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 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE 
 
 SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 HENRY W. SAGE 
 
 1891 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 1382.L4 1854 
 
 Leather stocking and sUkior,, Hunter Jp^^^ 
 
 3 1924 021 988 898 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021988898 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK; 
 
 OR, 
 
 HUNTER JOHN MYERS AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 A STORY OP 
 
 THE VALLEY OF VIRGINIA. 
 
 "1 
 
 ToVvXA. LLsTtv*- Cool'C*. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 HAKPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 329 & 331 PEARL STREET, 
 
 FBJLNKLrN SQUARE. 
 
 1854. 
 t-i- 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand 
 eight hundred and flfly-three, by 
 
 Harper & Brothers, , 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District 
 of New York. , 
 
TO THE READER. 
 
 In this little tale the writer has attempted to sketch 
 in outline, some of the personages, and modes of life and 
 thought in Virginia, at the commencement of the present 
 century. The chief character, who gives his name to the 
 book, and around whom the other actors group them- 
 selves, had like many of the rest a real existence, and is 
 drawn with as near an approach to life in personal and 
 characteristic traits, as the writer found it possible. 
 One who knew him well, testifies to the accuracy of the 
 delineation in all its material points. 
 
 It is only necessary to add, that the story is sunny 
 rather than gloomy — comedy rather than tragedy ; — 
 dealing rather with peculiarities and humors, than with 
 those profound passions of the soul which excite so ter- 
 rible an interest in the reader. If the book be found 
 entertaining, and (above all else) the spirit of it pure, 
 the writer will be more than satisfied. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK.* 
 
 PART I. 
 
 tN THE TOym OF MARTINSBUaa. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OLD MARTINSBURG. 
 
 The antique character implied by the term old has 
 passed away from Martinsburg. It is now a busy, bus- 
 tling town, which daily raises its two thousand heads and 
 hushes its two thousand tongues to listen to the shrill 
 steam-whistle of the cars : but even this event, which in 
 the old time would have furnished so much food for 
 neighborly gossip, and street-corner harangues attracts 
 attention but for a momtent. The hurry, the bustle, the 
 healthy activity which spring from trade, and announce 
 prosperity, commence : — and Martinsburg, thus absorbed 
 in her joyful present, scarcely ever gives a thought to her 
 past. 
 
 That past was as picturesque as the present is prosaic : 
 not only the manners and personages, but the town itself. 
 
 Standing on the hill to the southward, you had before 
 you a long unpaved street — Q,ueen-street — which crossed 
 a low stone arch, ascended the rugged hill, and was lost 
 with its numerous trees and old mansions in the dis- 
 tance. The stone arch — ^for it could scarcely be called a 
 
8 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 bridge — spanned a broad ravine which in the summer 
 and fall was bright with waving corn, and tall grass : 
 through this ravine, and under the arch, a little stream 
 gurgled over rooks covered with moss and saxifrages. 
 
 To the left was the church which had seen the men 
 and dames of ante-revolutionary days, and given a rest- 
 ing place to many stately characters of long past genera- 
 tions : — across the ravine was the Grerman quarter of the 
 town, its substantial wooden houses half concealed by the 
 foliage from which light smoke-wreaths curled upward 
 against the blue background of the mountains and the 
 sky. 
 
 There was about the town in those days a thoughtful, 
 slumbrous quietude, which was very striking to such trav- 
 elers as stopped there : more especially if among such 
 travelers there were any artists armed with their sketch 
 books. All day long the atmosphere brooded like a 
 dreamless slumber upon the quiet boroiigh, and the only 
 sound that never died away was the sighing of the wil- 
 lows, which stretching down their long arms to the 
 stream unceasingly complained to the waves. All day 
 long the air was stirred by no other sound, unless it were 
 the sudden roar of the rock-blaster's mine echoing along 
 the stone-fenced valley. No stranger, except at long in- 
 tervals, made the stony street resound with hoof-strokes; 
 no cur ran barking at the pedestrian's heels. Such horse- 
 men and pedestrians were seldom seen — and the curs had 
 got out of practice. The cloud-shadows floated across the 
 streets, the tall old willows sighed and rustled, the corn 
 tassels waved their silky fibres in the gentle lazy breeze : 
 and Martinsburg might have sat for a sketch of Drowsy- 
 land. 
 
 Our story relates to this old Martinsburg — this land of 
 the dolce far niente — ^which is so completely a thing of 
 the past. But not wholly. The town was at the period 
 when these veritable events occurred, in the transition 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 9 
 
 state. The habitudes and fashions — in costume, modes 
 of thought, every thing — were changing. The close-shaven 
 and prim expression of our own day and generation had 
 already begun to take the place of the bluff and joyous 
 bearing of the elder time. Powdered heads were going 
 out of fashion with fair-top boots and shoe-buckles and 
 silken hose : — the minuet, that stately divertisement in 
 which those honest old folks our grandfathers and grand- 
 mothers took such delight, was slowly disappearing : — 
 stages had commenced running between the towns, there- 
 by realizing the long dreamed of luxury of a weekly 
 mail : — and Martinsburg with her sister boroughs was 
 enlivened from time to time by " professors" of music, 
 dancing, fencing, drawing, all the accomplishments, in a 
 word, which are thought necessary parts of education by 
 the inhabitants of a thriving country town. 
 
 It is at this turning point between the old days and 
 the new, when the nineteenth century, very nearly in its 
 teens, began thinking and acting for itself, that our his- 
 tory commences. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 INTRODUCES ONE OF THE HEROINES. 
 
 One of the most comfortatle mansions of the German 
 quarter was that of old Jacob Von Horn. It was one of 
 those houses which are eloquent of the past — ^which tol- 
 erate about them nothing modern in character. The 
 building was large, consisting only of two stories, and 
 covered with its out-houses space sufficient for a dozen 
 dwellings of the present day. The massive timbers which 
 formed its walls had once stood, tall woodland monarohs, 
 not far from the door : and in front of the broad portal 
 two giant trees, of the same species, still threw their ver- 
 durous bough-arms over the wide roof and around the 
 gables, and brushed against the large chimneys which were 
 clearly relieved against the foliage. 
 
 In the large dining-room were an ancient harpsichord ; 
 a mighty patriarchal clock ; shelves glittering with burn- 
 ished pewter and gayly colored crockery ; a ponderous 
 Grerraan-English Bible with silver clasps; and on the 
 rough wall two or three much prized portraits. 
 
 One fine morning in early autumn in the year 18 — , 
 about an hour after sunrise, the passers by the door of 
 Father Von Horn (so the old Grerman was called) might 
 have seen, had they taken the trouble to look through the 
 window which was open, a much more attractive object 
 than any of those above mentioned. This was Nina, the 
 old man's daughter — seated with the air of a matron be- 
 behind the large coftee-urn. 
 
LEATHER, STOCKING AND SILK. 1 . 
 
 Beside her sat a boy of fifteen, with long dark hair, 
 soft tender eyes, and, on his lips, the gentle ingenuous 
 smile of early youth. He was clad in a rough, loosely- 
 fitting roundatout ; his collar was thrown open and only 
 confined by a narrow hlack ribbon, which clearly defined 
 itself against his white throat ; and on a chair, near, lay 
 a rustic cap, and two or three school-books. 
 
 The boy seemed absorbed in thought, and not unpleas- 
 ant thought : his large, dreamy eyes were wandering, one 
 would have said, over some fair landscape, beyond the view 
 of mortal vision, far in Fairy-land : in a word, he was in a 
 profound reverie. 
 
 The young girl pushed him on the shoulder with one of 
 her small white hands, and said, angrily : 
 
 " Come Barry ! stop that ridiculous thinking I You'll 
 never be fit for any thing, if you don't give it up. You 
 are positively in a dream." 
 
 The boy returned to himself, so to speak, and to the 
 scenes around him, with a laugh and blush. 
 
 " I'lr try and not do it so much, cousin Nina," he said, 
 " but—" 
 
 " There, you are going to say — " 
 
 « Only that I—" 
 
 " I have told you, Barry, often, that you ought not to in- 
 terrupt a lady when — " 
 
 " 0,. I won't any more, cousin Nina." 
 
 " There, again ! Really you are too vexatious. You 
 plague me to death." 
 
 Barry seemed hurt at the rough tone in which the 
 young girl spoke. 
 
 " I am sorry I plague you, cousin Nina," he said, timidly, 
 " and I know my habit of thinking about all sorts of 
 things is wrong. But I can't help it. I was born so." 
 
 " Yes, born so ! That's every body's excuse," said the 
 girl, curling her pretty lip ; " where's aunt Jenny ? Aunt 
 Jenny ! These servants will run me crazy." 
 
12 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " I'll call her, cousin Nina," said Barry, humbly. 
 
 " I don't want you to ! Finish your hreakfast and go 
 to school!" 
 
 "I can not eat any more," said Barry, rising mourn- 
 fully, " you are angry with me, cousin Nina ; I am sorry 
 I offended you." 
 
 *' Foolishness ! who said you offended me V 
 
 " I love you too much to," said Barry. 
 
 " Aunt Jenny !" called Nina. 
 
 Barry turned away blushing, put on his cap, and took 
 his books. 
 
 " Grood-by cousin Nina : I hope you are not angry 
 with me. I wouldn't feel easy if I thought you were." 
 
 " Barry, you are the most perfectly ridiculous child I 
 ever knew in my life. You imagine that every body is 
 angry with you for something ; and I can not say a word 
 to you, but I am offended or angry or some nonsense. I 
 am out of sorts this morning, and I am ahgry^aunt 
 Jenny ! — .and if that lazy Mr. Max don't come down in ten 
 minutes, I vow I will lock up every thing. Let him get 
 his breakfast where he can. He is the laziest, idlest — " 
 
 " Brother Max sits up studying, cousin." 
 
 « Studying !" 
 
 " Don't he, cousin ?" 
 
 " Barry, you'll drive me mad ! For heaven's sake go to 
 school, and — " 
 
 " Hey, Nina !" said a voice, which voice belonged to a 
 personage who entered at that moment behind the young 
 girl, " there you are, abusing Barry again : now Nina !" 
 
 " Not abusing me, brother Max," said Barry. 
 
 " But I heard, Barry, my boy. I heard that last blast. 
 Now Nina — cousin Nina, and when I say cousin Nina, I 
 am on the affectionate key — don't speak so roughly to 
 Barry. He's too timid : pour it out on me — I can stand 
 it all — my nerves are strong." 
 
 "Impudence!" 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 13 
 
 "I impudent !" said Max, with an air of astonishment I 
 
 " As you can be !" said the young girl. 
 
 " And you — you Nina are — charming. Barry, you ras- 
 cal, go kiss Nina ; and I think I'll have a kiss myself, this 
 morning." 
 
 Nina's good-humor seemed to have returned in a meas- 
 ure. She kissed Barry, who came forward timidly : but 
 when Mr. Max offered the same compliment, she seized 
 her cup and threatened to discharge its contents upon him. 
 Max, upon mature consideration, retreated. 
 
 " Nina, you are dreadfully cross this morning," he said ; 
 " I really thought just now you were going to bite Barry ; 
 and now you threaten to scald one of your most devoted 
 admirers." 
 
 "JBarry is always dreaming, and you — ^you are — " 
 
 " "What pray ?" 
 
 " Always sleeping." 
 
 "Sleeping? Grood! I the active, the restless ! When I 
 am in love I will begin to sleep and dream — not before. 
 Barry never fall in love — it's a losing game, Barry : take 
 my advice and never fall in love, Barry.'' 
 
 Barry blushed and laughed. Then, taking up his 
 cap which had fallen on the floor, he left the room, with 
 an affectionate look toward his brother who sat down 
 yawning. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 MAX MAKES A CONFIDANTE OF HIS COUSIN, AND CON- 
 SULTS HER ON THE SUBJECT OF HIS COSTUME. 
 
 Perhaps it would te as "well before proceeding farther, 
 to convey to the reader a somewhat more distinct impres- 
 sion of the two personages now left alone together. 
 
 Nina was a young girl of seventeen, with a profusion of 
 golden curls, very red lips and cheeks, arms of dazzling 
 whiteness, and a figure of undeniable beauty, though a 
 critical eye might have considered it a little — a very little 
 — too Dutch in character. Two brilliant orbs full of 
 mischief and sauciness sparkled under their well defined 
 brows, and whenever Nina smiled — which was usually 
 at some unlucky visitor's expense-^she displayed a row 
 of snow-white teeth of admirable beauty. 
 
 Maximilian Courtlandt, her cousin, was her elder by a 
 year or more, and was not unlike Nina ; his hair long, 
 fair, and curling ; his features regular, and their expres- 
 sion laughing and full of joyous pride. 
 
 "We might dwell at some length on the costume of these 
 personages of our tale — costume so different from that of 
 ladies and gentlemen in our own day : — but we refer the 
 reader rather to those portraits, which are found in almost 
 every house of the land. The young girl's dress was plain 
 and elegant, her hair not half as high-raised as was then 
 the fashion, in fact not more than six inches — the heels 
 of her shoes scarcely two inches high. Her cousin was 
 clad, as was usual at the period, in short pantaloons, stock- 
 ings, a long waistcoat, and stiif-collared coat 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 15 
 
 He took his seat at the table, and patiently waited to 
 be addressed. He did not wait long. 
 
 " Max," said Nina " you are positively the idlest, most 
 indolent person I have ever known in my life." 
 
 Max helped himself to a roll. 
 
 " Idle !" he exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes ; you know you are." * 
 
 " Nina, you astonish me." 
 
 " An hour after breakfast-time ! There is the clock !" 
 
 " I can't deny that, Nina," said Max with his mouth 
 full, " but you know I was up late last night studying — " 
 
 " Studying what ?" 
 
 " My Romeo." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed the girl. 
 
 "And you know they expect great things of me, my 
 darling Nina." 
 
 "Max, I'll thank you not to address me as your 'dar- 
 ling,'" the young girl said, pouting, "keep that for Miss 
 Josephine !" 
 
 " Josephine ! Is it possible, Nina dear, they have told 
 you any nonsense about Josephine ?" 
 
 " You know you are in love with her !" 
 
 Max seemed astonished. 
 
 " I in love with her !" 
 
 " Yes — do you deny it ?" 
 
 " Deny it ? no, I never deny any thing." 
 
 " Don't ' dear' me then, please !" said Nina. " Keep it 
 for those you care for." 
 
 "I care more for you, Nina," said Max, "than for any 
 body in the world — a few people excepted." 
 
 " I don't believe it." 
 
 " And I will prove that to you, Nina," said the young 
 man. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " By asking a favor of you." 
 
 " A favor ?" 
 
16 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Don't that prove my regard for you ?" 
 
 " A pretty way ! and what is the favor ? I warn you 
 teforehand, I shall not grant it." 
 
 "Oh yes, you will: for you know Nina," said Max, 
 coaxingly, "you are always so good to me — every body 
 is, for that matter." 
 
 " I know how you persuade every body to do what you 
 want by wheedling them ; you're the greatest flatterer in 
 the world." 
 
 ' ' Flatterer ! Have I ever flattered you ?" 
 
 " A thousand times." 
 
 " Just because I said you were the prettiest girl in 
 town, and the wittiest — that's not flattery." 
 
 "That is a proof you don't flatter, I suppose," said 
 Nina, laughing, in spite of herself. 
 
 "Ah, there is the proper expression back again: now 
 for my favor." 
 
 " I ^hall refuse it " 
 
 " Very well — listen first." 
 
 " G-o on." 
 
 " You know they have applied to me to act Romeo and 
 Juliet at Mrs. 's school next Thursday — Commence- 
 ment." 
 
 " I have heard something of it." 
 
 " Heard something of it ! Just listen. When all the 
 town is agog on the subject, and talking — " 
 
 " Of Mr. Max Courtlandt and Miss Sally Myers." 
 
 " Well — ^hum," said Max, with a conceited air, " sup- 
 pose they do talk of us. But we are getting away from 
 the favor you can do for me. It is necessary I should 
 have, in order to act Romeo properly — and oh, Nina ! I 
 shall throw such expression, such melancholy, into the 
 part—" 
 
 " Who is ' getting avf'ay' now ?" 
 
 " I am, I confess : but you know when uncle took me 
 to Philadelphia I saw the play, and I think I shall act it 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 17 
 
 well. Bat 1 must have a dress. Now a dress consists 
 of three things." 
 
 " Does it ?" 
 
 " I will particularize." 
 
 " Do," said Nina, laughing. 
 
 " First a cap — long hlaok feather — jewel to hold it in 
 ■^-cap black. For just imagine Romeo in any other color ?" 
 
 "Well— what next?" 
 
 " Next boots and silk stockings, also black." 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 " For you see," said Max, with a business air, " shoes 
 and buckles would not be in keeping, as they say." 
 
 " Especially if you borrowed them." 
 
 " No joking, Nina : Romeo and Juliet is a serious mat- 
 ter." 
 
 " I thought all tragedies were." 
 
 " Let me get through," continued Max. " In the 
 third place I shall need a fine dark-colored coat, pro- 
 fusely — Now I know you are going to cry out "For- 
 sooth !" or something of the sort." 
 
 " Go on ; profusely what ?" 
 
 " Laced — ^black or dark lace." 
 
 Max had guessed rightly. The young girl uttered' 
 one of those " hums !" which express so much. 
 
 " A laced coat !" she exclaimed. 
 
 " Indispensable," groaned Max, shaking his head, sadly. 
 
 " And I suppose I am to furnish the whole : or what 
 part ? Your boots, or your coat, or yoijr cap — which?" 
 
 " I am really afraid, Nina, you will have to furnish all," 
 said Max, piteously. 
 
 " Folly !" said Nina. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I suppose it is," said Max, " how could you? 
 Certainly you have no boots : what possessed me to come 
 to a young lady for boots? I believe I am cracked — I'm 
 nearly sure of it ! — Or for a coat, or cap — do young ladiej* 
 wear coats or caps any more than boots ?" 
 
18 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 Max let his head fall, mournfully. 
 
 "Never mind — don't he so down in the mouth," said 
 Nina, " why you have no energy ! "We'll see yet. There 
 is time between this and Thursday." 
 
 "Well : you make me hope something will turn up." 
 
 " I can make the cap." 
 
 " Can you ! Nina, you are the nicest, most obliging, 
 dearest — " 
 
 "That's enough. It is not so very difficult. Will 
 black velvet be proper ?" 
 
 " Proper ! Romeo himself, if consulted on the point, 
 would be in ecstasies." 
 
 " You are recovering your spirits." 
 
 " I believe I am." 
 
 " See about the coat then." 
 
 " But have you velvet for the cap ?" 
 
 " I h«ve my black velvet body." 
 
 "Your what?" 
 
 " You know what I mean — ^the body of my dress ; like 
 this. Then for the feather, my riding plume — and for 
 the jewel — I'll sew in this bracelet." 
 
 " Nina, I desire to kiss you," said Max, " in no other 
 way can my gratitude — " 
 
 " Come a step nearer and I'll burn you with this hot 
 water." 
 
 Max, who had risen and approached his cousin, drew 
 back. 
 
 " Well — another time," he said, " and now I am going 
 to see Aunt Courtlandt. I'll have my hair powdered, and 
 then—" 
 
 " Your hair powdered, indeed !" 
 
 "Why, certainly." 
 
 " Who'll do it for you ?" 
 
 " Let me see : why. Monsieur Pantoufle." 
 
 " Max, you are the most impudent fellow in the world. 
 Monsieur Pantoufle powder your hair !" 
 
LEATHEB, STOCKING AND SILK. 19 
 
 " Will you bet me the cap against — let me see — against 
 a kiss, say, that he does not ?" 
 
 " I'll bet you a box on the ears." 
 
 " Very well : in half an hour — ^no in an hour — I shall 
 come and tell you which has won." 
 
 " I suppose Monsieur Pantoufle will be engaged that 
 length of time upon your hyacinthine curls. Conceited !" 
 
 " Why, Nina, you read Shakspeare ! No, but I am 
 going to the ' Sisters of Mercy' to see Aunt Courtlandt." 
 
 " And who besides ?" 
 
 " Any one who will submit to being seen." 
 
 " Josephine Emberton, for insta:nce." 
 
 " Nina, I really believe you are jealous. Josephine and 
 myself like each other : but I assure you nothing serious 
 has passed between us," said Max, gravely. 
 
 Nina burst out laughing. 
 
 " But you ! I like you so much better !" said Max, ten- 
 derly. 
 
 " Aunt Jenny ! are you coming ?" 
 
 "Good," said the young man taking his hat, "I see 
 my conversation is getting dull. "Well, now for the coat 
 and boots : fortune favor me !' 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MAX FINDS MONSIEUR PANTOUFLE IN A GREAT RAGE. 
 
 The young man, gayly humming a tune to himself, went 
 along Queen-street toward Monsieur Pantoufle's.. Per- 
 haps swaggered along would more strikingly suggest his 
 manner of walking. But Max Courtlandt was too well 
 bred and graceful to swagger — in the common accepta- 
 tion of that word. His gait was jalRity and swinging ; 
 hut neither affected nor pompous : it was the easy, careless 
 carriage of one who is a favorite with every body, and 
 Max Courtlandt was certainly such a person. 
 
 This young man had one of those cordial and winning 
 faces which prepossess all persons in favor of the owner.. 
 The men liked to see his cheerful countenance as he pass- 
 ed along : — the fair sex had their joke or laugh for him ; 
 the children held him in high favor, for they had judged 
 with the unerring instinct of childhood that the hright 
 smile was part of a loving nature and tender heart. With 
 the little things Max was a prime favorite — in fact with 
 every body, spite of his restless and mischievous bent of 
 mind. That he had his full proportion of this latter 
 amiable quality the reader will perceive in due course oi 
 time. 
 
 Monsieur Pantoufle was one of those wandering " pro- 
 fessors" we have alluded to, and had but a short time be- 
 fore set up his tent, metaphorically speaking, in the 
 town, of Martinsburg. This metaphorical tent was in re- 
 ality " apartments" — that is to say two rooms opening on 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 21 
 
 Queen-street, one of which served him for a ohamher, the 
 other for a studio, fencing gallery, dancing, drawing, and 
 music room. Monsieur Pantoufle taught each and all of 
 these accomplishments. 
 
 Monsieur Pantoufle was a little man, always clad in 
 silk stockings, pumps, and ruffles, and his thin hair — in- 
 variahly powdered — was hrushed back from one of those 
 narrow, lynx-like faces, which look out from the portraits 
 of Louis XV.'s time. Under his arm he carried — an insep- 
 erahle portion of himself — a full-laced cooked hat. If 
 we add that his proper name was Monsieur Pantoufle 
 Hyacinth Xaupi, we have said as much of him as the 
 reader need know for the purposes of this history. 
 
 Max found Monsieur Pantoufle — so he 'was now uni- 
 versally called — in a very great passion, striding up and 
 down his studio, as he liked to call it, and overturning at 
 every round either a music stool, a chair, or a pair of foils, 
 of which several pairs lay scattered about upon the tables 
 and stands. 
 
 " Oh me ! what is the matter, sir !" cried Max, think- 
 ing his bet with Nina already lost. ""What has annoyed 
 you, Mousieur Pantoufle ?" 
 
 " The d— d tailor — sacre .'" said Monsieur Pantoufle, in 
 a fury. 
 
 " What has he done ? Every body seems to be put out 
 this morning but myself." 
 
 "He has cut my coat wi-ong!" 
 
 " Your coat — what coat ? Ah, I recollect ! you are very 
 fond of having your coats made in the fashion of the times 
 of King Louis XIV., Monsieur Pantoufle, with large cuffs 
 and all. Now, I suppose the tailor has cut your coat in 
 some other style — either Louis XIII. or Louis XV. Is 
 not that it. Monsieur Pantoufle ?" 
 
 " Om, out, you guess right, my young friend," said the 
 fencing-master, with a strong French accent, " but he not 
 only cut my coat wrong, he make it wrong !" 
 
22 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 "I never should have expected the man to he guilty of 
 such conduct, especially to you, Monsieur Pantoufle, v?ho 
 are so particular. "Was it of much value ? What was 
 the style of the coat ?" 
 
 " It was Charlemagne, Capet, Spain, Italy, any style 
 but Grand Monarque style — sacre .'" cried Monsieur Pan- 
 toufle in a rage. " Begar !" he added, seizing a foil and 
 throwing himself into an attitude ; "I will stick him, I 
 will transfigurate him like an ortolan on a skiewer !" 
 
 " Italy did you say, monsieur ?" said Max, sudderily. 
 
 " Any thing hut proper cut, my young friend." 
 
 " And was it laced ?" 
 
 " Full laced." 
 
 " What color ?" 
 
 " Black — the royal color ?" 
 
 " And where is it ?" 
 
 " I send it hack — he say I shall pay." 
 
 " But you don't want it ?" 
 
 " It is enfin a thousand league too hig for me." 
 
 " And is it at the tailor's helow ? 
 
 " Oui, oui!" 
 
 " Monsieur Pantoufle," said Max, "perhaps I can help 
 you to get rid of it. What was the price ?" 
 
 " One hundred and twenty franc." 
 
 " But in dollars ?" 
 
 " Voyons — five franc to the — 'tis twenty dollar." 
 
 " Wait till I return. Monsieur Pantoufle," said Max. 
 
 And putting on his hat, he ran out of the room, leaving 
 the fencing-master in profound perplexity. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 MAX ARRIVES AT THE TAILOR's, BREATHLESS, BUT IN TIME. 
 
 I^Iax ran as fast as he could until he had reached the 
 tailor's, so fearful was he that some one had already pur- 
 chased the coat of his imagination. He was convinced 
 that his only chance to hecome its happy possessor was 
 to anticipate the whole eager community. 
 
 It was hanging up in the window : Max breathed and 
 went in more calmly. 
 
 " What a pretty coat that is in the window !" he said, 
 " good morning, Mr. Barlow : take it down, I want to see 
 it." 
 
 The tailor laughed. 
 
 "I made it for Mr. Pantoufle," he said, "hut he refuses 
 to receive it." 
 
 "You wouldn't force him to, Mr. Barlow," said the 
 young man, " I know you wouldn't !" 
 
 " I don't know. What can I do with it ? It might 
 serve as a sort of sign out there." 
 
 " A sign ?" 
 
 " Yes, of my making ; it is as nice a piece of work as 
 I ever did." 
 
 " It is so," said Max, examining it, and wistfully pass- 
 ing the laced cuffs through his iingers, " I think I should 
 like to have that coat myself." 
 
 " You ?" said the tailor, surprised. 
 
 " I think really I should," said Max thoughtfully, and 
 in a melancholy tone ; " hut I can't, I'm afraid." 
 
U " LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Yow want it ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, my friend ; the very thing." 
 
 " "Why, you shall have it then cheap." 
 
 Max shook his head, with a sad smile. 
 
 " How much ?" he said. 
 
 " Eighteen dollars." 
 
 " Eighteen dollars ! A fortune — Oh I wish I had 
 eighteen dollars. I haven't got it." 
 
 " You seem to have set your heart on it — now to oblige 
 a friend I'll say sixteen dollars. I wouldn't for anyone 
 hut you." 
 
 Max shook his head, sighing. 
 
 " Oh, what a pretty coat ; and it is the very thing ! 
 couldnH I buy it !" 
 
 " It is dirt cheap." 
 
 " Sixteen dollars — sixteen dollars !" 
 
 " Say fifteen, not a cent less ; it cost me fourteen, on 
 my word." 
 
 " Oh, I was not trying to beat you down, Mr. Barlow. 
 I was only thinking of the price, and where I should get 
 the money." 
 
 " You may pay me at any time." 
 
 " No, no, I have promised uncle never to buy on credit. 
 Fifteen dollars," murmured Max wistfully, "let me try 
 it on, Mr. Barlow." 
 
 The tailor helped him on with the coat. It fitted to 
 perfection. 
 
 "I never saw any thing so becoming," said the tailor 
 
 "Not fashionable, though," suggested Max, smiling, 
 and Iboking at the cuffs. 
 
 "Why no— but really you look like the Marquis La- 
 fayette." 
 
 " You are attacking me through my vanity, Mr. Bar- 
 low. It is a pretty coat," said Max, admiring himself 
 in a large glass, " and what nice laee." 
 
 " The best." 
 
LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILK. 25 
 
 " It will just suit," continued Max, and stretching out 
 his ariji, he muttered " ' Tybalt, liest thou there in thy 
 bloody sheet /' " 
 
 " Yes, it is really too cheap." 
 
 " Fifteen dollars ?" said Max, waking up from his 
 revery. "Ah, I will have it; and not through Nina.* 
 Certainly I will have it. She will give me the money ; 
 she is so good. Why didn't I think of that before ?" 
 
 " You take it ?" asked the tailor. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! but provisionally, Mr. Barlow — contingent 
 on a negotiation I am about to undertake," said Max, 
 smiling, " I really must have that coat." 
 
 " You shall." 
 
 "Keep it for me until to-morrow, and promise not to 
 sell it. I have my suspicions that Hans Huddleshingle 
 wants that coat : I think, too, that Monsieur Pantoufie 
 might pass by, and change his mind. Promise that no 
 one shall have it — neither Hans or Monsieur Pantoufie or 
 any one. What should the dancing master take it for ? 
 You can make higi a real Louis XIV. grand monarch 
 coat," said Max, smiling, " and I shall, therefore, Mr. Bar- 
 low, consider this coat promised to me ; is it not ?" 
 
 " The great Mogul should not buy it," said Mr. Barlow, 
 laughing.' 
 
 "Well, I'll come for it — fortune favoring me," Max 
 said ; and he returned much relieved to Monsieur Pan- 
 toufie. 
 
 B 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HOW NINA LOST HER WAGER. 
 
 „ Monsieur Pantoufle had recovered a portion of his hab- 
 itual equanimity.- The numerous " sa,ores," he had ut- 
 tered were so many safety valves for his pent up anger. 
 He had replaced under his arm the indispensable cocked 
 hat which in the torrent of his wrath had fallen to the 
 floor, and was amusing himself by making passes at a 
 wooden figure representing a man which stood near his 
 harpsichord — which exercise he accompanied with many 
 stamps of the feet and contortions of visage. 
 
 " Well, Monsieur Pantoufle," said ^he young man, " 1 
 have succeeded in persuading Mr. Barlow not to force you 
 to accept that coat, but on the contrary to sell it to me. 
 The fact is 'tis not a Louis XIV. fashion." 
 
 " Never ! but sell it to you." 
 
 " To me." 
 
 " You want it ?" 
 
 " Yes. Do you object to my having the coat ?" 
 
 " Oh, not so my young friend. 'Tis a grand favor to 
 persuade that canaille to take it back. Je vous remercie." 
 
 " I know what that means. It means, 'I thank you.' 
 I wish you would teach me French, Monsieur Pantoufle. 
 you speak it with such elegance." 
 
 " Ah ! Monsieur Max, you flatter me." 
 
 " Oh, no, Monsieur Pantoufle." 
 
 " Ah, yes — " said the Frenchman, shrugging his shoul- 
 ders ; " you are ver polite." 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 27 
 
 " Not half as polite as you, Monsieur." 
 
 " You do me honor," said Monsieur Pantoufle, bowing. 
 
 " Oh, I'm hut a hoy : you are a great traveler," replied 
 Max with a how still lower. 
 
 " We shall he friends, Monsieur Max," said the delight- 
 ed fencing master, whose greatest arahition was the rep- 
 utation of a traveled man, who had seen the world. " You 
 shall come'see me — we shall fence, we shall play violin 
 together ; I shall give you lessons in the dance." 
 
 " Oh, I already dance tolerably well — the minuet I like 
 the most." 
 
 " All the other dance is nothing." 
 
 " That is royal, is it not ?" 
 
 " His grand majesty Louis XIV.' dance nothing else 
 all his life." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " 'Tis true." 
 
 " Well, I can dance the minuet, and I often go to the 
 convent over there — the Sisters of Mercy you know — and 
 dance it with them." 
 
 " You dance minuet there ?" 
 
 " Oh yes — with Miss , but you don't know her. 
 
 Monsieur Pantoufle." 
 
 " Who ? ah, your amie, Monsieur Max !" 
 
 " No, no, but Monsieur Pantoufle, I have just thought 
 of a project for increasing your number of scholars. You 
 have a good many, have you not ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, and I think the most charming, the most 
 elegant, is Mademoiselle Nina." 
 
 " Thank you, Monsieur. Well my scheme was to intro- 
 duce you into the convent. You know my aunt is Supo 
 rior." 
 
 " Introduce me into the convent ?" asked Monsieur 
 Pantoufle, in astonishment. 
 
 " Oh, it is not strictly a convent, far from it. We call:^ 
 it so for fun. It is a Catholic school — ^very strict though. 
 
28 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 Now, I think, I could prevail on aunt Courtlandt to let 
 her scholars take dancing lessons." 
 
 Monsieur Pantoufle's face beamed with delight. 
 
 "There are forty or fifty," continued Max; "now say 
 thirty take lessons." 
 
 "Will that many dance, think you?" 
 
 " At l^st — oh, at least thirty. Well, thirty at — ^how 
 much ?" 
 
 " Twenty -dollar a whole yefer." 
 
 " Thirty at twenty dollars would be — ^would it not, 
 Monsieur Pantoufle — six hundred dollars." 
 
 Monsieur Pantoufle stretched out his arras, and em- 
 braced the young man. 
 
 " 'Tis magnificent !" he cried. 
 
 " Six hundred dollars is a nice sum. Monsieur Pantoufle. 
 It will buy a heap of things ; ever so much of that nice 
 hair-powder I see on your toilet, for instance. Let me 
 see what it is made of. Monsieur Pantoufle." 
 
 The Frenchman skipped to the toilet table and brought 
 the box. 
 
 " Oh, what nice perfume there is in it !" cried Max, 
 taking up in his fingers a portion of the fragrant powder. 
 
 " 'Tis my Paris receipt, Monsieur Max." 
 
 " Oh, how nice. How pleasant it must feel on the head." 
 
 " Magnificent !" 
 
 'il should like so much to have my head powdered for 
 once, like those fine gentlemen who pass in their curricles 
 with their fair topped boots, and silk stockings to the 
 parties. I should feel like a lord." 
 
 " Take — take, my young friend." 
 
 "No, I would never know how to put it on." 
 
 " Rub— rub— 'tis all." 
 
 " I couldn't. Now if some of my friends were only here 
 to put a little on my head !" 
 
 " I will myself, Monsieur Max. I am ver good friend 
 to you." 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILE. 29 
 
 " 0, I couldn't think of it, Monsieur Pantoufle !" cried 
 Max laughing. 
 
 " 'Tis nothing — sit down." 
 
 " Never, .never, Monsieur Pantoufle!" 
 
 '".Tis no trouble." 
 
 "A man of your standing, think. Monsieur Pantoufle !" 
 
 " For a friend, Monsieur Max !" 
 
 Max sat down with a laugh. 
 
 " "Well, how can I thank you sufficiently ! Just a little, 
 Monsieur Pantoufle !" 
 
 The Frenchman went through the operation of pow- 
 dering with the ease and celerity of his nation — that na- 
 tion which does every thing gracefully, from overturning 
 a throne to seasoning a sauce. 
 
 Max rose from the operation with a delicious feeling 
 ahout the coronal region, and snufiing in clouds of deli- 
 cate perfume. It seemed to him that some magical in- 
 fluence had suddenly converted him into a large bouquet, 
 redolent of a thousand odors. 
 
 He looked in the -large mirror ; a snow storm seemed to 
 have descended on his long curling hair, and on his 
 shoulders. 
 
 "0," cried Max, putting on his hat, "how sweet it 
 is ! How obliging you are. Monsieur Pantoufle ! How 
 can I thank you. I never can !" 
 
 " 'Tis nothing — 'tis nothing," said Monsieur Pantoufle, 
 politely. 
 
 " And now good morning. Monsieur Pantoufle, I must 
 go to aunt Courtlandt's. I'll remeniber what I said about 
 tiie dancing." 
 
 " And so I will," said Max to himself, as he went out, 
 " though I did promise only to get my head powdered 1" 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 HOW MAX VERY NEARLY FOUGHT A DUEL WITH MR. HANS 
 HUDDLBSHINGLB, ABOUT HIS COAT. 
 
 As Max Courtlandt passed by Mr. Barlow's door, his 
 jealous eye fell upon a gentleman who, with his hands 
 stuck in his pockets, was occupied in gazing intently on 
 the celebrated coat. Max felt all the jealousy of a lover, 
 when the heart of his mistress is endeavored to be alien- 
 ated from him. 
 
 On approaching nearer he discovered that this man was 
 an acquaintance, and no other than the individual who 
 had been pointed out by his prophetic imagination as the 
 rival he would probably encounter in his attempt to se- 
 duce into his possession the much coveted coat. In a 
 word, the gentleman gazing so intently into the window 
 of Mr. Barlow's establishment, was that red-haired, broad- 
 shouldered, and red-cheeked young German, Mr. Hans 
 Huddleshingle. 
 
 "Hans," said the young man, touching him on the 
 shoulder, " what are you looking at there ?" 
 
 Mr. Huddleshingle turned round. 
 
 " At that coat," he replied. 
 
 " That coat— ah !" 
 
 "Well, what is so strange in that?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing." 
 
 " It is a very pretty coat." 
 
 "Very!" 
 
 " The finest lace I ever saw." 
 
 " Yes, it is," said Max. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING ANDSltK. 31 
 
 " I think I should like to have it." 
 
 " But you shall not !" cried Max. 
 
 " Shall not ? what do you mean?" 
 
 " I mean you shall not hive that coat in the window." 
 
 " If I want it, I will." 
 
 "Try it," said Max, getting an^j] "it is mine,^sir, 
 and you shall not lay your hand oh it." 
 
 " Hallo !" cried Mr. Barlow, coming out of his shop, 
 "what's all this about — quarreling, gentlemen?" 
 
 " I was not," said Mr. Huddleshingle. 
 
 "I have no desire to quarrel with any one," said Max, 
 •"but—" 
 
 " Well, Mr. Huddleshingle, I am ready." 
 
 " Where are you going?" asked Max. 
 
 "To the court-house. I am subpenaed in a suit -of 
 Mr. Huddleshingle's, which will be tried to-day, and he 
 came round for me." 
 
 " And he was waiting here — " 
 
 " Until I had locked my money drawer," replied Mr. 
 Barlow. 
 
 Max burst out laughing. 
 
 " Hans," he said, offering his hand, " I beg your pardon 
 for my rudeness ,\ but I thought you were bent on depriv- 
 ing me of my coat. Now I have set my heart on having 
 that coat, and I believe I should fight in mortal combat 
 for it." 
 
 " You were near it," said Mr. Barlow, laughing, while 
 the young men shoolc hands — Max cordially, Mr. Huddle- 
 shingle phleg-matically ; " but I had promised to keep it 
 for you, had I not ?" 
 
 " Yes, you had. But when a person has but one idea in 
 his head, he is always doing something foolish. That coat 
 is my single idea, at present." 
 
 " It's a good-looking coat — but I don't want it," said 
 Mr. Huddleshingle, " come go with us to the court-house, 
 and hear Lyttelton. He is booked for a great speech to- 
 day." 
 
32 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " What the solemn Mr. Lyttelton ?" 
 
 " "William Lyttelton." 
 
 " I'll go • he looks as wise as an owl. If I can get up 
 as grave a face, when I get my license, my fortune will 
 be made." 
 
 In five minutes,: they reached the court-house. 
 ■!■ " Come, here we are," said Mr. Huddleshingle ; "Mr. 
 Barlow, we'll he ready for you in a little time." 
 
 So saying, the young G-erman led the way into the court- 
 house. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HUNTER JOHN MYERS. 
 
 Max, forgetful for the time of his " negotiation," was 
 about to enter the old ante-revolutionary huilding (" where 
 the court-house stands," the act incorporating Martins- 
 burg says), when a hand was laid on his shoulder, and a 
 hearty and firm voice uttered the words, ""Well, Max, 
 how is it with you to-day ?" 
 
 He who had thus arrested Max, was a tall, gaunt, 
 powerful man, of a slightly stooping figure, clad in a 
 hunting shirt, and old weather-beaten slouched hat, orig- 
 inally brown, now of no particular color, but a mixture of 
 all. Leaning quietly on the railing of the court-house, 
 he alternately raised and lowered with two fingers, an 
 enormous rifle — ^the butt of which rested on his Indian 
 moccasin — as if it were but a straw. The hunter — for 
 such he plainly was — seemed verging upon sixty ; his 
 beard was grizzled, his hair already gray. From beneath 
 his shaggy eyebrows flashed a pair of keen gray eyes ; 
 and his lips were thin and firm. There was nothing disa- 
 greeable, however, in his face, rather the contrary ; a 
 quiet, simple smile seemed the natural expression of his 
 countenance and in the keenness of the eye there was 
 nothing threatening, though much to show that the owner 
 had latent in his cli;p.racter something that once aroused 
 would make him V dangerous." 
 
 He held out his hand to the young man, and inclosed 
 his delicate fingers in his iron grasp. 
 
34 LEATHEU STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " How is it with you, Max ?" lie said. 
 
 " Thank you, sir, I am very well," said Max, respect- 
 fully, " I hope all are well in Meadow Branch." 
 
 " Yes — all well," replied the hunter ; " and your uncle 
 told me to say that you, and Nina, and Barry, might look 
 to see him in a day or two." 
 
 " Oh ! then he will he down to the play !" said Max, 
 joyfully. 
 
 The mountaineer s^miled. 
 
 "Yes — ^he's nigh done on his farm, and the hands can 
 get along without him for a time, I reckon. He was 
 telling me of your and Sally's play — though I don't know 
 as yet what that is." 
 
 " It's from Shakspeare, sir " 
 
 " Anan ?" said the hunter, inclining his ear. 
 
 " It is part of a play from Shakspeare, sir — ' Romeo 
 and Juliet.' " 
 
 "Ah, you young folks are mightily ahead of us old 
 people. I've heard tell of Shakspeare, but I never did 
 see what you call a play." 
 
 " But you have seen a great deal of reality — if not a 
 play, sir." 
 
 This was said with a modest laugh and some little 
 •imharrassment. There were but two or three persons in 
 existence who were complimented by any diffidence, felt on 
 the part of Mr. Max Courtlandt in their company ; the 
 old hunter was one of these — a man whom Max respected 
 much. When he ventured on a joke, therefore, Mr. Max, 
 uttered a profoundly respectful laugh. 
 
 " Reality ? Ah, you mean the old times. Well, there 
 loas mighty little play that's true, when Injuns were 
 about." 
 
 " I've heard you tell of those times often, sir, when 
 you used to come over to uncle's, and ait by the fire with 
 me on your knee ; a long, long time ago." 
 
 "Yes; I've been getting. old this many a day. We 
 
LEATHEB STOCKING AND SILK. 86 
 
 old fellows are fond of running on about the old times 
 gone by so long. They were hard days, and I never 
 want to see 'em back." 
 
 "Oh! but I have wished I lived then, a thousand 
 times." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " What a splendid, glorious life, so full of joyful ad- 
 ventures!" exclaimed Max, with sparkling eyes. 
 
 "Anan?" said the hunter. 
 
 Max blushed. 
 
 " I mean, we live so tamely and easily now." 
 
 The hunter shook his head. 
 
 " I remember when that street was covered with thick 
 pine growth — and often and over I've stood on the rock 
 where that stone house over the bridge is, and seen 
 nothing but the court-house here, and a few poor cabins. 
 Is it worse now ? No, no, much better." 
 
 " But the adventures you had, sir." 
 
 " The adventures were plenty enough — you could not 
 stir without your gun !" 
 
 " The Indians, sir ?" 
 
 " Injuns, Max — blood-thirsty child-kill^." 
 
 The hunter's eye flashed, and his brown, weather-beaten 
 face, flushed. 
 
 " I have never got over that," he said, " and though 
 the whole earth is most nigh changed, and there's no 
 danger, you see my old gun travels about with me like it 
 used to. But here we are, diggin' into the times gone, 
 and I don't know even how my Sally is. I've just come 
 from the valley, and was waiting till her school was out." 
 
 " It is nearly time, sir. You will see her coming 
 down the street soon, toward the run where the girls 
 play." 
 
 " I must go and make her tell rae all about the play 
 you are going to have. I know it's right though, be- 
 cause neighbor Von Horn said it was." 
 
36 LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 "Oh! sir—" 
 
 " Why, there is my Sally," the hunter said, with an 
 eitpression of quiet pleasure on his old face ; " who's with 
 her ? — ^my old eyes are getting bad." 
 
 "Barry, sir." 
 
 " I must see Barry, too — Barry's a good boy. Come 
 Max; they don't see us." 
 
 And they left the court-house just as that legal gentle- 
 man, Mr. Lyttelton, compared by Max to a solemn owl, 
 began to shake the walls with his indignant thunder. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 TYPES OP THE PAST AND THE PRESENT. 
 
 Sally Myers was a pretty little girl of twelve, open 
 and ingenuous in manner, and with the brightest eyes 
 and cheeks in the world. She and Barry seemed to he 
 on excellent terms, laughing and talking about a thou- 
 sand things. He carried in his left hand her sachel, 
 which was empty and destined to receive such flowers 
 as the autumn days, now fairly come, had spared to the 
 green banks of the run. His right hand held one of the 
 child's, which he swung backward and forward as if it 
 was all for fun — a mere unconscious, mechanical act — 
 which it was not. 
 
 The child looking round saw her father ; the old hunter 
 stretched out his arms — Barry felt the small hand sud- 
 denly jerked away, and she was in those stalwart arms, 
 on that broad breast. 
 
 Max touched Barry and said laughing : 
 
 " Pretty sight isn't it, Barry ?" 
 
 Barry blushed, and smiled. 
 
 " Why, how well she looks," said the hunter admiring- 
 ly, "cheeks like the roses, and she's really getting fat 
 here in town ! Did any body ever !" 
 
 The child laughed. 
 
 " I am so, father !" she said ; " and I don't know what 
 I'll look like in the play with Mr. Max — ^besides being so 
 soared !" 
 
 " What is it, darling ?" 
 
38 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " It's Juliet I'm to play, sir. I most know it now, and 
 Mr. Max showed me, yesterday, how to kill myself." 
 
 "Anan?" said the hunter. 
 
 "I'm to kill myself, you know, father — in the piece." 
 
 "She's to make out she kills herself, sir," said Max, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the child ; " I have done it two or three 
 times now, and I know all my words." 
 
 The old hunter shook his head. 
 
 " It's mighty strange to me, this playing like you were 
 in earnest: hut I know it*s all right, because Jacob Von 
 Horn says it is. Besides, I'll be there little one, to see 
 you killin' yourself," added the old man, laughing. 
 
 Then stooping down, he kissed his little daughter again 
 — the small bright face against the old weather-beaten 
 .brows so long lashed by stormy winds — the tender arms 
 tightly clasped around those brawny shoulders which had 
 borne the weight of that past discoursed of; that past 
 more stormy than the stormiest wind ! Here for the 
 thoughtful eye was truly the young, bright present, full 
 of peace and joy, clasping the rugged strength — ^hardened 
 in many stern encounters — of the former time. 
 
 " The old man is ill without you, little one, up there in 
 his valley," said the mountaineer. " I nmst come and see 
 you oftener. Now I must go, daughter, to see to my busi- 
 ness. I'll be at the school, though, this evening." 
 
 " Come to our house, and we'll send Barry for her, sir ; 
 or if Barry won't go," said Max, laughing, "I'll go myself 
 for Miss Juliet." 
 
 The old man assented to this, and left them, his gun 
 under his arm. 
 
 " Well, Juliet, we must have a rehearsal," said the 
 young man ; " get your part well by this evening. Have 
 you your white dress ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, Mr. Max !" said the child. 
 
 "And that reminds me that I must leave you, Juliet, 
 
LEATHER STOCICmG AND SILK. 39 
 
 though your beauty makes this street a ' feasting presence 
 full of light.' I must go and see my friend, Mrs. Court- 
 landt, ahout my dress." 
 
 " Oh, ain't you afraid, Mr. Max?" 
 
 "Afraid!— why?" 
 
 " She's such a dreadful person the girls say, you know." 
 
 "Do the girls say that?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the child, "don't they, Barry? I 
 wouldn't dare to look at her !" 
 
 " She is dreadful," said Max, " a regular old ogress : hut 
 she's my aunt, Sally: I must not abuse her." 
 » And Max leaving the children to finish their stroll in 
 the direction of Tusoarora brook, took his way toward the 
 abode of the ogress, Mrs. Courtlandt. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE DREADFUL MRS. COURTLANDT. 
 
 The convent, as the young man — :Somewhat incorrectly 
 — called the dwelling of the " Sisters of Mercy," stood 
 just upon the brow of the ascent, beyond the arch span- 
 ning the ravine. It was even then an old house, and 
 was, perhaps, as finely finished in its " woodwork" as any 
 building -in the whole valley of Virginia. The former 
 possessor was one cf those free and joyous spirits who fill 
 their mansions with gayety and music, and entertain all 
 the world : — ^welcoming every new comer in the old open- 
 iianded, free, true-hearted style. 
 
 In those days the rooms echoed to merry measures, 
 danced to by merry feet, and merry laughter flowing 
 from glad merry hearts. Now the Sisters of Mercy — a 
 charitable society of Catholic ladies — had possession ; and 
 though they had a school for girls there, there was little 
 merriment. Max had called it a convent ; he was not 
 far from the mark, since Mrs. Courtlandt the superior, 
 had the reputation of being very strict in her ideas of a 
 superior's duties ; and scarcely ever permitted the young 
 ladies — Protestant and Catholic — placed under her care 
 to receive visitors from the town. 
 
 This redoubtable castle, commanded by this terrible 
 ogress, as Mrs. Courtlandt was reputed to be — whether 
 justly or unjustly we shall see — Max was on the point of 
 taking by assault. 
 
 He ran up the steps and gave a thundering knock. A 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 41 
 
 neatly dressed servant girl, her face composed into a prim 
 and grave expression, replied to his summons ; but at 
 sight of Max this primness disappeared, and the grave 
 face relaxed into a smile. 
 
 " Oh, how set up you looked, when you thought I was 
 somebody else !" cried Max, gayly. 
 
 " Who do you want to see, Mr. Max ?" asked the girl, 
 laughing; "not — " 
 
 Max drew himself up. 
 
 " Miss Prudence," he said, " I am surprised that you — 
 a staid New England lady — should a^me such a ques- 
 tion." 
 
 " Oh, I though1>— " 
 
 " Who should I wish to see in this establishment — ^this 
 convent — " 
 
 " Certainly nobody, but — " 
 
 " My much-loved — " 
 
 " Oh, I knew you were in love with her !" cried Miss 
 Prudence, giggling. 
 
 " In love with her .'" 
 
 " She's the nicest person here." 
 
 " Certainly she is. Prudence." 
 
 " The prettiest, too." 
 
 " Hum ! I don't know—" 
 
 " I'll tell her that !" 
 
 " Tell whom ?" 
 
 " Miss Josephine !" 
 
 " Josephine — Josephine — ^tell her what ?" 
 
 " That you said somebody else was prettier, Mr. Max." 
 
 " Who said any thing about Josephine !" 
 
 "You!" 
 
 " Me ?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Why, I came here to see aunt Courtlandt." 
 
 "You said she was the nicest person here; you know 
 you meant Miss Josephine." 
 
42 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Prudence, you belie your name. Miss Prudence, 
 your proper designation would he Miss Mischief. I re- 
 quest Miss Prudence, that you will at once tell ray re- 
 spected aunt I have come to see her." 
 
 "Your respected- aunt is ready to see you," said a 
 voice from the right-hand room. 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Max," whispered the girl, " she heard every 
 word I said !" 
 
 " Certainly she did," replied Max, coolly. 
 
 And leaving Miss Prudence somewhat ahashed, he en- 
 tered the apartmn^t where the dreaded Mrs. Courtlandt 
 waited to receive him. 
 
 She was a woman of thirty five or forty, tall, masculine, 
 and severe in deportment ; hut from her black eyes shone 
 a world of latent good-humor and charity. Mrs. Court- 
 landt was one of those persons whose real characters 
 are wholly concealed by their outward appearance, an 
 who consequently have the reputation, with the thought- 
 less and surface-judging world, of being just what they 
 abhor and are the most removed from. In ordinary soci- 
 ety, she seemed the farthest possible removed from gayety 
 or cheerfulness — in reality, there was not one particle of 
 sternness in her character. She was cheerful, charitable, 
 loving ; — if her natural gayety, and girlish lightness were 
 gone, there vras good reason for it in that misfortune 
 which had chilled her heart for years. But with this 
 our story has nothing whatever to do. 
 
 Mrs. Courtlandt was certainly eccentric, however : her 
 dress, for instance, was sui generis. It consisted of an 
 upper garment, which bore a striking resemblance to a 
 man's sack coat ; — a very short skirt apparently of broad- 
 cloth ; — and on her feet (her enemies — who has them not? 
 — whispered), the usual feminine slippers were replaced 
 by — boots! Perhaps this report had its origin in Mrs. 
 Courtlandt's fearless mode of riding on her numerous 
 errands as a Sister of Mercy ; — ^perhaps there really was 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 43 
 
 some foundation for the charge : we shall see. Magnifi- 
 cent black hair cut short and closely confined by a silken 
 net of the same color, gave a stately expression to the 
 face of the lady, whose portrait we have thus made an 
 attempt to sketch. 
 
 " Well, Max," said Mrs. Courtlandt, rising from her 
 seat, "pray what were you saying to Prudence about 
 ' nice people ?' " 
 
 " Oh, aunt," said Max, taking the offered hand with a 
 mixture of affection and respect, " you heard us, did you?" 
 
 " Certamly, the door was open." ^ 
 
 •" What did you hear ?" continued Max, desiring, like 
 a cautious diplomatist, to sound the depths of the eliemy's 
 knowledge. 
 
 " I heard you say -you had come to see*the 'nicest per- 
 son in the convent.'" 
 
 " That was you, you know, aunt," said Max, laughing. 
 
 "Nonsense !" 
 
 " Not you ?" 
 
 " Decidedly not." 
 
 " Who then, aunt ?" 
 
 " Josephine Emberton, perhaps." 
 
 " Josephine ! oh, aunt, what could put such an idea in 
 your head ?" 
 
 " Were you not talking about her with Pmidence just 
 now ?" 
 
 Max had forgotten this small circumstance. 
 
 " Why yes, we certainly were, dear aunt — I now recol- 
 lect. But you must have heard my reply to Prudence — 
 who, by-the-by, aunt, is a remarkably pleasant young 
 lady ; I never saw less of the duenna^-yon know the 
 maids in Spain are called duennas — I've been reading a 
 novel lately, all about that — and — " 
 
 " What a tongue you have. Max ; you talk too much ; 
 but, after all perhaps it is better that the excess should 
 be in that than in the other direction." 
 
44 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Do you think I shall make a lawyer ?" 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " If I could only turn out a credit to the family now, 
 aunt," said Max, smiling. 
 
 " 1 think you will. Max," his aunt replied, with an al- 
 most affectionate glance at her nephew, " you are a great 
 rattle-trap, hut have very good sense." 
 
 " Do you really think so, my dearest aunt — ^you delight 
 me ; though confidentially speaking, I never have consid- 
 ered myself a perfect dunce." 
 
 " When do you apply for your license to practice ?" 
 
 " Not for a year 'still — ^but I am already ' retained' — 
 that is the word with us lawyers, aunt !" said Max ; " I'm 
 already engaged in a suit — ^though not exactly at law." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " I'm engaged to defend somehody." 
 
 "Who, in the world?" 
 
 " Juliet, aunt — I shall have opposed to me, Paris, whom 
 it is arranged beforehand I shall overcome." 
 
 " What an inveterate jester you are ! Well, I have 
 heard something of this. Come and tell me all about 
 it in my lecture-room. I wish to try some experiments 
 while the children are playing in the garden." 
 
 And Mrs. Courtlandt with stately gait led the way to 
 the lecture-r^om beyond. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 MAX KEEPS HIS PROMISE TO MONSIEUR PANTOUFLE. 
 
 The lecture-room was in the rear of the house, and 
 opened upon a long portico which overlooked a handsome 
 falling garden full of flowers, of which Mrs. Courtlandt 
 was very fond, and shaded by tall trees, whose leaves 
 were just beginning to turn yellow. The lecture-room 
 was not finished with the extreme beauty of the one they 
 had just left) where the chisel of some Benvenuto Cellini, 
 seemed to have shaped the cornices and wainscoting, so 
 admirably carved were the wreathes of flowers, and deli- 
 cate traceries of drooping vines. Here the modern and 
 practical seemed to have routed the antique and poetical. 
 
 The room was full of electrical machines, Leyden jars, 
 telescopes, black boards, slates and school-books. On the 
 benches lay, half-open, " Natural Philosophies,"" Euclids," 
 algebras, atlases, and geographies — ^with here and there a 
 carelessly thrown down sun-bonnet. After traveling with 
 much dissatisfaction through the most beautiful regions 
 of the world — radiant in blue and yellow — the school-girls 
 had, with the greatest satisfaction, betaken themselves to 
 an exploration of ground nearer home — ^namely, the yards 
 and garden of the convent. 
 
 Mrs. Courtlandt was devoted to science for its own sake 
 — ^laborious study and acts of charity absorbed her whole 
 mind, and time, and interest. 
 
 Max looked round on this heterogeneous assemblage of 
 his school day tormentors, and blest his stars that he was 
 
40 LEATHEU STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 no longer a child, and among his childish things had put 
 away algebras and geographies. Mrs. Courtlandt lookeil 
 at the electrical machines as if they were trusty friends 
 — well beloved. She turned a handle, and with a dis- 
 charging rod emptied a jar. 
 
 " This is my invention nephew," she said, " see how 
 rapidly the electricity accumulated." 
 
 " I like electricity and geometry, aunt," Max replied, 
 " d.nd that is nearly all." 
 
 " You never would study any thing long enough," she 
 said, " ah, the young people are growing so frivolous." 
 
 " I am not frivolous, aunt." 
 
 " You all are." 
 
 " Then every thing but science is frivolous." 
 
 " I did not mean that — you know Max, that I have 
 never been opposed to harmless diversion." 
 
 " ' Harmless diversion,' " repeated the young man to 
 himself, " that seems to me to be the exact description of 
 dancing — and now or never, is my -opportunity to keep 
 my promise to Monsieur Pantonfle. Honor bright !" 
 
 " Aunt," said Max, " I don't think you observed how 
 elegantly my head is powdered — did you ?" 
 
 " No — I observe it now, however." 
 
 "Isn't it elegant?" 
 
 Mrs. Courtlandt smiled. 
 
 " You certainly came to see some of my scholars — 
 most probably Josephine — instead of an old woman, like 
 myself." 
 
 "You an old woman! My dear aunt, you know 
 you — " 
 
 " No flattery, Max — recollect it is thrown away on me; 
 — how can you be so foolish." 
 
 " I was only going to say what every body pays, aunt, 
 that you are lovely ; you Icnow 1 think you are, and if 1 
 did want to see Josephine, I came to see you to-day — in- 
 deed I did. And Monsieur Pantoufle powdered my hair. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SI^X. 47 
 
 because I said I was coining to see you — how otliging in 
 him !" said Max, laughing. 
 
 " Pid the dancing-raaster himself powder your hair ?" 
 
 " Monsieur Pantoufle hinjself." 
 
 " Why, you must have given him love-powders — ^he so 
 punctilious — " 
 
 "T gave him something better than love-powders for 
 his hair-powder, aunt." 
 
 " What was that ?" 
 
 " I gave him a promise." 
 
 "A promise?" 
 
 " Yes, and you know I always keep my promises. I 
 promised to recommend him to you for a dancing-mas- 
 ter — to teach all those charming and graceful young 
 damsels hopping about out there in the garden how to 
 Jance !" 
 
 Mrs. Courtlandt's face assumed a curious expression. 
 
 " Monsieur Pantoufle my dancing master .'" she said. 
 
 " Oh, no — not yours, aunt — not teach you to dance ; 
 you dance now, elegantly I have heard, especially the 
 minuet." 
 
 " Well, if I have danced when I was young and giddy," 
 said Mrs. Courtlandt, with a sigh, " I do not now." 
 
 " But you don't disapprove of it ?" 
 
 " No — ^not at all ; you know how often I have played 
 minuets for yourself and Josephine. I suppose the town 
 would think I was crazy, if they saw me seated at the 
 harpsichord playing, while you young folks were courte- 
 sying and howing about the room to the music. I will 
 think of Monsieur Pantoufle's request, and if my scholars 
 obtain permission from their parents, they shall find no 
 obstacle in a refusal from their old schoolmistress. I do 
 not disapprove of dancing, or any other harmless pleasure, 
 nephew — ^heaven forbid ! young people will be young 
 people, aiyi if I feel as old as Methuselah, it does not 
 prove that they must feel so too. No, no — I am very ec- 
 
48 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 centric and odd, I suppose, but I am no enemy to inno- 
 cent enjoyment." 
 
 " You are the best and sweetest woman I know in the 
 whole world, aunt," cried the young man, catching the 
 dreadful Mrs. Courtlandt in his arms, and saluting her 
 with an enthusiastic kiss. 
 
 At that moment Max heard a subdued " hem !" behind 
 him. He turned round, and found himself face to face 
 with Miss Josephine Emberton. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MAX PROPOSES A BUSINESS ARRANGEMENT TO MISS JOSEPH- 
 INE EMBERTON. 
 
 Miss Josephine Emberton was a small, slender young 
 lady of fifteen or sixteen, with profuse dark hair, much 
 like Mrs. Courtlandt's, and hrilliant eyes, lips, teeth, and 
 complexion. In her madcap smile the very essence of 
 mischief betrayed itself, though at times a most winning 
 softness was not wanting — only the more striking for the 
 contrast. 
 
 " Good-morning, sir," said Mies Josephine, with a mock 
 how to the young man ; then to Mrs. Courtlandt, " I just 
 came in because I was tired jumping the rope, ma'am,'' 
 she said. 
 
 " Jumping the rope !" said Max, " is it possible a young 
 lady as old as yourself jumps the rope .'" 
 
 " Certainly, sir." 
 
 " But you didn't come in for that — ^you heard me in 
 here ; did you not, noir ?" 
 
 " No, but I saw you — " said Miss Josephine, laughing. 
 
 " Kissing his old aunt," said Mrs. Courtlandt, finishing 
 the sentence with a smile which somewhat disconcerted 
 Miss Josephine, " but you do not know why he was thankr 
 ing me, I thiiik." 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 " Because I did not set my face against dancing — Mon- 
 sieur Pantoufle the dancing-master, wishes to give lessons 
 here," said Mrs. Courtlandt. moving away. 
 
 C 
 
50 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Oh, how delightful it will be !" said Josephine, clasp- 
 ing her hands. 
 
 " Would be. Miss Josephine, you should say," Max 
 replied ; "the thing is not arranged so nicely yet as you 
 seem to think." 
 
 " Pray, what has Mr. Max to do with our dancing," 
 the young girl said, " I suppose it is one of his usual airs." 
 
 " My usual airs !" cried Max ; " I have a great deal to 
 do with it. Miss Josephine. I proposed it to Monsieur 
 Pantoufle, and aunt has consented to allow you all to 
 write and ask your respected parents for permission to 
 take lessons." 
 
 " Oh ! so you know Monsieur Pantoufle, Mr. Max ?" 
 
 " He is one of my best friends." 
 
 " What a big man you are getting !" continued Miss 
 Josephine, " you are a friend of Monsieur Pantoufle— you 
 are kind enough to do us poor little school-girls a kindness 
 — you are going to play Romeo — oh, what a fine gentle- 
 man ! — ^please don't stop speaking to me." 
 
 Max received this raillery with great coolness, and 
 replied : " You might have used the words of Portia, ' I 
 pray you know me when we meet again,' but that 
 reminds me. Miss Josephine, of a matter of business. 
 Don't think me so disinterested. Ijawyers — and lawyers 
 to be too, don't give their time and talents for nothing ; I 
 hold that to be a cardiqal doctrine of our profession — " 
 
 " Our profession !" ^ 
 
 " Don't interrupt me, Miss Josephine — I was about to 
 explain. For my exertions in favor of yourself and your 
 companions, I ask your assistance in a very perplexing 
 matter. You have mentioned, my dear Miss Josie — I beg 
 pardon Josephine, for you know aunt, who is busy at her 
 electrical machine yonder, dislikes nicknames — " 
 M So do I." 
 
 " How can I get on !" cried Max, impatiently " if yr>u 
 interrupt me whenever I speak." 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 51 
 
 "Really!" 
 
 " You spoke of my acting, Josie — what a tongue I 
 have ! — Miss Josephine, I should say. Now, to act 
 Romeo it is absolutely necessary I should have a dress^-" 
 
 " Well." 
 
 " Dress requires money, Miss Josephine !" 
 
 " Money !" 
 
 " And the idea which has occurred to me," continued 
 Max, with a business air, " is for you girls to raise a suh- 
 scription to huy my dress." 
 
 "Are you in earnest?" 
 
 " Certainly I am." 
 
 The young girl looked doubtfully. at her companion. 
 
 " Grive me a slate and pencil," continued Max, " and 
 we'll figure it out." 
 
 Josephine handed him a slate. He sat down and wrote 
 on the left hand, " Romeo's Dress" — on the right, " Sub- 
 scribers." 
 
 " How many girls ?" 
 
 " About forty," said Josephine. 
 
 " Excellent — that is forty subscribers ; but say only 
 twenty dance — that is twenty subscribers." 
 
 " Are you in earliest ?" repeated Miss Josephine, bend- 
 ing over him. 
 
 " In earnest about what ?" asked Mrs. Courtlandt, 
 behind them. 
 
 Josephine drew back, and the young man said, laugh- 
 ing : 
 
 " About subscribing an amount of money, for which I 
 am negotiating a loan, aunt." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Only a joke, aunt." 
 
 " I might have known that — you are always joking. 
 Josephine," she continued, " go ask Sister Julia if it is 
 not time to call in school. Grood-by, nephew ; you must 
 not stay." 
 
52 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " That's what you always say, aunt — would my face 
 frighten the girls ? But dear aunt, I have soiriething to 
 say to you. Please come in here for five minutes." 
 
 " Certainly, nephew," said Mrs. Courtlandt, following 
 him into the front room. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 MAX MORALIZES ON THE VANITY OF FASHIONS IN COSTUME 
 
 Max looked at his aunt and sighed, which ceremony 
 very naturally excited the lady's curiosity. 
 
 " Well, nephew," she began, " what have you to say 
 to me ? make haste ; school will he called in, and I hear 
 Sister Julia and Sister Martha coming down stairs. What 
 did you want ?" 
 
 Max's eye wandered mournfully over his aunt's figure, 
 and endeavored to ascertain whether report had rightly 
 charged her with wearing hoots. Then he heaved a 
 second sigh. , * 
 
 "Well, what are you thinking ahout," asked Mrs. Court- 
 landt, patiently folding her hands. 
 
 "I was thinking, my dear aunt," replied her nephew, 
 "of the importance the world attaches to the outward 
 appearance of things. At the moment you spoke, I was 
 reflecting upon the peculiar costume you have adopted — 
 no douht with good reason — and of the great numh^ of 
 invidious observations I had heard about it, from some 
 of the most charitable persons of my acquaintance." 
 
 "About my dress?" asked Mrs. Courtlandt, "who- 
 pray? — ^have Tnot a right to dress as seems best to my- 
 self?" 
 
 " Certainly, my dear aunt, and "that is precisely what 
 I have often had ocpasion to say. You undoubtedly have 
 that right, and yet I believe you have personally offended 
 some- most excellent persons by not dressing as they think 
 you should dress— indeed I know you have." 
 
54 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Offended, did you say, nephew ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, aunt." 
 
 " Why, what is oifensive in my costume ?" continued 
 Mrs. Courtlandt, looking at herself. 
 
 " There it is, aunt — nothing at all. Even if you do 
 wear toots — I have often said — are boots unfeminine, are 
 boots improper?" 
 
 Mrs. Courtlandt held out her foot : it was cased in a 
 good, substantial covering, something between a gaiter 
 and a boot, but with this peculiarity, that the upper leath- 
 er was thin and pliant and fell down, so to speak in folds. 
 
 " There is my foot," said Mrs. Courtlandt, stoutly, 
 "judge if.I wear boots, nephew." 
 
 " I really do not know what to call that, aunt — " said 
 Max, conceiving at the very moment a nefarious inten- 
 tion in the depths of his heart. 
 
 " It is a shoe I have worn for years, to prevent the stir- 
 rup from rubbing my ankle," said Mrs. Courtlandt calm- 
 ly, " and I shall wew it as ]png as I think it my duty 
 to ride about and visit the sick : consulting no one on 
 the subject but myself. But now Max, tell me what 
 all your moralizing about the importance of. costume 
 — and boots — and people's opinions — signifies. Pray 
 make haste — I must go very soon to my duties." 
 
 " That train of thought was suggested to me, dear 
 augt," replied the young man, sighing, "by my engage- 
 ment to appear as Romeo on Thursday." 
 
 " How is that ?" 
 
 " Romeo was an Italian, was he not, aunt ?" 
 
 ""Why certainly, the scene lies in Verona — ^but what 
 connection — " 
 
 "I Imow what you would ask, aunt," interrupted 
 Max, " how does this connect itself with costume." 
 
 " "Well— how does it?" 
 
 " If Romeo lived in Italy, he dressed differently from 
 Americans, did he not, aunt ?" ^ 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 56 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " And I am to act Romeo — you know that, dear aunt?" 
 
 "Yes— what next?" 
 
 " Well, now, I doutt if I should properly represent the 
 character in this brown sack coat, and the rest of my 
 dress." 
 
 '•You could not — ^have you not prepared your dress? 
 Mrs. — ■ — 's exhibition is next week, you know." 
 
 Max heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 " I know it, aunt— but I have no dress ; the coat is the 
 great difficulty. There is a coat up at Barlow's, which 
 answers to perfection. I must have that coat, aunt ! 
 you can't imagine how I have set my hear^upon that 
 coat. Oh, I should make such conquests— 7 know the 
 sex, well, very well — " 
 
 " The sex ! what do you mean ?" 
 
 " The female sex — ^the gentler, tender, more romantic 
 sex. They all judge from outward appearances, my dear 
 aunt — I know the effect a charming coat like that will 
 have upon them — " 
 
 " I am of the ' sex' you libel." 
 
 "You! oh, no; you are above them much, aunt, a 
 
 thousand times superior, to them. I do not covet the 
 
 coat for such as you — ^but the young maidens. But after 
 
 all, the price is fifteen dollars," added Max, mournftQly. 
 
 , "Aunt, I want fifteen dollars." 
 
 Mrs. Courtlandt rose. " Is that what you have been 
 coming to all this time ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, my dearest aunt. I was embarrassed — like 
 an unfortunate borrower, I did not know how to bring 
 out my want at once, and say I had come for it. But 
 I did come for it : — your affectionate nephew humbly 
 requests a donation of this coat from his beloved aunt." 
 
 "Well, his beloved aunt will give it to him," said Mrs. 
 Courtlandt, " and you shall pay me out of ypur first fee ; 
 recollect it is a debt of honor, nephew — ^you can give me 
 
56 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 no security," continued the lady, taking the fifteen dol- 
 lars from her purse. 
 
 " I think I shall kiss you again, aunt," said Max, 
 " how good you are to me !" 
 
 Perhaps Max would have carried this threat into 
 effect — ^but at the moment when he moved toward Mrs. 
 Courtlandt, the mischievous face of Miss Josephine ap- 
 peared in the framework of the door. 
 
 " Miss Julia is ready, ma'am," *she said to Mrs. Court- 
 landt. 
 
 " Good morning, nephew," said Mrs.. Courtlandt, 
 " come again soon." And passing hy the young girl, who 
 made way for her, she left the room. 
 
 Josephiffe lingered a moment. 
 
 " Shall we really have the subscription ?" she asked 
 dubiously. 
 
 Max drew himself up. 
 
 " I am surprised, Josephine, at your asking such a ques- 
 tion," he said. 
 
 " Surprised — indeed !" 
 
 "My dear Josephine," said the young man, taking 
 from his breast a small locket, "do you see this ?" 
 
 "Yes — some of my hair; I wish I had never let you 
 coax it from me. Give it back to me !" 
 
 " I prefer not ; I attach to it an interest far too tender. 
 And you — could you suppose that after receiving from 
 that fair hand, this beautiful lock of hair as a pledge of 
 your affection, I could descend so low as to accept money 
 from you, Josephine ? Never ! never !" 
 
 And having uttered this dignified speech Mr. Max 
 Courtlandt made a profoundly respectful bow to the 
 young girl and went away merrily jingling in his pocket 
 the donation of his aunt. He felt all the refined satis- 
 faction of a man who has made a stately and graceful 
 speech, and performed at great self sacrifice. a most disin- 
 terested action. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 William Lyttelton Esq., Attorney at Law. 
 
 Max hurried to Mr. Barlow's, and to his inexpressible 
 satisfaction, found that the magical coat was still unsold. 
 With the distrust of a man who has set his heart upon 
 possessing a thing — Which thing, is open for emulation's 
 " thousand sons" — ^he had imagined, that the object of his 
 desire, might possibly escape him. Might not some 
 wealthy parvenu, basely taking advantage of his wealth, 
 have bribed Mr. Barlow by a higher offer than his own ? 
 Might not Monsieur Pantoufie have preferred his prior 
 claim ? Might not Mr. Barlow's house have been reduced 
 to ashes, while he was at his aunt's ? As with a distrust- 
 ful lover, so with Max. Nothing was improbable. 
 
 He counted out to Mr. Barlow the fifteen dollars, re- 
 ceived the coat compactly wrapped up, and joyfully took 
 his way home, there to exhibit his purchase to his cousin. 
 
 Nina "was sitting in the middle of the room : Max 
 threw the bundle on a chair and crying, " There it is !" 
 sprang toward the girl. But he suddenly checked him- 
 self : Nina had a visitor. 
 
 This visitor was a tall, solemn-looking man, of twenty- 
 five or thirty, clad in black, With black hair, black beard, 
 and black eyes. He seemed to diffuse around him a 
 pleasant odour of law-books and dusty parchments, and 
 in the wrinkles around his close shut mouth, the three 
 tomes of the Novell! might have lain concealed. This 
 gentleman was no other than that Mr. William Lyttelton, 
 whose legal thunder had assailed Max's ears when he left 
 
58 LEATHER, STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 the court-house. Mr. Ijyttolton was emphatically a man 
 of business — also a very successful and "rising" man, 
 further, he had been spoken of for Congress — ^which various 
 circumstances had not operated to his disfavor, with the 
 fair damsels of Martinshurg,' who, like many damsels, of 
 many other places, then and now, were not averse to what 
 is called high reputation. Mr. Lyttelton, it is true, was 
 solemn, and rather dull ; but he was a man of irreproach- 
 t able character ; was said to have defended the rights of 
 more than one widow and orphan, without fee ; and when 
 aroused was capable of no ordinary display. 
 
 "What had brought this iegal gentleman to see Nina, 
 Max was completely at a loss to understand ; but he was 
 soon enlightened on the subject. 
 
 " I will thank you, madam," said Mr. Lyttelton in a 
 sepulchral voice, after a stiff movement of his head toward 
 the young man, " to inform your father that I called. It 
 is ab^iolutely necessary that we should have his deposi- 
 tion." 
 
 " He will return in a day or two, sir," said Nina. 
 
 " That will do, madam." 
 
 " And I will tell him, sir." 
 
 " You will oblige me, madam." 
 
 Mr. Lyttelton rose. 
 
 " I have thought it unnecessary to have a summon? 
 served upon Mr. Von Horn by the proper officer — " he 
 said: 
 
 " 0, that is not necessary sir," broke in Max in a busi 
 ness tone, " you know it is left entirely to — " 
 
 " Pardon me for interrupting you, sir," said Mr. Lyttel- 
 ton with the ghost of a smile, " what you say is very 
 just." 
 
 "I am studying law, Mr. Lyttelton," said Max con- 
 sequentially "and we of the profession — " 
 
 " Max, you are detaining Mr. Lyttelton," said Nina 
 laughing. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 69 
 
 " Oh, not at all," observed that gentleman smiling ; 
 and although he had taken his hat, he lingered a moment. 
 
 " Hum !" said Mr. Lyttelton, gravely. 
 
 Nina smiled politely, as much as to say, " Did you 
 speak, sir?" 
 
 " Hum !" repeated Mr. Lyttelton, looking out of the 
 window, " we have a very fine day, madam." 
 
 And after this uncommon ohservation — for Mr. Lyttel- 
 ton, that rigid business man, most extraordinary — the> 
 visitor took his leave. 
 
 Max burst into a laugh as soon as the door had fairlj 
 closed. 
 
 " "What a post that is !" he said. 
 
 "A post, indeed ! T wish you had half his mind I" 
 
 "What mind has he? Why, for nothing but law — 
 law — law — " 
 
 "And is not that a very valuable sort, Mr. Impudence ?" 
 
 "My dear Nina, I would thank you to recollect my 
 baptismal name of Maximilian, when you do me the hon- 
 or to address me. And I will add that you astonish me 
 by uttering such sentiments. Is law all that men have 
 to interest them in this world ? Is a man to sleep, eat, 
 drink, and play law? Law is a good thing — especially 
 when it is for you in a case — an excellent thing; but law 
 is not the sole thing man was placed upon the earth to 
 give his thoughts and all to, my dearest Nina." 
 
 " I'll thank you to drop that mode of addressing me, 
 sir." 
 
 "Now, observe this Mr. Lyttelton," continued Max 
 philosophically, " he is a mere lawyer — a walking volume 
 of his namesake old Coke Lyttelton. He has no idea of 
 any thing but declarations, statutes, pleas, replications, 
 rejoinders, and sur-rejoinders. The sun does not shine 
 for him ; t]«e birds are a vexatious interruption to his 
 studies, when bending over his dusty papers he hears 
 their singing; he does not feel in his stony heart an 
 
60 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 emotion of pleasure, even at gazing on your lovely face, 
 my dear Nina. There is my quarrel with him ; he is 
 utterly unsocial — ^business alone is his god — miserable 
 business," said Max, as if the very word were distasteful. 
 
 "Unsocial, indeed," said Nina, "I wonder if he did 
 not say it was fine weather." 
 
 " Do you call that — " 
 
 " Has he been as polite as that to any other girl in 
 town?" asked Nina, forgetting completely her train of 
 argument. 
 
 "Why, you are setting your cap at him!" said her 
 cousin. 
 
 Nina laughed; and turned the conversation. 
 
 " How in the world did you get your hair powdered," 
 she said. 
 
 " Monsieur Pantoufle did it — I've won my bet, charm- 
 ing Nina." 
 
 " On your honor now. Max ?" 
 
 " On my honor, madam," said Max, bowing and lay- 
 ing his hand on his heart. 
 
 " "Well, you do coax people ! I suppose Monsieur Pan- 
 toufle consented just to get rid of you." 
 
 " Not at all, Nina — he insisted on it, contrary to my 
 wishes," said Max, " but it seems to me there was a bet. 
 A box on the ears against a cap and feather. I've won." 
 
 "Your cap is finished — look up-stairs in your room on 
 the table. What is in that bundle ? I hav'n't asked you." 
 
 " Look for yourself," said Max, running up-stairs. 
 
 As Nina was opening the bundle, a knock was heard 
 at the door, and Mr. Hans Huddleshingle entered the 
 apartment 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HANS HUDDLESHINGLE, ESQ. 
 
 " GrooD morning, Miss Nina," said Mr. Huddleshingle, 
 with a movement of his head, which approached as near 
 to a tow as this phlegmatic gentleman was capable of 
 making it, " I was passing by, and thought I would come 
 in and see you this bright morning." 
 
 " It is a very fine day, sir," said Nina, coldly, and 
 stiffly sitting down, with a glance at Mr. Huddleshinglo's 
 personal adornments, which conveyed plainljc to that gen- 
 tleman, the fact that she had seen through his pretense 
 of coming in incidentally, as he was " passing by." 
 
 To explain this conduct a word is necessaiy. Mr. Hud- 
 dleshingle was one of Nina's most devoted admirers — and 
 though his " good estate," and purity of (German) blood, 
 had made him rather popular with the young ladies of 
 the quarter, he was not in the least liked by Nina. She 
 had signified this dislike so often that she began to expe- 
 rience a feeling of resentment at Mr. Huddleshingle's 
 repeated visits — that gentleman having either not per- 
 ceived, or declining to perceive, the light in which his 
 attentions were regarded. 
 
 Her dislike was attributable to the fact, that Mr. Hud- 
 dleshingle perseveringly monopolized her society at the 
 social gatherings in the neighborhood, thereby excluding 
 from her, all the more agreeable beaux who found it diflSl- 
 cult to edge in a word while the young G-erman's flood 
 of phlegmatic commonplace was rolling on; — ^he was, 
 moreover. Undeniably wearying to a young girl of Nina's 
 spirit ; — in short, Mr. Huddleshingle was what in our 
 own day, ladies (and other persons), call a bore. Add to 
 
62 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 this, that her father had remonstrated with her for treat- 
 ing him so contemptuously, and the reasons for Nina's 
 dislike of her visitor will be completely understood. 
 
 " It is a very fine day," said Mr. Huddleshingle, " and 
 I have heen up at the court-house all the morning attend- 
 ing to a case I have there, which I think, is the most 
 barefaced claim against me I ever saw. I'll tell you 
 how it commenced — " 
 
 " I never could understand legal points, sir," said Nina, 
 impatiently. 
 
 " But this is very plain. It began with — " 
 
 " Mr. Huddleshingle, I have a headache to-day ; 1 
 hope you will excuse me if I leave you. I . will send 
 Max down to entertain you — I am so stupid, I could not." 
 
 " If you have a headache I will not stay," said Mr. 
 Huddleshingle, somewhat irate at the young girl's man- 
 ner, " I suppose that wise-looking Mr. Lyttelton, who 
 went away as I came up, gave it to you." 
 
 " No, sir — he did not." 
 
 " He's enough to give any one the headache." 
 
 " I see nothing in Mr. Lyttelton to produce such an 
 effect, sir." 
 
 " Well, I'll go. Miss Nina, I see you have had a very 
 agreeable visitor — this Mr. Lyttelton, and can't bear me 
 after him. Grood-morning." 
 
 " Grood-morning, sir," said Nina, with contemptuous 
 indifference. Mr. Huddleshingle left the room with 
 wrath in his heart. 
 
 " I am glad Max was not here," said Nina to herself, 
 when her visitor had disappeared. " He would have 
 challenged Mr. Huddleshingle on the spot," she added, 
 laughing. " Oh, what a tiresome, disagreeable person 
 that is. On my word, I will not speak to him hereafter 
 — no, that would offend father. I suppose I must." 
 
 And Nina returned to the bundle, as Max came out of 
 his room, waving the new cap and shouting, " What a 
 glorious, splendid feather !" 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MORE DIPLOMACY, AND HOW IT RESULTED. 
 
 The young man entered in triumph, his long culling 
 looks surmounted hy a handsome velvet cap, from which 
 floated a magnificent black feather. 
 
 " Nina," said he, " you are a peerless woman ; I could 
 not have desired a more beautiful cap than this. How 
 did you manage to get it ready so soon?" 
 
 " I had the velvet and all." 
 
 " And the feather ? But I see it is from your riding 
 hat. And then this jewel ! who would imagine it was 
 your bracelet !" 
 
 " You seem to like the cap ?" 
 
 " Like it ! I am delighted with it ! nothing could be 
 more beautiful — except, indeed, my coat there." 
 
 " I have not got it out — this cord will never come un- 
 tied." 
 
 " Break it — there !" cried Max, snapping the string 
 and pulling out the richly finished coat, " did you ever 
 see any thing more beautiful ?" 
 
 " It is very pretty — where did you get it?" 
 
 "Ah, thereby hangs a tale," said Max, facetiously, "I 
 have been unremittingly engaged in pursuit of that coat 
 since I left you this morning. That garment, my dear 
 Nina, is the reward of the highest generalship. It would 
 be a long story — but it is worth the trouble I expended 
 upon it." 
 
 " Well, I don't know how you could have come by it 
 ^honestly?" 
 
64 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Oh, perfectly, Nina — I have, I believe, never rohhed 
 any thing but orchards ; and I am inclined to think the 
 owner, had I filched it, would identify his property next 
 Thursday, since every body in town will be there. What 
 lovely cuffs !" 
 
 " Very pretty — -try it on." 
 
 Max drew himself up. 
 
 " Before you, madam — I disrobe before a lady?" 
 
 " Oh ! you don't think of ' disrobing before a lady,' 
 when you want me to mend your coat for you." 
 
 " That was in my boyish days, my dear Nina — when I 
 was young and knew no better, Miss Von Horn ; it would 
 not be proper for me to sacrifice my dignity so. wholly in 
 presence of the lady who is to be my wife." 
 
 " Your wife, indeed — the wife of a boy like you !" 
 
 " That is just what I said to a friend of mine the other 
 day—" 
 
 "What did you say?" 
 
 " He advised me to court you." 
 
 "Well, sir!" 
 
 "And I replied, as you have replied to me, 'What! 
 court a girl like that !' " 
 
 " I wonder, Mr. Max, if girls are not women two years 
 before boys are men. You are eighteen, and though I 
 am seventeen I am a year your senior." 
 
 " True, true, I had forgotten that," returned Max, " it 
 is undeniably true ; in fact I have always said so." 
 
 " Said what ?" 
 
 " That the female character matures sooner than that 
 of the lords — the lords of creation." 
 
 " Pray, where did you get your fine ideas, Mr. Philoso- 
 
 er 
 
 ?" 
 
 ph( 
 
 " Experience, all experience, my dear Nina ; I really 
 ponder at times on these mysterious matters so deeply, 
 that I feel at least sixty-five and look in the glass to see 
 if I am not turning gray. You girls are like flowers — - 
 
LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILK. 65 
 
 we men," continued Max, with easy nonchalance, " are 
 like trees. Long before we have arrived at our full de- 
 velopment, the young ladies who were the delight of our 
 youthful hours, who played with us — mere children — a 
 few years hack, these ladies like so many lovely flowers 
 have budded and bloomed, and fallen from the stem into 
 some outstretched arms ; and we — we are alone. A sad 
 world, my Nina !" 
 
 " I have not ' fallen from the stem' if I am your senior." 
 
 " My senior ? Oh, then if you are really such an old 
 woman as that, I'll try on the coat, though I know I am 
 committing an impropriety. There, what do you think 
 of it ? coat, cap, and — " 
 
 " Bells — you should get the bells now. But it really 
 is a very handsome dress. Where in the world did you 
 get it ?" 
 
 " It was made for Monsieur Pantoufle," said Max, pre- 
 varicating, "but Barlow sold it to me." 
 
 "With Mensieur Pantoufle's consent?" 
 
 "Oh, he thanked me for buying it. But I'll tell you 
 how funnily Monsieur Pantoufle acted some other time. 
 Now, my dear Nina, I have a serious proposal to make 
 you ; I am no longer in a jesting humor, for a great inter- 
 est is at stake. You must act, too." 
 
 "I won't! what part could I take? I suppose after 
 choosing little Sally Myers for your Juliet, you would 
 have me to play some inferior character." 
 
 "No, my dear Nina — no, no! At one time it had 
 occurred to me that you would make a charming Paris, 
 but I abandoned that idea at once — you are too feminine, 
 too gentle, you want spirit to ape a ' merry gentleman.' " 
 
 Nina seemed to be somewhat doubtful whether to take 
 this as a compliment or a satire. Max continued. 
 
 " No, I had no intention of proposing to you a charac- 
 ter in Romeo and Juliet, where, as you say, little Sally 
 Myers already fills the chief female part; — you should 
 
66 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 not, by-the-ty, deride my choice of her, my Nina, for you 
 know Vhat strange stories are told of her mimioing pow- 
 ers, even in the nursery. That induced me to select her ; 
 and, I assure you, nothing is more wonderful than the high 
 dramatic talent the child conceals under her infantile man- 
 ner. But I wander from the subject." 
 
 " Is that unusual ?" 
 
 " No, Nina, I confess it — 'tis not. But I will proceed 
 to what I was about to say. The play of Romeo and Juliet 
 is, you know, a tragedy." 
 
 Nina tossed her head. 
 
 " You think no one but yourself has read Shakspeare, 
 I suppose ?" 
 
 " No, no — ^bi;t you interrupt me. I was going on to 
 say, that when tragedies are performed, there is always 
 another piece afterward ; — ^you know I have seen the 
 actors in Philadelphia." 
 
 '* "Well, sir." 
 
 " Now, I want you to act an after-piece.'* 
 
 " I won't." 
 
 " Now, Nina !" said Max coaxingly, " it will go off so 
 much better. I shall produce a dreadful effect on the 
 audience with the poison, and vaxilts, and daggers, and 
 all that — they will go home frightened, Nina. The after- 
 piece ! the after-piece !" 
 
 " I will not." 
 
 Max sat down dejected. 
 
 " Well, I suppose I must abandon it," he said, sighing, 
 " but I had set my heart on it." 
 
 " It is not necessary." 
 
 "No, no," said Max, mournfully, "but I could bear 
 the disappointment but for one thing." 
 
 " What is that ?" 
 
 "Your refusing me a trifle like that, Nina — and I 
 ready to die for you." 
 
 " What could I aet, in the name of goodness ?" 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 67 
 
 "Nothing, nothing — that is to say, any thing, every 
 thing with your genius. But let us dismiss the subject, 
 Nina," said Max, much dejected. 
 
 " Max, you are the most ridiculous person in the 
 world," said Nina, ^' what are you sighing so for ?" 
 
 " Was I sighing ?" asked Max, sadly, " I did feel some 
 disappointment." 
 
 " At what — my refusal ?" 
 
 " Oh, don't let us return to the subject ; I have annoy- 
 ed you too much already, Nina." 
 
 " "Who said you had annoyed me ; did I ?" 
 
 " No, but I must have done so." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " You seemed so much opposed to what I said — ^but I 
 know I was wrong. Excuse my troubling you, Nina." 
 
 Nina reflected a moment, then said, "What's the use 
 jf an after-piece ?" 
 
 "None — none at all." 
 
 "What would it be?" 
 
 " A little comedy with two or three players, taking in 
 all not more than fifteen minutes ; but let me drop the 
 subject, it is disagreeable to you." 
 
 " I think I might change my mind. Max, if the piece 
 was what I would like." 
 
 " Would you ?" cried Max, brightening up ; "oh! Nina, 
 you shall choose just what you want from all the play- 
 books I can borrow. There is plenty of time between 
 this and Thursday, is there not ?" 
 
 " Plenty." 
 
 " Then any dress will do." 
 
 " I can fix all that." 
 
 " Nina, you are the dearest, sweetest girl in the uni- 
 verse !" cried Max, waltzing her round the room ; in the 
 course of which proceeding, he came with a whirl up 
 against that sable matron, aunt Jenny, who just then 
 entered with a pile of dishes. 
 
68 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Have done, Max !" cried Nina, flashed with tha 
 rapid evolution — " see there ! you liked to have thrown 
 down all the things ; and then, sir, you should have had 
 no dinner." 
 
 "I'm glad I did not," said Max, "for I am getting 
 very hungry. Come, Nina — if there is any one place 
 where .you conspicuously shine, it is at the foot of the 
 table." 
 
 " You at the head, I suppose." 
 
 " Precisely ; 'tis the husband's place, my Nina." 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 FATHER VON HORN. 
 
 At night the whole household were gathered round the 
 fire-placp in father Von Horn's great dining-room. In 
 that large fire-place, between the handirons which raised 
 their grotesquely-carved heads like towers, a bundle of 
 twigs and pine splinters, dispelled with their cheerful 
 blaze, and warmth, and merry crackling, the gloom, the 
 chill, and the silence of the long autumn evening. 
 
 Hunter John Myers was there with his little daughter, 
 and the rough old face, was such a pleasant face, as he 
 held on his broad breast the bright head of the child ! 
 The red fire light streamed upon them, and enveloped 
 them in that soft, rosy light, which filtrates through the 
 evening clouds of August ; — ^the small form of the child 
 rested calmly and confidingly in those rugged arms — she 
 seemed to have flown to that honest heart for refuge, and 
 finding it, to be content. They might have been taken 
 for some old Italian picture — for they did not move, 
 3xcept when the hunter's hand gently smoothed the soft 
 silken hair, or the small arms clung closer around his 
 shoulder. 
 
 Nina was sitting busily occupied with her needlework, 
 and Bariy, in a corner, was closely engaged at an obstinate 
 problem in arithmetic. Max was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 " Father,." said little Sally, looking up with^her frank, 
 tender eyes, " I was just thinking how I should like to 
 gee an Indian — ^you know you used to tell us so rpany 
 
70 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 stories atout them. Were they so bad, and were they 
 ugly?" 
 
 The hunter laughed. 
 
 " The ugliest varmints to he seen on a summer day, 
 daughter," he said, " and I've seen enough of 'em to 
 know. Many's the time I have fought with them out on 
 the horder — " 
 
 ' " That was a long, long time ago, wasn't it, fa- 
 ther ? None of them ever came to Meadow Branch, you 
 know." 
 
 " They've melted away off to the West this many a day, 
 daughter ; hut what put the Injuns in your head ?" 
 
 " I was just thinking ahout them so, father. Was there 
 ever any Indians here in Martinsburg." 
 * " Plenty, plenty, and I could tell you many stbries 
 about their doings when I was a boy. Old Courtlandt 
 the tall, up there" — the hunter pointed to a portrait hang- 
 ing over the fire-place — " and me, went out often in the 
 woods here when I was a boy, and many a narrow escape 
 we had. He was a brave man, and that's the face for all 
 the world." 
 
 " Don't you think it's like Barry, father?" 
 
 " Why, now I come to looJc at it good, there is the very 
 same look out of the eyes." 
 
 Barry, hearing his name called, turned round. 
 
 " Why, Barry's Courtlandt Von Horn all over again," 
 he cried, "just like what he was ! Ah, Barry, you have 
 an easier time now than we did in the old days. Then 
 it was all fighting — now it's all playing." 
 
 " Do you mean our play acting, father ?" asked the 
 child. 
 
 " No, daughter," said the hunter, " I mean every thing 
 is softer, and pleasanter, and easier now. Why, in the 
 old time there was not a road to be seen any where, and 
 now you have a regular stage to the water ; — and you 
 have your letters ; seems to me," added the hunter, laugh- 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 71 
 
 ing, " I should like some body to write me a letter, though 
 I just can read." , ' 
 
 " Could he read ?" asked the child, pointing to the por- 
 trait. 
 
 " Not a word," said the hunter. 
 
 " But Barry can, father ; he ain't like him in that." 
 
 " Barry is all the better for it, daughter. Ah, all you 
 young folks have great privileges ; — you ought to thank 
 Providence for 'em. Providence has done much for you, 
 and Pm in hopes to see schools all over the land yet." 
 
 "We have enough in Martinsburg, sir," said Nina, 
 " and we have more yet. We have a real Paris dancing- 
 master, Monsieur Pantoufle. And that reminds me that 
 he has not been to give me my music lesson to-day." 
 
 As she was speaking a knock was heard at the door," 
 and Barry going to open it, the very gentleman in ques- 
 tion was ushered in. 
 
 Monsieur Pantoufle, with his cocked hat pressed upon his 
 heart, and his head gently turned over his right shoulder, 
 saluted the company with a profound bow. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Nina," he said, with a most amiable 
 smile, " I have great happiness in seeing you look so 
 charming, so fresh. Monsieur," he added, to the hunter, 
 "I am rejoice to see you." 
 
 Room was made for Monsieur Pantoufle ; and little Sally 
 was about to slide into her corner, but her father held her 
 tight. 
 
 " The little thing is coming to be a real fine lady," 
 said the hunter, smiling tenderly on her, " Mr. Pantoufle 
 won't mind your sitting on your old father's knee, child." 
 
 " A beautiful sight," said Monsieur Pantoufle, with a 
 sad smile, and something like a sigh, " I love the young 
 people much, helas ! very much !" 
 
 " You did not bring me that pretty minuet you prom- 
 ised me. Monsieur Pantoufle," said Nina, "you promised 
 it to-day." 
 
72 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Oh, pardon Ma'mselle," replied the gentleman, smil- 
 ing and shrugging his shoulders, " I was so engage to-day." 
 
 " Very busy, sir ?" 
 
 " Ah yes. Monsieur Max, your cousin, Ma'mselle, has 
 made me fence — you comprehend, with sword — all the 
 day." 
 
 " Oh, I understand—" 
 
 " Ma'mselle said—?" 
 
 "It is for his play." 
 
 " His play — ah yes ; he act Romeo, is it not so ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir — and there is Juliet," said Nina, laughingly 
 pointing to the child. 
 
 " What a charming Juliet ! I think I have never seen 
 more charming Juliet." 
 
 Little Sally blushed. 
 
 " I am to act too, sir," said Nina. 
 
 " Oh, are you ?" cried the child. 
 
 " Yes, dear, after you, you know." 
 
 " Oh, I'm so glad !" 
 
 Barry raised his head, listening attentively 
 
 "What's the matter, Barry?" asked Nina. 
 
 "I thought I heard Burt's footstep, cousin Nina." 
 
 " Father! could it be father!" cried Nina, jumping up. 
 
 She ran to the door, and opening it was received into 
 two stalwart arms, and saluted by a hearty and loud 
 sounding kiss ; at the same moment a cheerful voice 
 uttered the words : 
 
 "Well, good people!" 
 
 Father Von Horn, who now entered, was a bluff old 
 gentleman of decidedly Dutch figure, about the same age 
 as hunter John Myers. There was no similarity, how- 
 ever, between these two men. Hunter John was com- 
 pletely English, Virginian, in the character of his person 
 — father Von Horn was as wholly Teutonic. His face 
 was broad and red, his person corpulent, his voice gut- 
 tural, and suitable for the difficult icK's and diphthongs of 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 73 
 
 Fatherland. There was great dignity, however, united 
 with this tluflf person — and no gentleman in the land' 
 was more refined, or better bred, than Jacob Von Horn. 
 Opulent in his circumstances, and with a clear, just 
 mind, studiously cultivated by the best English and 
 Grerman literature, it was impossible to class him with* 
 those illiterate, and narrow-minded representatives of his 
 nation so often met with. Father Von Horn was a good 
 German gentleman, and no one had ever been ten min- 
 utes in his company, without ascertaining as much. If 
 we add, that the old man was a warm admirer of every 
 thing German, and inherited all the superstition of his 
 sturdy mountain ancestry, this sketch of him will be 
 sufficient for the moment. 
 
 Hunter John grasped the old man's hand with friendly 
 warmth. 
 
 ""Well, you got through soon, neighbor," said the 
 hunter. 
 
 " Yes, neighbor Myers, I wanted to get down and see 
 you all. Where's Max?" 
 
 " Out visiting somebody, father," said Nina, taking his 
 hat and gloves. 
 
 "Ah, the dog! he'll never stay at home and study. 
 "Wasn't Barry there just now ?" 
 
 " He's gone to see that Burt is attended to, father." 
 
 " Good boy ! V?"ell, Mr. Pantoufle, I'm pleased to see 
 you ; I hope your music gets on, Nina." 
 
 And father Von Horn seemed as much pleased, and as 
 greatly bent on asking questions, as if he had been absent 
 a year instead of a fortnight. 
 
 D 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE RED BOOK. 
 
 And now who should come in, clad in his visiting suit, 
 and showing on his stolid countenance no trace of the 
 morning quarrel with Nina, but Mr. Hans Huddleshingle ! 
 
 " Ah, Hans ! I am glad to see you," cried father Von 
 Horn, grasping him heartily by -the hand. " Sit down ! 
 Nina, don't trouble yourself so. much — I am not hungry." 
 
 For Nina was very busily engaged preparing supper for 
 her father ; so busily indeed that she had scarcely found 
 time to greet Mr. Huddleshingle with a distant bow. 
 Soon the table was set, and a substantial meal spread 
 upon it — to which father Von Horn, despite his assurance 
 of a want of appetite, did appropriate honor. 
 
 "Ah, Nina," said the old man, with his mouth full, 
 "there you are, behind the cups and saucers, like a veri- 
 table matron. Some day you will marry and leave your 
 old father — that will be a bad day for him ; he will not 
 know what to do without you." 
 
 " I never intend to marry, sir." 
 
 " Never marry I" 
 
 " No, indeed," said Nina, smilingly, twisting a curl 
 around her finger. 
 
 "Not marry!" repeated father Von Horn, "not be in 
 the Red Book ?" 
 
 "It never shall be opened for me. I'm sure grand- 
 father Oourtlan'dt up there, would ^top any such thing : 
 we should see his ghost," replied the young girl, laughino-. 
 
LBATHEB, STOCKING AND SILK. ?5 
 
 Father Von Horn's face became serious. 
 
 " Don't jest about such things daughter," said he, " I 
 pray you do not." 
 
 '■'■ Livre rouge? — ah, what is that?" asked M. Pan- 
 toufle, with a polite smile. 
 
 "It is our family record, Mr. Pantoufle," father Von 
 Horn replied — "in it are written all the marriages of the 
 family : it contains our genealogical tree, on both sides of 
 the house, far back into the past." 
 
 "Possible!" ejaculated M. Pantoufle, "but, Ma'm- 
 soUe Nina; you speak of a ghost, is it not so? what is 
 tkat?" 
 
 " Father will tell you, sir." 
 
 M. Pantoufle turned to the old man, with a courteous 
 look of inquiry. 
 
 " Nina was speaking of one of the traditions of our 
 family, sir," said father Von Horn, very gravely ; " it is 
 this. When a marriage is about to take place among us, 
 which is likely to be unlucky, or unfortunate, for some 
 reason we know naught of, our ancestors — " 
 
 Father Von Horn paused. 
 
 Mr. Huddleshingle bent forward, listening. 
 
 " The ancestors — they — " said M. Pantoufle, inquir- 
 ingly- 
 
 "Well, I see no harm in telling any one. The dead 
 men haunt their graves, and so forbid it. Let any one 
 disregard that warning ! Ruin and sorrow, fall upon their 
 roofs !" 
 
 Hunter John, listened to these words with gloomy in- 
 terest. 
 
 " I have known that thing to happen to German fami- 
 lies," said he, in a low tone, and very thoughtfully. 
 
 A dead silence followed these words : father Von Hnrn 
 rose from the table. 
 
 " Come neighbors !" he said, " let us not talk on such 
 subjects : they are not cheerful. Friend Hans, what are. 
 
76 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILE. 
 
 you thinking of — come, a penny for your thoughts, as the 
 children say !" 
 
 "Nothing, nothing," said Mr. Huddleshingle, in great 
 confusion. 
 
 " Well : now daughter Sally what are you thinking 
 of?" asked the old man of the little girl, "I am sure, of 
 your play, daughter. What a pretty Juliet she will 
 make, neighbor Myers." 
 
 " They said something about her killing herself, neigh- 
 bor," observed the hunter, looking fondly at the small, 
 smiling face, "^what is it?" 
 
 " That's a part of the play — ^but it's all pretense. It is 
 nice fun, isn't it, Sally ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir — I know how to kill myself very well 
 now. Mr. Max, has shown me how." 
 
 " What a wild dog that Max is," said the old man, 
 " the idea of his selecting you : why not take Nina?" 
 
 " I shall act too, father." 
 
 " You !" 
 
 " Yes — in the other piece." 
 
 " Oh, I'm so glad," cried little Sally, " I didn't much 
 like, to be alone." 
 
 " Hans," said father Von Horn, couldn't you appear 
 too — with Nina, say ?" 
 
 " If Miss Nina says so, sir." 
 
 " Max arranges every thing," said Nina, " Mr. Hud- 
 dleshingle must not apply to me." And Nina devoutly 
 resolved, that Max should have his orders to exclude Mr. 
 Hans, that very evening. 
 
 "Well, well," replied her father, "we'll have all ar- 
 ranged, no doubt, just as it should be. Neighbor Myers, 
 you don't leave Martinsburg before it?" 
 
 " No, no," said hunter John, " I must be there to have 
 niy eyes on the little bird here. I'm most nigh afraid 
 she's going to kill herself in earnest." 
 
 " Never fear — well, you shall come and stay with us. 
 
LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILK. 77 
 
 No refusal ! we can make you more comfortable here, 
 than you are at the " Globe." I'll see to Elkhorn in the 
 morning. The house is big enough." 
 
 And so with familiar talk, the old man beguiled the 
 time, until the visitors, one by one, took their leave : 
 M. Pantoufle bowing, smiling, and retreating scientifio- 
 ally backward : Mr. Huddleshingle in unwonted abstrac- 
 tion : hunter John, with his eyes fixed with a last tender 
 look on his little daughter, who ran and put her arms 
 round his neck, to have another kiss. It had been arran- 
 ged, that the child should stay for ^;he night, with Nina ; 
 with whom she was a favorite. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MAX DREAMS OF BOOTS, AND YIELDS TO THE TEMPTER. 
 
 " "What a dream I have had," said Mr. Max Courtlandt, 
 waking with a laugh, two or three days after the scene 
 in the last chapter. "I thought I was in a universe of 
 hoots, a chaos of all imaginahle styles of boots. „ Certain- 
 ly," he added, "there was some sense in dreaming about 
 them, since having attained all the other articles for my 
 dress, the coat, the cap, the feather, the waistcoat, the 
 ' silken hose,' as the nice folks call them, and the sword 
 — there now remains but a single thing to find. — That 
 is my boots," continued Max, thoughtfully. " Boots ! 
 what are boots that I should be so overcome by the 
 dreadful idea ; that I should dream oT them, that they 
 should fill my nightly thoughts, and waking dreams ?" 
 
 Max spj-ung up and dressed ; this operation somewhat 
 interrupted the train of his reflections. But, standing 
 before the glass, contemplating the effect of the Romeo 
 cap, which he had placed gracefully on his head, the 
 subject which had tormented him in slumber, returned in 
 all its original strength. 
 
 " Boots are not difficult to find," he mused, " many 
 persons have boots — I had a pair myself once, and only 
 discarded them, because, being unable to afford fair top- 
 boots, I would not be content to put up with ordinary 
 ones. Could I not buy a pair ? No, I have no money. 
 Could I not borrow them from some one ? No, why should 
 I, from modesty, conceal the fact, that my foot is a most 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 79 
 
 elegant, and slender foot — in fact an exceedingly aristo- 
 cratic foot : a real woman's foot, which no doubt arises 
 from my purity of blood. What shall I do ? I can not 
 borrow — no one has a pair small enough. I can not buy, 
 for my money is all gone, and I will not ask uncle for 
 any more, or aunt Courtlandt either. 
 
 " Aunt Courtlandt!" soliloquized the young man, "what 
 idea was that which occurred to me the other day at the 
 convent? an improper idea, in its nature felonious and 
 ■criminal ! Shall I ask for them ? and be refused ? No I 
 must not. Shall I — no that is wrong. But let me re- 
 flect. In this singular world many persons can well do 
 without what they, nevertheless, set great store by, think- 
 ing the^hing wholly indispensable. Were they asked to 
 part with it — they would refuse : were they deprived of 
 it, little inconvenience would result. Let me see then. 
 What would be the consequence if I yielded to this tempt- 
 ation — ^to which I foresee, I shall wholly yield ? Why a 
 night's inconvenience — at the most. 
 
 " Shall I then ?" asked Max of himself in the glass. 
 That individual smiled : the very cap-feather seemed to 
 Jaugh an approval. 
 
 " I'll do it !" said Max, resolutely ; " faint heart never 
 won ought yet. Let's see for means. Oh, mischief, thou 
 art swift." And muxmuring these words our hero de- 
 scended to breakfast. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 MRS. COURTLANDT PLAYS A MINUET FOR THE YOUNG PEOPLE, 
 AND AVHAT ENSUED. 
 
 Mrs. Courtlandt was in her lecture-room, engaged as 
 usual in trying experiments with her apparatus, when 
 Prudence informed her that her nephew wa» in the 
 parlor. 
 
 "Come in, nephew," said the lady's voice, "you need 
 not stand on ceremony." 
 
 Max entered. 
 
 " Oh, good-evening, aunt," he said, " I knew I should 
 find you unemployed. School-hours are the husy ones 
 — are they not?" 
 
 " Yes, I receive no visitors in school-hours." 
 
 " How are you to-day." 
 
 "Very well — except that I am much fatigued from 
 riding over to see a sick family on the Opequon." 
 
 " Aunt you are very good. Why don't you make some 
 of your scholars go for you, and carry the medicine." 
 
 " I prefer going myself." 
 
 " Besides, I ought to have reflected 1<tat they are all too 
 wild and thoughtless." 
 
 " No, not all of them." 
 
 " Still, a great many are : Josephine — my particular 
 friend, you know, aunt — Josephine is as wild as a deer." 
 
 ' ' Indeed you mistake, nephew. She has a great flow of 
 spirits, hut is as good a little creature, and as obedient as 
 possible. She loves me, I believe, most sincerely." 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 81 
 
 " Who does not ?" 
 
 " Come nephew, there goes your tongue again. Your 
 tongue, and your feet, seem made to be constantly in 
 motion." 
 
 " I do talk too much, aunt," said Max, " but exercise, 
 walking, and all that, is good for one, you know." 
 
 " Dancing, you think too ?" 
 
 "Oh yes, dancing! and that reminds me how I long 
 for a libtle dance. It does seem to me, that I can not get 
 
 any one, to dance with me. I was at Mrs. 's last 
 
 night, and none of the girls — Oh ! but aunt !" cried Max, 
 ♦breaking off, " the place to play in is changed. Just 
 
 think : Mrs. , says her parlor is not large enough, 
 
 and she is going to have the examination and exhibition 
 and all, at the " Globe." 
 
 " Mr. Gaither's ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, in the big dining-room. A platform is to 
 be erected, and all." 
 
 ""Well, it is a better place — much." 
 
 " So I think — ^but imagine,- my respected aunt, what 
 an honor it is for your unworthy nephew, to play Shaks- 
 peare in the Globe." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Why, it was the Globe you know, where Shakspeare 
 himself acted." ' 
 
 " From which you conclude, I suppose," said Mrs. 
 Courtlandt, " that yoti are another Shakspeare ?" 
 
 " Who knows ?" said Max, audaciously. 
 
 This reply of her nephew actually brought a smile . 
 from Mrs. Courtlandt : in the midst of which Miss 
 .Josephine Emberton made her appearance at the door. 
 
 " May I come in, ma'am ?" asked Josephine. 
 
 " Yes, Josephine ; there is no one here but my nephew." 
 
 " Whom she came to see," added Max. 
 
 " Indeed I didn't," said the girl, " you always think I 
 come to see you." 
 
 p* 
 
82 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Well, Miss Josephine," said Max, " we will n* quar- 
 rel'" (indeed, it was necessary, as the reader will perceive 
 that he should remain on the very best terms with Miss 
 Josephine), ".we will not quarrel ahout that. I know if 
 you were any where, I should, for that very reason go 
 thither ; there, does that satisfy you. Come, let us have 
 a minuet. I know my well-beloved aunt will play for us." 
 
 Josephine with longing eyes turned to Mrs. Courtlandt. 
 She was passionately fond of dancing, especially of the 
 minuet. Mrs. Courtlandt hesitated. 
 
 " Do come and play for us, most respected of your 
 sex," said Max, " Josephine, or Miss Josephine dances so 
 nicely ; the harpsichord will do." 
 
 " And I would rather have you to play for us, ma'am, 
 than any body in the world," said Josephine, sincerely. 
 
 This gained over the outwardly austere, but really 
 yielding, Mrs. Courtlandt. 
 
 " "Well, children, come," she said, " you two would per- 
 suade any body." 
 
 Max relented from his purpose, and half crushed a small 
 object in his pocket. 
 
 " I do repent me," murmured he, dejectedly. But at 
 that moment he caught sight of the magical boots on his 
 aunt's feet, as she slightly lifted her skirt to ascend the 
 step leading to the parlor. This spectacle completely 
 overturned all our hero's good resolutions ; overcome 
 again by the temptation, there was now no longer any 
 room for repentance. 
 
 Mrs. Courtlandt took her seat at the harpsichord and 
 commenced a minuet. Max advanced to the spot where 
 Josephine with a stately air had taken her seat too, and 
 with one hand on his heart bowed low, and requested the 
 honor of treading a measure with her. To which the 
 young girl, smothering a laugh, with stately condescen- 
 sion, and a ceremonious " with pleasure, sir !" consented, 
 giving him her hand. 
 
LEATHEU STOCKING AJVD SILK. 83 
 
 Then commenced that royal dance, which we in our 
 day laugh at — calling it "stiff," and "odd," and "ridic- 
 ulous." Young ladies now wonder at the very idea of 
 the minuet, comparing its stately measured motion, with 
 the fast-whirling waltz and polka ; and young gentlemen 
 make very merry over it to their fair partners, held in 
 the pleasant close embrace, of the said waltz or polka. 
 Our grandmotheirs — unhappy beings — knew nothing of 
 the polka, and would have positively objected to having 
 around their waists some perfect stranger's arm. In 
 modern parlance, those old folks were " slow" — and the 
 .minuet, being a slow dance, most probably suited them 
 on that account. 
 
 Max and Josephine danced well. They were both 
 naturally graceful, and had practiced much. His bows 
 were very elegant, and full of chivalric and profound 
 respect ; — ^her courtesies (each fair hand holding up her 
 skirt, stretched gracefully to its full width), replete with 
 winning grace, and, as Max inwardly decided, the very 
 poetry of motion. 
 
 They approached each other for the final movement. 
 Max with an elegant mincingness in his gait, Josephine 
 gliding with the pleasant, stately music like some little 
 fairy queen. Then it was that Max took from his pocket 
 a small, neatly folded note, and as he extended with 
 graceful ease his hand, slipped the said note into Miss 
 Josephine's, where the fall ruffles falling down, concealed 
 it. The dance ended. Mrs. Courtlandt turned round. 
 
 " Just in tiine," muttered Max, " I do repent me 
 still !" 
 
 " What did you say, nephew ?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing, aunt !" 
 
 " Josephine, you dance very well," said the lady, " I 
 really see no necessity for M. Pantoufle's giving you les- 
 sons in the minuet." 
 
 Josephine laughed, and blushed. 
 
84 LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Nor to Max. — I observed the elegance with which 
 he approaches and gives his hand — " 
 
 " Oh, my dear aunt — " 
 
 " And how elegantly you, Josephine, receive it. Now 
 children I must spend no more time in trifles — I have my 
 duties Grood-morning, nephew." 
 
 Max with terrible doubts upon the subject of his note, 
 felt that this was a dismissal from the convenl;. He 
 therefore took his leave, with many misgivings, and re- 
 turned homeward. 
 
 Once in his room he began to reflect whether his aunt 
 had discovered his surreptitious act — or whether his 
 guilty conscience had given an imaginary meaning to her 
 words of parting — these were the questions. He was 
 thus sunken fathoms deep in thought, when he heard 
 himself called by Nina. 
 
 " What is it, my dear Nina ?" he said opening the door 
 with a look of quiet, and profound sadness. 
 
 "Here is a message from aunt Courtlandt," said Nina. 
 
 " From aunt Courtlandt !" murmured Max, with guilty 
 fear, " bid the messenger ascend." 
 
 " It is Prudence, and she has something for you." 
 
 "Priidence, what bring you?" 
 
 " Here's a bundle and note from Miss Courtlandt," said 
 Prhdence, delivering a brown paper parcel. 
 
 Max took it. 
 
 "She didn't want any answer," said Prudence, with a 
 sly laiigh : and then that young lady retreated through 
 the open door. Max ran up to his room and tore open 
 the bundle. 
 
 His aunt's boots ! 
 
 Max tore open the note : "^therein he read the follow- 
 
 " You are very foolish Max. "Why did yon take all 
 the trouble to write that not© ? Besides, I disapprove of 
 
LEATHEB, STOCKING AND SILK. 85 
 
 such things. You must not write to my scholars. I 
 know it was a jest, but it was wrong. I saw you in the 
 mirror over the harpsichord, and Josephine gave me the 
 note. I send my boots, as you call them. Why did you 
 not ask for them ? Always ask me for what you want. 
 If it is in my power I will refuse you nothing that I can 
 properly grant. You are very welcome to the shoes. 
 
 " Your affectionate, 
 
 "Aunt Courtlandt." 
 
 " Most excellent of her sex !" cried Max, " to think of 
 *being so completely done up by her. But here are my 
 boots — my boots !" 
 
 And Max tried them on. They were somewhat tight, 
 but answered to perfection. Max sat down admiring 
 them. 
 
 " Seriously though, aunt Courtlandt is an excellent wo- 
 man," said he. " For me to ask Josephine to steal these 
 boots ; for my aunt to find it out ; for the injured person 
 to send the object of the intended theft ! Oh, I am asham- 
 ed of myself. I am getting bad-hearted." 
 
 " She knows it was all a joke, however !" cried Max, 
 reassured — " but these elegant boots — they are no joke !" 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 The Thursday, on the evening of which Max was to 
 make his first appearance on any stage, arrived in due 
 course of time. It was a pleasant day, and a pleasant 
 evening — and all Martinsturg appeared to he in motion 
 toward the " Griobe." 
 
 The reader may fancy, that we have created this name 
 for dramatic point, hut such is not the fact. The- 
 " G-lohe" was as real, as the convent of the Sisters of 
 Mercy ; as veritable as M. Pantoufle, or hunter John 
 Myers ; and many persons now livjng will well recollect 
 the excellent and obliging host, Mr. Ephraim Gaither, 
 to whose courtesy the Martinsburgers were on this occa- 
 sion indebted for the large and commodious saloon in 
 
 which the examination of Mrs. 's scholars and the 
 
 other exercises of the day were about to take place. 
 
 The " Globe" was a building of considerable size stand- 
 ing just opposite the court-house, and had the reputation 
 of being the best inn, as Mr. Gaither had the reputation 
 of being the prince of landlords for twenty miles around. 
 The most remarkable thing about the tavern, however, 
 was its dancing-'room, in which all the balls of the time 
 had been held. It was an apartment of extraordinary 
 size, taking up nearly the whole ground floor of the 
 building ; and in this room on a platform raised some feet 
 above the floor, and draped with curtains, our hero was 
 about to make his appearance. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 87 
 
 All Martinsburg had assembled at the announcement 
 
 elegantly dressed ladies, radiant with rich falling lace, 
 and supporting on their white foreheads curiously fashioned 
 towers of hair ; gracefully attentive gentlemen with pow- 
 dered locks, stiff-collared coats, and silk stockings and 
 knee-huckles ; shop-keeper^ countrymen, and in the ob- 
 scure distance, behind all, no slight sprinkling of laugh- 
 ing ebon faces ; — such was the audience which Mr. Max, 
 out of his abundant good-nature, had consented to appear 
 before, when the regular examination was gone through 
 with. 
 
 The room was packed full. Conspicuous on the front 
 seats, eager to applaud as ever were the friends of actor, 
 sat father Von Horn ; and Mrs. Courtlandt (behind her, 
 Josephine, and other of her scholars) ;. and hunter John, 
 come to see little Juliet ; and squeezed in one corner, Bar- 
 ry, who waited, trembling, for the moment when little 
 Sally must appear before that vast assemblage of expect- 
 ant eyes, and go through with her part. Barry felt sure, 
 that he should never be able to utter a word. 
 
 The examination of the scholars, was altogether very 
 
 gratifying to the pride of. Mrs. , and of their fond 
 
 parents, who listened admiringly to their sons and daugh- 
 ters, answering without mistake or hesitation corpplex 
 questions in geography, arithmetic, and even astronomy, 
 and algebra, and geometry. 
 
 Under the small fingers which grasped manfully the 
 blackboard chalk, the difficult problems in geometry, as- 
 tronomy, and algebra, "rounded with flawless demonstra- 
 tion." The " young Norvals" detailed the occupations of 
 their fathers, Hamlet soliloquized on human life, and all 
 the ills that flesh is heir to, Wolsey gave feeling advic« to 
 Cromwell, and the little bright-faced girls laughed out their 
 answers to every question, as if knowledge was mere 
 
 amusement, and it was so funny in Mrs. to think 
 
 they could be ignorant of such well-known things ! 
 
88 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 The examination was decidedly successful, and scarcely 
 any scholar missed getting his or her silver medal — with 
 " merit" graven on it — which very naturally delighted 
 
 their fond parents, and made them think that Mrs. 
 
 was the princess of school-mistresses, and then and there, 
 resolve to send to her their children always. 
 
 Then, the examination being ended, a large curtain 
 was let down before the platform ; and through the vast 
 crowd ran a murmurous humming sound, such as some 
 autumn breeze arouses in the dry leaves of the forest trees. 
 Silks rustled, the gayly decorated forms undulated like 
 waves, and all awaited the moment, when the rising cur- 
 tain should reveal to them the " gentle Romeo." Well 
 might little Barry hold his breath, and think how he 
 would feel! 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE PLAY, AND IN WHAT MANNER IT WAS INTERRUPTED. 
 
 ' The curtain rose, and Romeo made his appearance in 
 the midst of a deathlike pause. 
 
 If our readers have come to the conclusion, that Mr. 
 Max Courtlandt was only an ordinary "rattle-trap," with 
 a voluhle tongue, a handsome face, and a faculty of coax- 
 ing persons into doing what at the moment he desired 
 them to do, they have done that young gentleman very 
 great injustice. Max Courtlandt's was no ordinary mind ; 
 to a facility in taking impressions on all sides, he united 
 an individuality of character, as distinctly marked as any 
 even the most unmistakably individual in that vast audi- 
 ence. He seemed careless^ thoughtless, light in tempera- 
 ment as the down of the thistle tossed about hither and 
 thither by the slightest breath of wind ; — in reality, no 
 more sadly thoughtful mind, when his exuberant health 
 did not fire his blood, could be conceived. 
 
 Max Courtlandt was no common jester ; he often ut- 
 tered with a laugh, sad truths. He was no mere wheed- 
 ler of people, as Nina said ; from a low opinion of human 
 nature, practicing on its foibles ; true, he saw through 
 these foibles and made merry with them ; but a kinder, 
 softer, more hopeful, humanity -loving, humanity-admir- 
 ing heart could not be found. Our readers, therefore, 
 have too lightly rated the character of this young man 
 if seeing him impressible and volatile, they have conceived 
 
90 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 him to be shallow ; if from hearing him jest always, they 
 have concluded that life to his thoughtless mind was hut 
 a jest. 
 
 It had been predicted by some, that he would, on his 
 appearance before the audience as Romeo, salute them 
 with a burst of laughter, from pure inability to overcome 
 the humor of the contrast. Mistaken idea ! This boy 
 was capable of greater things than keeping countenance 
 in presence of a mere crowd, ready to laugh at him. 
 
 The Romeo who appeared was the Romeo of Shak- 
 speare ; his griefs, his love — the course of which had run 
 so roughly — and his mortal purpose plainly written in his 
 face. Still a calm face, very calm — thoughtful, dreamy, 
 " sicklied o'er" with doubts of every thing, even whether 
 the phantasmagoria around him were phantasmagoria — 
 or mere phantom phantoms ! — a dream within a dream, 
 all to dissolve before long, leaving no trace ! 
 
 Romeo advanced, chaining the large assemblage with 
 his melancholy eye — dreamy, and full of melting sadness. 
 Then turning to Balthasar lost in the shadow, he uttered 
 in the deep tone of overwhelming woe, those heart-broken 
 words : 
 
 " Is it even sol Then I defy you, stars !" 
 
 Balthasar, who has raised this tempest of affliction, by 
 the intelligence of Juliet's death, goes out — the apothecary 
 enters, and in reply to the demand for poison, pleads the 
 Mantuan law of death against vending such. Romeo, 
 with a scornful look, asks : 
 
 " Art thou so bare, and fall of wretchedness, 
 And fear'st to die 1 famine is in thy cheeks, 
 Need and oppression stareth in thy eyes, 
 Upon thy back, hangs ragged misery. 
 The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law. 
 
 There is thy gold ! worse poison to men's souls, 
 Doing more murders in this loathsome world 
 Than these poor compounds that thou raay'st not sell. 
 I sell thee poison ; thou hast sold me none !" 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 91 
 
 The tone with which these latter woi'ds were uttered, 
 electrified the audience : " this loathsome world," express- 
 ed all the mournful fortunes, all the gloomy horror of a 
 despairing shipwrecked soul. 
 
 Then the scene shifted to the tomb of Juliet. Romeo 
 and Balthasar stand before it : E/omeo takes the iron from 
 his servant's hand shuddering. • 
 
 " Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron. 
 
 Upon thy life I charge thee 
 
 Whate'er thou hear'st or seest stand all aloof, 
 
 And do not interrupt me in my course. 
 
 Why I descend into this bed of death , 
 
 Is, partly to hehold my lady's face ; 
 
 But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger 
 
 A precious ring ; a ring that I must use 
 
 In dear employment : therefore hence ! begone ! 
 
 But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry 
 
 In what I further shall intend to do — 
 
 By heaven ! I will tear thee joint by joint, 
 
 And strew this hungry church-yard with thy limbs 
 
 The time and my intents are savage-wild ! 
 
 More fierce and more inexorable far 
 
 Than empty tigers or the roaring sea !" 
 
 Balthasar starts back at these terribly passionate words, 
 frightened at the glittering sword, which leaps from its 
 scabbard, and flashes in his eyes. Romeo left alone gazes 
 with heaving breast, on the tomb of Juliet: then pale, 
 shuddering, with clenched teeth wrenches open the vault, 
 murmuring : 
 
 " Thou detestable maw ! thou womb of death ! 
 Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth, 
 Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open ! 
 And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food !" 
 
 Hearing a noise he starts, and turns round with fiery, 
 affrighted eyes. Paris with drawn sword stands before 
 him. 
 
 , " Stop thy unhallowed toil, vile Montague : 
 
 Can vengeance be pursued further than death 1 
 Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee : 
 Obey and go with me ; for thou must die." 
 
92 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 Romeo shrinks not before the threatening sword point ; 
 but meets the eye of Paris with a Scornful calmness. 
 
 "I must indeed : and therefore came I hither. — 
 Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man ; 
 Fly hence and leave me : think upon those gone ; 
 Heap not another sin upon my head 
 By urging me to ^ry. 0, begone : 
 By heaven, I lovethee better than myself. 
 For I come hither armed against myself. 
 Stay not : begone : live, and hereafter say — 
 A madman's mercy bade thee run away." 
 
 Paris sword in hand, throws himself upon Romeo. 
 
 " I do defy thy conjurations, 
 And do attach thee as a felon here !" 
 
 Romeo, with a whirl of his sword dashes aside the 
 murderous point just as it touches his breast. 
 
 " Wilt thou provoke me '! then have at thee, boy !" 
 
 They commence the mortal combat with flashing eyes, 
 close pressed lips, hatred driven to fury. Romeo runs his 
 adversary through the heart — ^he falls with a groan of 
 anguish. 
 
 " O, I ani slain ! If thou be merciful 
 Open the tomb : lay me with Juliet !" 
 
 Romeo gazes steadfastly on the writhing body of his 
 adversary. Then kneeling, pale and overcome by some 
 sudden memory, he takes the dying man's hand. Ha 
 starts, one hand on his cold brow. 
 
 " Let me peruse this face. 
 Mercutio's kinsman ! noble County Paris ! — 
 What said my man, when my betossed soul 
 Did not attend him, as we rode — I think 
 He told me Paris should have married Juliet ! 
 
 give me thy hand ! 
 
 One writ with me in sour misfortune's book ! 
 I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave. 
 For here lies Juliet ! and her beauty makes 
 This vault a feasting presence full of light ! 
 Death lie thou there by a dead man interred !" 
 
 He lays the body in the monument, then reappears with 
 the smile of incipient madness, but shuddering beneath 
 that ice-like merriment ; he has seen in the tomb, a sight 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 93 
 
 to freeze his blood. His head hent hack, his brow stream- 
 ing with cold sweat, his lips move, and he whispers al- 
 most : 
 
 " How oft, when men are at the point of death 
 Have they been merry ! which their keepers call 
 A lightning before death ! Oh, how may I 
 Call this a lightning 1" 
 
 He turns trembling, with clasped hands, toward the 
 tomb ; a passionate sob tears his breast in its passage. 
 
 " 0, my love ! my wife ! 
 Death that hath sucked the honey of thy breath. 
 Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty ! 
 Thou art not conquered ! Beauty's ensign yet 
 Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks ! 
 And death's pale flag is not advanced there !" 
 
 He falls upon his knees covering his face ; then raising 
 his head again, gazes deeper into the tomb. 
 
 " Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet, 
 Oh, what more favor can I do to thee 1 
 Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain, 
 To sunder his, that was thine enemy — 
 Forgive me, cousin!" 
 
 Starting up, he advances to the entrance of the vault 
 and kneels, sobbing and murmuring : ~ 
 
 " Ah, dear Juliet I 
 Why art thou yet so fair 1 Shall I believe 
 That unsubstantial death is amorous ! 
 For fear of that, I will still stay with thee, 
 And never from this palace of dim night 
 Depart again ; here, here, will I remain 
 With worms that are thy chambermaids : Oh, here 
 Will I set up my everlasting rest. 
 And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars 
 From this world-wearied flesh !" 
 
 He bends toward the body, now no longer horrified but 
 in love with death. 
 
 His arms encircle the dear form, his lips approach the 
 
 pale cheek. 
 
 " Eyes, look your last ! 
 Arms, take your last embrace ; and lips, oh, you 
 
94 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 The doors of breath, seal with a righteous Idss 
 A dateless bargain to engrossing death !" 
 
 He rises, drawing from his pouch the flask of poison. 
 Holding it up, he gazes upon it with eyes full of despair, 
 love, and madness. " Come !" he groans, 
 
 " Come, bitter conduct ; come, unsavory guide ! 
 Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on 
 The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark ! 
 Here's to my love !" 
 
 He drains the flask of poison, staggers, drunk with the 
 fiery potion ; and falls writhing, dead. 
 
 The audience, overcome hy the profound reality of the 
 scene, uttered no sound. A white form, weak, with 
 feeble feet, rises from the vault. It is Juliet in her white 
 clothes, with the undecided gaze of a person just awakened 
 from sleep. She sees Romeo, and starts with a suppressed 
 scream ; then throws herself on the body, yet " warm and 
 newly dead." The dreadful reality flashes across her 
 eyes ; she sees the flask and clutches it. 
 
 " What's here ! A cup clos'd in my true love's hand. 
 Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end ! 
 Oh, churl ! drink all and leave no friendly drop 
 To help me after t I will kiss thy lips — 
 Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, 
 To make me die with a restorative. 
 Thy lips are warm !" 
 
 She starts up, sobbing with passionate anguish ; a 
 noise is heard without; she looks around, and seizes 
 Romeo's poignard. 
 
 " Yea, noise ! Then I'll be brief: Oh, happy dagger ! 
 This is thy sheath ! There rust and let me die ! 
 
 Juliet stabs herself, and falls on the body of Romeo 
 with a wild cry. 
 
 That cry was answered by another from the front 
 benches — more passionate, frightful, terrifying than Ju- 
 liet's ; and the next moment, Barry pale and overcome 
 with horror, sprang upon the platform, and running to 
 
LEATHEE STOCKING! AND SILK. 95 
 
 the child, caught her in his arms and raised her up. In 
 the spot he had left, stood hunter John, pale and trem- 
 bling. 
 
 For a moment the audience were too much astounded 
 to comprehend the full significance of the scene ; they 
 seemed, however, suddenly, to realize how the boy had 
 been carried away by the terrible reality of the perform- 
 ance ; and then there arose one tremendous* burst of ap- 
 plause, which shook the " Globe" from roof to foundation 
 stone. The assemblage undulated like a stormy sea, a 
 hundred voices clashed together, and in the midst of the 
 most tremendous excitement the curtain fell upon the 
 group, so picturesquely arranged. 
 
 It was a long time before order could be restored, or a 
 hearing for the after-piece (as Max pompously called it), 
 was thought of as attainable." In that piece the reader 
 will recollect, Nina was to act a part — and this fact — in 
 which was embraced an expectation — gradually quieted 
 the tumult. By slow degrees the waves subsided, the 
 voices were lowered, and soon only the low hum of com- 
 ment upon the strange scene that had just been enacted, 
 disturbed the silence. 
 
 It is not necessary for us to minutely trace Nina tlu-ough 
 her light comedy part, as we have done Mr. Max and lit- 
 tle Sally, seduced by their remarkable performance on 
 this occasion. Nina, and the other young ladies who 
 played with her in these private theatricals, did their 
 duty very manfully in presence of those laughing eyes — 
 Nina, indeed, looking exceedingly beautiful. 
 
 But the second piece had its consequence more import- 
 ant than the strange incident of the first. If Barry proved 
 by his conduct that little Sally was all in all to him — Mr. 
 William Lyttelton proved by his own for days afterward, 
 that Nina had made a complete conquest of him. Such 
 v/as the plain and unmistakable fact. When Mr. Lyt- 
 telton went away with the delighted company, he foli 
 
96 LEATHEB, STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 that he was no longer the heart-whole man he had 
 been. 
 
 In an hour the vast room was empty. All had sought 
 their homes, loud in their praises of the performance. 
 Max was, if not a prophet in his native country, at least 
 a hero for the moment. 
 
 Miss Josephine Emherton, at least, was of this opinion ; 
 and in coming out. Max read in her admiring looks, and 
 her unusual quietness of manner, the effect his tragic per- 
 formance of the part of Romeo had produced upon her 
 feelings. 
 
 " You liked it, I hope, Miss Josephine ?" he said. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you did it so well." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 " You did it admirably !" 
 
 "Praise from so fair a source, is praise indeed," said 
 our hero, bowing low. 
 
 " See the fine chevalier !" laughed Miss Josephine, 
 unable to suppress her besetting sin. 
 
 " Happy chevalier, if I am yours," said Max. 
 
 " "Would you like to be my knight ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ! How can you ask ?" 
 
 " I promote you, then." 
 
 " But I must have a token of my lady's favor : — all 
 knights have," said Max. 
 
 " A token — what sort ?" 
 
 " Any thing ; that pretty bracelet, say." 
 
 " Take it," said Josephine, merrily unclasping the 
 bracelet from her white arm. 
 
 Max took it with a profound bow, and placed it in the 
 pocket of his Romeo coat — ^which he had not removed — 
 nearest his heart. After which, their respective parties 
 calling them, the young girl and her companion separated, 
 laughing. This trifling incident bore fruits in aftertimes. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 SUPPER AFTER THE PLAY. 
 
 Half an hour after the dispersion of the company, the 
 household of father Von Horn, were gathered around his 
 hroad board, upon which was spread an excellent meal. 
 Actors (even actors in private theatricals) are, it is well- 
 known, very partial to suppers, and Max seemed to have 
 gained an excellent appetite, for material things, from 
 feeding so full of grief, in his character of Romeo. 
 
 Little -Sally, who sat demurely by her pleased father's 
 side, divided the honors of the evening, with our hero. 
 
 " How well she did play !" cried Max, with his mouth- 
 ful, " I was astonished, to hear her speak her part so 
 well ; the best of it is, too, that the whole was her own, 
 I did not teach her. Why Sally you did not seem in the 
 least abashed : I declare, I have a great mind to come 
 round and kiss you, only Barry would challenge me to 
 mortal combat. Barry, what did you interrupt the per- 
 formance in that way for ?" 
 
 Barry blushed, and stammered out some indistinct 
 words. 
 
 "Let Barry alone Max," said father Von Horn, "he 
 was right, and I honor him for his chivalric conduct." 
 
 " Chivalric, sir ? 
 
 " Certainly : did he not think the child had killed 
 herself?" 
 
 " I most nigh thought so myself," said hunter John, 
 laughing : "and I was near doing as much as Barry." 
 
 E 
 
98 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " How well she did it !" said Nina. 
 
 " And Mr. Max most scared me, when he was fight- 
 ing, you know : I most screamed." 
 
 " Screamed ? What for ?» asked Max. 
 
 "You seemed so much in earnest, Mr. Max," said 
 Sally, nestling close to her father, with her little bright 
 eyes fixed upon the young man. 
 
 " In earnest !" cried Max, " why, I was in earnest. 
 At that moment, my dear Sally, I was Romeo, at the 
 tomb of Juliet. I was Romeo, though, from the be- 
 ginning." 
 
 " How do you mean, sir ?" 
 
 " I mean, I forgot the company and all, after the first 
 minute, my dear," said Max. 
 
 " Wasn't you scared ?" 
 
 " The moment before I appeared, my charrning Juliet 
 — ^but not afterward. I did feel like laughing, when I 
 saw that mischievous young lady. Miss Josephine smiling 
 at me : but think of Romeo's laughing, on being told of 
 your untimely end, little Sally." 
 
 '^ You mean Juliet's, sir," said Sally, laughing. 
 
 " You are Juliet — and I don't think it could have been 
 played better. I had no idea you could do it so well. 
 When you screamed, you know, I was very near reviving, 
 and telling you not to be afraid, that I wasn't dead.. 
 And when you 'kissed my lips,' as the play says — to 
 get some of the poison — for you know, you kissed me 
 Sally—" 
 
 " Indeed I didn't, sir^ — I only made pretense." 
 
 " Listen to the little prude. By this hand you kissed 
 me." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Max !" 
 
 "Don't mind him, Sally," said Nina, "he always tells 
 stories." 
 
 " By-the-by, Nina," said Max. 
 
 "Well, sir?" 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 99 
 
 " You did yourself consideraTble credit," said Max, 
 patronizingly. 
 
 " Thank you, sir !" 
 
 " You did, indeed. True, Sally and myself were the 
 prominent objects of interest, but I did not see more 
 than a dozen persons yawning while you were going 
 through your part." 
 
 " Yawning !" said Nina, indignantly. 
 
 " Max, you joke eternally," said father Von Horn, 
 who listened to this jesting conversation with great amuse- 
 ment ; " I say Nina, that you played excellently — quite as 
 well as my nephew." 
 
 " "Well, neighbor," said hunter John, " I don't repent 
 comin' down to the play. I didn't Ijnow even what that 
 was, till I saw 'em at it — ^but I soon made out the mat- 
 ter it was about, because little Sally was to be in it, you 
 know, neighbor. "Well, we old folks have much to learn. 
 The young people are gettin' ahead of us. I must go 
 back to my mountain valley, and tell the old dame all 
 about it — ^how the child did her part," he added, looking 
 with tender affection on the little bright face leaning upon 
 his shoulder. "I'm glad to have seen it — I can now say, 
 I have seen a regular play. Think of that." 
 
 " But you are not going back at once, neighbor ?" asked 
 father Von Horn. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! I'm most afraid the game will get too 
 pert, and think the old hunter's gun is witched, neighbor. 
 Then, I can't breathe this low country air long, from liv- 
 ing so entirely up in the hills. I'm tired of so many 
 houses — ^but you won't think I'm tired of you all ; or of 
 you, daughter." 
 
 " Father, please stay a little longer — ^please," said little 
 Sally. 
 
 " I can't, daughter, I must go to-morrow : I'm feeling 
 that a deer hunt is in my blood." 
 
 " A deer hunt !" said Max, " I would give any thing 
 
100 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK 
 
 in the world to go and hunt a few days with you, 
 sir :» 
 
 " Come then, my boy." 
 
 " But my law — uncle says — " 
 
 " I'm afraid you are neglecting it, Max," said father 
 Von Horn. 
 
 " Yes sir, lately, I know — " 
 
 " With all this playing and visiting, and other things, 
 Coke and Blackstone stand a bad chance." 
 
 " "Well, sir, I suppose I ought — " 
 
 " No — if you have set your heart on going, you may as 
 well go." 
 
 "I go in the morning," said hunter John. 
 
 ".Well, neighbor, if you must, you must," the old man 
 said ; " and I suppose Max might as well go and get this 
 acting out of his head. Now for .prayers." 
 
 Prayers were said, and every. one retired to rest. On 
 the stairs Max passed Nina, who' went up last, carrying 
 in her dainty hand her japanned candlestick. 
 
 "I say, Nina," said Max, "don't be married before I 
 get back." 
 
 "What do yon mean ?" 
 
 " Why, Messrs. .Huddleshingle and Lyttelton are both 
 smitten .with you; Miss Nina. While you were acting I 
 saw them — you know I was in the green-room, peeping 
 through the curtain, there was a hole — " 
 
 " What did you see, you goose ?" said Nina, smiling. 
 
 " I saw the beforementioned gentlemen devouring my 
 amiable and handsome cousin with their glances. I really 
 thought Hans Huddleshingle was going to make his fat, 
 pinky eyes into saucers — ?' 
 
 "Foolishness!" 
 
 " And as for Mr~ William Lyttelton — " 
 
 "What of him, pray?" 
 
 " He could not have gazed more attentively or showed 
 more profound satisfaction, if he had just found some favor- 
 
LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILK. 101 
 
 able authority in one of his cases, an9. was gloating over 
 its graces and attractions. Nina, I am getting jealous : 
 Nina, I am going away, and I can fancy the delight 
 which the absence of so formidable a rival as myself will 
 afford those sprightly and agreeable gentlemen. But 
 Nina, I go in full confidence — in confidence as strong as 
 ever Romeo felt in the faith of gentle Juliet, whom, by- 
 the-by, you much resemble. Thiis^k of me often, Juliet- 
 Nina, I should say," Max continued dolefully, and casting 
 a tender glance upon his cousin ; " think of me often ; not 
 in the dim watches of the night alone, when ' even the stars 
 do wink as 'twere with over-watching,'. but even when 
 the ' garish day' is bright, and you are surrounded by 
 the most gallant cavaliers — the sprightly Ijyttelton, and 
 gay Huddleshingle. I am not afraid, my Nina ; I have 
 no fear that you will espouse, a walking lawbook, or ever 
 write your name Nina Huddleshingle ! But still, I pray 
 you, think of me — of me, your most devoted, your most 
 loving — " 
 
 The closing of Nina's door, clipped off the remainder 
 of this most eloquent speech. Max also retired. 
 
 On the next day, hunter John, immediately after 
 breakfast, had his horse brought, and declared that he 
 must set out — though Meadow Branch valley was scarcely 
 ten miles distant. He was evidently restless at the very 
 thought of the great mountains, which, indeed, possess 
 a mighty influence over those who have experienced their 
 fascination. Hunter John, had been less than a week in 
 Martinsburg, but was already country-sick. 
 
 Max made ready to accompany him ; leaving with Nina 
 many messages, and running about, with all the delight 
 of a boy who has a holiday granted him, and the vision 
 of woods and mountain-slopes before him. Romeo and 
 Juliet ; Josephine ; Monsieur Pantoufle's fencing lessons — 
 all were forgotten, and Max, with his impulsive temper- 
 
102 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 ament, saw for the moment nothing but guns, and hunt- 
 ing knives, and powder-flasks : — ^heard but the barking 
 of the dogs, which frisking and wagging their tails, and 
 leaping about, uttered at intervals, sonorous hayings, elo- 
 quent of mountain-side adventure. 
 
 If Max forgot Romeo and Juliet, however, hunter 
 John, only half imitated him. He remembered Juliet. 
 Father Von Horn's hand passed through the ordeal of the 
 hunter's iron grasp, Nina and Barry were told good-by : 
 and then the quondam Juliet — little Sally — ran to get 
 the last word from him: and kiss him, crying at his 
 going away. The old mountaineer raised the little form 
 to his heart and held her there — a mere flower, a blossom 
 so light was she — and again the old, gray, storm-beaten 
 brow, rested on the bright rippling gold, and the red, tender 
 cheek. He sat the child down : she covered her face, and 
 began to cry. But Max jested with her, and made her 
 laugh, and the dogs bayed more loudly, and good-by being 
 said again, they mounted their horses. 
 
 "To the mountains !" cried Max, with sparkling eyes, 
 " Oh, what a glorious sight, the fall woods are — and the 
 deer !" 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 MR. HUDDLESHINGLE CONCEIVES AN IDEA : WITH THE CIRCUM- 
 STANCES WHICH LED TO THAT PHENOMENON. 
 
 The individual who monopolizes the whole conversation 
 in an assemhlage of many persons, his talk flowing on like 
 a river which nothing can cheek, and ahsorhing such 
 chance sentences as others utter, as easily and gracefully 
 as a large stream absorbs into its bosom the little rills : 
 — such a talkativJi^ersonage, despite every thing, is apt 
 to grow wearisome at last, and miss that attention which 
 other more silent individuals command. 
 
 "We are afraid that the sayings and doings of Mr. 
 Max Courtlandt have filled too large a space in these 
 pages, and that the reader will very willingly good-speed 
 him on his journey to the mountains. Whether this be 
 the case or not, we shall proceed to report the words, and 
 actions of those other personages thrown by that impulsive 
 gentleman, almost completely in the back-ground. Mr. 
 Huddleshingle, with all his virtues, his peculiarities, his* 
 devoted admiration for our heroine, will now take his 
 rightful place in this narrative, and perhaps act a more 
 prominent part than Max has hitherto played, figure in 
 a more striking catastrophe, than that which we have 
 described as occurring at the " Globe :" — Mr. Lyttelton, 
 that solemn devotee of legal lore, and prospective rival of 
 our hero in the affections of Nina, will have due attention 
 paid to his wise words and looks : — all the ' neglected per- 
 onages' finding the coast clear, and the silence no longer 
 
104 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 invaded, hj that merry laughter, full of joyous pride, will 
 take their rightful stations — usurped no longer — in our 
 comedy. 
 
 Max had gone away with a gay jest, beseeching Nina 
 not to lose her heart to Mr. Lyttelton, that walking kw- 
 hook, before he returned from his visit to the mountains. 
 What seemed then, the merest jest, was soon no jest at all. 
 
 Mr. Lyttelton, dressed with unusual care, and radiant 
 with something which nearly approached a smile, called 
 at father Von Horn's scarcely half an hour after the de- 
 parture of the young man and hunter John. He came, 
 he said, to compliment Miss Nina on her admirable vi- 
 vacity and grace in the part of Lydia, which he had the 
 pleasure of seeing her perform, on the last evening at the 
 "G-lobe." He had been very frequently, in, his visits to 
 the north, to see the piece in many theatres, personated 
 by many beautiful women: — but h^had never had the 
 pleasure, the happiness he might say, of witnessing a 
 performance so replete with grace and power, so full of 
 sparkling and fascinating vivacity, as that of the lady in 
 whose presence he now had the honor of being — then and 
 there. 
 
 These words were not precisely those uttered by Mr. Lyt- 
 telton, that solemn admirer ; but we have given a tolera- 
 bly accurate transcript of his remarkable and -uncommon 
 speech on this occasion. That he had prepared him- 
 ,self before undertaking such an extraordinary effort — 
 perhaps written it carefully and comrnitted it to memory, 
 like many orators celebrated for their impromptu bursts 
 of eloquence — there seems little reason to doubt. True, 
 Mr. Lyttelton was not accustomed to con over or write 
 out his forensic addresses ; but even the most fluent 
 orator, when he desires to make a profound impression, 
 studies beforehand his subject, selects and arranges his 
 sentences, seeks to discover the most winning gestures 
 md captivating tones. It was Mr. Lyttelton's object to 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 105 
 
 make a profound impression on this occasion: — and he 
 so far succeeded, that when he took his leave Nina ac- 
 knowledged to herself, with a sentiment of self condemna- 
 tion, that in heretofore regarding this gentleman as a de- 
 cidedly wearisome person, she had done him very great 
 injustice. As for Mr. Lyttelton, he went away completely 
 enslaved — ;and for twenty-four hours afterward was re- 
 ported to have not once looked into a law-book, or opened 
 a record. Strange power of love, even in the most stuhhorn 
 hearts. 
 
 Thus was the first step taken by Nina and her admirer, 
 Tiand-in-h.and, toward the imaginary altar over which 
 presides that merry god, lover of jocund wedding bell- 
 chimes, and golden rings. Hand-in-hand : for we must 
 confess that Nina felt that Mr. Lyttelton's attention to 
 her were, all things considered, a most extraordinary 
 compliment, and she was not backward in betraying her 
 great satisfaction at his visit, and his promise to come 
 soon again; This visit was a compliment which no other 
 young lady could boast of: hitherto her admirer had been 
 wholly absorbed in his legal and political pursuits, had 
 forsworn the society of ladies, and had even — wrapped 
 up in his dusty papers, and law-volumes — seemed wholly 
 unconscious of the existence of such things as young girls. 
 
 He had not, however, on thig account disappeared from 
 the eyes and thoughts of the marriageable young ladies 
 of the borough ; — many had " set their caps" at the rising 
 young lawyer and politician ; ^nd not a few would have 
 returned no churlish answer to a declaration (not legal) 
 on his part. He was not agreeable, cei!tg,inly — did not 
 dance — seldom smiled — was addicted to the unsocial habit 
 of falling into reveries, in whjoh ^U consciousness of place 
 and people was lost .upon bis part: but he was undeni- 
 ably rnpst intelligent, was of good "estate," Ijy no means 
 ill-looking, and was almost certain to be returned for Con- 
 gress in a year or two. Is it wonderful, therefore, that 
 
 E* 
 
106 LEATHER STOCKING ANB SILK. 
 
 Mr. William Lyttelton should be regarded as an eli- 
 gible person for matrimony, by the fair dames of the 
 borougli ; or that Nina should congratulate herself upon 
 having ensnared this formidable woman-hater ? 
 
 Max knew not the sad consequences which were to 
 arise from his suggestion to Nina, in relation to the after- 
 piece. Had he dreamed of such a thing, we doubt 
 whether the young man would have taken so much pains 
 to persuade his cousin to appear in it. Her fascinating 
 appearance on that interesting occasion — beyond the least 
 doubt — fashioned and "shaped the ends" of her after 
 life, more powerfully than Max had dreamed they could. 
 She had completely charmed the sombre lawyer and poli- 
 tician — he was now her willing slave, soon to assume 
 another, and very different position, in the eyes of the 
 law, at least. 
 
 Days and weeks glided away, and Max, absorbed in his 
 mountain sports, did not return. Nina was not sorry for 
 his absence, since she would have experienced some awk- 
 wardness had he been present, and for a very simple 
 reason. Mr. Lyttelton was now her avowed suitor ; that 
 gentleman called to see her every day ; the house was 
 full of his presents-^some of them exceedingly elegant 
 and costly : in a word, a new chapter had opened in the 
 book of Nina's existence ; and that new chapter might 
 not be very much to her cousin Max's taste. Nina was 
 relieved by his absence — for she felt that Max had very 
 piercing eyes. If he loved her, on which point she had 
 never been able to make up her mind, how unpleasant 
 would be his presence ! — If he was indifferent to her mar- 
 riage with Mr. Lyttelton, how dreadful his bantering 
 tongue ! Nina was devoutly thankful for his absence. 
 
 So rolled on the days, the weeks, and at the end of a 
 month Mr. Lyttelton had paid the young lady such deli- 
 cate attentions, had made himself so agreeable, had min- 
 istered so pleasantly to her vanity, by attending her to 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 107 
 
 every .festival far and near — ^he, the austere business man 
 transformed, for the nonce, into a gay lady's man — that 
 Nina's heart was won ; and so, one morning when Mr. 
 Lyttelton asked the delicate question, which is to so 
 many men a stumbling-block, Nina without hesitation 
 gave him her hand. Mr. Lyttelton solemnly kissed the 
 hand, and as he would doubtless have expressed it, the 
 " pleadings" were through, and the " issue" was made up. 
 
 Soon the interesting fact was made known by Nina, to 
 her relations and friends ; father Von Horn would not 
 have forced his daughter to marry the marquis of Carra- 
 bas ; he was delighted to find that she had chosen so 
 worthy a man, and gave her his blessing. Nina's friends 
 received the intelligence with complacent smiles : they 
 had " known it from the very first," they said. And so 
 the day was fixed, and Nina, to her profound astonishment, 
 reflected, that she would soon be that very character she 
 had declared she never would be — a married woman. 
 
 There was one person who received the intelligence of 
 her intended marriage, with profound wrath and bitter 
 jealousy of the happy man to, be. This was Hans Hud- 
 dleshingle, who, as we know, was one of Nina's most per- 
 severing admirers, and who never for a moment had 
 doubted his ultimate success — backed by the evident par- 
 tiality of her father for him as a German, and the graces 
 of his intellect and figure. Hans was overcome with 
 rage ; then with despair ; then a thousand projects chased 
 each other through his somewhat muddy brain, all bear- 
 ing on the subject of the marriage, and the means of 
 preventing its consummation. 
 , One morning he heard that the day for Nina's mar- 
 riage was fixed ; then suddenly flashed across his memory 
 a conversation he had heard, not long ago at father Von 
 Horn's, and a strange idea occurred to him. 
 
 He determined that this idea should be shaped into an 
 act. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 AN AUTUMN EVENING WITH JEAN PAUL. 
 
 It was two or three days before the time appointed for 
 Nina's marriage, when one evening that young lady was 
 seated at the supper table, from which her father had 
 just risen. 
 
 In truth there seemed some foundation for the general 
 opinion, that Nina was one of the prettiest maidens of the 
 whole borough of Martinsbiirg. It is undeniable that 
 her dress was negligent and her hair disordered ; but as 
 she sat there at the broad board, with the rich red sun- 
 light, streaming through the opsin window upon her curls, 
 turning them into waves of molten gold — ^upon her white 
 forehead, her bright eyes, her rosy cheeks— lighting up 
 all with its warm autumn radiance — one might have 
 been pardoned for concurring in the above-mentioned gen- 
 eral opinion. Certainly, Nina was a beauty — and though 
 none of the gentlemen of her acquaintance had hung 
 themselves, or fought duels, or written poetry, or done 
 any other dreadful thing in honor of her charms, yet that 
 beauty had not been without effect upon the hearts of 
 many : — a fact of which Nina was perfectly cognizant. 
 
 After scolding aunt Jenny, and nearly running crazy 
 a small negro boy, bight Sallust, by the number of orders 
 given him in rapid succession ; and treading on the cat's 
 tail ; and pinching the ear of the old superannuated dog 
 Bugle, who lay stretched beside the table ; and bowing 
 ooquettishly through the window to an acquaintance, who 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 109 
 
 at the moment chanced to pass: — when Nina had dis- 
 patched these household duties and pleasures, she betook 
 herself with the key-tasket on her round hare arm, to the 
 door, where her father sat smoking his immense meer- 
 schaum and quietly reflecting on the events of the day, 
 which was about to close. From time to time, the old 
 man's eyes would wander to the portrait over the fire- 
 place, distinctly visible from the place where he was sit- 
 ting — ^the portrait of old Courtlandt Von Horn his father, 
 that hero of so much military renown, upon the border, 
 long ago, who now lay like a valiant German Eitter tak- 
 ing his rest in the church-yard on the opposite hill. From 
 time to time, too, his eye would fall on a Grerman book 
 lying open on his knee, in which he seemed to have been 
 reading. 
 
 " Nina, darling," said father Von Horn to his daughter, 
 " come, read me a chapter in my new book. You will 
 like it much, for it is beautiful and genial, like every 
 thing from Fatherland." 
 
 Nina pouted : and the reader must not think too hard 
 of her, for doing so. She was in one of her bad humors, 
 such as we have seen her betray on the morning when 
 this true history commenced : and further, she had no 
 desire to pass the beautiful evening with her eyes upon a 
 page full of black, German characters, when the cloud- 
 characters of orange and gold in the blue sky were so 
 much more attractive. 
 
 « What is it, father?" she asked. 
 
 " ^Nicholas Margraf.'' Jean Paul's last work : as far 
 as I have perused it, it is well worthy of him." 
 
 Nina took the book. 
 
 " Commence at the seventh chapter daughter," said 
 father Von Horn. 
 
 " It looks so dull," said Nina, turning Over the leaves 
 listlessly. 
 
 " It is not dull, daughter." 
 
no LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 "Oh. me! I'm mighty tired!" groaned Nina, "these 
 servants will run me distracted .!" 
 
 " Don't read, then, my child," said her father, " don't 
 make a duty of what I meant for a pleasure." 
 
 But Nina knew that her father would be hurt -if she 
 failed to read, and as she loved her fatheT this would 
 afflict her. Therefore, she turned duly to Chapter VII., 
 and commenced, reflecting that after all her attitude in 
 the little wicker chair, with one white arm supporting her 
 head the other across the book, was not so ungraceful 
 should visitors approach. 
 
 It was a pleasant sight to see the old Grerman and his 
 daughter, thus side by side in the quiet, beautiful evening, 
 under the broad old golden leaved oaks, fronting the set- 
 ting sun. It was amusing too, to witness the difficulty 
 with which Nina — only half comprehending the meaning 
 — enunciated the guttural diphthongs of that strange lan- 
 guage which Jean Paul delighted in making, more wild 
 and rugged than it naturally was. As to the old Grerman, 
 he seemed much pleased, and often interrupted the read- 
 ing with a subdued laugh which was the very music of 
 hearty enjoyment. 
 
 The sun sank behind the blue mountains, and father 
 Von Horn took the book from Nina. 
 
 " "What a wonderful writer — what a striking humor !" 
 he said, " Herr Richter is a good, as well as a great man." 
 
 " It's so strange, father." 
 
 " Yes ; so it is. But it is not too strange to teach us 
 how great and commendable, are content and love in this 
 world." 
 
 Nina turned the leaves, carelessly glancing at an ap- 
 proaching visitor. 
 
 " If we are amiable and contented, daughter, and love 
 our neighbor," said father Von Horn, " we are not only 
 living a more holy and Grod-fearing life, but are happier 
 here below." 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. Ill 
 
 Nina's good humor began to return ; she was a some- 
 what fiery young lady, but not what is called moody. 
 
 " Content is an excellent thing, father," she replied ; 
 " but every body can't be contented." 
 
 "Are you discontented?" 
 
 " Oh, no," said the young girl, slightly blushing; "but 
 you know, father, how aunt Jenny and Sallust try me. 
 They almost drive me crazy !" 
 
 This was said with a laugh. Father Von Horn's 
 echoed it. 
 
 " Pshaw ! these are trifles," he said, " you have a 
 warm, good heart, daughter— don't mind them." 
 
 " I don't, much." 
 
 " You are not an irritable person ; you love, not hate, 
 most people, I am sure ; — as is right." 
 
 " I dearly love you, father," replied Nina, bending 
 over, and laying her hand trustingly on the m.assive 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Not a doubt of it, child," said father Von Horn, 
 cheerily ; " still you are going to leave me, you little 
 witch." 
 
 " Oh, father," said Nina, laughing and blushing. 
 
 "At what time did he say he would be able to re- 
 turn?" 
 
 " "William from Alexandria, sir ? He said nine o'clock 
 this evening." 
 
 " Ah, I don't think I can spare you !" 
 
 " Father !" said Nina, beginning to cry. The old man 
 drew her to him and kissed her. She rose to go in, see- 
 ing a gentleman approach whom she did not care to see ; 
 but her father laughingly restrained her. 
 
 The gentleman was Mr. Huddleshingle. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE LAST INTERVIEW BUT ONE BETWEEN NINA AND HANS 
 
 HUDDLESHINGLE. 
 
 It can not he said that Nina received Mr. Huddleshin- 
 gle in a very flattering manner ; the original pout came 
 hack in its full force, as she returned a distant how to his 
 phlegmatic salute. 
 
 " Welcome, Hans," said father Von Horn, " what 
 news ?" 
 
 " Nothing that I have heard, sir," said Mr. Huddleshin- 
 gle. "Miss Nina, I am glad to see you looking so well 
 and happy this fine evening." 
 
 " Thank you, sir, I am very well." 
 
 "You are looking hetter than I ever saw you." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it, sir." 
 
 "To he sure," continued Mr. Huddleshingle, with a 
 slight tremor in his voice which excited Nina's astonish- 
 ment, so phlegmatically self-possessed was her visitor on 
 ordinary occasions, " to he sure,, it is nothing more than 
 I might look for — health and happy looks I mean — on the 
 eve of your marriage." 
 
 Nina bowed coldly. 
 
 " It's a very agreeahle time generally," said her vis- 
 itor. 
 
 " Agreeahle, sir ? I do not understand." 
 
 " I thought I had a right to think so," said Mr. Huddle- 
 shingle, "having seen so many couples married. Ladies 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 113 
 
 generally look in good spirits: on the day before their mar- 
 rying." 
 
 "Do they?" asked Nina, with intense disdain — so 
 intense that her unlucky admirer almost ground his 
 teeth. 
 
 "I think they generally do," he replied moodily, "and 
 I suppose Miss Nina will be looking as bright as a — as a 
 — ^flower, this time day after to-morrow. Some will not 
 feel so pleasant as she will, I know though : — but every 
 young lady has a right to please herself, and nobody 
 ought to say her nay." 
 
 What it cost Mr. Huddleshingle to utter this speech, 
 his agitated voice, and heightened color indicated. 
 
 Father Von Horn came to divert the threatened storm, 
 by laughingly slapping the young German on the shoul- 
 der, and saying : 
 
 " That's right, Hans ! always leave the choice to them. 
 I should, if I had fifty daughters : my father, old Court- 
 landt Von Horn, as you call him yonder, taught me that 
 much." 
 
 Hans almost started. 
 
 Nina glancing sideways at him, was conscious that 
 while he ostensibly spoke with his eyes fixed on her, his 
 gaze wandered to the portrait, and his eyes almost blazed. 
 Misunderstanding his agitation, and attributing it to dis- 
 appointment — for she knew very well Mr. Hans Huddle- 
 shingle's feelings toward herself — Nina experienced a 
 sentiment of pity for her unhappy admirer. 
 
 " "What a very beautiful evening it is, Mr. Hans," she 
 said kindly, " look at the sunset." 
 
 " Yes — yes, beautiful," said Mr. Huddleshingle starting 
 and blushing: this kind speech had nearly changed his 
 purpose. But an unlucky incident just then occurred 
 which had much effect upon after events. 
 
 This incident was the appearance of Mr. William Lyt- 
 telton at the end of the street, leisurely approaching in 
 
114 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 his old worn out curricle, in which he was accustomed to 
 travel the circuit. 
 
 Nina jumped up, clapping her hands and crying, " Oh, 
 father — there he is — ^back already !" and without any 
 apology to Mr. Huddleshingle she ran into the house to 
 smooth her disordered dress and hair, hefore meeting her 
 solemn lover. 
 
 Mr. Huddleshingle looked once at the approaching 
 vehicle, ground his teeth audihly, and hidding father 
 Von Horn good-evening, went away, drawing in his 
 breath, and clenching his hands just as Mr. "William 
 Lyttelton solemnly checked his steed before the door. 
 
 His resolution was taken — fixed. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 A MODEL LOVER. 
 
 Mr. Lyttelton descended slowly from his curricle and 
 inclosed father Yon Horn's fingers in his iron grasp — by 
 which excess of cordiality he may have intended to sup- 
 ply the place of a smile : no such exhibition of gladness 
 appeared upon his rigid features. At the same moment 
 Nina appeared at the door. 
 
 Nina — but so metamorphosed, so wholly different, so 
 radiantly beautiful, with her fair, neatly-bound hair, her 
 tasteful costume, her tiny feet filling miraculous baby- 
 slippers, that she was scarcely recognizable. Her listless, 
 ill-humored air had chafiged to one of the greatest live- 
 liness and vivacity. Her eyes danced : her lips were 
 smiling : her whole manner was so altered that had Mr. 
 Huddleshingle been present no one can tell to what tran- 
 sports of jealousy and ire he would have been driven. 
 
 " And how have you been, "William — and did you have 
 a pleasant ride — and was the day warm — and did you 
 see any acquaintances in Alexandria — and did you gain 
 your cause in Winchester ? — and — ^tell us all about it." 
 
 These were some of the numerous, almost innumera- 
 ble questions which Nina poured forth upon the solemn 
 gentleman in black, who bore the infliction with much 
 equanimity. It is true he disapproved of such a style of 
 cross-examination on legal grounds, as calculated to em- 
 barass the witness : but for once he relaxed in his profes- 
 sional strictness. 
 
116 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 He therefore informed Nina — ^whose affectionate salute 
 (that was the phrase then fashionable), he had received 
 with much apparent indifference — that his ride had been 
 a pleasant one; that the weather had been reasonably 
 pleasant, he thought he might even venture to say excel- 
 lent for traveling ; that he had seen many friends in Al- 
 exandria ; that he had tried his case in Winchester, and 
 after a close contest got a verdict ; and that he had, on 
 the whole, nothing to complain of. 
 
 '* And now you want some supper after your ride, "Will- 
 iam," said Nina, affectionately, spite of her solemn lover's 
 indifferent manner, " you have not been to supper, of 
 course." 
 
 " No matter," said Mr. Lyttelton. 
 
 " But it does matter. Just wait, and you shall have 
 it in a few minutes — " 
 
 " Thank you, Nina ; I must go home." 
 
 " Stay by all means. Nina will be put to no trouble," 
 said father Von Horn ; " besides, daughter," he added, 
 " Barry has not been to supper, and you must not neglect 
 him." 
 
 " Oh, Barry can — " began Nina, indifferently ; but 
 checking herself : 
 
 " Certainly it is no trouble, father," she said ; " in ten 
 minutes every thing would be ready. Come now, Will- 
 iam, remember you have been away for a week, nearly." 
 
 "Well, Nina," said Mr. Lyttelton, "I must go home 
 for a while ; but I'll come back in half an hour." 
 
 With which words he returned solemnly to his vehi- 
 cle. 
 
 " Oh, by-the-by," he said to the young girl, who was 
 at his elbow, " here are some small matters for you ; sillcs 
 and things, I believe ; I did not select them ; I suppose 
 though, they are all right." 
 
 And Mr. Lyttelton handed out a^dozen large bundles 
 which had completely filled the bottom of the vehicle. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 117 
 
 " Thank you, dear 'William," said Nina gratefully, and 
 casting a timid glance at her grave admirer. 
 
 " It was no trouble," he said. 
 
 And taking the reins, he placed his foot upon the step 
 of the carriage. A thought seemed suddenly to strike him. 
 
 " Nina," said he, turning round with a smile which 
 somewhat relaxed his solemn physiognomy. 
 
 " William !" 
 
 " Come Nina, a kiss hefore I go. I love you very much, 
 Nina !" 
 
 And after this extraordinary speech, having received 
 the salute, Mr. William Lyttelton drove slowly away. 
 
CHAPTEE, XXVIII. 
 
 BARRY. 
 
 Nina ran into the house nearly home to the ground hy 
 the weighty hundles she carried ; and soon the whole 
 establishment was in an uproar. She hers^elf saw to 
 every thing ; — the presents were unwrapped ; the supper 
 was ordered on a royal scale ; and messages were sent by 
 Nina to all her friends in the neighborhood to come (with 
 their brothers, cousins, or other escort), and sup with her. 
 The presents Nina thought magnificent ; — such beauti- 
 ful silks and laces, and such slippers, fitting admirably ! 
 Then the earrings, and breastpins, and bracelets — the rib- 
 bons, and handkerchiefs, and gloves ! Surely such a lover 
 would be a model of a husband — such as the world rarely 
 saw ! 
 
 The presents once laid out to the best advantage for 
 the inspection of her female friends, and the gentlemen 
 too, if they wished to see them — Nina applied herself to 
 the supper, which she determined should be worthy of 
 such a guest. The servants were soon flying about like 
 startled lapwings ; — that unfortunate Sallust, who earlier 
 in the evening had been in horrible doubt whether his 
 head or feet were uppermost, now gave himself up for 
 lost, and obeyed, or endeavored to obey, with the silence 
 of despair ; — and aunt Jenny thought that if such a clat- 
 1 ter was made about a simple supper, the wedding prepar- 
 I ations would deprive her of the small remnant of senses 
 which she yet possessed. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 119 
 
 Father Von Horn, to escape all this hurry, bustle, and 
 noise, lit his meerschaum, and took his former position at 
 the door, where he sat in quiet meditation, smoking like 
 a hashaw, and gazing pleasantly at the red flush of sun- 
 set on the western mountain, now almost overthrown and 
 obliterated by the fast-coming night. 
 
 Hearing a footstep toward Queen-street, he turned his 
 head and saw Barry. The boy looked pale and startled, 
 and sunk in thought. 
 
 " "Well, Barry, my boy," said father Von Horn, " what's 
 the matter ?" 
 
 Barry raised his head with a frightened look, evidently 
 brought back to the real world around him by the old 
 man's hearty greeting. 
 
 " Oh, sir — ^nothing," s^id Barry, blushing at the thought 
 that he was telling a falsehood. 
 
 " My child," said his uncle, " you ought not to think 
 and walk about dreaming so much ; no active, energetic 
 man dreams his time away. I know you have the poetic 
 and imaginative temperament, which exalts reverie into 
 an improper delight ; but check it, check it, Barry — now, 
 while you are young." 
 
 Barry sat down, returning no reply, upon the grass at 
 the old man's feet. Father Von Horn smoothed his long 
 dark hair with his hand. 
 
 " Courtlandt the Tall himself," he muttered ; ""the 
 child is the very image of the old man, and the portrait." 
 
 " What did you say, uncle ?" asked Barry, rousing from 
 his abstraction. 
 
 " I said you were like Courtlandt the Tall — my father." 
 
 Barry smiled ; his preoccupation, for a moment, seemed 
 to have disappeared. 
 
 " Am I much, uncle ?" 
 
 " Very much." 
 
 " Was he a good man ?" 
 
 " As good and brave a man as ever drew breath." 
 
120 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Then, uncle, I am very glad I am like him in my 
 face," said Barry, "maybe, after a while I shall be like 
 him in my character." 
 
 "You will, my boy, I am sure^ you will be a good 
 man, Barry— for you are a good boy." 
 
 " Uncle, you don't know how glad you make me feel by 
 saying I will be good. I only want to be good — I don't 
 want to be a great, rich man, for 1 am afraid it would 
 harden me, you know; make me look down on poor people. 
 Oh, uncle, I hope I will be good, and you will always love 
 me." 
 
 " Bless your heart, my boy," said father Von Horn, 
 cheerily, " every body loves you. Don't fear I ever will 
 stop loving you. Well, all this talking with Nina and 
 you, has made me forget Burt ; I must see to him. No," 
 continued father Von Horn, as Barry was about to rise 
 and go in his place, "I must look to the old horse -my- 
 self." 
 
 And he entered the house. . As he went in Nina came 
 out, clad in her most graceful manner, and radiant with 
 happiness and expectation. At first she did not perceive 
 Barry, from the lowness of his seat. But he rose, and 
 Nina seeing him, called the boy tg her and smoothing his 
 hair, kissed him affectionately. 
 
 " Barry, you are very handsome," said Nina, laugh- 
 ing,' "but you must fix yourself nice for the supper. 
 Recollect every body in the neighborhood is coming ; and 
 now I think of it, why don't you go and bring Sally." 
 
 Barry blushed : then almost trembled with a sudden 
 recollection. 
 
 " I can not, cousin Nina,'| he said in a low voice ; " I 
 must go — " 
 
 Then suddenly checking himself, he sunk into one of 
 the chairs shuddering. Nina did not observe this strange 
 conduct : her whole attention was given to a gay party 
 of young persons who rapidly approached ; these were the 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 121 
 
 guests who had chanced to meet each other, and who 
 tore down in one compact body — of laughing rosy faces, 
 and manly forms — upon Nina, and (prospectively) her 
 supper. Ladies at that day were not ashamed to eat 
 heartily, and were guilty of no trifling with dainty con- 
 fections, when good suhstantial edibles were at hand : — the ^ 
 gentlemen too, were fond of those night-dinners called 
 suppers ; and both the ladies, and the gentlemen, had 
 repeatedly partaken of this pleasant meal in great perfec- 
 tion at the old German's mansion. Thus the feast and 
 flow of other things than reason and the soul, were agree- 
 ably looked forward to. 
 
 Mr. Lyttelton arrived just as Nina was shaking hands 
 with her male friends, and kissing the young girls of the 
 party — a practice to which young girls for some mysteri- 
 ous reason are much addicted — and all having entered 
 the hospitable doors, they were welcomed honestly and 
 heartily by the old man ; and the merry laughter and 
 gay talk commenced, with many admiring looks at the 
 rich presents — Nina receiving every compliment with 
 wonderfully elegant composure : and so in due course of 
 time came, " the supper and the dance." 
 
 In the midst of this uproar, of clinking glasses, merry 
 voices, and gay laughter, Nina's face became suddenly 
 overcast by something like a cloud. The thought of Max 
 had occurred to her ; and this thought made her melan- 
 choly even in the very whirl of the revelry. 
 
 F 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 BARRY KEEPS mS APPOINTMENT. 
 
 From all this confusion, noise, and merriment, Barry 
 had soon disappeared, with that shrinking sensitiveness 
 which characterized his timid temperament. But on this 
 evening something unusual seemed to agitate him, and 
 make him afraid of his own thoughts, even. Sitting, 
 bent down, in one of the large wicker chairs beside the 
 door, he gazed now at the calm white stars, now at the 
 moon, which just rising kindled the eastern trees, agitated, 
 nervous, starting at every sound. . 
 
 "Within, all went merry as a marriage bell, and the con- 
 trast between those gay moving figures in the background,; 
 and in the foreground the form of the boy bent down, 
 trembling, frightened, might have struck a painter. 
 
 Suddenly the old clock struck slowly and sonorously 
 nine. At the first stroke Barry started, at the last he 
 rose up shuddering. 
 
 " It is time !" he murmured. 
 
 "What is it time for?" asked the voice of Nina, be- 
 hind him; the violent exercise in dancing had heightened 
 her color unbecomingly, and she came to moderate her 
 roses in the cool evening. 
 
 Barry drew back, shaking his head. 
 
 " What are you shaking your head so wisely for, 
 Barry ?" said Nina. 
 
 Barry trembling and pale, removed her hand from his 
 arm. 
 
 " Where are you going ?" asked Nina. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK 123 
 
 " I can not tell you, cousin Nina." 
 
 " Barry you must, or I will be angry." 
 
 " I am sorry, cousin Nina ; please let go my arm," 
 Barry said, trembling ; " I must go." 
 
 Nina was struck with the profound terror expressed in 
 the boy's voice, and released his arm. 
 
 Barry, without further parley, glided into the deep 
 shadow of the oaks and disappeared — ^himself a moving 
 shadow — in the direction of the bridge. Nina hearing 
 herself called by the young girls, dismissed the subject of 
 the child's strange conduct from her mind, and entered 
 the house — just, however, as father Von Horn and his 
 son-in-law to be, came foyth — at which Miss Nina waa 
 observed to pout. 
 
 These gentlemen had abandoned the gay company 
 within, to come and talk politics in the open air, which 
 was pleasantly cool, not at all unpleasantly, however. 
 
 At no time was Mr. Lyttelton an agreeable companion ; 
 but his conversational powers were displayed to much 
 greater advantage in the society of a reasonable, unim- 
 aginative, sensible man, than with merry girls, and young 
 men addicted to gay laughter. The merriment was well 
 in its way, no doubt, but he had seen enough on this 
 occasion, for one evening, he reflected ; and so reflecting, 
 he took his seat in the large wicker chair, which afforded 
 a luxurious resting-place for th% head, the arms, and the 
 feet. Let it not be supposed, however, that Mr. Lyttel- 
 ton was the man to profit by these advantages. No ; he 
 was accustomed to hard, upright court benches, or chairs, 
 and he sat perfectly erect in his comfortable and capacious 
 seat, disdaining to rest his head, his arms, or his feet, on 
 aught connected with it. 
 
 Then commenced a rather sleepy discussion, which c6n- 
 fined itself to politics and law ; and which the reader will 
 readily pardon our not recording here. Mr. Lyttelton 
 held in his hand the last number of the Martinsburg 
 
124 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 Gazette, and discoursed upon its editorial matter, which 
 he took for text, with great solemnity and emphasis. But 
 inthe midst of this harangue, when the speaker's feelings 
 were becoming aroused, and his latent fire began to glim- 
 mer and flicker, gradually growing brighter and warmer, 
 he was suddenly arrested by a circumstance so novel in 
 its nature, that he very nearly uttered an exclamation. 
 
 Darting from the shadow like a flash of light, knock- 
 ing the paper from Mr. Lyttelton's hand, and nearly over- 
 turning that gentleman, seat and all, Barry rushed into 
 the house, stumbled on the door sill, and fell- forward on 
 his knees among the dancers, with frightened eyes, 
 trembling limbs, white oheel^ down which ran a cold 
 sweat in streams, and on both hands marks of dust and 
 blood. 
 
 The whole company crowded round him in dismay, 
 and the music died away like a wail. Father Von Horn 
 hastened to the child ■with affectionate solicitude, and 
 raised him. 
 
 " What under heaven is this about, Barry," he asked 
 with great astonishment, " what has frightened you ?" 
 
 Barry passed his hand across his forehead, and mur- 
 mured something, shuddering. 
 
 " Speak, Barry !" 
 
 The boy trembled so violently that he could not speak, 
 scarcely stand. His face was as white as a ghost's, and 
 with under lip between his teeth, and round, awe-struck 
 eyes, he seemed to behold something, which no one around 
 him could see. 
 
 Father Von Horn took him -by the arm, and supported 
 him into the next room ; — Nina alone following, with a 
 hurried excuse to the company for leaving them. The 
 door was closed, and the old man quietly smoothing Bar- 
 ry's hair, gently asked the meaning of his heat, agitation 
 and fright. Barry gradually became more calm ; and 
 Nina, with a wet cloth washed the dust and blood from 
 
LEATUEE, STOCKJ.NG AiND SILK. 125 
 
 his hands ; Barry then in broken sentences explained 
 matters. 
 
 That evening, he said, at ahout dusk, as he was pass- 
 ing under the large willows hy the run — already nearly 
 steeped in darkness — ^he had heard a voice at his elhow 
 in the gloom, which bade him go that night at the hour 
 of nine, to the grave of Courtlandt Von Horn, or some 
 misfortune would happen to the family. This appoint- 
 ment he was not to mention to any one, or the same evil 
 would fall upon his uncle. While the voice was speaking 
 to him his foot had struck against a stone, and he had 
 stumbled and fallen. He rose and looked around — ^he 
 saw no one. Though terribly frightened, he had determ- 
 ined to go, and did go to the church-yard. On approach- 
 ing the wall he had observed a figure of large size, clothed 
 in white, standing upon the tomb of Courtlandt Von 
 Horn — 
 
 The old man started back. 
 
 " On the tomb of Courtlandt the Tall !" he cried, catch- 
 ing Barry by the arm. 
 
 " On the very slab," said Barry, trembling. 
 
 " Barry, you are deceived," said the old man, turning 
 pale, " or you are telling me an untruth." 
 
 " Never, uncle. I never told a falsehood — I saw it !" 
 
 Father Von Horn passed his hand across his forehead, 
 to wipe away the cold sweat which had gathered in large 
 beads there. Nina's trembling arm was round his neck. 
 
 "My mind wanders," said he "what more, Barry. 
 Said it any thing ?" 
 
 Barry resumed his account. The white figure of the 
 spectre had risen taller and taller, and suddenly had 
 glided toward him. Affrighted, he had fled pursued, as 
 he thought ; and as he fled, he heard thundered in his 
 ears, the words, " Courtlandt the Tall forbids this mar- 
 riage ! — Courtlandt the Tall forbids this marriage !" He 
 had then run faster, and had fallen and hurt his hands, 
 
123 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 tut rose again, and had not stopped — as they knew — 
 until he reached home. 
 
 The old man's head sank, and he looked mournfully at 
 his daughter. Nina was pale, and her eyes were slowly 
 filling with tears. She knew too well the family tradi- 
 tion, and her father's immovable resolution. 
 
 He took her by the hand, and muttering, "But one 
 course remains, daughter," entered the room where the 
 guests were assembled. 
 
 "Friends," said father Von Horn, "you have been 
 invited, I believe, to witness the ceremony of my daugh- 
 ter's marriage, two days from this time. I am sorry to 
 say, it is put off for the present — for good and sufficient 
 reason. Enough, that it must be deferred." 
 
 The company received this address with profound aston- 
 ishment. They looked at father Von Horn's firmly re- 
 solved face, at Nina's tearful eyes, bent down head, and 
 twitching lips, at Mr. William Lyttelton's profoundly 
 incredulous physiognomy, framed — a striking and origin- 
 al portrait — ^by the framework of the door. Nowhere any 
 information, any satisfactory indication of the meemng of 
 this mystery. A boy's fright to break off a marriage ! 
 To Mr. Lyttelton, even, father Von Horn gave no satisfac- 
 tory answer, requesting him to call in the morning. 
 
 And so the company dispersed with long faces and 
 astonished looks, knowing not what to think, to believe, 
 to imagine even. They were nonplused. Last of all, 
 Mr. Lyttelton went away ; — the gentleman who, above 
 all others, was affected by this strange occurrence. He 
 left father Von Horn's, not knowing whether to bring an 
 action for a novel breach of promise, or whether he should 
 not doubt his own, and the general sanity. 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 NINA SETS HER WITS TO WORK. 
 
 "When tlie last guest had disappeared, father Von Horn 
 went to his daughter, and tenderly took her hy the hand. 
 Nina covered her eyes with the other hand, and shed a 
 flood of tears — of disappointment, mortification, and sor- 
 row. 
 
 Father Von Horn was unmoved. 
 
 " Know you not, daughter," he said in a low tone, 
 "that this is a fatal augury in our family — an ancestor 
 haunting his grave on the occasion of a wedding ?" 
 
 Nina only sobbed. 
 
 " The roof tree would fall and crush us," continued the 
 old man, solemnly, " were we to persist ! Barry has never 
 yet told an- untruth ; but his woeful plight is evidence 
 enough. Courtlandt the Tall has arisen ! The marriage 
 is broken !" 
 
 " Forever, father ?" sobbed Nina. 
 
 " Forever, daughter !" the old man replied much 
 agitated, " it can not be. I could consent to your leav- 
 ing me, though I have nursed you from your mother's 
 death to the present hour, and seen your infant face merge 
 itself into childhood, childhood change gradually to girl- 
 hood, womanhood lastly come to place its stamp upon 
 your forehead. Well ! though I have watched you 
 through all these changeful and happy years, living most 
 on this earth for you, I could give you to one you loved, 
 I could part with my jewel to one who seemed to prize it 
 
128 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 aright. But there is another parting which I can not 
 consent to — that parting is the eternal parting on this 
 earth ; your death !" 
 
 " My death, father !" 
 
 " Yes, Nina ; were this marriage to take place, how 
 know I that my daughter would not he the victim of my 
 weakness. Her death would he the death of two persons 
 — the old worn body woiild no longer hold to earth, the 
 poor heart — it is getting very old and weary — would 
 Wear away its prison before many days of such a grief 
 had passed. No, daughter, it must not be. Courtlandt 
 the Tall has arisen !" the old man solemnly said, " the 
 marriage is broken off, and will not be written in the 
 Red Book ! Enough." 
 
 Nina, much touched by her father's words made no 
 reply — only sobbed. Suddenly, however, she was ob- 
 served to start. 
 
 " Father," she said, " I know Barry has seen some- 
 thing ; but could not this have been a trick played on 
 him ?" 
 
 " A trick ?" 
 
 " An imposition, by some one ; just think, father !" 
 
 "Who could think of it? Who would presume!" 
 cried the old man. 
 
 " Many would, father." 
 
 " To trifle with my family matters, and practice on 
 my feelings !" 
 
 " Father," cried Nina, "the move I think, the more I 
 am convinced there is some deception in the matter. Just 
 think." 
 
 Father Von Horn was incredulous ; but slowly the 
 idea seemed to gather weight and probability in his 
 mind. 
 
 "Father," said Nina, "before you break off forever 
 this marriage, in which my heart is engaged, grant me 
 one favor — but one, father." 
 
LKATIlfiU STOCKING AND SILK. 129 
 
 " What is it, daughter ?" 
 
 " That you will send invitations for the wedding, for 
 the day after to-morrow, as before — " 
 
 << Well—" 
 
 " Then you might go to the church-yard — I know it is 
 an imposition, father ; — and find — " 
 
 " I ?— to the ch'uroh-yard !" 
 
 " Father, I knoio it is an imposition," cried Nina ; 
 " and I think I know who it is. If it is a deception, it 
 will he repeated — if it is not, sir, and you see — see — what 
 Barry saw, then I will never again mention the subject 
 of my marriage." 
 
 This seemed plausible to father Von Horn ; he feared 
 the responsibility to his own conscience, too, which he 
 had incurred, by so abruptly on a child's report, breaking 
 off the intended marriage. The old man was exceedingly 
 superstitious — this is his excuse — far more so than Nina. 
 
 Nina was not superstitious at all ; — and .so forcible 
 were her arguments on this occasion, that she won her 
 father's consent to every thing. The invitations were to 
 be sent out again, every preparation for the wedding was 
 to be made for the second evening ; and on the next even- 
 ing — the wedding eve — her father was to ascertain for 
 himself, the truth of Barry's relation. 
 
 " Donher and Blitzen !" swore father Von Horn, " if it 
 is a trick !" When Nina heard this famous oath, she 
 knew that she need say no more 
 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 FATHER VON HORN ENCOUNTERS COURTLANDT THE TALL. 
 
 The afternoon slowly waned, the sunset died away, 
 and nine o'clock approached on that fatal night when 
 father Von Horn was to go forth to meet the shade, or not 
 the shade, of his ancestor. 
 
 Father Von Horn, the more he reflected, the more de- 
 cidedly came to agree with Nina. He was almost certain 
 now, that some trick had heen played upon him, or, which 
 was far worse, on his name. He accordingly determined 
 to prepare himself for an encounter with an earthly power, 
 not, however, going unprepared for unearthly visitants. 
 Around him pale faces and tremhling hands looked on, 
 and obeyed his bidding. First came an old rusty sabre 
 which had hung for nearly half a century on the walls, 
 and being about to see some service in all probability, 
 was buckled around the old man's waist by its antique 
 band. It had belonged to Courtlandt the Tall himself, 
 and now it was to be used, in a possible contingency, 
 against his derider or deriders. Then a dark lantern 
 attached to the end of a stick was produced — the lantern 
 to see by, and the stick to be used on the back of the 
 person or persons who had taken such unwarrantable 
 liberties with the Von Horn name ; if indeed the liberty 
 were not taken by one whose right was unimpeachable — 
 old Courtlandt Von Horn himself. 
 
 Thus equipped father Von Horn called Barry and bade 
 him keep by his side, mounted his horse, the coal black 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 131 
 
 Burt, and went forth, accompanied by the child into the 
 dark night. 
 
 It was very dark and threatening — ^heavy thunder 
 clouds having slowly gathered overhead sweeping from 
 the western mountains. The moon, struggling through 
 them like a storm-heaten ship, over whose lights waves 
 incessantly break, glimmered and disappeared, and rode 
 forth again, as the wind swept it onward to the west. 
 
 The ravine was flooded. The little tinkling rivulet 
 was becoming a mountain torrent, each moment growing 
 larger and larger. The freshet caused by the heavy rains 
 in the mountains, beat full and tumultuous against the 
 stone work of the bridge. This stone work trembled and 
 shook, as the large waves which had bowed huge trees 
 above, struck against it, rebounding covered with foam 
 like furious war-steeds in the shock of battle. 
 
 Father Von Horn and Barry crossed the bridge slowly, 
 and bent their way toward the church-yard. No sound 
 was heard but the mutterings of thunder far away in the 
 western mountains, and the heavy footsteps of Burt, or 
 his uneasy snort as he snuffed up the coming storm. 
 They approached the church-yard through the profound 
 darkness, which was only relieved by a few flashes of 
 lightning and the fitful glimmering of the moon ; the 
 lantern had been closed securely. 
 
 The whole neighborhood was wild and lonely : the 
 wind sighed in the tall melancholy trees which bowed 
 and bent toward each other like courteous giants, and 
 across the waste moor by which they drew near the 
 church-yard, the tall tombstones gleamed like spectres. 
 
 Suddenly father Von Horn caught Barry by the arm. 
 
 " I have seen something," he said in a whisper, " I 
 #rill conceal myself here behind this bush ; show your- 
 self." 
 
 Barry obeyed trembling ; and indeed he had no sooner 
 advanced with faltering steps into the open space in full 
 
132 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 view of the tomb than a flash of lightning revealed to 
 father Von Horn's terrified sight a gigantic figure stand- 
 ing with uplifted arms upon the grave of ' Courtlandt 
 the Tall ! The flash of lightning, however, had another 
 effect ; it revealed the old German to the spectre. The 
 consequence was that the white figure leaped the stone 
 wall with remarkable agility, and — the moon just then 
 sailing slowly forth — was seen scudding across the com- 
 mon toward a clump of bushes at the distance of some 
 hundred yards. 
 
 Father Von Horn's superstitious fears disappeared like 
 magic, and full of wrath he put spurs to Burt, and sweep- 
 ing like a substantial whirlwind toward the ghost would 
 have immediately overtaken him — ^but for a very simple 
 but also very unlucky circumstance. There grazed near 
 the clump of bushes mentioned, quietly and peacefully, a 
 noble mare, milk white and fleet as a deer, which every 
 body in the borough was well acquainted with ; the ghost 
 already imagined himself in the clutches of his enemy 
 when this chance of escape presented itself. 
 
 Burt, with fiery nostrils, which emitted clouds of vapor 
 in the chill air, heavy breathing, and energetic gallop was 
 sweeping toward him ; on Burt's back a gentleman whose 
 name had been trifled with, whose family traditions ridi- 
 culed, and whose superstitious ideas had been made a 
 laughing stock of by the ghost. 
 
 The ghost was naturally averse to any encounter with 
 this personage at the moment in question ; so wrapping 
 about him his sheet, he leaped with one vigorous bound, 
 on the back of the startled and neighing animal and 
 clasping him round the neck, took to the open road at 
 lightning speed. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE DEAD GO FAST. 
 
 Behind the spectre father Von Horn came on wrath- 
 fuUy. His metal was completely aroused, and he determ- 
 ined that the comedy should end definitely then, if not 
 there. 
 
 He therefore spurred Burt to his topmost speed, and 
 thus kept up with the fugitive if he did not gain ground. 
 They ran thus for nearly two miles, the ghost doubling 
 and winding in the numerous cross roads, endeavoring 
 without success to throw his pursuer off the scent. It 
 was all in vain. Father Von Horn followed him by the 
 noise of his steps, and the occasional moonlight, without 
 difficulty. By one of those numerous doubles in the road 
 the ghost — either advisedly, or from not perceiving the 
 bearing of surrounding objects, which was very natural in 
 one so agitated — bore down again upon Martinsburg. 
 Behind him his pursuer rode as swiftly. Through the 
 fitful moonlight, over hills, down rocky descents, up rug- 
 ged ascents, into Q,ueen-street, toward the bridge, they 
 came revealed to view only by the occasional lightning 
 flashes, breaking with the roar of thunder. Behind, 
 father Von Horn with streaming hair, swinging lantern, 
 and rattling sabre, bore on like a tornado. 
 
 Before, another sight was seen. There was the ghost 
 wrapped in his sheet, clinging like a vice to his horse's 
 mane, or rather neck, for he was lying on the animal 
 with one arm round his neck, ever and anon casting 
 
134 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 af&ighted glances behind at his pursuer. They looked — 
 horse and horseman — like one of those singular figures 
 which Eetzsch delighted to outline for the German bal- 
 lads. 
 
 Suddenly a terrific roar was heard, louder than wind, 
 thunder, or torrent. The bridge had given way with a 
 crash, and horrible to relate, the ghost and father Von 
 Horn, before they could check their horses, were precipi- 
 tated into the raging current. 
 
 The spectre horseman and his steed sunk, then rose 
 again. Looming above the waves like a rising sun, father 
 Von Horn tried to save his horse, but poor Burt seemed 
 to have gone down, and a gigantic surge swept over the 
 glimmering lantern. "Within two yards of the shore the 
 ghost redoubled his exertions, and soon the mare raised 
 her forelegs, and clinging to the bank like a dog, emerged 
 from the water. A large wave behind them suddenly 
 took the form of a man and horse, the old Grerman rose 
 from the wave, and by a desperate eflfort followed. Both 
 then, pursuer and pursued, swept on, the white mare 
 turning into the German quarter. 
 
 The race had been close, but the spectre of Courtlandt 
 the Tall might even then have achieved his escape, at the 
 pace he was going, and so returned quietly to lie down in 
 his tomb, but for an unfortunate accident. Just when 
 their speed had begun once more to mend, and when they 
 had reached the open space before father Von Horn's door, 
 the mare stumbled in the darkness, rolled her rider on the 
 ground, and frightened a,t the quick gathering lights and 
 faces, disappeared like a spectre steed, leaving the spec- 
 tre jockey to his fate. 
 
 The whole household ran out — father Von Horn drew 
 near, and in the midst of all the ghost rose, and throwing 
 the sheet on the ground, looked with a mixture of phlegm 
 and defiance on the crowd. The ghost was no other than 
 Mr. Hans Huddleshingle. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 135 
 
 " Sir," said father Von Horn gravely, " you have done 
 a most unworthy thing. It is neither graceful or becom- 
 ing for one so well descended as yourself, to thus trifle 
 with the traditions of an honest family. Go, sir, you are 
 sufficiently punished ; there is no enmity between us !" 
 
 And giving Burt to a servant, father Von Horn turned 
 his hack on Mr. Huddleshingle, who returned homeward, 
 devoured with rage, mortification, and despair. 
 
 Nina threw her arms round her father's neck, and joy- 
 fully kissed him. 
 
 " Did I not tell you so, father," she cried, " I knew 
 that odious man was the person, yesterday ; I was almost 
 certain, at least, for he heard us talking about the Red 
 Book and grandfather." 
 
 " You were right, my daughter," said the old man, 
 panting with his violent ride, " now the marriage may 
 take place, I hope, in peace." 
 
 And they all entered the house. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 MR. LYTTBLTON IS MADE TO UNDERSTAND. 
 
 The household were seated discussing the strange 
 incident which had just occurred, when the face of Mr. 
 William Lyttelton was seen at the door; and' that gen- 
 tleman gravely stalked in, shaking the rain drops from his 
 hat. 
 
 " You mentioned the hour of ten, I believe, sir," he said 
 to father Von Horn, taking out his watch, " and then you 
 promised me an explanation of this most extraordinary 
 occurrence." 
 
 " Be seated, Mr. Lyttelton," said the old man, who had 
 changed his dripping clothes, but was still panting, " I 
 shall get rny breath again very soon." 
 
 Mr. Lyttelton sat down, betraying as much astonish- 
 ment as his face was capable of expressing. As yet he 
 was wholly ignorant of what we have" narrated for the 
 reader in detail — namely, the family tradition of the Von 
 Horns, the explanation of Barry.'s fright on the previous 
 evening, and the catastrophe related in the last chapter. 
 The solemn gentleman was completely at a loss ; he was 
 wandering about i^the mazes of conjecture, like a blind 
 man in the night time, like a huge learned-looking owl .in 
 the day time. He understood nothing; and now called 
 by appointm'ent to hear the statement of the case, from 
 his intended father-in-law. 
 
 " You were, no doubt,'very much astonished yesterday," 
 father Von Horn said after a pause of some minutes, " at 
 
J-EATHER STOCKING AND SILZ. 137 
 
 the abrupt manner in which I dismissed my guests. Well 
 sir, you had, I confess, some right to be surprised. Lis- 
 ten, and you shall judge for yourself." 
 
 The old German then related to Mr. Lyttelton the whole 
 affair from beginning to end, making no mystery of his 
 family superstition, but offering for it no apology. Mr. 
 Lyttelton stretched his eyes to their greatest possible 
 width ; solemnly rubbed one side of his nose with his 
 long finger ; shook his head with an oraoularity which 
 expressed folio volumes ; and in one word, exhibited all 
 those signs of astonishment which men are accustomed 
 to exhibit, on hearing a strange and unaccountable cir- 
 cumstance narrated. Father Von Horn with a mixture 
 of amusement and indignation, concluded by detailing 
 the final catastrophe and signal overthrow, in a double 
 sense, of Mr. Huddleshingle. 
 
 "And now," said he, "you have the whole matter, 
 and may comprehend these singular events complete- 
 ly." 
 
 " I understand," said Mr. Lyttelton gravely, " This 
 gentleman — Mr. Huddleshingle I think you call him — 
 well deserve§ a severe punishment at my hands." 
 
 " No, no," said father Von Horn, regaining his cheerful 
 good-humor, "his father and myself were friends. I 
 must not disgrace him more than he has disgraced him- 
 self." 
 
 " Hum !" muttered Mr. Lyttelton, "but I was not his 
 father's friend, sir." 
 
 " You ?" said the old man, laughing. 
 
 " No ; and I hold it to be my right and my duty to 
 take notice of this insult to — " 
 
 " To whom, friend William ?" 
 
 " To Nina." 
 
 " Why, you are too fast !" said father Von' Horn, mer- 
 rily, " Nina is not your wife yet. Until then — " 
 
 Mr. Lyttelton smiled. 
 
138 LEATHKK, STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " She soon will he, I hope, sir. To-morrow evening, 
 I believe, is fixed upon for' the wedding." 
 
 "See, Nina," said father Von Horn, shaking with 
 laughter, " if you allow him to take things into his own 
 hands so completely now before your marriage, what will 
 you do when he is your lord and master ?" 
 
 Nina blushed, and glanced at the solemn face of her 
 lover. That gentleman considered himself, possibly, very 
 well repaid for the banter which had given him that lov- 
 ing glance. 
 
 " Well, sir," he said gravely to the, old man, " I sup- 
 pose now the wedding may take place without further 
 difficulty. I am ready, and so is Nina, I believe ; I am 
 naturally anxious," added Mr. Lyttelton, with as much 
 diffidence as his profession had left him master of, " to 
 have the ceremony over ; if Nina, therefore, throws no 
 obstacle in the way — " 
 
 " Oh !" said Nina, much embarrassed. 
 
 " To-morrow evening will be our wedding-day." 
 
 " Or wedding-evening : I don't think you will be fur- 
 ther troubled by insolent triflers, like Mt. Huddleshin- 
 gle," said father Von Horn, " The wedding will take 
 place ; and friend William, I wish you all happiness. 
 We all do. We are all here now, and all are pleased 
 that Nina has chosen so worthy a gentleman as yourself 
 for her husband ; all of us — with the exception of my 
 wild nephew, Max, who appeared some time since you 
 recollect, in the character of Romeo, on the evening of 
 
 Mrs. 's examination. He is off in the mountains 
 
 with hunter John, and no doubt will be much surprised 
 when he receives the message I sent him. I am afraid 
 he has wandered deeper into the mountains, though — to 
 Mr. Emberton's, or other of his friends ; and will not 
 return until the marriage is over. Max is a wild dog, 
 but we all love him ; I hope he will be in time." 
 
 At that moment the hoof-strokes of a horse were heard 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 139 
 
 'upon the hard ground without — the sound suddenly 
 ceased — and a footstep was distinguished upon the grav- 
 eled wallc leading to the door. The door opened, and the 
 figure of Max appeared upon the threshold, his clothes 
 soiled with dust, his face agitated, one hand pressed upon 
 his heart as if to still its tumultuous heating. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 MAX APPEARS AGAIN UPON THE SCENE. 
 
 Max closed the door and came in, bowing with gloomy 
 embarrassment to the company. 
 
 " Welcome, my boy," said father Yon Horn, kindly 
 offering his hand to the young man, "why did you force 
 us to send you word of Nina's wedding? You ought, be- 
 sides, to have been back long since to your law. Ah! 
 the mountain winds are a bad thing for students — unles.? 
 students are sick from too much study,' which I take it 
 is not the case with Mr. Romeo. "Why, what's the mat- 
 ter. Max ?" continued father Von Horn, " your hand is 
 cold and trembles. Are you sick ?" 
 
 " No, sir — nothing — " stammered Max, sitting down 
 moodily, " I rode very fast." 
 
 " Why so ?" 
 
 " I wished to arrive in time," said Max, bitterly ; " I 
 thought cousin Nina might be married, as she has been 
 courted and won, while I was absent." 
 
 Nina saw the storm she had feared, rapidly approach- 
 ing ; — not only in the unusual address of the young man 
 — he had called her formally cousin Nina — but in his 
 moody and agitated looks and tones, so different from that 
 merry and joyous manner habitual with him. There 
 was a bitterness in his voice, too, which jarred upon her 
 heart. The old man also noticed this change in Max's 
 usual bearing, and said : 
 
 "Married while you were absent say you, nephew? 
 
 (1 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 141 
 
 Well pray Vhose fault would that have been, had you in- 
 deed not returned ? Nina oould not tell Mr. Lyttelton 
 that you were off on a hunting expedition, and appoint 
 the day after your return for her wedding-day. Come, 
 come ! you are weary and out of humor ; get Max some 
 supper, Nina." 
 
 "I am not hungry, sir," said Max, his eyes filling with 
 tears of sorrow and mortification, " and I could not eat." 
 
 " Riding usually gives me an appetite," said Mr. 
 Lyttelton, phlegmatically. 
 
 " It has not me," said Max coldly. 
 
 Mr. Lyttelton saw an opening for a joke ; he caught at 
 it with the energy of an advocate who sees a weak point 
 in his opponent's case. 
 
 "Perhaps you are in love," said he smiling; "that I 
 believe is fatal to the appetite." 
 
 Max's eye suddenly blazed ; and he met Mr. Lyttel- 
 ton's glance with one of such defiance that that gentle- 
 man was profoundly astonished. 
 
 "In love, sir?" said the young man sternly. "What 
 do you mean ?" 
 
 Father von Horn rose and laid his hand on the young 
 man's shoulder. 
 
 " Max," he said, "you must really be unwell, or some- 
 thing has put you out of humor. You speak to Mr. 
 Lyttelton as if he were your personal enemy !" 
 
 Max uttered not a syllable in denial of his uncle's 
 hypothesis. 
 
 " I am not aware that I have said any thing impolite, 
 sir," said Mr. Lyttelton. 
 
 " Oh father I" said Nina, coming forward with tears in 
 her eyes ; " don't speak harshly to Max ; I know he is 
 unwell and irritable — you know like me so often." 
 
 "Why daughter," said the old man, "I had no inten- 
 tion of speaking harshly to Max. He is not a child for 
 me to rate for ill-behavior. Come, my boy, throw off your 
 
142 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 ferocious frowns — which I am at my wits' ends ahout. — 
 and sit down. You must have some supper, it is nearly 
 eleven o'clock ; and you must be hungry." 
 
 "Nearly eleven?" interrupted Mr. Lyttelton looking 
 at his watch ; " so it is, sir. Well I must go, as I have 
 a record to study to-night. Grood-night, sir," he added 
 shaking hy the hand, father Von Horn, who endeavored to 
 prevail on him to stay longer, alleging with great polite- 
 ness the earliness of the hour, " and good-night, Nina. 
 Be ready to-morrow." 
 
 Having said good-hy, Mr. Lyttelton might have very 
 properly retired, hut he waited as usual for the sound of 
 Nina's voice, heseeohing him to stay ; perhap? for the 
 conjugal kiss which she usually hestowed upon his oracu- 
 lar lips. If Mr. Lyttelton lingered for such a purpose he 
 lingered in vain. Nina neither asked him to remain, nor 
 seemed at all disposed to grant him a "salute," or made 
 any movement forward even to press his hand hefore his 
 departure. And if the reader fails to comprehend the 
 rationale of this phenomenon we are quite sure we could 
 not, in a v^hole volume, convey to him any accurate idea 
 upon the subject. Mr. Lyttelton, therefore, departed 
 with scarcely any recognition of the fact on the part 
 of Nina ; he knew not what to think, but decided upon 
 the propriety of jealousy, in which the handsome face of 
 Max entered and played a distinguished part. 
 
 Father Von Horn came back holding the candle with 
 which he had lit his guest out, and unmistakably yawned ; 
 then declared he felt exceedingly sleepy — and then, hav- 
 ing told Nina and Max good-night, without a trace of ill- 
 humor toward the young man in his manner, retired to 
 bed. Nina! got up to follow him. Max with his head 
 turned away took no notice of the movement. 
 
 Nina went up to him, and took his hand. 
 
 " Max," she said in a low tone, " are you angry with 
 
LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILK. 143 
 
 "No," said the young man turning away. 
 
 " Why are you so cold to me, then ?" said Nina. 
 
 Max raised his head, and a profound sigh, which 
 seemed to relieve his heart, broke from him. 
 
 " Am I cold to you ?" he said, " I did not mean to he 
 cold to you ; indeed it would be very ridiculous in me to 
 be giving myself airs as if I was some important person. 
 I hope you will forgive me, if I have annoyed you." 
 
 Nina was much moved at the profoundly sad tones in 
 which these words were uttered. 
 
 " No, you have not annoyed me. Max ; but you called 
 me when you came in cousin Nina, and I thought you 
 were angry with me." 
 
 " I am not angry with you," Max said, in a low voice. 
 
 " But, Max ! something is the matter with you ! Max 
 you distress me ; I am ready to cry and I will cry in a 
 minute if you don't tell me what you are so distressed 
 about. Is it — can it be-r-Max, can it be ! — " stainmered 
 the young girl blushing. 
 
 " Yes !" said Max, rising. 
 
 For a moment their agitated glances met ; Max lean- 
 ing, ,pale and statue-like, against the tall mantle-piece, 
 Nina standing upright without the power of moving. For 
 a moment they stood thus silent, and motionless ; then 
 Nina sank into a chair, and covered her face which was 
 full of tears and blushes. 
 
 " Nina," said the young man, a passionate sob tear- 
 ing its way from his breast, " I loved you ! I love you 
 now more than ever. I left you without dreaming of 
 this — and when I received the intelligence I raved 
 awhile as unfortunate people always have done, and al- 
 ways will do. I thought your heart — that wealth more 
 vast than earth could give me — was at least half my 
 own. I was mistaken, and for a time my breast was 
 a storm, which tore it and blackened for the moment 
 every thing around me. Well, well ! the storm has sub- 
 
144 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 sided — ^will subside in time, I hope, wholly ; I will try to 
 curb this foolish agitation which is only food for laugh- 
 ter—" 
 
 "Oh, Max — Max!—" sobbed Nina. 
 
 " You are right, Nina. This is very foolish in me I 
 know," he said, " and I will trouble you no more. This 
 thing came on me like a thunder-clap, and I was surprised, 
 that is all. Don't let my gloominess disturb you ; and 
 now I will not stand here gi-oaning and sighing. Good- 
 night !" 
 
 And leaving Nina in tears. Max went up to his room. 
 Once more alone his feelings, softened no longer by the 
 pleading face of Nina, were lashed again into tumultuous 
 waves. He recalled those ironical words of Mr. Lyttel- 
 ton — such he supposed them to be — " perhaps you are in 
 love ;" he treasured up that gentleman's cool smile, and 
 at the end of half an hour had made up his mind that he 
 had insulted him. What to do ? That was the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 This question tormented him through all the long 
 hours of that weary night. Striding up and down the 
 room, agitated by a thousand thoughts, Max could, after 
 hours of thought, determine upon nothing. 
 
 The dawn found him still pacing up and down. He 
 took his hat and descended, meeting in the dining-room 
 with aunt Jenny. Aunt Jenny immediately unfolded 
 the events of the last two days ; ' the spectre — the night 
 ride — the catastrophe. 
 
 Max caiight at this with sombre pleasure ; and smiling 
 scornfully left the' house ; on what errand we shall dis- 
 cover. 
 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 M. PANTOUFLE's last lesson and ^VHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 At eleven in the forenoon of the eventful day, on the 
 morning of which we have seen Max leave his uncle's, 
 and on the evening of which Nina was to give her hand 
 away to Mr. Lyttelton, M. Pantoufle Xaupi, or as we 
 have elected to call him — therein sustained by general 
 usage— M. Pantoufle simply, called to give the young 
 girl her last lesson in music. 
 
 M. Pantoufle made much capital, so to speak, out of 
 this event. He was profuse in his bows and congratula- 
 tions — paid his pupil many sly compliments on her good 
 looks — and made more than one courteously- worded, para- 
 phrased allusion to the happy event. 
 
 It might with truth be said that M. Pantoufle, on this 
 occasion, not for one instant kept an upright position in 
 the young girl's presence. He had brought with him a 
 magazine of bows, smiles, shrugs, grimaces, from which 
 he drew those graceful weapons in profusion, and shot 
 them at his lovely pupil with prpdigal politeness. His 
 hand never once released the richly-laced cooked hat ; 
 the richly-laced cocked hat but rarefy left the owner's 
 heart; the owner of the heart had apparently but one 
 desire on earth — ^to bow to the lady's very feet. 
 
 Nina took her seat at the harpsichord, and struck the 
 keys. 
 
 "What divine touch!" cried M. Pantoufle in an 
 ecstasy. 
 
 G 
 
146 LEATHER STOCKINU AND SILK. 
 
 " Come, M. Pantoufie," said Nina, "you are in a com- 
 plimentary vein this morning. I am not in a laughing 
 humor. My lesson please." 
 
 " The last — ah, ma'mselle, the last." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " 'Tis the last lesson." 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 " Before the happy event." 
 
 " My marriage, you mean?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'mselle." 
 
 " Well — come now." 
 
 " I could teach ma'mselle no more." 
 
 " Teach me no more ? pshaw !" 
 
 " 'Tis true, ma'mselle." 
 
 " Why I play very badly." 
 
 "Badly ! mon Dieu .'" 
 
 "You know it." 
 
 " You play divinely, ma'mselle !" 
 
 " Pshaw ! come let us begin." 
 
 " With pleasure." 
 
 " Which piece ?" 
 
 " This, ma'mselle." 
 
 And Monsieur Pantoufie took from his port-folio a piece 
 of music. 
 
 " 'Tis new," he said. 
 
 " And pretty ?" 
 
 " Oh, charming !" 
 
 " Strike it." 
 
 .Monsieur Pantoufie, with polite ease, sat down and ran 
 his fingers over the instrument. 
 
 " Why, it is not pretty," said Nina. 
 
 " That is the prelude — seulement." 
 
 "Well, go on." 
 
 Monsieur Pantoufie commenced the piece with a brill- 
 iant flourish, and then ran through it, the music rattHug 
 like miniature thunder^ and glittering, so to speak, like 
 
LEATHEU STOCKING AND SILK. 147 
 
 lightning. Nina did not interrupt him. He finished 
 and turned round. Nina's eyes were full of tears. 
 
 " "lis pretty, is it not?" said Monsieur Pantoufle, not 
 ohserving her emotion. 
 
 " "Very," said Nina, turning away, " I have heard Max 
 humming it a great deal within the last month : — no, be- 
 fore that ;" Nina added, mournfully. 
 
 " I teach him," said Monsieur Pantoufle, with a polite 
 grimace. 
 
 " Have you seen him to-day ?" 
 
 Monsieur Pantoufle looked mysterious. 
 
 '^ Yes, ma'mselle," he said. 
 
 " Did he look well ?" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I mean in good spirits — Men aise — he was sick last 
 night." 
 
 " Sick, eh ?" said Monsieur Pantoufle, evading the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 ^' Malade: was he well, I say, to-day?" 
 
 " Why, ma'mselle, I must confess, he look badly." 
 
 " What was he doing ?" 
 
 " Writing," -said Monsieur Pantoufle, innocently. 
 
 "What, pray?" 
 
 " Ah, you must ask him, ma'mselle," replied Monsieur 
 Pantoufle, laying his hand carefully upon the inside of 
 his cocked hat, and bowing politely. 
 
 " Well, sir — now we will go on, if you please," said 
 Nina, listlessly ; and she again took her seat at the harp- 
 sichord. Monsieur Pantoufle betook himself to his duty, 
 with elegant ease. 
 
 The lesson lasted half an hour, at the end of which 
 time the music-master rose to take his departure. This 
 was not, however, as easy a matter as many persons may 
 suppose. First he gathered up his music, and placed it 
 carefully in his port-folio ; then he carefully tied the 
 strings of the port-folio, and placed it under his left arm. 
 
148 1,EATHEE, STOCKING- AND SILK. 
 
 There was still, however, the arduous task of getting out 
 of the room, and from the young girl's presence, without 
 turning his back. Then was made apparent Monsieur 
 Pantoufle's elegance and grace ; his masterly attainments 
 in bEtll-room science. He ambled, he sidled, he trod 
 minoingly on his toes, he bowed, grimaced, shrugged his 
 shoulders, and retreated gradually, accompanying every 
 step backward with a compliment. At his third polite 
 speech, he had reached the old clock, at his fifth the bible 
 stand, at his seventh the threshold of the door. There 
 with his cocked hat pressed devotedly on his heart, his 
 head inclined over the right shoulder, his feet artistically 
 fixed together, he made Nina a most profound bow, and 
 so took his leave, smiling — serenely happy. 
 
 He had not observed the fact that a note elegantly 
 folded had fallen from his hat upon the floor. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE LAST OF MAX COURTLANDT IN MARTINSBURG. 
 
 It was not until half an hour after Monsieur Pantoufle's 
 departure, that Nina chanced to see the note lying on the 
 floor. Thinking it was one of the invitations which she 
 had dropped, she picked it up and opened it. Running 
 her eye hastily over it — or rather over both, for there 
 were two notes folded for the sake of convenience together, 
 she started and turned pale. 
 
 " Oh, me I" cried Nina, in an agonized tone, "how could 
 Max—" 
 
 " Why, daughter," said the voice of father Von Horn, 
 behind her, "what pray, has moved you so? I should 
 imagine that this note you are reading, was your sentence 
 of death. I heard you say ' Max :' what has he to do 
 with it ? — a real mystery !" 
 
 Nina placed the notes in her father's hands, with an 
 expression of anxious terror. Father Von Horn ran his 
 eye over them. 
 
 "Where did these come from?" he said, indignantly, 
 " I see Mr. Pantoufle's name here !" 
 
 " He must have dropped them." 
 
 " Dropped them ?" 
 
 " He has just gone,' father ; he came to give me my 
 music lesson;" 
 
 Father Von Horn again read the notes with a frowning 
 brow. 
 
150 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 "I'll see to this!" he cried; " where is Max — my 
 nephew — ^ho, there !" 
 
 "Here I am, sir," said the^young man, gravely enter- 
 .ing ; his "hair disordered lilte his dress ; his face pale and 
 sombre. 
 
 "Do you know this writing?" said father Von Horn, 
 angrily striking the paper with his finger, and holding it 
 up hefore his nephew's eyes. 
 
 The young man looked at it, and betrayed some emo- 
 tion. ' 
 
 " I ask you if yo a know it ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," Max replied, gloomily, " I know it, for I 
 wrote it mysdf ; though I do not know how you could 
 have procured it." 
 
 " Mr. Pantoufle, sir—" 
 
 " Mr. Pantoufle has degraded himself," said the young 
 man, scornfully. " If he has brought it to you, sir, T can 
 not understand how you consented to open it." 
 
 " He did not bring it^he dropped it. But I should, in 
 any event have read it without hesitation." 
 
 The young man remained silent and gloomy, stand- 
 ing motionless. 
 
 ^' Yes, without hesitation," repeated father Von Horn, 
 working himself into a passion, " I hold it to be my right, 
 as well as my duty, to prevent so unchristian and bloody 
 an encounter. This, sir, is a challenge^-" 
 
 " Yes, sir — two challenges." 
 
 " And to whom, in heaven's name, but the intended hus- 
 band of my daughter." 
 
 Nina fell sobbing into a chair. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Max, with gloomy composure, " to 
 Mr. William Lyttelton, and to the worthy gentleman who 
 yesterday played a disgraceful trick upon your family. 
 Uncle!" cried the young man, losing his calmness, and 
 speaking in a voice of great bitterness, "this thine 
 went too' far ! Last night, this Mr. Lyttelton scoffed at 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 151 
 
 my agitation upon meeting Nina ; laughed at me, uttered 
 cruel and unmannerly jests at my expense ! I could have 
 forgiven that, though my blood is none of the coolest, 
 •when a man deliberately does me wrong. I went to my 
 chamber — I recalled every word, every look, every insult- 
 ing accent, and in spite of all, I determined to do nothing, 
 to pass by all these insults, because Nina, Nina — loved 
 this man !" Max said, through his teeth. " In the morn- 
 ing, I heard of the infamous trick Mr. Huddleshingle had 
 been guilty of. He, at least, was a proper object for me 
 to spend my anger upon, and I went straight to write 
 him a defiance. On the way, I met Mr. Lyttelton, who 
 bowed superciliously, and a second time insulted me ! I 
 added his name to Mr. Huddleshingle's ; — he was in 
 worthy company." 
 
 The young man stopped, mastered by his agitation — 
 and overwhelmed with rage, jealousy, and despair. 
 
 " Sir," said father Von Horn, " you have been guilty 
 of an unchristian and criminal act !" 
 
 " Yes, sir, and ridiculous ! I know that — all. Mr 
 Lyttelton, I suppose, will refuse to fight with his wife's 
 cousin ! A mere boy, too ! Yes, sir, I know I am ridic- 
 ulous; but I have been wronged, and I will right my 
 wrong !" 
 
 "You are mad! I forbid your keeping this appoint- 
 ment. I will go at -once to this miserable dancing-mas- 
 ter, who is your second forsooth in this unholy matter ! 
 Nephew, I forbid your stirring one step further : I forbid 
 your leaving the hoiise until I return. You have been 
 guilty of a criminal and most unchristian act !" repeated 
 the old man, laboring under great excitement. " There is 
 Nina, almost in a fainting fit on the day of her marriage! 
 Here am I, an old gray-headed man, with a heart lacerated 
 by your conduct! I forbid your leaving this house, sir, 
 till my return — and were you twice as old as you are, I 
 would still forbid you. To your room, sir !" 
 
152 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 And father Yon Horn angrily putting on his hat hur- 
 ried off to Monsieur Pantoufle's. 
 
 Max stood overcome with a thousand emotions ; anger, 
 jealousy, mortified pride, and bitter sorrow by turns raged 
 in his heart. His eye fell upon Nina, whose bosom was 
 shaken with a storm of sobs. 
 
 " Great Grod !" cried the young man, " is it possible 
 that this hell should have come into the place I was so 
 happy in before. Can you be so changed, Nina ! Answer 
 me not ; I am going ; but not to meet your — ^husband. 
 No ! that is all over. But I go ; were I to stay the roof 
 tree would fall and crush me !" 
 
 And Max hurried to his chamber. Closing the door, 
 he sat down in great agitation ; and for a moment strove 
 to collect his bitter and wandering thoughts. Then 
 seizing a pen he commenced writing. 
 
 As he wrote his agitation changed slowly into a sombre 
 melancholy. Then a few tears gathered in his eyes and 
 ran down upon the paper. In a quarter of an hour he 
 rose, leaving the sheet open upon the table. 
 
 He looked for some minutes around him, at the oiti 
 familiar objects ; a profound sigh or rather a groan, burst 
 from his heart : and he went out slowly. Descending to 
 the stable he saddled his horse — ^the gift of his aunt — 
 mounted, and just as dusk began to fall upon the quiet 
 town went forth toward the south. • 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 Nina's wedding and max's letter. 
 
 Father Von Horn found Monsieur Pantoufle "not at 
 home" — which circumstance was perhaps attributable to 
 the fact that that gentleman had seen him approaching 
 and, quietly instructing his servant what to say to his 
 visitor, had ensconced himself in his chamber. 
 
 Immediately upon his return father Von Horn askjd 
 for Max and was informed that he had gone to his cham- 
 ber. After a moment's reflection the old man determined 
 to leave him undisturbed for a time, hoping that after an 
 hour or two his agitation and excitement would cool down, 
 and that this most unpleasant affair would be ended by a 
 frank explanation between himself and the young man. 
 Besides the wedding guests before very long began to 
 assemble, and his attention was attracted for the moment 
 to this more urgent matter. 
 
 The wedding was as gay as weddings usually are — 
 music, dancing, and feasting were the order of the even- 
 ing, and Nina never had loolced prettier her friends in- 
 formed her, albeit there lingered in her pensive eyes some 
 evidence of the agitating scenes through which she had 
 so lately passed. But Nina's mind was now compara- 
 tively relieved ; her father had assured her that the whole 
 matter had blown over like -at wind without injuring any 
 one ; and lastly, the young girl saw there before her the 
 gentleman whose valuable life had been so lately threat- 
 ened, solemn and grave as usual it was true, but undeni- 
 
 G* 
 
154 LEATHEK STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 ably enjoying excellent health and spirits. So when the 
 young girl stood up to be married, blushing and timid as 
 young girls will be on such interesting occasions, she 
 looked radiantly beautiful and joyful. 
 
 They were married ; and then commenced anew the 
 feasting and revelry which were made such hearty affairs 
 of by our valiant and great forefathers — valiant as 
 trenchermen as in other ways ; and those fair ladies we 
 look back upon with so much admiration and affection. 
 The stately minuet bowed itself through its complicated 
 part, the gay reel whirled merry couples through its joy- 
 ous mazes ; the merriment and uproar was complete. 
 
 Then it was that father Von Horn, having heard nothing 
 of Max, determined to go and seek him. 
 
 He found the room empty ; nowhere any trace of the 
 young man. His eye fell on the letter Max had written ; 
 and foreboding something, with that instinct of the heart 
 whose wonderful power so often displays itself, the old 
 man took it, and read it hurriedly, with many heavy 
 sighs and mournful shakings of the head. 
 
 The letter was written very hastily, with evident agita- 
 tion on the writer's part, and many portions were blotted 
 with his tears. 
 
 It ran as follows : 
 
 " I must leave you, uncle ; I ask your pardon for this 
 act, because you have always been most kind to me, 
 much kinder and more affectionate than I deserved, I 
 know. Just now I was angry, my blood was hot and I 
 uttered words which I should not have uttered. Pardon 
 this, too — for my brain is still heated, and my hand trem- 
 bles with agitation. I am going away, because I feel 
 that I can not remain ; not on account of your harsh words 
 which irritated me at the moment ; I no ^onger feel any 
 irritation. It is not on account of those words, but be- 
 cause I should be miserable, a mere walking automaton, 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 155 
 
 if I were to remain longer in the place where my heart 
 has been so. cruelly torn — not by any one's fault — no ! — 
 by my destiny. 
 
 "I can write down here, what I should utter with diffi- 
 culty — I loved Nina more than as a mere cousin, too much 
 to hear of her marriage with equanimity. My heart is 
 even now, painfully affected by the despair I felt, on 
 receiving the intelligence of her engagement — though I 
 have done all in my power to curb this feeling. I did 
 not know how much I loved her until I lost her ; so be 
 it! But I can not prevent this tear from falling on the 
 paper. I can not calm my feelings. Oh, I loved her so 
 much, sir ! She was my playmate, my friend, my cousin, 
 and I thought that she would be my wife. This is, I 
 know, ridiculous ; you will think it more so still, when 
 you reflect how mere a child I have always seemed, even 
 to the present hour — so light, so boyish ; — but I loved 
 Nina as no man else could, and love her still. May every 
 blessing be hers and yours, sir I 
 
 " I do not know where I am going — any where. 1 only 
 know I can not stay here. My heart feels deani or burns ; 
 my brain is by turns apathetic and feverish ; it would 
 continue ; I should be a sTiadow — mournful and jsombre 
 — stalking in your way. Different scenes may change 
 me, and restore that thoughtless gayety which I had once. 
 Now, I must go. 
 
 " You have been a father to me, uncle ; God bless you ! 
 Pardon me for leaving you thus ; I must ; my brain is 
 unsettled, but steady enough to show me that this de-. 
 parture is necessary. Again, for all your kindness to me 
 may God bless you. I loved you dearly, sir — and will 
 always. It racks my heart to write these lines ; my hani 
 trembles, my eyes flush with fever and .passionate tears. 
 All is dark before me ; I am in a dream ; my thoughts 
 wander. 
 
 " Heaven bless you — and Nina, sir. My going will 
 
136 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 not hurt Barry,- sir :— Barry is so dear to me, you know ; 
 take care of him, uncle ! Tell Nina good-by," for me ; I 
 hope she will be happy, and not be too angry with me. 
 God bless her and all, and do not think too hard of me. 
 Take care of Barry, uncle. Farewell. 
 
 " Maximilian Courtlandt." 
 
 " Alas !" murmured the old man, raising his head, sor- 
 rowfully, with a deep sigh. That sigh was answered by 
 another behind him ; Nina had stolen from the company, 
 on the same errand which had drawn her father away. 
 
 " He is gone, Nina," said the old man, " and here is his 
 letter." 
 
 Nina read it, sobbing. 
 
 " There is no help for it, daughter," said father Von 
 Horn ; " but may Heaven guide the boy." 
 
 The merry music floated to them ; below all was joy- 
 ous uproar ; above, in the solitary chamber, all anxiety 
 and gloom. Then were heard merry voices calling Nina, 
 and drying her eyes, she went down. The old man's 
 head sank„ and again he murmured sadly that mournful 
 word, " alas I" 
 
PART II. 
 
 IN THE VALLEY OF MEADOW BRANCH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A NEW AND AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 It was just at sunset of a fine September day in the 
 year of grace 181—, nearly five years after the events we 
 have narrated, that a traveler coming from the east, that 
 is to say from the direction of Martinshurg, stopped upon 
 the " Third Hill Mountain" some miles to the west of 
 that town, to rest his horse for a moment before descend- 
 ing into the little valley beneath. " Sleepy Creek Mount- 
 ain" stretched just in front of him across the narrow 
 glen, and the round red orb, about to disappear, had 
 kindled the tall pines upon its summit into a blaze, and 
 like a bonfire threw the long shadows of tree and rock and 
 knoll, down the declivity into " Meadow Branch Valley." 
 
 The traveler was much struck by the fair picture, so 
 quiet and so lovely ; but after gazing upon it for a few 
 moments, he touched his magnificent sorrel with the spur 
 and went on again, down the mountain, breasting the 
 full red rays which lit up radiantly his rich dress, and 
 brown closely trimmed hair and beard, and his fine smiling 
 face. .His object was apparently to reach some friendly 
 sliclter before the cool September breeze made the open air 
 uncomfortable. Besides he seemed to have ridden far and 
 naturally looked about him now for a night's resting-place. 
 
 Ho had nearly reached the base of the mountain, and. 
 
158 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 seeing no habitation near, had hegun to look with forlorn 
 interest on a large Dutch barn and dwelling-house far to 
 the south, when coming out from a clump of pines which, 
 just in his front obscured the view, he found himself 
 close to a mountain-dwelling. 
 
 "Ah," murmured the stranger, "where were my 
 thoughts wandering ? Might I not have expected to find 
 precisely at this spot what I now see !" 
 
 And with a well-satisfied smile he approached the 
 house, at the door of which was seated a, tall powerful 
 mountaineer. 
 
 The mountaineer was apparently above sixty, with hair 
 nearly white with age ; not wholly, for many dark threads 
 still remained relieving the silver sheen of the rest. He 
 was very plainly the owner and lord of the mansion, and 
 at the moment when the stranger drew near, was caress- 
 ing with his vigorous hand a tall deer-hound, who sub- 
 mitted with evident pleasure to this agreeable ceremony. 
 
 The traveler courteously saluted him, dismounting as 
 he spoke ; then in a voice, open and frank, but slightly 
 French in accent, he said — 
 
 " May I crave a night's lodging, sir? I see no houses 
 of entertainment any where, and find myself somewhat at 
 a loss for a night's rest." 
 
 " You are very welcome, sir," said the mountaineer, 
 rising, " make my house your own ; such as it is." 
 
 " I thank you, sir," replied the stranger, " but will not 
 my horse embarrass you ?" 
 
 "We'll see to him — we'll see to him., A fine animal 
 he is too. He shall stand by ray own, and feed as well." 
 
 " Thanks, sir — many shanks for your hospitality," the 
 traveler said with a smile. 
 
 " There's no thanks owing to me, sir. I'm a ppor 
 man, but would think myself not doing my duty to turn 
 away a guest. Wife," added the mountaineer, turn- 
 ing toward the house from which came the busy hum of 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 159 
 
 a spinning- wheel, "here is a friend who will stop with 
 us. My wife, sir — Mrs. Myers. My own name is John 
 Myers — at your service." 
 
 The old dame came to the door and courtesied, smiling 
 cheerfully : theii hetook herself to preparing the supper. 
 
 " My own name," the traveler said, "is Doctor Thomas ; 
 and while supper is getting ready, my good sir, I will 
 with your leave see to my horse. We are old friends ; I 
 must not slight him." 
 
 " I like you the better for that, guest," the mountaineer 
 replied in his hearty voice, " and I'll go with you, and let 
 you gee that all's, right." 
 
 Thereupon the mountaineer led the way to a rude, but 
 well constructed shed, some few paces behind the house; 
 and opened the door. It was already occupied by a large 
 black horse, who might have borne Goliah upon his broad 
 back ; but at his side was a vacant stall, and here the 
 traveler saw his steed, comfortably housed, with a plen- 
 tiful feed. They then returned toward the house. This 
 was a building of some size, of logs hewn smooth with 
 the ax, the spaces between carefully plastered to exclude 
 rain and wind. The roof was of clapboards, held down 
 by long poles fixed across them, and the chimneys — one 
 at each end — were of large brown stone. In front was an 
 antique " hominy sweep," with its heavy pestle, and at a 
 . little distance, a scaffolding, where, to judge by the pile 
 of wood-dust, the " whip-saw" of former days, was still 
 made to do duty. 
 
 There was about this house, little that did not remind 
 you of that picturesque past, of our Virginia border, which 
 has ^scarcely left any trace of its habitudes and peculiari- 
 ties in our own day. Every thing spoke of former days — the 
 hominy sweep, the whip-saw, the clap-boards of the roof ; 
 — and all this the traveler seemed to gaze on, with a lov- 
 ing eye, for its very antique rudeness. 
 
 They entered. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 Inside, all was quite as old-fashioned as without. The 
 fireplace was troad and large ; and in addition to the 
 long rifle, there hung ahove it, fishing-rods, almanacs, and 
 bundles of pepper pods : and in the middle an old Dutch 
 clock ticked cheerfully. The chairs were of wicker-work, 
 and the table of heavy oak. In one corner a flight of stairs 
 wound up to the small rooms above : beyond this flight of 
 stairs, a half opened door permitted a glimpse of an apart- 
 ment, which, from its great neatness and simplicity, was 
 inhabited by a child apparently, most probably by a young 
 girl, since taste was every where very evident in its deco- 
 rations; — a taste of that refined and elegant description 
 which it is never the good fortune of the ruder sex to pos- 
 sess. The very arrangement of the simple furniture, the 
 light in which the few cheaply-framed pictures were hung, 
 the small hanging shelves of books, all neatly in their 
 places, the chair, with its pretty calico covering, the lit- 
 tle table, the lingering flowers so gracefully trained around 
 the window — all gave the traveler good reason to believe 
 that the occupant of the small chamber was a female. 
 The large apartment in which he found himself, liad a 
 wholly different character ; and just as plainly — with its 
 large chair, and guns, and hunting-horns — was the 
 mountaineer's ; though, certainly, not his sleeping-room, 
 which adjoined it. 
 
 The traveler seemed to be satisfied, with the single 
 
LEATHER, STOCKING AND SILK. 161 
 
 glance he had cast upon these objects. His eye, trained 
 to otserve quickly and thoroughly, after completing its 
 survey of the apartment, no longer fixed itself upon these 
 material surroundings. 
 
 " Sit down. Doctor," said the mountaineer, " we are all 
 very plain people in this neighborhood, but you aye wel- 
 come to all we have. From foreign pairts, I judge ?" 
 
 " Why do you judge so, host ?" 
 
 " From your way of talking," said the hunter, laugh- 
 ing silently, " and — " 
 
 "Why do you stop?" the traveler said, smiling too; 
 " from what else ?" 
 
 " From your dress, guest." 
 
 "Ah!" said thoughtfully the stranger, "there it is. 
 Why dress — what is dress, that people should judge so 
 much from it of the individual's character. 'Tis the 
 fault of the age — externals, externals." 
 
 Then seeing that his host had not followed him in his 
 musings. 
 
 " You are right so far, sir," he said, " I am from for- 
 eign countries ; but I trust that my heart is what it 
 always was — silk stockings and velvet have not changed 
 me, God be thanked !" 
 
 There was so much frankness in the stranger's voice, 
 and hi's face, ornamented by its light colored beard and 
 mustache, assumed — spite of those martial appendages — 
 an expression so mild and gentle, that the mountaineer, 
 yielding to the fascination, of his manner, stretched out 
 his arm, and cordially shook his guest by the hand. 
 
 " We'll be good friends, I see, guest," he replied, " and 
 now, I know you will be satisfied with our rough fare. 
 Come, supper is on the table." 
 
 The supper was spread upon the broad table, and the 
 cheerful and smiling old dame, did the honors at its head, 
 pouring out for the traveler goblets of foaming milk, and 
 huge cups of coffee — a great luxury at the time — and 
 
162 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 forcing him to test in turn the flavor of half a dozen dif- 
 ferent sorts of bread. The traveler thought he had never 
 tasted richer butter, or finer venison. 
 
 They allowed him to finish his supper before again 
 speaking ; and then his host led the way to the grassplat, 
 which ornamented the knoll in front of the house. There 
 settirig seats, he invited his guest to smoke with him ; 
 which Doctor Thomas very readily assented to ; but plead- 
 ing the force of habit, took from his pocket a cigar. The- 
 mountaineer admitted the validity of this excuse, light- 
 ing his old pipe made of a corn-cob, with a stem of reed ; 
 and so they sat in pleasant converse ; — the hunter, with 
 a calm, quiet smile on his old rugged face, stroking from 
 time to time his favorite stag-hound lying at his feet — 
 the stranger with a thoughtful, musing manner, which 
 terminated many times in revery ; but not a mournful 
 revery it was plain — rather well-pleased and hopeful. 
 
 His eyes were fixed admiringly on the broad belts of 
 pines, now in deep"^ shadow, and the rosy flush slowly 
 dying away on the top of the mountain, when his host said 
 quietly, but much more gently than he had yet spolcen. 
 
 " There is my daughter." 
 
 At the same moment, a young girl came singing up the 
 knoll from the banks of the brook. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 INTRODUCES ANOTHER OF OUR HEROINES. 
 
 At sight of the young girl, one of the half dozen lall 
 stag-hounds rose from the grass, where he had heen lying 
 with outstretched forelegs, and thoughtful eyes, and Tiast- 
 ened — if the word may be applied to movement so digni- 
 fied as his — toward her. 
 
 Sally Myers was not quite seventeen, but she was the 
 acknowledged beauty of the valley. Her pretty, round 
 face, was lit up with a merry smile, and her arms, entirely 
 bare almost from the shoulder, were models of beauty. 
 The stranger was much struck with her — he who had 
 seen so much female excellence — and he felt well satisfied 
 that the character which belonged to this smiling face, 
 could not be other than excellent. He did Miss Sally 
 Myers no more than justice. It was not her face alone 
 that overcame the hearts of all the young men of the 
 neighborhood ; for that matter, she was not so beautiful 
 as some ; but when her warm constant heart, and never- 
 ceasing cheerfulness and vivacity, were thrown into the 
 balance, the merits of any other young lady of the coun- 
 try side, were as nothing. So thought the mountain 
 youths, at least. 
 
 Sally came up in company with the deer hound and 
 courtesied to the stranger. He had risen on her approach, 
 and now made a low and courtly inclination laying his 
 hand in foreign fashion on his heart. Sally laughed at 
 
164 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 this, and plainly could not help it; the traveler too 
 seemed to feel that his ceremonious bow was a little out 
 of place. So, resolving like a sensible man to retrieve 
 his error, he approached the girl smilingly and shook her 
 cordially by the hand. 
 
 " You were laughing at me, I perceive," said he, " and 
 you were right." 
 
 " I couldn't help it," the young girl replied, coloring, 
 ' ' excuse me, sir !" 
 
 The traveler laughed. 
 
 " Ah !" he said, " I have been far, and seen strange 
 people, and I have come back not much improved, I am 
 afraid. But may I ask what song you were singing?" 
 
 "^'Flowers of the Forest,' sir." 
 
 The stranger threw a piercing glance upon the girl, 
 and then stroking the large hound, who had by this time 
 become acquainted, and submitted very quietly to his 
 caresses : 
 
 " Do you like that song?" he said. • 
 
 "Yes, sir — very much." 
 
 " For whom do you sing it?" 
 
 The girl blushed and laughed. 
 
 " For any one," she said. 
 
 " Please sing it for me, then," he replied with a smile, 
 and offering her his seat. 
 
 But Sally had become very nervous under the stran- 
 ger's fixed, and penetrating look, and she felt wholly un- 
 able to cdmmand her voice. She therefore murmured 
 an inaudible excuse, and ran rather than walked by the 
 stranger, into the house, and to her chamber. 
 
 The stranger took his seat again with a smile, mutter- 
 ing, " Oh yes ! he must have seen her, and if he has seen 
 her—" 
 
 He was interrupted by the mountaineer, who had fol- 
 lowed his daughter with his eyes, and now turned to him 
 happy and proud. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 165 
 
 " There's the little witch," he said, " you ought to 
 have heard her sing, sir." 
 
 " I hope I shall yet have that pleasure." 
 
 " You stay long in these parts, do you ?" 
 
 " You know when you arrive — you know not when you 
 go." 
 
 " Oh, you're at your proverb-sayings !" 
 
 " I mean that I may leave here in a few days, or stay 
 for years." 
 
 " You ! where are you hound, Doctor ?" 
 
 " For Mrs. Courtlandt's — somewhere down the valley 
 here." 
 
 "For where!" cried the mountaineer, starting and 
 turning full upon his guest. 
 
CHAPTEE, IV. 
 
 HOW HUNTER JOHn's RIFLE WAS BE'NVITCHED AND BY WHOM. 
 
 A LONG pause followed this expression of astonishment 
 on the part of the mountaineer. He seemed to doubt the 
 seriousness of his guest — -he, apparently, could not be- 
 lieve he was in earnest. * 
 
 " Mrs. Courtlandt's !" said he. 
 
 " Certainly my friend !" 
 
 " Down the valley here ?" 
 
 " "Why, somewhere in the neighborhood. I can't say 
 precisely where." 
 
 "And why are you going there, sir?" asked the old 
 hunter. 
 
 " I have business," said the traveler with the air of a 
 man whose private affairs are invaded by idle curiosity. 
 
 The mountaineer shook his head. 
 
 " No good will come of it," said he. 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "Mrs. Courtlandt, sir, don't .stand well in these parts ; 
 and I'm free to say I don't like her myself, though her 
 brother is my good friend." 
 
 " You ! do you know her ?" 
 
 " I've been to her house off and on these five years, 
 and I never missed seeing some deviltry there." 
 
 The traveler bent a steady grave look upon his host. 
 
 " What do you mean by deviltry ?" he said. 
 
 " She's good friends with one I won't name," said the 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 167 
 
 hunter, dropping his voice ; " there's all sorts of things 
 there that oughtn't to be. Don't ask me about it." 
 
 " And why don't you like her ?" 
 
 The mountaineer with a great effort, replied shortly, 
 
 " She spelled my rifle !" 
 
 "What is 'spelled?'" 
 
 " Bewitched some people call it." 
 
 The traveler did not smile this time ; but fixing him- 
 self calmly in his seat, and quietly smoking : 
 
 " Tell me how that was, my friend," said he. 
 
 " Well, that I'll do soon," his host replied. " There's 
 a buck about here, in these mountains, half as big and 
 strong again as any deer they ever run in these parts. 
 We call him Old Satan; you see that name was given 
 him because the rifle ball has never touched him, or," 
 and the hunter lowered his voice, " passed through him 
 and not given him any hurt. I don't believe that myself, 
 but old father Brant, one of the best beads in the hills 
 here, says it's so — and only the other day coming along 
 here, he told me he was done hunting the varmint. He 
 couldn't stand it." 
 
 " Have you hunted him ?" 
 
 " I'm going to tell you. Yes I have, and I'm most 
 nigh wearied out ; I thought I had strong legs and pretty 
 good wind, but that buck has tired- out me and Elkhorn 
 — knocked us both up." 
 
 " Who is Elkhorn ?" 
 
 " My horse." 
 
 " Well about your rifle and the rest." 
 
 " I'm coming to that. I hunted the buck I've been 
 telling you about till I was tired, and I had never yet 
 got a shot at him. I thought if I could draw a clear 
 bead on him he was gone. The other morning I passed 
 by Mrs. Courtlandt'a early and was so thirsty that I nigh 
 gave up. I went in to get a drink, and she was up that 
 early, fixing some plants or other in a big book and writ- 
 
168 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 ing under 'em. The room was full of things I hadn't 
 any liking for — strange outlandish jars and machines — 
 and I most repented coming. She gave me the water 
 very polite, and took my rifle to look at, and asked me 
 if I had killed the buck. I told her no, and then she 
 laughed, and hegun turning something, and said she 
 would fix my gUn so I couldn't miss. She made me rest 
 my right hand on the tahle, and touch my gun to the top 
 of a hottle. I did it, ! and I felt as if the lightning struck 
 me ! I dropped the gun and stood there without know- 
 ing where I was, and the first thing I knew I was in 
 the path outside, and she closed the door. All she said 
 to me was, laughing, ' Gro on, hunter John ! go on, hunter 
 John!'" 
 
 ^ The mountaineer put up his sleeve to wipe the perspi- 
 ration from his hrow. 
 
 " And you think your gun was hewitched ?" 
 " Sure as you're there," he said in a low voice, " I have 
 had three shots at that huck, and I've missed him every 
 time. I had a clear bead and shot steady. It was no 
 use. The ball went crooked !" 
 The stranger mused. 
 " And you are still hunting that buck ?" 
 " I'm going to hunt him till one of us is dead." 
 "And you think I had better not go to Mrs. Court- 
 landt's do you, my friend ?" 
 " You know best." 
 
 " I do ; and I must go and see her : but I shall see you 
 all here again." 
 
 "Why," cried the mountaineer hospitably, "I just re- 
 member now. "Wife and Sally are going to have a merry- 
 making here to-morrow evening, and you must come. 
 Sally !" he called aloud. 
 
 " Here I am father," the girl replied. She was at his 
 elbow and heard the conversation. 
 " Tell doctor — my poor old memory." 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 169 
 
 "Doctor Thomas!" said the stranger, addressing his 
 reply to the young girl. 
 
 " "Well, tell Doctor Thomas," said the hunter to his 
 daughter, " that we'll be mighty glad to see him." 
 
 " Indeed, I will, sir — we all will be mighty glad. It is 
 to-morrow evening about sundown." 
 
 The traveler was about to repeat his low bow, when 
 remembering himself he saidi 
 
 " I'll certainly be here, Miss Sally." 
 
 " And now," said hunter John, " to bed !" 
 
 H 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE STRANGER AND SALLY BY THE BROOK SIDE. 
 
 The traveler was shown into one of the small upper 
 rooms of the hunter's dwelling, where he found a com- 
 fortable and very clean hed prepared for him. Without 
 delay he threw off his clothes and soon forgot in deep 
 slumber the fatigue and the incidents of the day. 
 
 He was aroused at a very early hour by the barking of 
 dogs and the winding of a horn, under the little window 
 of his chamber. Then the hoofstrokes of a horse were 
 heard ; and finally the notes of the horn and the yelping 
 of the dogs, receded from him and died away gradually 
 in the distance. He rose, and looking through the win- 
 dow saw the tall form of hunter John, mounted on his 
 enormous steed, and followed by his dogs, disappearing 
 among the pines of the mountain side. He was going to 
 hunt his buck. 
 
 The traveler dressed and descended. At the. foot of 
 the stairs he met his hostess who gave him a fair good- 
 morning, and busily set about preparing breakfast, in 
 which she was assisted by a small negro girl. Her guest 
 strolled down toward the brook. 
 
 He was standing on its bank and admiring the fresh 
 morning light scattered upon the waves, the mountain 
 pines, and the green-topped knolls of the glen, when all 
 at once he perceived the daughter of his host beneath him 
 in a little green nook which a large mossy rock separated 
 
LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILK. 171 
 
 from the more open part of the banks. She was seated 
 on a part of this rock which projected over the stream, 
 and with bare feet, was playing with the water, and ap- 
 parently lost in thought. Beside her lay two small shoes 
 and a pair of stockings which she had, it seemed, just re- 
 moved from her feet. 
 
 The traveler walking on the soft moss approached her 
 silently and touched her shoulder. The girl started up; 
 coloring and hiding her feet. 
 
 " My goodness, sir ! how you frightened me !" she said. 
 
 " I am not such an awful personage am I ?" he asked, 
 smiling. 
 
 "No, sir," the girl replied with a laugh, while she 
 busied herself — turned away from the stranger — in put- 
 ting on her shoes and stock jngs, " but you came so sud- 
 den." 
 
 " You were washing your feet, were you ?" 
 
 She looked down. 
 
 "I'm sorry I disturbed you in such a praiseworthy em- 
 ployment." 
 
 "Oh, it's no matter," she replied pouting, "I wasn't 
 washing my feet. I just came down here." 
 
 " Come now we won't quarrel, Miss Sally," said the 
 stranger dropping his sarcastic tone, "I was only joking, 
 and you'll find I never mean any thing, as I shall, I hope, 
 see you often." 
 
 " Are you coming to our frolic, sir ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " It is this evening, remember." 
 
 " How can I forget it — but excuse me, I am again at 
 my foolish ceremony. Come, let us go back to breakfast. 
 "Will you take my arm — or here is my hand." 
 
 The young girl took the proffered arm, and they returned 
 toward the house. 
 
 " It is a beautiful morning," the stranger said, " those 
 tall pines in the bright sun are grander than any thing 
 
172 LEATHEE, STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 of Poussin's, and the air is as pure an,d delightful as possi- 
 ble. Only one thing is needed, Miss Sally — ra song." 
 
 " Well, sir," said the girl, who had by this time become 
 more familiar with her father's guest, and less embarrassed 
 in his presence, " I will sing for you, if I can. What do 
 you like ?" 
 
 " Do you sing Scottish songs ? I prefer them to all 
 others." 
 
 " And so do I, sir. Oh, they are so sweet !" 
 
 " Sing me ' Auld Robin Gray.'" 
 
 '- I'll try, sir ; that is one of ray favorites," said Sally ; 
 and in a clear, birdlike voice, she went through the bal- 
 lad. 
 
 " An excellent soprano," muttered the stranger to him- 
 self, with a smile, " he's gone beyond hope. Very well." 
 
 " What did you say ?" 
 
 " This is such a beautiful song." 
 
 "Very, sir." 
 
 " And it is so true. Now tell me," he said, laughing, 
 " would you like to marry an^Auld Robin of that sort?" 
 
 " No, never," said Sally Myers, with uncommon em- 
 phasis, *' I'd never marry such a person, as long as I 
 lived !" 
 
 The stranger laughed. 
 
 " And pray, what sort of a person would you marry ?" 
 he said. 
 
 " That is my business," she replied, coloring and laugh- 
 ing, with a bright glance at the stranger. 
 
 " What do you think of light hair and beard ?" 
 
 " I prefer dark hair, sir." 
 
 The stranger laughed so heartily at this, that he could 
 not for several minutes command his voice. 
 
 " No personal reflections, I hope. Miss Sally," he said ; 
 " now my hair and beard are light !" 
 
 In this strain they ran on in merry talk, until they 
 reached the house — Sally's natural gayety and ease hav-^ 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 173 
 
 ing by this time entirely returned, under the genial 
 effect of the stranger's hearty and good-humored manner. 
 
 They found breakfast nearly ready, and the table be- 
 ing set in a trice by the girl, who blamed herself for idling 
 at the brook — " though he had made her stay," she said, 
 laughing, and pointing to the stranger — they soon sat 
 down to an excellent and plentiful meal. 
 
 Half an hour afterward, Doctor Thomas was again 
 mounted, and on his way down the valley. He would cer- 
 tainly return to the merry-making that evening, he said. 
 
CHAPTER VL 
 
 The traveler continued his way down the valley, along 
 the banks of the hrook, in a very cheerful and contented 
 mood. He seemed to he much amused at something, and 
 at times a gay laugh would escape from his lips ; or mut- 
 tering " parbleu !" or " ma foi," he would give his splen- 
 did sorel the rein, and scour along in pure merriment of 
 heart. 
 
 The teautiful morning, it is true, was partly the cause 
 of this singular conduct on the part of Doctor Thomas. 
 There is nothing so inspiriting, as a ride on a magnificent 
 morning in Octoher, just after a comfortable breakfast, 
 and through a fair land — such as our traveler was travers- 
 ing. The Virginia mountains are at all times beautiful 
 and commanding, but their attractions are greatly en- 
 hanced by the " fall days." 
 
 The sun, by this time, had climbed above the heights 
 of the " Third Hill," and was flooding the whole valley, 
 with fair bright light, and laughing in the waves of the 
 little streamlet, and scattering his fire-tipped arrows into 
 the obscurest depths of the old, close-set pines, which 
 clothed the " Sleepy Creek" mountain side, until every 
 mossy rock, and fallen trunk was visible. Moreover, it 
 flashed from the myriad colors of the autumn leaves — the 
 purple of the maple, the yellow of the little alder-tree, 
 and the crimson berries of the dogwood. These beautiful 
 mountain dwellers seemed to rejoice in the warm, pure 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 175 
 
 light, and through them ran gay breezes, that like merrily- 
 flying children, scattered behind them a rustling mirth 
 and laughter. 
 
 Half an hour's ride brought the stranger in sight of a 
 small dwelling, situated on the western slope of the valley, 
 and surrounded with dark-waving, slender-trunked pines. 
 The roof was thatched, and many little ornaments about 
 the gate, and door step, and windows seemed to denote 
 that it was the residence of a female. 
 
 The stranger hastened on joyfully, and throwing him- 
 self from his horse, which he secured to a bough, ran to 
 the door, and knocked. It was opened by a tall, elderly 
 female, of refined appearance, and with a very calm man- 
 ner. She was clad, however, in a very singular dress. 
 She wore a man's collar secured by a black cravat, some- 
 thing enveloped her figure from the waist up, not un- 
 like an ordinary boy's roundabout, and her feet — coming 
 out plainly from her short skirt — were cased in elegant 
 moccasins of deer-skin, ornamented with beads, and fringe. 
 
 Behind this singular figure, a table was visible, on 
 which a host of jars and retorts, and small machines were 
 heaped, and the air of the room was very strongly per- 
 fumed with sulphur. The stranger saw all this at a 
 glance, and smelling the sulphur, thought of hunter John 
 and his superstition. But he had no time for further 
 thought ; the elderly female looked at him a moment 
 with great astonishment apparently, then seemed to 
 struggle with her recollections, then — when the stran- 
 ger's face assumed its ordinary pleasant smile — came 
 forward and fell upon his neck, efying and smiling 
 through her tears. 
 
 " "Welcome, welcome," said she, " I got your letter and 
 have waited long for you. Come in." 
 
 And kissing the stranger affectionately, with tears of 
 joy in her eyes, she drew him into her dwelling. The 
 door closed behind them. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MERRY-MAKING IN THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Punctual to the time mentioned by his host, Doctor 
 Thomas as we shall in future call him, arrived at the 
 ahode of the hunter. 
 
 A large crowd had already assemhled — or we should 
 rather say a goodly numher of the valley dwellers. In 
 our day a " large crowd" at a festival of any sort suggests 
 several hundred persons; and there were scarcely several 
 dozen here. Doctor Thomas entered and was soon on 
 good terms with every one ; for faithful to his promise to 
 Sally he had abandoned entirely his " set up" air as she 
 called it to herself, and was a ^ very model of good-hu- 
 mored frankness and ease. The supper w^s to come after 
 the dancing and other amusement, and just as the Doctor 
 entered, they had commenced a Virginia reel. 
 
 The fiddler — high perched Above the guests upon a 
 lofty eminence provided for the purpose — struck up in- 
 spiringly a gay heart-enlivening strain; the rude, but 
 frank and pleasant looking mountain "boys and girls" 
 commenced flying through the danoe, and a buzz of voices, 
 at times almost a shout, rose to the ceiling, and scattering 
 itself through the windows, died away in the pine trees 
 of the mountain side, All was merriment and laughter, 
 joy and uproar. Then commenced a jig. It is possible 
 our readers are not familiar with the nature of this 
 ancient pastime. It was danced in this manner. Two 
 persons male and female entered the circle cleared as for 
 
« LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 177 
 
 an ordinary danoe^ and standing opposite each other com- 
 menced a slow and measured movement which they ac- 
 companied with many hows, smiles, and complimentary 
 Words. The gentleman's duty was to compliment in 
 every possihle manner the executioin of his companion—^ 
 if any portion of her toilet hecame disordered, or awry, to 
 politely inform her of that fact, and duting all these 
 dereinonious ohservances never for a moment to cease 
 keeping perfect time to the OiUsio, whose duty was to 
 gradually grow more rapid, until orte of the dancers un- 
 ahle to keep up with it or overcome by fatigue acknowl- 
 edged him or herself vanquished. 
 
 Doctor Thomas was looking at the dancers with great 
 interest, and at times laughing heartily at their odd 
 movements, when his host came up to him. 
 
 " Well here you are," said hunter John with his placid 
 smile, "how did you spend the day — whereabouts ] 
 
 mean ; 
 
 9" 
 
 "Why, at Mrs. Courtlandt's." 
 
 " Really now ?" 
 
 " Really, my friend ; I did not find her the terrible per- 
 sonage you made her out. You must know I have come 
 here to look about me ; who knows but I may settle." 
 
 The hunter shook his head. 
 
 " Did you see nothing strange?" he asked. 
 
 " Why yes — some singular things, I confess." 
 
 " And what did she say to you ?" 
 
 " There you are too much for me. I believe she ob- 
 served that it was a fine day." 
 
 "I see that you don't mean to let out on the matter — 
 and you may be right. It's none of my business. But 
 I went again to-day and missed that buck." 
 
 " You were away I know when I left here this morning." 
 
 " r was after him, and chased the buck from one end 
 of the mountain to t'other, but it was no use. I'll die 
 hunting that buck." 
 
178 LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILK. , 
 
 At this moment a noise at the door attracted every 
 body's attention and turning round, Doctor Thomas saw 
 descending from a small carry-all a party of guests who 
 had just arrived. The hunter went to welcome them, 
 and the Doctor's eyes were immediately riveted upon 
 them as they entered and received the merry greeting. 
 The party was composed of an old fine-looking German 
 — father Von Horn' he was called hy every one — a beau- 
 tiful woman of twenty-one or two, and a young man of 
 nineteen with long dark hair, and dressed in the usual 
 garb of mountain hunters, as indeed were almost all the 
 male guests of the company. 
 ' A few minutes afterward the signal for supper was 
 given, and the crowd flocked into the adjoining room. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE DOCTOR OVERHEARS A PRIVATE CONVERSATION. 
 
 The large tatle was spread with every variety of eat- 
 atles, and the repast seemed to be a general commingling 
 of breakfast, dinner and supper. Meats of every sort — 
 venison, bear, ham, fowls, vegetables as for a dinner, coffee, 
 Jamaica rum, great flagons of thick creamy milk — these 
 were the components of the profuse mountain supper. 
 
 Every one hastened to help himself and his partner, 
 and it was refreshing to see with what gusto the young 
 damsels applied themselves to the rich ham and venison, 
 and how little " shamefaoedness" they exhibited at eaj;ing 
 before their sweethearts. The supper was a merry one 
 — and as the old fiddler on his perch in the next room 
 had been plentifully supplied the first thing, and his 
 heart enlivened with a huge cup of rum, music was not 
 wanting to add to the universal mirth. 
 
 Two persons formed the only exceptions to the general 
 merriment — they alone did not add to the terrible uproar 
 by the sound of their voices. These persons were Sally 
 Myers — ^who was clad in a pretty white dress which set 
 off charmingly the fresh happy beauty of her face — and 
 the young man who had entered with father Von Horn. 
 They were whispering. 
 
 " I have not seen you for so long — nearly three days," 
 said the girl. 
 
 The young man replied to this tender reproach more 
 by his look than his words. But, speaking in the same 
 tone: 
 
180 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " I have teen kept away, darling," he said. 
 
 " By what, Barry ?" ■ 
 
 " Oh, I could not tell you all now," he replied with a 
 long happy look, " but if you could walk out to-morrow 
 morning — " 
 
 " Oh yes, I could." 
 
 " Say to the Moss Rook on the Sleepy Mountain," said 
 the young man. 
 
 "Indeed, I will, dear Barry." 
 
 " At sunrise then, dear." 
 
 "And at the Moss Rock." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 It was plain that the Conversation was heoomifig very - 
 stupid, hut the lovers made up for this by their looks. 
 
 "You didn't know I am at the branch now nearly 
 
 >/ morning did you, Barry — early I mean." 
 
 '* Down at the branch ?" 
 
 " Yes. I go down there Very often — ^nearly every day: 
 the jplace is so pretty, and I think of you, you know." 
 
 " Of me, dear ?" 
 
 " Yes, and I am very happy j I was down there this 
 morning, and what do you think happened to me ?" 
 
 " Happened to you ?" 
 
 " Just as I had my feet in the cool water with my 
 shoes off, down came Doctor Thomas, the gentleman who 
 came yesterday — " 
 
 "And frightened you nearly to death; eh. Miss Sally!" 
 said the voice of the doctor behind the lovers. 
 
 The girl started, and the young man turned round, with 
 a face flushed and a little angry. 
 
 "I did not know you were so near^sir," said Barry, 
 coldly. 
 
 "Oh, my friend it is my place ; I am a doctor. Now 
 you know the French proverb — or' rather you probably 
 don't know it, so I say nothing more." 
 
 The young man seemed both angry and embarrassed. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 181 
 
 A singular smile passed across the face of Doctor Thomas 
 and turning to Sally : 
 
 " You returned me good for evil, however," he said, 
 ''how sweetly you do sing, and how soon you sang at 
 my solicitation." 
 
 Sally pouted and looked annoyed ; the young man 
 angry. But at that moment one of the young girls ran 
 up and catching the doctor by the arm cried to him : 
 
 " Oh sir, come if you please ! Nina Lyttelton says she 
 has half cut her hand off and won't have any one hut 
 you to fix it." 
 
 Doctor Thomas chuckled to himself, and with a low 
 bow turned to follow his conductress. At the other end 
 of the room the lady with the cut hand was seated on a 
 wicker bench calling for the doctor, and wringing her 
 pretty hand. 
 
 " I am here, madafflj" said the doctor, with a low bow; 
 and he smiled. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE DOCTOR COMMENCES A MILD FLIRTATION. 
 
 The hand was not tadly cut, tut it was a very pretty 
 hand, and the arm attached to it quite as beautiful. It 
 was not long hefore the fair lady was once more smiling. 
 
 "Are these cuts ever dangerous, doctor," asked Mrs. 
 Nina Lyttelton with a languid smile. 
 
 " Not very, madam. "We doctors are very unwilling to 
 confess that any thing is dangerous. That would imply 
 that there was a possihility of losing our patients — ^whioh 
 we never admit until they are so unfortunate as to die." 
 
 Mrs. Lyttelton laughed. 
 
 " And you cure every hurt, do you ?" 
 
 "All hut heart wounds, madam," the doctor replied 
 with a bow to the fair widow. 
 
 " Those you can not cure ?" 
 
 " Wholly unsuccessful, madam. I have seen many 
 scales of physicians' fees — ^but never such a clause as: 
 ' To curing one young person crossed in love,' so much. 
 No, that is beyond our skill." 
 
 " Heigho !" sighed Mrs. Lyttelton, " I believe it is 
 true, nothing can cure some things." 
 
 "A profound remark," said the doctor laughing. 
 
 "As long as the heart is not touched — in both senses 
 doctor — the patient may recover." 
 
 " The inmost heart — ^yes." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " I mean that often grief is a fancy — sorrow a chimera.", 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 183 
 
 Mrs. Lyttelton became unaffectedly grave. She had 
 just thought of her hushand who had died about two 
 years before. But the light and merry nature of her 
 character soon banished this fleeting regret, and she 
 turned again to the smiling cavalier before her. 
 
 " But do you not believe that persons often die of love 
 — ^when they are crossed ?" 
 
 " I do, I confess, madam — though I have heard it 
 asserted that such a thing is folly — mere imagination." 
 
 " And what medicine do you administer to such people ? 
 You may not be able to cure, but you attempt the cure, 
 do you not ?" 
 
 " Why yes, madam." 
 
 " Well suppose Mr. or Mr. in Martinsburg 
 
 were to complain to you of melancholy, loss of appe- 
 tite, depression, and utter dislike of every thing around 
 them—" 
 
 " I would ask the origin of all this." 
 
 ' ' Well suppose they assured you that the cruelty of 
 some young girl had plunged them into this state of 
 mind ; what would you prescribe ?" 
 
 " I should prescribe a visit to Meadow Branch Valley, 
 madam, and the acquaintance of Mrs. Lyttelton," replied 
 Doctor Thomas with a smile and a low bow. 
 
 "You are very gallant, doctor!" said his companion, 
 laughing. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 A: CHALLENGE PASSES. 
 
 After supper the company again returned to the 
 dancing-room, and again betook themselves to the merry 
 reel, and wearying jig with new ardor. Sally Myers and 
 her friend Barry were still talking, though now more 
 reservedly since the doctor had surprised them ; and 
 seemed disposed to withdraw themselves as much as pos- 
 sible from the gay crowd. 
 
 Doctor Thomas soon surrendered Mrs. Lyttelton to 
 some one else, and approaching a number of young men 
 who were assembled at the door, he listened with much 
 inward mirth to their critical comments on the figures, 
 dress, and general appearance of the young gentlemen 
 and ladies then engaged in dancing. Still the doctor's 
 eye dwelt with profound interest through all, upon the 
 young man Barry, who was talking with Sally Myers in 
 a corner a few feet off. The smile would at times dis- 
 appear from the stranger's face, and a look of love and 
 tenderness impossible to describe, light up his counte- 
 nance and soften every feature ; then he would mutter to 
 himself, and his old sarcastic smile would return. 
 
 The young men after praising or abusing all the young 
 girls of the company, came to Sally herself who was de- 
 clared by universal acclamation, the beauty and darling 
 of the mountains; now by "darling" much more was 
 expressed than by the former word. Beauty was a good 
 thing, and the " beauty" was naturally a much-desired 
 personage by all, for dancing, berry-hunting, and riding ; 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 185 
 
 but the " darling" was the loved one, the admired one, 
 the dear of every body, and privileged to drive every one 
 to distraction. "When Sally was therefore called the 
 "darling" of the valley, a very high compliment was 
 intended to be paid her. 
 
 We were wrong in saying that she was universally 
 praised. One young man said that she was " the silliest 
 looking girl he. had ever seen," a "mere child" and "not 
 worth making a fuss about." The stranger saw Barry's 
 head tarn like lightning, and his large brilliant eye 
 directed its glance toward the group of men. Five min- 
 utes afterward he had left the girl, and was at the young 
 man's side. 
 
 " You were not abusing Sally Myers, gentlemen," he 
 said calmly, " I hope I did not hear right just now ; but 
 I thought some one spoke of her as ' silly' and ' childish.' " 
 
 There was nothing threatening in this address — no 
 anger in the young "man's face ; and the person who had 
 uttered the words in question hesitated for a moment ; 
 had Barry spoken threateningly he would have gloried in 
 repeating them. 
 
 In the midst of the pause Doctor Thomas' voice was 
 heard : 
 
 " You address all here I believe, sir,'' said he, " and as 
 that is the case, I reply for myself." 
 
 " Well, sir," said Barry, his face flushing. 
 
 " Not knowing whether you mean or do not mean to 
 insult me equally with the rest, I would say — " 
 
 " You may understand my words as you fancy, sir," 
 said the young man with flashing eyes, and lowering his 
 voice. 
 
 The doctor smiled. 
 
 "Then of course there is no insult, sir," he replied; 
 and turning round he commenced an indifferent conversa- 
 tion with one of the guests. 
 
 Barry went out to cool his flushed forehead, and to 
 
186 LEATHEE, STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 gaze at the calm quiet moon, though he saw nothing hut 
 the face of the young girl. While thus sunk in thought 
 he felt a hand upon his shoulder. He turned and saw 
 Doctor Thomas. 
 
 " You insulted me just now, sir," said that gentleman, 
 " and if I did not resent it then, I have not forgotten it." 
 
 Barry's face flushed then turned pale. 
 
 " Did you dare to say that Sally Myers was silly or 
 childish?" 
 
 As he spoke the young man advanced a step, his form 
 trembling with passion. 
 
 " One moment, sir," said the doctor, calmly ; " I am a 
 professional man, and I do not wish. to fight on small 
 provocation. Your insult to me, your tone of voice, all, 
 was much more serious than any criticism of a young 
 girl could — " 
 
 " I ask you if you said it ?" •■ 
 
 " Suppose I did." 
 
 " Then one of us shall leave this place forever." 
 
 "You are determined then to fight me, are you, sir?" 
 said Doctor Thomas. 
 
 " Yes, I will fight you in any way !" 
 
 " Be cool ! this red-hot way of talking answers no pur- 
 pose. "Well, you have insulted me or I have insulted you 
 — ^no matter which. We'll fight. What weapons ?" 
 
 The young man, with flashing eyes and passionate 
 voice, replied to the doctor's cool words, with a single 
 word — "Any !" 
 
 " Pistols then. I brought a pair with me, luckily." 
 
 "You thought it probable you would be called on to 
 insult a young girl, I suppose?" said Barry with a sneer. 
 The doctor muttered something to himself, and looked 
 admiringly at the young man. 
 
 "No," he said, "I did not. But we are losing time: 
 the place is the next thing." 
 
 " Any where !" said Barry. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 187 
 
 " Well, say to-morrow morning then, about sunrise, at 
 the ' Moss Rook,' on the side of the Sleepy Creek Mount- 
 ain—eh ?" 
 
 " Or, here and now!" said the young man, grinding his 
 teeth ; " you spy and eaves-drop very well for a profes- 
 sional gentleman, sir !" 
 
 The doctor winced, and a slight smile flitted across his 
 countenance. 
 
 "It is true I heard your appointment with your sweet- 
 heart," said he, " hut I assure you it was unintentional, 
 sir — wholly." 
 
 "Assure me on your word of honor, sir," said the 
 young man, " and .perhaps I shall believe you !" 
 
 " The devil take him," muttered the doctor, laughing, 
 to himself. Then he said to his companion : 
 
 " We lose time in all these recriminations, sir, and 
 should be arranging our affair. I am a good shot, and 
 shall kill you, I know — let it be at an early day." 
 
 " I shall consider my life well lost, sir," said the young 
 man coldly — and suddenly recollecting how useless his 
 anger was — " well lost, if lost defending a young girl 
 from insult." 
 
 The doctor seemed to be carried away by admiration 
 of this sentiment, and was about to hold out his hand, 
 when he suddenly recollected himself. 
 
 " Well, sir," he said, " we will arrange this matter 
 satisfactorily within the next few days. These affairs 
 will always keep ; though I remember at Paris — ^but we 
 are in Virginia, a much better place, by-the-by. We will 
 defer, if you please, our arrangements. But remember, I 
 am the challenged party, and have the .choice of weapons." 
 
 Then politely saluting his companion, who scarcely 
 deigned to move his head in return for the profound 
 conge of his adversary, the doctor took his way again to- 
 ward the house. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE DOCTOR MEDITATES BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 It was nearly midnight when father Von Horii, that 
 worthy and niuoh-heloved German patriarch gave the 
 signal for separating. He rose and called to him his 
 daughter Nina, and Barry. But it was some time before 
 Barry could he found, inasmuch as he and Splly Myers 
 had stolen away from the company (now uproarious and 
 extravagant with their hlindman's huff, and hoot-hinding 
 and other rough games), and in the quiet moonlight were 
 gazing into each other's eyes and talking the usual non- 
 sense of lovers alone and by moonlight. 
 
 The company we said was uproarious ; some of the 
 young men, it must be confessed, had paid tod exclusive 
 devotion to the great bowl of punch which, with arms 
 akimbo and smiling countenance, stood ready to welcome 
 all comers on a side table. The consequence of this in- 
 discretion was deplorable. Many maidens on that night 
 quarreled with their sweethearts for their want of atten- 
 tion, and many more declared that this was the last party 
 they would ever attend riding behind their chosen cava- 
 liers. It was afterward, however, observed that these 
 complaints ended in nothing, and that the next party was 
 as well attended, and in the same fashion as this one at 
 Hunter John's ; and this leads us irresistibly to the con- 
 clusion that beaux are indispensably necessary to young 
 ladies every where ; and that young ladies, where a merry- 
 
LKATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 189 
 
 making is in question, have much Christian charity and 
 forgiveness. 
 
 It v?as a gay scene^the parting of the company ; and 
 only the pencil of some artist-humorist could convey an 
 adequate idea of the strange mountain vehicles which 
 drew up to the door to receive their guests. The young 
 ladies experienced much difficulty in mounting gracefully 
 behind their swains — the moonlight being so very clear, 
 and ankles cased in white stockings so painfully visible : 
 but at last the guests were all mounted, or snugly en- 
 sconced in their carryalls and light wagons, and began to 
 take their departure with many good^by's and many part- 
 ing words. Old father Von Horn lingered last — that 
 worthy father Von Horn who, shaking his broad chest 
 with internal laughter waited patiently for Barry, and 
 would not see or laugh at Sally's blushes, when comiiig 
 in with the young man she found the old man and Nina 
 waiting for him ! 
 
 Doctor, Thonjas had made himself very officious in 
 assisting the young ladies to their seats behind their 
 cavaliers — and we are bound as faithful historians, to say 
 that he was much more ready and polite when young and 
 pretty girls needed his services. His officiousness was 
 not, however, by any means disagreeable to the damsels 
 who had to endure it. There was much grace, and un- 
 bounded politeness in the doctor's manner and tone ; and 
 the young ladies in question had rather neglected their 
 ordinary beaux throughout the evening for the handsome 
 stranger. More than one small hand grasped his own 
 with friendly warmth ; and more than one voice at parting 
 emphasized the first syllable of "good-by" at parting. 
 These the sarcastic stranger greeted with a suppressed 
 chuckle as they disappeared. He found at last that no 
 lady but Mrs. Nina Lyttelton remained, and he assisted 
 her to her vehicle, or rather her father's with extraordi- 
 nary attention ; the reward for which was an urgent invi- 
 
J 90 LEATHER STOCKING AI^D SILK. 
 
 tation to visit her at her father's, "just up where the 
 mountains came together." The doctor bowed and prom- 
 ised. As he turned, his quick eye pierced the deep 
 shadow of the doorway, and he saw Barry and the young 
 girl exchange a tender kiss. 
 
 "Where's Barry?" cried father Von Horn, shaking 
 with merriment. ' 
 
 " Here, Uncle," said the young man ; and bidding his 
 host and hostess good-by, he took his place beside Nina. 
 The carryall then rolled oif : and Doctor Thomas going to 
 the chestnut to which he had tied his horse, mounted and 
 riding up to the door, also took his leave. He was going 
 back, he said, to Mrs. Courtlandt's ; she had promised him 
 a lodging for a few days, and he had found it always the 
 best policy not to disappoint t^he ladies. With this gal- 
 lant speech, and a friendly bow to his entertainers, he 
 took his departure. 
 
 Pursuing tlfe road running along the bank of the brook, 
 the stranger gave himself up to merry thoughts — to judge 
 from his amused smile. The night invited him to medi- 
 tation. Nothing stirred the calm hour but the hoof-strokes 
 of his horse, the bubbling of the streamlet, and the far 
 away dying shouts of the merrily-galloping revelers scat- 
 tering to their homes. The Doctor mused. 
 
 "A fine evening I have had," he said half aloud, " and 
 a pretty place I am now going to — the house of a witch. 
 I ^rather like that Mrs. Lyttelton. ' Like her?' I think 1 
 shall fall in love with her — yes, I am determined to do so 
 on the first favorable opportunity. What a charming 
 child is Sally — never have I seen so much beauty of char- 
 acter united to so much grace ; she'll make a good wife. 
 And that handsome Barry ! A perfect hero, and would 
 have eaten me whole at a word ; I'm glad T tried him. It 
 was a sudden thought. And now, Doctor Thomas, you 
 have a bloody duel on your hands — you have lost none of 
 your folly ; you are now at twenty-five — more or less — 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 191 
 
 just as foolish as at eighteen, when — ^yes ! You couldn't 
 rest till you had got a duel on your hands ;" the stranger 
 chuckled, " yes, an awful encounter, for there's no ' back 
 out' in Barry — my young hero !" 
 
 And giving rein to his horse the stranger went along 
 rapidly ; weary of his musings, it seemed, and desirous 
 only of a good bed to rest in after the long evening and 
 the trying exercise of the reels he had gone through. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A RIFLE-SHOT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 At eight o'cloclt in the morning, the stranger was 
 aroused and informed that his professional services were 
 needed, and urgently. He dressed, and in a few mo- 
 ments issued forth : at the door was hunter John Myers, 
 mounted on his large sahle steed; hut none would have 
 recognized him for the merry, hearty-voiced host of the 
 preceding evening. He was pale, his form drooped to- 
 ward the neck of his horse, and his eyes were red with 
 dried-up tears. 
 
 "Doctor!" he said in a tremhling voice, "will you 
 come and see my Sally ? She's dying !" 
 
 Doctor Thomas sprang toward the hunter so suddenly 
 that the large hlack horse, who was covered with sweat, 
 and foaming at the mouth, threw up his head and half 
 reared hack from the gateway. 
 
 " "What say you !" he cried, " dying !" 
 
 " Come on, doctor !" the hunter said, " I'll tell you as 
 we go along. Where's your horse ?" 
 
 Doctor Thomas ran to the place where his horse was 
 installed, and in five minutes had saddled him and was 
 mounted. He joined the mountaineer, and they hoth put 
 spurs to their steeds and took the road to the hunter's 
 dwelling. 
 
 "Now, my friend," said Doctor Thomas, "I see you 
 are much agitated, and some accident must have hap- 
 pened to yoiu" daughter. But remember that she is such 
 a favorite with you — as is natural and proper — that you 
 
LEATHEE, STOCKING AND SILK. 193 
 
 3an not jus'tly estimate the hurt or injury she has re- 
 ceived. Much more probable is it, that you overrate the 
 danger. Come, tell me all." 
 
 " That I'll do in short words. I went out this morning 
 as usual to hunt that buck I've been telling you of, often 
 and over, and I got on his track. I thought this time 
 I'd run him down, and I believe I became sort o' de- 
 ranged about him ; my head seemed to be turning round, 
 I didn't know how to hunt, and I hallooed on the dogs 
 as if the devil was being run down and done for. Don't 
 think I had been drinking and my brain wasn't clear. 
 No, it wasn't that. Besides that, I'm powerful strong in 
 the head, and Grod has given me the strength to drink as 
 much as three of most men — I don't feel it. Well, it 
 wasn't liquor, but I was sort o' cracked — I didn't know 
 what I was about, and my head didn't feel right. I 
 thought that devil of a varmint was latighing at me — it 
 was the wind, I reckon — and Belt, my crack dog, seemed 
 to be crying as if something hurt him." 
 
 The doctor shook his head. 
 
 " Too much cerebral excitement lately, my friend ; this 
 deer will be your death yet, if you are not more careful. 
 But continue : you had vertigo. Well." 
 
 " Well, <I reckon I had something of that sort, and I 
 followed that buck four mortal hours from one end of the 
 mountain side to t'other ; then he crossed over toward 
 Sleepy Creek : then he doubled back toward my house 
 and took down the mountain nigh a place called ' Moss 
 Bock' — a big rock with a tall pine tree growing out of it. 
 Then I thought I had him, and I got crazy ! I pushed 
 Blkhorn down the mountain path as if it was this level 
 road we are galloping on ! I passed somebody, but I 
 didn't know him ; it was Barry I thought ; my head this 
 time was turning round ! for I saw something white-like 
 about two or three hundred yards before me ! and thought 
 it was the buck — and — " 
 
 I 
 
194 LEATHER STOCKINa AND SILK. 
 
 "Unhappy man! you have killed your daughter!" 
 cried the doctor, with pale face and trembling lips. 
 
 " Oh, my Sally ! oh, my heart's dear ! oh, my baby !" 
 groaned the hunter, almost reeling in his seat. The doc- 
 tor thought he was going to faint, and still galloping 
 caught him by the arm. He shrunk at the hand laid on 
 him ; but putting it aside, said more calmly, 
 
 " No, doctor, I'm not sick^^my head's pretty clear 
 now. Come, we must get on !" 
 
 The horsos thundered along; and mouth to mouth, 
 devoured the space as if the excitement of their riders 
 possessed them also, and they felt and comprehended the 
 danger of the valley's " darling." 
 
 At this rate they soon arrived at the hunter's ; and the 
 doctor immediately hastened to Sally's chamber. The 
 old dame was sitting at her daughter's bedside, vainly 
 trying to suppress her tears — and as the doctor passed 
 ijitp the little room, which as we have already informed 
 the reader, lay immediately behind the main apartment, 
 he observed Barry leaning with his head on the window- 
 sill, his face in his hands. 
 
 Sally was lying very easily, and seemed to suffer little 
 pain. A moment's examination showed the doctor that 
 the rifle ball had not inflicted a mortal woun,d, having 
 only lodged in the shoulder, and this comfortable intelli- 
 gence he communicated to the family. He then removed 
 the coarse wrapping, dressed the wound, having of course 
 extracted the bullet first, and bandaging the fair shoulder 
 with softer stuff", administered a slight opiate, and left 
 the young girl in a quiet slumber,'^ 
 
 " And now, my friend," saiid the doctor with a smile', 
 "as Miss Sally is comfortably asleep, will you let me have 
 some breakfast ? I am somewhat hungry, inasmuch as I 
 have ridden well this morning." 
 
 The doctor was made comfortable with that rapidity 
 and deference which for some reason, is always the lot of 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 195 
 
 the members of this profession, and his appetite was soon 
 satisfied. The hunter and his guest then sat down out- 
 side the door, whither they were followed hy Barry, who. 
 silently returned the doctor's how. 
 
 " I broke off when I was telling you about it, doctor," 
 said Hunter John, " but I hadn't much more to say. 
 My head was all running round, and I don't know how I 
 sighted my gun but I shot; and then I found I had 
 struck down my child, my darling!" 
 
 And bending down, the hunter let fall two large tears. 
 
 " Barry was there and helped me, or I would have gdne 
 mad straight off. Oh, how could I keep my head at see- 
 ing my baby there weltering in her blood, and all dabbled 
 over with it — ^her neck and all ! Doctor, I ain't much in 
 this world, and I don't know much besides bringing down 
 game, but for all that I don't believe that child could love 
 me better if I was the highest in the land ! My little flow- 
 er that I went and cut down — my pretty little flower !" 
 
 And burying his face in his hands, the mountaineer 
 bent to his knee with deep sobs and sighs. Barry, with 
 folded arms and eyes swollen with grief, leaned against a 
 tree. 
 
 " Come, come, sir!" said the doctor, "this is unreason- 
 able. You certainly did not mean to strike your daugh- 
 ter with the ball from your rifle. It was aimed at what 
 you thought was a deer ; plainly the fault of the retina, 
 not yours. Miss Sally is not very dangerously wounded, 
 and all that will result from this, will be a fever and some 
 weeks' confinement. At the end of that time lily friend, 
 she will be well — perfectly." ' 
 
 And as if without intending it, he glanced at Barry. 
 His head was turned away and he was weeping; the 
 good news was too much for his weakened nerves. 
 
 "May the Lord grant it," said the mountaineer; 
 " Hunter John couldn't stand the loss of his baby long. 
 He would go after her." 
 
196 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Don't be uneasy," said the doctor, " I shall come 
 here every day to see her, and a month will entirely cure 
 her. Still you would do well to send to Martinsburg for 
 Dr. Harrison or some one. You know nothing of me." 
 
 "Yes I do, doctor; I looked at you when you 'were 
 fixing the wrappings and taking out that ball from my 
 pretty baby's shoulder, and I knew from the way you did 
 it that you ain't an every-day doctor." 
 
 The stranger smiled : he appreciated the compliment. 
 
 " I studied in Europe," he replied, " and I learned,there 
 what few learn in this country — that han* of 'the patient 
 is much. It's best to be easy and quicp^ipr^lhey are far 
 beyond us, over the watex." i 
 
 " To tell you the truth, that's why I mnter't,^" gaid the 
 hunter, "you fixed that shoulder lilw^s cham your own 
 baby ; and if you cure her, there'lj^r's bed^gg ^ friend 
 who'll go further or do more for you T* the dom Myers." 
 
 " Good ! I think she'll get well heiv,^4', "however, my 
 friend." 
 
 " I begin to think so too." 
 
 " I have had worse wounds to dress than that — and 
 there is no fracture — " 
 
 " Fractures you're talking of," said the hunter, " well, 
 I just bethought me; will yoTi look at my arm? It's 
 hurt me all along, but I hadn't time to 'tend to it." 
 
 " "What's the matter ?" 
 
 " I haven't looked, but it hurt me dreadful when you 
 caught hold of me in the road." 
 
 The doctor examined and found that Hunter John's 
 arm was badly fractured. He had rolled under his horse 
 on seeing his daughter fall, and Elkhorn had struck the 
 arm with one of his heavy hoofs, and broken it. Worthy 
 hunter ! "he had not, had time to attend to it." 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 NINA AND THE DOCTOR. 
 
 A WEEK or two glided quietly away, and the doctor 
 every day called to see his patient. A mild fever, not 
 dangerous, succeeded the young girl's accident, and in 
 her feverish sleep she would mutter and murmur words 
 which showed plainly whither her thoughts were wander- 
 ing. At such times, the doctor would ask leave to sit and 
 watch her alone, and thus he was the only confidant, so 
 to speak, of those unconscious revelations. 
 
 Sally would often close her eyes and seem to sleep 
 while her mind was perfectly active ; and at such times 
 she would murmur, " Yes, Barry — you know you love 
 me as well as I love you — and that's oh, so much ! It is 
 a lovely morning, and see how the stream goes by laugh- 
 ing ! Are you happy, Barry ? I love so to see the trees 
 and rocks, and the moss — you are here with me, and that 
 makes me love them more — let me lean my head on your 
 shoulder. You shall fix my hair ! See how tangled it 
 is ! I wouldn't let any body else fix my hair — but you 
 shall, Barry dear ! Oh me ! I thought I saw that deer 
 father hunts so often ! I don't like that deer — ^he'll bring 
 me bad luck. See how the sun shines on the mountain — 
 if we had a little cottage up near the Moss Rook, just 
 under the tall pine, we could live so happy ! We would 
 run over the meadow down to the brook, and gather the 
 flowers that grow all about, every day — you know how 
 pretty they are — the violets and primroses and buttercups. 
 
198 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 Oh, I love them so dearly — and we wouldn't want to see 
 any body hut each other. Oh ! we'd he so happy, dear !" 
 
 At such times, the doctor would shrug his shoulders 
 with a slight inward laugh, and gently smooth the child's 
 pillow. And she would open her eyes and smile. 
 
 One day Mrs. Nina Lyttelton came over to see Sally, 
 as great numbers of her friends had done, on hearing of 
 the sad accident. The doctor was there, and when she 
 came out of the chamber met her. 
 
 " A fine day we have, madam!" he said, howing and 
 offering his hand. Nina shook hands. 
 
 " Beautiful, doctor," she said, " and I only wish dear 
 Sally was well to enjoy it." 
 
 ' ' Oh, don't fear. Another fortnight will complete her 
 cure ; she is already convalescent, and if you would tell 
 Barry to come and comfort her — " 
 
 They exchanged a smile. 
 
 " You wicked doctors !" said the lady, " you suffer no- 
 thing to escape you ! Now, how did you know that Sally 
 was his sweetheart ?" 
 
 Doctor Thomas shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " We all unconsciously obey the gospel precept, ma- 
 dam," said he. " ' He that hath ears let him hear,' is the 
 only command of the Bible universally obeyed, I belieVe ; 
 well I have heard." 
 
 " I understand you." 
 
 " She was feverish — I would not mention it, as wa of 
 the profession have no right to speak of such matters, but 
 you certainly know these children love each other." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; it's the talk of the whole valley. Such 
 children to love !" 
 
 The doctor laughed. 
 
 " You believe then that the heart must mature before 
 this is possible." 
 
 " Women love more ardently than girls — do they not, 
 doctor ? what is the result of your experience ?" 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 199 
 
 " My experience, fair lady ? I have none. I have 
 never been in love." 
 
 " You ! at your age !" 
 
 " What do you estimate my age at?" 
 
 " Why, twenty-five or six." 
 
 " You have guessed nearly correctly— ■! could never 
 speak as certainly of yours." 
 
 "And what do you think my age is?" asked Nina, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Eighteen, madam — nineteen at most. It is the most 
 attractive of all ages," said the doctor with a how. 
 
 " I suppose next you'll say I am the most attractive of 
 all your acquaintances !" 
 
 The doctor was plainly taken aback. 
 
 "You are called beautiful," he said. 
 
 "Ah, doctor, what if we are so called by indifferent, 
 careless people. None here appreciate me." And the 
 lady sighed. 
 
 " Pardon me, madam — there is one who does." And 
 the doctor laid his hand upon his heart, with a look of 
 admiration too profound not to be somewhat affected. 
 
 " Flatterer !" 
 
 " I never flatter, madam." 
 
 " And you think me beautiful ?" 
 
 Doctor Thomas had found more than his match ; that 
 was plain. 
 
 " Beautiful, madam ?" he said, " I find in you that 
 rare and excellent combination of qualities which I have 
 never met with save in a friend of my youth. She was 
 a paragon of all excellence." 
 
 Nina laughed. 
 
 " I am very glad so gallant a man as Doctor Thomas 
 has visited us," said she. 
 
 " And I that so charming a lady as Mrs. Lyttelton has 
 met me." 
 
 " Such persons then, doctor—" 
 
200 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " So mutually suited — " 
 
 " So congenial in their tastes — " 
 
 " Should be—" 
 
 " Friends at least, doctor !" 
 
 " More than friends, I hope, madam !" 
 
 And after this mischievous and significant colloquy^ 
 the lady and gentleman howing profoundly, separated, 
 merrily laughing. 
 
 The doctor chuckled to himself throughout the whole 
 day. 
 
, CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 1 
 
 BARRY GOES A-COURTING. 
 
 Doctor Thomas was not deceived : and in fifteen days 
 from that time Sally was out of bed, and could even in 
 the pleasant October noontide stroll down to the brook. 
 There seated on her favorite moss-clad rook, she would 
 muse for hours very happily, or, better still, spend the 
 morning in pleasant talk with Barry, who came over now 
 almost every day. 
 
 One day, the conversation led to a subject which some- 
 what agitated the young girl : — their marriage. They had 
 settled all this with the usual dispatch of lovers, and now 
 Barry was anxious to go and get her father's and mother's 
 consent, and be comfortably fixed before Christmas. Sally 
 after muchblushing-and hesitation consented to Jhis ; and 
 Barry that very evening introduced the subject to the 
 hunter, while they were sitting alone after supper. He 
 shook his head. 
 
 " There's only one thing, Barry," he said, " which puts 
 it entirely out. I've gone and made a vow that Sally 
 shan't be married till she can wear a silk bought with the 
 carcass of that cursed varmint I've been hunting. I'll 
 never enjoy a happy minute till I circumvent that Sa^an 
 — and before Sally can stand up with you I must bring 
 him down." 
 
 Barry was far from being cast down by this 'strange 
 resolution of the hunter. 
 
 ""Well then, father John," he said, using the word 
 
202 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 father much as we now use uncle, as a term of familiar- 
 ity and affection, " well, so be it. Still I hope that Sally- 
 will he able to marry me before Christmas." 
 
 The hunter shook his head. "Was he jealous of this 
 young man who came thus coolly to ask him for his 
 heart's treasure ? 
 
 Barry did not press the matter, and he declared that 
 evening to Sally that there was no real obstacle in the 
 way of their nuptials. As to- his duel with Doctor 
 Thomas he had wholly forgotten that, lately. It was 
 swallowed up with other trifles in Sally's illnesSi^^Some-, 
 times it crossed his mind and damped his joy, or threw a 
 cloud upon his hopeful thoughts ; but he wisely! resolved 
 to allow his adversary to take the first step, as he regarded 
 himself as the insulting party, and then he~tIiL ught no 
 more about it. 
 
 So a week or two glided past, and every day the hunter 
 was on the track of the buck. That enchanted animal 
 had a still more deadly enemy in Barry ! 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Two days after this interview, Doctor Thomas was 
 passing ty hunter John's on his way up the valley to see 
 Mrs. Nina Lyttelton, who had occupied much of his leisure 
 thought-time lately, when he ohserved the mountaineer 
 husily engaged in some mysterious occupation at his door. 
 He held a dog hetween his knees and in his right hand a 
 hot iron. 
 
 Suddenly, a horrible howling echoed along the valley, 
 and, released from his master's hands, the animal ran 
 yelping into the pines. 
 
 The doctor stopped, and called out to know the cause 
 of the howling. On becoming aware of the presence of 
 the doctor, hunter John seemed much confused. 
 
 " I was burning Belt," said he. 
 
 " Burning him ?" 
 
 " Yes, doctor ; and if you don't know what burning a 
 dog in the forehead 's for, I can't tell you. Won't yon 
 stop?" 
 
 " No, my friend, I am going to pay a visit up the 
 valley. So I am to apply elsewhere for information as to 
 — your servant. Miss Sally, you are wholly well, I see, and 
 really looking like a rose-bud." 
 
 Sally laughed. * 
 
 " A very white one then, sir." 
 
 " Why, yes, but the bloom is coming back, and you'll 
 soon bear the bell as usual among the mountain beauties." 
 
204 LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 "Oh, sir!" 
 
 " I have but one last prescription." 
 
 " What is that, sir ?" 
 
 " That you shall mount behind me — my horse is per- 
 fectly gentle — and ride up the valley to Mr. Von Horn's. 
 I really think the ride would do you good." 
 
 Sally's eyes sparkled. 
 
 " Oh, I should like so much to go, sir ! Do you think 
 it would be good for me ?" 
 
 "Why, you may have a very dull time up there with 
 only Mrs. Nina, and that young Mr. Barry, as you call 
 him. But then you will have had your ride, and it will 
 do you service. If you could stand the tedious visit 
 now !" said Doctor Thomas, smiling. 
 
 Sally laughed and blushed, and her mother bringing 
 out a large shawl, she was soon mounted behind the doc- 
 tor and merrily conversing, they toolc the road to father 
 Von Horn's — the large Dutch dwelling visible some five 
 miles off at the "locking" of the mountains to the south. 
 
 They there found Nina and Barry — father Von Horn 
 was out attending to his farm. He was about arranging 
 every thing for the winter, they said, when he would re- 
 turn with his family to Martinsburg where he lived eight 
 months in the year. It is not perfectly certain whether 
 the absence of the old man was regretted or not, but the 
 conversation was very merry and animated — between the 
 doctor and Nina at least. As to Barry and Sally, they sat 
 at a window some distance from the talkers, and spent 
 two hours very foolishly, whispering and smiling softly at 
 each other. 
 
 Father Von Horn gave the doctor and his " daughter 
 Sally" a hearty greeting, asking them how all were down 
 the valley, and whether hunter John had Icilled that buck 
 yet? "He ought to be allowed to hunt him in peace — 
 glancing at Barry — and two persons ought not to go after 
 tliB poor deer at once. It gave him no chance !" 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 205 
 
 With such cheerful conversation and much hearty 
 laughter, father Von Horn beguiled the half hour before 
 dinner ; and then the plentiful meal was spread before 
 them ; and then after more conversation they rose to go. 
 Nina kissed Sally with great affection, and warned the 
 doctor — with a flitting blush — to take care of her. 
 
 " Certainly, madam," he said, " I value my little pa- 
 tient more than any thing in the world. I hurt her ! or 
 suffer any thing to !" 
 
 "Well, sir, you show good taste," said Nina, half laugh- 
 ing, half pouting. " Good -by !" 
 
 The doctor placed the little arm of Sally carefully 
 around his waist with one hand, while he took off his hat 
 with the other and made the old German and his daugh- 
 ter a low bow. This time Nina undoubtedly thrust out 
 her pretty lip. 
 
 As they went along, Sally perceived that Doctor Thomas 
 was shaking with internal laughter. 
 
 " Why, what are you laughing so funnily at ?" she 
 asked, laughing herself. 
 
 " Oh ! I couldn't tell you. Miss Sally, if I tried ; but I 
 am ready to burst. A ride ! a ride ! that's what I want. 
 Would you like a ride ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes !" said Sally, her eyes sparkling. And in a 
 moment they were going at full gallop. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE PRACTICAL UTILITY OF BURNING A DOG IN THE TOREHEAD, 
 
 They went along at great speed, wlien the fine level 
 valley road rolled out its white ribbon before them, and 
 the Lloom which they had laughed about soon came into 
 Sally's cheek, and the light into her eyes again. The 
 animal's gait was regular and easy, and by the time they 
 had reached the bottom of hunter John's hill, the young 
 girl looked like a diflferent being, so rosy were her cheeks 
 and her brow so laughing. She seemed to have caught 
 the gorgeous crimson of the sunset-trees, and the light of 
 the radiant heaven, and with the incarnate spring-time of 
 her smile to make the autumn glories, merest folly — 
 wholly out of place ! 
 
 The doctor was pressed to spend the night, and finally 
 he consented — making hunter John promise to awake 
 him early. The hunter gave him a strange look, and 
 said, " Please God that should be :" which Doctor Thomas 
 tried in vain to understand. 
 
 " "What were you burning your dog to-day for, friend?" 
 he said, while they sat thoughtfully smoking before the 
 blazing pine splinters, whose warmth the coolness of the 
 October evening rendered far from unpleasant ; " you did 
 not tell me, recollect." 
 
 The hunter smiled. 
 
 "That ain't all," said he, "I've been to Mrs. Court- 
 landt's to-day since you passed by ; and more has been 
 done yet.," 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 207 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " You'll see, I hope. I'm hoping the time's come. 
 But suppose it does," muttered the hunter, "what'll I 
 gain ? Why on earth now should I he so anxious ? Poor 
 old fool ! I'm not knowing what I do." 
 
 The doctor endeavored in vain to extract from hunter 
 John an explanation of these singular speeches ; and soon 
 after he was shown to his chamter. Very early he 
 seemed to hear, as in a dream, the same' trampling that 
 formerly attracted his attention, then the suhdued yelping 
 of dogs, then the gradually dying notes of a horn — that 
 seemed to sound from fairy land. Then all died away, 
 and he slept again. 
 
 At sunrise he was suddenly aroused hy the report of a 
 rifle, which — home on the echoes of the valley — came 
 distinctly and clearly to his ears. He rose and dressed, 
 and descended. He met his hostess and Sally who were 
 already " stirring," and asked them who had fired ? They 
 could not tell, tut expected it was the hunter. 
 
 Suddenly a horn, ringing, joyful, and sonorous, rolled 
 its clear music down the mountain side, and all paused, 
 listening earnestly. It sounded again ; then a third time. 
 Sally clapped her hands and with a flushed face cried, 
 " Oh ! I believe father has killed that huck at last !" 
 
 And so the hunter indeed had. In half an hour he ap- 
 peared on the hank of the stream with the enormous huck 
 hefore him on his saddle ; there the stranger met and 
 congratulated him. They were soon before the house 
 and the buck was laid on the grass. It was an animal 
 of uncommon size — -Vith antlers of extraordinary length 
 and weight, and its hair was much lighter in color than 
 usual. There could be but one such deer in a thousand 
 herds. 
 
 The hunter did not appear as joyful as one would have 
 expected at this realization of all his hopes and desires. 
 
 "When you saw me yesterday," he .said to his guest, 
 
208 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " I was turning my dog in his forehead, and we 'do that 
 when any deviltry is in. a hound — " 
 
 "Deviltry?" 
 
 " To be plain, when they are witched," said the hunter, 
 " and Belt was as much witched as my rifle. Then I 
 went down to Mrs. Courtlandt's and she took my rifle and 
 unwitched that !" 
 
 Hunter John spoke doggedly, and the stranger did not 
 contradict or interrupt hirrl. He proceeded : 
 
 "I knew after that how it would he," he said, " and I 
 can't say why I didn't brand the dog before, and get Mrs. 
 Courtlandt to fix my gun ; but I reckon I was afraid," 
 added the hunter, ingenuously. " So this morning I went 
 out after the buck, determined to bring him home with 
 me, or wear myself out. Just up on the mountain side I 
 met Barry, who was also hunting the varmint, and we 
 took different ways looking for him. I knew his haunts 
 though, and in half an hour I was on his track — he was 
 started — and I knew it was the beast himself, for Belt 
 don't run any other of late, and his tongue told me when 
 the game was afoot. Well, I ran him from one end o' 
 the valley to the other — doubled the mountain, and went 
 after him along Sleepy Creek. I thought Elkhorn would 
 a' burst — but he never failed, because he knew well 
 enough that the buck was doomed. The varmint soon 
 doubled again for the mountain and I followed him — I 
 could see him easy now, and I followed him without 
 holding Elkhorn in, though the mountain ain't a level 
 road there. So we came — thunderin' down straight to- 
 ward the house here — yonder you see the bridle path ; 
 and having a good sight of him, I dropped the bridle an'd 
 leveling my gun, let him have it. But I missed — my 
 rifle hadn't the deviltry out of it quite yet. I knew I 
 hadn't touched him — but Belt was at his heels and he 
 was tired. The next minute I saw him rearing on Moss 
 Rock, and he fell over the precipice — the dogs after him. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 209 
 
 Look there — Dapple is good for nothing! His hind leg 
 and off foreleg is broke ! "Well, I was on him in no time. 
 My arm still hurt me where it was broke and it was 
 weakly, but that was nothing. I jumped off my horse, 
 pitched into him, and got only this scratch here, before 
 my knife was through his throat, and his neck was 
 quivering !" 
 
 As he spoke, the hunter, with flashing eyes and flushed 
 face, rolled up his sleeve and showed a deep wound in his 
 shoufder. The doctor looked at the deer — ^his antlers 
 were bloody. 
 
 " You are wounded !" he exclaimed, " run. Miss Sally, 
 and get some linen." 
 
 The girl, pale and startled, hastened to bring it. The 
 hunter suffered his wound to be bandaged, with many 
 "pshaws!" 
 
 At the moment he again rolled down his wide sleeve, 
 as if nothing had happened, Barry made his appearance 
 at the bottom of the hill, his horse white with foam and 
 bathed in sweat. On seeing the deer, he threw himself 
 from the seat and ran up the hill. 
 
 " Is he dead at last!" cried Barry. 
 
 The hunter smiled. 
 
 " As a door nail, Barry my boy ; you can see for your- 
 self." 
 
 "Poor animal !" said the doctor laughing, " he was too 
 fine a beast to be cut down in his pride — only to supply 
 some hungry mouth with venison !" 
 
 Sally blushed, and looked at Barry. 
 
 " There's more than that on his death, doctor — and I 
 believe from your wicked way of laughing, you know it," 
 said the hunter. " Sally's marriage to — but she'll tell 
 you all. I need rest. I'm most nigh worn out." 
 
 " Your marriage. Miss Sally !" cried Doctor Thomas 
 with well dissembled astonishment. The young girl 
 blushed ; and Barry seemed much disposed to interrupt 
 
210 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 the speaker; only he did not know how to do so with 
 propriety. 
 
 " So there's a marriage on the tapis is there ? Well, I 
 suppose you'll have a splendid supper on the strength of 
 the buck, my dear host — I have no doubt you will enjoy 
 a slice from the saddle." 
 
 " No," said hunter John. 
 
 " You won't eat him ?" 
 
 " I am going this verji; morning to Martinsburg to sell 
 him. Sally's got to be married in him." 
 
 " Married in him !" 
 
 The hunter laughed. 
 
 "I'm joking with you," said he, "I mean that the 
 money I get for the varmint is going to buy her a white 
 silk dress — yes, that very thing. My baby'll look pretty 
 then, won't she ?" said the hunter, tapping his daughter's 
 cheek with a well pleased smile. 
 
 Sally, overcome with joy and diffidence, ran into her 
 chamber, where throwing herself into a chair, she began 
 to cry. But they were not sorrowful tears. 
 
 " And now, dame ! some breakfast !" cried the hunter, 
 " I'm off in an hour." 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE RATTLE OF TONGUES. 
 
 A MONTH had flown onward, making the gorgeous 
 forests still more hrilliant in their coloring ; the mount- 
 ains still more beautiful ; freshening still more the bracing 
 air, which, long dreaming of the warmth of the summer 
 sun, was loth to give up all at once the glories of his 
 smile. But that smile if not so warm was brighter — and 
 its splendor flashed along the morning streams, and broke 
 above the waving trees at noon, and broadened to a red 
 faced, silent burst of merry laughter, when across the 
 mountain the great orb went dragging with him one more 
 golden autumn day. 
 
 Barry had never thought the mountains so beautiful — 
 though he made the discovery, very soon, that Sally's 
 smile added much to their attraction. 
 
 At last the day approached for the marriage of the 
 " young folks ;" and Doctor Thomas averred that never 
 in all his travels had he seen such a commotion ; perhaps 
 this was in consequence of Sally's great popularity with 
 the young (arid old too) of both sexes, in the neighbor- 
 hood. Certainly, her wedding was looked forward to with 
 rejoioeful expectation, and the young girl was scarcely 
 suffered to " sew a stitch" for herself; her friends insisted 
 on doing it all for her. Hunter John had brought back 
 from Martinsburg what all considered a magnificent white 
 watered silk, and dozens of consultations were held before 
 the precise fashion of the dress was determined on. Nina 
 
212 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 Lyttelton was here the loudest and most authoritative 
 speaker. 
 
 " Oh! low necked hy all means!" she cried. ""Who 
 would have a great stiff silk up to her throat ?" 
 
 "But," suggested one of the young ladies, "it is not 
 summer time." 
 
 " What of that ?" 
 
 " Low necks are for summer !" 
 
 " Nonsense !" cried Nina, laughing. 
 
 " I know why you are for low necks !" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " You are wearing a low-necked dress now." 
 
 Nina laughed still more loudly. 
 
 " I appeal to Doctor Thomas," she said, as that gen- 
 tleman entered, "if that is not the prettiest and most 
 suitable." 
 
 " What, ladies ?" asked the doctor. 
 
 " The neck bare in a bride." 
 
 " Why, now — " 
 
 " Come, doctor, you shall decide — " 
 
 " I can easily decide one question, madam ; namely, 
 whether such fashions are becoming. Mrs. Lyttelton 
 has never looked more radiant." 
 
 Nina laughed. 
 
 " Still," said the doctor, " it seems to me only proper 
 and reasonable, that Miss Sally herself should have some 
 part in this discussion, as she is to wear the dress." 
 
 This decision was on all sides voted down, as ridiculous, 
 and an unwarrantable innovation on established usage ; and 
 in the midst of the clamor Sally herself entered, looking 
 like a rose-bud. The important question was finally de- 
 cided, and the young girl was entering her room v^hen the 
 doctor made her a sign that he wished to speak to her. 
 
 "A present for you. Miss Sally, from your friend — or 
 rather my friend, Mrs. Courtlandt," he said, giving her a 
 costly pair of ear-rings. 
 
LEJITHER STOCKING AND SILK. 213 
 
 " Oh, thank you !" said the girl, delighted ; " that's just 
 what I wanted : but do you think father would let me 
 take them from — " she paused ; and the doctor smiled. 
 
 " They are good friends now," he said, " since the gun 
 is unwitched ; hut here he is, ask him." 
 
 Hunter John in fact entered at the moment. 
 
 ""Where did your pretty ear-drops come from, pet?" 
 said he ; " your servant, doctor." 
 
 "From Mrs. Courtlandt, father." 
 
 The hunter looked grave ; then laughed. 
 
 " I begin to think my old superstitious head has been 
 making me think her too much of a witch," he said. "I 
 used to see her oftentimes in Martinsburg, years back, and 
 she wasn't such a dreadful person. It's only since she 
 came to the mountains here, some four years ago, when 
 her school was broke up, I have felt afraid of her. Most 
 old people now are like me though — all were in the back 
 times." 
 
 Then taking the jewels, and looking tenderly at his 
 daughter, he said to the doctor : 
 
 " And you brought these, I reckon ; well, Mrs. Court- 
 landt must have fallen in love with you; what do you 
 say ? ha ! ha !" 
 
 " Why, I don't know." 
 
 " She's still handsome." 
 
 •' Yes." 
 
 " And you're certain — come now, doctor — ^that she 
 hasn't taken a fancy to you ?" 
 
 " "Why, she received me with a kiss when I arrived," 
 said the doctor gravely ; " and now I come to remember 
 my friend, the care she takes of my wardrobe signifies 
 much. That should have opened my eyes." 
 
 This speech threw the v/hole company into profound 
 astoni^ihnijent. It is probable that such was the intention 
 of the speaker. Nina, however, said nothing; for " mat- 
 ters had become very serious" between herself and the 
 
214 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 doctor lately, it was said. Doctor Thomas was immedi- 
 ately overwhelmed, with questions ; and for some min- 
 utes was in despair. The storm at last settled down, and 
 he had an opportunity, all thought, of explaining himself. 
 
 Nina, above all, waited for this explanation ; not that 
 she feared a rival in Mrs. Courtlandt, but it is one pecu- 
 liarity of that position in Which this lady now stood to- 
 ward the doctor, that the mind does not weigh clearly 
 and decide rationally. Nina was therefore determined to 
 quarrel with her suitor. 
 
 The doctor gave her no opportunity, however, but 
 mentioning as a piece of pleasant and agreeable news that 
 his friend Mrs. Courtlandt was then preparing a new coat 
 and moccasins to attend the wedding, he took his de- 
 parture. Having cast this bombshell into the midst of 
 the company, he very rationally supposed that it would 
 form the topic of conversation — and thus he himself 
 escape " abiise ;" and he was not mistaken. 
 
 No sooner had he disappeared, than the storm burst 
 forth with overwhelming power. 
 
 "That Mrs. Courtlandt!" 
 
 " No better than a witch !" 
 
 " She's handsome though." 
 
 " You ought to be ashamed to say so — she handsome I 
 with that old cap on her head and that odious boy's 
 roundabout!" cried Nina. 
 
 Every one laughed. 
 
 " Nina is jealous of her," said one; "the doctor is her 
 beau, you know, girls ! and she can't bear Mrs. Court- 
 landt." 
 
 " I think Mrs. Courtlandt is still very handsome," said 
 another. 
 
 "And I think you very impudent," said Nina, laugh- 
 ing, " to say the doctor is my beau !" » 
 
 " You know he is, Nina." 
 
 " I don't care that for him," snapping her fingers ; "and 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AI^D SltK. 213 
 
 I'm sure," she added pouting, "he don't value me more 
 than that himself." 
 
 " "Why only yesterday he told me that he had lost his 
 heart completely." 
 
 Nina blushed, and turning away hid her confusion by 
 asking for "a piece of bobbin edge." 
 
 " Bobbin edge on that !" cried one. 
 
 " Certainly," said Nina. 
 
 " I never heard of such a thing ! It -won't suit !" 
 
 " I appeal to you, girls — " 
 
 " Yes !" 
 
 " No !" 
 
 " It will ruin it !" 
 
 " It will make it beautiful !" 
 
 And forgetting completely the affairs of Nina and the 
 doctor, these young ladies again plunged into the weighty 
 considerations of trimming, and assorting colors — at which 
 point we leave them with great pleasure. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 HOW THEY RAN FOR THE BOTTLE. 
 
 The wedding morning dawned clear and auspicious, 
 with a laughing sun above the evergreen pines, and 
 on the many-colored woods of later fall ; and a tracing 
 Treshness in the wandering wind that gently caressed the 
 cheek, and brightened every eye. The stream danced 
 along the valley with a gayer music than its wont ; the 
 golden leaves seemed laughing and chuckling privately to 
 themselves ; the small white clouds came slowly floating 
 from the east and west with the veering wind, and paus- 
 ing just above the home of hunter John, were plainly 
 interested equally with stream, and leaf, and tree, in this 
 the wedding-day of the valley's "darling !" 
 
 Noon was approaching when an echoing shout — flying 
 and. gamboling like a schoolboy on a holiday — came down 
 the valley, and gave warning that the company were 
 drawing on. 
 
 In five minutes the dell seemed alive with horsemen, 
 who galloping as though a rushing flood greater than 
 ever broke through Holland dykes was at their heels, 
 flew onward toward the house of hunter John. "W'ith 
 hair streaming — caps waved madly over their heads — and 
 heels dug violently into the sides of their flying coursers, 
 they came more recklessly than ever yet the riders in 
 any steeple-chase, toward the hill. For there awaited 
 them old hunter John — a mighty, ribbon-ornamented 
 bottle in his hand. Why need we add, those rushing roar- 
 ing mountain youths were " running for the bottle !" 
 
 Among the foremost, mounted on his gallant sorrel, 
 and thundering along with careless rein, and hand upon 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 217 
 
 his thigh, was Doctor Thomas. The doctor was clad with 
 unusual elegance. He wore a laced velvet coat, a many- 
 colored vest, and his silk stockings and white-topped 
 boots were marvels of taste and richness. You hardly 
 looked at the rider nevertheless — so fine a sight was the 
 nohle sorrel, with arched neck and glossy coat, flying on- ^ 
 ward to the merrymaking, as though he too knew the 
 meaning of it all. 
 
 Behind the valiant doctor came a dozen other horse- 
 men, all at full speed, with coats streaming, hats waved 
 madly over head, and merry shouts ; behind, for though 
 the speed of the mountain horses was great, the sorrel 
 kept before them all. 
 
 Suddenly, with a burst of jocund laughter all drew up, 
 checking their foaming horses, and yielding in the con- 
 test. Doctor Thomas had reached the hill, sped up to 
 the door, and received from hunter John the famous bot- 
 tle. A shout greeted this performance, and the horse- 
 men coming up, the victor was congratulated by all. He 
 handed the bottle to a young moantaineer, on a swift 
 black mare ; and in a. moment the young man was on 
 his way back at full speed. Barry and the wedding 
 party were to drink of " Black Bess" — so they called it — 
 before they came on to the mansion. 
 
 By noon the guests had all arrived — among the rest 
 father Yon Horn, and Nina, and — ^to the profound aston- 
 ishment of all — Mrs. Courtlandt ! That lady was not 
 clad, as Doctor Thomas had threatened, in her singular 
 home costume of moccasins and coat, but in a plain dark 
 dress, which set off well her calm and refined counte- 
 nance. Hunter John expressed some consternation on 
 her arrival — mounted on the little white pony all knew 
 well — -but soon this passed, and the merrymaking com- 
 menced. The bride, had not as yet made her appear- 
 ance ; but soon her door was thrown open, and the " dar- 
 ling" of the valley issued forth. 
 
 K 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 HOW SHE WORE THE WHITE SILK AFTER ALL. 
 
 Sally had never looked prettier, than at this moment 
 She was clad in the famous silk, whose history the readei 
 has heard at so much length, and it now appeared that 
 Nina Lyttelton's counsel had carried the day — for the 
 dress was low-necked. The rich silk undulating as she 
 rnoved, fairly dazzled the eye — and had not Sally on that 
 morning withdrawn herself solemnly from the list of 
 mountain belles, we can not estimate the number of 
 enemies she must have made. In her hair some white 
 lingering autumn flowers clustered together, spreading 
 around her as she came, a faint delight — and, not to 
 elaborate what we feel to be a most poor and inadequate 
 description, this youhg lady whom we have promoted to 
 the post of heroine, in one word, so overcame all hearts — 
 including of course those youths who would have died for 
 her before — ^that many felt thereafter (for a month or two) 
 that life had lost all charm for them ; that all their hap- 
 piness was merest shadow, existence but a dream, and 
 that unhappy ; the world no longer bright since she, the 
 " darling" of all hearts had gone from them ; " gone and 
 got married," as they said, and so was lost forever ! 
 
 But unconscious of the many hearts she was breaking, 
 the young girl came on, attended by her bridemaids — 
 and at her side walked Barry, proud and happy. Around 
 him were gathered also the attentive groomsmen in their 
 snowy aprons ; and soon the ceremony was commenced 
 and ended ; — and Sally, blushing like a rose, received the 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 219 
 
 thousand gratulations, kisses, and wishes for her happi- 
 ness, customary on such occasions. 
 
 When all had pledged the new-married pair in the 
 contents of" the great punch bowl, the broad table was 
 drawn out, and those white-aproned gentlemen we have 
 mentioned, hastened to the next room — temporarily the 
 kitchen. Thence they filed in with the great hissing 
 dishes, and having placed the profuse meal, as was their 
 duty, on the board, they sat down with the rest, and the 
 feast commenced. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 HOW THEY ALL ROMFED MEERILY, AND WHO GOT THE SLIPPER. 
 
 It was a hearty and cheerful sight to see old hunter 
 John upon that merry day. He seemed to have returned 
 to his boyhood once again, and when he took the head of 
 the table, with his wife at the foot and Sally at his side, 
 you should have seen him ! He was clad like all his 
 guests — Doctor Thomas only excepted — in the orna- 
 mented hunting shirt of the mountaineers, leggings, 
 stockings, and high-buttoned vest ; an enormous collar 
 saw.ed his ears, confined by a narrow ribbon, bound 
 around his broad muscular throat ; and his iron-gray hair 
 was gathered in a queue behind. 
 
 But no one saw his dress, or dreamed of the existence 
 of the queue ; the smile of joy and pride, illuminating 
 gloriously the broad bright-eyed face, alone was visible ; 
 and when the hunter stood up with a mighty cup raised 
 in his right hand and drank " to the young people's happy 
 times," all the company rose as if on springs, and a shout 
 broke from them which was heard far off upon the 
 mountain side, and made the house vibrate with very 
 joy, and wholly drowned the merrily-laughing fiddle 
 which was perched in the corner, over the revelers' heads, 
 with standing orders never to stop a moment to take 
 breath, but do its best to drown the clatter of plates, and 
 silence every voice ! 
 
 It was not long before the scramble for the slipper of 
 
 the bride commenced. This new — or rather very old 
 
 mode of " hunting the slipper," was simply to obtain by 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 221 
 
 stratagem or other means while she sat at table, the 
 slipper of the bride, and he who succeeded in gaining 
 possession of it spite of her struggles, and of the efforts 
 of the groomsmen in her defense, was entitled to two 
 kisses, and a bottle of wine — declared by long established 
 and well-known usage his appropriate reward. 
 
 First, one of the young men would come behind her 
 chair, and commence an indifferent conversation — ^then 
 bend down to admire the new ring upon the fair hand of 
 the bride ; then suddenly the meaning of all this, man- 
 CEuvring would betray itself in a quick dart at the little 
 shoe firmly fixed on the little foot beneath the table. 
 But the shoe was not so easily captured — and most prob- 
 ably the adventurous wight was caught by the attentive 
 groomsmen, *and thrown staggering back ; or worse still, a 
 ringing sound was heard, and he retreated with tingling 
 cheek from the offended bride. Every stratagem possible 
 was used, every effort made to get possession of the slip- 
 per, and we may assert with perfect safety that the bottle 
 of wine was not the prize so warmly struggled for by the 
 young mountaineers. Sally was too honest and reason- 
 able to dispute the right acquired by the fortunate person, 
 and she made every exertion to preserve herself from the 
 threatened kisses. 
 
 , At last the struggle for a moment ceased ; they were 
 taking breath. 
 
 , "Brave girl!" cried old father Von Horn who sat at 
 her side, and had watched the romping with vast delight ; 
 " I know she's a match for you all, boys ! no kisses for 
 you here ! You will have to confine your embraces to 
 your own sweethearts;" here the old man looked mis- 
 chievously around on the young girls. 
 
 They all tossed their heads. 
 
 " Pshaw !" he cried, " you know I am joking, my 
 daughters. But I was saying that this little shoe here 
 was safe still, and in — how long is it, friend Myers — " 
 
222 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " In ten minutes it'll be out," said hunter John, looking 
 at a Dutch cloclc over the mantle-piece. " The time will 
 then be up, and we'll get to the dancing, girls." 
 
 " Oh, yes !" they all exclaimed, " let us have the 
 dancing soon !" 
 
 " I love so mueh to dance !" 
 
 " I'm your partner, recollect !" 
 
 " No, you are not for the first reel !" 
 
 " What a merry fiddle !" 
 
 In the midst of this burst of talk, Sally turned to 
 fether Von Horn with a beseeching look. 
 
 The old man laughed significantly. 
 
 " Do you want any of these youngsters to get the 
 shoe ?" he said. 
 
 " Oh, no ! father Von Horn," with great energy. 
 
 "Eh? not one?" 
 
 " Indeed I wouldn't let a single one touch it — if I 
 could help it. But I can't ! I don't think I can keep it 
 on my foot," said the girl, laughing ; " I thought that last 
 pull of Doctor Thomas would certainly bring it off." 
 
 " Come now, is there no one here you have less objec 
 tion to kiss ?" 
 
 " I hate to think of kissing any." 
 
 " "Why, what a cruel little chit !" 
 
 " Oh, father Von Horn !" said Sally, laughing, " ^ 
 think that some one of these rough boys should take off 
 Barry's kiss ;" her voice sank at these last words and she 
 blushed and smiled. 
 
 " To say nothing of the bottle of good old wine." 
 
 "Oh, any body may have that — there it is on the 
 mantle-piece," she said ; and then in the softest and most 
 caressing tone of voice : 
 
 " Do you like Madeira wine, father Von Horn !" asked 
 the little witch. 
 
 The old man laughed loudly. 
 
 " Why, yes !" said he, " but I'm afraid I shall get none 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 223 
 
 of it to-night, as you won't let any one take the slipper ; 
 a pretty little shoe it is," said the old man, glancing at 
 the small foot, "the doctor there, says it's so small he 
 can't grasp it with his hand !" 
 
 " Oh, he's a great flatterer, father Von Horn ! But I 
 didn't say I wouldn't let any one take my slipper, as you 
 say — " 
 
 "Whair-!" 
 
 " Not in the least, father Von Horn," said the girl with 
 a sly and confidential smile, " I said none of the boys ! 
 of course I wouldn't care if some nice old gentleman 
 could — " 
 
 " Treason !" cried father Von Horn ; " was the like 
 ever seen ! Come here, hoys !" 
 
 " Oh, please don't hetray me !" said Sally, beseechingly, 
 " please, father Von Horn. They would laugh at me till 
 I cried; and then you know," she said smiling, "there 
 would be no dancing !" 
 
 " What are you talking about, father Von Horn?" the 
 young men asked. 
 
 " "Why, I wished to say to you, my young friends, that 
 in five minutes the time for getting the slipper off is out 
 — then good-by to the kisses and the wine." 
 
 The young men approached the bride carelessly. 
 
 " Oh ! we have given it up." 
 
 " Wholly." 
 
 " It's no use." 
 
 " Miss Sally has got the fairies to work her a slipper 
 and it is put on with a spell." 
 
 But these careless laughing words only masked a more 
 violent attack than ever ; and with such vigor and skill 
 was the onset made that the young girl only kept her 
 slipper on by the closest pressure of her foot. Suddenly, 
 father Von Horn cried : 
 - " The bottle, boys ! the bottle ! see to it !" 
 
 All heads were turned to the mantle-piece, thinking to 
 
224 LEATHER STOCEING AND SILK. 
 
 see it fall ; when the merry old man stooped down, and 
 with a quick jerk drew off the slipper and held it up in 
 triumph ! 
 
 " The slipper! the slipper!" 
 
 " Father Von Horn, indeed !" 
 
 " It ain't fair !" 
 
 " I believe you let him take it, Miss Sally !" 
 
 " How can you say so !" she replied, laughing ; " could 
 I think of it while I was looking at the bottle ?" 
 
 But spite of this ingenious defense, we are obliged to 
 express our serious doubts of its sincerity. It was after- 
 ward stated that Miss Sally, when all eyes were turned 
 away, had slyly bent back father Von Horn's stalwart 
 thumb ; and that in obedience to the signal, the slipper 
 had been seized. 
 
 However it may have been, one thing is certain, that 
 the 'old man claimed the penalty ; and the bottle gayly 
 decked out with ribbons was handed to him. He filled 
 the bride's cup, then passed it round ; so it was emptied. 
 The rest of the penalty was more ceremoniously claimed 
 by the fortunate possessor of the slipper. 
 
CHAPTER XXL 
 
 THE RECLAIMING OF THE SLIPPER. 
 
 The party all rose from table, and the tatle itself was 
 borne with the rapidity of magic from the room. Thus 
 the floor was cleared for dancing ; hut first the ceremony 
 we have alluded to was to he gone through with. 
 
 The company scattered hack to the walls, where rang- 
 ing themselves in close columns they looked on in silence. 
 Then forth into the open space came father Von Horn, 
 and with a profound how, and a sign to the music, said : 
 
 " Here am I — ^where is the hride ?" 
 
 " Here am I — I am the hride," said the merry voice of 
 the young girl, as she came into the open space, from the 
 opposite side, with a slight irregularity in her gait — for 
 the old man held gayly in his hand the captured shoe. 
 
 Father Von Horn bowed again. 
 
 "Is this the bride's shoe? look at it well," said he. 
 
 "I am the bride — the slipper is mine," said Sally, 
 blushing and laughing. 
 
 " I found the slipper — the little white slipper." 
 
 " Do you wish a reward ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "What shall it be?" 
 
 " The slipper is pretty, and worth two kisses." 
 
 "Kisses, sir?" 
 
 "Two of them!" 
 
 " Here are my lips." 
 
 As they repeated these words, they slowly approached 
 each other, and father Von Horn kneeling qu oiie knee, 
 
226 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 with the most profound respect, put the slipper upon the 
 girl's foot, and then rising, placed his arms round her neck 
 and kissed her twice, exciting thereby dreadful enmity 
 among the young men against him. 
 
 At the same moment, the whole company commenced 
 gayly singing, 
 
 " Put your shoe on 
 To keep your foot warm, 
 And two little kisses will Jo you no harm." 
 
 The fiddle changing its tone from the wild outrageous 
 merriment which before characterized it, to a thought- 
 ful and subdued measure, here glided in, so to speak, and 
 interpreted the words. The whole was wound up with, 
 "heigho ! heigho !" sung as a chorus, but these " heighos' 
 were much more like laughter than sighing. 
 
 Then the fiddle, as if ashamed of falling into a fit of 
 musing, and being absent in company, struck up a merry 
 reel, and the bride, the groom, the whole joyful party 
 commenced gayly dancing. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE DOCTOR REMINBS BARRY OF HIS ENGAGEMENT. 
 
 -The happy company took no thought of the rolling 
 hours, but acting on the ancient and respectable maxim, 
 that no time is like the present moment for enjoyment, 
 entered into the dancing with a spirit, which for the time 
 made them lose sight of every thing else in the world. 
 It was part of their teaching— this wild abandonment to 
 mirth and laughter. But a few years before, within the 
 memory at least of many, the savage had often inter- 
 rupted such sport with the yell of onset ; and the recol- 
 lections or the traditions of those former years still dwelt 
 in the minds of all, and impressed upon them the import- 
 ance of the moment for enjoyment. 
 
 Alone in the background. Doctor Thomas looked on 
 with silent pleasure ; his eyes following incessantly the 
 forms of Barry and Sally and Nina as they ran through 
 the dance. Barry was entirely happy, perhaps for the 
 first time in his life, for his was a nature which de- 
 manded the extremes of emotion always ; and now in the 
 extreme happiness of his union with the young girl, he 
 forgot all the sad days that had gone before and gave 
 himself up to unreserved delight. 
 
 He left the room, just as the mountains and the sky 
 were darkening, to commune with his own thoughts in 
 silence and obscurity. The sound of an approaching foot- 
 step interrupted him. He turned round. 
 
 "Ah, sir," said he, "you are here; I thought I was 
 alone." « 
 
 " Which means that my presence is an intrusion, eh ?" 
 said Doctor Thomas. 
 
228 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " The world is free, sir." 
 
 "Pardon me, that is a fallacy; hut I came, sir, to 
 arrange our little matters ; you no douht understand to 
 what I allude." 
 
 Barry's face flushed. 
 
 ""We are to fight then are we, sir?" 
 
 " Why certainly ; you challenged me, I think." 
 
 " No sir — not challenged you," said Barry coldly, and 
 repressing his agitation hy a powerful effort, "you in- 
 sulted a lady and I resented it." 
 
 ' " Well, well, words convey ideas ; and I think you offered, 
 on the occasion to which I allude, to fight me 'with any 
 weapons.' Those were your very words, were they not ?" 
 
 "And I am ready to hold to my words," said Barry, 
 with an icy sensation at his heart. 
 
 Doctor Thomas threw a piercing glance upon the young 
 man's agitated hut resolute face — his pale hut firm lips, 
 his cheeks filled with hlood, his large glowing eyes. 
 
 "Splendid diagnosis," he muttered with a smile. 
 Then he said aloud : 
 
 "It is no child's play we are ahout, sir ; this will he 
 — should we fight — a matter of life and death." 
 
 " So he it !" said the young man. 
 
 " I am sorry." 
 
 " Be sorry on your own account, sir ! you have not the 
 satisfaction of feeling that you fight in a good cause. I 
 have it !" 
 
 " How so ?" 
 
 " You pretend not to understand me. Well, sir, that 
 is your own husiness." 
 
 " I only understand that we must fight, and that you 
 are just married." 
 
 Barry's lip curled with scorn. 
 
 "And for that reason you have pressed the matter now." 
 
 " Come, come — " , 
 
 " I admire your great delicacy, sir." 
 
 There was so much scorn in these few words that ot-« 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 229 
 
 might have very reasonably feared a personal encounter 
 then and there. The doctor only smiled, and his smile 
 was bright and unaffected. 
 
 "Why, we are enemies are we not?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; we are." 
 
 " Well, when you have an enemy what do you do ?" 
 
 " Say what you have to say, sir." 
 
 " May the devil take me, you are crusty, my friend : 
 it is not etiquette to reply to me in this way." 
 
 " I don't mean to use ceremony." 
 
 "It is, however, far more comme il faut — ^pardon my 
 rudeness. In Paris, the centre of European refinement — 
 so they say at least — a challenge necessitates courtesy, 
 between the principals. You may kill, but you must kill 
 with politeness and kindness." 
 
 To these coolly uttered words, Barry replied, with flash- 
 ing eyes, " I do not take pattern from others, sir, when 
 I am insulted !" 
 
 " Well, I was about to ask you, just at the moment 
 you interrupted me, what your course toward an enemy 
 would be under the present circumstances. I meant to 
 say that my revival of our quarrel at this moment is not 
 so heinous an offense against good breeding as you would 
 make it. Granted I hate you, does it not follow that my 
 proposal at this moment is the most rational, philosophi- 
 cal and consistent I could make ? You are at the height 
 of felicity — I would plunge you into the depths of de- 
 spair, by saying to you, 'Come now and give me youi 
 life ; you owe it to me !' " 
 
 Barry turned pale. 
 
 " I am ready," he said, with one hand on his heart. 
 
 "Pistols?" 
 
 "Any thing." 
 
 " Now ? They are not far off." 
 
 Barry's head sank and his lip quivered. Oh ! to aban- 
 don so much happiness just as he had grasped it — to yield 
 up the prize just when it was his own ! to die just us he 
 
230 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 had commenced a long life of unalloyed delight, with 
 that dear heart to drive away all sorrow, and light up his 
 days with never failing joy! It was a hard trial, and 
 the stranger watched him with close attention ; he saw 
 the head droop, the lip quiver. But the next moment 
 Barry's head rose, and his large haughty eye flashed fire. 
 
 "Now!" he said, resolutely, "yes, sir; you have the 
 right to order all ! Let it he now !" 
 
 The doctor received this reply with an expression im- 
 possible to describe ; but he gazed upon the young man 
 with the deepest tenderness — the most unmistakable ad- 
 miration. 
 
 Then advancing a step toward him : 
 
 " Sir," he said with dignity, and in a voice from which 
 every trace of its usual mocking sarcasm had disappeared, 
 " I ask of you pardon for the unworthy words I have 
 uttered now and at our former interview, and hope you 
 will forgive me for what I have both said and done. I 
 can not offer you an apology for the insult to your bride, 
 for I am guilty of uttering no such words, of offering no 
 such insult. You do not know me," here a brilliant 
 smile lit up the martial and attractive features of the 
 stranger, " or you never would have believed me guilty 
 of such an act." 
 
 Bowing to Barry, he turned away and bent his steps 
 toward the mansion, leaving the young man in such pro- 
 found astonishment, that he was wholly incapable of 
 returning the stranger's courtly inclination. That as- 
 tonishment was far from disagreeable, however : this 
 thing of nursing a quarrel which had cooled, into its 
 primitive violence, and deliberately taking a man's life 
 or losing his own for it, was repugnant to every prin- 
 ciple of the mountaineers. At the risk then of lowering 
 our hero in the reader's estimation, we must confess ho 
 was delighted. 
 
 Suddenly a loud shout from the house attracted his 
 attention, and he hastened in. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 SAYING " NO." 
 
 The cause of the outcry was very' simple. Some of 
 the young men had provided themselves with an enor- 
 mous pumpkin, which, having hollowed it out, they 
 carved into the form of a terrible and threMening face, 
 with goggle eyes, frowning brow, and huge ogre teeth. 
 They had then fixed candles in the eyes, and raising it 
 on a stick, suddenly presented it at the window ; at the 
 same moment, a young gentleman renowned for his 
 excellence in the department of animal-mimicry had 
 uttered a terrific roar. 
 
 The consequence of this manceuvre was first the 
 shrieks we have mentioned — then sundry fits of hysterics, 
 some fainting fits indeed. The first in point of sudden- 
 ness and violence was Mrs. Nina Lyttelton who seeing a 
 wicker couch convenient, and catching a glimpse of the 
 doctor, had fallen with a truth of representation and a 
 grace of attitude worthy of the highest admiration. 
 
 The doctor bending over her, applied the usual restora- 
 tives with his usual ironical courtesy, and subdued 
 chuckle : but it might have been observed that his man- 
 ner had much changed toward the fair Nina. 
 
 At last she opened her eyes. 
 
 " Is that you ?" she said smiling, languidly. 
 
 " Yes," said he, very rationally. 
 
 " Oh, I was so frightened !" 
 
 " Those wicked boys !" 
 
 '< What was it?" 
 
 " "Why, nothing but a large pumpkin which they had 
 fixed with lights. How could you faint at that." 
 
232 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Oh, it soared me so." 
 
 "And your fright was pretty, on my faith. You faint 
 charmingly, Nina," said the doctor in a low tone, almost 
 whispering. 
 
 The lady laughed. 
 
 " Doctor Thomas is very flattering," she said with a 
 gay emphasis on the two first words of the sentence. 
 
 " He will hreali" himself of that had habit perhaps 
 when — " 
 
 " You stop ; why don't you finish your speech." 
 
 "When he is united — ^no, I mean when he is "the 
 happiest of men ;" that is a prettier phrase." 
 
 " Impudent !" 
 
 " Who— I ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " How am I, pray ?" 
 
 " To presume to speak of our marriage as all settled." 
 
 And she gave him a fascinating smile. 
 
 " Why, is it not ?" - , 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Good ! I thought so, I knew I couldn't he mistaken. 
 As usual your no means yes." 
 
 " You are unbearable." 
 
 " What a charming pout you have, Nina ! I now see 
 for the first time how much you have gained in beauty." 
 
 " And you are much deteriorated." 
 
 The doctor curled his mustache, with a flattered air. 
 
 " Well, when shall it be ?" he said. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Our wedding-day, of course !" 
 
 " I won't marry you ever." 
 
 " Say on Christmas eve, darling." 
 
 "No! no! no!" 
 
 "I am the happiest of men!" exclaimed the doctor, 
 kissing her hand with an expression of deep delight. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 HOW FATHER VON HORN DRANK TO THE GOOD HEALTH OP THE 
 ABSENT AND WHAT ENSUED. 
 
 The happiest days must come to an end, the merriest 
 hours go onward to the shadowy tomb of the future, 
 though the gayest music strive to rouse them from their 
 hiers. The splendid October day had gone across the 
 hills and far away, and was no more a thing of being, 
 real life to "Meadow Valley ;" only a memory, long time 
 very sweet and pleasant to all the dwellers in those bor- 
 ders. The night darkened and darkened, and at last the 
 hour approached when the merry company must say 
 good-by, and once more seek their homes. In other 
 words the big Dutch clock struck twelve. 
 
 Mrs. Courtlandt, whom we have scarcely noticed, chiefly 
 because she kept herself so quiet in a corner with some 
 middle aged gossips of her acquaintance, rose to go. 
 
 " "Well, Mrs. Courtlandt," said hunter John, "you ain't 
 going yet ? The parting cup's yet to be drunk you know, 
 and the supper ate ; the boys are now in the other room 
 fixing it." 
 
 Mrs. Courtlandt, with a pleasant smile and a polite 
 word, readily consented to wait. " She was no spoil- 
 sport, and if she tried to break up the party now, they 
 would go home and abuse her so badly that she would be 
 persecuted for a witch, which some now thought her !" 
 
 At this hunter John laughed ; but was interrupted in 
 his reply by the throwing open of the middle door, 
 whence the large table entered, loaded with the mighty 
 supper. Huge roasts hissed and smoked — broils, stews. 
 
234 LEATHER STOCKING .AND SILK 
 
 hashes sent forth their appetizing odor, and large crum- 
 bling potatoes rose in pyramids, until they looked down 
 proudly on the very rum-jugs, tall and portly which stood 
 flanking all. 
 
 The supper was done full justice to, and again we 
 must call attention to the fact, that the young ladies 
 were by no means backward in their demeanor at the 
 table. From noon to midnight dancing all the while, 
 and with none of those intermediate meals which enable 
 the fair damsels of our day to exhibit at the table such a 
 birdlike slenderness of appetite — certes they must have 
 been most honestly hungry ! At least they seemed to 
 be ; and so the meal passed with a mighty clatter ; not 
 alone of knives and forks, be it observed — ^but also of cups 
 and quickly emptied flagons. 
 
 At last a silence of expectation succeeded all this noise 
 and bustle ; the toasts were now to come ; what in our 
 day we call the "regular toasts." 
 
 First, by hunter John — " Health, happiness, and salva- 
 tion to fellow men all the world over," which was drunk 
 with much pleasure, and a great deal of honesty and 
 sincerity. 
 
 Next by the Rev? gentleman who had united the pair, 
 and Vi^ho buried in a corner, talking theological dogmas, 
 has not once crossed our vision — ' ' Health to the new- 
 married ones ; the Lord guide and strengthen and pre- 
 serve them, and make them his own. Amen." This 
 was considered a little too much like " asking a blessing," 
 and they hesitated between drinking and using their lips 
 for the purpose of saying amen : but the worthy clergy- 
 man settled their doubts by draining his glass, and smil- 
 ing as none but the old fox-hunting parsons of past 
 days ventured to do. So the toast was duly honored with 
 "healths," many fathoms deep, even with shouts. 
 
 Then father Von Horn passing his hand across his 
 brow, to dispel what seemed to be a cloud before his 
 
LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILK. 233 
 
 eyes, drank "To the atsent — every where — over-seas or 
 elsewhere. May they all come back!" and he glanced 
 mournfully at Mrs. Courtlandt. That lady was smiling. 
 
 " Father Yon Horn will tell you a story, girls," she 
 said, " and whom he means by the ' absent over seas.' " 
 
 The old man hesitated, but obeying a sign from Mrs. 
 Courtlandt : 
 
 " I don't know, children," he said thoughtfully, " what 
 makes me so mindful of this now ; but as sister Court- 
 landt has promised you ft story I will tell you one." 
 
 "A story?" said Doctor Thomas, "well, sir, we will 
 listen. Be sure to begin at the beginning." 
 
 Father Von Horn smiled. 
 
 " Once upon a time," he said musingly, "there was a 
 foolish old man who had two nephews : these youths 
 were the sons of his sister, and as she and her husband 
 both died in their childhood, he took them to his home as 
 was but proper and right." 
 
 " He was a true and kind man, sir," said Doctor 
 Thomas, in a low voice. 
 
 "One of the nephews," continued father Von Horn, 
 "was willful and wild — God forbid I should speak 
 harshly of him now, but he was the cause of much heavi- 
 ness of heart to the old man, who was not so old either — " 
 
 " Well, sir—" 
 , " He was a pretty boy," said the old man, smiling and 
 gently beating his open hand with Sally's, " and I think I 
 see him now just as he went away, with long curly hair 
 and merry mischievous face — " 
 
 " He went away, did he?" murmured Doctor Thomas, 
 stooping to touch his lips to a goblet of water. 
 
 " Yes ; I was the old man and he was my nephew ; 
 and one day we had an altercation on some trifling mat- 
 ter — I was hasty and he left me." 
 
 "He ran away?" said Doctor Thomas, with a tremor 
 in his voice. 
 
236 LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILE. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And did he never return ?" 
 
 " Never," said father Von Horn, sadly and Ihought- 
 fully. 
 
 " Where is he now ?" 
 
 " In Europe — Paris they say, studying at the great 
 free colleges." 
 
 "You never heard from him, then?" said Doctor 
 Thomas, starting. 
 
 " Yes, long ago : and we wrote to him, Barry and all." 
 
 " He never got your letters !" 
 
 "Why, what do you know of him ?" 
 
 " What would you give to see him ?" asked the doctor, 
 disregarding the old man's question, and trembling. 
 
 " Much," said father Von Horn briefly, and looking at 
 his interlocutor with astonishment. 
 
 " And you, Barry Courtlandt, what would you give 
 to see your brother? — you, Mrs. Courtlandt to see your 
 nephew ?" 
 
 "I would be as happy as I could be in this world," 
 said Barry, " but I am afraid," he added with mournful 
 gravity, " that brother Max will never come back again." 
 
 Doctor Thomas dashed down his cup and rose with 
 radiant countenance, and eyes that seemed to fairly flash 
 lightnings of joy. His form appeared to dilate, his stature 
 to increase, and pushing back his chair, he came with 
 one bound to Barry who had risen struck with astonish- 
 ment, and mastered by a vague excitement. 
 
 " You are wrong, Barry !" cried Doctor Thomas, catch- 
 ing the young man in his arms, " you are wrong ! I am 
 here now — that brother Max ! You didn't know me ! 
 and you, uncle, you were drinking to the health of your 
 bad nephew! Oh, he has changed, and I hope for the 
 bettor !" 
 
 The doctor ran on with a perfect river of exclamations, 
 and it was difficult to say whether he did not make more 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 237 
 
 noise than all the crowd together. The tears gushed 
 from his eyes, he embraced the old German, hunter John, 
 Sally, Nina and as many young ladies as came in his 
 ■way — to their profound consternation ; and declared to 
 every one that this was the happiest day of his life : that 
 foolish doctor Thomas Maximilian Courtlandt ! 
 
 Then seizing a huge goblet, or rather flagon, foaming 
 with its ruby contents, he raised it high above his head, 
 and drawing to him Barry and Sally with his left arm, 
 drank to their health, and called on all to do as much 
 once more ! 
 
 And as much was done ! a fair cup was emptied joy- 
 ously by all, and in the middle of the bustle and uproar 
 and merrily-sounding shouts, the fiddle perched upon the 
 eminence above, took suddenly his rightful part in the 
 rejoicing, and bursting into a roar of laughter, soon out- 
 talked them all, and reigned with undisputed sway ! 
 
 Doctor Thomas, with his head bent down and his arms 
 around Barry and Sally, who were crying, could only sob 
 and laugh — thait cynical, sarcastic Doctor Thomas ! 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 TEARS AND LAUGHTER. 
 
 It will not be necessary for us to describe the rapture 
 of father Voii Horn and Barry, and Sally, and indeed 
 every one, at the return of Max Courtlandt so long lost 
 and now come back to them, healthy vigorous and joyful. 
 As for Nina she had been let into the momentous secret 
 some time before, as the reader may imagine. But father 
 V^on Horn and the rest were thunderstruck. " That the 
 wild young Max should return the elegant cavalier, the 
 calm and self-poised man they saw before them : that he 
 could have so changed as not to be recognizable by those 
 who had loved him and lamented him so long, was most 
 marvelous. But there at least he was ! The mystery 
 was over. Dr. Thomas was the merry Maximilian Court- 
 landt of old days. 
 
 The old man shed tears of joy : he had never ceased to 
 hold the young man's image in his memory and heart, 
 from that melancholy hour when bending down he had 
 wept upon his passionate letter, after their quarrel. He 
 had never ceased to lament the unhappy event which 
 drove the boy from his house — though he was not to 
 blame, his neighbors had said a thousand times. 
 
 Bat now all regret and sorrow were over and gone ; the 
 Prodigal Son had returned ; and joy had come to his heart 
 once more. Barry wept in silence. 
 
 The company at length broke up, and with a thousand 
 expressions of gpod-will to the doctor, took their leave ; 
 with many merry compliments to the married pair also. 
 
LEATHER STOCKL\G AiXD SILK. 239 
 
 The clatter of hoofs, the rattling wheels of vehicles, the 
 merry shouts, soon died away. Silence reigned once 
 more on the mountain side, and Max — now Doctor Max 
 — ^related in a few words, the outline of his, adventures 
 after leaving Martinshurg. 
 
 He had gone to the seaboard, intent on leaving Virginia 
 at least ; with no idea, however, of his future mode of 
 life, or with any scheme whatever. He had finally gone 
 on hoard a schooner at Alexandria, which he was told, 
 would sail for Philadelphia. The schooner in reality was 
 outward hound, and only touched land again at the mouth 
 of the Seine. He had gone to Paris — had determined to 
 make himself a physician — had entered at one of the 
 great free colleges — had lived precariously — had gained a 
 prize — been assisted by one of the most eminent savans 
 of the time — ^had written much for the journals of medi- 
 cine — had gone to Ijondon and written more — had finally 
 become dreadfully home-sick, and here he was ! 
 
 ' This was the outline of his life and adventures, which 
 the young man, with rapid and picturesque utterance, 
 traced for his attentive and most loving auditors. They 
 hung upon his words — surrounded him with loving 
 glances full of joy and sympathy — and when he had 
 finished, and his last feeling words died away in the mid- 
 night, all were on the verge of tears — tears of the purest 
 
 joy- , 
 
 ""Well, God bless us," said father Von Horn, "it has 
 been a long weary time you have been away, my boy. 
 My heart was very sore at your going away from us — 
 my fault — all my fault — " 
 
 " Dear uncle — " 
 
 " Don't say me nay : I never should have chid you so 
 rudely. You were not a child, and had no cool, aged 
 blood in your veins. But all that is gone !" 
 
 "To think it!" said hunter John, "that this fine Doc- 
 tor I have been talking to so much of late, was nobody 
 
240 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 but wild Max, after all. I'm most nigh unbelieving yet 
 — in spite of what he says." 
 
 Nina laughed. 
 
 " Are you as bad as ever, Max?" she said, "is every 
 thing as much a jest as ever with you." 
 
 "As much as ever," he replied, "no, one thing is not. 
 That is earnest." 
 
 At which speech Mrs. Nina was observed to blush — 
 which was remembered afterward. 
 
 " How long it seems since you and Sally acted Romeo 
 and Juliet! brother," said Barry in his soft earnest 
 voice. " It seems years to me." 
 
 "When you first displayed your chivalric devotion to 
 this young lady here. Do you remember, mon g-arpon ?" 
 
 " Oh, perfectly," said Barry, laughing. 
 
 " And you, my Juliet ?" 
 
 "Yes — oh, yes," said Sally, blushing, "how could I 
 forget it ?" ' ■ 
 
 " True ; let's see, what says Romeo ?" 
 
 And with solemn intonation he repeated : 
 
 " He told me Paris should have married Juliet ; 
 Said he not so 1 or did I dream it so'1 
 Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, 
 To think it was sol" 
 
 Sally blushed again. 
 
 " Paris on that occasion resuscitated," said the doctor, 
 " but did not marry Juliet. Barry is a tplerable substi- 
 tute, however, Sally." 
 
 " "What a joker you still are. Max," Nina said. 
 
 " Yes, yes. I shall never get to accustom myself to 
 the professional air — solemn and wise ; but my folly 
 never wounds. You are not angry now, are you, Sally?" 
 
 " Oh, no." 
 
 " Well come give me an affectionate kiss. I'm brother 
 
 Max now. After which I may say : -• 
 
 " Thou knowest my lodging : get me ink and paper, 
 And hire post horses ; I will hence to-night." 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 841 
 
 To Mrs. Courtlandt's, I mean. That lady knew what 
 was coming, and having heard my adventures already; 
 very naturally accompanied homeward a party who wont 
 by her dwelling." 
 
 The kiss was very tremulously, hut willingly and lov- 
 ingly granted to her new brother by the young girl ; and, 
 then 'he and father Von Horn and all took their leave — 
 the Doctor riding very gallantly by Nina's side, until they 
 reached their mountain home. 
 
 Spite of the pressing invitation to remain, the Doctor 
 returned homeward, lost in thought: he could not ex- 
 plain to his own satisfaction why he had not taken ad- 
 vantage of the invitation, but determined to pay a visit 
 to Nina on the next day. Consoling himself with this 
 resolution, he went quietly along, and soon reached Mrs. 
 Courtlandt's. 
 
 On the next day he paid the visit he had determined 
 on : and on that very day he asked Nina a most tender 
 question. We know not what the reply was in exact 
 words ; but Doctor Courtlandt went home overwhelmed 
 with joy — that fierce, sarcastic Doctor Thomas. 
 
 L 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 A MERRY CHRISTMAS. 
 
 The merry yule-tide came with jest and laughter and 
 abundant cheer ; and joyful gatherings of how many 
 friends ; and earnest blessings on the absent loved ; and 
 charity toward all men, every where. Most merry was 
 it there in Meadow Branch Valley with roaring logs, and 
 great foaming bowls, and roasted turkeys, such as never 
 yet walked through the dreams of epicures, and all gay 
 adjuncts of the festal season. 
 
 "Festival" was very "high" in every house — even at 
 Mrs. Courtlandt's that good Catholic, who never betrayed 
 her connection with the church, but on such festive days. 
 The days were bright ; the snow was covered over with 
 a mantle of sunlight; the frost upon the window panes 
 reared its grand fairy palaces for merry children. Mirth 
 and gay-hearted laughter reigned undisputed, and every 
 where Saint Nick came visiting with most capacious 
 valises, holding fabulous amounts of good things. 
 
 Christmas was kept with great joy and heartiness, at 
 father Von Horn's and hunter John's. And here we will 
 record an historical fact of some interest. Father Von 
 Horn first introduced the Christmas Tree, a Grerman 
 custom, now so universal in our land. Upon his hospita- 
 ble board was raised for the first time in Virginia that 
 evergreen pine which now is every where the emblem of 
 the season — which rains on children's heads such magical 
 fruit ; which has wholly routed and put to flight the old 
 English " Christmas-box." Saint Nick for the first time 
 deviated from his route and came to Meadow Branch, 
 and hung his presents on the fairy pine. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 243 
 
 But where are we wandering? Shall we describe 
 those Christmases, and hring our musty historic disquisi- 
 tions as a sauce to our description ? Why should we at- 
 tempt to catch some of the aroma of the jubilant festival, 
 when the whole record lies untranslatable on every heart- 
 tablet ? Is it not all written in the Book of the Chroni- 
 cles of Christmas kept safely in those loving memories ? 
 
 But we must not pass by one circumstance which 
 made the merry yule-tide merrier, in Meadow Branch. 
 This was the marriage of Nina with the gentleman whose 
 name has appeared so often in this history ; Mr. — now 
 > Doctor — Maximilian Courtlandt. That happy event came 
 in due time, and father Von Horn's measure of joy was 
 full. The old man now was satisfied; he could die in 
 peace he said, with Max to take care of his dear daughter ; 
 and should we never again in this brief history recognize 
 that cheerful face, or listen to that hearty loving voice, 
 we may at least be sure that that true loyal soul, was 
 now once more most happy. 
 
 Max was again the son indeed of his fond uncle ; and 
 Nina gave her whole heart to him — Nina so merry but so 
 earnest in her tender love ; so changeable but ah ! so 
 close-bound now with golden chains by her true love ; her 
 love for that much- wept companion of her youth : lost to 
 them all so long, her own at last. 
 
PART III. 
 
 ON THE SLEEPY CREEK MOUNTAIN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE TWO STRANGERS. 
 
 On a tright afternoon in the month of October, nearly 
 twenty years after the events we have just related, two 
 men got out of the cars at Martinsburg. The cars ! this 
 single word will convey to the reader more completely 
 than a volume of description,- the new scenes he is now 
 about to be introduced to. He has witnessed — if indeed, 
 he has followed us through the incidents of our brief 
 chronicle — the peculiar modes of life of the past in the 
 then border town : he has been present at a veritable 
 " running for the bottle," he has found in the strongest 
 intellects, those traits of credulity and superstition which 
 advancing civilization, with its ever increasing radiance, 
 puts to rout. 
 
 The new age had inaugurated itself with literature for 
 its pass word, science for its battle-cry. Steam had revo- 
 lutionized the past : newspapers and journals were show- 
 ered down like a beneficent rain from heaven, on the long 
 parched earth : the land every where glowed and bloomed 
 with the new light and heat infused into its veins ; in 
 one word (type of this great change), the cars had come, 
 arousing with their shrill scream, the long dormant echoes 
 of the quiet country side. 
 
 The two travelers we have mentioned, came from the 
 east ; and standing on the platform of the depot now gazed 
 quietly at the long train as it sped on toward the west. 
 
LEATHER STOCK IN'G AND SILK. 245 
 
 The first was a man of about forty, manly and pleasing 
 in face, form, and carriage. A dark auburn beard very 
 full but carefully trimmed, covered his cheeks and joined 
 his short hair of the same color. A high forehead, pierc- 
 ing eyes, and firm lips gave to his countenance great 
 force and elegance ; but a buoyant, well-pleased smile re- 
 moved all traces of student-character from this face, so sug- 
 gestive of reflection and profound mental toil. Thought 
 had paled the forehead, and closed the firm lips ; but 
 health had made the thinker cheerful and full of life. 
 
 His companion was a contrast to himself, in every par- 
 ticular. In the first place he was young : apparently not 
 more than eighteen or nineteen, and his figure had none 
 of that well-knit strength and activity in every movement, 
 which that of the elder possessed. His hair long and very 
 fair, fell around a face almost feminine in its delicacy ; 
 blue eyes, thoughtful, and vailed by heavy lashes, com- 
 pleted the contrast ; for those eyes, like the whole face, 
 were full of sadness and quiet melancholy. The cheerful 
 manly countenance of the elder, attracted and invited all 
 who approached its possessor : the dreamy and retiring 
 thoughtfulness of the young man's face repelled. But 
 one idea seemed to possess his mind, to the exclusion of 
 all other objects and reflections. Now to be an agreeable 
 person in society, above all to be " popular," it is abso- 
 lutely necessary to have more than one idea. 
 
 They were both clad in the ordinary manner of gentle- 
 men at the period — the young man somewhat more ele- 
 gantly than the elder,' whose form was enveloped in a 
 brown surtout with frogged buttons. 
 
 While the young man was calmly looking round him, 
 his companion with all the presence of mind of an old 
 traveler, was attending to his baggage, which- consisted 
 of a pile of enormous trunks, bound heavily with iron 
 bands, such as are made use of by those who travel on 
 the sea. Nothing was missing, and soon two or three bus- 
 
246 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 tling porters were tusy in removing them, to the " G-lohe." 
 The Grlobe was now a hotel and had its porters. 
 
 " Come, Max," said the elder traveler, cheerfully, " let 
 us get on. I am hungry, which is no doubt owing to the 
 fact that'I have had no dinner." 
 
 ■=" So am I, sir," said the young man, " I had very little 
 breakfast." 
 
 " Eat heartily ! eat heartily ! it is a good rule, if not car- 
 ried too far. You are thin, I think, and don't look well." 
 
 The young man sighed. 
 
 " I am very well though, sir," he said. 
 
 " How are the spirits ?" 
 
 " Excellent, sir," said the ybung man, with a sad smile. 
 
 His companion shook his head ; and looking at the 
 young man with great tenderness, sighed. Then taking 
 his arm, the traveler led the way on foot toward the hotel. 
 
 Every thing in Martinsburg had changed ; the old 
 things had passed away, and all had become new. New 
 blood was in her veins, her streets were bustling ; stores 
 gayly decked with rich carpets, and all descriptions of 
 bright-colored stuffs to attract the passer by, stood now 
 where once low dingy dwellings crouched, apathetic and 
 poverty stricken. The streets were thronged with way- 
 farers ; the bright October afternoon had, moreover, 
 brought forth the fairer portion of the community, and 
 the warm pleasant sunlight poured its joyful splendor 
 upon throngs of young girls and children, clad in a myriad 
 rainbow colors, and gamboling like variegated tulip blos- 
 soms, shaken together by some merry summer's wind. 
 
 " Pretty," said the elder traveler, " are they not, Max?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; I am fond of them." 
 
 "Of what? The girls?" 
 
 "No, sir," Max said, smiling gently, " of children." 
 
 " Who is not ? The man who dislikes them is worse 
 than the music-hater: and you know Shakspeare says 
 such are not to ' be trusted.' Children — well behaved 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 247 
 
 OMes — and flowers, and poetry, and music, are among tTif 
 purest and most innocent recreations we have, my boy 
 They are all recreations — when they are good !" 
 
 " I can't hear some music, sir." 
 
 "How so?" - 
 
 " It affects me too much ; I mean, makes me nervous." 
 
 "Nervous?" 
 
 " The association is so strong," murmured the young 
 man, hending down his head. 
 
 His companion looked at him a second time with that 
 tender yet piercing glance we have described, but made 
 no reply. 
 
 " I know this is wrong, sir ; but I can not help it," 
 the young man added, " I am too weak." 
 
 "In God's name my child," said the elder, "banish 
 this haunting memory. It is too exaggerated, too un- 
 reasonable ; have I no cause like yourself? Come, come ! 
 let us dismiss the subject of music which afflicts you so : 
 though every thing you touch is food for your irrational 
 melancholy. Here we are at the Globe — my good old 
 Globe." 
 
 And smiling cheerfully, he entered. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 IMAGES AND VOICES OF THE PAST. 
 
 At supper, the elder of the two travelers seemed much 
 preoccupied ; and this profound thought in one usually so 
 joyous and full of entertaining talk, excited the young 
 ■ man's surprise. The traveler apparently heard nothing 
 of the conversation of those around him ; the bustle, the 
 clatter, the thousand noises of a hotel meal, made no 
 impression on him, on his ears or mind. Sunk in a smil- 
 ing, wistful reverie, his eyes tent on the walls of the large 
 apartment, he seemed to have lost the consciousness of 
 any outer world, living for the moment in that brighter 
 universe — ^his memory. 
 
 At last he roused himself and looking round, saw the 
 young man's eyes fixed inquiringly on him. 
 
 "Ah!" he said, smiling, "you have caught me in a 
 reverie, my boy ; and I see from your eyes — I always 
 judge from the eyes of people's thoughts — that you are 
 curious to know what thoughts are chasing each other 
 through my mind. Ah, I have made a plunge far back 
 into the bright waters of the past, as some one says : and 
 I am refreshed by my plunge ! Memory is a grand endow- 
 ment, and one of our purest earthly enjoyments — though 
 sometimes, it is true, very saddening." 
 
 " But your memories were not. sir, to judge from your 
 smiling face." 
 
 " No, no ! you are right." 
 
 " Happy memories — ;happy memories — ^they must be a 
 very great delight, sir," murmured the young man. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 249 
 
 " It lies in a great degree with the individual, inde- 
 pendent of the character of his past, to make them pleas- 
 ant or sombre. Max," his companion said. 
 
 " How is that, sir ?" 
 
 " I will tell you. You saw me just now, abstracted 
 from all this hustle, dead to all this confusion of clatter- 
 ing cups, and plates, and more clattering conversation. 
 I was thus abstracted because in this very room, long 
 years ago, a scene took place which impresses me even 
 now with all the force of reality. Now, from that scene I 
 might have derived either bitter or pleasant thought. I 
 had the election, and chose the pleasant. Did you not 
 see me smiling ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; may I ask what was the scene you allude to ?" 
 
 "Ah, one of the merry diversions of my youth. Enough ! 
 that is all gone — gone with my youth. To rake in the cold 
 ashes for names and images and gayly-uttered words," the 
 traveler said, sadly, a cloud passing across his fine fore- 
 head, " would be lost labor. Let them rest ; I have had 
 my moment's pleasant thought — I have heard again those 
 joyous and heart-moving words — I have caught again the 
 echoes of that merry laughter ! Now let them die away 
 for me ; those beautiful forms may disappear, for they 
 have performed their part. Come ! let us go." 
 
 And the traveler rose from the table, and, followed by 
 his young companion, left the room. Then leaving the 
 young man, who complained of fatigue, he took his way 
 down Q,ueen Street, glancing thoughtfully around him. 
 
 Standing on the bridge, his eyes fixed upon a stone 
 house which crowned the slope beyond, the traveler mused 
 and sighed. Then, as if mastered by a sudden impulse, 
 he ascended the slope, the setting sun lighting up radi- 
 antly his erect muscular form, and going to the door of 
 this house, knocked at it. A servant appeared and in- 
 formed the traveler that his master was absent ; this 
 seemed, however, to be scarcely a disappointment to the 
 
250 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 visitor : and a piece of money slipped into the negro's 
 hand speedily smoothed all obstacles to his entrance. 
 
 Standing in that fine apartment we have entered so 
 often in past times, the stranger looked around him with 
 his old thoughtful smile. There were the panels and 
 wainscoting and cornice, all elaborately carved with 
 flowers and birds and satyr-faces^^ those objects much 
 affected by our noble ancestors ; there were the large 
 andirons with Minerva's head still stately on their tops ; 
 there was the very vine around the window ; and — ^yes ! 
 for a wonder — ^the very harpsichord so well known in old 
 days, and eloquent of mincing minuets and merry maidens ! 
 
 The stranger's eyes grew dreamy ; and absorbed, ap- 
 parently, in other scenes and objects than those around 
 him, he stood motionless there in that room, whose very 
 atmosphere seemed to have steeped his senses in for- 
 getfulness of the real world ; arousing for him, however, 
 all the long-dormant splendor, and gay utterances of the 
 golden past. The stranger really thought he saw there 
 before the harpsichord that stately form, upright and stiff, 
 but full of tender charity and affection, with the silk net 
 upon her deep black hair ! And there upon her feet ! — 
 The stranger uttered a slight laugh, which died away in 
 the dim sunset chamber. He really thought he heard 
 that gliding minuet again roll to him, freighted with all 
 the life and joy and freshness of his sparkling youth ; ho 
 thought he saw that young fair form, a star, a moonbeam, 
 something bright and rare, glide through the royal dance ! 
 Did he only think he saw that young fair form? Cold 
 word to express the power of memory ! There she was 
 plainly, courtesying with the merry smile, and shaking 
 her beautiful head at him till the curls rippled round her 
 child-face like bright April clouds ! There were the white 
 jeweled hands, lost in the falling lace — yellow, in truth, 
 as then was the fashion, but yellower by the contrast ! 
 There was the little slipper when she made the courtesy ! 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 251 
 
 There plainly was, moreovei', a young man who made 
 most graceful hows, who ambled, sidled, nearly touched 
 the floor when, pressing to his heart the hat with its broad 
 streaming ribbon, he inclined profoundly to his fairy 
 partner : there was that young man now again approach- 
 ing that bright child ; there he was plainly with his 
 wicked smile — and in his hand ! — there plainly ! — 
 
 The stranger laughed aloud. 
 
 " Ah, what a dreamer I am becoming," he said, " here 
 I have been guilty of just what I have berated Max for ; 
 I have engaged in irrational melancholy musings about 
 things and scenes gone into the far past — which might as 
 well be gone into oblivion — ' What's Hecuba to him or 
 he to Hecuba ?' Come, come, I must not indulge this fit 
 of musing any longer ; the sun has set." 
 
 And the stranger left the house. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE STRANGER FINDS THE YOUNG MAN WHERE HE HAD EX- 
 PECTED TO FIND HIM. 
 
 As he drew near the " Globe," again the stranger oast 
 a mournful look down the long street leading to, or rather 
 running through the former " Grerman quarter," which, 
 edged with tall golden-foliaged trees — autumn was coming 
 fast — lost itself in the distance toward the western, sun- 
 flushed mountain. He stopped a moment evidently hesi- 
 tating whether he should bend his steps in that direction, 
 and so exhaust his memories with an exploration of those 
 long-loved and sorrowfully-remembered localities, as he 
 had just done in the old house upon the hill. 
 
 Here, he reflected, was little food for merriment or 
 laughter, such as he had but now indulged in at the freaks 
 of his imagination in the old stone mansion yonder. Here 
 was no provocation to laughter, rather tears ; no gay re- 
 collections, only griefs. Why stir up those slowly dying 
 sparks — why blow upon that brand, and thus with a 
 breath, dispelling the white crumbling ashes, fan again 
 into a burning coal that gradually expiring ember ? It 
 was well perhaps, to revisit again the scenes of joy and 
 merriment — the spirit vyas refreshed by those bright and 
 happy memories, which threw, even yet, some rays of 
 the old splendor on the path now sterile, once so full of 
 flowers and velvet-grasses. Would these other woeful 
 memories in the same manner revive again the! brightness 
 of the past ? No — much more all the sorrow of the past, 
 the agony, the yearning, the fond tears. Why visit scenes, 
 then, full of those influences ? " No, no," the stranger 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 253 
 
 muttered, " I must go and comfort one who already feels 
 too much of this." 
 
 And he entered the " Globe." The young man was 
 not there ; he had gone out, they said ; and, upon dili- 
 gent inquiry, the stranger discovered that the direction he 
 had taken was toward the German quarter. The traveler 
 sighed, and again putting on his hat, and drawing his sur- 
 tout around him, took his way toward the place indicated. 
 
 A walk of ten minutes brought him in front of a large 
 low dwelling, covering much ground, and overshadowed 
 by two enormous oaks, reddened by the near approach of 
 autumn. The house looked desolate and uninhabited ; 
 moss grew upon the stones before the door, and upon the 
 low drooping eaves ; the windows had more than one 
 broken pane, and the heavy shutters turned slowly in the 
 melancholy wind upon their rusty hinges. 
 
 The traveler's heavy-heeled boot rung on the flag 
 stones, arousing mournful echoes in the old walls, now 
 touched by the light of the rising moon. An old dog 
 chained to the door-post rose suddenly as if to bay, but as 
 suddenly commenced whining and wagging his tail. He 
 had plainly recognized a friend or an acquaintance in the 
 stranger, who caressed him mournfully, fearing almost 
 to enter the house, though the door stood ajar, ready to 
 yield to the slightest push. 
 
 The traveler entered and found himself, as he had feared, 
 in the presence of the young man who, however, did not 
 see him, so deeply was he moved, and so unconscious of 
 all now around him. Seated in a broad leathern chair, 
 his head lying on his arms, which were folded upon the 
 ponderous table, he seemed a prey to the most agonizing 
 grief. The moonlight streaming through the open win- 
 dow revealed to the stranger this mournful figure, motion- 
 less but for the suppressed agitation of the head with its 
 lono' fair hair, silent but for the passionate sobs which 
 from time to time shook the slight form, and forced their 
 wuy through the trembling lips. 
 
264 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 The traveler seemed much moved, and for a few mo- 
 ments stood looking at this sorrowful picture in silence. 
 Then he laid his hand on the young man's shoulder and 
 said, in a low tone, 
 
 "My child!" 
 
 The young man started with terror, and rose to his 
 feet, shuddering, his face pale, his eyes full of tears, his 
 lips agitated by a nervous tremor. Recognizing the stran- 
 ger he fell again in his seat, pressing one hand on his heart. 
 
 " Oh !" he exclaimed, "you frightened me so, sir !" 
 
 " Frightened you, my child?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I am nervous lately, and the time — this 
 place — oh, I have been so wretched here I" 
 
 And covering his face with his hands, the young man 
 burst into a passionate flood of tears. 
 
 The stranger standing calm and silent, looked at him, 
 making no effort as yet to check these tears. He was too 
 well acquainted with human nature and with physiology 
 not to know that they would somewhat relieve the full 
 heart and brain. 
 
 " Max," he said, at length, " you have much distressed 
 me by again yielding to these feelings. I had hoped that 
 after my request, you would struggle against them, know- 
 ing as you do know how much your affliction afflicts me — '' 
 
 " Oh, sir — how could I — " 
 
 "How could you help it? You were going to say 
 that ; were you not ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," sobbed the young man. 
 
 " I will tell you. By following the advice I gave you; 
 do you not remember that advice my child ? First, to 
 never seek occasions for such outbursts, and you have 
 sought such an occasion to-night; never to listen to 
 music which arouses memory ; not to visit places which 
 revive again all those* saddening recollections which 
 affect so powerfully your fragile constitution. I have 
 more than once impressed upon you the importance of 
 these things, and I am grieved to find that you have bo 
 
LEATHEB, STOCKING AND SILK. . 255 
 
 little confidence in my judgment ; I will not say, pay so 
 little attention to my wishes, for I know you love me." 
 
 " Oh, indeed I do, sir," cried the young man, " God is 
 my witness !" 
 
 " Why then, have you caused me so much distress ? 
 You know you are not well — ^you are as delicate as pos- 
 sible, though not, strictly speaking, unhealthy, since 
 proper care will in a short time establish your health 
 firmly ; and now, with all this delicacy of temperament 
 and constitution, ready to be turned into disease, or into 
 robust strength, you come to this melancholy place, where 
 every breath of air you draw is poison, where you feel the 
 oppressive sense of a death," the stranger by a powerful 
 effort commanded his agitated voice, and spoke with 
 firmness, " you come here and I find you — in what state? 
 Why, God preserve me ! so unmanned that you start and 
 shudder at my entrance, and sink down with your hand 
 upon your heart — a bad sign, very bad — saying you are 
 frightened ! unnerved !" 
 
 " I was terrified, sir," groaned the young man ; " I have 
 done wrong in coming." 
 
 " Why — why did you come, my child ?" said the stran- 
 ger, gazing with profound love on the pale, wan face. 
 
 " I could not help it, sir," murmured the young man. 
 " My feet moved here against my will ; I could not resist 
 the influence which brought me. I was drawn both ways 
 — by the recollection of your commands, and my feelings. 
 My brain was heated, my heart cold. What could I do? 
 I hardly saw where I was going, through the mist before 
 my eyes — and the first thing I was conscious of was 
 Bugle's jumping up and licking my hand. I found the 
 door unlatched and no one was here, and so I sat down and 
 was thinking — and got nervous — and when you came in I 
 thought it was ! — I always was superstitious ! — I was — " 
 
 The young man stopped, powerfully agitated, and wiped 
 his eyes. The stranger took his hand tenderly. 
 
256 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Enough, Max," he said, " come, we will leave thia 
 place, for you are really unwell. Come, come ! my child, 
 you must never leave me again — I have but you." 
 
 At the same moment a noise was heard on the steps. at 
 the back of the house, and a stick hastily clashing on the 
 floor as the walker approached, seemed to indicate age. 
 An old negro woman, bent down with years entered, crying 
 in the cracked voice of extreme age: "Who's there? 
 who's there ? who's in the house ?" 
 
 " I and Max, aunt Jenny," said the stranger, taking 
 her hand, " we have come back." 
 
 The old woman stood in great amazement for a mo- 
 ment, her thin form lit up by the weird moonlight, then 
 burst into a flood of joyful exclamations which she inter- 
 spersed with tears. 
 
 " Massa Max come back 'gin ; glory! The ole woman's 
 eyes is rejoice once more a-seein' of him : same face, 
 same eyes ! and young massa Max — he's a handsome 
 chile, the Lord help me ! and growed so tall, and look so 
 han'some ! He's a han'some one, the Lord help me ! 
 every body always say he was a han'some chile ! young 
 missis eyes agin for all the world ! How tall he is done 
 growed ! I 'blige to look up when I'm a speakin' to him ; 
 he's a han'some chile, yes he is. I always said he was a 
 pretty chile ; and like his mother. A settin' one day 
 with him on my knee — ^he was playin' with his little brass 
 candlestick, you know, Massa Max, with the red flannel 
 rag aroun' it, — and his mother — a blessed saint in the 
 glory of the Lord, my massa — says his mother, ' what a 
 pretty chile he is, mammy,' a lookin' so beautiful and so 
 lovin' at the boy ; and says I, ' you right Miss Neeny, and 
 he's jest like you — for all the world.' That made her 
 laugh, you know, Massa Max, and she say, ' no, no,' and 
 she tooked him and chucked him up, and he laughed too 
 — this very blessed young massa, now growed so tall, yes ' 
 And he was a good chile — mighty han'some — ' chuck, 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 257 
 
 chuck !' sez she, and he laughed, Massa Max — so you 
 did, young Massa Max — you laughed ; and when she ask 
 you if you was much lovin' of her, and if you wasn't so 
 much more han'somer than she was, you stop laughin' 
 and nod your head jest so and say ' um ! um !' — the 
 Lord take me to glory ! for all the worP like you knowed 
 what she was a sayin'. "Well he's a-growed so tall and 
 han'some — and the ole woman is goin' mighty fast — she 
 nussed him — he was a good chile — so was' you, my 
 massa," addressing the stranger, "hut you was froliok- 
 somer, and mighty had ! for I nussed you too — yes I did ! 
 Well the old woman's a-goin', hut the blessed Lord done 
 let her see her massa once agin ! Massa come to take 
 care of his own agin, I spose. Hard times when he ain't 
 here : is you got a little change for the ole woman for 
 to buy sugar and coffee ? Mighty hard times ! well 
 the Lord 'sarve you, Massa Max, and bless you ! and my 
 pretty child done give the old woman somethin', too ! I 
 'blige to pay that lazy good-for-nothin' Jake, who stays 
 'long with me here. He's growod so han'some ! Yes he 
 laugh and say ' um ! um !' and then he was soon a-playin' 
 on the carpet. Missus is gone to glory — the Lord do so 
 to me also. She never see the pretty chile since he 
 growed so tall ! But he look sorry, mighty sorry," mut- 
 tered the old woman, wistfully; "why he's cryin'." 
 
 "Come, my child," said the agitated stranger^ "too 
 much of this. Aunt Jenny, I have come back for good, 
 and don't fear not being taken care of: I never desert 
 my friends — I will come soon again — ^very soon. See 
 that all is closed after us." 
 
 And taking the weeping young man by the arm, the 
 stranger led him from the house, himself silent and 
 gloomy. The effect of this last scene upon the young 
 rnan had shocked him profoundly — he began to have 
 something more than vague presentiments of evil. 
 
 On the next morning the stranger sallied forth at an 
 
259 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 early hour, intent on procuring two horses. These he 
 found without difficulty, no further off than the stables 
 of the Globe itself: and they were soon ready for the 
 journey, which the stranger seemed to have determined 
 on for himself and his younger companion. 
 
 The young man came out, pale and worn with weeping, 
 and slowly mounted. The stranger threw upon him his 
 habitual look, piercing but tender, and then with one 
 vigorous movement got into his saddle. 
 
 " My baggage and my son's," he said to the landlord, 
 " can remain I suppose, until I send for it. My name is 
 upon it — Doctor Maximilian Courtlandt." 
 
 And with these words the stranger set forward toward 
 the west in the bright sunlight, followed byliis son. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE LOCK, AND WHO AWAITED THE TRAVELERS THERE. 
 
 The horses of the travelers were fine and spirited, and 
 they made such good speed that a little after noon, the 
 north mountain having heen crossed some time before, 
 they came in sight of " The Lock" — so father Yon Horn, 
 now gathered to his fathers, had named his mountain 
 farm, because the Sleepy Creek and Third Hill mountain 
 " locked" there. The travelers ascended the steep road, 
 and soon drew up before the door of the mansion. It 
 was one of those broad, wandering, stone-built houses 
 which the original G-erman population of the region 
 scattered throughout the Virginia valley ; wholly for iise, 
 somewhat for defense against Indians, scarcely in any 
 particular constructed with an eye to ornament. The 
 porch in front was large, the windows small and well 
 secured by heavy oaken shutters, and those of the second 
 floor looked out immediately from beneath the eaves. 
 
 A servant ran to take their horses, overwhelmed, it 
 seemed, with joy to see his master come back to the old 
 house, and at the door Doctor Courtlandt was received by 
 no less a personage than Mrs. Courtlandt, the severe, the 
 stately " Aunt Courtlandt" of his youth. The gray -haired 
 old lady received her nejhew with extreme Relight, clasp- 
 ing him in her arms and affectionately kissing him with 
 a thousand inquiries after his health and spirits — which 
 latter subject elderly ladies usually place much stress 
 upon — ^then she turned and weleomed the young man 
 with equal pleasure and affection. 
 
 Doctor Courtlandt and his son had been absent for a 
 
260 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 long time ; in fact they had left Virginia soon after Mrs. 
 Nina Courtlandt's death, which had taken place some 
 years before. The chief reason for this expatriation on 
 the part of Doctor Courtlandt and his son, will appear in 
 the com-se of our narrative. The old lady had willingly 
 acceded to her nephew's desire that she should keep his 
 house from rusting in his absence ; and the doctor now 
 felt that he had gained more than he had expected. 
 Long tossed about amopg strangers — unknowing and un- 
 sympathizing — the affectionate welcome of his aunt was 
 very pleasant to him. True, that stout heart was suffi- 
 cient in all things for itself, but this was far more pleas- 
 ant than the respectful greeting of the servants only. 
 
 The old lady, having cried over Max, and given him 
 several very affectionate kisses and embraces which he re- 
 turned as affectionately, busied herself about their dinner. 
 
 " I got your letter from New York, nephew," she said, 
 " saying that you had returned, but I did not expect you 
 so soon." 
 
 "And have you not been troubled very much, aunt, 
 with my affairs ? I thank you a thousand times." 
 
 " They have troubled me somewhat, especially that 
 overseer you left. He almost insisted upon following his 
 own crop system instead of mine ; now you know I have 
 always been a capital farmer, and I would not yield. 
 The consequence has been one-fourth more in the crop." 
 
 The doctor laughed. 
 
 " I never should have stood out half an hour against 
 you," he said. 
 
 " Your dinner will soon be readj." 
 
 " Are you hungry. Max ?" asked the doctoi*, " I think 
 you look better after your ride." 
 
 " I do feel better, sir," the young man said, sadly. 
 
 Mrs. Coprtlandt, standing behind him, shook her head 
 at the doctor; who sighed wearily. Then he roused 
 himself and assuming a gay tone, said : 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 261 
 
 " Oh, you'll be as strong as an ox here in the mount- 
 ains, soon, my toy : what news, aunt ? you wrote me 
 very lately that Barry and all were well. How singular 
 for Barry to turn minister. Does he preach regularly ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and they are all well. Alice and Caroline are 
 much improved ; they are thought very pretty." 
 
 " Why, they were children when we went to Europe." 
 
 " But you have heen gone a long time — a very long 
 time, nephew." 
 
 " And is hunter John well ?" 
 
 " Not so well ; he is very old, you know. We are all 
 getting old — passing away." 
 
 " Why, my dear aunt, you are younger than you were 
 ten years ago. Ts she not. Max ? Come, pay a compliment." 
 
 Max smiled. 
 
 " You know I always thought aunt was young-look- 
 ing, sir," he said. » 
 
 " Well done, mafoi! aunt, you will find my hoy very 
 much improved — an excellent scholar and an elegant 
 cavalier. It will he a pleasure to have him ahout you." 
 
 " Max and myself were always great friends," said 
 Mrs. Courtlandt, " and now dinner is ready." 
 
 "I confess I am hungry," said Doctor Courtlandt; 
 " come. Max." 
 
 Max took scarcely any thing ; the consequence was, the 
 doctor, spite of his manful declaration of hunger, could 
 swallow nothing. It was plain that all this gay banter- 
 ing was a mask which concealed some painful emotion. 
 They rose from the table and went out upon the porch, 
 where the pleasant October sun made the ifed forest 
 blaze. Far off, between the two mountains, stretched 
 Meadow Branch Valley, dotted now by more than one 
 white dwelling, from whose distant chimney light smoke 
 wreaths curled upward against the thick foliage. On the 
 slope of the eastern mountain, "Hunter John's," cottage 
 was plainly visible. 
 
262 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " How !" cried the doctor, taking a seat in one of the 
 wicker chairs upon the portico, " is not there some change 
 down there, aunt ?" 
 
 " What, nephew ?" 
 
 " In hunter John's house." 
 
 •' It is newly plastered." 
 
 "Possible?" 
 
 " I think it an improvenaent." 
 
 "Oh, certainly; hut he is such an old-fashioned 
 character, such a stickler too, for things of the olden 
 time." 
 
 " True ; he is. You must ask him, however, why he 
 has altered his house. You know, Mrs. Myers died some 
 years ago." 
 
 " Yes, yes : just after I went away. You mentioned 
 it. And Barry and dear Sally live with the old man." 
 
 "He ig very proud of having a real minister in the 
 house." 
 
 " Oh, I must go at once and see them I I can not rest. 
 Come, Max, my hoy ; again en route." 
 
 The young man rose listlessly. 
 
 At the same moment, the hoof-strokes of a galloping 
 horse were heard, and a negro mounted on a powerful 
 black horse, from whose back it seemed no time had been 
 permitted him to remove the wagon harness, approached 
 the Look at full speed. The main road over the mount- 
 ain led by the door. 
 
 "Ho! my friend," cried the doctor, "why all this 
 hurry, pray ?" 
 
 " Miss'is sick, sir." 
 
 " "Who is your mistress ?" 
 
 " Miss Emberton, sir." 
 
 "What! at the Qlades" 
 
 " Yes, sir — I must go on into town for the doctor." 
 
 " I am a doctor. Is your mispress very sick?" 
 
 "Mortal sick, sir." 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 263 
 
 " I will then go myself," said Doctor Courtlandt, " bu* 
 go on : do not turn back on that account. Go !" 
 
 The negro again pressed his horse into a gallop, and 
 went down the steep road at full speed. 
 
 " This interferes with our ride, Max," said Doctor 
 Courtlandt : and raising his voice, " my horse !" he said. 
 
 A horse, fresh an'd spirited, was soon led to the door, 
 and Doctor Courtlandt, having rapidly but quietly filled 
 his valise with medicines, mounted and rode roundly iu 
 the direction from which the servant had made his ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 He descended the western slope of the Sleepy Creek 
 Mountain, and in an hour of rapid riding arrived at the 
 Grlades, whence he was destined to find not only a patient 
 but an old friend. 
 
 This was Josephine Emberton. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE DOCTOR PAYS A PROFESSIONAL VISIT TO AN OLD AC- 
 QUAINTANCE. 
 
 Doctor Courtlandt scarcely threw a glance on the 
 quiet, silent mansion, embowered in the many-colored foli- 
 age of the bright fall. Yet that mansion had in its very 
 outward appearance and surroundings, much to indicate 
 to the quick, traveled eye of such a man as Doctor 
 Courtlandt, the character of its occupant. There was a 
 quiet elegance in every detail, in the neatly arranged yard 
 with its plats of autumn flowers — the marigold and late 
 primrose and wild-growing golden rod and aster — in the 
 tasteful garden with its gravel walks, in the white railing, 
 the vine-woven shutters, and plain wicker benches on the 
 portico. It was plain that this house was inhabited by a 
 woman or a man of extraordinary elegance and refinement. 
 
 The doctor rapidly approached the door, and let the 
 large bronze knocker fall upon the plate. 
 
 A servant came to the door. 
 
 " Miss Emberton," said Doctor Courtlandt briefly, and 
 passing as he spoke into the drawing-room. 
 
 " She's sick, sir : she can't see any body." 
 
 " Go and tell her that Doctor Courtlandt has come to 
 see her. I know your mistress is sick. Come, hasten !" 
 
 The servant — a neatly dressed girl — went out and al- 
 most immediately returned, and said that her mistress 
 would see Doctor Courtlandt. The doctor entered the 
 sick chamber, and approached his patient. 
 
 Josephine Emberton scarcely resembled in any par- 
 ticular, the merry young girl we have seen in her school 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 266 
 
 days at Mrs. Courtlandt's. She was now more gentle, 
 more quiet, more feminine in all things, and her cheeks 
 had lost much of that healthful color which then ran riot 
 in them. True, this was no more than one might have 
 expected in a sick person, it may he said ; hut the patient 
 never wholly loses tl|e characteristics of the same individ- 
 ual when in health, and it was very plain that the gentle, 
 subdued woman who now lay wan and pale, hut still 
 beautiful, before the physician, was not the little terma- 
 gant we have met with in her girlhood, full of mischief 
 and a very Beatrice with her tongue. 
 
 The messenger whom Doctor Courtlandt had stopped 
 riding post haste, had somewhat exaggerated his mis- 
 tress's sickness. It was not at all critical, but amply 
 sufficient to need the services of a physician. Doctor 
 Courtlandt very soon made his diagnosis of the malady, 
 and told Miss Emherton that she would be well in three 
 days. 
 
 She smiled faintly. 
 
 " You seem to be very confident, doctor. I confess I 
 was very much frightened," she said, " but I was always 
 a coward on the sick hed ; it is my great weakness. 
 When did you return, however ? I had not heard of it." 
 
 " To-day, madam," said Doctor Courtlandt, " and I 
 had scarcely seen one of my friends when I heard of your 
 indisposition." 
 
 " You were very kind — " 
 
 " To come and prescribe ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The doctor shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " It is plain'you do not comprehend our code, madam," 
 he replied. " To meet a servant galloping at full speed 
 for medical assistance — to he told that a patient is lying 
 dangerously ill — after this for a physician to shake his 
 head and say, ' 'Tis none of my business, but Dr. Blank's' 
 — it would he infamous." 
 
 M 
 
266 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Jane frightened Cato very much, I suppose ; she is a 
 good girl, and said what she thought, no douht." 
 
 " It would have been unpardonable in me to consult 
 my convenience at any time," said Doctor Courtlandt, "if 
 you really needed me for any matter however slight. "We 
 have been friends a long time. Bijt you had better re- 
 main quiet, madam. "We may interchange our ideas very 
 well next week. "Where is your brother? He should 
 not leave you." 
 
 " He went to Bath last week. I have sent for him to 
 return, as I am alone here since my father's death, you 
 know." 
 
 " Yes, madam, I was informed of it ; your brother will 
 come back, then ?" 
 
 " Yes ; Robert loves me very much ; and though he is 
 a great beau with the ladies — ^he is nineteen, nearly 
 twenty-^he will hurry back, I know." 
 
 " Well ; I will now take my leave. Should you feel 
 nervous symptonis, take two spoonfuls of this — ^but only 
 until your physician comes. It will be for him then to 
 prescribe — different from myself, should it please him." 
 
 And bowing, Doctor Courtlandt left the room, promis- 
 ing to return on the next day. 
 
 He .mounted his horse, and slowly took his way back 
 to the Lock, admiring the beautiful sunset and the splen- 
 did autumn woods, which, like an army with a thousand 
 guttering spear points and many-colored banners, proudly 
 reared aloft, stood waiting for the wind's loud trumpet- 
 blast — the signal for dire conflict with old winter. Every 
 where the leaves had warped and reddened, and a few, 
 become deep brown now, whirled from time to time from 
 the boughs to the thick carpet underneath the trees. The 
 whole landscape was softened, and much beautified by the 
 light haze of autumn drooping like a rosy cloud above 
 the mountains, as above the lowland ; and Doctor Court- 
 landt gazed upon the fair scene with pensive admiration. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 267 
 
 Then his thoughts, for a moment thrown hack on his 
 past, returned to the patient he had just left. 
 
 "Ah," he murmured, "what a wondrous thing is life! 
 how full of mysteries the simplest scene — the very light- 
 est matter ! Men take no heed of the philosophic side of 
 life, lost as they are in a thousand ahsorbing pursuits of 
 love and glory, and mere money, very often — moreover 
 custom has staled all for them, but not for me ' Yet I 
 may well doubt if this penetrating eye I arrogate to my- 
 self is a blessing — any thing to felicitate myself upon ! 
 Why should I curl my lip and say, ' I am Sir Oracle' — 
 I am a profound thinker — you are only men ? The lover 
 sighs and follows beauty like her shadow, and may well 
 be said to dream, since he is absorbed by his passion, and 
 lives in another world, above the earth — a grand empyrean 
 full of joy and splendor. He lives his life, though he 
 is a thousand times undone ; though harshness, coldness, 
 and contempt remind him feelingly how much sad truth 
 those words, the ' pangs of despised love' contain ! He 
 lives his life, rapt for a time above the ground, in the 
 blue, joyful air of the mid-heaven — and though he falls, 
 and his poor heart is dashed to death upon the rocks of 
 hate — still he has all that glorious happy past ! His heart 
 for a time has beat far faster than his race's — he has little 
 to complain of — there is in his woeful plight but little food 
 for philosophic scorn. 
 
 " And he too who rules, and breasts the flood of enmi- 
 ty and eternal opposition in the high places of this world, 
 has little to complain of if the dark day comes, and he is 
 hurled from the full sunlight to oblivion. He has lived 
 his life ; as he who toils for wealth, and satisfies his crav- 
 ings, and dies destitute after a long splendid glittering 
 career, has also in truth lived. 
 
 " They all have been absorbed in toil of the brain or 
 the heart, and have not slept a moment like the dull weed 
 which hugs itself at ease and slowly rots — contented, care- 
 
268 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 less. Why tlien should I despise these men, and arrogate 
 to myself so much more lofty a philosophy, a brain so 
 much more free from mist and passion? I boast a cool, 
 calculating brain — seeing through all things, love and 
 ambition and all human passions, unmoved by any of 
 them !" 
 
 The Doctor's head fell mournfully on his breast; his 
 memories had overwhelmed him for the moment. 
 
 " J," he murmured, " who have loved so much, and — 
 though I put on dissimulation like a mask — so profoundly 
 always! J jest at love, when so many dear dead ones 
 have wrung tears from my heart long years, until I thought 
 the very fountains of my soul were dry ! Grod forgive me, 
 I am weaker and more arrogant than a petted and be- 
 praised child,- who knowing nothing, thinks he has ex- 
 hausted all human erudition ! /laugh at men for yielding 
 to their passions with my thirst for love and glory — ^though 
 now my heart is growing very cold ; yes, very, very cold ! 
 
 " Well, this perhaps explains my musings upon the 
 mysteries of life. The heart of the poor son was chilled 
 by the unearthly visitor, before he gave up all the joys of 
 youth, and love, and station, to moralize upon the skull 
 of the dead jester ! Life was the mystery only after he 
 had seen the ghost ; his heart was cold then^reason took 
 her throne ; though but a poor brainsick reason." 
 
 The Doctor went on slowly, gazing listlessly at the grand 
 landscape. 
 
 " Now who could have imagined that this beautiful 
 and well-proportioned nature would so change — though I 
 am, perhaps, wrong in thinking that the change is for the 
 worse. Who could recognize in the gentle, somewhat 
 apathetic woman lying yonder calmly and thoughtfully, 
 the sparkling child I danced with in my boyhood, jested 
 with, and so often encountered in wit-combats, when she 
 always drove me from the field ! Who would iiHagine 
 that this glittering star which sparkled so brightly above 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 269 
 
 my toyhood long ago, could have so changed ! If I were 
 a poet," the Doctor mused with a sad smile, "I might say 
 she shines upon the front of the fair past, like a bright 
 jewel on a lady's brow! What fire, what splendor, 
 what vivacity and wit ! And now — it is most melancholy 
 — ^what an apathetic lip and eye and voice ; so calm, so 
 spiritless, so changed in every thing. 
 
 " But all tj^ings change — a profound, hut not an orig- 
 inal remark. All these leaves so gayly dancing in the 
 wind will soon be gone — they had their youth and -ripe- 
 ness ; now they grow old and change. Poor human na- 
 ture — it is melancholy ! most melancholy ! But one 
 word concludes and answers all," the Doctor murmured, 
 " the word which has escaped with irresistible emphasis 
 ftom the lips of mightest conquerors, from the hearts of 
 the most siibtlo casuists when their last hour tolled in 
 their dull, hardened ears ; the word which the poor dying 
 boaster and swash-buckler, overcome like his loftier 
 brothers, uttered, when dying he ' babbled of green fields.' 
 One word elucidates the mystery, fixes the bourne of 
 thought — that word is * Grod !' " 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE DOCTOR SUGGESTS TO MAX AN OFFICIAL VISIT TO RICH- 
 MOND. 
 
 On the next morning Doctor Courtlandt descended to 
 breakfast buoyant and smiling, and gayly rubbing his 
 hands. He bade Mrs. Courtlandt and Max, who were 
 aheady down, a hearty and cheerful good-morrow. 
 
 " Why, Max !" he said, " you already show the mount- 
 ain air. Ah! 'tis almost indispensable to one who has 
 drawn it in with his first breath — been ' brought up to 
 it,' as the phrase goes. The lowlands yonder don't get 
 the finest quality, as the merchants say. That is for us 
 the merry mountaineers. Come, excellent Mrs. Court- 
 landt, some breakfast, if you please !" 
 
 Max received his father's congratulations on his good 
 looks with a listless smile, but replied, that he thought he 
 was quite well. 
 
 " You are somewhat delicate, my boy," Doctor Court- 
 landt cheerfully said, " but that is owing to our annoying 
 sea voyage. You can not imagine what horrible weather 
 we had, aunt," he continued, turning to Mrs. Courtlandt 
 who was superintending the arrangement of the break- 
 fast table, " and as you never were at sea, I believe, you 
 can not fornl any id^a of that most disagreeable rolling 
 of the vessel. Why, our cabin was half the time standing 
 on its head — nearly literally, for the vessel was on her 
 beam-ends, and it was hard to say which was the floor, 
 which the ceiling. See this pearl colored coat I have on : 
 it was the pride of a Parisian tailor — La Fere, rue Che- 
 noble, you recollect, Max — well, the water we shipped gave 
 it these pleasantly variegated tints : see on the shoulder." 
 
LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILK. 271 
 
 " Had you a storm ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, my dear aunt ; and Max stood it like a hero 
 — a real hero— delicate as he is. I believe his heroio 
 bearing, though, was somewhat owing to the fact that he 
 had to keep up the spirits of a nice young lady he met 
 with on board." 
 
 Max smiled sadly. 
 
 " He was a great beau on board, aunt," the Doctor con- 
 tinued, " but I see breakfast is ready ; let us sit down — 
 come, my boy !" 
 
 " What a fine day it is," said Mrs. Courtlandt, " you 
 have not ridden over the farm yet, nephew. But you 
 will have a fine morning for it now." 
 
 " Man proposes but God disposes," said the Doctor, " I 
 had intended to do so to-day, but must really go and see 
 Barry and the folks over there — since they won't come to 
 see me. Besides I must make another visit to Miss Em- 
 berton." 
 
 " Is she dangerously indisposed ?" 
 
 " Oh, no : very slightly." 
 
 " An old friend of yours, nephew — long ago," said Mrs. 
 Courtlandt. 
 
 "Yes, yes," said the Doctor, "and I find her much 
 altered. Once she was all vivacity and merriment, you 
 recollect : now she is decidedly tame — tamed I suppose 
 is a politer word. Time ! time ! how it changes us all." 
 
 " It has changed you little." 
 
 " I am naturally buoyant — constitutionally, but I am 
 older, older, aunt ; I begin to feel it." 
 
 " Very little in temperament, nephew." 
 
 " Much, much, my dear aunt." 
 
 "You are as merry as ever." 
 
 "All forced, aunt," Doctor Courtlandt replied, 'sadly 
 smiling, with a covert glance at Max, " but speaking of 
 merriment, I am going to have a dinner — do you feel equal 
 to it?" 
 
272 LEATHER STOCKING AIID SILK. 
 
 " A dinner, nephew ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I must formally announce my return. I have 
 fixed on next Friday, does that suit you." 
 
 " Hum," said Mrs. Courtlandt, " yes, nephew, certain- 
 ly : let me see ; oh I yes, we can get ready very well hy 
 that time." 
 
 " You shall write the invitations — ^you are much hetter 
 acquainted than I am. Undertake all that for me, dear 
 aunt; but I will give you such names as occur to me. 
 Have you any friends. Max, you would like to see ? 
 Indicate them." 
 
 " I don't know that I have, sir," said Max, " I was so 
 young when I went away, and lived so much at home 
 and in town, that — " 
 
 "Well, well; in future you will mix more with the 
 world. A man must not live ' like his grandsire carved 
 in alabaster,' you know. I intend you to study law, be 
 a politician, run for the county — go to Richmond ; the 
 family expects much of you, my youngster." 
 
 Max smiled. 
 
 " I don't think I could ever make a speech, sir," he 
 answered. 
 
 " Not make a speech ?" 
 
 "A political speech." 
 
 "Why not? 'Tis the easiest thing in life! But half-a- 
 dozen ideas are necessary. ' Resolutions of '98 — crisis in 
 the affairs of the nation — the Proclamation — state rights 
 — strict construction,' there is your speech made up. at 
 once !" 
 
 " I have no taste for politics, sir." 
 
 " But still would you not like to go to Richmond — that 
 centre of civilization, that paragoii of cities ?" 
 
 " You are laughing, sir." 
 
 " Did you not like Richmond ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir — it is a pretty place ; but I would rather liva 
 here." 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK, 273 
 
 " Here in the backwoods ?" 
 
 " I like the backwoods better than Paris, sir," said Max, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Ah ! now I see your objections to Richmond. It is 
 too elegant, too brilliant. You fear its attractions ; but 
 I ought not to laugh at our capital, which is after all a 
 fine place — and I have many good friends there. I think 
 you would enjoy yourself much if you represented us in 
 the Legislature there, my boy." 
 
 " Why I am not nineteen,, sir." 
 
 " Q,uite old enough to rule the world — ^but there is time 
 enough for all that. To-day I do not ask you to devote 
 your thoughts to politics — but to society. What say you 
 — shall we go at once to see the folks at hunter John's ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir — certainly." 
 
 " Do you remember them ?" 
 
 " Not very well, sir. I was too young." 
 
 " Not even your nice little cousins, Alice and Caroline?" 
 
 " Very slightly, sir ; we were all children, and I was 
 very unsocial." 
 
 " Well, well; we will go at once.i — though I think they 
 should have called to see us. They must know we have 
 returned." 
 
 And the Doctor rose from the breakfast table. At the 
 same moment the noise of wheels was heard on the hard 
 road, and going out into the portico, brilliantly illumin- 
 ated by the rosy sunlight of the beautiful October morn- 
 ing, Doctor Courtlandt saw his brother getting out of his 
 small covered carriage. 
 
 The doctor ran down the steps, and in instant had his 
 brother pressed to his heart. The eyes of the two men 
 were full of joyful tears. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CAROLINE AND ALICE. 
 
 Before the Doctor could so much as ask his brother 
 how he was, a gay voice from the carriage exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh, uncle Max ! oh, uncle Max ! we're so glad to see 
 you !" 
 
 " Who's that, pray ?" cried the Doctor, hurrying to the 
 carriage. 
 
 " Me, uncle ; Caroline ! Caroline and Alice." 
 
 "Bless my heart!" cried Doctor Courtlandt, "have I 
 any nieces so tall and charming ! Is it possible that my 
 bad little children have grown up such elegant damsels !" 
 
 " Yes — here are your bad little children," said Caro- 
 line, l,aughing and springing at one quick bound into the 
 arms that were opened to receive her, " I'm very bad yet, 
 ancle Max ! but I am so, so glad to see you !" 
 
 "With which words the girl threw her arms round his 
 neck and kissed him most enthusiastically. 
 
 " Why, how nice she is !" cried the Doctor, "a perfect 
 fairy ! And where is ray little Alice ?" 
 
 " Here I am, uncle," said a musical voice behind Caro- 
 line. " I was on the wrong side you know, uncle, or I 
 would haye had the first kiss." 
 
 And Alice more quietly got out of the carriage, but 
 quite as aifectionately greeted her uncle. 
 
 "What fairies!" cried the delighted Doctor, "did any 
 body ever — " 
 
 "No, never!" said Caroline, with a burst of merry 
 laughter. " And how stately you have begun to look," 
 she added. " Oh, what a bear you are with that enor- 
 mous beard." 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 273 
 
 " I won't eat you, Carry !" 
 
 " I'm not afraid." 
 
 "And you are not, I know, Alice," said Doctor Court- 
 landt. 
 
 " Oh, no ! not of you, uncle," said Alice, demurely, " no 
 body could be afraid of you^'' 
 
 " What a little witch. Let's see, how old ?" ' 
 
 " I'm seventeen, uncle," Alice replied. 
 
 " And so ami!" cried Caroline. "Where's cousin Max?" 
 
 " There, on the porch ; he will be delighted to see you." 
 
 "But I won't kiss him," said, Caroline, pouting and 
 shaking her head, " I am too old now to kiss cousins." 
 
 " Maybe he won't ask you," said Doctor Courtlandt, 
 delighted, "but never mind, /will always kiss you, that 
 will console you. Come, Alice dear, there is your father 
 already shaking hands with Max." 
 
 The two young women, each with an arm round Doc- 
 tor Courtlandt's waist, demurely drew near the group upon 
 the porch. 
 
 " Here are the girls, Max," said the Doctor. " Caroline 
 — this is Caroline — says she will not kiss you." 
 
 "Alice too!" cried Caroline. "I am not by myself. 
 You know we are growing too old."- 
 
 Max with a slight blush stepped forward graoefully, 
 and inclosed the two young girls in bis arms. 
 
 "You know," he said, smiling, "this is mere French 
 form ; I could not assent to your being too oldy cousin 
 Caroline — nor you, cousin Alioe."> 
 
 With which words Max very calmly kissed both his 
 cousins. 
 
 " Bravo !" cried Doctor Courtlandt, laughing. " What 
 do you say now. Miss Caroline." 
 
 Caroline submitted to the Doctor's raillery with a good 
 grace j Alice with some blushes, 
 
 " Go make Max's acquaintance, girls," said the Doctor, 
 " you would find a walk out on the hill side, or mountaio 
 
276 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 rather, a much more pleasant pastime, than a chat here 
 with an old man of science like myself." 
 
 " Oh, no !" said Caroline, ooquettishly. " I prefer the 
 risen to the rising generation, decidedly. I want you to 
 tell me all atout your travels." 
 
 " My travels ?" 
 
 " Y6s indeed, uncle. You have been away so long, oh 
 so long ; mother says she never expected to see you again." 
 
 " Why did she not come to-day ? Is she unwell, 
 Barry ?" asked the Doctor. 
 
 " Somewhat, brother," said the Rev. Mr. Courtlandt in 
 his soft voice, " she was afraid of the ride in the cool air, 
 though she was longing to see you." 
 
 " I will go over this very moment ; I must see her." 
 
 " Not before you have given us an account of your 
 travels," said Caroline. 
 
 "Why, Max will do as much, niece ; ask him." 
 
 Max, with his hat in his hand, stood quietly aloof. All 
 his momentary vivacity had disappeared, and his face had 
 fallen back, so to speak, into its old, sad, listless expres- 
 sion of weariness and melancholy. A shadow passed over 
 the Doctor's brow, and an acute pain seemed to agitate 
 his features, as his eye fell upon his son. But by a pow- 
 erful effort of that strong will which was the most striking 
 trait in his character, he banished the shadow from his 
 brow and the tremor from his lips, if not the pain from 
 his heart. 
 
 " Will you not. Max?" he added. 
 
 " Certainly, sir," replied the young man, listlessly, "I 
 will answer any questions cousin Caroline or cousin Alice 
 ask me, with pleasure." 
 
 "Hum!" said Caroline pouting, "we want you to tell 
 us all about it, cousin Maximilian. We would not know 
 what questions to ask." 
 
 Max bowed slightly. 
 
 " And do you suppose," said the Doctor, " that J wouI3 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 277 
 
 sit down and commence, ab initio, the narrative of my 
 travels, Miss Caroline ? Upon my word the young ladies 
 of the present day are exceedingly reasonable. Come, 
 Max is waiting; go and walk. "We old people will 
 remain behind." 
 
 The young girls and Max saw that the brothers wished 
 to converse alone, and so without further parley left them. 
 
 The Doctor and the Rev. Mr. Courtlandt gazed at each 
 other with much feeling, separated as they had been so 
 long. The minister was a very different personage from 
 that Barry whose boyhood and early manhood we have 
 seen something of ; — for those twenty years which had so 
 little changed Maximilian Courtlandt, had slowly but 
 surely revolutionized his brother's character. He was 
 still most affectionate and tender even ; but far more grave ; 
 and on his broad, firm brow study and the weight of pas- 
 toral duty had made many wrinkles. He was pale and 
 serious ; but now his face was lit up with unaccustomed 
 joy. His whole heart seemed to go forth to embrace the 
 heart of his brother, and tears for a moment dimmed his 
 large thoughtful eyes. Then they commenced the con- 
 versation which friends and relations are always so eager 
 for, after a long absence. The clergyman told his brother 
 all the events which had taken place in the neighljprhood, 
 during those long years of his absence — the deaths, the 
 births, the marriages — the thousand familiar occurrences 
 which only conversation can convey ; which are found 
 neither in the newspapers, nor in the correspondence of 
 our friends. The .Doctor then in the same manner gave 
 an account of his "life and adventures" since their part- 
 ing ; and then the conversation turned upon Max. 
 
 " Max is still listless and melancholy," said the Doctor, 
 " you know this was the reason for my expatriation so 
 long. I do not think he is much better, and I have re- 
 turned with a smile on my lip, but much sadness in my 
 heart, to the old scenes here, with the hope that the sooi- 
 
278 LEATHER STOCKmG AND SILK. 
 
 ety of friends and relations will work some change for 
 the hetter in his spirits." 
 
 " He does not look well." 
 
 " No ; we had a terrible scene down there in Martins- 
 hurg — at the old house. Jenny, the old nurse, you know, 
 grew garrulous and agitated Max very much — though 
 God pardon me, I thought he could not be more deeply 
 affected. "Well, brother, I hope all this will wear off with 
 time. He is better after all, I hope ; though not much. 
 I tried him with every possible diversion — ^but none ab- 
 sorbed him sufficiently to drown his memories. He was 
 always the same calm face, the same unimpressible heart. 
 
 "But let us end this sad talk; I have great hopes of 
 the boy now we are once more back to the old scenes. 
 These are almost new to him ; as we lived in the old 
 happy days," the doctor said sighing, " down in Martins- 
 burg. Fresh mountain air, the exercise he will take, 
 and, not least, the society of Caroline and Alice will I am 
 sure make him once more a merry-hearted boy, instead 
 of the sombre and unsocial man of thirty which he now 
 resembles. — What charming children are your girls, 
 brother !" added the Doctor more cheerfully, and half-per- 
 suaded by his own reasoning of the happiness his buoy- 
 ant nature shaped for him ; " never have I seen brighter 
 faces or merrier hearts ! But come, the sunlight is ad- 
 mirable ; let us take a stroll ; I begin to feel like my 
 former self again." 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MAX AND CAROLINE. 
 
 Max and the young ladies, his cousins, had a very 
 pleasant stroll on the bright mountain side, which was 
 now of a thousand colors. The autumn had made every 
 leaf blue, or yellow, or crimson, and when the wind shook 
 them together and came sobbing on from the far distance, 
 ever increasing in loudness until it passed on again and 
 died away, they resembled so many fluttering pennons 
 such as the knights of old times bore proudly aloft — the 
 gifts of their ladies fair — upon the heads of their upright 
 lances. 
 
 The two young girls, for a moment children again at 
 meeting once more with their long absent uncle, were now 
 more reserved and more like women. In truth they were 
 both upon the verge of womanhood, and if their first meet- 
 ing with Doctor Courtlandt seemed to stamp them as mere 
 impulsive children, their conduct on that occasion must 
 be attributed to the fact that he had always been their 
 fast friend and even playmate, and they were, thus, 
 overjoyed to see him back again. They now returned to 
 their usual placid and cheerful manner — Caroline laugh- 
 ing gayly, it is true, at every thing ; but quite womanly in 
 spite of it. 
 
 ■ They were twins, and resembled each other strikingly 
 — though Caroline was much the taller of the ■^o, and 
 had far more vivacity than Alice, whose large liquid eyes 
 were full of softness and tenderness. 
 
 Max enjoyed the stroll very much ; the fresh air seem- 
 ed to enter into his blood and vivify it. His cheek bright- 
 ened, he smiled often, and catching from Caroline the 
 
280 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 contagious tuoyanoy of her own spirits, became more 
 cheerful than he had been for years. 
 
 " How long you have been absent," said Caroline, "but 
 now you are back again to stay, are you not?" 
 
 " Yes — I hope so, at least." 
 
 " You will be quite an acquisiton to the neighborhood," 
 said the young girl, laughing. "We have no beaux here 
 now, but Robert Emberton and some few more." 
 
 " Robert Emberton— of the Glades ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Is he agreeable ?" 
 
 " Horrid, cousin Max ! You can not imagine what a 
 fop he is — nothing seems to interest him ; he says he is 
 ennuye!''' 
 
 Max smiled. 
 
 " What is he ennuye about?" he asked. 
 
 "Nothing !" Caroline replied. " I suppose he thinks it 
 graceful to yawn and declare that the world is a hore — 
 that is his word ; and pretend that nothing amuses him. 
 I told him when he came to see me last, that I couldn't 
 think of causing him such an inconvenience as a ride to 
 the Parsonage — grandfather's, you know — when it was so 
 very very far from the Glades — " 
 
 " Why, it is not." 
 
 " About ten miles — not more, in truth. But to a per- 
 sen who thinks every thing a 'bore,' ten miles must be a 
 very great distance to ride — with only a dull young lady 
 to see." 
 
 " If he said you were dull he showed very little taste," 
 said Max, gallantly, " you are any thing but dull, cousin 
 Caroline." 
 
 " Thank you, cousin Max ; you have been traveling, 
 and now you come to make your pretty speeches to us 
 country girls." 
 
 " Why, that is not a pretty speech," said Max, smiling, 
 " only the truth." 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 281 
 
 " Thank you, then." 
 
 " And do you think Mr. Rotert Emterton is so affected, 
 cousin Alice," asked the young man. 
 
 " Oh, no ; I think he is' very witty and amusing," said 
 Alice, with a demure smile, "he says I am not half as 
 dull as he has heard people say." 
 
 " And so you think he is impudent — not ridiculous, as 
 Caroline, I mean cousin Caroline, says ?" 
 
 " No ; he is not impudent. I think he is very amusing, 
 and though he certainly is affected, I am sure he is_ a 
 very nice fellow." 
 
 "A difference of opinion certainly, and I must judge for 
 myself. I am going to live here now, and though I am 
 not well, and very little inclined to go into society, I shall 
 visit you and uncle Barry often, when I shall doubtless 
 see Mr. Emberton." 
 
 " Have you been sick ?" asked Alice. 
 
 Max's face, clouded. 
 
 "No," he said, "but very low spirited." 
 
 " Oh, you must not be low spirited, cousin," said 
 Caroline, "never be low spirited. There is nothing in 
 the wide world more — unphilosophical — that is the right 
 word, I believe-=— tfian low spirits. You shall come and 
 see us, and, if necessary, I will laugh all day long to 
 amuse you. Then we will ride together, walk together, 
 flirt together, if you choose." 
 
 Max's momentary sadness disappeared before these 
 merry and joyous words. 
 
 " You have a great many pleasant things in store for 
 me, cousin," he said, smiling. " How can I thank you — 
 for the thousand suggestions you make, all tending to re- 
 move my unhappy malady, low spirits ? I agree to all 
 without hesitation — " 
 
 " Even the last ?" 
 
 " The last—?" 
 
 " That we shall flirt together, you know. You agree 
 to that, too ?" 
 
282 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 Max shrugged his shoulders : had Doctor Courtlandt 
 seen that shrug he would have been overjoyed. 
 
 " You must teach me," he replied, with a smile and a 
 glance of admiration at his cousin. 
 
 " Teach you to flirt ?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " You not know how to flirt?" 
 
 "Why should I be so well-instructed, pray, cousin 
 Caroline — come, tell me." 
 
 " Why, you are so experienced — " 
 
 " I am a mere boy, as you see." 
 
 " So old—" 
 
 " I am not yet nineteen." 
 
 " Oh, that is nothing I am but seventeen. You may 
 be very young, but you are very much of a traveler — have 
 been I mean." 
 
 " I am afraid I have traveled without eyes, if travelers 
 necessarily learn how to flirt with ladies." 
 
 " Well I am jesting as usual, I perceive. Come, cousin, 
 tell us of your travels — when you went away you were a 
 mere child — a boy, if you prefer." 
 
 Max's countenance assumed its old listless expression 
 jf melancholy gravity. 
 
 " I could only tell you that we went all over Europe, 
 and that I was very slightly interested with any thing." 
 
 Caroline did not observe the melancholy expression of 
 the young man's countenance, and would have pressed 
 him further, but Alice changed the conversation. The 
 past, she saw, was plainly full of shadow for the young 
 man, and like a woman of intelligence she determined to 
 endeavor thenceforth to wean his thoughts from it. She 
 had already penetrated his secret grief, that grief so ap- 
 parent in his sad eyes and lips. 
 
 " See what a beautiful primrose up there by the golden- 
 rod, cousin Max," she said, pointing to a rock which over- 
 hung, like a miniature precipice, their path, " gather it 
 for me, please." 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. ' 283 
 
 " And some for me, my cavalier," said Caroline. 
 " With pleasure," said Max, and after considerable 
 trouble, he brought both the primrose and the golden-rod, 
 from their places on the steep side of the mossy rock. 
 
 " How sweet !" said Caroline, " and this golden-rod 
 would really ornament the flower vases beautifully. G-et 
 some naore, cousin Max." 
 
 The young man smilingly complied, and after a quarter 
 of an hour's toil clambering hither and thither, returned 
 with his arms full of primroses, asters, and other flowers 
 of the autumn. Caroline received them ioyfuUy. 
 
 " What a fine color you have now, cousin Max!" said 
 Alice, quietly, "your cheeks are as red as peonies." 
 
 " I am sure you only want exercise to be as hardy as a 
 mountaineer," said Caroline, "now let us go back, cousin, 
 for I think father will wish to return : how beautiful my 
 flowers are !" she added, " and how much I am obliged 
 to you, cousin Max." 
 
 " I am the gainer, I believe," said the young man, 
 smiling, " I feel more buoyant than I have felt for a great 
 while." 
 
 "I am glad our acquaintance has commenced so pro- 
 pitiously," said Alice, smiling upon the young man, and 
 taking timidly his ofiered arm, "you must come to the 
 Parsonage now, and we will walk out, and you shall 
 gather some of our flowers." 
 
 "As I live!" cried Caroline, "here is uncle coming to 
 meet us. Oh, uncle, see my pretty flowers, which cousin 
 Max collected for me. He is an elegant beau !" 
 
 " And you a belle of the finest metal," said the delighted 
 Doctor, " I have never heard a clapper — ^by which rude 
 word I mean a female tongue — which made more musical 
 utterance. It is far merrier than the merriest cathedral 
 chimes — your laughter, I mean. Carry — which is a very 
 gallant speech you must confess in an old savant like my- 
 self." 
 
284 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Cousin Max is gallant, too," said Caroline," very gal- 
 lant." 
 
 " How could I he otherwise with you," said Max, 
 laughing and bowing. 
 
 " See now the fine foreign gentleman with his elegant 
 conge .'". said Caroline, merrily. 
 
 " Bravo !" cried the Doctor, overjoyed at seeing his son 
 so animated, and his cheeks so healthfully red, " she has 
 you there. Max ! Come you may take my arm, Carry, as 
 you and Max have quarreled." 
 
 And so they returned to the Lock, in cheerful talk. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HUNTER JOHN AGAIN : THE WANING GENERATION. 
 
 Doctor Courtlandt determined to accompany his 
 brother to the Parsonage, inasmuch as it was not so 
 much out of his road to Miss Emberton's, and this de- 
 termination gave Caroline great delight. The day was 
 entirely too fine, she said, for one to be shut up in a car- 
 riage, and now she would ride behind her uncle. 
 
 To this proposition, Doctor Courtlandt with great readi- 
 ness consented, and his aunt having brought out a volu- 
 minous shawl, and spread it carefully upon the back of 
 her nephew's horse in order that the young girl's pretty 
 pink dress might not be soiled, Caroline with one quick 
 spring took her place behind Doctor Courtlandt, and the 
 party set forward toward the Parsonage. As for Max, he 
 promised to ride over in the afternoon. 
 
 The day was splendid, as our October days nearly 
 always are, with their brilliant sunlight, invigorating 
 breezes, and variegated trees and grasses. The small 
 streams ran merrily in the full fair light ; the blue sky — 
 without a cloud, but shadowed by a tender delicate haze 
 drooped like a magical curtain over the far azure head- 
 lands of the green valley sea — the Sleepy Creek and Third 
 Hill mountain peaks ; and the whole air seemed to be 
 alive with happiness and joy. 
 
 "Oh, uncle Max," cried Caroline, "how glad we all 
 arc you have come back again ! But I believe I am 
 more delighted than any one else — for you know I always 
 was your pet : wasn't I ?" 
 
 "By no means — ^not a bit more than Alice, you little 
 rogue — not a bit." 
 
286 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " You will call me ' little.' " 
 
 "And are you not?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " How, pray ? Are you so very huge, mademoiselle?" 
 
 " Yes, monsieur. I am seventeen, and at that age 
 •young ladies are not little things." 
 
 " I suppose then you have already made up your mind 
 to get married." 
 
 "No, I have not." 
 
 " "Will you be an old maid ?" 
 
 "Yes." ~- 
 
 "What will you do?" 
 
 " Keep house for Alice and Robert Emberton." 
 
 " Hum !" said the Doctor, " is that all arranged, eh ?" 
 
 " By no means ; but he is the only beau in Me; neigh^ 
 borhood, and Alice is a great deal prettier than J'am." 
 
 " Are you jealous of her ?" ,^ •- 
 
 " No, I am not — ^but I would be, if it was not for one 
 thing." 
 
 " What is that, pray ?" 
 
 " Max's coming." 
 
 " What has the arrival of Max to do with your jeal- 
 ousy ?" 
 
 " Max shall be my beau." 
 
 The Doctor sighed and smiled. 
 
 " That is all very wellj" he said, "but there is an old 
 proverb, mademoiselle, which is somewhat applicable 
 here." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " That it takes two to make a bargain." 
 
 Caroline laughed. 
 
 " Oh, Max likes me well enough," she said, " and as 
 he is a milch nicer person than Mr. Robert Emberton I 
 will have him for my cavalier." 
 
 The Doctor sighed. 
 
 "Max is not very well," he said, "but you have it in 
 
LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILK. 287 
 
 your power, Carry dear, to be of very great service to 
 him." 
 
 " How, uncle Max ?" 
 
 " By coaxing him out of his reserve and melancholy. 
 If Max was happy he would he as stout as a plowman." 
 
 "Is he imhappy, uncle?" asked Caroline. 
 
 "Very, my dear Carry; very unhappy, and this is 
 what afflicts me so much. It would make a new man of 
 me were Max to grow gay and cheerful — ^try now and 
 amuse him." 
 
 " Indeed I will, dear uncle," said Caroline, tenderly, 
 " and on your account, for I dearly love you, uncle Max." 
 
 The doctor took the little hand which clung to his 
 waist and affectionately pressed it. 
 
 " That is a good "girl," he said, " you and Alice too. 
 "We are to have a dinner in three or four days, and this, 
 with your society will, I trust, wean Max from his melan- 
 choly thoughts. He requires to be interested — employed ; 
 if he is idle and has not congenial society he is gloomy. 
 We met little such abroad, and I am afraid our long resi- 
 dence in Italy was scarcely a benefit to him." 
 
 " Oh, how I should like to go to Italy," cried Caroline, 
 "what a beautiful country it must be, uncle." 
 
 " Yes — very beautiful." 
 
 " But it could not be much prettier than our mount- 
 ains here. Look how grand they are — leaves of all pos- 
 sible colors ! and then see how pretty the Parsonage is, 
 coming out from the trees, on the side of the hill. It is 
 the nicest little house in the valley." 
 
 " Yes ; it is much changed, however. Ah, how fami- 
 liar every thing is !" said the Doctor. " Time ! time ! — 
 time is a dreadful but very instructive thing. Carry ! 
 Come, we are at the end of our ride. Your father is out 
 of the carriage ; and Alice — what a little fairy she is !" 
 
 Hunter John Myers, that stalwart mountaineer of old 
 days, came out to meet them. He was no longer stalwart, 
 
288 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 tut bent down with years — those heavy stones which fall- 
 ing slowly one by one upon the shoulders of the strongest 
 bend them to the earth, their resting-place. The old 
 man's head was snow-white, and his eye dimmed. It 
 was many years since it had flashed, as was its wont in 
 the past. His strong stride was now a feeble yvalk ; his 
 gait had changed like all the rest. A venerable landmark 
 of the past, he stood on the confines of the two eras, like 
 an historical monument separating widely different lands. 
 
 He was still clad in his old hunting shirt which had 
 seen so much service in the woods, now waning before 
 his eyes ; his head was still crowned with its regal otter 
 skin. At his feet a number of veteran deer hounds 
 crouched, whose days of activity and strength, like his 
 own, were slowly dropping into past days. Never would 
 they tear the throat of the deer brought to bay any more ; 
 never again hear the hunter's horn, unless their old worn 
 out master, in melancholy jest, should take it from its 
 nail, and startle their old ears as they lay dreaming in 
 the sunshine. 
 
 The hunting days of the old man were over ; he was on 
 the verge of the grave — painfully dragging along his fee- 
 ble limbs which he supported with a knotty stick. But 
 for all this his spirits had not left him. He was still 
 cheerful/and hopeful ; and came to meet his visitors now 
 with hearty pleasure in his old face. 
 
 " Welcome, Doctor," he said, " my old eyes are blessed 
 to see you back safe and sound once more. I'd most nigh 
 given you up — 'way off in foreign parts ; but here you 
 are back again. Back strong and hearty, not like me, 
 old and weak and poorly. Welcome — welcome." 
 
 " You are not so bad as you say, my good old friend," 
 replied the Doctor, clasping the honest hand with kindly 
 warmth, " I bless heaven you are so well." 
 
 " I am not long for this world," said the old man, " soon 
 the mortal part of the man who went by the name o' Hunt- 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SfUC. 289 
 
 er John Myers on this earth, will be in the dust ; — but 
 pray Grod his so&l will return to that all-wise and loving 
 Creator who has been so good to him, through a lonw 
 happy life." 
 
 "Pray God!" returned the Doctor, holding down his 
 head, and much affected by the old man's changed and 
 feeble voice. 
 
 " That's all I ask," said the hunter, looking thought- 
 fully out on the beautiful landscape, " I have lived my 
 life, and it was not so easy and well-doin' in the old Injun 
 times ; but I never could complain of any thing, and I've 
 had more 'an my deserts. I'm most nigh gone away now 
 to the other country ; when- the Lord calls me, I hope I 
 will be ready." 
 
 Then leading the way, they entered the house. Mrs. 
 Sally Courtlandt received them — the same tender, earnest 
 loving face of old times — the same soft voice which had 
 filled the long past years, for many there, with music. 
 She was little changed ; the girl had become a woman — 
 that was all. She was happy in possessing so good and 
 tender a husband, in being able to 'minister to the wants 
 of the old man — in having dutiful and affectionate chil- 
 dren. Those blessings which had followed the "darling" 
 of the valley long ago into the new land of matrimony, 
 had not been uttered in vain, it seemed. 
 
 The house inside was little changed, but some additions 
 had been made, and some improvements introduced. 
 Sally's little chamber was now that of the sisters. 
 
 " The house has been plastered," said hunter John, 
 " and they've put up a porch in front — none of my doings, 
 Doctor, you may be sure. I wanted them, though, to beau- 
 tify the place when my sou was minister. They most 
 nigh refused, but had it done ; so you see it ain't my doin' 
 — but they did it because I wanted 'em to." ■ 
 
 " It's much nicer, I think, grandfather," said Alice sit- 
 ting down by him and affectionately resting her head on 
 
 N 
 
290 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 his shoulder, " the vines too improve it — in front, yon 
 know." 
 
 The old man, v?ith an expression of great affection on 
 his placid features, patted the little hand, which clasped 
 his own. 
 
 "Yes, yes, Alice darling," he said, "the new things 
 are prettier than the old — ^the young fairer than the aged. 
 But what is Oscar growling ahout ?" 
 
 The old stag hound rose to his feet and looked toward 
 the door, evidently moved to this unusual demonstration 
 by the approach of some visitor. At the same moment 
 the hoof-strokes of a horse were heard, and mingled with 
 this measured sound a young man's voice humming a 
 merry song. 
 
 " Who is that?" asked Doctor Courtlandt, "some visit- 
 or, Carry ?" 
 
 " Not mine !" said Caroline indifferently. 
 
 " But who is it ? — ^he has dismounted apparently." 
 
 " It is Rohert Emberton," said Alice, rising from her 
 seat, " you know, the brother of Miss Josephine, uncle." 
 
 At the same moment the young man entered the room, 
 bowing to the company. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 MR. ROBERT EMBERTON : THE RISING GENERATION. 
 
 If hunter John Myers, with his gray hair, old fashioned 
 dress, and rude plain dialect, was a type of the venerable 
 and moving past, the young man who now entered, grace- 
 ful, smiling, ready in speech, and clad in the very latest 
 fashion, presented a tolerably accurate specimen of the 
 " new men" and the changed world which had taken the 
 place of the old rugged times gone by. 
 
 Robert Emberton was a handsome young man of nine- 
 teen, with bright eyes, erect carriage, and graceful person. 
 There was little of the boy about him, in feature, figure, 
 or manner. He was perfectly easy and self-possesSed ; 
 carried his head, as the phrase goes, elegantly ; and seemed 
 to look upon society and human existence as a rather 
 amusing comedy, which every one had tacitly consented 
 to act as well as possible for the moment — with a perfect 
 understanding, however, that it was all for amusement 
 and had no particle of reality at bottom. He was ele- 
 gantly dressed, as we have said, and in the very latest 
 fashion. From his fingers dangled a light whalebone 
 cane with a deer's foot at its top, and in the other hand he 
 carried easily a well smoothed' beaver hat. 
 
 The young man's easy negligence of manner somewhat 
 changed when he perceived Doctor Courtlandt's piercing 
 eye fixed upon him, and he bowed to that gentleman pro- 
 foundly. Certainly he had not paid the same compliment 
 to any other person for a long time, and this unusual cir- 
 cumstance may be accounted for, on the ground that Mr. 
 Robert Emberton had never yet met with so distinguished 
 a man in countenance and manner, as the individual who 
 
292 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 now stood before him — with such a noble face — such 
 brilliant eyes full of intelligence and mental power — such 
 a forehead where thought sat enthroned in quiet majesty. 
 But perhaps the young man's unusual respect w^as more 
 still to be attributed to the accounts he had heard of Doctor 
 Courtlandt from his sister — more than all, possibly, to the 
 long travel of his new acquaintance in distant lands ; for 
 Mr. Robert Emberton had but one ambition, which ambi- 
 tion was to visit that centre of civilization — Paris. He 
 fancied that the very coat the silent and grave gentleman 
 who stood there wore, was redolent of Parisian elegance. 
 
 So Mr. Emberton, with much less easy negligence than 
 was his custom, replied to the courteous words vouchsafed 
 him by the Doctor. 
 
 The Doctor was pleased, he said, to make Mr. Ember- 
 ton's acquaintance — since he had had that pleasure when 
 Mr. Emberton was exceedingly young ; was glad to see 
 him now, on his return, so much improved. 
 
 The young man had intended on that morning he said, 
 to call on the Doctor, both because he was sure he should 
 have a very pleasant visit, and because his sister had 
 commissioned him to say that she was now very nearly 
 quite well. 
 
 " Which I hope," the Doctor said, " is not to forbid my 
 carrying out my promise to call on her to-day ?" 
 • " Oh, no, sir," the young man said, " on the contrary, 
 she desired me to say that she would be much pleased to 
 see you, as your visit was very short when you called 
 yesterday." 
 
 " I will then go this morning as I had intended, though 
 now Miss Emberton will have only an ordinary visitor in 
 place of a professional one." 
 
 Having settled this matter so satisfactorily, the Doctor 
 left the young man to pay his addresses to the ladies, 
 which he however seemed in no haste to do ; perhaps 
 because he had seen a great deal of them, and very little 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 293 
 
 of the Doctor, whom he had heard so much of. His society 
 was, however, by no means so attractive as to make Doc- 
 tor Courtlandt choose it in preference to that of his old 
 friends and his brother ; and so Mr. Robert Emberton 
 was obliged to content himself with the ordinary conver- 
 sation of the young ladies. 
 
 They strolled out oq the hill side, followed negligently 
 by their cavalier, who dangled his cane and yawned. 
 
 " Do you feel unwell to-day ?" said Caroline, turning 
 her head carelessly over her shoulder, and fixing her bright 
 eyes satirically upon him. 
 
 "Unwell?" yawned the gentleman, somewhat sur- 
 prised. "Why, not at all; why did you ask?" 
 
 " I thought from your manner that you were not well." 
 
 " My manner ; what is. peculiar in that, Miss Caroline ?" 
 
 " It is so listless ; one would think you were ' bored' to 
 death, as you are fond of saying." 
 
 " The fact is, I am bored ; I was, I mean, before I had 
 the delight of gazing on your fair countenance. But I 
 was not conscious that my ennui displayed itself so un- 
 mistakably." 
 
 "It does." 
 
 "In my conversation, eh? That is dull, you mean? 
 My ennui is betrayed there ?" 
 
 " In every thing." 
 
 " Ah, there it is ! The young ladies of the present day 
 are becoming the most extraordinary creatures. You 
 can not yawn or complain of any thing in the whole uni- 
 verse, but, by Jove ! — excuse me, fairest Miss Caroline — 
 they, are offended. That is not so important, however, 
 for ladies soon recover from their ill-humor ; but it really 
 is annoying to a man of sense, that he is expected on all 
 occasions to be in raptures, to smile, and simper, and 
 exhaust the vocabulary of compliments and pretty speeches. 
 I can't ; it bores me." 
 
 " Are you ever any ihingbut ' bored,' sir ?" asked Caroline. 
 
294 LP.ATRKa .STOCKING AND SJLK. 
 
 " Very seldom any thing else — I have just come from 
 Bath, up there, you know. You've heard of Bath, I sup 
 pose." 
 
 "Heard of Bath, Mr. Emberton!" said Alicej q-uietly, 
 '' why it is just over the mountain, and is the mostfash- 
 ionable watering-place in the valley." 
 
 " Well, I was about to say when you interrupted me, 
 Miss Alice," the young man replied negligently, " that I 
 have been bored to death there lately." 
 
 "By what, pray?" said Alice, smiling. 
 
 " By every thing ; and the dreadful part of it was, that 
 I could not escape it." 
 
 " You were not obliged to talk to the ladies, were you ?" 
 
 " Oh, I did nothing of the sort. The very, evening I 
 arrived, an event happened to me which stopped air that." 
 
 "What event?" 
 
 "A young lady very nearly made a declaration to me; 
 it was shocking though it is Leap Year." 
 
 " I declare you are too bad !" said Alice, laughing, "and 
 if you were not so affected and meant half you say, I 
 would — " 
 
 "Cut me?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, and Carry too ; I know she would." 
 
 "Without hesitation," said Caroline, pouting. 
 
 This expression upon Caroline's face seemed rather to 
 amuse Mr. Emberton. 
 
 " That would be dreadful," he said carelessly, " but I 
 was going on with my account of the kingdom of boredom 
 up there — or down there, as you please. It \Yas not the 
 female society — shocking phrase that, but one musjt use 
 it, it is so fashionable — not the ladies who bored me. One 
 can always decline being victimized by them, and I did 
 decline, after waltzing to that dreadful music for one whole 
 evening ; but I could not escape the rest." 
 
 "What else wearied Mr. Emberton? I hate the word 
 bored," said Caroline, " and beg you will not use it again." 
 
LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILK. 295 
 
 " With pleasure. My tribulation arose then from the 
 awful dressing of the company. Never have I seen any 
 thing so horrible as the taste of those young ladies and 
 gentlemen ; it was enough to give one a chill. I became 
 depressed, I was overcome — I was in doubt whether I 
 was present at a social meeting of the South Sea Island- 
 ers, or the inhabitants of Nova Zembla. I came away 
 immediately and shall not return." 
 
 "You came because your sister sent for you, did you 
 not ?" asked Alice, laughing. 
 
 "Yes; but I was coming without her request. I saw no 
 new faces, no pretty girls — all passees, regular old stagers. 
 By-the-by, speaking of new faces, you have a cousin who 
 has just arrived have you not, my dear Miss Alice ?" 
 
 " Yes ; cousin Max." 
 ' " Nice fellow ?" 
 
 " Very nice, I suppose ; he is Caroline's beau, not 
 mine," said Alice, laughing and blushing slightly. 
 
 " Handsome ?" continued Mr. Emberton. 
 
 " Exceedingly." 
 
 " Dress well ?" 
 
 " I did not observe." 
 
 " Is he comme ilfaut, I mean ?" 
 
 " At least he is just from Paris." 
 
 " Then he dresses well; and as he dresses well, is ex- 
 ceedingly handsome, a very nice fellow, and above all your 
 cousin," said Mr. Emberton, summingup, " I have no doubt 
 you will fall in love with him at once. Miss Caroline." 
 
 "I believe I shall," the young girl replied. 
 
 This answer made the gentleman, strange to say, some- 
 what moody ; he had too high an opinion of persons who 
 had been to Paris to despise them. 
 
 " He is an admirer of yours, I believe ?" asked Mr. 
 Emberton, with affected nonchalance. 
 
 " Oh, indeed he is," said Alice, with some constraint, 
 "he and Carry are excellent friendsi already." 
 
 " Keep a little corner for me in your heart, Miss Carrv." 
 
296 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 the young gentleman said, resuming his drawl, " even if 
 I should be called on to dance at your wedding." 
 
 Caroline made no reply. 
 
 " It is not arranged entirely yet, is it?" he asked. 
 
 "No, sir! it is not!" 
 
 "Why, Miss Caroline — I really feel some trepidation; 
 you will not eat me, will you ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; you are not to my taste." 
 
 " Not to your taste ! Grood ! That reminds me of a 
 friend of mine down at Bath. After half an hour's devo-. 
 tion to the ice cream, he said to me pathetically, 'I've 
 eaten so much of this thing that I've got through ; but 
 it's not to my taste.' Now to apply my anecdote. You 
 can not eat me, my dear Miss Caroline, but you can im- 
 bibe my discourse. I hope under these circumstances 
 you have not imbibed so much of it on the present occa- 
 sion that you wish you had got through with it." 
 
 " I am never guilty of impoliteness, sir," said Caroline, 
 half offended, half ready to burst out laughing at this 
 ridiculous reply. 
 
 " And I am sure," the young man said with a courtly 
 bow, "/would not have alluded to your engagement with 
 your cousin, had I imagined such an illusion would be 
 thought ' impolite.' " 
 
 " I am not engaged." 
 
 A well satisfied smile lit up Mr. Robert Emberton's 
 face at these negligent words, and the whole party hav- 
 ing once more recovered their good humor, continued the 
 jesting conversation, until after making the circuit of 
 the hill, they returned to the Parsonage. 
 
 The Doctor was mounting his horse ; the young man 
 hastened up. 
 
 " Will you permit me to accompany you, sir," he 
 asked, very deferentially. 
 
 " I will be very glad to have your company, sir," the 
 Doctor replied ; and taking leave of the family, they set 
 forward toward the " Glades." 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 After a pleasant ride of two hours they arrived at the 
 Glades, where the young man's multitudinous questions 
 addressed to the Doctor, for a moment ceased to stun that 
 gentleman's ears. At the gate stood a large lean horse 
 champing his bit, and this caused Mr. Robert Emberton 
 to surmise that "his dancing-master had come to give 
 him a lesson." 
 
 The Doctor smiled ; for this word " dancing-master," 
 threw him back to former days when the art of dancing 
 was so excellently represented in Martinsburg, by that 
 worthy ofTshoot of the days of the Grrand Monarque — 
 Monsieur Pantoufle Xaupi. But what was his astonish- 
 ment on entering the mansion to see approach him, no 
 less a personage than that very . Monsieur Pantoufle, 
 twenty-five years older, and needing now no white powder 
 on his thin elegantly dressed hair ; but still supple, still 
 bowing, ambling, smiling, still full of the thousand en- 
 gaging amenities of look and manner which characterized 
 him in those long past days, to which the Doctor's 
 thoughts had just flown back. 
 
 Monsieur Pantoufle ran to the Doctor and embraced 
 him enthusiastically. 
 
 "My dear friend I" cried the dancing-master, "is it 
 possible I now see you in person, so well, so excellent- 
 looking ! Is it possible I see my much cherished friend 
 — Monsieur Max !" 
 
 " In person ;" said the Doctor, smiling and cordially 
 returning the pressure of the old man's hand, " I am 
 
298 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 as much surprised as yourself, Monsieur Pantoufle — 
 but delighted to see you !" 
 
 "Ah, you charm me!" 
 
 " You are as gay as ever ?" 
 
 " Not so gay ;" said the old danoing-raaster, shaking 
 his head, "age come on very fast ; je suis veillard, Mon- 
 sieur Max." 
 
 " Mais vous etes bien aise ?" 
 
 " Non, mon cher. I grow old. The^times pass — it is 
 long since I fence, I dance, I play upon the harpsichord, 
 the violin, as I used to in the old time." 
 
 " You look very well — and almost as young as ever," 
 replied the Doctor. 
 
 The old man shook his head. 
 
 "I have hut the spirits," he said, "the spirits never 
 leave me." 
 
 That is much." 
 
 " Yes, yes — very much. I often tell my young friend 
 here. Monsieur Rohert, to keep up the spirits; always 
 keep up the spirits." 
 
 " He needs it little, I think ; hut really I am delighted 
 to see you," said the kind hearted Doctor, "you recall to 
 me a great many pleasant reminiscences of the past, 
 though some are unpleasant, too. You recollect that I 
 bought your coat, eh ?" 
 
 " My grand monarque coat !" said the old man, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders, and laughing. 
 
 " Yes, the Louis XIV." 
 
 " I nevare can get such now," said Monsieur Pantoufle. 
 " The present mode is abominahle." 
 
 " I am iust from Paris." 
 
 " From Paris ; est tl possible ?" 
 
 " Direct." 
 
 "My friends send me any message? But I have no 
 friends now," added the old man shaking his head, " they 
 all pass away, they all go like the autumn leaf, in the 
 wind ; they send me any message, eh ?" 
 
LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILK. 299 
 
 " I was there but a short time and made very few ac- 
 quamtances." 
 
 " You meet the Due de Montmorenci ?" 
 
 « No— your friend?" 
 
 " My cousin, my blood cousin : it is an homme cPesprit! 
 But he has forgot the poor dancing-master sans doute." 
 
 " Well, at least I have not ; for I retain too pleasant 
 an impression of you, my dear Monsieur Pantoufle ; and I 
 wish sincerely that you may never have a day of trouble 
 or ill health. 
 
 " I have had much ; but the spirits have not leave me. 
 I come. Monsieur Robert," he added, turning to the young 
 man, " to give you your dancing lesson ; I was grieve to 
 hear of Mademoiselle's sickness, and was going back to 
 Bath, but she send me word she would come see me — I 
 must wait ; a la bonne heure. She is here." 
 
 Miss Josephine Emberton entered, still pale and look- 
 ing feeble, but evidently not otherwise unwell. She 
 greeted the Doctor with manifest pleasure, and expressed 
 her great satisfaction at seeing him back again, very 
 gracefully. 
 
 " I scarcely exchanged three words with you yester- 
 day," she said, " and now, Doctor, you must give me 
 leave to make my speech out, you know. It really looks 
 like old times to see you and Monsieur Pantoufle face to 
 face ; it reminds me of the happy days of my girlhood in 
 Martinsburg, when 1 was so young and merry." 
 
 "Ah," said Monsieur Pantoufle, with a very engaging 
 bow, "you jest Mademoiselle: you are very young — not 
 twenty years, I think, indeed." 
 
 " You are very gallant. Monsieur Pantoufle," Miss 
 Emberton replied, languidly, but smiling kindly on the 
 old man, " and I always know what to expect from you 
 when I make any allusion to my age." 
 
 " Permit me, madam, also to reiterate Monsieur Pan- 
 toufle's compliment'," said Doctor Courtlandt, " I find you 
 changed, it is true, from the merry school-girl you were 
 
300 LEATHEB, STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 formerly, when a very pert and impudent boy used to 
 come and visit you at his a«nt's: he also is ohanged__but 
 like yourself, G-od be thanked, still retains his love of old 
 friends and holds in his heart, as a sacred treasure, the 
 recollections of those times you allude to." 
 
 " They are very far off, Doctor," said Miss Emberton, 
 with a smile and a sigh. 
 
 " But very vivid to me, madam," replied the Doctor, 
 "they were happy times — very happy. The memory of 
 them even now when long years have gone by, each 
 touching my forehead with a wrinkle, my hair with a 
 snow flake, even now my recoUectio^is when they go back 
 to the times we speak of, are full of pleasant regret." 
 
 " Is regret ever pleasant. Doctor?" 
 
 " Often — very often." 
 
 "How is that?" 
 
 " It is very simple. "We naturally regret all that 
 splendor and joy which has flown away ; the present is 
 not equal to the bright past in any thing ; — from our pro- 
 clivity to love the ' good old times,' whether those times 
 were good or not. That is human ; therefore we ever sigh 
 for them back again. But with the regret is mingled 
 the consciousness of having once been happy — grand and 
 most affecting recollection ! — rand so the regret is often 
 swallowed up in joyful satisfaction." 
 
 " C^est vrai .'" said Monsieur Pantoufle, wisely and 
 thoughtfully shaking his head. 
 
 The lady smiled. 
 
 "Well, I confess there is very often some such feeling 
 in my own mind," she said, " but I am still very child-like 
 in my character — though I am becoming an old woman 
 — which probably accounts for it." 
 
 "Child-like, madam? I find you paying yourself a 
 very high compliment." 
 
 " How so ?" 
 
 " The child character is my beau ideal — the most per- 
 fect." 
 
LEATHRR STOCKING AND SILK. 301 
 
 " 'Tis true, 'tis true," said Monsieur Pantoufle, mourn- 
 fully shaking his head ; " helas .'" 
 
 " "Why, Doctor ?" asked Miss Emberton. 
 
 " Because it is the purest. Carping men may exhaust 
 their rhetoric in scoffing at the idea, but my experience 
 tells me that the child-mind, unfettered as it is with con- 
 ventionality and custom, unobscured and unaffected by 
 worldly fallacy, that this first virgin tablet takes truer as 
 well as more beautiful impressions than the adult mind. 
 Thus I have ever loved children." 
 
 " There is much truth in what you say. Doctor ; I think 
 I should like to possess some enchanter's wand for a mo- 
 ment. I would transport myself back to Mrs. Court- 
 landt's in Martinsburg, and for a time live again in the 
 midst of ray child-friends there as I used to. But they 
 have grown up, married, and I believe quite forgotten 
 me; the world is real, not enchanted." 
 
 "Alas," said the Doctor, "no truer word could be 
 spoken. But the other day I visited that very house — 
 collecting my memories, you will understand, madamt" 
 said the Doctor, smiling. 
 
 "The old school?" 
 
 " Yes ; and I stood in the room just where I so often 
 stood in the old days listening to the merry laughter of 
 the girls. I thought I heard it again ringing joyfully 
 through the passages and out under the broad garden 
 trees ! I was mistaken ; it was all gone, and the place 
 only made me melancholy." 
 
 " So you came away sighing. Doctor, did you ?" asked 
 Miss Emberton, with a languid smile. 
 
 "No, no. For one memory rescued me from this 
 prison house of tears," said Doctor Courtlandt, laughing. 
 
 " What memory ?" 
 
 " Do you recall the occasion of Mrs. 's exhibition, 
 
 or examination, rather ?" 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
302 LEATHEE, STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 "When I played Romeo you recollect, madam?" 
 
 " Yes— yes !" 
 
 " "Well I recollected, as I stood there in the old room, 
 that foolish act of mine — the note- 1 gave you." 
 
 The doctor and the lady both laughed. 
 
 "When we were dancing the minuet?" she said, "oh 
 yes, I recollect perfectly." 
 
 " So now, madam ; there is one of those pleasant regrets 
 I spolce of." 
 
 " True it is such." 
 
 " I have my Romeo coat still," said the Doctor. 
 
 " What a curiosity !" 
 
 " A curiosity indeed ; and how singular that Monsieur 
 Pantoufle should he here now so long after, just as we 
 are speaking of those times. That was his coat, my dear 
 madam." 
 
 " Oh, I recollect ; you seem to have forgotten the ' sub- 
 scription' you proposed !" 
 
 The Doctor laughed heartily ; and after some more 
 jAeasant conversation arose to take his leave. 
 
 " I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing your sister 
 and yourself at the Look upon Friday," he said to the 
 young man, " some friends come to dine with me." 
 
 " With great pleasure. Doctor, should I be well enough. 
 Call again when you find it convenient : we should not 
 neglect old friends." 
 
 Twenty years before the Doctor would have made his 
 departure glitter with a speech replete with gallantry ; 
 but time had affected him equally with Monsieur Pan- 
 toufle. He therefore, simply bowed, and requesting Mon- 
 sieur Pantoufle to accompany the party, wrapped his sur- 
 tout around him, and returned homeward, thinking of 
 Max. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HOW THE WORLD WAGS. 
 
 The day for the dinner came, and Doctor Courtlandt 
 stood at the door of his open, hospitable mansion, wel- 
 coming every one, as the vehicles of every description, 
 from the large family coach to the light one-seated cur- 
 ricle, deposited their freights before the door. The large 
 carriages, roomy and luxuriously swung upon low-bend- 
 ing springs, were affected by the elderly ladies and those 
 old " squires," to use the rustic designation, whose figures 
 for long years nursed into corpulence and rotundity by 
 generous viands and an ample modicum of sherry daily, 
 would not consent to be incarcerated in narrower and less 
 spacious vehicles. But the young gentlemen and ladies 
 of the neighborhood, whose graces on the contrary couvte8 
 observation, made their appearance on fine and spirited 
 horses. 
 
 The Doctor was " all things to all men ;" as perfectly 
 agreeable with his ready jests to the young damsels, as 
 he was with his cordial, neighborly bearing to the elderly 
 ladies and gentlemen. For a time nothing was distin- 
 guishable but the incessant clatter of hoofs, and rattle of 
 wheels, mingled with the hum of voices — then the " ar- 
 rivals were complete" and the company was marshaled 
 into the gr-eat dining-room, wherein that worthy old gen- 
 tleman, father Von Horn, had often received his neigh- 
 bors in long past years. 
 
 The return of Doctor Courtlandt and his son, was quite 
 an event in the neighborhood — and to every one a pleas- 
 ant event. The reader may have observed in former 
 portions of this true chronicle, that Doctor Courtlandt 
 
304 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 even as a wild, headstrong boy, managed to conciliate the 
 goodwill of every person with whom he was thrown in 
 contact. Throughout his life this was certainly a very 
 observable circumstance ; and now his return was hailed 
 by all those friendly hearts as a most welcome event. 
 There was much to interest a mere stranger even, in the 
 noble looking gentleman now seated at the head of his 
 broad board, and dispensing around him smiles and con- 
 gratulations. Intellect had written in unmistakable char- 
 acters its presence on the broad ample brow ; and no one 
 who had watched the expression of the firm lips — so in- 
 fallibly the test of character — would have doubted that 
 the heart which corresponded to this intellect was as 
 noble and true. f 
 
 Caroline and Alice were seated by Max and Mr. Robert 
 Emberton: and Miss Emberton was the centre of attrac- 
 tion among the fair dames who bloomed in long rows on 
 the right and left hand of the host. At the foot of the 
 table — or more properly the head — sat Mrs. Courtlandt, 
 the E,ev. Mr. Courtlandt and his wife. 
 
 Alice observed with pain that Max ate scarcely at all ; 
 and this v.ras only not observed by other persons from the 
 fact that the young man was kept very busily talking : 
 he and Doctor Courtlandt were the two centres to which a 
 thousand questions tended, throughout the whole banquet. 
 The young man seemed very listless and melancholy. 
 
 As for Caroline she was very busily engaged in laugh- 
 ing at Mr. Robert Emberton's petit-maitre airs, and at 
 his attempts to talk French with Monsieur Pantoufle, who 
 sat opposite them. Monsieur Pantoufle shrugged his 
 shoulders at Mr. Robert Emberton's extraordinary lingua 
 Franca — for this young gentleman had managed to mix 
 up with his French both Italian and Grerman, in which 
 he fancied himself a proficient. 
 
 And so with the buzz of voices and the clatter of plates 
 the dinner, like all mortal things, came to an end. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 305 
 
 "Come, Mr. Emberton and you, cousin Max," said 
 Caroline, "you must not stay drinking wine — you must 
 come and walk with us on the hill side." 
 
 "Willingly," said Mr. Robert Emberton, "drinking is 
 a great bore." 
 
 And accompanied by Max, Alice, Caroline and a number 
 of young ladies, the unfortunate victim of ennui went forth. 
 
 The afternoon was beautiful ; the sun just poised upon 
 the western forest, hung in the rosy sky like a great 
 shield on the flame-colored hangings woven of old by 
 Ingebord, that " Child of kings ;" the bright trees waved 
 their long branches to the golden clouds ; the fresh pure 
 air brought the most becoming color to every cheek. 
 
 Max was silent and even gloomy. Alice looked at him 
 timidly. 
 
 " Cousin Max, you do not seem well," she said, bash- 
 fully. 
 
 " I am very well," said the young man, sombre and 
 mournful. 
 
 " You must not be low spirited." 
 
 " I am not." 
 
 And then after these abstracted words he turned away. 
 
 Caroline's gay laugh rang out. 
 
 "And you pretend to say that you speak French, sir! 
 upon my word ! I have never heard a more singular dia- 
 lect than that with which you were pleased to regale my 
 ears at table." 
 
 " I did not address my French to you, Miss Caroline," 
 said Mr. Robert Emberton, to whom these words were 
 directed. 
 
 " Well address me now, and tell me if that sky is not 
 beautiful ?" 
 
 " Beautiful ?" 
 
 " Yes, it is lovely. Look at the girls and the gentle- 
 men yonder, how sentimentally they are grouped admir- 
 ing it." 
 
306 LKATHEB, STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " They are young," said Mr. Emberton, yawning. 
 
 "Young? what do you mean ?" 
 
 " Unsophisticated." 
 
 " Because they admire a beautiful sunset? How fine 
 your taste is !" 
 
 " I don't pretend to have any." 
 
 "You have none, or you would admire those beautiful 
 woods." 
 
 " You have harnessed that poor word beautiful too 
 often. It will break down the next stage." 
 
 " Then lovely — the evening is lovely." 
 
 " There's nothing in it." 
 
 " Just listen. I think you and cousin Max are the 
 dullest beaux I have had for an age." 
 
 Max, by a strong effort suppressed his gloom, and turn- 
 ing to the young girl whose bright glance flashed like an 
 arrow to him : 
 
 " What did you say, cousin ?" he asked, smiling sadly. 
 
 "I said you and Mr. Emberton were very bad com- 
 pany." 
 
 "Well," said Max, "I will endeavor to behave better. 
 Come now, make me laugh, cousin Caroline. I am in 
 one of my fits of dullness." 
 
 "He would not speak to me" thought Alice, "and 
 turned away from me saying that he was not low spirited ; 
 plainly because he did not expect any pleasure in my 
 society. Now he is very ready to talk to sister, and in 
 five minutes will be laughing. Well, I hope she will 
 make him laugh ;" and mortified tears came into tho 
 young girl's eyes. 
 
 "Now, Miss Alice," said Mr. Emberton, offering his 
 arm to the fair girl to help her over the steep rocks they 
 were clambering, " I begin to feel in a better humor with 
 you upon my arm. I confess I have been in a wretched 
 humor all day — before I left home, understand ; for by 
 this time I should have done something dreadful, but 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 307 
 
 for Doctor Courtlandt's brilliant conversation and your 
 pleasant society." 
 
 Alice glanced at Max and Caroline who were talking 
 gayly — Caroline at least. Max seemed already to have 
 thrown off much of his gloom. 
 
 " You are as much in earnest about uncle's ' brilliant 
 conversation' as about my ' pleasant society,' I suppose, 
 Mr. Emberton," the young girl said. 
 
 "Indeed," said Mr. Emberton bending down to her 
 ear gallantly, and taking the opportunity to throw a 
 glance upon Max and Caroline, " I was never more sincere 
 in my life." 
 
 " Sincerity is your forte, you know." 
 
 " My forte ?" 
 
 " I mean it is not." 
 
 " 1 am always sincere with you," said Mr. Emberton, 
 tenderly. 
 
 " And I with you ; for I always tell you your faults, 
 you know." 
 
 " My faults ?" said her companion, glancing at Caroline 
 and her cousin. 
 
 " Yes," said Alice, with the same wandering of the eyes. 
 
 "Have I faults?" 
 
 "•Yes, sir," said Alice, " and one of them is looking at 
 other people when you are talking to a lady." 
 
 " Other people !" 
 
 " Yes, you were looking at sister and cousin Max while 
 you were answering me ; and scarcely knew what you 
 were saying." 
 
 Mr. Emberton smiled. 
 
 " You were doing the same," he said. 
 
 ""^ell, if we are not society for each other — though 
 you say mine is so pleasant," Alice replied, with some 
 feeling and a perceptible tremor in her voice, "suppose 
 we join them, sir." 
 
 " A quarrel on my hands, by Jove !" muttered Mr. 
 
308 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 Emberton. " On my word, Miss Alice," he continued 
 more seriously, "I had no intention of being guilty of 
 discourtesy. I am exceedingly dull, I feel ; and ask your 
 pardon. Don't refuse it." 
 
 Alice smiled, and granted the wished for pardon; but 
 insisted on joining the party. And so they approached. 
 
 " Oh, cousin Max has been giving me such a nice 
 description of Italy and Rome !" cried Caroline. 
 
 " Has he ?" said Alice in a low voice, " I could not get 
 you to talk with me, cousin Max." 
 
 " I have talked very little," said Max, with a long look 
 at Alice, "and indeed very prosily. You were much 
 better employed." 
 
 " Flirting with Mr. Emberton," said Caroline, with an 
 affected laugh, " oh fie, a preacher's daughter!" 
 
 Alice turned away to hide her tears, and with her compan- 
 ion approached a large rock which was covered with moss 
 and afforded a delightful seat. They sat down — Robert 
 Emberton bending over the young girl intent on removing 
 all traces of ill-humor from her mind. 
 
 " There they go," said Caroline to Max, with a some- 
 what ironical look, " I am very glad you secured me from 
 that fine gentleman, cousin Max, with his eternal talk of 
 being bored — he is excessively disagreeable." 
 
 " Do you dislike him, cousin ?" 
 
 "No," said Caroline, indifferently, "he will do very 
 well in his way — he is very affected." 
 
 " Is he intelligent ?" asked Max, looking at the person 
 he alluded to. 
 
 "So-so — yes, I won't be insincere; quite intelligent, 
 but the most ridiculous — " 
 
 " Do you like him ?" 
 
 " No, not a bit." 
 
 " I thought he visited you and Alice very constantly. 
 Does Alice like him ?" 
 
 " I don't know, but it is plain he likes Alice," said the 
 young girl, pouting. 
 
LEATHEE, STOCKING AND SILK. 309 
 
 " Tliey seem to be admiring the sunset; see"Iiow beau- 
 tiful. There is now jast a very small remnant of the 
 disc upon the horizon. There, it is gone." 
 
 "Yes, gone," said Caroline, with her eyes fixed oti 
 Alice and Mr. Robert Emberton, as they sat in friendly 
 proximity side by side upon the beautiful moss-clad rook 
 " There are no sunsets in the world equal to our mount- 
 ain ones here," said Max, going through the same cere- 
 mony as his cousin. 
 
 " Not in Italy?" asked Caroline, absently. 
 "No — none as beautiful." 
 
 " I have heard so much of the Italian sunsets — are they 
 not superb." 
 
 " Yes, the sky is very fair." 
 
 " Very few clouds, I believe ?" said Caroline, still ab- 
 sently, and feeling a very violent dislike for Mr. Robert 
 Emberton who was fixing her sister's bracelet affection- 
 ately upon the beautiful arm. 
 
 " I observed none, scarcely," said Max, asking him- 
 self why he had not before observed how fond Alice was 
 of Mr. Emberton, upon whom she was at that moment 
 sweetly smiling. 
 
 Caroline burst into a merry laugh. 
 " You are not thinking of me that's plain, cousin Max," 
 she said. 
 
 " Not thinking of you ?" 
 
 " You are looking all the while at Alice, at least !" 
 " I believe we have both been looking in that direction," 
 said the young man, smiling, " suppose we go and see 
 what they are examining so attentively." 
 
 "With pleasure I" said Caroline, making a mock 
 courtesy, and taking the offered arm with a laugh. It 
 wa^ a flower that Alice and Mr. Emberton were examin- 
 ing — one of those fair autumn flowers which glitter like 
 stars all over our beautiful mountains. 
 
 "What is that?" asked Caroline taking it, with an 
 ironical laugh, "what Shakspeare calls Love-in-idleness?" 
 
31" LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 "I profess ray entire ignorance, Miss Caroline," said 
 Mr. Robert Emberton, " I never studied botany ;^^it 
 bored me." 
 
 " Oh, that is nothing extraordinary, sir," said Caroline, 
 satirically, " botany does not monopolize the privilege." 
 
 " Now you are going to cut me up as usual, Miss 
 Caroline. Really, Mr. Courtlandt will think me a most 
 unfortunate individual." 
 
 " You are very fortunate I think, sir," said Max, " you 
 are in good spirits and amuse cousin Alice. I can not." 
 
 " Oh, Cousin Max !" said Alice, reproachfully.'*' 
 
 " I only mean that I am really very low-spirited and 
 dull," said Max, grieved at the hurt expression of the 
 little tender face, "indeed I am always, and am a poor 
 entertainer." 
 
 "You seemed to be entertaining Miss Caroline very 
 agreeably, sir," said Mr. Emberton, " she always laughs 
 at instead of with me." 
 
 Caroline, as if to verify this charge against her, burst 
 into a merry laugh. 
 
 " Upon my word !" she cried, " I think we ought to 
 have arranged differently. You, cousin Max, with Alice 
 and I with Mr. Emberton ; though I know I should have 
 got the worst of the bargain." 
 
 " You flatter me : you are really too good to me," said 
 Mr. Emberton, bowing ironically. 
 
 " "Well, I will not undervalue you so much," said 
 Caroline merrily, ." for when I have bored, and bored, and 
 bored you still more, perhaps I shall discover the vein of 
 gold, now hidden. But come let us go back !" 
 
 And they all returned to the mansion. They found 
 the company about to separate for their different homes, 
 and soon in the joyous and gay clatter of those friendly 
 voices they lost sight of the comedy of errors they had 
 just enacted. The scene passed away like a momentary 
 cloud floating across the sunlight — ^but still that scene 
 
XEATHEE dTOCKING AND SILK. 311 
 
 was more important to this history than a thousand din- 
 ners. We might have detailed for the amusement of our 
 readers, the jests, the laughter, the merry speeches of the 
 ladies in the drawing-room, of the elderly gentlemen over 
 their wine when these fair ladies had departed for a time, 
 tut our duty was to abandon all this brilliant company 
 and busy ourselves with the four personages whose phases 
 of character, and changes of feeling must enter chiefly 
 into this chronicle. This duty pointed to the most difli- 
 cult of two matters : for it is mere pastime to catch idle 
 momentary words and laughter, and note the footprints 
 of the march of incident ; but far more difficult to truth- 
 fully outline, even, the characters of human beings. The 
 first is easy sport, the latter a very different matter. 
 
 This trifling' scene was the means of developing clearly 
 to their own eyes in those four hearts, a fact which 
 hitherto they had not given thought to. 
 
 The company separated with many expressions of good 
 will, and soon there was nothing in this large room, where 
 so many voices had but now resounded, but silence. 
 
 The Doctor had been much grieved at Max's melan- 
 choly in the earlier part of the day. But when the young 
 man returned from his walk with the fair girls his cousins, 
 this melancholy had disappeared, and there was life again 
 in his large blue eyes. 
 
 " Ah," murmured the astute observer of human nature, 
 "the change has, God be thanked, commenced. What 
 would they not deserve of me if they did away with his 
 sombre thoughtfulness." 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Courtlandt and his wife with the young 
 girls departed last. 
 
 " Grood-by, uncle," said Caroline, " oh, I have had 
 such a delightful day. Such pleasant company." 
 
 " Whose the most so, pray ?" 
 
 " Yours of course — ^you're such a nice old fellow." 
 
 " Old indeed— at forty '" 
 
312 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Well, ' young fellow,' then." 
 
 "I distrust your compliments, you witcli; now I am 
 quite sure you found Mr. Robert Emberton's society 
 enough to occupy you for the whole day." 
 
 Caroline laughed ironically. 
 
 "No," she said, "he was 'bored' as usual." 
 
 "As usual?" , 
 
 " He always is ; but he says he will come and see us 
 to-morrow or the next day, and not complain of dullness 
 for once." 
 
 "And you, Alice — ^have you had an agreeable time?" 
 
 " Very agreeable, dear uncle," said the young girl, 
 looking at Max. 
 
 Max smiled and sighed ; the Doctor caught the sigh in 
 its passage. ' ' 
 
 " Max," he said, "how has it been with you ?" 
 
 " I am always in good spirits when I am with cousin 
 Carry and cousin Alice." 
 
 " Oh," cried Caroline, "what a gallaat speech Mon- 
 sieur le Voyageur." 
 
 "And very sincere," said Max, looking at Alice, "that 
 is its only merit." 
 
 " Well, now it strikes me," the Doctor said, laughing, 
 " that you might be in good spirits oftener." 
 
 "How, sir?" 
 
 " The Parsonage is not far." 
 
 " Oh, I am going over to-morrow." 
 
 " Yes," said Alice with a bright smile, " cousin Max 
 promised to bring me something — though I had to tease 
 him for it." 
 
 " What sort of a something ?" 
 
 " Oh, that's our secret, sir," said Alice, in her soft 
 musical voice which was the very echo of tenderness and 
 joy, "the secret which is known to three people is no 
 secret, you know." 
 
 " I promised — " began Max. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 313 
 
 "Now, cousin!" said Alicia, smiling, "that will spoil 
 all." 
 
 " Well, I won't ask," Doctor Courtlandt said. " Max 
 may take you what he chooses to take you ; tut you 
 shall take away a kiss from me. Come, both ! — hut one 
 at a time. Good ! now there is brother waiting for you,, 
 and your mother smiling at you." 
 
 " J.M revoir .'" said Caroline, laughing merrily and 
 making a mock courtesy. 
 
 " Good-by, uncle. You must come and bring what 
 you promised, cousin Max," said Alice ; and so the last 
 of the guests departed. 
 
 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 0^ the next morning Doctor Courtlandt rose with the 
 sun, and opening his window to the fresh morning air, 
 inhaled joyfully that breath of golden autumn so full of 
 life and strength. 
 
 "Ah," he said, " I should he in the hills hy this time! 
 I feel my old warlike instincts revive ; I am conscious of 
 a deadly enmity to deer and turkeys. I shonld now he 
 filling my chest with the full-flowing wind of the Sleepy 
 Creek Mountain, yonder — I shoald be in the midst of 
 those splendid woods hearing the merry leaves rustle in- 
 stead of thus being a tardy sluggard here !" 
 
 And Doctor Courtlandt dressed with the ease and 
 rapidity of an old traveler ; and gay, light-hearted, ready 
 to break his jokes upon any one who approached, de- 
 scended to the breakfast room. 
 
 Max was already there bending over a portfolio which 
 lay upon his knees. His long fair hair half covered his 
 face, as he sat with his delicate profile turned to the door by 
 which his father entered, and the red, cheerful light of the 
 crackling twigs in the fire-place — only a handful, to dispel 
 the morning chilliness — brightened his eyes, and mingled 
 itself with the clear sunlight streaming through the win- 
 dow opening on the east. 
 
 The Doctor clapped him on the shoulder. 
 
 "What brought you down so soon, my boy? you are 
 not generally so early a riser," said he. laughing. 
 
 Max raised his face ; he was smiling. 
 
 " I coTjld not bear to lie in bed on such a lovely morn- 
 ing, sir," he replied. 
 
LKATHER STOCKING ANB SILK. 315 
 
 " "Why, that is well said ! Now suppose we go and 
 look at the mountains. I was bom in the mountains, and 
 have all my life risen early to go and see the morning 
 mist curl up from the streams." 
 
 " It is very beautiful," said Max, putting on his hat, 
 and placing under his arm the portfolio. 
 
 " Oh, grand !" and with this joyful exclamation, Doctor 
 Courtlandt, accompanied by his son, went out upon the 
 mountain side. 
 
 " iSec," said he, "how fresh the trees and all are from 
 their night's rest, so to speak. How still the air is ; nothing 
 is stirring but those small birds, and that hawk floating 
 far up above the mountain upon his long wings. Observe 
 the mist hanging above Meadow Branch — no trace of the 
 Parsonage or any other house. Yes ! upon my word ! 
 thcie it comes out! the sun is routing the mist — you 
 have never seen any thing as pretty in Europe, my boy ! 
 and day is on us ! with all the fresh vigor of youth and 
 joy. That wind ! hear "how it floods the air with merry 
 laughter ! the trees are positively so much variegated 
 cloth of gold ! and the leaves dancing to the tinkling 
 music ! Ah ! the air is full of it !" 
 
 Max stood rapt with the beauty of the fair October 
 morning ; and for the first time felt that autumn was not 
 necessarily so sad. His eye sparkled, his cheeks filled 
 with blood, and his eye drank in rapturously the whole 
 beautiful landscape. 
 
 " Splendid ; is it not ?" said Doctor Courtlandt, " if I 
 could only sketch this scene !" 
 
 " Here is my portfolio, sir." 
 
 " Do you ever draw now ?" 
 
 " Very seldom ; but I am determined some morning to 
 make a sketch of the valley from this very spot." 
 
 In opening the portfolio, the young man's hand dis- 
 placed a paper, which fell out on the grass. He picked 
 it up, smiling. 
 
316 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Here is something atout the mountains, sir," he said. 
 
 " What — poetry ? Heaven defend me !" 
 
 " Yes ; and I had selected it for Alice." 
 
 "For Alice?" 
 
 " You recollect yesterday, when they went away, Alice 
 said I had promised her something. My promise was to 
 write for her some verses, and this was already written." 
 
 " About the mountains ?" 
 
 " Here it is, sir ; it was written on the Atlantic, years 
 ago." 
 
 " How ! when we were — " 
 
 " G-oing to Europe; yes, sir; it sounds low-spirited, 
 and I was very much so at the time." 
 
 " But you are not now, my hoy ?" said Doctor Court- 
 landt, wistfully, taking the paper as he spoke. 
 
 " No, sir ;" Max replied with a smile, " I helieve I am 
 getting hearty again. I feel very well indeed, and was 
 laughing a little while ago at the excess of sentiment 
 which produced those verses — when you found me in the 
 hreakfast-room, you know." 
 
 The verses were written in a plain, delicate hand, and 
 ran as follows : 
 
 " The sunset died 
 In regal pomp and pride — 
 I should have died 
 Before I left my mountain side ! 
 
 ' Poor heart ! I i 
 Is happiness denied 
 To thee untried 
 Here on the quiet mountain side? 
 
 ' The trees were dyed 
 In evening's crimson tide, 
 Rolled far and wide 
 Along the merry mountain side. 
 
 ' This was my bride ! 
 And what man shall deride 
 The daisy pied, 
 That blooms upon the mountain side ? 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 31 7' 
 
 " The red day died ; 
 With bitter tears I cried, 
 I should have died 
 Before I left my home, 
 My own dear mountain side !" 
 
 "Hum!" said the Doctor, critically, "the last verse 
 seems to me redundant ; but I have no douht it will serve 
 your purpose. Well, you are back to your mountain 
 side ! Don't write melancholy poetry any more, my boy." 
 
 " I never write, sir ; and I am sure you would not 
 have been annoyed with my scribbling this morning, but 
 for the fact of our walk out here." 
 
 "No annoyance, my dear boy; pleasure — ^pleasure; 
 'but come, I see aunt yonder marshaling the turkeys, and 
 now see ! she beckons." 
 
 " Good-morning," said the old lady, who was counting 
 the keys in her large key-basket, "why. Max, you look' 
 uncommonly well." 
 
 " And I have an excellent appetite, aunt," replied Max, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Come, agreeable Mrs. Courtlandt," said the Doctor, 
 " let us have some breakfast, if you please." 
 
 " It is ready, nephew." 
 
 And so they all entered and sat down to breakfast. 
 Max, as he said, had an excellent appetite ; and so over- 
 joyed was the worthy Doctor at seeing his son thus re- 
 covering his strength, that they had no sooner risen from 
 the table than he suggested a bout with the foils. Max 
 went up stairs to procure them. 
 
 Just as he left the room a merry voice was heard at the 
 door, crying, " Grood-morning, good folks !" and Caroline 
 ran in. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A BOUT AVITH FOILS. 
 
 " GrooD morning, uncle !" cried Caroline. "Aunt Court- 
 landt, how well you look after all the worry yesterday. 
 I'm as glad to see you as if I had been away for a month 
 instead of one night. I just got my riding dress, and 
 rode over as the morning was so fine '." 
 
 "What a nice dress;" said Doctor Courtlandt, "ah, 
 the young ladies of the present day are quite different 
 from those of the old time. Silk is now the rule, then 
 linsey was decidedly more fashionable." 
 
 " You speak as if you were as old as Methuselah." 
 
 " I'm past forty. Carry," replied the Doctor, " I am 
 getting old." 
 
 " You shall not grow old ; I will keep you young, uncle." 
 
 " How will you accomplish that ?" 
 
 " By laughing at you." 
 
 " Laughing at me, indeed." 
 
 " You know then you will laugh back at me ; and as 
 long as people laugh they do not look old." 
 
 " Well, take off that riding skirt ; that at least is no 
 laughing matter." 
 
 " Certainly ; where is my agreeable cousin Max ?" 
 
 " Ah ! there is the cat out of the bag. You did not 
 come to see me — but Max." 
 
 "Fie! uncle; a young lady visit a gentleman ! Indeed!" 
 
 And the young girl's pretty lip curled scornfully. 
 
 " Come, come," said the Doctor, " I foresee you will 
 spend your indignation on the unfortunate Max — a kiss 
 will make us good friends again." 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 319 
 
 " Who could quarrel with you, you nice old man !" 
 cried Caroline, running to him. 
 
 " Take care ! your skirt will trip you !" cried Mrs. 
 Courtlandt. 
 
 The caution came too late ; — Caroline, full of life and 
 merriment — a merriment which reddened her cheeks 
 and danced in her sparkling eyes, sprang forward so 
 quickly, that the long skirt she wore got beneath her feet, 
 and she fell forward — not into the arms of the nice old 
 man, her uncle, but into those of Max, who at that mo- 
 ment entered with the foils and masks. 
 
 The Doctor burst into laughter. 
 
 " Bravo !" he cried, " there is a nice present Miss Caro- 
 line makes you. Max ; thank her." 
 
 " Of herself, sir ?" said the young man, with a pleasant 
 laugh, "then I accept unconditionally." 
 
 Caroline laughed, and quickly extricated herself from 
 her cousin's embrace. 
 
 " Thank you," she said; "it is Leap Year, but I have 
 no intention of presenting myself to any body." 
 
 " Especially to such a dull fellow as myself," said Max. 
 
 " You are not dull, cousin : how could you be ? a trav- 
 eled gentleman, full of accomplishments, elegant graces ; 
 and then your bow — that is nonpareil." 
 
 " What a tongue, you little witch !" said the Doctor. 
 
 " And now you are about to exhibit your fencing graces, 
 I suppose," said Caroline ; " come, begin !" 
 
 Max smiled, and took his foil, without paying any at- 
 tention to his cousin's raillery. The Dootor.put on his 
 mask, and bent his foil on the toe of his boot. 
 
 " Two to one on uncle !" cried Caroline, laughing and 
 retreating from the glittering steel, which the Doctor, with 
 the ease of a practiced swordsman, whirled around him — 
 going through the motions of engaging and disengaging. 
 
 "Two to one — say you?" replied her uncle; "that 
 were too much, unless you won." 
 
320 LEATHER STOCKING- AND SILK. 
 
 " I declare, uncle, you are the smartest old gallant I 
 have ever seen ! "Well, I'll bet cousin Max that you throw 
 his swii-d out of his hand in half a minute." 
 
 " Take the bet, Max," said the Doctor. 
 
 " I am afraid you will, sir," Max replied, laughing. 
 
 " Bet — bet, nevertheless." 
 
 "What shall the bet be, cousin Carry?" asked the 
 young man. 
 
 " Your hat against my riding-cap. You will look very 
 nice riding back with me without your hat." 
 
 " Done," said Max, putting on his mask. 
 
 " En garde .'" said Doctor Courtlandt ; and Max placed 
 himself in position. 
 
 " All fair now, uncle," said the young girl, laughing. 
 
 " I pledge you my honor I will try to make him lose. 
 So take care of your weapon, Max." 
 
 Max grasped his foil with an experienced hand, and, 
 throwing back his hair, fixed his eyes upon those of his 
 father, and crossed his weapon. The two swords clashed, 
 and half a dozen rapid passes ensued, in which neither 
 were marked. 
 
 " I need not have chalked the button, sir," said the 
 young man ; "I can not touch you." 
 
 " Try again," said Caroline. 
 
 The weapons were again crossed ; and after a rapid 
 passage, in which the foils writhed around each other 
 like glittering serpents, the young man was struck upon 
 the breast. 
 
 "You are dead," said Doctor Courtlandt; "see. Max, 
 on your heart ! The mark is perfectly plain. You are a 
 dead man !" 
 
 " I never felt better in my life," replied Max, laughing. 
 
 " Now. for the bet," said Caroline. 
 
 " Ah ! I forgot," said the Doctor, taking his place. 
 
 The weapons crossed a third time ; and after a dozen 
 rapid passes the young man, by a quick turn of the wrist, 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 321 
 
 sent Doctor Courtlandt's foil flying to the other side of 
 the room. 
 
 "Oh, how nice!" cried Caroline. 
 
 " Faith !" said Doctor Courtlandt, rubbing his arm, 
 "you have a good wrist, Max." 
 
 " And I have won your cap, cousin Caroline," the young 
 man said. 
 
 " But you would not be so ungallant as to take it ?" 
 
 " Indeed I will : I would have had great success in 
 pleading for my hat, had you won." 
 
 "Well, there it is, sir; I take hack all I said about 
 your gallantry and accomplishments." 
 
 " I appeal from Miss Courtlandt out of humor to Miss 
 Courtlandt pleased," said Max, laughing, and taking the 
 little cap with its black feather. 
 
 "That is right, Max," said the Doctor; "compel her 
 to comply with the conditions of the bet." 
 
 " Will you try another pass, sir ?" 
 
 " No, thank you ; by no means ; I have enough. My 
 arm is still stunned to the very elbow. I should have 
 killed you, but you have, in reality, disabled me. You 
 profited by La Force's teaching, faith." 
 
 " Fencing was my only amusement, sir, you know." 
 
 "Yes, yes — you have, however, turned your science to 
 some profit. A nice cap you have lost. Carry, by your 
 betting mania." 
 
 "Dear old man! I do not regret it — for it was for 
 your salie. Now I must go back ; I just galloped over, 
 and had no idea I should be so much amused." 
 
 "Max, do you go over this morning?" asked Doctor 
 Courtlandt. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I have just ordered my horse, and when- 
 ever cousin Carry is ready, I am." 
 
 " I am ready now ; but poor rae, what am I to do with- 
 out my cap ?" 
 
 " The best you cajv." 
 
 o* 
 
322 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Uncourtly, come; I don't care for any. 
 My curls are not so unbecoming, and the sun is not 
 hot enough to freckle my face. Good-by, dear uncle — 
 and you, aunt, come over as soon as you can." 
 
 And with these words the young girl, holding up her 
 long skirt, went out, followed by Max, who bore in his 
 hand the riding-cap. 
 
 " Please give it to me," said Caroline, as she took her 
 seat in the saddle. 
 
 " That depends upon your behavior, cousin Caroline," 
 said Max. 
 
 " "What ! on the ride ?" 
 
 " Yes ; so take, care !" 
 
 "Keep it then!" cried the young girl, shaking back 
 her long curls, and rapidly setting forward toward the 
 Parsonage. Max followed, and took his place at her 
 side in excellent spirits, and anticipating a delightful 
 visit. 
 
 A quarter of a mile from the house, they met Mr. 
 Robert Emberton, riding yery languidly toward Doctor 
 Courtlandt's. He saluted the young lady with negligent 
 politeness, and drew up. 
 
 "Where are you going?" asked Caroline. 
 
 "To Doctor Courtlandt's — then to the Parsonage, to 
 see Miss Alice," said Mr. Emberton, laconically. 
 
 "What, pray, takes you to uncle's?" 
 
 " My horse," said Mr. Emberton ; " and in addition to 
 that execrable animal, a note from that amiable sister of 
 mine, Josephine." 
 
 And Mr. Emberton was about to pass on. 
 
 " Stop," said Caroline, " there is one of the Look serv- 
 ants going home ; he will take it." 
 
 Mr. Emberton hesitated. 
 
 " I had promised myself a pleasant talk with Doctor 
 Courtlandt — most entertaining gentleman I have ever 
 known — " he said, " but be is probably busy to-day. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 323 
 
 Therefore," added Mr. Emterton quickly, lest Max should 
 have an opportunity of assuring him that his father was 
 at leisure, "I will continue on my way to the Parsonage. 
 Don't let me stop you." 
 
 Caroline, after some hesitation, agreed to laugh at this 
 speech ; and Mr. Emberton delivered the note to the 
 servant who was passing on a wagon horse. 
 
 "You may join us if you choose," said Caroline, "or 
 ride alone." 
 
 " "Well, I'll go with you," said Mr. Emberton. 
 
 And they all continued their way to the Parsonage. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE BRACELET AND THE NOTE. 
 
 Doctor Courtlandt stood watching Max and Caroline 
 as long as they were in sight, with a well-pleased smile 
 upon his thoughtful face. 
 
 " She would make him a most excellent wife," he mur- 
 mured, " but I do not think they are at all more attached 
 to each other than cousins, who are friends, are usually. 
 But the one great fact which remains, is this — Max is 
 better, stronger, gayer, more lively. He no longer mopes, 
 though his sadness has not entirely left him, and he stUl 
 thinks too much. Certainly that was a happy day in 
 Italy when I said to myself, ' All this is worse than idle 
 —let us go back again to Virginia.' Here has been a 
 greater change than I could have hoped in so short a 
 time ; and, by my faith, I believe these two young girls 
 have heen the means. How gay and sincere a spirit is 
 Caroline's — how cheerful and tender Alice's ; they are 
 paragons of sincerity and true-heartedness withal — and 
 such mere children. Come ! can I not be content with 
 my young cavalier, but I must be coveting my neighbors' 
 children ? What a glorious fellow Max would be were 
 his spirits once back again ; what a wrist he has ; well, 
 we will trust to time, and new scenes. 
 
 " New scenes ! that cap of Caroline's brought to me some 
 very old scenes ;" and the Doctor smiled thoughtfully ; 
 " it resembles exactly my Romeo cap, in former times." 
 
 The Doctor's brow clouded over, and he sighed. That 
 poor heart had never entirely recovered from its wound. 
 "Her image still remained shrined in his memory and 
 heart. 
 
 " And my Romeo coat ? Where is that ?" he said, 
 
LEATHER, STOCKING AND SILK. 325 
 
 with a mournful smile. " Ah, I recollect; I will go and 
 look at it, even if it throws me back once more to those 
 times. Should I avoid these tender memories ? No — no ! 
 a thousand times !" 
 
 And going to his chamber the Doctor opened a closet, 
 and after some time spent in searching, drew forth the 
 coat which he had worn on that night, whose events we 
 have chronicled in former pages of this history. 
 
 " Twenty-five years nearly," he murmured ; "that is 
 a long time. Ah ! how all that past revives for me ! 
 There again is the crowd ; there the bright faces, the 
 good true-hearted friends, the old-fashioned dresses, the 
 trembling form of Barry !" 
 
 The Doctor mused long with dreamy eyes — all the past 
 seemed to defile before him with its bright faces and gay 
 scenes. Then sighing deeply, he took the coat and was 
 about to fold it again, and put i-t away, when he felt some- 
 thing in the pocket. Hedrew this something out; itwasa 
 small red sandal-wood bracelet, such as are worn by girls. 
 
 For a moment he sat gazing at the bracelet in astonish- 
 ment ; but suddenly his eyes lighted up with merriment, 
 and the old odd smile passed over his lips. 
 
 " Who would have thought it !" he said, " this bracelet 
 has actually been in this pocket for nearly twenty-five 
 years. It was Josephine's ! I remember now distinctly 
 how I obtained it on the evening I played Romeo. "Wo 
 were coming out together, and the young lady compli- 
 mented me upon my style of playing it. ' The good 
 opinion of no one pleases me so much,' I said. What a 
 joyous heart beat in my bosom then ! And then Jose- 
 phine, that bright child timidly gave me this ! ' to make 
 me her knight," she said !" 
 
 The Doctor mused and smiled, holding the bracelet 
 absently, his eyes fixed on the carpet. 
 
 "Ah! tho.se days are gone;" he murmured, "youth is 
 so short, manhood comes so soon; ere long old age will 
 chili'me wholly. My strength even now is waning, and 
 
326 LEATHER STOCKING AA'D SILK. 
 
 time, after destroying my heart and memory, will also an- 
 nihilate my existence. Oh, merciful Father ! let me not lose 
 that past — may I never lose the memory of my childhood 
 and my boyhood ! May those who have it in their power 
 to revive those memories, do so — in whatever manner; 
 whether by a word, a picture, a piece of music, or—" 
 
 "A note, sir," said a voice behind the Doctor, "a note 
 from Miss Emberton." 
 
 The Doctor was struck with this apposite continuation 
 of his sentence ; he took the note with a smile, opened it, 
 and read : 
 
 " Miss Josephine Emberton is almost ashamed to tres- 
 pass on the time and kindness of Doctor Courtlandt, espe 
 cially so short a time after his arrival. But presuming, 
 on her long acquaintance, she asks as a favor that he will 
 call on her some time to-day, if it should be perfectly 
 convenient, assuring him* that he will be able to assist 
 her in a very annoying matter." 
 
 " Away with dreams ; here is the waking existence ! 
 away with imagination ; here is reality !" exclaimed Doc- 
 tor Courtlandt. And putting the bracelet in his pocket, 
 after carefully folding up and restoring to its place the 
 Romeo coat, he descended. Mrs. Courtlandt met him. 
 
 " T must go to see Miss Emberton by particular re- 
 quest, aunt," he said, " here is her note. My farm busi- 
 ness must wait." 
 
 And leaving the note with Mrs. Courtlandt, he went 
 and ordered his horse. In a quarter of an hour he was 
 in the saddle, and on his way to Miss Emberton's. 
 
 He returned in the afternoon, and on again seeing Mrs. 
 Courtlandt, smiled. 
 
 " What was the business — the ' annoying matter,' I 
 mean, nephew ?" asked the old lady. 
 
 " Guess." 
 
 " I can not." 
 
 " To tell her if a man who offered himself for an over- 
 seer, was capable or not." 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 327 
 
 " Could not her trother ?" 
 
 "Oh; Mr. Robert has not studied farming; I have, 
 you know — but still, Miss Emberton should have sent 
 for you ; you are a much better one than myself." 
 
 "Pshaw!" 
 
 " But that was not the most striking part of the 
 affair." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Can you imagine who the man was who desired to 
 fill the position of overseer at the Glades ?" 
 
 " No ; I never could guess." 
 
 " Mr. Huddleshingle." 
 
 " "What! he who in old times — ^whom Brother Jacob — " 
 
 " Yes — the very same I" 
 
 "And how did you arrange it; is he Miss Emberton's 
 overseer ?" 
 
 " No, no — upon seeing me he became very embarrassed 
 and angry, and refused to live at the Glades, saying he 
 had changed his mind. He will go to the West, he says, 
 to-morrow ; and I feel little commiseration for him. He 
 never was an honest man." 
 
 " That was a piost scandalous trick of his." 
 
 " Yes, yes, aunt ; but this entails on me the discovery 
 of another overseer for Miss Emberton. Well, I must go 
 and consult her on the subject. She is a most agreeable 
 person, aunt," said the Doctor, thoughtfully, " and less 
 changed than I imagined." 
 
 "I always told you Josephine was an excellent girl. 
 She is little altered in character, though much more 
 sedate." 
 
 " I returned some of her property — an old bracelet ; 
 and we had a very hearty old time laugh. Really she is 
 a very agreeable woman, excellent Mrs. Courtlandt ! But 
 where is Max ?" 
 
 " There he is coming," said Mrs. Courtlandt. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 COMFORT AND HELP TO THE WEAK-HEARTED. 
 
 Max came in looking ill-humored and melancholy : tut 
 there was in this expression of disquietude nothing resem- 
 bling his habitual sombre and listless apathy. Plainly his 
 moodiness was the result of some direct tangible circum- 
 stance which had lately occurred ; and that, the watchful 
 eye of Doctor Courtlandt discerned as usual at the first 
 glance. Thus the young man's low spirits did not afflict 
 him in the least ; very evidently it did not lie very deep 
 beneath the surface, and thus would easily pass away. 
 
 Max saluted his father and aunt, and after a few list- 
 less words again put on his hat, and carelessly walked out 
 upon the hill. He bent his way to the spot where they 
 had wandered along on that beautiful evening — himself 
 his cousins, and Mr. Robert Emberton — and reaching the 
 moss-covered rock upon which Alice and her companion 
 had seated themselves, stopped moodily. The evening 
 was very fine; the sun, just about to set, filled the air 
 with its warm rosy light, and the, whole universe seemed 
 to be at rest. The perfume of the autumn leaves floated 
 hither and thither borne along by the soft breeze, and 
 there was in every feature of the fair landscape, vailed as 
 it was by the slight haze, that thoughtful, melancholy 
 grace, which inclines the heart and memory to dreamy 
 reverie. 
 
 The young man seated himself upon the rock where 
 Alice had sat, and fell into this dreamy species of reverie. 
 But there was, little inclination for pleasant thought in 
 his mind. That visit from which he had anticipated so 
 much delight, had by one of those unlucky circumstances 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 329 
 
 which seem to spring up in the path of all men like an 
 adverse fate, been turned into a bitter trial. He had 
 gone from home on that morning, happy, joyful, full of 
 an "unaccustomed spirit," which had "lifted him above 
 the ground with cheerful thoughts." Alice, he said to 
 himself, would be there to meet him, and in her dear 
 company he would spend a long happy day, in the bright 
 snnshine, wandering in search of flowers, directing his 
 steps to every pretty knoll and forest glade, drinking 
 in the music of her voice, the soft light of her tender 
 thoughtful eyes. 
 
 All this the young man had promised himself, and all 
 this had been reversed by the simple presence of Mr. 
 Robert Emberton, who like a Satan entered his Paradise 
 and threw every thing into confusion. 
 
 Mr. Emberton throughout the whole day — Max re- 
 flected with bitter enmity — had attached himself to Alice, 
 and this on the avowed ground that Caroline had quarreled 
 with him, and for the time had declined to accept his 
 overtures of friendship. That this was all a pretense on 
 Mr. Emberton's part, merely a ruse to cover his preference 
 for Alice, was perfectly plain to the young man ; and this 
 view was completely substantiated by the simple fact that 
 Caroline had plainly not " fallen out" with Mr. Emberton. 
 He, Max, had attached himself perforce to that young lady, 
 and in consequence a drama was enacted, of which the 
 former scene upon the spot he now occupied was but the 
 rehearsal ; a drama full of mistakes', misunderstandings, 
 explanations, and complaints. So the day passed, and 
 four persons who undeniably took pleasure in each other's 
 society, had separated with ill-concealed bad-humor. 
 
 It was perfectly plain to the young man that Alice did 
 not care for him, whether she felt a very lively affection 
 for Mr. Emberton, or not. This possibility made Max at 
 the same time wrathful and wretched. If such were the 
 case what right had he to complain, he asked himself. 
 
330 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 If Alice preferred the society of Mr. Emberton to his own, 
 was not such a preference perfectly proper and rational ? 
 "What was he, with his melancholy face and abstracted 
 manner, the young man thought — his proud lip curling 
 sorrowfully — that the young girl should abandon for his 
 society so very elegant a gentleman — so full of amusing 
 anecdote, and sparkling repartee, so easy, graceful, so 
 calculated to please the taste of women with his pleasant 
 humor ! 
 
 The consequence of this train of thought was that 
 gradually the young man's mind — like a cup held be- 
 neath a rock, dripping with brackish water — filled with 
 harsh and poisoned thoughts. Anger, jealousy, love, 
 chased each other incessantly through his inoody brain, 
 and wrapped in this reverie so full of anguish, he lost 
 sight of the fair scene around him, as completely as if it 
 had no real existence ; his feverish eyes fixed alone on 
 the scenes his brain had conjured up. 
 
 Suddenly he felt a hand upon his shoulder ; and turn- 
 ing round, saw his father who had approached without 
 his perceiving it, so profoundly had he been absorbed in 
 this bitter and agitating reverie. 
 
 "You are melancholy, my child," said Doctor Court- 
 landt, tenderly, " come, drive away these thoughts which 
 follow you like hounds ; yield to them and they will tear 
 you down and kill you." 
 
 The young man, troubled and gloomy, made no reply. 
 
 " I do not ask you the occasion of your melancholy," 
 continued the Doctor, " but I offer you a medicine which 
 will prove a panacea, whatever your malady may be. 
 Plainly something annoys and agitates you. Well, take 
 my advice, and banish this something from your mind." 
 
 "I can not, sir; — I confess I am annoyed," the younc 
 man added, in a low voice, " more than annoyed." 
 
 " Well, rid yourself of this annoyance ; for you can. 
 Youth is so credulous, so eager in every thing ; ali 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 331 
 
 things loom large and threatening through the mist of 
 inexperience. The shadows — long and enormous, it is 
 true, but shadows still — are, in your eyes, giants armed 
 with wrath and destruction. Laugh at them ! laugh at 
 your annoyances ! they are, but shadows." 
 
 " Yes, sir," murmured Max, " shadows — for they 
 darken my heart." 
 
 "My son," said Doctor Courtlandt, taking the young 
 man's arm and pointing to the setting sun, " what see 
 you there ?" 
 
 " Sunset, sir — night is coming." 
 
 "Nothing' more?" 
 
 " Darkness and wind." 
 
 " More, more is coming, Max, than darkness and cold, 
 and the chill biting wind ! The morning also comes ! — 
 the morning full of warmth, and light, and joy ; filled 
 with the music of gay birds, instinct with hope and hap- 
 piness '• You believe as much from faith, since you see 
 no trace now of any such thing ; well, bring your faith 
 to bear upon the world ! If God obscures the heart with 
 shadows, He can also again illuminate it with joy ; if you 
 are unhappy, you may still be very happy. I have never 
 yet despaired ; and because I have seen in every event of 
 rriy checkered life the hand of God. He does every thing 
 for the best, and lets no sparrow fall unheeded. Re- 
 member that ! The misery of His poor creatures here is 
 not pleasing to that merciful and omnipotent God ; enough ! 
 remember this, my child ! Let us return." 
 
 And accompanied by his son Doctor Courtlandt re- 
 turned to the houae. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 BY THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 The autumn passed with all its joyful splendor and 
 its dreamy beauty ; its singing bi-rds, and many-colored 
 forests, and its tender flowers glittering like jewels in the 
 crevices between mossy rooks, and on the sunny hillsides. 
 The winter wind had come ; and it sighed mournfally 
 through the tall bare trees which bent before it now-^so 
 stormy was it — ^but then sprang up again like giants, and 
 catching it in their gaunt hands, made it sue load for 
 mercy. Ah ! very unlike those soft breezes, were these 
 stormy winter blasts, which had dispelled with a single 
 breath, the tender haze of autumn from the woods and 
 hills. They rolled like thunder through the lofty pines, 
 or like a great organ peal — so "musical" was this "dis- 
 cord ;" so " swfeet" this " thunder" of the winter wind. 
 
 Then the sky became obscured as if some enormous 
 flock of wild pigeons, such as once were wont to pass 
 here in Virginia, were flying over the mountain land : 
 then one morning when the mountaineers arose, they saw 
 pass by their windows myriads of downy flakes, which 
 any one of imaginative temperament might have said, 
 were in truth the feathers, soft and very white, of those 
 flying pigeon-nations, scattered from those mid-air-flying- 
 breasts, by the great stormy artillery of Heaven. 
 
 The autumn was, thus, dead ; wild geese no longer were 
 seen flying southward far up in the clouds, from which 
 their faint cry floats so clearly to the ear ; the carol of 
 the robin was no longer heard ; the ilowers had perished, 
 even the golden-rod, last lingerer on the hill:? ; — in one 
 word, winter had set in in earnest, there iu the K3"natfiia- 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 333 
 
 land, and one of those good, honest, old-tinae snows, 
 which scorned to lie less than a foot or two in depth, now 
 wrapped the whole landscape in its bridal vail, 
 
 In the houses, diligent preparation had been made to 
 meet the enemy ; and every where he was routed by blaz- 
 ing wood fires, and by furs such as fair ladies wrap them- 
 selves in, when the merry sleigh-bells tinkle at the door. 
 But more than all did the cold dismal winter night yield 
 up its power for evil before the merry laughter of the 
 happy-hearted children in the long evenings playing their 
 thousand games — as " Blind man's buff," " 'Tis oats, 
 peas, beans, and barley grow," and many others — by the 
 bright, roaring fire. At the houses where> these scenes 
 were enacted, this merry laughter heard, the grim old 
 Winter dared not show his nose, but peeping through the 
 window furtively, passed on slowly, otherwhither ! 
 
 We have thought it unnecessary to chronicle all the 
 sayings and doings of the personages of this brief history ; 
 since the few scenes we have attempted to trace, have 
 we hope, served to indicate sufiiciently for the purposes 
 of the narrative up to the present moment, the characters 
 and surroundings of those personages. 
 
 Doctor Courtlandt had become now quite a regular 
 visitor at the Glades, and indeed Miss Emberton had 
 found the little whist parties, which were gotten up by 
 him for her amusement, a very acceptable substitute for 
 the usual listless "reading aloud" of her brother, in the 
 long winter evenings. Mr. Robert Emberton cherished 
 for his sister a very devoted affection, but reading he con- 
 sidered a great bore — much more, reading aloud. Doctor 
 Courtlandt's whist arrangement, therefore, met with the 
 hearty approbation of both the brother and sister : and 
 Mr. Emberton's opinion of the elegant traveled gentleman, 
 spurred by self-interest, vastly increased. He had, how- 
 ever, deferred in all things to Doctor Courtlandt, from the 
 first moment of their acquaintance, M. Pantoufle even, 
 
334 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 now domiciled at the G-lades, gained a new interest from 
 his former acquaintance with such a man. 
 
 At the Parsonage, Mr. Robert Emberton and Mr. Max 
 Courtlandt were very constant visitors. The Comedy of 
 Errors had been repeated so often, that it might have 
 been justly considered a great favorite with the actors 
 and the audience — on this occasion, one and the same. 
 The young men often drove over to ride the ladies out in 
 their sleighs ; and this tacit rivalry had in a great degree 
 served to remove Mr. Emberton's listlessness, and Max's 
 melancholy. 
 
 Thus more than a month had passed rapidly, and Christ- 
 mas began to hint of its approach, in the diligent attention 
 paid by Mrs. Courtlandt to her larder, in, the busy em- 
 ployment of the young girls on their various " Christmas 
 gifts" to be — but more than all in the joyful anticipation 
 plain in every eye. 
 
 The sunshine sparkling on the snow, was not half as 
 brilliant as those joyful eyes. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 boMEDY OF errors: act v. 
 
 One fine morning two gayly caparisoned sleighs were 
 standing tefore the door of the Parsonage, the horses of 
 which tossed their heads impatiently, and spurned with 
 their shaggy-fetlooked feet, the glittering snow. At every 
 movement of their heads, the sleigh-hells attached to their 
 harness gave out a merry jingling ; at each pawing with 
 their impatient feet, the snow flew around like a cloud of 
 pearly powder. 
 
 Within, in the comfortahle dining-room, roared cheer- 
 fully a huge wood fire, and round this fire were grouped, 
 the old mountaineer, Mrs. Courtlandt (her husband was 
 ahsent on a pastoral visit), Alice, and Caroline. 
 
 The young girls were wrapping themselves up in that 
 mountain of shawls, and furs, and comforts, which young 
 ladies will always continue to wrap themselves up in, to 
 the end of the world. Caroline's merry face and dancing 
 eyes were already half buried in a huge " nubia," and 
 she overflowed with joy and laughter at every word which 
 was uttered ; Alice, more quiet and sedate, but full of 
 anticipation, had already put on her wrapping. 
 
 Max and Mr. Robert Emberton, enveloped in their 
 comfortable surtouts, leaned opposite each other against 
 the mantle-piece. 
 
 Old hunter John looked at his grandchildren with 
 affectionate pride. 
 
 " There you are," he said, his old face lit up with a 
 happy smile, "all wrappin' up and fixin' yourselves as if 
 you were going to the end of the world, instead of takin' 
 a little jaunt to town ! Cheeks as red as roses, I declare." 
 
336 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Thank you for the compliment, grandfather," said 
 Alice, demurely. 
 
 " I'm a poor hand at payin' compliments," said the 
 old mountaineer, smiling. " "When I was a youngster I 
 did a deal of it, though ; and I always found it test to 
 pile 'em up pretty strong ; the girls liked it all the better, 
 if I don't disrememher." 
 
 "Take warning, gentlemen!" cried Caroline, "there 
 is a great deal of truth in what grandfather says." 
 
 " Yes !" said the old man, with a cheerful and thought- 
 ful look, "I was a wild youngster, and many's the time 
 I have spent the whole night shaking my heels to the 
 music of the fiddle ! The times then were most nigh 
 uproarious, and the girls thought nothing of dancin' reels 
 from sundown to sunrise. Merry times ! merry times !" 
 sighed the old man, " but all gone many a long day into 
 the dust. They were like wild geese flyin' 'way off to 
 the south, and never comin' back again ; but I don't 
 mourn over 'em. The Lord has been very good to me, 
 and the old time was bright enough for me considerin'. 
 Now I am mighty feeble, and most nigh gone to the other 
 country ; I begin to think the horn is goin' to sound for 
 me 'fore long ; and when it does sound, I'm in hopes I'll 
 be able to say, ' Come, Lord Jesus, I've been a waitin' for 
 you long.' " 
 
 Alice put her arms round the old man's neck, and 
 kissed him. 
 
 " Don't be gloomy, dear grandfather," she said, with a 
 tremor in her voice. 
 
 " I ain't gloomy, darlin'," the old man said, " no, no, 
 I ain't gloomy ! Why should I be gloomy ? I might 'a 
 been once. When I was a young strong man I lived my 
 life like the rest, without thinking or caring for any thing 
 but the fun and frolic of the time. My heart was full of 
 blood, and I never knew what it was to be weary in the 
 old days then — not if I hunted for days and nights togeth- 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 337 
 
 !>•, oi- was on the Injun trail 'way off in the tackwoods — 
 tho' the woods here were far enough tack from the Ridge. 
 If you had 'a told me then I was soon goin' to die and 
 leave all the fine world, and have no more fine times 
 a-dancin', and huntin', and frolickin' with the boys, you 
 might 'a made me gloomy ; it would he too much to ex-, 
 pect the young people to give up their life, when they 
 enjoy every thing so much, 'thout feelin' as if they would 
 like to stay in the grand, beautiful world. No, no ! the 
 young love life, and the merciful Grod wisely made it so. 
 They have nothing to do with sighin', and moanin', and 
 thinkin' of the other world, though I don't deny they had 
 better be givin' some thought to the time when the 
 trumpet '11 sound. I might 'a felt gloomy then, if some 
 body had 'a told me, ' Hunter John, you're goin' to die.' 
 But now I look on this world as my tarryin' place for a 
 little while only. My heart ain't got much blood in it, 
 and my body's gettin' mighty poorly and feeble, and 'fore 
 long, Alice dear, the time will come when the old man, 
 your grandfather, will lay with his forefathers in the dust 
 out o' which Grod made him. No, no !" the old man said 
 cheerfully, "I'm a lookin' forward to the time with hope. 
 The old weak body is nigh parted from the spirit, but 
 the spirit don't want to stay. It's bound home, my 
 darlin'." 
 
 Alice turned round to wipe her eyes. 
 
 " Gro on now, children," said hunter John, "you are in 
 the spring time. Daughter Sally a-knitting and smiling 
 yonder is the summer, and I am the winter; but you 
 are the spring ; go, children." 
 
 " We are going to bring Saint Nic up, dear grand- 
 father," said Caroline,." he's a good old man, and I know 
 you'll like him." 
 
 " I never did see him yet," replied hunter John, smiling 
 and kissing the young girl, " but I've heard of him often- 
 times. Come, you're a-losin' time." 
 
 P 
 
338 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 The girls kissed their mother, for young ladies nevei 
 omit this ceremony in the presence of gentlemen, and ran 
 to the door. Mr. Emterton's sleigh was the nearest, and 
 Alice happened to reach the door before Caroline. The 
 consequence was that the fifth act of the comedy of errors 
 was inaugurated hy Mr. Emberton's politely helping Alice 
 into his sleigh. Not one of t|ie party looked at any other 
 member of it, and Max assisted Caroline into his sleigh 
 without betraying his disappointment. 
 
 The heavy furs were thrown over them, and the two 
 sleighs darted from the door like flashes of light, leaving 
 behind them — as a ship leaves in her wake a trail of foam 
 — a long "dying fall" of merry bell-chime music, on the 
 frosty air. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 IN THE FIRST SLEIGH : OR PROPERLY THE SECOND. 
 
 Mr. Emberton and Alice, inasmuch as their sleigh was 
 before that of Max and Caroline, took the lead ; and in a 
 few moments — so rapid was their flight — the whole party 
 arrived at and commenced the ascent of the Third Hill 
 mountain, cutting through the heavy snow drifts, darting 
 along on the hard frozen portions of the road, and every 
 moment rising higher above the little valley which they 
 could already, from their elevated position, overlook 
 throughout its entire length and breadth. 
 
 The morning was bright and beautiful, but bracing 
 and cold. The cool wind brought roses into the cheeks 
 of the young girls, and the sunlight flooded their bright 
 faces and laughing eyes with its full golden splendor. 
 
 Nestling under her furs, Caroline bent her eyes on the 
 sleigh which glided rapidly, with its merry bells some 
 distance on before them. She seemed to be somewhat 
 annoyed at the unlucky mistake which had thrown her 
 with her cousin. Not that Caroline disliked Max; on 
 the contrary she was very fond of him ; but only in that 
 cousinly degree which is so far removed from any softer 
 feeling. She had set her heart on riding with Mr. Em- 
 berton that day ; and had arranged an agreeable little 
 series of teasings for his especial benefit ; and she was 
 much disappointed at not being able to carry into effect 
 these amiable intentions. 
 
 Max's eyes, if the truth must be told, were also fixed 
 upon the sleigh in advance of them, much more frequent- 
 ly than upon the beautiful girl at his side. We know 
 his secret at least — if that of other persons is not so 
 
'd^O LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 plain ; and it must be confessed the young man had felt 
 a very acute disappointment, at the accident which had 
 prevented him from having the charming ride he had 
 promised himself with Alice by his side. Mr. Emberton 
 did not improve in his opinion, for his own agency in the 
 matter. 
 
 " See what a glorious day, cousin Caroline," said Max, 
 "here we are on the mountain top, and yonder is the 
 North Mountain which we must also cross before we can 
 swoop down on Martinsburg." 
 
 "Yes, yes, a lovely day!" cried Caroline, "but the 
 wind is very cold." 
 
 " Oh, you must expect that — " 
 
 " In a sleigh ride, I know. I rather enjoy the opld." 
 
 "Wrap up well — fix the bear skin over your feet 
 securely," said the young man, bending down and arrang- 
 ing the fur around the young girl's delicate ankles. 
 
 "Oh, they feel much warmer now! Thank you. 
 How fast we are going !" 
 
 "Do you like sleigh bells ?" 
 
 " Oh, I dehght in them." 
 
 " And I ; I think they are very merry." 
 
 " Very merry." 
 
 This entertaining dialogue was gone through with 
 somewhat absently, the eyes of the interlocutors being 
 fixed on the sleigh before them, which was flying like a 
 swallow over the smooth descent of the mountain, its 
 merry bells supplying pleasantly the place of echoes to 
 their own. 
 
 " What music !" said Caroline. 
 
 " Delightful," replied Max. 
 
 " And at this rate we will swoop down on Martinsburg 
 in a little while, as you say, cousin Max. You don't 
 intend to carry off any body, do you ?" 
 
 "How?" 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 341 
 
 " Hawks only, swoop — and hawks carry off chickens," 
 said Caroline, philosophically. 
 
 " There are no chickens in town equal to our mountain 
 ones," said Max, laughing. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Flatterer !" 
 
 " You are welcome to your portion, cousin Carry," said 
 Max, absently. 
 
 " My small portion I know : for you can not deny that 
 Alice takes up the greater part." 
 
 " Certainly, I deny it," said Max, slacking his rein and 
 thereby increasing the speed of the already flying sleigh. 
 
 " Deny what?" said Caroline, looking mischievously at 
 her cousin. 
 
 " Why, deny your accusation !" said Max, turning 
 round with some embarrassmeijt and fixing his eyes on 
 his cousin's laughing face. 
 
 " "What accusation ?" 
 
 " The one you made." 
 
 " "What was it ?" 
 
 Max laughed and colored slightly with the conscious- 
 ness that Caroline had fathomed his abstraction ;. Caroline 
 burst out laughing. 
 
 " You were not thinking of me, cousin Max," she said, 
 " you were thinking of Alice. Upon my word I believe 
 you are in love with her, and now I come to think of it— 
 to remember — to put this and that together — yes I'd take 
 my oath you are in love with sister !" cried the young 
 girl clapping her hands and laughing merrily. 
 
 Max blushed and turned away his head from his cousin. 
 
 "What folly!" he muttered. 
 
 " Do you deny it?" 
 
 " Certainly," said Max, smiling and regaining confi- 
 dence. 
 
 " You ought to reply, ' Certainly I deny it,' " said 
 Caroline, archly, "then you would use the very words 
 you did just now, when I charged you with allowing 
 
342 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 Alice a larger portion of your regard than myself, and 
 when you did not hear me because you were so intently 
 gazing at her in the sleigh before us !" 
 
 The young girl's laugh rang out loud and merry. Max 
 adroitly turned the conversation. 
 
 " We are coming to the stream," said he, " I suppose 
 the ice will bear us. It is quite deep, and I should not 
 fancy giving you a wetting, my charming cousin." 
 
 " See ! they are nearly on the ice." 
 
 " Heaven send it don't break !'' 
 
 The sleigh of Mr. Emberton darted across the frozen 
 stream like a sunbeam, throwing the light coating of snow 
 which lay upon it, up in brilliant clouds. Just as they 
 reached the other side, Mr. Robert Emberton, by a sudden 
 movement pressed his lips to Alice's cheek. 
 
 This manoeuvre was distinctly perceived by Max and 
 Caroline, and without thinking of the conversation they 
 had just had, they both uttered an indignant exclamation. 
 
 " It is too bad — really too bad !" said the young man, 
 his brow flushing with anger. 
 
 " It is outrageous !" said Caroline. 
 
 " On what pretense ! — " 
 
 " I should like to know !" 
 
 " For this person — " muttered Max, throwing a wrath- 
 ful glance at Mr. Emberton's sleigh. 
 
 " For Alice — " said Caroline ; and then stopped. 
 
 " It was not Alice's fault," said Max. 
 
 " It certainly was wrong in her to submit to it, cousin !" 
 said Caroline. 
 
 " The wrong is from him — and he shall — " 
 
 The young man stopped, half from indignation, half 
 from a feeling of propriety. Caroline was not the per- 
 son to inform of his intention to call Mr. Emberton to 
 account. 
 
 " It certainly is not a bridge !" said the young girl. 
 
 " And is it well settled that ladies are kissed on bridges ?" 
 
EEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 343 
 
 " When they are sleighing — at least they would not be 
 justified in feeling offended." 
 
 " But this is not a bridge," said Max. 
 
 " I just said so," said Caroline. 
 
 'Why then— ?" 
 
 " Certainly : why then ?" And Caroline hurst out 
 laughing. 
 
 " You are in love with Alice," said she, merrily, " you 
 are too indignant for any thing hut a lover." 
 
 Max turned full upon his laughing cousin, and smiled 
 satirically. 
 
 " You were quite as indignant as myself!" he said, with 
 a meaning look. Caroline blushed to the roots of her 
 hair. 
 
 "Come, dear cousin Carry," said Max, "don't let us 
 quarrel ; I never rriean to hurt any one's feelings." 
 
 The young girl pouted, and replied : 
 
 "My feelings are not hurt." 
 
 " Then let us strain a point, and turn the ice into a 
 bridge ;" said Max, as they darted at full speed on the 
 smooth surface, " a cousinly kiss to make friends !" 
 
 The frozen stream was crossed, and they fled onward 
 like the wind. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 IN THE SECOND SLEIGH : OR PROPERLY THE FIRST. 
 
 " Mr. Emberton !" exclaimed Alice, indignantly, " you 
 had no right to kiss me ! and I request as a favor, sir, 
 that you will not repeat the offense !" 
 
 Mr. Emberton looked surprised. 
 
 "Offense?" he said. 
 
 " Yes, sir ! It was an offense !" 
 
 " You astonish me. Miss Alice — upon my word you do." 
 
 " If other young ladies permit gentlemen to take such 
 liberties," replied the young girl, in an offended tone, "I, 
 at least do not, sir." 
 
 " I was not aware that I had been guilty of taking 
 liberties. Miss Alice," said Mr. Robert Emberton, tran- 
 quilly. " 1 looked upon the thing as a matter of course ; 
 quite mathematical ! and I reduce the thing to an alge- 
 braic equation thus — a sleigh ridej»/MS a young lady and 
 a bridge, equal to one kiss ; or more scientifically stated, 
 
 But seeing that these bantering words were very far 
 from removing the young girl's ill-humor : 
 
 " Seriously speaking. Miss Alice," continued the young 
 man, " I do not think my conduct — dreadful word that, 
 always means mischief — has been so outrageous. Things 
 are proper or improper as they are regarded in the lighf 
 of abstract propriety, or conventional propriety. Now I 
 maintain that convention — mighty and terrible force as 
 the philosophers say — absolves me for my — conduct ; yes, 
 I repeat that terrible word ; absolves me from any blame. 
 And why ? 
 
 ' The vihy is plain as way to Parish Church.' 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 34a 
 
 as Jacques says ; excuse me, I don't often quote Shaks- 
 peare — rit bores me." 
 
 " Mr. Emberton, you make every thing ridiculous." 
 
 " Ridiculous ? — every thing is ridiculous ! Ridiculous ? 
 It is the essence of life — the staple of our being — ridicu- 
 lousness — folly. I am exceedingly ridiculous myself. 
 Miss Alice, confidentially speaking; don't mention it, 
 since I would say as much only to you. But let me 
 achieve by one bold stroke my pardon. I was about to 
 say that convention, among many other things, has 
 decided that a gentleman may, while waltzing, clasp a 
 lady in his arms with fraternal affection, although he may 
 be a perfect stranger to the said lady ; it has also quite 
 settled the propriety of kissing when bridges are crossed 
 in sleighs — " 
 
 " It was not a bridge !" interrupted Alice, recovering 
 from her ill-humor somewhat. 
 
 ■" Not a bridge ! not a bridge which we crossed some 
 moments since?" exclaimed Mr. Emberton, with well 
 counterfeited surprise. 
 
 " Certainly not, sir !" 
 
 " It certainly was !" 
 
 " Thank you for contradicting me, sir," said Alice. 
 
 " Contradicting you !" 
 
 " I said it was not a bridge — you say it is ; pray is not 
 that a contradiction, sir ?" 
 
 " By no means." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because the spirit of contradiction is wanting," replied 
 Mr. Emberton, with ready and nice philosophic discrim- 
 ination. " If you say, ' I think it is not a bridge,' and I 
 reply with all deference, ' I think, madam, it is an excel- 
 lent one' — the simple question arises, which of us is mis- 
 taken. If you say, ' It is a bridge,' and I reply, ' It is 
 not,' then there is some opening for a charge of contradic- 
 tion — to be decided in due course by the duello. A bridge 
 
346 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 is a very good thing to fight on — at Lodi, for instance. 
 But I see I am boring you, and I hegin to feel the approach 
 of the foe myself, evoked, \\rhich is worse, hy myself. I 
 vifill therefore state that there formerly was a bridge at 
 the point we crossed, and that bridge is no doubt now 
 beneath the current. I believe you are not doing me the 
 honor of listening very attentively to my profound philo- 
 sophical remarks, Miss Alice," continued Mr. Emberton, 
 with great equanimity ; " what are you looking at ?" 
 
 " The mountains ; they are very beautiful. Are they 
 not ?" 
 
 " Oh, charming," replied Mr. Robert Emberton, well 
 content that Alice had regained her good-humor, " not 
 equal to Mont Blanc, however, I imagine." 
 
 " No, I suppose not ; Max could tell us." 
 
 It now became- Mr. Emberton's turn for complaining. 
 
 " You are no doubt, somewhat disappointed at our 
 arrangement to-day," he said, " are you not?" 
 
 " What arrangement, pray ?" 
 
 " Mr. Courtlandt with Miss Caroline, and yourself con- 
 sequently bored by your humble servant ?" 
 
 " I am never bored, sir," said Alice, unconsciously 
 turning round to look at Caroline and her cousin. 
 
 " "Which is as much as to say you are not bored on 
 this occasion, simply from the fact that the feeling is un- 
 known to you, eh ?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " You are pleased with my society then ?" asked Mr. > 
 Emberton with logical deduction. 
 
 " Delighted, sir !" said Alice, smiling. 
 
 " Consider yourself profoundly saluted," said Mr. Em- 
 berton, inclining. 
 
 " And what do you say to my society ?" asked Alice, 
 laughing. 
 
 " It is charming, as it always is, my dear Miss Alice." 
 
 " You are sure you would not prefer Caroline's ?" 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 347 
 
 " Oh, perfectly sure !" 
 
 " Caroline with her vivacity and delightful flow of 
 spirits — " 
 
 " I like you best !" 
 
 " And so much prettier than I am," said Alice, looking 
 wistfully back. 
 
 " Who could imagine such a thing ?" 
 
 " Then," said AHce, " you can not complain of the ' ar- 
 rangement ?' " ■, 
 
 "No, no; but you can. There is that elegant young 
 traveled gentleman, Mr. Courtlandt, whom you have" 
 missed ; your cousin too — cousins are so agreeable, you 
 know," said Mr. Emberton with some gloom. " He could 
 tell you, as you said, all about Mount Blanc and Italy." 
 
 " He does not talk much." 
 
 " He seems to be tolerably well engaged in conversa- 
 tion now," muttered Mr. Emberton. 
 
 " He is fond of cousin Caroline," said Alice, in the 
 same tone. 
 
 " Yes ?" said Mr. Emberton, frowning like Bombastes 
 Furioso. 
 
 " And she of him," said Alice. 
 
 " No !" exclaimed Mr. Emberton. 
 
 " Indeed I am in earnest — of course I mean Carry 
 thinks him agreeable." 
 
 " She thinks me very disagreeable." 
 
 "And Max thinks as much of me," said Alice, turning 
 away her head. 
 
 Mr. Emberton suddenly remembered himself, and again 
 assumed his languid petit maitre manner. 
 
 " Likes and dislikes are a great bore," he yawned. 
 " The only good thing in life is a fast horse ;* you do feel 
 then as if you had blood in your veins. A spanker, eh ?" 
 continued Mr. Emberton, languidly pointing to his flying 
 animal. 
 
 " Oh, certainly," said Alice. 
 
CPIAPTER XXI. 
 
 BUYING CHRISTMAS-GIFTS. 
 
 The North Moantain was passed — that giant reposing 
 at full length upon the margin of the pretty stream, 
 murmuring over such beautiful mossy rocks in its pil- 
 ■ grimage to the Potomac — a huge bulk unmoved by wars 
 or rumors of wars, unaffected by the changes in all hu- 
 man things, indifferent equally to the snows of winter 
 falling on his brow, and summer sunlight flooding with 
 its joyful radiance all his supine length — ever silent and 
 uncomplaining, ever patiently biding his time, through 
 pleasant days when birds sing merrily in the blue mid 
 air above, through winter nights when the chill wind 
 sighs through the evergreens, bowing their lofty heads in 
 wonder at its tidings of far distant lands ! 
 
 A moment's pause on the high-raised summit, to gaze 
 upon the wide Lowland, wrapped in its bridal garment 
 and flashing in the sunlight, and the sleighs sped on. 
 They passed down the steep road carefully, fled by the 
 old Tuscarora meeting-house, whose waHs, could they 
 speak, might relate to the present generation many won- 
 drous narratives of the olden time, and so with merrily 
 tinkling bells, ran like bright dragon flies, stripped of 
 their obscuring mail and darting like light-flashes through 
 the sunlight, into the bustling town. 
 
 Christmas was coming in Martinsburg also. At the 
 rumor of Saint Nicholas's expected arrival — ^not by the 
 oars, however, be it understood — the whole town had 
 come forth to look for him ; as when a great man is ex- 
 peoted daily, the whole community are abroad to wel- 
 come him. 
 
LEATHER- STOCKING AND SILK. 349 
 
 The stores were decked out in their gayest stuffs ; in 
 every window silks and velvets, and tempting jewelry, for 
 Christmas presents, caught the eye ; and every street was 
 full of joyful wayfarers — holiday-looking young gentle- 
 men — and gayly dressed ladies, and rejoicing children — 
 going the rounds to look at the myriad of pretty things and 
 purchase their presents for the coming Christmas night. 
 
 Conspicuous among these handsomely decorated stores 
 was that of our old acquaintance, Mr. Barlow ; that Mr. 
 Barlow who had promised faithfully on no account to sell 
 the Romeo coat to any one but Max, in the old times, 
 merry and long ago. He was still the obliging and 
 worthy gentleman he had proved himself on that occa- 
 sion ; full of very cheerful smiles, and ready to unroll for 
 all who entered his broad door, his various attractive 
 cloths and silks and velvets. 
 
 The young girls stopped first before his door ; and the 
 gallantry of their cavaliers was quite obscured by that of 
 Mr. Barlow, who assisted them to the broad, well-matted 
 door step with profound and most engaging courtesy. 
 
 " Grood-morning, Mr. Barlow," cried Caroline, "how 
 many pretty things you have ! Please show me that velvet." 
 
 Mr. Barlow unrolled it. 
 
 The velvet was such as Caroline wanted, and she pur- 
 chased enough for her Christmas gift to her mother ; then 
 a large bundle of warm worsted for comforts ; these were 
 intended for her father and grandfather. 
 
 " Velvet ? What is that for, my dear Miss Caroline ?" 
 asked Mr. Robert Emberton, languidly. 
 
 " For a present, sir," said Caroline. 
 
 " Ah, yes ! really now that did not occur to me. And 
 that thread ?" 
 
 "What thread?" 
 
 "In your hand." 
 
 " It is not thread ; it is worsted." 
 
 " Worsted — really ! and what do you purpose making 
 of that worsted ?" 
 
350 LEATHES STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 "Making use of it," said Caroline. 
 
 " No !" said Mr. Emberton. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Barlow," continued Caroline, " please show 
 me some pearl-colored cloth, very fine but thick and 
 warm." 
 
 Mr. Barlow took down a roll. 
 
 Caroline bent over and whispered to him, inquiringly. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; quite enough," said Mr. Barlow, smiling with 
 a look of perfect intelligence, "will you have that much?" 
 
 " If you please." , 
 
 "How much?" said Mr. Emberton, turning round, 
 "and what is it?" 
 
 " It is cloth — pearl-colored — you may see for yourself," 
 said Caroline, indifferently. 
 
 "And what is" it for, pray," continued Mr. Emberton, 
 yawning, "presents or use-?" 
 
 " Both, sir," said Caroline. 
 
 " For whom ?" 
 
 " That is my secret." 
 
 "A gentleman?" 
 
 "Yes — a gentleman," said Caroline, laughing and 
 blushing slightly. 
 
 Mr. Emberton's nTanner lost a little of its languor, and 
 he glanced quickly at Max. That gentleman had on, 
 under his surtout, a complete suit of pearl colored cloth, 
 whose color matched precisely that which had just been 
 purchased by Caroline. His hat alone was black, and it 
 was perfectly plain to Mr. Emberton that the cloth now 
 selected by his cousin was to be made into a cap to suit 
 the rest. This view was farther confirmed by the pur- 
 chase on Caroline's part of ribbons, pearl buttons, etc., etc. 
 such as were needed for the purpose. 
 
 , Mr. Emberton becamejealous and gloomy, and from time 
 to time cast ill-humored glances at both Max and Caroline. 
 
 Let us now see how Alice had got on with her pur- 
 chases at the other end of the counter, where a polite 
 shopman — overwhelmed and confounded by her soft voice 
 
LEATHER STOCKING- AND SILK. 351 
 
 ami tliti tender beauty of her little face — outdid himself 
 in the rapidity with which he complied with her demands. 
 Alice commenced as Caroline had done, by purchasing 
 — with the greater part of her money — those things which 
 were destined to form presents for her mother, father, and 
 grandfather. These she selected with great care, and had 
 wrapped up in a separate bundle. 
 
 " G-randfather will be pleased I know, cousin Max," 
 said the ypung girl, " with what I have for him this time. 
 Now I must not neglect my other friends." 
 
 Max, looking tenderly but anxiously at his cousin, 
 made no reply. 
 
 Alice said something to the shopman in a low tone which 
 Max did not catch ; and the overwhelmed and confounded 
 knight of the yard-stick — the most gallant and disinter- 
 ested of men — hurried to obey. He took down a roll of silk. 
 
 " Yes, that is very pretty." 
 
 " Here is the price, Miss — it is not dear, Miss — " 
 
 " No— not at all." 
 
 " But we can sell it to you cheaper — ^you are our regu- 
 lar customers, Miss." 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; please cut me off enough for the 
 pattern." 
 
 " "What is that, cousin Alice ?" asked Max, taking up 
 the handsome piece of stuff. 
 
 " Silk," said Alice, smiling. 
 
 " I know it is silk ; but what for ? A present ?" 
 
 << Yes — a present," said Alice, blushing like a rose. 
 
 " For whom, may I ask." 
 
 " Yes ; you may ask ! though that answer is far move 
 like sister, who is so merry, than myself — you know I am 
 so quiet," replied Alice, with a sparkle of her soft merry eyes. 
 
 The polite shopman heaved a deep sigh — he was a cap- 
 tive forever. 
 
 " You mean I may ask, but that you will not tell me,'* 
 said Max. 
 
352 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Yes ; I can not tell you," said Alioe^ 
 
 " At least you can tell me what is to be made of this 
 handsome silk." 
 
 " No, indeed I can not." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " That would be half of the joke, you know," replied 
 Alice, her lovely face lit up radiantly. 
 
 The poor knight of the stick put his hand upon his 
 heart, where, at that moment, a heavy load seemed to rest. 
 
 " I'm afraid it's no joke to me," said Max, laughing. 
 " But give me some guesses, as the children say." 
 
 " No, I can not." 
 
 " Not for a dress ?" 
 
 " I can not answer." 
 
 " What is it for — do tell me." 
 
 " You quoted the children just now," Alice said, laugh- 
 ing too, "well, I will answer as the children do — it is 
 for laroes to catch meddlers, cousin Max." 
 
 " Oh, how unfriendly you are, cousin." 
 
 " Unfriendly ?" said "the young girl, softly. 
 
 "Yes ; you will not tell mg ; let me think !" 
 
 Max glanced round, and his eyes fell on Mr. Emberton. 
 That gentleman was clad in black — plain and elegant, 
 though rather dandified — the only exception being his 
 waistcoat, which was a bright scarlet, in the latest mode. 
 
 " Your silk is for a waistcoat, cousin Alice," said Max, his 
 merriment suddenly changing to mortification and gloom. 
 
 Alice blushed and looked furtively at her cousin ; and 
 without thinking, said : 
 
 " How could you guess ?" 
 
 "It is for a waistcoat, then?" asked Max, in a morti- 
 fied tone. 
 
 " Yes, cousin Max," said Alice, in a low voice. 
 
 Max gently bowed his head, making no reply; then he 
 turned away without heeding the hurt and embarrassed 
 expression on Alice's lovely face, for she had with those 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 353 
 
 jealous eyes of hers, noted his mortified tone and sudden 
 gloom. Nothing could be more lovely than the young 
 girl's face at the moment. 
 
 The knight before mentioned heaved a sigh so piteous 
 and profound, that " i-t did seem to shatter all his bulk." 
 He was afterward heard to declare, that he would win 
 that young lady for his bride, or perish in the attempt. 
 
 The whole party left Mr. Barlow's, and once more en- 
 tered their sleighs — Mr. Robert Emberton and Max ex- 
 changing moody glances, Alice and Caroline scarce know- 
 ing what to think. 
 
 A ride of a hundred yards brought them to the jeweler's. 
 
 The jeweler's was not less brilliantly decked out than 
 Mr. Barlow's ; or rather it as much exceeded in splendor 
 that more useful establishment, as rich gold and silver 
 vessels, and rings, and breastpins, and bracelets exceed 
 the brightest silks, and the most richly woven cloths. 
 
 The shopman here seemed to be not less gallant than 
 that unfortunate knight at Mr. Barlow's. He had the. 
 eyes of Argus and the hands of Briareus ; but to set off 
 these attractions, he was as huge as the giant Enceladus, 
 and as ugly as Irus, the poorest of the Greeks. He had 
 long ago cast his eyes on Alice, that bright saint so far 
 above him ; not matrimonially ; — he never dreamed of that ; 
 but with the despairing adoration of a Chaldean priest, 
 pouring forth his love and worship for some bright par- 
 ticular star glittering in the far golden Orient. 
 
 But it will not be necessary for the purposes of our 
 tale, to dwell upon the private feelings of this gentleman. 
 "We will, however, add, before dismissing him and his 
 passion, that the mysterious affair which soon after con- 
 vulsed the borough with curiosity and dreadfulest sus- 
 pense, was owing to the fact that he and the knight at 
 Mr. Barlow's had come to a mutual knowledge of each 
 other's feelings. A bloody duel was anticipated, and 
 every number of the " Martinsburg Grazette" was care- 
 
354 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 fully scanned by the breathless community — the editor 
 of that paper having acquired a high reputation for skill 
 in getting at the "latest news" of every description. The 
 whole affair, however, was finally ended by a " corre- 
 spondence" in that paper — in which the friends of the two 
 parties, over their signatures, " were gratified to inform 
 the public that the misunderstanding, etc., etc., had been 
 amicably arranged in a manner satisfactory to both gen- 
 tlemen" — after which the subject was dismissed, and no 
 longer afforded a topic for tea-table gossip. 
 
 But we digress ; — ^the young gentlemen and their 
 fair companions made their purchases duly — ^the ladies 
 not looking at the gentlemen, the gentlemen not looking 
 at the ladies. But the unfortunate comedy, of which we 
 have carefully traced a number of scenes, had not yet run 
 its full complement of nights, or rather days. 
 
 Max bought an elegant bracelet. 
 
 " It is for sister ;" said Alice to herself, " she has one 
 on her arm which just matches it." 
 
 And Alice looked very low-spirited. 
 
 Mr. Emberton purchased a very pretty pair of ear-rings. 
 
 " They are for Alice ;" said Caroline to herself, with a 
 most engaging pout, " I know they are ; she said the 
 other day, and he heard her, that she was about to bore 
 her ears. Mr. Emberton might have accomplished that 
 painful object without buying ear-rings for her." 
 
 And Caroline sighed. 
 
 Then, the jewels being carefully wrapped in their snowy 
 cotton wrappings and put away securely in their small 
 boxes, the party once more commenced their rounds. 
 Early in the afternoon their purchases were completed, 
 and with the merry jingle of those never-quiet balls, the 
 sleighs fied back toward the mountains. 
 
 This time Max and Caroline were in advance* 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE UPSET. 
 
 They approached the steep side of the North Mountain, 
 whose ten thousand stalwart pines bent down beneath 
 the heavy snow-burden resting on their branches ; and 
 commenced the ascent, lost in admiration of the scene, so 
 still, so desolate, but so replete with beauty. 
 
 The top of the mountain was reached, and behind them 
 the entire valley from east to west — from the Blue Ridge 
 to the spot which they had now reached — was visible. 
 They gazed for a moment on the snow-clad Lowlands, 
 followed pensively the light curling wreaths of smoke 
 with admiring eyes ; then with the ever-merry tinkling 
 of the bells went rapidly down the western slope toward 
 the Third Hill Mountain find the little valley it embraced 
 in its shaggy snow-clad arms. 
 
 " It is near sunset," said Alice, " and we have some way 
 to go yet, Mr. Emberton. How much time we have lost." 
 
 " I can but felicitate myself." 
 
 " For what reason ?" 
 
 " I have had so much more of your society," said Mr, 
 Emberton tranquilly, in a matter-of-course tone. 
 
 " You seem in a complimentary humor." 
 
 " I am, my dear Miss Alice," replied Mr. Emberton, 
 yawning, " the fact is, I am this evening in quite excel- 
 lent spirits ; are not you ?" 
 
 " Not unusually," replied Alice. 
 
 "Are you uncomfortable? I am afraid you are not 
 wrapped up as well as Miss Caroline, who has for her 
 cavalier a much more elegant man than myself." 
 
 •'Which means," replied Alice, "that I am expected 
 to say that such is not the fact." 
 
356 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 "No, no, my dear Miss Alice; these little convention- 
 alities may suit ordinary young gentlemen very well ; but 
 not me. I am indifferent wholly to all that. In fact I'm 
 — exhausted ; I would say blase, hut for the undeserved 
 contempt into which that expressive word has fallen. No, 
 no — on my honor, I had no intention of fishing for a com- 
 pliment. I meant simply to say, that considering riding 
 out a hore except with a few of my lady friends, and 
 consequently heing somewhat unused to it, I had proba- 
 bly neglected to wrap you up securely from the cold." 
 
 " I am plenty warm, thank you — except my hands, 
 which I have in the hurry unaccountably neglected. They 
 are cold ; but I will get my gloves out of my reticule." 
 
 In performing this mancBuvre, Alice also drew from the 
 reticule with the gloves, a piece of paper, which fell open 
 upon the bear-skin before Mr. Emberton's eyes. This 
 paper contained some verses, and — what was more un- 
 usual — a rose bud had been wrapped in it. 
 
 "Poetry, by Jove!" said Mr, Emberton. "Excuse me. 
 Miss Alice, that shocking expression will escape me in 
 spite of my most careful attention. But who wrote these 
 verses — pardon me for having already unconsciously read 
 a portion of the first." 
 
 Alice looked annoyed ; then indifferent 
 
 " They were written by cousin Max," she said, " and 
 I have no objection to your seeing them, as you have 
 already read a part." 
 
 "It was unconscious, I assure you." 
 
 " Unconscious indeed !" 
 
 "Purely," said Mr. Emberton, taking the paper and 
 reading the verses with a languid expression : 
 
 " ' The sunset died 
 
 In regal pomp and pride — ' 
 
 purely unconscious, I assure you. Miss Alice, and did 
 you know my utter indifference to poetry in general, you 
 would at once admit my excuse. My eyes fell upon the 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 357 
 
 page without any intention on my part of reading what 
 was thereon written. MS. is such a bore." 
 
 Alice had already restored the rose bud to her reticule 
 — feeling some dread of Mr. Emberton's bantering. That 
 gentleman, however, either had not seen it, or did not 
 think it worth his while to take notice of the fact. 
 
 He continued reading the verses ; 
 
 " ' The sunset died 
 
 In regal pomp and pride ; 
 
 I should have died 
 
 Before I left my mountain side.' 
 
 pretty, but the accent is not indicated by italicizing the 
 ' I ;' — you will observe the author's meaning is, that he, 
 like the sunset, should have shuffled off this mortal coil 
 before leaving the mountain side !" 
 
 " You are very critical." 
 
 " By no means. I am in an excellent humor — which 
 is very natural, since our sleigh is making good time. 
 Rapid motion always invigorates me — except the waltz, 
 which is an awful bore — dreadful." 
 
 " We are going very rapidly." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Alice ; and the bells ; nice music, eh ?" 
 
 " I like it very much." 
 
 " Then Selim knows his points ; a spanker, is he not ?" 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by a ' spanker,' " said 
 Alice, tranquilly, " but he is well broken to the harness." 
 
 " You are fond of sleighing, Miss Alice ?" 
 
 " Exceedingly." 
 
 " Yes ?" 
 
 And after this compendious monosyllable, Mr. Ember- 
 ton fixing his reins securely in one hand, betook himself 
 again to reading Max's verses. 
 
 He hail just reached the lines, 
 
 " The trees were dyed 
 In evening's crimson tide, 
 Rolled far and wide 
 Along the merry mountain side" 
 
358 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 when an exclamation of affright from Alice made him 
 drop the paper, and grasp suddenly the loose rein he had 
 allowed to slack too much. 
 
 The cause of the young girl's exclamation was apparent. 
 Max and Caroline in passing over the ice, now rendered 
 unsafe by the gradual thawing it had throughout the day 
 been subjected to, had almost broken through the bend- 
 ing crust, near the very centre of the stream. They were 
 now plainly visible on a little knoll beyond, making signs 
 to the second sleigh not to cross at the same spot. 
 
 It was too late. Mr. Emberton's horse thundered down 
 the bank and rushed upon the smooth surface. The con- 
 sequence was that the animal's forelegs broke through 
 the ice, and the sleigh was in a moment nearly submerged. 
 Max whirled his horse round and hurried back to the res- 
 cue of the party, just as Mr. Emberton, by a violent blow 
 of his whip, forced his horse, the sleigh, and all through 
 the icy water, and the broken ice, to the bank. 
 
 Caroline received the trembling Alice in her arms, turn- 
 ing pale at her sister's narrow escape. Had the water 
 been deeper, a most serious accident might have been the 
 consequence. 
 
 " Oh, Alice !" cried Caroline, wiping her eyes. 
 
 " I'm not hurt, sister," rejoined Alice, recovering her 
 Iftst color. 
 
 " Are you sure ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you, Mr. Emberton?" said Caroline, turninground 
 suddenly to that gentleman, who was almost covered with 
 ice. 
 
 " Thank you," said Mr. Emberton, " perfectly sound — 
 arrived safe. My luck was always execrable, you know." 
 
 " We made signs, sir," said Max, austerely, " you 
 might have seen them." 
 
 " I did not, sir." 
 
 "You might have seriously injured Miss Courtlandt, sir," 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 359 
 
 Mr. Emberton's eye flashed at the haughty tone of the 
 young man's voice. 
 
 "Miss Courtlandt was under my charge, sir," he re- 
 plied, endeavoring to assume his habitual coolness. 
 
 " I beg that you will have more care when such shall 
 be the case in future, sir," said Max, indignant at Mr. 
 Emberton's coolness and indiflerence. 
 
 Mr. Emberton, by a powerful effort, suppressed the 
 angry reply which rose to his lips, and said satirically : 
 
 " You are I suppose. Miss Alice's knight as well as 
 Miss Caroline's, and I have no right to quarrel with you. 
 But I would respectfully suggest that you were partly 
 the occasion of our accident." 
 
 " I, sir !" 
 
 " Certainly : but for being busily engaged reading some 
 agreeable verses of yours, I should doubtless have seen 
 the signs which were used, it seems, in such profusion to 
 warn me." 
 
 Alice blushed, and looked at Max timidly. 
 
 " I do not understand you, sir," said the young man, 
 coldly. 
 
 " He was reading your verses, ' The Mountain-side,' 
 cousin Max," said Alice, softly, "they happened to — " 
 
 " Is it possible you allowed them to be made a laugh- 
 ing stock in your presence, cousin Alice," said Max, in a 
 tone of profound mortification, "and by Mr. Emberton? 
 Cousin Alice I" 
 
 Alice opened her lips to refute this charge on the young 
 man's part ; but Mr. Emberton interrupted her. 
 
 " A laughing stock, sir ?" he said, " by no means ! I 
 was admiring the said verses, and really was not bored 
 more than I am usually by poetry ; I think I may ven- 
 ture to say even less than usual. I particularly admired 
 one of the stanzas which I chsinced to read just as I went 
 beneath the ice — devilish cold day for a bath; excuse me 
 ladies ! I was reading your verses very attentively when 
 
360 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 our accident happened, and to prove to you that they 
 made a deep impression on me, I will repeat the lines in 
 question. They were 
 
 ' The trees were dyed 
 In evening's crimson tide, 
 Rolled far and wide 
 Along the merry mountainside !' * 
 
 Fine verses, expressive verses : very expressive ! Tor 
 you will ohserve that not only the sunset but Miss Alice 
 and myself were very nearly : 
 
 ' Rolled far and wide 
 Along the merry mountain side.' 
 
 And that reminds me that my arm hurts like thunder ; 
 really ladies I shall never hreak myself of this dreadful 
 habit. Pardon, pardon!" 
 
 Mr. Emberton having achieved this explanation, which 
 served the double purpose of affording him a safety valve 
 for his satirical humor, and of turning the whole affair 
 into a jest, carefully wrapped his companion's feet in the 
 warm bear-skin, and touching his panting and foaming 
 animal with the whip, again set forward toward the Par- 
 sonage beyond the mountain. 
 
 They arrived without further accident, just as the last 
 light of sunset fading away like a rosy blush before the 
 approach of night, waned slowly from the western sky ; 
 and to Mr. Emberton's great satisfaction and delight, the 
 young ladies made quite a jest of the accident. In truth 
 Alice had scarcely receivbd a wetting, wrapped as she 
 had been in her thick bear-skin ; Mr. Emberton, on the 
 contrary, had had his arm badly bruised by the concussion 
 with the ice. 
 
 They took leave of the family now — ^both the young 
 men — and Max was about to get into his sleigh when he 
 felt a finger on his shoulder. 
 
CHAPTER XXm. 
 
 THE RIVALS. 
 
 The young man turned quickly and found the eyes of 
 Mr. Robert Emberton fixed upon him. Mr. Emberton's 
 cibuntenance had entirely lost its habitual languor, and 
 was characterized by an unmistakable bad humor. 
 
 " You spoke to me very roughly a little while ago, sir," 
 he said, " and in a manner not at all to my taste. Gentle- 
 men are not in the habit of using such language toward 
 each other here, whatever may be the case elsewhere." 
 
 Max drew himself up haughtily. 
 
 " I had the right to say what I did, sir," he replied, 
 " and if any thing I think I was forbearing — very for- 
 bearing." 
 
 " I do not agree with you, sir." 
 
 These words were uttered in a tone so cold and so full 
 of insult that the young man's face flushed. 
 
 " Mr. Emberton!" he said advancing a step toward his 
 adversary. 
 
 "Well, sir!" 
 
 " What do you purpose, will you be good enough to in- 
 form me?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I will." 
 
 " You touched my shoulder I believe, as I was getting 
 into my sleigh," said Max, haughtily. 
 
 " I did, sir," replied Mr. Emberton, " and my purpose 
 was to say to you that your demeanor to me to-day has 
 been such as I shall not pardon." 
 
 Max's eye flashed ; 
 
 " As you please, sir !" ha said. 
 
 a 
 
3152 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 Mr. Emberton looked at his adversary with a scornv 
 ful curl of his proud lip ; and after a moment's silence 
 said: 
 
 " I could pardon your incessant attempts to render my 
 visits here disagreeable, sir — I could pardon these at- 
 tempts on your part if — " 
 
 " What do you mean, sir — I confess I am at a loss to 
 comprehend you," replied Max, coldly. 
 
 "Attempts," continued Mr. Emberton with great bitter- 
 ness in his tone, " in which I confess you have been at 
 times very successful. To-day lor instance." 
 " I do not understand you, sir." 
 
 " I will not explain my meaning then, sir. If the lady 
 threw no obstacle in the way — and permit me to say that 
 I do not imagine any such state of things to exist, after 
 the mortifying experience I have had of my standing with 
 her this day in town, yonder — if the lady threw no ob- 
 stacles in your path when your purpose in coming hither 
 was to render my presence ridiculous, then I have no 
 reason to complain of her ; so much the worse for me. 
 That is not my cause of quarrel with you, sir : my reason 
 for stopping you just now was to say to you, that this 
 day you have openly insulted a gentleman who has. never 
 stood in your path, though you have frequently stood in 
 his own, and to assure you further that he has no inten- 
 tion of pardoning that insult!" 
 
 These words were uttered with great bitterness; Mr. 
 Emberton was plainly thinking of Caroline's preference 
 in Martinsburg, of his rival over himself. 
 
 Max caught at the last words uttered by his adversary, 
 and replied with equal bitternes : 
 
 " A gentleman who has never stood in my pathP' 
 " Never, sir." 
 
 " I know not whether this' is irony or not, sir ; but if 
 not irony it certainly resemlsles it. You make yourself 
 out a veritable saint, sir — the Chevalier without reproach. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 363 
 
 You have not laughed to-day at my cousin's preference of 
 yourself to me in Martinshurg — by no means !" said the 
 young man, bitterly, " you have not made merry with my 
 verses, turning the expression of my grief at leaving my 
 native land into a jest — not at all ! By heaven ! Mr. 
 Emberton, you shall repent what you have said this day 
 before you are an hour older !" 
 
 Max overcome with rage, advanced two steps toward 
 his adversary, looking at him with burning and flashing 
 eyes. 
 
 Mr. Emberton by a powerful effort controlled himself. 
 " I did not laugh at your verses, sir," he replied, " they 
 were wholly indifferent to me — wholly. I remember no- 
 thing of them ; but I do remember your language to me." 
 Max suppressed his anger, and said with as much cold- 
 ness as he could command : 
 
 " I have nothing to retract, sir." 
 
 " You have insulted me, sir !" said Mr. Emberton, again 
 giving way to one of his pale rages. 
 " I have nothing to explain, sir." 
 "I do not ask you to explain, sir," said Mr. Emberton, 
 " there are things which you could not undo by an expla- 
 nation ; — and I don't care to tell you, sir, that but for 
 those things, I should have passed over this insulting lan- 
 guage to-day." 
 
 " You seem fond of riddles, sir," said Max. 
 " I am not deceived by your pretense of not understand- 
 ing me." 
 
 "My pretense, sir!" 
 
 " Your pretense — yes, a thousand times your pretense ! 
 You not only make me ridiculous, but you pretend not to 
 know it." 
 
 "Ridiculous, sir? your riddles are deeper and deeper." 
 
 Mr. Emberton dug his nails into the palms_ of his hands ; 
 
 as for Max he had nearly bitten through his upper lip. 
 
 The forms of the young girls were already seen flitting 
 
364 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 by the window toward the door, to ascertain the cause of 
 the delay of their cavaliers, in taking their departure. 
 
 Mr. Emberton advanced close to Max. 
 
 " There is one word which I will niake plain to you, 
 sir," he said, "there shall be no riddle in it, I promise 
 you." 
 
 Max replied haughtily : 
 
 " Very well, sir." 
 
 " I will commission a friend to say it to you," said Mr. 
 Emberton, "you might not understand me and my rid- 
 dles !" 
 
 After these bitter words, Mr. Emberton made Max a 
 low bow, which was returned as ceremoniously, and both 
 got into their sleighs just as Caroline and Alice appeared 
 at the door. Mr. Emberton saluted them with some con- 
 straint but a tolerable imitation of his usual sweetness, and 
 drove off in the direction of the Griades. 
 . Max took his way to the Lock, overwhelmed with bit- 
 ter thought. Alice was lost to him ! that day's events 
 had proved it ! How fond and foolish he had been to 
 dream of her ! And then came the thought of Mr. Robert 
 Emberton in connection with Alice — both laughing at his 
 verses. Max ground his teeth. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 MONSIEUR PANTOaFLE's " OLD INSTINCT." 
 
 On the morning after the scenes we have just related, 
 Doctor Courtlandt was sitting in the breakfast-room before 
 breakfast, perusing a letter which had just been brought 
 to him from the post-office, when Monsieur Pantoufle made 
 his appearance, shaking from his slippers and shoe-buckles, 
 the snow which those ornamental rather than useful ar- 
 ticles of dress had gathered, in their passage from the 
 owner's horse to the mansion. 
 
 At Monsieur Pantoufle's entrance, Doctor Courtlandt 
 felt an undefinable sensation, such as men usually expe- 
 rience when persons come to pay something more than a 
 mere friendly or formal visit. This may perhaps be ex- 
 plained on the ground of the Doctor's almost instinctive 
 comprehension of every thing which in the remotest degree 
 related to his son. Max had returned on the previous 
 evening gloomy and silent, and had retired earlier than 
 was his wont, overcome it seemed by some afflicting emo- 
 tion. Doctor Courtlandt had taxed his brain to account 
 for this gloom of the young man's ; had run over in his 
 mind the events of the day before — Max's visit, his meet- 
 ing with Mr. Robert Emberton, for the sleigh ride had 
 been arranged some days before, and he knew Mr. Ember- 
 ton was to be of the party, his delight on setting out in 
 the morning, his gloom on returning at night. The Doc- 
 tor had been completely puzzled ; but now a sudden light 
 seemed to flash upon him ; the very moment Monsieur 
 Pantoufle, after making his customary bow, asked in a 
 ceremonious tone for Max, he began to understand. 
 
366 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " He has not come down," said the Doctor, " take a 
 seat, Monsieur Pantoufle." ip 
 
 " I thank you, Monsieur," replied Monsieur Pantoufle, 
 politely. 
 
 " Do you wish especially to see my son, Monsisur Pan- 
 toufle?" asked the Doctor. 
 
 " Particularly." 
 
 " Will I not answer your purpose ?" 
 
 " I have much sorrow in saying no, Monsieur." 
 
 " And why ?" 
 
 " 'Tis a private matter." 
 
 The Doctor rose and approached the music-master. 
 
 " I see a note there in your waistcoat pocket. Monsieur 
 Pantoufle," he said, " pray is that for Max ? I know it is." 
 
 Monsieur Pantoufle looked somewhat confused. 
 
 " You say rightly," he replied. 
 
 " What does it mean ?" 
 
 " I feel not at liberty to indicate, Monsieur Max." 
 
 The Doctor frowned. 
 
 " I represent my son. Monsieur Pantoufle," he said, 
 " speak !" 
 
 " Impossible !" said the music-master, with a deprecat- 
 ing wave of his hand, "impossible, Monsieur!" 
 
 " Monsieur Pantoufle, that is a challenge !" cried the 
 Doctor, suddenly. 
 
 The dancing-master shrugged his shoulders, taking out 
 the note. 
 
 " You have reason, sir," he said smiling, and handing 
 it to the Doctor, " since you have guess it, why there 
 result no harm in giving it to you." 
 
 " A challenge from w];iom, pray, in God's name!" cried 
 the Doctor, much moved and grasping the note tightly. 
 
 " From young Monsieur Emberton." 
 
 "Robert Emberton!" 
 
 " Himself, Monsieur," said Monsieur Pantoufle, lacon- 
 ically. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 367 
 
 The Doctor looked at the music-master angrily. 
 
 " And you are his second ?" 
 
 " I have that" honor." 
 
 " Permit me to say, Monsieur Pantoufle," the Doctor 
 replied, with a scornful curl of the lip, "that it is no 
 honor !" 
 
 "You speak harsh words, Monsieur Max." 
 
 " Not at all, sir. I have no intention of exposing my- 
 self to a similar compliment from you. Monsieur Pantou- 
 fle — you are so excellent a hand at the short sword." 
 
 But seeing on Monsieur Pantoufle's wan old face a hurt 
 expression at these sneering words, the Doctor added : 
 
 " I do not wish to wound your feelings, sir, but you 
 must permit me to say, that I think you are too old a 
 man to lend yourself thus to the silly freaks of a hot- 
 headed youth. In Heaven's name, why should Mr. Roheit 
 Emberton take it into his head to send a defiance to my 
 son of all the persons in the world I" 
 
 " He says that insult pass." 
 
 " Folly !" 
 
 " He must have satisfaction, he says," continued Mon- 
 sieur Pantoufle, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 " Satisfaction !" repeated the Doctor, "it really is aston- 
 ishing how hot these foolish heads of young men continue 
 to be. A defiance, by heaven, to the son of one who will 
 soon — ^but that is not your affair, nor Mr. Robert Ember- 
 ton's." 
 
 "Eh?" said Monsieur Pantoufle, interrogatively. 
 
 "Nothing," said the Doctor, stiffly, "let us come back 
 to your message. You are Mr. Emberton's second." 
 
 "^s I was yours, Monsieur Max," said Monsieur Pan- 
 toufle, with a sly laugh. 
 
 " Do not brino; up the follies of my youth as an apology 
 for those of other persons. Monsieur," said the Doctor. " If 
 I was foolish enough to challenge Mr. Lyttelton and his 
 friend, or his enemy, it is no excuse for you." 
 
368 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " You hurt me, Monsieur Max," said the old man, feel- 
 ingly. 
 
 " I have no such intention, my old friend. But this 
 duel I tell you, Monsieur Pantoufle, can never take place. 
 You will go back nevertheless, and tell Mr. Emberton 
 that your message was delivered — the rest is my aflfair." 
 
 " Willingly, Monsieur Max," replied the old man, " I 
 meddle in this affaire against my wishes ; hut the old 
 instinct, the old instinct, you know. Monsieur Max !" 
 
 And shaking his head, the old man slowly took his de- 
 parture, alleging that he had already breakfasted. 
 
 The Doctor remained alone looking at the note. Max 
 entered ten minutes after Monsieur Pantoufle's departure ; 
 his father had already formed his resolution. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 STRATEGY : AND A WARLIKE PROCLAMATION. 
 
 Max was still gloomy and taciturn — ^his heart lacerated, 
 his eyes red and heavy with want of sleep. He had been 
 revolving all through the long wretched hours of the 
 weary night the events of the day before ; and he could 
 come to but one conclusion, to but one opinion of his 
 cousin's feelings. She had openly preferred Mr. Ember- 
 ton in purchasing her presents — she had manifested 
 throughout the day her satisfaction at being thrown with 
 that gentleman instead of with himself, she had consum- 
 mated her mortifying neglect and indifference toward 
 himself by something worse than all. She had made 
 those sincere and tearful verses he had given her, a jest, 
 a subject for merriment and laughter, and with whom ? 
 That bitterly detested rival ! The young man felt his 
 heart becoming sour and acrid, and the change forbode 
 no good to that rival, so successful. 
 
 Doctor Courtlandt slipped the note brought by Monsieur 
 Pantoufle into his pocket, and said with a smile to his 
 son : 
 
 " Good-morning, Max ! how goes it to-day." 
 
 " I feel dull, sir." 
 
 " Come, come ! cheer up. If you look so badly I shall 
 never be willing to trust you with the commission I am 
 about to." 
 
 " What is that, sir ?" said the young man, gloomily. 
 
 " See this letter." 
 
 Max took it. It bore the New York post mark, and 
 was directed in a large commercial hand. 
 . "Your books, siB?" 
 
370 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 "Yes, they have arrived, and I am very anxious to get 
 them on." 
 
 Max made no reply 
 
 " I am afraid to trust them to the cars without some 
 one to take care of them," continued Doctor Courtlandt. 
 
 " Some one, sir ?" repeated Max. 
 
 "And I can not go myself," finished the Doctor. 
 
 Max raised his heavy eyes to his father and said gloom- 
 ily: 
 
 "You must excuse me, sir; I really can not go. I 
 am kept here." 
 
 Doctor Courtlandt looked hurt, and was silent. 
 
 " I mean, my dear father," Max said, tremulously, 
 " that I am not fit for the commission — ^besides I really 
 am kept here." 
 
 The Doctor was silent still. 
 
 There was nothing so fearful to the young man in the 
 whole universe as his father's displeasure. And for the 
 very simple reason that this displeasure was never mani- 
 fested harshly, in word or tone, did Max on this occasion 
 feel an instinctive dread of that obstinate silence with 
 which the Doctor had met his excuses. 
 
 " Could no one else go, sir ?" asked he, in a low tone. 
 
 "I do not wish you to do what is distasteful to you, 
 my son," said the Doctor, turning away. 
 
 " Distasteful ! oh, sir, I would cut off my hand if you 
 wished me to. Could you doubt it !" 
 
 " I do not ask so much." 
 
 " Father—" 
 
 " Enough, my son — if you do not wish to go to New 
 York—" 
 
 "I will go," murmured Max, "I did not mean to re^ 
 fuse to go, sir." 
 
 " That is my brave boy," said the Doctor, cheerfully, 
 " why the trip will do you good. You are looking a Kttle- 
 pale, and this renders the haste I am in to get my vala- 
 
LEATHEU STOCKING AND SILK. 371 
 
 able liBrary, and the consequent hurry you must he in, 
 somewhat disagreeable." 
 
 ',' Are you in haste, sir ?" 
 
 "To receive them? Yes. They may be damaged 
 lying in the Custom-house." 
 
 " Command me, sir." 
 
 " Well — then I command you," replied the Doctor with 
 his fond smile, and looking with his large tender eyes so 
 full of majesty and profound affection, at his son, " I 
 command you to go and pack up your valise to take the 
 afternoon train — " 
 
 "To-day, sir!" 
 
 "Have you not time to reach Martinsburg? It is 
 scarcely nine o'clock." 
 
 Max saw from his father's tone that any further oppo- 
 sition would be distasteful to him, and with a sound be- 
 tween a sigh and a moan, he replied : 
 
 ""Well, sir — I will go to-day then. I ask only a few 
 moments to write a line which I will trouble you to have 
 delivered to-day." 
 
 "Certainly — certainly," said Doctor Courtlandt, "go 
 at once and write." 
 
 Max went to his chamber and sat down at his writing 
 desk. That " line" was to be written for the eyes of Mr. 
 Robert Emberton. After a moment's reflection, during 
 which his face assumed an expression of coldness and 
 gloom which would have much afflicted Doctor Court- 
 landt had he seen it, the young man wrote as follows : 
 
 •' Sir — I vsTrite to say that I shall be unavoidably ab- 
 sent from Virginia for a week or more. This explanation 
 of my sudden departure I am called upon to make after 
 what passed yesterday. There was no possibility of mis- 
 taking your meaning on that occasion — and I now make 
 you as ample amends for my departure as I am able to 
 do, by accepting your challenge in advance. Permit me 
 
372 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 to add that I disapprove of mortal combat on trifling 
 grounds, and do not on this occasion consent to the meet- 
 ing because any person — ^whether a lady or not — would 
 ridicule me in the event of my refusal. I believe I should 
 have enough of independence to meet the eyes of the 
 whole world and return them their scornful laugh, did I 
 choose to refuse an encounter of this description. No, 
 sir ; believe me, young as I am, I should never be moved 
 by such opinion, whether it were the scorn of men, or that 
 more dreadful thing the contemptuous pity of women. 
 I meet you willingly because you have placed yourself in 
 my way, and because I hate you. There is an honest 
 word — if it is not very Christian. 
 
 " I handle the sword well, and for that reason waive the 
 choice of weapons. The choice lies with yourself. But 
 all arrangements will necessarily await my return. 
 "I have the honor to be your obedient servant, 
 
 "M. CoUKTIU&ND.T. 
 
 " Wednesday Morning, Dec. — , 18 — " 
 
 Having penned this warlike epistle, the young man 
 neatly folded it, and sealed it — to omit nothing — ^with 
 the old Courtlandt coat of arms, venerable relic of ante- 
 diluvian Courtlandts, dead and gone many a day, after 
 doing many things of a desoription very similar, and 
 equally as unchristian as that just performed by their 
 descendant ; then directing it succinctly to " Mr. Robert 
 Emberton, at the Glades," he left it lying on his table ; 
 this done, he hastily packed up his traveling valise, took 
 it under his arm and went down to his father- 
 Breakfast was a mere ceremony on the part of both 
 father and son ; and, in an hour, Max was pursuing his 
 way through the deep snowto-Martinsburg, there to fcake 
 the icars for New York 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 DOCTOR COURTLANDT AND MR. ROBERT EMBERTON. 
 
 Max had no sooner departed, than Doctor Courtlandt 
 ordered his horse — preferring that conveyance to the more 
 comfortable sleigh — and took his way toward the Grlades, 
 the note to Mr. Emberton in his pocket. 
 
 The Doctor's face betrayed much pain and anxiety. 
 That kind and affectionate heart was liable at all times 
 to be wounded through others, and now, when there was 
 imminent danger of a*nortal encounter between the per-* 
 son he was going to visit, and that other person most dear 
 to him in the world — that world from which had passed 
 successively so many who had been the light and joy of 
 his existence — Doctor Courtlandt's heart was full of gloom 
 and anxiety, and his brow overshadowed. 
 
 He was welcomed ceremoniously though with some 
 embarrassment, by Mr. Robert Emberton, and so was 
 ushered into the drawing-room. 
 
 "My sister is not at home, sir," said Mr. Emberton, 
 striving to speak with his usual coolness and sang-froid, 
 but finding it excessively difficult to return calmly the 
 piercing glance of Doctor Courtlandt. 
 
 "Your sister?" said Doctor Courtlandt. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; she is to-day out on a visit. mention it 
 because you generally call to see her rather than myself." 
 
 " That is true," said Doctor Courtlandt. 
 
 " I do not complain, sir," replied Mr. Robert Emberton, 
 uneasily. 
 
 The Doctor looked at the young man long and fixedly. 
 Mr. Emberton was much embarrassed by this acute look, 
 and began to color. 
 
374 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 "Is my presence disagreeable?" asked the Doctor, in a 
 tone full of softness and courtesy. 
 
 " DisagreeaWe, sir ! how could you think it?" 
 
 " You seemed put oat." 
 
 The young man hlushed. 
 
 "I am out of sorts to-day, sir," he replied, "you must 
 excuse me." 
 
 " That is a polite speech ; and I only find fault with it 
 because it is not very sincere," replied Doctor Caurtlandt. 
 
 "Not sincere, sir?" 
 
 " Not the whole truth, I mean." 
 
 The clear glance again flashed to Mr. Robert Emberton 
 and embarrassed him. 
 
 "I am really out of sorts, as I said," he replied. 
 
 " That is not the only cause for your absence of spirits 
 however — you who are generally so gay." 
 
 "Well, no, sir; it is not," said Mr. Emberton, in a 
 formal tone. 
 
 " Therefore you did not tell the whole truth — though 
 what you said was true. Mr. Emberton," said Doctor 
 Courtlandt, rising and speaking in a noble and courteous 
 tone, " I find myself playing at cross purposes with you 
 — and I dislike cross purposes. I will therefore speak 
 more plainly, and say to you that I know of the hostile 
 message you have sent my son, and that I have been 
 much pained by it ; very much pained by it." 
 
 "It is not my fault, sir," Mr. Emberton replied, in a 
 sombre voice. 
 
 " Still you sent it?" 
 
 " Mr. Courtlandt forced me to send it." 
 
 " Forced you ! — he so gentle, so observant of all the 
 courtesies of life ?" 
 
 "I find no fault with his temper, sir, or his breeding; 
 though I had a very disagreeable specimen of them yes- 
 terday." 
 
 " Max insult you !" 
 
LEATHEE STOCKING AND SILK. 373 
 
 " Yes, sir ; an unmistakable insult." 
 
 " For what reason ?" 
 
 "An accident I was so unfortunate as to meet with 
 afforded him the occasion." 
 
 " On your ride ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 The Doctor looked much pained. 
 
 " And you would kill him, or force him to kill you for 
 a hasty word ?" 
 
 Mr. Emberton bent his head gloomily, making no reply. 
 
 "Young man," said Doctor Courtlandt, "permit one 
 who has passed through more vicissitudes than most men, 
 and thus lived more than men do usually in forty years — 
 permit me to tell you that the man who rashly takes hu-, 
 man life, for a word, for a gesture, for a tone of the voice 
 too high or too low to suit him, that man commits a most 
 .criminal and unchristian act. Your blood is hot with 
 youth — curb it ; your eyes fill with anger at the very 
 glance of enmity — ^be calm ! We live here but three 
 score years and ten at best ; is it worth while to bicker, 
 and quarrel, and fight with your human brethren — your 
 brother worms ?" 
 
 " For honor — yes, sir I" 
 
 " Honor ! grand trumpet blast preluding all the wars 
 that have desolated the world ! Honor, young sir, is a 
 great and invaluable treasure — the Christian gentleman 
 will guard it with his life. But this honor must be very 
 frail if it is endangered by an ill-humored word !" 
 
 " I might have passed by Mr. Courtlandt's harsh words, 
 sir," murmured the young man, gloomily, and applying 
 to his particular case the general principle of his inter- 
 locutor, " but we are rivals ! There is the word. It has 
 torn my breast — it is out !" 
 
 Doctor Courtlandt looked inexpressibly pained, and 
 pressed his hand upon his breast. 
 " Rivals !" he said mournfully. 
 
376 LEATHEU STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; there is the cause of this thing which you 
 complain so of; not those trifling words he uttered." 
 
 " And you both love Alice ?" 
 
 "Alice, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Robert Emberton. 
 
 " Yes," said the Doctor. 
 
 " Alice !" repeated Mr. Emberton, springing toward the 
 Doctor, " does your son love Alice — not Caroline ?" 
 
 The Doctor looked at the young man curiously. 
 
 " I think so," he said, " I never spy, under any circum- 
 stances ; and I ask no confidences." 
 
 Mr. Emberton fell back gloomily, murmuring, "But 
 Caroline loves him." 
 
 " There seems to be a misunderstanding here," said the 
 Doctor, astonished, "and if you can not solve it, I can 
 not." 
 
 " Could it be — " said Mr. Emberton, in profound thdught. 
 
 "What?" asked Doctor Courtlandt. 
 
 "Could she all this time — " 
 
 "Who — what?" repeated the Doctor. 
 
 "Doctor Courtlandt," said Mr. Emberton, suddenly, 
 'Mf you will be courteous enough to excuse me, I will 
 take the liberty of leaving you for a short time. I trust 
 you will pardon this very discourteous act — but I feel 
 that this moment is the turning point of my life. It makes 
 or mars me. There is my sister returning just in good 
 time, and Monsieur Pantoufle who accompanied her. 
 With your leave, sir, I shall expect to see you here on my 
 return." 
 
 "Your return?" said the puzzled Doctor. 
 
 " Here is Josephine," said Mr. Emberton ; and scarcely 
 saying good-day to his sister, he left the hall, and ran to 
 the stable. He saddled his horse in a moment, mounted 
 and galloped at full speed toward the Parsonage. 
 
 In two hours Mr. Robert Einberton returned to the 
 Glades overwhelmed with joy — almost ecstatic in his 
 delight. He burst into the room where the three persons 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 377 
 
 he had left were assembled, and running to his sister 
 saluted her with a hearty kiss. 
 
 " Do pray ! what is the matter, Robert," said Miss 
 Emberton, looking very pretty and good-humored. 
 
 " Behold one who will soon be a married man !" cried 
 Mr. Robert Emberton, "a reformed Benedick, a most 
 respectable individual of the married species, my dear 
 Miss Josephine ! You must excuse my extravagance. 
 Doctor," continued the young man turning to Doctor 
 Courtlandt, with some color, "but I am so completely 
 happy that my habitual spirits have been exaggerated 
 into boisterous hilarity. And in the first place please to 
 consider the foolisTi note I wrote to — you know, sir — con- 
 sider it burned." 
 
 " What note — to whom — and what in the world does 
 all this mean?" cried Miss Emberton, amazed. 
 
 Explanation upon all points ensued, but with these 
 explanations we will not trouble the reader ; simply 
 tracing the main events of the day. 
 
 Mr. Robert Emberton, first gaining Mrs. Courtlandt's 
 consent, had with the bluntness of despair come directly 
 to the point with Miss Caroline, and the result was 
 precisely what the reader has no doubt anticipated. The 
 cap was most assuredly for him, and Caroline for once 
 lost her wit and humor, and did not talk brilliantly at 
 all. But there is reason to suppose that her lover was 
 not in the least displeased with this circumstance, but 
 when she murmured, blushing radiantly, " My ear-rings! 
 my ear-rings !" liked her all the better for her charming 
 and novel confusion. 
 
 Doctor Courtlandt was sincerely pleased, and this satis- 
 faction caused Mr. Robert Emberton very nearly to em- 
 brace that gentleman. After those thousand exhausting 
 emotions the Doctor returned placidly home, thinking of 
 his son who was borne every moment further from him. 
 Was he to meet with such a happy issue too ? 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 ALICE. 
 
 It was on a pleasant sunny morning toward Christmas, 
 that Max, having performed his father's business in New 
 York, again returned to the Ijook. 
 
 The young man was weary and exhausted, but more 
 weary in heart than body. That ever present thought 
 which he had carried away with him had paled his cheek, 
 and filled his large blue eyes with s^ettled abiding gloom. 
 Never for an hour had the image of Alice left his heart — 
 of Alice to whom he was now nothing — of Alice forever 
 lost to him. He could have endured all the spites of for- 
 tune he thought, had this one arrow not been buried in 
 his breast. He never knew how much he loved her until 
 he had lost her, he now felt ; never had his heart been so 
 overcome, so absorbed by gloomy and despairing thoughts. 
 
 The sunshine, sparkling on the bright snow, was black 
 — the sky, so clear and pure, was but a "pestilent congre- 
 gation of vapors ;" from all things the light and joy of life 
 had passed and gone. No more love, no more happiness, 
 never more lightness of the eye or heart. All that was 
 over now. 
 
 The Doctor and Mrs. Courtlandt had driven over that 
 morning to see Miss Emberton, a servant said, and would 
 spend the day at the Grlades. Max sat down motioning 
 to the servant to leave him. That name had opened his 
 wounds anew, and now hatred was added to his other 
 mental excitement. That abhorred rival had for a t'mu) 
 vanished from his mind — ^from his heart so overwhelmed 
 with one thought, that Alice could not be his own ; — she 
 had preferred that man, she had slighted him, she had 
 
LEATHEE, STOCKING AND SILK. 379 
 
 laughed at his verses, had met with contemptuous cahTi- 
 noss his love and affliction ; it was on his despair that he 
 had fed, not his hatred. Now the name of his rival 
 aroused this new hell in him, and for a time he suftered 
 a new torment of jealousy and rage. 
 
 All things, however, spend themselves in time — love, 
 hatred, jealousy, despair ; — otherwise the over-fraught 
 heart would break. After an hour's gloomy silence the 
 young man rose and looked around him wearily. Then 
 he collected his thoughts ; he would go at once and make 
 arrangements for his meeting with Mr. Emberton ; that 
 at least should not be neglected or deferred. 
 
 He took from his pocket the bracelet he had selected 
 for her, and looked at it long and in silence. A sigh 
 which sounded like a sob, shook for a moment his breast 
 and agitated his nervous lips. 
 
 " I will go and see her for the last time," he murmured, 
 "yes, yes! I will go and feed on my own heart. No- 
 thing worse than I have felt can touch me now !" 
 
 He mounted and set forward rapidly toward the Par- 
 sonage, as though he feared his own resolution. Cover- 
 ing his face with one hand he cast not a single glance 
 upon any thing around him ; he knew that however 
 beautiful the fair sunlight might be, however grand the 
 mountain heights, however calm the white silent land- 
 scape, they could bring no light, or calmness to his heart. 
 Still these objects had their usual effect ; he felt their 
 influence spite of his incredulity. When he arrived at the 
 Parsonage he was more subdued, and even found himself 
 smiling mournfully at his own wretchedness. 
 
 . On a mossy rock, which the snow had disappeared from, 
 at the distance of two hundred yards from the house. 
 Max saw Alice seated and busily engaged at some work. 
 He dismounted, tied his bridle to a bough of one of the 
 waving evergreens, and approached her. The young 
 girl's back was turned to him, and so completely had the 
 
380 LEATHEE, STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 soft snow muffled the hoof-strokes of his horse that she 
 had not heard them, and was plainly not aware of his 
 approach. 
 
 Alice was clad with her usual simplicity and taste, and 
 was singing lowly to herself, while husily plying her 
 needle. The song was thoughtful but very sweet and 
 musical, and her pure clear voice, gave to it an inex- 
 pressible charm. Max thought that he had never seen a 
 more angelic vision, a more radiant embodiment of purity, 
 and youth, and innocence ; the very sunlight seemed to 
 linger on the beloved head, bent down so earnestly ; and 
 when the feeling words of her song floated to him like the 
 low warble of a bird — those feeling words of Motherwell: 
 
 " Oh, dear, dear Jeannie Morrison, 
 Since we were sindered young, 
 I've never seen your face, nor heard 
 The music of your tongue — " 
 
 when Max caught the dying fall of the exquisite music, 
 and the more exquisite words, his very heart was melted 
 within him, and two large tears gathered in his eyes and 
 rolled down his cheeks. 
 
 "Alice," he said softly, "that is a pretty song." 
 
 The young girl started, and turned round. A deep 
 blush suffused her face at sight of her cousin, and she 
 half rose. 
 
 " Do not mind me, cousin Alice," said Max, passing 
 his hand over his brow, " sit down." 
 
 " I did not know you had returned," said Alice in a low 
 voice, and glancing timidly at the young man. 
 
 " I only got back an hour or two ago," said Max. 
 
 Alice stole a pitying look at him. 
 
 " I am afraid you will be surprised to hear what has 
 happened in your absence," she murmured, with some 
 agitation. 
 
 " What has happened ?" echoed Max. 
 
 Alice turned away. Oh, how can I tell him, thought 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK, 381 
 
 she ; he certainly loves Caroline, and her marriage will 
 distress him dreadfully. 
 
 " You said something had happened, cousin Alice," 
 said Max, pressing one hand on his throbbing heart, and 
 with the other taking the hand of the young girl. 
 
 " Yes," murmured Alice. 
 
 Max's brow flushed, and his lips trembled. 
 
 " What mean you ?" he said. 
 
 "It will distress you to hear it." 
 
 " I am used to distress," said the young man, raising 
 his head with gloomy calmness, " it will prove no new 
 guest with me." 
 
 Alice turned away with her eyes full of tears. 
 
 " How can I tell you ?" she said, without looking at him. 
 
 Max felt his heart grow as chill as though it were sur- 
 rounded suddenly by ice. 
 
 " Speak," he said, coldly. 
 
 But recollecting himself he turned away, and said in a 
 low, suffocating voice : 
 
 "Do not mind me — speak; tell me all, as though I 
 were an indifferent person. I can bear it — yes, yes ; I 
 can bear it." 
 
 For a moment his voice died away in his throat. He 
 continued : 
 
 "I have borne-much; I can bear this also, doubtless, 
 though it goes near to tear my heart-strings — what J 
 think, nay, know. Why conceal it now, Alice ? 'tis a lost 
 labor ! Think you I saw nothing all these weary days — 
 think you I could fail to see ? But do not misunderstand 
 me ! I blame no one — no one ! My wretchedness is of 
 my own making. Why did I love sft ; why stake all my 
 heart and life upon this chance ! — to lose it !" 
 
 The young man's head sank down, and covering his 
 face with his hands, he tried to strangle in its passage 
 • the passionate sob which shook his bosom. 
 
 " Cousin Max," said Alice, " I pity you from the bot- 
 
382 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 * 
 torn of my heart. I can't tell you how distressed I am 
 at your grief," she added, wiping away her tears. 
 
 Max turned away. 
 
 " Pity me !" he said, " you pity me — great God, she 
 pities me .'" 
 
 Alice looked startled. 
 
 " What do you mean, cousin?" she said, " indeed I do 
 sincerely feel for you." 
 
 "Away with your pity!" said the young man, rising 
 with hloodshot eyes. But sinking back he muttered : 
 
 " Forgive me, cousin ; I am not well. Bear with me 
 — my brain is hurt." 
 
 Alice took his hand with a radiant blush. 
 
 " I pitied you because I loved you," she said, in a fal- 
 tering voice. 
 
 "Loved me?" 
 
 " Yes — loved you — very much ; as my cousin," stam- 
 mered Alice. 
 
 He turned away, and by a powerful effort controlled 
 his agitation. 
 
 " You were speaking of what had happened in my ab- 
 sence," he said, in a low, gloomy tone, "tell me all." 
 
 " It will distress you.',' 
 
 "No— no." 
 
 " I fear it will." 
 
 "Speak, cousin Alice. 
 
 " You know we shall have a wedding here soon, then ?" 
 said Alice, calmly. " If you will make me speak, I must. 
 You knew that ?" 
 
 " I guessed as much," said Max, in the same low voice. 
 
 "All look forward -to it soon." 
 
 " Do they ?" said the young man, averting his face. 
 
 Alice thought she had overrated the affection Max felt 
 for Caroline, so calmly were these words uttered ; and 
 this idea wo are bound to say made her heart leap. 
 
 " It will be a very merry wedding, considering that 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 383 
 
 father is a minister," she said, with a laugh of affected 
 cheerfulness. 
 
 "Will it?" 
 
 " It should he a happy time." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Mr. Emherton has much improved already." 
 
 "Has he?" murmured the young man, his long hair 
 vailing his face. 
 
 " And he is much more of a man than hefore." 
 
 " Is he ?" 
 
 " Don't you think him intelligent ? I do, cousin." 
 
 " Do you ?" 
 
 " And handsome ; is he not ?" 
 
 " Very." 
 
 " Then he has a good heart." 
 
 " I suppose you think so." 
 
 " Indeed I do." 
 
 " Naturally." 
 
 "Why naturally of coarse, cousin," said Alice, "and 
 I ought to assuredly." 
 
 " Assuredly." 
 
 "You speak very strangely, cousin," said Alice, blush- 
 ing. 
 
 " I am sorry I displease you." 
 
 " Oh, you do not displease me — you displease me I No- 
 body thinks I am worth it. But really I am somewhat 
 put out at Mr. Emberton's selection." 
 
 " Put out ?" 
 
 " Yes ; he is a man of taste. 
 
 " Of great taste." 
 
 " Of intelligence, too." 
 
 " Yes ; of intelligence." 
 
 "Well," said Alice, attempting to laugh, "he should 
 have exercised those qualities in his selection of a wife." 
 
 Max turned with gloomy astonishment toward his 
 cousin. 
 
384 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " He has thought best, however, to mortify me by fol- 
 lowing his own judgment, in choosing — " 
 
 Max half rose. 
 
 " In choosing ? What do yeu mean, Alice !" 
 
 " In choosing Caroline !" said Alice. 
 
 " Caroline !" cried Max. 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Caroline ! not you !" 
 
 " Me, indeed ; is it possible you thought all this time 
 that I—" 
 
 Alice stopped, blushing deeply. 
 
 Max could hardly believe his ears ; he looked around 
 incredulous. 
 
 " Caroline !" he repeated. 
 
 " Yes — certainly — " 
 
 " Robert Emberton !" 
 
 " Certainly; they are to be married before New Year." 
 
 " Not you, Alice !" cried the young man, devouring 
 her face with his passionate glances, 
 
 Alice blushed more deeply. 
 
 " How could you imagine such a thing?" she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 " And that silk was not for Robert Emberton ? That 
 waistcoat !" 
 
 " Here it is. I have just sewn on the last button," 
 said Alice, holding up the waistcoat, with a faint laugh, 
 " I will not say who it is intended for, until you tell me 
 for whom you bought the bracelet — it is not a gentleman's 
 ornament, you know." 
 
 Max with radiant countenance drew out the bracelet 
 and clasped it on her wrist. 
 
 '.'For you!" he said, "oh, heaven is my witness I 
 would clasp my heart thus were it in my power !" 
 
 " Was it for me ?" murmured Alice, smiling and blush- 
 ing, with averted face. 
 
 " And the waistcoat !" 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 385 
 
 Alice blushed to the very roots of her hair ; and with a 
 hesitating movement of the hand gave it to the young 
 man. 
 
 " "Was it always intended for me !" said Max. 
 
 " Always I" murmured Alice. 
 
 " Alice, dear Alice," said the young man overwhelmed, 
 with joy, " I gave you more than that bracelet on your 
 arm." 
 
 " More ?" the girl murmured. 
 
 " I gave you my heart. My heart, darling — do not 
 take your hand away ! all my heart, my life, my being ! 
 vvill you give me as much ?" 
 
 That tender little hand remained in his, and no fine 
 eloquent speech was needed to make him understand that 
 the long train of errors was exploded, and the heart so 
 faithful to him, his forever. The sunlight poured its joy- 
 ful and most loving radiance on that fair picture — the 
 maiden's head on her true lover's bosom. 
 
 The port was reached, his bark was safe from storms; 
 the anchor of his hope lay on his heart. 
 
 R 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 A BOUT WITH TONGUES. 
 
 Max returned in the afternoon to the Lock, just as 
 Doctor Courtlandt and his aunt drove up to the door, in 
 their comfortahle sleigh. ' The worthy Doctor was over- 
 joyed to see his son looking so well, and welcomed him 
 with great affection. 
 
 "When did you return, my hoy," he said, "on my 
 word, you are, it seems to me, in excellent spirits." 
 
 " I am, sir," said Max, with a smile. 
 
 "You found us absent; how have you passed the 
 morning — riding out?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 The Doctor's piercing eye detected some embarrass- 
 ment in the young maji's countenance ; but not a very 
 painful embarrassment. 
 
 " To the Parsonage ?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir," Max said. 
 
 " And whom did yEfff see?" 
 
 " Every body, sir, but Caroline. Where is she to-day?" 
 
 "Riding out with Mr. Emberton," said Mrs. Court- 
 landt, " arid I believe here they come." 
 
 In fact a sleigh at that moment made its appearance 
 at the bottom of the knoll coming from the direction of 
 Martinsburg. In this sleigh were seated Caroline and 
 Mr. Emberton, laughing and talking. 
 
 " You have heard the news, I suppose, Max," said Mrs. 
 Courtlandt. 
 
 " The news, aunt ?" 
 
 " About Caroline and Robert Emberton. Since you 
 have been away he has addressed her — " 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 387 
 
 "And — " began Max laughing. 
 
 " They are engaged." 
 
 " I knew it," said Max. 
 
 " Who told you ?'" " 
 
 " Alice." 
 
 " Ah," said Doctor Courtlandt, with a sudden suspicion, 
 and looking intently at the young man, " she told you, 
 did she ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," Max said with a hlush, avoiding the laugh- 
 ing eye of Doctor Courtlandt. 
 
 " Alice is making a very nice waistcoat for you, Max," 
 said his aunt, " she has put a great deal of work on it." 
 
 Max was glad of this diversion. 
 
 "How did she get my measure, aunt?" he asked. 
 
 " I gave her one of yours, to cut it by ; on the very 
 day you left us." 
 
 Max suddenly recollected that he had seen Alice on 
 that day, from his elevated position on the Third Hill 
 Mountain, leave the Parsonage and take the road to the 
 Lock. 
 
 " It was very kind in her," he said, smiling. 
 
 The sleigh drove up to the door, and Mr. Emberton 
 helped Caroline out. 
 
 " Oh, there's my elegant cousin, as I live !" cried, the 
 young girl. 
 
 " How d'ye do, cousin," said Max, going up and taking 
 her hand. 
 
 " Come, don't be so formal," said Doctor Courtlandt, 
 mischievously. 
 
 " He shan't kiss me." 
 
 " By your leave, mistress," said the young man, press- 
 ing his lips to her cheek, "that is good Shakspeare." 
 
 " And bad manners." 
 
 Mr. Emberton approached Max and courteously offered 
 him his hand. That young gentleman returned the 
 friendly grasp with great good feeling. 
 
388 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " I hope you will consider my note to you unwritten," 
 said Mr. Emberton. 
 
 " What note ?" said Max. " It seems to me that this 
 observation should come from me. I regret the hasty 
 words I wrote to you." 
 
 "What words?" said Mr. Emberton. 
 
 Doctor Courtlandt began to laugh ; and taking the 
 young men aside explained the whole matter. 
 
 " I am sure we are good friends now, however," said 
 Max, laughing, " and I offer you my hand and my friend- 
 ship. Take both." 
 
 " With all my heart." 
 
 And so these belligerent gentlemen sealed their newly 
 agreed on amity by pressing each the other's hand. This 
 dreadful matter was arranged to suit all parties ; but we 
 are bound to say that the bright eyes of the sisters had 
 perfected this sudden friendship, as they had caused the 
 former quarrel. Both Mr. Robert Emberton and Max 
 were much too happy, to feel the least desire to drink 
 each other's blood — a ceremony they had felt a violent 
 desire to perform a week or two before. 
 
 They returned to the spot where Mrs. Courtlandt and 
 Caroline stood talking. 
 
 "Have you seen your nice waistcoat, cousin Max?" 
 said Caroline. 
 
 " Yes, my charming cousin." 
 
 " ' Charming,' indeed ! you are very witty all at once." 
 
 " Your presence inspired me." 
 
 "Yes ; as it did just now to be very presuming, sir." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " In kissing me !" 
 
 " Kissing goes by favor," said Max, laughing." 
 
 " If favor went by kissing you would never reacn me." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " You are not a favorite with me," said Caroline, 
 " which I think is a very good reason." 
 
LEATHER STOCKING ANH SILK. 389 
 
 N " Excellent ; tut you might tolerate my presence on 
 one ground." 
 
 "What, pray?" 
 
 " My awkwardness is such an excellent foil to your 
 grace." 
 
 " I have never heard a gentleman praise another, espe- 
 cially a lady, at his own expense, and thought him in 
 earnest ; mere irony, sir." 
 
 '■'■ Ma foi V said Max, "there is no irony about it. 
 You are a very elegant and charming young woman, I a 
 vet)' ordinary young man." 
 
 " Yes — ^you think so doubtless with your fine curls, 
 and your nice mustache — to be!" added Caroline laugh- 
 ing and pointing at her cousin. 
 
 " Exactly," said Max, " old people always spy out 
 the weak points in an inexperienced and unsophisticated 
 youth." 
 
 " You won't dare to call me old, sir." 
 
 "No, no — did I not just now say that you were an 
 excellent foil, with your thousand graces, to myself? Now 
 if I am so elegant as you say, it necessarily follows that 
 you are so much the more beautiful and graceful, since I 
 am but a foil to you, mademoiselle." 
 
 " Foil ! a fencing term." 
 
 " Yes, of some significance." 
 
 "What, pray?" 
 
 " It suggests riding caps." 
 
 " Oh, you have not forgotten my ill-luck — I have not 
 lost sight of your want of gallantry." 
 
 " Forgotten it ! no, you looked much too charming on 
 that day with those beautiful flowing locks, my belU 
 cousin, for me to possibly forget." 
 
 " Oh, a fine compliment!" 
 
 " I make you a present of it — free, gratis." 
 
 " I do not accept." 
 
 " It was in return, cousin Caroline." 
 
390 tiATHEK, S'TOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 "In return for what?" 
 
 " Your present to me." 
 
 " What present ?" 
 
 " The present of yourself, when you ran forward and 
 threw yourself into my arms — deign to recollect, if yon 
 please." 
 
 This repartee of Mr. Max caused Doctor Courtlandt, 
 who well remembered the fencing scene we have related, 
 to hurst into a laugh and cry " bravo !" Caroline, for a 
 moment discomfited, turned round and said to him : 
 
 " Uncle, you shall not take Max's part against me." 
 
 " Against you, my heart's delight !" oried Doctor Court- 
 landt, " never !" 
 
 " I knew you would not; you are such a nice old beau." 
 
 " Thank yoa." 
 
 " Besides I have quite as good a joke on you," said 
 Caroline, with a merry and significant laugh which evi- 
 dently startled the worthy Doctor. 
 
 "Humph!" he said, suspiciously. 
 
 " I have indeed." 
 
 "Bless my heart," said Doctor Courtlandt, "this is a 
 most extraordinary young lady. But come, let us go in ; 
 no more wit-combats, no more clashing of foils and that 
 sort of thing, my children." 
 
 " Nice old fellow !" said Caroline, lacing her arm round 
 the Doctor's waist and leaning her head on his shoulder," 
 "Aunt Courtlandt, did you ever see a more excellent and 
 amiable old man : so handsome too, so much handsomer 
 than Max ! There's my hand ; forgive me, cousin !" 
 
 Max took the hand, laughing. 
 
 " Oh, uncle," whispered Caroline, " somebody told me 
 you were going to be married ! Is it true ?" 
 
 " Humph," said Doctor Oourtlandt^and he led the way 
 into the house. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE WING OF THE ANGEL. 
 
 The merry Christmas came ; Christmas so fall of re- 
 joicing and gay-hearted laughter — which men looked for- 
 ward to in the old time as to a hlessed day of mingled 
 joy and thanksgiving ; which rose in every heart like an 
 incarnate laugh — like a great snow-clad giant hearing 
 on his stalwart shoulders all good cheer, as brawn, and 
 mighty rounds of beef, and foaming tankards, and flag- 
 ons full of ale and " sack and sugar" (no " fault" in any 
 quantity)— and rolling from his bearded lip shaken with 
 merriment, tidings, of joy, and merry jests and quips ; 
 tidings of love and peace, and hopeful words for old and 
 young, in cabin and in stately hall ; and still again in 
 every pause of tJie full-handed laughter, tidings of joy 
 and love, tidings of love and peace ! 
 
 The organs rolled aloft their blessed promise of the 
 peaceful other world. The lips of young singing maidens 
 uttered that promise in the pauses of the storm ; the 
 great music-storm which clashed and roared along the 
 fretted roofs of mightiest cathedrals, drowning every 
 sound but that low silent voice which ever floated in like 
 some enchanting murmur, louder than thunder, stiller 
 thaii the whisper of the lightest wind, the voice which 
 soared, a divine harmony above the whole, and said to 
 every heart — " Peace and good-will, peace and good-will, 
 peace and good-will to all mankind !" 
 
 Children were merry every where, and, old men glad. 
 Relations gathered once more round the board at which 
 they had satj little l)oys and girls once; all were for the 
 time quite other men and women than those scheming 
 
392 LEATHEU STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 ones, whom the great surges of the world had swept 
 away from all their youth and innocence, to struggle in 
 the sea of bitter thoughts, and never-ceasing yearnings and 
 desires. 
 
 Christmas, in one word, once again had come to shower 
 blessings on the earth ; the poor cold earth, weary and 
 very sick ; and at his approach the snow-clad lowlands 
 and the mountain land alike, smiled with new joy and 
 youth. 
 
 At Doctor Courtlandt's hospitable board all his old 
 neighbors who would leave their homes were assembled. 
 Miss Emberton and her brother and Monsieur Pantoufle 
 from the Glades were there ; and Mr. and Mrs. Court- 
 landt from the Parsonage — the girls too — ^and even the 
 old worn out hunter John had come, well wrapped up in 
 furs, to welcome again, surrounded by his friends, the 
 advent of the time. 
 
 Hunter John was very feeble and tottering ; his sands 
 of life were well-nigh run, and he seemed to see the hour 
 plainly now was at hand when his old body must return 
 to dust, and his soul to him who gave it. 
 
 They all took their seats round the hospitable board ; 
 and then commenced the merry laughter, and the friendly 
 wishes for health and happiness, which those good hon- 
 est people were accustomed to utter on such occasions. 
 Caroline and Mr. Robert Emberton were very merry, 
 and Mr. Emberton seemed all at once to have lost his 
 unhappy feeling of ennui and lassitude ; he was not 
 heard to complain of being bored once during the whole 
 day. Max and Alice, tranquilly happy, conversed with 
 their eyes alone — that eloquent and most expressive lan- 
 guage which needs no tongue to utter it. Doctor Court- 
 landt's intended marriage with Miss Emberton was now 
 no secret, and the friendly voices round them, told them 
 plainly that myriads of good wishes would accompany 
 them to church. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 393 
 
 "Why should we attempt to catch those merry accents, 
 trace those gayly uttered words, petrify here with a cold 
 pen those bursts of laughter, circling and crossing round 
 from side to side ; why try to describe a Christmas din- 
 ner ? All know the original ; the portrait would find 
 many critics. "When the poor chronicler has told how 
 they attacked the viands, and emptied willingly many 
 full cups, how every moment laughter exploded in the 
 air, and how the merry jest went round, or better still 
 the health to absent friends ; — when this is said, he has 
 told all, and for his pains has written a few lifeless words. 
 Much better leave the subject unattempted — ^leave the 
 scene purely to the imagination. 
 
 Old hunter John looked on with cordial eyes, but very 
 dim eyes ; these merry sounds seemed to remind him of 
 his youth, floating to him not from the real lips around 
 him, but from the far land of dreams, and from those 
 lips, cold now so long, so long ! As he listened, all the 
 past revived for him ; the merry scenes ; the border rev- 
 elry of old ; the life and joy of that old time dead long, 
 long ago. He listened as in a dream ; he heard again 
 tliose joyous youthful voices ; his youth returned to him, 
 with its rubicund faces, and gay-dancing eyes, and jubi- 
 lant jests and laughter. 
 
 The old man raised his feeble head, venerable with its 
 gray locks now nearly blown away by the chill wind of 
 age, and sought to erect his drooping shoulders. But 
 overcome by weakness he sank down, his forehead on his 
 arm, murmuring, " The arrows of the Almighty are 
 within me ; blessed be the name of the Lord." 
 
 They raised him, and bore him in the midst of a great 
 show of sympathy, to a chamber ; a mist seemed to ob- 
 scure his eyes, which he sought with a motion of the 
 hand to dispel. Stretched comfortably on a soft bed, he 
 revived however, and seemed to regain bis strength, and 
 would have risen. 
 
 B* 
 
394 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 Doctor Courtlandt fortade this, and advised him to re- 
 main quiet. The old man smiled, and shook his head. 
 
 " I believe you are right, neighbor," he said, "I'm goin' 
 — most nigh given out. But tell 'em not to be uneasy 
 on my 'count. I'm only mighty weak." 
 
 "You are no worse, my good old friend," the Doctor 
 replied, "than you have often been of late. This was 
 only a sudden weakness which you will get over. It was 
 vertigo." 
 
 " Anan ?" said hunter John. 
 
 " Your head was full of blood from the riding. You'll 
 soon recover." 
 
 The old man smiled faintly. 
 
 " Well, Doctor," he said, " go down and cheer 'em up. 
 'Seems to me they ain't laughin'." 
 
 The Doctor after giving some directions went out, leav- 
 ing Mrs. Courtlandt — a famous nurse, and one who de- 
 lighted in doing all a nurse's offices— .with him. Hunter 
 John turned his face to the wall, and remained silent. 
 
 Suddenly he felt an arm round his neck. He turned, 
 and a tear dropped on his old wan cheek. 
 
 "Alice !" he said. 
 
 The child — she was scarcely more — clung closer around 
 his neck ; and thus locked in a close embrace, the old 
 man and his darling Alice, rested happily. 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE HAND OF THE ANGEL. 
 
 Christmas passed away with its misletoe toughs to kiss 
 under, and its stockings hung up for Saint Nic, and its 
 Christmas trees shaken by chirping children. It had 
 been a very merry Christmas in the mountain land, for 
 none of the old adjuncts of the festive season had been 
 wanting ; the same joyous Yule it was which cheered 
 those English hearts in cabin and in hall, in the fine 
 open-hearted times of old. May it ever live a deathless 
 legend, ever to be shaped in act with each recurring year; 
 —may modern innovation never lay its cold prosaic hand 
 on the true-hearted habitudes, so long the Wont of our old 
 ancestors, from the days of Arthur and the sage Merlin. 
 
 So Christmas, honored with high revelry and song, 
 passed onward like a word of comfort, like a trumpet- 
 blast of hope to fearful souls. The New Year marched 
 iu also, and passed onward blithe and joyous ; crowned 
 with some early flowers, and emptying, with laughing, 
 yorfthful lips, great beakers to the time ! Then the ten- 
 der days of spring began to hint of their approach, though 
 snow still covered the ground. Still hunter John was no 
 better. He had been carefully removed to the Parsonage, 
 after the scene we have briefly traced in the last chapter 
 — but only to retire again to his bed, overcome with weaki 
 ness. The old mountaineer was very ill, and soon all his 
 old neighbors and friends flocked round him — their horses 
 standing in a long row tied to the fence before the house, 
 They assembled in the dining-room, shaking their heads 
 and whispering — he was too old, they said, his life too 
 feeble much longer to cling to him. Then one by one 
 
396 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK: 
 
 they went into his chamber, and gave him cheerful, 
 hearty words, and cheered him up, making a jest of his 
 sickness. The spring was coming ! they said, the spring 
 would see him strong and well again. 
 
 The spring was coming truly ; the cold winter waned 
 away before the approach of vernal winds, unbinding the 
 lowland and the mountain streams, and whispering to 
 the little fearful flowers upon the grassy knolls to raise 
 their heads and not be afraid. The spring said it would 
 soon be coming, though other snow-storms might delay 
 for a time its onward march. Soon it would marshal its 
 bright crocuses, and primroses, and its tender violets and 
 eglantine, and sending forward over the sunny hills its 
 couriers to spy out the land, would give the signal with 
 its merry winds, and make its inroad on the forces of the 
 haughty winter-time. 
 
 Still hunter John remained very ill ; still his old neigh- 
 bors came to, see him, cheering him with hopeful words. 
 Alice and Caroline would never leave him ; — those tender 
 hearts were struck by the same blow which smote the 
 grandfather. Alice would read to him oftefti from the 
 Bible, which was his favorite book — ^he could bear indeed 
 to hear no other ; and Caroline would hang upon his lips, 
 ready to do his bidding. The young girls left scarcely 
 any thing to Mr. Courtlandt and his wife. 
 
 And so the winter slowly passed away, and hunter 
 JdSn grew weaker. 
 
 His old neighbors now came oftener, and shook their 
 heads and whispered more than ever ; Doctor Courtlandt 
 was never absent now, having taken up his residence very 
 nearly at the Parsonage ; his presence was a great relief, 
 and a great hope to all — and never had the worthy Doctor 
 so taxed his brain for what he had observed and learned ; 
 never hads science so battled with the grim enemy who 
 defied it. 
 
 And so the winter very nearly went away, and sprint 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 397 
 
 grew every moment stronger and more gay. But winter 
 rose up like a giant for the last struggle, and one morn- 
 ing the dwellers in the ^mountains found the earth again 
 wrapped in snow. 
 
 The old hunter grew more faint and weak ; the long 
 day waned, and the sun slowly sloped to the red west. 
 
 With Mrs. Courtlandt on one sidoj the Doctor and his 
 brother at the foot of the hed, and Alice and Caroline by 
 his side — ^lie had thrown his feeble arm around their necks 
 — old hunter John rested quietly, gazing wistfully at his- 
 old stag hound stretched upon the floor, or looking through 
 the window at the snow. 
 
 " I think I'm goin'," he murmured, " I think the Lord's 
 a callin' me, children. Keep still, old Oscar," he con- 
 tinued, looking at the hound who had risen, " poor old 
 fool ! your master will never hunt any more upon the 
 earth — never any more, old Oscar!" 
 
 ".Oh, grandfather !" Alice sobbed, "don't talk so! — 
 please don't!" 
 
 The old man smiled. 
 
 "1 ain't complainin' , darlin'," he said cheerfully but 
 feebly, "you know I ain't complainin'. No, no! the 
 Lord's mighty good to me — ^he's been mighty good to me 
 these many long years — and he's a smilin' on me now 
 when I'm most nigh gone." 
 
 He gazed through the window, dreamily ; the sun 
 was on the mountain top : and the shadow of the " Moss 
 Rock" ran over the snow clad valley tow9,rd the Parsonage. 
 
 " The Lord's been merciful to me," murmured the old 
 man. "I'm rememberin' the time now, when he turned 
 aside my gun — I didn't cut down my little blossom, 
 darlin'," he saitl turning to Mrs. Courtlandt, who was 
 weeping, " the Lord was mighty good to me : glory and 
 worship be his, evermore : Amen." 
 
 His thoughts then ^seemed to wander to times more 
 sunken in the past than that of the event his 
 
 deeply 
 
398 tEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 words touched on. Waking he dreamed; and the large 
 eyes melted or fired with a thousand memories which 
 came flocking to him, bright and joyous, or mournful and 
 sombre, but all now transmuted by his almost ecstasy to 
 one glowing mass of purest gold. He saw now plainly 
 much that had been- dark to him before; the hand of 
 Grod was in all, the providence of that great almighty 
 being in every autumn leaf which whirled away ! 
 
 Again, with a last lingering look his mental eyes sur- 
 ' veyed. that eventful border past, so full of glorious splen- 
 dor, of battle shocks, and rude delights ; so full of beloved 
 eyes, now dim, and so radiant with those faces and those 
 hearts now cold ; again leaving the present and all around 
 him, he lived for a moment in that grand and beauteous 
 past, instinct for him with so much splendor and regret. 
 
 But his dim eyes returned suddenly to those much 
 loved faces round him ; and those tender hearts were 
 overcome by the dim, shadowy look. 
 
 The sunset slowly waned away, and falling in red 
 splendor on the old gray head, and storm-beaten brow, 
 lingered there lovingly and cheerfully. The old hunter 
 feebly smiled. 
 
 " You'll be good girls," he murmured wistfully, draw- 
 ing his feeble arm more closely round the children's necks, 
 "remember the old man, darlin's !" 
 
 Caroline pressed her lips to the cold hand, sobbing. 
 Alice did not move her head which, buried in the 
 counterpane, was shaken with passionate sobs. 
 
 The old man gazed wistfully on the little head, and 
 gently smoothed down the curls with his rugged hand. 
 Then he felt one of those strange sensations which dart 
 through the mind at certain times, and have so singular 
 an effect upon us. The old dying mountaineer was cer- 
 tain that he had lived all this before ; those faces were 
 around him in that identical arrangement, ages ago ; 
 Alice was sobbing there ; his eyes were growing d^ ; he 
 
JLtATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 399 
 
 had lain dying there as he now lay a century ago ! It 
 was so plain that heaven itself seemed to have plunged a 
 beam of supernatural light into his heart, a beam which 
 lit up all the mysterious hidden crypts of memory, reveal- 
 ing to him as he lay there on the border of two worlds, 
 the secret of humanity ! " Yes, yes !" he murmured, 
 " she has cried for me before — I have died before — blessed 
 Saviour you were mine before !" Then he became very 
 calm ; his eyes no longer wandered, but dwelt with looks 
 of deep affection on those tender faces grouped around 
 him, as he was about to fall into his last sleep on this 
 earth ; that sleep from which he must awake in another 
 world. 
 
 The Doctor felt his pulse and turned with a mournful 
 look to his brother. Then came those grand religious 
 consolations which so smooth the pathway to the grave ; 
 he was ready: — always — God be thanked, the old man 
 said ; he trusted in the Lord. 
 
 And so the sunset waned away, and with it the life 
 and strength of the old storm-beaten mountaineer — so 
 grand yet powerless, so near to death yet so very cheerful. 
 
 "I'm goin'," he murmured as the red orb touched the 
 mountain, " I'm goin', my darlin's ; I always loved you 
 all, my children. Darlin', don't cry," he murmured feebly 
 to Alice, whose heart was near breaking, " don't any of 
 you cry for me." 
 
 The old dim eyes again dwelt tenderly on the loving 
 faces, wet with tears and on those poor trembling lips. 
 There came now to the aged face of the rude mountaineer, 
 an expression of grandeur and majesty, which illumined 
 the broad brow and eyes like a heavenly light. Then 
 those eyes seeme'd to have found what they were seeking; 
 and were abased. Their grandeur changed to humility, 
 their light to shadow, their fire to softness and unspeak- 
 able love. The thin feeble hands, stretched out upon the 
 cover were agitated slightly, the eyes moved slowly to the 
 
400 'LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 window and thence returned to the dear faces weeping 
 round the bed ; then whispering: 
 
 "The Lord is good to me! he told me he was coniin' 
 'fore the night was here ; come ! come — Lord Jesus — 
 come !" the old mountaineer fell back with a low sigh ; a 
 sigh so low that the old sleeping hound, dreamed on. 
 
 The life strings parted without sound ; and hunter 
 John, that so long loved and cherished soul, that old 
 strong form which had been hardened in so many storms, 
 that tender loving heart — ah, more than all, that grand 
 and tender heart — had passed as calmly, as a little babe 
 from the cold shadowy world to that other world ; the 
 world, we trust, of light, and love, and joy. 
 
 The family fell on their knees sobbing, and weeping. 
 The calm voice of Mr. Courtlandt — that calm tender 
 voice which sounded like a benediction — rose in prayer 
 for the soul which had thus passed ; and so the night 
 came down upon them with shadowy wing,, but could not 
 take from them the-light of hope. A silent voice whis- 
 pered good tidings for their weary hearts, and in the very 
 stillness of the dusky chamber was the calm promise of 
 a brighter, grander world. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 MONSIEUR PANTOUPLE. 
 
 Our tale is nearly finished. That stalwart mount- 
 aineer, the living type of the old border past, having gone 
 away to another world, what remains for the chronicler 
 to say ? His inspiration is dead, the history wound up, 
 the hero has fought his last hattle and succumbed to fate. 
 
 But we will trespass for a brief space still upon the 
 reader's time, since those other personages who have en- 
 tered into, and taken a prominent part in our history — 
 whose claims to attention are based on the latter clause 
 of the title of these pages — now demand a few words, in 
 conclusion, at our hands. 
 
 The autumn following that spring whose near approach 
 we have adverted to, saw three marriages in the mount- 
 ains around Meadow Branch. Miss Emberton gave her 
 hand willingly, most willingly, to the playmate of her 
 youth — the noble heart whose image had never left her 
 memory from first to last. With the bracelet in his hand 
 the worthy Doctor had made his first approaches, and 
 never did royal signet work so powerfully on some rebel- 
 lious town, as that simple circlet of sandal-wood on the 
 heart of its mistress. It had called up old scenes, fresh 
 and radiant once mgre, with all the light and joy of youth; 
 it had wakened memories slowly fading away into the 
 dim past ; it had, in a word, so strongly stirred that tender 
 heart of the still girlish lady, that when the hero of those 
 happy scenes of her youth laid siege more vigorously than 
 ever to the town, the town surrendered. So they were 
 married duly ; and soon after Caroline and Alice pledged 
 
.;>2 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 their troth to Mr. Robert Emberton and Max, the details 
 of whose courtships we have given very fully. 
 
 Monsieur Pantoufle was a welcome guest on these fes- 
 tive occasions, and the old man's face was a pleasure to 
 the Doctor and his wife. He had given them dancing 
 lessons in their childhood — now he saw them happily 
 united, and rejoiced to see it. 
 
 '•'I shall give lesson in the dance to your children. Mon- 
 sieur Max," he said, playing with his old cooked hat and 
 ruffles, " ah ! you aie very happy !"■ 
 
 " How, my old friend," said the Doctor. 
 
 " You have good wife ; whoever have good wife is 
 happy." 
 
 The old man sighed. 
 
 " "Were you ever married, my good Monsieur Pantoufle ?" 
 asked the Doctor ; " you speak very feelingly." 
 
 The old man bent his head, and something like a tear 
 glistened in his eye. 
 
 " Yes ! yes !" he said. 
 
 " You seem grieved ; pardon my thoughtlessness." 
 
 " No ; 'tis friendly. I had wife, I had—" 
 
 The old man paused. 
 
 " I had children," he continued, in a trembling voice. 
 " I lose them all on board ship— wreck coming from St. 
 Domingo — you understand, Monsieur Max — all, all my 
 little chicks." 
 
 " Your children ?" 
 
 "Yes; all, all! three little ones — and my poor wife. 
 I have no heart, no home now !" 
 
 With these words two tears rolled down Monsieur Pan- 
 toufle's cheeks, and he turned away with a sob. 
 
 The Doctor went to him and took his hand. 
 
 "You must be lonely, my old friend," he said, in his 
 noljle and courteous voice, "and ray friends, especially 
 •the'firiettds of liiy youth, who have ever cherished rny 
 rii6riiory and foved nie", shkll not want for any thing I can 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 403 
 
 furnish them. You must come and live with us here 
 whenever you are not engaged giving lessons in Bath or 
 Martinsturg. You are now growing very old, and you 
 will find the country far more pleasant than the town. 
 You can play your violin here,, and be sure you will ever 
 be welcome — most welcome." 
 
 Monsieur Pantoufie raised his thin wistful face, and 
 made the Doctor one of his old courtly bows. 
 
 " Too happy — you make me too happy. Monsieur Max," 
 he said, " I can not so trouble you, though ; no." 
 
 " I insist — you positively shall, my old friend," said 
 the Doctor. 
 
 Monsieur Pantoufle smiled and pressed his hat on his 
 heart. 
 
 " Well, you make me ver happy. Monsieur Max," he 
 ^■aid, a hearty expression diffusing itself over his old face, 
 ■' mos happy. Yes, yes ; and no one but the old man 
 shall teach the young Courtlandts to dance the minuet ; 
 — you recollect the good old minuet — or play the piano 
 — ah ! the harpsichord gone out of fashion ! Who would 
 have said when we fence together in old times, I should 
 give my lesson to the second generation." 
 
 Doctor Courtlandt laughed and took up a foil. 
 
 " Do you fence still ?" he said. 
 
 "No, no — I am old, I am stiff; my hands grow white 
 and weak — my ruffles are now of use, not for the looks 
 only. My hand like a ghost's !" 
 
 With which melancholy, but not bitter or complaining 
 witicism. Monsieur Pantoufle, bowing with his old ele- 
 gance, took his departure. The poor old man had now a 
 home at last. 
 
 " Poor cousin of the Duke de Montmorenci ! I will not 
 abandon you in-your age," said the -Doctor, thoughtfully 
 smiling. " This world is a strange place — ^but what mat- 
 ters it? 'Tis all right in the end." ' ' 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 NON OMNIS MORIAE. 
 
 The sun was atout to set on one of those fine e^^eninga 
 in the latter fall, those evenings which seem to hlend to- 
 gether whatsoever is bright and youthful in the spring, 
 all that is luxuriant in the mature and rich beauty of the 
 flower-crowned summer, all that is thoughtful and full 
 of melancholy attraction in the full golden-handed autumn. 
 
 The rich crimson light was rolled like a royal banner, 
 stained with blood, down the rough side of the Sleepy 
 Creek Mountain ; and so across the little valley to the 
 eastern pines, where it melted away into the fast gather- 
 ing gloom. 
 
 The Moss Rock stood out against the sky like a giant's 
 shoulder, and the tall pines growing at its feet, just 
 fringed the outline of the lofty rock with flame — for they 
 were kindled now by the red fires of sunset. Near the 
 foot of the great rock on whose summit a gnarled fir tree 
 still shook to the storms, or spread its rugged arms on 
 summer days for little singing birds — on a round grassy 
 knoll just under the shadow of the mass of rock, a newly 
 made grave, with its white headstone, was settling into 
 gloom. 
 
 On this stone a young girl, standing erect, was rfesting 
 her arm, while her long hair falling down vailed her face, 
 and hid the expression wholly. She had just planted some 
 autumn flowers in the sod, and now she gazed at the round 
 gras'sy knoll which defined the lofty form which rested 
 below, with heaving bosom. Alice raised her head, and 
 pushed back her hair from her face ; her eyes were full 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 405 
 
 of tears, and she was mastered by one of tiiose fits of 
 sobbing, whose influence is so irresistible. 
 
 That tender heart was overcome by the sight of the 
 grave of her dear grandfather — thus stumbled on in her 
 ■walk — and she felt again all the bitter grief she had ex- 
 perienced on the day of his death. Again she saw the 
 old forehead so thin and blanched ; the feebly smiling 
 lips ; the tender eyes ; — again she heard those loving and 
 much-loved accents of the honest voice. Her head again 
 sank down, vailed by the long sweeping hair, and she 
 gave herself up to grief, weeping and sobbing bitterly. 
 
 A hand was laid upon her shoulder ; and turning round 
 she saw Doctor Courtlandt gazing tenderly upon her. So 
 great had been her abstraction that she had not been con- 
 scious of his approach. 
 
 The Doctor took her hand and said in his soft noble 
 voice, full of tenderness and sympathy : 
 
 " You seem much afflicted, my child— I do not think 
 you heard my horse's hoof-strokes." 
 
 Alice bent down her head murmuring : 
 
 " Oh, he was so good — ^he loved me so — I can't help 
 crying, uncle — he loved me so !" 
 
 This broken, sobbing answer went to the strong man's 
 heart. 
 
 " Yes, yes," he said, " I know you loved him, my child ; 
 I know it well, and you had reason. His was a true 
 brave soul-r-a heart which fought manfully the life battle 
 he was summoned to upon this earth ; and when the bolt 
 from heaven struck him down, he went to death in hope 
 not fear — calmly and tranquilly. 'Tis fit you should love 
 him, Alice." 
 
 " He loved me so," repeated the tender heart, sobbing 
 and weeping, and bendin'g over the stone, " and I loved 
 him so dearly, unol^ !" 
 
 " All loved him," said the Doctor, smoothing the little 
 heaxi which nestled against his shoulder gently and ten- 
 
405 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 derly, " and I do not blame you, darling, for lamenting 
 him ; no, no ! 'twas a true brave soul — an honest heart 
 which dwelt here with us for a time — which is now gone 
 hence, we trust, to joy and glory !" 
 
 Alice replied with a deep sob : from her eyes, vailed 
 with their long lashes, tears rolled down, and her lips 
 were tremulous with agitation. The doctor soothed her 
 gently ; thoughtfully caressing the little head. 
 
 " This man who lies here now a mere clod, a memory, 
 was dear to us," he said, his eyes wandering, it seemed, to 
 other times, " most dear to many as a link of pure virgin 
 gold which bound the present to the past. History will 
 have no word to say of him ; a mere borderer, he can not 
 hope to live in the long drawn annals of the land, in 
 battles, sieges, world-losing combats ! No, this is not for 
 him, 'tis true — no cloth of gold blazoned his deeds to 
 men's wondering eyes ; no shouts of the loijd populace, 
 clinging to his chariot wheels, rung to the sky in praise 
 of his bold deeds. But a few years ! and he will be a 
 myth, a dream, a mere figure' more or less misty of the 
 doubtful past." 
 
 Those noble eyes grew dim and thoughtful ; the 
 words escaping from the lips of the speaker, were mere 
 broken links of the chain of meditation. 
 
 " Yet he shall live in many a border tale," the Doctor 
 murmured, " in many a chronicle of the old border past; 
 he fought her battles, was a large part of the stirring life 
 and deeds of those rugged times ; he did his part like 
 others — and his memory shall not wholly die into oblivion." 
 
 The Doctor's thoughtful brow was raised again ; the 
 young girl gazed silently on the grave. 
 
 "I have planted a flower there, uncle," she said, "it 
 will soon bloom." 
 
 The Doctor, with a look of great affection, took the little 
 hand, and gazing on the agitated face, bent down and 
 pressed his lips to the disordered locks. 
 
LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 407 
 
 " I had forgotten, poor rude reasoner that 1 am," he 
 said, " I had forgotten what was more than all — ah, far 
 more consoling than these mournful consolations I have 
 called up now. The soul which rests so calmly here 
 cares nothing for the loud voice of history, for any cun- 
 ning of the supple herald's art ; what is it to him now 
 whether he lives or dies in tlie mere annals of the land ! 
 He lives in loving hearts — he lies in peace after a long, 
 rough life with many mourners : among them he would 
 rejoice to find his child — you, darling. Your prayers 
 and tears still follow him — your hlessings sanctify his 
 memory ; could the cold spirit feel any thing, I know 
 these tears would move him. He lives in most loving 
 memories : grand consolation — may I have it on my dying 
 bed! 
 
 " Many would say the wish is idle, but I should love 
 to think my own grave was decked with flowers. The 
 human soul clings to its habitudes of thought, whatever 
 cold reason says ; the hopes, the wishes, the aspirations 
 of the soul run ever in the old well worn channels. I 
 think that I should lie in peace if children came without 
 fear to my grave, and flowers grew round it, perfuming 
 the pure air, and symbolizing, the grand beautiful heaven 
 above I Is the wish vain and childish ? Well, (rod has bid 
 us grow like little children in our thoughts, and so I will 
 not be ashamed of my instinct. Come, darling ; the sun 
 has set, and you should return. It is not fit that you 
 should indulge so much your grief — though this was an 
 eminent soul you weep for. He was, I am sure, prepared 
 to die, and lived a long happy life — happy in many true 
 hearts, all his own — happy in a good conscience, and a 
 tranquil end. Thanks be to God for turning the strong 
 man's heart to Him in these latter days ; may he do as 
 much for you and me and all !" 
 
 The Doctor put back the hair, and kissed the tender 
 forehead which rested on his breast. 
 
408 LEATHER STOCKING AND SILK. 
 
 " "We are all puppets, more or less, Alice," he said, 
 "and we can not grasp, with all our boasted powers, 
 seemingly the most open and palpable significance of our 
 human life. All is most wondrous — youth, manhood, 
 age, the seasons, the growing trees, the grass ; a divine 
 mystery lies in them all, and ever escapes us. You arti 
 .like a spring bud, I am in the mature summer of my life, 
 the form which rests in peace there, after so many piled 
 up years, so many tempests, was the snowy haired win- 
 ter of man. Well is it for us if we come to that winter 
 with so little soil upon our hearts — if we accept this 
 human life, so mysterious and strange with the like child- 
 like earnestness and trust. He was a brave true soul, a 
 most honest heart — his epitaph is written in most loving 
 memories !" 
 
 And Imoeling down the Doctor wrote upon the tomb- 
 stone of the old hunter : 
 
 " Thou shalt come to thy grave in a full age, like as a 
 shock of corn cometh in, in his season." 
 
 Then after a moment's thought he added those pious 
 words of the Psalmist: "Blessed be the name of the 
 Lord from this time forth, and forevermore." 
 
 He felt an arm encircle his neck, the young girl's hair 
 brushed against his forehead, and two tears from those 
 tender eyes fell on the letters he had written. They 
 turned and left the place. 
 
 T H K E N D. 
 
W$0' 
 
 fih 
 
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