 York, he thought he would stay a little 
 longer. 
 
 Nelly had gone fishing with him in the 
 stream which ran through the narrow 
 valley at the foot of the mountain more 
 than once. This had been in consequence 
 of his solicitation. Brantz Elliot had the 
 tastes of a sportsman, but not those of 
 a recluse. He liked company. Daddy 
 Welles was generally engaged, and could 
 only spare time now and then for a good 
 tramp after deer: in the idle divertisc- 
 ment of rambling along the stream and 
 fishing in the bright autumn days, his as- 
 sociate had thus come to be Nelly. They 
 got on very well with each other, lie 
 could talk in a friendly way she was 
 company. She did not take much part 
 in the conversation. Her shyness had 
 worn off, in a measure, and she was mucli 
 more at her ease with him ; but she was 
 still diffident, and apparently ashamed oi 
 her ignorance. 
 
 Having further urged, on this bright 
 morning, his desire for company, Brantz 
 Elliot succeeded in persuading Nelly to 
 go fishing witli him, and they set out to- 
 gether down the path toward the stream. 
 Nelly had a brown chip hat, of very plain 
 material, on her head, and had thrown an 
 old cape around her shoulders. Her shoes 
 and stockings were coarse, but she walked 
 with a grace which attracted the admiring 
 glances of her companion. 
 
 "Nelly/' he >aid, "I have meant for 
 some time to ask you a question, only I 
 was afraid you would consider it rather 
 impertinent. May I ask it ?" 
 
 She turned her head and looked at 
 him rather shyly, but smiling, and said 
 "Y. 
 
 "Well, it's this. How in the world 
 did you ever come to be born here in this 
 mountain '" 
 
 " In the mountain I Why shouldn't I 
 be born here, sir ?" 
 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 O'J 
 
 "There is that hateful .svV a^ain ! I 
 wish you would drop it." 
 
 "I will try, but I don't, think I can." 
 
 "Well, at least try. It's really like a 
 bucket of cold water! If we ;uv ever 
 u'oinu; to become acquainted \ve ought to 
 be now. It makes me feel as if I was 
 eighty and you \vere eight I am only 
 tweiity-tive, and you must be at least 
 double eight." 
 
 "I am seventeen," said Nellv. 
 
 " Well, I am told that is an agreeable 
 age; I thought you were younger. Have 
 you lived all your life in the mountain ? 
 That seems strange to me." 
 
 " Strange ! Why should it be strange ?" 
 
 "Because and now we are coming 
 back to the point it is the greatest puz- 
 zle to me to understand how but you 
 will think I am ill-bred if I say what I 
 was going to say." 
 
 " I am sure I will not," Nelly said. 
 
 " Well, Til go on, then. I meant to 
 say that you are a lady, from head to 
 foot, and people in this world are influ- 
 enced in their appearance and character 
 by their surroundings. But really the 
 thing is too low," said Brantz Elliot, as 
 if addressing himself ; " I can't go on." 
 
 Nelly blushed quickly, and said, 
 
 "I know what you mean; but I am 
 not a lady." 
 
 " I swear you are ! excuse me, Nelly." 
 
 " I am a poor girl without education 
 my father and mother are poor people. 
 I was born here in the mountain, and I 
 will live and die without going any- 
 where " 
 
 A chord had evidently been touched 
 which Brantz Elliot had never even sus- 
 pected. Nelly's bosom heaved. 
 
 " I am not a lady !" she said, with a 
 quick sob. " How can I be ? How 
 could I be anything but what I am ? I 
 never had any education, and nothing will 
 ever change my life here ! If I had not 
 had a few old books, and learned what I 
 could, I would not know how to read or 
 write. Oh, it is so hard ! I am nearly 
 grown up, and I am so ignorant ! I don't 
 know what to do sometimes when I think 
 of it !" 
 
 The words wen uttered in a voice 
 which went to Brant/ Elliot's heart. 
 
 " Why were you never taught f ' In- said. 
 
 "I don't know/' Nelly aobbed;" there's 
 
 a free school, but it is at 1'irdmont, and 
 I \\as ashamed to go with the children. 
 Father is as good to me as ho can be, 
 but he thinks very little of books, and 
 says I can teach myself. But I never 
 will be able to!" 
 
 Xelly turned her head to one side ami 
 indulged in a quiet cry, which seemed to 
 relieve her, as she became calmer and said 
 no more. As to Brantz Elliot, he seemed 
 to be completely at a loss what to say, 
 The girl's voice, full of passional . 
 ness, had strongly affected him. Not find- 
 ing any reply to make at the moment ho 
 walked on in silence. At length he said, 
 
 "It is a pity a very great pity, in- 
 deed." 
 
 Nelly did not reply for a few minutes ; 
 she then said, in a low voice, 
 
 "I did not mean that I was real I v dis- 
 contented or not happy. I have 
 deal to be thankful for, and I would not 
 care to leave home for pleasure ; but I 
 can't help wishing sometimes that I was 
 not shut up here in the mountains all my 
 life. All I wish is that I could improve 
 myself, and have books to read, and not 
 live and die so ignorant of everything." 
 
 Brantz Elliot looked into her face and 
 said, after a moment, 
 
 "You will be married some of these 
 days, then you will go away." 
 
 At this Nelly shook her head. 
 
 " I would not like to be married to 
 anybody." 
 
 He had begun to take a strong iir 
 in analyzing the girl's thoughts and mo- 
 tives now, and said, 
 
 "You mean that you don't intend to 
 marry one of the rough young mountain- 
 eers here and you are right." 
 
 " I do not mean to marry anybody," 
 Nelly said, quietly. " I ought not to 
 have talked so much about myself, but it 
 is very hard to think of living all my life 
 as ignorant as I am. I ought not to have 
 learned to read. It has only made me 
 unhappy." 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 NELLY plainly wished to change the 
 topic, and Brantz Elliot said no more, 
 but he remembered this conversation for 
 a long time. The occupation of fishing 
 afforded a diversion, and to this they pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 Falling Water, as the small stream was 
 called, was a picturesque watercourse, 
 well stocked with bass, of which the 
 Shenandoah is full. It ran between 
 grassy banks, widening here and there 
 over sandy bottoms, and at other points 
 narrowing between cedar - fringed bluffs. 
 A skirt of evergreens defined its outline 
 through the little valley, and with these 
 were mingled some large sycamores with 
 huge hollow trunks and mottled arms, 
 drooping in many places far out over the 
 current, washing beneath the gnarled roots 
 shaded with green water-flags. Along the 
 grassy banks ran a w r ell- defined path, 
 made, no doul>t, by cattle. Here and there 
 a mossy rock jutted out above the current. 
 On these rocks Brantz Elliot and Nelly 
 Welles took their stand and began to 
 fish. 
 
 They had very bad luck. This fact 
 was due to heavy rains a day or two be- 
 fore, which had swollen the stream and 
 made the water muddy. Such a condi- 
 tion of things is unfavorable to the pur- 
 suits of the angler. After an hour's fish- 
 ing they had caught nothing, and J Irani/ 
 Elliot proposed that they should go far- 
 th<T up the stream. Nelly absented, and 
 they went along the bank until they reach- 
 ed a point where the current grew narrow 
 and rushed swiftly between two blufTs. A 
 felled tree, used as a bridge, reached from 
 bank to bank; and thinking that the 
 ground on the other side would prove 
 more favorable for throwing the lines, 
 they ventured cautiously on the log- 
 l>ridge, which seemed rather insecure. 
 It was more so than they supposed. 
 Ju>t as they reached the middle it ga?6 
 way, and they fell into the water. 
 
 llrantz Elliot fell so suddenly that he 
 went completely under. When he rose 
 
 to the surface, he saw that Nelly had 
 been swept off by the rapid current, 
 which was bearing her along like a leaf. 
 Elliot was an excellent swimmer. In 
 half a dpzen strokes lie reached the girl, 
 and taking one of her hands, placed it 
 upon his shoulder. She made no effort 
 to grasp him, as drowning persons fre- 
 quently do, and he struck out vigorously 
 toward the bank. The current was, how- 
 ever, even stronger than he had sup- 
 posed, and, more unfortunate than all, 
 Nelly's clothing, especially her cape, be- 
 came heavily clogged with water. Elliot 
 felt the weight on his shoulder increas- 
 ing every moment ; and seeing the fatal 
 cape wrapping its wet folds more and 
 more closely around the girl, he endeav- 
 ored to tear it away from her. The ef- 
 fort only resulted in the disappearance 
 of both beneath the surface. They rose 
 again, but Elliot could see that the girl's 
 strength was deserting her. His own was 
 giving way. The water in her clothing 
 and his own made the weight upon him 
 terrible. With a sinking heart he cal- 
 culated the probability of reaching the 
 shore. It seemed slight. The current 
 swept them along, and Nelly became 
 weaker and weaker. With half -closed 
 eyes she leaned more and more heavily 
 upon him, but even then did not attempt 
 to grasp him. Looking at her pale face, 
 Elliot groaned. What could he do 1 In 
 a few moments at most they would prob- 
 ably sink for the last time. The thought 
 passed through him as a bullet passes 
 through a man's breast. 
 
 " I will die with her !" he muttered. 
 
 As he said this a wave passed over 
 them. They rose once more, and then 
 something struck his face. This was a 
 drooping bough of one of the sycamores 
 growing on the bank. The bough ex- 
 tended at least fifteen feet out into the 
 stream, and Elliot caught it with die hand, 
 supporting the girl with his left arm. 
 
 "Nelly!" he said. 
 
 She looked at him, and her head leaned 
 toward him a- a child's toward a protec- 
 tor in trouble. She was smiling faintly. 
 
 "Do you think you can hold to this 
 
YliailNIA JiOlIl-MIANS. 
 
 71 
 
 bough for .1 few minutes? If you can, 
 I'll save you." 
 - Yes," she said. 
 
 She raised her arms, caught the bough, 
 and eliuii;- to it. Klliot found himself 
 free, and forcing his hand into his soaked 
 pocket dre\v >ut his knife, opened it with 
 his teeth, and cut the string of the cape, 
 which was at once swept away. 
 
 "Hold fast now, Nelly !" he said, "for 
 a minute only. There is but one way of 
 saving you." 
 
 Half a dozen strokes carried him to 
 shore, and he ran to a large wild grape- 
 vine near, from which he cut a long vine. 
 With this he hastened back to the syca- 
 more, climbed up, and, followingthe bough 
 out into the stream, reached the spot where 
 Nelly was clinging by both hands. The 
 water was up to her shoulders, and her 
 body swayed to and fro. He could see 
 that she was nearly exhausted, but the 
 same faint smile was on her face as she 
 looked at him a smile whose expression 
 he had never seen before, and which he 
 always remembered afterward. 
 
 " Do just as I tell you, now, Nelly," he 
 said. " I am going to tie this grape-vine 
 around you, and bring you to shore. It 
 is the only way to save you. When I 
 say * Ready,' let the bough go, and trust 
 to me." 
 
 " Yes," she said. 
 
 Elliot passed the vine around her under 
 the arms, twisted it into a secure knot, 
 tested the knot, and said, 
 
 " Ready !" 
 
 Without an instant's hesitation Nelly 
 let go. 
 
 " Hold the vine tight," he said. 
 
 She obeyed, and proceeding slowly 
 along the broad bough, Elliot gradually 
 drew the girl, whose head just emerged 
 from the water, to the shore. She was so 
 much exhausted, however, that it was im- 
 possible for her to ascend the steep bank. 
 Elliot saw this at a glance, and wrapped 
 the vine around the bough, twisting it into 
 a knot. He then swung himself to the 
 ground, ran down the bank, and, catching 
 the girl in his arms, carried her to dry 
 ground. 
 
 " Saved ! you are saved !" he cried, 
 holding her in his arms, and smoothing 
 her dripping hair from her forehead. 
 Her arm was resting upon his shoulder in 
 the natural picture of a person supported 
 by another. It was almost around his 
 neck, and her cheek was near his own. 
 Urantx Klli.t. then did what perhaps he 
 ought not, to have done, but he did it 
 almost unconsciously : he kissed the 
 cheek. 
 
 Nelly blushed to the roots of her hair 
 and the tips of her ears, and turned away 
 her head : owing to the fact that she was 
 in the young man's arms, this was all she 
 could do. 
 
 " Don't mind me, Nelly !" he exclaim- 
 ed, laughing joyfully. " Your face was 
 so near that I kissed you without think- 
 ing. You mustn't be too hard on a fel- 
 low !" 
 
 He wrung the water as well as he could 
 from her skirt and sleeves, which were 
 drenched. 
 
 " Your arms and hands are like ice," he 
 said. " That is from nervous exhaustion. 
 Come on, and make haste home !" 
 
 He looked round him, and for the first 
 time became aware of a fact which he 
 had quite overlooked in his excitement. 
 The sycamore which had been the means 
 of saving Nelly's life stood on the west 
 bank of the stream. There was the cur- 
 rent galloping between them and home, 
 and the log affording the means of cross- 
 ing it had disappeared ! There was a 
 bridge on the stage-road about a mile be- 
 low, but that would make their walk back 
 at least two miles ; and Nelly was trem- 
 bling from head to foot. 
 
 " You have a nervous chill !" I>rantz 
 Elliot exclaimed. " You never could wal k 
 round by the bridge. And then 1M have 
 to carry you up the mountain afterward, 
 Nelly, like the boy that carried the prin- 
 cess he was to marry if he got to the top 
 with her !" 
 
 He laughed ruefully. What was to be 
 done? He was considering the matter 
 when two persons came out of a clump 
 of pines near them and walked toward 
 them. 
 
72 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 SOME NEW RESIDENTS OF BOHEMIA. 
 
 THE two persons were a gentleman of 
 forty -five or fifty, clad in black, and a 
 slim girl of eighteen or nineteen, with 
 brown hair, blue eyes, and a light shawl 
 thrown over her shoulders. They came 
 to the spot where Elliot and his compan- 
 ion were standing, and the girl exclaimed, 
 addressing Nelly, 
 
 " Why, what is the matter? You are 
 drenched from head to foot ! you are 
 trembling all over. Did you fall into the 
 water ?" 
 
 Nelly's teeth were chattering so that 
 she was unable to reply, and Elliot replied 
 for her. 
 
 " Yes, miss," he said. " We tried to 
 cross on a log, which broke, and we fell 
 in, and were nearly drowned. This is 
 Miss Nelly Welles, and my name is Brantz 
 Elliot. I am from New York, and am 
 staying here." 
 
 The young lady bowed in reply to this 
 straightforward introduction of himself 
 and Nelly, but at once concentrated her 
 attention upon the latter. She had taken 
 Nelly's hands in her own, and now ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 " Your hands are almost frozen ! How 
 
 cold you are, and your teeth are chatter- 
 
 You ought to go home at once 
 
 but it is too far. I know where Daddy 
 
 Welles lives. Come home with us !" 
 
 " Wo can go back by the bridge," 
 Nelly murmured, playing the castanets 
 with her teeth. She really did seem to 
 be about to have a nervous chill. 
 
 " No, indeed ! You must come with 
 us. We live only a short distance. Is 
 this Nolly Welles? I have heard of you, 
 Nelly, and am very glad to make your 
 acquaintance. Wo wen? walking out. I 
 am so glad we met you !" 
 
 There was something delightfully frank 
 ami affectionate in the girl's voice, and 
 her companion, the gentleman in black, 
 added his word, in a voice of mild cour- 
 tesy. 
 
 "Your young friend ought to change 
 her clothing at once, sir," he said to Elliot. 
 
 " My name is Gary, and I live almost in 
 sight." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, papa ! Make her come," 
 said the tall girl. 
 
 And as Nelly had no means of resist- 
 ing, she yielded, and they all walked up 
 the hill through the evergreens. The 
 path wound downward on the other side 
 and entered a meadow. Beyond, on a 
 rising ground, was an old-fashioned coun- 
 try - house of moderate size, standing in 
 the midst of a lawn dotted with locusts 
 and Lombardy poplars, a favorite tree 
 with the old-time Virginians. The house 
 was ancient and built of stone, covered 
 with brown stucco. In front was a small 
 porch reached by a circular carriage-drive. 
 Here and there in the grounds rose white 
 trellises, which seemed to indicate a love 
 of flowers in the master or mistress of 
 the mansion. The general appearance 
 of things suggested plain comfort rather 
 than ample means an idea of tranquil- 
 lity and home. 
 
 The slim young lady, who had intro- 
 duced herself to Nelly as Frances Gary, 
 at once disappeared up-stairs with her 
 drenched companion, and Mr. Gary con- 
 ducted Brantz Elliot into a room on the 
 left of the entrance, which seemed to do 
 duty as drawing-room and library com- 
 bined. There were two or three book- 
 cases filled with volumes, and some old 
 pictures on the wall. In the centre stood 
 a writing-table covered with books and 
 papers among the latter, some upon 
 which the owner of the house seemed to 
 have been engaged, as a pen was lying 
 upon them. Two large arm-chairs cover- 
 ed with brown leather stood on each side 
 of the table, and were apparently heir- 
 loniii-4. The apartment was in keeping 
 with these antiquated pieces of furniture. 
 Above the tall mantel-piece the wall was 
 wainscoted in panels, and the whole ap- 
 pearance of things was antique. Some 
 of the first settlers who m^sed the Blue 
 liil-_T' 1 in the last century had probably 
 built this house. 
 
 A- his lnt had bog^-d Elliot to excuse 
 him for a moment, and had left the room, 
 the young man had a good opportunity 
 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 73 
 
 t> look around him. It was quite plain,' 
 from the appearance of the apartment, 
 that Mr. Gary was a man of literary tastes, 
 and lived quietly among his hooks. An 
 atmosphere of the past seemed to pervade 
 the room there was only one object 
 which looked fresh and modern; this 
 was a portrait of cabinet size, over the 
 mantel-piece, representing a girl of about 
 eighteen, with her hair in bands on the 
 temples, and secured by a bow of ribbon 
 behind. In the face of the picture there 
 was an exquisite sweetness and modesty. 
 The lips were virginal, and smiled. It 
 was possible that this was the portrait of 
 Miss Frances Gary, as it was an excellent j 
 likeness of her; but the hair was worn 
 in a different manner. 
 
 Hrantz Elliot was looking at it when 
 Mr. Gary came back. 
 
 "I have just seen my daughter," Mr. 
 Gary said; "and Miss Nelly will be able 
 to come down to dinner, Mr. Elliot. If 
 she wishes to return home this evening I 
 will send her in the carriage." 
 
 They fell into conversation, and at 
 length an old servant appeared and an- 
 nounced that dinner was served. Mr. 
 Gary led the way into the opposite room, 
 and there stood Miss Frances Gary and 
 another person awaiting them. The tall 
 young beauty looked at Mr. Brantz Elliot 
 with a smile and an expression of curios- 
 ity she was evidently expecting some- 
 thing. Suddenly she laughed the some- 
 thing had happened. Brantz Elliot had 
 taken three steps into the room when he 
 stopped. He was looking at the figure 
 beside Miss Frances Gary. 
 
 This figure was that of a young lady 
 in a dress of light-blue silk, with a fringe 
 of lace around the neck, and a train. The 
 dress was cut in the pull-back fashion of 
 the time, and, therefore, exhibited the 
 whole contour of the wearer's person. 
 Small black morocco slippers, decorated 
 with ribbon knots, appeared under the ele- 
 gantly trimmed skirt ; lace cuffs emerged 
 from the falling sleeves, and the young 
 lady's dark hair was elaborately dressed 
 in curls on the temples, with a string of 
 pearls interwoven. The explanation of '. 
 
 all this was that, as her own clothe^ \\i-re 
 
 dreliehed, Nelly Welles had beell <i 
 
 up by Miss Frances ('ary in a suit of l,,. r 
 own the best she had and was now 
 exhibited in triumph by her hostess. 
 
 " I thought von would be surprised, 
 sir!" Miss Frances Cary said to Klliot, 
 laughing. " Nelly has on one of my 
 dresses, and it fits her to perfection, 
 though I am taller than she is." 
 
 "It certainly docs," Elliot said, lie 
 looked at Nelly with admiring eves. The 
 magic of dress had made her what he had 
 said she was a lady from head to foot. 
 There was nothing in her air to detract 
 from this ; no gaucheric at all. She 
 wore her elegant costume with the air 
 of a person who had never put on linsey 
 in her life, and the small feet in the mo- 
 rocco slippers seemed to have found the 
 covering suited to them. 
 
 O 
 
 "By George!" said Elliot to himself, 
 " who would ever have thought that dress 
 would make such a difference in a girl ! 
 And yet there is really no difference." 
 
 " I have neglected my own toilet from 
 want of time, gentlemen," Miss Frances 
 Cary said, with a courtesy ; " but I hope 
 you acknowledge that Nelly is a beau- 
 ty !" 
 
 Mr. Cary smiled and said, 
 
 " Certainly, and you seem to be be- 
 coming great friends." 
 
 " Friends, papa ! why not? Nelly's 
 coming to see me. Mercy ! do you think 
 girls are as stiff as you lords of creation ? 
 Indeed, we are not. "NVc become ac- 
 quainted before you great people have 
 finished shaking hands !" 
 
 Everybody then sat down, and dinner 
 went upon its way, ended, and Mr. Gary 
 and Elliot returned to the library, the 
 young ladies going up-stairs again. The 
 carriage had been ordered to be ready in 
 an hour. 
 
 They entered into conversation, and he 
 found Mr. Gary a quiet, friendly person, 
 who made an agreeable impression by 
 his air of simplicity and courtesy. There- 
 was absolutely nothing of the soldier 
 about him, and yet Elliot knew, from 
 what Daddy Welles had told him, that his 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 host had passed through four years of ter- 
 rible campaigning and all the battles of 
 Virginia. This interested him ; and see- 
 ing on the wall an engraving of a Con- 
 federate Hag rising through a belt of 
 clouds, with stars in the background, and 
 a low moon on the horizon beneath, he 
 said, 
 
 " That picture, no doubt, brings back 
 old times, Colonel Cary I mean the war 
 times ; and that reminds me that I ought 
 to make you an apology for not address- 
 ing you by your military title." 
 
 Mr. Cary shook his head and said, 
 
 " I much prefer to be addressed as 
 plain Mr. The war is a sad subject, and 
 I like to forget it. I do not mean that 
 it is sad otherwise than from sorrowful 
 recollections connected with it. I should 
 never have taken part in it if I had not 
 regarded it as a just war the resistance 
 of the South to political oppression. But 
 I do not recall it with pleasure, and prefer 
 not being addressed by my military title, 
 which brings it back to my mind. You 
 are from New York, Mr. Elliot ?" 
 
 This question was plainly meant to di- 
 vert the conversation into a new channel. 
 
 " I am from everywhere and nowhere 
 but New York is my native State," Elliot 
 said. " I lit like a bird in Broadway last 
 year, but I have been flying over Europe. 
 The truth is Mr. Cary, I am a rather 
 good-for-nothing sort of person. I am 
 only fit for a life in the woods. Nothing 
 wearies me like streets, and what people 
 call society." 
 
 "That is not a proof that we are good- 
 for-nothing, I h<pc," his host said. "I 
 am not very fond of society myself. In- 
 deed it wearies me, as it seems to do 
 you." 
 
 " Weary me!" exclaimed Hrantz Elliot, 
 " It prostrates me, and drains the very life 
 out of me! The one eternal chatter, chat- 
 ter, chatter, takes away my senses. I 
 know women whose tongues run like 
 mill-clappers, and the worst of it is they 
 grind in> gri*t. It is one flow of froth 
 the whipped syllabub of talk beginning 
 and ending nowhere an eternity of gab- 
 ble !" 
 
 It was not often that Brantz Elliot 
 rose to the height of denunciation. He 
 was a quiet and good-natured young fel- 
 low, but his pet dislike made him elo- 
 quent. 
 
 " I would much rather split rails than 
 listen to it," he added. 
 
 " Well, I think our views agree tolera- 
 bly well on that subject," Mr. Gary said, 
 quietly ; " but we find, as we go on in life, 
 that we have to endure a great many 
 things." 
 
 " I will never learn to endure gabble," 
 Elliot said. " I am twenty-five, and it is 
 harder to stand than when I was fifteen." 
 
 " Twenty -five is not very old ; life is in 
 the bloom at that age. I am nearly fifty, 
 and the leaves begin to drop then." 
 
 "At fifty?" said Elliot. "I think a 
 man is only in his full vigor at fifty." 
 
 "The mind may be," Mr. Cary replied, 
 "and the body, too, perhaps, sometimes; 
 but our illusions begin to leave us, which 
 is a great misfortune. Life is like :\ 
 coach; the springs may not break all 
 at once, -but they lose their elasticity. 
 When the coach is new, it is elastic as 
 well as strong, and will bear a great deal 
 of wear and tear. As time passes, it loses 
 its stamina as well as its gloss. It still 
 keeps the road, perhaps, but some day it 
 breaks down suddenly, and is consigned 
 to the dust of the coach-house. Dust to 
 dust, you know, Mr. Elliot." 
 
 Mr. Cary paused for a moment, and 
 then added : 
 
 " This may seem melancholy talk ; but, 
 after all, is not life a melancholy affair? 
 < >M age comes soon enough, and happy 
 is the man who does not linger out his 
 last years/' 
 
 Elliot listened in silence. The reason- 
 ing of his host imposed a certain gloom 
 on his volatile nature. 
 
 "But would any one agree to have his 
 life end because he is no longer young?" 
 he said "1 doubt it." 
 
 " I am sure you would find very few 
 who would agree to that. P>ut the fact 
 remains that old age is sad when the days 
 pa-- with a dull pain at. the heart, which 
 is often the case. Death is better and 
 
VI1UJINI.V BOHEMIANS. 
 
 yet that will not conic sometimes. The 
 pulses u'o on beating, slowly and faintly, 
 but they will not stop. I >id you ever 
 consult a liiographiral I >ictionary to find 
 tin 1 date of some celebrity's death. ; You 
 say to yourself, ' In such a year he made 
 his vjvat speech, or published his great 
 hook; half a century ago he was al- 
 ready famous so lie must have died 
 maiiv years since.' And then you look 
 into your dictionary, and find that he is 
 still living! He is not dead only for- 
 gotten! not his fame only, but his very 
 name. It was in every mouth once, and 
 the world hailed him as one of the 
 tblouissemcns, as the French say, of the 
 .age. Now no one even remembers him 
 and yet he is living still. Living! 
 but how? Eoclesiastes will tell you: 
 "With his head bowed down, and his 
 trembling. He was a giant once, 
 and carried the world on his shoulders. 
 Now the very grasshopper is a burden to 
 him :" 
 
 The firm voice uttering steadily this 
 sorrowful philosophy of life ceased. El- 
 liot struggled against it in vain. 
 
 "Well," he said at length, "I suppose 
 all that is true, Mr. Gary ; but we must 
 take things as they come, and make the 
 best of them." 
 
 " Certainly," said his host, " it is well 
 to make the best of things ; and, after all, 
 there is something worse than old age 
 it is the loneliness that comes to men at 
 any and all ages." 
 
 Did the speaker glance toward the pict- 
 ure over the mantel-piece ? 
 
 " I must apologize, Mr. Elliot, for in- 
 flicting such a melancholy lecture upon 
 you," he said. " There are a great many 
 pleasant things in life to those who can 
 enjoy them. One of them is your pur- 
 suit of hunting, to which you alluded. 
 I am not myself much of a hunter, which 
 springs, no doubt, from the fact that I am 
 physically indolent. I am very much of 
 an idler and dreamer, which may strike 
 you as singular in an old soldier ; but so 
 it is. I walk or ride with my daughter 
 frequently ; afterward my resource against 
 ennui is here in my library." 
 
 "I was looking at, the !..,, UN they 
 to be of every drxmptii.n." 
 
 " Yes, 1 ivad at random. My ta^te is 
 for miscellany, old and ne\v; 1 read my 
 favorites o\er and over, even the old 
 novels." 
 
 "Then you don't like the novels of the 
 day?" 
 
 " I confess I do not as much as other 
 persons seem to. We have nothing no\\ 
 but analysis and realism, and the fashion- 
 able atmosphere is what a painter would 
 call gray. 1 like neutral tints where the 
 subject demands them. I can't say 1 like 
 them in every case. There are other tints 
 that have their raison d'etre in art, as well 
 as gray. But we are growing literary. 
 You must excuse me I am a mere 
 bookman. Do you like Virginia?" 
 
 "I like it very much. It is a friendly 
 sort of country." 
 
 " That is a compliment, and I take my 
 little part in it. I shall be very glad if 
 you will come and see me, Mr. Elliot. I 
 seldom visit myself, but am truly glad to 
 sec my friends." 
 
 The carriage drove to the door as Mr. 
 Gary was speaking, and a few moments 
 afterward Frances Gary and Nelly Welles 
 came down-stairs into the library. Nelly 
 had taken off her friend's silk dress, but 
 put on another of a plainer description, 
 in which she presented a very neat and 
 attractive appearance. A maid* servant 
 had brought down a small travelling-va- 
 lise in which Nelly's damp clothes were 
 packed, and this was taken out to , the 
 carriage. 
 
 Elliot and Nelly then took leave of 
 their host and hostess, and got into the 
 carriage, which was a plain family (.Mini- 
 page, driven by an old servant. 
 
 " Be sure you keep your promis* 
 ly," said the young hostess, " and come 
 and see me. I shall conn? and tee 
 you." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, I will come," Nelh 
 as the door of the carriage was shut. It 
 was then about to drive away when Miss 
 Frances Gary uttered a piercing cry. Ev- 
 erybody started. 
 
 " Mercy ! I've not kissed you !" ex- 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 claimed the young lady, rushing wildly 
 to the carriage window. 
 
 A fervent embrace followed, and then 
 the vehicle went upon its way. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 THE CATAMOUNTAIX. 
 
 FOR some days after the accident on 
 the stream, Brantz Elliot seemed to have 
 something upon his mind. He would 
 ramble away into the woods, and, instead 
 of hunting, sit down and fall into fits of 
 musing. Was he thinking of the kiss 
 he had pressed upon Nelly's cheek as 
 they came up out of the water ? Such 
 things return to the memory when we 
 are twenty-five. He remembered every- 
 thing very clearly, and could feel the 
 girl's heart beating against his own 
 again. 
 
 He continued to be haunted by recol- 
 lections of his adventure, until one day 
 every other thought disappeared from his 
 mind but one. Daddy Welles announced 
 that the catamount had been seen again ; 
 this time by Barney Jones, whose eyes 
 were much too keen to be " fooled by a 
 common wild -cat." The animal was a 
 real " painter," or " catamounting," as 
 the Virginia hunters called them. He 
 had lcen seen higher up in the Blue 
 Ridge, bat now he had got to Bohemia 
 there was no doubt about it. Barney 
 Jones had -ecu him near his house and 
 shot at him, but mied him.* 
 
 * Even if unsupported by further developments, 
 there would be no rea.-on to doubt the accuracy 
 of Mr. .Jones's eyesight. The cougar, panther, or 
 eatainoiint, as it is variously called, is still occa- 
 sionally met with in the I'.lue Ridge. This fact 
 is -liown by the annexed slip fn>m the Culpeper 
 (Va.) Thin x, in the autumn of 1878: "A gn-at 
 deal of excitement has recently been created in 
 the neighborhood of Mount Poney, about three 
 miles from here. It is reported that strange 
 -embling a man hallooing in distress, 
 have frequently been heard of late on the moun- 
 tain, but nothing had been seen to cause any fear 
 among the inhabitants until last Sunday, when 
 some persons who were on the mountain saw a 
 wild and ferocious looking animal, which, it was 
 
 Hearing this, Brantz Elliot lost sight 
 of all else in the world. One thing only 
 was now necessary to his happiness to 
 go on a panther-hunt. He had grown a 
 little tired of shooting pheasants and wild 
 turkeys, and even deer-stalking began to 
 lose some of its attractions. What we 
 require in this world is variety and con- 
 trast. The palate inured to rich sauces 
 asks something richer still ; and the new 
 sauce which Mr. Brantz Elliot craved was 
 a shot at a real catamount. 
 
 " We'll try him in the morning, Daddy 
 Welles," he exclaimed, with excitement ; 
 "and if you won't go, I will ! I mean to 
 see your distinguished stranger and have 
 his blood that is, his skin to take back* 
 to New York with me." 
 
 Daddy Welles smiled sweetly. The 
 ardor of his guest seemed to please him. ! 
 
 "There won't be any trouble about 
 my goin'," he said. "I'm most as 
 cur'ous to see the varmint as you are. 
 I'll jest send Barney Jones word to be 
 ready by daylight, or a leetle before, and 
 we'll look up the calf-eater." 
 
 "He eats calves, then ?" said Elliot. 
 
 " To be sure," Daddy Welles respoi 
 ed. " That stands to reason, as a wilt 
 cat will, and a catamounting is a sort 
 wild-cat, only bigger and stronger. This 
 varmint has cleaned 'em out, they tell me, 
 farther up. So I'd like to put a bullet 
 in him myself as he is comin' this way." 1 
 
 Daddy Welles was thus evidently in- 
 tent on the hunt from a business view of 
 things as well as for his private satisfac- 
 tion, and all the arrangements were made. 
 Some ragged offspring of Mr. K-irney 
 Jones, who were fishing on the banks cf 
 
 thought, had been making the terrifying: demon- 
 strations, and which is supposed to be a panther. 
 It is said to be about live feet in length, of a yel- 
 low color, and very large, and when seen was 
 making its way through the woods toward the 
 top of the mountain, where there is a mass of 
 rocks which afford it a hiding-place. The in- 
 habitants of that section are very much alarmed 
 at the sudden appearance of this carnivorous 
 animal, and will not venture outside of their 
 hou-es after dark in consequence of it. Sever- 
 al yetn ago a huge catamount was killed on the 
 same mountain." 
 
VIRGINIA r.olIKMIANS. 
 
 the stream below, were told to notify 
 their parent that Paddy \\Vlles and Mr. 
 Elliot would be at his house l>y daylight 
 oil the next morning to go after the cata- 
 mount ; and then Elliot went to bed, and 
 dreamed tliat he was engaged in a bivaM- 
 to-livast struggle with an animal of huge 
 proportions, in the mid>t of \\hich Daddy 
 AYclles tapped at his door and informed 
 him that it was time to be moving. They 
 breakfasted by candle-light, and took their 
 arms Paddy Welles his long ritle, and 
 Elliot his carbine. Both carried hunt- 
 ing-knives, used in cutting the throats of 
 deer. Thus equipped, they mounted two 
 raw - boned horses, sole equine posses- 
 sion^ of the Daddy, and, followed by 
 the hounds, rode down the mountain, 
 turning to the left when they reached 
 the foot, in the direction of Barney 
 Jones's. 
 
 It was a superb autumn morning, and 
 the bracing air brought the blood to the 
 young man's face. The leaves were of 
 every color of the rainbow. The least 
 possible trace of frost lay like silver on 
 the grass, and a light breeze rustled the 
 foliage blood-red where the maple and 
 dog- wood were in the ascendant, and like 
 molten gold where the hickory -trees pre- 
 dominated. Such a scene always made 
 the pulses of Brantz Elliot throb with 
 delight. It brought out the " wild side " 
 in him in full force. He would probably 
 have laughed at you if you had hinted 
 that Fifth Avenue or the Boulevards 
 were anything in comparison to the val- 
 :' Bohemia at that moment. 
 
 They rode on through the dusk of 
 morning up the valley, from which a 
 white mist was slowly rising, as the 
 dawn began to glimmer above the 
 mountain. Later in the autumn this 
 mist was going to turn into a long, dense 
 cloud of milk-white vapor, defining the 
 course of the Falling Water. Now, how- 
 ever, it was a light smoke only which the 
 dawn was chasing. Soon the sun would 
 come up over the Blue Ridge, and it would 
 completely vanish. 
 
 They found Mr. Barney Jones waiting 
 in front of his habitation aw r eather-board 
 
 establishment, of moderate si/e, nestling 
 down in a gash of the mountain. I '>- 
 hernia gradually narrowed heiv, terminat- 
 ing in a deep gorge. Mr. .Ion. -,'-, man- 
 sion, which was unassuming but looked 
 thrifty, was a sort, of sentinel at the 
 mouth of the gOIge, 
 
 He was standing by his horse, which 
 closely resembled those ridden 1>\ his 
 visitors, and held ;i ritle in his hand, 
 lie was u.it an imposing iigurr in his 
 old faded hunting-coat, his rag-jvd bn,\\n 
 felt hat, and his patched pantaloons thrust 
 into his boots. But then Mr. Uarney 
 Jones did not seem to care much for 
 that. His expression of face was hu- 
 morous and sardonic. He expectorated 
 with an independent air. He was very 
 much of a scarecrow in apparel, but 
 plainly regarded himself as one of the 
 sovereigns. 
 
 " Well, here you arc at last, Daddy," 
 Mr. Jones said. "I'd n'most begun to 
 give you out." 
 
 The speaker bcstow r ed a side move- 
 ment of the head upon Brantz Elliot, and 
 at once mounted his horse. 
 
 "The rep-tile was seen yistiddy in the 
 Hogback," said Barney Jones. " Here, 
 pup ! here, pup !" 
 
 This summons was responded to by 
 half a dozen tawny hounds, who ran joy- 
 fully in front as the three hunters rode 
 up the gorge toward the Hogback, a ridge- 
 parallel with the main range. 
 
 Barney Jones promptly communicated 
 all the intelligence which he had received 
 in reference to the catamount. !! had 
 come over from the "Three Sisters" a 
 spur of the mountain some days before, 
 and had been seen by Jimmy Wood and 
 Tom Wilkins on two occasions. They 
 had followed and shot at him, but In- had 
 got off unhurt, and made his way to a 
 pile of rocks on the Hogback, wln-r.- lie 
 seemed to have his den. Afterward he, 
 Barney Jones, had got a sight of him 
 near his house and fired at him, but miss- 
 ed him. It was jo>t between hawk and 
 buzzard in the evenin', and he couldn't see 
 plain, but there was no doubt about it 
 he was a genm'we catamounting. lie was 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 after sheep and calves, and he, Mr. Jones, 
 meant to give him a lead pill to swaller, 
 which he rather thought would settle his 
 hash for him. 
 
 Mr. Jones's dialect was not classic, but 
 Brantz Elliot did not mind that. His 
 pulse thrilled, and as they rode on up the 
 gorge toward the Hogback his face glow- 
 ed. This gorge was narrow, and heavily 
 wooded. Falling Water ran through it, 
 and over it hovered a cloud of mist. On 
 the left rose the shaggy battlements of 
 the Ridge, and on the right the steep 
 range called the Hogback, probably from 
 its bristling pines. On the very summit 
 towered a huge pile of rocks, lying as 
 though emptied from a gigantic wagon. 
 In the crevices grew evergreens, and even 
 from a distance, through the fog, Elliot 
 could make out the cavernous apertures 
 beneath them. In one of these caverns 
 the catamount had his den. 
 
 The hunters pushed on rapidly up the 
 steep and rocky bridle-path. Their ob- 
 ject was to reach the top, dismount, con- 
 ceal themselves, and wait until the cata- 
 mount, after his night-prowling, returned 
 to his den which would probably be 
 about sunrise. Nocturnal animals of 
 the cat species, above all see best in the 
 niidit: the opal eyes expand; in the day 
 the iris contracts. Like the burglar, the 
 night -prowler takes the time when the 
 world is asleep to attain his sinister ends. 
 
 Tln-v ivaehed the summit of the Hog- 
 back just as the rosy flush began to deep- 
 en beyond the battlements of the Blue 
 Ridge, whose sombre outline was clear- 
 cut against the mining sunrise. They 
 dismounted, hid their horses behind a 
 thicket of cedars rising in beautiful cones, 
 with bases resting on the rocks in which 
 they grew, and every one took his stand, 
 Hrantz Elliot crouching in the tufted head 
 of a fallen pine. From his ]><t he had a 
 full view of the pile of rocks, which was 
 not more than a hundred and fifty yard- 
 distant, and of the gorge beneath. 
 
 II.- watched the changes in the wild 
 landscape with admiration. The conr>e 
 of the stream was clearly defined by a 
 mass of vapor, the upper edge of which 
 
 was traced boldly, without the least blur, 
 against the dense growth of evergreens 
 on the opposite mountain. This lasted 
 for a few moments only. As the flush 
 on the summit of the Ridge changed 
 from delicate rose to red, the mist seemed 
 to grow uneasy. Then it shifted, undu- 
 lated, and as a fiery spark like a distant 
 beacon appeared above the fringe of ever- 
 greens, the upper edges of the mist grew 
 ragged and began to drift upward. Then 
 the sun soared up, suddenly flushing the 
 wild gorge, and the mist fled before it. 
 The outline grew more ragged, flitted off 
 in shreds, and in a few moments the whole 
 mass became translucent you could 
 trace the outlines of the gigantic pines 
 now through it, and every object in the 
 gorge. 
 
 All at once an almost imperceptible 
 sound, like a distant growl, came up from 
 the gorge, and Daddy Welles, who was 
 not far from Elliot said, in a low tone, 
 
 " Did you hear that ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Elliot, his heart beating ; 
 "remember, you promised me the first 
 shot," 
 
 "To be sure," Daddy W T elles said, in 
 the same low tone ; " but you'd best keep 
 quiet now." 
 
 Elliot nodded, and cocked his carbine, 
 kneeling on his right knee, and complete- 
 ly concealed from view. 
 
 The dogs had been called in, and were 
 lying in rear of their masters, plainly un- 
 derstanding that it was not time for them 
 yet. The hunters, crouching down, re- 
 mained silent, waiting. The air was per- 
 fectly still. Not the least sound disturb- 
 ed the solitude of the Hogback. Sud- 
 denly a twig snapped in a mass of brush 
 in front of them, and a moment afterward 
 the catamount came out into the open 
 tpAOe, crawling stealthily, with his body 
 nearly touching the ground, toward his 
 den. 
 
 There could no longer be the 1( 
 dul,t. JI<- was a full-grown panther 
 American cougar, nearly six feet in Ien 
 with reddish-brown fur, white under 
 body, and dashed on the throat and ch< 
 with black and white. As he advance 
 
VIRGINIA lUHIKMIANS. 
 
 79 
 
 ,vith his stealthy crawl ho turned his head 
 Torn side to side suspiciously, as if his 
 nstinct led him to scent danger, and the 
 rlitter of liis yellow eyes could be seen. 
 \ strav beam of the sunshine falling on 
 hem seemed to turn them to lire. 
 
 One of the blissful moments of life 
 lad come for Brant/ Klliot. His heart 
 throbbed and his pulse galloped his 
 land shook a little with excitement and 
 'nil delight, as a lover's trembles when he 
 Iraws the head of the one he loves to his 
 uva-t. But the tawny head of the cata- 
 mount was at that moment an object of 
 ntinitelv greater attraction to the young 
 tunter than could have been the curls 
 and roses of the fairest fair with golden 
 lair that ever lived. 
 
 He waited until the catamount had 
 reached a point midway between the un- 
 lergrowth from which he had emerged 
 and the mass of rocks. Then, resting on 
 lis right knee, and taking deliberate aim 
 at the animal behind the fore-shoulder, he 
 iivd. 
 
 It was plain that he was struck. lie 
 altered a wild scream, wholly unlike the 
 ow growl which had heralded his coni- 
 ng, and bounded into the air. As he 
 lescended two other shots rang out, but 
 jvidently did not touch him. He wheel- 
 ed, cleared a pile of brush behind him 
 with a bound, and disappeared in the 
 gorge. 
 
 " He's tetched, but he ain't much hurt," 
 cried Barney Jones ; " whoop ! here's for 
 him !" 
 
 With this war-cry, Mr. Jones leaped on 
 lis rawboned charger, shouted to the 
 dogs, and rode headlong down the rock/ 
 slope of the Hogback, followed by his 
 companions, who had hastened also to 
 their horses. Reckless of danger, and 
 wild with the excitement of the hunter, 
 they plunged down the breakneck road, 
 ntent only on following up the game. 
 
 After that it was more like a deer-chase 
 than a panther-hunt. The dogs followed 
 their foe by the scent, never losing his 
 trail for a moment, as their furious bay- 
 ng showed. The game was obviously 
 rery far from being disabled by Brantz 
 
 Klliofs bullet ; it had no doubt, inllirtrd 
 a flesh wound and no mre. The tireless 
 running of the animal showed that. 
 
 liarnev .lones even led Daddy \\Ylles 
 and Klliot. He -miied to have made up 
 his mind to administer the fatal leaden 
 pill, or break his own <>r his h<>r>r\ neck 
 in the attempt. \Yith heels dug into his 
 Rosinante, and long ritle Uourished above 
 him, he hallooed on the dogs, and went 
 after them like the Wild Huntsman. 
 
 His companions were at his heels, and 
 they ran, scrambled, tumbled over the 
 rocky mountain -paths for several h-mrs. 
 The dogs were plainly still on the trail, 
 for the baying was as furious as before. 
 But the game was not giving out yet. 
 He doubled from one end of the gorge 
 to another, and then mounting to the top 
 of the Blue Ridge, followed the summit 
 southward. 
 
 Daddy Welles drew rein and said, look- 
 ing at his horse, 
 
 "Well, old Tom's nigh gi'n out, Bar- 
 ney. The varmint's off." 
 
 "Not by no means!" exclaimed Mr. 
 Jones; "he'll double agin; I'll swear to 
 it if I ken only git a chance to empty 
 my gun at him." 
 
 lie dug his heels into his steed, uttered 
 his warwhoop, and plunged on, followed 
 by Daddy Welles and Elliot for great 
 is the moral influence of enthusia>m. 
 The three hunters disappeared south- 
 ward, following the dogs as before, and 
 taking the chances that the animal would 
 double once more. 
 
 He was going to double 'again, and that 
 fact was to lead to a somewhat startling 
 incident. 
 
 The sun had mounted high by this 
 time, and it was nearly noon. Tin- val- 
 ley of Bohemia looked very pretty in 
 the fresh light, and what made tin- land- 
 scape along the banks of the Falling 
 Water more attractive was the pivM-in-e 
 of what painters call human ligmvs. 
 These were the figures of Mr. < 'ary and 
 his daughter, who were riding along qui- 
 etly, admiring the rich coloring of the 
 leaves, and conversing. As Mr. Gary had 
 informed Brantz Elliot, one of his few 
 
80 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 diversions, outside of bis library, was to 
 walk or ride with bis daughter; and on 
 this morning they bad set out on horse- 
 back to enjoy the fresh air and the autumn 
 scenery. There was a picturesque route 
 along the western bank of the stream, 
 which they could cross by a ford above, 
 and then return along the eastern bank, 
 in sight of Daddy Welles's. They ac- 
 cordingly followed this road, splashed 
 through the ford where the water was 
 scarcely above the horses' knees, and, turn- 
 ing back, were riding slowly along the 
 bank, in order to return home by the 
 bridge on the stage-road leading to the 
 Gap. 
 
 For some time Mr. Gary had heard a 
 distant baying in the gorge toward the 
 Hogback, and had called his daughter's 
 attention to it. 
 
 "Some one is hunting," he said; 
 " probably Mr. Elliot. lie is a very 
 agreeable young man, and quite a Nim- 
 rod." 
 
 "He is very agreeable, indeed," Miss 
 Frances said, with her habitual mirth. 
 " I would set my cap at him if he w r as 
 not already engaged!" 
 
 14 Is he engaged ?" 
 
 " Well, I don't mean engaged, exactly, 
 papa ; but it is perfectly plain." 
 
 " What is plain, dear?" 
 
 " That he is in love with Nelly Welles." 
 
 " Do you really think so ?" 
 
 " I am sure he is. Mercy ! you didn't 
 see how he looked at her when she came 
 d>wn in my blue silk. There is not the 
 least doubt about it," said the astute 
 young lady. 
 
 rv well, dear," Mr. Gary said; "I 
 am sure little Nelly \\ill make him a 
 good wife if they are married. She has 
 a charming face." 
 
 " Ila-n't sin- ( \ have fallen in love 
 with her, and I wish you would stop ami 
 let me see her to-day." 
 
 "Certainly, if you wi*h, Franee," Mr. 
 Gary said, bestowing his pet name on the 
 girl " but take care of your horse. You 
 know he is skittish, and I hear the baying 
 in the mountain coming nearer. The dogs 
 might frighten him." 
 
 " There's no danger, papa." 
 
 " Still, it is just as well to be on youi 
 guard, and to keep your reins well in 
 hand. With a skittish horse there id 
 always a certain amount of danger." 
 
 There was danger, and a very consider- 
 able amount of it, indeed. They were 
 passing through a dense belt of woods, 
 not far from the stream, when a crash- 
 ing sound was heard from the slope on 
 their right, the foliage parted, and the 
 catamount which the hunters had been 
 pursuing bounded into the path within 
 a few yards of them. He was panting, 
 and covered with blood. His red tongue 
 hung -from his lips edged with froth, and 
 hia sharp teeth were visible. As much 
 frightened as the horses, he uttered a 
 deep growl, and seemed about to adopl 
 the plan of cowards that is, spring to- 
 ward the object of which he was afraid. 
 
 The growl was followed by an excla- 
 mation from Mr. Gary. His daughter's 
 horse, wild with fear, had bounded ten 
 feet, and snapped his rein. The cata- 
 mount crouched, apparently with the in- 
 tention of springing, when a rifle -slot 
 rung out, and the animal rolled over on 
 the ground, tearing up the earth with his 
 claws and teeth. He was shot through 
 the body ; and as he writhed, a gush of 
 blood stained the carpet of pine tau-s. 
 
 Mr. Gary had seized the bridle of his 
 daughter's horse close to the bit, and held 
 him with a grip of iron. 
 
 "Gan I help you, sir?" said a voice. 
 
 He looked round, and saw a young 
 man in plain clothes, who had come O'lt 
 of the woods to the spot, and was Iran- 
 ing on a rifle. 
 
 "Did you fire that shot?" Mr. Gary 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " I am glad to say I did, sir," the 
 young man said. 
 
 "Then I have to thank you for saving 
 my daughter fr<>m what might have proved 
 a fatal accident!" Mr. Gary said, grasping 
 his hand. "My name is Cary. sir, and I 
 shall never forget the service you have 
 done me to-day." 
 
 "Yon rate it too highly, Mr. < 'ary," 
 said the young man. " My name is 
 
VIRGINIA IIU1IKM1A.NS. 
 
 81 
 
 Vance, and I am very glad I came up at 
 the moment. 1 ' 
 
 "Do you reside in this neighborhood, 
 Mr. Vance? If so, I hope you will come 
 and SIT me, and let me thank you at my 
 leisure." 
 
 " In your near neighborhood,' 1 tlie 
 younjj fellow said. " Thank you, Mr. 
 try." 
 
 With this non-committal reply the young 
 hunter went to the spot where the pan- 
 ther was lying, lie was quite dead by 
 this time, and lay with his mouth open 
 and his red tongue hanging out. The 
 upper lip was raised, and revealed the 
 sharp teeth. 
 
 " It is a real panther," said the young 
 man. k ' AVe had a superb one in the Un- 
 rivalled Combination of Attractions." 
 
 lie laughed as he said this. A mo- 
 ment afterward the dogs rushed upon the 
 scene, and the three huntsmen on their 
 jaded horses followed, halting suddenly, 
 and looking with astonishment at the 
 group. 
 
 " So he's dead !" Brantz Elliot exclaim- 
 ed ; and turning round, he said, " AVhy, 
 Mi Cary ! is that you?" 
 
 "In person," she said, laughing, and 
 making him a little bow. 
 
 " So you are in at the death." 
 
 " It was nearly my own," the girl said. 
 
 Then explanations followed, and the 
 general satisfaction was increased by the 
 war-dance, accompanied by whoops, which 
 Mr. Barney Jones executed around the 
 dead animal. 
 
 " So I am not to take his skin to New 
 York and show it at the club, after all !" 
 Brantz Elliot said, ruefully. 
 
 "Do you want it? You may have it 
 if you wish I suppose it is mine, as I 
 shot the owner of it," said the young man 
 with the rifle, amiably. 
 
 "May I?" Brantz Elliot exclaimed, 
 turning round. " AVell, I'll take it, and 
 thank you too !" 
 
 " You are welcome to it." 
 
 "And I'll skin him," Daddy Welles 
 said, with a smile. 
 
 The hunters grouped themselves around 
 the dead panther, looking at him with 
 6 
 
 much satisfaction, and Mr. < \-iry uas at- 
 tracted like the rest, lie was a n-mark- 
 ably large animal, and it was a ivinark- 
 ably fine shot: the bullet had g.inc ri^ht 
 to the vital sput. Mr. < 'ary looked round 
 t say so, but Harry Vance had shoulder- 
 ed his rifle and walked away. Kverv- 
 body had been so much absorbed that no 
 one had noticed the fact but I-YainTs 
 Cary, who had made him a grateful bow, 
 which he politely returned. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 THE TRAMPS. 
 
 THE sitting-room at "Falling AVater" 
 the name of Mr. Gary's house was a 
 very pleasant sight on this same evening. 
 A slight blaze had been kindled on the 
 old-fashioned brass andirons in the Jn>ad 
 country fireplace, for the evenings were 
 growing cool ; and the Argand lamp, with 
 a porcelain shade, upon the centre -table, 
 covered with books, diffused a moonlight 
 glimmer into every corner of the apart- 
 ment. In the immediate circle around it 
 the light was quite bright, and fell upon 
 the figures of Mr. Cary and Frances seat- 
 ed in arm-chairs facing each other. 
 
 Colonel Edmund Cary, or Mr. Cary, as 
 he preferred being called, retained, as he 
 always seemed to do, his expression of 
 mildness and composure. It was the air 
 of a man who has seen so much and such 
 singular things in life that he is no longer 
 surprised by anything. You could see 
 that he was essentially a man of books; 
 it was strange that destiny had ever made 
 a soldier of him, and he could not have 
 loved the career very much. No doubt 
 his view had been that when a man's na- 
 tive soil is invaded there is but one thing 
 for the man to do to shoulder a musket 
 or buckle on a sword. There was enough 
 of pride in his face to make it plain that 
 nothing could have induced him to re- 
 main inactive at such a time. Beyond 
 this the pride did not seem to be an ob- 
 trusive or aggressive sentiment. It was 
 there, but he had little further use for it 
 now ; and having lived in the past a life 
 
82 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 of action, wished now to live tranquilly, 
 indulging liis affections and Ins literary 
 tastes, unmoved by harsh emotions or by 
 ambition. As he was alone in the world, 
 except for Frances, she was his idol. You 
 could see that from the expression of his 
 eyes when he looked at her. Some hu- 
 man beings find their fullest delight in 
 applause, celebrity, the glittering gewgaw 
 of a name. This one plainly found it in 
 his home and the face of his daughter. 
 
 It was a very sweet face as the girl sat 
 sewing opposite her father, who was read- 
 ing. There was in it an indefinable some- 
 thing which suggested the freshness of 
 the first spring days, when the buttercups 
 bloom. She was rather tall and quite 
 slender, with brown hair, and blue eyes 
 which had a confiding expression ; and 
 the lips were very red, in strong contrast 
 to her fair complexion. She smiled ha- 
 bitually, from a natural tendency, it seem- 
 ed, to mirth, but this sometimes gave way 
 to another expression that on the lips of 
 the cabinet picture over the mantel-piece, 
 which she exactly resembled. This was 
 an expression of virginal modesty. Look- 
 ing into her face, you could see that her 
 being had been shaped in an atmosphere 
 of purity, and that she no more affected 
 modesty than the dawn affects freshness. 
 She wore one of those ugly "pull-back" 
 dresses which confine the knees unpleas- 
 antly, but she had arranged the scanty 
 skirt in such a manner as to conceal, not 
 display, her person. Her arms, from which 
 the sleeves fell back, were slender, which 
 is another word for beautiful. Some fe- 
 male arms are Amazonian, and produce 
 the impression that they are ready to 
 strike this pair seemed intended to clasp 
 the neck of some one whom their mistress 
 loved. 
 
 " It is really like a novel !" the slim 
 beauty said, laughing. " I was 'rescued' 
 that is the proper w<>rd just like LIK-V 
 Asliton, in the 'Bride of Lammermoor.' 
 And then he was a 'stalwart youth' 
 doesn't Mr. (J. 1*. R. James call them that .' 
 a romantic young woodman, perhaps 
 a Locksley, Earl of Huntingdon, in dis- 
 guise !" 
 
 " How your tongue runs, France !" said 
 Mr. Gary, with a smile. " I believe you 
 rattle on to make me laugh, my child." 
 
 "Well, why shouldn't I?" she said. 
 
 " It is a hard task. I have nearly lost 
 the art. There's no help for it." 
 
 All the smiles disappeared from the 
 girl's face, and a quick expression of 
 sadness came to her lips. 
 
 " No, no ! papa, do not talk so," she 
 said ; " please do not. It distresses me 
 so indeed it does." 
 
 Her eyes swam as she looked at him, 
 and her lips trembled a little. 
 
 " Don't think of that," she said, in a 
 faltering voice ; "please don't." 
 
 " Well, I'll be more cheerful, dear. 
 Look at me I am smiling." 
 
 " It is a very sorrowful smile. Come, 
 be bright, papa. My business is to make 
 you cheerful and happy. We ought to 
 be as happy as we can, and laugh as 
 much as possible don't you think so?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " I have been laughing to myself ever 
 since Mr. Elliot's and Nelly's visit. He 
 is certainly in love with her, and I m 
 to make the match. They might ma 
 and live at Crow's Nest: the house coul 
 be fitted up for them. That would 
 delightful." 
 
 "They would be pleasant neighbo 
 but it would require a good deal 
 money to fit up Crow's Nest. It is 
 tumble-down old place, you know, and 
 so far off in the hills that I really have 
 not even thought of it for a long time." 
 
 "But it could be repaired, and Mr. El- 
 liot could move in at once, as there is no 
 one living in it, is there ?" 
 
 The door opened, and an old servant 
 said, 
 
 " Mr. Gibbs, sir !" 
 
 "Ask him to walk in," said Mr. Gary 
 and this was followed by the appearan 
 of Mr. Gibbs, a weather-beaten personage 
 in drab clothes, who had long managed 
 Mr. Cary's property. 
 
 M Take a seat, Mr. Gibbs," Mr. Cary 
 said, with his air of mild courtesy. 
 
 "I thank you, sir; it's not worth 
 while," said Mr. Gibbs, remaining erect 
 
 = 
 
VIRGINIA BollKMIANS. 
 
 83 
 
 from respect, whereupon Mr. Gary rose 
 too. " I came to say the people I told 
 YOU about are at Crow's Nest yet I 
 can't do anything with Yin." 
 
 Mr. Cary, standing in front of the man- 
 tel-piece, reflected for a moment. 
 
 " You say they are tramps. JIave they 
 trespassed I mean done any damage?" 
 
 " None to speak of, sir, unless it's burn- 
 in' brush and dead wood. But they're 
 nuisances." 
 
 " Have you seen them again?'' 
 
 " Yes, sir. There's an oldish fellow, 
 who seems a little out of his head, and a 
 younger man, and a little girl. The worst 
 of the party, though, is the big man with 
 the black beard. lie did the talking." 
 
 "Well, what did he say?" 
 
 " lie 'lowed they were doin' no harm, 
 and didn't mean to ; but the winter's 
 comin',and then you'll miss something 
 maybe a lamb or a pig. They ought to 
 be made to clear out." 
 
 " There is an old man, you say, who 
 seems out of his head ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 44 And a little girl ?" 
 
 "The littlest mite of a thing." 
 
 " xVnd the winter is coming, as you 
 say. I would not like to turn them out." 
 "" It'll be the worse," said Mr. Gibbs. 
 "The big fellow with the black beard 
 looks like a hard subject. His fist would 
 knock down a bull. I've made up my 
 mind to take my pistol along on my next 
 visit," 
 
 4 ' That would be useless, probably. You 
 informed them that the house was my 
 property ?" 
 
 44 Y r es, sir ; and notified 'em to quit." 
 
 44 And they refused?" 
 
 44 The big man did. There was nobody 
 there but him and the mite of a child 
 when I give him the notice ; and he 
 doubles up his big fist, and looks black, 
 and says, says he, 4 What harm are we 
 adoin' to anybody ?' " 
 
 Mr. Cary nodded, and said, 
 
 " Well, I'll ride over myself in the 
 morning, Mr. Gibbs. You need not give 
 yourself any further trouble." 
 
 44 I'll go with you, sir." 
 
 44 That will not be necessary." 
 
 "But the big man's dang'rons sir." 
 
 " I have had a great deal to do with 
 danger in my life, Mr. (iibbs. It is the 
 sort of thing which shrinks before, a man 
 when he faces it, and cares nothing for it. 
 Not that I think there is the lea>t In-iv, 
 or that your big friend is apt to make 
 himself disagreeable to me. I am not 
 thinking of him. I am thinking of the 
 little mite of a child. I should not like 
 to turn her out, when the winter, as you 
 say, is coming." 
 
 Mr. Gibbs having made a renewed 
 proffer of his company, which was ,-igain 
 declined, thereupon retired, and Mr. Cary 
 resumed his seat, and quietly went back 
 to his reading. 
 
 44 Poor little thing!" said Frances; 
 44 4 the littlest mite of a thing,' he said, 
 papa." 
 
 " That is the trouble," Mr. Cary said. 
 44 It is very easy to order a party of rough 
 tramps to go, but not so easy to be un- 
 kind to a child. Well, w r e will sec. I'll 
 ride over to-morrow." 
 
 44 Do pray take care, papa, and don't 
 have trouble. There might be some 
 risk." 
 
 44 There is none, my dear. Would you 
 try to frighten an old soldier? There 
 will be no trouble ; let me read you this 
 page. There really are an enormous 
 number of clever writers now; this is 
 one of the youngest of them." 
 
 An hour afterward Mr. Cary read fam- 
 ily prayers, kissed his daughter on the 
 forehead, and said that he would himself 
 retire after writing a letter. He wrote 
 the letter, sealed and directed it, and then 
 placed it behind a vase on the mantel- 
 piece for the mail. This brought him in 
 front of the cabinet picture. The lips 
 seemed to smile upon him, the glad light 
 in the eyes to caress him. He looked at 
 the picture for some moments calmly, and 
 then, putting out the lamp, took a smaller 
 one from a side-table, and retired. 
 
 On the next morning Mr. Cary w 
 cupied for about an hour after br<?akfa>t ; 
 he then ordered his horse, and set out for 
 Crow's Nest. He had purchased this 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 bouse, with a tract of land upon which 
 it stood, many years before, in order to 
 round off his own small estate, but chief- 
 ly for the fine timber on it : that at Fall- 
 ing Water was Crowing scant. As there 
 
 very good overseer's house at Fall- 
 ing "\Vatcr, Crow's Nest had been shut 
 up; and he had almost forgotten its ex- 
 istence when his attention was suddenly 
 called to it. It was not more than a mile 
 and a half distant. The road which led 
 to it was nearly unused, except as a short 
 cut by the mountain people. It wound 
 through a dense growth of pines along 
 
 j>e of the range in rear of Falling 
 AYater, and here and there crossed a 
 mountain rivulet, which had worn a 
 channel deep into the slope, and gurgled 
 over rocks, between abrupt banks, dense- 
 ly covered with evergreens. It was some- 
 tinirs difficult to descend into and emerge 
 
 O 
 
 from these ravines, but Mr. Gary seemed 
 to be an experienced horseman, and push- 
 ed on, scarcely noticing the ground over 
 which he passed. The whole tract was 
 wild and solitary. From time to time 
 the drumming of a pheasant was heard 
 in the thickets, or the low croak of a 
 wild turkey ; and hares, with their white 
 tails erect, leaped up and scudded off. 
 Tin- intrusion of the horseman on their 
 domain seemed to astonish them. 
 
 Lost in reverie, and with a- shadow 
 upon hi.s face, Mr. Gary went on at a 
 walk, with his bridle <n his horse's neck 
 and \\'\- eyea fixed upon tin 1 ground. 
 From time to time In- raised his head 
 and looked around him. I >id tin 
 of the objects near him remind him of 
 the time when he looked at them in com- 
 pany with another person ? It was pmh- 
 al>le. When, after a long lapse of time, 
 we return to seen iated with 
 
 brighter yean* and face-* that an 
 the pa-t times and faces strike dolorously 
 on the heart. 
 
 II'- came in sight of Crow's \V-t at 
 last. It was an old tumble-down hoiisr 
 of weather-board, which one,- might have 
 been bright with eheerful faces, but now 
 was loneliest of the lonely, and the pict- 
 ure of neglect. The fences once endo- 
 
 ing the yard were down, the window- 
 panes were broken, and the path up the 
 hill, once broad and beaten, was nearly 
 effaced by the growth of grass. Be- 
 hind the house, which stood upon a 
 knoll, stretched the interminable thicket. 
 There was no glimmer of light through 
 the windows no human being was seen. 
 The door was closed : it was difficult to 
 believe that the foot of man had been 
 placed within the enclosure for a score 
 of years. 
 
 Mr. Gary dismounted, threw his bridle 
 over a bough, and went up the path. No 
 one had yet appeared, and he walked up 
 to the small porch, whose floor was rot- 
 ting, and knocked with his riding-whip. 
 As the sound died away the door open- 
 ed, and the Lefthander, with his shaggy 
 black eyebrow r s making the straight line 
 across his face, confronted the visitor. 
 
 " What do you want?" he said. 
 
 Mr. Gary looked at him with some 
 curiosity. 
 
 " There will be time enough to tell you 
 that, friend, when you do not block up 
 the door-way, and allow me to come in." 
 
 " I do not know you. I asked yoi 
 who you were?" said the Lefthander, ii 
 his phlegmatic voice. 
 
 " I am the owner of this property,' 
 Mr. Gary said, looking still with intei 
 on the remarkable face and figure of tl 
 Lefthander; "and I have a better right 
 ask who you are than you have to 
 that question of me." 
 
 " So this is Golonel Gary the propi 
 etor," said the Lefthander, in a sini>U 
 tone. " You have come at last to order 
 us away from this poor shelter." 
 
 The eyes of the speaker wore n< 
 pleasant. The Lefthander's nature 
 a ponderous one, that rarely lost its 
 .nice from anger; but he was grown 
 angry on this morning. The interview 
 with manager Gihbs had been unpleasant. 
 That personage had left him on the day 
 before with the announcement that he 
 meant to have *' him ami all his gang 
 turned out neck and heels;" and there 
 had rixMi before the Lefthander's ryes 
 the picture of his little Mouse limping 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 85 
 
 along on the highway, hungry and weary, 
 which had begun now to excite what was 
 latent in this man a certain species of 
 ferocity. 
 
 "So you are the proprietor the mas- 
 ter," he said, in his deep voice. kt Y>u 
 are a well-to-do gentleman, with your car- 
 riages and horses, your servants and every 
 luxury, while we are only a poor company 
 of tramps you look down on, and intend 
 to treat like dogs." 
 
 " I have never felt such a sentiment 
 toward any human being," Mr. Gary said, 
 in his composed voice. 
 
 "Why have you come, then? You 
 come to drive us away, and my child will 
 not have a roof over her head ! AY hat have 
 we done to injure you? Are we thieves? 
 You have a child, perhaps so have I, and 
 I love my child as much as you -love 
 yours. Do you think I will have you 
 turn her out on the highway ? There'll 
 be trouble before that." 
 
 Mr. Cary had not ceased looking curi- 
 ously at the Lefthander. The man seem- 
 ed to interest him as a study. His eyes 
 were fixed upon the broad face, with the 
 black brows shut down over the eyes he 
 did not seem to be aware of the fact that 
 the heavy hand hanging at his compan- 
 ion's side had closed with a covert threat. 
 
 "Come, come!" he said at last, "un- 
 bend your black brows, friend, and let us 
 talk like reasonable people, not like chil 
 dren. I am not a child, to be frightened 
 by your frowns. Who is here besides 
 yourself?" 
 
 Harry Vance came forward and held 
 out his hand. Mr. Cary, who had ad- 
 vanced toward the Lefthander with the 
 intention of entering, stopped, looking 
 with great surprise at the young man. 
 
 " You !" he said" Mr. Vance ?" 
 
 " Myself, Colonel Cary !" 
 
 " You are one of the " 
 
 "The tramps yes. But not a very 
 dangerous one, I hope. You have the 
 right to come into your own house. I 
 told you we were neighbors." 
 
 The young fellow laughed, and said, 
 
 " Father, this is Colonel Cary." 
 
 And Gentleman Joe, coming out, made 
 
 Mr. < 'ary a bow full of carne>tn<^-> and 
 real dignity. 
 
 " 1 know you very well by reputation, 
 >ir," lie siid, "and am sorry we ha\v fcrw 
 
 i'd on yur property but we are 
 very poor." 
 
 "You do not trespass at all," Mr. Cary 
 said, going into the room, which contain- 
 ed only a table and some old chairs, and 
 mattresses rolled up in a corner. " I- 
 this your little mite of a child ? You are 
 a mite, indeed, little one. What is your 
 name?" 
 
 " Mouse, sir." 
 
 " Well, I have not come here to turn 
 out the mouse." 
 
 Mr. Cary then sat down before the 
 blaze in the large fireplace, and, turning 
 to the Lefthander, said, 
 
 "Come, get back your good -humor, 
 and stop scowling, friend, and let us talk. 
 Anger is nearly always an absurd thing. 
 You call me a well-to-do gentleman I am 
 a very poor one. It is the same; I am a 
 man, and you are men like myself. One 
 of you I know well ;" he turned to Harry 
 Vance and said, "I invited you to come 
 and see me; as you did not, I have 
 come to pay you the first visit, which you 
 are entitled to." 
 
 Mr. Cary stayed at Crow's Nest for 
 nearly an hour. He then got up, and 
 said, 
 
 "Give yourself no further trouble 
 you are not trespassing here. You are 
 very welcome to occupy this house. If I 
 can assist you in any way, call on me, 
 and I will do so gladly." 
 
 Mouse was standing near him, and he 
 placed his hand paternally on her head. 
 
 " Poor little Mouse !" he said, " did you 
 think I would turn you out of this poor 
 place? No, indeed, my child, you are 
 welcome to remain here with your friends 
 as long as you choose, and to make your- 
 self as happy as you can, poor little one ! 
 Your father w r as right there is a right 
 above the right of property, and I bear 
 you no malice, friend," he said to the 
 Lefthander. " On the contrary, I respect 
 you." 
 
 He shook hands with each in turn, and 
 
 
86 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 then went down the hill and rode away. 
 As he was passing the overseer's, he said 
 to Mr. Gibbs, 
 
 "Allow the people at Crow's Nest to 
 remain there will be no trouble, Mr. 
 Gibbs." 
 
 When he reached home he said to 
 Frances, 
 
 "The tramps are very honest people, 
 my dear, and the little mite of a child is 
 quite charming." 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 THE HOME OF THE HOMELESS. 
 
 CROW'S NEST had become the place of 
 refuge of Gentleman Joe, the Lefthander, 
 Harry, and Mouse in a very simple and 
 natural manner. 
 
 When the Lefthander left the home of 
 Mr. Grantham before daylight, carrying 
 Mouse in his arms, he went out of the 
 town toward the mountain, the place of 
 rendezvous which he had agreed upon 
 with his two friends. This was a se- 
 cluded spot about half-way up the slope 
 of the Blue Ridge, on a little plateau, and 
 not far from the stage-road, where a small 
 stone chapel, as it was called, stood a 
 very ancient building, erected and used by 
 the first settlers in the region. Service 
 was still occasionally held in it by Mr. 
 Grantham, who had it under his charge ; 
 but it was chiefly used as a burial-place 
 for the older families, generation after 
 generation of whom had gone to sleep in 
 the grassy enclosure, surrounded by a low 
 stone wall, with a willow drooping over 
 the mossy slabs. 
 
 Just without the enclosure was a very 
 fine spring, which gushed up from be- 
 neath the gnarled roots of an oak; and 
 here, beside a cheerful fire, stood Gentle- 
 man Joe and Harry, the latter holding in 
 his hand a rifle, which he had always car- 
 ried about with him to hunt when the 
 circus stopped in the rural districts to re- 
 cuperate, as it often did. 
 
 "Here you arc, Lefthander!" Harry 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "And Mouse, too but about break- 
 fast ?" said the Lefthander. 
 
 " You see, we thought of that," said 
 Gentleman Joe, pointing to the fire, where 
 a coffee-pot was boiling, and some beef 
 frying in a pan. 
 
 " We came here last night, and made a 
 fire and camped out ; Harry had bought 
 the pot and frying-pan and tin cups, with 
 some coffee and sugar and beef and bread, 
 so that you, and Mouse especially, should 
 not go without your breakfast." 
 
 The Lefthander had deposited Mouse 
 on the roll of blankets near the fire, on 
 which Harry and his father had slept. 
 
 " Well, that's like you, Gentleman Joe," 
 he said; "you're a man of more sense 
 than all of us. But what is she doing? 
 What are you after, Mouse ?" 
 
 "I am after my business," said Mouse, 
 who was limping around and carefully 
 superintending the cooking. "I'm the 
 house-keeper which you will please un- 
 derstand, and not interfere with me." 
 
 The Lefthander sat down and lookc 
 at the child, as she bustled about, with 
 pleased smile on his lips. She sccmc( 
 to have quite forgotten her accident, and 
 with one hand deftly raised the coffee-pot 
 from the coals, took off the fried be< 
 and arranged them, with a large loaf 
 bread and some tin cups and brown su< 
 which were near by, on the greensward. 
 
 "Well, whoever saw the like!" the 
 Lefthander said, with admiration ; " here's 
 your little mother and house-keeperess for 
 the troupe." 
 
 "And we're a troupe at last, by our- 
 selves!" said Mouse. "We'll have the 
 hand -organ, and the monkey with the 
 feather in his cap, after all and I'll see 
 the flowers and the sunshine, ami carry 
 the hat around, as I told you I would, 
 Barry r 
 
 "It really looks like it," said Ilai 
 lau^hini^; "and I see one thing plainly, 
 Mom 
 
 "What is that, sir?" 
 
 " That you're going to be manager and 
 ronunander-in-chief of this troupe !" 
 
 They sat down and breakfasted, enliv- 
 ening their repast with jests and laughter. 
 The air of the fresh morning seemed to 
 fill their pulses with life and enjoyment. 
 
 :cd 
 
 icd 
 ind I 
 -pot 
 >eef, 
 fof 
 ip r 
 4 
 
 + 1,~ 
 
 .,, 
 
 irry, 
 
VIKC1MA r.oIIKMIANS. 
 
 87 
 
 The sunrise bathed tlu'in in its golden 
 beams the birds wore singing, the bivouac 
 fire crackling; the wanderers, without a 
 shelter, had found something like a home 
 in this secluded nook, and enjoyed the 
 present moment, without thinking what 
 inUjlit. befall thorn in the future. 
 
 r.ivakfast finished, that future demand- 
 ed consideration. Where should they go, 
 and what means of support could they 
 have recourse to? Mouse's plan of or- 
 ganizing themselves into a troupe, with a 
 hand-organ, a monkey, a tent, and wagon, 
 was excellent; but, unfortunately, at the 
 moment it was quite impracticable. With 
 the exception of the Lefthander, who had 
 a portion of his last week's salary yet un- 
 spent in bar-rooms, the little party were 
 without money. It was, therefore, neces- 
 sary to defer the troupe scheme, and cast 
 about them for some means of immediate 
 support. First of all, they must look out 
 for shelter somewhere ; then they would 
 have time to think. So, having finished 
 breakfast, they made a package of the 
 blankets, cooking utensils, and the rest of 
 the provisions Harry took them on his 
 back the Lefthander lifted Mouse in his 
 arms, though she declared that she could 
 walk, and they set out up the mountain 
 road leading through the Gap. 
 
 All at once the Lefthander stopped, 
 and said, 
 
 "Where is your travelling-bag, Mig- 
 non ?" 
 
 " My travelling - bag, poppa ! Haven't 
 you got it?" 
 
 " I have left it behind, fool that I am !" 
 
 exclaimed the Lefthander. 
 
 " It must be at the fire." 
 
 " No, it was not left at the fire," Harry 
 
 said ; " neither you nor Mouse had the bag 
 
 when you joined us, Lefthander." 
 
 "Then I've left it at the priest's I 
 mean the parson's," the Lefthander said, 
 knitting his brows ; " and I must go back 
 for it,"" 
 
 He uttered these words with an excite- 
 ment extremely unusual in him. It was 
 plain that for some reason he attached 
 the utmost importance to the travelling- 
 satchel. 
 
 " Wait for me, I will not be long," he 
 -aid. 
 
 He deposited Mouse on her fret, point- 
 ed to a grassy bank, which afforded her a 
 j,-ood place to rest, and set out for Pied- 
 mont. In an hour he returned, with an 
 expression of decided gloom upon his 
 features. 
 
 "Did you find it, poppa?" Mouse said, 
 quietly. 
 
 " No, Mignon. It was not left there. 
 I must have dropped it. That will be 
 unfortunate, if " 
 
 He stopped, knitting his brows. 
 
 "The parson was not at home. A 
 sick person had sent for him, but I saw 
 his old servant, who attends to the rooms 
 and beds, and she was in the room you 
 slept in after we went, and saw nothing. 
 It is lost. I looked all along the road, but 
 could see nothing of it. It will be un- 
 fortunate. I will make another search 
 when we have found a place of shel- 
 ter." 
 
 After saying this, the Lefthander re- 
 lapsed into silence, and, taking Mouse in 
 his arms, carried her up the mountain and 
 through the Gap. Having reached the 
 western embouchure, they saw a country 
 road leading to the left, struck into it at 
 hap-hazard, and followed it for a mile or 
 two along Falling Water, until they reach- 
 ed a spot where the stream fell over a 
 ledge of rocks, from which it derived its 
 name. Just beyond this was a ford, and, 
 on the opposite hill, what seemed to be a 
 deserted house. The Lefthander pointed 
 to it and said, 
 
 "There is the place. From the look 
 of things no one lives in that house, and 
 we can go there and stay for the night, 
 at least," 
 
 He shaded his eyes with his hand and 
 added, 
 
 "It's forlorn enough looking, and 
 there's no one there; we will not be dis- 
 turbed unless there are ghosts." 
 
 " Ghosts, ghosts !" said Gentleman Joe, 
 dreamily ; " yes, there are ghosts. They 
 are all around us don't you believe that, 
 Lefthander P 
 
 The Lefthander looked at his com pan- 
 
88 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 ion. Gentleman Joe was falling into one 
 of his strange moods. 
 
 "I have been here before," murmured 
 Gentleman Joe, putting his hand to his 
 forehead ; " when was it ? But it was a 
 a dream only, I suppose." 
 
 A piteous expression came to his face, 
 but he said nothing more, and his com- 
 panions, apparently accustomed to his 
 vagaries, paid no attention to his words. 
 The Lefthander led the way through the 
 ford, which only came to his knees, carry- 
 ing Mouse in his arms, and, following a 
 path on the other side of the stream, 
 they ascended the hill and reached the 
 deserted house. It was dreariest of the 
 dreary, and the rotting porch gave way 
 under the Lefthander's tread; but in the 
 bare room within there was a broad fire- 
 place, and Ilarry had soon collected some 
 dry limbs lying around, and kindled a 
 cheerful fire. Then, as their long tramp 
 had made them hungry, Mouse set about 
 preparing dinner, which consisted of cof- 
 fee and fried beef and bread after 
 which they made an examination of their 
 new domicile. 
 
 It had probably been a very comfort- 
 able establishment once on a time, but 
 now everything was going to decay. 
 The creaking door had flown open under 
 the Lefthander's ponderous pressure it 
 was only secured by a rusty latch and 
 the staircase leading to the rooms above 
 trembled under their feet. The lower 
 story was completely bare, but in an up- 
 per room they found a small pine table, 
 and two or three old chairs without 
 backs, which they brought down and 
 arranged in front of the fire. Then 
 Harry and the Lefthander went out and 
 collected another supply of wood, and 
 by that time the sun began to decline. 
 \Vhen night came they made ;i Led for 
 Mouse of the blankets, and stretching 
 thein>elves upon the Hour fell a>leep. 
 Such was the fir>t day spent by tl. 
 derers at Crov. 
 
 On the next morning a council of war 
 was held, and they unanimously resolved 
 to remain where they were for the present. 
 They had provisions for some days, an<l 
 
 another supply could be purchased and 
 brought from Piedmont : there was an 
 excellent spring fifty yards from the 
 house, which they had made the coffee 
 from on the preceding evening; and, if 
 Mouse could only be made comfortable, 
 it really was a very good place to live in, 
 this deserted house. What they wanted 
 was another supply of food and beds, and 
 Ilarry said that he would go and buy 
 them. 
 
 "Just buy some cotton, Ilarry, and I'll 
 stitch up the beds," said Mouse ; " that 
 is, if you'll buy me some needles and a 
 spool of thread all was lost with that 
 travelling-bag." 
 
 The Lefthander produced all his money 
 and gave it to Ilarry. 
 
 " And don't fail to go to the parson's, 
 and ask if they arc certain about that bag 
 that it was not left." 
 
 Ilarry nodded, set out at a long, springy 
 gait, and disappeared. He did not return 
 until late in the day, but he had thought 
 of everything. He brought a supply of 
 sugar, coffee, flour, bread, salt, some beei', 
 a ham, and the cotton, with the needl 
 and thread. 
 
 " I went to the parson's, but he w 
 away from home again," he said. " Y 
 must have dropped your travelling-bag 
 the circus tent, Lefthander." 
 
 " I could swear I did not ! it is po 
 ble. If so it will be safe, and I'll get 
 back. Clare de Lune will see to that." 
 
 As he uttered the name of Clare 
 Lune the Lefthander fell into a fit 
 musing. His thoughts had evidentl 
 gone back to the scenes at the circus. 
 
 " Some day I'll sec her again, perhap 
 he said ; " she is a good girl." 
 
 Mouse had mean while set about stitch- 
 ing up the beds, which she did with a. 
 business air whieh was impressive, I'-ui 
 she really was extremely expert with her 
 needle. On the next day she had finished 
 them all, and then they were tilled with the 
 pine tags from the thicket in rear of the 
 hoii-e; and that night, after an excellent 
 supper, the whole little troupe slept in p 
 feet comfort. 
 
 Thus their life at Crow's Nest be 
 
 or 
 
 : 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 89 
 
 in earnest ; ami finding tlieinsclvcs un- 
 molested, they remained. 
 
 Nearly a month passed in this manner. 
 
 Mouse had completely recovered from her 
 
 sprain, and the wanderers passed their 
 time in rambling through the beautiful 
 September woods, in talking to each 
 other, and in resolving that they would 
 in some manner organize the troupe with 
 the monkey and the haiul-organ without 
 delay. But nothing was really done to- 
 ward it, and day after day passed by, and 
 their supplies dwindled. Then came the 
 irruption of Mr. Gibbs, indignant at the 
 presenee of trespassers, with the subse- 
 quent visit from Mr. Gary. The result, 
 so far, was satisfactory: they would not 
 be forced to leave, at least. But there re- 
 mained the paramount question how they 
 were to live in future. 
 
 The wanderers were face to face with 
 want. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 BY A FIRE IX THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 ON the night succeeding Mr. Gary's 
 visit, after Mouse had gone to sleep in 
 her warm corner, the Lefthander and 
 Harry, seated before the fire, held a 
 consultation on the subject of their fut- 
 ure ways and means. It was a chill 
 night, and the muffled sigh of the wind 
 in the pines, waving to and fro in the 
 moonlight without, gave notice that win- 
 ter was approaching. The very rattle 
 of the sashes in the windows told them 
 that, and the prospect before them seem- 
 ed gloomy. Gentleman Joe, seated in 
 the corner opposite Mouse, took no part 
 in the conversation. For some time 
 indeed, from the moment of their arrival 
 at the Crow's Nest house he had been 
 serious and absent-minded. He rarely 
 indulged now in his fits of fantastic 
 laughter; something seemed to weigh 
 upon him and oppress him. At times 
 a singular expression came to his face ; 
 his mind appeared to be busy with some 
 problem which he w r as quite unable to 
 solve. While Harry and the Lefthander 
 conversed on this evening, he was looking 
 
 into the iire with a dreamy glance, and 
 any one could see that he was utterly un- 
 conscious of their presence. 
 
 The Lefthander was smoking his short 
 pipe, and leaning one ponderous arm 
 upon his knee. They had l><vn diaOHM- 
 ing the melancholy fad that they had 
 almost nothing left to eat, and even Har- 
 ry's powder was exhausted, and they had 
 no money to buy more. 
 
 "The main thing is Mouse," >aid the 
 Lefthander. He looked at the child, who 
 was sound asleep, and his face softened, 
 as it always did at such moments. 
 
 "One of us must stay with her," he 
 said. "You and me, Harry, might find 
 work by going off somewhere, but what 
 would become of Mouse and Gentleman 
 Joe?" 
 
 Harry shook his head. 
 
 " It would never do to leave them. 
 Mouse is a child, and my poor father 
 
 He stopped, and touched his forehead 
 sadly. 
 
 " He seems worse than ever of late. 
 He winders around in a strange, absent- 
 minded way, looking at everything, and 
 muttering to himself in a manner I don't 
 understand. Only yesterday I heard 
 him say to himself, 'Why, I remember 
 all this !' " 
 
 "Strange enough," the Lefthander said, 
 " I noticed the same thing, and asked him 
 if he had ever been here before ; but he 
 made me no reply. I know he heard what 
 I said, for he turned round and looked me 
 in the face with a cunning look, as if he 
 meant to keep his own counsel." 
 
 Harry listened to these words with a 
 deeper impression of gloom upon his 
 face than before. 
 
 "I never could understand father," he 
 said ; " and he always manages to turn 
 aside any questions I ask him. But 
 about the bread and meat, Lefthander 
 we must see about that. We must find 
 work." 
 
 " Work !" said Gentleman Joe, sudden- 
 ly arousing himself and turning round ; 
 it was plain that he had not heard what 
 had been said before. " Work, did you 
 say ? Yes, we must work for Mouse." 
 
90 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 " Well, that's the trouble, Gentleman 
 Joe," the Lefthander said ; " we're at the 
 end of the rope. The provisions are about 
 out hardly enough for to-morrow. "We 
 might go and work, as I told Harry just 
 now, but how about Mouse ? I don't mean 
 Mouse shall want anything." 
 
 He knit his brows. 
 
 " I won't steal, but it's come to this 
 that somebody will suffer before Mouse 
 does! You see, I don't mind myself. 
 I've given up drink, and am willing to 
 work ; but if I can't " 
 
 "Set traps," said Gentleman Joe, qui- 
 etly. 
 
 " Why," exclaimed Harry, " we never 
 thought of that, Lefthander ! The moun- 
 tains are full of game, and nothing is easi- 
 er, if we only knew how." 
 
 "I know," Gentleman Joe said; and 
 monopolizing with sudden ardor the 
 whole conversation, Gentleman Joe en- 
 tered upon the subject of constructing 
 traps for game in a manner which showed 
 that he was a master of the art. Harry 
 and the Lefthander listened with admira- 
 tion, and did not interrupt him. 
 
 " I'll make the traps to-morrow," said 
 Gentleman Joe. And it was agreed that 
 they should rise early and set about the 
 work at once, in order to have the traps 
 ready by the ensuing evening. 
 
 All then lay down in front of the fire, 
 wrapped in their blankets, and were soon 
 asleep all but Gentleman Joe. lie had 
 closed his eyes, but in about half an hour 
 opened them again and looked intently 
 into the fire. Then he turned round and 
 surveyed every portion of the room with 
 a vague, dreamy glance. 
 
 "The same," he said, in a low voice, 
 pn inir his hand to his forehead. "This 
 is Crou's NYst where have I been all 
 this tine 
 
 His mind seemed to be BtraggUng with 
 some memory which came to him vague- 
 ly in dim outlines, like a landscape looked 
 at through ha/r. 
 
 " I must not tell them they must not 
 know but what have I to tell ?" 
 
 He sighed deeply, and turned his head 
 away from the fire, muttering, 
 
 "I must have dreamed all that! I 
 seem to remember but I must have 
 dreamed it." 
 
 Another sigh followed these words, and 
 muttering something further to himself he 
 at last fell asleep. 
 
 Early on the next morning they set to 
 work making the traps. In this work 
 Gentleman Joe was the manager and di- 
 rector. With the assistance of bits of 
 plank, some nails collected here and 
 there, and strong twine string, made by 
 untwisting an old rope discovered in an 
 out-house, they succeeded in constructing 
 the traps ; and by evening they were 
 done. It was then agreed that Harry 
 should remain with Mouse, while Gentle- 
 man Joe and the Lefthander crossed to 
 the mountain opposite and set the traps ; 
 and the Lefthander, taking the whole load 
 upon his back, set out with his companion. 
 
 They descended the hill, crossed the 
 stream at a narrow spot upon a log, and 
 entered the woods clothing the slope be- 
 yond. The vicinity was wild and unin- 
 habited. Here and there ravines pene- 
 trated the mountain, nearly concealed by 
 overhanging trees which threw deep shad- 
 ows, growing deeper as the sun sunk, 
 Making their way into the silent depths 
 the trappers set their traps, which were 
 already baited, and then attempted to re- 
 trace their steps toward the crossing ol 
 the stream. 
 
 This proved far less easy than they had 
 supposed it would be. Night had fu\\y 
 come now, and scarcely a ray penetrated 
 the shadowy gorge into which they had 
 advanced for a considerable distance, 
 The moon had not risen, and a haze hid 
 the stars in addition to which they had 
 lost the points of the compass. There 
 were no paths to guide them, the steep 
 sides of the gorge affording no foothold 
 even for the mountain cattle ; and, aftei 
 wandering around for some time, the 
 Lefthander and Gentleman Joe came to 
 the depressing conclusion that they we 
 lost in the mountain. 
 
 M Well, here's your Babes in the W< 
 said the Lefthander, with a low laugh; 
 " we're lost, Gentleman Joe." 
 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 91 
 
 ' Wait for moonrisc," said Gentleman 
 Joe. "I know where we are." 
 
 "V. u know! How?" 
 
 " Well, 1 know. That is the Hogback 
 ler." 
 
 " That ridge ? Well, that's something. 
 S. we are near a place called the Hog- 
 back / You're no stranger here, then ? 
 What does all this mean, Gentleman Joe ?" 
 
 They were pushing through the thick 
 fringe of pines at the moment all at 
 once a light shone in front of them. 
 
 " Some one is hunting," said the Left- 
 hander ; " they can tell us the way." 
 
 He advanced in front of Gentleman 
 Joe, and they steadily approached the 
 light, which they now saw was that of a 
 fire burning in a concealed nook between 
 two ledges of rock, and hidden from any 
 one approaching in all directions except 
 from the difficult spot to which the 
 trappers had wandered in the darkness. 
 There was something wild and weird 
 about this light and its surroundings. 
 The masses of rock rose above it to the 
 right and left in rugged ledges, with cedar 
 bushes and trailing vines starting from 
 every crevice. On these the red light of 
 the fire threw fantastic shadows, and as 
 it soared aloft from time to time, the 
 glare fell on the boughs of a mountain- 
 ash reaching far over the ledge, and near- 
 ly drooping to the ground. What more 
 than all astonished the Lefthander and 
 his companion was an object only a few 
 feet beyond the fire. Could his eyes de- 
 ceive him ? This something was a door 
 in the side of the mountain ; there was 
 no doubt of that. It was nearly covered 
 by the drooping foliage but there it was. 
 
 The Lefthander stopped, and laid his 
 hand on the arm of Gentleman Joe. 
 
 " These people are not hunters," he 
 said, in a low tone ; " look at them." 
 
 Shadows were moving to and fro in 
 front of the fire, and dark figures, in rough 
 dresses, were dimly visible as the trappers 
 cautiously drew nearer. 
 
 "If I was in the Bohmerwald Moun- 
 tain, I should say they were the wrong 
 sort of people to go near," said the Left- 
 hander, in a low voice. 
 
 The figures at the lire prohaMy heard 
 his voice, for one of them, with a gun in 
 his hand, left the group and eame in (In- 
 direction of the. sound. 
 
 " Who goes there?'' said thr figure. 
 
 The Lefthander continued to advance, 
 whereupon the figure raised his gun to 
 his shoulder, and ordered 
 
 "Halt!" 
 
 The Lefthander was within twenty 
 paces. He stopped. 
 
 "Well," he said, in his phlegmatic 
 voice, " I have halted to oblige you. Who 
 are you ?" 
 
 " Plain people. Who are you ? What 
 is your business here ?" 
 
 "Setting traps," said the Lefthander; 
 "and you'll do me a favor, friend, if 
 you'll tell me how to get out of this dev- 
 ilish place." 
 
 The figure came nearer, and bending 
 down peered into the Lefthander's face; 
 as his back was to the fire, his own was 
 concealed. 
 
 "You are the big man living at the 
 Crow's Nest house," said the figure. 
 
 " Yes," said the Lefthander. 
 
 " Who is with you ?" 
 
 " One of my friends." 
 
 "You are tramps?" 
 
 " You may call us that, if you fancy." 
 
 " Wait a little." 
 
 The figure went back to the fire and 
 held a brief colloquy with the men there. 
 He then returned to the Lefthander, and 
 said, 
 
 " Come on, friends both." 
 
 The Lefthander and Gentleman Joe 
 approached the fire, around which J'.arney 
 Jones and two or three others were stand- 
 ing. The person who had held the col- 
 loquy with them was Daddy Welles. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 DADDY WELLES RECONNOITRES. 
 
 ONE morning Brantz Elliot received a 
 letter from a friend in New York, inform- 
 ing him that the Coaching Club was just 
 about to be organized, and that, if he wish- 
 ed to have his name enrolled for all time 
 
92 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 among the "great founders" of that 
 mighty enterprise, it would be essential 
 to return at once, and take part in the 
 deliberations. 
 
 To this note Elliot replied immediate- 
 ly, announcing his early return. He then 
 decided not to return, but to remain in 
 the little mountain -house beside Nelly 
 Welles, who now in the October days had 
 begun to be all the world to him. 
 
 It had come at last to that. The inci- 
 dent on the stream had nearly opened his 
 eyes, and now they were quite open at 
 last. He loved the girl with all the ardor 
 of first love. He had forgotten her linsey 
 dress, her poor origin, the social inequal- 
 ity between them, and could see now noth- 
 ing but the glimmer of her eyes, and hear 
 nothing but the voice which made sweet- 
 er music in his ears than all else in the 
 world. True, he did not come to realize 
 and accept this state of things without a 
 struggle, or contemplate the idea of mar- 
 rying Daddy Welles and his old dame, 
 together with Nelly, without something 
 like a shudder. The dear desire was bal- 
 anced against the unpleasant condition 
 but love conquered pride. Having firmly 
 resolved to tear himself away violently 
 from the temptation, and return to New 
 York, and after writing to his friend an- 
 nouncing his speedy return, he quietly 
 determined to remain, and drift as before 
 upon the stream. 
 
 Daddy Welles seemed quite unaware 
 that anything but a love of hunting re- 
 tained Brantz Elliot in the mountains. 
 He never made sly jests, as old people 
 will, about Nelly and the young man ; in- 
 deed, he seemed much too busy, tin- 
 ccllent Paddy Welles, t<> bestow his at- 
 tention on the affairs of other people. 
 The mysterious going and coining of un- 
 couth personages to and fr>m the moun- 
 tain-house, at almost any hour of the day 
 or night, continued ; and the absene, 
 Paddy Welles grew more frequent. New 
 faces had appeared in the vicinity those 
 of a big, black -browed individual, and a 
 fantastic old gentleman, who laughed and 
 sighed by turns. These faces ha,l be^un 
 to make their appearance, Elliot remem- 
 
 bered, soon after a certain absence of 
 Daddy Welles for a whole night, or rath-j 
 er until just before daylight, when the! 
 young man heard him come in cautiously,] 
 place his rifle, which he had taken with] 
 him, on its pegs, and retire to his room. 
 The big man went by the name of the 
 Lefthander, and seemed to be looked to 
 and consulted by Paddy Welles as a co- 
 adjutor of the first importance in some 
 secret business. As to the fantastic old 
 man, who bore the equally curious name 
 of Gentleman Joe, he seemed to have 
 no concern with any business whatever;) 
 looked around him in a dreamy man- 
 ner when he visited the house; thrum- 1 
 med on his chair; fell into reveries, and 
 woke from them with a smile or a sigh, 
 scarcely conscious, one would have said, 
 where he was, or what faces were around 
 him. 
 
 He and Nelly had become the best 
 friends imaginable. Gentleman Joe had 
 joined Elliot and herself one day, as they 
 were walking out in the evening, and po- 
 litely informing them that he resided 
 with some friends of his in the neighbor- 
 hood, had bestowed his society upDn 
 them, smiling gently, and looking at \ y 
 with so much affection that Elliot did not 
 have it in his heart to resent the unwel- 
 come intrusion. As to Nelly, she was 
 very far from discouraging the poor old 
 fellow. A smile full of pleasure and re- 
 lief always greeted him on such occasions; 
 and Brantz Elliot, seeing that smile, was 
 lost in a maze of perplexity, and far from 
 pleased at what seemed to indicate a de- 
 sire on the giiTs part not to be alone with 
 him. 
 
 What could it mean? If he had 
 known, he would not have been so much 
 displeased, and his love would have grown 
 even stronger. That longing for the 
 presence of a third person, on the part of 
 Nelly, was susceptible of a very simple 
 explanation if Brantz Elliot could have 
 read her heart. He had come to be as 
 <lcar to her as she was to him. All the 
 pent-up feeling and romance of youth in 
 the heart of the poor mountain-girl had 
 broken the barriers and flowed toward 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS, 
 
 
 him or nearly broken them; for Nelly 
 had not yielded to her In-art. The very 
 strength of her love ga\r her force to re- 
 sist it. If she were to marry Kraut/ El- 
 liot, >he would darken his whole career. 
 She \\as far heneath him, socially, and 
 after awhile he would litterly regret tin- 
 step he had taken in a moment of im- 
 pulse. Then the result would be misery 
 for 1'oth of them for him, from the con- 
 sciousness that he was yoked to a wife 
 unsuited to his station in society and his 
 edueated tastes; for her, from the convic- 
 tion which would be daily forced upon 
 her that he regretted having ever met her. 
 This thought haunted Nelly day and 
 night : it would not have haunted a mer- 
 cenary person, or one without pride; but 
 Nelly was proud, and so far from being 
 mercenary that, if she had been an heiress 
 and he a poor boy, she would have held 
 out her arms to him and gladly given him 
 herself, as she had given him her heart. 
 As the fact was the reverse, and that ter- 
 rible future of her imagination more and 
 more possessed her, the poor girl, with a 
 sinking heart, came to a fixed resolution 
 to discourage the attentions of Brantz 
 Elliot, which were growing more and 
 more ardent, and make him understand 
 that their union was impossible. 
 
 This had led to the sweet smiles which 
 she bestowed on Gentleman Joe when he 
 joined them in their walks. And she had 
 really grown extremely fond of him, and 
 called him "Gentleman Joe," as he called 
 her " Nelly," in the most natural manner. 
 As to the poor old fellow, the time came 
 at last when he seemed to be quite wrap- 
 ped up in Nelly, and to fix his melancholy 
 eyes upon her face with a longing tender- 
 hich went to her heart. He would 
 come across the stream almost every day, 
 and wander through the woods looking 
 for her ; and if he did not find her, he 
 would go up the path to the mountain- 
 house, and bow to Mrs. Welles, and ask if 
 Nelly was at home. If she was, she came 
 at once and sat and talked with him. If 
 she was absent, he went away with a mel- 
 ancholy shake of the head. When one 
 morning he made his appearance thus at 
 
 the ILIUM-, and heard that Paddy Welles 
 and Nelly had gone t Piedmont in the 
 little spring- wagon, he uttered a sigh 
 which would have d.'iie civdii to n l,.u-r. 
 
 The vUit of Daddy Welles had for its 
 
 object the pmvha-e of gr iritt. With 
 
 an eye to business in the way of a trade, 
 the I >addy took with him in his spring- 
 wagon a number of sheepskins, a large 
 roll of fresh butter, a bag of dried apples, 
 a haunch of venison, ami a might v pile 
 of dried sumach, for which he knew he 
 would receive one and a quarter cents a 
 pound. With this and the proceeds from 
 the rest of his load, he proposed to lay in 
 a stock of sugar, coffee, and other " store " 
 supplies, and purchase winter clothing for 
 his wife and daughter. 
 
 As the spring-wagon, drawn by its an- 
 cient mare, drove into Piedmont, its occu- 
 pants became aware that something was 
 going on. As Daddy "Welles looked 
 around him, with a smile of more than 
 ordinary sweetness, it may he that he 
 was not as much surprised at the gen- 
 eral excitement as might have been sup- 
 posed even that he had had some inti- 
 mation of the state of things, and had 
 come to see for himself. There was a 
 large crowd in front of the tavern, and 
 through this crowd passed from time to 
 time figures which were evidently those 
 of strangers probably the owners of the 
 long string of horses tethered in the sta- 
 ble-yard in rear of the tavern. 
 
 Daddy Welles did not proceed as far 
 up the main street as the tavern ; he 
 stopped before the door of an f-tablish- 
 ment which seemed to deal in gr< 
 and other articles of nearly every descrip- 
 tion, and he and Nelly got out and went 
 in. After awhile the Paddy 60 
 from the store and bore in the article* 
 which he had brought; after which. leav- 
 ing Nelly apparently to make her 
 tion of goods, he strolled in a leisurely 
 manner toward the blacksmith'-. That 
 grimy-armed individual was holding the 
 leg of a horse between his knees, ami tit- 
 ting a hissing shoe to the hoof which he 
 had just pared. 
 
 " Well, neighbor," Daddy Welles said, 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 sweetly smiling, "something seems to be 
 agoin' on in town to-day." 
 
 The blacksmith looked up and laughed. 
 
 " I believe you, Daddy. It's the rev- 
 enue collectors. Look out for yourself." 
 
 " I'm agoin' to ; but you don't mean 
 they'd come after a poor man like me ?" 
 
 '' Well, I ruther think they will. Rich 
 and poor are all the same when they're 
 after the taxes" 
 
 The blacksmith emphasized the last 
 words, and seemed to enjoy them, for 
 some reason best known to himself. His 
 smile expanded into a grin, and he and 
 Daddy Welles exchanged glances. 
 
 " How many of 'em ?" the latter asked, 
 in a tone of mild interest. 
 
 "About a dozen ; and they say they've 
 got troops coming on." 
 
 "Troops! Well, that will be some- 
 thing new. Haven't seen the blue-coats 
 sense the year '65. It'll be quite like old 
 times quite like old times," repeated 
 Daddy Welles, smiling, as in fond remem- 
 brance of past joys. 
 
 " Well, they won't be strangers to you, 
 Daddy Welles. If people tell the truth 
 you had a hand more than once in bush- 
 whacking Sheridan's troopers, and were 
 worse on 'em than a hornet. I wouldn't 
 be surprised, now, if you had at home the 
 same musket or perhaps it's a rifle 
 that you used to go after 'em with !" 
 
 " Oh, you musn't believe these old 
 . neighbor: we are peaceful people 
 up in the mounting! Why, here's Kur- 
 il <y Jones on his old sorrel." 
 
 In fact Mr. Barney Jones, in a suit of 
 wnrn homespun, a weather-heat en felt hat, 
 and heavy boots, drawn up by his short 
 stirrup-leathers at this moment made his 
 appearance coming out of town, and halt- 
 ed to speak to his friends. He and Dad- 
 dy Welles sainted earh other, and the lat- 
 t<T went out into the street. 
 
 "Well r the Daddy said, in a low tone. 
 
 "They're eomin 1 to-night, blast 'em!" 
 said Mr. Jones, expectorating tobacco juice 
 as he spoke. 
 
 " Are you certain ?" 
 
 "Sure of it, Daddy! Drat 'em! 
 They'll set out, I hear, before sundown." 
 
 Daddy Welles mused, his countenance} 
 illumined by an expression of sweet sat-j 
 isfaction. 
 
 " Well, they're not apt to find much, I] 
 ruther suppose, Barney," he said. 
 
 "They'll find a rifle-bullet if they git 
 too near me, Daddy," said Mr. Jones, 
 viciously. 
 
 "No, no! that's onreasonable, Barney. 
 Go on and tell the boys to lay low and 
 keep quiet. Why, who's that yonder, 
 walkin' about and talkin' to 'em like lie 
 was one of 'em young Mr. Lascelles ?'' 
 
 " The same, Daddy." 
 
 "Is he takin' a hand in this business? 
 What ! I thought he w r as a neighbor." 
 
 " He rnout be or he mout not," replied 
 Mr. Barney Jones. " He's lived half his 
 life in forin' parts, I'm told, but they say 
 he's not agin us. You see old Gineral 
 Lascelles, he's a magistrate, and he had toi 
 give 'em sarch warrants, and young Las- 
 celles is goin' along, they say, to see that I 
 nobody's meddled with that oughtn't to 
 be." 
 
 "Well, well! I'm glad of that, I 
 wouldn't like to think old Gineral Las- 
 celles was onfriendly. He's a friend to 
 the poor man. I'll go and hear a little 
 of their talk." 
 
 " Better not, Daddy." 
 
 "You think I'd better not, eh, Bar- 
 ney?" 
 
 " I see the list, and your name's on it, 
 Daddy," said Mr. Barney Jones, with a 
 grin. 
 
 " Well, I s'pose I'd better not," return- 
 ed Daddy Welles, witli resignation ; "and 
 I reckon it's time for me and Nelly to be 
 goin' back to the mounting. She's about 
 through by this time." 
 
 And saluting his friend the Daddy re- 
 turned to the grocery store, from whi<-h 
 he soon afterward reappeared laden with 
 bundles which he deposited in his wagon. 
 He then assisted Nelly to her seat, and 
 was about to get up himself, but seemed 
 to change his mind. 
 
 11 Hold the reins, Nelly, and mind the, 
 old mare," he said; "I'll be back direct- 
 ly/' 
 
 lie then strolled up to the tavern and 
 
VIRGINIA 
 
 I his acquaintances in a friendly 
 manner. At sight of him a general 
 smile expanded upon all visages, and one 
 of his friends whispered, 
 
 "Take care, Daddy ! they're on your 
 track!" 
 
 "You don't say!" said the Daddy, 
 htanquilly. 
 
 " They'll be at your house by night. 
 There's nigh a dozen, and they're armed." 
 
 " Well, well ; seems to me the war's 
 be^innin' over again. And troops! 
 there's troops not far off, if wanted." 
 
 "They say they will be here to-mor- 
 few." 
 
 " Well, well, well ! who would 'a thought 
 it ? Is there goin' to be another Confed- 
 'rate business, neighbor? Hard times! 
 hard times !" 
 
 And, apparently overcome by forebod- 
 ings of future suffering for his country, 
 Daddy Welles shook his head sadly and 
 returned to his wagon. Before he could 
 whip up his old mare a person in undress 
 official costume approached him quietly, 
 and said, 
 
 " Your name is Welles ?" 
 
 " Did anybody tell you that, friend 2" 
 said the Daddy. 
 
 " No matter who told me. Come with 
 me to the tavern." 
 
 " Come to the tavern ! what fur, 
 frieud ?" 
 
 " That's my business. Come along." 
 
 "Have you got a warrant for my ar- 
 rest, friend ? If so, I'm a peaceful citizen 
 and regard the laws." 
 
 " No matter about a warrant. No, I've 
 got no warrant, but you're to come with 
 me." 
 
 Daddy Welles shook his head with a 
 peaceful smile. 
 
 "Can't spare the time now, friend. 
 My old 'oman's at home by herself, and 
 it's nigh sundown." 
 
 And quietly touching his mare with 
 the whip Daddy Welles departed, appar- 
 ently taking his leisure, to the great dis- 
 gust and wrath of the official, who did 
 not venture to stop him. The wagon 
 slowly followed the road through the 
 Gap. Daddy Welles was smiling. 
 
 " What did he mean by \\ ant iiiu r \ >\i 
 to bark with him, father.'" >aid Nelly. 
 
 11 Well, only some of their eontraption->, 
 Nelly a little matter of business. P,ut 
 I hadn't time to-day. Did you "-it that 
 cloth for your cloak, Nelly * Why, it's 
 beautiful !" 
 
 And, displaying her purchases, the 
 daughter of Eve forgot all about the 
 incident. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 MOONSHINERS. 
 
 As the sun was sinking a party of 
 about a dozen horsemen rode out of Pied- 
 mont, and proceeded westward at a round 
 pace through the Gap in the Blue Kiduv. 
 
 These horsemen were internal revenue 
 employes, going to break up illicit dis- 
 tilleries of spirit in the mountain and ar- 
 rest the malefactors. At their head rode 
 a portly gentleman, the maishal of the 
 district, and beside him was Mr. Douglas 
 Lascelles, whose presence had been accu- 
 rately accounted for by Mr. Barney Jones. 
 General Lascelles having been applied to 
 as a justice of the peace for seaivh warrants 
 had granted them, but requested his son 
 to accompany the party and see that un- 
 offending persons were subjected to no 
 improper annoyance. 
 
 The marshal was in a very bad humor, 
 lie had made more than one foray on the 
 "moonshiners," as the illicit distillers 
 were called, but always without result. 
 Intimations had thereupon reached him 
 from head-quarters that he was r. -Carded as 
 wanting in efficiency. Hence indignation, 
 and a fixed resolution to break up the ille- 
 gal establishments if they could be dis- 
 covered. But this, unfortunately, was the 
 trouble. The stills were known to be in 
 the recesses of the mountain, but it was 
 not probable that they would easily be dis- 
 covered, unless there was treaehery. Of 
 that, however, there was small hope. The . 
 moonshiners were popular. They sup- 
 plied spirits to their neighbors at half the 
 cost of the taxed article. They were of- 
 ten men of good character, and otherwise 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 observers of the law ; and the manufact- 
 ure of " moonshine whiskey " was gener- 
 ally laughed at, and regarded as only the 
 harmless evasion of an oppressive Federal 
 excise. The plausible view was taken 
 that these honest people were only mak- 
 ing "a little something" for their fami- 
 lies in a quiet way, without injury to any- 
 body. They were good ex-Confederates, 
 impoverished by the war. "What harm 
 was there in privately distilling their own 
 grain ? They ate and sold it in the form 
 of bread; why not allow them to drink 
 and sell it in the form of whiskey ? Be- 
 tray them to the Federal officials? It 
 was absurd! 
 
 "A disagreeable business, Mr. Las- 
 celles !" said the marshal, in great ill-hu- 
 mor. "These fellows are worse than 
 foxes, and are real desperadoes, I hear, 
 ready to resist, arms in hand. Luckily, 
 my men arc armed, and if there is resist- 
 ance it will be at the peril of the mis- 
 creants." 
 
 " They are said to be peaceful people," 
 said Mr. Lascelles, indifferently. 
 
 " Peaceful ! You deceive yourself, sir. 
 They are a desperate set. Did you read 
 the account in the papers the other day 
 of the troubles in East Tennessee and 
 Virginia ? The collectors were fired 
 on from the crags of the mountains, and 
 one of them killed. A murder, sir ! and 
 the men who commit murder are mur- 
 derers." 
 
 The marshal grew red in the face as he 
 thus denounced the moonshiners. 
 
 "They are just as bad here, I have not 
 the least doubt," he added ; "and I see 
 well enough that they an- Mipportcd by 
 popular sentiment. The war antagonism 
 has not died out. The Federal <>Hieials 
 are looked upon a- Federal soldiers com- 
 ing back in citi/ens 1 dress t> <>]>en war 
 anew on the 'good old Confederate-'/ 
 It is dej.loral.le, sir! Tin; law mu>t be 
 obeyed but how enforce it ?" 
 
 "That Menu to be the problem/' -aid 
 Mr. Lascelles, with the same indifferent 
 air. In fact, he was scarcely listening t<> 
 the marshal. lie had accompanied the 
 party in accordance with the request of 
 
 General Lascelles, but cared little or notli 
 ing, apparently, for the result. 
 
 " A perfect wild-goose chase, sir !" tbJ 
 marshal exclaimed. " How are we t 
 discover these illicit distilleries? No ont 
 will inform on the law-breakers. TheU 
 are all in league together. Not a mar; 
 woman, or child will open their lips=) 
 Ask them questions, and you have a laugi 
 for your pains, Mr. Lascelles ! They aril 
 banded together in one great conspiracjj 
 against the law, and it was only with thj 
 greatest difficulty that I obtained th| 
 names of some who are suspected." 
 
 "You have the names?" 
 
 " Yes. Here is a list. You can loollj 
 at it." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles took the paper and rani 
 his eye over it. 
 
 " Well," he said, returning it with ;d 
 careless air. 
 
 "And the names are all. There's nofl 
 a particle of evidence against them. Tliidj 
 name at the head is that of the leader ol 
 them, I hear a certain Daddy Welles, al 
 he is called and the Barney Jones meni] 
 tioned is said to be his head man." 
 
 " Well, I know nothing of them. Thesl 
 names are all ?" 
 
 " All, with the exception of a gang ol 
 tramps, who are said to have established! 
 their head-quarters on the farm of a Mrl 
 Cary who, for that matter, may be in al-' 
 liance with the moonshiners. Their presl 
 ence on his land is suspicious." 
 
 " I know Colonel Cary, and think it 
 improbable that he has anything to dol 
 with the moonshine people." 
 
 " Well, to be frank with you, I suspect) 
 everybody, and will form my own opinion; 
 from what I see. I am a stranger in this) 
 region, and have had the greatest trouble) 
 in obtaining directions where to find the! 
 homes of these people. We must be) 
 near the first I propose to visit that off 
 the man Welles. That is the house yon-l 
 der, probably." 
 
 The marshal pointed to what was, irn 
 fact, the residence of Daddy Welles, and 
 turned into the mountain -road leading' 
 up to it. The cortege followed him, nndj 
 side by side he and Mr. Lascelles rode 
 
VIRGINIA r.oIIKMIANS. 
 
 97 
 
 up to the gate in the fence, where they 
 dismounted. 
 
 Tlie sun had just sunk behind the fringe 
 of wo.ds on the summit of the opposite 
 raiiLLV. and dusk was drawing on. There 
 was n<> moonlight yet, but the star- were 
 beginning to twinkle in the blue sky to 
 : ;, mellowing into purple and orange 
 
 as it extended westward toward the rosy 
 flush above the pines. The marshal 
 opened the small gate, walked up to the 
 pon-h, followed by Mr. Lascelles, and 
 knocked at the door. 
 
 Paddy Welles promptly appeared, and 
 greeted his visitors with an amiable smile. 
 
 "Is your name Welles?" said the mar- 
 shal, referring to the paper which he held 
 in his hand "Daddy Welles?" 
 
 "They do call me that sometimes, 
 friend,' 1 said the Daddy, mildly. " Won't 
 you come in ?" 
 
 " I wish to see you, sir," the marshal 
 said, in a curt voice. " I am informed 
 that you are connected with the illicit 
 distillation of whiskey in this mountain." 
 
 " Why, what could have put such an 
 idee in your head, friend ? But come in, 
 come in ; the nights are gittin' cold, and 
 I've got a tech of the rheumatiz come 
 in, friend." 
 
 With which Daddy Welles led the 
 way into the sitting-room on the right, 
 where Elliot and Nelly were conversing 
 by a small fire, and Mrs. Welles knitting 
 opposite. 
 
 " Set down, set down," said the Daddy, 
 cheerfully ; and addressing Elliot, he add- 
 ed, in dulcet tones, " Jest to think these 
 gentlemen are after moonshine whiskey 
 men, and think I'm one of 'em. What a 
 queer idee !" 
 
 Thereat the Daddy laughed, and the 
 whole mystery flashed on Elliot. The 
 word " queer " sent his mind back to the 
 talk with the stage-driver, who had used 
 the very term, and here at last was the ex- 
 planation Daddy Welles was a " moon- 
 shiner !" 
 
 The marshal declined the proffered 
 seat. 
 
 " It is my disagreeable duty to arrest 
 you, Mr. Welles," he said, in his curt offi- 
 7 
 
 cial voice, "and to search your house f,.r 
 evidence of your complicity in these ille- 
 gal proceed! u '_TS." 
 
 " To l.e sure/' the Daddy n>p<,nd<'d, 
 cheerfully. " 1'Yaps you've got a sarch 
 warrant?" 
 
 M 11. -re it if." 
 
 Daddy Welles spelled it over carefully, 
 and returned it. 
 
 " That's accordin' to law, friend. Bet- 
 ter begin at the cellar." 
 
 With this business-like observation he 
 took one of the candles from tin- taMe 
 and preceded the marshal, who followed 
 him. The cellar was first inspected, and 
 then all the rooms in succession, after 
 which the Daddy suggested that then- 
 was the stable and the cow-house. It 
 was perfectly plain, however, that, wheth- 
 er innocent or guilty, Daddy Welles was 
 prepared for the enemy, and the marshal 
 declined to search farther. 
 
 "This is all a farce !" he growled ; " you 
 are warned. Well, get your horse and 
 go with me." 
 
 " To be sure," said the Daddy, cheer- 
 fully ; " it's agin law to arrest a peaceful 
 citizen in the bosom of his famly; but, 
 bless you, I don't mind that." 
 
 The Daddy then retired, and soon re- 
 appeared wrapped in an old overcoat, 
 stating that he was ready, and a few 
 minutes afterward the party were again 
 on their w r ay, leaving Brantz Elliot in a 
 state of bewilderment at the whole scene. 
 
 A ride of half a mile brought them 
 to the small residence of Mr. r>arn<-y 
 Jones, who, hearing the clatter of hoofs, 
 made his appearance armed with a gun, 
 which he directed toward the group, de- 
 manding who they were, and expro-in^ 
 his intention to blow their heads off un- 
 less the question was speedily answered. 
 
 "Put up your shootin' iron, Barney/' 
 Daddy Welles called out ; " it's only a few 
 friends come to see you." 
 
 Thereupon Mr. Jones lowered his weap- 
 on, cheerfully observing, as they dis- 
 mounted and approached, that he had 
 come mighty nigh blowin' their heads 
 off, as tramps were prowlin' round. 
 Learning their business, he gave a dra- 
 
98 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 matic start of astonishment, and mani- 
 fested a strong desire, judging from the 
 expression of his face, to perform the 
 blowing-off ceremony on general princi- 
 ples; but, having been reduced to a 
 peaceful state of mind by Daddy Welles, 
 he expressed entire willingness, nay, the 
 utmost anxiety, to have his premises 
 searched, assisted in every manner, and 
 professed himself rather pleased than 
 otherwise at being arrested. 
 
 So Mr. Barney Jones swelled the cor- 
 tege when it departed, and accompanied 
 the party on its rounds to the residences 
 of other suspected persons, whose prem- 
 ises were searched with an equally unsuc- 
 cessful result. No more arrests were 
 made. It was plain that the marshal 
 was weary of what he had styled his 
 " wild - goose chase." The night was 
 chill, and he probably had visions of a 
 warm fireside at the Piedmont tavern, 
 with something hot to promote his circu- 
 lation, and would not have inquired too 
 curiously whether it had paid the revenue 
 tax or not. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Lascelles," he said at length, 
 " I think I'll go back. This is all moon- 
 shine and no moonshiners. There is one 
 other place only the house occupied by 
 the tramps on Mr. Gary's estate. We 
 will return by that route, if Mr. Welles 
 will direct us." 
 
 "To be sure," said Daddy Welles, 
 ' we're most in sight of it now. It'scall- 
 ed Crow's Nest, and yonder I see a light 
 burnin' or pYaps it's the firelight. 
 That's the house." 
 
 They had forded the stream, and were 
 returning over the farm-road leading by 
 Crow's Nest and "Falling Water" to the 
 bridgf o\vr the stream on the road to 
 the Gap. In five minutes they were at 
 the foot of the hill; and, dismounting, 
 the marshal, accompanied by I >addv 
 Welles, Mr. Jones, and Mr. Lasrelles, made 
 his way up the path to the door. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 MR. LASCELLES MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINT- 
 ANCE. 
 
 THE marshal went up to the door <i 
 the house and bestowed a thundering 
 knock upon it with the butt of his ric 
 ing-whip. 
 
 " Who is there ?" said a voice froii 
 within. 
 
 " Open in the name of the law !" sail 
 the marshal, with impatience. 
 
 Deliberate steps were heard approaclj 
 ing the door, a bolt was drawn, the doci 
 opened, and the burly figure of the Left 
 hander appeared upon the threshold. II .1 
 powerful frame was lit up by the fireligl'- 
 from the broad chimney, around whic; 
 were grouped the other members of till 
 little family. 
 
 The marshal looked keenly at the Lefj 
 hander. He was evidently struck by hij 
 gladiatorial proportions, and the iixe 
 gaze of the dark eyes under the shaggl 
 brows : but as the marshal was a businea 
 man, and had come on business, he pro 
 cceded to it without delay. 
 
 " I have a warrant to search this hous 
 for illicit spirit," he said, "and to anv-t it 
 occupants, if I see reason to connect then 
 with a violation of the revenue laws." 
 
 The Lefthander did not reply. He wa. 
 looking at Mr. Lascelles, who was stand 
 ing behind the marshal. It was a somd 
 what singular look ; not one of surprise ii 
 the least, or indicative indeed of any cleai 
 ly defined sentiment whatever. Nevcrthd 
 less there was a covert fire in the dar, 
 eyes, which betrayed some latent emotioj 
 which the owner of the eyes, by a stronj 
 effort of his will, suppressed. As t Mr 
 La^i -files, he looked at the Lefthandej 
 with utter astonishment. He had change* 
 color slightlv, and his eyelids l, ;l d sudden' 
 ly r'lM'ii, as though he had seen a ghost 
 Mr. La> -flics was a gentleman of so muc',; 
 self-possession, and commanded his feel 
 iiiLjs so thoroughly on ordinary occasions 
 that this distended expression of the pd 
 pils of his eyes, and the change of coloi 
 were circumstances of the most surprising 
 character. 
 
til 
 
 YI1KJINIA KOIIKMIANS. 
 
 
 " Ottcndorfcr !" 
 
 The word e>caped from his lips uncon- 
 SL'iously, without an effort of the will. 
 
 " Make way !" exclaimed the marshal, 
 it ill-humor. "I have no time t> 
 in all these parleys." 
 
 Ami he pushed into the apartment, 
 leaving Mr. Lascelles and the Lefthander 
 face to face. 
 
 " Then it was yon, after all at the cir- 
 iid Mr. Lascelles, in a low voice. 
 "I thought I was mistaken." 
 
 Yes, it was me," said the Lefthander, 
 with his eyes still fixed upon his compan- 
 ion, and speaking in his phlegmatic voice. 
 
 "And not your ghost!" Mr. Lascelles 
 said, trying to laugh, but completely fail- 
 ing. 
 
 NTo, not my ghost in the least my- 
 self." 
 
 "You are not with that circus com- 
 pany now ?" 
 
 "I have left it. 
 
 "Your object?" 
 
 " It is my business." 
 
 "And you are living in this house?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles attempted a careless per- 
 formance with his riding-whip upon his 
 boot, but failed in it. He had grown a 
 little pale. He stood for some moments 
 
 hout uttering a word. He then said, 
 
 making a strong effort to speak coolly, 
 "I should like to ask you some quea- 
 ns. You, no doubt, understand why I 
 wish to ask them." 
 
 " Y--S," said the Lefthander, " I can un- 
 derstand that." 
 
 " They will overhear us here, and the 
 marshal will go back in ten minutes. 
 Meet me to-morrow, say at sunset, at the 
 bridge on the stage-road. "Will you do 
 so?" 
 
 " Yes," said the Lefthander. 
 This was all that passed between them. 
 They went into the house, where the mar- 
 il, in a worse and worse humor at his 
 fruitless search for moonshiners and moon- 
 
 shine whiskey, was interrogating Gentle- 
 man Joe. 
 
 He had advanced toward the group in 
 front of the fire, and said, curtly, 
 
 "You are tramps, and, as sneh, 
 cious characters. Your names, <>r 
 nation, at least, are on my li>t, as mrm- 
 ben of a u-aipj; engaged in illi.-it distilling. 
 I am here to M-areh this house and 
 your A\h<le party. Light me in my 
 search." 
 
 "With pleasure, sir," (lentleman .!.. 
 responded; " there arc only the Lai 
 we are new residents, and the house is 
 not yet furnished." 
 
 As Gentleman Joe smiled while utter- 
 ing these words, the marshal considered 
 that he was being trifled with. 
 
 "Light me!" he said, with asperity. 
 
 " We have no candles, sir," Gentleman 
 Joe politely replied, "but a brand will 
 perhaps answer. Be good enough to fol- 
 low me." 
 
 The marshal looked with curiosity at 
 the tramp who addressed him in such 
 terms. Gentleman Joe, however, did not 
 notice the look. Stooping down he took 
 a flaming pine -knot from the fire, and 
 went before the marshal, lighting up the 
 deserted rooms one after another. 
 
 " There is nothing here, you observe, 
 sir," said Gentleman Joe, entering one of 
 the rooms on the second story ; " nothing 
 but what I can see." 
 
 ""What you can see? "What do you 
 mean ?" 
 
 Gentleman Joe shook his head with 
 sudden sadness. 
 
 " I see many things here which other 
 people do not," he said. "There 
 cradle yonder once." 
 
 " A cradle !" 
 
 "Under the window. It had a little 
 baby in it. I can see the cradle now, and 
 the baby, too." 
 
 As he spoke, his voice trembled and 
 his eyes filled with tears. He was look- 
 ing with a vague glance at the sp.-t which 
 he had indicated as that where the cradle 
 formerly stood. 
 
 "Yes, it was there," he murmured, 
 " and she was leaning over the baby sing- 
 ing. The chair she used to sit in stood 
 there by the side of the fireplace why, 
 there she is sitting in it now !" 
 
 The marshal suddenly retreated in the 
 
100 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 direction of the door-way. The deserted 
 house, the darkness lit up only by the 
 flaming torch, and the weird figure of his 
 companion, produced a disagreeable effect 
 upon his nerves. He measured the dis- 
 tance to the ground through the paneless 
 windows. He had little doubt that his 
 companion was a lunatic, and he might 
 prove dangerous lunatics were often 
 seized with the idea of clutching their 
 fancied foes, and leaping with them to 
 destruction on such occasions. The 
 worthy marshal therefore exclaimed hast- 
 
 i'y, 
 
 "Yes, yes I understand. Farther 
 search is useless." 
 
 AVith which he beat a hasty retreat 
 down the creaking stairs to the room 
 below, where Daddy Welles was stand- 
 ing with his back to the fire warming 
 himself, and conversing in a low tone 
 with Mr. Barney Jones and Harry. On 
 the reappearance of the official he greet- 
 ed him with a cheerful smile, and said, 
 
 "Did you find any of the moonshine 
 article, friend ?" 
 
 "None at all I might have known 
 that you are all in collusion with each 
 otlnT,' 7 the marshal replied, in great ill- 
 humor. 
 
 " What an idee !" responded the Dad- 
 dy, smiling. 
 
 " I'm tired of the whole business and 
 ing In inn-. "NVho are these people? 
 Train p>? What right have they to be 
 tivsp.-i iii'_ r here?" 
 
 " Squire Gary lets 'em stay, I'm told, 
 friend. But that's- none o' my business." 
 
 " \..r <f mine. Come on; I'm going 
 back. What am I to do with these 
 people? 1 can't arnM lunatics and chil- 
 dren, and these men have no ln>r- 
 
 "To say nothin' of havin' n<>tlfm' 
 aginst 'em, friend." 
 
 "Mr. Welles/' said tlie marshal, sar- 
 donically, "I begin to think YOU an- a 
 l;n\\vr by profession. You an- right. I 
 Lave no warrant, t<> anvst even these 
 tramps <>n Mich slight suspicion." 
 
 " lint Daddy \\Ylles and poor liann-y 
 oh yes! they're the onlucky one-, 
 friend ! You can arrest them, and drag 
 
 'em off from the bosom o' ther families-; 
 but no matter ! no matter ! we'll be bad 
 to dinner to-morrow." 
 
 " You seem certain of that, sir." 
 " Oh, yes, I'm sartain. You see we j 
 sue out a have-his-carcass by daylight-j 
 or it mout be on in the day it's all tli! 
 same : we can stay in jail for a ^ cell 
 The jailor's a friend of ourn, and we'll bj 
 well keered for." 
 
 The marshal knit his brows. Th| 
 Daddy's remarks impressed him unplcasj 
 antly. He designed leaving PiedmorJ 
 after breakfast on the next morning, bj 
 
 O' 
 
 a writ of habeas corpus evidently mean 
 by the phrase " havc-his-carcass " woull 
 necessitate an unpleasant delay. 
 
 "It's a fine thing, a very fine tl.iiui 
 that have - his - carcass," said Daddj 
 Welles, regarding the ceiling of thj 
 room with an air of contemplation 
 "and then there's no evidence agifl 
 us no evidence at all." 
 
 "That's true!" muttered the roarshn 
 irritably ; " the old rascal is a bettcj 
 lawyer than all of us!" 
 
 "But I s'pose there's no law the! 
 hard times no law at all !" mused thl 
 Daddy, sotto vocc. " We poor people ol 
 ole Virginny ain't got no rights v ut 
 speakin' of. The law's made for th 
 1'yal people, not for us poor rebs we'll 
 out in the cold." 
 
 The marshal knit his brows. lie waj 
 a thorough respecter of the laws, and haJ 
 come to see them enforced ; but lion- wa ; 
 tin- charge brought that the law was j>ai] 
 tial and oppressive, since it operated unj 
 equally and unfairly on different classell 
 
 "Well," Daddy Welles said, cheerfulKj 
 "there's the have- his -carcass, after m 
 1 reckon it won't take more'n a week, o 
 max he a fort///'/////, to git a poor body od 
 of jail and let him see his friends and 
 fam'ly agin." 
 
 The marshal succumbed, and, in spit) 
 of his ill-humor, felt a disposition tj 
 laugh. 
 
 " I-Yiend Welles," he said, "would yo 
 like me to say an honest word to von 
 that expresses exactly how I feel towarJ 
 you?" 
 
VIRGINIA BOHKMIAXS. 
 
 "To be sure, friend." 
 \\Y11, 1 am tiivil of you, and of ev- 
 tliiiiiX eoimected with you. Thi'iv's a 
 hiii'4' called a wild-goose errand, and l'\e 
 ae upon it. And, as 1 am speaking of 
 -.-If in terms not very complimentary, 
 lake the liberty of comparing you to 
 its i fox. \\ *' .'ire fox and gooso, you see, 
 illund the fox lias the best of it. Get on 
 ir horse you and your friend Barney 
 :ies, confound him! and go home and 
 to bed, and go to sleep. I mean to 
 ion io the same." 
 
 bit He turned his back on the group and 
 m flrent out of the house, followed by Mr. 
 d: Lascelles, who exchanged a look with the 
 ihander, apparently to remind him of 
 engagement. Daddy Welles, follow- 
 Mng them to the bottom of the hill, took 
 dim affectionate leave of them. 
 iosl "Good-night, friend, good-night!" the 
 iolDaddy said, bestowing all the treasures 
 his guileless smile upon the marshal. 
 n glad to git back to my ole 'oman 
 ie must be oneasy. It's jest as well to 
 be at home and asleep in bed though, 
 if tor all, it wouldn't 'a made much differ- 
 snce, on account o' the have-his-carcass." 
 "Curse the have-his-carcass, and the 
 whole concern of you !" exclaimed the 
 ite marshal. 
 "Oh no !" the Daddy retorted, shaking 
 liis head in pious reproof ; " don't curse, 
 friend ! it's agin the Good Book, and never 
 i body any good. Well, well, yon 
 must come agin w r e poor mounting peo- 
 ple like to meet with strangers it sort o' 
 >tirs us up and puts us in good spcrits. 
 If I hear anything of them moonshiners 
 I miii'ht drop you word the business 's 
 unlawful." 
 
 "Go to the devil, you old fox !" roared 
 the marshal, in huge wrath, as he mount- 
 ed his horse. 
 
 " Oh no ! I wouldn't like to go there," 
 said the Daddy, shaking his head sadly ; 
 " there's no have-his-carcass there. Come 
 ?n, Barney. Good -night, friend. If I 
 was in your place, I'd git back to Pied- 
 mont before the night grows late. They 
 lo say the moonshiners shoot at people 
 sometimes when they wear a han'sum uni- 
 
 form like yours. But maybe th.. 
 true. Good-night good-night !" 
 
 R-iddy "Welles and Uarm-y ,Ioin-s then 
 rode a\\ay toward the ford, and the mar- 
 shal, with Mr. La.M-elles and his retinue, to- 
 ward the Stage road leadii: imoiit. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 MR. LASCELLES KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT. 
 
 WHEN Mr. Lascelles reached Wyr the 
 family had all retired, and he went to his 
 chamber, where he divested himself of his 
 riding-coat and boots, and put on a ilo\\- 
 ered dressing-gown and a handsome pair 
 of slippers. lie then stretched himself 
 in an easy-chair in front of the fire, and 
 fell into reflection. 
 
 These reflections were evidently un- 
 pleasant. In fact, Mr. Lascelles had not 
 regained the color which he had lo>t in 
 his brief interview with the Lefthander. 
 It might even be said that he grew a lit- 
 tle paler now as he mused. This was un- 
 usual with him. He rarely gave way to 
 emotion. To move him so much some- 
 thing singular was required and this 
 was probably the unexpected meeting at 
 Crow's Nest. 
 
 Now and then he muttered disconnect- 
 ed words, as people will when they arc 
 alone and occupied by absorbing thoughts. 
 From these disjecta membra of speech it 
 was possible to follow with toleral 
 curacy his train of thought. lie had 
 been doubly deceived as to the Lefthand- 
 er. Seeing him at the circus performanee 
 he had doubted if it was himself ; but even 
 if it were, he would probably di>app.-ar 
 with the company and be seen no more. 
 He had, therefore, dismissed the whole 
 subject from his mind, as the soldier 
 forgets the cannon-shot which ru-1 
 him without striking him ; now when the 
 shot, having disappeared, returned upon 
 its course, and seemed to be coming point- 
 blank at him, he shuddered a litti 
 was no fancy at all. There was the man 
 whom he evidently feared in his near 
 vicinity big, powerful, cool the Individ- 
 
102 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 ual, above all others, whom no rational 
 person would choose for an adversary. 
 
 Were they adversaries, and if so, what 
 was the explanation of their hostility? 
 Mr. Lascelles did not betray this in his 
 disconnected utterances. One thing how- 
 ever was plain that as he leaned back in 
 his chair on this night, with no desire 
 whatever to retire to bed, he was taking 
 down from a private shelf of his memory 
 certain recollections long consigned to 
 oblivion, and covered with dust, and do- 
 ing so far from willingly. Very plainly 
 certain passages in his life were recalled 
 to him by his meeting with the Left- 
 hander, and he could not shake off the 
 unpleasant impression on his mind. This 
 was a most unwonted circumstance. Mr. 
 Lascelles was very much of a philosopher. 
 lie had an excellent stomach, and an ex- 
 ceedingly tough and serviceable moral 
 epidermis, which generally exempted him 
 from much trouble in the way of reflec- 
 tion. He had the fixed habit never to 
 brood over the past, and to regard it as a 
 matter with which he really had nothing 
 to do, in a practical point of view. "Why 
 worry about it? It was the past. He 
 frankly acknowledged to himself that it 
 would have been much better if he had 
 conducted himself differently on certain 
 occasions. His judgment disapproved of 
 the course he had pursued, and he would 
 now act in a different manner probably. 
 But then there was much to say on the 
 other side. Young men were young men 
 they were led by impulse often to do 
 what it would have been better for them 
 not to d<> ; human nature was weak even 
 preachers and the best people were not 
 faultless. On the whole, it was bi-st n<>t 
 to take things au grand sir'n ./, and let 
 the dead past bury its dead, if it had any 
 to bury. 
 
 Unfortunately this convenient philoso- 
 phy did not avail him at the present mo- 
 ment. It was j.lain, from the Mp1 
 of his face, that Mr. Lascelles was con- 
 fronted with a real peril, which v. 
 ferent from a mere uneasiness of the con- 
 science. The one was theoretical, tin- 
 other practical. Here, rooted in his im- 
 
 mediate neighborhood, was a man whos< 
 eyes, as they looked at him, sent a slight 
 chill through him. Cool and brave as h< 
 was and he was both Mr. Lascelles ha 
 not been able to control his emotion at 
 this meeting. 
 
 It really was painful to observe what ; ! 
 moody and vicious knitting together oil 
 the brows ensued when Mr. Lascelles hacj 
 come to this point in his muttering. A\ 
 mingled expression of wrath and apprell 
 hension quite changed his handsomcjj 
 countenance, and made it ugly, and rel 
 pulsive. He rose suddenly from his seatlj 
 with his right hand closed, as if he went 
 grasping a weapon, and said aloud, 
 
 "Curse him! why didn't he break hifl 
 neck when he fell from the ropes? ]| 
 wish he had !" 
 
 He then went to bed muttering, " I will 
 know more to-morrow," and after awhile] 
 fell asleep. 
 
 On the next morning he came down 
 and joined the cheerful group around thcjl 
 family breakfast - table without a cloudl 
 upon his face. He had excellent nerves, li 
 
 " Well, how did your ride turn out J 
 Douglas?" said the general, who was! 
 sipping Iris coffee and reading his morn-|i 
 ing paper. "Did you find any of the! 
 moonshiners ?" 
 
 "None at all, sir or, at least, none on 
 the stills." 
 
 "I thought so. I told the marshal' 
 
 & 
 
 he would have his trouble for his pains. I 
 Was no one arrested ?" 
 
 " No one, sir. The marshal did takej 
 old Welles and a man named Jones along! 
 with him, but released them/' 
 
 The general smiled and said, 
 
 " I was pretty certain that would be 
 the result. Daddy Welles is a cunning 
 old fox. Not a bad man at all ; I know 
 him very well from having electioneered 
 in Bohemia, and he is quite an honest 
 man. With all his simplicity, he is more 
 than a match for the martial." 
 
 " I think he was, and his friend Barney 
 Jones, too, who seemed desirous of put- 
 ting a bullet through somebody." 
 
 " Yes. I know Barney Jones, too. He 
 is what is called a hard subject, and I 
 
VIKCIMA r.OlII-MIANS. 
 
 103 
 
 should prefer not prowling around his 
 house in tin- night. Were these two all .' 
 I was applied to and granted a search- 
 warrant against a gang of tramps on Col- 
 onel Cary's estate." 
 
 " We went there but found nothing. 
 They are mere vagabonds, and will soon 
 disappear, no doubt." 
 
 " Where did you iind them?" 
 
 " In the Crow's Nest house." 
 
 " Ah ! in the Crow's Nest house?" 
 
 The general had raised his cup to his 
 lips, but set it down. His face, which 
 had worn a smile of amused interest, be- 
 came all at once thoughtful. 
 
 " In the Crow's Nest house ?" he re- 
 peated. 
 
 " It is deserted, you know, sir, and they 
 took up their residence there no doubt 
 without permission from Colonel Cary, 
 who must be aware of the danger of har- 
 boring such vagabonds." 
 
 General Lascelles did not reply. His 
 newspaper was lying in his lap and his 
 ere fixed upon the table. Then he 
 woke, as it were, from his reverie, finished 
 his coffee, and rising from his seat went 
 slowly to the library. Mr. Lascelles also 
 rose, took a cigar from his case, lit it, and 
 walked out to the portico. 
 
 He remained at home all day, smoking 
 steadily. At dinner, which was about 
 four o'clock, he had a very moderate 
 appetite, and when he rose resumed his 
 cigar. Then about an hour before sunset 
 he ordered his horse, and rode slowly in 
 the direction of the Gap. 
 
 He went along with his head bent down 
 and his brows knit. There really seemed 
 to be something the matter with Mr. Las- 
 celles. For many years now his brows 
 had not knit themselves together in that 
 manner. 
 
 He reached the western opening of the 
 Gap and descended, following the stage- 
 road toward the bridge. As he did so 
 he quietly put his hand behind him, ap- 
 parently to assure himself that he had not 
 forgotten something in a rear pocket. 
 The something was there : it was a Der- 
 ringer pistol, which Mr. Lascelles general- 
 ly carried, in case of accidents. 
 
 He eainr in siicht of the little wooden 
 idgi' ..ver the Falling \Vatrr just as the 
 sun was about to di>appear on the sum- 
 mit of the ran-v above. In fa.-t, it had 
 sunk so low that the dead limb of an 
 enormous pine, extending horizontally, 
 divided the ivd disk. Long shadows ran 
 down the slope, ivarhing far into the val- 
 ley of Bohemia. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles came on at a walk, with 
 his eyes still fixed upon the ground. He 
 seemed not to be aware how near In- was 
 to the bridge or to see the shadows. All 
 at once the hoofs of his horse clattered 
 on the timbers, and he raised his head. 
 A long shadow ran toward him. This 
 shadow was that of the Lefthander, who 
 was standing on the bridge waiting for 
 him. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 AT TRIANON. 
 
 Two days afterward Mr. Lascelles 
 mounted his horse and set out for Tria- 
 non. 
 
 He had become a regular visitor, and 
 the excellent Mrs. Armstrong's plan of 
 bringing about a match between the 
 young people seemed to be in a fair way 
 of fulfilment. Mr. Lascelles was unques- 
 tionably smitten otherwise so reserved a 
 person would not have paid such frequent 
 visits. It was true that there was noth- 
 ing in the demeanor of Miss Juliet to 
 produce the impression that she desired 
 to become Mrs. Douglas Lascelles; hut 
 then Mr. Douglas Lascelles probably 
 found that piquante, since his vi>its wen- 
 regular and prolonged in spite of it. 
 
 Now and then Mrs. Ann^tr.>ng ventured 
 to remonstrate with the young lady she 
 did not venture very far. She intimated, 
 in an incidental manner, that at twenty- 
 three a maiden was in her fre-hot bloom, 
 but that in two or three years thereafter 
 the rose began to change color a little, 
 and a slight diminution of the fiv 
 followed, when the flower was not so ac- 
 ceptable to people as before. If the rose 
 was meant for a bouquet in a golden 
 holder, it was best to allow itself to be 
 
104 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 plucked in its fresh stage. . After awhile 
 no one would care to pluck it, since it 
 would be faded. 
 
 This was plain, and Miss Juliet proba- 
 bly understood it ; but she paid no atten- 
 tion to it. She received Mr. Lascelles 
 with perfect politeness, but with nothing 
 more. Still, there were the visits of the 
 gentleman, which he would never continue 
 if he did not hope the fair statue would 
 melt, and Mrs. Armstrong, who had a 
 knack of hoping, hoped for the best. 
 
 She was a very sanguine, high-spirited, 
 and aspiring lady, the mistress of Trianon. 
 She held her head exceedingly high, and 
 never lost sight of the fact that the Arm- 
 strongs belonged to the very best people. 
 AY hen she visited Piedmont with Juliet 
 in her handsome family carriage, she and 
 her daughter were both superbly dressed, 
 and she treated the shop-keepers with the 
 kindest condescension. She turned over 
 the goods in the dry-goods stores with 
 her little kid -gloved hands with the air 
 of a duchess, and it was evident that she 
 regarded the persons of the establishment 
 as moving in quite a different sphere from 
 herself. She was scrupulously polite to 
 them, but then it was to be distinctly un- 
 derstood that she was Mrs. Armstrong of 
 Trianon, and any dealings between them 
 must be confined to the subject of the 
 price of dry-goods. 
 
 Indeed, Mrs. Armstrong of Trianon was 
 bent on higher things than conciliatin 
 popularity with the J'iedmontcse. AYhat 
 she aimed at was to spend her summers 
 in travel, and her winters in Paris, with 
 Mr. and Mrs. Douglas Lascelles. I It T hand- 
 some family coach, which outraged the feel- 
 ings of the Piedmont tr>ips, was a very 
 modest equipage, indeed, in her own eyes, 
 compared with those of her imagination* 
 She looked down with superb disdain on 
 her handsome wardrobe, her rieh silks and 
 plumes, and other personal adornments; 
 they were old-fashioned and shabby in 
 the opinion of a lady whose aspiration- 
 soared to the serene empyrean ruled over 
 by Mr. Worth. Paris dear, deli^htfu 
 ]'ari<! That was her dream, the heaven 
 of her ambition, and Mr. Douglas Lascelles 
 
 )ossessed the golden key which woul 
 open the golden door of her Elysium. 
 
 Now, when human beings are possessed 
 y any ardent desire, and are not entirely 
 certain that their desire will be accom- 
 plished, the result is apt to be an abnor- 
 nal tension of the nervous system. Mrs. 
 Armstrong was not exactly a nervous per- 
 son, and had not the least tendency to- 
 ward hysteria, but she had a good healthy 
 xcitability of temper in private, the in- 
 dulgence of which afforded a safety valve 
 to her pent-up anxiety. She kept this 
 temper as a private luxury, never cheap- 
 ening it by a public exhibition ; but as 
 an object is necessary to the enjoyment 
 of quarrelling, Mrs. Armstrong sought for 
 it in her own household. She found it 
 there, but not in the person of Juliet. 
 She never quarrelled with that young lady 
 under any circumstances it is doubtful 
 whether she did not stand a little in awe 
 of the maiden. From her earliest years 
 Juliet had developed a quiet independence 
 of character which was proof against ev- 
 ery assault. It was not an unamiable 
 trait, or in any manner disagreeable. Ju- 
 liet was very sweet-tempered, never utter- 
 ed ill-humored speeches under any circum- 
 stances, was exceedingly quiet in her man- 
 ner, and quite devoted to her mother ; 
 but beyond a certain point Mrs. Ann- 
 strong had found by long experience that 
 it was useless to argue with her or at- 
 tempt to persuade her. Did this arise 
 from a sensitive delicacy of conscience? 
 It did not arise from obstinacy, for Juliet 
 was not obstinate. She was very sweet 
 and complying on ordinary occasions, an 1 
 even if her mother had been tempted to 
 vent her ill-humor upon the girl, her ma- 
 ternal tenderness, which was extreme, 
 would have prevented her. 
 
 Fortunately there was another person 
 at Trianon who afforded Mr<. Armstrong 
 an opportunity to relieve her feelings 
 M'I-N l'.aick, her "companion," who-had 
 or had not listened at the door on the 
 (veiling of Mr. Lascelles 1 s first visit. 
 Mi-> Uassick was a young lady of about 
 twenty-five, and of very striking appear- 
 ance. She had a finely developed figure, 
 
VIRGINIA nollKMIANS. 
 
 105 
 
 a superb suit of Lair, seductive eyQB, 
 which she had a habit of veiling with 
 the long, silken lashi-s modestly, and a 
 pair of ripe, pouting lips, which hahitual- 
 lv smiled and seemed to beg people t> he 
 friendly to their mistress. In fact, Mi-s 
 k needed friends, for, as she said, 
 she was alone in the world. She had 
 been consigned to Mrs. Armstrong from 
 an orphan asylum during her girlhood, 
 and had ever since remained with her in 
 the character of companion and house- 
 keeper. She never dreamed of going 
 into society with Mrs. Armstrong. She 
 accepted her subordinate position with 
 perfect resignation and submission, and 
 never, under any circumstances, lost her 
 temper, or was anything but a model. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong, to repeat, was uncer- 
 tain of temper, and though she never box- 
 ed Miss Bassick, or used personal violence, 
 she had a stinging weapon, which cut 
 deep her tongue. Of this the lady was 
 a complete mistress. Long practice had 
 sharpened it to the keenest edge, and its 
 management had been reduced to a sci- 
 ence. The performance generally began 
 in the morning, when Mrs. Armstrong 
 rose and placed her feet on the hand- 
 some carpet of her chamber. On these 
 occasions Miss Bassick, who was nomi- 
 nally a companion, but also a lady's maid, 
 was promptly summoned by a small bell. 
 She would come at once, leaving every- 
 thing else, and assist the lady in her toi- 
 let. Now, in the morning, before break- 
 fast, people are often a little nervous and 
 ill - tempered. Misunderstandings took 
 place at such times between Mrs. Ann- 
 strong and Miss Bassick. Sometimes 
 the latter did not come at once then 
 the storm descended, and wrathful light- 
 nings flashed from Mrs. Armstrong's eyes. 
 "\Vhat was the meaning of the delay ? 
 Where were her stockings? Miss Bas- 
 sick had certainly hidden them where 
 were, they ? Then Miss Bassick would 
 glide quietly to the arm-chair upon which 
 the lady had deposited her garments, 
 search under the female debris, return 
 with them in her hand, and proceed to 
 assist the lady in her toilet. At each 
 
 moment (hiring the ceremony of div-,- 
 iii'_T there was a misunderstandiiiu". Mi>s 
 r>a->ick was implored l.y the unfortunate 
 victim of her awkwardness for ln;i\cn's 
 sake, not to lace her rorsrN so tight. 
 She was not assuming a strait - jacket, 
 as she believed she was not precisely out 
 of her mind; though if Miss r,airk per- 
 severed in lacing her until she could not 
 breathe, slid was not certain that the re- 
 sult would not be the wreck of her phys- 
 ical sy>tem, and the probable, overthrow 
 of her reason. 
 
 When the ceremony of dressing had 
 proceeded to the detail of hair-arrange- 
 ment, Mrs. Armstrong generally read a 
 novel in her velvet arm-chair while Miss 
 Ilassick combed out her locks. This wa> 
 a critical moment. The lady's skin was 
 tender. If the comb encountered a tangle, 
 and a tug ensued, Mrs. Armstrong drop- 
 ped her novel, and, figuratively, boiled 
 over. Good heavens ! was she to have 
 her hair torn out by the roots? I >id 
 Miss Bassick aim at making her tm/il.' 
 What did she mean? Give her the 
 comb that was enough ! She could 
 endure a great deal, but this was really 
 too much! Miss Bassick would perhaps 
 kindly consent to go down-stairs and see 
 that she was not kept waiting for her 
 breakfast. She had never learned to 
 wait, and could not be expected to be^in 
 now at her time of life. Miss I>a<>i-k 
 would please understand that breakfast 
 must be on the table at the moment xl<c 
 came down not a minute sooner or later. 
 She could go. 
 
 Juliet took no part whatever in the 
 torture of this innocent creature. She 
 never, under any circum>t led on 
 
 Miss Bassick to assist her in dr 
 and never, on any occasion, spoke to her 
 with discourtesy. It is true that s 1 
 not familiar with her. Whether this 
 arose from a sentiment of pride, or from 
 personal disinclination to such an intima- 
 cy, Juliet never told any one. But then 
 she was a very reserved young person in 
 the expression of her feelings, and it was 
 difficult to understand her. The y^ung 
 lady's sentiments toward Miss B 
 
106 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 were as little known to her mamma as 
 her feelings toward Mr. Lascelles. These 
 Mrs. Armstrong, however, hoped would be 
 all that she could wish in time ; and when 
 Mr. Lascelles made his appearance on 
 this afternoon she said to Juliet, as the 
 gentleman rode in at the gate, 
 
 *' There is Mr. Lascelles, my dear ! Do 
 go up-stairs and put on your new dress 
 which came yesterday and the blue neck- 
 tie, dear Mr. Lascelles is fond of blue !" 
 
 Juliet was seated at her piano in the 
 drawing-room, where she had been sing- 
 ing an air from one of her beloved operas. 
 Her tall figure looked superb in her ugly 
 " pull-back " dress, which defined every 
 outline, and her dark hair, worn in a 
 crown above the serene white forehead, 
 made the beautiful head look queen-like. 
 Her mother gazed at her with fond ad- 
 miration, and exclaimed, 
 
 "You really arc a perfect Diana, Ju- 
 liet !" 
 
 "And you are enough to spoil an an- 
 gel, mamma," Miss Juliet said, quietly. 
 
 " No, indeed it is the truth. But do 
 go and put on something fit to be seen, 
 my love !" 
 
 Miss Juliet did not move. 
 
 "Why should I, mamma?" she said. 
 "This is a very nice dress, and I cannot 
 bear to be worrying at my toilet all day 
 long, and changing my dress for every 
 visitor." 
 
 I'.nt think, my dear! Mr. Lascelles, 
 you know, is very critical.'" 
 
 The argument scorned to make no im- 
 pression whatever on Miss Juliet. She 
 did not move. 
 
 "I really am too tired, mamma," she 
 said, toin-hing her j.iaiio. 
 
 " \Vell, my dear, you will do :, 
 please, and if you are tired I will not 
 insist." 
 
 She approa.-h.-d her daughter, and ar- 
 ranged the ribbon confining her hair. 
 
 "You must sing, my dear," sin- said. 
 "for Mr. La-relies. lie is fond of mu-'n-, 
 is he not?" 
 
 " He says so, and I suppose ho is. I en- 
 not fancy any one being indifferent to it." 
 
 The steps of Mr. Lascelles were heard 
 
 on the porch, and Mrs. Armstrong ran herl 
 fingers over the keys of the piano, in thej 
 midst of which performance Mr. Lascellesl 
 appeared at the door. Mrs. Armstrong! 
 turned her head. 
 
 "Mr. Douglas! Why, you quite star-l 
 tied me !" she exclaimed. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles came in and bowed low 
 over the fair hand held out to him, and 
 then to Miss Juliet. At his appearance 
 that young lady had quietly abandoned 
 the piano-stool, where her dress had been 
 drawn so tightly around her person as to 
 make her resemble, in some degree, the 
 heathen goddess to whom her mother had| 
 compared her. She now inclined her| 
 head to Mr. Lascelles, and sat down in an j 
 arm-chair near the centre-table, arranging \ 
 her skirts as she did so, and leaning back) 
 in her habitual attitude of tranquillity. 
 
 " All are well at Wye, I hope : what 
 exquisite weather," said Mrs. Armstrong. 
 
 "Quite charming, madam. I always 
 enjoy the autumn. Were you playing ? 
 I am afraid I have interrupted you." 
 
 " Oh, not at all. I have quite forgotten 
 my music." 
 
 And sinking gracefully into a chair, 
 Mrs. Armstrong conversed with Mr. Las- 
 celles for about five minutes. She then 
 smiled sweetly, rose, took a bijou of a 
 key -basket from the table deposited 
 there by Miss Bassick, who had attended 
 to the house-keeping and glided from 
 the room. This model mamma and head 
 of the establishment was evidently intent 
 on household duties, and disappeared in 
 the room opposite, the door of which she 
 closed behind her. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles remained at Trianon un- 
 til nearly sunset. His demeanor toward 
 the young lady was ambiguous, and the 
 keenest observer would have found it 
 dillirult to penetrate his real sentiments. 
 It was plain that he admired her beauty, 
 and his manner was assiduous and de- 
 voted; but the conversation never trench- 
 ed on delicate ground. During a consid- 
 erable portion of the time Juliet played 
 and sung for him ; for Mr. Lascelles was 
 very fond of music it was one of his 
 sensualities. Like other men of his class 
 
VIRGINIA HoIIKMIANS. 
 
 107 
 
 he liked to gratify all his senses, and mu- 
 sic all'onled him a distinctly physical cn- 
 joymi'iit. This is not uncommon, and 
 has little to d with the moral organiza- 
 tion of the person. Nero had music in 
 his soul, and so had Mr. Lascellcs. 
 
 His visits to Trianon were thus always 
 pleasant to him. Juliet gratified his mu- 
 sical taste as it had seldom been gratified. 
 Her repertoire of airs ranged from Bellini 
 to Offenbach, but she did not like the latter, 
 and only sung the Sabre de mon pcrc, and 
 other music of a similar character, when 
 she was urged to do so. She then sung 
 "Bonny Jean," and other simple ballads, 
 with a tenderness which showed how 
 deeply she entered into and felt the 
 words and music, and rising from the 
 piano went back to her seat a model of 
 serene composure, as before. 
 
 The conversation between Mr. Lascellcs 
 and Miss Juliet need not be recorded. 
 And, after all, is there not something rath- 
 er indiscreet in listening to the confiden- 
 tial utterances of young people who say 
 what they think and feel, since no one 
 overhears them ? It is true that Mr. Las- 
 celles and Juliet were overheard on this 
 occasion ; but then it was quite indefensi- 
 ble in Miss Bassick to steal silently through 
 the passage, and lean forward just outside 
 the door and listen. Candor compels the 
 statement that she did so, and heard all 
 that was said or nearly all. After lis- 
 tening for about half an hour, she re- 
 traced her steps with the same caution, 
 and opening the Venetian door in rear of 
 the passage, closed it without noise behind 
 her. Ten minutes afterward she emerged 
 from the rear of the house with a little 
 chip hat upon her head, and a small basket 
 on her arm, and went toward a grove at 
 some distance, apparently intent on gath- 
 ering something in her basket. Mrs. 
 Armstrong, who was looking at her from 
 an upper window, saw her collect some 
 bunches of red berries, such as are used 
 for decorations ; then she wandered on in 
 the direction of the town and entered 
 a belt of woods; and Mrs. Armstrong, 
 watching her, not without suspicion, lost 
 sight of her. 
 
 The movements of Mi>> Ha-i.-k then 
 became eccentric. Sin- threw a rapid 
 glance- over her shoulder in the di; 
 of the hotisi saw that the i'olnge con- 
 cealed her made a wide eireuit, walking 
 quickly, and at last came out, just at sun- 
 set, on the county road through the woods 
 leading in the direction of Wye. The 
 point when; she stopped was not mniv 
 than half a mile from Trianon. Seating 
 herself upon a rock, which a screen of 
 shrubbery concealed from the road, <hu 
 waited. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 MISS BASSICK. 
 
 As Miss Bassick half reclined for she 
 was a little tired from her walk on tin- 
 picturesque mass of rock, nearly covered 
 with moss, in the grassy nook, >he made 
 a very pretty picture. The foliage af- 
 forded an excellent background for her 
 face and figure, and both wore exceeding- 
 ly attractive. The figure was full and 
 graceful, the face rosy and enticing. But 
 the great charm about Miss Bassick was 
 her eyes. They were very remarkable 
 eyes. The submissive expression had 
 quite disappeared from them, and the 
 heavy lashes no longer half concealed 
 them. They were clear, brilliant, and had 
 a singular expression of irony and blan- 
 dishment. As she sat, with her elbow on 
 one knee and her head leaning on her 
 hand, she looked toward the road and 
 listened attentively ; and nothing more 
 subtle and seductive can be imagined than 
 her expression. She was evidently wait- 
 ing for somebody, and at last this some- 
 body seemed to be approaching. Ju-t ;t> 
 the sun sunk like a ball of fire behind the 
 woods toward Wye, the sound of hoofs 
 was heard in the direction of Trianon; 
 and a few moments afterward Mr. Las- 
 celles made his appearance around a bend 
 in the road, coming on at a canter. 
 
 As he came in sight, Miss Baii.-k rose, 
 came out of her place of concealment, 
 turned her back upon the approaching 
 horseman, and went across the road, with 
 
108 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 her little basket, nearly full of red berries, 
 on her arm. 
 
 " Miss Bassick !" 
 
 Mr. Lascelles had suddenly drawn rein 
 and stopped within ten yards of her. She 
 turned her head quickly, and remained 
 standing in the middle of the road, look- 
 ing at him and smiling. Mr. Lascelles 
 dismounted, threw his bridle over his arm, 
 and came up to her. He was smiling, 
 like the young lady. 
 
 "You arc taking your evening ramble 
 you walk out every evening, do you 
 not ? how glad I am to meet you !" 
 
 Mr. Lascelles took the hand of Miss 
 Bassick, and pressed it to his lips. She 
 drew it away with an offended air, and 
 seemed very much displeased; but this 
 expression did not last it gradually gave 
 way to her seductive smile again. Hold- 
 ing up her basket, she said, in her low 
 voice, which resembled the cooing of a 
 dove, 
 
 " I walk out every evening, as you say, 
 and have gathered these pretty red berries 
 for the pictures at Trianon Mrs. Arm- 
 strong likes them." 
 
 " And you are fond of doing what will 
 give Mrs. Armstrong pleasure?" 
 
 The question was asked in a tone of 
 covert irony, for during his numerous vis- 
 its to Trianon the quick eyes of the young 
 gentleman had descried many things, and 
 he had come to understand perfectly the 
 relations between Miss Bassick and the 
 lady of the manor. 
 
 44 It is one of the pleasures of your 
 life, is it not," he said, u to administer 
 to the pleasure of that charming per- 
 son ?" 
 
 Mi-s l.assirk looked attentively at him. 
 Her head slowly drooped, and the long 
 lashes half concealed her eyes. 
 
 " I try to do so," she murmured. Mr. 
 lies uttered ;i hearty laugh. 
 
 " Well let me be frank with you and 
 U-ll you that you must be an angel. 1 
 know that I am very unceremonious to 
 be talking to you thus. But foim lot 
 us be honest. Do you really on joy the 
 life you lead? I have seen what it is." 
 
 Miss Bassick turned away her head, ap- 
 
 parently much embarrassed, and 
 looking for something in the road. 
 
 "Have you lost anything?" said Mr. 
 Lascelles. 
 
 " My glove ; I must have dropped it," 
 she replied, in a confused voice, " and yet 
 I had it a moment ago." 
 
 " I will walk back with you and help 
 you to look for it." 
 
 44 1 am afraid it will give you trouble." 
 
 " None at all." 
 
 Whereupon Mr. Lascelles went back 
 with Miss Bassick, who led the way to 
 the little nook behind the screen of foli- 
 age, where her companion threw his bri- 
 dle over a bough, and assisted her in her 
 search. 
 
 " Here it is," he said, spying the small 
 thread glove lying beside the rock where 
 Miss Bassick had rested. He stooped to 
 pick it up ; and as the young lady did so 
 at the same moment, a very simple and 
 natural accident occurred. Their heads 
 came together, and the face of Mr. Las- 
 celles touched the rosy cheek and warm 
 curls of Miss Bassick. 
 
 Miss Bassick drew back instantly wit i 
 a deep color in her cheeks, and an expres- 
 sion of extreme dissatisfaction. 
 
 "I really must beg your pardon for 
 my awkwardness," he said, " and hope 
 you will give me an opportunity to make 
 my peace before I go. You must be 
 tired there is an excellent scat." 
 
 He pointed to the rock covered with 
 moss, and, after a moment's hesitation, 
 the young lady sat down, and Mr. Las- 
 celles took his seat beside her. The color 
 in her cheeks had not quite disappeared 
 yet, ami her eyes \verc cast down. 
 
 " Yos, I feel very tired; but I ought 
 not to stay long," she said; "Mrs. Arm- 
 strong will require me." 
 
 . \uain Mr. Lascelles smiled. 
 
 44 Yon say w/////v. Are. you Mrs. 
 Armstrong's servant, then ? It is absurd." 
 
 "1 ;im seaively more," said Miss \\;o- 
 sick, sadly. As she spoke her bosom 
 heaved, and she caught her breath as 
 though to suppress a sob. Her eyes 
 were still hidden by the long silken lasln-s 
 and fixed upon the ground. She was 
 
VIRGINIA BollKMIANS. 
 
 
 playing with ;i pebble, which she rolled 
 ti> and fro under the point of her small 
 slipper; and Mr. Lascellcs, who was a con- 
 n.)i>s.Mir in female beauty, looked with 
 unconcealed admiration at his companion, 
 taking in everv detail of her face and fig- 
 ure, from the small foot peeping from her 
 skirt to the short curls resting on her 
 white neck, which bent forward with a 
 pathetic grace, as she continued to gaze 
 with half-closed eyes on the moss beside 
 her. 
 
 " Things were very different once," she 
 murmured, "but I am alone in the world 
 now. My father and mother are both 
 dead, and I have no relatives to give me 
 a home. I am little better than a servant. 
 I would not speak so plainly of myself, 
 but you have seen and understood how 
 I am treated. Let me go now : I am 
 afraid I will burst out crying if I say any 
 more, and that, you know, would make 
 you laugh at me." 
 
 Miss Bassick put her hand into a side- 
 pocket, and took out a small white hand- 
 kerchief, which she pressed to her eyes. 
 Her voice, as she uttered the last words 
 had sunk to a murmur, and she uttered a 
 slight sob. 
 
 "Do not mind me I can't help it," 
 she said, raising her beautiful eyes, which 
 were swimming in tears, " but it is very 
 hard to bear. My childhood was sur- 
 rounded by every luxury I never knew 
 what it was to have an unkind word ad- 
 dressed to me and now " 
 
 She stopped, and turned away her head, 
 letting one of her hands fall hopelessly at 
 her side. Mr. Lascelles took it in his own 
 and kissed it. 
 
 " You have one friend left, at least !" 
 he said. 
 
 And Mr. Lascelles was quite in earnest. 
 The very strongest trait in his character 
 was his admiration for female beauty. 
 Women had always exerted a powerful 
 influence over him, and often as his judg- 
 ment had combated his weakness he had 
 never yet succeeded in resisting them ; 
 not that he cared at all for their tears and 
 pathetic speeches those uttered by Miss 
 Bassick had had very little effect upon 
 
 him. It was the subtle seduction of the 
 female eye and lip which s\va\ ed him; 
 and the absence of these physical attrac- 
 tion-; in the MTene Juliet probably ivprl- 
 led him. In Miss Bassick, on the con- 
 trary, he. found what he wished. Her 
 story about her childhood and past lux- 
 uries, might in- true or falsi her pathetic 
 complaint of her ill-treatment might <r 
 might not be exaggerated but, \vhat was 
 certain was that here was a magnificent 
 young animal, with a pair of eyes \\hieh 
 had some magnetic property about them 
 a face, figure, carriage of the person \\ hieli 
 thrilled him with a vague admiration. 
 
 It was not by any means their first 
 meeting. They had frequently met in 
 the same purely accidental manner, and 
 with every meeting the subtle charm of 
 her eyes and lips had grown more en- 
 thralling. She was perfectly formal, and 
 had drawn away her hand, as she did now 
 when he took it in his own ; but there were 
 the wonderful, seductive eyes, and the 
 pouting lips, which smiled upon him a 
 moment afterward. 
 
 They smiled now, as she rose and held 
 out her hand to him. The sun had set, and 
 the rosy flush on the woods was fading. 
 
 " I must go now," said Miss Bassick, 
 with a timid but caressing glance ; " what 
 would Mrs. Armstrong say if she saw me 
 talking to you here ?" 
 
 "Let her say what she fancies don't 
 go yet!" exclaimed Mr. Lascelles. "If 
 you only knew how often I have thought 
 of you since that night when you opened 
 the door !" 
 
 "Of me?' 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " You must not think of me remem- 
 ber what I am. Think how people would 
 laugh" 
 
 " What do I care for that : 
 " I remember only one thing shall I tell 
 you what it is ?" 
 
 She turned her head over her shoulder, 
 and looked at him with an expression 
 which made his pulses throb. 
 
 "AVhat is itP 
 
 It was a low murmur. The red lips 
 scarcely moved. 
 
110 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 "That you are the most beautiful 
 woman I have ever seen !" he said. 
 
 Miss Bassick laughed. 
 
 kk What would Juliet say if she heard 
 you, Mr. Lascelles ?" 
 
 " I don't know or care," he said, knit- 
 ting his brows. 
 
 " I shall take care not to tell her," the 
 young lady said. "And now you must 
 really let me go. Think how late it is !" 
 
 She held out her hand. 
 
 "Good-bye!" she said. "Will you 
 think me too forward if I tell you some- 
 thing that I am so very glad I met you. 
 It is like a gleam of sunshine." 
 
 For a moment he held her small, warm 
 hand, and looked at her in silence. Her 
 eyes met his own, and they exchanged a 
 long glance. 
 
 " Shall I see you again ? I cannot see 
 you yonder," he said, pointing toward 
 Trianon. 
 
 " Perhaps," she said, laughing. 
 
 " What do you mean by that ?" 
 
 " I mean that it is pleasant to walk in 
 the woods here for wild-flowers and fern." 
 
 The light in the beautiful eyes of Miss 
 Bassick deepened. She looked straight 
 at Mr. Lascelles, and the golden smile 
 made her face a picture. 
 
 " Are you often near this spot about 
 sunset ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 It was a whisper, almost, but Mr. Las- 
 celles heard it quite plainly, and it was 
 evidently all that lie desired. 
 
 " I shall probably come to see Miss 
 Juliet again the day after to-morrow," 
 1, "and as I like to be at Wye be- 
 fore night these chill evenings, I shall 
 pass this place on my return about sun- 
 set. Shall I see any one, do you think ?" 
 
 "Perhaps," repeated Mis* J'>as>iek. 
 
 The smile was brighter, and the long 
 look caressed him once more. With a 
 little nod Miss Bassick then walked off 
 toward Trianon. Mr. Lascelles stood 
 looking at her until her figure disap- 
 peared, lie then mounted his h..r-e and 
 set out for Wye ; as he did so he muttered, 
 
 " That girl is a witch ! I really believe 
 I am going to fall in love with her." 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 A STRUGGLE. 
 
 " NELLY, I am going back home." 
 
 " Going home !" 
 
 " Are you very much surprised ? It is 
 time to go back, if I am ever going. I 
 have been here since early in September, 
 and it is nearly winter now." 
 
 "It is very soon," poor Nelly fal- 
 tered. 
 
 "It is very late," said Brantz Elliot, 
 moodily. "I ought to have gone home 
 long ago. Well, the bright days always 
 end if they could only stay, Nelly !" 
 
 They were talking under a huge pine 
 crowning a shoulder of the mountain, 
 with the valley of Bohemia at their feet. 
 A fresh wind made the leaves dance and 
 flutter down. The sky was blue, and 
 slightly veiled by a translucent haze. 
 The far headlands of the Blue Ridge 
 swam in rose-tinted mist, and from time 
 to time the wind ceased, and a breath of 
 warmth pervaded the atmosphere of the 
 mountains. 
 
 Brantz Elliot had gone out with his 
 gun, but had wandered on aimlessly, 
 quite forgetful of game, and thinking of 
 Nelly. The struggle between his love 
 and pride had long ended. The ine- 
 quality of a union with the poor moun- 
 tain maid had quite ceased to occupy 
 him. He had long banished from his 
 mind the smiles hidden behind fans in 
 the hands of his lady acquaintances tlie 
 sudden change in the conversation when 
 he entered his club all the social aston- 
 ishments and silent protests against so 
 curious a mesalliance. This moved him no 
 more, and rarely even entered his mind. 
 He was thinking of a far more serious 
 matter Nelly's reserve, which plainly in- 
 dicated that there was a more serious ob- 
 stacle her own unwillingness. 
 
 O 
 
 It was plain that it would be useless to 
 ask her, and yet he intended to do so. 
 He could not go without telling her, at 
 least, how miieh he loved her; and he 
 had been looking for an opportunity, day 
 after day, until on this morning chance 
 befriended him, and they were alone to- 
 
VIRGINIA UoIIKMIANS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Aether. Xelly, thinking that he was far 
 awav in tlic mountain hunting, had 
 strolled out to the knoll, which was not 
 far from the house, and on his return 
 Brant/ Klliot had seen her, and approach- 
 ed her. She was sitting on the brown 
 carpet of pine tags, with one shoulder 
 against the pine, and seemed to have 
 been musing, for she started as he eame 
 up behind her. 
 
 " If they could only stay, Nelly !" he 
 repeated, mournfully "I mean the bright 
 days ; but they always go. The winter 
 is coming. Look at the trees. My au- 
 tumn's over, and I must go back home. 
 Yes, I must go, Xelly " 
 
 lie stopped and looked at her, and ex- 
 claimed, taking her hand, 
 
 "I must go back, Nelly ; but how am I 
 ever to get along without you ?" 
 
 The words were spoken at last, and 
 seating himself beside the blushing girl, 
 Brantz Elliot pressed the hand he held to 
 is lips. 
 
 " I know it is no use to talk so, Nelly ; 
 but then I had to tell you this before I 
 went for I am going. I am not much 
 in the way of romance, and all that. I 
 can't make love to you as I've seen it 
 made on the stage, but I can tell you 
 what I have told you, and tell you again, 
 that I don't see how I can go on living 
 without you." 
 
 "You will do very well without me," 
 poor Nelly faltered out, with a beating 
 heart. 
 
 Brantz Elliot shook his head and said, 
 
 "You do not know how much I have 
 come to love you. I think of nothing 
 else. I am a plain sort of fellow, and 
 not up to fancy talk; but if you only 
 knew how I am wrapped up in you, Nel- 
 ly! If you will marry me, I will love 
 you, and be good to you to the last day 
 of your life !" 
 
 This was not a romantic speech, and 
 did not deal in raptures, neither did the 
 speaker fall upon his knees, or exclaim 
 "Oh!" or "My own darling!" or any- 
 thing of the sort. But his meaning was 
 plain, whether he rolled his eyes or not. 
 He asked Nelly to marry him, telling her 
 
 that he would he good to her and no 
 lov.-r can make a more rational statement 
 to his sweetheart. 
 
 "This is foolish i-inui^h, I'm afraid, 
 Xelly," he went on. "You've not look- 
 ed at me lately in a way that made me 
 think you cared much for me. Hut what 
 am I to do? I can't, go without telling 
 you this. I love you more every hour, 
 and have been loving you since that dav 
 when I kissed you at the stream. Do 
 you remember that day? perhaps you 
 have forgotten it; but I ha\.- not. I 
 meant to save you or die with you." 
 
 "How can I ever forget it? and and 
 I did not mean to look at you as you 
 say I did as if I cared nothing for you !" 
 sobbed Nelly. 
 
 The young man's face suddenly fln-hed. 
 
 "Then say yes, Nelly !" he exclaimed; 
 "if you care for me, that settles every- 
 thing. Say you will marry me, Nelly !'' 
 
 "Oh no, no I ought not to! indeed 
 I ought not to!" the girl exclaimed. 
 " You would not be happy, and I should 
 be miserable if you were unhappy ! I am 
 a poor ignorant girl you would be sorry 
 you had ever seen me I could not bear 
 to have people laugh at you for marrying 
 a poor thing like me. I could not bear 
 that." 
 
 Brantz Elliot raised his head with a 
 sort of disdain, and said, 
 
 " Laugh at me ! what do I care for 
 that ? Am I to choose my wife to please 
 a parcel of foolish women all for fear 
 of their gabble? You needn't mind 
 about that. You need never sec them. 
 I'll come and live in the mountain here, 
 unless you fancy going to Europe. Only 
 say you will have me, Nelly ! I love you 
 so dearly ! Tell me I need not go, Xelly. 
 Only tell me that !" 
 
 lie held both the girl's hands and 
 drew her toward him. Her face was cov- 
 ered with blushes and her eyei >wam in 
 tears. It was a very hard struggle for 
 Nelly loved Brantz Elliot just as dearly 
 as he loved her. If she had followed the 
 impulse of her heart she would have lean- 
 ed her head upon his breast and cried, and 
 said yes ; but, even with this sore tempta- 
 
112 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 tion before her, she thought of the conse- 
 quences to the man she loved. If she 
 married him he would soon grow ashamed 
 of her ; his family would look down upon 
 her; he would regret his union with her 
 and for him to do so, she felt, would 
 break her heart. 
 
 " Indeed I cannot ! do not ask me !" 
 was all she could say. 
 
 " But I will ask you, Nelly ! Don't 
 tell me to go. You are the only wife I 
 want, Nelly !" 
 
 lie put his arms around her neck and 
 drew her close to him as he spoke, and 
 Nelly, worn out by the long struggle, seem- 
 ed about to yield, when a startling and un- 
 unexpected incident ended their interview. 
 Something resembling a wild-cat bounded 
 from behind the pine, and fell on his 
 shoulders. He felt the claws of the animal 
 and his hot breath on his cheek, and with 
 the instinct of the hunter his hand went 
 to the knife in his belt. But as suddenly 
 the hand fell at his side, and, in spite of 
 himself, he burst out laughing. The wild- 
 cat of his fancy was Dash, the favorite 
 deer-hound of Daddy Welles, who, recog- 
 nizing his intimate friend Mr. Brantz El- 
 liot, had leaped on his shoulders to caress 
 him. Dash now gambolled about in a 
 manner indicative of extreme pleasure at 
 the rencontre, and then bounded to meet 
 his master, Daddy Welles, who at that 
 moment came in sight, gun on shoulder. 
 
 IJrantz Elliot was fond of Daddy Welles, 
 but it is doubtful if he felt much disposi- 
 tion to greet him warmly upon the pres- 
 ent occasion. The Daddy, however, dis- 
 played an amount of cheerfulness, M h.- 
 joined the party, which sufficed for every- 
 body. 
 
 " Well, here you arc, Nelly, you and 
 Mr. Elliot, and 1 thought you wen- a-hunt- 
 in- fcerf 1 .-aid the Daddy. " \\VI1, well, 
 it's human natur 1 , I s'pose. Young men 
 will be young men, and gals will I 
 1 was no belter' M the rest of you once on 
 a time. The sight of a petticoat put 
 everything <'lse clean out of my head." 
 
 Having thus unbosomed himself of his 
 views on the propensities of young pcr- 
 sons, Daddy Welles proceeded to observe 
 
 that he was going into the mountain t 
 see if he could not pick up a wild-turkej 
 and invited Brantz Elliot to accompan; 
 him. The latter looked at Nelly with 
 faint hope that she would retain him, i 
 only by a look, but this hope was prompl 
 ly dispelled. Nelly said she must g 
 home, as her mother would need her 
 and turning away her head, in order t 
 hide her blushes from Daddy Welles, sh 
 left them and went slowly back in the di 
 rection of home. 
 
 " A good girl, Nelly there's few lik 
 her," was the fatherly comment of Dadd 
 Welles as he looked after her. " But it* 
 time to git on. The turkeys mostly sta; 
 in the hills across the stream yonder ; an 
 I hope we'll have better luck than som 
 friends of ourn had that night they hunl 
 ed the moonshiners !" 
 
 Daddy Welles smiled sweetly at th 
 recellection of his ride that night, and h 
 and Brantz Elliot soon disappeared in th 
 pine thicket. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 THE BOHEMIANS. 
 
 ON this evening the little family o: 
 wanderers were grouped around a cheei 
 ful fire at Crow's Nest all but Harry 
 He had gone out in the afternoon to fish 
 and as a storm was evidently coming, the 
 were looking for him anxiously : fo 
 some days he had been laboring under 
 very severe cold, and every moment M< us 
 went to the door to see if he was coming 
 
 The table was set with plates and til 
 ups and knives and forks; the coffee 
 was boiling; the meat was broiling; am 
 over all Mouse presided with a busines 
 air which was impressive. The little on 
 was house -keeper and general manager 
 and her rule was autocratic. She die 
 not tolerate interference, or permit an 
 hivaeh of the rules of good-breedin_ I 
 her request Harry had purchased at Piec 
 mont a small bell, which Mouse proudl 
 placed upon the mantel-piece, as an orna 
 mcnt to and evidence of the respectabilit 
 of the menage. Until this bell sounde< 
 no one presumed to take his seat at th 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 113 
 
 able. All waited, however hungry, watch- 
 
 ng the small autocrat at her work, with 
 .ulmiission. Then when her viands were 
 eadv. Mouse dished them up and placed 
 hem upon the table; still there was no 
 novement. Lastly, Mouse reached upon 
 iptoe to the high mantel-piece and pos- 
 iierself of the bell, rang it cheer- 
 'ully with a prolonged tingle, as though 
 o summon numerous members of the 
 'amily from remote apartments of the es- 
 ablishment, and then observed, with a 
 .crious air, "Sit down, gentlemen, wo 
 jannot wait for the lazy people up-stairs. 
 Hie things are getting cold." AVhcre- 
 ipon all would take their seats, and Mouse 
 would preside at the head of the table, 
 jutting the brown sugar into the tin cups 
 vith a pewter spoon, and pouring out the 
 soffee with an air which evidently filled 
 he Lefthander with extreme enjoyment. 
 
 Mouse, in fact, humanized and amelio- 
 rated all her surroundings. She infused 
 ihe feminine element which households 
 ire the better for when it does not turn 
 jour. As to Mouse, the idea that she 
 jould possibly become sour seemed ab- 
 jurd. She was sunshine incarnate, and 
 it up everybody. She took charge of 
 ihem with a motherly air, and repri- 
 manded and then petted them. They 
 jailed her "Old Lady," and she called 
 ihem her " Big Babies ;" and as she 
 was expert at her needle, and did all the 
 mending, it really did seem as if they 
 were young people who required looking 
 after. 
 
 As night came on, a huge mass of 
 clouds, as black as ebony, drifted up 
 from the west, and the red glare of the 
 sinking sun lit the valley, turning every- 
 thing crimson. A faint mutter of thun- 
 der rolled through the gorges like the 
 angry growl of a wild animal, and from 
 time to time vivid flashes of lightning 
 revealed every feature of the wild land- 
 scape slowly disappearing in the darkness. 
 
 Mouse went to the door and looked 
 out, again. 
 
 " I wish Harry would come," she said, 
 in a low tone. " There is going to be a 
 storm. How black it looks !" 
 8 
 
 Then she suddenly recoiled. A Hash 
 of lightning, so da/x.ling that it Minded 
 her, lit up the \\h>I- valley and the Hlue 
 Ridge opposite, and a crash of thunder 
 followed. Then the storm 
 and a torrent of rain, driven by a 
 wind, lashed the mountains. 
 
 "Oh, why don't Harry come?" 
 exclaimed, looking and listening. 
 
 As she spoke a step was heard on the 
 porch, and Harry came in, completely 
 drenched. Mouse rushed to him. 
 
 " You have got yourself wet, you bad, 
 disgraceful boy !" she exclaimed. " You 
 promised me you wouldn't." 
 
 "I didn't mean to break my promise; 
 I couldn't help it, Mouse." 
 
 "You always have excuses," said the 
 autocrat, " There, you are coughing 
 your cold is worse. Sit down here at 
 once and let me dry you." 
 
 Mouse drew off his coat, which she 
 hung close to the fire, and taking a blan- 
 ket from her pallet wrapped it around his 
 shoulders. She then directed him to take 
 the scat which she drew up ; he sat down 
 submissively, and Mouse proceeded to 
 scold. 
 
 " Well, let him off this time," said the 
 Lefthander ; " he sha'n't do so any more. 
 Why, you have a bad cough, sure enough," 
 he added to Harry. 
 
 " Bad enough." 
 
 The words were followed by a long, 
 hoarse fit of coughing, at the end of 
 which Harry shivered a little, although 
 his face seemed to indicate fever. In a 
 moment, however, he seemed at his ease 
 again, and the bell having been formally 
 rung by Mouse, they sat down and ate 
 their supper. Thereafter the Lefthander 
 lit his pipe and smoked contemplatively, 
 gazing with much satisfaction at Mouse, 
 who, having cleared away the tab! 
 seated opposite, mending one of Gentle- 
 man Joe's two or three shirts. 
 
 It was a cheerful group. These poor 
 Bohemians, mere waifs of humanity with- 
 out a resting-place, had made something 
 like a home here in the lonely house in 
 the hills. There was little beyond the 
 bare walls, and the panes rattled in the 
 
114 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 gusts dashing the rain against them ; 
 without, all was darkness and chill up- 
 roar, but within the fire burned cheerily, 
 and was reflected from the faces of the 
 wanderers. It was their home, this poor 
 shelter all they had in the world. The 
 w r aves of fate had cast them ashore here, 
 and, like shipwrecked mariners, they hail- 
 ed their good fortune, looking on that 
 side of things, not on the darker side. 
 Others had elegant houses, and rich car- 
 pets, and warm curtains, and soft beds. 
 They had only this deserted shell, with 
 the bare floors and the broken panes, and 
 hard mattresses, but they were content. 
 And was it. not enough? Is there not, 
 after all, something attractive in such re- 
 moteness in exemption from the de- 
 mands of " society " and the world the 
 great world, as it is called, perhaps be- 
 cause it is so little ? No wearying claims 
 of artificial life, no mask on the features 
 that the lurking glance that watches may 
 not read the thought of the mind, the 
 emotion of the heart; life under the 
 sky, and in the free sunshine, with some- 
 thing seen, in the tranquil days, beyond 
 the sky and the sunshine ! 
 
 Harry had drawn up to the fire and 
 warmed himself, and the little family 
 made a cheerful semicircle in front of the 
 blaze, which roared up the chimney in 
 triumph, though the storm was roaring 
 louder still without. 
 
 " Winter's coming," said the Left- 
 hander, after musing for some moments, 
 "and we'll have to look out for a better 
 place than this." 
 
 " Yes, this is sad, very sad," said Gen- 
 tleman Joe, dreamily ; " but what are we 
 to do ?" 
 
 "The troupe," said MOUM-. 
 
 The Lefthander uttered a grunt, and 
 said, 
 
 " I thought you had given up that idea, 
 Mignon." 
 
 "<ii\cn it up!" cried Mouse, pinning 
 her work to her knee. "You a: 
 much mistaken. I dream about that 
 monkey, and I've arranged everything. 
 You're to be the clown, Gentleman Joe, 
 and make people laugh, and Harry and 
 
 you, poppa, will perform the tricks, and 
 maybe I'll dance the rope, as well as car 
 ry round the tambourine." 
 
 " No, I don't mean you shall dance 
 any more, Mouse," said the Lefthander, 
 " there's been enough of that. Yoo 
 teased me till I let you do it once; bu 
 you're too little ; that's come to an end.' 
 
 "Little!" said Mouse. "Yes, I'm lit 
 tie, more's the pity, but I'm not so little 
 that I can't do my part." 
 
 " You do a great deal far more thai 
 your part, Mignon ; and I really thinl 
 we are having a better time here than w( 
 had with the circus. It was easier living 
 with eight hundred dollars a month foi 
 swinging on the trapeze and lifting but 
 then there were the bar-rooms. As lon( 
 as I was there I couldn't keep away fron? 
 the bar-rooms, and that was bad, Mignon 
 Now I never go near them, or drink any 
 thing at all. I've cut loose from the tin 
 rivalled Combination, and so have you 
 You'll ndt dance any more. If you bother 
 we'll get up the little troupe and kav 
 you behind !" [| 
 
 " Leave me behind !" Mouse exclaimed 
 in immense derision ; " and what do yol 
 think would become of you, if I was no 
 with you to take care of you ?" I 
 
 The Lefthander grunted. As he look 
 ed at the child, his rugged features gre? 
 soft. A quiet smile just moved his hugl 
 mustache, and he said, 
 
 "Well, that's true I really neve 
 thought of that. I suppose, after all. we'] 
 have to take you along." 
 
 " I should think you would !" Mous 
 said, with a lofty air. " It's as much a 
 I can do to keep you all straight now 
 If you wandered off, there's no tell in; 
 what would happen to you without me." 
 
 " That's true, Lefthander," said Gentle 
 man Joe. "We can't leave Mouse. \ 
 l'>r my good spirits if I didn't see Mniis 
 every day." 
 
 " You seem to have lost them any way, 
 was the rejoinder. " You've been mopini 
 lately. Come, laugh a little for us, Gel 
 tleman Joe ! I like to hear you laugh." 
 
 At this Gentleman Joe shook his hea 
 sadly. 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 115 
 
 "I sec t<>o many things that make me 
 sorrowful," he said. "The pines talk t<> 
 ne, too, and seem to bend to me and 
 vhisper sometimes, as if they had some- 
 t toll me." 
 
 Tin* Lefthander exchanged a glance 
 vith Harry, who looked much depressed. 
 Then the mice in the walls seem t<> 
 [now me and talk to me," said Gentle- 
 nan Joe, looking dreamily into the fire. 
 ' Squeak ! squeak !' they go, just as they 
 lid when I used to listen to them." 
 
 " Do you mean here. Gentleman Joe ?" 
 
 " Here or somewhere I don't know 
 xaetly where ; my memory is weak. Yes, 
 lere or somewhere. * Squeak ! squeak !' 
 Vnd then the pines they are never done 
 whispering to me, day and night." 
 
 Gentleman Joe was often in these 
 moods now, and would remain in them 
 or days at a time, during which he scarce- 
 y spoke to anybody, but went wandering 
 ,bout the vicinity with the air of a per- 
 on looking for something. Then, at 
 ome chance speech or jest recalling his 
 ife with the circus, and some odd inci- 
 ient, he would suddenly brighten up, ut- 
 er a hearty laugh, and fall to grimacing 
 ifter his old fashion. These mirthful 
 utbursts were growing, however, more 
 nd more unusual, and his friends endeav- 
 >red in vain to ascertain the cause of his 
 epression. lie either could not or 
 vould not explain. His replies were ei- 
 her evasive or indicative of inability to 
 Account for his moods. He had the cun- 
 ting of half-witted persons, and might be 
 oncealing something, but. it was just as 
 >robable that his apparent recollection of 
 ivents and persons associated with the 
 brow's Nest house were vague fancies 
 nere imaginations of a mind clouded 
 vith the mists of unreason. 
 
 " Well, well," the Lefthander said, in 
 eply to Gentleman Joe's last words, " let 
 he mice squeak, and the wind blow in 
 he pine-trees they do nobody any harm, 
 f they are not agreeable, you can always 
 :o away and pay somebody a visit. 
 There's Daddy Welles and little Nelly 
 hey'll keep you in good spirits." 
 
 " Nelly ? Oh yes, Nelly !" 
 
 (ieiitleiuan Joe's face lit up with a 
 smile. 
 
 "Nelly's like the sun shining," 1: 
 " I don't mind the miee s-jneakin^ when 
 I'm thinking about Nelly." 
 
 "You certainly are '_ r "d friends, and 
 it is easy to see how fund >f YOU she i>." 
 
 "Tin glad of that," the' old fellow 
 said, with a bright smile on his fae,-; 
 "and Daddy Welles, too he is an esti- 
 mable man, though perhaps he hunts too 
 much by moonshine." 
 
 To these words the Lefthander made 
 no reply. He had never told Mouse of 
 his connection with the moonshiners, re- 
 sulting from that night meeting with 
 them in the mountain. A very few 
 words from Daddy Welles had induced 
 him to join them. The little family 
 was coming to want, and the Lefthander 
 did not hesitate. And the worthy moon- 
 shiners looked upon him now as a most 
 important acquisition. Resolute, power- 
 ful, a man to " count on," as a glance at 
 his face showed, he had become a sort 
 of leader with them, and infused new en- 
 ergy into their illegal occupation. And it 
 must be said he enjoyed his new pursuits. 
 He was tired of idleness. The profits, 
 too, were very considerable, for the illicit 
 spirit was sent in all directions, and dis- 
 posed of readily, and the Lefthander's 
 pockets, growing painfully empty when 
 he went to set his traps that night, were 
 now full of bank-notes. 
 
 Both Gentleman Joe and Harry were 
 in the secret, but not Mouse. Why had 
 he concealed it from the child ? It was 
 difficult to say. The Lefthander acted 
 largely from a sort of instinct. The 
 moonshine business was illegal it was 
 not regarded by strict moralists as very 
 creditable. Mouse, therefore, should have 
 nothing to do with it, and not even know 
 of his connection with the moonshiners. 
 The star lighting up the little company 
 of wanderers was to stay where it be- 
 longed in the pure upper air. Rugged 
 natures often have these finer insti: 
 
 The Lefthander had been enabled thus 
 to provide for the Crow's Nest house- 
 hold ; but the time was near when this 
 
116 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 resource would probably fail. With 
 winter the manufacture of the whiskey 
 would be discontinued ; and then reports 
 were rife that the government officers 
 were coming back when there would 
 be trouble. The report had reached 
 Piedmont that a company of mounted 
 regulars would harry the mountain, and 
 then something very unpleasant would 
 no doubt ensue. Arrests would take 
 place, perhaps, and among the persons 
 arrested there might be a certain indi- 
 vidual called the Lefthander. The rest 
 would follow imprisonment, trial, and a 
 term of years in prison, perhaps. Then 
 what would become of Mopse ? 
 
 " I wouldn't like that," the Lefthander 
 muttered, after a pause: he had fallen 
 into a reverie and thought of all this 
 now. " After all, I like a wandering life, 
 and Mouse is right. The troupe is the 
 right thing." 
 
 As he spoke a knock came at the door, 
 and a voice without cried, 
 
 "Can you give a poor man shelter, 
 friends?" 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 FLOTSAM. 
 
 THE Lefthander rose, and went and 
 opened the door. The rain, driven by 
 the wind, dashed in his face and nearly 
 blinded him ; but through the cloud he 
 could see a man in rags, with a bundle 
 on his back hanging from a stout stick. 
 
 " Who are you?" said the Lefthander. 
 
 "A poor man nigh starved and wet to 
 the skin, and lookin' for a shelter," said 
 the man. 
 
 The Lefthander opened the door wide. 
 
 "Come in," he said; "this is the 
 place." 
 
 The man came in and drew near the 
 fire, ducking his head to the company. 
 !! was a Wiry-looldilg fellow <>f middle 
 age, with a rough beard and imisladi.-, 
 sharp eyes, and the expression of the 
 houseless vagabond. II U divss had 
 reached the last stages of dilapidation, 
 and seemed to be held together b\ 
 innate principle of cohesion. One of the 
 
 skirts of his shabby old coat had disaj 
 peared, and his knees were covered wit 
 patches. His bony wrists ended in clav 
 like hands, and his naked toes protrude 
 through his worn boots. His hat was 
 rag : he seemed to have no shirt. H 
 was a vagabond, and a thoroughly drencl 
 ed one. || 
 
 " Sit down and warm yourself," th 
 Lefthander said ; " then we'll give yo 
 some supper." 
 
 Mouse placed meat, bread, and the r< 
 mainder of the coffee on the table, an 
 the tramp ate ravenously, grinning as h 
 did so. When he had finished his me* 
 he drew a long breath of satisfaction, an 
 coming closer to the fire, said, 
 
 "That's the sort o' thing that sets 
 feller up." 
 
 " Where are you from ?" said the Left 
 hander, looking fixedly at him. 
 
 " Well, I'm from Philadelfy, and m 
 name is Rooney Ruggles," he said, grii 
 ning. "I'm what they call a tramp, 
 guess." 
 
 " What brought you south ?" 
 
 " Want o' work." 
 
 " The old cry," said the Lefthander. 
 
 The tramp grinned again, and warme 
 his hands at the blaze. 
 
 " That's so," he said, " and there'll b 
 trouble about it. If a honest man 
 got to starve, him and his famuly, he' 
 jest as leave fight. Things '11 have 
 change, or we'll change 'em and do 
 pretty quick." 
 
 As the Lefthander continued to sin ok 
 with a meditative air, the visitor was ev 
 dently encouraged to further unbosoj 
 himself, and said, 
 
 " What right have the rich swells 1 
 ride over poor people? They sit in the 
 fine houses and drink their wine, and ric 
 in their carriages, and take life eas' 
 while better men 'n they are don't have 
 bone to pick, or a kennel to lay down 1 
 at night ! 1 say, down with 'em ! Tn 
 yer boy. I'm up to anything, from set tin 
 lire to a wheat-stack to burnin' a fact'rj 
 Let 'em look out ! Jest take a good loO 
 at me, mate. I've been a-starvin' an 
 a-sleepin' in barns all along the road !" 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 117 
 
 He had set the remainder of his coffee 
 y the fire to warm. He now raised it 
 > his lips, and said, grinning, 
 
 " Here's down with the swells! Cuss 
 in. let '.-in look out!" 
 
 As the Lefthander continued to smoke, 
 i bond went on, gazing around him 
 a he spoke. 
 
 " You're tramps, too, to judge from the 
 >ok o' things. We're the right sort o' 
 cople. We don't wear fine clothes and 
 ok down on a honest man. Things 
 ught to be divided sheer and sheer alike, 
 [ake it a law a man sha'n't own mor'n a 
 atch o' land. Make the big-bugs stand 
 jout and take off ther coats and go to 
 ork. They've got to do it, or the 
 amps '11 know the reason what do you 
 iv, mate ?" 
 
 " I say you are talking bosh," said the 
 jfthander, coolly, " and that men like 
 >u are making trouble. I heard you 
 rough, and if it was worth while I 
 ould tell you, you talk like a fool ! You 
 *te the rich people, and mean to rob 
 lem if. you can, because you are the 
 rongcst. What has that got to do with 
 ? I can pick you up and toss you 
 irough that window I am stronger 
 lan you are. What right have I to do 
 tat 2" 
 
 The tramp's countenance fell. He had 
 T idently blundered ; and a glance at the 
 Dnderous frame of the Lefthander was 
 ddently not reassuring. 
 
 " You talk of burning wheat-stacks and 
 ctories," said the Lefthander; "why 
 't you go and work in the wheat-field 
 r the factory instead? The ground is 
 Dnder in the West, and labor is needed, 
 istead of working, you tramps sit on the 
 nee, and sneak and beg." 
 The tramp did not reply. His elo- 
 lence had all disappeared. 
 
 A man's money is his own," the Left- 
 inder added ; " he either made it, or some- 
 xly made it for him. If you take it 
 pay from him you are a thief, and a 
 eak too. Don't -be that, if you must 
 sal. Go on the road and put a five- 
 looter to the rich man's head, and take 
 is purse it's more respectable." 
 
 Suddenly the tramp's fare expanded 
 into a grin, and he exclaimed, 
 
 " Well, you're right, mate, and I was 
 only jokin'. Hum a wheat-stark ! You 
 didn't, really think I was in cannM .' 
 Rooney Ruggles ain't the man to be diu' 
 that, and as to Ji ve-shooters and stoppiiT 
 people, that's out o' my line entirely." 
 
 "Yes, I think it is," said the Lefthand- 
 er, somewhat disgusted with his visitor; 
 "if I was one of the rich people you 
 stopped on the road it wouldn't take me 
 long to do for you." 
 
 This remark w r as open to criticism, per- 
 haps, as being more frank than polite ; 
 but the Lefthander was plainly tired of 
 the vulgarity of his guest. His eyebrows 
 shut down a little, and the tramp saw 
 that ominous sign. He renewed his dec- 
 laration that he was only joking, and 
 then asked whether he could lie down. 
 The Lefthander pointed to one of the 
 mattresses, and the tramp went and 
 brought it. Then the rest were spread, 
 as the hour was late, and soon afterward 
 the whole party were stretched upon them 
 and asleep. 
 
 For about an hour there was a pro- 
 found silence in the house, and nothing 
 was heard but the plashing of the rain 
 without. Then the tramp raised his head 
 slowly and looked cautiously around him. 
 The whole party were plainly asleep 
 their long breathing indicated that and 
 rising on his elbow, then on his knees, the 
 tramp dragged himself cautiously toward 
 the Lefthander, and looked at him. lie 
 was in a dead slumber, and with rapid 
 and skilful hands the vagabond searched 
 all his pockets. This was done in a very 
 few moments, and the result was an ex- 
 pression on the tramp's countenance of 
 the greatest disappointment, lie had 
 found nothing but a knife, and a pocket- 
 book with some money in it, which he re- 
 stored untouched and from this it seem- 
 ed that Mr. Rooney Rug_ more 
 honest than he professed to be. 
 
 After his stealthy search for something 
 which he expected to find, apparently, but 
 did not find, on the person of the Left- 
 hander, the tramp dragged himself back 
 
118 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 to his mattress, looking around him as he 
 did so. The result seemed discouraging. 
 The apartment was perfectly bare there 
 was absolutely no place whatever to con- 
 ceal anything. He then lay down on his 
 mattress, closed his eyes, and after awhile 
 fell asleep. 
 
 On the next morning, which was quite 
 bright, Mr. Kooney Ruggles rose much 
 refreshed, partook of breakfast, and stated 
 his intention of applying for work in the 
 neighborhood. Did anybody really think 
 that he was in earnest about the wheat- 
 stacks? lie would scorn it, and meant to 
 live by the sweat of his brow. 
 
 " It is better," said the Lefthander, scn- 
 tentiously. 
 
 "I mean to do it, mate, for I'm a hon- 
 est man," said Mr. Ruggles. 
 
 And having swung his stick with the 
 bundle over his shoulder, Mr. Ruggles 
 grinned amicably, and took his departure. 
 
 Three days after this scene, Harry tried 
 to raise his head from the pillow one 
 morning and could not do so. He w r as a 
 vigorous youth, but there are enemies 
 which spare no class. One of these ene- 
 mies is pleuro-pneumonia. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 SHINGLES. 
 
 OWING, apparently, to admiration for 
 the scenery of the mountains, and no 
 doubt inspired by an ambition to earn his 
 li\ing houe>tly, Mr. Rooney Ruggles, af- 
 ter leaving Crow's Nest, stopped at the 
 fir.4 house he saw to ask for work. This 
 happened to be the residence of Mr. 
 Gibbs, the manager of the Falling Wa- 
 ter estate; and chancing to find Mr. 
 (iil)bs in an uncommonly good humor, he 
 preferred his request under favorable cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 Looking at his rags, Mr. Gibbs at tir-t 
 hesitated, whereupon Mr. Ru^ls uiv\\ 
 painfully modest and submissive. This 
 conciliated Mr. Gibbs, and Mr. Ki]u r u:l 
 then made a plausible speech. II.- Wtt 
 poor but honest he was a lover of law 
 
 and order. His clothes were poor enough, 
 but they were good enough to work in. 
 All he wanted was a job, and he would 
 ijive satisfaction or leave at once. 
 
 This was straightforward talk, and Mr. 
 Gibbs invited him in to dinner. Beef 
 and turnips having further ameliorated 
 the sentiments of Mr. Gibbs, he asked 
 what his guest was good for? He was 
 mainly good for shingles, Mr. Ruggles re- 
 sponded ; that was his trade where he 
 came from. But he was willing to do 
 anything. As to pay, he would not ex- 
 pect much. All he wanted was to make 
 an honest living, and have enough to eat, 
 and any sort of farm work 
 
 But Mr. Gibbs rcconducted the conver- 
 sation to shingles. He required a largi 
 number to reshingle his barn, and con- 
 cluded an agreement; and on that very 
 day Mr. Haggles went to work. 
 
 Mr. Ruggles evidently understood hii 
 trade. Having been provided with an 
 axe, a drawing-knife, a crosscut-saw, and 
 an assistant in the shape of a youthful 
 African, he repaired to the wootl-. 
 structed a work-bench, and proceeded td 
 fell the timber and saw it into proper] 
 lengths. This effected, he informed Mr. 
 Gibbs that he required no further a '.st- 
 ance ; and splitting up his blocks, he was 
 soon surrounded with piles of shavings 
 and shingles, which the manager in 
 rounds surveyed with much satisfaction. 
 On these occasions Mr. Ruggles was al 
 ways found extremely busy, and was eveii 
 unaware, from absorption in his work, ofl 
 Mr. Gibbs' s approach until he was cloi 
 behind him and accosted him. This as- 
 siduity produced a good impressionJ 
 Here was a treasure; and Mr. Gibbs COM 
 tinued his rounds with a high opinion oil 
 his employe's industry. 
 
 As soon, however, as Mr. < Iil>bs was outl 
 of Mu'lit, Mr. Riiggk-s would yield t<> rev- 
 erie. His drawing-knife would cease 
 produce shavings, and sometimes lie! 
 would rise and wander away, looking at 
 the trees with the air 6f an expert decicH 
 inuj upon the adaptation of certain giant! 
 of the wood to the purpose of shinglesJ 
 These tour, , of inspection would generally 
 
VIRGINIA 
 
 lead him toward Crow's Nest. Here he 
 would sometimes iind Gentleman Joe and 
 fthander sometimes only one of 
 them at other times neither of them. 
 Finding them at home, the visitor would 
 enter into friendly conversation, and men- 
 tion with honest pride that he had just 
 finished a lot of live thousand superior 
 shingles for Mr. Gibbs's barn, and liked 
 the neighborhood so well that he thought 
 he would take up his permanent residence 
 in it. Finding his hosts absent, he did 
 not at once retire, and seemed, indeed, to 
 think that the next best thing to seeing 
 them was to see how they were getting 
 along. 
 
 There was a lock on the door, of which 
 either the Lefthander or Gentleman Joe 
 always kept the key ; but Mr. Ruggles re- 
 garded the fact as unimportant. The 
 back window afforded a perfectly con- 
 venient means of entrance ; and, availing 
 himself of it, he reached the interior with- 
 out the least difficulty. On such occa- 
 sions his proceedings were curious. He 
 seemed to be inspecting the establishment 
 with the view of renting it. He survey- 
 ed every object around him with great in- 
 terest the blankets, the walls, and the 
 floor. Neither of the latter seemed to 
 meet wholly with his approval. Where 
 there was a hole in the plaster of the room 
 he examined it, inserting his claw-like fin- 
 gers into the cavity ; but for the absurd- 
 ity of the idea, one might have supposed 
 that Mr. Ruggles was looking for some- 
 thing. Where the planks of the floor 
 were in like manner defective, and an 
 orifice appeared, Mr. Ruggles repeated his 
 examination, as though speculating upon 
 the expense of improving the premises, 
 previous to which he apparently consider- 
 ed it desirable to remove any rubbish be- 
 neath, which he proceeded to do by in- 
 serting his arm up to the shoulder, and 
 feeling about under the flooring. 
 
 The result of these inspections had not 
 appeared satisfactory, and he had ascended 
 to the upper rooms, where he displayed re- 
 doubled interest in every object. A dark 
 closet full of dust and broken bottles 
 aroused his attention, but ended in be- 
 
 ll'.i 
 
 coming a subject of indifference. He 
 then sounded the plastering, to ascertain, 
 probably, if the hou.se was well-built the. 
 conclusion being, to judge from the dis- 
 satisfaction on his countenance, that it 
 was not. After three visits of this de- 
 scription, during which every part of the 
 premises, including the out-houses, were 
 subjected to an exhaustive examination, 
 Mr. Rooney Ruggles ceased to enter 
 through the back window, or in any 
 other manner, and had evidently made 
 up his mind not to rent the establish- 
 ment as a residence for himself and his 
 family. 
 
 Occasional cessation of the work of 
 shingle -making seemed, however, to be 
 necessary to the well-being of Mr. Rug- 
 gles, who evidently liked variety, and a 
 little recreation now and then. This 
 craving induced him to absent himself 
 at intervals, with the concurrence of Mr. 
 Gibbs, and visit Piedmont for the pur- 
 pose of lounging on the tavern porch 
 there. He was not regarded as a va- 
 grant by the landlord. He had recon- 
 structed his habiliments until they ap- 
 proached the limits of respectability, and 
 patronized the bar in a creditable man- 
 ner. He never exceeded or was boister- 
 ous. He took his drink like a gentle- 
 man, the landlord declared, and was a 
 genial sort o' feller, who never liked to 
 drink by himself. He was, indeed, re- 
 markably jovial and friendly on such oc- 
 casions, and anybody could see that he 
 w r as an honest, open-hearted person, of 
 social tastes and generous disposition. 
 
 He asked a great many questions, and 
 seemed to take interest in everything and 
 everybody. He himself was a stranger 
 he had come from the West, he said. lie 
 liked the Virginians; they were a healthy, 
 hearty sort of people. There was one 
 man he had seen in the town who was 
 worth looking at a big man with black 
 eyebrows and a heavy beard: did any- 
 body know him ? 
 
 Thence information, communicated by 
 one of the tavern-loungers. The big man 
 had been a circus man. He lived some- 
 where up in Bohemia. He had quarrel- 
 
120 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 led with old Brownson, of Brownson's 
 Unrivalled Combination, and be and a 
 child of his had left the company, and 
 he, the lounger, had met them. The big 
 man asked where he could find a night's 
 lodging without going to the tavern ; had 
 been informed that Parson Grantham 
 never turned anybody away ; and he sup- 
 posed they had spent the night at the 
 parson's. On the next morning they had 
 gone away, as nobody saw them again 
 the big man might have got into trouble 
 for striking old Brownson and that was 
 all that he knew about him. 
 
 Mr. Ruggles listened with a careless air, 
 said he supposed that was the reason the 
 big man had gone off ; and strolling idly 
 away, reached the suburbs where Mr. 
 Grantham's house was situated. He 
 had been directed to it by a citizen 
 whom he met, and was about to open 
 the small gate when he seemed to change 
 his mind. Perhaps the subject of shin- 
 gles suddenly occurred to him, and, with 
 the natural solicitude of an honest man, 
 he felt that he ought to return to the 
 hills, and add to the pile already stand- 
 ing neatly arranged in rectangular fashion 
 in the woods. Something certainly did 
 cause him great preoccupation of mind, 
 and this apparently led to his taking the 
 wrong path. Having left the town, he 
 did not proceed in the direction of the 
 Gap, but toward Wye, the vicinity of 
 which he reached in the afternoon just 
 as the sun was sinking. 1I<- ascertained 
 the exact time by looking at a handsome 
 gold watch which he drew from a private 
 pocket, and the time of his arrival seemed 
 to afford him satisfaction. He was in a 
 glade in the woods between two rows of 
 large oaks within sight of the house when 
 he looked at his watch, and stood there 
 for some moments, apparently admiring 
 the largo establishment. 
 
 As he was thus engaged, Mr. Douglas 
 Lascelles, who had been accidentally look- 
 ing from an upper window in this precise 
 direction, at this precise hour, issued from 
 the front door of the mansion, cane in 
 hand, and carelessly strolled through tin- 
 grounds until he reached the glade in 
 
 which Mr. Rooney Ruggles was stand- 
 ing. The appearance of the tramp tres- 
 passing upon the Wye grounds did not 
 seem to excite as much indignation in 
 Mr. Lascelles as might have been expect- 
 ed. Indeed, the expression of the gen- 
 tleman's countenance was rather one of 
 animation and inquiry. He even made 
 a sign of intelligence to Mr. Rooney 
 Ruggles, and they retired together into 
 the depths of the woods, conversing 
 guardedly as they went. 
 
 XL. 
 
 A SLIGHT SILHOUETTE OF MISS GRUNDY. 
 
 As Mr. Ruggles left Piedmont, the Tri- 
 anon carriage drove past him, and entered 
 the main street. It contained Mrs. Ann- 
 strong and Juliet, and they had come to 
 shop, in which delightful occupation they 
 were soon engaged. Drawing up in front 
 of Messrs. Smith & Jones's, they entered, 
 and subjected the fall goods to a careful 
 examination. Nearly the whole stock 
 was assiduously displayed upon the 
 counter, and an hour was spent in rear- 
 ranging them after the ladies' departure. 
 But then Mrs. Armstrong purchased two 
 spools of sewing-silk, and was bowed out 
 to her carriage with distinguished con- 
 sideration. 
 
 She then proceeded in a sort of tri- 
 umphal progress through the town, stop- 
 ped at numerous shops, where she made 
 small and discreet purchases, and ended 
 by visiting her milliner, whose new hats 
 she tried on, but did not purchase one. 
 
 All this consumed an hour or two, and 
 the sun was now declining; so the lady 
 and her daughter re-entered the carriage 
 to return to Trianon. They had just 
 taken their seats, and the carriage was 
 about to move off, when a girlish voice 
 near them exelaimcd, 
 
 " You really must not go before I speak 
 to you, dear Mrs. Armstrong." 
 
 The lady turned her head, and uttered 
 a profound sigh, which was followed by a 
 radiant smile. 
 
VIRGINIA BOllKMIANS. 
 
 121 
 
 Miss (Irundy !" she exclaimed, " I am 
 -ally charmed to sec you." 
 
 Whereupon the person addressed eame 
 > and pressed the hand, extended through 
 ie window. 
 
 Miss Grundy was a maiden of perhaps 
 
 iirtv-ti\f summers, which, robbing her 
 
 iceks somewhat of their youthful bloom, 
 
 lored it to the point of her nose. 
 
 ut any one could sec that the perennial 
 
 irlhood of her disposition defied the 
 
 : years, and that her feelings were 
 
 ifantile in their sweetness and freshness. 
 
 lie was dressed in the height of the fash- 
 
 n, and could scarcely walk, she was pull- 
 
 I back so tightly. A little chip -hat, 
 
 ich as is worn by school - girls, rested 
 
 jon her curls they were from the milli- 
 
 er's, but then they were just the color to 
 
 atch. Her gait w r as gentle and timid, 
 
 er smile full of a caressing ardor; as she 
 
 3oke to Mrs. Armstrong and Juliet, she 
 
 Denied ready to clasp them in her arms 
 
 rom pure girlish impulse. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Armstrong !" said Miss 
 rundy, " you and Miss Juliet really look 
 larming. I never saw such roses !" 
 
 " How you do natter people, dear Miss 
 rnindy," said Mrs. Armstrong, with her 
 weetest smile. 
 
 "You must not say that I never flat- 
 er ; what a lovely day " 
 
 "Quite charming. We came to town 
 o look at the new goods. But what is 
 ie use of doing so ? The times are so 
 earfully hard. Our few small invest- 
 nents scarcely bring in anything. Poor 
 uliet has not even a winter hat ; and as 
 o myself, I am positively in rags, Miss 
 rrundy !" 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong smoothed down her 
 ich silk, which was loaded with lace, 
 assing her hand as she did so over a 
 ocket-book in her side-pocket, which had 
 
 very considerable number of bank-notes 
 nit. 
 
 14 Yes, positively in rags ; and how we 
 re to live I don't know ! You seem so 
 rosperous in Piedmont ! What a lovely 
 carf you have on! But you always 
 ress in such exquisite taste, Miss Grundy ! 
 )o come and see us we are so lonely at 
 
 Trianon ! Drive on, William, or we shall 
 not be home in time l'r Ira. Do como 
 and we us, dear Mi-s (irundy; \\- shall 
 enjoy it so much; wr ha\- BO li 1 
 ciety : be sure and romr ! (,',<.,! 
 
 And the carriage l>ore the lady away. 
 As soon as there was a c.>i^ideraMe in- 
 terval between herself and Mi>s (irundy, 
 Mrs. Armstrong drew a lon^, divp bivath, 
 apparently of relief. Then a heavenly 
 smile expanded upon her countenance, 
 and she said, 
 
 " What a horrid old thing ! Just think 
 of her girlish airs. She's forty if she's a 
 day, and such a fearful old chatterbox ! 
 She would have stood there for hours and 
 talked me to death, but I did not allow 
 her to say a word ! I saw her catch her 
 breath she was ready to burst I really 
 did not feel safe until the carriage moved." 
 
 And Mrs. Armstrong positively laughed 
 aloud at the success of her diplomacy. 
 She then assumed a tragic expression, and 
 said, 
 
 " To think you might grow like Miss 
 Grundy, my love ! and have a pinched old 
 nose, and a dreadful scarf like that on 
 your bony old shoulders, and pass your 
 time in tittle-tattle and picking people to 
 pieces ! For heaven's sake, just think of 
 it, and do not run the risk. You know 
 what I mean, dearest ! When I die you 
 cannot live by yourself at Trianon, and 
 may be compelled to come and live at 
 Piedmont. Would you like that?" 
 
 "No, I should not like it In the least, 
 mamma," said Juliet. 
 
 "Then you really ought to take steps 
 to avoid it, dear. Don't you think it 
 would be better to spend your winters in 
 Paris, and your summers shall I go on 2" 
 
 " Yes, mamma." 
 
 "And your summers at Wye?" 
 
 Miss Juliet looked out of the window, 
 and did not reply. This was a habit with 
 her, and her mamma did not furl! 
 lude to her darling scheme. 1 
 had told her that it wa- 
 tempt to worry her Juliet into anything, 
 and she wisely changed the subject by 
 exclaiming, with a smile which showed 
 her still beautiful teeth, 
 
122 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 " Was there ever such a fright as that 
 old Miss Grundy, with her red nose and 
 her fearful scarf, and that simper on her 
 face ? she gives me a chill ! Just as sure 
 as we are sitting here she has gone back 
 home, and is tearing our characters to 
 pieces, Juliet." 
 
 IIar>h as these views in reference to 
 Miss Grundy may appear, we regret to 
 say they were fully justified by the young 
 lady ; for Miss Grundy's life was absorb- 
 ed in attention to the affairs of her neigh- 
 bors. She had been a blooming girl once, 
 with a pretty face, and a zest for some- 
 thing better than tittle-tattle ; but gradu- 
 ally the bloom disappeared, her visitors 
 fell off, her suitors she had had them 
 cooled, and she was quite deserted. This 
 arose from a want of skill on Miss Grun- 
 dy's part; she unfortunately allowed 
 some traits of her character, which she 
 thought were concealed, to reveal them- 
 selves. It is difficult to define the traits 
 in question without using harsh expres- 
 sions; let us call one of them indirect- 
 ness. She liked to act to smile upon 
 people and caress them, and then go 
 away and blacken their characters. She 
 dearly loved a dish of scandal, and con- 
 cocted it from the slenderest materials. 
 "When facts were wanting, she took ref- 
 uge in her imagination. Her curiosity 
 was iimrbid, and her suspicion immense; 
 and if there was anything to be known, 
 she would know it by some means; and 
 what she could not discover or accomplish 
 by direct means she accomplished indi- 
 rectly. She had a taste for indirectness, 
 ami was sly by nature, finesse was her 
 life a canker eating into her whole char- 
 acter. She liked to be roundabout and 
 secret in her movements that fooled 
 people. Unluckily she ended by com- 
 pletely fooling herself. People crossed 
 the street to avoid meeting and convers- 
 ing with the smiling Miss (irun.ly. Her 
 MM red and pinched. Her pretty 
 figure had grown bony. She was very, 
 very girlish still, but people laughed. In 
 a philosophic point of view Miss Grundy's 
 life had been a failure. 
 
 After leaving Mrs. Armstrong, or rather 
 
 being left by her, Miss Grundy raised th< 
 train of her pull-back dress with a girli. 
 air, and proceeded to the store of Me-si 
 Smith & Jones, where she made minut 
 inquiries of a young clerk, whom she oc 
 casionally invited to tea, as to Mrs. ArmH 
 strong's purchases. Having been inform-] 
 ed by the smirking youth that Mrs. 
 had bought two spools of sewing - sill 
 Miss Grundy smiled, and called upon Mi 
 Wilkes, the milliner, where she found that 
 Mrs. Armstrong had not purchased a wii 
 ter hat; and then, having ascertain* 
 what she wished to know, she went bad 
 to her small home in the suburbs, whei 
 she found a friend who had dropped ii 
 to tea a young lady with tastes siniih 
 to her own. 
 
 "Warm kisses and embraces were ex- 
 changed between the maidens, and Mis 
 Grundy said, as they sat down to tea, 
 
 " That old thing, Mrs. Armstrong, wj 
 in town to-day. I never saw such aii 
 and graces, and such overdressing and! 
 in the worst taste, my dear the very] 
 worst taste you can imagine !" 
 
 Miss Grundy was accustomed to pro-l 
 ceed steadily when she talked, without 
 much regard to pauses, and to catch her 
 breath at intervals, apparently to avoid) 
 being interrupted. 
 
 "I really have no patience with these I 
 people they are nothing but sham and! 
 just as mercenary oh ! it really is awful 
 they are doing all they can to catch! 
 that horrid Douglas Lascelles though 
 the way I hear that girl goes on ought to 
 open his eyes, and I don't believe he has 
 the least idea of marrying her." 
 
 Miss Grundy drew a deep breath; andl 
 finding that her friend was about to re- 
 ply, exclaimed, 
 
 "Just think, that old thing turned over 
 all the goods at Smith iv Jones's, and 
 then bought only two spools of sewing- 
 silk, they told me and nothing at all at 
 Mrs. AYilkes's there was nothing good 
 enough for her, I suppose for she really 
 thinks she is above us, and looks down 
 on us poor people in Piedmont as if we 
 were dirt beneath her feet I assure you 
 she does." 
 
VIUCIMA P.OIIKMIANS. 
 
 123 
 
 The maiden visitor slowly shook her 
 end, and as she was sitting near tin- tea- 
 ot she poured out, in an absent ami pre- 
 upied manner, a third cup of tea for 
 herself, and said that she never had had 
 
 tieh opinion of Mrs. Armstrong. 
 
 "Opinion of her!'' exclaimed Miss 
 
 rundy, "who can have any, dear? her 
 shameful treatment of that sweet Mi-s 
 Bassick would be enough if there was 
 othing else it really is disgusting! 
 'Cinda >he's the maid, you know, and 
 used to live with us came and told me 
 everything, and anything more shocking 
 than the way she goes on with that sweet 
 young thing could not be imagined I 
 assure you, on my word, my dear, it could 
 not be imagined. Just to think ! she beats 
 her positively beats her, and then locks 
 her up on bread-and-watcr in the garret 
 till the poor dear thing is nearly starved ! 
 And then to come, after such disgraceful 
 if| conduct, sailing into town with her silks 
 oil and satins, and her daughter dressed up 
 like a peacock, with her smirks and sim- 
 pers, and her airs and graces, while that 
 poor Miss Bassick is locked up in the 
 garret !" 
 
 The maiden friend shook her head with 
 deep solemnity, and as her cup was empty 
 she casually refilled it it was her fourth. 
 
 "Is it possible, my dear?" she said. 
 11 Oh, it can't be possible !" 
 
 " But 'Cinda told me all about it, and 
 you know that she would never have said 
 so if it was not true yes, poor Miss Bas- 
 sick ! I pity her, and no one but a tyrant 
 would be cruel to a helpless, inoffensive 
 girl the best and sweetest creature in 
 the world, as you can see from her face, 
 and" 
 
 " People say she's sly," said a thin, 
 piping voice with a shake in it which 
 voice came from the chimney-corner, 
 where the half-palsied old aunt was nod- 
 ding over her knitting. 
 
 Miss Grundy's face suddenly flushed 
 with displeasure. As she, Miss Grundy, 
 was the owner of the house, and her aunt 
 lived with her, this ill-bred intrusion and 
 virtual contradiction very naturally excited 
 her indignation. 
 
 "Miss l>assiek ,v///.'" she exclaimed. 
 "I really would be glad t know what 
 you mean." 1 
 
 44 She's a sly one, they d say," piped 
 the thin voice in reply. " I've hi-ard it 
 said she's a >ly, designing ereaturV 
 
 At this Mi>s ( Inmdy's indignation o\. r- 
 tlowed, and she frankly stated her opinion 
 of those people who regarded nothing a-> 
 sacred, and wantonly repeated ev.-ry id!.. 
 and ill-natured word, every vulgar 
 dal, tending to the injury of oth< ; 
 such a thing were tolerated, no one \\a- 
 safe. To call Miss Bassick //// with 
 that heavenly face! It really was too 
 bad ! Would the aged lady kindly con- 
 tinue her knitting, and not interpose with 
 such ill-natured snarls? which she was 
 sorry to have to use the word were quite, 
 disgusting. 
 
 Miss Grundy, to be brief, fell into a 
 good, wholesome fit of anger. 
 
 " Miss Bassick is an angel, and her life 
 is made a burden to her 'Cinda savs 
 so !" she exclaimed ; " and I shouldn't 
 wonder if that frumpy old creature has 
 gone back, and is storming at the sweet 
 dear thing at this very moment." 
 
 Now it really was singular that some- 
 thing of that sort was occurring at Tria- 
 non. Mrs. Armstrong had told Juliet 
 that Miss Grundy would go off and pick 
 her character to pieces ; and Miss Grundy 
 now intimated the possibility of a slight 
 misunderstanding bet ween Mrs. Armstrong 
 and Miss Bassick. The two ladies seem- 
 ed to appreciate each other. 
 
 XLI. 
 MISS BASSICK'S PRIVATE POST. 
 
 As the Trianon carriage drove into the 
 grounds, on its return from Piedmont, the 
 two ladies observed that a h-r- 
 standing at the rack, and this they recog- 
 nized as belonging to Mr. La-cellrs. 
 
 The carriage rolled up to the door, and 
 as it did so the keen eyes of Mix Arm- 
 strong saw a shadow pass across the win- 
 dows of the drawing-room; the lamps 
 were not lit, but a fire was burning in the 
 
124 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 apartment; and as the front -door was 
 open, this shadow was seen to disappear 
 silently up the staircase, taking as it did 
 so the graceful shape of Miss Bassick. A 
 moment afterward Mr. Douglas Lascelles 
 came out of the drawing-room, and assist- 
 ed the ladies to descend from their car- 
 riage. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong rustled in, expressing 
 warmly her pleasure at the gentleman's 
 visit she was so glad he had waited; 
 would he excuse her while she went up- 
 stairs to take off her wrappings? Juliet 
 would stay and entertain him what a 
 charming evening ! And then, beaming 
 outwardly, but internally raging, Mrs. 
 Armstrong went up-stairs. She did not 
 go to her own apartment but to Miss 
 Bassick's, and there she found the young 
 lady seated by her little table industrious- 
 ly sewing, and looking innocent. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong, having entered the 
 room, stood looking silently at Miss Bas- 
 sick. She gasped a little her feelings 
 seemed to overcome her. She had plain- 
 ly seen Miss Bassick flit by the drawing- 
 room windows and up the staircase, and 
 she was naturally outraged by this sud- 
 den fit of industry. 
 
 " Miss Bassick !" she said. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," said Miss Bassick, 
 meekly. 
 
 u Will you be good enough to inform 
 me why you were in the drawing-room 
 just now ?" 
 
 "In the drawing-room, ma'am !" ex- 
 claimed Miss Bassick, with an air of heav- 
 enly innocence. 
 
 u Yes, mitt 1 I will make, my meaning 
 plainer, if you desire it. What wuv YOU 
 doing in the drawing-room? Replacing 
 Juliet and myself with Mr. Lascelles?" 
 
 " Krplariii'j; you with Mr. Lascelles, 
 ma'am !" 
 
 "You dare to deny it?" 
 
 "Oh, Mm Armstrong!" 
 
 tfisi ras>k-k drew forth her handker- 
 chief and wiped her eyes. Her innocence 
 was touching. She seemed to be over- 
 whelmed with sorrow and surprise at such 
 an accusation, and cooed in her low, sweet 
 voice, 
 
 " I should never think of doing such a 
 thing, Mrs. Armstrong !" 
 
 Thereat the elder lady quite lost her 
 temper. 
 
 " I saw you !" she exclaimed ; " I saw 
 you as you ran out of the room and up 
 the staircase, you designing thing ! You 
 were in the drawing-room sitting there 
 with Mr. Lascelles ! Two of the chairs 
 were drawn up close to each other! do 
 you hear what I say, miss ? nearly touch- 
 ing each other ; and you occupied one of 
 them !" 
 
 At this very rude and unfeeling insinu- 
 ation Miss Bassick sniffed, and exhibited 
 an intention to dissolve into tears. 
 
 " How could you think of such a thing, 
 ma'am ?" sobbed Miss Bassick, wiping her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Persons are not obliged to think, or 
 exercise their imaginations as to your 
 proceedings, miss !" said Mrs. Armstrong. 
 " You were there in that drawing-room ! 
 you were seated in one of those two chairs, 
 and Mr. Lascelles was seated in the other 
 close to you heaven knows how close ! 
 You presumed to occupy my drawing- 
 room and do the honors of my estab- 
 lishment in my absence ! Deny it, and 
 I will ascertain the fact from Mr. Las- 
 celles !" 
 
 Now, as Miss Bassick had been seated 
 in the drawing-room, in one of the ehairs 
 close beside Mr. Lascelles, and as she had 
 unfortunately been detected in her hasty 
 retreat, which she made at once when she 
 heard the carriage coining, it really seem- 
 ed a very difficult matter, indeed, to con- 
 ceal or deny the fact any longer. Find- 
 ing this impracticable, Miss Bassick had 
 recourse to the next best thing a plausi- 
 ble explanation. She did not mean to 
 say, she faltered, in her low cooing voice, 
 that she }m<l not been in the <//v/ ///////- 
 room. She had exchanged a few words 
 they were very few with Mr. Las- 
 eelles. She was in the room arranging 
 the fire when he came, as she knew Mrs. 
 Armstrong liked a cheerful blaze when 
 she returned in the evening; and Mr. 
 Lascelles had bowed to her, and engaged 
 her in conversation and and she had 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 125 
 
 not intended ' I lore Miss Bassick wept 
 and sunk to silence. 
 
 Now, long and intimate acquaintance 
 iwith Mi^s Bassiek liad not tended to im- 
 press Mrs. Armstrong with the conviction 
 (that her word was to be relied on. The 
 statement may seem ungallant, but such 
 was the fact. The handsome face \\a-> 
 (wet with tears, and the graceful figure 
 'shook; but then it was barely possible 
 I that what the aged aunt of Miss Grundy 
 had said was true that Miss Bassick was 
 a " sly one." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong stood looking at her 
 for some moments. Then she said, 
 
 " Very well, miss ! You are very good 
 at explaining away what you cannot deny 
 that is one of your traits. You were 
 in the drawing-room, then, with Mr. Las- 
 celles. If the circumstance occurred so 
 naturally as you say it did, why did you 
 steal off in that secret way ? No, don't 
 answer me. You are ready, no doubt, 
 with another plausible explanation I 
 am tired of them. I have only one thing 
 more to say, miss, and that is that you 
 will either keep your place in this house 
 or you will leave it !" 
 
 " Oh ! ma'am, if you will only overlook 
 it this time " 
 
 " I will overlook it if you give me your 
 promise that you will claim no further 
 acquaintance with Mr. Lascelles, retire to 
 your room when he visits Trianon, and 
 never exchange another word with him." 
 
 " I promise you I will not, ma'am," 
 Miss Bassick said, in her sad, sweet voice. 
 
 ki \Vc understand each other, then. If 
 what occurred this evening occurs again, 
 you will please find another home, Miss 
 Baaeick." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong turned her back and 
 swept out of the room, banging the door 
 behind her. As she disappeared Miss 
 Bassick's handsome arched eyebrows sud- 
 denly came together, and rising to her 
 feet, she looked after Mrs. Armstrong 
 with her red lips slightly opened. Un- 
 der them her teeth were set together. 
 
 "The old hag! how I hate her! I 
 could have sprung upon her and choked 
 her ! I'll do it some day !" she said. 
 
 And it really did semi fr..m I 1 
 piv i<>n ,f Mis> r,a>sidx's face that she 
 would le equal to the performance i.f 
 this tragic act. Her cheeks \\ere tlu>h- 
 ed, her 1...S..M1 was heaving, and h. 
 and figure had the powerless and \ -t 
 menacing look of a woman in a r 
 
 The paroxysm did not last \ery IMM-.J. 
 The flush disappeared gradually fnun lid- 
 cheeks, and her handsome eyebrowi r<- 
 sumed the arch. She went to her mir- 
 ror, carefully brushed and arranged her 
 hair by the light of her small lamp, and, 
 looking at herself, began to smile. As 
 she continued to look into the mirror the 
 smile grew brighter, the red, pouting lips 
 showed the white teeth under them, which 
 were parted now; and with a coquettish 
 toss of the head Miss Bassick said, in a 
 confidential tone, 
 
 " I think you will do, miss. He ought 
 to see me now, instead of that stupid 
 Juliet." 
 
 As she had set the tea-table, and was 
 not required down -stairs, Miss Bassick 
 opened her desk and began to write a 
 letter. She wrote rapidly and in a beau- 
 tiful hand, filling two sheets of note-paper 
 in a very brief time. She then folded 
 them, placed them in a dainty envelope, 
 and, cautiously opening her door, listened. 
 The ladies and Mr. Lascelles were at tea, 
 and descending silently the back stair- 
 case, Miss Bassick stole through the 
 grounds, emerged from them through a 
 small gate used for pedestrians going to 
 Piedmont, and then, making a circuit, 
 came out near the larger gate in front. 
 She then hastened along, walking very 
 rapidly, until she reached a spot com- 
 pletely concealed from the house, where 
 a ledge of rock, nearly covered with cedar- 
 bushes, extended along one side of the 
 road. 
 
 It was now quite dark, but Mi 
 sick did not seem to mind that. She 
 went on with the air of a person p 
 ly acquainted with the ground, and pric- 
 ing behind the ledge, which dipp 
 ward the east, put her hand into a crevice 
 and drew out a letter. This she put in 
 her pocket, and replaced with the letter 
 
126 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 which she had just written in her cham- 
 ber. 
 
 It was the private post-office of Miss 
 Bassick and Mr. Lascelles. 
 
 Having transacted the business con- 
 nected with her private mail, Miss Bas- 
 sick retraced her steps, and regained her 
 chamber unseen. She had not been ab- 
 sent more than a quarter of an hour, and 
 during that time, at least, she calculated, 
 the ladies would be at tea. They had not 
 returned with Mr. Lascelles to the draw- 
 ing-room yet ; but they did so in a few 
 moments ; and then Miss Bassick descend- 
 ed to her own modest meal, which, when 
 company came, she took after the rest. 
 
 She heard the murmur of voices in the 
 drawing-room, and would have liked to 
 listen, perhaps ; but a maid was in the 
 room, and that was impossible. At last 
 she rose, and, as it was not against orders, 
 she went up the front staircase toward 
 her chamber. The drawing-room door 
 was open, and Mr. Lascelles was sitting 
 nearly facing it as Miss Bassick came out. 
 
 As she passed over the few feet be- 
 tween the door and the staircase, Miss 
 Bassick found time to do three things: 
 the first was to assume an exquisitely 
 coquettish attitude ; the second was to 
 fix her seductive eyes on Mr. Lascelles 
 and smile; and the last was to make a 
 significant gesture toward the wood, where 
 she had deposited her letter. She then 
 flitted up the staircase and went to her 
 chamber. Not the least indication had 
 appeared on the face of Mr. Lascelles that 
 he had seen Miss Bassick as she passed. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 NAILS. 
 
 MR. LASCELLES returned to AY 
 about nine o'clock, and after indulging in 
 a meditative rigar in the library, retired 
 to his chamber. 
 
 lie had found Miss Bassick's letter in 
 the private post-office. It was 
 witty and brilliant composition, on pink 
 note-paper, and described the interview 
 
 with Mrs. Armstrong in a delightful man-l 
 ner. The style was gay and riant, for the] 
 most part, but the note ended with pa-j 
 thetic sighs. Her poor life was wasting 
 away under this terrible tyranny sh< 
 tried to laugh, as he could see, but it was] 
 by no means real laughter. She had) 
 made up her mind at last. She must! 
 leave Trianon ! 
 
 Coming to the end of the note, Mr. I 
 Lascelles pondered. Was Miss Bassick in 
 earnest? Would she really go away? 
 It was doubtful. AVomen were curious] 
 creatures, and did not tell the truth al-j 
 ways. You could divide them into two 
 classes the weak and the wicked. If| 
 they were intellectual, they made up forj 
 that by being bad. If they were good,] 
 they were apt to be feeble-minded. 
 Those who were personally attract ivei 
 were generally wicked, and he preferred 
 that class but they must be really at- 
 tractive. Was Miss Bassick wicked ? She 
 was certainly fascinating. If she went 
 away he would miss her. To see her had 
 become a sort of necessity. He would 
 go on the very next day and have a con- 
 fidential conversation with her on the' 
 subject. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles then proceeded to medi- 
 tate upon another and, apparently, less 
 agreeable subject. He passed in review 
 a series of incidents following each other 
 in rapid sequence. The first of these 
 was a ride which . he had taken some 
 weeks before to the nearest railway na- 
 tion. On this occasion Mr. Lascelle^ hid 
 evidently expected some one by the ni^ht 
 train, and this some one seemed to have 
 duly arrived. He was a respectable look-; 
 ing person, with a travelling- valise, and 
 got out quietly. \YIien Mr. Lascelles a3 
 quietly nodded to him and rode off, the 
 new-comer slowly followed him. Having 
 reached a body of woods near the station, 
 Mr. Lascelles had stopped the traveller 
 had joined him and they had remained 
 in conversation for nearly an hour, after 
 which Mr. Lascelles had ridden back 
 home. As to the man with the valise, 
 appearance at the station had ex- 
 cited a mild amount of speculation in the 
 
VIRGINIA r.olIKMlANS. 
 
 ind of the agent there, he was not seen 
 , ;ind passed into oblivion. 
 
 true that there was a remarkable 
 between tin 1 respectable night- 
 uveller and Mr. Uooney Ruggles, but 
 on resemblances not unfrequcntly oc- 
 r aiu l it was quite absurd to regard it 
 anvthing more than a chanee likeness, 
 ould be no possibility that the re- 
 ectable personage to is Mr. Ruggles, un- 
 ss he carried a tramp outfit in his valise. 
 bich was preposterous. Such things 
 e read of in novels, but never happen in 
 al life, which, being a real thing, is ncc- 
 ssarily commonplace, and never violates 
 labilities. Therefore the night-trav- 
 er had disappeared, and Mr. Haggles 
 id made his appearance upon the scene, 
 lat was all. The former was highly rc- 
 ectable, as anybody could see from his 
 ack suit, while Mr. Ruggles was a tramp, 
 both his costume and his accent plain- 
 showed; but he was not on that ac- 
 unt unworthy of respect. We must 
 scriminate. The man who scorns to 
 irn a wheat-stack, and means to live by 
 >nest work, is not a tramp, however 
 >meless lie may be. Now Mr. Rooney 
 jggles was living by honest toil ; he 
 Lad a contract for making shingles ; this 
 [applied him with daily bread. But, then, 
 he winter was approaching, and Mr. Gibbs 
 plight have no further need for his ser- 
 rices : under these circumstances it was 
 pot unnatural that he should look for 
 vork elsewhere, which may have led to 
 us accidental interview with Mr. Lascelles 
 n the grounds of Wye. It was not a 
 pleasant interview altogether, and soon 
 HBninated. Mr. Lascelles was now think- 
 ng of it, and of another interview that 
 Lvith the Lefthander at Crow's Nest, and 
 also of the conversation with him on the 
 icxt day on the bridge. 
 ! Mr. Lascelles looked extremely dissatis- 
 ified. He was smoking a cigar as he re- 
 flected, and emitted short, hot puffs in- 
 jstead of languid smoke- wreaths a sign of 
 mental disturbance. He was obviously 
 very much disturbed, indeed, and a moral 
 lecturer might have set him up on a plat- 
 form as an illustration. Here was a 
 
 jrontluinan surround. .! by 
 comfort, and luxury. He had no 
 
 ted \\itli the low subject of 
 money. He was in excellent health, 
 and occupied a high social position. 
 Here, assuredly, WM <>ne of the f-i-tunate 
 
 ones of the world but appcara!!' 
 often deceptive. A nail s. Mined to be 
 hidden in his shoe somewhere, and it 
 fretted him. He had probablv driven 
 the nail himself, and \va<, n doubt, very 
 sorry that he had done so; but there it 
 was. And nails of that description a: 
 difficult to extract. They have a fa>hi<.n 
 of clinching themselves on the, other side, 
 and no matter how you tug at them they 
 will not come out. 
 
 Why had Mr. Douglas Lascclle- 
 hammered in that nail in the sole of the 
 handsome slipper he was wearing ? And 
 the obstinate thing had a way of shifting 
 about. When he came down in the 
 morning to the bright breakfast-table in 
 his low - quartered shoes, there was the 
 nail in the low-quartered shoes. AYhen 
 he drew on his elegant riding -boots to 
 take a ride, there was the same nail in 
 the boots. And at night, when he put 
 on his worked slippers, and leaned back 
 in his arm-chair, a sharp prick seemed to 
 say, "Here I am waiting; let us talk a 
 little." Why had Mr. Lascelles ever had 
 anything to do with nails?- Oh, why- 
 had he been so thoughtless and injudi- 
 cious as to insert this one? The inser- 
 tion of nails shows a w r ant of good sense. 
 They always prick you. Is not honesty 
 the best policy, even in a worldly point 
 of view, and the pleasure of hammering 
 in nails an inadequate recompense for the 
 festering sores which they occasion .' 
 
 He was still holding Miss Bassick's 
 note in his hand, and, as his ei^ar had 
 gone, out he twisted it and made use of 
 it as a lighter. 
 
 " What a little devil she is !'' he mut- 
 tered; "she's setting her cap at me!" 
 
 He uttered a short laugh, and threw 
 away his cigar. 
 
 "I am not fool enough to marry a 
 head - servant !" he muttered. He then 
 went to bed. 
 
128 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 THE DANGER OF DELIRIUM. 
 
 HARRY VANCE had a hard time of it. 
 For a week or two he was burnt up by 
 a raging fever, and his mind constantly 
 wandered, as his vague muttering indi- 
 cated. 
 
 An old physician of the neighborhood 
 had been promptly sent for, and visited 
 him thereafter regularly, doing all that 
 was possible for him. One other visitor 
 made his appearance as regularly Mr. 
 Cary. 
 
 He had hastened to the bedside of the 
 poor boy at once, and at first was urgent 
 that he should be removed to Falling 
 Water. It was obviously impossible to 
 move him, however; and Mr. Cary con- 
 tented himself with watching over him, 
 and riding every day to Crow's Nest. 
 
 On one of these occasions Frances beg- 
 ged permission to accompany him the 
 young man had saved her life, she said, 
 on the day of the panther hunt and her 
 father agreed to her wishes. 
 
 The consequence was that Mouse and 
 Frances became acquainted, and on other 
 visits which duly followed they became 
 intimate. The spectacle of the minute 
 house-keeper " in command " seemed to 
 amuse and touch the young girl. One 
 day she stooped down and kissed Mouse, 
 and said, 
 
 "I think I am beginning to love you 
 very mm-h." 
 
 They were alone at the moment, and 
 llai-rv was lying asleep on his poor couch. 
 Mr. Cary had ridd.'ii a little farther to see 
 some one on business, promising soon to 
 return ; ami as both Gentleman Joe and 
 the Lefthander were temporarily absent, 
 the three persons were the sole occupants 
 of CrowV Nest, 
 
 " Of course / love you very much in- 
 deed, Mi-s IVaiiees," said Mouse. 4k 1 am 
 sure you are good, from your face, and it's 
 a comfort to have you. Will you please 
 be still, sir, and go to sleep?" she added 
 to Harry, who was muttering something. 
 "Your gruel's not ready, sir." 
 
 There was a wistful affectation of hu- 
 
 mor in the address. The poor boy v 
 feverish, and wandering in his mii 
 Frances turned her head and looked 
 the pale face. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" she said. 
 
 "Take care, Lefthander!" mutter 
 the young man ; " that weight's t 
 heavy ! You will hurt yourself, Le 
 hander !" 
 
 He then turned his head faintly, wi 
 his eyes still closed, and said, 
 
 " It's a shame, father ! You ought n 
 to make fun for such rabble ! You are 
 gentleman come, go away with me, 
 ther. Don't make faces any more, 
 will work for you ; what better can yo 
 boy do than take care of you ? You to 
 care of me when I was a little one ; n< 
 it's my turn, father." 
 
 "He is kind," murmured France 
 " what a pity ! Oh, what a pity !" 
 
 Her eyes filled as she looked at hi 
 but a quick blush followed, burning h 
 cheeks. Harry had begun again, and tl 
 is what he muttered : 
 
 " Take care, Mouse ! you'll fall. Doi 
 dance without chalk on your feet. Y 
 frighten me. I have been frighten 
 once before to-day. Did you notice th 
 carriage in the street which ran again 
 the car? There was a girl in it she w 
 so beautiful ! Oh, so very beautiful !- 
 She was near losing her life under t 
 hoofs of the horses, and I caught her 
 my arms, and held her close to my hea 
 a moment! Only a second! close 
 me her heart against mine ! I can c 
 now, remembering that !" 
 
 Frances stole a quick look at him ; h 
 face was glowing. She knew now w 
 had saved her that day. 
 
 " I never saw her again but once," t 
 siek man went on muttering, "it \ 
 day when her horse ran off there \\ 
 some danger from a panther. She w 
 more beautiful than before; is it wroi 
 to say that? I am nothing but t 
 star can shine on the clod of earth. 
 shall not see her again ; is it wrong to 
 member her and love her?" 
 
 A burning blush reddened the cheekj 
 of Frances Cary, and she attempted t 
 
VIRGINIA HolIKMIANS. 
 
 129 
 
 smile; but her eyes filloil. Then tliis 
 poor boy had twice saved her life; he 
 liad told no one; but lie h:ul saved her! 
 
 "My own poor Harry!" said Mouse, 
 piteously, " what is he saying?" 
 
 "His good, brave In-art is 
 said Frances, with a little sob. Then the 
 smile eame; it was delicious to the wom- 
 an's heart to have inspired this love. 
 
 " Ho is still now," she whispered. "Oh, 
 if he were to not to get well! He 
 seems to love his father sol" 
 
 " The doctor says he will get well now," 
 sobbed Mouse, " and I think he will. He 
 is such a good boy ! We could not live 
 without him." 
 
 " You love him very much, I can see 
 that, and I trust he will not leave you, 
 Mouse. I know your little heart would 
 break if he w r ere to." 
 
 " Y-e-s," sobbed Mouse, " we'd never 
 hold up any of our heads after it, and 
 never think of getting up the troupe any 
 more." 
 
 "Getting up the troupe? What do 
 you mean, dear ?" 
 
 " I mean the troupe with the monkey," 
 replied Mouse, sobbing, and wiping her 
 eyes. " We are going to have a troupe 
 and go on our travels again. You know 
 an't stay here always." 
 
 " Why can't you stay ?" 
 
 " This house is not ours." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, it is !" 
 
 Mouse shook her head. 
 
 " People must not be idle in this world, 
 neither must they be dependent." 
 
 Mouse uttered this noble sentiment 
 with the air of a Roman matron, but the 
 less heroic Frances put her arms around 
 her and said, 
 
 "You dear, good, kind little Mouse! 
 Did you ever hear of the flowers in May ? 
 Well, you are as welcome here as they 
 are." 
 
 As though to intimate that other per- 
 sons were included in this welcome, Fran- 
 ces looked at Harry, and, nodding toward 
 him, said, 
 
 "Is he related to you, Mouse?" 
 
 "No, not exactly related/' said the 
 small nurse, with a meditative air ; " but 
 9 
 
 it's pretty much the same, as (Jentleiiian 
 Joe is like a father to me. My real fa- 
 ther is the Lefthander." 
 
 " What curious names'." ^\ t \ \-, 
 smiling. " Where did they e?6t 
 them ?" 
 
 "Well," Mouse replied, with a serious 
 look, "of course they are not tln-ir real 
 names, as Gentleman Joe's name is Mr. 
 Vance, and poppa's is Ottemlorf. - r ." 
 
 "But why not keep their real name- r" 
 
 Mouse shook her head. 
 
 "You never belonged to a circus 
 they give everybody a nickname. Then: 
 was Mr. Melville he was * Long Tom,' 
 and Mr. Robinson, he was 'Old Jimmy/ 
 Gentleman Joe was so polite that they 
 gave him that name in the circus, and 
 poppa was called the ' Lefthander' because 
 he is left-handed." 
 
 " He is very strong, is he not ?" 
 
 "Strong!" cried Mouse. "He is so 
 strong that I believe he could lift up a 
 horse or a cow and carry it on his shoul- 
 ders I really believe he could !" 
 
 "And is he good to you?" 
 
 "Good to me? Poppa? Why, of 
 course he is good to me ! He is good to 
 everybody he wouldn't hurt a mouse." 
 
 " Well," said Frances, smiling as she 
 looked at the fresh little face, " that ac- 
 counts for his not hurting you, you dear 
 little Mouse ! Who in the world ever 
 gave you such a name ?" 
 
 " I think it was Long Tom. He was 
 very fond of giving people nicknames." 
 
 " And he gave you yours because he 
 thought you were so little ?" 
 
 "Yes, I suppose that was the reason. 
 There's not much of me, you know." 
 
 " What is your real name ?" 
 
 "Do you mean my real, real name? 
 My real name is Mademoiselle Cole-tine 
 Delavan that's on the bills but my 
 real, real name is Mignon Ottendorfer." 
 
 "Mignon! That is very prett 
 you are Miss Mouse Celc-tine I>ela\an 
 Mignon Ottendorfer? Mercy! what a 
 tremendous name ! It is more than you 
 are entitled to." 
 
 "I haven't much use for all of it. 
 Mouse is sufficient for the Big Babies." 
 
130 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 " What Big Babies do you mean ?" 
 "Gentleman Joe and Harry and pop- 
 pa," said Mouse. " I call them my Big 
 Babies because they require so much 
 looking after, and are always on my 
 mind. You really have no idea of the 
 trouble they give me. Sometimes I can't 
 manage them at all they're so contrary. 
 They'll tramp about and catch cold, and 
 do all sorts of things they ought not to 
 do oh ! men are so contrary that there's 
 hardly any way to get the better of them. 
 The Babies treat me sometimes just as if 
 I was not responsible. Oh me ! they're 
 a hard set and yet they're very respect- 
 able people. Sometimes I feel almost 
 like giving up and Harry's sick because 
 he wouldn't mind me. I told him not 
 to go night-fishing, but he would, and got 
 wet ; and now see what's come of it oh 
 me ! what's come of it !" 
 
 "You dear little mamma, don't be 
 depressed ; he's sure to get well. What 
 a venerable head of an establishment ! 
 You odd little Mouse, you make me 
 laugh so sometimes that it ends in my 
 crying you dear little mamma, with 
 your responsibilities and your Big Ba- 
 bies !" 
 
 Thereupon Frances kissed Mouse, and 
 smoothed her curls back from her face. 
 
 " Do you know one thing, Mouse ?" she 
 said, "you are not the least bit like a 
 tramp's daughter." 
 
 "That's what Harry says," responded 
 Mouse; "but lie's always trying to get 
 around me, and blind me, so as to make 
 me let him do as he chooses. That's the 
 way with all of them. But I don't mean 
 to let 'em fool mr." 
 
 "So he's good t you, like the rest 
 Is lie amiable and considerate? Does he 
 behave himself ?" 
 
 " Not al \\avs. I haven't much to com 
 plain of except that lie tries to get arount 
 me by petting me." 
 
 " That's not such a terrible proceeding 
 What's his nickname, Mouse?" 
 
 "He hasn't got any except Harry 
 That's his real name." 
 
 " And he's the youngest of your Ba 
 bies?" 
 
 " Yes ; he's nothing but a boy, and ye 
 ic is just as hard to manage as the rest 
 He's harder. Oh, he's an obstinate one, 
 ;an tell you ! It is all I can do to G< 
 
 sleep again this minute, sir ! What dc 
 :ou mean by opening your eyes and star-1 
 ng at me so ?" 
 
 And as Mr. Gary returned at this in< 
 ment for Frances, the young lady's inter- 
 iew with Mouse terminated. 
 
 She rode home by her father's side inl 
 silence : she was thinking. At last she] 
 said, 
 
 " Papa, did you see who saved me that] 
 day in Piedmont ?" 
 
 " When we had the accident to the! 
 carriage? It was one of the circus men,j 
 
 1 think." 
 
 "It was this poor sick boy here at, 
 brow's Nest. I found it out from his 
 muttering. And then he saved me again 
 from the panther how brave he must] 
 be!" 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 THE CLOD AND THE STAR. 
 
 HARRY VANCE grew better. It is good 
 to have a close-knit constitution. It is 
 better than huge muscle which excels in' 
 lifting ; but the slender race-horse limbs] 
 are made for endurance. 
 
 Mouse was by the young fellow's side 
 all the time as before, and one day they 
 were speaking of his delirium during the 
 fever. Mouse told him that he had spoJ 
 ken of the accident at Piedmont, and oft 
 holding Frances Gary in his arms, while 
 she was listening by his bedside; where- 
 upon Harry Vance blushed crimson, and 
 demanded just what had escaped him. 
 Mouse had no difficulty in repeating his 
 words and the blush grew deeper, lie 
 had saitl that he lornl In r. 
 
 " That was unfortunate," he said, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 Mouse looked at him with an inquiring 
 glance, 
 
 " To have told her that " 
 
 He stopped. 
 
 "That you loved her? That's w 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS, 
 
 LSI 
 
 you said, you foolish Harry, and I'd like 
 to know why you shouldn't say it if you 
 wanted to." 
 
 " I was era/y out of my head or I 
 never would have said so." 
 
 " You were out of your head," said 
 Mouse, philosophically ; " but that's not 
 the point, sir. I don't see why, if you 
 were /;/ your head, you haven't a right 
 to love people, and have people love you, 
 too !" 
 
 Harry looked with wide eyes at Mouse, 
 and said, in a low voice, 
 
 "You can't mean " 
 
 " Yes, I do," said Mouse, manfully ; " I 
 mean you are good enough for any lady 
 in this land." 
 
 Harry Vance knit his brows ; then he 
 said, mournfully, 
 
 "My poor, dear little Mouse! it is 
 good to be as young and ignorant as you 
 are. You love me you love everybody, 
 for that matter, your heart is so big; 
 but you forget who and what I am." 
 
 "You are my own dear Harry," she 
 said, putting her arms around his neck, 
 and pressing her lips to his pale face. 
 
 "Yes, you love me, I say, and your 
 love is precious to me. But you are not 
 others. To them I am a poor vagabond, 
 neither more nor less. Did you ever hear 
 of what is called a zero, Mignon ? It is a 
 thing which stands for nothing. I am a 
 zero." 
 
 " You are our Harry, sir ; and any 
 one might be proud to love you even 
 dear, sweet Frances Gary !" 
 
 Harry Vance shrugged his shoulders, 
 blushing. For the first time the latent 
 spirit of bitterness, and revolt at his low 
 fortunes, betrayed itself in the manner of 
 the poor boy. 
 
 " You might as well expect the star to 
 stoop to the clod," he said. " The star 
 shines on the clod, but does not stoop to 
 it; and if the clod is wise it will keep its 
 place." 
 
 " Oh, Harry !" protested Mouse, " don't 
 think of yourself so." 
 
 " I think of myself as I am, dear," he 
 said, losing his bitterness, and speaking 
 softly and gently. " We are poor and 
 
 humble, but that does not matter imu-h. 
 The sun shines for us, and tin- sky U ifl 
 Miie as it is for others; only your talk- 
 ing in this wild way makes it. not so blue 
 to inc. That is enough now, dear it is 
 rather sad to talk of sueh thi: 
 
 lie put both arms around her. 
 
 "At least you love me," In- said. 
 
 Whether it was that Harry Vance had 
 risen from bed sooner than ho ought to 
 have done, or that this scene with Mou-e 
 acted unfortunately upon his nervous sys- 
 tem, it is certain that on the very same 
 evening he had a return of fever; and 
 this led to an incident of an unex 
 character. 
 
 The young man had lain down on his 
 couch, telling no one that he felt the fever 
 back in his pulses ; and as he had covn-.-d 
 his head, they supposed that he had fallen 
 asleep. The rest, therefore, retired, and 
 in an hour the long breathing of one and 
 all indicated that they were asleep. 
 
 Then Harry Vance rose quietly, left 
 Crow's Nest, and went out into the night. 
 He was hot with fever, and his steps were 
 uncertain. Did he even know where he 
 was going ? It seemed so, since he went 
 straight on, through the night, toward 
 Falling Water. 
 
 Frances Gary was in the library finish- 
 ing a letter; it was about ten at night, 
 and Mr. Gary had gone to his chamber 
 only a few moments before Frances 
 promising to retire, in her turn, when she 
 had filled her sheet of note-paper. 
 
 All at once she raised her head. Steps 
 crossed the porch, the front-door opened. 
 then the door of the library; and Harry 
 Vance came in, his head bare, his fa<-<> 
 flushed, his eyes full of a vairin- pain. 
 
 "I did not mean to," he said, in a 
 faint, trembling voice; " you heard me I 
 did not wish you to hear me it was my 
 fever and I did not know you were at 
 my bedside." 
 
 He drew a long breath, tremblin_ 
 looking at her. His eyes betrayed t 
 cret of the poor boy's heart an unuttera- 
 ble tenderness transfigured his whole face. 
 
 " I am nothing," he went on, in a bro- 
 ken and faint voice. " I would not dare 
 
132 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 not because you are a young lady ; be- 
 cause you are what you are. I did not 
 mean to say that I had held you in my 
 arms. You will not think of it any more 
 since I tell you I am sorry. I was very 
 sick and weak I am well now, you see, 
 and have come to ask you to forgive me.' 
 
 " Oh no !" exclaimed Frances, blushing, 
 and with tears in her eyes, " there is noth- 
 ing to forgive. You saved me I should 
 have been killed." 
 
 " I never meant you to know," he mur- 
 mured. " I thought it might make you 
 feel ashamed. I had to lift you from 
 your carriage. I could not do that with- 
 out putting my arms around you. I did 
 not mean to tell any one." 
 
 His eyes half closed, and his body, 
 which he seemed to have held erect by a 
 strong effort of the will, moved a little as 
 a tree does in the wind. 
 
 " I only came to tell you this I could 
 not live without telling you. You will 
 forgive my raving, as it was only raving. 
 You will never see me any more " 
 
 lie stood for an instant looking at her 
 and trembling. She had half risen. He 
 came one step toward her. 
 
 " I shall never see you again. Good- 
 bye !" he said, looking at her as if his 
 heart were breaking, and holding out his 
 hand. Frances held out her own, and he 
 tried to take it. The effort was too 
 much for him. He tottered, fell upon 
 one knee bo-ide her chair, and, if she had 
 not put her arm around him, would have 
 fainted and fallen. 
 
 "When Mr. < 'ary, in hi* d rr>- in <_:-'_:< .\vn, 
 hastened to the library, where lie heard 
 voices, the young man was ..n his knee 
 thus by the young lady's chair, with his 
 face re>tin^ on the hand he held, and her 
 arm supporting his head. She ran and 
 got a da-- of water and moistened his 
 forehead. At the touch of her linger- he 
 opened his eyes and rose to his feet, look- 
 ing vaguely around him. Ten minute* 
 afterward, in spite of every effort which 
 Mr. ('ary made to persuade him to remain, 
 ho went away. 
 
 The clod and the star had mad 
 other's acquaintance! 
 
 XLV. 
 
 A FEMALE MANCEUVRER. 
 
 "NELLY, you certainly are the greatest 
 goose I have ever known in my life ! 
 is such a luxury to know any one wel 
 enough to speak one's real sentiments 
 Mercy ! not marry him when he lovei 
 you so much? You deserve to die an 
 old maid, which you certainly will, if you 
 go on so and your last days will be em- 
 bittered by remorse, too, you unreasonable 
 thing." 
 
 It was Frances Gary who made these 
 few remarks to Nelly Welles. Finding 
 that it was a superb morning, and a little 
 tired of confinement, she had proceeded 
 to tease her papa into allowing her to 
 ride, and see Nell} 7 , without escort ; had 
 duly overcome him for she was a spoil- 
 ed child, and naturally argued that what 
 she wished was from the nature of things 
 perfectly proper and mounting the small 
 riding-horse kept for her special use, had 
 soon reached the house in the mountains. 
 
 Having beamed on the whole house- 
 hold, with whom she was by this time 
 well acquainted, for she and Nelly 1 ad 
 exchanged numerous visits, and had Be- 
 come desperately intimate, Miss Frances 
 inquired with interest after Mr. Elliot 
 had he gone?^ Receiving from the guile- 
 less Daddy AVelles, who was in the room, 
 at the moment, the assurance that Mr. 
 Elliot had not yet been able to tear him- 
 self away from the deer, and was tl at 
 morning in pursuit of those wild animals, 
 Miss Frances smiled significantly, and, 
 turning to Nelly, proposed ferns. 
 
 "You know you dote on ferns, Nelly, 
 as much as I do, and papa is just as fond 
 >f thorn. Think of an old soldior like 
 :r,\\r t i being as fond of flowers as he is! 
 lie loves his xinnias and petunias, I do 
 eliovo, as much as he loves me. I pre- 
 fer ferns ami grasses, don't you?" 
 
 Nelly responding that she did, Frances 
 proceeded to observe that there were no 
 ferns worth speaking of in the vicinity of 
 n-r own home, but superb varieties among 
 the rocks near Daddy AYolles's, and it 
 was decided that they should take a 
 
VIRGINIA P.OI1KM1ANS. 
 
 
 ramble in the woods and look for them. 
 
 (Nelly put on her hat, and Frances Cary 
 
 ,'liaving skilfully pinned up her skirt, to 
 
 te>; leave her movements free, they set out on 
 
 I; their ramble. 
 
 fell Ferns are an innocent passion of the 
 ajfemale sex, and have this advantage that 
 vJlooking for them admits of conversation. 
 aJSo, as they rambled about, Nelly and 
 t Fraiu-es talked. 
 
 " What's become of Mr. Brantz Elliot 
 whv isn't he at home making himself 
 agreeable, Nelly? I don't pretend to 
 compare myself with the lordly sex, but 
 if I were a young man which Heaven 
 
 I'm glad I am not and lived in 
 the house with you, I'd find something 
 better to do than hunt," 
 
 Dear Frances!" Nelly said, with a 
 faint color in her cheeks, " how you do 
 run on." 
 
 " Hunting deer ! He'd show his taste 
 by hunting another sort of deer, spelled 
 with an a." 
 
 Having made which brilliant witticism 
 Miss Frances laughed approvingly. Nelly 
 did not reply. She was looking with deep 
 interest into a crevice in the rocks, where 
 some ferns were growing, and this seem- 
 ed to render it necessary for her to turn 
 away her head. Her face was thus hid- 
 den from her companion, but her neck was 
 not, and there came such a flush upon it 
 that Frances suddenly cried, 
 
 " You are blushing, Nelly. Your very 
 neck is crimson. Mercy ! is there any- 
 thing you've not told me, you mean 
 thing? There is something! He's 
 courted you you know he has or he 
 i> u'oing to !" 
 
 Nelly was quite overcome by this ab- 
 rupt charge. It brought to mind every 
 detail of the scene between herself and 
 Brantz Elliot. There had been no repe- 
 tition of that scene. Nelly had not given 
 her lover the least opportunity. She 
 avoided private interviews with the skill 
 of her sex, and Brantz Elliot had not 
 found a single opportunity to renew his 
 suit. He no doubt intended to do so 
 if not, why did he not go ? He still lin- 
 gered in the mountain, putting off his 
 
 departure from day to day ; and '.. 
 
 vident that he did imt regard his suit as 
 entirely hoprle . In spit.- ..f all, how- 
 ever, Nelly had adhered to IUT resolution. 
 It was hard, and nearly broke her heart ; 
 but she was more determined than -v.-r 
 not to yield, and become the wife of tin- 
 man she loved, who hived her U> 
 would regret their union afterward. 
 Self-sacrifice ennobles and endues us 
 with a mysterious strength. Nelly had 
 resolved to sacrifice her own happ'n 
 Brantz Elliot's. 
 
 " You know he's courting you ? Don't 
 deny it, miss. Don't attempt to < 
 anything from me tell me about it, Nel- 
 ly. Oh, it's delightful ! So romantie ! 
 Just like a novel ! Mercy !" 
 
 Having concluded with this supreme 
 expression of delighted astonishment, 
 Frances put her arms around Nelly, and 
 taking that young lady by the chin, turn- 
 ed her face to her. 
 
 " What a blush !" she cried. " That's 
 enough. Good gracious! Have you 
 said yes, Nelly?" 
 
 Poor Nelly ! She could not resist her 
 friend's inquiry. She was so unhappy 
 that it had become almost a necessity to 
 confide her unhappiness to some one ; and 
 as she and Frances were bosom friei 
 this time, she told her everything. 
 
 "It was so hard, Frances," she 
 with a little sob, after which she turned 
 away her head, and put one of her hands 
 to her eyes. 
 
 This was pathetic, but Miss Frances 
 preferred a more cheerful view of the 
 subject; also, the occasion admitted of 
 the luxury of scolding; she tin 
 burst forth into the tirade recorded in 
 the beginning of this chapter, to t 
 feet tha her friend was a goose for re- 
 fitting Brantz Elliot, and would 
 out a life of ancient maidenhood and re- 
 morse in consequence. 
 
 "Yes, you certainly are the most un- 
 reasonable thing that ever lived.' 
 added. "A judgment will come of it! 
 Just to think of your refu>in'_r I 
 fine fellow because he's rich and you arc 
 poor." 
 
134 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 "I wish it was just the opposite," 
 Nelly Welles said, with a huge sigh. 
 
 " And have him getting proud and re- 
 fusing to marry Miss Welles because she 
 was richer than he was. That's very fine 
 reasoning, miss ! How would you like 
 him to do that?" 
 
 Having never contemplated the subject 
 in this light, Nelly only sighed. 
 
 "You are such a goose, Nelly, I feel 
 as if I could pinch you. Go and tell Mr. 
 Elliot you'll marry him this moment." 
 
 " That would be wedding in haste, and 
 we'd repent at leisure, I suppose," said 
 Nelly, with a rueful smile. 
 
 " You know what I mean, miss. Tell 
 him this moment, I mean that is, just 
 as soon as you have an opportunity. 
 Have you seen him again ?" 
 
 "Of course I've seen him, Frances. I 
 see him at every meal." 
 
 "There you are with your evasions 
 again, miss. Seeing people at meals is 
 not seeing them. Have you had any 
 delightful romantic scenes, I mean ? by 
 moonlight, for example lover seated and 
 gazing upward into responsive eyes, low 
 voices, expressions such as ' my own !' 
 * my dear one !' Has there been any of 
 that?" 
 
 " No," murmured Nelly, laughing and 
 blushing. 
 
 " Then you're a monster ! We're told 
 to love our enemies, and you don't even 
 care for the happiness of those who are 
 devoted to you." 
 
 " Oh, I wish I could make him happy, 
 but I cannot, Frances! Indeed, I ou^ht 
 not to marry Mr. Elliot. Such marriages 
 never come to good. He would become 
 ashamed of me, and then stop caring for 
 me." 
 
 "The idea! You must despise him !" 
 
 "It would be only natural." 
 
 "It would be contemptible, Nelly! 
 Gracious! what can one think of a man 
 who's ashamed of his wife ? He can't be 
 a gentleman. He may marry a poor girl 
 when he is poor himself, and afterward 
 grow famous and be courted by every- 
 body ; but if he is ashamed of her he is 
 not really a gentleman, Nelly. I don't 
 
 know how you feel, but if I was a man 
 I'd marry for love, and cherish my wife 
 more than everything in the world be-] 
 sides as I know he would." 
 
 As this " he " evidently referred to Mr. 
 Brantz Elliot, Nelly uttered another sigh. 
 
 " So it's all arranged, isn't it, Nelly ?" 
 
 "No, it is by no means arranged, 
 Frances." 
 
 "Do you mean to say you will go on 
 saying no to the end of time?" 
 
 " I can't say yes." 
 
 "You can, you obstinate thing. You 
 know you want to, and goodness ! yon- 
 der is Mr. Elliot, wandering disconsolately 
 down the stream. He's found no deer. 
 I'm certain he's been sitting down some- 
 where sighing, and not seen a single ob- 
 ject around him." 
 
 "Come, we must go home, Frances," 
 exclaimed Nelly, in sudden alarm at the 
 prospect of being joined by Mr. Brantz 
 Elliot. 
 
 " We will do nothing of the sort, 
 miss," returned Frances, in high delight 
 at the idea of bringing about an interview 
 between the lovers. 
 
 " Oh, Frances, don't keep me !" 
 
 " I am not keeping you, miss ; but 
 common politeness requires that we 
 should not run away when a gentleman 
 approaches us: and look, he has seen 
 us, and is coming up the mountain. 
 What a fine -looking fellow he is. If 
 you won't have him I am determined to 
 set my cap at him ! Why, he walks as if 
 lie was 'shod like a mountaineer,' which 
 reminds one of the song, miss, 
 
 " ' With music to fill up the pauses, 
 And nobody over-nour !' 
 
 I shall discreetly retire. Common pro- 
 priety requires that I should do so." 
 
 This proposal evidently produced r\- 
 tivnir alarm in Miss Nelly Welles, which 
 she proceeded to give evidence of by e: 
 oUiming, 
 
 " Oh no, don't, Frances !" 
 
 "Good-morning Mr. Elliot ! have yoi 
 been hunting? What a beautiful dai 
 Nelly and I were just gathering some 
 these exquisite ferns." 
 
VIRGINIA liollKMIANS. 
 
 13.1 
 
 'They certainly arc pretty, Miss ( 'ary," 
 aid r>rantz Elliot, who liad joined them 
 y this time. 
 
 "Are they not? Could you get me 
 ime grasses to go with them.' I dearly 
 re grasses. Such ferns ! and what a 
 ad we've got! I really must go and 
 eg Daddy \\Ylles to lend me a basket. 
 Jo, you must not go for me; you must 
 e so tired from your hunting. I'll be 
 ack in a moment !" 
 
 With wliich innocent words Miss Fran- 
 es < 'ary shot a glance of triumph at Nel- 
 , and turned to go back to the house. 
 uddenly she screamed. They had all 
 een standing facing the rocks in which 
 ic ferns were growing, and had not 
 card the steps of a person who approach- 
 i them. This person was now close to 
 icm, and indeed Miss Frances, as she 
 irned round, suddenly found herself face 
 face with him. It was Gentleman 
 oe. 
 
 " Mercy !" exclaimed the young lady ; 
 I thought it was a bear !" 
 Thereupon Gentleman Joe burst into 
 oyish ecstasies at the success of his ruse 
 surprise them. He seemed quite con- 
 ulsed, and executed his most astonishing 
 Timaces, winding up by contorting his 
 ystem from a sense of deep enjoyment. 
 Nelly plainly hailed his appearance 
 rith satisfaction, and gave him her sweet- 
 st smile. 
 
 " How you frighten people, Gentleman 
 
 oe !" she said, for she and the ex-clown 
 
 Lad become perfectly intimate with each 
 
 Ither; "you might have thrown us all 
 
 Into hysterics !" 
 
 " I wouldn't like to do that, Nelly I 
 love you too much, my dear," said Gentle- 
 man Joe, gradually recovering his equa- 
 limity. 
 
 " Then you must go back, as a punish- 
 Jjient, and get Miss Gary a basket; she 
 pants it for her ferns." 
 
 " Oh no !" Miss Frances exclaimed ; " I 
 rill go myself he will never know where 
 lo find it; but he may carry it. Come, 
 I fr. Vance !" 
 
 A wicked smile accompanied the words, 
 Jjidicating to Nelly her friend's intention 
 
 to thus leave her alone with Kraut/. Klliot. 
 She Mushed t the very roots of her hair, 
 and seemed not to know \\hat she should 
 do, when Klliot came to her a istance. 
 Tin 1 young huntsman had or had not 
 
 comprehended the scene if In; had un- 
 derstood it, he had ivsolvol not to inflict 
 himself upon Nelly if she did not wish it. 
 He therefore said to Frances, 
 
 "Let me go with you and cany the 
 basket, Miss Cary. I have nothing in 
 the world to do. Don't trouble yoiir>clf, 
 Gentleman Joe; we'll be back soon. I 
 am ready, Miss Cary." 
 
 Thus came to an abrupt end the whole 
 series of wiles resorted to by Miss Frances 
 Cary. She was obliged to accept Mr. 
 Brantz Elliot's proposal, and, without a 
 single smile of triumph, went with that 
 gentleman in the direction of the house, 
 leaving Nelly to enjoy the charms of the 
 society of Gentleman Joe. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 GENTLEMAN JOE AND HIS GHOSTS. 
 
 As Brantz Elliot and Frances Cary 
 walked away, Nelly said to Gentleman 
 Joe, with an affectionate smile, 
 
 " I am glad you came over to see us 
 to-day, Gentleman Joe, for I am sure you 
 wanted to see me It has been nearly 
 two weeks since you were here." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I wanted to see you, Nelly," 
 replied Gentleman Joe. " I always want 
 to see you, and when I am not with you 
 I am thinking about you, my dear." 
 
 There was no trace of his recent gro- 
 tesquerie in the speaker's voice or face 
 he was quite sedate and earnest, and look- 
 ed at the girl with an expression of great 
 affection. 
 
 "Harry's been very ill, and I could not 
 leave him," he added ; " we thought he 
 was going to die, but he is nearly well now." 
 
 "I am so glad of that. He has been 
 very kind and sweet to me whenever he 
 came to see us almost as kind and sweet 
 as you have been, Gentleman Joe, and that 
 is saying a great deal." 
 
 " Have I really been kind and sweet to 
 
136 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 you, Nelly ?" Gentleman Joe said, looking 
 wistfully at the girl. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, you have." 
 
 "I am very glad to hear it. But I 
 don't see how anybody could help loving 
 you, my dear. You see I am an old man, 
 and old men can tell little blossoms like 
 you that they love blossoms. People have 
 various tastes in this world, you know 
 I like the south wind." 
 
 "The south wind?" 
 
 Gentleman Joe smiled. 
 
 "I mean people who are like it. I 
 think of people in that way, and feel about 
 them instead of making up an opinion of 
 them. One person chills me like a north- 
 wester, and cuts me to the very bone. 
 It's no use telling me that it's a fine, 
 healthy wind, and clears up the air, and 
 is altogether the right sort of wind it 
 makes me shiver!" 
 
 " Yes, I know what you mean." 
 
 "And there is the south wind when 
 the spring comes. People may abuse it, 
 and say it's a weak, poor sort of thing, 
 and makes you lazy, and is not a high 
 moral wind; but I like it. I seem to 
 open like a flower when it blows softly 
 over the flowers and the green grass under 
 the blue sky. You are my south wind." 
 
 Gentleman Joe might be a lunatic, but 
 there was evidently a method in his mad- 
 ness. Not being familiar with Shakspeare, 
 Nelly did not say that to herself in the 
 identical words, but had the very same 
 idea in her mind, whic.h was a proof that 
 Mr. AVilliam Shakspeare was a man of 
 ability, and had observed human nature. 
 
 " Well, Tin o-lad enough to be any- 
 body's south wind/' she said, with the 
 rather sad smile which had become her 
 habit of late. 
 
 " You arc mine ! you warm me," re- 
 turned Gentleman Joe, " like the sun- 
 shine. The sunshine is a uivat thing, 
 and I like people that carry it about 
 with them. Some people bring a cloud 
 along when they come a black cloud, 
 and the chill wind that cuts. You bring 
 the south wind and the sunlight, Nelly, 
 and a poor old body like me requires 
 that." 
 
 " You are a very good, kind body, ii 
 you are a poor old one," Nelly said, with I 
 an affectionate smile ; " and I must be 
 just like you in my character, for every] 
 word you say just expresses what I feel,, 
 and it seems as if I had known you for 
 years." 
 
 " Yes," Gentleman Joe said, lost in re-] 
 flection, " perhaps we have met someJ 
 where. I have been in many places, and] 
 played the clown before a world of peo-J 
 pie. If you were in the crowd I am cer-| 
 tain I saw you." 
 
 " In such a crowd ?" 
 
 " No matter about the crowd. I al- 
 ways see the faces I like to see. Often,; 
 when I've been turning and tumbling in 
 the ring, I've fixed my eyes on some child's 
 face in the audience, and seen nothing elsej 
 from that minute. I was playing for thai 
 little one, you see, and had nothing to doj 
 with the rest. If I could only make myl 
 little friend laugh and please her, I was 
 satisfied, Nelly." 
 
 This was said in such a simple, wistful 
 way that Nelly looked at Gentleman Joe 
 with eyes full of affection. There was a 
 hidden poetry in the feelings of the old" 
 ex-clown which touched a chord in hen 
 own breast, and was in unison with her 
 habitual mood now rather a sad sort on 
 poetry, but then poetry is generally tinged j 
 with sadness. 
 
 " What a strange life you must have 
 led," she said, musing. 
 
 "A very strange life; but you know, 
 life is always strange." 
 
 M And very sorrowful." 
 
 " Well, I don't know," said Gentleman^ 
 Joe, cheering up " not when we have ourj| 
 south wind ; we depend mostly on that 
 Are you going to marry the young deer- 
 hunter, Nelly ? I ask, you know, because 
 if you do you will p> awav, and somej 
 north-wester will come along and chill 
 me for want of my sunshine." 
 
 Nelly colored, and a slight movement 
 of her corsage indicated the impression' 
 made by Gentleman Joe's question. 
 
 " No, I am not going to marry any- 
 body," she said, in a low tone. 
 
 " I am very glad. I would not like 
 
V1KCIMA r.oIIKMIANS. 
 
 
 you to get married. I don't think I 
 could do without you, my dear." 
 
 They were nearly the verv same words 
 used by Brantz Elliot, and produced a 
 dolorous feeling in Nelly. 
 
 " Well, I'm not going away anywhere," 
 she said ; lt and as you are going to stay 
 in the mountain, there will be no trouble 
 about seeing each other." 
 
 Gentleman Joe, having reflected for a 
 moment, proceeded to shake his head and 
 reply, 
 
 " I don't know about that. We shall 
 probably make up a troupe and go about 
 the country again. We were thinking 
 about that when Harry was taken sick; 
 and as lie is nearly well now, there will 
 be nothing to keep us here." 
 
 " Why don't you stay ? arc you tired 
 of Crow's Nest ? I'm sure Mr. Gary would 
 not care if you stayed." 
 
 "No, he would not care he says we 
 may. But I am not sure I like Crow's 
 Nest. The mice go * squeak, squeak !' all 
 night they are talking in the wall, you 
 know and then the pine-trees, how they 
 do whisper !" 
 
 Nelly looked at Gentleman Joe; he 
 was evidently lapsing into one of the rev- 
 eries, in which his mind seemed to wan- 
 der a little. 
 
 " I don't mind the mice," he went on, 
 "though I wish they would not squeak 
 in that unpleasant way at night, when I 
 am lying awake listening to them. But 
 then the pines ! That is not so agree- 
 able. They say a quantity of things to 
 me ; which is, perhaps, natural, as we used 
 to be well acquainted. Then there is the 
 water yonder. That talks to me, too, 
 and sometimes it laughs ; or when there's 
 a freshet it booms along so sullenly that 
 it seems to be in a bad humor. I often 
 think it wants to quarrel." 
 
 "What a curious idea! You must 
 not give way to these fancies, Gentleman 
 Joe." 
 
 " Bless you, my dear, I never give way 
 to fancies. I am a plain old fellow, and 
 much too matter-of-fact for that. But 
 any one can hear the water laughing and 
 the trees whispering, just as you can easi- 
 
 ly sec ea-tle> and proplr in the lire, and 
 \\ hat the clotld-dhadoVVI arc." 
 
 "The eloud-shadou>r 
 
 14 Yt s, Nelly the shadows that gallop 
 along the mountain in August, \\ln-n the 
 white clouds are pih-d up like so mm-li 
 wool, and the wind is blowing. I low 
 they gallop! faster than a hawk can tly : 
 and I've seen his shadow too, but. that's 
 not much. The other shadows an- wild 
 horses running In-t'oiv the wind; hut it 
 can't catch them. They trample on, with 
 manes and tails flying back, and the curi- 
 ous thing I can't account for that is 
 that they make no noise at all as they 
 pass you." 
 
 " Why, they're only shadows, Gentle- 
 man Joe." 
 
 "I don't know that. They may be 
 ghosts for what we know; there are 10 
 many ghosts around us. I believe the 
 mice, and the pines, and the shadows are 
 all ghosts." 
 
 Nelly saw that Gentleman Joe was fall- 
 ing into one of his fantastic moods, and, 
 as she had often done before, strove to 
 divert him from them. 
 
 " Well, don't mind them," she said ; 
 "they won't do anybody any harm. If 
 nobody will keep them from hurting you, 
 Gentleman Joe, I will." 
 
 Thereat Gentleman Joe brightened up 
 and smiled. 
 
 "You can make them behave, Xelly 
 you are the only one that can !" he said ; 
 " and, bless you, I don't mind them in the 
 least. I often say to them, * I'm nt 
 afraid of you you and I are old friends, 
 and often played here together 1 
 but go away, I've no time to think about 
 you to-day!' I often tell them that. 
 Then, if they will go on whisperii 
 laughing, I say * I'm going to sec Xelly 
 now; she's waiting for me in the moun- 
 tain.' And then I tell them another 
 thing that is the most important thing 
 of all." 
 
 "What is that?" said Xelly, kindly, 
 humoring the old fellow. 
 
 " That you are the image of some one 
 it breaks old Gentleman Joe's heart to re- 
 member." 
 
138 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 As he spoke Frances Gary and Brantz 
 Elliot made their appearance with the 
 basket, and Gentleman Joe said no more. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 MR. RUGGLES REAPPEARS AT CROw's NEST. 
 
 THE Lefthander was obviously in a de- 
 pressed mood of mind. What was the 
 origin of this depression? Not the ill- 
 ness of Harry Vance, for that scene at 
 Falling Water seemed to have lifted a 
 load from his heart, and he was regaining 
 his strength day by day. 
 
 Was it the report that the revenue- 
 officers were coming with troops to look 
 after the moonshiners? There was such 
 a report in the village. The long-suffering 
 Government had decreed the extermina- 
 tion of the malefactors, people said. The 
 department was certainly growing indig- 
 nant, if any faith was to be placed in the 
 public journals. The Secretary of Finance 
 was badgered by his political opponents. 
 These moonshiners were tapping a hole 
 in the national strong-box, and depleting 
 the same in an irregular and unauthorized 
 manner. The moonlight trade must come 
 to an end : if it did not cease peacefully, 
 it must be made to cease. If the civil 
 officers were unable to enforce the law 
 then troops. A good troop of cavalry, 
 with sabres and repeating carbines, would 
 prove a much better argument than mere 
 proclamations. 
 
 Perhaps the Lefthander was a little out 
 of spirits at hearing this. As the moun- 
 tain would be harried probably for moon- 
 shiners, he might be arrested and so 
 miirht Harry and ( Jentleman Joe. Then 
 what would become of Mouse? 
 
 But something else troubled him ; the 
 fa<-t was evident from certain word* 
 which he muttered now and then. When- 
 ever he found himself d<ing s<>, he stop- 
 ped suddenly and looked round him. I ! 
 had the air of a man who is fearful that 
 some one has overheard him. In fact, a 
 gloomy discussion seemed to be going on 
 in the Lefthander's breast. Tin -re was 
 something to be done, or not to be done. 
 
 At such moments his eyebrows made the 
 straight black line across his face, and 
 that meant trouble. 
 
 He was seated on the fence at the bot- 
 tom of the hill at Crow's Nest one morn- 
 ing, smoking his pipe and reflecting. All 
 at once a shadow ran toward him ; he 
 raised his head there was Mr. Ruggles. 
 
 He was clad much more respectably 
 than on the occasion of their first meeting, 
 and had a jaunty air. There was the 
 consciousness that his improved wardrobe 
 had elevated him socially, which is a val- 
 uable hint to slovens. He had a stick in 
 his hand ; there was no bundle on it, how- 
 ever, he was walking w ith it. 
 
 O 
 
 " The top o' the mornin' to you," said 
 Mr. Ruggles, in a friendly way. " I was 
 jest passin', and thought I'd drop in and 
 see you. Family well ? I'm gittin' along 
 ain't burnt no wheat-stacks yit ! Hon- 
 est work's the thing for Ruggles, and I'm 
 right on the money question." 
 
 "Well, that's a very good question to 
 be right on," said the Lefthander, indif- 
 ferently. 
 
 "You can bet your life on it!" saM 
 Mr. Ruggles, cheerfully ; " and if I can't 
 git more work there's always one tiling 
 to do." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " Jine the moonshiners/' 
 
 "You mean the whiskey men?" said 
 the Lefthander, looking intently at him. 
 
 "Jest so the only trouble is the 
 thing's so risky ; they might ketch a 
 feller and take his loose change; but 
 they wouldn't git mine I bury it." 
 
 " Bury your money ?" 
 
 " In a holler log, at a place I know in 
 the woods. That's to keep it out of the 
 bar-rooms. I mostly spend every red cent 
 I take along with me on sich occasions." 
 
 k> Well, that's not a bad idea," said the 
 Lefthander, indifferently. 
 
 " No extra charge for telling of it to i 
 friend like you, mate. You might have 
 some greenbacks to put away, too not 
 as bein' a moonshiner, which it is not my 
 meaning. Greenbacks or papers I put 
 all them things away, and as the Scripture 
 Ays, 'Go thou and do like unto it.' " 
 
VIRGINIA 
 
 Now, as Mouse had road aloud this 
 precept from her IJiblo in different terms, 
 the Lefthander recognized the fact that 
 Mr. i Juggles quoted incorrectly. He did 
 not set him right, however, but only said, 
 
 "I always carry what money and pa 
 PITS I have about me." 1 
 
 He uttered the words in a matter-of- 
 fact and indifferent tone, but they pro- 
 duced a striking effect. Mr. Ruggles 
 shot a piercing glance at him. 
 
 " Well, you're right, mate," he said. 
 ''You don't drink, p'r'aps, as I do ; or 
 maybe you do. Take a mouthful ?" 
 
 Mr. Ituggles had produced a black bot- 
 tle, and smiled in a cordial manner. 
 
 "You're welcome! it's a good ar- 
 Rfe." 
 
 The Lefthander hesitated. Was his 
 old fondness for drink unextinguished, 
 and the temptation too great? It really 
 seemed so ; for, after looking quietly at 
 Mr. Ruggles, he took the bottle and swal- 
 lowed a deep draught of the -whiskey. 
 
 " Yon are right ; it's a very good arti- 
 cle indeed," he said. 
 
 " My turn next," said Mr. Ruggles, 
 with a cheerful and friendly air; and he 
 icld the bottle to his lips for a protract- 
 ed period, swallowed repeatedly, and 
 drank nothing at all. 
 
 He then said he must be going, and 
 solicited the Lefthander's company for a 
 part of the way. Finding this request 
 reasonable, the Lefthander walked on at 
 his side, and they entered the woods, and 
 were soon near the steep banks of the 
 Falling Water above the ford. Here Mr. 
 Ruggles, professing himself weary, sat 
 down upon a ledge of rock, and the Left- 
 hander took his seat beside him. 
 
 "Take a little somethin', mate," Mr. 
 Ruggles said, producing his bottle. The 
 Lefthander responded with avidity. It 
 was a melancholy sight to see the bad 
 old habit again returning. His tongue 
 began to grow thick, and he stammered 
 slightly ; then Mr. Ruggles, after an in- 
 terval, proposed another little something, 
 and another, when the Lefthander closed 
 his eyes, and leaned back against the 
 ledffe of rock behind him. 
 
 139 
 
 Mr. Ruggh's, who had rai-.-d the hottl.- 
 to his mouth repeatedlv, watched his 
 companion with a perfretly lobe? glance. 
 The Lefthander was falling a-leep under 
 the effect of his potations. Tln-n could 
 be no doubt at all, at la*t, that he \\as 
 sound asleep, and Mr. Kuggles pr,,, 
 rapidly to search his pockets. They con- 
 tained nothing but his pipe and tola.-,-,,, 
 and a few bank-notes, which the lionet 
 Mr. liugglcs replace. 1. II,- se.-m.-d bitter- 
 ly disappointed, and even muttered an 
 oath. 
 
 "Curse the whole cursed affair!' 1 IK; 
 said, turning to walk away. 
 
 All at once something grasped Mr. 
 Ruggles by the collar of his coat. He 
 shrunk back with a cry. The something 
 was the heavy hand of the Lefthander. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 MR. RUGGLES FINDS HIS SITUATION RATH- 
 ER UNPLEASANT. 
 
 "SiT down, friend," said the Lefthand- 
 er, who exhibited neither in face nor voice 
 any traces of his recent potations ; " don't 
 be in a hurry. I want to talk a little." 
 
 The astonishment of Mr. Ruggles was 
 overpowering. His eyes were full of ter- 
 ror, and seemed to project from their 
 orbits. All the color had faded out of 
 his face, and, though his lips moved, his 
 tongue refused its office. 
 
 "You seem to be a little dumb,' 
 the Lefthander, phlegmatic-ally. " I'll 
 doctor your case nothing brings a man 
 to like cold water." 
 
 The spot where they had held their 
 conversation was on the slope of a d- 
 clivity sinking to the banks of the stream. 
 From this a sort of shoulder proj 
 terminating in a pile of rock whieh huni; 
 over the water. These rocks go by the 
 name of "Lovers' Leap-," and are com- 
 mon on the Shenandoah, the Opequon, 
 and other streams of the Virginia valley. 
 They are generally crowned with pines, 
 and paths lead to them, made by wild 
 animals, possibly. There was such a path 
 
140 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 leading to this one, and the Lefthander 
 went down the path, which was covered 
 with pine tassels, half leading and half 
 dragging Mr. Ruggles with him, his hand 
 still grasping his coat-collar. 
 
 It was not far to the summit of the 
 rock, which might have been called with- 
 out the least exaggeration by the name 
 of precipice, and they soon reached it. 
 There was a sheer descent of about fifty 
 feet, and glancing at the water foaming 
 over the rocks below, Mr. Ruggles per- 
 ceptibly shuddered. In fact, it is not 
 precisely calculated to soothe the nervous 
 system to be suspended in the grasp of 
 a Hercules over an abyss. Mr. Ruggles 
 was evidently unnerved, and made wild 
 gestures ; he had become very pale. 
 As the Lefthander continued to grasp 
 his throat, a gurgling sound issued from 
 his lips. 
 
 "Are you going to talk?" his enemy 
 said, in his deep voice. " We are losing 
 time. Do you mean to make a clean 
 breast of it, or do you mean to be drop- 
 ped over this rock?" 
 
 The terror of Mr. Ruggles was so great 
 that he was unable to speak. They were 
 on the very brink of the precipice, and 
 he hung in mid-air. 
 
 "Do you mean to talk, I say?" the 
 Lefthander repeated ; " I am a little tired 
 of this. What do you mean to do?" 
 
 " I will tell you everything," Mr. Rug- 
 gles managed to gasp out. 
 
 The Lefthander looked at him atten- 
 tively, and saw that he meant what he 
 said. He therefore dragged him back, 
 and released his hold on his collar. 
 
 "That's the very best thing you can 
 do," he said. " You may as well talk in 
 a straightforward manner. I'm not in 
 the humor to be trilled with it is better 
 to tell you that. Y"ii came here to 
 make me drunk and rob iw: : I know all 
 about you now. If you look at things 
 in tin 1 right way, you will sec that I am 
 sparing your life. Who sent you?" 
 
 Mr. Ruggles drew a long breath of re- 
 lief. It was plain that he realized what 
 an imminent peril he had just escaped. 
 Would the peril return ? was the question 
 
 which he probably asked himself. A 
 glance at the cold face of the Lefthander 
 was not reassuring. 
 
 " Well, there's no use trying to hide 
 anything, and I don't mean to try it," he 
 said. " I mean what I say, and I'll tell 
 you everything." 
 
 The Lefthander sat down, filled his 
 pipe, and began to smoke. 
 
 " It will be well to remember, friend, 
 that we are by ourselves here," he said. 
 
 " I understand." 
 
 " Who sent you ?" 
 
 " Young Lascelles," said Mr. Ruggles. 
 
 "I thought so. Then you belong to 
 the detective police ?" 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 " I've thought so for some time. You 
 overdid the tramp business. You detec- 
 tives often make that mistake." 
 
 " I rather think you're right." 
 
 " Well ?" said the Lefthander, and as 
 this was evidently a comprehensive inter- 
 rogatory, Mr. Ruggles said, 
 
 " Mr. Lascelles wrote or telegraphed to 
 the New York Chief of Police to send a 
 good man, with a tramp's get-up in his 
 valise, to the station not far from here r 
 where he would be met and receive in- 
 structions there would be no trouble 
 about the money, which would go up to. 
 four figures." 
 
 " Just so," said the Lefthander. 
 
 " Well, I was sent, and found Mr. Las- 
 celles waiting when I arrived, and he ex- 
 plained what he wanted." 
 
 The Lefthander at these words turned 
 his head round slowly, and looked fixedm 
 into the face of Mr. Ruggles from beneath 
 his straight, shagiry eyebrows. 
 
 "It would be better for you and me 
 t<> understand each other," he said, phk-g- 
 matii-allv; "I have no time to wa>te in 
 listening to a made-up story. What I 
 want to know is i-vi-ry thing. I know a 
 good deal already. You had best los$; 
 sight of being a detective, and remember 
 that we are by ourselves here, as I said, 
 and talking in a friendly way." 
 
 The Lefthander looked straight into 
 the eyes of Mr. Ruggles, and then, turning 
 his head in the same deliberate fashion, 
 
VIRGINIA lUHlKMIANS. 
 
 glanced toward the summit of the rock a 
 Vw stops distant. 
 
 "I understand," said Mr. Ruggles, who 
 iad gradually regained liis equanimity; 
 a nod's as good as a wink to a Mind 
 mrse.' 1 mean to tell you the truth. 
 ?or that matter it's not so hard I 
 lon't like this young Lascelles with 
 iis high -headed ways; he's a little too 
 nurh of the swell for my use, and I rath- 
 
 think if he had been in your place he'd 
 ia\v dropped me over there." 
 
 " I think he would," said the Left- 
 lander, candidly. 
 
 " I mean to tell you the plain truth." 
 
 " It would be better." 
 
 " I found him waiting at the station, 
 md we went off into the woods and had 
 
 long talk. What he wanted was to 
 
 t possession of some papers he thought 
 roil had, and he offered one thousand dol- 
 ars for the papers to run up to half as 
 much again if the business was dangerous." 
 
 The Lefthander nodded. 
 
 "There was no more to say, after I 
 icard where I could find you. I had my 
 ;ramp get-up with me, and came and ask- 
 ed you for a night's lodging; and when 
 r ou were asleep I searched your pockets 
 and the whole room for the papers." 
 
 " I thought you must have done that," 
 said the Lefthander. 
 
 " Well, I found no papers on yon, or 
 anywhere about either then or after- 
 ward. I got the shingle job to be in the 
 neighborhood, and was often in the house 
 vhen you were away ; but there was noth- 
 ng there, unless you hid it where I could 
 not find it." 
 
 " As you say, there was nothing there. 
 After that ?" 
 
 ''Well, I tried then to track you up 
 after your fight with the circus manager, 
 learned you had gone that night to the 
 louse of a Mr. Grantham, in the town, 
 where you slept. This amounted to 
 nothing; and though I started to go 
 md see Mr. Grantham, and pump him, I 
 *ave up the idea as not worth the trouble. 
 le could only tell me what I knew that 
 "on had slept there, and gone away in the 
 norning ; and as to his having your pa- 
 
 1 11 
 
 for safe-keeping, that was too unlike- 
 ly to make it worth my while to impure, 
 even if I had made up a story to account 
 for asking him the question." 
 The Lefthander a-'ain nodded. 
 
 O 
 
 44 So you went to Mr. La-ei -llt-s, and 
 told him you were thrown oiT the seent .'" 
 
 " Vex; and was snubbed by the uvntle- 
 man. lie made no bones of telling me 
 that I was a new hand at the detective 
 business; and I agreed to try \<>\\ again 
 with a bottle, thinking you mi- 
 something." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Or search your pockets again you 
 might have the papers on you. Hut you 
 didn't talk on business matters, and you 
 got drunk too quick." 
 
 Mr. Ruggles smiled, and evidently ac- 
 cepted the situation like an old hand and 
 a philosopher. He was not at all a green 
 hand at his business, as Mr. Lascelles sup- 
 posed, and had only failed on the present 
 occasion from the difficult material <-n 
 which he had been obliged to work. He 
 had repeatedly tried in private interviews 
 to pump Harry and Gentleman Joe, but 
 they knew nothing whatever of the ex- 
 istence of the papers which for the rest 
 Mr. Ruggles did not venture too plainly 
 to allude to, for obvious reasons. As to 
 Mouse, he had never been able to see her 
 by herself, and thus the Lefthander was 
 the knotty obstacle against which he 
 had struck. All attempts to penetr 
 hard a rind had failed, and all failed with 
 it. Lastly came the present unsatisfac- 
 tory state of things: he and the Left- 
 hander were together in a most unpleas- 
 ant locality. But Mr. Rnggles. being a 
 philosopher, made the best of things, and 
 uttered his harmless jest. 
 
 The Lefthander passed some moments 
 in reflection ; then he said, slowly, 
 
 "This is a poor trade of yours, friend. 
 I would rather plough. When a man 
 takes up the business of hunting other 
 men, and running 'em down, he grows 
 tricky and lives by lies. ]Je>ides, he gets 
 his neck twisted sometimes which is 
 not a good thing to get twisted ' 
 nothing of dropping from the tops of 
 
142 
 
 rocks ! When I brought you here I 
 thought I would drop you over there and 
 do for you. I'm not a bad sort of fel- 
 low, but a man loses his temper some- 
 times. I thought I'd stretch out my 
 arm and strangle you when you were feel- 
 ing in my pockets. I could have done 
 that ; it wouldn't have been much. And 
 as to dropping you over there I'm too 
 strong a man for you to trifle with." 
 
 Here, by way of illustration, the Left- 
 hander extended his arm and caught Mr. 
 Ruggles by the breast, just at the upper 
 button of his waistcoat. lie then rose, 
 drew Mr. Ruggles up with him, stiffened 
 his ponderous arm, and lifted him into 
 the air. 
 
 It was an impressive spectacle. Mr. 
 Ruggles, with his legs and arms hanging 
 down and gesticulating, his face expres- 
 sive of horror, and his voice issuing forth 
 in a gurgle, was helpless in the grasp of 
 the giant. 
 
 " It would be easy," said the Lefthand- 
 er, looking toward the rock. 
 
 He set Mr. Ruggles on his feet, and 
 pointed up the path. 
 
 "Go away," he said, "and don't come 
 back. It will be dangerous." 
 
 Mr. Rugbies availed himself of this per- 
 mission with alacrity. Picking up his 
 stick, he hastened up the path and was 
 soon lost to view. After some moments 
 the Lefthander followed him, talking to 
 himself in a contemplative way. 
 
 " So he's after the papers : I might 
 have known he would be. And this de- 
 tective is sent for. Well, I don't drink 
 now, but it is just as well I did to-day. 
 It's a good thing to know what cards yii 
 are playing against, ami tin- rock yonder 
 made my friend show his hand." 
 
 He then went hack to Crow's Nest. 
 The detective had disappeared. 
 
 XL1X. 
 
 IN THE BOHMERWALD. 
 
 ONE morning, a few days after the in- 
 cident just related, the Lefthander and 
 Mouse were alone together at Crow's 
 
 Xest. It was just after breakfast, am 
 Gentleman Joe had gone to pay a visit 
 his dear Nelly, and Harry had wander 
 away into the pine thicket in rear of 
 house, to look after some traps wii 
 which he amused his convalescence. Th< 
 Lefthander was smoking, and leaning foi 
 ward in a meditative attitude, with one of 
 his hands resting on his knee ; Mouse 
 busily putting away the tin cups ai 
 plates on a shelf in the corner. Havinj 
 at last arranged everything to her sati 
 faction, she came and sat down by tl 
 Lefthander, and opened a small BibleJ 
 which she took from her pocket, and be 
 gan to read to him. 
 
 This was her daily habit, and the read- 
 ing was one of the Lefthander's greatest] 
 enjoyments. What was the explanati< 
 of that? Was there lying latent in thi 
 rugged organization that religious senti-l 
 ment which, denied often to the scientist,! 
 fills the heart of the ignorant and Imm-l 
 ble? Possibly; or the Lefthander might 
 have liked to hear the earnest voice ol 
 the child, and to feel that her charactt 
 was taking shape under purifying inl 
 cnces. He always put out his pipe at 
 once as a mark of respect, and listem 
 with deep attention, asking a questi< 
 now and then as to what Mouse thought 
 a particular passage meant. Rcceivh 
 from the child a statement of her vie\ 
 on the subject, he generally nodded withl 
 an air of conviction, and said he supposed 
 that ivas what it meant. He then con>| 
 posed himself to listen again, and, when! 
 Mouse finished her reading, said "Amen." 
 On this morning he remained silent for! 
 some minutes after the child closed heril 
 book; then he said, 
 
 "After all, that is the only Bible 
 which is strange." 
 
 "What do you mean, poppa?" .slid 
 Mouse. 
 
 "I mean, Mignon, that there's not a 
 ditTerent Bible for different people. This] 
 is the only one for lords and ladie< and 
 tramps and beggars. And the strange 
 thing is it suits every one of them, wher- 
 ever they are and whatever they are." 
 
 lie mused a little, and added, 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 1 i.; 
 
 " But I wish ynu were one of the ladies, 
 not the poor little one you arc." 
 
 " A l.i-lv : I'm just as good :i lady as 
 [ want to be, sir," said M<>usr, with a 
 rrand air. 
 
 " Yes ; I really believe you are in your 
 haractcr. Hut I was thinking of the 
 asy time the real ladies have. I wish 
 ,*ou were one of them for that reason 
 aot such a little chit, only the child of 
 four poor mother." 
 
 Did the Lefthander utter these words 
 accidentally or with intention ? The lat- 
 ter seemed to be the case. He glanced 
 niickly at Mouse and then back to the 
 ire. If his object was to excite her cu- 
 iosity, and induce her to question him, 
 lis ruse succeeded. 
 
 " You never told me anything about 
 nother, poppa," said the child. "You 
 ilways said I was too young, and you'd 
 .ell me some day. Won't you tell me 
 low ? I'm old enough. Can't you tell 
 ne, poppa ?" 
 
 " Yes, Mignon there's no sort of 
 rouble about tnat. You are right. You 
 ire growing up to be a little woman now, 
 ind ought to know about things. I met 
 rour mother in the Bohemian country 
 '. belonged to a circus I ran away from 
 ny father and joined it when I was a 
 
 " Ran away, poppa ?" 
 
 "Yes; I ought not to have run away; 
 mt my father was a very stern man. He 
 vas a peasant, and very poor, and made 
 ne work hard from daylight to dark, so 
 
 joined a circus that was passing, and 
 liever saw him again." 
 I The Lefthander spoke rather sadly. 
 
 " My father died soon afterward, and I 
 vas very heavy - hearted," he said. " It 
 jvould be much better if people avoided 
 ioing what makes them heavy-hearted 
 dien they think of it." 
 
 " But if they did not really mean to 
 lo wrong?" said charitable Mouse. 
 
 "I ought not to have done as I did. 
 | am very sorry. Well, I went off with 
 |he circus, and grew up to be a young 
 ban, and found I was strong, and became 
 in athlete. At last the company travel- 
 
 led into I'M ilu-mia, and I t with vur 
 
 mother. It was an aeeident." 
 
 Mou-c POM and came to the lefthand- 
 er, ami, sitting in his lap, put one arm 
 around his neck. 
 
 " \Yhat do you mean by sa\ing it was 
 an accident, poppa f she .said. 
 
 "I will tell you about it. Tin : 
 a performance at a place called Prague, 
 in the Bohemian country. I had taken 
 by that time to the trapc/.e hn-i; 
 well as lifting, and one night I had a fall 
 and hurt myself. It laid me iij> for the 
 time, and when the company left Prague; 
 I thought I would have to remain behind ; 
 but they put me into one of the wa^ms 
 on a mattress, and we went west toward 
 the Bohmerwald." 
 
 "What is that, poppa?" 
 
 "A high mountain on the boundary of 
 Bohemia. It was a tedious matter cross- 
 ing it, and as to myself, I did not cross it 
 at all ; I was in so much pain that they 
 had to take me out of the wagon and 
 leave me at a house we passed, where an 
 old hunter of the mountains li\ !. Your 
 mother was his daughter." 
 
 The Lefthander drew a long breath. 
 
 "She was very beautiful, your poor 
 mother, Mignon," he went on, "and 
 nursed me till I w y as well of my hurt. 
 So I came to love her, and loved her 
 more and more every day, and she loved 
 me, and it was not so surprising, there- 
 fore, that she should be willing 
 away with me at last as my wife. I \\a> 
 a gay young fellow then, though I am 
 often so quiet and sorrowful now her 
 death made me so. She died in !<> than 
 one year after her marriage, but sin- left 
 me you. I should have gone crazy with- 
 out my little Mignon when my other 
 Mignon left me. At first I could n..t 
 even cry ; I was thinking of her, and 
 breaking my heart about her. day and 
 night. But one day I was h-.ldii. 
 in my arms, and you put yours round my 
 neck they were rosy little arms and 
 you babbled 'Poppa! poppa!' and then 
 I began to cry at last." 
 
 "Poor, dear poppa!" sobbed Mouse, 
 holding him close. 
 
144 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 " Well, she was dead, you see," con- 
 tinued the Lefthander, " your poor little 
 mother, far off in the Bohemian coun- 
 try, which you don't remember, for I 
 brought you away with me when you 
 were a baby. Your mother's name was 
 Mignon, and sometimes I say the name to 
 myself quietly : she is gone, but then I 
 have my small Mignon I couldn't get 
 along without her. What would the big 
 oak do without the bird that sings on the 
 top branch ? It would be a tiresome busi- 
 ness to the tree not to hear the bird sing- 
 ing, and not much matter how soon it 
 would be cut down." 
 
 "But the bird is not going away," 
 Mouse cried, clinging to him, and smiling 
 through her tears. "Go away, poppa? 
 Where would I go, and how could I live 
 without you ?" 
 
 " The tree may go, Mignon I mean it 
 might be cut down : something might 
 happen to me. I was thinking of that 
 just now I think of it very often and 
 that is why I said that I wished you were 
 a lady. What I meant was this: If you 
 were a lady you would have a family and 
 friends to take care of you. If I were to 
 die, \\ hat would become of you ? That is 
 on my mind all the time, Mignon." 
 
 "Oh, poppa, don't talk of dying! I 
 should die, too, if you were to." 
 
 The Lefthander shook his head sadly. 
 
 "Young people think that," he said, 
 "but they are mistaken. People forget 
 in this world that comes after awhile, 
 and it is best. Or if they don't exactly 
 forget, they manage to live on somehow, 
 just as a man shot through the. body, and 
 as good as done for, hangs on and don't 
 die for years afterward." 
 
 "lint you arc not shot through the 
 body, poppa, and you're not to think of 
 dying, if you please, or of my being able 
 to get alonir without you." 
 
 The Lefthander drew tin; small head 
 down to his broad chest, and smoothed 
 the child's hair. "My good little Mi- 
 non," he said, with the look of troul.l.- 
 still on his face; "I don't belie\ 
 father ever loved his child as mueh a- I 
 love you ; and it's pitiful to be so poor, 
 
 and not be able to make life easier to 
 you." 
 
 " Easier ! Why, what do I want more 
 than I have ? I have you" 
 
 "You might have a good deal more 
 if we were not such mere vagabonds!] 
 It's pitiful ! Here you are in rags, near- 
 ly, a poor little one, doing everything. 
 How you ever learned to read, even, I 
 can't understand. You learned yourself 
 at odd times, and read better than I can. 
 Ten years old, and here in this old shan- 
 ty, without a mother or sister, or almost 
 a bed to sleep on !" 
 
 "You will do for mother and sister, 
 and my bed is as warm as toast." 
 
 Mouse laughed, and tightened the small 
 arm around the Lefthander's shoulder. 
 
 " But think," he said, " if you were a 
 lady you see I come back to that you 
 would have ladies to associate with, and 
 servants to do the work for you, and easy 
 chairs, and a mahogany bedstead, with a 
 white counterpane, and no end of pleasant 
 things. You would have silk dresses, and 
 little boots that button up with bkck 
 buttons, and a little hat with a feather in 
 it, maybe, and .1 carriage to ride in, and 
 life would be easy for you." 
 
 Mouse reflected, and did not dissent 
 from this. She evidently would have 
 liked what the Lefthander spoke of. 
 
 " That would be pleasant," he said. 
 
 " Yes, it would be." 
 
 " And you'd enjoy it ?" 
 
 "I think I would." 
 
 "I thought so," said the Lefthander, 
 sorrowfully. 
 
 "But not without you, poppa. Of 
 course it's natural to like pretty things, 
 and I should certainly like it all but 
 how could I get along without you?' 1 '' 
 
 The Lefthander's rugged face seemed 
 to melt at the words. There was an in- 
 d's.-ril)able tenderness in the very manner 
 in which In- eaiv ed the child's hair. 
 
 "You would soon get used to it," he 
 said. 
 
 "I don't think I would," Mon^e re- 
 plied, shaking her head slightly ; " I know 
 I would not. I don't see how nice thirds 
 and easy living can make us forget the 
 
VIRGINIA liOHKMlANS. 
 
 L46 
 
 people we l<vr. I am sure if I lived that 
 fine life, and you were not with in.-, I 
 would lie awake in the bod with the 
 pretty counterpane and think of you and 
 cry and then, you know, that would 
 spoil all the fine things, and the boots 
 with the black buttons would pinch me." 
 
 The Lefthander was overcome by the 
 mixed pathos and gayety of the child. 
 He held her close to his heart, and his 
 lips moved as if he were praying for her. 
 
 "Well, well," he said, "you mustn't 
 mind my talk, Million I'm a little down 
 to-day. It is natural that a father should 
 be thinking about what might happen to 
 his. child if he were to die. It would be 
 better if you were a little lady, as I said 
 but then I would not see you any 
 more ; and if I were not to see you I 
 think I should die, Mignon !" 
 
 ILis breast heaved and a tremor passed 
 through his frame. 
 
 " I must go and see about Harry," he 
 said, rising suddenly ; " he is not well yet." 
 
 AVas this to conceal his emotion ? It 
 seemed so ; Mouse had never seen him so 
 much agitated. lie took his hat and 
 went out, turning his head as if to con- 
 ceal his face from the child. A few mo- 
 ments afterward she saw him disappear 
 in the thicket. 
 
 L. 
 
 MOUSE 8 VISITOR. 
 
 MOUSE sat down after the departure of 
 the Lefthander, and fell into deep thought. 
 She was thinking of her mother. Her 
 vivid imagination filled up the picture of 
 the scenes in the Bohmerwald her father 
 lying sick in the home of the old hunter, 
 her mother nursing him, no doubt, their 
 love and marriage, and her death in less 
 than one year afterward. That was very, 
 very sad. She understood now why her 
 father was so quiet and sorrowful often. 
 He had been gay once, he said now he 
 was no longer gay, and that was natural, 
 since he had lost the person he loved best 
 upon earth. 
 
 Mouse sobbed, and remained for some 
 10 
 
 time quite absorbed in thought- <>f her 
 poor mamma; but then that would not 
 do, she relleeted. Sin- had a shirt of 
 Harry'* to mend ; so she went a; 
 the shirt and her work - basket, and sat 
 down t<> mend the garment. A^ there 
 was no back to her chair, she placed |,,-r 
 feet on the round in front, and pinning 
 the shirt to her knee brgan to 
 
 She was thus engaged when she h<-ard 
 a step approaching, and a long shadow 
 ran over the porch. Moii-i- locked up 
 suddenly. There stood an elegantly- 
 dressed gentleman, with a riding-whip in 
 his hand. He was the same who had ac- 
 companied the United States marshal on 
 his search for the moonshiners that night. 
 In fact, the visitor was no other than Mr. 
 Douglas Lascclles. 
 
 He stood looking at the child and her 
 surroundings with apparent inter 
 though his face continued to wear the 
 expression of coolness and nonchalance 
 which was habitual with him. 
 
 " Good-morning, miss," he said, bowing 
 carelessly, for Mr. Lascelles was too well- 
 bred ever to omit any of the forms of 
 politeness. 
 
 " Good-morning, sir," said Mouse, who 
 had been a little startled by his appear- 
 ance* and wished Harry would return. 
 
 She had risen quickly, and, as the visit- 
 or now came toward her, instinctively re- 
 treated a step. 
 
 " You seem to be all by yourself," said 
 Mr. Lascelles. 
 
 " Yes, sir poppa and all are &\\ 
 
 "Who is your father?" 
 
 " His name is Ottendorfer." 
 
 "And he is absent this morning ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles slightly knit his brow<, 
 apparently from a sentiment of disap- 
 pointment. His face, as he stood looking 
 at her, evidently did not produce a very 
 agreeable impression upon Mouse, who 
 lowered her eyes. As the shirt wa 
 pinned to her dress, and she held it in her 
 hand, her skirt was raised, showing the 
 slender limbs in cotton sto.-kin-.rs; and 
 Mr. Lascelles, looking at them, wondered 
 a little at the delicacy of the small feet, 
 
146 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 and, indeed, at the same trait in Mouse's 
 features, framed in the light hair. 
 
 " You are young to be left in such a 
 lonely place as this by yourself," he said, 
 indifferently ; " are you never afraid?" 
 
 " N-o, sir," responded Mouse, with a 
 strong conviction that she was not speak- 
 ing the exact truth ; " that is not when 
 nobody comes " 
 
 " Well, / have come and you are evi- 
 dently afraid of me, which is absurd." 
 
 This did not seem to altogether reas- 
 sure Mouse. The face of Mr. Lascelles 
 was plainly not at all to her taste. 
 
 4 ' Where is your father Ottendorfer? 
 You said he was your father." 
 
 " lie has gone away, sir for a little 
 while," added Mouse, by way of indicating 
 that she was in reach of assistance ; " he 
 will soon be back." 
 
 " Then I will wait for a short time, 
 at least." 
 
 He sat down on one of the broken- 
 backed chairs, in evident ill-humor. 
 
 " What a kennel you live in !" he said, 
 looking around him with covert disgust. 
 Mouse felt that it was necessary to say 
 something, so she replied, in a voice which 
 did not indicate either the recovery of 
 her self-possession or an improved opin- 
 ion of Mr. Lascelles, 
 
 " It's not very nice, sir. There's not 
 much furniture ; but it's all we've got." 
 
 " Not much furniture : not an oppres- 
 sive amount, and rather old-fashioned. 
 This hair is enough to break one's back. 
 Td like to break it's own, except that it 
 has none !" 
 
 Mr. Lascelles was not in an amiable 
 state of mind, plainly. II' 1 was not gen- 
 erally ill-humored; but people will fret 
 sometimes when they have wound them- 
 selves up to go through an interview of an 
 unpleasant character, are anxious to have 
 it over, and find that it must be deferred. 
 
 As Mouse, less and less pleased with 
 her visitor, whose face exhibited mingled 
 divi.-itisfaetion and distaste for all around 
 him, did not make any reply to this at- 
 tack upon her furniture, Mr. Lascelles, 
 glancing indifferently at her and cutting 
 his boot with his riding-whip, said, 
 
 " Ottendorfer is your father, you say.! 
 Where is your mother ?" 
 
 " She is dead, sir," replied Mouse. 
 
 "One of the circus women, probably. 
 You belonged to that company, too, I 
 member now. I saw you dancing on the 
 rope. What was the cause of your leav- 
 ing the company? what made your fa- 
 ther drag you off here to this cabin, when 
 your life yonder was so easy ?" 
 
 " Oh, it was very hard not easy at all, 
 sir! I like living here so much better." 
 
 " Rather a queer taste," said Mr. Las- 
 celles, indifferently. After this careless 
 comment he stretched his handsome rid- 
 ing-boot, and looked out of the window. 
 
 "When will your father be back.-" he 
 said. 
 
 " I hope he'll be back very soon." 
 
 The tone of the words seemed to attract 
 Mr. Lascelles's attention. 
 
 "Perhaps your meaning is, miss, that 
 his return will terminate an interview 
 which is not particularly pleasant. Yon 
 do not seem precisely at your ease with 
 me." 
 
 Mouse looked down, a little confused, 
 and at a loss fey a replv. 
 
 "One would say you were afraid of 
 me." 
 
 Mouse did unquestionably look a little 
 fearful, and only murmured some vague 
 words. 
 
 " It is unnecessary, and absurd, too, as 
 I said before. I am not a bear, or a Giant 
 Blunderbore, to devour children. You! 
 father maybe; he is certainly a Blunder- 
 bore in appearance at least. Why did he 
 leave the circus ?" 
 
 "There was a fight with with Mr. 
 Brownson," Mouse said, not having re- 
 gained her nerves. 
 
 k ' What was it about f 
 
 "About me, sir, I think. I fell off the 
 rope, and Mr. Brownson was angry." 
 
 "Oh yes, when you sprained your an- 
 kle, or something. And you went away 
 that night V 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 M Where did you sleep?" 
 
 " In the town my foot hurt me, and 
 poppa was carrying me." 
 
YIUCINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 1 17 
 
 Mr. Lasccllcs fell into reflection. Af- 
 ter awhile lie looked intently at the child, 
 and seemed to have conceived some proj- 
 ect. This was apparent from the sudden 
 disappearance of his air of indifference. 
 
 " Well, miss," he said, "it was fortu- 
 nate that your father was not arrested. 
 Jle had assaulted a peaceful person, and 
 left the circus company without a mo- 
 ment's warning. Ill-natured persons 
 might have said that he did so to prevent 
 being searched." 
 
 " Searched, sir !" exclaimed Mouse. 
 
 " I am sorry to shock you, miss, but 
 people sometimes leave a place suddenly 
 to avoid that. There is such a thing as 
 carrying away what is not one's property." 
 
 Mouse was so much shocked at this im- 
 putation that she flushed, and looked al- 
 most defiantly at Mr. Lascelles. 
 
 " Poppa does not steal things !" she 
 said, with the air of an outraged princess. 
 
 "Not to your knowledge, doubtless; 
 but that is no proof. How could you 
 know what he had in his baggage ?" 
 
 " He had no baggage at all nothing 
 but my old travelling-bag," Mouse replied, 
 so much offended that she seemed to for- 
 get her uneasiness. 
 
 " Your travelling-bag, eh ?" 
 
 "And there was nothing in it but a 
 few clothes of mine and some old papers." 
 
 " What old papers ?" 
 
 Mr. Lascelles asked the question with 
 an abruptness which showed how much 
 the words of Mouse affected him. There 
 was the indefinable change, too, in his 
 whole manner that is seen in the fox or 
 deer-hound, when, after circling around, 
 he at last comes on the scent of the game. 
 
 " Old papers what old papers 2" he 
 said. 
 
 " I don't know what they were, but 
 poppa had kept them for a long time." 
 
 " Where are they now ? I mean, you 
 brought your bag with you to this house, 
 I suppose." 
 
 "No, sir, I lost it. Poppa thinks it 
 must have been dropped, but / think it 
 was left at a good man's house where we 
 slept that night." 
 
 " What good man ?" 
 
 " His name was Mr. ( Irantham, 1 hrard." 
 
 u Mr. (Irantham ! Tars-.n (Irantham f 
 
 "That was his name." 
 
 Mr. Laseelles l..vt a little of the color in 
 his face. 
 
 " Why have you never gone ba< 
 it?" 
 
 " Poppa did go, but the good ma:, 
 away." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles fixed his eyes on the floor, 
 and was quite silent for some m : 
 His expression of face was extl 
 gloomy and unea-^v. 
 
 "How do you'think you came to leave 
 it there ?" he said, in a low voice. 
 
 "I think it was left on the bed where 
 I slept," Mouse replied. 
 
 "Well," Mr. Lascelles said, after a 
 moment,"! suppose that was all your 
 fancy. The good man, as you call him, 
 would have looked for you, to restore the 
 bag if he had found it." 
 
 " It was not worth thinking of, sir." 
 
 "Why not? The papers may have 
 been valuable. How did they ever come 
 to be in the bag ?" 
 
 " Poppa put them there ; his own old 
 trunk had a broken lock, but my bag had 
 a very good one, only I think it was un- 
 locked that night." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles knit his brows; then he 
 grew suddenly savage. Perhaps the child 
 had been drilled to tell the whole story. 
 
 "You are deceiving me!" he growled. 
 
 " Oh no, I am not, sir." 
 
 " Where are those papers ?" 
 
 "I have told you all I know about 
 them," said Mouse, retreating before his 
 fiery eyes. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles rose and advanced to- 
 ward her, whereupon Mouse hastily re- 
 treated. 
 
 "If I thought you were trifling with 
 me" 
 
 Mr. Lascelles, without intending to do 
 so from the mere force of habit, proba- 
 bly raised his riding-whip as though he 
 meant to strike the child with it. Thuv- 
 upon a great change suddenly took place 
 in Mouse. She stopped and stood 
 with a deep flush in her cheeks, looking 
 straight at him. It was really wonder- 
 
148 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 ful to see bow her whole expression had 
 changed in an instant. 
 
 "Don't strike me!" she exclaimed, her 
 voice trembling, but with a covert defi- 
 ance in its tones. " Harry will be here 
 soon, and he will not let you strike me." 
 
 For a moment they stood facing each 
 other. The threat, or apparent threat, to 
 inflict a degrading punishment on the 
 poor child seemed to have changed her 
 whole character in an instant : she de- 
 fied and threatened him. 
 
 " Strike you ! Who spoke of striking 
 you ?" he exclaimed, moodily. " Who is 
 the Harry you speak of ?" 
 
 " He is one of the family, and will be 
 here soon," Mouse said, still defiant. 
 
 Now, to meet " one of the family," 
 other than the Lefthander, was not con- 
 templated by Mr. Lascelles when he came, 
 nor was it now. There were reasons 
 prompting him to hold a private inter- 
 view with the Lefthander. As that gen- 
 tleman was absent indefinitely, and an- 
 other member of the family was about 
 to make his appearance, Mr. Lascelles 
 seemed to abandon his project, for he 
 turned toward the door. 
 
 " Well, I have no further time to waste 
 on you and your family, miss," he said, 
 almost roughly. " Your surroundings 
 are not very inviting, and your own 
 manners not particularly engaging. The 
 sight of my riding-whip seems unpleasant 
 to you ; but if your father used a switch 
 occasionally it might teach you a little 
 better how to behave yourself." 
 
 With these words Mr. L:iM-lI.-s tapped 
 his boot with his whip, walked out of the 
 house, and, going down the hill, mounted 
 his horse and rode back toward Pied- 
 mont. 
 
 LI. 
 
 IV THE WVK WOODS. 
 
 MR. LASCELLES gained tin 1 (lap and 
 rode on in the directi.'n of Wye, l,,>t in 
 moody reflection. 
 
 His visit to Crow's Ne>t had been tin- 
 result of a resolution which he had come 
 to on the preceding night. As Mr. Rni:- 
 
 | gles, to his great disgust, had completely 
 failed to obtain possession of the coveted 
 papers, and seemed unable to devise any 
 means of attaining that object, Mr. Las- 
 celles had determined to bring the whole 
 affair to a point by a direct negotiation 
 on the subject with the Lefthander. He 
 had no reason to believe that the Left- 
 hander, in his depressed financial condi- 
 tion, would prove deaf to golden argu- 
 ments. Men were always for sale, he re- 
 flected ; the only difference was that some 
 cost more than others. It was possible 
 that the Lefthander might cost a good 
 deal. He might take an unmanly advan- 
 tage of the state of things and mulct him, 
 Mr. Lascelles, heavily. But such misfort- 
 unes must be put up with. To attain 
 our ends in this world we must make 
 sacrifices. Mr. Lascelles was ready to 
 make them, and proposed to purchase 
 what he could not otherwise lay his hands 
 on, and in order to effect this had visit- 
 ed Crow's Nest. 
 
 Not finding the Lefthander at home he 
 had failed in his negotiation ; but the 
 visit 'had not been by any means thrown 
 away. lie liau made a very important 
 discovery, indeed : the papers had been 
 in the child's travelling-bag this had 
 not probably been dropped, as something, 
 would have been heard of it in that event ;] 
 it was therefore, no doubt in possession 
 of Mr. Grantham. At this thought Mr. 
 Lascelles slightly shuddered. Had Mr.? 
 Grantham opened the bag and examined 
 tin- papers? If so but it was improba- 
 ble. As before, something would have 
 been heard of it in that case, and nothing 
 
 l been heard of it. It was just as 
 likely that Mr. Grantham had not exam- 
 ined them : at all events it was neceJ 
 >ary to prevent his doing so, if they were 
 still in his possession. 
 
 IIo\\ could he ascertain the fact and 
 lay his hands on the papers? It was a 
 dillienlt alTair to manage. There really 
 did seem to be no means of doing so in j 
 a Straightforward manner. Why were 
 people thus compelled, Mr. Lascelles re- 
 flected, to adopt " crooked " means . ; lie 
 would have much preferred the simpler 
 
VIRGINIA 
 
 rourse, but that was impossible. lie cer- 
 tainly could not go to Mr. Grantham and 
 >av, "A travelling-bag was left with you, 
 containing papers which you will be good 
 enough to deliver to me/' Explanations 
 would be asked, and he would be obliged 
 ite that the papers were of right 
 his property. Jiut then the explanation 
 would require an explanation, and that 
 second explanation Mr. Lascelles was not 
 apparently prepared to make. 
 
 On the whole, it would be much better 
 to quietly resume possession of his prop- 
 erty without raising a scandal. There 
 would be no moral transgression in so 
 doing. Mere forms were not of vital im- 
 portance where there was no real viola- 
 tion of the laws of meum and tuum. 
 Molierc had claimed the right to take his 
 own wherever he found it, and why should 
 not he ? If by taking it quietly lie avoid- 
 ed strife and contention, was it not all the 
 better ? 
 
 The trouble was to devise the means, 
 and he naturally thought of Mr. Ruggles. 
 At first he hesitated to have recourse to 
 the assistance of that gentleman, of whom 
 he was growing a little weary. His views 
 as to the efficiency of "detectives" had 
 undergone a shock. The perusal of 
 modern novels had elevated the detec- 
 tive police very high in his estimation. 
 He was very much surprised now to have 
 bis eyes opened, and to find that they 
 were the merest pretenders. There might 
 be some efficient ones, but Mr. Ruggles 
 was evidently an ignoramus or a new 
 hand; else why had he failed? It was 
 really absurd. The papers were in exist- 
 ence, and there was the money ready. 
 W T hy were they not forthcoming ? The 
 result contempt for Mr. Ruggles, and 
 ill-suppressed hauteur of bearing in that 
 gentleman's company. Not even the nar- 
 rative of Mr. Ruggles's ruse with the black 
 bottle, and of what followed, had moved 
 him. lie was evidently no match for the 
 Lefthander, and the struggle was over 
 but he might be for Mr. Grantham. He 
 might suggest something, at least, and if 
 it was found necessary to determine on 
 the hazardous proceeding of 
 
 Mr. La-cclles took out 1,N \\at.-h. It 
 was nearly half-pa-t three in the afl< 
 Fur o'clock \\as the hour \\hen 1 
 accustomed to meet, Mr. I! 
 there was just time to reach the , 
 voiis. He put. spurs to his h'r-e, and went 
 on at full gallop. This soon brought him 
 to the Wye wo. .ds ami turning a beixl in 
 the road he saw Mr. Ruggles seated on a 
 root awaiting him. 
 
 "I was looking for you," said M 
 relies, rather curtly. 
 
 " Well, here I am," returned M, 
 gles, retaining his seat on the root, of the 
 tree, and speaking in a carelett tone. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles was already in a bad hu- 
 mor, and by no means relished his com- 
 panion's tone. 
 
 "You appear to be rather indi; 
 whether you see me or not," he said. 
 
 Mr. Ruggles had been picking his teeth 
 with a straw. This ceremony he still 
 proceeded with. 
 
 "Well, to tell you the fact, M 
 cclles, I'm a little tired of thi- 
 he said. 
 
 " Indeed !" Mr. Lascelles returned, iron- 
 ically. 
 
 Mr. Ruggles nodded. 
 
 " I've done all I could, and I can't find 
 your papers. Are they really to be 
 found anywhere? They have been de- 
 stroyed, maybe." 
 
 "They are not destroyed," said Mr. 
 Lascelles, knitting his brows but n 
 ing himself. 
 
 " Are you certain ?" 
 
 " Yes. Perhaps your not finding them 
 is due to another circumstance." 
 
 " What circumstance is that :" 
 
 "That you are a new hand at your 
 business." 
 
 This observation evidently offended Mr. 
 Ruggles considerably ; hi- -um-d 
 
 a sullen expression. 
 
 "Been twenty years in the for 
 think I know a thing or two!" ! 
 sponded, not without covert detia 
 
 " Xo one would think so," replied Mr. 
 Lascelles, unable to suppress the retort. 
 " This business is simple enough. I want 
 something a part of my property 
 
150 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 which another person has in his hands. 
 I employ you to get possession of it and 
 you fail to do so. I don't tell you you 
 arc inefficient, exactly but I say you 
 must be new at your business." 
 
 "Been nearly twenty years in the 
 force!" reiterated Mr. Buggies, with a 
 rather morose glance. 
 
 " Well, I have not, and yet I've found 
 out more in half an hour than you have 
 done in a month." 
 
 "Found out what?" 
 
 The tone of voice employed by Mr. 
 Ruggles was open to the criticism of be- 
 ing rather unceremonious, and Mr. Las- 
 celles lost his temper slightly. 
 
 " Mr. Rugbies !" he said. 
 
 "Well, sir?" 
 
 " It would be better, probably, if you 
 were a little more friendly or polite, at 
 least in your manner of speaking. I 
 mention it as a thing apt to cause bad 
 feeling." 
 
 " I'm polite to everybody !" said Mr. 
 Ruggles. 
 
 " You are devilish short to me !" re- 
 plied Mr. Lascelles, with a dangerous look. 
 " But all this talk is folly. The papers 
 are in the town, at a Mr. Grantham's. 
 They were left there in a travelling-bag 
 containing a child's clothes. Can you, or 
 can you not, get hold of them ?" 
 
 Ills professional character being thus 
 in question, Mr. Ruggles replied that he 
 had no doubt he could get hold of them. 
 " It's a serious matter," he said, " some- 
 thing like burglary it will cost you 
 money." 
 
 " Burglary ! Who speaks of burglary ? 
 I might go and demand my property, but 
 that would cause talk. It is mine why 
 not go and take it, if it can be found, 
 without making a scandal f 
 
 " A scandal ! Yes, that's disagreeable," 
 said Mr. Ruggles, looking significantly at 
 Mr. Lascelles. 
 
 "It would be infernally li>:i^ivpahlo 
 I make no concealment on that point 
 but that is all. As to the business, there 
 is no wrong done anybody ; it is my pri- 
 vate affair. The papers are of no value 
 to any one but myself. They are kept 
 
 from me by that obstinate rascal, who has 
 some bad end in view. They are proba- 
 bly lying about somewhere yonder ; what 
 is to prevent you from quietly picking 
 them up and bringing them to me ? Your 
 check is ready." 
 
 This latter observation seemed to have 
 far more effect upon Mr. Ruggles than 
 the whole preceding train of argument. 
 
 "Well, I'll try,"' he said. <r Tho mat- 
 ter's simple enough. If they are lying 
 about I can easily get hold of them." 
 
 " Well, the sooner the better. I have 
 been to the house in the mountain and 
 had a talk, and by this time Ottendorfer 
 knows that I knoio. There is time to 
 try to-night," 
 
 Mr. Lascelles looked at his watch. 
 
 "You might get there toward dark, 
 and that would be better. If you say so, 
 I will meet you here at ten to-night to 
 hear what has happened." 
 
 Mr. Ruggles reflected, hesitated, and 
 then nodded. 
 
 "I'll try to-night, then. My cape will 
 hide the bag if I get hold of it, and I 
 won't be seen coming back." 
 
 He rose and buttoned up his coarse 
 brown cape. 
 
 "At ten, then," said Mr. Lascelles. 
 
 "At ten," said Mr. Ruggles. 
 
 They then parted, Mr. Lascelles riding 
 on toward Wye. 
 
 LII. 
 
 THE TRAVELLING-BAG. 
 
 MR. GRANTIIAM had just finished his 
 early cup of tea, and had returned to his 
 study, in which his-two candles were, burn- 
 ing. The half -written MS. of his next 
 sermon lay upon the table, but, while tak- 
 ing his solitary meal, he had been think- 
 ing of Ellis, and the impulse to write to 
 him was uncontrollable. 
 
 Hi 1 had a i^reat deal to say to him, as 
 he had not written for nearly a week 
 Then, on that morning he had stopped at 
 \Vy<-. on his ride to visit his poor people, 
 and Mrs. Lascelles had spoken of Ellis in 
 a way which warmed his heart. Anna 
 
VIRGINIA J'.oIlKMlANS. 
 
 L51 
 
 Gray had also alluded to the young man, 
 asking when lie would return, in a torn- of 
 voice which seemed to indicate a stronger 
 feeling than friendship; and Mr. Gran- 
 thani suddenly began to suspect that 
 relations existed between the young 
 people than he had supposed. \Vas this 
 really the case \Verc Ellis and Anna 
 Gray in. -re than friends? That demand- 
 ed thought. It would be an altogether 
 excellent arrangement; for the young 
 lady was a most exemplary person. But 
 could it be so? He would write and ask 
 Ellis. They had never had any secrets 
 from each other. 
 
 So, turning his back for the moment 
 on his sermon, and losing sight complete- 
 ly of his " History of Ritualism," which 
 had readied its most denunciatory chap- 
 ter, Mr. Grantham took a sheet of paper, 
 and began, " My beloved Ellis" 
 
 As he wrote the words a knock was 
 heard at the outer door, and he rose and 
 went out. At the door stood a plainly- 
 dressed man, with a coarse brown cape on 
 his shoulders. 
 
 " Do you wish to see me, my friend ?" 
 said Mr. Grantham. " Come in ; it is 
 growing cool." 
 
 The visitor entered, and, by way of ex- 
 plaining his visit, presented a soiled pa- 
 per, which Mr. Grantham took and read. 
 This paper recited the fact that the bear- 
 er was a respectable resident in the moun- 
 tain, who had been " burnt out " some 
 days before, and was an object of charity, 
 owing to a large family who were home- 
 less and destitute in consequence of their 
 misfortune. Under these circumstances 
 contributions in money or provisions 
 would be thankfully received. 
 
 Mr. Grantham's first impulse was to put 
 his hand in his pocket. He found the 
 least possible amount of currency there- 
 in ; but this he at once handed to the 
 unfortunate man. It was received with 
 thanks, but the visitor did not depart. 
 
 " Oh yes," said Mr. Grantham, " I quite 
 lost sight of the last part of your paper. 
 You wish for provisions, and I am glad of 
 that. I am poor in money, but Heaven 
 has blessed me with plenty of food." 
 
 lie went out to obtain the pr\ 
 saying that he would return in a moment, 
 thereupon the movements of the visitor 
 became rrrt-ntrir. lie looked (jlliekly 
 
 around him, saw a small t ravelin 
 hidden away under the old srrivtary in 
 the corner, an d went straight and 
 upon it. A quirk trial <!' the lock 
 cd him that it \\as open, and he h:i>tilv 
 cxamined its content-. The animated 
 expression of his fare showed that this 
 examination was thoroughly satisfactory. 
 The travelling- bag contained a child's 
 under -clothing, and at the bottom was 
 a package of papers. These Mr. Gran- 
 tham's eccentric visitor just glanced at 
 and thrust back. He then closed the 
 travelling-bag, and, concealing it under 
 his cape, returned toward the door, just 
 as the footsteps of Mr. Grantham eame 
 along the passage from the rear of the 
 house. 
 
 The worthy pastor carried in his hand 
 a plate containing an ample supply of 
 bread, meat, sugar, and coffee. This he 
 presented with a friendly smile to his vis- 
 itor, who wrapped it in an old newspaper 
 and gratefully thanked him. He then 
 took his departure, and Mr. (irantham 
 closed the front-door behind him and re- 
 turned to his study. It was not until the 
 next morning that he discovered a singu- 
 lar fact. His eccentric visitor had left 
 money and bread and meat on the bench 
 of the small porch. As Mr. Kuggles af- 
 terward said, in relating the incident, he 
 really could not take the artieles away 
 with him it looked too mean to be im- 
 posing on a man like that; he positively 
 could not do it. 
 
 With swift and joyous steps Mr. 
 gles hurried out of the town in the <lir - 
 tion of Wye. He was astounded at his 
 good fortune. He had not e 
 secure his prize in so simple and 
 manner. It was almost too good 
 true; but there it was under hi- 
 held tightly beneath his left arm ; and as 
 he went along, and emerged safely from 
 the town, unfollowed, he hugged it r.ipt- 
 urously, and a smile expanded upon his 
 features. Under the effect of his rare 
 
152 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 good fortune, Mr. Ruggles's whole soul, 
 indeed, expanded. His ill-humor had dis- 
 appeared, and he was at peace with all the 
 world. A part of his recent sullenness 
 had arisen from a sense of humiliation. 
 He had failed in all his efforts hitherto 
 now he had fully succeeded. His happi- 
 ness was unalloyed, lie had nothing to 
 reproach himself with, even in connection 
 with the Lefthander. Toward that gen- 
 tleman his sentiments had undergone a 
 great change since their interview on the 
 rock above the stream. Mr. Ruggles was 
 really touched by having had his life 
 spared. His new feeling of regard for 
 the Lefthander was perfectly sincere, and 
 he had even half resolved not to take part 
 in any future machinations against him. 
 But his present proceedings scarcely in- 
 volved that. The papers only concerned 
 Mr. Lascelles. Securing them was in no 
 manner personally prejudicial to the Left- 
 hander. It was all in the way of business, 
 and he was only carrying out his agreement 
 with Mr. Lascelles at least there they 
 were ! And Mr. Ruggles bestowed an- 
 other hug upon them, breaking forth into 
 confidential laughter. 
 
 "It's a real Saratoga trunk to carry 
 under a man's arm !" said Mr. Ruggles, 
 humorously ; " couldn't be handled, one 
 would say, by less than four bag^ag-- 
 sma>hers, at the very least! But I don't 
 mind the weight. A cool thousand dol- 
 lars in gold never felt so light before." 
 
 He reached the rendezvous in the Wye 
 woods a little before the hour agreed 
 upon. It was quite dark, and lie had had 
 some difficulty in finding his way. lie 
 generally carried a dark- lantern and 
 matches about him, but was nridrntally 
 unprovided with them on this occasion. 
 But they were unnecessary. A few stars 
 were shining, and afforded quite suilii-'n-nt 
 light for his interview with Mr. La>eelle-. 
 Mr. Rngglrs, therefore, sat down on hi* 
 favorite root, and while waiting f'll inti 
 reflection as to the manner in which he 
 would dispose of his thousand dollar.-. 
 His thousand dollars? His fifteen hun- 
 dred, at the very least! He was to have 
 that amount in case his services were at- 
 
 tended with danger. And had they not 
 been ? To be suspended over a precipice 
 was rather dangerous, one would say. 
 And then the commission of petty larceny 
 that also was rather hazardous. There 
 were such persons as constables, and such 
 places as State-prisons. Decidedly, there 
 could be no question about it, It was 
 absurd to say that danger had not been 
 an element of the affair and danger 
 meant at least fifteen hundred dollars, if 
 not two thousand. 
 
 This sum Mr. Ruggles contemplated 
 with great satisfaction. He was not a 
 bad fellow, and had an old mother whom 
 he cared a good deal for. He meant to 
 give her one -half the amount, and treat 
 his friends and himself with the rest. 
 
 He was thinking of this when he heard 
 steps, and a moment afterward a figure 
 came toward him. He rose quickly and 
 waited. The figure came nearer. It was 
 Mr. Lascelles. 
 
 " Well !" he exclaimed, ardently. 
 
 " I've got it," responded Mr. Ruggles 
 in the same tone. 
 
 " Give it to me ! You are lucky ! I 
 take back all I said about you." 
 
 " Perhaps you've got the two thousand 
 about you, Mr. Lascelles ?" 
 
 " Two thousand ? One thousand was 
 the agreement," 
 
 " Yes, if there was no danger. Now 
 there was danger enough, I think. Hang- 
 ing in the air a hundred feet above rocks 
 and water is dangerous." 
 
 "It amounted to nothing. It was 
 only done to frighten you." 
 
 " \Vell, it did frighten me rather," 
 said Mr. Ruggles, sullenly; "and larceny 
 does too stealing your papers, I mean." 
 
 It was quite obvious that Mr. Rugbies 
 meant to insist on his point, and with a 
 suppressed growl Mr. Lascelles said, 
 
 " Well, say fifteen hundred." 
 
 "Two thousand." 
 
 " No !" 
 
 " \\Y11, split on eighteen hundred 
 that's the lowest figure I swear I'll go at." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles felt a strong desire to 
 strangle Mr. Ruggles, but controlled him- 
 self. " 
 
VIK<;iMA nolIK.MIANS. 
 
 153 
 
 "Well let it go at that! (live me 
 10 bag. Arc you certain it is all right .'" 
 lain of it papers and all. Have 
 on got a match ?" 
 
 Mr. Lascelles produced his match-case, 
 nd illuminated a small wax cigar taper. 
 [e then hazily took the bag, opened it, 
 ud saw that it contained a child's under- 
 Bhing. 
 
 His face glowed, and, throating the ar- 
 cles aside, he plunged his hand into the 
 ottom of the bag and drew out a pack- 
 go of papers, lie had handed the taper 
 .) Mr. Higgles, who held it between them, 
 nd the dim light lit up the two ardent 
 ices, producing a decidedly Rembrandt- 
 effect. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles opened the package of 
 apers, which were in a brown wrapping 
 jcured by an ordinary cotton string. It 
 ontained a number of Sunday-school 
 acts. With eyes wide open Mr. Lascelles 
 nfolded a letter accompanying the pack- 
 ge, and read by the light of the taper : 
 
 I "DEAR MR. GRANTHAM, I send the 
 Bothes I promised you for 'your poor,' 
 ind some tracts. I made the clothes up 
 myself. Your affectionate 
 
 " FRANCES GARY." 
 
 I On the next morning Mr. Grantham 
 [prepared to ride out and visit his poor. 
 |fo his great surprise he missed his trav- 
 :?lling-bag with the children's clothes in 
 lit, which he had placed beneath the sec- 
 retary in his study ; strangely enough it 
 pad disappeared. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 IN THE LIBRARY. 
 
 WHEN Mr. Lascelles returned to Wye, 
 |ifter his interview with Mr. Ruggles, it 
 jwas not quite eleven. A light was burn- 
 j.ng in the library, which indicated that 
 ivery one had not retired. 
 
 As Mr. Lascelles had left the house by 
 the back-door, he now re-entered in the 
 jsame manner, intending to go to his cham- 
 ber. Perhaps it occurred to him that his 
 
 might prove an index of 
 matters, lie was \rry bill.-rly disippo'mt- 
 ed, and his e\piv>M.>ii WM Millen. Tim 
 be>t of us are mortal, and cannot, smile al- 
 \\ays The lirst glimpse of the ! thing 
 and papers in the travelling - bag had 
 brought, a thrill of triumph to tin- h'-art 
 of Mr. Lasecllrx. \Vlicn he 
 
 il character of tin- articles !. 
 into a rage, and used shocking rxpr> 
 reflecting personally on Mr. 1 1 u -.,".;'' 
 long conversation with that gentleman 
 had thereupon ensued, during which Mr. 
 Lascelles gradually grew mure COBB] 
 The sea was going down after the storm 
 now, but it was not by any means tran- 
 quil yet so Mr. Lascelles thought he had 
 better go to his room quietly. 
 
 Unluckily he found that he would be 
 unable to do so. Just as he was passing 
 under the old cut-glass lamp, with its red 
 octagonal sides, in the hall, a voice from 
 the library said, 
 
 "Is that you, Douglas?" 
 
 It was the voice of the general, and Mr. 
 Lascelles went at once to the library, where 
 he found his father leaning back in his 
 easy-chair. For a wonder he was not 
 reading his newspaper, but sun iking a 
 cigar. This was unusual with him. He 
 used snuff, like most gentlemen of the old 
 school, but rarely smoked. When he 
 did so he resorted to a mild cigar, and 
 used it as an aid to reflection. 
 
 "Come in, Douglas," he said. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles did so, and took hi 
 in an arm-chair at the corner of the fire- 
 place, facing his father. The g 
 tranquilly smoked for about a minute, 
 and then, moving his portly form slight- 
 ly, crossed one leg, ending in a neat slip- 
 per, over the other. He had evidently 
 something to say, and Mr. : I quiet- 
 
 ly waited. 
 
 "Do you know you are nearly thirty- 
 five, Douglas?" the genial >aid. 
 
 " You have a good met 
 
 A 1'aih. r rememh n the ige of his 
 children. You will be thirty-live n the 
 twentieth of next month." 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Mr. L. "nder- 
 
 ing a little what was coming. 
 
154 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 " And I think it is time you were mar- 
 ried, if you propose to marry." 
 
 Mr. Lascellcs smiled slightly. 
 
 " I am very well satisfied with my pres- 
 ent life, sir. Marriage is something of 
 a lottery, if we are to believe the trite 
 maxim, and I confess I should not like to 
 draw a blank." 
 
 "But you have your responsibility as 
 the head of the family after my death, 
 Douglas. You arc my only son, and a 
 son of yours should succeed you. Then 
 you have travelled and enjoyed yourself 
 or had the means of doing so, as I 
 think I could show you by my check- 
 book, during your absence in Europe. 
 You spent a great deal of money. I do 
 not complain of it; on the contrary, it 
 vactly in accordance with my wishes 
 that you should do so. A young man 
 who keeps good company has no taste 
 for bad company, and to go into good 
 society requires a certain expenditure." 
 
 " That is very true, sir : and remember 
 the rank and character of my father. 
 You were very well known as a states- 
 man in London and Paris, and I bore 
 your name." 
 
 This was not displeasing to General 
 Lascelles. The reference to ourselves as 
 persons of "rank and character" rarely 
 i-. 
 
 " Well, well, I am glad you enjoyed 
 yourself. But to come back to the 
 point. It is time you were thinking of 
 taking a wife. Unless you do so, and 
 have a boy to succeed you, the property 
 will go to Judge Warrington as the next 
 male kin, you know." 
 
 "To Judge Warrington!" exclaimed 
 Mr. Laseclles. 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "What i- to prevent you or me 
 from leaving the property to oth* 
 
 "Tin- ,SW/V A/// of the, Lasec!lrs fam- 
 ily," said (General Lavlles, tranquilly 
 smoking. "Have you forgotten it i \ 
 woman cannot represent, the family. The 
 next male kin takes the estate. Our an- 
 cestor, the Sieiir La^celh-s brought the 
 custom over the ocean with him, and it 
 Las been respected for nearly two centu- 
 
 I must respect it in my turn, and 
 so must you." 
 
 "And leave the estate of Wye t< 
 Judge Warrington ?" 
 
 "The house and a sufficient amount 01 
 land to keep it up, at least ; the res 
 would go to my daughters, either by 
 will or yours, since you succeed me." 
 
 "Judge Warrington !" 
 
 " I understand your feelings, my deal 
 Douglas, but there's no help for it. 
 confess I do not like Judge AYarrington 
 or fancy his ever being the master here 
 But he may be. He would be obliged t< 
 add Lascelles to his own name, but ther< 
 is little doubt that he would do so." 
 
 " Very little." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles reflected for some mo 
 ments after uttering these words. H< 
 then added, 
 
 "I have no objection to marrying, sir; 
 but I really have not thought seriously 
 of it. There ought to be some sentiment 
 in an affair so delicate " 
 
 " Oh, certainly ; but then there should 
 not be too much. Mere romantic feeling 
 is not necessary." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles smiled slightly. 
 
 "I heard of a gentleman," he said, 
 "who was going to his wedding in a 
 light carriage, and came to a stream so 
 swollen that fording it was extremely 
 dangerous. There was a bridge only 
 half a mile distant, but he would not go 
 back. He lashed his horses, and went 
 through with the water washing ovetf 
 their backs. The gentleman was your- 
 self, sir." 
 
 u Well, well, well !" the general said, 
 with a smile. 
 
 "And when my mother fainted one 
 day, you seized a glass which chanced ; 
 to have no bottom, and poured wattf^ 
 through it from a pitcher, exclaiming 
 'Marie! Marie!' You really must have 
 me of the romantic sentiment you 
 denounce, sir." 
 
 11 Well, well," said the general, in ft 
 mild voice, and with an expression in his 
 eyes which seemed to show that memory 
 had carried him back to his golden years, 
 " all that was a long time ago. My 
 
VIRGINIA 
 
 age has been happy, and I find no fault 
 ith real feeling; but do not let it blind 
 >u in selecting a wife. Good birth and 
 vcetness of temper are better than curls 
 id POS 
 
 "I fully agree with yon," said Mr. \.:\<- 
 lles. though it was exceedingly doubtful 
 hether he did. 
 
 "Good blood is of course essential," 
 e general said ; " as to money, that is ex- 
 emely desirable, but it is not everything, 
 ou had better live in comparative pov- 
 ty with a wife whose tastes and habits 
 lit your own, than in splendor with a 
 fTerent sort of person." 
 
 " But where shall I find the young lady, 
 r?" said Mr. Lascelles, smiling. 
 
 'There is my goddaughter, Frances 
 ary. She is really a little beauty." 
 
 "Miss Gary! Yes she is certainly 
 
 " Such a match would be most accept- 
 fcle to me. I am extremely fond of 
 feoloncl Gary, and would like to see more 
 f him than I now do." 
 
 " I am afraid Miss Gary is not my style, 
 ir excuse the slang of the day. There's 
 o accounting for one's tastes, you know." 
 
 " I am aware of that. Well, what do 
 [ou say to Miss Armstrong?" 
 
 The general touched the ash on his 
 igar with his little finger, knocking it off. 
 ks he did so he glanced at Mr. Lascelles 
 j.nd smiled. 
 
 "Miss Armstrong? She is very hand- 
 omc." 
 
 " Very handsome indeed," said the 
 rencral. "And the Armstrongs belong to 
 he best people, and were once quite 
 vealthy." 
 
 k ' Mrs. Armstrong still lives in great 
 omfort." 
 
 | u Well, what do you think of reqtiest- 
 ng the pretty Miss Juliet to become Mrs. 
 Douglas Lascelles? If rumor is true 
 'M'l i-vcn an old fellow like myself hears 
 j.hcm sometimes you have been consider- 
 nir that question." 
 
 " Rumor has always a great deal to say 
 pf people's affairs," said Mr. Lascelles; 
 !* but we have wholly neglected another 
 .'cry important point in the discussion 
 
 
 whether any one of theM young 
 would he desirous of her, ,miii" M: 
 relies." 
 
 " That is uncertain, 1 & nln-re 
 
 women are concerned e\er\ tiling 
 certain. Iut then tin r an- the \ 
 bilities. You an- in your prime, I 
 tleman in manners and rh:ira-t<-r, and 
 Wye is n handsome property." 
 
 "Very handsome, ind< 
 
 "I do not mean that tin- sort "f prr- 
 son I wish you to marry would he apt to 
 attach undue importance to the property. 
 Girls are not so mercenary as thev arc 
 represented to be the good ones. Of 
 course there arc plenty who are silly and 
 worldly, and would marry you for your 
 acres, if you were silly enough to permit 
 them to do so. Women are cither 
 or bad the line is drawn more distinctly 
 than with men. The good ones an- an- 
 gelic ; as to the other class, I wish I could 
 never see any more of them, they de- 
 grade their sex so, in my estimation. 
 Choose one of our little beauties in 
 the Piedmont neighborhood. They are 
 charming girls and there is nothing in 
 your character to object to. Your great 
 merit is that you have passed through ev- 
 ery temptation, and have returned to your 
 family without vices of any description." 
 
 " I am gratified at your good opinion, 
 sir." 
 
 "It is doing you simple justice. I 
 hoped, of course, that in visiting Europe 
 you would avoid what was discreditable 
 but lonor observation has shown me 
 
 O 
 
 that it is impossible to be certain of any- 
 thing in this world. We cannot 
 on human nature. When it 
 it generally gives way, and is apt to pux- 
 zle us more and more as we go on in life. 
 I am not a pessimist, but I am not 
 astonished. People disappoint all your 
 theories. If you told me that tb 
 Mr. Grantham had robbed me of a fat 
 mutton last night, or had broken into 
 a hen-roost, and stolen th-- 
 chickens, I should say 1 did not be!. 
 but I should not say he did not. That is 
 merely an illustration perhaps an extrav- 
 agant one. What I mean is that human 
 
156 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 nature is a very curious compound. It i 
 the unexpected that almost always hap- 
 pens, and what people do is often precise- 
 ly what you would never have expected 
 them to do." 
 
 " True enough, sir." 
 
 "Life and circumstances try men and 
 women. You often find the best of them 
 conducting themselves in a manner equal- 
 ly astonishing and discreditable." 
 
 As Mr. Lascelles inclined his head, by 
 way of assent to these philosophic max- 
 ims, the general proceeded to add, 
 
 " I am glad I can say that I have nev- 
 er been disappointed in any such way 
 in your case. You have passed through 
 many scenes calculated to try a young 
 man's morale, I am glad to say, without 
 soil on your character." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles looked modest. 
 
 "Your good opinion is certainly a 
 source of the highest satisfaction to me, 
 sir," he said. 
 
 " You deserve it. I should have been 
 equally candid in expressing my dissatis- 
 faction. It is due to you to say that 
 your career in Europe was highly honor- 
 able ; and you have returned home to 
 pursue the occupations of a country gen- 
 tleman without a regret or a remorse. 
 To say that of a man of thirty-five is to 
 say that ho is a respectable person, and 
 would make a good husband, and I as- 
 sure you that intelligent young ladies 
 consider these points as much as their 
 parents." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles made a movement of 
 modest and respectful assent. True, 
 there was something in the expression 
 of his eyes which it was rather difficult 
 to understand, but then his face was gen- 
 erally inscrutable. 
 
 "I will give the whole subject mature 
 reflection, sir," he said. " I need not >av 
 that the expression of your wishes has 
 always great weight with me." 
 
 "That is gratifying. There really need 
 be no trouble about it. No neighborhood 
 in Virginia has more charming young 
 persons than our little Piedmont circle. 
 Marry at home, where you arc certain 
 whom you marry that is the important 
 
 is point; for, let me repeat, it is essenti* 
 that a gentleman should not go out o 
 his own sphere, or marry a person h 
 knows nothing about. If he docs, th- 
 chances are that he will marry an advenl 
 urcss." 
 
 " You are right, sir." 
 
 "You had much better put your Lain 
 in the fire than offer it to such a pcrsor 
 But I think I need not caution yon o; 
 that point. You are not an inflammabl 
 boy, to be caught by the stereotyped wile 
 of such creatures. Look in your ow 
 sphere of society, my dear Douglas, fo 
 the future Mrs. Lascelles; and now, as 
 have preached long enough, I think 
 will retire." 
 
 AVhcn Mr. Lascelles reached his chain 
 ber he put on his dressing-gown, and fe 
 into a fit of musing; he was probabl t 
 thinking of the conversation with his fa 
 ther, as an ironical expression slowly stol 
 over his face. After awhile he got 
 and unlocked a drawer in his table. Fron 
 this he took a small oval case, covered 
 with blue velvet, and, touching a spring, 
 opened it. The case contained a colored 
 photograph of Miss Bassick, very fir.ch 
 executed. The young lady had evidently 
 dressed herself with great care to have i 
 taken, though perhaps the term "dressed* 
 is not strictly appropriate. The neck am 
 shoulders were bare, and emerged from a 
 cloud. They were very handsome sbou] 
 ders, and the eyes and lips of the picture 
 had the seductive expression of the origJ 
 inal. The full suit of hair was elaborate- 
 ly dressed. The portrait had been taken 
 a year before, in one of the Atlantic 
 when Mrs. Armstrong was accompanied^ 
 by Miss Bassick in the character of! 
 lady's maid and general travcllin-. 
 vcnience. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles sat down again and look-; 
 cd at the picture, which seemed to loofl 
 back at him. The seductive cye> brougfl 
 a slight color to his face it might have] 
 been called a sudden glow. It was quite! 
 an unusual expression with the cool Mr. 
 Douglas Lascelles. Something waa the 
 matter with him; and if there had been 
 any doubt of that, what followed would 
 
VIRGINIA r.olII-MIANS. 
 
 157 
 
 iave demonstrated it. lit- pivs.-ed the 
 >ieture to his lips. 
 
 "The little devil ! slu has made a com- 
 t'ool of me!" lie muttered; "hut 
 '11 soon be her master." 
 
 This confidential remark <>f Mr. I.a- 
 :clles is easily explained. He was eii- 
 : to be married t< Mi>s 1 fossick. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 THE MORNING PAPER. 
 
 MR. LASCELLES made his appearance 
 t the breakfast-table with such an air of 
 lonchalance that it was obvious he had 
 lot a care in the world. As he was un- 
 lorgoing at the moment, as will soon be 
 teen, a very considerable amount of anxi- 
 ity and suspense, this self-control w r as all 
 he more creditable ; and it is only justice 
 o Mr. Lascelles to say that his coolness 
 md force of character were remarkable. 
 .Ie sauntered in and took his seat with 
 in easy and cheerful air, and the pleasant 
 amily breakfast proceeded on its way. 
 
 Anna Gray, who relieved her aunt of 
 nuch of the house-keeping, sat behind the 
 ray, at the head of the table, and Mrs. 
 jascelles at the side next to the fire. At 
 ,he bottom of the table the general was, 
 is usual, sipping his coffee and reading 
 lis newspaper, with his old body-servant, 
 frames, standing motionless with his silver 
 raiter behind him. This old body-servant 
 ILvas quite a character. He and General 
 * Laseelles, in their callow youth, had aided 
 fund abetted each other in robbing birds' - 
 Ijiests, and other objectionable proceedings; 
 liind when the future head of the house of 
 !es became a young man, it was 
 I lames who groomed his riding-horse, and 
 I (waited upon him as his body -servant. 
 .jNVheii young legislator Lascelles repre- 
 sented his county at Richmond, James 
 Invent with him, and afterward accom- 
 panied his master to Washington, when 
 Jibe became a member of Congress. All 
 [Ithis had elevated the views of James, and 
 I 'impressed him greatly. lie was very 
 jbroud of " the family,'' and looked down 
 
 with unspeakable sc,>ni >n " poor white 
 people." His other names f,,|- them \\nv 
 "common man" and "tra-h." A> to in- 
 stituting any comparison between such 
 persons and the I.a^-elles family, he 
 would have regarded the idea U an cvi- 
 dencc of lunacy. He never di- 
 the subject, if any one seemed <1; 
 to introduce it. He simply nodded in a 
 lordly way, as tin- proud I>nke <-f S-.mer- 
 set might have done if a parvenu had 
 compared their respeetive pedi;_ r r<-e>., and 
 a goturc of the hand ind'n-ated his dcsiro 
 to drop the subject. 
 
 James had never for a single instant 
 thought of leaving his master during <>r 
 after the war. Emancipation Proclama- 
 tions were plainly only so much waste 
 paper in his eyes. Then- were certain 
 new-comers in the county, who ivmmi- 
 strated with him upon this unmanly sub- 
 servience. Was he not equal to his mas- 
 ter now? lie was a free American citi- 
 zen, and just as good as General La-celles, 
 and if he had a proper respect for him-elf 
 he would vote the Republican ticket and 
 perhaps he wouldn't mind taking a drink ? 
 But James was obdurate. He was much 
 obliged, but knew his own business, and 
 did not want any advice. His political 
 sentiments coincided with those of Gen- 
 eral Laseelles. He seldom drank when 
 he did, his master always had a plenty, 
 and of the best. 
 
 The strangest part of all was that James 
 would receive no wages which was his 
 supreme protest against the new order of 
 things. He had never wanted for m<>ney, 
 he said, in past times, when his yung 
 master had any, and did not mean now, 
 when his old master was often piv^ed. to 
 take anything from him. If ; 
 money were made him he would take 
 
 them, of course it wa- the pla. f a 
 
 servant to accept presents from a irentle- 
 man. There was no chan^' in him: he 
 and his mast( r maintained their f-rm.-r 
 positions: General Ln- 
 eral La-celles, and old James remaii, 
 James. The one sat at the table, and the 
 other stood behind him. The one hand- 
 ed the decanter on his silver waiter, and 
 
158 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 the other sipped the wine. One brushed 
 the other's clothes, and the other wore 
 them. Both heads were gray now, but 
 the feeling toward each other under the 
 gray hairs was the same as when they 
 went bird-nesting together half a century 
 before. 
 
 The breakfast-room at Wye was a very 
 pleasant apartment in rear of the library : 
 it was papered in fawn color, with bronze 
 figures, and comfortably carpeted, and on 
 the old-fashioned brass andirons blazed 
 a pile of hickory logs. The table-service 
 was of blue India china and the old fam- 
 ily silver. On the hearth a tea-kettle was 
 simmering cheerfully. It was a scene of 
 domestic peace and happiness, and the 
 faces of the little group were as cheerful 
 as their surroundings. Mrs. Lascelles, in 
 her black bombazine and frilled cap, was 
 talking with Anna Gray, whose appear- 
 ance was remarkable for its neatness and 
 absence of pretension. This was her ap- 
 pearance uniformly, for never was there a 
 person more delightfully neat and lady- 
 like. It was impossible to associate her 
 with the idea of undress ; and to have 
 seen her hair in disorder, or the little 
 white collar around her neck in the least 
 degree soiled, would have filled her friends 
 with apprehensions that something had 
 happened. 
 
 The general was reading his newspaper, 
 and interrupted himself in this perform- 
 ance to say good-morning to his son, as 
 he came in and took his seat. 
 
 " I am afraid there is going to be trou- 
 ble for our friends in the mountain," said 
 the general, addressing his observation to 
 no one in partimlar. 
 
 Mrs. Lascelles looked at him with her 
 placid smile, and said, 
 
 " What did you say, my dear .'" 
 
 This old couple thus addressed each 
 other, and the words seemed really to ex- 
 press their feeling. 
 
 " I mean for the ' moonshine ' people. I 
 see that troops are to be sent to arrest 
 them." 
 
 " It is a great pity that these poor peo- 
 ple will continue their unlawful business, 
 said the lady. 
 
 " Yes, my dear ; a great pity. I havi 
 repeatedly advised them to discontinue 
 it." 
 
 "It is sad to think what the conse 
 quences may be to them, and then mat 
 ing whiskey is so sinful," said Mrs. Las 
 celles, who was a strong advocate of teia 
 perance ; " it would be so much better i\ 
 no more was ever made." 
 
 " Well, perhaps you are right, my dear 
 but that is not what the revenue official! 
 wish. Of course the business is illegal 
 but after all there is no real harm done 
 They arc poor people, and must live, un 
 less you reply to that argument in the 
 words of the French wit, ' I do not see 
 the necessity.' " 
 
 The general smiled, but the lady shool 
 her head, as unconvinced. 
 
 " I saw a picture the other day," she 
 said, " of a fox holding a hen in hi 
 mouth, and under it, 'An honest fox inus 
 live.' " 
 
 " Well, my dear, the moonshiners ar 
 not that bad, I hope. I must really gc 
 and advise them " 
 
 " Not to break the laws, do you mean 
 my dear ?" 
 
 " To be more prudent, at least." 
 
 The general smiled at his retort, < r m< 
 raising his paper, said, " Here is a delight- 
 ful paragraph : 
 
 " ' It is reported that the moonshiners 
 are giving great trouble in Virginia, es 
 pccially in the Blue Ridge, near the towj 
 of Piedmont, where repeated raids hav< 
 been made upon them, but no arn 
 fected. The illicit manufacture of wliis- 
 key has assumed frightful proportions in I 
 Virginia, and is estimated at lifty million 
 gallons per annum. The whole of this- 
 is consumed in the State, and a simple. 
 calculation will exhibit the enormous i 
 quantity to each inhabitant. The eighth I 
 (ViiMis shows that Virginia contains a 
 population of twenty-two millions; and; 
 thus the amount of spirit consumed by! 
 e\erv man, woman, and child in the com-] 
 nionwealth is nearly two hundred and j 
 lifty gallons per annum that is rather 
 more than three gallons a day. This is | 
 really appalling. Is it to be wondered at 
 
YIUCIXIA r.Plll-MlANS. 
 
 
 at a population sunk in such wretched 
 iiould have contracted another had 
 ibit that of never paying the public 
 editors.' There is absolutely no future 
 r a M'ciety so abandoned to all sense !' 
 lame. Any appeal to the sense of pro- 
 ietv of such people is a farce. They 
 lonlv defy the government in this moon- 
 ine business, and the only course to 
 with them is to resolutely enforce 
 e laws. There is little doubt that this 
 ill be done at once. Troops will be 
 nt without delay to support the revenue 
 Electors. The Secretary of the Treasury 
 ~ucd his orders, and troops will be 
 nt to enforce them. If the moonshiners 
 sist, they will be dealt with as they de- 
 xv.' 
 
 " Poor people," said the general, laugh- 
 ig; "but why not deal with the whole 
 pulation of the commonwealth, and 
 ut the bayonet upon them ? They are 
 wretched set, it seems, and ought to be 
 ade an example. But here is something 
 ore agreeable, which will interest you 
 dies : 
 
 "* Proceedings at the Theological Sem- 
 uiri/, The annual commencement at 
 his Institution took place on Thursday 
 ist. The sermon was preached by the 
 iev. I >r. Andrews, and the candidates 
 ^ere then examined. The following 
 ^ T ere admitted to the order of deacons : 
 /antham, and ' a number of oth- 
 rs " said the general. " That will please 
 on, my dear, as Ellis is such a favorite 
 nth you " 
 
 " And with my Cousin Anna," said Mr. 
 )ouglas Lascelles, rather satirically. 
 
 Thereat Anna Gray flushed up, and 
 aised her head with the air of an offend- 
 d duchess. There was something in the 
 one of voice of Mr. Lascelles which seem- 
 d disagreeable to her. 
 
 "I shall be very glad to see him, if 
 hat is what you mean," she said. 
 " I have no doubt of it !" 
 Having made this satirical response, 
 tfr. Lascelles rose and sauntered out to 
 mjoy his cigar, after which, as the fore- 
 loon advanced, he ordered his horse and 
 ode toward Trianon. 
 
 LY. 
 
 MRS. ARMSTRONG 1 , 1 L8. 
 
 ON the same iimming M r <. Arm-Iron^ 
 was seated in her chamber biting ln-r 
 nails. It was a \ery bright and allra-t- 
 
 111, with a l..w ipaewood 
 
 elaborately carved, in one corner, a \T\ 
 elegant carpet, an oval mirror Mirmoiint- 
 ing a toilet-table uitli a \\hite marble top, 
 and easy-chairs were MVH in e\erv direc- 
 tion. On the toilet-table \\riv tin- im- 
 plements and accessaries of the lady's toi- 
 let inlaid brushes, cut-glass lla-k- 
 scnces, hair-oils But ladies of middle- 
 age, who like to appear young, have con- 
 fidences with their toilets, and further 
 reference to the subject might be indis- 
 creet. 
 
 Every object in Mrs. Armstrong's bou- 
 doir was indicative of the lady's tai 
 "pretty things," and even the do 
 her wardrobe were heavy mirror 
 bright fire was burning, with a highly- 
 polished brass fender in front of it, and 
 near it stood a pair of elegant morocco 
 boots side by side, as if their owner were 
 standing in them, and had put her foot 
 down. She had replaced them with 
 worked slippers at the moment, and was 
 reclining in an arm-chair. It wa* nearly 
 noon, and the day was beautiful. Mrs. 
 Armstrong's face was the only object in 
 the apartment that jarred. 
 
 She was biting her nails a fact above 
 stated and when a lady bites her nails 
 in that manner trouble is brewing. Y i 
 could see that Mrs. Arm>tr"iig was in a 
 very bad humor. In fact, she had re- 
 ceived a piece of intelligence which both 
 startled and enraged her in the 1. 
 degree. She was thinking of it at this 
 moment, and hence that performance so 
 dangerous to the rounded proportions of 
 her pink finger-nails. 
 
 Her darling project, connected with 
 Paris, seemed about to fail. It wai 
 doubtful, indeed, if she would spend her 
 winters there with Mr. and Mix Douglas 
 Lascelles. She had ardently desired the 
 marriage, and not selfishly at all. 
 was thinking a great deal more of Juliet 
 
100 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 than of herself, for this worldly woman 
 loved her daughter with all her heart. 
 
 O 
 
 She knew that Juliet was not much 
 pleased with life at Trianon, while fine 
 toik-ts, equipages, and excitement would 
 afford her enjoyment and it was to have 
 Juliet make her appearance in this splon- 
 did world that her mother had planned 
 and almost intrigued, thinking first of her 
 Juliet, and only of her own incidental 
 pleasure in the second place. 
 
 It had really seemed for some weeks 
 as if Mr. Lascelles had become a hopeless 
 captive. He came to Trianon regularly ; 
 he occasionally remained late tete-a-tete in 
 the drawing-room, from which Mrs. Arm- 
 strong persisted in retiring in spite of 
 Juliet's protest. All this appeared to in- 
 dicate that Mr. Lascelles was enslaved, 
 lie had not stated the fact, but there 
 seemed to be no doubt of it. Romantic 
 devotion, and extravagance and absurdity 
 in general were not to be expected. He 
 was not an impulsive boy with his heart 
 in his hand, begging somebody to take it. 
 He was thirty -five, and at that age men 
 were apt to conduct themselves in a more 
 rational manner. They might feel deep- 
 ly, but not consider it necessary to act in 
 sucli a way as to make the world laugh 
 at them. Looks and tones of the voice 
 were sufficient to express their sentiments, 
 and no doubt Mr. Lascelles resorted to 
 these in his interviews with Juliet, if he 
 said nothing. Mrs. Armstrong was per- 
 suaded that she had occasionally inter- 
 cepted such glances, and was satisfied that 
 nothing but time was necessary, when all 
 at once the atmosphere began to grow 
 chill. 
 
 It was a verv slight chill at first fnM* 
 approach almost imperceptibly. Thing* 
 are not nipped in the bud with cruel 
 abruptness: a slight glimmer of silver 
 on the grass appears, but the sunshine 
 dittipatM it. in an instant. At time* the 
 quite perceptible chill in the manner .if 
 Mr. Laseelles seemed to melt under the 
 sunshine of Mi*s Juliet's eye-,; but tin- 
 day at last came when it did nt melt. 
 It was not an obtrusive and killing frost; 
 but it was so plain that there was no pos- 
 
 sibility of mistaking it. The weath 
 had grown cool, and it was very doubtfj 
 indeed if it would ever again recover tl 
 lost caloric. 
 
 AVhat did it mean ? Mrs. Armstrong 
 received intelligence which enabled h* 
 to understand, or to think that she dit 
 There was a dusky maiden of the estaj 
 lishment whose name, Lucinda, had bee 
 abbreviated to Cinda. She was maid ( 
 all work, and had been at Trianon for 
 considerable time, in spite of Mrs. Arn; 
 strong's little peculiarities. She " naj 
 ged" Cinda very much, and Cinda wool 
 have taken wing, but remained from pin 
 fondness for Juliet. This grew froi 
 slight circumstances. Juliet was undi 
 monstrative but exceedingly amiable, anl 
 so generous that she bestowed upon Cirl 
 da almost any article of wearing appanl 
 which she coveted, thereby enabling th 
 maiden to produce a sensation at c-olore 
 assemblages. Then Juliet was not exadl 
 ing, and gave very little trouble. Ail 
 Cinda herself acknowledged, * Miss Jiiliel 
 was a angel, and never quarrelled noj 
 nothing when she was lacing her corsidgel 
 in the morning.' So the entente cordidm 
 was thoroughly established between miJ 
 tress and maid ; and finding it necessaJ 
 to abuse people, Cinda relieved her mini 
 by abusing Miss Bassick, who never prel 
 sentcd her with anything. This is J 
 crime in the African eyes, and Miss Bas| 
 sick, therefore, came to be cordially de| 
 spised by the disinterested Cinda. As a 
 necessary consequence, she resolved \>- in- 
 jure her if it was ever in her power td 
 do so. v 
 
 The Cindas, as a class, arc dangerous 
 foes. Their sharp eyes sec a great deal,! 
 and their tongues are as sharp as the eycs^ 
 What they do not see, they say they have! 
 seen ; and such is the vigor of their fancy! 
 that they make a very good narra' 
 deed, out >f very slender materials, which 
 foretells a great race of black female nov- 
 elist*. 
 
 <'inda, watching and listening, ha<3 
 conceived suspicions in reference to the 
 proceedings of her dear enemy, Miss Ba*- 
 sick. She thought that on one occasion, 
 
VIllCIMA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 101 
 
 vhen Mr. Lasccllcs entered the hall, aiul 
 s I'.assick chanced to l>r passing, that a 
 light explosion resembling a salute had 
 'olio wed the encounter. Then Cinda 
 ,vas tiivd with the noble ambition of dis- 
 covering everything, and warning her dear 
 Miss Juliet. Was that Mr. L:i-elles com- 
 see Miss Bassiek, when lie made 
 >at he was coining to see Miss Ju- 
 iet ? It was a shame ! She, Cinda, 
 
 uld see about that ! and she did sec 
 ibout it. 
 
 On the evening preceding this morning 
 jvhen Mi^. Armstrong was biting her nails, 
 3inda had made her appearance in the 
 adv'- chamber, a little after dark, and, 
 ling with delight, had made disclos- 
 Shc had been to look for mnsh- 
 
 ms, as there might be some yet, when, 
 is she was passing through the woods in 
 iront of the house, about dusk, she had 
 een Mr. Lasccllcs and Miss Bassick 
 iissing each other. Mrs. Armstrong was 
 n front of her mirror, with a hair-pin be- 
 tween her teeth, when this announcement 
 ,vas made. She nearly bit the hair-pin in 
 ;wo, and sat down, gasping slightly. Be- 
 .ng interrogated minutely and exhaustive- 
 ly, Cinda persisted. It was Mr. Lascelles 
 ind Miss Bassick, and they kissed each 
 ->thcr. They were saying good-bye, for 
 pe galloped off and Miss Bassick walked 
 f terward ; but it was them, and she 
 thought she ought to tell about it. 
 
 Having communicated this incident 
 kith delighted giggles Cinda retired, and 
 Mrs. Armstrong gnawed her lips in a fu- 
 "iuu< way. Could it be possible? Yes, 
 fit was possible. That interview in the 
 drawing-room ! She had almost forgot- 
 :en it, and ceased to attach the least im- 
 portance to it. But here was something 
 more definite. Kissing ! the vile young 
 Mventuress ! She was aiming to secure 
 !\Ir. Lascelles for herself to become Mrs. 
 Douglas Lascelles of Wye. Again Mrs. 
 [Armstrong gasped. It really was too 
 nuch. She was too greatly overcome to 
 rhave it out" with Miss Bassick that 
 light ; but on the next morning they 
 i.vould have an interview, and come to a 
 listinct understanding. 
 11 
 
 LYI. 
 
 AN INTERESTING :;W. 
 
 HAVIM; bitten her nails nearly to tin: 
 quick, and scowled at the inotT. n^i\ lire 
 in a manner apparently indicative <>f Mi- 
 ter hostility. Mix. Armstrong rung a small 
 bell on a table Inside her, and in 
 moments Cinda answered it. 
 
 "Tell Miss Bassick 1 wi,h to M6 her,' 1 
 the lady said. 
 
 "Yes'm," Cinda responded, retiring 
 with an effulgence of joy on her fan-, and 
 a few moments afterward Mi-s Uassick 
 came into the room. 
 
 " Did you send for me, ma'am ?" said 
 the young lady, quietly. 
 
 " Yes. Be good enough to sit down." 
 
 Miss Bassick glanced at Mrs. Arnistn >ng. 
 It was easy to see that the lady was strug- 
 gling to suppress a fit of anger, for, cool 
 as her voice was, her face was flushed 
 and her eyes sparkled. A storm was 
 plainly brewing, and Miss Bas-ii-k won- 
 dered what occasioned it. She braced 
 her nerves to meet it, and took a chair 
 opposite Mrs. Armstrong. Her air was 
 respectful, and her eyes modestly cast 
 down. 
 
 " Miss Bassick," said Mrs. Armstrong, 
 " when did you meet Mr. Douglas Las- 
 celles last, and where ?" 
 
 "Mr. Lascelles, ma'am!" exclaimed Miss 
 Bassick, with an air of the profoundest 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Mr. Lascelles! I will repeat my 
 question if necessary. "When and where 
 did your last interview with Mr. Douglas 
 Lascelles take place ?" 
 
 "I have not had any interviews with 
 Mr. Lascelles, ma'am," said Ml- 
 "I cannot think what should ha 
 duced you to suppose such a thing." 
 
 " That is a falsehood !" 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Armstr 
 
 Miss Bassick exhibited an intcnti-m ..f 
 sniffing, but the lady cut short that cere- 
 mony. 
 
 "Perhaps you will be good enough, 
 miss, to omit your usual performances on 
 such occasions, and not attempt to impose 
 upon me by acting the part of an injured 
 
162 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 person. I assure you that you are put- 
 ting yourself to unnecessary trouble. It 
 is quite thrown away. I ask again, when 
 did you see Mr. Lascelles last? in the 
 woods after dusk yesterday ?" 
 
 Miss Bassick could not suppress a slight 
 movement of surprise, but she exclaimed, 
 
 " In the woods, ma'am after dusk 
 with Mr. Lascelles ! Who could have 
 told you such a thing, Mrs. Armstrong ?" 
 
 " It is quite immaterial where I pro- 
 cured my information, miss. It is enough 
 that I know of your proceedings, and that 
 you were seen." 
 
 " Seen after dusk, ma'am? 1 ' 
 
 " Yes, seen in a gentleman's company 
 not talking to a bush !" 
 
 Miss Bassick sniffed. 
 
 " I can only say it is not true. I can't 
 think who could have told you such a 
 thing. I did walk out, as I generally 
 do, in the evening, and went beyond the 
 grounds but I met nobody, Mrs. Arm- 
 strong; and even if I had met some 
 friend or a servant and stopped a 
 moment to talk with them, no one could 
 have known them, as it was nearly dark." 
 
 " Your friend was seen, miss," exclaimed 
 Mrs. Armstrong, with slumbering wrath. 
 
 " Seen, ma'am ? Why, I met no one. 
 If some busybody was passing, and 
 thought they saw me talking with a 
 gentleman, they must have taken a bush, 
 as you say, for a man, in the darkness." 
 
 Miss Bassick spoke with an accent of 
 truthfulness. Her denial was certainly 
 flat there were no ambiguities whatever 
 about it. She was evidently telling a 
 fearful fib, or was injured innocence in 
 person. 
 
 " That is a fine story, mi>> ! A bush 
 a bu<h mistaken for a man !" 
 
 "I only mentioned it, as they really arc 
 like the figures of people sometimes in 
 the dark, and it was quite dark yesterday 
 evening when I was coming home from 
 my walk/ 1 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong was the victim of sup- 
 pressed wrath; but even in this condition 
 of mind Mi>s IJassick's reply had a cer- 
 tain effect upon her ; not that she re- 
 garded the question as in any degree de- 
 
 cided by any statement made by the 
 young lady. Long experience had tolc 
 her that Miss Bassick was not exactly re- 
 liable, and by no means above little occa 
 sional wanderings from the straight path 
 of truth in her statements. But there 
 were the natural probabilities. She 
 might be telling the truth. Bushes did 
 resemble human beings after dusk, foi 
 she herself in her walks had mistaken 
 the one for the other. It was, therefore, 
 possible even if barely possible that 
 Cinda's eyes, sharpened by malice and the 
 delight of discovering things, had seen a 
 little more than there was really to see " 
 in a word, confused mankind with inani 
 mate objects. 
 
 Having thus begun to doubt, and argue 
 with herself that Miss Bassick might no 
 possibly have met Mr. Lascelles after all 
 Mrs. Armstrong naturally proceeded to 
 reiterate her charge. 
 
 "I know you are telling me an un 
 truth ; I am .perfectly certain of it. 
 am aware, as you probably know, that 
 you are not above such things. You du 
 meet Mr. Lascelles last night, as on 
 former occasions !" 
 
 " On former occasions, ma'am ?" 
 
 "At the same time and place as sure- 
 ly as you were with him that evening 
 when Juliet and myself returned from 
 Piedmont, and found you together in the 
 drawing-room that is, would have found 
 you together, if you had not started up 
 and stolen away as we came in." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong had begun to speak 
 through her teeth slightly. This was 
 bad sign it signified exasperation. Miss 
 Hassirk encountered it with a look of in- 
 jmvd innocence and a prolonged sniff. 
 
 "I explained that, ma'am; I thoughl 
 you understood," she said. "I was .stir- 
 ring the lire when Mr. Lascelles came, ail 
 I only stayed a little and and talked a 
 little" 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong interrupted her in a 
 tone of givat disgust. 
 
 "I am tired of this trifling, miss you 
 aiv always ready to explain away what 
 you cannot deny. It is one of your very 
 charming traits." 
 
VIRGINIA 
 
 "I never denied it. I didn't sav 1 was 
 not in the drawing-room." 
 Mrs. Armstrong greeted this observation 
 
 with :i histrionic curl of the lip. She \\a- 
 fond of stage expressions. 
 
 "You would have denied it," ^he said, 
 'if 1 had not seen you with my own 
 But I do not wish to discuss this 
 Further. Did you not meet Mr. Lascellcs 
 n the woods?" 
 
 "No, ma'am." 
 
 "Is that the truth?'' 
 
 " Yes ma'am. 1 can only say that I 
 iave not met Mr. Lascellcs." 
 
 Nothing more ought surely to have 1 
 been necessary beyond this distinct dis- 
 lowal. But Mrs. Armstrong was in a 
 rage, and was not at all convinced. 
 
 " Perhaps you will deny next that you 
 ire even personally acquainted with him," 
 he said, with much sarcasm, looking at 
 tfiss Bassick. The look was unfortunate, 
 is ?Jiss Bassick had never appeared so 
 landsome, and Mrs. Armstrong cxclaim- 
 
 " Y^ou arc deceiving me ! There is an 
 (understanding between you. Y r ou have 
 jhad secret meetings. You are acting a 
 jpart with your hateful cooing, and way 
 lof looking at gentlemen. I wonder that 
 iany one calling herself a modest girl 
 (could look so. It is sickening !" 
 
 This was unpleasant. Miss Bassick 
 had great self-control, but was growing 
 angry ; she took refuge, therefore, in a 
 Isob, to conceal her sentiments. 
 
 " There you are, sniffing again ! You 
 :may save yourself the trouble," said Mrs. 
 Armstrong. " I ask you again what do 
 (you mean by conducting yourself in this 
 manner ?" 
 
 " Y T ou must have a very poor opinion 
 of me, ma'am." 
 
 "I have a very poor opinion, indeed," 
 jsaid the lady, with candor. " What do 
 (you suppose people will think when they 
 ihear of your goings on, and your base in- 
 jgratitude ? I took you as a homeless or- 
 iphan, and this is the return you make for 
 'all my kindness. You know perfectly 
 well that Mr. Lascelles comes to see Ju- 
 iliet, and in the face of that you presume 
 
 to thrust yours,. ]f U p () n his notice. V . 
 have meeting* in the drawing - room 
 in the woods; and yet \ on dm\ 
 you tell falsehood upon falsehood to hide 
 your goings on! Yo U n-ally si, 'ken me, 
 you shameless, designing thii. 
 
 It is not pleasant to ! called " shamr- 
 tett" and a "designing thing." I 
 not pleasant to Mi>s Kissi.-k. s! 
 an almost inv>istil>lc inclination to get up, 
 go to Mrs. Armstrong, and slap her in the 
 
 face. As she was a high-tempered voting 
 person, under all her submissive m. 
 she at first thought she would do so 
 give the lady about three good slaps, and 
 defy her. But Miss Bassick was mu<-h 
 too politic to venture upon that. They 
 would necessarily part from each other 
 after such a scene, and it did not suit 
 Miss Bassick's views to leave Trianon 
 just yet. She therefore said, submis- 
 sively, 
 
 "I am afraid we will have to part, 
 ma'am. Y r ou do not like me, and I 
 not to stay. I do not know how I will 
 explain my going; but it will be better 
 to go. I have a 1-little money, and will 
 f-find friends somewhere. There i> a 
 room to let, I see, at my f-friend, Mi>> 
 Gr-Grundy's." 
 
 Miss Bassick ceased, and, covering her 
 face with her hands, looked covertly at 
 Mrs. Armstrong between her fingers. If 
 this look was one of curiosity and expec- 
 tation it was rewarded. Her last words 
 had plainly made a very strong impr 
 In fact, they were truly terrify ii 
 was disagreeable enough to think of the 
 meetings which would ensue l 
 Miss Bassick and Mr. La<celles if the 
 young lady left Trianon; of the efforts 
 she would make to completely divert the 
 gentleman's attentions from Juliet ; but 
 far more unpleasant, nay, frightful, wa^ 
 the idea of Miss Bassick seeking a re- 
 treat for her wounded feelings with Mi-* 
 Grundy! That was paraly/iin:! Mrs. 
 Armstrong knew Miss Grundy 's peculiar- 
 ities. She shuddered at the thought of 
 having herself and all connected with 
 Trianon photographed for Miss Gnindy's 
 entertainment ; and seemed to see, in bod- 
 
164 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 ily presence, the aforesaid Miss Grundy, 
 wrapped in her shawl, and hurrying from 
 house to house to hold confidential inter- 
 views with other members of the Grundy 
 family. The thought was really too much 
 for her. No, Miss Bassick should not go 
 on any account. She should stay at 
 Trianon, where she was under her own 
 eye. She could watch her there and 
 she would ! Having come to this resolu- 
 tion, Mrs. Armstrong slowly grew calmer. 
 The interview gradually toned down ; 
 slight explanations ensued ; promises were 
 made in fact, when two persons wish 
 the same thing it is easy to come to an 
 agreement. It suited Miss Bassick, for 
 private reasons, to remain at Trianon for 
 the present, and it suited Mrs. Armstrong 
 that she should not go away ;' so that half 
 an hour afterward the interview termi- 
 nated without an open quarrel, or any fur- 
 ther mention of a separation. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong cautioned the young 
 lady that she should expect her in future 
 to be extremely careful in her conduct. 
 To this Miss Bassick readily assented, 
 and, gliding from the apartment, went 
 quietly to her own room. 
 
 There was a canary bird in a cage 
 there, of which she was very fond. She 
 proceeded to pet the bird, and call it fond 
 name*, and held up her ivd lips for it to 
 kiss, whereupon the canary pecked at 
 them once or twice, and began to sing for 
 
 pleasure. Mi-s IJaiek st 1 looking at 
 
 him with delight, and then sat down at 
 her table and wrote a long letter to Mr. 
 Lascelles, describing her interview with 
 Mrs. Armstrong in pathetic terms to be 
 delivered on the first opportunity. 
 
 While engaged in writing, she occa- 
 sionally stopped t<> lean back in her 
 chair, thrust out her handsome fo..t, and 
 yawn after whirh she laughed. She 
 was a very fine-looking young female ani- 
 mal a little like a hand-Mine <-at. There 
 was no evidence about her, however, <.f 
 the possession of claw*. She was appar- 
 ently in a very good humor, and now 
 and then tossed a kiss to the canary, 
 laughing, and calling him pet names. 
 After these intermissions she proceeded 
 
 with her pathetic epistle, the composition 
 of which appeared to amuse her. She 
 only made one confidential observation 
 aloud while writing. This was : 
 
 "I am glad I did not slap the old 
 thing ; it would have been a great mis- 
 take. I know a much better way to slap 
 her than that !" 
 
 LVII. 
 
 JULIET 
 
 
 AFTER the departure of Miss Bassick, 
 Mrs. Armstrong continued to reflect, in a 
 perturbed state of mind, on the very un- 
 pleasant condition of affairs around her. 
 The result of her reflection was more and 
 more depressing. She did not believei 
 Miss Bassick. There was an understand- 
 ing between herself and Mr. Lascelles; 
 and if that were the case, there was am 
 end to all her plans looking to a unioi 
 between her daughter and the gentleman. 
 What should she do ? The question was 
 perplexing, and irritating beyond words. 
 Turn Miss Bassick out of the house with 
 opprobrious epithets, and thus be rid of 
 her? Impossible. The hateful thing 
 would go straight to Miss Grundy, with 
 whom she had formed an intimacy, and 
 regularly visited when she went to l'i.-<l- 
 mont; and, there, Mr. Lascelles would be 
 able to visit her without trouble or i-spi- 
 onage. The idea of such a state of things 
 quite chilled Mrs. Armstrong. Her vivid 
 imagination painted Mr. Laseelle* ti'tc-a- 
 ti-te. with the II. T. (hateful thing) during 
 long hours of the morning, and no doubt 
 many hours of the night, discussing their 
 little arrangements, and laughing at her- 
 self and Juliet; and what was equally 
 pre-ent to her excited fancy was the de- 
 lighted face of Miss (ii-iindy, as she smiled, 
 giggh'd a little, and poured into the attcn- 
 tn f the (irundy family of Pied- 
 mont every detail relating to Trianon, 
 and her own little peculiarities, derived 
 from her unfortunate young friend, Miss 
 Baaaick, 
 
 Sincere terror filled Mrs. Armstrong at 
 
YIIHIIMA nnlll-MIANS. 
 
 
 ihe \.-ry iilca of such a tiling, and she at 
 ice made up her mind that nothing 
 'should separate herself and her young 
 friend. But how could things continue 
 as they were? She felt ruefully that 
 Mi-s Uassick was more than her match. 
 Looking back over the years of their 
 :pcrsonal association, she could see that, 
 Bumble as Miss Bassirk was, she had al- 
 most always attained her ends. \Vhat 
 dd not effect directly she effected 
 in other ways. She never "asserted her- 
 self/ 1 much less insisted on anything, but 
 iquietly manoeuvred until she accomplish- 
 ed her object. She would certainly ma- 
 jmi'uvro now, and meet Mr. Lascelles 
 i somewhere, in some manner. Mrs. Arm- 
 strong was really at her wits' end, and 
 I the very same longing possessed her 
 which had possessed the young lady: 
 I she would have liked of all things to 
 have slapped Miss Bassick. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong passed about an hour 
 in these gloomy reflections; she then 
 went down to the drawing-room, where 
 Juliet was playing upon the piano. It 
 wa< a very cheerful scene, and the fire 
 blazed merrily, as if in defiance of the 
 (wind without. Juliet wore a morning 
 wrapper, and had a little plain white 
 [collar around her neck. She looked very 
 pretty, indeed, as she turned to welcome 
 her mother the curves of her figure and 
 the pose of her fine head were striking. 
 Mrs. Armstrong came in, and said, half 
 ah.ud, 
 
 " And he prefers that creature to such 
 a beauty !" 
 
 "What did you say, mamma?" Miss 
 Juliet asked, in her tranquil voice. 
 
 " Come here, my dear," said her moth- 
 er ; " I have something to tell you which 
 will, no doubt, surprise you." 
 
 " Surprise me ?" said Miss Juliet, quiet- 
 ly, rising from the piano as she spoke, 
 and coming to the fireplace. 
 
 "Sit down, my dear, and listen to me." 
 
 The voice was not precisely the same 
 which had said to Miss Bassick, " Be good 
 enough to sit down, miss." The words 
 were nearly the same, but were now utter- 
 ed as caressingly as they had before been 
 
 uttered briefly and harshly. .lulid <|iiiet- 
 ly >at down, arranging her hair \\ith (MM 
 hand, and looking at her mother some- 
 what curiously. 
 
 " Are you aware that Mr. LMOtlli 
 not come t,, Triaiii.!. /'' said 
 
 Mrs. An nst P. n if. 
 
 Miss Jnlirt looked a little surprised. 
 
 *' I suppose his visits are to the family 
 to you and my self, mamma.' 
 
 " You are mistaken !" 
 
 "Mistaken?" said Juliet, with th. 
 slight air of surprise. 
 
 "Very greatly mistaken ! Mr. La 
 does not come to this house to see either 
 you or myself ; he comes to sec that de- 
 signing creature, Miss l>av<i-k." 
 
 Juliet did not reply for some moi 
 She sat looking into the fire, with a slight 
 color in her cheeks, and was e\ident!y 
 very much struck by her mother's state- 
 ment. 
 
 "Very well, mamma," she said, at 
 length, in her quiet voice; "th.v 
 little surprise to me. I have seen noth- 
 ing to induce me to think so." 
 
 "You observe nothing nothing what- 
 ever!" said the lady, with a little irrita- 
 tion. "You really are too absent-mind- 
 ed, my dear." 
 
 "I believe I am rather unobservant," 
 said Juliet. 
 
 " Unobservant? You would not know 
 it if two people made love to carh other 
 under your very nose! You 
 pect anything or anybody. I belie 
 Lascelles might put his arms around Mi-> 
 Bassick in your presence, and if y. 
 them you would think that they 
 simply shaking hands." 
 
 " His arms around Miss Bassick, mam- 
 ma?" Juliet said, smiling slightly, with 
 the color still in her "but 1 un- 
 
 derstand you are speaking figuraf 
 
 ""Indeed I am not," exclaim. -1 Mr-. 
 Armstrong. "There is no 
 speech at all, my dear, in the i 
 As you are blind to everything that is 
 going on around you, and never o 
 brought to think ill of any one, I will 
 inform you that Mr. Lascelles and this 
 shameless creature have a thorough un- 
 
1G6 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 derstanding with each other, and that the 
 embracing ceremony is no fancy at all. 
 They were seen kissing each other by 
 Cinda." 
 
 " Mr. Lascelles ! kissing Miss Bas- 
 sick?" 
 
 " Yes, at dusk, in the woods. There is 
 no doubt at all that it has taken place." 
 
 " Indeed, you surprise me, mamma !" 
 
 The color in the young lady's face had 
 disappeared, and she had resumed her air 
 of tranquillity. 
 
 " You seem to receive the information 
 very indifferently, my dear," exclaimed 
 Mrs. Armstrong. 
 
 " How would you have me receive it, 
 mamma? I do not care much." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong looked shocked, and 
 said, 
 
 " Do not care ! Good heavens, my own 
 Juliet! AVhat are you made of? Are 
 you a marble statue instead of a young 
 c;irl of flesh and blood? Have you no 
 pride?" 
 
 " I have a good deal." 
 
 " If you have you keep it all to yourself, 
 my dear. Just to think of it! Here is 
 a young gentleman who comes to visit you, 
 and pays you every attention, month 
 after month his visits are known to ev- 
 ery one, and your names are in every- 
 body's mouth in the whole neighborhood 
 and this goes on and on, and people 
 arc waiting to hear what day has been 
 fixed for the wedding, when suddenly 
 everybody begins to laugh, and giggle, 
 and whisper, 'That poor Miss Arm- 
 strong ! Mr. Lascelles was only amusing 
 himself with her all the time In- \\a> 
 making love to another person directly 
 under her nose a mere servant !' If tint 
 does not touch your pride, I do not know 
 what can, Juliet." 
 
 Juliet slowly raised her hand and ar- 
 ranged her back hair, subsequently pat- 
 ting it. 
 
 " Miss Bassickisnota servant, mamma," 
 she said. 
 
 " There is no difference ! a mere hired 
 person." 
 
 " It is no disgrace to be hired. That 
 is what you call a * business matter,' and 
 
 Miss Bassick seems to perform the duties 
 for which you employ her." 
 
 " She is no better than a common ser- 
 vant ! And here she is scheming, and 
 making eyes at your visitors, and coo-coo- 
 ing in her hateful way, and meeting them 
 in the woods, and having everybody laugh 
 at you to say nothing of the insult of- 
 fered you by that person, Mr. Lascelles !" 
 
 " I do not feel very much insulted." 
 
 " Then nothing can insult you, Juliet. 
 You really put me out of patience ! 
 Yon know very well, my dear, that it is a 
 gross insult such as no gentleman would 
 offer a lady and that this is the end, as 
 far as anybody can see, of all my exer- 
 tions to secure a future of ease and com- 
 fort for you." 
 
 " It does seem so, mamma." 
 
 "And you take it all as indifferently, 
 my dear, as if it did not concern you in 
 the least. Are you so much enamored of 
 Trianon as to shrink from ever leaving it T 
 
 "I like it well enough, but it is not 
 particularly amusing." 
 
 " Are you contented to spend your life 
 here in this dull round of every-day occu- 
 pations? with rothing of interest to at- 
 tract no change from the humdrum 
 routine but to drive out and talk com- 
 monplaces with commonplace people, or 
 go to that stupid Piedmont and cheapen 
 dry goods with those smirking tradesmen, 
 and meet the Miss Grundys, and hear 
 them tattle and giggle, and come home 
 and yawn, and eat, and go to sleep ? Are 
 you satisfied with such a life ?" 
 
 " I must say I am not," said Miss Juliet, 
 candidly. 
 
 " One would think you certainly were." 
 
 "It is not very agreeable. I should 
 not like to spend the rest of my life in 
 such a way. 1 like Trianon it is natu- 
 ral to like one's own home and I have 
 you, mamma ; but then it is natural, too, 
 to like more novelty than we can hope 
 for here." 
 
 " It certainly is, if anything is natural !" 
 
 Juliet looked into the fire and said, 
 thoughtfully, 
 
 "I think I should not be satisfied if I 
 was certain I should never go anywhere, 
 
YIKC1MA r.ollI-.MIAN-. 
 
 107 
 
 or see anything. Hardship and discom- 
 fort would be much better than no change 
 or incident at all. I would rather be Mrs. 
 Robinson Crusoe on a desert island, and 
 live in the midst of privation, if some- 
 thing new happened every day, than live 
 in luxury 'where one twenty -four hours 
 was just like another. You see, my defi- 
 nition of happiness, mamma, is 'When 
 the days follow and do not resemble each 
 other/ " 
 
 Miss Juliet aimed apparently at a full 
 statement of her views upon the subject 
 of spending the remainder of her exist- 
 ence in the tranquil shades of Trianon, 
 which she evidently contemplated with 
 verv little pleasure. 
 
 " Well, if that is your feeling," said 
 Mrs. Armstrong, " why are you so indif- 
 ferent ? Mrs. Kobinson Crusoe ! that is 
 not your sphere. You are a lady, and en- 
 titled to surroundings suitable to a per- 
 son of your birth and bringing up. A 
 hard life would never suit you in the 
 
 Isvnof " 
 
 least. 
 
 " I really do not know, as I've never 
 tried it." 
 
 " You would grow unhappy in a week. 
 What you require what is absolutely 
 necessary to your comfort, my dear, is a 
 sufficiency of everything I mean, to live 
 the life of a lady" 
 
 44 I confess I should prefer that. I am 
 fond of nice dresses, and a good cup of 
 tea, and playing my piano, and I suppose 
 I would not have time for these if I was 
 a drudge." 
 
 " My daughter a drudge ! your father's 
 daughter, who was not satisfied to walk 
 across the room for a book if a servant 
 was within call, and unhappy if his wine 
 was not iced enough or too much. You 
 a drudge !" 
 
 " I should certainly not like to be." 
 
 " Very well. We understand each oth- 
 er then, my dear. All my plans were to 
 avoid ever seeing you want anything 
 servants or carriages, or an elegant ward- 
 robe, or other luxuries suited to your 
 tastes. You would be singled out in a 
 queen's drawing-room, I have always felt, 
 for your beauty and distinction and 
 
 what is m. 1 than to have you 
 
 >pend your life in this poky place, \\here 
 no one will :. and yon \\ill 
 
 slowly become ;i dried-up old maid like 
 MissGrnndy I" 
 
 Juliet did not reply, and certainly seem- 
 ed to have no desire to combat the 
 expressed in these latter words of her 
 mother. 
 
 "I have therefore done all in my pow- 
 er," continued Mrs. Armstrong, "to place 
 you in the station of life which it is no 
 irreverence to say heaven meant yon to 
 occupy. There is a givat deal of non- 
 sense absolute foolishness talked about 
 'match-making mammas/ Why should 
 not mothers be match - makers, as the 
 matches made by their daughters deride 
 the whole future of their lives? If an 
 ineligible person presents himself, why 
 have I no right to dissuade my daughter 
 from accepting his attentions? And if 
 the proper person makes his appearance, 
 why not urge you not to repulse his ad- 
 dresses r 
 
 44 1 do not see why any one should 
 think you were wrong in cither 
 mamma. 
 
 " Very well, apply what I say to the 
 present occasion. Mr. Lascelles is an eli- 
 gible person, holding a high position. 
 Why should I not wish you to marry 
 him?" 
 
 44 It really seems that he docs not in- 
 tend to ask me," said Miss Juliet, with 
 some humor. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong gasped. 
 
 44 1 am afraid no one will have me, and 
 I shall die an old maid at Trianon." 
 
 Miss Juliet uttered th- with 
 
 simplicity and a slight smile. Her moth- 
 er knit her brows and her face tln-ln-d. 
 
 44 And you are ready to retire and leave 
 the field to this shameless hussy ! to sub- 
 mit to her insolence, and 
 carried off beneath your I to 
 
 have everybody pitying you. and j 
 at your expense this creature, more than 
 all, laughing in your very fa* 
 sweeping by you in her rustling silk>, the 
 triumphant Mrs. Douglas Lase' 
 
 Juliet quietly smoothed the small col- 
 
168 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 lar around her neck, in which there was a 
 slight wrinkle. 
 
 "I really do not see what I am to do, 
 mamma," she said. " If Mr. Lascelles 
 prefers marrying Miss Bassick, I suppose 
 he will do so if Miss Bassick consents. 
 How can I prevent it ?" 
 
 " Good heavens, Juliet ! Will nothing 
 arouse a feeling of the commonest pride 
 in you?" 
 
 Juliet rose and strolled toward the 
 piano, and seating herself side wise on the 
 stool, touched one of the keys, which rung 
 out in the silence. 
 
 " I have a good deal, I believe, mamma, 
 which probably serves me better than you 
 think. Pride is a resource." 
 
 She ran her fingers over the keys of 
 the piano and a gay trill followed it 
 sounded like a sudden burst of laughter. 
 So gay, indeed, was it that it quite puz- 
 zled Miss Bassick. It was difficult to as- 
 sociate the idea of a tragic interview, full 
 of wrath, mortification, and indignation, 
 with that merry outburst of the piano; 
 and Miss Bassick would have given a 
 good deal to have heard what was said, if 
 she could have done so from her position 
 on the landing of the staircase. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 A TERRIBLE INCIDENT. 
 
 HAVING heard Mrs. Armstrong go 
 down-stairs, Miss Bassick had promptly 
 discontinued the composition of her letter 
 to Mr. Lascelles, and carefully locking it 
 up in the drawer of her small table, had 
 emerged from her apartment and cautious- 
 ly followed. She did not proceed down 
 the staircase the drawing-room door 
 was open, and it really was too dangerous. 
 The relations between Mrs. Armstrong 
 and herself were in an unsettled condition, 
 and rendered a stale of suspicion on the 
 part of the elder lady highly probable. 
 She might be listening ; the slightest foot- 
 fall, even the fall of the silent feet of 
 Miss Bassick on the carpet of the stair- 
 case, might attract her attention ; and 
 then there was the odious Gin da, whom 
 
 Miss Bassick now saw in her true lio-ht 
 
 & 
 
 Cirida might pop upon the scene by open- < 
 ing a door at any instant, and that would 
 be disastrous in the extreme. In fact, 
 anything might happen ; and as Miss Bas- 
 sick did not wish anything to happen, 
 she observed precautions. 
 
 She did not venture to proceed far 
 down the staircase, and, indeed, stopped 
 at the landing, from which she could 
 make her retreat at once, if a low suspi- 
 cion induced Mrs. Armstrong to dart out 
 and reconnoitre. From this station she 
 thrust her handsome head over the baluster, 
 and bent every faculty to the task of hear- 
 ing what was said. It really was a pity; 
 she could only hear a word here and there ; 
 it was impossible to catch so much as a 
 single connected sentence. This left her 
 in a state of painful doubt and curiosity, 
 and more than once she resolved to risk 
 discovery and steal down the staircase. 
 She even took a step or two, but then re- 
 turned to her position. It really was too 
 great a risk ; and, with a keen sense of 
 being wronged, Miss Bassick continued 
 to crane her head downward, and strive 
 to catch at least the purport of what was 
 said by the two ladies. She could only 
 suppose, from the sudden laughter of the 
 piano, that there was nothing very stern 
 and gloomy in the interview a fact which 
 she could not understand. She might 
 go a little nearer, perhaps presently, that 
 is ; meanwhile she would wait. 
 
 Having replied to her mother's charge 
 that she had no pride of character, Mi>-s 
 Juliet, after running her fingers over the 
 keys of the piano, added, 
 
 " I have plenty of pride, mamma, and 
 I do not reli^i being laughed at or pitied 
 in the least. But I really cannot see, as 
 I said before, how I am to prevent Mr. 
 Lascelles from marrying Miss IJa^iek if 
 he wi>lu-s to do so, and she docs not ob- 
 ject. You say I am a young lady, which 
 1 am glad to think I am. Well, mamma, 
 a young lady cannot go to a gentleman 
 and say, * Won't you please marry me ? 
 I thought you were going to. I have all 
 my wedding things rca.lv, and will fix 
 any day for the wedding that is most 
 
VIRGINIA liolIKMIANs. 
 
 109 
 
 nicnt to you the carlirr the better 
 as inv chief happiness consists in look- 
 ing forward t<> the moment when I shall 
 belong; to you, and be all your own !' A 
 voting lady cannot very well say that to a 
 gentleman, mamma." 
 
 "Juliet! for heaven's sake! you will 
 drive me t> detraction !" 
 
 " You must not become so much ex- 
 cited, mamma. I have no desire to dis- 
 tract you. But we should look at every- 
 thing in the true light. You say I have 
 no pride, because I am not furious at be- 
 ing treated as you describe. But what 
 good will it do to grow angry ? I cannot 
 ly say to Mr. Lascelles, 'I am mor- 
 'titied to death at your preference for 
 Mi- l'.as>iek. Won't you please marry 
 me instead of her? I am pining away 
 Jfor you, and ready to sink into your arms 
 |if you will only permit me!' I cannot 
 jsay that or even look it. I have quite 
 (enough of pride to remain silent." 
 
 " And so you mean to submit, and let 
 this hateful, designing, immodest thing 
 carry off your suitor ?" 
 
 "I suppose the carrying off will be 
 done by Mr. Lascelles it generally is in 
 the story-books. If Mr. Lascelles wishes 
 to marry Miss Bassick, I ought not to 
 have any objection to his doing so." 
 
 " No objection ! after all that has 
 passed between you ?" 
 
 " Very little has passed between us." 
 
 " He has been here every evening near- 
 ly, and stayed very late." 
 
 " That is true much later than I liked. 
 I wish you had not gone up-stairs so early. 
 : It was frequently as much as I could do 
 ; to avoid yawning in Mr. Lascelles' s face. 
 I do grow so sleepy." 
 
 "I went because I thought your rela- 
 jtions amounted to an engagement," ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Armstrong, in tones of out- 
 
 2 d propriety. 
 
 " Well, I am not blaming you in the 
 least, mamma," returned Juliet ; " I only 
 ! meant that you have often left me to en- 
 'tcrtain Mr. Lascelles by myself, when I 
 i would much rather have been curled up 
 ; snugly in bed." 
 
 " The designing creature !" exclaimed 
 
 Mrs. Aniiistrong, apparently shifting In r 
 pet name for Mi-- BMBlck 1 Mr. Laa- 
 cellcs. u To u-e >ueh low, ungentlcmaiily 
 arts." 
 
 "Tel-haps \,ui think t<><> har-hly of 
 him," said the young lady, quietly. 
 " You know he is very 1'oiid of 111 
 
 " A mere pretence." 
 
 "I think he is. During his \i-iN I 
 was playing and singing for him the 
 greater part of the time." 
 
 "And he was hanging around you \\ith 
 his smirking, lackadaisical smile-, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 "He was generally talking as other 
 gentlemen talk in morning or evening 
 visits." 
 
 " Then he did not make love t 
 at all ?" 
 
 "No; I don't think I can say lie ever 
 did that is exactly, I mean. That was 
 very natural. No doubt he cam.; to see 
 Miss Bassick." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong uttered a sound com- 
 posed of a groan, a gasp, and a sniff. 
 
 " So you mean to give him up :" she 
 said. 
 
 "What else can I do?" 
 
 "To look on and see him kissing this 
 shameless creature in your very pres- 
 ence !" 
 
 "I suppose they will retire before tin -y 
 begin, mamma. As they are probably 
 engaged, they will follow' the hal-it- of 
 such persons and seek privacy in their 
 interviews." 
 
 "Good heavens! and that i- all you 
 have to say in the matter, Juliet !" 
 
 "I do not see what else 1 am t 
 mamma. I have tried to express my 
 meaning. Mr. Lascelles, I suj 
 here to see me at first, but he met with 
 Miss Bassick I remember I inti* 
 them and, instead of Mi 
 
 Armstrong, he chose the oth r young 
 lady. He surely had the right to do so. 
 You wish me to find fault with hi: 
 I think that would be very unreasonable, 
 He thinks Miss Bassick's face and 
 are more attractive than mine, and he 
 ought not to think of me if lie prefers 
 another person. Don't be so indignant, 
 
170 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 mamma, and make allowances. "NVhy 
 not shut your eyes, and let them do as 
 they please? You certainly don't mean 
 that / ought to go to Mr. Lascelles and 
 protest! No, I thank you, mamma; I 
 should not be able to speak to him for 
 laughing." 
 
 Miss Juliet touched the piano with her 
 white fingers, and they laughed out again. 
 
 "No, I thank you, mamma," she re- 
 peated, smiling. 
 
 "And so," said Mrs. Armstrong, with 
 quiet desperation, " we arc to sit here 
 calmly, with our hands in our laps, and 
 accept our fate ?" 
 
 "That would be the most dignified 
 proceeding, would it not?" 
 
 "Dignified! we are to submit in 
 
 O 
 
 humble resignation to everything ?" 
 
 "At least that would be cultivating a 
 Christian state of feeling." 
 
 " For patience' sake, my dear Juliet, do 
 not speak in that way ! One would really 
 say you were amused rather than outraged 
 by this creature's conduct." 
 
 " I believe I am a little." 
 
 "And all the while she is laughing at 
 the thought of humbling you. It is in- 
 tolerable!" 
 
 " I do not feel humbler than usual, 
 or as if any one were humbling me, 
 mamma." 
 
 " My dear Juliet, have you no pride 
 no spirit P 
 
 " I have plenty of both a great deal 
 too much to permit myself to be humbled 
 by Miss Bassick or any one. I suppose 
 people follow their characters: I have 
 always done so. If any one wishes to 
 affront me to cut my acquaintance pub- 
 licly, for exampli they are quite at lib- 
 erty to do so; it would not irritate m- 
 much. That is the good of Ix-in^ proud. 
 And as to Mi I'.a iek, it would not be 
 p.is>ihle for her to insult or wound me." 
 
 "I do trust not the vile, shameless 
 creature !" 
 
 "I should be wounded by utikindncss 
 or injustice from a person I lo\vd. A- 
 to Miss r.ass'n-k- it is quite diilerent: ] 
 have never liked her much." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong suddenly held up he 
 
 inger, and Juliet stopped. To her great 
 urprise her mother then hastened to the 
 door of the drawing-room and looked 
 iround her, in the hall and up the stair- 
 case. 
 
 "What is the matter, mamma?" said 
 he young lady. 
 
 "I was certain I heard steps," said 
 Mrs. Armstrong, returning to her scat. 
 '' I could have sworn it." 
 
 "Steps?" 
 
 " That creature's !" said Mrs. Arm- 
 trong. 
 
 Juliet laughed quietly, and said, 
 
 "Dear mamma, you really have Miss 
 Bassick on the brain ! Did you think 
 she was listening ?" 
 
 " I was perfectly certain of it when I 
 went to the door." 
 
 " What an idea !" 
 
 " She is not too good for it. I have 
 reason to believe that it is a common 
 habit with her." 
 
 " Very well ; but you see it was all your 
 fancy just now. She was not there." 
 
 " Unless she heard me rise and ran up- 
 stairs. I will close the door." 
 
 "Please don't. The room is so warn:. 
 There is no possibility of any one lister- 
 ing." 
 
 " I am not at all sure of that, but I 
 suppose it was my fancy. Good heav- 
 ens!" the lady clasped her hands and 
 knit her brows "to live in the house 
 with such a sciycnt /" 
 
 " It is not very pleasant," said Miss 
 Juliet, tranquilly. " To be frank, mamma, 
 it has bi'i-n a very long time indeed since 
 I enjoyed Miss liassiek's society. She 
 was a very attractive person at first, and I 
 quite mistook her character. 1 am sorry 
 lo MJ 1 s.u.n saw she was quite a dilTi-r- 
 ent person. She is very insimviv. 1 
 could not conceal my opinion of her, I 
 suppose, and perhaps that H why she dis- 
 likes me ; I think she does." 
 
 "And for that reason she will enjoy 
 her triumph over you all the more!" ex- 
 elaime<l Mrs. Armstrong, piteously. 
 
 " She is entirely at liberty to do so. 
 She is quite welcome to Mr. Lascelles, if 
 she wishes to marrv him. You sec I am 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 171 
 
 frank ; and to be entirely so, I must tell 
 you as the time seems to have c.uiie for 
 it that I really have no desire whatever 
 to become Mrs. Laseelles." 
 
 " So that is the end of the whole mat- 
 ter !" groaned the elder lady, preparing to 
 shed tears by pulling out her handker- 
 chief. 
 
 "Don't cry, mamma,' 1 said Juliet, quiet- 
 ly ; " you must have more pride. If 
 you cry I shall have to pet you, and that 
 will make me forget what I had to say." 
 
 " What you had to say ?" Mrs. Arm- 
 strong sniffed. 
 
 "I was speaking of Mr. Lascclles, and 
 wished to say something more. You 
 know I do not talk much about people; 
 so you ought to listen when I do as it 
 is such a novelty." 
 
 "Ah me!" came with a long breath 
 from the lady. 
 
 " I must say that Mr. Lascelles is not 
 at all to my taste," said Juliet, in a tone 
 of great frankness. " I received his at- 
 tentions because you desired me to do so 
 for no other reason. I form my opin- 
 ion of people very much by a sort of in- 
 stinct, and generally like or dislike them 
 at once. I never liked Mr. Lascelles : 
 he is by no means a candid or sincere 
 person, and there is a peculiar expression 
 of his face which I do not at all like he 
 seems to be watching. His manners are 
 very good, but he wants frankness. I do 
 not like that sort of person, and could 
 not have married him unless my feelings 
 had entirely changed. I did not tell you 
 this before, as I was afraid of causing you 
 disappointment and pain, mamma; but it 
 is useless now to conceal anything, as Mr. 
 Lascelles won't have me. You will see 
 now why I am not so much distressed, 
 and quite willing that Miss Bassick shall 
 monopolize him." 
 
 This by no means pleased Miss Bassick, 
 who had descended the stairs far enough 
 to hear every word that was said. 
 
 " And as to Miss Bassick herself," con- 
 tinued Miss Juliet, who seemed to be in 
 an unusually communicative mood, "I 
 may have been a little too harsh in my 
 estimate of her character. Her position 
 
 should be remembered. She's an orphan, 
 with no home or family, and naturallv 
 wishes to secure one. Tin- Laec-i! 
 very nice people, and Wye is a very at- 
 tractive pin.-,-, and Miss l',;ii.-lv sets h.-r 
 cap for the heir; that is her own atlair. 
 I can only say that I could never do so 
 unless the attraction were the gentleman 
 himself. I cannot find a word for such a 
 thing, and if Miss Bassick has don I 
 am sincerely sorry. I hope she is not 
 capable of disgracing her sex so inueh. 
 I have not a very good opinion of her, I 
 fear, especially as she has been so very 
 cruel to me" here Miss Juliet's voice 
 laughed quietly " but I should not like 
 to lose every particle of respect for her." 
 
 Listening, and inwardly aware of her 
 real sentiment for Mr. Lascclles, which 
 was sincere indifference, Miss Bassick felt 
 gall and wormwood to express the idea 
 succinctly. She had a good deal of a 
 certain sort of pride, and an extremely 
 favorable opinion of herself ; and Juliet's 
 indifference exasperated her. This senti- 
 ment was much increased by Juliet's care- 
 less touch on the piano and her next 
 words : 
 
 "And now, mamma, I really think we 
 have said enough. There, don't cry; 
 why should you? There never wa- a 
 single moment when I could have married 
 Mr. Lascelles. Miss Bassick is perfectly 
 welcome to him. She may suppose that 
 she is triumphing over me, to use your 
 own phrase, and be pleased at the thought 
 that she will pay me back for my cold- 
 ness to her, which I was really unable to 
 conceal. You see I shall not be as miu-h 
 hurt as she thinks. If she were present 
 I could tell her with perfect sincerity that 
 all her acting and concealments \\, r" 
 quite unnecessary, and that I, at 1< a-t, 
 should make no sort of objection if she 
 came into the drawing-room and received 
 Mr. Lascelles as a lady should do. Hut 
 as she is not present, and we arc abusing 
 her behind her back," Miss Juliet 
 touching her piano, and uttering her 
 frank laugh, " we ought not to 
 
 "She is present!" cried Mrs. Arm- 
 strong, rushing to the door. 
 
172 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 Thereupon a terrible incident occurred 
 the writer almost shrinks from attempt- 
 ing to paint it. Such occurrences are 
 much better understood and appreciated 
 from scenic representation than from 
 mere descriptions through the agency of 
 pen and ink. Miss Bassick's position 
 upon the staircase just without the door 
 of the drawing-room has been alluded to. 
 She had ventured to steal down the softly 
 carpeted staircase until she had reached 
 this position, trusting to her " shoes of si- 
 lence" not to be discovered. But stair- 
 cases will creak in the best regulated 
 houses, and how r cver carefully the skirts 
 of dresses are held up they will rustle a 
 little. Twice thus Miss Bassick had ad- 
 vanced carefully, and managed to listen. 
 "\Vliat she heard did not put her in a very 
 good humor; but clinching her pretty 
 fist, she leaned fonvard endeavoring to 
 catch every word, when she heard a noise 
 at the back-door of the passage and rap- 
 idly ran up-stairs. 
 
 It was this sound which had induced 
 Mre. Armstrong to exclaim " She is pres- 
 ent !" and to dart toward the door and 
 into the passage. This resulted in the 
 terrible incident referred to above. She 
 was precipitated into the fragrant arms 
 of Cinda, and their faces came into col- 
 lision. Cinda, in fact, had occasioned the 
 noise which Miss Bassick had heard. 
 Having discovered that the young lady 
 was not in her room, the colored maiden 
 had hastened delightedly down the back 
 staircase to report the fact to be mys- 
 terious, and express with a giggling ac- 
 companiment her private opinion that a 
 secret interview was in progress; and en- 
 tering the ]>;i-<:i'_:''\ had reached the door 
 of the drawing-room, in which she heard 
 voices, just in time to be rushed into by 
 Mrs. Armstrong. 
 
 Cinda staggered, and threw out her 
 arms wildly, clasping tho lady to her 
 bosom. As the nwidm was somewhat 
 slovenly, not to say dirty, this embrace 
 was rather ardent than pure. In the 
 midst of "silvery laughter" from the di- 
 rection of the piano, Mrs. Armstrong vio- 
 lently extricated hei^elf from the em- 
 
 brace of Cinda; and that fair one, with 
 hasty explanations, and in a state of dis- 
 comfiture, vanished. As to Miss Bassick, 
 she was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 The interview between mother and 
 daughter soon terminated. Being ap- 
 pealed to as to what should be done, 
 Miss Juliet very quietly replied, " Noth- 
 ing, mamma." It would be extremely 
 unkind, she said, to turn Miss Bassick 
 away, as she had no home : it would be 
 better to give her time, at least, to seek for 
 one and as the fearful Miss Grundy rose 
 before the eyes of the elder lady, she con- 
 sented. She had recourse to her hand- 
 kerchief, and sniffed in a painful manner, 
 clasped Miss Juliet to her breast, and be- 
 moaned the presence of shameless creat- 
 ures, when the gate of the grounds was 
 heard to open, and looking through the 
 window she saw Mr. Douglas Lascelles 
 riding in. 
 
 "There he is!" she exclaimed."! 
 can't trust myself to speak to him." 
 
 " I would not, then," said Juliet, quietly. 
 
 " And you ought not to, Juliet. Come, 
 my dear ; I will send word that you are 
 engaged." 
 
 " I am not at all engaged, mamma ; I 
 am uncommonly idle." 
 
 " You do not mean to see him, Juliet ?" 
 
 "W.hy not?" 
 
 " After our conversation ?" 
 
 " Certainly, mamma. That makes no 
 difference. My opinion of Mr. Laseelles 
 has not altered, and I have nothing in the 
 world to complain of." 
 
 "\Yith these tranquil words the young 
 lady went and sat down in one of the 
 arm-chairs irr front of the fire, just as Mr. 
 Lascelles approached the house. 
 
 As to Mrs. Armstrong, she tossed her 
 head and walked np-stairs to her cham- 
 ber, slamming the door behind her. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 THE FOE OF RITUALISM. 
 
 IT was about half-past eleven o'clock 
 at night. Mr. (Jrantham was seated in 
 his study at the parsonage, engaged on 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 his "History of Ritualism," upon which 
 la- h:n I been writing assiduously since his 
 early tea. 
 
 It was tho general subject of High 
 Chuivhism, under the form of Ritualism, 
 that Mr. (Jrantham attacked in his his- 
 tory; the English movement first, then 
 .tension into the United States. 
 Dr. Pusey and Dr. Newman had a very 
 hard time of it. Mr. Grantham did not 
 wish anybody to be burnt at the stake, 
 and Servetus would never have suffered 
 the least personal inconvenience at his 
 hands ; but he stood up for the faith, and 
 smote its foes with all his might. He 
 denounced opinions so vigorously that 
 those who held them received a full 
 share of his blows. That was their fault 
 they got in the way. He was equally 
 unceremonious with his American breth- 
 ren. He figuratively took the leaders of 
 the Ritualistic movement in the United 
 States by the beard, and haled them to 
 and fro, chastising them with their chas- 
 ubles, and suffocating them with the in- 
 cense of their censers. In doing so, of 
 course, he was doing his duty. He had 
 the kindest feeling, personally, toward 
 the High - Church magnates. He was a 
 very mild man, and would have invited 
 the Pope of Rome into his study, and 
 given him his best cup of tea, and laugh- 
 ed and talked with him in a friendly way. 
 But then he was Antichrist, and polemi- 
 cally was to be overthrown and extermi- 
 nated. So with Ritualism. 
 
 Midnight was near now, and Mr. Gran- 
 tham was still at work. He had forgot- 
 ten everything else even Ellis and his 
 beloved poor. Toil absorbs. The writer 
 goes into another world when he writes. 
 He is not living here and now, but else- 
 where, and a long time ago, perhaps. 
 Thus he forgets, and toil brings him that 
 blessing. Blessed toil! After all it is 
 the grand comforter. Company does 
 not replace it. The empty rattle of 
 tongues offends the man who seeks si- 
 lence and himself the hubbub jars on 
 the tired ear and the tired heart, which 
 goes away from it to remember. And 
 books ? travel ? They are not much, 
 
 173 
 
 after all. IMe--ed toil! you take the 
 heavy -hearted in your soft arms and 
 soothe him. You touch his eyelid-, and 
 he no longer looks back wan! groaning. 
 You wave your wand, and all the pa-t 
 goes into oblivion, I Messed toil of the 
 lonely writer! There i- -oinethin 
 ter for the unhappy than pleasure, or 
 ambition, or the glitter of life's tin-el. 
 It is the toil that absorbs, and take., the 
 toiler away into another world, where the 
 memory of his woe cannot reach him. 
 
 At last midnight struck, and Mr. <!ran- 
 tham decided that he would retire. He 
 was not weary of his work, but as his 
 health was not robust, he was physically 
 somewhat fatigued. He therefore ar- 
 ranged the written sheets of the " His- 
 tory" just composed they were quite a 
 pile and put them aside. He then n-e 
 and stood in front of his fire, reflecting. 
 You would not have supposed that he 
 had been engaged in bitter denunciation 
 of anybody. His expression was sad. 
 In fact, he was thinking about his poor 
 people, and that they would probably 
 suffer on so chill a night. The weather 
 had blown up cold, and the gusty wind 
 was whistling around the gables of the 
 house. That is not generally an uncom- 
 fortable sound : one thinks how plea-ant 
 it is to be housed, and enjoying the 
 warmth of a cheerful fire. It was, how- 
 ever, unpleasant to Mr. Grantham. lie 
 was thinking that perhaps his poor folks 
 might be without fuel, which was sadden- 
 ing. 
 
 From this subject he passed to Ellis. 
 He had not finished the letter begun just 
 before the visit from the poor man who 
 had been "burnt out" in the mountain 
 that strange personage, who, perhaps 
 by way of contempt for the humble of- 
 fering made him, had left the whole lying 
 upon the bench of the porch that night. 
 This fact had aroused surprise and -pecu- 
 lation, but Mr. Grantham had now quite 
 forgotten it. lie was thinking about his 
 dear Ellis, who was coming home at once, 
 a young deacon. The face of the father 
 plowed at that thought. He would soon 
 see Ellis now, and enjoy long hours and 
 

 174 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 days of talk with him if the young man 
 was not too much at Wye. The worthy 
 pastor had given much reflection to the 
 subject of Ellis and Miss Anna Gray, and 
 had pretty nearly convinced himself that 
 something was going on in that quarter. 
 Ellis and Anna had been brought up to- 
 gether. She was precisely the person 
 calculated to make an impression upon 
 his son. She was not only very attrac- 
 tive in the beauty which perishes, but had 
 the sweetest possible disposition, and was 
 devotedly pious. It was thus very nat- 
 ural that Ellis should have become -fond 
 of her she would exactly suit a young 
 minister. As to whether the young 
 lady's sentiments responded to the young 
 man's, there could be very little doubt of 
 that, Mr. Grantham inwardly decided. 
 Who would not be glad to marry his 
 Ellis? 
 
 This train of thought led to another. 
 Ellis married, and soon to be regularly 
 ordained as a minister, would no doubt 
 be stationed in some small country parish 
 for his year of trial. Then he would be 
 transferred to some more extended sphere 
 perhaps to Piedmont, as his own assist- 
 ant and successor. Mr. Grantham did 
 not want an assistant. Bishop Meade, 
 his dear friend, had often urged him to 
 devolve on some young associate his on- 
 erous labors for the poor, at least. But 
 this did not suit Mr. Grantham, and he 
 had always refused. It was his place, he 
 said, to spend and be spent in his Master's 
 service. He was quite strong enough to 
 labor still, and did not need an assistant. 
 When old age came, and his strength 
 was worn out, he would retire, when his 
 Master would take care of him. As to 
 having, therefore, an onlinary assistant to 
 divide his labor, Mr. (irantham was in- 
 tractable. But to have Ellis as his as>ist- 
 ant meant not so much to have an mut- 
 ant as to have Ellis. They would be to- 
 n-eth-T, and life would \>c sweet. Grand- 
 children would grow up around him in 
 the quiet parsonage for they would, of 
 ooursr, live with each other. Mrs. Anna 
 would sit at the head of the table, Ellis 
 at the foot, and he at the side. The 
 
 children, in lofty chairs, would flourish 
 their spoons and request to be helped 
 first. There would be a delightful hub- 
 bub, and a great deal of laughter and 
 love. When he went back to his study 
 and his " History of Ritualism " he would 
 shut all this out, it was true, before pay- 
 ing his respects to Dr. Pusey ; but then 
 he would have the delightful conscious- 
 ness, from the patter of small feet over- 
 head, that his dear ones were there near 
 him, and might burst in which would 
 be charming. 
 
 Lastly, there was the successorship. 
 The assistant would one day become the 
 principal, perhaps. Everybody loved and 
 admired Ellis in fact, the whole parish 
 were entirely devoted to him. Why not 
 look forward to the day when a young- 
 er Rev. Mr. Grantham would officiate in 
 the mountain parish? The years were 
 passing steadily, and more and more rap- 
 idly. There was a day hidden somewhere 
 in the future when the burial - service 
 would be read in the village graveyard, 
 and it would not be Mr. Grantham, Sr., 
 who would read it. In fact, that would 
 be impossible. This particular Mr. Gran- 
 tham would not only not read it, br.t 
 would not even hear it read. His ears 
 would be quite deaf, and he would net 
 see the crowd of weeping friends around 
 the grave, since it would be his own grave. 
 But that would not matter much. His 
 poor would have a friend still in the Rev. 
 Mr. Grantham, Jr., the new incumbent of 
 the Piedmont parish, who would grow 
 old there with his dear Anna, following 
 the same routine of quiet duty which an- 
 other one of the same name had followed 
 before him. 
 
 This thought was quite delightful to 
 Mr. <i rant ham. He gazed placidly at his 
 old secretary, as that happened to l>e the 
 object which his eyes rested upon at the 
 moment, but did not see it, owing to the 
 fact that he was looking at Ellis, and 
 holding out his arms to his grandchildren. 
 Nevertheless, the fact of the existence of 
 the secretary slowly dawned upon his 
 mind, and the old piece of furniture con- 
 nected itself with the subject of his re- 
 
VIRGINIA lUjlil-MIAXS. 
 
 175 
 
 flections. lie always kept Ellis' s letters 
 in a drawer of this secretary, ami had 
 a speeial bundle there containing those 
 written during the young man's boyhood 
 from school in fact, his very first he had 
 even preserved, lie thought now that he 
 would take a look at these ; so he went 
 and opened the drawer containing them, 
 with a key which ho drew from his pock- 
 et, and took out the bundle and untied 
 the red tape around it. A cheerful peru- 
 sal of several of the letters followed. 
 They were written in a very juvenile, not 
 to say illiterate, manner, but the reader 
 did not observe that fact, or notice any 
 fault in the grammar. This was natural. 
 Ellis had written the letters. Having re- 
 freshed himself with this fatherly occu- 
 pation, Mr. Grantham then tied the letters 
 up again, replaced them in the drawer, 
 closed it, and returned quickly to the fire 
 to extinguish a coal which had popped 
 out upon the old worn carpet. From 
 this resulted a simple circumstance. He 
 quite forgot that he had left the key of 
 the drawer in the lock. He then thought 
 he would go to bed and this he pro- 
 ceeded to do, first covering up the fire 
 with ashes, which was his regular routine. 
 With his candlestick in his hand, Mr. 
 Grantham went slowly up-stairs and reach- 
 ed his chamber, in which there was a 
 glimmering fire. Then succeeded a cere- 
 mony which was based on principle with 
 this worthy man. He put out his candle. 
 It is true the candle was not more than 
 an inch long, but then an inch of candle 
 was an inch of candle. It would be val- 
 uable to many a poor person ; and in any 
 event it ought not to be burnt unneces- 
 sarily. The firelight was quite sufficient 
 to retire by. Therefore, Mr. Grantham 
 put out his candle, and knelt to perform 
 his private devotions. These were not 
 especially protracted, as the good man 
 did not believe in much speaking, and 
 uniformly omitted all adjurations involv- 
 ing the phrase " Thou hast," as being un- 
 necessary, since He whom he addressed 
 did not need to be informed in what man- 
 ner He had blessed or afflicted his chil- 
 dren. He prayed for those in authority, 
 
 but only that they might le endued with 
 heavenly gra.v, after which In- left the 
 details uinneiitioned. As to tin- North or 
 South, or this party or that, he had noth- 
 ing to say on the subject. lie j. rayed 
 for his enemies, and forgave them in his 
 heart as he did so. lie always < -ruled 
 with "Lord keep me from unrharity." 
 
 After rising from his km-.-x, Mr. <Jran- 
 thain took off his voluminous white cra- 
 vat and hung it over the back of a chair. 
 He then remained standing in front of 
 the fire without further disrobing. In 
 fact, his ardor in the composition of his 
 History had excited his nerves. He was 
 not at all sleepy and then there was 
 Ellis to think about. He would be home 
 in a few days now. That broken pane in 
 his chamber must be attended to the very 
 first thing in the morning. The wind 
 whistling around the gables admonished 
 him that broken panes were not desirable 
 as December approached. He must not 
 fail to think of it. All at once a low 
 sound mingled with the shrill song of the 
 wind. This sound came from below 
 apparently from his study and resem- 
 bled stealthy steps. 
 
 LX. 
 
 THE BURGLAR. 
 
 MR. GRANTHAM was not at all nervous, 
 or given to hearing strange sounds ; and 
 yet the idea occurred to him that he must 
 really have overworked himself during 
 the evening. Now, overwork produces 
 tension of the nervous organization. Mr. 
 Grantham was aware of the fact, and in- 
 formed himself that he had been impru- 
 dent. 
 
 This view of the case, in fact, seemed 
 supported by circumstances. The noise 
 had ceased at once, which was a proof 
 that it was due to his imagination. 
 Where there was nothing to hear nothing 
 could have been heard. It was a mere 
 illusion of his overtaxed senses that steps 
 had moved about in his study. That 
 was impossible. The house was locked, 
 and he had not been up-stairs for more 
 
176 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 than half an hour at all events, not an 
 hour. All was secure his old servant 
 had long been asleep it was physically 
 impossible that a person could have en- 
 tered the house, even if it were conceiv- 
 able that any human being could have 
 reasons for doing so. Enter a parsonage 
 between the hours of midnight and one 
 in the morning? With what object? 
 There was nothing to steal in a parsonage, 
 unless the thief were theological in his 
 tastes and coveted works on Divinity. 
 
 This idea caused Mr. Grantham to 
 smile. He was the impecunious viator, 
 he reflected, who need not be afraid of 
 robbers. And as to murdering him, what 
 living creature had any reason to thirst 
 for his blood? Mr. Grantham's smile 
 grew more cheerful, and he reflected that 
 he must have overworked his nervous 
 system very much indeed, to have it play 
 him such vagaries. Then suddenly he 
 heard the stealthy steps a second time. 
 
 At this Mr. Grantham moved his head 
 quickly, and remained perfectly still and 
 motionless, listening. He did not hear 
 the steps again, but what he did hear was 
 a low, grating sound, which resembled 
 that produced by the opening or closing 
 of a drawer which is a little swollen and 
 does not readily slide forward or back- 
 ward. This satisfied him that he had 
 not overworked his nerves, after all. He 
 had really heard what he thought he had 
 heard. Some one was in his study ! 
 
 Mr. Grantham was a very sweet-tem- 
 pered and peaceful man in his disposi- 
 tion, but a very cool and resolute one. 
 A great deal of force of character lay 
 under his gentle smile. lie lit his candle 
 at the fire, went to his door, opened it 
 quietly, and went out into the little pa<- 
 sage leading to tin- staircase. Here he 
 stopped and listened. Vr some mo- 
 ments all was quite silent, and In- bi-gan 
 to think that after all In- hail really heard 
 nothing. Then an indistinct sound airain 
 came from the study. 
 
 This derided Mr. (Jrantham, and In- 
 walked quietly down the narrow stairea-^. 
 As he wore slippers his habit in the 
 evening his steps made no noise what- 
 
 ever. He reached the bottom of the 
 stairs, went along the passage, and open- 
 ed the door of the study. 
 
 As the door opened, a man, who was 
 kneeling in front of the old secretary 
 from which Mr. Grantham had taken 
 Ellis's letters, rose suddenly to his feet. 
 The fire had been stirred up, and lit the 
 apartment a light which was not need- 
 ed, however, as Mr. Grantham had his 
 candle. He came into the room and 
 stood facing the man, who was coarsely 
 dressed, and had hastily drawn a short 
 black veil over his face, apparently sewed 
 to the lining of his hat. This disguise 
 had two holes for the eyes, and reached 
 to his upper lip, which was bearded like 
 his chin. 
 
 "Who are you, friend, and what is 
 your object in entering my house?" said 
 Mr. Grantham, mildly. 
 
 The intruder had put his hand into his 
 pocket, apparently to draw some weapon, 
 but at these words took it out again, as 
 if convinced that it was unnecessary. 
 He stood looking at the master of the 
 house, but said nothing. 
 
 " What is your object in entering my 
 poor house ?" said Mr. Grantham. " I 
 cannot imagine how you did so, or why. 
 There is nothing here of any value, if 
 theft is your aim. How can there be?" 
 
 To this second question the man made 
 no more reply than to the first. He was 
 apparently hesitating what course to pur- 
 sue, or what to say. He had in his hand 
 the very bundle of letters, tied with red 
 tape, which Mr. Grantham had examine 1 
 an hour before, and grasped it irresolute- 
 ly. Mr. Grantham noticed that. 
 
 " Those letters you have in your hand, 1 ' 
 he said, mildly, "were written by my son 
 when lie was a child. They are valuable 
 to me, but can be of no value at all to 
 you. Why do you disturb them .'" 
 
 "I don't want the letters" said the 
 man, in a grufl voice, letting the bundle 
 fall to the floor, and fixing his eyes upon 
 Mr. <J rant ham. 
 
 " Why take them from my drawer, 
 then, friend ? And why do you stand 
 like a robber in a stage-play, looking at 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 177 
 
 me and scarcely speaking? You must 
 have sumo object in putting yourself to 
 so much trouble." 
 
 " I have an object," said the intruder, 
 coolly : " it is not to rob you of your 
 property. As you say, there is nothing 
 (here to tempt anybody. I was looking 
 | for some papers." 
 
 "Some papers? What papers? and 
 what possible value can any of my papers 
 be to you ?' r 
 
 Feeling a little tired standing, Mr. 
 Gran th am sat down, and said to the bur- 
 glar, 
 
 " Take a seat, friend. I always prefer 
 to sit when I am talking, and perhaps 
 you may prefer it, also." 
 
 The burglar obeyed this suggestion by 
 sitting down in a hesitating manner his 
 eyes fixed upon Mr. Grantham, who was, 
 however, quite unable to see their expres- 
 sion. 
 
 " Now tell me all about it, friend," said 
 Mr. Grantham, in the same mild voice. 
 " You will acknowledge that this inci- 
 I dent is a little out of the common path 
 
 I* of e very-day experience. It is unusual to 
 find my house entered at dead of night, 
 I and my drawers searched for papers. 
 I Papers ! What papers do you wish ? I 
 I have only letters and sermons. You can 
 I scarcely wish the latter, friend they 
 would not suit your occupation precisely. 
 Explain your object, and what papers in 
 my possession could possibly be of any 
 interest to you." 
 
 " Mr. Grantham," said the burglar. 
 " Well, my friend ?" 
 " You are a brave man." 
 "Brave? It is true that was said of 
 me when I was a young man and, I am 
 afraid, a very bad one. But I do not 
 wish to be thought brave in all things. 
 If you mean that I do not grow pale 
 and tremble from fear of you, you are 
 right/' 
 
 " You are brave all the same," said the 
 burglar. " What is to prevent my mur- 
 dering you? I am armed and you are 
 not. This is an ugly looking toy what 
 do you say to it ?" 
 
 He put his hand into his breast, and 
 12 
 
 drew fn.m the inner pocket of his coat a 
 bowie-knife. 
 
 "lam a stronger man than yon," lie 
 said, "and one wipe with this would do 
 for you." 
 
 Mr. Grantham looked at the knife (juito 
 calmly, and said, 
 
 "That is a murderous-looking weapon, 
 friend. It is not possible that you <-<>iil<l 
 have the heart to use it against a fellow- 
 being." 
 
 "A fellow-being might crowd a man a 
 little too close then a bowie is a good 
 thing to have about you." 
 
 " If you are attacked, you mean, no 
 doubt. But then it is not necessary to 
 be attacked. I am nearly seventy, and I 
 have never been in a brawl. Come, put 
 up your knife, friend. I suppose you do 
 not mean to use it to take my life. If it 
 is meant to frighten me, you may as well 
 put it up also. It does not frighten me." 
 
 " I said you were brave," was the burg- 
 lar's reply ; " and I'll be plain with you, 
 and say I'm rather ashamed of this busi- 
 ness meddling with a man like you." 
 
 He put the knife back in his pocket, 
 and said, 
 
 "You asked me just now what I came 
 here for. I came to get some papers. 
 Do you want a story to explain why I 
 am after the papers ? Here is the story." 
 
 " I should like to hear it," said Mr. 
 Grantham. He had placed his candle on 
 the table, and was leaning back in his 
 chair, with his elbows 'resting upon the 
 arms, and the tips of his fingers just 
 touching the palms of the hands open. 
 In this attitude he presented the appear- 
 ance of a person at ease in his elbow- 
 chair, and listening to a friend conversing. 
 Opposite sat the burglar, erect in a stiff- 
 backed chair near the open drawer. As 
 Mr. Grantham had closed the door be- 
 hind him when he came in, they were 
 alone together. 
 
 " Here is my story to account for my 
 wanting the papers," said the burglar: 
 " There was a friend of mine who got into 
 trouble, and while people were after him 
 he slept here one night. He was a big 
 fellow with a little girl. He had papers 
 
178 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 about him which he wanted to keep from 
 the officers. They were in a travelling- 
 bag, and this was left at your house by 
 accident. He was afraid to come and 
 call for the papers, so I came to get 
 hold of them not to hurt or rob any- 
 body." 
 
 " Your friend lives in the mountain, no 
 doubt," said Mr. Grantham. 
 
 " Why in the mountain ?" 
 
 " And you and your family were burnt 
 out recently, were you not ?" 
 
 " My family" 
 
 " I mean, that it was you who came 
 the other evening and asked alms for 
 your family, who had just had the roof 
 burnt over their heads. I recognize you 
 now and shall I tell you how I feel, 
 friend ? I feel ashamed for you." 
 
 The words seemed to produce some ef- 
 fect upon the burglar. He did not reply, 
 but a movement of the disguise on his 
 face was evidently produced by a con- 
 traction of his brow. 
 
 "Do you know that you were guilty 
 of a very unbecoming action ?" said Mr. 
 Grantham. " It is painful. You came and 
 appealed to me in forma pauperis, as we 
 say, friend to ask assistance for your 
 poor family, and that family was only 
 an imaginary one. Your object was to 
 deceive me, and, in return for my kind- 
 ness, carry off my property or what was 
 intrusted to me." 
 
 "I put the bread and meat and the 
 money on the bench of the porch," the 
 burglar said, in protest. 
 
 " Yes, that is true ; but you robbed 
 me of the clothes of my poor. That was 
 the unbecoming act I referred to. I was 
 afraid it was you." 
 
 The burglar pointed to the corner. 
 
 "There they are," lie said. 
 
 And, in fact, there in the corner wa> 
 the small travelling - bag, with the poor 
 children's clothes, and Frances Gary's note 
 and tracts. 
 
 Mr. Grantham was obviously gratified. 
 
 " I am truly glad to see that you have 
 brought the clothes back. They are not 
 mine ; they belong to my poor." 
 
 " Well, there they are, Mr. Grantham. 
 
 It was a mean act, but not intentional. 
 You see, I thought it was the other bag." 
 
 "And you have come for that to-night. 
 How did you enter?" 
 
 " It was easy. I slipped the bolt of 
 your back-door, which is not exactly a 
 Chubb lock." 
 
 " Little precaution is taken against in- 
 trusion in a quiet place like this, friend. 
 I had supposed that / needed no locks at 
 all. A poor clergyman I thought was 
 quite safe, at least, and it was some time 
 before I could persuade myself that I 
 really heard a noise in this room." 
 
 " Sorry you heard it. I tried not to 
 disturb you," said the burglar, with a 
 short laugh. 
 
 " I scarcely heard you, and thought at 
 first it was only my fancy. I was up 
 late, working, and then read my boy's 
 letters. He is a very good boy. You 
 have thrown the letters I value so much 
 on the floor, I see." 
 
 The burglar stooped down quickly and 
 picked them up. 
 
 "I am sorry I didn't mean to throw 
 the letters down. They fell out of my 
 hand." 
 
 Mr. Grantham rose and took them from 
 the man. In doing this their hands touch- 
 ed. It was as if they had shaken hands. 
 The old pastor's hand did not retreat 
 quickly, as if contaminated by that con- 
 tact ; on the contrary, the two hands re- 
 mained touching each other for about a 
 second. Mr. Grantham then went to the 
 drawer, and, stooping down, placed the 
 bundle of letters in one corner, taking 
 care to do so neatly. During this cere- 
 mony his back was turned to the burglar, 
 who was within two paces of him. llo 
 was also bending over, and nothing would 
 have been easier than to strike him or 
 inaMcr him. Of this, however, he seem- 
 ed to have no thought whatever, lie 
 carefully arranged the letters in their 
 place, and, returning to his arm-chair, re- 
 Miiueil his former attitude, with his elbows 
 resting on the arms and his finger -tips 
 touching. 
 
 " It is easy to see you are not afraid," 
 said the burglar. " I might have done 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 179 
 
 for you just now, when your back was 
 turned." 
 
 " I feel no apprehensions of your re- 
 sorting to personal violenee with me," 
 saiil Mr. < Jrantham. 
 
 "Why not? I came for the papers, 
 and I may as well tell you I must have 
 them." 
 
 " The papers " 
 
 "That were left in the travelling-bag. 
 They belong to my friend not to you. 
 They are of no use to you. I forced 
 your door, and am committing burglary, 
 I know, but that hurts nobody. Where 
 are the papers ?" 
 
 The speaker had raised his voice. It 
 had become somewhat threatening. Mr. 
 Grantham did not move. 
 
 " Why did you not come and ask for 
 them in open day, my friend ?" he said, 
 calmly. "It is bad to break in by the 
 back-door of a house when you may en- 
 ter by the open front-door." 
 
 " I have told you. How could I know 
 that you would give up the papers, and 
 not have me arrested ?" 
 
 " So you resorted to burglary. Burg- 
 lary is a great offence. Did you ever re- 
 flect why the law authorizes the killing of 
 a burglar ? It is because the supposition 
 is that the person committing that crime 
 is ready to commit a greater one rather 
 than be taken in the act I mean mur- 
 der." 
 
 " I have no sort of intention of mur- 
 dering you, Mr. Grantham, but I intend 
 to have the papers." 
 
 " No intention of committing murder ? 
 Perhaps not. But you come armed with 
 murderous weapons." 
 
 " I have not used any yet." 
 
 "You come to a peaceful house the 
 home of a minister of the Gospel and 
 force the lock of his door, and search his 
 drawers for his property, or property left 
 in his charge ; and when he makes his 
 appearance to discover who it is that has 
 entered his quiet home, you draw a knife 
 from your breast and brandish it before 
 him. That is a criminal act, friend. You 
 are a man like myself no worse, perhaps 
 in some things a better man, it may be. 
 
 Ask yourself if you have, not committed 
 a crime vJiidi you should be sorry for." 
 "I am n<>t particularly sorry, as 1 am 
 doing you no harm now. I \\aiit tin- 
 papers, Mr. Grantham. Where are they '. 
 I mean to have the whole lot before I 
 
 go." 
 
 "Impossible," said Mr. (iraiitham. 
 
 " I say give me the papers. It will le 
 unlucky for you if you stand out a<rain>t 
 me." 
 
 "It is impossible for me to deliver 
 them to you, my friend." 
 
 " Where are they ?" exclaimed the 
 burglar, starting up ; " what are they to 
 you ? You say it is not possible to give 
 them up. Why not? You are not act- 
 ing in bad faith : no fault can be found 
 with you. They belong to my friend. 
 Where are the papers ?" 
 
 Mr. Grantham slowly shook his head. 
 
 " Do you mean, or do you not, to hand 
 them over?" exclaimed the burglar, with 
 violence. As he spoke he drew his knife 
 and took a step toward the old pastor. 
 
 Mr. Grantham looked at him attentive- 
 ly, and said, 
 
 " It is sorrowful, very sorrowful, friend, 
 to see a fellow-creature act so sinfully. 
 This is a very bad errand. Do you know 
 what such things result in? the State- 
 prison or the gallows. Is that reasonable 
 is it worth the risk? The sin is the 
 main thing the crime in the eyes of the 
 law of man follows that. Come, friend, 
 put up your knife. It is quite useless, 
 and offends my eyes." 
 
 The burglar advanced straight upon 
 him with the knife raised. 
 
 " The papers !" he exclaimed. 
 
 " I have said it is impossible for me to 
 deliver the papers to you, my friend," 
 said Mr. Grantham, quietly. 
 
 "Why is it?" 
 
 " I delivered them to their owner more 
 than a month ago." 
 
 The burglar, who was close to Mr. Gran- 
 tham, took a step backward, and the hand 
 holding the knife fell at his side. 
 
 " To the owner a month ago ?" 
 
 " Somewhat more than a month, I be- 
 lieve," returned Mr. Grantham, tranquilly. 
 
180 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 "To the owner? the big man who 
 brought the child to your house that 
 night?" 
 
 " The same, friend. He left the trav- 
 elling-bag by accident, it seems. My old 
 servant informed me that he came for it, 
 but I was absent. He came again, how- 
 ever, and of course I delivered it. I had 
 not examined its contents." 
 
 The burglar remained standing, without 
 uttering a word, for a full minute. He 
 then fixed his eyes upon Mr. Grantham, as 
 though aiming to read him through and 
 through. 
 
 Mr. Grantham smiled a little, and said, 
 
 " Do you doubt my statement ? If you 
 do, I venture to say that you are the only 
 person in this parish who would do so." 
 
 " No, I do not doubt what you say, at 
 all," said the man, in a voice of very great 
 disappointment. " The papers are gone, 
 I see that. There's no use for further 
 talking. Good-night, Mr. Grantham." 
 
 He went to the door and opened it. 
 Mr. Grantham rose, and, taking up his 
 light, followed him. 
 
 "A cold night, friend," he said, listen- 
 ing to the shrill whistle of the wind ; " do 
 you know what has just come into my 
 mind? I ought not to turn you out in 
 such a night. There is a bed at your 
 service." 
 
 A gruff laugh indicated that the burg- 
 lar appreciated the humor of his host's 
 suggestion. 
 
 "No, I thank you, Mr. Grantham," he 
 said. " I might not fed at my ease ex- 
 actly at breakfast to-morrow morning." 
 
 "Oh, do not be alarmed at that. I am 
 an easy ><>rt of person, and hear no malice." 
 
 " Kasy or not, you are a brave man," 
 said the burglar, going toward the door in 
 rear of tin- pa-^auv. 
 
 >," said Mr. Grantham, laying his 
 hand upon his arm. 
 
 The man turned round and lool, 
 him with quick suspicion. 
 
 "I did not mean to arrest you," Mr. 
 Grantham said, with a smile. " FOB 
 I wish to forget our discussion, and only 
 meant to do you a courtesy. I do not 
 regard you as an ordinary burglar. Yoi 
 
 only came for a few papers I have not 
 asked you to explain how it is that the 
 owner of them sent you, when he has 
 them already. That-is your business, not 
 my own. Let it remain so, friend, and 
 do not enter any more houses. Go home, 
 and go to sleep, unless you will stay with 
 me to-night you are very welcome. 
 When I touched you I meant to say, 'Do-- 
 not go out by the back-door.' Here is 
 the front-door." 
 
 Mr. Grantham opened it, and the burg- 
 ar Avent out. 
 
 " Good - night, friend," said Mr. Gran- 
 tham, in a friendly voice ; " take care, or 
 you will stumble ; it is extremely dark." 
 
 " I will take care," said the burglar, 
 turning round and looking into Mr, 
 rantham's face, lit up by the flaring 
 candle, " and I mean to take care of an- 
 other thing, too." 
 
 " Another thing, my friend ?" 
 
 " I never mean, So help me Heaven ! 
 you'll not find fault with that sort of 
 swearing, Mr. Grantham I never mean. I 
 say, to break into a preacher's house 
 again, if I live to be as old as Mathnselem." 
 
 "Methuselah, my friend," said the pas- 
 tor, correcting him. 
 
 " It's all the same, Mr. Grantham, and 
 you're a trump, or my name's not R 
 
 Fortunately catching himself, Mr. Rug- 
 gles sunk to silence and so departed. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 DOVES. 
 
 MR. LASCELLES spent about an hour 
 with Miss Juliet in the drawing-room at 
 Trianon. Jle then rose, took his leave, 
 and went away in an extremely had hu- 
 mor. 
 
 Nothing in the demeanor of the y>ung 
 lady had put him out of temper. She 
 was not at all cold or (/isfnilf during 
 their interview; on the contrary, she was 
 charming. She laughed a great deal for 
 a person of her quiet temperament, and 
 \\ a< unusually gracious. Something 
 ed to have pleased her. This uas so 
 plain that Mr. Lascelles referred to the 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 181 
 
 subject, and asked if some piece of good 
 fortune had not occurred to her? " IVr- 
 haps,'' Miss Juliet had replied, with a sil- 
 very outburst : but then it was unneces- 
 sary to g<> so far for a reason. Autumn 
 always charmed her and made her happy. 
 
 Juliet had actually followed Mr. Las- 
 celles to the front-door an evidence of 
 unusual favor. She laughed more than 
 ever as she held out her hand to tell him 
 good-bye. Her face was so bright, and 
 had such an expression of pleasure in it, 
 that Mr. Lascelles thought in a vague way 
 that she was extremely pretty, and won- 
 dered what had occurred to make her so 
 gracious to him. She positively beamed 
 upon him, and seemed to have the great- 
 est difficulty in suppressing a tendency to 
 laugh, and thank him for something. He 
 wondered at this a little, but gave up the 
 problem and went away. 
 
 There was thus nothing whatever in 
 his reception by Miss Juliet that irritated 
 Mr. Lascelles. Nor had any one else 
 frowned upon him. Mrs. Armstrong had 
 not made her appearance, but that was 
 not unusual. She generally had some- 
 thing to occupy her attention up-stairs 
 when he called to see Juliet. The source 
 of the young gentleman's bad humor was 
 the absence of Miss Bassick from their 
 place of rendezvous in the woods. Af- 
 fairs were now well arranged between 
 them. When Mr. Lascelles called at Tri- 
 anon, the hour of his intended visit was 
 always known in advance, in some man- 
 ner, to Miss Bassick. Just before he 
 made his appearance she would be seized 
 with a desire to go and look for ferns or 
 wild flowers, or perhaps to collect cedars 
 for the vases in the drawing-room 
 cedars were attractive as a background to 
 chrysanthemums or their vagrant sisters 
 of the woods and fields. On these occa- 
 sions Miss Bassick generally went toward 
 Piedmont, which was in a direction near- 
 ly opposite to Wye ; but it happened al- 
 most uniformly that there were very few 
 flowers or ferns in that quarter, which in- 
 duced her to make a circuit, when out of 
 sight of the house. This naturally brought 
 her out on the road to Wye, about half a 
 
 mile from Trianon; and, by a singular 
 coincidence, she generally met Mr. LAS- 
 celles at a certain spot, on his return 
 homeward. 
 
 This had occurred so frequently that 
 no doubt Mr. Lascelles had contracted t In- 
 habit of looking for the young lady. 
 When our slippers are out of place \\. 
 are aggrieved, and feel that we are the 
 victims of wrong. Were tln-v not, in 
 that corner yesterday, and the day before 
 that, and the day before that? Why 
 should they not be there to-day .' 
 
 Mi-s Bassick was also in the habit of 
 incidentally appearing in the passage at 
 Trianon when Mr. Lascelles entered >r 
 retired, when, if not observed, they whis- 
 pered a little. This was when circum- 
 stances prevented the young lady from 
 prosecuting, at the moment, her search 
 for wild flowers. These meetings were 
 brief, but not unpleasant ; they refresh- 
 ed. There was even time, occasionally, 
 for a chaste salute, and the employment 
 of two pairs of arms. This, however, was 
 infrequent, Mrs. Armstrong and the dan- 
 gerous Cinda being not far off. The 
 place of rendezvous was a spot of greater 
 privacy, where rude and prying eyes did 
 not intrude. If the interchange of sweet 
 confidences did not occur in the passage 
 casually it might occur at the rendezvous. 
 Now, on this day it had taken place at 
 neither one place nor the other. 
 
 Miss Bassick had not made her appear- 
 ance, and was not at the trysting-place. 
 Mr. Lascelles was not aware that this re- 
 sulted from the scenes of the morning, 
 and that Miss Bassick considered it im- 
 prudent to either show herself in the es- 
 tablishment or prosecute her explorations 
 in search of wild flowers. He simply 
 contemplated the naked fact, and felt 
 angry. What did it mean ? Was he to 
 be trifled with in that manner? II 
 would not be trifled with! He cared 
 nothing for her absence any more than 
 for her presence. After which confiden- 
 tial statement to himself he rode on with 
 an expression of countenance which indi- 
 cated that he cared a great deal. 
 
 In fact Mr. Douglas Lascelles was very 
 
182 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 much in love indeed with Miss Bassick. 
 She was precisely the person to capti- 
 vate this gentleman. She was extremely 
 handsome, in the first place, but this was 
 unimportant in comparison with the ex- 
 pression of her eyes. It was Miss Bas- 
 sick's eyes which had done the business 
 for Mr. Lascelles. He had laughed at 
 them at first, then had struggled against 
 them, but had yielded at last. If he had 
 not been so tough and unbirdlike a per- 
 sonage, one might have thought of the 
 stories told of snakes charming birds. 
 That, however, was too fanciful. Mr. 
 Lascelles was not a young bird and Miss 
 Bassick w r as not a serpent, although Mrs. 
 Armstrong applied that term to her. She 
 was simply a very seductive young creat- 
 ure, with an uncommonly fine pair of 
 eyes, which had fascinated Mr. Lascelles. 
 
 As was said above, he was by this time 
 very much in love with the owner of the 
 eyes. She was bright, witty, and had a 
 charming malice, as the French say, in 
 her talk not malice in the English 
 meaning, but roguery. She mimicked 
 Mrs. Armstrong so delightfully that Mr. 
 Lascelles could not restrain his laughter 
 little as he was given to that. She 
 also made fun of Juliet imitating her 
 erect carriage of person with humorous 
 exaggeration. Her wit sparkled and cut, 
 edged with laughter. She was a " perfect 
 little devil," as Mr. Lascelles often told 
 her : and he added that she had been in- 
 tended for a vaudevilliste on the Parisian 
 stage, not for a staid "companion" to a 
 staid American lady. After which he 
 laughed heartily. 
 
 Sometimes Miss Bassick was in quite a 
 different mood variety being one of her 
 chief attractions. On such occasions she 
 was deeply serious, and did the pathetic 
 as well as she had done the humorous. 
 There was no longer the brilliant smile <>n 
 the ripe red lips, or any malicious 
 in the large, brilliant eyes. The K. II. 
 lips grew mournful, and the L. B. eyes 
 were half closed, weighed down apparent- 
 ly by scarcely suppressed tears. Miss 
 Bassick then grew pathetic, and spoke of 
 her wrongs and misfortunes. She was 
 
 alone in the world, the victim of a cruel 
 woman, who treated her with the grossest 
 insult. It had not been so once. Her 
 family had been one of high social posi- 
 tion, and she had enjoyed every luxury 
 her childhood had been cradled in the 
 arms of a mother's love her dear father 
 had lavished upon her all the treasures of 
 his affection. She had thus begun her 
 life with the brightest skies bending 
 above her, but the change had swiftly 
 come. Her dear father and mother had 
 died the family estate had been sold in 
 consequence of her father's generous en- 
 dorsement for a friend she had been 
 thrown upon the hard world, a poor flow- 
 er, to breast the current alone ; and here 
 she was, with her wounded heart, seeking 
 some one to cling to who could feel for 
 her and comfort her. 
 
 When she spoke of her lonely situation 
 in this manner, Miss Bassick generally 
 shed tears, and looked extremely hand- 
 some and interesthiff. As this adds to 
 
 O 
 
 one's appreciation and sympathy, Mr. 
 Lascelles felt moved to say that he would 
 feel for and comfort her; and on such 
 occasions her feelings would overcome 
 Miss Bassick, and she w r ould hide her 
 blushing face and tearful eyes in the gen- 
 tleman's waistcoat a storm-tossed dove 
 seeking its place of refuge. 
 
 This allusion to waistcoats may mis- 
 lead. It must not be supposed that Miss 
 Bassick was -at all deficient in propriety. 
 On the contrary, if there was any one 
 trait more fully developed in her than 
 the rest it was this latter. It was plain 
 that Miss Bassick even objected to hav- 
 ing her hand kissed, and this unpleasant 
 state of things would not probably alter 
 unless they became engaged to be mar- 
 ried. Engaged to be married ! Knam- 
 iv'l a> he was, Mr. Lascelles drew la-k 
 suddenly. It was an immense enjoy- 
 ment to look into the seductive eyes, 10 
 dream of fond words and caresses, but 
 to tiKii'i'ji Mi-^ ra--'u-k ! There was 
 the rub. A more unsuitable match, in a 
 worldly point of view, could not be imag- 
 ined. She was penniless, an unknown 
 person, and as to her family, and that 
 
YIIKJIMA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 183 
 
 " high social position," he had only her 
 word for that, and he was not entirely 
 convinced that Mi-s liassick's word was 
 sufficient. It might possibly be true. 
 There were many ups and downs in the 
 histories of families. What was certain, 
 however, was that Miss Bassick occupied 
 at present a very humble position indeed, 
 and, socially speaking, was a nobody ! 
 People would laugh. It was impossible 
 to think seriously of such a marriage, and 
 lie would not give it a thought again. 
 After which he proceeded to think about 
 it and then to think about it again 
 and finally to think about it almost all 
 the time. 
 
 The result of these reflections has been 
 seen. After a long and uncommonly in- 
 teresting interview, in which the shrinking 
 modesty and maiden sense of what was 
 proper had been more conspicuous than 
 ever before in Miss Bassick, Mr. Lascelles, 
 in the ardor of the moment, had been 
 carried away, and had proposed. Miss 
 Bassick exhibited wonder and suggested 
 difficulties. The match was, indeed, not 
 to be thought of for a single moment. 
 What would his family and friends say ? 
 She was a poor companion a mere up- 
 per servant; she had absolutely nothing, 
 and might be turned out of Trianon with- 
 out a roof over her head whenever Mrs. 
 Armstrong chose. Then there was Juliet. 
 She had evidently determined to marry 
 him, Mr. Lascelles : what would Juliet say 
 if he dared to think of her, Miss Bassick ? 
 Altogether it was quite impossible. He 
 must not urge her. If she only consult- 
 ed her own heart she was p-poor and 
 f -friendless, and his affection had touch- 
 ed her -deeply. She f-felt as if she 
 really could return it and be be 
 his; but, no she could not consent to 
 t-t-take advantage of 
 
 Here Miss Bassick broke down, sobbed, 
 and looked so extremely fascinating that 
 Mr. Lascelles burst into perfectly sincere 
 protestations, and finally induced the 
 young lady, whose head had sunk upon 
 his shoulder, to promise to take the ad- 
 vantage of him alluded to that is, to 
 become Mrs. Don Mas Lascelles. 
 
 It was only then that the waistcoat of 
 Mr. Lascelles became Miss r;is>i.-k's ha- 
 bitual place of ivfu 
 
 As Mr. Lascelles rode past the try>ting- 
 placc, on his way back to \V\ e, he glanced 
 moodily in the direction of the sjx.t. He- 
 was both angry and depressed, and -a>ed 
 his mind by uttering very improper ex- 
 pressions. He then set spurs to hi- II-.I-M- 
 and rode on rapidly, meditating upon a 
 much more serious subject the burg- 
 lary. It was to take place that very 
 night. What would be the result of 
 such a daring and dangerous attempt? 
 Why had he authorized Mr. Kuggles to 
 undertake it ? He must have been mad ! 
 It was frightful to think what might ensue. 
 
 He was passing near the Wye quarters 
 at the moment, and saw a group of negroes 
 in front of one of the cabins. A strap- 
 ping freedman, who did not look at all 
 " down-trodden," was leaning back on an 
 old chair, with his bare feet emerging 
 from his ragged pantaloons, and holding 
 a banjo in his hand on which he was 
 playing. The merry rattle of the banjo 
 filled the crowd with delight, and some 
 children, nearly naked, were dancing up- 
 roariously to the music. 
 
 " Haw ! haw ! darkeys, 
 Don't you go 'way ! 
 Walk into my parlor 
 
 Don't you hear de banjo play ?" 
 
 The grinning musician shouted his dit- 
 ty, and the crowd burst into laughter. 
 Mr. Lascelles wheeled his horse, to avoid 
 passing near these ignorant creatures; 
 their empty and vulgar mirth was dis- 
 agreeable to him. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 THE BANK-NOTES. 
 
 THE little family at Wye were assem- 
 bled in the library on the same evening, 
 after tea, and each pursued his or her fa- 
 vorite occupation. The general was read- 
 ing the last magazine, Mrs. Lascelles sat 
 opposite to him, knitting a stocking, and 
 Anna Gray was absorbed in a letter which 
 
184 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 had just been brought in the mail-bag. 
 Mr. Lascelles was smoking his cigar in an 
 easy-chair, at one corner of the fire, and 
 was the picture of tranquil enjoyment. 
 
 After some moments of silence Mrs. 
 Lascelles said to Anna, 
 
 " Who is your letter from, my dear?" 
 
 " From Ellis, aunty," said the young 
 lady, quietly. 
 
 " I hope he is well." 
 
 " Very well, and he says he will soon 
 be back. lie sends his love." 
 
 Miss Anna Gray then folded up her 
 letter and put it in her pocket. Mrs. 
 Lascelles continued to knit at her stock- 
 ing, and said, 
 
 " I am very fond of Ellis ; he is so very 
 frank and sincere. I am afraid all young 
 men are not. They do wrong, and then 
 very naturally attempt to conceal what 
 they have done, but seldom succeed in 
 doing so." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles moved slightly in his 
 chair, as if his position was cramped, and 
 he wished to change it. The general, ab- 
 sorbed in his paper, said, 
 
 " The troops are really coming to look 
 for the moonshine people. I am afraid 
 there will be trouble." 
 
 " I do hope they will not fight, my 
 dear." 
 
 "The moonshiners? I don't know. 
 There are some very determined men 
 among them, and many of them are old 
 soldiers." 
 
 " You seem to know them." 
 
 " Oh yes ; I know a great many of 
 them. I used to electioneer in Bohemia 
 when I ran for Congress, and they all 
 know me very well. There are some 
 new-comers, I am informed a party of 
 tramps at the Crow's Nest house." 
 
 The general made a slight pause, and 
 then added, 
 
 " The marshal told me about these 
 people, after his visit to them, lie was 
 much struck with them. One of them is 
 an old man, apparently weak in his mind, 
 and another a big powerful fellow, of for- 
 eign appearance. How they drifted here 
 it is difficult to say. I should like to 
 visit them." 
 
 "Visit them, my dear?" said Mrs. Las- 
 celles. " I hope you will not. That des- 
 perate class of people are often danger- 
 ous." 
 
 "Dangerous? Do you think they 
 would see anything in a plain old gentle- 
 man like myself to excite their suspicion 
 or ill-will ?" said the general, with a smile. 
 "A politician learns a great deal about 
 human nature, my dear, and how to deal 
 with it. If I were thrown with this big 
 fellow, who is known as the Lefthander, I 
 hear no doubt a nickname I am sure 
 we should become good friends in half an 
 hour." 
 
 " I hope you will not be." 
 
 " Well, I am not very sure that I should 
 not like to see him. The marshal really 
 excited my curiosity. I have often been 
 interested in listening to stories of ad- 
 venture from nondescript characters 
 they show you life on the rough side, 
 which is different from the side seen by 
 people of good society, as it is called. 
 This Lefthander must have seen a good 
 deal of life of all sorts. I think I'll go 
 and visit my friends the moonshiners and 
 talk with him, and induce him to tell me 
 all about himself and his history." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles, leaning back in his chair, 
 continued to smoke. The fire seemed to 
 have flushed his face slightly there was 
 a red spot in each of his cheeks. 
 
 " You soon make friends with people 
 if you take interest in them and their 
 views and pursuits," added the philosoph- 
 ic general. "Did you observe, when Mr. 
 (J rant ham "was here this morning, that I 
 touched on Ritualism and defended the 
 poor Tractarians? That aroused and in- 
 terested the worthy man, who became an- 
 imated at once !" 
 
 Mix Lascelles smiled and shook her 
 
 " You must not amuse yourself, my 
 dear, at that good man's expense," she 
 said; "and I was quite shocked t> hear 
 you speak approvingly of Ritualism. 
 But I am sure he saw that YOU \\ere jest- 
 iirj.', as he stopped arguing with y<>u and 
 laughed. What a singular loss that was 
 of his black carpet-bag." 
 

 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 186 
 
 Mr. Laseelles turned his head a little 
 and listened with attention. 
 
 k ' Who could have robbed a parsonage .'" 
 the lady continued. "And their \vas 
 nothing in the hag, Mr. ( irantham says, 
 but a bundle of children's clothes, made 
 by Franci-s ( 1 ary, and some tracts. ll<>w 
 very strange it was that these were stolen 
 in our honest little community." 
 
 "Possibly Mr. Grantham mislaid them 
 he is very absent-minded," said the 
 general. 
 
 " I fear, from what he said, that some 
 one stole them." 
 
 " \Vell, at all events, it is as well that 
 Mr. Grantham was absent, my dear," said 
 General Lascelles. "He is a very mild 
 man, but as cool and resolute as any one 
 I know. I should not like to be the 
 thief or burglar who entered his house to 
 commit a robbery." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles threw his cigar into the 
 fire and unfolded a newspaper, in which 
 he seemed soon to be absorbed. At last 
 he yawned, rose, said that riding in the 
 wind had made him sleepy, and went to 
 his chamber. Having reached that place 
 of refuge, he fell into reflection, and then, 
 toward midnight, retired to bed. 
 
 During the whole of the next day Mr. 
 Lascelles remained at home in an ex- 
 tremely moody condition of mind. In 
 the evening he again retired at an early 
 hour, and was in bed before ten. It was 
 perhaps in consequence of this that he 
 lay awake for a long time, as nothing less 
 disposes to slumber than anticipating our 
 habitual hour for retiring. Indeed, he 
 did not go to sleep until nearly daybreak 
 he was thinking about things. Mr. 
 Ruggles was probably at that moment ex- 
 ploring the recesses of Mr. Grantham's 
 secretary. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles slept for about an hour 
 only. He then awoke, and, getting out 
 of bed, went and looked at his watch by 
 the glimmer of the expiring fire. This 
 examination seemed to be satisfactory. 
 He lit his lamp, proceeded to dress, and 
 having put on his riding-boots, went quiet- 
 ly down-stairs. In the hall, which was 
 dimly illumined by the first light of day, 
 
 he put on his hat, and found his riding- 
 whip, which In- pr.-f.-m-d t spurs. lie 
 then left the hou-r by tin- door in ivar i,f 
 the passage, which he unlocked for tin- 
 purpose, lie to,.k every prec.-uitioii in 
 doing so, but the bolt grated, and the 
 sound rung out like a trumpet in his ears 
 in the profound silence. He stopped 
 ami listened. The IIOUM- *U to -till that 
 he could hear his own breathing, It \\.is 
 
 ""* 
 
 apparent that its inmates were sound 
 asleep, and Mr. Lascelles mentally laughed 
 at himself for supposing that the sound, 
 even if it had been heard, would have 
 startled anybody. It would have been 
 attributed at once to a servant opening 
 the house. 
 
 He went out in the chill dusk of morn- 
 ing, with the glimmer of daybreak to 
 light him, and proceeded to the stables. 
 These were very large, and for the most 
 part quite still ; the horses were probably 
 sleeping, as horses will toward davbivak. 
 Here and there they were stamping their 
 feet and rattling their halters, meaning 
 that corn had occurred to them. Mr. 
 Lascelles went to a stable detached from 
 the rest, opened it with a key which he 
 took from his pocket, and, going in, sad- 
 dled his favorite horse himself and led 
 him out. Having first looked around, he 
 then mounted and rode quietly into a 
 clump of woods adjoining the grounds. 
 Once in the w r oods, he touched his horse 
 with his whip and set out at a gallop. 
 
 The object of this early ride was to 
 meet Mr. Ruggles at sunrise, at a spot 
 agreed upon some miles from Wye. The 
 nearer rendezvous was unsafe. They 
 might be seen, and Mr. Lascelles particu- 
 larly desired not to be seen on this spe- 
 cial occasion. 
 
 As he went on at a rapid gallop he soon 
 reached the spot a highly desirable lo- 
 cality, as it was a little dell hemmed in 
 by woods and there, with the first rays 
 of sunrise illuminating his figure, w;i> Mr. 
 Ruggles waiting for him. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles rode straight to him, and 
 throwing himself from his horse, slipped 
 the reins over the animal's head, and con- 
 fronted Mr. Ruggles. 
 
186 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 " You have the papers, I suppose ?" he 
 said. 
 
 "No, I've not got them," said Mr. 
 Ruggles, in a business-like tone. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles shut his eyebrows down, 
 and closed the hand holding the bridle- 
 rein so tightly that the nails dug into the 
 palm. 
 
 " AVhy ? Explain it to me. Did you 
 get into the house, or were you only 
 boasting when you said you could do so 
 without difficulty ?" 
 
 " I don't remember any boasting, Mr. 
 Lascelles," said Mr. Ruggles, in a cool 
 tone. 
 
 "You boasted enough about it," said 
 Mr. Lascelles, losing his temper and frown- 
 ing, under the effect of his huge disap- 
 pointment and early rising after a nearly 
 sleepless night. 
 
 Now, nothing irritates people like see- 
 ing people who are irritated. Expres- 
 sions of face are contagious. You smile 
 back at the smiling face, and scowl at the 
 scowlcr, or, at least, you feel disposed to 
 do so. Thus the displeasure of Mr. Las- 
 celles highly displeased Mr. Ruggles, who 
 was himself greatly disappointed. 
 
 "Look here, Mr. Lascelles," said Mr. 
 Ruggles, with dignity, " a man don't like 
 to be talked to in that way." 
 
 " AY hat you like or dislike is a matter 
 of indifference to me," said Mr. Lascelles, 
 " and I have no time or desire to be trifled 
 with. What happened f" 
 
 "This is what happened," responded 
 Mr. Ruggles, with severe brevity of utter- 
 ance. "I got in the house there was 
 no trouble about that. I told you so I 
 didn't boast about it. I found the secre- 
 tary and searched it. Nothing there." 
 
 " Searched it thoroughly ? every 
 drawer ? everywhere ?" 
 
 These questions came one by one, jerk- 
 ed, as it were, from Mr. Lascclles's lips. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " What d<> you mean?" 
 
 " I mean I would have searched through 
 it, but I stopped to talk with the owner 
 of the piece of furniture." 
 
 "AYith Mr. Crantham!'' 
 
 " The same." 
 
 "Are you trifling with me? You 
 stopped to talk with Mr. Grantham T" 1 
 
 " It looked like it. He came in and 
 sat down, and I took a seat too. It 
 might have been his ghost, but I rather 
 think it was the man himself." 
 
 Mr. Ruggles was growing sarcastic. 
 
 " AYhat the devil does all this mean ?" 
 exclaimed Mr. Lascelles, in great irritation 
 and bewilderment. " Are you telling me 
 a cock-and-bull story for your amuse- 
 ment ?" 
 
 " Not as I'm aware of," said Mr. Rug- 
 gles, with indifference. Indeed, his cool- 
 ness amounted decidedly to disrespect. 
 
 " Tell me in plain words what happen- 
 ed, and stop all this tomfoolery," observed 
 Mr. Lascelles, growing quite angry, but 
 speaking coolly. " You say you entered 
 the house and searched the secretary, but 
 not thoroughly, in consequence of being 
 surprised by Mr. Grantham do you mean 
 to say that ?" 
 
 " I do, em - phatically," said Mr. Rug- 
 gles. " I never was more surprised in in v 
 life." 
 
 As Mr. Lascelles seemed to be rendered 
 speechless for the moment by the an- 
 nouncement, Mr. Ruggles availed himself 
 of the fact, and related all that had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 " So you see the whole affair's at an 
 end," he said, in conclusion. "The Left- 
 hander has got your papers safely stowed 
 away somewhere, and, as I'd rather not 
 fool with him again, I may as well say I 
 am going back to New York." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles, with his eyes fixed on the 
 ground, was reflecting, with evident dis- 
 gust and disappointment, upon all that he 
 had heard. 
 
 " I can't see my way to serve you fur- 
 ther in any way, Mr. Lascelles," said Mr. 
 Jingles; "and as I think I'll take the 
 night train north, I'd be glad to arrange 
 our little business matt. 
 
 "You mean your pay C said Mr. Las- 
 eelles, suddenly raising his head. 
 
 "Exactly, Mr. Lascelles. There was 
 no special bargain as to what I was to 
 have if I couldn't lay my hands on your 
 papers; but I've done my best, and 
 
VIRGINIA IJOIII-MIANS. 
 
 187 
 
 nearly got my neck broken by that big 
 fellow in tin* mountain besides, l'\e 
 committed burglary, which is risky ami 
 all that is worth considerable." 
 
 M \Yhtit do you suppose it is worth to 
 me?" 
 
 "Well, not much, maybe but I'm 
 talking about myself. I think I've earn- 
 ed at least eight hundred of the thousand, 
 .to say the least/' 
 
 "Eight hundred! You are crazy. Do 
 you suppose 1 am made of money ?" 
 
 " You offered a cool thousand, and 
 maybe more, if you got your documents." 
 
 " Well, where are they ? I am no 
 nearer getting hold of them than the day 
 you came. It was throwing away time 
 to send for you. I thought you were a 
 Detective" 
 
 This greatly enraged Mr. Ruggles, and 
 he could not suppress a frown. 
 
 " Well, if you are going to insult me, 
 and refuse to pay me, after sending for 
 me, Mr. Lascelles, you can !" lie replied, 
 angrily. 
 
 " \Yhat do you mean ?" said Mr. Las- 
 celles, with an ominous shutting down of 
 his eyebrows ; " do you mean to hint that 
 I am acting unfairly ? Here's your mon- 
 ey, and more than you deserve." 
 
 lie took out his pocket-book and de- 
 tached five one-hundred-dollar bank-notes 
 from a bundle which it contained, and 
 handed them to Mr. Ruggles, who took 
 them,, looked at them one by one, folded 
 them up, and placed them in his waist- 
 coat pocket. 
 
 " Well, when an honest man can't get 
 his full pay," he said, evidently much dis- 
 satisfied, " the best thing is to take what 
 he can get." 
 
 " What do you say ?" 
 
 " I thought I was dealing with a gen- 
 tleman " Mr. Ruggles paused after the 
 word for an instant "who would not 
 beat down a poor fellow in this way." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles had flushed suddenly. 
 The pause after the word " gentleman " 
 had produced a disagreeable effect. In 
 fact, it had enraged him. 
 
 " If you mean that I promised you 
 more, you lie," lie said, looking straight 
 
 at Mr. Rubles. "1 thought YOU knew 
 your businos, aii<l could be counted on. 
 You are a mere givenh.rn, ami have \<.iir 
 lie ready I doubt if you ever entered 
 that house at all or made the s.-aivli." 
 
 Mr. Ruggles could stand much in the 
 way of business, but he could not stand 
 the imputation on his professional charac- 
 ter, and to have the term "lie" aj. plied 
 to his statements. 
 
 "You'd better not repeat that," he ob- 
 served, with a flash of the eye. 
 
 "You are a liar!" responded Mr. Las- 
 celles, promptly. 
 
 "And you're a fraud!" exclaimed Mr. 
 Ruggles, yielding to ra^e. 
 
 As he uttered the words Mr. Lascelles 
 struck him in the face with his small 
 whip a sharp, telling lash, which left a 
 long red mark on his cheek. Thereat 
 Mr. Ruggles, driven to fury, drew his 
 bowie-knife, and was apparently about to 
 do something dreadful, when he suddenly 
 changed his mind. Mr. Lascelles had put 
 his hand under his coat behind and pro- 
 duced a small but dangerous-looking pis- 
 tol of the Derringer pattern, which he 
 cocked with the rapidity of long practice 
 and placed upon Mr. Ruggles' s breast. 
 
 This was evidently unpleasant to Mr. 
 Ruggles. He was in a rage, but not too 
 much so to lose sight of his personal 
 safety. He retreated, moving his body 
 quickly to one side, to get out of range of 
 the muzzle of the Derringer. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles looked at him for a few 
 seconds in silence. He then quietly un- 
 cocked his pistol and restored it to his 
 pocket. 
 
 "There's no fight in you," he said, 
 coolly. 
 
 He took out his pocket-book, extracted 
 an additional bank-note from it and tots- 
 ed it toward Mr. Ruggles; after which ho 
 mounted his horse with great deliberation 
 and rode off in the direction of AVye. 
 He did not even turn his head. If he 
 had done so he would have seen Mr. Rug- 
 gles restore the bowie-knife to his breast 
 pocket and pick up the bank note. What- 
 ever course Mr. Rooney Ruggles meant to 
 pursue in consequence of this unpleasant 
 
188 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 scene, it was obvious that lie considered 
 that business was business, and hundred- 
 dollar bank-notes were hundred - dollar 
 bank-notes. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 IN THE TRIANON WOODS. 
 
 IT is a very imprudent thing to tread 
 on people, however humble they may be, 
 and very injudicious to strike them with 
 riding- whips; they will probably strike 
 back in some way, at some time or other. 
 Mr. Ruggles intended to strike back if he 
 could, and, reflecting maturely upon the 
 subject, thought he would be able to do 
 so. lie and Mr. Lascelles were not done 
 with each other, he said to himself, with 
 a malignant expression of countenance; 
 and conscious of the possession of bank- 
 notes, and a few days of leisure, he re- 
 solved to gratify, if possible, his personal 
 feelings before his return to New York. 
 
 He had been lodging at the cabin of a 
 poor man in the vicinity of the railway 
 station. He now moved to the Piedmont 
 tavern, where he took a room, and on the 
 next day set out in his neat citizen's dress 
 to call on the Lefthander. 
 
 They had a long conversation, in which 
 Mr. Ruggles, giving way unintentionally 
 to anger, related all that had occurred be- 
 tween himself and Mr. Lascelles, and made 
 no secret of his intention to "get even 
 with him." The trouble, he said, was to 
 discover the means of doing so. It was 
 true that Mr. Lascelles gambled frightful- 
 ly at the residence of one of his friends 
 in the neighborhood, but very little could 
 be made of that. There was something 
 more promising in another direction, how- 
 ever he was engagrd to be married t> 
 a Miss Armstrong, who lived near Pied- 
 mont; and if there was any reason \\h\- 
 Mieh a marriage might not to take place, 
 it was the duty of honest people, who 
 aware of Mieh reasons, to inform the 
 lady of them. 
 
 Mr. Rugbies looked at the Lefthander. 
 He was smoking, and made no reply. 
 
 There might or might not be an obsta- 
 
 cle to the gentleman's marriage, continued 
 Mr. Ruggles. Such obstacles often exist- 
 ed, and were yet disregarded. You had 
 only to read the newspapers to see what 
 a queer world we live in. Men who bore 
 irreproachable reputations often married 
 when they had wives living, or had forged, 
 or committed crimes which, if known, 
 would utterly destroy their position in 
 society, perhaps subject them to a crimi- 
 nal prosecution. Now, if such were the 
 fact in the case of Mr. Lascelles, and if 
 documentary evidence on the subject were 
 in existence, it was the bounden duty of 
 honest men to expose the whole affair, 
 and not permit a young lady to marry a 
 bigamist, a forger, or perhaps a murderer. 
 
 Mr. Ruggles then looked again at the 
 Lefthander; but his face was as serene 
 as before. 
 
 " You know what I mean," said Mr. 
 Ruggles, coming to the point. 
 
 " Yes, I know what you mean." 
 
 " The papers in the travelling-bag." 
 
 The Lefthander made no rcplv. 
 
 "You think this is only another trick 
 this story about the quarrel and the cut 
 with the whip" exclaimed Mr. Ruggles. 
 " and you are right to be on your guard ; 
 but I swear it's true." 
 
 " I rather think it is," the Lefthander 
 said; "but I have nothing to say on the 
 subject of the papers you mention at 
 present." 
 
 lie spoke moodily, and seemed to be 
 reflecting. Something evidently troubled 
 him. Mr. Ruggles made another attempt 
 to draw him out, but again failed ; and as 
 Gentleman Joe came in at the moment, 
 the conversation ended, and he took his 
 departure. 
 
 On the afternoon of the same day Mr. 
 Kuggles walked out of Piedmont, and 
 went in tin- direction of Trianon. The 
 road which he followed intersected that 
 leading from Wye to Trianon, about a 
 mile from the latter place, and Mr. Rug- 
 u;les had just reached the point of cross- 
 ing when lie observed a horseman ap- 
 proaching from the direction of Wye. 
 A single glance showed him that the 
 horseman was Mr. Lascelles, and as he 
 
VIRGINIA BOIIKMIAN-. 
 
 189 
 
 had no desire to hold another interview 
 with that gentleman, he concealed himself 
 in some bushes. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles passed at a gallop. !! 
 had evidently not seen Mr. Rubles. In 
 a few moments lie was out of sight, and 
 Mr. Ruggles cautiously followed in the 
 same direction. 
 
 The sun was sinking toward the sum- 
 mit of the woods when Mr. Lascelles rode 
 into the grounds of Trianon. He dis- 
 mounted, threw his bridle over the rack, 
 and entered the house. As he did so a 
 figure flitted up the staircase, making him 
 a coquettish sign accompanied by a smile. 
 This was Miss Bassick, who was lost to 
 view a moment afterward. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles knocked and the sable 
 Cinda appeared, with a polite grin on 
 her features. Missus Armstrong was at 
 home, but Miss Juliet, she had a head- 
 ache : and Mrs. Armstrong, having made 
 her appearance in the drawing-room in 
 due time, confirmed this statement. Ju- 
 liet had been suffering from a headache 
 all day would Mr. Lascelles excuse her ? 
 Then the conversation proceeded. It was 
 not a very cordial interview. Mrs. Arm- 
 strong did not like scenes, but there was 
 the blessed resource of hauteur. You 
 can show people what you think of them, 
 fortunately, without telling them, which 
 is a comfort; and Mrs. Armstrong, with- 
 out uttering a word on the subject which 
 occupied the minds of both, quite froze 
 her visitor. 
 
 Under such circumstances visits are not 
 prolonged. Mr. Lascelles smiled sweetly, 
 lamented Miss Juliet's headache, hoped it 
 would soon disappear, and made a low bow, 
 after which he took his departure and 
 rode away. As he turned his back on the 
 house, his expression suddenly changed. 
 
 " She has found out everything," he 
 said, " and that headache has already left 
 the sweet Juliet, probably. Who could 
 have told her ? the devil J" 
 
 After this succinct but comprehensive 
 expression of his surprise and dissatisfac- 
 tion, Mr. Lascelles rode on rapidly, and 
 about sunset reached the spot where he 
 was accustomed to meet Miss Bassick. 
 
 He was Mire lie should find her there. 
 As sin- flitted up the staircase she had 
 made him a peculiar sign, which signified 
 that, she \\as ^-oiiig to disappear from 
 
 Trianon by the hark ittircaae, go in 
 search of flowers, and in all probability 
 would not be far distant when he 
 on his way to "NY ye. 
 
 It said a great deal for Mi-s 
 punctuality and reliability that he \\as 
 not disappointed. There she wa^ at the 
 trysting-place, with her little basket full 
 of red berries, and her handsome face 
 glowing with the roses of healthy exer- 
 cise, and perhaps of anticipation. Can 
 we blame her? Is it not natural that the 
 innocent heart of a maiden should throb 
 at the approach of her dear one? She 
 was exceedingly handsome as she stood 
 leaning against the trunk of an oak ; and 
 it is not to be wondered at that Mr. Las- 
 celles, a few moments afterward, relieved 
 the oak-tree of the trouble of sustaining 
 her. 
 
 The conversation which ensued was not 
 particularly interesting: such conversa- 
 tions rarely are. There were reproaches, 
 explanations, blandishments, and so forth. 
 It was a strictly private interview, and 
 therefore ought not to be made public. 
 The denouement alone is necessary to a 
 comprehension of the narrative. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles was seated on a mossy 
 rock with his arm around Miss Bassick, 
 and her head leaning on his shoulder, 
 when Miss Juliet Armstrong came out of 
 the woods, from behind some evergreens, 
 within about ten paces of them. This 
 vexatious incident occurred in the simplest 
 manner. The young lady had really been 
 suffering from a headache all day, but to- 
 ward sunset had come quietly down-stairs 
 and set out to take a walk, without the 
 knowledge of her mother or Miss Bassick. 
 
 O 
 
 Finding the evening mild, she had gone 
 wandering through the woods, and was 
 now returning home, when, unfortunately, 
 she stumbled upon the young people. 
 
 No sooner had Juliet caught sight of 
 them than she attempted to retreat un- 
 discovered; but that was impossible. 
 They had both looked round, and their 
 
190 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 glances met. Miss Bassick was so much 
 startled that she remained motionless with 
 the arm of Mr. Lascelles still around her, 
 and a deep flush upon her face; then 
 she suddenly retreated from him. 
 
 As to Juliet, she was standing still, col- 
 oring a little and smiling. There was ab- 
 solutely nothing to do but to accost them, 
 and she said, 
 
 " I have been walking what a pleas- 
 ant evening, Mr. Lascelles." 
 
 " Very pleasant," stammered Mr. Las- 
 celles, who had risen. 
 
 "And the woods are full of flowers, in 
 spite of the lateness of the season. I 
 have found a quantity of autumn prim- 
 roses and this pretty little star of Bethle- 
 hem have you ever noticed it ?" 
 
 She came forward quietly and held up 
 her nosegay with a smile on her lips. 
 
 "You admire flowers, Miss Bassick," 
 she added, " and you will find every pos- 
 sible variety if you will look for them." 
 
 Miss Bassick, who had risen to her feet, 
 looked extremely stiff and haughty. Mr. 
 Lascelles, to judge from the expression of 
 his countenance, would have preferred be- 
 ing in some other place. 
 
 " I regretted hearing that you had a 
 headache, and am glad to find it has left 
 you," he stammered. 
 
 "Yes, I am scarcely suffering at all 
 now. I thought a walk would relieve it, 
 and I suppose you were walking out also, 
 Miss Bas>iek P 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Bassick, curtly, and 
 knitting her handsome brows. At the 
 same moment Mr. Lascelles's horse neigh- 
 ed, and Juliet looked at him admiringly. 
 
 " What a beautiful horse !" she said. 
 " I really envy you your ride. I hope all 
 are well at Wye." 
 
 "Thank you very well; and as I 
 promised to return to tea, I will now take 
 my leave, Iadi-s. M 
 
 Mr. Lascelles bowed low, and, mounting 
 his horse, rode off : in all his life he had 
 never felt a sensation of such relief. 
 
 Miss Bassick and Juliet stood facing 
 each other the face of the one a vivid 
 crimson, the lips of the other smiling 
 quietly. 
 
 " Shall we return, Miss Bassick ?" 
 
 " Yes, I am ready to return !" 
 
 Was it the voice of Miss Bassick, or 
 somebody else's ? The coo-coo had quite 
 disappeared it was brief, abrupt, and 
 metallic. They walked on together in 
 silence for some moments. Then Miss 
 Bassick said, in the same abrupt tone, 
 
 " So you think it honorable to steal up 
 and surprise people ?" 
 
 " To steal up !" said Juliet, composedly, 
 though a slight color came to her face. 
 
 "As you did while I was conversing 
 with Mr. Lascelles." 
 
 Juliet smiled. It seemed impossible 
 for her to take any but the humorous 
 view of what she had witnessed. Per- 
 haps the term " conversing," employed by 
 Miss Bassick, suggested the retort that 
 she and Mr. Lascelles had been convers- 
 ing in a very peculiar attitude. 
 
 " I did not steal np. I was going 
 home, and came out of the woods by mere 
 accident. If you knew me better than 
 you do, Miss Bassick, you would not ac- 
 cuse me of stealing up on people." 
 
 " I know you well !" said Miss Bassick, 
 yielding to anger; " and you need not at- 
 tempt to deceive me, as you deceive other 
 people !" 
 
 Juliet's smiles disappeared and her head 
 rose haughtily. But this had no effect 
 upon Miss Bassick, who felt, probably, that 
 she had destroyed the bridges behind her. 
 
 "You followed me, to spy out my 
 movements and listen !" she exclaimed. 
 "You are jealous of the preference Mr. 
 Lascelles has for me! You have been 
 watching, and sending others to watch all 
 my movements! You have never liked 
 me, and take this means of wreaking your 
 spite and dislike on me!" 
 
 Juliet listened with a sort of wonder. 
 Did Miss Bassick really believe what she 
 said? Could it be possible that, after 
 their necessarily intimate association for 
 years, she could honestly take any sucli 
 view of her character ? Then her surprise 
 yielded to slight indignation. She was 
 not exactly angry, but felt that her com- 
 panion's words were an outrage. Still 
 she remained calm, and replied, 
 
VIRGINIA BOHKMIANS. 
 
 101 
 
 "I have really no spite to wreak upon 
 you, Miss Bassiek. 1 am obliged to say 
 since you charge me with 'dUlike' 
 that I do not particularly like you. I 
 have tried to do so, but found it impos- 
 sible, probably from a want of congenial- 
 ity in our characters, \vbich really do seem 
 utterly unlike. Shall I tell you just what 
 I mean * You state your opinion of me 
 frankly I will be frank with you also. 
 I am afraid you are not a sincere person, 
 and resort to indirect means to attain 
 your ends. You seem very angry, but I 
 cannot help that. It is better I should 
 tell you all, as you say I am in the habit 
 of deceiving people but cannot deceive 
 you. I am not at all angry with you, 
 and since you have lived with us have 
 never uttered an unkind word to you; 
 but I never could grow fond of you I 
 have told you why. It may be unfortu- 
 nate, but I feel an actual aversion for in- 
 sincere and indirect people." 
 
 " Very well !" cried Miss Bassick, in a 
 good wholesome rage ; " and now shall I 
 tell you my opinion of you ?" 
 
 " You may in a moment, if you fancy. 
 I wish to say only one word on another 
 subject. You accuse me of spying, and 
 watching, and every dishonorable pro- 
 ceeding, from jealousy jealousy of the 
 preference of Mr. Lascelles for yourself !" 
 
 " Yes, I do accuse you of that, and of 
 following me this evening! It was an 
 outrage to " 
 
 "Be present at your private interview 
 with Mr. Lascelles 2" 
 
 Juliet, suddenly recalling the peculiar 
 attitude of the group, and their startled 
 expression, could not suppress a smile. 
 
 " I am not at all jealous, Miss Bassick," 
 she said. " I don't know whether you 
 will believe me, but any preferences of 
 Mr. Lascelles are a matter of indifference 
 to me. I really have no desire to marry 
 Mr. Lascelles, and you are quite at liberty 
 to do so, if you wish ; I see no objection. 
 I might say that it would, perhaps, be 
 better to receive his visits in the drawing- 
 room than in this secret manner ; but you 
 will decide for yourself, of course. And 
 now, Miss Bassick, I think we understand 
 
 each other. ll is better that \\ e .should, 
 and I have, there!'. -re, spoken plainly. 
 Do marry Mr. Lasrelles, if y,.ii \vish, and 
 he is anxious. 1 shall certainly not op- 
 pose it, and you must not think I am a 
 policeman. If I had kn.\\n that you and 
 Mr. Laserllrs were talking in that roman- 
 tic spot this (.'veiling, 1 a-Miiv you I should 
 have gone a mile out of the \\-.\\ t<> avoid 
 interrupting you." 
 
 In spite of everything of Mi-s !>a- 
 sick's wrath, insults, imputations Mi-s 
 Juliet Armstrong was evidently unable to 
 restrain her sense of humor. Sudden! v 
 she uttered a gay laugh, which enraged 
 Miss Bassick to the last degree. As they 
 had entered the grounds, however, the 
 interview came to an end, and the maid- 
 ens separated without further words. 
 
 Mr. Ruggles, lying concealed behind a 
 thick clump of cedars on the side of the 
 road opposite the trysting - place, had 
 heard nothing that was said. But then 
 he had witnessed everything, and his 
 sharp glances left nothing in doubt, lie 
 had heard the report in Piedmont that 
 Mr. Lascelles was engaged to be married 
 to Miss Armstrong, and the attitude of 
 the gentleman and his companion, as they 
 sat upon the rocks, clearly showed that 
 the report was correct. The minor cir- 
 cumstance that he mistook Miss Bassick 
 for Miss Armstrong was natural, but not 
 important. Mr. Ruggles gazed at the ro- 
 mantic couple and smiled ; remained in 
 his place of concealment until Mr. Las- 
 celles and the ladies had disappeared, and 
 then, emerging in the dusk, went back to 
 Piedmont. 
 
 Having shut himself up in his room, 
 he proceeded to write a note. This note 
 was brief, but very much to the point. 
 It contained these words : 
 
 "Miss ARMSTRONG, An unknown 
 friend takes this means of puttin_ 
 on your guard. Don't marry Mr. Doug- 
 las Lascelles, of Wye. lie is a forger, 
 and has one wife living !" 
 
 Having placed this communication in 
 an envelope, and directed it to " Miss 
 
192 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 Armstrong, Trianon, near Piedmont," he 
 put on his hat and went and deposited it 
 in the post-office ; and half an hour after- 
 ward old William came and bore it off 
 with the rest of Mrs. Armstrong's letters 
 to Trianon the mail having arrived in 
 the stage a short time before. Mr. Rug- 
 gles was lounging at the post-office when 
 Mrs. Armstrong's mail was asked for. 
 He saw his letter handed to the old ser- 
 vant. Then he sauntered back, with a 
 smile on his lips, to the tavern. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 THE OLD CHAPEL. 
 
 THE " Old Chapel " was a well-known 
 edifice in the Piedmont neighborhood. 
 It was the ancient stone church, on the 
 slope of the mountain, near which Mouse 
 and the Lefthander had met their friends 
 on the morning after the scenes at the 
 circus. 
 
 It was built of limestone, and had a 
 venerable appearance. 'There were old- 
 fashioned folding -doors on three of the 
 sides, brushed by hanging boughs, a gal- 
 lery at one end, ranges of straight-backed 
 pews, a cylindrical stove in the middle 
 aisle, and a lofty pulpit, with a sounding- 
 board above it, flanked by two small 
 square windows. The other windows 
 were lofty, and closed by solid shutters. 
 There was no paint about the building 
 if there ever had been, it had disappeared. 
 The edifice dated back to the times of the 
 earliest settlers in the region, and looked 
 down from the little plateau on the side 
 of the mountain a venerable relic of the 
 pa-t. Once a year service was held in it 
 by Mr. (Jranthaiii, to whoso parish it In-- 
 longed. He loved the spot very much, as 
 his friend IJishop Meade had loved it, and 
 it. was equally clear to his parishioners. 
 In the graveyard, enclosed by a stone 
 wall and overshadowed by weeping-wil- 
 lows and syeamores, were buried the an- 
 cestors of half of the families of the 
 neighborhood You could trace out the 
 familiar names and some of them were 
 
 famous on the mossy slabs, half covered 
 by the luxuriant growth of ivy and myr- 
 tle, instep deep. It was a sort of pious 
 pilgrimage which the good people of the 
 little parish made once a year to the Old 
 Chapel. They were not willing to have 
 it moulder away. A little attention would 
 prevent that, for the stone-work was still 
 solid and enduring. So service was still 
 held there, and the parishioners made it 
 a point of duty to attend: it was only 
 once a year. If they went thither oftener 
 it was in a long procession of carriages, 
 with a black vehicle in front, moving 
 slowly up the mountain road: some 
 member of the little community, a gray- 
 haircd elder or little blossom, was going 
 to sleep beside the dear ones already 
 there. 
 
 One bright Sunday morning of early 
 December the annual service was held at 
 the Old Chapel. The " Indian summer" 
 had come and the fall lingered still, and 
 as it often does in Virginia until January. 
 The mild air caressed and did not chill. 
 A low whisper in the few dry leaves still 
 clinging to the trees seemed the murmur- 
 ous farewell of autumn as it departed. 
 
 The old house of worship was rilled at 
 an early hour. Ellis Grantham was r< - 
 ing to preach his first sermon. He had 
 reached home on the week before, a new- 
 ly-made deacon, and this would be tho 
 first time he had risen to address a con- 
 gregation; so the attendance from Pied- 
 mont, where the young man was a great 
 favorite, was very large, and persons were 
 also present from the whole neighborhood, 
 including Bohemia. Mr. Gary and Fran- 
 ces were seated in the body of the church, 
 not far from IJrantz Elliot and Xelly and 
 I >addy Welles. General Laxvlles and 
 his family occupied a pew near them, 
 and Mrs. Armstrong and .Juliet sat in 
 front of them. In the gallery were 
 Mouse, Harry, and the Lefthander; Gen- 
 tleman Joe having remained at home to 
 look after the establishment. Ju-t in 
 front of the preacher was seen the portly 
 form of the, Tinted States maishal who 
 had made the night descent on the moon- 
 shiners, lie had reached the town on the 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 193 
 
 day before, and was waiting for the arri- 
 val of a detachment of cavalry, it was re- 
 ported. Meanwhile, like a respectable 
 citizen, he attended public worship. 
 
 Ellis read the service clearly and dis- 
 tinctly, and preached a very good sermon. 
 It was remarkable for the absence of am- 
 bitious rhetoric, and was conversational 
 rather than declamatory. His gesture 
 rose naturally from the feeling, and was 
 an aid. His views were Low-Church, and 
 were very far from implying that confes- 
 'sion to a priest and absolution refilled the 
 lamp of grace, a part of whose oil had 
 been spilled by sinful stumbling. These 
 fancies, and that other, that the priest 
 must refill the lamp before death, or the 
 bearer of it would be shut out, were very 
 ridiculous, and very offensive to him, the 
 preacher. It all arose from the absurdity 
 of regarding the priest as more than a 
 man. He was simply an ecclesiastical 
 official with prescribed duties. To speak 
 of his forgiving sin was monstrous, and a 
 relic of superstition. Those who thought 
 so had better go to Rome at once. No 
 man could be a mediator. There had 
 been one Mediator and High-priest, who 
 had offered sacrifice once for all. There 
 was no more sacrifice now ; that was 
 done with. All that was needed now 
 was faith in Him, and good works, as an 
 evidence that the faith was a living faith. 
 
 His sermon was short, and the blessing 
 was pronounced by Mr. Grantham. Then 
 the congregation began to talk ; for the 
 people of the Piedmont parish talked 
 after service. It may even be said that 
 they talked enormously both very fast 
 and very loud, as well as very long. 
 There was so much to say : they had not 
 seen each other for a whole week ! And 
 then had they not as a writer in the 
 Southern Churchman had said of coun- 
 try congregations come to church "to 
 see and be seen ?" This was a fearful ac- 
 cusation to bring against the young ladies 
 and gentlemen, but it certainly looked 
 very much like it. The maidens certain- 
 ly did go to and fro through the aisles, 
 gesticulating, exclaiming, and beaming on 
 all around them. But then that was nat- 
 13 
 
 ural ; had not the preaehrr talked at 
 
 for an hour, and \\as it n..t their turn now? 
 
 The elders indulged in friendly greet- 
 ings outside the chtireh. 1 It-re, the tail 
 form of old General Laseelles towered 
 above his neighbors, and with his hearlv 
 smile, and warm grasp of the hand for 
 everybody, he was a notable ligmv. He 
 accosted Daddy Welles with the air of an 
 old acquaintance, and pointed to the 1'ni- 
 ted States marshal with a smile. The 1 >ud- 
 dy smiled sweetly in return and nodded. 
 
 " You had better be on your guard," 
 said the general. " There is going to be 
 trouble." 
 
 " Trouble, did you say, gineral ?" Dad- 
 dy Welles asked, with an innocent air. 
 " Oh no ! I hope there won't be any 
 trouble." 
 
 " Don't be too certain of it, old friend." 
 
 " We can't be certain of anything in 
 this miser'ble world, gineral, onless it's 
 one thing the havc-his-carcass." 
 
 But the general shook his head. 
 
 " Don't count on that, Daddy," he said, 
 in a low tone. "Any law question that 
 comes up in this business will be decided 
 in the United States District Court, not 
 in our own." 
 
 "And does that make a difference, gin- 
 eral? Ain't the have-his-carcass law in 
 all the courts ?" 
 
 "There is not much law in the Uni- 
 ted States District Court, unless it is mar- 
 tial law. Once Virginia was a sovereign 
 State, and her rights were inviolate ; now 
 every little judge clothed in the Federal 
 ermine openly sneers at the idea that we 
 have any rights. Only one thing is left 
 to arrest our old Virginia judges, and 
 issue an order that there shall be no more 
 State courts in the commonwealth, unless 
 negroes preside in them." 
 
 " Well, well but the Virginia people 
 won't stand that long, gineral." 
 
 " I hope not. But take care of your- 
 self in the mean while, Daddy Welles." 
 
 " I'll try, gineral." 
 
 " I am coming to Bohemia to-morrow 
 to your house. Get our friends togeth- 
 er ; I want to talk to them." 
 
 " About the business ?" 
 
194 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 The general nodded. 
 
 " It will be best not to have any trouble. 
 You see the marshal is here already, and 
 there he is coming up to speak to me." 
 
 Daddy Welles did not retire at this in- 
 timation ; he only smiled. The marshal 
 came up and looked keenly at him. 
 
 " I remember you," he said, coldly ; 
 " your name is Welles." 
 
 " The same, friend." 
 
 " So you are a church-goer ?" 
 
 "I mostly go to meetin' somewlicrcs 
 on Sunday." 
 
 "And break the laws all the week, 
 depending for safety on your State 
 courts!" 
 
 Daddy Welles smiled, and gazed at the 
 marshal with a look of mild inquiry. 
 
 " Is there a law passed in Congress 
 that we're to have no more State courts 
 in Virginia, friend ?" he asked. 
 
 The marshal frowned. The question 
 was apparently innocent, but was embar- 
 rassing. 
 
 "And the have-his-carcass has Con- 
 gress done away with the have-his-carcass 
 too?" 
 
 The marshal uttered a suppressed 
 sound, which very much resembled an 
 oath. 
 
 " Nothing of the sort ! but the Federal 
 Court has jurisdiction in your case, and 
 you need not depend on it." 
 
 " Oh no ! 1 won't depend on it, friend. 
 I s'poso old Virginny '11 have to wait for 
 better times, when the troops won't be 
 sent for to decide law p'ints." 
 
 Having thus mildly expressed his hope 
 for the future, Daddy Welles retired, and 
 the marshal bowed to General Lascelle 
 and said, 
 
 " I shall apply to you in a day or two 
 for search-warrants, general, as before in 
 this matter of the illicit distilleries." 
 
 The general bowed, and said, 
 
 "I shall grant them, of course, -ir 
 though I should think you might hav ( 
 applied to the district judge." 
 
 " lie is not present." 
 
 " And I hope he will stay away as long 
 as possible. Between a judge in a black 
 coat sitting on a bench, and violating our 
 
 State law, and a marshal acting under or- 
 ders, with troops to support him, I prefer 
 the marshal and troops that is intelligi- 
 ble, at least." 
 
 The marshal bowed, and said, formally, 
 "The business is disagreeable; but, as 
 you have said, I act under orders." 
 
 The general bowed in reply, and the I 
 marshal walked on. Soon afterward the 
 ongregation dispersed and returned home 
 all of them, at least, but a small group 
 which lingered in the quiet church-yard, 
 overgrown with myrtle and shaded by its 
 large sycamores and willows. There was 
 one great weeping-willow, especially, whose 
 tassels reached down and brushed against 
 the tombstones ; and the little party, con- 
 sisting of Harry and the Lefthander and 
 Mouse, were looking at the quiet scene, 
 and musing, before setting out on their 
 return to Bohemia. Harry was thinking 
 of the face of Frances Gary, as she stood, 
 a rose-bud in the midst of rose-buds, in 
 the aisle of the church, and never had she 
 seemed so far away from him as at that 
 moment. The Lefthander, who had seen 
 Mr. Lascelles, wore a very gloomy expres- 
 sion. Mouse alone of the party looked 
 quietly happy Frances Gary had put her 
 arms around her as she came out of church 
 and kissed her, and Mouse loved her little 
 hostess of Falling Water dearly, and was 
 made happy by the kiss. 
 
 The child wandered about, reading the 
 inscriptions on the tombstones. There 
 were a number of little grassy mounds 
 marked by small head-stones. These were 
 the graves of children, but they did not 
 seem to make Mouse sad. She smiled as 
 she read the names, " Little Lucy " or 
 "Our Annie," and said, 
 
 " I think it would be nice to be buried 
 here, poppa don't you?" 
 
 " Yes," the Lefthander replied, " it is a 
 very good place." 
 
 " Hear tin- wind in the willow ! May- 
 be the dead people hear it too." 
 
 "Doubtful," was his reply; "they don't 
 hear inneh that is going on. But stop 
 tliis talking about being buried, Mignon. 
 If they bury you, they'll have to leave 
 room for me not far off from you." 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 
 "Of course," said Mouse "or for me 
 beside you/' 
 
 "But that won't be here. We'll get 
 up the troupe soou, and go away/' 
 
 Mouse looked at Harry and smiled. 
 
 "I am acquainted with a young gentle- 
 man who's not anxious to go away," she 
 observed; then leaning over she whisper- 
 ed, '"Forgive me, Harry, 1 didn't mean to 
 make you blush so 1" 
 
 After strolling through the old grave- 
 yard, carpeted with myrtle, for a little 
 while longer, the party then set out for 
 home, following the road through the 
 lap, 
 
 The Lefthander walked on with his 
 head bent down, and the same moody ex- 
 pression which of late had become com- 
 mon with him. It was an expression of 
 hesitation and doubt that of the man 
 who is puzzled to determine upon his 
 course in some important matter. The 
 singular part of it was that this expression 
 grew deeper and more intense whenever he 
 mentioned or encountered Mr. Lascelles. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 JULIET'S SECRET. 
 
 HAVING returned from service at the 
 Old Chapel, Mrs. Armstrong proceeded to 
 dine, and then repaired to the drawing- 
 room, whither Juliet followed her. 
 
 There was a very great contrast be- 
 tween their expressions. Mrs. Armstrong 
 was restless, moody, evidently displeased, 
 and " out of sorts " generally. From 
 time to time she patted the carpet impa- 
 tiently, almost angrily, with her small foot 
 in its handsome boot, and the inner ex- 
 tremities of her eyebrows were much too 
 close together to indicate tranquillity. 
 Juliet, on the contrary, had never seemed 
 more composed. Her pretty face, to use 
 an ambitious simile, resembled a rose-tint- 
 ed evening sky without a cloud upon it. 
 There was not the least shadow in her 
 limpid eyes, and she leaned back in her 
 arm-chair and looked at the fire with the 
 air of a person at peace with all the 
 world. 
 
 "It ivally is unendurable!" 1 sVid Mrs. 
 Arm>trong, at last ; "can he call himsrli' 
 a gentleman, 1 wonder?" 
 
 " \\'h<> i> In-, mamma .'" xiid Juliet, with 
 extreme tranquillity. 
 
 "Mr. Lascelles! How can he reconcile 
 it with common decency to behave as he 
 does?" 
 
 "I am not sure that I understand you." 
 
 "At church to-day he did not come 
 near you, or even so much as bow to you. 
 It is disgraceful! Here is the whole, 
 neighborhood connecting your name with 
 his own you are reported to be rngauvd 
 and he does not even speak to you !" 
 
 Juliet smiled. She had said nothing 
 to her mother of the scene in the woods ; 
 but Mrs. Armstrong was quite cognizant 
 of the preference of Mr. Lascelles for Mi>s 
 Bassick, and was slightly illogical in her 
 present views. If Mr. Lascelles were not 
 Juliet's suitor but Miss Bassick's, why 
 should the lady regard his demeanor as a 
 matter of any importance ? For the sake 
 of appearances? Yes, no doubt, for the 
 sake of appearances. Miss Juliet there- 
 fore smiled, and as she had a good deal 
 of humor under her calm exterior, said, 
 
 " I suppose Mr. Lascelles was moody 
 and unhappy from not seeing Miss Bas- 
 sick at church. You know when people 
 are in his state of mind they often neglect 
 the little forms of courtesy." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong rose erect in her chair. 
 
 " Good heavens, Juliet ! I really am 
 out of patience !" she exclaimed. 
 
 "I would not be if I were you, mam- 
 ma. You mean with me, I suppose." 
 
 "Yes, my dear; I cannot help it. Y ; 
 really seem to have no pride at all." 
 
 " We have discussed that before, mam- 
 madon't let us return to it. I will say 
 again, however, that I have a great deal, 
 and that it is a matter of indifference to 
 me whether Mr. Lascelles is polite to me 
 or the reverse. Why should I ca; 
 
 "But think, my dear! The whole 
 neighborhood are talking of you. Com- 
 mon decency, I say, would prompt a gen- 
 tleman to act differently. Everybody 
 noticed it, and I saw that hateful Mi.-s 
 Grundy nodding, and smirking, and gig- 
 
196 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 gling to her horrid Piedmont friends ; they 
 are all low people : she saw Mr. Lascelles 
 pass near you without turning his head, 
 and to-morrow it will be all over the 
 neighborhood." 
 
 " Very well, mamma." 
 
 Juliet spoke with great composure, as 
 she understood tolerably well what caused 
 Mr. Lascelles to shun her the very un- 
 pleasant meeting in the woods. 
 
 " My dear Juliet, for heaven's sake 
 don't say ' well, mamma,' to everything !" 
 exclaimed her mother. 
 
 "It expresses precisely what I feel," 
 Juliet said. " I mean that I am perfect- 
 ly well satisfied to have Mr. Lascelles bow 
 to me or not bow, come to see me or not 
 come to see me though I should very 
 much prefer that, under all the circum- 
 stances, he would not do so. As to his 
 manner to me in public, that is really a 
 matter of very little importance, mam- 
 ma." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong groaned ; then she 
 said, 
 
 "Fortunately people may think that 
 you have discarded him, and that you 
 have quarrelled on that account." 
 
 "I hope they will not. You know I 
 have not discarded Mr. Lascelles if any- 
 thing, he has discarded me !" 
 
 Juliet smiled sweetly, and added, 
 
 " He feels badly, no doubt I mean, ill 
 at case with me as he must see that the 
 atmosphere of Trianon has cooled in 
 some degree." 
 
 " So this is the last of everything the 
 end!" exclaimed Mrs. Armstrong, in a 
 tragic voice. 
 
 " It really seems so, mamma, and I am 
 very glad of it. I have a great many 
 reasons for preferring not to receive any 
 more visits from Mr. Lascelles. I have 
 not spoken of these reasons, and perhaps 
 I \\.is wrong in not doing so. Shall 1 
 tell you all of them at once, now, and 
 have no more secrets from you ?" 
 
 "Secrets! Have you secrets from 
 your poor unhappy mamma, ,Iul: 
 
 It was a pathetic wail, like the former 
 here was a new misery. 
 
 " Yes, mamma ; at least, I have delay- 
 
 ed telling you something. Until this 
 moment I have never had secrets, really, 
 or concealed anything. I have only 
 chosen my time to speak as I do now." 
 
 " What can you mean, my child ? Is 
 there anything dreadful coming?" Mrs. 
 Armstrong cried. 
 
 "Something very disagreeable, if you 
 think of it as I do." 
 
 "What 25 it?" 
 
 " I met Miss Bassick and Mr. Lascelles 
 in the woods the other evening embra- 
 cing." 
 
 "Embracing! I knew it I knew it 
 was true !" 
 
 " It was an accident, and there was an 
 edairdssement it was unavoidable. Mr. 
 Lascelles is engaged to be married, it 
 seems, to Miss Bassick, and I am obliged, 
 therefore, to give him up, whether I wish 
 to do so or not." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong gasped. W r ords seem- 
 ed to fail her. Her lips moved, and prob- 
 ably essayed to utter the phrase " Go 
 on," but there was no sound. 
 
 " That is one good reason for not re- 
 garding Mr. Lascelles in the light of a 
 suitor," continued Juliet, "and there is 
 another." 
 
 She drew from her pocket the letter 
 written by Mr. Ruggles, in which that 
 gentleman characterized Mr. Lascelles as 
 a forger, with one wife living. Juliet 
 read it aloud, and added, 
 
 " Of course I do not believe that there 
 is any truth in it. There rarely is any, I 
 suppose, in anonymous letters, as the per- 
 sons writing them indicate their own char- 
 acters by not signing them. But still, it 
 is not agreeable, mamma, to receive atten- 
 tions from a gentleman of whom such 
 things can be said by anybody. I meant 
 to send this note to Mr. Lascelles, but 
 thought I would first show it to you." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong took the letter, and 
 read it with an imbecile expression. 
 
 "A forger! one wife living!'' she 
 gaipecL 
 
 " So you see it would be very impru- 
 dent for me to marry Mr. Lascelles under 
 any circumstances, main ma." 
 
 "Good heavens!" this was a tragic 
 
VIRGINIA JHJIIKMIANS. 
 
 107 
 
 expression mucli used by Mrs. Armsti 
 "and the creature is to pollute this 
 mansion again with his presence!" 
 
 " Perhaps lie will not do so." 
 
 " Hi- is coming to-morrow. 1 request- 
 ed a private interview at church to-day." 
 
 u A private interview, mainnia '." 
 
 11 1 meant to demand an explanation," 
 gasped Mrs. Armstrong, exhibiting indica- 
 tions of falling into hysterics "to have 
 a full understanding with him and lie 
 will be here." 
 
 Juliet mused for a few moments, and 
 then said, 
 
 " Perhaps it is very well that you did 
 make the appointment. It is due to Mr. 
 Lasccllcs that he should be informed of 
 the contents of this letter without delay 
 that is only justice and common cour- 
 tesy, lie will come, and it can be given 
 to him. I need not say who is the prop- 
 er person to do so." 
 
 " The proper person ?" 
 
 " Miss Bassick. As she is engaged to 
 be married to Mr. Lascelles, this note con- 
 cerns her more than any one else. She 
 would no doubt object to becoming wife 
 No. 2. I shall therefore give her the 
 note, to be transmitted to Mr. Lascelles, 
 and as you can now have no desire to 
 come to an explanation with him, Miss 
 Bassick can take your place, and arrange 
 her own affairs." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong sunk back in her chair, 
 looking so utterly bewildered and helpless 
 that Juliet, who had spoken in an accent 
 of lurking humor and enjoyment of the 
 little comedy to be enacted, felt really 
 sorry for her, and rose and went to her 
 side. 
 
 " There, there, mamma, don't take ev- 
 erything so seriously," she said, smooth- 
 ing her hair gently and pressing her lips 
 to her cheek. She then sat down on the 
 cricket at her mother's feet, and, leaning 
 one arm on the lady's knees, looked up 
 into her face. Her mother bent down 
 and kissed her. 
 
 " There was something else to tell you, 
 mamma," said Juliet, coloring slightly. 
 
 " Something else ?" faltered Mrs. Arm- 
 strong. 
 
 "Something much more important 
 than anything I have yd told yu, mam- 
 ma. Thnv i-, a more scri-uis iva>.>n than 
 ill the rt. \\liv I do not wi>h to marry 
 Mr. Lascelles, and am <juite willing that 
 Miss Bassick should, if she wi>lir>.'' 
 
 " What reason P 
 
 "I am engaged to be married to Ellis 
 Nrantham," said Juliet, with two l>hi>h- 
 roses suddenly blooming in her rln-.-kv.. 
 
 "Engaged ! to Ellis Grantham !" 
 
 "You are not sorry, are you, mamma ( 
 Don't say you are sorry " 
 
 Juliet's head sunk a little, and the 
 queen-like young lady suddenly bccaim- 
 only a shrinking and pleading girl. 
 
 "Don't say you are sorry, mamma ! I 
 love him so much." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong thereupon succumbed 
 and burst into tears. She hugged the 
 young lady to her bosom, kissed her in a 
 wild and tragic manner, and with sobs 
 and gasps said she never could part with 
 her darling which was singular, as ^li<- 
 had been willing to part with the darling 
 to Mr. Lascelles. 
 
 " Ellis Grantham !" she exclaimed; "en- 
 gaged to him ! Oh, Juliet." 
 
 "You know you love him, mamma," 
 Juliet said, in a low tone. " You have 
 said so a hundred times : was it so wrong 
 in your daughter to love him too ?" 
 
 Juliet smiled as she said this, raising a 
 moist pair of eyes and a pair of blushing 
 cheeks. 
 
 " I meant to tell you all about it before, 
 mamma, but there was really very little 
 to tell. You know Ellis came to see us 
 very often, and and it happened I 
 mean, he grew to like me. He did not 
 tell me so, but he told Anna Gray, and 
 made her his confidante, and Anna made. 
 no secret of it; you know how intimate 
 we are. When Ellis went away he ask- 
 ed me to correspond with him, and you 
 agreed that I should do so, you remember. 
 That is all, mamma." 
 
 Juliet quietly dried her eyes, in an un- 
 obtrusive way, with her handkerchief, and 
 looked up with a smile. 
 
 "And the engagement took place by let- 
 ter?" said Mrs. Armstrong, in a dazed way. 
 
198 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 " Yes, mamma. It was very foolish in 
 Ellis, as lie was coming home so soon. 
 But he begged me so, and said so much 
 about sparing me the pain of a refusal 
 face to face with him, that I gave up, 
 and wrote back that I would marry him if 
 you approved of it. Not now, mamma 
 when he is ordained ; and some day he 
 will become Mr. Grantham's assistant " 
 
 "And you will spend your life here, and 
 never go to Paris !" gasped the poor lady. 
 
 " Go to Paris ? I don't want to go to 
 Paris in the least, mamma. The Pied- 
 mont neighborhood is charming," said 
 this very inconsistent young lady. 
 
 " AVhy, you said it was fearfully dull !" 
 
 "I must have been jesting." 
 
 " But to give you up my own, my 
 beloved child !" 
 
 " I shall live much nearer to you than 
 I should have lived at AVye." 
 
 This reply, which Juliet uttered with a 
 slight smile upon her lips, quite dismount- 
 ed Mrs. Armstrong's logical artillery. 
 
 " Of course, I never will marry without 
 your approval, dear mamma," said the 
 girl, in her sweet, earnest voice, " and I 
 wrote Ellis so. But you will approve of 
 it won't you? He is so good and I 
 love him so much, mamma." 
 
 "When she told her mother good-night 
 that night, Juliet kissed her and said, 
 
 "I knew you loved Ellis, mamma, and 
 would not object, and he will love you 
 dearly but he never can love you as much 
 as I do." 
 
 I A' VI. 
 MRS. ARMSTRONG'S GREAT BLOW. 
 
 "You will be good enough, if you 
 please, to look for another home, Miss 
 l,i ick I would suggest y>ur friend 
 Mi-* (irundy's as a congenial retreat. 
 I'udiT all the circumstanees, I should 
 prefer your not remaining longer at Tri- 
 anon." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong uttered these wnK 
 about an hour after her interview with 
 Juliet, who had gone to her chamber. 
 
 The lady and Miss Bassick were seated 
 opposite each other in the drawing-room. 
 It was not Miss Bassick's habit to seat 
 herself in Mrs. Armstrong's presence 
 without being invited, but she had done 
 so on this occasion with an casv air, 
 which seemed to say, ""Well, you have 
 sent for me, I am ready to listen to you." 
 Indeed, her whole bearing had changed. 
 She was no longer the submissive com- 
 panion, but quite a different person. She 
 leaned back gracefully in her red velvet 
 arm-chair, and quietly awaited the coming 
 storm. The storm was coming, she fclt, f 
 for no doubt Juliet had related to her 
 mother the comic incident in the woods; 
 but then that was unimportant : she had 
 triumphed, since Mr. Lascelles was her 
 fance. This ill-tempered old woman 
 might rage, but that would do no harm ; 
 and it was even with a sort of enjoyment 
 that she anticipated what was apparently 
 approaching. 
 
 In response to Mrs. Armstrong's sug- 
 gestion that she should seek for a new 
 home, Miss Bassick said, 
 
 " I will do so with pleasure, madam, as 
 anything is better than to live with :i 
 person so very disagreeable as yourself I 1 ' 
 
 Miss Bassick smiled and looked straight 
 at Mrs. Armstrong as she uttered these 
 words. She evidently expected an ex- 
 plosion, but none took place. 
 
 " I am glad there is no difference of 
 opinion, then, in reference to what is best 
 for you in future, Miss Bassick," said the 
 lady. 
 
 " There is none at all, madam. Tria- 
 non is perfectly hateful to me. I should 
 not like to be married from your house 
 if I could avoid it." 
 
 " You are to be married to Mr. Las- 
 eelles, 1 hear/' 
 
 " Yes madam at New-year. The 
 match, I hope, is agreeable to you .'" 
 
 -Perfectly." 
 
 " We will go to Paris in the spring. 
 Until that time Mr. Lascelles will remain 
 at Wye." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong inclined her head and 
 made no reply. Miss Bassick was much 
 disappointed. There was to be no storra 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 199 
 
 after all, then ; and that fact greatly di- 
 minished tho sweets of triumph. She 
 began to grow irritated. 
 
 "I have informed you of my approach- 
 ing marriage," she said, " as an explana- 
 tion of what Juliet -witnessed the other 
 evening an interview between myself 
 and Mr. Lascelles, when I accidentally 
 met him as I was walking out. lie was 
 holding my hand, which 1 should not 
 have permitted him to do if we had not 
 been engaged. During my conversation 
 with Mr. Lascelles Juliet stole up and lis- 
 tened, which I must say I think was very 
 dishonorable." 
 
 Mi-s Hassiek looked at Mrs. Armstrong. 
 Every w r ord she had uttered, and even the 
 omission of Miss before Juliet's name, 
 was plainly meant as a provocation. 
 
 " I say dishonorable" added Miss Bas- 
 sick, " for it is nothing less than that to 
 lurk and eavesdrop, and go and report 
 what is seen and heard and a great deal 
 more. Juliet did so on this occasion, 
 though I suppose she will deny it." 
 
 " Is it possible ?" said Mrs. Armstrong. 
 " I had supposed that Juliet was an hon- 
 orable person. It is melancholy to have 
 a daughter who could be guilty of such 
 conduct. You must overlook it, Miss 
 Bassick but you will, no doubt, do so. 
 Yes, poor Juliet from jealousy, no doubt 
 must have exaggerated what took place. 
 Indeed, she went so far as to say you were 
 in Mr. Lascelles's arms." 
 
 " It is a falsehood a vile falsehood !" 
 said Miss Bassick, yielding to maiden in- 
 dignation. 
 
 " So you were merely conversing with 
 him : the meeting was accidental, no 
 doubt, like that which took place in the 
 drawing-room that evening." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong smiled, and the smile 
 stung Miss Bassick exceedingly. 
 
 " You are all spies !" she cried. " It is 
 disgraceful in persons pretending to good- 
 breeding." 
 
 " Don't become excited, Miss Bassick," 
 Mrs. Armstrong said. "Your color is 
 not becoming. You must pardon poor 
 Juliet ! think how much mortified she 
 must be at the preference of Mr. Lascelles 
 
 for yourself. You are to be married at 
 New - yr.-ir .' That is not very far <>1T 
 now. Will the ceremony take place in 
 church, and the wedding -supper bo at 
 Miss Grundy's? I will make out your 
 account, as you will naturally want money 
 for your trousseau. Let me sec, this is 
 the 10th would it be convenient to you 
 to be with Miss Grundy by the 15th T 
 
 "Yes, madam; I will go at once and 
 she shall know, and the whole town shall 
 know, why I have left your house." 
 
 " You do not refer to the meetings in 
 the woods as the reason ?" 
 
 "Take care how you insult me, Mrs. 
 Armstrong!" cried Miss Bassick, in a 
 fury. 
 
 " Insult you ?" said Mrs. Armstrong : 
 "you really arc not worth insulting, Miss 
 Bassick. You are perfectly at liberty to 
 injure my character or Juliet's by any 
 means in your power or Miss Grundy's, 
 if you can. Do enjoy yourself as much 
 as possible by maligning me to the com- 
 mon people in Piedmont, and afterward 
 in your more elevated sphere at AVye. 
 Juliet and I will endeavor to survive it. 
 And now, as that is arranged, Miss Bas- 
 sick, and we have had a frank talk, sup- 
 pose we terminate this interview." 
 
 "Not until I tell you my opinion of 
 you !" cried Miss Bassick, furiously. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong smiled. She was a 
 very quiet and determined person when 
 she restrained her temper. 
 
 "I really don't see what advantage 
 there could be in your doing so," she said ; 
 " and I should be tempted to tell you my 
 opinion of yourself, which might not be 
 flattering." 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong rose negligently. 
 
 " By-the-bye, here is something which 
 Mr. Lascelles ought to see," she said, giv- 
 ing Miss Bassick the anonymous letter. 
 "The writer of this note speaks of him 
 as a forger, with a wife living. It is no 
 doubt a slander, but, of course, he should 
 be informed of the charge. You might 
 give him the note when he comes to- 
 morrow morning. Juliet is going to see 
 her friend Frances Gary, and I am afraid 
 I shall have a headache. You and Mr. 
 
200 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 Lascelles will, therefore, have an opportu- 
 nity to talk over your affairs at your lei- 
 sure, as you will have the drawing-room 
 entirely to yourselves which will be 
 more agreeable, I suppose, than the 
 woods." 
 
 It was Mrs. Armstrong's great blow. 
 The consciousness that she was going to 
 deliver it had enabled her to pass tran- 
 quilly through this very trying interview. 
 It was a cruel coup, but the lady struck it 
 without mercy. Ilad not this creature 
 made herself and Juliet the laughing- 
 stock of everybody ? Had not Mr. Las- 
 celles by her intrigues been wiled away 
 and appropriated ? Miss Bassick had re- 
 sorted to trick and deception up to a cer- 
 tain point; then, finding that the game 
 was in her hands, she threw off the mask. 
 She triumphed, and did not take the least 
 trouble to conceal her triumph. What 
 could she expect ? 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong's revenge was unchris- 
 tian, and not particularly appropriate to 
 the Sabbath afternoon but it was sweet. 
 Sweetest of all was the expression of Miss 
 Bassick's face, as she seized the letter and 
 ran her eyes over it. As the twilight had 
 come, she went hastily to the window to 
 read it, nearly turning her back on the 
 lady. 
 
 " A forger married already ! It is a 
 falsehood a base lie!" she said, in a 
 husky voice, in which there was an into- 
 nation of fury almost. 
 
 "So your wedding will have to be de- 
 ferred, after all," said Mrs. Armstrong, 
 Laughing. 
 
 " Married 1" 
 
 Miss Bassick's pretty brows were knit 
 together, and her eyes were like two coals 
 of fire. 
 
 " It is unfortunate, and Mr. Lascelles 
 ought to have mentioned the little cir- 
 cumstance, I think," Mrs. Armstron 
 smiling. "He no doubt lost sight of it, 
 though it seems singular that he should 
 have forgotten it. As this is not Utah, it 
 is not customary for a gentleman to liavc 
 two wives at the same time. The great 
 objection to marrying Mr. Lascelles is, 
 that the lady who espouses him in second 
 
 nuptials will occupy a very peculiar pct- 
 sition ; in fact, she will not be a wife at 
 all respectable people will not visit her, 
 and, worse even than that, the law would 
 interfere, and make the whole affair ex- 
 ceedingly unpleasant." 
 
 Miss Bassick was still glaring at the let- 
 ter, and did not reply. 
 
 " That is your affair, however," Mrs. 
 Armstrong added, laughing a little. " You 
 are quite at liberty to marry somebody 
 else's husband if you wish, as the cere- 
 mony is not going to take place at Tria- 
 non:" 
 
 Miss Bassick whirled around like a 
 tigress about to spring. Mrs. Armstrong 
 was sauntering negligently from the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 On the next day Miss Bassick left 
 Trianon. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 GENTLEMAN JOE TELLS NELLY THE WIXD*3 
 STORY. 
 
 BOHEMIA was in all its glory. Not the 
 glory of the summer, when the slopes of 
 the mountain and the banks of Falling 
 Water were clothed in dense foliage full 
 of the songs of birds ; nor yet the glory of 
 the autumn, when the fading days touch- 
 ed the forests hour by hour with a deeper 
 yellow and crimson ; but the glory, s\\ c vt- 
 er and sadder if not so pictmvsque, of 
 the wonderful Indian Summer, which re- 
 stores to early winter, if not the tender 
 leaflets, at least the faint, sweet charm of 
 the spring days and the childhood of the 
 year. 
 
 This magical season had descended 
 upon the little valley of Bohemia; and 
 the remote region, nestling down in the 
 emhraee of the mountain, seemed to be 
 -teeped in a dreamy languor. Nature re- 
 members and dreams as well as human 
 bring*. Look at the silent trees and the 
 rock-ribbed slopes they are waiting, \"ii 
 would say, for something, and musing 
 over the past days. Sometimes you may 
 hear a low rustling in the few dead leaves, 
 though no wind is stirring. The country 
 people will tell you and with truth 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS, 
 
 201 
 
 that the sound foretells snow. But the 
 trees are really laughing and whisper- 
 ing to each other. That aeaeia with the 
 lanceolated leaves and the sharp black 
 thorns is in a reverie. Stretch out your 
 tinker and touch it you interrupt it, and 
 it shrinks l>aek. And then the water of 
 the stream yonder in the deep hollow be- 
 tween the high banks surely you hear 
 it talking to the moss-covered rocks, over 
 which the broad-leaved flags are leaning, 
 waiting as the silent trees wait for some- 
 thing that is coining. 
 
 The sunshine was a mild splendor in 
 the air, and just revealed the dim head- 
 lands. A faint smoke hovered over them, 
 and in the distance the blue ranges melt- 
 ed away into it. Far up some white 
 clouds were drifting across the delicate 
 blue, and the trailing shadow's passed 
 slowly along the side of the mountain 
 not galloping now, as they used to do in 
 August, but making their way quietly, as 
 though they had the whole day before 
 them, and would arrive in time at some 
 mysterious rendezvous in the mountain 
 gorges. 
 
 " They don't laugh at me now I used 
 to think they were laughing at me," said 
 Gentleman Joe, who was walking along 
 the banks of the Falling Water with Xel- 
 ly. " I mean the cloud shadows ; look 
 at that one coming. He is going to tell 
 me something." 
 
 " Now, Gentleman Joe," said Nelly, 
 looking at the old fellow affectionately, 
 and addressing him as if he were a child, 
 "you promised me you would not talk 
 so about the poor shadows, and the pine- 
 trees and all. How can they tell you 
 anything? They are only shadows, and 
 leaves moving in the wind." 
 
 " In the wind ? Yes, they move in 
 the wind, my dear," said Gentleman Joe, 
 smiling. " That explains the whole mat- 
 ter; it is not the shadows that really 
 talk, or the leaves either it is the wind. 
 Did you never hear the voice of the wind ? 
 I have heard it often. Sometimes it 
 laughs, then it growls. When it whis- 
 pers in the tulip-trees, as the bell-flowers 
 are opening in the spring, it is in a good- 
 
 hninor it is telling the tulips about the 
 south, where it has been travelling, and 
 the oran-v grOYet, Hut in winter it i- 
 very dilTeivnt. Have \mi never listened 
 to it when it was roaring around the Ca- 
 bles in the cold, dark nights i It is angry 
 then, and will tear up trees or blow poo 
 pie over precipices if they trifle with it." 
 
 " Ob, Gentleman Joe! \\h\- xlnmlil you 
 take up all these fancies? Indeed, it is 
 not good for you." 
 
 "Fancies? They are not fancies, m\ 
 dear; and really it does me no harm. I 
 have nothing to say to the wind when it 
 is in a bad humor I wait. After auhilc 
 it gets over that and we have long talks. 
 It has told me a number of strange things 
 in my life. The strangest of all was what, 
 it told me only yesterday." 
 
 "What did it telly on f 
 
 Gentleman Joe shook his head and fell 
 into a fit of musing. 
 
 " It was a very curious story, indeed," 
 he said, after awhile. "Do you think 
 you would like to hear it ?" 
 
 Nelly hesitated. She did not like to 
 encourage poor Gentleman Joe in his 
 vague wanderings, and was about to say 
 that he had better tell her something else, 
 when he added, 
 
 " It is about Crow's Nest, and some- 
 body who once lived there." 
 
 " About Crow's Nest 2" 
 
 " And old times there," said Gentleman 
 Joe, dreamily. " It is a very strange 
 story. If you would like to hear it I 
 will tell you about it, Nelly. I really 
 can't get it out of my mind or under- 
 stand it perhaps you may; and then 
 you might tell me, you know, Nelly." 
 
 Nelly looked at him closely as he ut- 
 tered these words. His voice was exceed- 
 ingly sad. Would it not be a relief to 
 him to unburden his mind ? It might be. 
 
 "Well, tell me what you thought the 
 wind said, Gentleman Joe." 
 
 "Thought? I did not think the wind 
 told me. It really told me; and it was 
 not very friendly, either, in the wind it 
 has made me rather sorrowful, for it is a 
 sorrowful a very sorrowful story. * I re- 
 member Crow's Nest,' the wind began, * in 
 
202 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 very old times. It was part of a great 
 estate which once covered half of Bohe- 
 mia and extended beyond ; but in course 
 of time the Bohemian part, all but the 
 Crow's Nest farm, was sold, and at last 
 there were two brothers who inherited 
 the whole property.' Do you understand 
 that, Nelly?" 
 
 " Yes," she said. 
 
 " Well, the eldest took one part of the 
 property, and the youngest the Crow's 
 Nest farm. It had a small house upon it 
 a very small one but the land was 
 good, and the owner set about improving 
 it. Then he fell in love with and mar- 
 ried a young girl of the neighborhood. 
 She was very beautiful, and he loved her 
 dearly ; but then she was beneath him, as 
 people say : she was an orphan, and her 
 father had been scarcely more than a 
 laborer." 
 
 " Yes, Gentleman Joe." 
 
 Nelly was listening with great attention 
 now, and wondering a little at the lucid 
 and connected narrative, divested of every- 
 thing like extravagance, which the old 
 fellow was presenting. 
 
 " That made trouble," he went on, with 
 his head drooping " a great deal of trou- 
 ble. Her husband loved her with all his 
 soul, but his fine relations turned their 
 backs on her. They had tried to dis- 
 suade him when they heard of his inten- 
 tion to marry her, but as he loved her he 
 only laughed at them, and turned his back 
 on them. What was it to the man who 
 loved her so much whether she was a 
 Icing's daughter or a peasant's? She was 
 herself, which was enough, and he only 
 loved her ni<>iv dearly \\hcn others looked 
 down upon her, as In; ought to have done. 
 He was a gentleman if he had not done 
 so he would not have been a gentle- 
 man." 
 
 " Yes," said Nelly, in a low tone, think- 
 ing of what Frances Cary had said of 
 Brantz Elliot. 
 
 " \Vell, the time passed on," continued 
 Gentleman Joe, "and his family never 
 carne to sec them or took any notice of 
 them. There was one person who did 
 his brother, who had never interfered at 
 
 all in his marriage. He was a very good 
 brother, not at all like the chattering, gab- 
 bling women, who rolled their eyes and 
 shook their heads, and would have noth- 
 ing to do with the poor fellow who had 
 disgraced the family by his low marriage. 
 He and his brother never had an unkind 
 word, but the poor husband was ill at 
 ease. He was suspicious, perhaps, and 
 thought that his brother, too, looked 
 down on his wife. So he grew cool to 
 him and he, no doubt, saw it, and the 
 visits became fewer and fewer. At last 
 they stopped, and the owner of Crow's 
 Nest was left to himself and his quiet 
 days in Bohemia. 
 
 " They were very bright days. He was 
 married to one he loved better than he 
 loved his life. He loved the ground she 
 walked upon. He would take her slip- 
 per, sometimes, and kiss it because it had 
 the shape of her foot. You can't under- 
 stand that. It is the way a man loves 
 when he is in love with a good woman. 
 What she touches or what touches her is 
 sacred and beautiful. As to bad or fool- 
 ish women and there are a great num- 
 ber of that sort the handsomer they are 
 the more disagreeable they are ; the very 
 sight of the things they wear is distaste- 
 ful, since the wearer has given them the 
 shape of her person." 
 
 Gentleman Joe looked moody, and a 
 singular expression of disdain quite 
 changed his whole face. Then the 
 vague and dreamy look came back to his 
 face, and he said, 
 
 "They were very happy at Crow's 
 Nest, the young husband and the one he 
 loved. What did he care for the people 
 who never came to sec him? One face 
 was enough the face of his wife. Then 
 another face came there was a little 
 babv that prattled and held out its small 
 ro-y anus, and crowed and ne>tled close, 
 and made its father and mother much 
 happier than they had ever been before. 
 But trouble was coming too life is full 
 of that. He was not what is called a 
 business man I mean the owner of 
 Crow's Nest. His head was bad for 
 managing, and his farm went down, and 
 
VIRGINIA nolIKMIANS. 
 
 203 
 
 he fell into trouble. "Hut that was really 
 nothing. Tlic world laughs at you and 
 slights you when you arc poor and in 
 need; but what does it matter if yon can 
 o-o home and feel the arms of your wife 
 and chilil around your neck, and sec them 
 smile on you? You laugh back at the 
 world then ; but it will not do to laugl 
 too much. It is ;i hard, cruel world, and 
 in the end, if you don't take care, it turns 
 the laugh on you and crushes you. You 
 might stand that yourself, perhaps, but 
 there are the others the helpless ones. 
 It is hard for them. They leave us some- 
 times, and then they are happier." 
 
 Gentleman Joe looked up as he uttered 
 these words. It was cither at the clouds 
 or at something or some one he saw be- 
 yond them. 
 
 " One day she went away from him 
 I mean the poor man's wife," he contin- 
 ued, in a very low tone. "She was his 
 angel it was natural, therefore, that she 
 should become an angel of God. She 
 was almost a child when he married her 
 and when she died. A fever carried her 
 off suddenly, and she died in his arms, 
 with her head resting upon his breast." 
 
 Nelly sobbed. As to Gentleman Joe, 
 his expression was that of a human being 
 who has shed all the tears he is capable 
 of shedding. 
 
 " Well, he longed for death," he said, 
 " but it would not come. A dull stupor 
 followed, and he fell into despair. But 
 Heaven was merciful, after all, since it 
 took away his memory, and his reason 
 with it." 
 
 "His reason?" 
 
 " Yes, he lost his reason. Poor man, I 
 wonder if he ever got it back ! He used 
 to sit in the chair she had sat in, dream- 
 ing of old scenes and seeing the face of 
 his dead wife. He was not in his right 
 mind then. He wanted to die, but he 
 did not think of taking his own life. 
 There was his child, and he wished to see 
 his wife again he will see her !" 
 
 He raised his head and looked upward 
 as before, his eyes fixed and full of vague 
 longing. Nelly sobbed, and gazed at him 
 with a startled expression. 
 
 "Gentleman ,loe, what are you tolling 
 lie exclaimed. 
 
 "Tin- ( iod's truth just what the wind 
 told me, Nelly. I've nearly done n,,\\. 
 Must I u'o on?" 
 
 "Yes, ye 
 
 "Something had to !., done - tin-re 
 was the little one, and the dead mother; 
 they were all three alone. The p...r man 
 only moaned, and broke his heart with 
 longing lunging for the lips, and eyes 
 ami the voice he was not goin^ to 1,,-ar 
 any more. He sat there thin king in this 
 way, or trying to think; but it era/ed 
 him. He was waked suddenly. His |M>V 
 was crying for bread !" 
 
 "Oh, how pitiful!" cried Nelly, with 
 streaming eyes; "is it true, Gentleman 
 Joe?" 
 
 "True? yes, it is God's own truth. 
 His little boy was about four years old, 
 and could not talk very plain, lie said, 
 * I hung'y, papa !' and he cried, and the 
 corners of his mouth were pulled down; 
 and he put his arms up and linked me 
 around the neck, and 1 burst out crying 
 for the first time." 
 
 "You? You speak of it as if you were 
 the poor father, Gentleman Joe !" 
 
 " Did I ? What could have rmcle me 
 do that, I wonder ? I had nothing to do 
 with it the wind told it to me, and I 
 thought you would like to hear it: it 
 was only yesterday, while I was lying 
 down under the big sycamore yonder. I 
 may have dreamed it, as I was dozing; 
 but I don't think I did. The wind told 
 it, and it wouldn't take the trouble to tell 
 me my own story." 
 
 Nelly Welles looked at the speaker 
 with astonishment. What did all this 
 mean? Was the poor victim of fantasy 
 telling her a real history his history? 
 Could that be possible? lie had often 
 referred in his erratic talk to his famili- 
 arity with the scenes in Bohemia, around 
 Crow's Nest and along the stream. Could 
 it be possible that he was the poor hus- 
 band and father? and was it only his fan- 
 tastic imagination, the fancy of his dis- 
 ordered brain, that the wind had whis- 
 pered the strange story to him, while all 
 
204 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 the time his own memory was dictating 
 it? Full of wonder, and looking at him 
 with a long, wistful glance, she listened, 
 for the rest of his narrative, feeling vague- 
 ly that there would probably be some sin- 
 gular ending to so singular a revelation. 
 
 " Is that all ?" she said, seeing that his 
 glances were wandering, as if the whole 
 subject had passed from his mind. 
 
 "Yes, Nelly no, that was not all. 
 There was the funeral. She was taken 
 away from him while he sat looking at 
 the floor he could not move, but he 
 heard the steps of men coming down- 
 stairs carrying something." 
 
 " Oh me !" 
 
 " That was sad for the poor man, but 
 he scarcely felt it, as he was stunned. It 
 was on the same evening that the little 
 one came crying for bread, with his mouth 
 pulled down. Then a neighbor came in, 
 and touched my shoulder, and I saw he 
 was crying. He went and got some bread, 
 and called a servant to bring some milk, 
 and when little Harry had finished eating 
 he stooped down and kissed him. He 
 was the uncle of the child, and a very 
 good man I could tell you his name. 
 * It won't do to leave the baby here,' he 
 said, ' I am going to take him home with 
 me.' When he said this the child's fa- 
 ther sprung upon him and tore the boy 
 from him. ' You shall not have my child !' 
 he said. ' He is all I have left of her 
 you shall not take him !' The good 
 neighbor tried to persuade him, but he 
 would not listen to him, and the neighbor 
 went away. * I will come again to-mor- 
 row,' he said ; * it is better for the boy, as 
 he cannot stay with you.' He then left 
 the house, and the father sat down hold- 
 ing liis child in his arms and trying to 
 think. He was out of his mind, you see, 
 but he understood one thing. They were 
 going to take his boy from him ; they 
 should not do that; he would prevent 
 them. Before morning he took his child 
 in his arms and went away from Crow's 
 Nest." 
 
 Nelly sobbed. 
 
 " And what became of him and his lit- 
 tle boy ?" she said. 
 
 Gentleman Joe put his hand to his 
 forehead and tried to think. He was so 
 much absorbed in this effort that he did 
 not hear the sound of wheels approaching. 
 
 "Where did he go? That is hard, 
 very hard to say." 
 
 He smiled sadly it was a faint sun- 
 shine on the old face, but still a sort of 
 sunshine. This sudden change of mood 
 
 O 
 
 was one of the idiosyncrasies of his fan- 
 tastic temperament. 
 
 " I can hardly tell you where the poor 
 fellow did go, Nelly," he said : "to a 
 great many places in fact, almost every- 
 where." 
 
 The noise of wheels drew nearer, but 
 either the laughter of the water or a sud- 
 den wind which blew from the mountain 
 made the sound inaudible. 
 
 " lie went on all day with his little boy 
 in his arms," said Gentleman Joe, smiling, 
 "and in the evening met a circus which 
 had halted in a wood to feed the horses. 
 Circus people are very kind, and they 
 gave him plenty to eat. The big fellows 
 danced the boy, and he pulled their 
 beards and laughed. That made friends, 
 and they joined the company, and stayed 
 with it for a great many years, and " 
 
 A carriage came out of the foliage with- 
 in a few yards of them. It was the W\ e 
 coach with General Lascelles in it, on his 
 way to Daddy Welles's, and as it had 
 reached the foot of the ascent, the driver 
 stopped to ask if that was the road. 
 
 This question was addressed to Gentle- 
 man Joe, but he took no notice of it. 
 He was looking intently at General Las- 
 celles, who was also looking fixedly at him. 
 Gentleman Joe then walked up to the 
 carriage with a bright smile upon hi- fftOGJ 
 and said, 
 
 u I low do you do, brother ? Don't you 
 know me? You have not forgotten Joe?" 
 
 General Lascelles looked at the speaker 
 with profound astonishment. Then his 
 face suddenly flushed, and tears rushed to 
 his eyes. 1 1 is whole frame shook, and 
 with an unsteady hand lie opened the 
 door of the carriage and got out, trem- 
 bling as he did so. 
 
 " I am very glad to see you, brother. 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS, 
 
 205 
 
 Did you think I was dead?" said Gentle-! 
 man Joe. 
 
 General Lascelles, uttering a great sol), 
 put liis anus around the poor old fellow 
 and drew him close to him. 
 
 "God bo thanked!" he said, in a low 
 voice; "this is the happiest day of my 
 |fe,Joe!" 
 
 ' Why, you are crying, brother!" said 
 Gentleman Joe, smiling. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 A MEETING OF MOONSHINERS. 
 
 HALF an hour after this scene Gen- 
 eral Lascelles, Gentleman Joe, and Daddy 
 Welles were shut up in the sitting-room 
 of the small mountain-house, and the old 
 master of Wye was listening with deep 
 emotion to the story of his brother's ad- 
 ventures after his departure from Crow's 
 Nest. The poor old ex-clown seemed to 
 have waked up from his long night of 
 hallucination, and evidently recalled now 
 his whole past life and his own individ- 
 uality. AY as this the result of the sud- 
 den appearance of the face of his brother, 
 which supplied the missing link in the 
 chain of memory ? It is difficult to say. 
 It is always difficult, almost impossible to 
 follow the operations of the mind diseased, 
 and trace out the steps by which it re- 
 turns to reason. A struggle was plainly 
 going on in the brain of the poor man, as 
 lie had called himself ; but happiness had 
 evidently already worked an extraordinary 
 change in him. His mind and memory 
 had become lucid, if not strong yet. 
 
 The general was soon in possession of 
 all the facts. Ills brother, as he had told 
 Nelly, had married a young girl of very 
 humble family she had died, and he had 
 gone away with his boy to avoid a sepa- 
 ration from him. The person who wish- 
 ed to take the boy had been Daddy 
 Welles, whose sister had been the wife of 
 Gentleman Joe. When the old wanderer 
 reappeared at Crow's Xest, Daddy Welles ' 
 had at once recognized him ; but it seem- ' 
 ed impossible to separate him from his 
 
 associate^, and the attempt, had not been 
 made. Nor had I>addv Welles informal 
 (Jeneral Laserllrs of his return. A lurk- 
 ing sentiment of pride deterred the moun- 
 taineer. (Jentleman . !.,'> family had 
 looked down upon him for his Welles al- 
 liance, and as the I>addy was a proud old 
 fellow, after his fashion, he said nothing 
 HOW. He liked General Laseelles peisoli- 
 ally, but would have him discover for 
 himself that his brother and the boy \\eiv 
 home again. 
 
 This came out during their convnxi- 
 tion, and the general shook his head sor- 
 rowfully. 
 
 "That was a foolish thing for you to 
 do, old friend," he said to Daddy Welles 
 " A man's brother is his brother, and .)>, 
 is the only brother I have. But let that 
 go. Where is Harry, Joe ? I am going 
 to take you both to live with me at Wye." 
 
 But Gentleman Joe, who was smiling, 
 shook his head. 
 
 " We can't leave Mouse, brother. M< >u<e 
 and the Lefthander are old friends of ours, 
 and we are very happy at Crow's Nest." 
 
 " But you can't stay in that cabin, Joe ! 
 I will never consent to that." 
 
 "It is a very good cabin, and I have 
 been very happy there," said Gentleman 
 Joe, gently. 
 
 " Impossible !" the general exclaimed. 
 " Why, the house must be unfurnished. 
 What became of all your effects I mean 
 the furniture of the house?" 
 
 " I really don't know," said Gentleman 
 Joe, serenely. 
 
 "They are stored away here," Daddy 
 Welles said ; " I took care of them. The 
 land was sold under a mortgage, you know 
 or perhaps you don't know, Gentleman 
 Joe." 
 
 The general reflected, and then consult- 
 ed with Daddy Welles. It seemed best 
 for the present to leave Gentleman .Joe 
 and Harry at Crow' The furni- 
 
 ture could be moved over, and the house 
 made habitable, and in time the wan- 
 derers could be persuaded to come and 
 live at Wye. 
 
 " I remember Wye ; you know we 
 played there when we were boys, broth- 
 
206 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 er," old Gentleman Joe said, cheerily. 
 "I love the old place, and would like 
 to see it again, but I never could leave 
 Mouse and the Lefthander." 
 
 " Well, don't leave them, Joe; at least 
 for the present," said General Lascelles, 
 rising. 
 
 This movement was the result of the 
 appearance of two or three horsemen in 
 front of the house. These were Mr. Bar- 
 ney Jones and other gentlemen of the 
 moonshine fraternity, summoned by 
 Daddy Welles to meet the general, who 
 was coming on this morning to have a 
 talk with them. They dismounted and 
 came into the yard, and the general and 
 Daddy Welles went out and met them. 
 Others were seen coming up the hill. 
 They were a nondescript set, in outland- 
 ish costumes, evidently belonging to the 
 class of small farmers and hunters. A 
 glance at the faces was sufficient to show 
 that they were not men of bad character. 
 The sidelong look of the vagabond, con- 
 scious of being a vagabond, was wholly 
 wanting. The eyes looked straight into 
 your own, and the erect figures and firm 
 steps were not the figures or steps of 
 tramps or malefactors. Their moonshine 
 business was illegal, certainly, but it was 
 plain that they did not regard it as vio- 
 lating the deeper laws of morals. 
 
 General Lascelles was an old acquaint- 
 ance of most of the moonshine people. 
 lie had ridden to and fro through the 
 mountain, and the valley of Bohemia, 
 electioneering for Congress, a long time 
 before, and many of the persons who now 
 greeted him had entertained him and 
 voted for him. lie was a popular man 
 with them. His cordial manners and 
 bonhoin'u- had made friends of all elates. 
 i - hard, in fact, to resist General Las- 
 n-IIes \\hen he mingled with a crowd, 
 holding his hand out to everybody, and 
 calling everybody by his name. It was 
 a natural gift, this cordiality; not calcu- 
 lation. He was friendly, and took an in- 
 terest in people, and they were friendly 
 to him in return. 
 
 The general at once proceeded to say 
 what he had come to say. " The moon- 
 
 shine business," he said, " was illegal, and 
 had better be discontinued. There would 
 be trouble, as the Government was bound 
 to execute the laws, and, if civil process 
 was not sufficient, to call in the military 
 arm. For the law was the law. It 
 might appear oppressive, but it wa< on 
 the statute-book. He himself was a ( 
 Virginian, and he was talking to Vir- 
 ginians. They knew him, and it was not 
 necessary for him to say on which side 
 he was. But if troops were sent, as it 
 seemed they would be, there would be 
 fighting if the business went on. That 
 would be bad, for one side would wear 
 blue and the other gray, and it would be 
 better for all parties that Bohemia should 
 not see any more of what took place there 
 in old times. There would be a great 
 deal of hot blood, and more dead men 
 which would be unfortunate. The best 
 course would be to shut up the stills, and 
 not be at home when the marshal came " 
 
 Here a noise behind the crowd sudden- 
 ly attracted their attention, and turning 
 round they saw the United States marsh il 
 riding up, with three or four companions, 
 to the gate. 
 
 General Lascelles ceased his discourse, 
 fixing his eyes on the intruders. He was 
 evidently displeased, and the marshal as 
 plainly more so than himself. He dis- 
 mounted, and made a sign to the rest to 
 follow him. He then walked into the 
 gate followed by the men, and approach- 
 ed the group of moonshiners. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this assnn- 
 blage?" said the marshal, in an angry 
 tone, addressing Daddy Welles. 
 
 " Why, good-day, friend," the Daddy 
 said, cordially; "glad to sec you. So 
 you are back agin?" 
 
 " I asked the meaning of all this. I 
 recognize in this crowd persons I know 
 to be connected with illicit, distilling. 
 What does it mean? I ask you, (leneral 
 Lascelles you can tell me, perhaps, and 
 will do so if you have a decent respect 
 for the law." 
 
 The marshal wa- growing angry, and 
 sjn.ke imperiously for that reason, per- 
 haps. It was unfortunate, as well as un- 
 
VIRGINIA r,(l!i:.MIA.\S. 
 
 207 
 
 becoming, however, that ho should have 
 adopted such a mode of address to a per- 
 son like (Jem-mi Lascelles. 
 
 "I have more respect for the law than 
 for some of its officers," said the general, 
 bending his brows. "You ask what the 
 meaning of this assembly is. I ask you 
 in your turn what is the meaning of your 
 ice here, sir? 1 ' 
 
 *' I came to perform my duty." 
 
 " What do you mean by your duty '." 
 
 "To arrest law-breakers! I see them 
 all around me." 
 
 " liy what warrant? 1 ' 
 
 '* My orders arc sufficient warrant, and 
 I will not be intimidated, sir! I am not 
 to be intimidated in the performance of 
 my official duty.'' 
 
 "Where are your orders, sir? 1 ' 
 
 " I am not bound to show them to you, 
 sir unless you force me to arrest you." 
 
 The general frowned. 
 
 " I beg you will do so," he said. 
 "Have you orders to read the riot act 
 and fire on the crowd? I am one of 
 them, and I warn yon, if you attempt 
 that, we will fire back on you." 
 
 " You resist the law !" 
 
 "Y r ou outrage it. By what authority 
 do you attempt to disperse a meeting of 
 Virginia people ? . Are we free men or 
 slaves? I have come here to meet my 
 friends, and they have come to meet me. 
 We are talking with each other is that 
 & t violation of law ? I notify you, sir, 
 that if you attempt to arrest any one 
 without an express warrant, which you 
 exhibit, it will be at your personal risk. 
 I speak for myself, at least." 
 
 The general had not raised his voice, 
 but he evidently meant what he said. A 
 rifle was leaning against the porch by 
 him, and he quietly took it up and 
 cocked it. 
 
 " Where is your warrant," he said, 
 "for arresting any person you meet? If 
 it is formal authority I will submit, and 
 test the question in the courts. If you 
 act without authority, and attempt to ar- 
 rest any one here, you will never leave 
 this spot alive !" 
 
 There really seemed to be something 
 
 in this threat. The \Mt.-rs of I >uddy 
 Welles had brought their rilles with 
 them, and deposited them in the passage 
 of the holier. Now they sllddelil , 
 j'eaivd, and the -r..\\d \\ as armed in the 
 twinkling of an 
 
 "So you, a magistrate, abet the enemies 
 of the law, sir!" shouted the marshal. 
 
 " I resist the absurdity of your demand 
 that I shall not visit my friend-, - 
 torted the general. 
 
 "These people arc your friend-, then .'" 
 
 4> Yes, they are my friends." 
 
 "They are law-breakers, and liable to 
 arrest at any moment." 
 
 " Your authority, sir ?" 
 
 "You yourself promised the search- 
 warrants." 
 
 "Y r cs; why were thev not applied 
 for?" 
 
 "I visited your house and heard you 
 had driven in this direction, and followed 
 you." 
 
 " To make arrests, sir ?" 
 
 " If necessary. I have the right to de- 
 mand the warrants now." 
 
 Ilcre Daddy Welles interposed. 
 
 "Gineral," he said, mildly very mild- 
 ly, indeed, for a man fingering a rifle 
 trigger " if you sign the sarch-warrants 
 you won't mind signing a have-his-car- 
 cass too, will you ?" 
 
 The marshal scowled at the Daddy, but 
 said nothing. He had grown mueh calm- 
 er after some moments' reflection, and 
 was really as much averse to any trouble 
 as General Laseelles. This did not arise, 
 from a want of nerve the marshal was 
 quite a brave man; but IK; was really a 
 very good-hearted man, and felt that he 
 had acted precipitately. 
 
 "Well, sir," he said, at li-ngili, u I will 
 not ask for the warrants to-day: I have 
 searched this house, and I see it would 
 be a farce to repeat the search this nmrn- 
 ing I should do so at all hazards if I 
 thought it my duty." 
 
 "Y r ou would be right," said the gen- 
 eral. 
 
 "And you arc right, sir, in intimating 
 that a general order to arn-t -u-picious 
 people is too loose I acknowledge that. 
 
08 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 It is my duty to inform those around 
 me, however, that the illicit distilleries 
 will be suppressed by military force, if 
 necessary, and the persons engaged in the 
 business arrested and brought to trial in 
 the Federal courts." 
 
 " Without a have-his-carcass !" sighed 
 Daddy Welles. 
 
 The marshal looked at Daddy Welles 
 with a grim smile on his lips, and said, 
 
 " I'll get hold of you yet, you cunning 
 old fox ! Fox and goose now, and I am 
 the goose, it seems. But in the long 
 run the goose will get the better of the 
 fox." 
 
 Having brought himself to take this 
 philosophic view of the circumstances, 
 the marshal scowled at the moonshiners, 
 bowed stiffly to General Lascelles, who 
 punctiliously returned his salute, and rode 
 away with his associates. 
 
 Soon afterward the moonshiners dis- 
 persed also, the general renewing his ad- 
 vice to them to shut up the stills, and 
 either leave home for a short time or re- 
 move all traces of their occupation. A 
 vague murmur was the only reply to this 
 advice : it was not plain what they were 
 determined to do ; and leaving the matter 
 in this ambiguous condition, they retired. 
 The general, looking after them as they 
 rode off, said to Daddy Welles, 
 
 " They are a hard set to manage they 
 will go their own gait, as the Scotch say. 
 What will they do, Daddy Welles?" 
 
 kk \Vell, I reckon they'll be guided 
 by circum'unces, gineral," returned the 
 Daddy. 
 
 " You mean they will fight.*' 
 "They mought, if they're pushed too 
 close." 
 
 " It will be unlucky and you will be 
 one of the fighting men ?" 
 
 "To be BUreF said Daddy \\Yllrs. 
 heel-fully, " if there's fighting ; but that's 
 nut likely. I'm gittin' old, n-.w. and I'm 
 a peaceful man, gineral ; but you must 
 make allowances for us poor mounting 
 folks, that have wintered and summered 
 the Yankee troopers in Bohemia. \Ye 
 don't like 'cm much." 
 
 " Well, you and your friends had bet- 
 
 ter get over that. Don't you remember' 
 what General Lee said to the lady who 
 wished her sons to be educated to hate 
 the Yankees?" 
 
 " What was that, gineral ?" 
 
 "He said, 'Don't teach your sons to 
 liate the United States, madam we are 
 all Americans now !' " 
 
 " Did the gineral say that ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, I thought he was a good old 
 Virginian" said Daddy Welles, thought- 
 fully ; " leastways / am, and I don't reckon. 
 I'll ever be anything else I'm too old. 
 But, then, a man can't tell ; maybe some 
 o' these days I'll git to be an American, as 
 you call it. I'll try, but it'll be a mighty 
 hard job, gineral." 
 
 General Lascelles laughed with evident 
 enjoyment of these unpatriotic views of 
 Daddy Welles. 
 
 " Well," he said, " you are right, The 
 separate sticks in the fagot remain sticks, 
 in spite of all. They are harder to break 
 bound together, but they are not a solid 
 block. Enough of politics, Daddy. I am 
 going to take Joe with me now, and go 
 over to Crow's Nest and see my nephew 
 Harry !" 
 
 The intonation of his voice was joyful. 
 The old face flushed, and he said, as he 
 had said before, 
 
 " This is the happiest day of my life I" 
 
 " You are right, brother," said Gentle- 
 man Joe, with a cheerful smile. " I don't 
 think I ever saw the sun shine so bright 
 as it does to-day !" 
 
 " \Yell, come on, old fellow ! We are 
 going to look up Harry." 
 
 < lent Icman Joe shook his head. 
 
 k ' \Ve are not likely to find him at 
 Crow's Nest, brother."" 
 
 '?Why not?" 
 
 u Mo has gone to see his sweetheart, I 
 reckon.'! 
 
 " His sweetheart! has Harry a sweet- 
 heart?" 
 
 M Mouse says so. She is very pretty. 
 H'-r name is Frances Cary." 
 
 "Frances Can! Has Harry fallen in 
 love with Frances Gary '" 
 
 " I really don't know, but something or 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 209 
 
 other takes him in that direction every 
 day or two maybe to catch a sight of 
 her; you know young men are given to 
 that, 1. rot her." 
 
 u Well !" the general exelaimed. M F.ut 
 it wouldn't be a bad match, Joe ! Well, 
 well but there is the carriage. Come, 
 get in ; I know the road. Come to W\ , 
 Daddy, and tell me if anything happens 
 this moonshine business weighs on my 
 mind." 
 
 And with a grasp of the Daddy's hand 
 General Lascelles got into his carriage, fol- 
 lowed by Gentleman Joe, and directed old 
 James to drive to Crow's Nest by the 
 way of the ford. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 A FORTUNATE VICTIM OP MISFORTUNE. 
 
 IT was late in the afternoon on this 
 same day when Brantz Elliot rode up to 
 the mountain -house on his return from 
 Piedmont- 
 He had ridden to the village to engage 
 his seat in the stage, as he intended, on 
 the very next day, to return to New York. 
 This resolution had been forced upon 
 him at last. There was evidently no 
 hope of inducing Nelly to marry him. 
 The girl was more determined than ever 
 that she would not take a step which 
 would result in his unhappiness, and he 
 found it utterly impossible to change her 
 resolution. 
 
 Brantz Elliot had been thus compel- 
 led to accept his fate, and tried to accept 
 it calmly ; but it was a hard task. He 
 loved Nelly Welles now with all the 
 strength of his being, and had set out to 
 engage his seat in the stage under the 
 profoundest depression. Nelly had seen 
 his face as he went away, and retired to 
 her room, and indulged in a hearty cry. 
 It was hard for her to give him up very 
 hard indeed. The future without the 
 young man seemed a weary blank; but 
 it was of his happiness that she was think- 
 ing. If her action seems fanciful, and her 
 motive exaggerated, let us respect it 
 there are not so many instances of it. 
 14 
 
 She was looking out of an upper win- 
 dow when he rode up, her head leaning 
 upon her hand. Sin- was almo>t afraid 
 to look at his sad fav, but she could not 
 resist, the temptation. Tin-re \\as about 
 him the nameless eharm that surrounds 
 the person who is beloved. 
 
 "Oh, if I was only worthy of him ! 
 if it would not be so unequal ! if he \va^ 
 poor, as we are, and would not be ashamed 
 of me !" 
 
 Brantz Elliot rode up and dismounted. 
 His face was not all sad. What did it 
 mean? He came into the house hum- 
 ming a song he was actually laughing, 
 too ! Daddy Welles met him at the door 
 and greeted him cheerfully, and Brantz 
 Elliot, instead of sighing, cried, 
 
 " I'm as hungry as a hawk, Daddy ! 
 Is there any dinner for me ? I hope you 
 haven't eaten everything in the house." 
 
 Is there something in male hunger 
 which appeals to the female heart ? One 
 would say so. As soon as Brantz Elliot 
 went to his chamber to make his toilet, as 
 he always did after riding, Nelly slipped 
 down-stairs, set the table with rapid and 
 skilful hands, placed a cold ham and 
 whatever else the cupboard contained 
 upon it, arranged his seat the one he 
 liked best and retired quietly to the sit- 
 ting-rooni opposite, where she was reading 
 with much interest in a tattered newspa- 
 per when Brantz Elliot came down-stairs. 
 
 As soon as he had finished his dinner 
 he went into the sitting-room and lit a 
 cigar. 
 
 " I know you don't object to smoke, 
 Nelly," he said. 
 
 " Oh no !" 
 
 " Smoking is a good thing. It drives 
 away dull care, and is a dead shot for the 
 blue-devils !" 
 
 It was a long time since Brantz Elliot 
 had spoken in that tone. His voice 
 laughed like his lips, and he was plainly 
 in the most joyous mood imaginable. 
 This was a mystery to her, and caused 
 her a pang. But if he was not unhappy 
 at leaving her, it was all the better. 
 
 " I am glad you are in good spirits," 
 she said, trying to speak cheerfully. 
 
210 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 "Riding always makes me gay," he 
 said, laughing, " like walking. And that 
 reminds me that I ought to walk over 
 and see my friends at Falling Water be- 
 fore I leave Bohemia. It is a beautiful 
 afternoon. Would you like to go and 
 see your dear Frances ?" 
 
 He was laughing still. What did it 
 mean ? Nelly felt like crying. 
 
 " I don't feel well this afternoon," she 
 murmured. 
 
 " Then the stroll will be good for you. 
 Do come, Nelly. I shall be so lonesome." 
 
 " I don't think" 
 
 " Well it is wrong to think, so you are 
 perfectly right 1 Say you'll go, without 
 thinking about it. There never was such 
 an evening. Look at that faint new 
 moon yonder, like a silver skiff following 
 the sun as he is setting. The air is as 
 mild as summer. It is not more than 
 a mile or so to Falling Water; and I'll 
 bring you back soon after dark, Nelly." 
 
 Nelly tried to resist, but had not the 
 courage to do so. The temptation was 
 too great. It was their last evening to- 
 gether ; she would not hear his voice any 
 more very soon; so she yielded, and they 
 set out for Falling Water. 
 
 They always remembered this walk 
 afterward. Certain scenes become the 
 frames in which the pictures of memory 
 are set, and are never separated from 
 them. The faint new moon was sailing 
 through light clouds, tinted with orange 
 by the sunset, and the stream which ran 
 beside them seemed to laugh and prattle 
 to them as they followed the path along 
 its banks. The sycamores were leafless 
 now, and there was no verdure but that of 
 the cedars and evergreen-pines along the 
 little watercourse and on the slopes ; but 
 the air was so calm and soft that it was 
 difficult to realize that the season was not 
 June. 
 
 " This is the very path we took that- 
 day when you fell into the water, Nelly," 
 said Brantz Elliot. " Have you forgotten 
 that day? I have not. That wa- tin- 
 only time I ever kissed you and I began 
 to love you after that !" 
 
 Nelly's head sunk in spite of herself, 
 
 and her bosom heaved. She was only 
 conscious of one thing that if she at- 
 tempted to speak she would burst into 
 tears. 
 
 "It was not so strange that I should 
 love you after being nearly drowned with 
 you, Nelly !" he said. " A man likes a 
 girl better after going under with her, 
 and not expecting to see daylight any 
 more. Here is the log. It is another 
 one the mountain people were obliging 
 enough to throw it across to get to Pied- 
 mont this way I wonder if it will break 
 with us again." 
 
 They were already crossing. 
 
 " Take care !" said Brantz Elliot, who 
 was holding her hand; "if you fall in 
 again, I'm not sure I'll jump after you ! 
 But I would, too the water is shallow 
 now, and there's no danger !" 
 
 Nelly was in a maze. What was the 
 meaning of her companion's tone ? It 
 was one of actual hilarity. Could he 
 speak in that manner if he was really de- 
 pressed at the prospect of leaving her? 
 She colored slightly. Then she drew 
 away the hand which he was holding, os- 
 tensibly to raise her skirt and avoid tread- 
 ing upon it. A moment afterward they 
 were over, and following a path covered 
 with a deep carpet of brown pine tags, 
 which wound through a thicket in the 
 direction of Falling Water. 
 
 There is nothing more picturesque than 
 a path winding away before you, either 
 across fields or through woodlands. It 
 seems to beckon and say, " Come, I will 
 lead you home to your bright fireside, 
 where smiles and fond arms are awaiting 
 you." It may run through lonely scenes 
 and gathering darkness, but that is noth- 
 ing. You have only to follow it, and it 
 will take you home if you follow it. 
 
 Sometimes, if you have a companion 
 ami an; talking, you do not follow it; 
 you unwittingly take a side-path, as NYllv 
 and Brantz Elliot did. This obliqued in 
 a gradual and very sneaking manner to 
 the left; they continued to pursue it, 
 gradually ascending, until it ended at last 
 on the summit of the high ground south 
 of and above the ford, at Lover's Leap, 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 I'll 
 
 where Mr. Uu' v < r les had been conducted 
 
 DO 
 
 l.y tlu- Lefthander. 
 
 " Why, we've taken the wrong path, 
 Nelly !" exclaimed Brantz Elliot ; " but it 
 is not important we have not far to go 
 back, and it was wortli making a mistake 
 to see this view." 
 
 Was it a mistake? Nelly asked her- 
 self. Brantz Elliot knew the country per- 
 
 fcT.lv. 
 
 "I have been here before," he said, 
 laughing, "but perhaps you have not. 
 This is Lover's Leap, where some forlorn 
 lover, they say, put an end to himself. 
 Fm glad I'm not like him. Let me show 
 you where they say he leaped off." 
 
 He took Nelly's hand and drew her to- 
 ward the edge of the precipice a sheer 
 descent of about fifty feet to the water. 
 A single pine-tree grew from the rock 
 it was that under which the Lefthander 
 had taken his seat. Far down beneath 
 them the current broke in foam over the 
 rocks in its channel. 
 
 Nelly looked down and then drew back, 
 clinging to Brantz Elliot's hand, and 
 drawing him with her. 
 
 " It makes me dizzy," she said, in an 
 agitated voice; "come back!" 
 
 " I am not going to jump over," he said. 
 
 "You might fall." 
 
 " I wouldn't like to fall now, Nelly." 
 
 She looked up quickly. His whole 
 voice had changed in an instant to deep 
 earnestness. As their eyes met Nelly 
 blushed he was looking at her with so 
 much tenderness that her heart throbbed 
 as she caught the glance. 
 
 " I have something to say to you, Nel- 
 ly do you know what it is ?" he said. 
 "It is not what I have said to you so 
 often before. You can't guess what it is. 
 It is a misfortune a great misfortune, as 
 the world would call it and has filled me 
 with delight." 
 
 She looked at him with a startled ex- 
 pression, murmuring, 
 
 "A misfortune to you?" 
 
 "Yes and no. There are misfortunes 
 which are blessings. I am ruined ! Here 
 is the letter announcing the fact. I got 
 it to-day." 
 
 "Oh! ran it be true?" she exclaimed. 
 "Iluim-d! What is the meaning of it?" 
 
 " It means having a dishonest uncle for 
 your guardian. My father died \\hiK- I 
 was in Europe, leaving his affairs in the 
 hands of my uncle, lie delayed settling 
 the estate, alleging pretexts f..r the delay. 
 As I had perfect confidence in him, and 
 was amply supplied with money when I 
 called for it, I did not press the mat- 
 ter; and now the whole story has come 
 out. My father's executor, my uncle, was 
 what unceremonious people call a scoun- 
 drel." 
 
 Nelly was quite overcome by this sud- 
 den announcement, and seemed much more 
 Agitated than her companion. 
 
 " But you are not ruined how could 
 you be ruined?" she murmured, scarcely 
 knowing what she said. 
 
 " Well, the process was very simple 
 my uncle stole the money," replied Elliot. 
 " He disposed of my father's stocks and 
 mortgaged his real estate, and speculated 
 in Wall Street with the proceeds and 
 lost everything. This letter from him, 
 written as he was leaving for Europe, ac- 
 knowledges the whole transaction, and 
 begs me not to expose him." 
 
 Nelly made no reply. Her heart was 
 beating so that it could be heard almost. 
 An immense tenderness filled her bosom 
 for the man she loved so dearly in his 
 trouble. 
 
 " So you see I am a poor fellow, with- 
 out a dollar in the world, almost, Nelly," 
 said Brantz Elliot. "There is a little 
 remnant only, to keep me from starving 
 not near enough to enable me to live 
 in Fifth Avenue." 
 
 His voice laughed again as he spoke, 
 and he took both Nelly's hands, and look- 
 ed into her eyes. 
 
 " But it will enable me to buy a small 
 tract here in Bohemia, which will give 
 me a living. I could build a small Swiss 
 chalet, and hunt to my heart's content ; 
 but then I would die of ennui if I lived 
 by myself, Nelly." 
 
 He drew her toward him as he spoke, 
 and put his arms around her neck. She 
 was blushing and trembling. 
 
212 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 " You will have me now, won't you, ' 
 Nelly?" 
 
 Poor Nelly ! She could not make the 
 least bit of a reply to him, her heart was 
 beating so. But she leaned her cheek 
 upon his breast and looked up, and their 
 lips met which was, perhaps, as good a 
 reply as any other. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 MR. LASCELLES REFLECTS DEEPLY AND 
 WRITES A NOTE. 
 
 THE parting between Miss Bassick and 
 Mrs. Armstrong was not pathetic. In- 
 deed, the performance was quite business- 
 like, and not indicative of yearning affec- 
 tion on either side. Having informed 
 Mrs. Armstrong, with some hauteur, that 
 she would be glad to have paid her what 
 was due her, and to be sent to Miss 
 Grundy's, where she proposed hereafter 
 to reside, Miss Bassick proceeded to pack 
 up her goods and chattels, and at the ap- 
 pointed hour descended, canary-bird cage 
 in hand. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong was in the drawing- 
 room, and advanced politely to bow to 
 her ; but Miss Bassick probably regarded 
 this interchange of civilities as a vain 
 show, and not wishing, apparently, to 
 be hypocritical without necessity, passed 
 coolly by, not so much as turning her 
 head, and, still clinging to her canary, got 
 into the carriage, which drove away. 
 
 As to Mrs. Armstrong, she came out 
 and looked after the vehicle when it dis- 
 appeared. A heavenly smile illumined 
 her visage, and >he drew a long breath. 
 
 "Thank heaven, she is gone!" said the 
 excellent lady. 
 
 As Mi-s r>;is>irk had despatched t i note 
 to Miss Grundy on the evening before, 
 all was ready for her, and the friends 
 rushed into each other's arms and \\nii 
 through the kissing ceremony. Then 
 Miss Ua-siek sat down and wrote a little 
 note on scented note-paper, whieh she ad- 
 dressed " Mr. Douglas Lascelles, at \Yy." 
 and requested Miss Grundy to mail. 
 This commission Miss Grundy, in a high- 
 
 ly delighted state of mind, fulfilled with 
 her own hands; and all the way to the 
 village post-office she was reflecting with 
 profound satisfaction that she would have 
 a paying lodger, and would be initiated 
 into all the secrets of Trianon. 
 
 As Miss Bassick had a quiet little 
 chamber, propitious to meditation, she 
 availed herself of Miss Grundy's absence 
 to indulge in that amusement, probably 
 reflecting that on her friend's return it. 
 might be impossible. 
 
 The emergency demanded meditation, 
 but swift decision, too. Mr. Lascelles was 
 coming, and she must make up her mind 
 what to do before his arrival. The an- 
 onymous note had excited a very great 
 fury in Miss Bassick. Could it be true? 
 Seated in an easy-chair, and knitting her 
 brows, she reflected deeply. It might be 
 true. Mr. Lascelles was very young when 
 he went to Europe the world was full 
 of mercenary adventuresses, ready to snap 
 up young heirs she must know before 
 proceeding further. It would be a blun- 
 der to marry some one else's husband, as 
 Mrs. Armstrong had very justly observed. 
 If he had a wife in Europe, Mr. Lascelles 
 would be unable to endow his new bride 
 with all his worldly goods; and in the 
 event of his death her position would be 
 embarrassing, inasmuch as she would not 
 be anybody's widow. 
 
 It was true, this unlucky rumor, or it 
 was not true. If it were not true, then 
 all embarrassment ended at once. If it 
 frew true what then? 
 
 Miss Bassick's pretty eyebrows came 
 close together. Having no mamma or 
 other adviser, she had to do her own 
 thinking. There were marriages and 
 marriages. Mr. Lascelles might have 
 been a minor, and the marriage void. 
 The laws of different countries as to 
 matrimony were conflicting. She might 
 In- u'mng herself a great deal of unneces- 
 sary uneasiness. . . . 
 
 In the evening Mr. Laseclles made his 
 appearance, and Miss Bassick received him 
 in an elaborate toilet in the small drawing- 
 room. There were to be no endearments, 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 
 {apparently. Miss Bassick extricated her 
 iliand from his%own in an instant, went 
 ind closed the door, and then, sinking 
 into a seat, burst into tears, covering her 
 Tare with her hands. It is true, she was 
 looking at Mr. Lascelles through her fin- 
 gers .... 
 
 An hour afterward Miss Bassick's 
 blushing face sought its place of refuge 
 lin Mr. Lascelles's waistcoat, and the mo- 
 mentary cloud of calumny had been dis- 
 sipated into thin air. He had formed a 
 temporary connection of a certain sort, 
 ihe was sorry to say, with a person in 
 Europe; but the matter had long lost its 
 importance, and was nothing in law. He 
 I was well assured that no risk would en- 
 [sue either to himself or Miss Bassick; 
 and, if she adhered to her word, they 
 would be married in three days, in an 
 adjoining village, and then go to Wye 
 and announce the fact to everybody. 
 
 In this w r orld it is not difficult to con- 
 vince people who wish to be convinced. 
 Miss Bassick asked nothing better, and 
 subsided with sniffs and blushes upon the 
 waistcoat. 
 
 The waistcoat did not seem altogether 
 quite as ardent to receive her as was its 
 wont. It did not repel her, but it did 
 not smile and hold out its arms to her, to 
 use a mixed figure. In fact, Mr. Lascelles 
 seemed, so to say, a little chilled. His 
 sentiment toward Miss Bassick might be 
 as pronounced as ever, but the situation 
 of things began to impress him, perhaps, 
 as involving enormous risks. He was 
 going to marry without the knowledge 
 or consent of his family, and, besides 
 this 
 
 He was uncomfortably silent and dis- 
 trait. Did he realize that the passing 
 moments were to decide his whole future 
 that before him, a step in advance, the 
 path he was following branched in two 
 different directions that a good deal 
 would depend upon which of the two 
 paths he turned into? That conviction 
 conies suddenly to every human being at 
 some period of their lives ; and it seemed 
 to have come to Mr. Lascelles at the pres- 
 
 ent moment. A vague instinct told him 
 that danger was lurking near him ; and, 
 with such impressions occupying the 
 mind, the \ DMI a 
 
 bore. 
 
 Thus it happened that when Mr. Li- 
 cclles took leave of Miss Bassick it. \\.-m 
 rather coolly. Her <|iiick eye noted th. 
 fact perfectly, and it filled her with sullen 
 anger and uneasiness. But then Mi>s 
 Bassick was a very good actress. It was 
 not necessary always to show one' 
 feelings. Her handsome face assumed 
 an expression of sad sweetness, and she 
 sighed gently ; then the door closed, and 
 Miss Bassick went to her chamber, flush- 
 ing with anger. Luckily Miss Grundy, 
 w r ho had been seated on the steps attempt- 
 ing to listen, thought it best to retire si- 
 lently to avoid misconception. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles rode forward through the 
 night toward Wye. He went along slow- 
 ly, and was evidently buried in thought. 
 He had lit a cigar, but it speedily went 
 out, and he was scarcely conscious of 
 throwing it angrily away. 
 
 It was early when he reached home, 
 and he went at once to his chamber. 
 Here he sat down and wrote : 
 
 " It is necessary for me to see you 
 for many reasons. Meet me at the bridge 
 on the stage -road at sunset to-morrow 
 evening. A simple 'yes' to the servant 
 taking this will be enough. D. L." 
 
 He called a confidential servant, gave 
 him the note and instructions where to 
 find the Lefthander, and then went down- 
 stairs. 
 
 General Lascelles had just arrived from 
 the mountain. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 A HAPPY FAMILY. 
 
 GENERAL LASCELLES entered. For 
 years no one had seen the old statesman 
 look so happy and all around him were 
 speedily in possession of the cause of this 
 happiness. 
 
214 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 It was an affecting recital. This man, 
 whose voice had thundered above crowds 
 or in senates, faltered now as he told the 
 strange story of the discovery of his 
 brother; and the honest eyes filled with 
 tears in response to the tears in the eyes 
 around him. 
 
 Mrs. Lascelles exhibited very deep feel- 
 ing, and Anna cried quietly. This good 
 family had but one thought that God 
 had given back to them those whom they 
 loved ; and it was decided that prepara- 
 tions should at once be made at Wye to 
 have Gentleman Joe and Harry come and 
 live there for the remainder of their lives. 
 
 " One good thing, my dear, in having a 
 wife like yourself," said General Lascelles, 
 cheerily, "is to know in advance what 
 one can expect. I knew very well you 
 would be ready to love and cherish my 
 dear Joe. He must not leave us any 
 more nor Harry either, unless somebody 
 takes him away from us." 
 
 " Who will do that, my dear ?" Mrs. 
 Lascelles said, in a puzzled tone. 
 
 " Well, I should not be very much sur- 
 prised if the capture was effected by a 
 Miss Frances Gary." 
 
 "Frances Gary!" 
 
 " My pet, you know, madam. She 
 wished me to remain at Falling Water to- 
 night, but I was afraid that you might be 
 jealous. I told her how improper it was 
 to be so free and easy with a married 
 man, but she only laughed the customary 
 reply of maidens to all arguments." 
 
 "But" 
 
 " The possible capture of nephew Har- 
 ry you mean. AVell, it really is a very 
 romantic story, and was told me by Joe. 
 It seems Harry was a circus-boy, and drew 
 Frances from under the feet of some 
 horses ; he also shot the panther, killed 
 some time since, when he was about to 
 spring at Frances. Romantic, you see 
 but what would the world be without ro- 
 mance? Then the poor fellow was sick, 
 and pity sways the feminine heart ; so, to 
 cut short my story, Harry has fallen in 
 love with Frances, and as she blushed and 
 tried to laugh when I recommended him 
 to her good graces, perhaps she thinks 
 
 she ought to reward him for all his hero- 
 
 sm. 
 
 " I hope she will !" exclaimed Anna. 
 
 " I really don't know. Your dear sex 
 are past finding out. It is your privilege 
 to startle us by the unexpected. As an 
 illustration, Ellis Grantham and Miss Ju- 
 liet Armstrong she is at Falling Water 
 are plainly engaged to be married. He 
 came to see her, and I am informed they 
 make no secret of it." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles had come in behind the 
 general, and looked quickly at him. 
 
 " Ah, there you are, Douglas ! You 
 hear what I say, and you have been dis- 
 tanced." 
 
 ** I confess what you say is news to me," 
 said Mr. Lascelles, moodily ; " but nothing 
 in this world is surprising, sir. I thought 
 we were to have the honor of an alliance 
 with Mr. Grantham's family ourselves." 
 
 He glanced at Anna, but as that young 
 lady only laughed, he said no more. 
 
 " You saw the moonshiners, I suppose, 
 sir?" 
 
 " Yes, all but the big Lefthander, as 
 they call him." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles drew a long breath of re- 
 lief and sat down. Then the incidents of 
 the day continued to be discussed until a 
 late hour. The family had not been so 
 happy for a long time the only moody 
 member of it was the man seated apart, 
 with his brows knit, and his eyes on the 
 floor, communing with his conscience, and 
 goaded by it. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 A MAN OF THE BOHMERWALD. 
 
 INSTEAD of attending the meeting of 
 moonshiners at the house on the moun- 
 tain, the Lefthander had taken Mouse by 
 the hand on that morning and they had 
 rambled away into the woods, which ac- 
 count od for the fact that General Lascelles 
 had not found them at Crow's Nest. 
 
 The Lefthander had resolved to leave 
 the moonshine fraternity. His motive 
 for this was a double one. There would 
 probably be trouble soon, and something 
 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 215 
 
 might happen to him that is, to Mouse. 
 As to personal apprehension, that was 
 something wholly alien to the character 
 of the man. Fear was a sentiment al- 
 most, if not (juite, unknown to him ; but 
 if he were arrested, it would be a terrible 
 thinu; for the child, who had now become 
 the sole thought of his life. She seem- 
 ed to be dearer to him every day. lie 
 watched her with the long glance of the 
 mother whose existence is bound up in 
 her babe. The strength of this senti- 
 ment in the ponderous nature was phe- 
 nomenal, but natural too. The athlete, 
 with his Inline muscles and rugged 
 strength of body and mind, had his soft 
 side, open to tender emotions, and the 
 child touched him there ; and the effect 
 was wonderful. She had slowly acquired 
 a strange influence over him, awakening 
 in his rude nature all that was soft and 
 pure. This had begun some time before. 
 He had given up drink, which had once 
 been his vice ; now he meant to dissolve 
 his connection with the moonshiners and 
 their illicit business, which was a breach 
 of the law, and therefore wrong, he said, 
 whether it was morally wrong or not. 
 What the Lefthander intended to do was 
 to go away from Crow's Nest, and take 
 his companions with him. They would 
 form a little troupe, and go about the 
 country, or he would settle down quietly 
 somewhere with Mouse. It was an at- 
 tractive thought to him, but strangely 
 enough, whenever it occurred to him 
 now, his face clouded over, and he fell 
 into the deepest depression. 
 
 He had gone away into the woods with 
 Mouse on this morning in a thoughtful 
 inood, holding her hand in his own. A 
 w r alk would do her good, he said ; she was 
 growing too white; and, indeed, Mouse 
 was more aerial than ever. This did not 
 arise from drudgery at her household 
 duties, which sometimes pulls down peo- 
 ple. There was no real drudgery. A 
 poor woman who lived in the hills be- 
 hind Crow's Nest came every day to look 
 after things and relieve the child. But 
 something seemed to have made Mouse 
 thinner and more delicate. When the 
 
 Lefthander spoke of it she laughed, but 
 this did not change things. " Y.>u are 
 too white, Mign.m," he -aid; "yon nni-t 
 
 go out more, and get s..me rotea into 
 
 your face again." 
 
 They went up the banks of the stream, 
 a considerable distance above the Lover 1 ! 
 Leap, and reaching a bluff covered \\ith 
 brown pine-tags, sat down upon them and 
 looked out across the little valley. Po- 
 hemia was sleeping tranquilly in the mild 
 Indian summer weather. Now and then 
 the long tassels of the pines above them 
 uttered a low sigh, which passed on as 
 the wind passed, and died away in the 
 distance toward the south, in the direc- 
 tion of the Hogback. The Lefthander, 
 sitting with his hands clasped around his 
 knees, looked thoughtfully at the oppo- 
 site mountain, which swam in a faint 
 mist. 
 
 " It is better," he said, at length. As 
 he uttered these words his face began to 
 flush slowly, and his eyes half closed ; a 
 sudden moisture had come to them which 
 resembled tears. 
 
 " What is better, poppa ?" said Mouse, 
 who was looking down and listening to 
 the laughter of the Falling Water, which 
 came up like a joyous murmur from be- 
 neath them. 
 
 "It is better that you should have 
 something more like a home than you 
 have now," he said ; " and you shall have 
 it." 
 
 "A better home? What do you mean, 
 poppa? I'd like to know how I could 
 have a better home." 
 
 "That will be easy," said the Left- 
 hander ; " and the time has come for it 
 You had a home once there is another 
 that you are going to soon." 
 
 Mouse listened with utter astonish- 
 ment, looking at his face ; but he turned 
 away from her. 
 
 " Listen, Mignon," he said, speaking in 
 a voice so deep and tremulous that it 
 penetrated to the child's heart. "It is 
 not right for you to grow up in this way. 
 It has been on my mind for a long time. 
 I was never satisfied at the circus do 
 you remember that I told you I was 
 
216 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 tired of it? I was not tired of it for 
 myself. I liked the rough life of the 
 ring, and to rove around, and drink, and 
 risk breaking my neck that suited me ; 
 but it did not suit you." 
 
 " You mean you left the circus on my 
 account, poppa. But it was best for you 
 too. We are happier." 
 
 " Yes, we are happier, my Mignon a 
 great deal happier. You were growing, 
 and would be a young girl soon ; it would 
 not do for you to live in the midst of cir- 
 cus men and women, hearing things some- 
 times that you ought not to hear. I did 
 not mean you should, so I gave up that, 
 and brought you away. Yes, we are hap- 
 pier, but " 
 
 " What can you mean, poppa ?" 
 
 " You ought to have a home, Mignon. 
 If something happened to me you would 
 have nobody in the world to look after 
 you. And then men will not do : some 
 good woman ought to have charge of you 
 that would be better. I can arrange 
 that." 
 
 "Arrange what, poppa ?" 
 
 " Finding a home for you. Did I nev- 
 er tell you that some of your mother's 
 family came to America? There are a 
 great many European people in this coun- 
 try. I can trace your mother's relatives 
 and place you with them, Mignon. You 
 would have a home then." 
 
 " Oh no, no !" exclaimed Mouse, turn- 
 ing quickly and fixing her moist eyes 
 upon him. 
 
 " A happy home, with womanly hands 
 to do little things for you, and people to 
 care for you. I could come and see you 
 now and then it might not be so often, 
 but" 
 
 Mouse threw her arms around his neck 
 and burst into tears, looking up at him. 
 The huge breast on which she was lean- 
 ing rose and fell. 
 
 "It would be better" was all he 
 could say. 
 
 " No, it would not be better!" the child 
 cried, passionately. "It would make me 
 so unhappy that I would die, without 
 you! Go away from you? "What made 
 you ever think of such a thing, poppa ? 
 
 Don't say any more about it, for I am 
 not going you shall not leave me how 
 could I live without you, poppa?" 
 
 She clung closely to him, sobbing and 
 crying as if her heart would break. 
 
 "But," he said, in a low voice, "you 
 cannot go on living as you are living now, 
 Mignon. You must be educated, and go 
 to church, and have little girls to play 
 with, my own poor little Mignon my 
 snow-drop!" He spoke with exquisite soft- 
 ness and tenderness. " How can a father 
 see his child growing up without the care 
 that children ought to have? There are 
 bad fathers, perhaps, who do not think of 
 their little ones much. God makes such 
 people, as he makes monsters. But a 
 good father one that has a little girl 
 how can he let her run wild and not be 
 cared for and happy ? You have the right 
 to be cared for, Mignon you are like 
 your mother. I will find your relations, 
 and then you will have a home. No 
 doubt they are well-to-do, and you will 
 have nice clothes to wear and good food, 
 and, if you are sick, loving hands to do 
 things for you. Think how it would be 
 if you were sick here at Crow's Nest !" 
 
 But it was of no avail whatever. The 
 eloquence of the Lefthander produced no 
 impression. Mouse only clung closer to 
 him, exclaiming, " No, no ! I will never 
 leave you and you shall not leave me, 
 poppa ! How could I live without you 2" 
 
 This was the end of the discussion. 
 The Lefthander gave it up either hope- 
 less of bending the child's resolution or 
 unable to control his emotion. She had 
 never seen him so much moved. II is 
 face was flushed, and his eyes were wet. 
 At last a single tear rolled down and fell 
 on the child's face. It was probably one 
 >f a very few shed by the Lefthander dur- 
 ing the whole of his life. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 INDKR THE ICE. 
 
 ALL that evening, after his return to 
 Crow's Nest, the Lefthander was evidently 
 revolving something in his mind, and did 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 217 
 
 not utter a word. When the next day 
 came he \vns still pondering, and his 
 strong features betrayed an emotion which 
 i his companions hail never witnessed in him 
 before. Mvcrv movement indicated that 
 a conflict was going on. After sitting 
 down and smoking for some moments he 
 would rise and walk to and fro, with his 
 eyes fixed upon the ground; then he 
 would raise his head and look suddenly 
 toward Mouse. At such moments his 
 face filled with blood, and his expression 
 was heart-breaking. 
 
 About noon lie put on his hat and 
 walked down the hill. Having reached 
 the road, he turned to the left, as if he 
 meant to go toward Piedmont, and went 
 some steps. Then he turned back and 
 stood still for some moments. Then he 
 wheeled round quickly and began walk- 
 ing rapidly in the direction which he had 
 at first taken. As he did so, a mounted 
 servant came over a knoll in front of him 
 and drew rein, looking at him. It was 
 the confidential servant sent by Mr. Las- 
 celles ; and as lie was a most intelligent 
 negro, and the Lefthander's person had 
 been described by his master, he delivered 
 the note to him. The Lefthander took it 
 and read it. He then turned to the man 
 and said " Yes," after which the servant 
 rode away. 
 
 Toward the afternoon the Lefthander 
 kissed Mouse, and said quietly that he 
 was going to see Colonel Gary on some 
 business. This was true ; as, after follow- 
 ing the road to the bridge for some dis- 
 tance, he turned into a path and reached 
 the house of Falling Water. Mr. Gary 
 was at home, and the Lefthander spent 
 an hour with him in the library. Then 
 he came out again and went in the direc- 
 tion of the bridge, which he reached as 
 the sun was sinking and throwing long 
 shadows across the valley. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles was already at the ren- 
 dezvous. He had dismounted, and was 
 standing, with the bridle of his horse in 
 his hand, upon the bridge. As the Left- 
 hander approached slowly, with his long 
 and firm tread, Mr. Lascelles looked at 
 him with a certain wariness which indi- 
 
 cated that he \\as <>n his guard, and ex- 
 pected that their interview w.-uld be a 
 critieal one. His fare was a little pale 
 
 perhaps sallow Would he the better Word. 
 In fact, Mr. La-celles had Hot. slept llllleh, 
 
 his alTairs having reached a cri-U which 
 produced a ten-ion of the nervous s\ >lem. 
 He was, however, perfectly cool, as he was 
 a person of strong will. He waii<<l un- 
 til the Lefthander had come to the spot 
 where he was standing, and then said, 
 
 "Ihavebcen waiting for yon, bat, a 
 waited for me the last time, we are quits." 
 
 k ' \Vc are quits," repeated the Left- 
 hander, in his customary tone of phlegm. 
 
 "I called to see you some time since, 
 but you were not at home. We are here 
 alone together at last, and can talk to- 
 gether. It is not necessary to use cere- 
 mony. I have come on business. What 
 is the price of the papers ?" 
 
 " You mean your letters to your wife 
 and the record of your marriage?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " The papers are not for sale." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles exhibited no indication of 
 any emotion whatever at these words. 
 
 "That means that the price will be 
 high," he said. " It would save time if 
 you would state the amount." 
 
 The Lefthander looked at him atten- 
 tively. 
 
 "Then you think I am bargaining," 
 he said ; " but I am not. I will not sell 
 the papers." 
 
 "Are you in earnest?" Mr. Lascelles 
 said, retaining his coolness, but knitting 
 his brows slightly. "Men act from intel- 
 ligible motives in this world ; arc you an 
 exception? I offer to buy what is value- 
 less to you. You are poor, and no doubt 
 need money. It is an exchange of what 
 can be of no use to you for a sum of 
 gold which will be of use to you. Why 
 do you refuse ? There is always a mo- 
 tive, as I have said, in men's actions 
 what is yours ?" 
 
 The Lefthander did not reply for an 
 instant; his face flushed slightly. 
 
 " Yes, I have a motive," he said, in a 
 moment. " You might guess at it, per- 
 haps." 
 
218 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 " I cannot imagine any." 
 
 " There are other motives besides love 
 of money which affect people. There is 
 a thing called hatred have you thought 
 of that?" 
 
 "Then you hate me, and think that 
 by keeping possession of these papers 
 vou will be able to gratify your ha- 
 tred?" 
 
 " Why not ?" the Lefthander said, qui- 
 etly. " I have reason to hate you." 
 
 " What reason ?" 
 
 " Then you really do not know ?" 
 
 " Know what ?" 
 
 " That I loved Mignon." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles greeted this announcement 
 with a look of astonishment that was 
 plainly unaffected. 
 
 "You loved Mignon!" 
 
 " Yes better than the young Ameri- 
 can who married and deserted her." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles did not speak for a mo- 
 ment; his face was growing sullen and 
 threatening, but he evidently made a great 
 effort to preserve his coolness. 
 
 " So you cared for her ?" he said. 
 
 " It is not the word," returned the 
 Lefthander, in his deep voice. " I loved 
 her with my whole strength my brains 
 and my heart. You did not know that, 
 you say now you will begin to under- 
 stand some things. I was sick, and she 
 nursed me. I began to love her, and she 
 would have married me but for one thing. 
 A young American came to hunt in the 
 mountain and made her acquaintance. 
 He was richly dressed, and had a smooth 
 tongue, which deceives women. Besides, 
 he loved her, or thought that he did, for 
 when he found that she was a pure girl, 
 and would not listen to his unworthy 
 proposals, he married her." 
 
 Mr. Lasrdles made no reply, but the 
 dark and sullen expression of his fa<v 
 deepened. 
 
 "That was the first act of the play 
 the young American thought it was a 
 comedy when it was a tragedy, or soon 
 grew to be one. I am not speaking <>f 
 the young man Karl Ottendorfer's feel- 
 ings you knew him, but gave no 
 thought to him. He was wretched 
 
 enough but that is no matter; I am 
 speaking of her. The young American 
 soon grew weary of her, and found that 
 lie had business at Rome. Fortunately 
 he had been absent for a short time be- 
 fore that, and had written to her." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles set his teeth together, but 
 made no reply. 
 
 "The letters were written while he 
 still loved her, and were such as a hus- 
 band writes to his wife. Afterward he 
 did not write any letters when he went 
 away on the business which took him 
 into Italy. In fact, he neither wrote a 
 line to her nor ever saw her any more. 
 He deserted her !" 
 
 Mr. Lascelles moved restlessly under 
 the harsh words, as a horse moves under 
 the spur, and growled, 
 
 "I did not mean to desert her. 
 There would be no end reached now by 
 blackening my name. Where are the 
 letters, and how did they come into your 
 possession ?" 
 
 "They came into my possession in a 
 natural manner. You deserted your wife 
 her parents died, and she had no other 
 friend but myself. I watched over her 
 day and night. I had long ceased to love 
 her as a lover she was a saint to me; 
 and I have knelt at her bedside and kiss- 
 ed her little feet when she was so white 
 and weak that I thought the angels were 
 coming for her." 
 
 He raised his head and looked up as 
 he spoke, as though he saw the angels. 
 The man of the Bohmerwald was sudden- 
 ly revealed in him. 
 
 11 White and weak T said Mr. Las- 
 celles in a low voice, looking down at the 
 water running under the bridge. He was 
 leaning on the railing and had turned 
 half away. 
 
 " \Ynii ion are white and weak in her 
 situation. She had just given birth to 
 her child." 
 
 "To her child!" 
 
 " To her child. For a month she grew 
 weaker, and as white as white as the 
 snow-drops of the Bohmerwald. Then a 
 day came at last when they called her 
 the angels and she went." 
 
 
VIK<;iNIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 919 
 
 Mr. Lasccllcs started, turning his head 
 quickly. 
 
 li She did not die ! she is not dead !" 
 
 AYas it the voice of the cold man of 
 the world that uttered these words ? There 
 was in his accent :i quick anguish, as 
 though some weapon had pierced him. 
 
 " She is not dead !" he repeated. " Mig- 
 non is not dead !" 
 
 " She died in my arms, and I followed 
 her to the grave and saw her laid under 
 the snow. The child was left. I took 
 the child, and have been a good father to 
 her. I promised her mother that I would 
 be a good father; and I have kept my 
 word to the woman I loved." 
 
 "Dead!" came in a low, trembling 
 voice from his companion ; " dead ! Mig- 
 non dead? Can that be?" 
 
 " She is dead the flowers have grown 
 out of her bosom for years. I took her 
 child and left Bohemia and came to this 
 country." 
 
 "Dead!" 
 
 The word constantly recurred in the 
 same tone. The sound fell like the dull, 
 harsh blow of the clod on a coffin. In 
 the silence which followed nothing was 
 heard but the washing of the water 
 against the trestle-work of the bridge. 
 Once something like a groan issued from 
 the pale lips of the man looking down 
 into the water. 
 
 " I am sorry ! sorry is not the word. 
 I did not know she was dead you would 
 not tell me if breaking my heart would 
 bring her back, it might break !" 
 
 The hard crust of the man's nature was 
 heaving and cracking. 
 
 "I loved her," he said, in a low, deep 
 voice, in which there was something hope- 
 less. "Yes, I deserted her and I was 
 mad. I would give my life to see her 
 face !" 
 
 The Lefthander drew a medallion from 
 his breast. It was held by a chain. 
 
 " Here she is !" he said. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles seized the medallion, and 
 drew it close to his face. As it was held 
 by the chain it was necessary that lie 
 should come close to his enemy ; but he 
 seemed to have lost sight of him. He 
 
 opened the medallion, and saw the picture 
 f a young girl a plain photograph 
 taken probably ly some wandering artUt 
 
 in the BohmerwalcL The face was full 
 
 of an ine\piv->il>le mode-ty and swi'etin-s. 
 In every feature could be travd tin- like- 
 ness to Mouse. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles looked long at it, and his 
 frame shook; his eyes tilled with I'KTV 
 tears, and from his lips escaped, in a l<ng, 
 hopeless groan, the single word, 
 
 " Mignon !" 
 
 Suddenly the Lefthander closed the 
 medallion and put it back in his l.ira-t. 
 It might have been supposed that he was 
 jealous. This sole remaining memorial of 
 the woman whom he had loved was his 
 property. 
 
 " I will not ask you to give me that 
 picture," said Mr. Lascelles, in a trembling 
 voice ; " but I will give you all I possess 
 for it." 
 
 . " The world could not buy it from me !" 
 said the Lefthander, coldly. 
 
 "I can understand that. I never knew 
 you. I know you now. "Where is my 
 child?" 
 
 The voice had altered suddenly. From 
 the depths of an agony of despair this 
 man caught, as it were, at this support to 
 keep his . heart from breaking, and his 
 voice shook. 
 
 " She is living. You have seen her." 
 
 "Seen her?" 
 
 "She saw and talked with you at 
 Crow's Nest when you came one day." 
 
 "That child that is my child?" ' 
 
 " She is Mignon Lascelles, since you 
 are her father ! I did not mean to tell 
 you that; but something might happen 
 to me, and it is necessary for me : 
 you." 
 
 "Yes, yes!" 
 
 " But leave her to me : I love her so 
 that I cannot live without her. I nit-ant 
 to follow you and kill you once I hated 
 you so; but I do not wMi to kill you 
 now, and will forgive you all you ha\ 
 done to me if you will give me Mignon." 
 
 " No !" 
 
 "You will not? You take her? You 
 have the right to do that." 
 
220 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 The Lefthander knit his black brows 
 and groaned. Suddenly he said, 
 
 " Listen ! There will be no trouble 
 about the papers; they are in a bag at 
 Mr. Gary's all. You have only to go 
 with me, and I will deliver them to you. 
 All I ask in return is that you will give 
 me Mignon." 
 
 " Give you my child ? No ! I do not 
 want the papers now. My child is all 
 that is left of the woman I love. I say 
 love ! not loved ! Yes, I deserted her, 
 and thought I had forgotten her. Since 
 she is dead I know better." 
 
 " Give me Mignon !" 
 
 The voice was beseeching. The giant 
 had become a suppliant. 
 
 "I cannot give you Mignon. I can 
 offer you my hand, and thank you for 
 not killing me, as you had a right to do. 
 Keep the letters and marriage record I 
 do not want them now. I will come to 
 Crow's Nest to-morrow not to-night. I 
 have business to-night." 
 
 Before the Lefthander was aware of 
 it Mr. Lascelles had gripped his hand, 
 mounted his horse, and was galloping 
 toward Piedmont. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 MOUSE CHOOSES. 
 
 THE Lefthander went away in the 
 direction of Crow's Nest, with his chin 
 nearly resting on his breast. An unut- 
 terable gloom possessed him. lie was 
 going to lose Mignon ! The long doubt 
 was over. He had hoped that her father 
 would disown her: he claimed her; and 
 thenceforth he, the Lefthander, was alone 
 in the world. 
 
 lie went on groaning. lie would see 
 her soon, for nearly the last time. He 
 had a great thirst of the heart to sec her, 
 and take her in his arms and say, " I love 
 you more than your real father can ever 
 love you !" 
 
 He reached Crow's Nest as the twilight 
 was deepening into dusk. In front the 
 valley of Bohemia was asleep. Not a 
 breath of air stirred the few leaves of the 
 
 trees, and a crescent moon was floating 
 through fleecy cloud-waves, bound for the 
 haven of the sunset. 
 
 Mouse saw him coming and ran to 
 meet him, and put her arms around him. 
 
 "Why, poppa! what is the. matter? 
 You do not look happy," she said. 
 
 "Not happy? That is your fancy, 
 Mignon. How can I be unhappy when 
 you are by me ?" 
 
 But Mouse shook her head, and said, 
 
 "Something troubles you, poppa. 
 What's the use of loving people if 
 we can't see when they are happy or 
 troubled ?" 
 
 "And do you love me really just a 
 little, my own Mignon ?" 
 
 " Love you ! What do you mean, 
 poppa? How could I ever live without 
 you ?" 
 
 "Are you sure of that? Suppose you 
 had to go away from me, Mignon. Yes 
 let us suppose a thing. Say I was not 
 your father and that your real father 
 was living." 
 
 " My real father ! Why, what father 
 could I have but my own poppa ?" 
 
 " Such things happen. You read curi- 
 ous things in the newspapers sometimes, 
 and when the story-tellers put them in 
 stories people say they are improbable. 
 Sometimes little ones like you are brought 
 up by strangers, then you think they are 
 father and mother. Say that this was 
 true of you, and your real father, as I 
 said, was living; then suppose he came 
 one day and said, ' Give me Mignon, you 
 have no right to her.' You may think 
 the idea foolish, but tell me what 
 would you say ?" 
 
 Mouse had begun to laugh at the ro- 
 mantic case supposed by the Lefthander, 
 but something in his deep voice quite 
 suppressed her tendency to mirth. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean, poppa." 
 >hr siid, earnestly; "but I know what I 
 would say if they came to take me from 
 you." 
 
 " What would you say ?" 
 
 " Well, I would not say anything. I 
 would show them what I meant by what 
 I did." 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 221 
 
 " What would you do ?" 
 
 "I would do this." 
 
 The child put both arms around the 
 Lefthander and nestled close to him. 
 
 "You would not leave me, then, Mig- 
 non ?" 
 
 " Leave you ?" 
 
 " I mean you would not, even if there 
 were other people who wanted you, who 
 could make your life pleasanter to you ? 
 Let me tell you what I mean, little one 
 there is something I ought to say to you." 
 His voice had grown deep and full of 
 sudden emotion he drew long breaths. 
 
 " I am poor, and your life is a hard one. 
 Suppose, once more, that I was not your 
 father, and your real father was a rich 
 man. Suppose you had only to choose 
 which you would stay with the poor 
 man or the rich one. Suppose your 
 real father could give you pretty dresses, 
 and nice things of every sort, while the 
 other one could not do that he could 
 only give you his love. Which would 
 you choose?" 
 
 Mouse looked at him in utter astonish- 
 ment at his fantastic speech. What could 
 he mean ? Her mind was in a maze. 
 
 " Are you in earnest, poppa ?" she said, 
 with a look of bewilderment. 
 I " Yes, Mignon ; in dead earnest. It is 
 my fancy to ask you tell me would 
 you leave me or stay with me ?" 
 
 " I would stay with you, and be your 
 Mignon to the last day of your life !" ex- 
 claimed the child. " You are my father, 
 and I love you more than everything in 
 this world !" 
 
 Mouse nestled still closer, and leaned 
 her small face against his own ; the little 
 white cheek was like a snow-drop against 
 the bearded face. 
 
 "The very idea of leaving you or 
 your leaving me I would rather die!" 
 she said. 
 
 The Lefthander raised his head and 
 looked upward. His lips were moving, 
 and he seemed to be praying. 
 
 Suddenly hoof-strokes were heard ap- 
 proaching rapidly from the direction of 
 the ford. The Lefthander turned his 
 head and saw Daddv Welles coming on 
 
 at a l"ii u r o-allop, with his rille in his hand. 
 In a moment he had reached the spot, and 
 said to the Lefthander, 
 
 "lie on the lookout, friend ; the troops 
 will be in Piedmont t.i-night." 
 
 I. XXV. 
 
 THE DEAD AND LIVING. 
 
 MR. LASCELLES had ridden on toward 
 the Gap. At first he went at ;i gallop; 
 then he slackened his pace, and finally 
 came down to a walk. With knit brows 
 and a face full of unutterable tiling, he 
 went along looking down and reflecting. 
 
 lie was going to see Miss Bassick, but 
 he did not think of her once. He was 
 far away from Virginia, and living in past 
 years. He had gone back to the time 
 when he was young, and had loved with 
 his heart ; he had deserted the woman 
 thus loved, and she was dead now. It 
 was enough to break the heart to think 
 of it but she was dead. As long as he 
 could think of her as living, and as hav- 
 ing probably formed a connection with 
 some Bohemian boor, his heart was at 
 rest, and he thought that he cared noth- 
 ing for her. It had been a youthful liai- 
 son, to be regretted, perhaps, but not 
 mourned over. She had forgotten him, no 
 doubt, and he was thus at liberty to for- 
 get her the past would be the past for 
 both of them, and fall like a funeral pall 
 over their dead loves. 
 
 Now things were different, he found. 
 She had not forgotten him, and had not 
 married again she was dead and dead 
 from his desertion ! There was no one 
 there on the lonely mountain -road to 
 argue with he was alone with h; 
 heart. He had killed her, and Ibe thought 
 drove him to despair. His love for her 
 had been very different from hi- 
 ment toward Miss Bassick ; there wa< as 
 much difference between the two 
 ments as between sunshine and darkness. 
 He had really loved his little bride of the 
 Bohmerwald, and had been happier with 
 her than he had ever been before or since ; 
 and thinking now of what had followed, 
 
222 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 he lost sight of everything of worldly 
 views, the inequality of their position, and 
 every ohstacle and cursed his own frivo- 
 lous temperament and love of change, 
 which had made him leave her, slowly 
 forget her, and never return to her. He 
 had loved her, he felt that, now that he 
 knew she was dead. The flowers of 
 memory grow on graves. He remember- 
 ed every feature of her face, her smile, 
 the light in her blue eyes, the touch of 
 her hand, and his frame shook. 
 
 His face, as he rode on slowly, was not 
 a pleasant spectacle. Pain, physical or 
 mental, writes itself on the eyes and lips, 
 as the storm writes itself on the face of a 
 landscape. In an hour this man seemed 
 to have lost his identity. A great agony 
 had transfigured him. 
 
 As he got to the top of the mountain 
 he suddenly put his hand into his breast- 
 pocket and drew forth Miss Bassick' s 
 picture, which hung upon a silken guard 
 around his neck. There was enough light 
 to see by, and he looked long at the face, 
 with its physical beauty and provoking 
 smile. The face seemed ugly to him 
 the cheeks painted. The smile he had 
 admired so was immodest, not the smile 
 of a pure midden. The eyes of a woman 
 ought not to look at a man as the eyes of 
 the picture looked at him. The truth 
 came to him as a night landscape lives in 
 the quick lightning-flash he understood 
 all now. The senses had usurped the 
 seat of love ; darkness had swallowed up 
 the dawn. 
 
 Then he thought of Mignon and his 
 child, an<l n sob followed the thought. 
 His own Miu;n<>n was dead, but had left a 
 little Mignon to love. As to doubting 
 the Lefthander's statement, that never en- 
 tered his mind. He felt that every word 
 was true, and now remembered what in- 
 deed had impressed him vaguely on his 
 visit that day the likeness between the 
 child and hi> Minion. Oh yes, this was 
 his child, and he meant to cherish her f oi- 
 lier mother's sake, if not for her own. 
 He would acknowledge all ! 
 
 It was very little : he would have cour- 
 age to do it. Yes, he would do what 
 
 was yet in his power to right a great 
 wrong. She was dead his Mignon of 
 the Bohmerwald but she would smile 
 on him then ! As he thought of that he 
 remembered her smile, and the faint light 
 in the blue eyes as she came to meet him, 
 with her white arms held out to him. 
 He heard her little sigh of pleasure, and 
 the caressing voice that greeted him. The 
 picture of Miss Bassick fell from his hand, 
 and but for the guard would have dropped 
 into the road. A single tear rolled down 
 his cheek. It was so hot that it seemed 
 a wonder it did not burn what it fell 
 upon. 
 
 Suddenly thrusting the picture back 
 into his pocket he broke into a gallop ; 
 and, as if seeking to outrun his thoughts, 
 went at full speed down the mountain. 
 He did not go toward Wye, but kept the 
 main road to Piedmont, and dismounted 
 at last before the small house in the sub- 
 urbs occupied by Miss Grundy. 
 
 Miss Bassick had heard the hoof-strokes 
 of his horse, and came to meet him in the 
 drawing-room. Never had he seen her 
 look more provokingly beautiful, or fuller 
 of physical attraction. Her eyes melted ; 
 her lips pouted, and seemed asking to be 
 kissed ; her white arms moved vaguely, as 
 though ready not only to be clasped bujt 
 to clasp. 
 
 Miss Bassick had, in truth, determined 
 to dissipate that distrait mood and rather 
 chill preoccupation which she had ob- 
 served and raged at in their last inter- 
 view. She closed the drawing-room door 
 and came up to him, leaning toward him. 
 Her face and body said, "Take me !" 
 
 Mr. Lascelles sat down. 
 
 For a moment Miss Bassick stood look- 
 ing at him, and it taxed her powers of 
 aetinu; to the very utmost to conceal the 
 internal ra^e which had suddenly taken 
 possession of her. 
 
 "One would really say that monsieur 
 had seen a ghost, he looks so woe-be- 
 gone," she said, with satirical, almost bit- 
 ter emphasis 
 
 " I have/' said Mr. Lascelles. 
 
 " A ghost ! Indeed !" 
 
 " I have seen my wife." 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 
 Miss Bassick felt as though she were 
 suddenly choking. 
 
 " Your wife !" 
 
 " They were right when they told you 
 I had a wife." 
 
 " And you have seen her ?" 
 
 " 1 Icr ghost, I said. My wife is dead !" 
 
 Miss Bassick drew a great breatli of 
 relief, and said, in the same satiric tone, 
 
 " I congratulate you, if you wish to be 
 congratulated." 
 
 " Congratulate me ?" 
 
 He looked sidewise at her. His glance 
 was like the lunge of a steel blade. 
 
 " As you please : it is indifferent to 
 me. Choose your own sentiment for the 
 occasion." 
 
 The intonation of contempt in his voice 
 suddenly enraged her. The profound dis- 
 simulation of her character gave way to 
 passion. 
 
 "One would say that your sentiment, 
 whatever it is, excludes common cour- 
 tesy." 
 
 " If I am discourteous I beg you will 
 excuse it, madam. I am fatigued near- 
 ly ill." 
 
 She refused to accept the explanation. 
 Bitter resentment mastered her. 
 
 " That scarcely accounts for your tone 
 it is an insult !" 
 
 " I do not mean to insult you." 
 
 "People who love, speak in a differ- 
 ent tone. If you love me no longer, tell 
 me so." 
 
 He hesitated, looking at her. Her face 
 was hot with anger. 
 
 " You exact the truth, then ?" he said. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You force me to speak. I would 
 avoid doing so. Well, to be frank I 
 think we have deceived each other." 
 
 " Deceived ! Speak for yourself, sir." 
 
 "I will do so. I never really loved 
 you." 
 
 " This is an insult ! an outrage ! it 
 is unworthy of a gentleman !" 
 
 " Perhaps ; and I am not so sure that 
 I am a gentleman." 
 
 He spoke in the cold, dull tone which 
 he had preserved from the beginning. 
 
 " I have done that in my life," he went 
 
 on, "which a gentleman could hardly 
 have dnc. I have married a pur.- 
 
 an who loved me, and deserted i 
 
 was a coward n.>t. a gentleman havr it 
 as you will, madam. Hut 1 ha\ 
 her face to-night, ami it comet ! 
 all other loves. She is dead yea 
 but reaches out her hands from th< 
 and they chill me." 
 
 Miss Bassick had not seated h 
 Her superb figure towered above him in 
 an attitude which would have d.n? honor 
 to the mythological Furies. 
 
 "And you think I am to be treated in 
 this manner you dare to treat me so!" 
 
 He shook his head. His dull, mourn- 
 ful eyes, full of hopeless anguish, had 
 never changed their expression. 
 
 " It is little to me to dare anything," 
 he said. "I have seen to-night what 
 hardens my nerves strong nem-s, f.-r 
 that matter, which have never shrunk 
 yet. To speak plainer still: I thought 
 I loved you, and I do not love you. All 
 ends here between us, and needs must 
 end. It is best to tell you that," 
 
 He took the picture and laid it on the 
 table. 
 
 "This is your property. You have 
 nothing that I desire to have returned to 
 me." 
 
 He rose and stood facing her, as though 
 conscious, for the first time, of th 
 courtesy in seating himself. 
 
 " You will pardon me I was fatigued, 
 and scarcely aware that you were stand- 
 ing." 
 
 Suddenly the fury appeared in all the 
 force of her rage. 
 
 "You are a common person, sir! a 
 low person ! you shall repent \\\\< !" 
 
 The taunt did not affect him. The 
 threat even afforded him a dull sati>fac- 
 tion, and a bitter smile came to his lips. 
 
 " Do you mean by poison, or a suit for 
 breach of promise, madam .'" 
 
 He looked around him, and saw pen, 
 ink, and paper on a table near. 
 
 "That is your due, and, if you wish, 
 we need not go into court. As you wi-h, 
 I say it is indifferent to me." 
 
 She made no reply. Did she under- 
 
224 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 stand his meaning, and not resent it? 
 He seemed to think so. He went to the 
 table, and wrote a check for a consider- 
 able amount. He then left it lying on 
 the table and rose. As his gloves were 
 lying by him, he took them and slowly 
 put them on. Then he took his hat, and 
 made Miss Bassick a bow. 
 
 " Farewell, madam !" he said. 
 
 As he spoke it required all Miss Bas- 
 sick's self-control to prevent herself from 
 springing at him. 
 
 "Coward!" she cried, in a voice so 
 hoarse and furious that it cut like a whip. 
 
 " I was a worse coward once," he said, 
 "and only act my nature. Farewell, 
 madam !" 
 
 And he went out of the apartment and, 
 mounting his horse, rode away. Miss 
 Bassick remained standing in the middle 
 of the room, looking after him. Her face 
 was the face of a fury. She raised the 
 little handkerchief in her hand and tore 
 it with her white teeth. As she stood 
 thus, trembling with rage, she resembled 
 a tigress about to spring ; but, after all, the 
 business woman was under the tigress. 
 
 From the door through which he had 
 disappeared her eyes passed to the table. 
 The check was lying there, and she went 
 and took it up and looked at it. 
 
 \Vns there balm in it? Her face grew 
 calmer; an expression of fierce satisfac- 
 tion even took the place of her fury. 
 She folded up the paper, put it like a 
 love-token in her bosom, and slowly went 
 up to her chamber. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles had ridden away, absorb- 
 ed in gloomy thought, but something sud- 
 denly drew his attention to the world 
 around him. 
 
 As he passed by the tavern, which was 
 full of lights, he observed figures in blue 
 uniforms swarming in the l>:ir-room, and 
 hoard the dash of spurs and sabres. 
 Ainonu: the blue figures he noticed others 
 clad in citizen's dress the marshal wh<mi 
 he had accompanied to the mountain, and 
 his revenue collectors ; also the figure of 
 no less a personage than Mr. Uncles, who 
 seemed engaged in fraternizing and im- 
 bibing liquids with his blue friends. The 
 
 troops were United States cavalry, refresh- 
 ng themselves with strong potations af- 
 ter a long march that day ; and Mr. Las- 
 celles had no difficulty in deciding in his 
 mind what brought them. 
 
 " Who are these people, Tom ?" he said 
 to a stable-boy passing with a lantern. 
 
 "De Yankee cabblery, Mas' Douglas, 
 come to stirminate de moonshine people," 
 was the grinning response. "De marshal 
 heself in dar gwyne to set out early." 
 
 Mr. Lascelles rode up close, leaned over 
 and counted the number. There were 
 twenty-five men. He then rode away to- 
 ward Wye. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 BLUE COATS IN BOHEMIA. 
 
 THE moment had come at last when 
 the issues between the Government and 
 the moonshiners seemed about to be de- 
 cided by an appeal to arms. All the 
 morning the marshal was fretting to get 
 to saddle. But delays will take place in 
 the best arranged programmes. It was 
 important to surprise the moonshine pe> 
 pie, for which reason the troops had been 
 timed to reach Piedmont at midnight. 
 They were to have set out at dawn, but 
 many of the horses had cast their shoes 
 on the march and limped. It would not 
 do to attempt the rocky mountain-roads 
 without replacing the shoes, and it was 
 not until past noon that this was accom- 
 plished. 
 
 Then the search-warrants were not ol>- 
 tained yet, and the marshal was obliged 
 to go to Wye for them, as General Las- 
 celles was the nearest magistrate. There 
 was a stormy interview. The general 
 protested against the employment of 
 troops; but the marshal replied, stitlly, 
 that he obeyed his orders, and galloped 
 away with the warrants in his pocket. 
 
 The troops were already on the maivh, 
 as the officer had seen them leave Pied- 
 mont before his departure for W\ 
 prompt irruption into Bohemia he hoped 
 would take the enemy unawares, and re- 
 solving that he would make an end of the 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 
 business this time, the marshal hastened 
 on from Wye toward the Gap. 
 
 lie caught up with the troops and rev- 
 enue-officers at the foot of the mountain 
 on the opposite side. The cavalry num- 
 bered twenty-live, and were regulars com- 
 manded by a lieutenant. Two or three 
 of the marshal's subordinates rode at 
 the head of them, carrying black leather 
 satchels slung from their shoulders for 
 the transaction of business. 
 
 " Well, lieutenant, that is your road to 
 the left," the marshal said to the com- 
 mandant of the troop. " It leads to the 
 home of a man who is the real leader of 
 these people an old fox named Welles. 
 He looks peaceful, but is not to be trusted, 
 lie was a furious bushwhacker during the 
 war, and from what I can learn is willing 
 to have it open again. Keep your eye 
 on him particularly, and warn your men 
 to be ready to fire if necessary. There is 
 his house." 
 
 The cavalry, preceded by the revenue- 
 officers, defiled up the road leading to the 
 house on the mountain, the hoof-strokes 
 of the horses clashing on the rocky path- 
 way. It was a very unusual sound in the 
 peaceful valley. A long time had passed 
 now since Bohemia had seen the blue 
 cavalry, and the valley bathed in the mild 
 sunshine of the Indian summer day seem- 
 ed to be listening. Did it remember? 
 It had witnessed such scenes in the 
 " wild war days " of the past. Was it 
 going to look again on men dyeing the 
 red autumn leaves with a redder tint than 
 before ? 
 
 If there was to be any fighting, it was 
 not going to take place just yet. Daddy 
 Welles was ,not at home, and his aged 
 helpmate, in response to the marshal's 
 statement that he should search the prem- 
 ises, expressed her perfect willingness. 
 The search was made, but resulted in 
 nothing. There was no spirit of any 
 description about the abode of Daddy 
 Welles, and the marshal bowed curtly, 
 and remounted his horse. 
 
 " This is a specimen of what we are to 
 expect," he said, "at all the houses we 
 search. These people have been notified, 
 15 
 
 and have removed all traces of their occu- 
 pation. Luckily, they can't remove the 
 stills so easily, and we are apt to discover 
 some of them before the day is over." 
 
 He looked up at the sun, which was 
 sinking toward the west, and added, 
 
 " Why have we lost so much time? 
 These December days amount to nothing. 
 It will be bad to be caught by night in 
 this detestable country. It is bad eiioii'_rh 
 in broad daylight but there's nothing to 
 do but to go on. Put your column in 
 motion, lieutenant." 
 
 The young lieutenant, who wore a dan- 
 dy uniform, and was smoking a ciu,ai\ 
 gave his orders in a nonchalant voice, and 
 the troop began to descend the mountain 
 with' the revenue-officers in front. 
 
 " I am going to the house of a man 
 named Barney Jones next," said the mar- 
 shal ; "a small detachment may be sent to 
 a place called Crow's Nest but I think 
 there's nothing there. To be plain, I ex- 
 pect to find nothing and nobody any- 
 where. The rascals are forewarned, and 
 have escaped into the mountain and to 
 say that troops are not necessary to deal 
 with such people ! They are outlaws, and 
 may even resist. I advise you to keep 
 your men well together, lieutenant, and 
 look out for a brush you may have it." 
 
 "All right," returned the lieutenant, 
 puffing at his cigar. " It is my trade to 
 brush or be brushed, and I'll attend to 
 that; I only wish it was under other 
 circumstances. This infernal moonshine 
 business is no better than police duty, and 
 I didn't go through the hazing at W&A 
 Point for that." 
 
 " It is a part of the duty of the army, 
 sir," said the marshal, somewhat offend- 
 ed. 
 
 " Is it ? Well, the army does seem to 
 be looked to in these days to do a little 
 of everything. It has now and then oc- 
 curred to me that the authorities mi<_ r ht 
 apply to somebody else. Leave us to go 
 after the Indians, who are interesting ani- 
 mals to deal with, and if you want a po- 
 lice force to operate in the States, enroll a 
 battalion of black coats out of the swarm 
 of civil employes they ought to smell a 
 
226 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 little powder if any is to be burnt it 
 would enlarge their ideas. But that don't 
 suit them." 
 
 The nonchalant tone of the lieutenant 
 betrayed his opinion of civilians, and the 
 marshal was much offended. He would, 
 perhaps, have made some reply indicative 
 of his opinion as to the results of the 
 military movements against the Western 
 Indians, but at that moment the vidette 
 in front was heard halting some one. 
 They could not see who this some one 
 was, as a dense wall of rock rose between 
 them and the stream from the direction 
 of which the sound came. The marshal 
 spurred forward, and saw that the person 
 halted was Mr. Lascelles. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 THE LAST GREETING. 
 
 As the troop of horsemen had obliqued 
 from the Gap into the mountain-road, a 
 man had passed the rear of the column 
 at a gallop, and this man was Mr. Las- 
 celles. 
 
 Some of the troop turned their heads, 
 and possibly wondered where this horse- 
 man was going at his long gallop ; but as 
 that was none of their business they dis- 
 missed him from their minds, rightly con- 
 cluding that a soldier's business is to obey 
 orders, not think. 
 
 Mr. Lascelles crossed the bridge, turned 
 into the road leading by Falling Water, 
 and went on at a headlong gallop. The 
 mournful composure of the rider was in 
 vivid contrast with the quick movements 
 of the animal. The horseman seemed 
 scarcely aware that he was being borne 
 along. Profound and absorbing thought 
 made him unconscious of Borrounding 
 objects. He was thinking, in fact, of the 
 r>ohmenval<l, and of the face there once, 
 when he was young in heart and hope, 
 and all the harsh and jarring emotions of 
 his present life had been unknown. 
 
 Did he think, too, of that other face, 
 resembling the face of his Mignon, which 
 he was going to see? Passionate love 
 and regret drove him on, as his flying an- 
 
 imal was driven by the spur. One emo- 
 tion only possessed and quite mastered 
 him at length he would see her soon! 
 He had come up out of the depths of his 
 soiled love to the pure air again. The 
 face yonder in Piedmont, with its physi- 
 cal beauty, its lasciviousness and fury, 
 had disappeared. He was going to see 
 his child: and with that single thought 
 heaven entered his breast. 
 
 At Falling Water he stopped and went 
 in. Mr. Gary was in the library. 
 
 "I have come for a moment only I 
 am in haste," he said, grasping his host's 
 hand. 
 
 " Welcome," Mr. Gary said. " What 
 is it moves you so? You speak to a 
 friend." 
 
 " I know that. I have no time, and 
 come to the point. You have a travel- 
 ling-bag, intrusted to you by the person 
 known as the Lefthander." 
 
 " Yes, intrusted to my safe-keeping." 
 
 " Keep it safely. It contains the evi- 
 dence of my marriage in Europe. I was 
 married there, and deserted my wife. I 
 did not know that I had deserted my 
 child, too. My child is the little one at 
 Crow's Nest ; she is Mignon Lascelles I 
 pray you to remember that." 
 
 " Mignon Lascelles ! is it possible ?" 
 
 "She is my child." 
 
 He went to the table where the family 
 Bible lay, and rested his hand upon it. 
 
 "She is Mignon Lascelles. In tlic 
 presence of God and of Jesus Christ, in 
 whom I believe as the Son of God, the 
 child is mine she is Mignon Lascelles. 
 You will remember that f 
 
 " Yes, yes why do you make this sol- 
 emn declaration ?" 
 
 "To forestall events whatever may 
 happen. Life is uncertain. My child's 
 future is now certain. 1 may share it* 
 and direct it I may not be permitted to 
 do so. It is the same, since she can want 
 nothing now." 
 
 With a hurried grasp of Mr. Can's 
 hand he went out, without saying any- 
 thing more, and mounted his horse. Re- 
 suming the gallop, he went on toward 
 Crow's Nest, reached the low fence at the 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 
 foot of the hill, leaped it, threw his bridle 
 over a bough, and hastened to tin 1 house. 
 
 Mouse met him on the threshold. The 
 little mamma had wound her hair into a 
 Grecian knot behind, and the delieaie 
 outline of the head had a womanly air 
 that was charming. The man looking at 
 her shook. It was his Mignon of the 
 Bohmcrwald. 
 
 He came up to her, and could scarcely 
 control the passionate longing to clasp 
 her to his heart. He thought that would 
 frighten her, and only stood looking at 
 her the long look of the human being 
 who sees nothing and thinks of nothing 
 but the face his eyes rest upon, and longs 
 to devour with caresses. 
 
 " Your father is lie here, little one ?" 
 he said. 
 
 Was it the voice of Mr. Lascelles ? No 
 one would have recognized it. It was 
 music, and melted into cadences of ex- 
 quisite tenderness. 
 
 " He is not here, sir," said Mouse, not 
 at all afraid of one who spoke in that 
 tone to her ; " he has gone to the moun- 
 tain." 
 
 " I thought so I came to tell him 
 but I will tell him in time." 
 
 He turned his head and looked across 
 the valley, listening. The sun was sink- 
 ing, and long shadows ran across Bohe- 
 mia. In the red light he could see the 
 cavalry slowly descending the path from 
 the mountain-house. 
 
 " There is time," he said, in a low tone ; 
 and addressing Mouse, 
 
 "You are all alone here, my child?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " You are not afraid ?" 
 
 " Oh no, sir !" 
 
 " Not afraid of me ? You were afraid 
 when I was last here. Do not be afraid 
 of me ; we ought not to fear those who 
 love us." 
 
 He looked at her with inexpressible 
 tenderness, and said, 
 
 " Will you tell me your name ?" 
 
 " Mignon Ottendorfer, sir." 
 
 " Your father is the Lefthander ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "And you love him?" 
 
 "Love poppa? Oh \ 
 I I>w <-"iild I help loving him?" 
 
 11 \Yell, I, too, love him. He is a brave 
 man, ami a better man than I am. 1 am 
 called a gentleman it i- he who is the 
 true gentleman. I am going to sec him 
 now there is no time to lOMb 1 
 name Mignon, my child? I knew 
 non once and loved her, and she l.>\.-d 
 me; but she is dead, now. You I 
 much likelier oh! so very mueh like 
 my Mignon, my child." 
 
 He sobbed, and stooping down took 
 the child in his arms and held her to his 
 heart, and covered her face with ki 
 
 "You are so like my Mignon! the 
 same eyes, and the very lips: oh, 10 
 very much like my own Mignon, my own 
 child !" 
 
 He drew her closer, and leaned down 
 and laid his pale cheek on her forehead. 
 She could feel his heart throbbing and 
 his tears on her cheek. One of his arms 
 was around her neck, he placed the other 
 hand on her hair and raised his eyes. 
 Then he pressed a last, long kiss on her 
 lips, and, with a sob which shook his 
 whole frame from head to foot, went out, 
 and, mounting his horse, rode rapidly in 
 the direction of the ford. 
 
 He had hoped to reach the mountain 
 in advance of the cavalry. It w 
 late. As he went at full speed up the 
 narrow road from the ford he came sud- 
 denly on the vedette sent out in advance, 
 and was halted. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 THE ADVANCE INTO THE GORGE. 
 
 THE marshal spurred forward, fo. 
 by the young lieutenant, and saw M 
 celles. 
 
 "You, sir?" he said, stiffly, for 1, 
 in a very bad-humor. 
 
 " Myself!" was the cold reply, 
 forbidden to ride on the Virginia high- 
 way? Why am I halted I may M 
 rested?" 
 
 " You are not arrested, sir," the mar- 
 
228 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 shal replied, apparently conscious of the 
 justice of the protest. 
 
 " I am halted." 
 
 The young lieutenant interposed, laugh- 
 ing, and said, 
 
 " That was by my order, sir. No of- 
 fence to you in particular, my dear Mr. 
 You have not told me your name." 
 
 "Lascelles." 
 
 k ' Well, you've fallen a victim to gener- 
 al orders, my dear Mr. Lascelles. You see 
 we are temporarily on the war-path, and 
 in the enemy's country. I don't mean 
 that the late little unpleasantness between 
 the sections is still in progress and Heav- 
 en forbid that a democrat like myself 
 should look on old Virginia as an ene- 
 my now. My great-grandmother was an 
 F. F. V., and I'm an unworthy scion. But 
 what the devil excuse me brings you 
 here to this infernal Hades, so to call it? 
 It's dark enough now when the sun is 
 setting." 
 
 " I came for my pleasure." 
 
 The deep and mournful voice affected 
 even the mercurial young West Pointer. 
 
 " For your pleasure ? That's strange," 
 he said ; " but every man to his fancy. 
 You will pardon me for saying that I 
 think your taste is devilish bad. It 
 gives me no pleasure at all to be here, I 
 assure you ; but there's no accounting for 
 tastes in this miserable world. Forward 
 the column !" he added, turning in his 
 saddle and calling out to the men. lie 
 then added to his companion, with a gay 
 laugh, 
 
 " Happy to know you, Mr. Lascelles. 
 We an- going after the moonshine peo- 
 ple, and I'm ghul to have your company. 
 Try a cigar P 1 
 
 Mr. Lascelles bowed but declined, where- 
 up'Hi the. young lieutenant lit his own. 
 With his o-auntleted hand resting gallant- 
 ly n his hip, he rode on \\ith Mr. La- 
 eelle> l,,>>ide him. 
 
 . we arc on the way to annihilate 
 the wretches that make had whi>ki-y." 
 said the gay youth. "They drx-rve it. 
 too; if it was good, the MM would be 
 different. Here we are in battle array, 
 and we'll probably have an infernal row 
 
 I heard a preacher in New York use 
 that word 'infernal,' and therefore con- 
 sider it ' scriptural ! Yes, we'll come on 
 the moonshiners, and I'm told they mean 
 to fight. All right, that's my trade. But 
 this sort of thing is not much to my taste. 
 Here they are tag, rag, and bobtail, Mr. 
 Lascelles : collectors, revenue-commission- 
 ers, and detectives for there's a detective 
 along. He's that villanous-looking fel- 
 low in the black coat yonder Ruggles 
 by name. I wish he was at the devil ! 
 Do try a cigar they are excellent." 
 
 Again declining the friendly offer of 
 his companion, Mr. Lascelles looked over 
 his shoulder. There, in fact, at the head 
 of the column, some distance in rear, was 
 Mr. Ruggles. He was not present will- 
 ingly, and had come only under compul- 
 sion. Recognized by the marshal, he had 
 been drafted for the expedition : and there 
 he was probably resolved to disappear 
 at the first crash of carbines. 
 
 All at once the marshal said, pointing 
 in front, 
 
 " There is the house of the man Jones. 
 It is useless to search it, but we may as 
 well go through the form. We will not 
 find the man." 
 
 The marshal was quite correct in his 
 surini.se that Mr. Barney Jones would not 
 be ** at home " on that evening. It was 
 evidently not one of his receiving days. 
 A hard-featured woman, with a baby in 
 her arms, and a series of tow -headed 
 young ones, rising above each other with 
 a regularity which implied that the ma- 
 tron was a fruitful vine, appeared at the 
 door, and confronted the visitors. Was 
 Mr. Jones at home? No, Mr. Jon. 
 not at home. Where was he to be found ? 
 They might find that out for themselves, 
 if they could. He was, likely, huntin' 
 somewhere, and shot off his gun at a 
 vrntur' in the woods often. It was dan- 
 g'rous to l>e ridin' round in the mounting 
 when larney Jones was a-huntin'. 
 
 "As I expected," the marshal said: 
 " any search would be a mere farce." 
 
 " I think it would," said the lieutenant, 
 indifferently. " Wo had better go on or 
 go back. If I am consulted I'll s 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 229 
 
 back, as I'm getting devilish hungry and 
 thirsty; but that's no matter. If y..n 
 are anxious to go on, and interview Mr. 
 Haniey Jones, Tin ready. " 
 
 "Go on? Of course T shall, sir!" the 
 marshal said ; M and I will call your at- 
 tention to the fact, sir, that your orders 
 are to assist in these arrests !" 
 
 " I don't think you'll make any, from 
 present appearances," returned the young 
 officer ; " but give your orders. I brought 
 along my overcoat, and wish there was a 
 llask in the pocket. But if we meet any 
 of the moonshiners they may have the 
 politeness to offer us a drink." 
 
 The column moved on, and entered the 
 gorge extending up to the Hogback. The 
 sun was sinking, and the long red rays 
 pierced the glades like spears, and fell in 
 vivid crimson on the rocks, covered with 
 variegated mosses. From in front came 
 the low sigh of the pines in the depths 
 of the gorge; from the rear no sound 
 was heard but the measured hoof-strokes 
 of the troopers. 
 
 Bohemia was waiting, and expecting 
 something you could see that. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 FAREWELL TO BOHEMIA. 
 
 BOHEMIA was in all its last and crown- 
 ing glory. 
 
 Not the glory of the fresh spring morn- 
 ings, when the violets first come and the 
 buttercups star the glades and the fields ; 
 nor yet the glory of the summer days, 
 when the clouds drift on the blue sky, 
 and the green foliage of the forest is 
 alive with singing birds; nor the au- 
 tumn glory of splendid colors and dreamy 
 hours, when the heart dreams of other 
 hours, and sees the faces that have gone 
 many a year into the dust; but the glory 
 of the last moments of the Indian sum- 
 mer the Nurse of the Halcyon which 
 cradled the Greek fancy this had come 
 now, and the year was bidding farewell 
 to Bohemia, and expiring in a dream of 
 beauty. 
 
 There were few leaves clinging to the 
 ihe \\inds had swept them. They 
 lay on the ground, and formed a deep 
 yellow carpet. Here and there a cedar, 
 forming a perfect cone, stood out like a 
 sentinel from a background of roe! 
 over rock and cedar, and under th< 
 pines, trailed the autumn creepers with 
 bright crimson berries, glittering like 
 coral beads in the light of the sunset. 
 That sunset light made the glory more 
 glorious. It was dashed on rock and 
 tree, and lit up the gorge with a sombre 
 splendor: the wild pines, the dark depth-, 
 the figures of the troopers, and the sk\ 
 above. You would have said that it had 
 come to salute Bohemia for the last time, 
 and that thereafter her glory would be a 
 dream. 
 
 The column was in the gorge, and was 
 advancing over a narrow bridle-path, when 
 the young lieutenant ordered " halt !" 
 
 "I saw the gleam of a gun -barrel on 
 that height yonder," he said to the mar- 
 shal. "As we're about to proceed to 
 business, let us act in a business-like 
 manner.'* 
 
 He sent forward an advance-guard of 
 three men with instructions. These were 
 to keep a keen lookout on the bluffs 
 above, and if fired upon return the fire, 
 and fall back upon the column. 
 
 " You won't have far to fall back," 
 added the young fellow. " I'll be close 
 behind you." 
 
 The advance-guard went in front, and 
 disappeared around a bend in the road. 
 The spot was wild beyond expression, and 
 lofty heights extended like walls 
 ther side as the column proceeded. Be- 
 yond the tops of the trees could be seen 
 the long blue line of the Blue Ridge on 
 the left ; and on the right rose the bris- 
 tling and threatening crest of the Hog- 
 back. 
 
 "I beijin to think the moonshin 
 going to fight, Mr. Lascelles," said the 
 lieutenant, lighting a fresh cigar. " I saw 
 the man with the gun as plainly as I see 
 you. There arc probably some stills in 
 the vicinity here it is the very place for 
 them; and I think the moonshiners, like 
 
230 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 good patriots, are going to die by their 
 altars and fires !" 
 
 A shot rung out as he spoke from the 
 direction of the vanguard; and then a 
 rattling volley followed, and the men 
 were seen coming back at a gallop. 
 
 " Well," said the lieutenant, coolly, 
 "what's up?" 
 
 The report was that they had been fired 
 upon apparently from a barricade in the 
 mouth of a small gorge debouching into 
 the main one. 
 
 " I think it probable there's a barricade, 
 which is not a bad thing to fight behind," 
 said the lieutenant, smoking and reflect- 
 ing. " Well, I'm going to charge it, as a 
 matter of course. I'll have some saddles 
 emptied, I rather suppose, but that's to 
 be looked for." 
 
 " It is unfortunate," said Mr. Lascelles ; 
 " it would be better to have no blood- 
 shed." 
 
 "Vastly preferable, I allow, but the 
 devil of the thing is to avoid it. I'm not 
 speaking for myself; I'm engaged to a 
 pretty girl, but she'll have to take her 
 chances for a wedding. This is my busi- 
 ness and after all, too, it's the business 
 of these good fellows on both sides. So 
 here's for a charge !" 
 
 " A moment," said Mr. Lascelles ; "you 
 ought to summon them to surrender." 
 
 " Useless but it would be more regu- 
 lar." 
 
 " I'll take the summons." 
 
 "You!" 
 
 " Certainly, with very great pleasure." 
 
 "You'll be shot!" 
 
 "No. They might shoot one of your 
 men in his uniform, but they will not 
 shoot me. I am in citizen's dress, and 
 will raise rny white handkerchief." 
 
 "That is true but suppose you're 
 shot. You have nothing to do with this 
 business. I like your face, Mr. Lascelles, 
 though it's rather mournful. You wen- 
 cut out for a soldier, but then you aiv a 
 civilian. Well, do as you choose." 
 
 " I will go, then, and deliver your sum- 
 mons. You will wait?" 
 
 " Yes, but be quick. Night is coming." 
 
 "If I am not back in ten minutes it 
 
 will be because they refuse. Then you 
 can charge." 
 
 He put spurs to his horse, and, without 
 troubling himself to display the white 
 handkerchief, went at a swift gallop for- 
 ward into the gorge. 
 
 The shadows grew deeper as he went, 
 and the overhanging banks more densely 
 wooded. He was penetrating to the most 
 mysterious depths of the gorge. 
 
 Suddenly a voice called " Halt !" and 
 he saw the gleam of gun-barrels behind a 
 barricade of felled trees. He paid no at- 
 tention to the order, and reaching the 
 barricade leaped to the ground. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 THE BARRICADE. 
 
 THE Lefthander was standing on the 
 top of the barricade, with a carbine in his 
 hand. It was he who had ordered " halt," 
 but he did not raise his weapon. He had 
 recognized Mr. Lascelles, and quietly wait- 
 ed. 
 
 Behind him were grouped nearly a 
 dozen rough-looking figures armed to the 
 teeth ; among these were Daddy Welles, 
 Barney Jones, and Harry Vance. Under 
 low drooping boughs in rear of the barri- 
 cade was a rude door in the rock. Be- 
 hind this door, which the pine boughs 
 brushed, was the still. 
 
 The barricade itself was constructed of 
 felled trees, and about breast-high. Be- 
 hind this the moonshiners were obviously 
 going to fight. 
 
 Mi-. Lascelles threw his bridle over his 
 horse's neck, and mounted the barricade. 
 
 "They are coining," lie said to the 
 Lefthander, " and I have come to summon 
 you to surrender." 
 
 "To surrender? We will not surren- 
 der," said the phlegmatic athlete. 
 
 "I knew that, and so that's done with. 
 They will charge you in ten minutes; but 
 there will be time to say what I came to 
 say to you. I have been to Crow's Nest." 
 
 He took the Lefthander by the arm 
 
 and drew him aside. For some moments 
 
 loii of moonshiners saw the two 
 
VIUCIXIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 231 
 
 men engaged in l>w, earnest talk. Then 
 they saw them grasp hands and come 
 back toward the group. 
 
 As tliov did so the troopers charged 
 the barricade. 
 
 A volley met it in the face, and the 
 horses, wild with fright, wheeled and re- 
 treated in disorder. 
 
 "Halt!" the lieutenant's voice was 
 heard shouting, as he whirled his light 
 sabre. " Form column in rear! I'll 
 soon attend to this." 
 
 The men stopped, and fell into column 
 again just beyond range of the fire of the 
 barricade. 
 
 " Dismount and deploy skirmishers ! 
 Advance on both flanks and in front! 
 I'll be in the centre." 
 
 And throwing himself from his horse, 
 he formed the line of skirmishers. Then, 
 at the ringing " Forward " of the game 
 young fellow, the skirmishers closed in 
 steadily, firing as they did so on the bar- 
 ricade. 
 
 All at once the quiet scene was turned 
 into the stage of a tragic drama. Nature 
 was pitiless and serene; the red crowns 
 were rising peacefully from the summits 
 of the trees ; a crow was winging his way 
 toward the sunset on slow wings; it was 
 a scene to soothe dying eyes, if the light 
 needs must disappear from them. 
 
 In ten minutes it had disappeared from 
 more than one on both sides. The moon- 
 shiners were evidently determined to fight 
 hard, and only give way when they were 
 forced to do so. The crack of the sharp- 
 shooters was answered from behind the 
 barricade, and the gorge was full of smoke 
 and shouts as the assailants closed in. 
 
 They did so steadily, like good troops, 
 and at last rushed upon the barricade. 
 There a hand-to-hand fight followed, and 
 it was a weird spectacle in the half gloom. 
 In the shadow r y gorge the figures were 
 only half seen as the light faded, and the 
 long thunder of the carbines and shout- 
 ing rolled through the mountain, awak- 
 ing lugubrious echoes in the mysterious 
 depths. 
 
 The moonshiners fought desperately, 
 but the fight was of no avail. They were 
 
 outnumbered, and, after liing 101 
 their best men, si-altered into tin- moun- 
 tain. Among those \\ho thus escaped 
 were Paddy Welles, I'.arney .|.-n. 
 Harry Yanee. The parting salutes from 
 their carbines VH-IV heard from the heights 
 as they retreated; and the barricade \\as 
 in possession of the cavalry. 
 
 The young lieutenant Leaped <>n the 
 felled trees, and stood there looking 
 around. 
 
 "A good work constructed by sol- 
 diers," he said; "and they were --anie, 
 too." 
 
 He was tying up his arm with a white 
 handkerchief. A bullet had passed com- 
 pletely through the fleshy part, and it was 
 bleeding. 
 
 lie leaped down into the barricade. 
 Suddenly he stopped he had nearly 
 trodden upon something: it was the 
 body of Mr. Lascelles. A bullet had 
 passed through his forehead, and he \\as 
 quite dead. The shot had been fired from 
 behind a rock by the man whom he had 
 lashed that day in the "NVyc woods his 
 bitter enemy. 
 
 At three paces from the body of 
 Mr. Lascelles lay the Lefthander dead. 
 Three other moonshiners were danger- 
 ously wounded, and were leaning against 
 the barricade. They closed their eyes, as 
 though to avoid seeing the blue uniforms. 
 They were probably troopers of the old 
 battles of Ashby, and accepted their fate 
 like soldiers, not complaining. 
 
 As to the faces of Mr. Lascelles and 
 the Lefthander, they were quite tranquil. 
 They had died, in fact, with little pain, 
 and perhaps willingly. Kaeh had mut- 
 tered the same name as the light faded, 
 and they went into the darkness. This 
 name was " Mignon." 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 THE SONG OF AN ORIOLE. 
 
 SINCE these scenes some years have 
 passed, and Bohemia and the "Wye 
 borhood are much changed. Piedmont 
 
232 
 
 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 is looking up, and Bohemia is threatened 
 with a railroad merciless disenchanter 
 of the modern age. 
 
 As to the moonshiners, they seem to 
 have disappeared, and the old trouble 
 with these excellent people has ceased. 
 No one connected with them is disturb- 
 ed, and Daddy Welles is at peace with 
 all men. If he ever longs for a chance 
 shot at anybody, he never says so, and 
 passes his old age in his mountain lodge 
 in smiling content. 
 
 Not far from his house, and on the very 
 summit of the Blue Ridge, stands a sort 
 of Swiss chalet or hunting-lodge, in which 
 Mr. and Mrs. Brantz Elliot pass a large 
 part of the year. Having had restored 
 to him a considerable portion of the 
 property appropriated by his uncle, Mr. 
 Elliot has his house in New York, where 
 he spends the winter ; but the whole sum- 
 mer and autumn are passed on the moun- 
 tain, where he and Nelly are not at all 
 lonely, as they have two fine boys, who 
 afford them society. 
 
 Gentleman Joe lives at Wye with his 
 brother, General Lascelles ; and Mr. Harry 
 Lascelles, his son, at Falling W T ater with 
 his wife and father-in-law, Mr. Gary. They 
 were married about a year after the scenes 
 in Bohemia, but Frances would not con- 
 sent until he had promised her not to 
 take her away from her father. She is 
 even more beautiful than before, and more 
 like the cabinet picture in the library 
 the portrait of her mother. Harry man- 
 ages the estate, and hunts, and is devoted 
 to his wife ; and every Sunday they at- 
 tend church at Piedmont, where Mr. Ellis 
 Grantham generally preaches. He has 
 returned with his wife from a year of In- 
 dian missionary service in Idaho, aii<l is 
 the assistant of his father, whose health 
 is growing feeble. But the old foe of 
 ritualism is cheerful and happy. A little 
 girl, with Juliet's eyes, flourishes her spoon 
 from her high chair, and n-ijiu-sts to be 
 helped first ; and Mr. Grantham, Sr., while 
 elaborating his "History of Ritualism," 
 hears the pattering of small feet up-stairs, 
 and is thankful for them. There is a 
 great deal of going to and fro between 
 
 the parsonage and Trianon, where Mrs. 
 Armstrong makes out to sustain existence 
 in spite of her loneliness. It is true, she 
 drives out almost every day, and con- 
 sumes hundreds of paper-bound novels. 
 Miss Bassick is a loss, as she has no one 
 to scold but then she never could bear 
 to look upon that serpent again. 
 
 The serpent disappeared from Pied- 
 mont soon after the unfortunate issue of 
 her affairs. No one knew whither she 
 went, but the rumor was brought that she 
 had become one of the corps de ballet of 
 a theatre in New York. There was still 
 another rumor that she had appeared in a 
 breach of promise case at the capital ; but 
 as the jury decided that it was only an 
 attempt to levy blackmail, they dismissed 
 it, and Miss Bassick vanished from all 
 eyes. 
 
 The peaceful little neighborhood of 
 Piedmont is thus quiet, and lives its life 
 contentedly under the shadow of the 
 mountain, far off from the noisy world. 
 The days follow, and resemble each 
 other, and glide from Sunday to Sun- 
 day without events. Sometimes religious 
 services are held in the Old Chapel, sleep- 
 ing quietly on the wooded slope of the 
 mountain. The winds sigh or laugh in 
 the leaves of the great oaks there, and the 
 weeping-willow murmurs as it murmured 
 on that morning when Mouse listened to 
 it, and the Lefthander said it would be a 
 good place to be buried. 
 
 He is buried there, not far from Mr. 
 Lascelles. His wish was remembered and 
 observed, and Mr. Grantham read the bur- 
 ial-service. When some busybody ques- 
 tioned the propriety of admitting an out- 
 law into the sacred precincts, Mr. Gran- 
 tham was greatly offended, and said, " He 
 is a man are you more?" And that 
 was the end of it. 
 
 There is another grave close by that of 
 the Lefthander. The small head -stone 
 has on it the single name " Mignon." 
 After the Lefthander's death she was 
 taken to Wye, and guarded with the fond- 
 est affection. Mrs. Lascelles and Anna 
 Gray were quite wrapped up in her, and 
 
VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 
 
 233 
 
 the old general could not bear her out of 
 his sight for her parentage was known, 
 through Mr. Cary, and slu> was all that 
 was U-ft of his dead son. But all was of 
 no avail. The poor child had loved the 
 Lefthander with her very heart of hearts, 
 and her health slowly failed after his 
 death. Grief seldom kills, but it weakens, 
 and then disease finds the citadel ready 
 to totter. Mouse lingered until they had 
 some violets to place on her white bosom, 
 and then she went to the Old Chapel to 
 sleep by the Lefthander. 
 
 This is sad, and it is not well to leave 
 a sorrowful impression upon those who 
 listen to a narrative since life is sad 
 enough already without that. Fortu- 
 nately Piedmont resounds once more 
 with rejoiccful music. The Unrivalled 
 Combination has come back to visit the 
 borough again. The triumphal entry is 
 a triumphant affair, and the crowds shout 
 and hurrah, and Mr. Manager Brownson 
 waves his black hat and bows. And then 
 the great domes of canvas rise on the same 
 old ground, and the crowds rush in, and 
 the band roars, and the barebackers ap- 
 pear, and the world of Piedmont is a 
 world of enjoyment. The circus means 
 
 to remain until the afternoon of th 
 day, and the tired performers th< 
 sleep lati all luit one of them. 
 
 She is a woman, \\lio rises at daylight, 
 and goos out. into the silent streets and 
 toward the mountain. She has ma<le in- 
 quiries as to some events and per- 
 connected with the l.-i-t vi>it !' the com- 
 pany to Piedmont, and informed 1 
 
 She takes a path which obliques i tin; 
 left from the road leading to the (lap, 
 and just as the sun i- ri-iipj; readier the 
 graveyard around the Old Chapel. 
 
 It is difficult to recognize the laughing 
 and brilliant Clare de Lune in the plain- 
 ly-dressed woman, with the heaving bosom 
 and eyes wet with tears. She finds the 
 grave she is looking for under the long ta- 
 sels of the weeping-willow, and the small 
 stone with "Mignon" engraved upon it 
 close beside it, and bends down, and erir<, 
 and calls to them to come back to her. 
 
 " He told me to be a good girl, and I 
 have been a good girl and he is dead !'* 
 she sobs. 
 
 All at once the sun rises and the whole 
 world is full of light. From the top of 
 the weeping-willow the song of an oriole 
 bursts forth. Clare de Lime raises her 
 eyes and listens, and understands, perhaps. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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