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THE 
 
 KENTUCKIAN 
 
 IN 
 
 N E W-Y O R K. 
 
 OR, THE m 
 
 ADVENTURES OF THREE SOUTHERNS. 
 BY A VIRGINIAN. 
 
 " Perhaps it may turn out a sang, 
 Perhaps turn out a sermon." — Burn*. 
 
 N TWO VOLUM 
 
 VOL. II, 
 
 NEW-YORK : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
 NO. 82 CLIFF-STREET, 
 
 18 3 4, 
 
 132272 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1834, 
 
 By Harper & Brothers, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York. 
 
THE KENTUCK1AN. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 132272 
 
 ft* 
 
TIIB 
 
 KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 Beverley Randolph to Victor Chevillere% 
 
 " High Hills of the Santee, South Carolina, 18 — 
 
 " Dear Friend, 
 
 " You will be surprised to learn that this letter 
 is written in bed, on a large old portfolio of yours, 
 while I am propped up with chairs and pillows be- 
 hind ; all during the doctor's absence, and against 
 the urgent entreaties of the whole house. 
 
 " I have been ill, Chevillere, exceedingly ill. 
 You, no doubt, recollect the threats I made to 
 charge my system with miasma, and thereby take 
 on the fever-and-ague, by way of making myself 
 interesting. I had little thought then of the reality, 
 or how soon that reality would come. 
 
 " It has come ; and, I hope, has gone ; but not 
 
 VOL. II. A 
 
6 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 the fever-and-ague. I had an ague, it is true, and 
 fever after it ; but the latter, I believe, kept up a 
 more continued fire upon my system than inter- 
 mittens ever do. Strange too, that when this 
 attack came upon me without my bidding, I never 
 once thought of my former interesting schemes ; 
 nor (as it seems to me now) did 1 think much of 
 any thing, except the taste of the medicines. 
 
 " I can recollect when I thought it must be a 
 strange and dismal experience — that of the sick 
 chamber. It is no such thing. I have vague and 
 ill-defined recollections of hot days and restless 
 nights, perhaps ; but all the other experience seems 
 like a long dreamy period of existence. 
 
 " Nature seems to provide us against the misery 
 of conscious suffering, by turning our ideas upon 
 trifles and childish vexations. A man who is ill 
 with a malignant fever, is an object of dread and 
 commiseration to his acquaintance, who exclaim, 
 • How horrible ! how dreadful a thing it is !' And 
 this with regard to his physical sufferings, and in 
 anticipation of immediate dissolution of soul and 
 body. We attempt to picture to ourselves what 
 his thoughts must be. 
 
 " What is the invalid himself doing all this while ? 
 He is begging for cold water ; quarrelling with the 
 taste of villanous drugs, and abusing his nurse, if 
 the fever has just then remitted a little. And as 
 for his thoughts — he has none beyond these things ; 
 his mind is a blank ; the past and the future are 
 obliterated. 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 7 
 
 " The rational creature is lost in the predomi- 
 nating exigencies of the animal ; the mind seems to 
 lose the power of combining any but the simple 
 sensations. 
 
 " I have not reflected much upon the causes of 
 these things, because my own mind has but too 
 lately recovered from that very state. I merely 
 give the facts of my own experience, because I 
 know you are fond of gathering up these little un- 
 noticed things, and arranging them with your other 
 natural curiosities. 
 
 " But I have not told you half yet ; my mind 
 was in a worse state even than that just described ; 
 it was entirely in eclipse. Of that I know nothing 
 except what Virginia has told me. 
 
 " You see, 1 do not call her Bell any more, nor 
 do I mean to do so ; the reason, perhaps, I may be 
 able to tell you before they take the paper away 
 from me. 
 
 " The name Bell, short and alone, somehow 
 suited her character, as I then understood it, as 
 well as my feelings towards her. She seemed to 
 me a lively, intelligent little romp, and I loved her 
 as such. I did not then think myself capable of 
 feeling any stronger attachment for any other 
 character of beauty, or for any deeper or more 
 profound characteristics of the female heart. In- 
 deed, I doubt whether I knew of, or believed in, 
 the existence of any better foundation for an 
 attachment. 
 
 " Poor, fickle-hearted man ! I have changed 
 
8 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 already. Be not alarmed, Chevillere ; I have not 
 gone out of the family ; I have only changed from 
 Bell to Virginia. 
 
 " Now can you solve this truly profound enigma? 
 No. Then I must unravel the mystery for you. 
 
 " First then, I have not spoken to her once of 
 love, unless it was during the two days that I was 
 deranged ; and to tell you the truth, I have some 
 shrewd suspicion that I did broach the subject 
 then ; nay more, that I did much better for myself 
 than if I had been sane in mind. This is a left- 
 handed compliment to myself, but I cannot help it, 
 as I cannot challenge myself. Something that I 
 did or said, during those two days, has certainly 
 revolutionized her whole conduct towards me, and 
 every one else in my presence. She has changed 
 towards me, and hence my change towards her. 
 I thought her the most charming girl in existence 
 before ; now I have different feelings. Charming 
 she certainly is, but charming is too cold a term — 
 too much the word of a stranger, to express my 
 feelings any longer. They are more respectful 
 now— but more of this at another time. 
 
 " Old Tombo has been my constant attendant, 
 because I preferred him, it seems, to any of the 
 house servants. He has been devoted to me. I 
 suppose he little thought that I once had a design 
 to drown him. 
 
 " When I returned to sane views of things, the 
 doctor had gone. I awoke out of a profound 
 sleep, and found myself lying on my back, with my 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 9 
 
 face towards the ceiling. In a short time my recol- 
 lection was perfect of every thing which happened 
 previous to the two days. I lay in that state col- 
 lecting my thoughts a few moments, and then 
 slowly and silently turned my head towards the 
 centre of the room. Virginia sat there reading in- 
 tently. She was paler and thinner than usual, and 
 her countenance so complete a mirror of her 
 thoughts, that I imagined I could almost read there 
 what she read in the book. I had never seen the 
 same look before, and was struck with it. I at first 
 thought it nothing more than the result of my way- 
 ward fancies coming over me again, for I knew 
 that something had been wrong with me. I closed 
 my eyes to recover myself, in order to try again ; 
 still her countenance was sad, absorbed, and 
 deeply thoughtful. I never saw a more wonderful 
 change; there was not an expression of the thought- 
 less school-girl there. 
 
 " It was the woman 1 saw, in propria persona ; 
 not that she has numbered more than eighteen 
 years, and that is a long age of feeling ; but that 
 she appeared now so calm, dignified, and sensible ; 
 her beautiful upper lip convulsively tremulous 
 with deep sympathetic feelings. It was this chord 
 which first caused my own nervous vibrations. 
 The nether lip, the eye, and even the cheeks are 
 obedient in some measure to the will, in expressing 
 either pathetic or ludicrous ideas. But show me 
 a tragedian who can convulse the upper lip in those 
 little (almost) nameless vibrations, which come 
 
10 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 from, and go straight to, the heart, — and I will 
 show you a consummate master of his art. 
 
 " You see I go upon the ground that he can first 
 operate upon his own feelings sufficiently to touch 
 this delicate chord, for I hold that it is obedient 
 to no other monitor. 
 
 " Is this observation the result of a diseased 
 mind ? Look at those who have had that organ 
 paralyzed ; let them weep ; and I think you will 
 see a horrid confirmation of my opinions. Or on 
 the other hand, deeply touch the feelings of a sen- 
 sitive child or woman, and note the result ; I will 
 abide by your judgment. 
 
 " I saw that her feelings were not only deeply 
 affected by what she read, but all her sensibilities 
 were attuned to a state of thrilling vibration for 
 which I had never given her credit. 
 
 " It was my ignorance of this, no doubt, which 
 caused her playful and artificial manner towards 
 me, or in other words, she had not until lately (if 
 now) a very exalted idea of my penetration. Con- 
 sequently she could not have formed a high opinion 
 of my understanding, for penetration is but the eye 
 of the soul. No one can go beyond his own pro- 
 fundity, in penetrating the obscure origin of looks, 
 feelings, and passions in another ; and we can 
 generally go, I think, about to our own depth. 
 
 " Our opinion of another depends much upon his 
 opinion of us. This has generally been ascribed 
 to selfishness in the human heart, and an inordinate 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 11 
 
 avidity for flattery ; but it has likewise a deeper 
 foundation. 
 
 " Fools, no doubt, may admire each other for the 
 pleasure and satisfaction which the thing affords ; 
 but wise men have other interchanges besides the 
 feelings and passions. First there is the magnetic 
 influence (I have no other name for it), which will 
 open a secret intercourse and understanding be- 
 tween two persons, in a room where scores of 
 duller mortals may be standing by, none the wiser. 
 It is not purely magnetic, because a word or a hint 
 will sometimes open the door before the secret 
 influence. 
 
 " I have been hitherto a most unfortunate fellow 
 in this respect, for I never could get a great man 
 to receive the magnetic stream from me. You see 
 the devil is not entirely cast out. 
 
 "But seriously, let the change in Virginia be 
 owing to what it may, the fact was incontro- 
 vertible. 
 
 " There she sat, as completely metamorphosed 
 as the shoemaker's wife in the play. There was 
 nothing to intercept my view except the mosquito 
 nets which here surround all your beds, instead of 
 the curtains which are used in the middle and, I 
 suppose, in the northern states. 
 
 " A full quarter of an hour elapsed while the 
 foregoing ideas passed through my mind, before 
 the death-like silence of the sick-chamber was dis- 
 turbed by a single sound louder than an occasional 
 sigh from the beautiful girl. But a quarter of an 
 
12 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 hour, short as it was, sufficed to induct me into 
 more of the mysterious and subdued operations of 
 the female heart and mind, than many months' 
 previous experience while my blood was warm, 
 my pulsations impetuous, and my actions pro- 
 duced by direct impulses of the moment. 
 
 " You, Chevillere, have preceded me in these 
 observations. You seemed from the first to have 
 been endowed with an intuitive perception of these 
 things. At least, you manifested a secret and un- 
 defined dread of prematurely encountering such 
 little magazines of combustible feeling. 
 
 " But now, it seems, you are about to explode 
 in a genuine Guy Faux affair, after being fright- 
 ened at a pop-gun. This is always the way with 
 you silent abstracted gentlemen ; you avoid the 
 little school romances which beset your companions 
 from the year 14, until you get the credit of being 
 very unsusceptible young men, and are set down 
 by the little gay creatures as incipient bachelors. 
 
 " But a day of retribution comes at last. The 
 experience which others have been drawing in 
 through that long, long age of minority, is in your 
 case concentrated into a single year, month, or 
 week. 
 
 " But how prosing sickness has made me. While 
 you are asking for bread, I am giving you a stone. 
 
 " * Miss Virginia,' said I, softly (it used to be 
 Miss Bell) ; she dropped the book and sprung to 
 her feet like one who had been electrified. 
 
 " ■ Do you feel better, Mr. Randolph V she asked, 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 13 
 
 at the same time gently tapping the floor with the 
 handle of a riding switch, kept there for that pur- 
 pose. 
 
 " 1 1 do feel better, my dear young lady,' said I, 
 stretching out my hand. 
 
 " My own voice frightened me ; it came as if 
 from the bottom of a sepulchre. My bony hand 
 slipped from under the bedclothes like a smuggled 
 piece of anatomy ; she placed her warm throbbing 
 little hand in mine ; it felt as if it had a heart within 
 its soft and pure outlines ; I denied myself the 
 reviving pleasure, and withdrew my hand, as a 
 deformed man would withdraw the defective 
 member. 
 
 " At this moment your mother entered on tip- 
 toe, and seeing Virginia standing by the bedside 
 with the netting in her hand, she approached and 
 laid her hand upon my forehead. 
 
 "'Dear Mr. Randolph,' said she, 'do you feel 
 better?' in her peculiarly mild and benignant tones, 
 and feeling my pulse like a novice. ' O, I know 
 you are better ; the doctor thought your sleep 
 would restore you. Thank God ! you know not 
 what we have suffered, both on your account 
 and our own ; but I am afraid we have made you 
 talk too much. Compose yourself, my dear sir, 
 and I will watch by your bedside.' 
 
 " Now, Chevillere, I admire, and honour, and 
 love your mother almost as much as I did my own ; 
 but I love her neice's company better. The idea 
 instantly occurred to me that Virginia would come 
 
 VOL. II. B 
 
14 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORE. 
 
 back again if I fell into a slumber ; so I pretended 
 to enjoy a very comfortable nap. As I expected, 
 your mother withdrew on tiptoe, and Virginia 
 returned to her post. 
 
 " I saw that she had been weeping. She still 
 held the same book in her hand, but I was too vain 
 to attribute the tears to the influence of its con* 
 tents. I lay and enjoyed one of the most delight- 
 ful periods I recollect ever to have spent. My 
 system was cool and comfortable ; not a particle 
 of disease was left. My eyes were just closed 
 enough to catch a shadowy outline of her figure 
 and profile through the eyelids. I was determined 
 not again to disturb my own comfortable reveries, 
 and had just fixed myself with a good deal of com- 
 placency to enjoy the delicious present, when, be- 
 hold ! I fell asleep in earnest. 
 
 " Did you ever fall asleep just as you had sat 
 down to a magnificent dinner, with fine wine and 
 fine company, and slept till the dinner was eat up 
 and the company gone ? That was precisely my 
 case. I awoke and found I had fallen asleep under 
 the most atrocious circumstances, perhaps, that 
 ever a man snored in, — not excepting deacons, 
 elders, town clerks, and cooks on a summer Sun- 
 day. The delicious meal which I had laid out for 
 my eyes was gone, and old Tombo sat there in 
 her place. When I awoke, I turned my head 
 slowly towards the spot, as I had done before, and 
 slowly raised the lids in a lazy, luxurious, and vale- 
 tudinarian style, until they beheld — the devil ! I 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 15 
 
 thought, indeed, it was he at first ; so ugly did old 
 Tombo look from very contrast. 
 
 " * Tombo P said I, ' how came you here ?' 
 
 " « Up the stars, masta/ 
 
 " I smiled^ for the first time, I suppose, in many 
 days ; for Tombo seemed to be tickled at the sight 
 of my teeth. 
 
 " * Tombo/ said I, ' sit near, and tell me all the 
 things I have been saying within the last two days, 
 especially those things I said when your young 
 mistress was in the room/ 
 
 " * I can't, sir, axing your pardon/ 
 
 '"Why not, Tombo?' 
 
 " * 'Cause why, Miss Bell been tell me no, and I 
 tink I find it bery hard to say him ober again/ 
 
 " * O, never mind what Miss Bell told you ; she 
 only told you so on my account ; come, tell it out. 
 I will explain to" your young mistress that I ordered 
 you to tell me ; if you can't repeat the words, let 
 me know what it was about, for the most part/ 
 
 " * O ! I can tell what it was about, for it was 
 all the same ting, and that was Miss Bell heself ; 
 and fine talk I calls it too ; I told 'em in the kitchen 
 that you been no more crazy than the doctor he- 
 self/ 
 
 " ' What did I say about Miss Bell, Tombo V 
 
 " * O, Lord, sir, I can't speak him, but he make 
 her cry for true, some time ; and misses cry too, 
 and I can't say but I swallo'd bery hard myself; 
 more, maybe, from what the doctor says than what 
 you said/ 
 
16 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 * I told him to hand me a looking-glass. I haJ 
 been picking the skin off my finger bones, and 
 holding them up occasionally to look at them, until 
 I began to feel some curiosity to see my phiz ! 
 
 " And a precious piece of anatomy I saw ; head 
 shaved close, and a sheepskin plaster over it, like 
 a bald crown ; face as sharp as a handsaw, and 
 features, good imitation of the teeth thereof; ears 
 sticking out in bold relief like two handles to a 
 tub ; lips covered with fever scales ; neck long 
 and stringy ; eyes drawn in like a turtle's head ; 
 nose sticking out by itself like the cutwater of a 
 ship, and skin like a tanned sheepskin. An interest- 
 ing plight for a hero of a love affair 1 I had not fin- 
 ished admiring myself when Virginia again entered 
 on tiptoe, expecting, no doubt, to find me still 
 asleep. She started back in astonishment, when 
 she saw Tombo holding the glass before my face. 
 I motioned to him to take it away, and begged Vir- 
 ginia not to rap on the floor, which I saw she was 
 about to do, as I did not wish to disturb your mo- 
 ther. I declared myself much better, and begged 
 her to be seated a few moments. She did so. 
 
 "'Have I said any thing during the two last 
 days which would have been improper if it had 
 been said in my sane moments V 
 
 " • Nothing, sir, but — ' 
 
 "'But what?' 
 
 " ' You said many things of which you seldom 
 thought when you were well.' 
 
 N ' Indeed 1 what were they F 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 17 
 
 " * It would be useless, sir, to rehearse them, and 
 might injure you to hear them/ 
 
 " ' Not at all ; on the contrary, the restlessness 
 of anxiety will injure me if I do not hear them, 
 especially those things in which your own name 
 was mentioned/ 
 
 " * I cannot repeat them, sir ; I have no doubt 
 my aunt will, if the doctor approves of it/ 
 
 " * Tell me, then, do you think a maniac displays 
 any thing of the operations of his mind in his 
 sounder moments V 
 
 " ' To tell you candidly, then, I think he does/ 
 
 " ' Will you tell me why you think so V 
 
 " * Because most of a maniac's discourses are 
 retrospective ; detached and disjointed, it is true, 
 but still momentarily calling upon that stock of 
 ideas which has been treasured up in by-gone days ; 
 but, sir, I think this a very improper subject for you 
 to converse upon at present/ 
 
 " * Not at all ; I feel as strong in lungs and intel- 
 lect as I ever did in my life/ 
 
 " Your mother came in just at this moment, and 
 sent Virginia down to receive some visiters, male 
 and female, from the refugees' sandhill village. 
 
 " I feel now what it is to be stretched out here, 
 not able to wink an eye at a rival ; but I shall re- 
 cruit apace, at least as long as they stay. They 
 have been trying to get the paper from me this half 
 hour, but I will not give it up yet ; I tell them that 
 it soothes and calms me like an opiate. 
 
 " Since I wrote the above, the doctor has called. 
 b2 
 
18 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 He is a better specimen of the cloth than I ex- 
 pected to find here — gentlemanly, sensible, and dis- 
 creet. I asked him, when there was no one present 
 but Tombo, what I had said about Virginia in my 
 two days of mental eclipse ? He answered, that I 
 was a very impassioned lover for a philosopher, 
 and laughed heartily. 
 
 " I suspect that he suspects me of not being too 
 sound in my most rational moments. What, in the 
 name of the seven wonders, does he mean by 
 philosopher? But I will be at the bottom of all 
 these things, before I get on my legs again. In the 
 mean time, the change in Virginia occupies our 
 attention. 
 
 " I begin to doubt very seriously whether she 
 is such a real, natural, and unsophisticated charac- 
 ter as I first described her to you in my letter of 
 that period. 
 
 " At a certain age, far within twenty, girls of a 
 good deal of ingenuity may make almost any char- 
 acter seem natural to them, especially if they have 
 vivacity to support it. Nay, they may stamp 
 that character upon themselves for life, if it is 
 much admired. They do not at that age study 
 themselves ; they do not know that the character 
 which they have assumed is an artificial one ; but 
 of course there is just enough of nature, and art- 
 lessness, and unaflfectedness, to make it captivating 
 to our sex. 
 
 " It depends entirely upon their adventures in 
 the world, just at this time of setting out, what turn 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 19 
 
 this girlish vivacity will take. An early disap- 
 pointment will temper their sprightliness into a 
 very discreet carriage, and sometimes make them 
 sad and melancholy all their days. 
 
 " In these times of convenient matches, the 
 whole world is full of this sadness and melancholy ; 
 not affected melancholy, but real and true sorrow- 
 ing after the gay and brilliant dreams of their 
 youth ; a yearning for the scenes and associates of 
 their childhood. 
 
 " Happy that man and that woman who have 
 wedded in young life, upon the impulses of the 
 heart, and have moulded each other's characters 
 into genuine connubial congeniality. I have fre- 
 quently seen old couples who had been united in 
 early life, and had lived so long together that they 
 actually resembled each other in feature, face, and 
 expression. 
 
 " Your cousin's mind is much more like yours 
 than I had at first supposed. She endeavours to 
 penetrate into the results of experience without its 
 pains and penalties. Oh ! how much you both 
 have the advantage of me there. I plunge head- 
 long into every thing, and then I can study very 
 ingeniously how to get out. I really believe that 
 I improve by experience ; but no other schooling 
 can make me wise. 
 
 " But you and Virginia seem to make it your 
 study to suck honey from the flowers strewed in 
 your path, without touching the thorns ; 'tis a 
 heaven-born gift, therefore cherish it. I, on the 
 
20 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 contrary, plunge up to the neck in thorns after a 
 single flower, and then pay some one to help me 
 out, with the very thing for which I jumped in. 
 What does experience avail a man, when the occa- 
 sion for using the knowledge he gains by it, van- 
 ishes with it. It is an experience which comes 
 too late. 
 
 " It is very common to suppose, indeed to say, 
 that these prudent and discreet characters are dull 
 and prosing. There can be no more pernicious 
 mistake, nor one more calculated to lead would-be 
 geniuses into follies and erratic vices. Thus copy- 
 ing the errors of some fatal genius they find them- 
 selves in the midst of follies and crimes, without 
 the excuse of genius, or the genius to get out of 
 them. 
 
 " The finest combination of talents in the world, 
 is that which can lead a man to fold his arms and 
 stand as a spectator upon the actions of others, 
 drinking in that wisdom of experience through his 
 eyes and ears, which another must have lashed 
 into his back. Scott and Napoleon are two fine 
 examples of this genius preceding experience, and 
 Byron of the opposite. 
 
 " It is doubtful in my mind whether Byron might 
 not have been a very different character if his 
 'Hours of Idleness' had been suffered to die a natural 
 death, and had he never been lashed into the pro- 
 duction of ' English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. , 
 This result would have been still more probable, 
 had he married the lady of his youthful love. This 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 21 
 
 opinion of the noble poet you may take as the 
 product of a mind diseased, if you like. The truth 
 is, there are so many conversations, lives, memoirs, 
 &e. of Byron, from Leigh Hunt up to Moore, that 
 we on this side of the Atlantic have. not the mate- 
 rials, in an authentic form, wherewith to make up 
 our opinions. 
 
 " And now that the time and paper allowed me 
 are drawing to an end, permit me to allude to a 
 subject upon which we exchanged letters before 
 setting out. 
 
 " I promised to give you my poor views of the 
 gradual change of opinion, of population, and of 
 circumstances, and of the future prospects of Vir- 
 ginia. 
 
 " The truth is, I have found things here which 
 interested me so deeply that I of course thought 
 they would interest you too ; but when my health 
 is restored, and present objects lose their novelty 
 a little, you shall be welcome to any observations 
 which I have made with regard to my native 
 state ; always giving the first place, however, to 
 whatever concerns her little namesake. 
 
 " Tell Lamar that I consider much of our cor- 
 respondence, on both sides, as joint stock. 
 
 " Believe me to be your much chastened and 
 sobered chum, 
 
 " B, Randolph,** 
 
22 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 V. Chevillere to B. Randolph. 
 
 « New- York, 18—. 
 " Dear Chum, 
 
 " I did not write to you the next morning, as I 
 promised, for many reasons, which may appear in 
 the sequel. Bad news always comes soon enough. 
 
 " This city now presents a most singular spec- 
 tacle. The throng, and hurry, and I may say the 
 pleasure of business, have changed into the throng, 
 and hurry, and misery of fear. Carts that for- 
 merly, bore merchandise through the streets, are 
 now carrying beds, chairs, and tables of flying 
 families to their country-seats. The bodies of 
 carriages are dismounted, and the running gears 
 are covered with platforms, on which are placed 
 the whole culinary apparatus. Stages and steam- 
 boats are crowded with all colours, sexes, and con- 
 ditions. The mason has forsaken his half-built 
 house, and the joiner has left his timber in the 
 street. The glittering bow-windows of the bazars 
 in Broadway are many of them darkened with 
 their night and Sunday barricades. The theatres 
 and places of amusement are closed, when the 
 season had just commenced. The entries to the 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 23 
 
 hotels look like the empty aisles of churches on 
 week days, and the streets look dismal, gloomy, 
 and silent. 
 
 " The only business which thrives is that of the 
 apothecaries and coffin-makers* From these facts 
 you have already gathered that the pestilence of 
 the East is really and truly here. 
 
 " Early on the morning of the day appointed for 
 our jaunt to the Falls of the Passaic, Lamar and 
 myself arose from our beds with all the ardour of 
 expectation, and the high impulses and impetuous 
 spirits of our best youthful and college days. Be- 
 fore we had completed our toilet, my impatience 
 led me to the high four-story front window of our 
 apartment, which overlooks the eastern part of the 
 city, in the direction of Long Island and the Sound, 
 to see if a fickle climate promised to be propitious 
 to our undertaking. 
 
 " All nature seemed to smile upon our intended 
 expedition ; the eastern turrets of the city, and 
 the bright curtains of misty drapery which fantas- 
 tically arose and hovered over Hurlgate, were 
 brilliantly tinged with the erimson rays of a 
 summer morning's sun ; although the arbitrary 
 divisions of the year remind us that we are con- 
 siderably beyond the period of that happy season 
 in a northern climate. 
 
 " We were scarcely sooner in readiness than the 
 cabriolet, horses, and servants intended for the oc- 
 casion. As we slowly walked the horses to the 
 rendezvous where we had agreed to take an early 
 
24 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 breakfast, fearing, perhaps, that we might disturb 
 the little nestlers in their slumbers, we observed 
 for the first time the various operations of morning 
 in a large city. 
 
 " Preparations were making at every door to 
 supply those incessant wants of natural or arti- 
 ficial life, which, in so large a city, employ so 
 many hewers of wood and drawers of water. 
 Here was the dingy charcoal- vender, with his dull 
 monotonous song, which almost makes one imagine 
 that he is still slumbering through the disturbed 
 hours of the morning. Here was a large cask of 
 spring-water, sold by the gallon, and looking cool 
 and invigorating, especially to those countless 
 crowds of youth and men who enjoy the night 
 with the murderous pleasures of wine, only to 
 long for ice and soda-water in the morning. Here 
 was the sooty patent-sweeper, with our southern 
 corn-songs converted into the monotonous twang 
 of business. The various rival dairymen with 
 their milk carts standing along the curbstones, their 
 drivers yelling like western Indians to the tardy 
 housemaids, as they slowly rubbed their eyes, ad- 
 justed their aprons, and sleepily handed out their 
 pitchers at random. 
 
 " As we rode along the street, maids were to be 
 seen sweeping the pavement, clerks taking down 
 the barricadoes of the night, and journeymen hur- 
 rying to their employers. Gentlemen and ladies, 
 singly and in pairs, men-servants and maid-ser- 
 vants, boys and girls, both coloured and white, 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 25 
 
 those of low as well as of high degree, were pouring 
 down those streets leading to the markets, which 
 you know, perhaps, are here situated in various 
 parts of the city. 
 
 " At length we arrived before the door of the 
 house which contained the magnetic points by 
 which so many of our movements are directed. 
 We dismounted, while Cato held the horses in his 
 most pompous style, seeming to have a shrewd 
 suspicion that his best behaviour at this house 
 would not be entirely unacceptable to us. When 
 we rang at the bell, no one hastily answered our 
 summons as on the former occasion, and our hearts 
 began to misgive us a little. We were surprised 
 that the green lattice-door, which opened exter- 
 nally, was now gone, and its place supplied by a 
 very inhospitable cold-looking one of more solid 
 construction. We rang again, and after waiting 
 some time, heard some one fumbling at the door 
 inside, in a very different fashion from the sudden 
 overdone politeness of proud servants ; one bolt 
 began to withdraw after another, until at length 
 the door opened. Who stood there, do you sup- 
 pose ? not the gay and lively Isabel Hazlehurst, — 
 nor her mother, — nor the footman who usually did 
 the office, — but an old lady housekeeper in specta- 
 cles, as deaf as a door-post, who invariably an- 
 swered to what she thought ought to have been 
 the question. We, of course, were not aware of 
 this at first, and were therefore not a little surprised, 
 
 VOL, II.- 
 
26 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 after Lamar had expended some very useless cour- 
 tesy upon her, to hear, — 
 
 " * And what's your will, gentlemen V 
 
 " Lamar screamed the object of our visit loud 
 enough in her ear to have awakened the whole 
 family, had they been still asleep. 
 
 " * O ay ! O ay !' said she, « you are the gallants, 
 you say, and you want the bit letter/ and away 
 she waddled, leaving us not much less impatient 
 than our horses, which were pawing the pavement 
 at a furious rate. 
 
 11 Presently she returned, and deli\ r ered to Lamar 
 a note directed to me ; it was from young Hazle- 
 hurst, apologizing in the name of the family and 
 the ladies for our disappointment, and pleading as 
 the cause the ravages of the pestilence and the 
 dread of the family ; concluding by stating, that 
 they had all gone up the Hudson to the country- 
 seat of Mr. Brumley (Miss St. Clair's step- father), 
 and would return together as soon as the Board of 
 Health pronounced it safe to do so ; when they 
 would be happy to see us again, and to compensate 
 for our present disappointment by making the 
 promised jaunt. 
 
 " Lamar sprang upon his horse and galloped 
 away down the street, the fire flying from under 
 his feet as if some imp of darkness was at his 
 heels. I saw no more of him that morning, but • 
 fortunately met Arthur soon after breakfast. He 
 seemed astonished that we had not fled also, and 
 still more so when I communicated my desire to 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 27 
 
 see something of this disease, and especially in 
 those haunts where the wretched paupers were 
 congregated. 
 
 " Our first visit was to that celebrated place the 
 Five Points, called so from there being five corner 
 houses on the spot, one of them triangular, of 
 course; the others being formed by two streets 
 intersecting each other at right angles. One of 
 these in one direction divides into two streets, run-> 
 ning one on each side of the triangular house. 
 
 "As we approached the spot, the loaded atmo^ 
 sphere from the filthy streets began to salute our 
 olfactories, and various evidences were presented 
 to our eyes of the loathsome and disgusting dissi- 
 pation which was still kept up, in spite of the ter- 
 rors of the grim monster. The corporation wagons 
 or hearses were to be seen standing along the 
 streets, with the end gate down, into which two 
 men were stacking the white pine coffins as high as 
 the lid would admit, and often bringing two and 
 three of these from one house. I will confess to 
 vou that this struck me with horror at first, — not 
 fear, but horror, — and I must remark to you an 
 observation of mine connected with it ; you know 
 I am fond of treasuring up these, great or small. 
 
 " When* a person first enters these dismal regions 
 during the prevalence of an epidemic, he is ten 
 times more struck by the appearance of these 
 crowded coffins, than he is at the sight of a whole 
 hospital of patients with the epidemic. In the first 
 Jiouse we entered, were three persons lying ill of 
 
28 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORE. 
 
 the disease in one room ; all of them of the very 
 lowest class of drunken debauchees. I can 
 scarcely give you an idea of the wretched condi- 
 tion of these tatterdemalions, by any thing which 
 you have seen in the South. They are far more 
 filthy, degraded, and wretched than any slave I 
 have ever beheld, under the most cruel and tyran- 
 nical master. If such is their condition in ordinary 
 times, what must it be now ? they are in the lowest 
 depths of human degradation and misery. 
 
 u Two of the three were females, — mother and 
 daughter ; the latter looked as- if she was thirty- 
 five years of age, though she told me she was 
 only twenty. She was thought to be convalescent, 
 and I can truly say that out of the hundreds whom 
 I have seen, she was the only one of her class who 
 exhibited any thing like remorse of conscience for 
 her past life. One would be apt to suppose that 
 there would be weeping, and wailing, and gnash- 
 ing of teeth, — but there is no such thing ; they die 
 like dogs, amid the ribald jests, vulgar wit, and 
 Billingsgate slang of their quondam associates. 
 Self-preservation seems to have ceased to be a law 
 of nature here, and death has become familiar to 
 the eyes of these wretches, as carnage does to the 
 soldier. I asked the daughter if she and her mo- 
 ther had ever been in better circumstances. She 
 said they had, far better ; that they had once been 
 comfortable and happy, but that her wretched 
 mother had deserted her father's house while he 
 was gone to sea, which had driven him to- dis^ 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 29 
 
 sipation, ruin, and the state-prison, and them to 
 their present condition ; there was no kind of feel- 
 ing exhibited by the mother, either in regard to the 
 past or the future ; the sufferings of the present 
 moment occupied her, both soul and body, and this 
 is the case with ninety-nine in the hundred of all 
 those whom I have seen sick and dying ; they for- 
 cibly remind me of a flock of sheep swept off sud- 
 denly by some rapid distemper. I never could 
 realize the idea of the state of feeling in Paris 
 during the bloody days of the reign of terror until 
 now ; I can readily conceive how indifferent men 
 may become to death, by being stupified with its 
 hourly exhibition. 
 
 " There are some heart-rending scenes here, — - 
 such as parents just landed from Europe, who die 
 and leave little children wandering about the 
 streets, without any one to know or care for them. 
 Dead bodies lying in the houses by twos and threes 
 and sixes ; no one caring or knowing of them, 
 until the corporation officials come round, and then 
 they are dragged out into the middle of the floor 
 and thrown into pine coffins, clothes and all — un- 
 known oftentimes, even by name. 
 
 " From whence did these people come ? Most 
 of them from happy homes, and tender and affec- 
 tionate friends in the country. Attracted here, 
 perhaps, by gay scenes, and brilliant delusions, and 
 intoxicating delights, which greet the young and 
 thoughtless upon a first entrance into a city life. 
 Misfortune or misadventure, perhaps, first throws 
 c 2 
 
30 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK, 
 
 them from the current of business into the current 
 of amusements — this again carries them down to 
 dissipation — perhaps to crime. And finally, death 
 meets them in these awful sinks of perdition. Ur- 
 gent, indeed, should be the calls of business or 
 ambition which lead a youth of any tolerable pros- 
 pects in the country, to fly to the greater theatre 
 of a populous city. 
 
 " With such as these last mentioned, I observed 
 one remarkable fact during the prevalence of the 
 epidemic. Until a fatal disease seizes them, they 
 live from year to year, month to month, and day 
 to day, under some strange hallucination ; expect- 
 ing some miraculous change of fortune, or a turn 
 of luck, as they call it. But when finally the grim 
 monster seizes them, their consternation and con- 
 fusion are equal to their previous delusions. For 
 the first time in years, perhaps, they see themselves 
 in their true outlines. The shock is frightful to 
 look upon ; the criminal brought to the scaffold 
 does not appear more wretched and overwhelmed. 
 
 " I have seen one of these precocious sots first 
 really and thoroughly convinced of the extent of his 
 degradation upon his death-bed. 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " V. Chevii/Lere." 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 31 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 Victor Chevillere to B. Randolph. 
 
 " New- York, 18—. 
 
 " Dear Friend, 
 
 "Once more I breathe freely; the pestilence 
 has almost left us, and the citizens are returning. 
 Joy has taken the place of fear and trembling. 
 The hum of business and the crash of wheels are 
 heard, and I have opened my portfolio once more, 
 to lay before you in a more concocted form those 
 things which have crowded upon me since I last 
 wrote ; which I believe was some two or three 
 weeks ago. 
 
 " I have again seen her, Randolph ; have ridden 
 with her fifteen miles — have talked with her ; and 
 by all that is lovely, have laughed with her. Think 
 of that, my dear fellow ! Yet I am as profoundly 
 ignorant as to the cause of the blight which has 
 fallen upon her spirits, as I was when I first men- 
 tioned the topic. 
 
 " How shall I tell you of those things which have 
 occurred in the last forty-eight hours 1 And where 
 shall I begin ? 
 
 " When other people began again to crowd this 
 little island, Lamar and I began our promenades 
 
32 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 in Broadway ; and I will not conceal from you 
 that sundry glances were cast to the condition and 
 appearance of certain window-shutters and doors. 
 At length, and on a sudden, they began to assume 
 an indescribable appearance, as if some treasures 
 were enclosed within, which had not been stored 
 there of late. We saw no signal ribands through 
 the shutters, nor any intelligible announcement. 
 Our knowledge was derived from the external ap- 
 pearance of the house alone. We approached the 
 house — rang the bell, and speedily the hospitable- 
 looking door was thrown wide open by the foot- 
 man, in as polite and welcoming an attitude as if 
 his young master and myself were never to be- 
 come rivals. 
 
 " Did you ever sit half an hour, examining the 
 cornice around the ceiling of a fashionable saloon, 
 or the texture of a Turkey carpet, or the veins of 
 an Italian marble slab ? adjusting yourself twenty 
 different times and ways for the reception? conning 
 over your first speech — first short, then longer, 
 and at length, formal and spiteful. That was not 
 our case, for I had not fixed my mouth, even for a 
 speech, before the gay Isabel bounced into the 
 room, as full of hilarity as Lamar or Arthur could 
 have desired — but alone. 
 
 " ' I am truly sorry,' said she, ' that we disap- 
 pointed you — but indeed, indeed, it was not my 
 fault. Brother brought such terrible accounts of 
 the epidemic, that mother would not hear of our 
 remaining two whole days longer, and Mr. Brumley 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 33 
 
 would still have gone, had we declined, and that 
 you know, Mr. Chevillere, would have been quite 
 the same to you as if we had all gone. You shall 
 have your revenge ; we are all here again ; and 
 will go to-morrow to the falls, if you are still in 
 the humour. Frances is out this morning, but I 
 will promise in her name.' 
 
 " We did not detain the gay girl any longer 
 with our morning visit than was barely sufficient 
 to arrange the same plans which we had adopted 
 before. I brought away with me abundant 
 materials for reflection during the intervening 
 hours. Of one thing I had now satisfied myself; 
 namely, that young Hazlehurst and Mr. Brumley 
 had conspired to defeat our previously arranged 
 jaunt. Perhaps conspired is too harsh a word ; 
 but, certain it is, that they had needlessly frightened 
 the ladies from going to a place where they would 
 have been as free from infection as amid the 
 shades of Oakland itself. Perhaps you may 
 see the matter through a less jaundiced medium. 
 Be that as it may, I determined to move onward 
 in the career which I had laid out for myself, either 
 with or without their aid. 
 
 " Accordingly, on the next morning, we were 
 again blessed with a propitious day, and having 
 risen early, and forewarned Cato of our intentions 
 (which is always sufficient, you know) our equipage 
 was ready, and we were soon at the door. 
 
 " Isabel and the other equestrian young ladies 
 made their appearance at the window by the time 
 
34 
 
 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 we had dismounted, arrayed in long riding skirts, 
 and plumed hats. Not so, however, the lady in 
 black, who leaned against the recess of the farthest 
 window, gazing out upon the passing scenes, as a 
 melancholy damsel will sometimes gaze upon a long 
 continued storm of rain. She wore no long skirt 
 nor plumed hat, but appeared in her usual travel- 
 ling garb. As we dismounted I saw a momentary 
 suffusion of the neck and face, but in an instant it 
 was gone, and she stood, sad, serene, and beautiful 
 as ever. 
 
 " After a hasty breakfast I led the way, con* 
 ducting Miss St. Clair. As I was about to enter 
 the carriage myself, Isabel sent a servant to smug- 
 gle something under the seat of our cabriolet, in the 
 shape of a long box. I readily assisted in the 
 scheme, for I doubted not that it contained cold meats, 
 wine, and crackers, — I was wrong; it contained 
 something of far more importance to our pleasure, 
 but of that you shall hear in due time. We were soon 
 across the ferry and pursuing the road to Aquack- 
 enack and Patterson. A gayer party you perhaps 
 never saw ; if I except a certain lady, and even she 
 did not affectedly frown upon the gayety of others. 
 On the contrary, it seemed to raise her spirits in 
 her own peculiar way. 
 
 " Lamar and Arthur seemed to have left their 
 formality behind them, although the former escorted 
 Isabel. Of course I can only speak of what took 
 place between others of the party in general terms. 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 35 
 
 Of my own proceedings I suppose so little will not 
 satisfy you* 
 
 " Now was the interview granted me which I 
 had so earnestly desired ; that is, it was practically 
 granted to me under another name ; but will you 
 believe it, Randolph ? I was confused, although the 
 case had been merely adjourned. The truth is, I 
 very foolishly attempted at first to support a gene- 
 ral conversation, when my mind was entirely en- 
 grossed with a more interesting subject. At length 
 my confusion and absence became so apparent 
 through my blundering answers, that she actually 
 laughed outright. By old Noll's nose ! I was glad 
 to see it, for it enabled me to say, — * You see, Miss 
 St. Clair, how impossible it is for me to converse 
 upon one subject, while my thoughts are running 
 upon another which has been too long deferred 
 already. Do not consider me abrupt or imperti- 
 nent if I now beg leave to renew it V 
 
 " * It would be affectation in me to pretend that 
 I too was not anxious to set your mind at rest upon 
 that subject.' 
 
 " Randolph, this took my breath completely 
 away from me ; it was so firm, sudden, and unex- 
 pected. I thought of the words again and again — 
 
 * set my mind at rest.' There was but one way to 
 interpret it ; viz. that she was about to give me the 
 same kind of rest which the dead enjoy. However, 
 
 * onward? was my motto of the day previous, and I 
 continued ; * I hope you speak of rest, in the happy 
 sense of the term V 
 
36 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 " t Indeed, sir, I cannot tell how you may inter* 
 pret it, but my meaning is, that no possible good 
 can grow out of the continuation of the subject 
 alluded to>' 
 
 " ■ And is Miss St. Clair so resolved to reject my 
 suit, even before I have fully pleaded my case V 
 
 " ' Indeed, indeed, sir, you must greatly mistake 
 my meaning. I did not understand that you had 
 laid a suit before me ; but — ' 
 
 " ' Permit me to interrupt you before you go any 
 further. I do now, madam, offer myself — ' 
 
 " * Stop ! sir, stop I Let me interrupt you in 
 turn. You are about to do you know not what. 
 Suffer me to go on in the course which I had first 
 intended; and that is to say, that you do me far 
 more honour than I deserve, or even expected again, 
 from any one, for whom I should entertain so much 
 esteem as I do for Mr. Chevillere. But, sir, it is 
 impossible that I can ever encourage the addresses 
 of any gentleman. It is painful, sir, on my own 
 account, as well as your own and your mother's, 
 for me to say so ; but fate has shut the door 
 against me, in that respect, long ago.' 
 
 " ' Then it is not on my own personal account 
 that you thus peremptorily reject my suit.' 
 
 " * Indeed, sir, it is not.' 
 
 " * Then I breathe again ! Now, Miss St. Clair, 
 listen to me with patience but a few moments. It 
 seems, from what I can understand of your rejec- 
 tion of me, that it is from some imaginary cause 
 resting on your own inability, instead of my un- 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 37 
 
 worthiness, which is acknowledged. Now, I am 
 not vain, if I know myself; and I would nat boast 
 of what I could dare, or do, in such a case ; but 
 there is no impropriety, I hope, in saying that it 
 will require the most extraordinary array of un- 
 toward circumstances, to make me believe that the 
 fates have fixed the decision so irrevocably as you 
 seem now to think.' 
 
 " * But, sir, will you not take my own decision, 
 without entering into the why and the wherefore V 
 
 " ' Indeed, madam, I cannot. Forgive my bold- 
 ness and presumption ; but I have never before 
 been a suitor before woman's shrine. I had lived 
 through twenty-three years before I saw you, un- 
 scathed. Think, then, whether I am likely to give 
 up a pursuit at the very threshold, in which my 
 whole soul, my present happiness, and my mother's 
 happiness if you will, my future plans, and my 
 very .existence are concerned.' 
 
 " ' Your mother's happiness? ! Certainly, sir, 
 your mother does not encourage your present 
 course, knowing what she does V 
 
 " ' She has never had the opportunity. But you 
 add new vigour to my determination : you say, if 
 I understand you, that my mother is partly ac- 
 quainted with the circumstances which have con- 
 spired to produce your determination.' 
 
 " * I do not know that I said exactly so ; nor did 
 I intend to say so. It is nevertheless true.' 
 
 " ' Then am I doubly armed against your re- 
 solves. Trust me, dear lady — no trivial circum- 
 
 VOL. II. D 
 
38 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 stance shall unite my opinion with yours on this 
 subject. Perhaps it is a vow V 
 
 " « It is not.' 
 
 " * What then can it be ; is it impertinent in me 
 to ask V 
 
 " ■ It is not, sir. But it is painful to me — painful 
 in the recollections which it revives — and painful 
 because I must seem strange and unreasonable in 
 denying you a present relation of them/ 
 
 " * And do you — will you deny me that relation V 
 
 " * Indeed, indeed, sir, I must for the present.' 
 
 " * At some future day, not very far distant, will 
 you indulge me ? — ' 
 
 ." * It is hard, sir, very hard to promise ; yet to 
 avoid it — ' 
 
 " * Thank you, thank you, dear lady.' I would 
 have seized her hand, and smothered her little 
 palpitating fingers with kisses, if the company had 
 not escorted us so confoundedly close ; but 1 con- 
 tinued — ' Perhaps Miss St. Clair will pardon a still 
 further impertinence — is it too much to ask, if none 
 of these things had ever happened, whether my 
 suit would then have been rejected V 
 
 " * I cannot now answer that question.' 
 
 " « Fix, then, the period of my probation ; name 
 the happy day when you will give me this promised 
 history.' 
 
 " « Oh, sir, it will be any thing but a happy day 
 for me, and I am very sure it will be little more so 
 for you. Why then persist in a course which 
 must result in unhappiness to all parties ? Trust 
 
THE KENTUCK.IAN IN NEW-YORK. 39 
 
 me, there is no affectation in the case, when I say 
 that we can never, never, sir, be more to each other 
 than simple friends. As such I am proud and 
 grateful to consider both you and your honoured 
 mother.' 
 
 " ■ You but add firmness to my resolves, when 
 you allude to the friendship of my mother. Say, 
 then, dear lady, would to-morrow be too early a 
 day? 
 
 " ' To-morrow ! Since you are resolved upon 
 it, I will relate to you the history of my life. 
 Nothing less, it seems, will serve ; but I must be at 
 home ; the very sight of dear and cherished objects 
 around that place would comfort and reassure me, 
 if my own dear mother was not there also. But 
 to-morrow would not suffice, sir, even if I had the 
 opportunity* required, in the house of a friend. 
 This history I have never fully disclosed to any 
 person living ; I related some passages of my sad 
 sfory to your mother, not because she thought it 
 necessary, but because I thought it so; when I 
 saw her disposed to lavish upon me so much of. 
 her cherished love and sympathy.' 
 
 " * I know well,' replied I, ' what persons attract 
 her regard ; she has an astonishing sagacity in 
 selecting the gold from the dross on such occa- 
 sions.' 
 
 " It is useless for me to dwell upon every word, 
 Randolph. Suffice it to say, she consented that I 
 should visit her after her return to the quiet shades 
 of Oakland, upon the banks of the Hudson, 
 
40 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 " It was truly gratifying to hear almost all the 
 ladies exclaim, when we reached the hill-side which 
 overlooks Patterson, — ' Why, Frances, how the 
 ride has improved you !' In truth, her mind had 
 been harassed with the idea of the interview which 
 I had been seeking ; but now she was relieved for 
 the present, and the effect was magical. 
 
 "An autumn sun shone out in all the splendour 
 of our most brilliant days of that more genial cli- 
 mate in which you now sojourn. The trees were a 
 bronzed green, and the lingering flowers of the sea- 
 son still greeted our delighted senses, as we strolled 
 among the hills of that romantic region. How 
 could she but inhale a portion of the surrounding 
 happiness ? Her companions were gay and lively, 
 even to the romping mood ; our anticipations were 
 bright, our pulsations impetuous ; weather propi- 
 tious, scene brilliant, and journey prosperous. In 
 this condition of the party we arrived at the rude 
 enclosure on the top of the hill overlooking the 
 town of Patterson, on the side next the falls. We 
 soon entered an extensive and rugged area, inter- 
 spersed here and there with rude arbours and 
 booths, covered with green boughs of the forest, 
 and lined with seats, as if refreshments were occa- 
 sionally served out here to parties, from a little 
 shop of some kind, which stands near the entrance 
 to the area. We could now distinctly hear the 
 roar of the cataract, and see the river to the left 
 of us as we proceeded onwards, but were surprised 
 that we nowhere saw the falls. 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 41 
 
 " Following a beaten path over rugged beds of 
 projecting rocks in the direction of the sound, we 
 came to a narrow, covered bridge, thrown across 
 a dark and deep ravine, after ascending to the mid- 
 dle of which we stood in front of the Passaic Falls. 
 The river before mentioned, about a stone's throw 
 from the bridge, came tumbling down a precipice 
 in great magnificence, sending up splendid Wreaths 
 and festoons of vapour, through which the rays of 
 the sun exhibited the colours of the rainbow in sur- 
 passing beauty. The river, after being dashed 
 down this precipice some eighty or a hundred feet, 
 into the abyss below, among the remnants of a 
 former convulsion of nature, is, by the concussion, 
 beaten into waves of white foam, and then gently 
 glides down the widening ravine, till it suddenly 
 changes its course around the base of a cliff in the 
 direction of the town, and expands again into its 
 accustomed width, stillness, and beauty. 
 
 " Each of our party, as is universally the case, 
 was impressed with the scene before us according 
 to his or her individuality. A consummate master 
 of all the workings of the human heart might have 
 found ample materials for study on the present oc- 
 casion, and though not one of those, I must still, 
 give you the observations of a novice. 
 
 " Those who were fanciful and light of heart, 
 poured forth quotations from favourite poets. 
 Those with the organ of veneration more fully 
 developed, stood with hands clasped, eyes up- 
 turned, attitudes startled, as if their souls shrank 
 d2 
 
42 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 from this too open and majestic display of the 
 power of the great mysterious mover of floods and 
 torrents. While the simple of heart and weak of 
 understanding exclaimed, ' ! dear, how wonder- 
 ful !' * Only see ! I declare it is beautiful ! is it 
 not V appealing to some one, perhaps, whose spirit, 
 with the mist of the cataract, was soaring into the 
 summitless regions of the heavens. 
 
 " But there was one, Randolph, who stood in the 
 solitude of the spirit, though in a crowd ; there 
 was little outward exhibition of emotion to a less 
 curious observer than myself. The pupil of the 
 eye was distended to its utmost limits ; her features 
 had assumed a chiselled distinctness, her lips were 
 compressed together, and her whole countenance 
 was in the highest degree abstracted and contem- 
 plative. Many questions were addressed to her, 
 but she heeded them not ; nor did a sound issue 
 from her lips louder than an occasional full inspi- 
 ration, as her beautiful bust heaved with the inter- 
 nal and deep-seated emotions of the spirit. 
 
 " That is a profound abstraction which can en- 
 tirely withdraw us for a time from any communion 
 with external objects of sense. We see the misty 
 clouds as they heave each other from the gulf be- 
 neath. We hear the thunders of the cataract, it is 
 true, but we hear on such occasions for the soul 
 alone, our social and conventional feelings are lost 
 and swallowed up in the profounder emotions of 
 adoration. We hold a more direct communion 
 with the great and mysterious spirit of the deep ; 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 43 
 
 the eye becomes dim and watery with the eager 
 stretching of our glances into an awful futurity. 
 Not that we always direct our vision towards 
 what is farthest and least obstructed, for we often 
 glance upon the scene before us, looking, as it were, 
 through the tumbling torrent into a great abyss 
 below, as if we could see there the great master of 
 the scene. The soul does not scorn its prison- 
 house, because we learn to love even its weakness 
 too well ; but it attempts too often to soar into those 
 regions which, to human organizations, are fearful, 
 dark, and shadowy. 
 
 " It is delightful to contemplate the reflection of 
 these scenes upon one of those imaginative beings 
 who can people the floods and torrents with the 
 darker creatures of their own imagination. Such 
 a one will walk abroad into the groves and forests, 
 at the hour of midnight, or stand upon the deck as 
 a vessel rolls through the black chasms of the 
 sea, in the darker hours of early morning ; or stand 
 upon an eminence while the blackness of the storm 
 rages around, and the lightning quivers above, in 
 its gleaming gambols, and will people these regions 
 with misty forms and unearthly spirits, until earth 
 and all its lesser tempests, and man with all his 
 little cares, are forgotten. Are these wanderings 
 of the spirit a foretaste of what we shall be here- 
 after ? Will it be permitted to our disenthralled 
 spirits, as the stoics fondly hoped, to ride upon the 
 wings of these storms and tempests, revisit the 
 scenes of our earthly struggles, and see others as we 
 
44 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YOHK.. 
 
 have been, vainly attempting to hold converse with 
 us ? If it is delightful to contemplate the reflec- 
 tion of these things upon a kindred spirit of the 
 sterner sex — how much more so to see these images 
 cast upon the pale transparent countenance of a 
 youthful female ? Could you disturb the beatified 
 trembler, as the sportsman brings down the grace- 
 ful little flutterer from his sunny regions? No, 
 Randolph, you could not ; you would have done 
 as I did ; you would have stood guardian over 
 the fairy while she communed with the spirits of 
 the mist. 
 
 *' There is something worth observing too in the 
 manner in which we come suddenly down from 
 this mysterious abstraction. We gaze on, entirely 
 unconscious of the time, and of the weakness of 
 our physical organs, until mere exhaustion compels 
 us to identify ourselves once more, and then arouse 
 from the trance like one waking from a deep sleep ; 
 we look around on worldly objects first in a sort 
 of lofty contempt, and then perhaps despise our 
 own littleness of spirit. 
 
 " It was not so however with the fair dreamer 
 before me ; when her eyes became so weak that 
 she could no longer distend the pupil, she first 
 looked around until she caught my steady gaze 
 and blushed ; and then covering her face with her 
 hands, she withdrew to a secluded crag. But 
 there was yet another character left for me to 
 study, after she deserted — no less a personage 
 than lofty old Cato. He stood upon one of the 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 45 
 
 rugged cliffs, whence he could see the whole cata- 
 ract, with his arms folded upon his breast, and his 
 brows drawn down over his dark, stern counte- 
 nance, until you could almost have imagined him 
 the gloomy spirit of the scene himself. I know 
 that he has a soul of his own, and of rare excellence 
 too, but it is not metaphysical in its construction. 
 He looked as a sturdy old warrior of the ruder 
 ages may be supposed to have looked on such a 
 scene. But I fear I tire you with these descrip- 
 tions, on which you know that I love to dwell. I 
 will therefore pass on to one of the rude arbours 
 before mentioned, where all the company were 
 seated around a board spread with napkins, upon 
 which a cold collation formed a very inviting spec- 
 tacle. When we had all done ample justice to this 
 good cheer, and washed it down with a delicious 
 cup of light French wine, our party became truly 
 sociable. Indulgence in the creature comforts is 
 a wonderful leveller of distinctions and formalities. 
 We were now in the most delightful state of romp- 
 osity. Lamar was quite in the third heavens, 
 and, I doubt not, forgot entirely that such a man 
 as Arthur lived ; much less did he remember that 
 he was eying him all the while. Young Hazle- 
 hurst and old Mr. Brumley walked apart and con- 
 versed confidentially. Something is hatching be- 
 tween the two ; but my motto is * onward ;' I am 
 one of those who do' not believe in the influence of 
 fathers on such occasions. I have no doubt that 
 there is a natural desire existing in these two fami- 
 
46 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 lies lo unite them ; perhaps an understanding be- 
 tween those who have no primary right in the 
 business ; but of this more hereafter. 
 
 " Old Cato now entered by the orders of Isabel, 
 I suppose, with the smuggled long box which I 
 mentioned to you before. A green baize cloth 
 being removed from around it, I saw at once that 
 it was a flageolet case. Receiving the box from 
 his hand, I took out the instrument, and eyed every 
 lady on the rocks and seats around, to find to whom 
 it belonged. The ownership lay between Isabel 
 and Miss St. Clair ; for the former smiled and the 
 latter blushed. On my presentation of it, Miss St. 
 Clair took it very reluctantly, and complained 
 loudly of Isabel's fraud ; she took the instrument, 
 however, without affectation. Before commencing, 
 she gave us to understand that we were not to ex- 
 pect fashionable music ; and then, Randolph, she 
 commenced one of the wildest and most delightful 
 Scotch airs I ever heard. There was something 
 novel in this. I had never before heard the flage- 
 olet except in dull, mechanical songs of the fashion- 
 able school, and scarcely knew that any life and 
 feeling could be infused into its tones. Imagine 
 us seated on the rocks around this picturesque and 
 romantic spot, listening to music as wild as the 
 scene itself, from the hand of an enthusiast. 
 
 "'Now, ladies and gentlemen/ said Isabel, 'I 
 wish to put to the test one of Frances's theories 
 with regard to the effects of music. She contends 
 that every air conveys specific impressions to the 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 47 
 
 mind and feelings of the different hearers, varied 
 somewhat, indeed, by the character of the indi- 
 vidual.' 
 
 " * Indeed, Isabel, this is very unfair,' said the 
 frowning performer ; ' you first stealthily introduce 
 my instrument, and then bring some of our 
 thoughtless discussions to the test by means of my 
 own performances, which, you must recollect, I 
 never pretended would have much effect.' 
 
 "All insisted upon the trial; and each prepared 
 to give way to the natural feelings excited by the 
 music, as little interrupted by others as possible. 
 
 " The air was one of the same Scotch effusions, 
 peculiarly touching in its effects, and most appro- 
 priate to the scene. When it ceased, Isabel re- 
 quired each one to write with a pencil the impres- 
 sion made. She found much difficulty in getting 
 some of her female coadjutors to comply. The 
 fact is, that many persons are so unaccustomed to 
 imbodying out their feelings on any given occasion, 
 that they find it no easy matter. All made the 
 attempt, however, after being assured that no 
 names would be required to the papers ; and as 
 these were all of the same size and cast into a hat, 
 the writer alone could know each as it was read. 
 Lamar collected the ballots, and then seated him- 
 self to read them. I must try to recollect a few 
 for the amusement of your convalescence. 
 
 " First ballot. * This air excites in my mind 
 visions of wild glens and brooks.' 
 
48 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 " Second ballot. ' Highland scenery, with kilts 
 and tartans.' 
 
 " Third ballot. ■ Mountain passes, and wild 
 herds of forest animals.' 
 
 " Fourth ballot. * Associations connected with 
 the surrounding scene.' 
 
 " Fifth ballot. ' Romantic adventures, of which 
 the fair musician is the heroine.' 
 
 * Although there was undeniable frivolity in this, 
 yet the gravest of us was surprised to see the 
 identical vein which ran through the thoughts of 
 all. The experiment was repeated once and again, 
 and always with like success, when the music was 
 Scotch, Tyrolese, or German, and entirely un- 
 known ; the latter we found essential to an iden- 
 tical effect in all : for if any one had before heard 
 the air, it invariably called up associations of the 
 time and place and persons connected with its first 
 performance. 
 
 " Almost a unanimous vote declared victory in 
 favour of the performer ; her more gay and dash- 
 ing friend admitting herself vanquished with be- 
 coming grace. 
 
 " During our ride to the city, the transition from 
 the foregoing subject to national music was natural 
 and easy, and as my companion's ideas were some- 
 what new to me, I must endeavour to recollect a 
 little of our conversation. 
 
 " « I am truly rejoiced,' said I, * that you are not 
 an admirer, nor a performer of fashionable music' 
 
 " ■ It is not the result of principle with me, but 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 49 
 
 the dictates of what I always thought my own 
 peculiar taste.' 
 
 " * Both my taste and judgment are in perfect 
 unison with yours, and I must acknowledge myself 
 indebted to you for some new ideas on the subject. 
 I have always been a reviler of what I considered 
 an affectation .of fondness for Italian and French 
 music. But is it not strange that we have had no 
 American composer of any celebrity, nor any na- 
 tional music?' 
 
 " * It is owing, I believe,' said she, * to the very 
 cause we have been speaking of. Italian music is 
 only suited to those double-refined and palled 
 tastes, which have passed through ages of effemi- 
 nate luxury to complete them, Affectation and 
 fashion have engrafted this style of music into our 
 systems of education, without once inquiring whe- 
 ther it is suited to the taste and genius of the 
 people, and the features of the country. What is 
 the result? It is, that we have no composers, 
 no enthusiasts, and no native performers, — except 
 such as are mechanical and artificial.' 
 
 " ' Yon think, then, that the features of a country 
 have some connexion with a national taste for 
 music' 
 
 " ' I do ; and that if our natural and unsophisti- 
 cated tastes were consulted, we should have music 
 in keeping with our wild and majestic scenery. 
 In proof that this is true, and not founded entirely 
 on my own taste, look at the music of Switzerland, 
 Scotland, and Germany, in comparison with the 
 
 VOL. II. E 
 
50 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 Italian and French. Each of these nations has 
 music suited to the traits of the country and the 
 corresponding genius of the people. We should 
 have such here, if those who have by nature a 
 taste and genius for the art were not uniformly 
 disgusted at the very threshold, by a style with which 
 they have no sympathy. Others, with less genius 
 and no taste, escape this disgust, and are pushed 
 forward, and called great performers, when in fact 
 nothing but their very deficiency in natural quali- 
 fications enables them to succeed at all.' 
 
 " « It is perhaps our refinement, instead of our 
 rudeness, which prevents the development of these 
 capabilities.' 
 
 " * True ; but the word refinement must, I think, 
 be qualified. Our refinement in the art is of for- 
 eign growth, and is pretty much the same kind of 
 culture which a gourmand gives to his appetite. 
 He refines upon refinement, in one dish after 
 another, until he no longer possesses any relish for 
 those articles of food which nature has evidently 
 provided for us. So in Italian music ; its votaries 
 have become more exquisite, until it ha§ lost the 
 power to charm the natural ear.' 
 
 "' On your hypothesis, Miss St. Clair, it would 
 be much the same thing to feed a lion upon blanc 
 mange, as to offer this double refined music to an 
 American ear which had not been tampered with.' 
 
 "'Exactly so, sir ! Though his majesty of the 
 forest is rather too rough a trope for our country* 
 men.' 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 51 
 
 ut I stand corrected, madam/ 
 
 " Randolph, there is something charming in the 
 enthusiasm of woman ; far more so than in that of 
 our sex ! With the latter is too often mingled the 
 inspiration of wine, the rant of passion, or the arti- 
 ficial and selfish exaltation of ambition, vanity, and 
 conceit of genius. Female enthusiasm is pure, 
 touching, and sincere ; divested of self, generous and 
 benevolent to others. Besides, it seems so natural 
 to the sex to be raised * above the stir and smoke 
 of this dim spot which men call earth/ that they 
 appear to soar in their proper element. Their 
 enthusiasm is carried out even into their every-day 
 concerns too ; they are enthusiastic in their taste, 
 in their friendships, in their hatreds, in their reli- 
 gion, and in their love. Ah ! Randolph, there is 
 the key-stone to the arch. Nature has endowed 
 them with these generous and high-toned feelings, 
 from the wisest and most benevolent designs 
 towards man ; upon this natural peculiarity of the 
 other sex rests more of man's happiness than we 
 generally suppose. The old look back to its early 
 influence with a sad but pleasing excitement, such 
 as we feel in pleasant dreams. The present gen- 
 eration act, and fret, and fight, and trade, and grow 
 rich, all .for its genial blessing ; while the young 
 live in the constant hopes of its early fruition, 
 1 Woman loves but once and loves for ever/ is the 
 language of one of the most touching and pathetic 
 songs in our language. Most men deny the truth 
 of this text, because they are interested in doing so ; 
 
52 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK, 
 
 thinking generally, that if this is true, their wives 
 are false, because they were not the first choice, nor 
 could they have been in the nature of things. 
 
 " All women are not false to their husbands, who 
 cherish these dear and flowery dreams of early 
 youth, in some remote and secret corner of the 
 heart. So far from it, that I doubt not many of 
 them have a more fond and enduring attachment 
 to their lords from throwing habitually the colours 
 of these early tints over their more mature engage- 
 ments. These romances season all the after life, 
 and invest us, as we glide down the vale, with a 
 richer mantle than that of prophecy. 
 
 " All men and women have these little secrets 
 locked up within their own hearts, as dear and 
 nourished treasures which grow richer as they 
 grow older, and are really inestimable when the 
 time comes in which the pleasures of the present 
 consist in a retrospect of the past. 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 « V. Chevillere." 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 53 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 V. Chevillere to B. Randolph. 
 
 "New- York, 18— . 
 
 " Dear Friend, 
 
 " Hitherto we have been gliding down the 
 smooth current of college life with a full breeze of 
 youthful hopes and pleasures ; we seem to have 
 skimmed over the sunny surface of things, entirely 
 unconscious of the waters beneath. But now we 
 are embarked upon the life of passion. No longer 
 have we the regulated pulsations, the quiet slum- 
 bers, the delightful reveries, the monotonous rou- 
 tine, and the cool and invigorating shades of col- 
 lege groves. We now begin to know man in his 
 developments — we saw him before, but we knew 
 him not. It is not given to us to stand aloof and 
 view all this war of the contending elements of 
 man's composition, without partaking in the ad- 
 versities of the storm. And now that we are fairly 
 embarked, and have occasionally, as is the case with 
 me now, time to look within and around, to see 
 how we are prepared for the voyage, what a con- 
 founding sight presents itself? 
 
 " Let us see of what our stores consist ! We 
 e 2 
 
54 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 have reason, it is true, but so feeble and doubtful 
 in its results, that we seem still to be placed like 
 our primitive parents, with the tree of life before 
 us — the devil leading us one way, down-hill, and 
 reason the other way, upward. Even when we 
 have that rare combination of all the faculties of 
 the mind which constitutes true greatness, are we 
 any better off? and especially when we have 
 brilliant developments of peculiar faculties called 
 genius, are we any better prepared for the trials 
 and troubles of this world ? How are we in the 
 dark, even when possessed of some or all of these 
 excellences ? Conscience may be imperfectly 
 tutored, reason misled, or genius itself be con- 
 founded with the ravings of the maniac, or so 
 doubtful in its pilotage as to be worse than common 
 sense or even instinct itself. I can recollect when 
 you and I turned up our indignant noses, when 
 clergymen and moralists descanted upon the trite 
 subject of the depravity of the human heart ; we 
 had not then embarked upon this ocean which con- 
 stitutes human life. We now see differently ; at 
 least / do. There is now no bottom to this pro- 
 found. We can already see into the mystery of 
 the murderer's feelings ; we can trace the gradual 
 steps, at first, and then the leap, as these wretches 
 are both led and driven to perdition. But above 
 all, can we now see those fierce contests of hu- 
 man life which are brewed from the passions ; 
 reason being deluded, and genius run wild ; where 
 one being deceives another, and yet more deceives 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 55 
 
 himself; where one being wrongs another, and yet 
 most of all wrongs himself; while multitudes are 
 engaged in fierce struggles, they know not why. 
 They are driven by impulses, and surrounded by 
 circumstances, over which they imagine they have 
 all, yet have in reality little, control. These do 
 not plunge down to murder, but they are engaged 
 in a constant warfare, in which the same passions 
 are developed with which the murderer sets out ; 
 they wrestle upon the brink of the precipice, and 
 are preserved from the fall by two things — selfish- 
 ness and fear. 
 
 " These two passions hold the world in its con- 
 stant equipoise. The fear of which I speak is not 
 the mere dread of the executioner; there is a 
 darker apprehension lurking in every human heart. 
 He who is possessed of it fears, he knows not what, 
 nor how long he has felt it, nor how much power 
 it can exercise over him. Indeed he has never 
 analyzed its properties ; for this very power of 
 analyzing his weakness is often the strength of the 
 outlaw, the murderer, and the assassin. 
 
 " This fear is early developed, and seems at its 
 very first exhibition to give us some clew to its 
 future mysterious influence over us. One urchin 
 will be frightened at stories of ghosts and grave- 
 yards ; another at haunted mansions ; a third at 
 warning dreams ; while another, and this is by far 
 the most common case, at all undefined darkness. 
 
 " This fear is matured according to the pecu- 
 liarity of the individual, and the circumstances in 
 
56 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 which he is placed ; but wo be to that man, who, 
 with an imperfectly matured understanding, learns 
 how to rid himself of this fear, and thus cuts him- 
 self loose from the safe anchorage which nature has 
 given him, without acquiring the substitute of a 
 corresponding pilotage of intelligence and principle. 
 A spark of genius, ill-directed, may make a mur- 
 derer ; as a spark of genius, well-directed, may 
 make a saint. 
 
 " But there are some fearful exceptions to this 
 general lot of humanity ; some spirits which are so 
 dark themselves, at their very entrance upon the 
 scene, that no darkness terrifies them. The ob- 
 scurity of real things to their gloomy minds laughs 
 to scorn the shadowy creatures of our supersti- 
 tious imaginations. These are the characters 
 which overleap all the usual stepping-stones of 
 mortality in their career, either upwards or down- 
 wards, as destiny and circumstances may develop 
 them, and as nature may have qualified them with 
 collateral powers and feelings. 
 
 " The other great passion of supreme selfishness 
 forms one of the most curious subjects of mental 
 study. Bear with me a while, and I will tell you 
 what frightful adventure has given rise to this train 
 of reflections. 
 
 " Selfishness is the master-key to unlock every 
 heart ; it is the great passion upon which all others 
 have their foundation. It will be found variously 
 disguised and modified, and sometimes scarcely to 
 be recognised ; and what is strangest of all is, that 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 57 
 
 ninety-nine hundredths of the subjects of it are 
 entirely unconscious of its secret operations. But 
 look (where it is not so evident at first sight) 
 at the most disinterested acts of the self-deceived, 
 — of the poet, the scholar, the genius, the phi- 
 losopher, the philanthropist. Is it not the main- 
 spring of all ?* Look around you at your fellow- 
 probationers, and see how many of the purest deeds 
 of apparent piety, and benevolence, and charity, 
 may be traced through its deep disguise to this 
 source. If you have doubts remaining, as to this 
 great ruling motive of mankind, look within, and 
 there you will find it, Randolph. I do not hesitate 
 to tell even you this much, because those who have 
 this main motive adorned with most virtues can see 
 it most clearly within themselves. There is no 
 man so free from selfishness in his own opinion, as 
 he who is ruled by no other motive or principle. 
 The very power of self-examination seems to be 
 entirely swallowed up by this mother of passions. 
 Such persons see themselves through a medium so 
 tinctured with self, that self always looks pure and 
 disinterested. The highwayman only robs the 
 rich to feed the poor, according to his philosophy ; 
 the murderer only rids the world of a monster and 
 a tyrant in the most disinterested and generous 
 manner imaginable ; the thief only takes that to 
 
 * The author thinks, with a late writer in the North American, 
 that the attacks of this college philosophy, like the measles, come 
 but once, seldom last long, are easily cured,' and rarely fatal. 
 
58 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 which all men were born with equal claims ; the 
 politician and the demagogue live for the benefit 
 and advancement of others' interests alone ; while 
 the trading community are nothing more than 
 agents, to gather from the four quarters of the 
 globe necessaries and luxuries, to supply the 
 wants, real and imaginary, of their fellow-men, 
 scarcely ministering to their own cravings of 
 nature. 
 
 " Oh ! how generous and benevolent is man to 
 his fellow-man ! How little does self appear in 
 all the bustle and turmoil of this busy city ; that 
 is, if you only look at the surface of their acts, 
 and listen to the language of the actors. 
 
 "But I do not complain of these things; they 
 are best as they are. I state them as facts, which 
 are not always clearly seen in the dear intimacies 
 of college life. I would not destroy the selfishness 
 of man if I could, any more than I would destroy 
 the main-spring of a watch, which I highly prized ; 
 upon it are founded the courage, the industry, the 
 enterprise, the knowledge, and the prudence of our 
 species ; and out of these grow our governments 
 and our laws. 
 
 " I cannot disguise from you, Randolph, that the 
 natural tendency to gloom and despondency which 
 you have so often observed, grows upon me much 
 of late ; but attend to what I am about to relate, 
 and you may account, perhaps, for that, as well as 
 the previous train of ideas in this epistle. 
 
 * On the evening of the day after our visit to 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 59 
 
 the falls, the same company, with many additions, 
 
 had assembled at the house of Mr. , father to 
 
 one of the young ladies of our party. The stiff- 
 ness and formality which generally prevail for 
 the first hour on such occasions, were just begin- 
 ning to give way to a better state of things. La- 
 mar and Arthur were formidably arrayed against 
 each other, on either side of Isabel, while Miss St. 
 Clair and I were ensconced, as aforetime, in one of 
 those little convenient recesses in which these 
 fashionable houses abound. I had never seen her 
 so cheerful, or known her to enter into conversation 
 with more spirit and apparent enjoyment, than upon 
 this occasion. She conversed with great anima- 
 tion and eagerness, which is evidently her natural 
 manner, until she would catch my eyes uncon- 
 sciously riveted upon her countenance ; she would 
 then cast down her own, with the most becoming 
 modesty," while her usual sadness would again steal 
 over her countenance, as if she had just recollected 
 and identified herself and her treasured sadness. 
 But I would again succeed in banishing the cloud 
 by leading her to converse and become excited on 
 some subject which deeply interested her, and 
 again she would recollect herself. These re- 
 peated excitements eventually led her to look with 
 more complacency upon the power of pleasing 
 and of conversation which still remained to her, 
 for it was evident to me, by the time the evening 
 was half spent, that she could be said to have en- 
 joyed the party. 
 
60 THE KENTUCKIAN EV NEW-YORK. 
 
 " Every thing seemed thus to be going on 
 smoothly, until we had all, as is frequently the case 
 on such occasions, become for a time quite boister- 
 ous ; here one little coterie laughed outright ; there 
 another had got into such a lively dispute, that the 
 neighbours were compelled to pitch their voices 
 to the same key in order to be heard at all ; and 
 so on round the saloons, until the din resembled a 
 little bedlam ; every person seemed to be enjoying 
 himself more after our southern fashion than I have 
 seen since I came hither ; there was a reckless 
 resignation to the enjoyment of the moment, which 
 you do not often see in these large cities. 
 
 " All at once there was a dead pause. Every 
 tongue was hushed, as if a funeral knell had 
 been sounded from the richly wrought ceiling. 
 You could almost have heard the ladies' hearts 
 beating. My companion and I were deeply ab- 
 sorbed at the time in a conversation, which it is 
 not necessary now to relate ; but when silence thus 
 suddenly took place, all were anxious to see the 
 cause, all the necks in the room were elongated, 
 and ours last but still among the rest. And there 
 I beheld, Randolph, a sight which I shall vividly 
 remember to the latest period of my existence, 
 both on account of its character, and its effects 
 upon one around whom are entwined the very fibres 
 of my heart. 
 
 " In the centre of the room, there stood the ema- 
 ciated figure of a man, wrapped in a long red dress- 
 ing-gown, — his throat bound up with surgical dress- 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 61 
 
 ings, — his head shaved and dressed with a plaster, 
 his gray hair hanging lank from its edges over his 
 temples and shoulders, — his eyes sunk deep in 
 their sockets, and glaring round the room, — his 
 cheek-bones projecting, — his eyebrows gray and 
 bushy, — his beard and mustachios unshorn, — his 
 lips thin and retracted, showing a perfect set of 
 large white teeth, in the most ghastly manner, like 
 a recently-dissected skeleton, — his nose long, white, 
 and thin, and collapsed like that of a corpse. Just 
 above the dressings of his throat was the pomum 
 Adami, working up and down among the long 
 stringy tendons, like a tackle or pulley ; while an 
 unnatural fire shot from his eyes, and all his move- 
 ments were quick, convulsive, and maniacal. 
 
 "As soon as my companion raised her head 
 above the little crowd which obstructed her view, 
 the eye of this figure darted upon her with vulture 
 quickness and malignity, and stretching out his 
 long bony hand, and pointing his shaking finger 
 directly at her, * There/ said he, * is the murder- 
 ess ! Thought you I was dead ? Dead men tell 
 no secrets ! but I have risen from the grave ! Be- 
 hold me ! am I not a pretty corpse V and then he 
 burst out into one of those singularly frightful and 
 wretched peals of laughter, which you may some- 
 times hear from the maniac's cell. 
 
 " Ere his speech was half-concluded, as I subse- 
 quently found, the lady had fallen lifeless at my 
 feet. My attention was so irresistibly attracted 
 by the strange visiter, that I was not aware of this 
 
 vol. ii. — r 
 
62 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 effect until a dozen at once sprang to her relief* 
 By the time she was carried out of the saloon, the 
 friends of the wretched man, or his attendants, had 
 been able to trace him ; and rushing in, forcibly 
 dragged him off, and placed him in a carriage at 
 the door. The room was now one scene of inde- 
 scribable confusion : the predominant feeling was 
 sympathy for the afflicted young lady, There was 
 a great deal of low whispering, of which I was en- 
 abled to catch only detached sentences, such as, 
 1 That is his father.' — * I thought he was dead/ — ' It 
 is shameful in his friends to suffer him to annoy her 
 in this way, as if she had not suffered enough by 
 them already/ 
 
 " I ventured not to ask what all this meant, 
 Randolph ; yet the most maddening curiosity 
 seized me. I left the room without Lamar; in- 
 deed the whole party broke up in confusion, and I 
 suppose our agreeable little society will now be 
 dissolved ; for I hear that the lady has already 
 gone up the river to her own home. 
 
 " After I left them so abruptly, I wandered round 
 this large city with as little purpose or motive as 
 the maniac himself could have done. My brain 
 seemed to be on fire, and every pulsation to be 
 throbbing as if it would burst ; huge drops of per- 
 spiration would start upon my forehead and upper 
 lip, as Iran, rather than walked, from one street to 
 another, Heaven only knows where ; and I sup- 
 pose I should have been wandering till this time, 
 if a hackney-coachman had not happened to come 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 63 
 
 along, which I discerned by the number on his lan- 
 terns, and I immediately employed him to set me 
 down at the City Hotel. 
 
 "When I arrived at our apartments, I found 
 Lamar and Arthur talking over the circumstances 
 as busily, and in as friendly a manner, as if they 
 had never been jealous of each other. What pro- 
 voked me, however, was, that the moment I en- 
 tered the room they became mute as statues, and 
 exchanged knowing glances, as if I had been an 
 idiot, or could not see them. I hate this sort of 
 commiseration: I suppose theysaw,/it; for they 
 left the room together. I walked the floor for half 
 the night ; tumbled and tossed in the bed for the 
 remainder, and arose next morning little refreshed, 
 and none the wiser to this moment, as to the mean- 
 ing of this strange business. 
 
 " Chevillere." 
 
64 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 B. Randolph to V. Chevillere. 
 
 " Belville, High Hills of the Santee, S. Carolina, 18—. 
 
 " When I last wrote to you, I had but just 
 escaped from the jaws of the hideous monster, 
 cooked up by a spell of fever, in order, as it turned 
 out afterward, to be served up to the same mon- 
 ster in a more novel and savoury form ; at least, 
 that seems to have been the benevolent intention of 
 his grim majesty towards your humble servant, if 
 my good genius, or destiny, or a good servant, had 
 not interposed in my behalf. With the exception 
 of the time when I was ill, I have occupied a small 
 building which stands about a hundred yards from 
 the main edifice at Belville. It is known here as 
 1 the library f and seems, from all I can learn, to 
 have been your favourite retreat. There, you 
 know, I found all the little snug luxuries of a 
 southern bachelor, not excepting a supply of ci- 
 gars for a twelvemonth's siege ; all the foreign 
 and domestic reviews and magazines, files of coun- 
 try and city papers, old and new novels, writing 
 materials, half-finished drawings, music-books and 
 musical instruments, all in the most delightful order 
 in the midst of confusion. 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 65 
 
 " There I used regularly to retire after eleven 
 P. M., to saw on the violin, snap some of the strings, 
 throw it aside, take up the flute, dive into the midst 
 of an overture — quiver, and quiver, and quiver at 
 some tough passage, like a Frenchman talking 
 English when he does not understand the language ; 
 bowing, scraping, shrugging, and making all the ap- 
 propriate gestures, but coming no nearer the words 
 he wishes to get out ; so it was with me on your 
 confounded twenty-one keyed flute ; I bobbed my 
 head, and turned up my eyes, stamped with my 
 feet, and shook with my fingers, but it would not 
 come out music. Away I tossed it, of course. 
 
 " Next came one of your half-finished sketches. 
 I recognised it immediately as one of our old col- 
 lege-haunts, and took up the crayon to finish from 
 memory what you had left undone ; but I soon 
 found that I put down mountains instead of mole- 
 hills ; so that a very few of my touches were re- 
 quired to obliterate the perspective, lights and 
 shades, and every thing else save a little touch of 
 darkness visible. Away it went after the flute and 
 violin. Next came a cigar out of a drawer, and 
 the last number of the Southern Review. l These, 
 at least, I can play on,' said I to myself; * these 
 require none of the touches of artists or accom- 
 plished gentlemen ; here I have all the pleasures of 
 life, dressed to the taste of all comers — grilled, 
 stewed, roasted, or fricasseed. Here is an epitome 
 of the age of intellect and the march of mind ; 
 music ready played to your hand, perhaps, and if 
 p2 
 
66 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORE. 
 
 not, the finest substitute in the world for it in the 
 jerks and quivers of the writer, as he draws his 
 bow-hand over the dots and demi-semi-quavers of 
 some luckless wight of an author.' 
 
 " Such were my occupations in this sanctum 
 sanctorum of yours, during most of the latter part 
 of the evenings, and such was my employment on 
 a certain night when, having retired from the par- 
 lour uncommonly well pleased with myself (merely, 
 I believe, because I was pleased with Virginia's 
 treatment of me), and having gone through this 
 routine, and read myself into drowsiness, I un- 
 dressed and went to bed, and (as has been the case 
 ever since I recovered my legs) was no sooner 
 down than I was fast asleep ; not so fast, however, 
 but that I dreamed horrible things. No marvel 
 that I should ; for in the midst of one of these pere- 
 grinations, I was suddenly awakened by a cold, 
 damp, clammy hand, fastened so tight upon my 
 throat that I was almost strangled at the first grasp, 
 I had scarcely become conscious of my position, 
 before I heard a heavy blow, as from a billet of 
 wood, upon some one's head. Instantly the grasp 
 was loosened from my throat, and I heard a heavy 
 fall upon the floor. I sprang up in the bed, and 
 screamed to my defender, whoever he might be, to 
 get a light. He ran out to obey my orders, but 
 was scarcely over the threshold of the lower door 
 before the man on the floor sprang up, leaped out 
 of the window about twenty feet, I suppose, and 
 was shrouded in impenetrable darkness. His 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 67 
 
 movements were so sudden that his escape took 
 me completely by surprise. 
 
 " But I was still more surprised when, as I stood 
 by the open window drawing on my clothes, I saw 
 the whole lawn suddenly illuminated as if a mag- 
 nificent meteor had darted across the horizon. 
 The light increased and continued, however, and 
 I soon heard my protector raise the alarming cry 
 of fire ! — wood crackling, and dozens of voices 
 joining in chorus. The smoke began by this time 
 to make its way into the room where I stood, from 
 the library below. I rushed to the staircase, but 
 found there was no egress except through the same 
 opening which my strange assailant had sought. 
 Something between a jump and a fall brought me 
 to the ground, when I discovered that the whole 
 of one side of the library was in flames. It was 
 useless to throw on water by the single bucket-full, 
 and seeing the lower door free, and one side of the 
 room and all the books and papers on that side safe 
 as yet, I rushed in and ordered those of the negroes 
 to follow me who had collected around, and were 
 gaping in stupid wonder at the scene. 
 
 " We were enabled to save many bundles of 
 papers and most of the valuable books, before the 
 flames encroached so much on our side as to com- 
 pel us to seek the door. This they were a long 
 time in reaching, because the incendiary had placed 
 the fire among the papers under the staircase in 
 the little closet, for the purpose, I suppose, of cutting 
 off my retreat. By this time, your mother and 
 
68 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 cousin had hastily dressed and were no unfeeling 
 spectators of the latter part of our labours. It did 
 not strike them with so much dread and horror as 
 it would have done, because they were ignorant, 
 as yet, how it originated, and I determined to let 
 them remain so until morning, lest it should alarm 
 them so much as to prevent their further repose. 
 In the mean time I determined to see every pre- 
 cautionary measure taken to guard the main build- 
 ing from a like calamity. Accordingly, after I had 
 persuaded the ladies to retire, I summoned Tombo 
 and my brave defender (who proved to be the 
 young fellow whose cause I had advocated against 
 the driver), to a council of war in the parlour. 
 
 " I had every confidence in my coadjutors ; I 
 therefore arranged that Tombo should stand and 
 walk sentinel round the house for two hours, that 
 Philip should then take his turn of two hours more, 
 and at the end of that time, they were to awaken 
 me. I arranged it thus because I thought it likely 
 that if any attempt should be made on the mansion, 
 it would be just before daylight, when I should be 
 on guard myself. I supposed a renewal of the 
 attempt more likely, because I thought that I dis- 
 covered in some of the crowd assembed at the fire 
 a disposition to stand aloof and secretly rejoice, 
 and from what* I have since learned, there were 
 two complete parties on the occasion. It seems 
 that this driver (like all drivers, I suppose) was in 
 the habit of showing partiality in his administra- 
 tions of summary justice. This had naturally 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 69 
 
 made him a strong man with his own peculiar fa- 
 vourites. 
 
 " The day after the disturbance at the driver's 
 house, spoken of in a former letter, when all things 
 had assumed their wonted quiet, the driver made 
 his appearance. According to promise, I sum- 
 moned the white overseer before your mother, and 
 requested an examination into the conduct of the 
 driver, in cruelly and unjustly whipping Philip. It 
 was readily granted, and both your mother and 
 the overseer requested me to accompany the latter 
 to see the matter impartially settled. I did so, 
 and the investigation resulted in the deposition of 
 the driver from his high authority, and a repay- 
 ment on his own back of part of the stripes which 
 he had so unmercifully inflicted upon Philip. These 
 were almost forgotten until the night before the 
 last, when the fire and my attempted strangulation 
 were discovered, and the latter was so fortunately 
 thwarted by the shrewdness and vigilance of 
 Philip. 
 
 " It seems he had noticed the ex-driver prowling 
 about the library in the early part of the evening, 
 and had determined, in consequence of so unusual 
 a circumstance, to keep an eye to his motions. 
 This he did effectually, so far as my personal safety 
 was concerned ; but the scoundrel had thrown the 
 fire into the closet, between the time of his own 
 entrance and Philip's following him ; which he was 
 afraid to do too quickly, lest he might discover him 
 before he had ascertained his designs on the library 
 
70 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 and its inmate. No farther attempt was made 
 upon the house during the night, nor did his ex- 
 drivership make, then or since, his appearance. 
 
 "Next morning I cautiously made known all 
 these facts to your mother. She was much more 
 agitated than during the attack upon the said 
 driver; but she soon rallied her accustomed ener- 
 gies, and laid down the course to be pursued with 
 a promptness and decision which were really 
 admirable in one so gently tutored in her younger 
 days. She determined that the culprit should be 
 sold as soon as he could be caught, together with 
 any others who could be detected as having aided, 
 abetted, or approved of his designs. This punish- 
 ment of selling seemed to me mild for one so 
 guilty; but when your mother explained to me her 
 views, I was satisfied that it was the best disposi- 
 tion of the case, for all parties, which could possi- 
 bly be made. 
 
 " * You see, Mr. Randolph,' said she, ' that this 
 ignorant creature was elevated by the overseer to 
 an authority which tended to excite rather than 
 subdue his bad passions, and one which I doubt 
 whether any ignorant negro can exercise without 
 injury to himself and his fellows. It clothes the 
 slave with the authority and some of the privileges 
 of the master ; two conditions which are entirely 
 incompatible with each other. If, then, he has been 
 criminal, when it was difficult, indeed almost im- 
 possible for him to be otherwise, it becomes us to 
 protect ourselves, it is true, but to be as lenient as 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 71 
 
 this duty to ourselves will admit. I am deter- 
 mined, henceforward, to have no more black drivers 
 on the plantation.' 
 
 " It seems, too, that this selling is a terrible pun- 
 ishment to negroes who have been accustomed to 
 the mild and indulgent treatment which yours 
 enjoy. But now that all this burning, and at- 
 tempted murder, and consequent discipline, and 
 the excitement of the moment are over, and we 
 have time for cool reflection, what ideas naturally 
 present themselves ? A gloomy foreboding for the 
 future ! 
 
 " You know that I have not, when in health, 
 habitually looked at the dark side of things ; but I 
 must confess to you that the recent circumstances 
 have conjured up exceedingly unpleasant anticipa- 
 tions. What can we do to prevent the realization 
 of these apprehensions ? We cannot set slaves 
 free among us. Such a course would dissolve the 
 social compact. It would set at defiance all laws 
 for the protection of life, liberty, and property, 
 either among them or the whites. It would present 
 the strange anomaly of a majority under the con- 
 trol of the minority, and a, majority possessing 
 personal without political freedom ; which state of 
 things could not last, because anarchy and confu- 
 sion would usurp the place of law and government. 
 To emancipate them where they are, would be, 
 then, to surrender life, liberty, and property, — and 
 for what ? to render justice to these poor creatures? 
 Would it be rendering justice to them or ourselves? 
 
72 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 Would it be any reparation of an hereditary wrong, 
 to plunge the subjects of that wrong, with our- 
 selves, into irretrievable ruin, to attain nominal 
 justice ? Who is it that expects this of us 1 Cer- 
 tainly not the intelligent part of the community 
 among whom you sojourn at present ! Who are 
 they, then, who demand it ? A set of enthusiasts. 
 Send some of them here to preach their own doc- 
 trines among the negroes, and, my word for it, they 
 will set a ball in motion which they cannot stop 
 again ! They would be overwhelmed in a storm 
 of their own creating. It is cowardly in the ex- 
 treme for them to stand at a safe distance, throw- 
 ing lighted matches into our magazines. If they 
 wish to fight freedom's battles, let them repair to 
 the scene of the conflict, and expend some of their 
 surplus chivalry at the post of danger. They 
 would need no worse enemies than the blacks them- 
 selves. They would soon see a tyranny ten times 
 worse than the slavery of the South, in the lawless 
 outrages and uncontrollable fury of the savage 
 mob. 
 
 " But let us turn from this disagreeable subject 
 to my own more immediate concerns. My rival, 
 the Charleston refugee, has actually, and in form, 
 become a suitor to Virginia ; and she is now en- 
 gaged in playing off on him something of the same 
 caprice which she formerly exercised upon me. 
 When I say that he has become a suitor in form, I 
 mean that he has requested your mother's leave 
 to address her ; she replied, * that she intended 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 73 
 
 henceforward to refer such applications to Vir- 
 ginia herself; that she had full confidence in her 
 judgment and discretion.' Virginia intends to re- 
 ject him upon the first opportunity. My vanity 
 says so ; and then — and then — I intend to give her 
 a chance to add another to her list of killed and 
 wounded. You see the devil has not been cast out 
 of me so completely as I thought ; he was only 
 subdued a little. 
 
 " I shall not leave this place, whether rejected or 
 not, until I see all things tranquillized at the quar- 
 ter, so you may rest at ease on that score. Write 
 freely, fully, and often ; I feel quite interested in 
 your demure lady of the black mantle ; you ought 
 to have me there, to unravel the mystery ; I 
 have been panting all along for some such oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 " Virginia's respectful treatment of me continues. 
 I am observing her closely ; the result of which, 
 perhaps, with some other results, I may give you 
 in my next. She is a beautiful subject of study, 
 either for the artist or the moralist, but for the latter 
 more especially, being just at that interesting age 
 when the female mind begins to mature in the 
 south ; she is just arriving at some results, and 
 preparing to work her previous observations into 
 connected links. God send she may not come to 
 some conclusions very unfavourable to your humble 
 servant, 
 
 "B. RandolpHo' 
 
 VOL. II. G 
 
74 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 V. Chevillere to B. Randolph. 
 
 "New-York, 18—. 
 
 " Dear Friend, 
 
 " She is gone, Randolph ! and without my seeing 
 her, or receiving an explanation from any source 
 whatever. I did not expect one from them at this 
 time, but there are others of my acquaintances 
 who have no excuse whatever for the manner in 
 which they treat me. The moment I approach 
 any of them where she is the subject of discourse, 
 the conversation is hushed, as if they were talking 
 of an idiot who suddenly makes his appearance. 
 I will not bear it, by heavens ! I will be off with- 
 out so much as giving Lamar notice, and seek an 
 explanation where I have now a right to seek it, 
 namely, at Oakland. My brain is on fire. My 
 passion, if it can be dignified with no higher name, 
 becomes the more maddening with every new 
 obstacle that is thrown in its way. But my object 
 in taking up the pen was not to dwell upon the 
 unutterable things which I have suffered in the last 
 few days, but to relate to you another unfortunate 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 75 
 
 turn, which things relating to our northern expedi- 
 tion have taken. 
 
 " Lamar and Arthur have become bitter enemies, 
 and Arthur has actually challenged Lamar to meet 
 him in deadly combat the day after to-morrow. 
 What is to be done ? My own head is confused, 
 my heart sad, and my anticipations gloomy. I 
 have reasoned and raged with both, and have left 
 them much more disposed to fight with me than 
 to adjust their own quarrel. This enmity had its 
 ostensible origin, like most others of its kind, in a 
 mere trifle. Lamar and Arthur met at the Hazle. 
 hurst's, when the former began to entertain the fair 
 Isabel with some of the oddities of Damon, repeat- 
 ing his speeches and imitating his gestures. Arthur 
 construed this into an intentional affront, purposely 
 introduced in his presence for effect, and immedi- 
 ately left the room. Lamar had not long returned 
 to the hotel before Arthur entered in a towering 
 passion, and demanded to know what he meant by 
 exhibiting his damned Kentuckian, just at that time 
 and place, and in his presence, and by heavens, 
 glancing at me all the while, said he. You know 
 how this was likely to end. Lamar is not the man 
 to be either softened or bullied into measures by 
 such a speech. Coolly talking through his teeth, 
 in his peculiarly provoking style, he told Arthur 
 that all dicussion was at an end, and that he was 
 willing and ready to hear any communication from 
 him with which he might choose to honour him. 
 To make the matter more difficult to adjust, young 
 
76 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 Hazlehurst became the bearer of a challenge from 
 Arthur, which Lamar referred to me of course. I 
 say it made the matter worse, because, in the first 
 place, he is the brother of the lady, and in the 
 second, he and I are open and undisguised rivals, 
 so that we might get up a double affair with very 
 little trouble ; but against this, I took especial care 
 to guard at the onset. 
 
 " I waited upon Arthur in person, contrary to 
 all rules in such cases ; he insisted upon sending 
 for Hazlehurst. I locked the door and put the key 
 in my pocket, and then undertook to argue the case 
 with him ; I represented to him that we were three 
 strangers here, almost in a foreign country, and 
 that it would have no good appearance to slay one 
 of the three for a trifle. He was silent. I begged 
 him to relate all the circumstances ; he referred 
 me to Hazlehurst, so that I was compelled to turn 
 my attention next to Lamar. I found him in his 
 room, writing. He laid down his pen, and looked 
 up in a very unpromising manner ; he was as per- 
 verse and coolly obstinate as his antagonist, and 
 wound up the discussion by handing me the key 
 to his pistol case, and requesting me to look to their 
 condition. 
 
 " Now you have a glance at the whole business. 
 What could I do but arrange weapons, distance, 
 place, et cetera, with Hazlehurst ? And thus the 
 matter rests until day after to-morrow ; when I 
 will make one more effort to reconcile these mad- 
 dened young men and old school fellows. 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 77 
 
 " Now for my own affairs again. You no doubt 
 recollect, Randolph, those days of incipient bache- 
 lorism, as you and Lamar considered them, when 
 I was living secluded from female society ; I was 
 not then an unobservant spectator, as you supposed ; 
 I studied the female character much and deeply ; 
 it is true, that I had given myself up to a future 
 life of single blessedness ; not from selfishness, or 
 suspicion, or parsimony, or fear, but from a sup- 
 posed knowledge of my own individuality, I never 
 expected to find a lady endowed with all the rich 
 and varied characteristics which my imagination 
 had taught me to look for, at the same time that 
 she should possess youth, beauty, and accomplish- 
 ments. I thought such a one as I might worship, 
 could only be formed by the two (almost) impos- 
 sibilities of youth and experience. 
 
 " Such a one I have found, Randolph ; one 
 whose whole life in detail could furnish me with 
 subjects for pleasing study and admiration ; one 
 whose interest would never flag ; whose mind is 
 constantly increasing in its rich and simple stores ; 
 whose deep knowledge of the world has neither 
 tinctured her with incurable melancholy, cynicism, 
 nor pride ; who is as simple and unaffected as a 
 child of nature, whose beauty is of such vision-like 
 influence, that you breathe in an exhilarating atmo- 
 sphere as long as you are within its spell. Her 
 presence illumines a room, not for me only — every 
 one smiles when she smiles, and listens when she 
 speaks. She carries with her an indescribable 
 g2 
 
78 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 charm ; the young and the old alike seek her 
 society. To the old and the sanctimonious she is 
 agreeable without the affectation of piety or pru- 
 dery ; to the young she is charming without wit, 
 gayety, or vanity. It is not sympathy alone, for 
 we can deeply sympathize with those that suffer, 
 without receiving as much as we give, and without 
 in any measure enjoying their society. 
 
 " There are a few of these rare and gifted indi- 
 viduals scattered over the world, like brilliant stars 
 in a dark night ; but they are often overclouded 
 with storms and vicissitudes. I do not assert that 
 these are actually necessary to their full develop- 
 ment ; but certain I am that they are a constant 
 attendant upon their sometimes brilliant career. 
 The captivating charm in these persons is not 
 eccentricity, either real or affected ; nor in displays 
 of learning or superior wisdom ; nor in wit and 
 novelty ; nor in beauty and genius. It seems to 
 me to consist in bland, ingenuous benevolence, in- 
 tuitive perception of propriety, and the engaging 
 sadness of deep and painful experience, untinctured 
 with the evils which a knowledge of human de- 
 pravity too often engenders. I know that every 
 ardent lover imagines his mistress to be just such a 
 character ; but before I would class them as such, 
 the impression must be universal ; there must be 
 no room for argument ; these good qualities must 
 charm all hearts into acquiescence — not reason 
 them into conviction, or dazzle them into the ac- 
 knowledgment by brilliant sallies of genius. Such 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 79 
 
 a gentle and admirable being, I say, I had found : 
 nay, more, I had worshipped, in the permitted hu- 
 man worship of the heart. But now, Randolph, I 
 am neither contented nor happy. I have a long- 
 ing and eager desire to hear what this experience 
 has been that has developed those very qualities 
 which I most admire. It would be strange and 
 anomalous, would it not, if I were to quarrel with 
 the means by which this great good, in my eyes, 
 has been brought about ? But so it is ; we often 
 are willing to pluck the delicious fruit, and quarrel 
 with the thorns upon which it grew. This is quite 
 natural. All men love to pluck the roses without 
 the thorns ; to gather up the good things of this life 
 without the accompanying and antithetical evils in 
 which they are uniformly found imbedded. The 
 soul of man seems to have been constructed for 
 another sphere of existence. It seems to scorn the 
 schooling of contrasts by which all things are 
 effected here ; and not to desire the knowledge of 
 good and evil in the only way in which nature has 
 made that knowledge admissible. We would reap 
 the knowledge, it is true ; but we would reject the 
 pains and experience of which it is born. 
 
 "I am just now in that predicament. I desire 
 to possess a peerless and princely jewel; yet I 
 dread to dive down into those regions in which 
 only it is to be found ; but I have embarked upon 
 the current, and I must now sink or swim. 
 
 " But apart from personal considerations, is it 
 man's singular destiny, that all sensations should 
 
80 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 be born of contrasts ? That all pleasures should 
 be born of pains, and that our ideas should be but 
 the combined representatives of these ? It is a 
 curious matter of study, to ascertain of how much 
 pain our pleasures are composed, and how essen- 
 tial are the former to the very existence of the 
 latter. These rich capacities produced by the 
 various combinations of contrasts, are peculiar to 
 the human animal, so far as I have observed ; and 
 may account in some measure for the fact, that 
 man is capable of suffering more exquisite and a 
 longer duration of pain, than any of his fellow 
 animals. How much of this acute sensibility is 
 owing to the combination of the soul with our or- 
 ganizations, is another curious subject of study, 
 which I merely hint at for your especial benefit ; 
 investigate these subjects, Randoph, and enlighten 
 the world upon them. 
 
 * f You see I begin with love and murder and end 
 with metaphysics, but you must not quarrel with 
 the desultory manner in which I write, if you wish 
 really to follow the current of our thoughts and 
 feelings, for is it not a fact that men, at our age at 
 least, think and act in this desultory train ? Take 
 one of your conversations with a friend, for in- 
 stance, and think over the course which it pursued, 
 and you will be surprised at the first glance to 
 perceive how little connexion there is apparently 
 between the subjects of it ; yet if you have been 
 the leader in that conversation, take a second view 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 81 
 
 and see the little secret vein or connexion in your 
 own mind ; you will find the most opposite subjects 
 connected together, by a chain which you will 
 seldom find on paper, either in fact or described. 
 How many ludicrous ideas will sometimes force 
 themselves upon us on the most solemn occasions ! 
 How natural it is to see an urchin labouring to 
 suppress a laugh at a funeral or at church ! And 
 how often have you yourself been just ready to 
 burst into merriment in the middle of the most 
 pathetic scenes of tragic representation, not owing 
 to the defects of the actor, but to that secret cur- 
 rent of the thoughts over which one has no control. 
 I recollect once going to hear a funeral sermon, 
 deeply impressed with the solemnity of the occa- 
 sion, and of course profoundly engaged in the sub- 
 ject of the eloquent speaker : but all at once, like 
 a flash of electricity, the idea rushed through my 
 mind, of Samson racing down three hundred 
 foxes. I thought of the dead, and his virtues ; of 
 our loss, the sad occasion for which we had assem- 
 bled ; but all would not do ; I could see Samson 
 running after Reynard too distinctly ; so that I 
 was forced to feign sudden illness, and leave the 
 church for fear of disgracing myself. Now there 
 was no impious feeling in all this. I had never 
 in my life thought of that subject before ; I sur- 
 mised some figurative meaning in the text, but the 
 ludicrous was too palpable for me. 
 
 w These secret currents of the thoughts are in- 
 
82 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 explicable, at least at our time of day ; perhaps age 
 and long drilling may put the other powers more 
 completely under the command of the will ; until 
 then you must allow me to write as I think. 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " V. Chevillere." 
 
THE KBNTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 83 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 B. Randolph to V. Chevillere. 
 
 "High Hills of the Santee, 18—. 
 
 " The change in Virginia's deportment has been 
 to me a curious subject of study and reflection. I 
 dare not say that it has been entirely disinterested 
 study, but perhaps it was none the less close and 
 minute on that account. We are apt to investi- 
 gate those engines which operate upon ourselves 
 very philosophically. But before I go any farther, 
 permit me to correct an error into which I fear 
 I have led you, because I had honestly fallen into 
 it myself. I stated to you that my sickness had 
 cast out devils for me, and that I was altogether a 
 changed and reformed man. It is no such thing ; 
 I feel the devil of mischief and fun in me even 
 now. It was nothing more than a natural depres- 
 sion of animal spirits, consequent upon the low 
 state of my stomach and pulsations. The doctor 
 was my priest on the occasion. He subdued the 
 old Adam in me for a time, by the assistance of 
 his lancet and the whole vegetable and mineral 
 kingdom, worked up into shot and bullets vulgarly 
 called pills, by the aid of which these same doc- 
 tors, I believe, often do a deal of execution ; at all 
 
84 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 events this disciple fleeced me of a goodly quan- 
 tity of the flesh upon my ribs ; none of his shot 
 happened to be mortal ; but, nevertheless, I would 
 advise you to keep out of the reach of their maga- 
 zines. The muzzle of a pill-box is as terrible to 
 me now, as the mysterious dark hole in the end of 
 a forty-two-pounder ; and a blister-plaster as awful 
 as an army with banners. As for cupping-glasses 
 and scarificators, they are neither more nor less 
 than instruments of torture, borrowed from the 
 Spanish inquisition. But above all, deliver me 
 from the point of a seton-needle ! Did you ever 
 see a cruel boy string fish on a stick before they 
 were dead ? He runs the stick through the gills, 
 tearing and torturing as it goes ; so do these dis- 
 ciples of Esculapius ; they seize a piece of your 
 skin, no matter how scarce the article may be, — 
 no matter if your lips do not cover your teeth, and 
 the bones of your nose look white through the at- 
 tenuated sheath ! Away goes this surgical bayonet 
 through a handful of it, armed with a piece of gum 
 elastic, which is left sticking there, the sensation on 
 the back of your neck being as if the ramrod of a 
 small swivel had been shot through it ; and there 
 you must sit, or stand, or lie, with this huge thing 
 all the while poking your head forward, as if you 
 had a pillory on your back. 
 
 " Although there is not so great a change in me 
 as I had supposed, the change in Virginia is none 
 the less certain. She is as dignified towards me 
 now as a princess ; nevertheless there is a trem- 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 85 
 
 bling nervousness about it, which charms me inde- 
 scribably. I know you will exclaim here, ' Vain 
 fellow !' I am not vain ; but as humble and fear- 
 ful as a bride of two hours' standing. Half the 
 time I am doubtful of the cause of this new re- 
 serve, and set it down as decidedly unfavourable 
 to my views, until I detect a little thrill in her 
 voice, or tremulousness in the fingers as they meet 
 mine, or touch the piano ; and even that I set down, 
 sometimes, as nothing more than sympathy for my 
 forlorn condition, especially if there is a mirror 
 near, and I happen to get a peep of my shaved 
 cranium and sharp visage. And then, again, I 
 consider it nothing more than the natural reserve 
 of the woman, as she throws off the playful air of 
 the school-girl ; and that too, perhaps, from' having 
 discovered, during my illness, that she could no 
 longer, in justice to myself, treat me as a playmate. 
 But all these doubts and difficulties will be solved 
 in two hours. I have requested her to accompany 
 me in a walk around the lawn and garden, and I 
 intimated to her that I had something very particu- 
 lar to say. This was ill advised, I know, but the 
 truth is, I was attempting at that very time to 
 broach the subject, and, as with all other bashful 
 boobies, my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. 
 I certainly have some fear of disturbing my plea- 
 sant dreams of the present reckoning ; but I am 
 committed now, and there is no retracting. I shall 
 leave this letter open, that I may communicate to 
 
 VOL. II.— H 
 
86 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 you the result ; no doubt you can anticipate now 
 more truly what it will be than I can. Until this 
 crisis in my affairs is over, farewell. 
 
 "B. Randolph." 
 
 B. Randoiph to V. Chevillere. 
 
 (In continuation.) 
 
 " I have deferred the closing of this letter a day 
 longer than I intended when I penned the above. 
 The fact is, I was not so much in the humour for 
 writing as I expected. I was compelled to order 
 your horse and take my first ride, and you may be 
 sure that I did not restrain his mettle. What 
 would you argue from this ? That I was success- 
 ful ? or defeated*? I should suppose neither, from 
 that circumstance alone, say you, — as you would 
 be apt to ride down your impetuosity in either 
 case. 
 
 "But the time at length arrived, — the long looked- 
 for, hoped-for time ! and lo ! when it did come, I 
 would have put it back again, if I could have done 
 so with credit ; but no, I must now go onward ; 
 so I plucked up my wavering courage, and pre- 
 pared for a formal introduction. This, you know, 
 is at all times, and under the most favourable cir- 
 cumstances, but an awkward business ; but it is 
 especially so if the lady possesses a keen sense of 
 the ludicrous, has a lurking devil of ridicule in her 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 87 
 
 eye, and if the person about to address her has 
 often felt the smart of her keen satire. 
 
 " In the present instance, there seemed a hundred 
 little smothered devils of fun, and wrath, and fro- 
 lic peeping from the corners of her eyes ; not that 
 her deportment was different from that placid 
 serenity which has of late sat so modestly upon 
 her brow ; unless, indeed, it was that there might 
 have been discovered greater efforts than usual to 
 produce this result. We sauntered down the 
 lawn, until we came to the clump of pride of India 
 trees, amid which is situated a summer-house, cov- 
 ered with vines ; you no doubt recollect the place ; 
 here we were seated. 
 
 " ' Miss Virginia,' said I, in the formal style in 
 which a lawyer says, 'may it please the court,' — 
 * Miss Virginia, when I first set out from home 
 upon a southern expedition at this strange season 
 of the year, my only object was to see whether 
 the original of that miniature, about which you 
 have heard so much, was as lovely as it repre- 
 sented her. I expected to see a beautiful little girl 
 of thirteen, and hoped at some future day to make 
 her my wife ; nay, if I must make a true confes- 
 sion, I hoped to make some impression on her 
 youthful and gentle susceptibilities, before she could 
 see any more attractive admirer, and then leave 
 her to mature until my return. In all these ex- 
 pectations I have been disappointed, except with 
 regard to the personal qualities, which I found of 
 a much more dangerous character than I had cal* 
 
88 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 culated upon ; but Miss Virginia Chevillere is not 
 one to whom I would address compliments upon 
 her beauty, except in the regular course of my 
 narrative. During the progress of these discov- 
 eries I was taken ill, and within the same time a 
 great change has come over Miss Chevillere/ 
 
 " ' A great change,' said she, suddenly turning 
 full upon me, a deep blush suffusing her face ; * in 
 what respect, sir ?' 
 
 u * Does Miss Virginia ask that question se- 
 riously V 
 
 " ' Never was one more seriously propounded.' 
 
 " ' The change has been from hilarity to calm 
 placidity, as it regards externals.' 
 
 " * You astonish me !' 
 
 " ' And you astonish me. f 
 
 " A laugh ensued, which afforded a favourable 
 opportunity, and I continued : 
 
 " ' After my recovery, I found that I had rivals ; 
 that it was more difficult than ever to tell upon 
 what ground I stood ;' she smiled, while I conti- 
 nued : ' I have now only to offer Miss Chevillere a 
 skeleton of a hand,' holding out my anatomy, 'but 
 it is an honest one, and is at her disposal, backed 
 by as warm and ardent an attachment as ever a 
 man was laughed and fretted into ; will you accept 
 it for better for worse V 
 
 " She hung down her head a moment upon the 
 ends of her fingers, seeming to struggle, I know 
 not with what ; then suddenly placing her hand in 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 89 
 
 mine, she said, ' I will be as candid and as honest 
 as yourself, — you have left me no alternative.' 
 
 "But I pass over those delightful passages, 
 which no human eye shall ever fathom ; they are 
 my own treasures for future retrospection. 
 
 " Yet I may give you some hints of our subse- 
 quent conversation, towards the end of the time 
 spent in the arbour. 
 
 " * But, Mr. Randolph, you acknowledge that 
 you have entertained two distinct opinions since 
 your arrival at Salem ; suppose you should have a 
 third, and a fourth ?' 
 
 " * My changes of opinion,' said I, ' have in both 
 instances taken their cue from your own changes 
 in deportment ; but to tell you the truth, I should 
 be contented with either set of manners, or with 
 either opinion of them.' 
 
 " * Pshaw !' she replied, * you flatter ; I thought 
 we understood each other too plainly for you to 
 offer such compliments.' 
 
 " * I would not offend you for the world, dearest 
 Virginia, nor would I have you to believe that I 
 pretend not to have studied the change. All that 
 I meant to convey was, that I was pleased and de- 
 lighted with Virginia Chevillere when I saw her 
 the lively school-girl, but far more so when I saw 
 her the reflecting and considerate young lady ; and 
 that I would have been quite contented with the 
 h2 
 
90 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 former if I had never known the latter ; nay more, 
 I will tell you the cause of the change !' Here 
 she put her little hand over my mouth. 
 
 " ' No, no, no !' said she, ' for fear you might 
 tell the true one, and surely you shall never find 
 out my secrets for the world, lest I become afraid 
 of you !' 
 
 " ' Well,' said I, ■ I am satisfied with the result ; 
 you may keep your own secrets for the present, 
 but remember a time is coming, and that soon, 
 when there will be no secrets between us.' 
 
 "'Hah! are you there?' replied she; 'then I 
 must see all those letters you have been writing to 
 my cousin and his friend ; indeed, now I think of 
 it, I must see them before — ' 
 
 " There she stopped, not knowing how to finish 
 the sentence, and immediately started up and at- 
 tempted to run towards the house ; I caught her, 
 and, with gentle violence, compelled her to resume 
 her seat. 
 
 " ■ Before when V said I. 
 
 " * Before the great day,' she answered, laughing. 
 
 " ' What, the day of judgment V 
 
 " * Yes, truly, the day of judgment.' 
 
 " ' But tell me truly, Virginia, how very, very 
 soon shall that happy day come V 
 
 " * One year from next Christmas day.' 
 ' u « Phew !' whistled I, * a year and a half! Come, 
 say a week and a half.' 
 
 " ' Why, sir, you have not asked my aunt's con- 
 sent, nor my cousin's, nor my guardian's.' 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 91 
 
 " « Come, then/ said I, • let us to the house ; it 
 shall soon be done.' 
 
 "When we were seated in your mother's private 
 parlour, the old lady looked first at me, and then 
 at Virginia. The latter sat with her cheeks flushed, 
 biting the fingers of her gloves into bits, with side- 
 long glances at me, and a malicious smile upon her 
 face. I was meanwhile pulling all the fur off my 
 hat with one hand, and drumming on the crown 
 with the other. Virginia could bear this no longer, 
 but, bursting into a sprightly laugh, flew out of the 
 room. 
 
 " * Ah !' said your mother, * I see it all ; you 
 need not pain yourself, Mr. Randolph, in breaking 
 the subject. Believe me that a woman's vigilance 
 does not often sleep in these matters.' 
 
 " ' Ah then, dear madam, say that your judg- 
 ment approves of your son's partiality in my fa- 
 vour.' 
 
 " * My son's ! I thought it was my niece's.' 
 
 " ' Indeed, madam, I mean both, if I dare say 
 so.' 
 
 " * Mr. Randolph, you have my cheerful con- 
 sent ; trust me, I have not observed you carelessly, 
 since your visit to us, to say nothing of the un- 
 bounded confidence which I place in Victor's 
 judgment of his associates and school-fellows. To 
 tell you the truth, he long ago revealed to me his 
 ardent desire that you and Virginia should become 
 acquainted, and his conviction that you were ex- 
 actly suited to each other.' 
 
92 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 " * Do then, dear madam, urge an early day for 
 our nuptials ; your niece's most extravagant no- 
 tions of the length of human life render the request 
 necessary.' 
 
 " * My dear sir !' she replied, ' you have not yet 
 consulted your own relations and friends ; even if 
 you had, you would not be married to-night V 
 
 " ' Madam, I would, if I had my own way, 
 especially as I have unfortunately no mother and 
 father to consult.' 
 
 " * There will then be nothing to prevent your 
 removing to South Carolina. 5 
 
 " ' You forget, madam, that we Virginians are 
 the most bigoted people in the world about our 
 own country.' 
 
 H ' You would not separate my adopted daughter 
 from her widowed mother ?' 
 
 " ■ By no means — I would take the mother with 
 the daughter.' 
 
 " ' Have you a home already prepared V 
 
 " ' I have, madam, the home of my fathers.' 
 
 " ' I fear it will be more difficult to remove you 
 than I had supposed. • Virginia and I have man- 
 aged this business badly. We should have held you 
 in suspense until you had renounced your country. 
 But perhaps it is as well thus ; forced renunciations 
 are generally unhappy.' 
 
 " I need not repeat to you, dear Chevillere, every 
 word that passed between us ; suffice it, therefore, 
 to inform you, that I am to tear myself away, in a 
 few days, to the Old Dominion, to prepare for my 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 93 
 
 nuptials, which will occur immediately on my re- 
 turn ; and this, whether you shall have repaired 
 hither or not. Indeed, you need not be surprised 
 to see Mr. and Mrs. Randolph in New- York be- 
 fore Christmas. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " B. Randoms." 
 
94 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 V. Chevillere to B. Randolph. 
 
 '"New-York, 18— . 
 
 " Dear Friend, 
 
 "I am inexpressibly sad. Every thing goes 
 wrong. The bright hopes and brilliant anticipa- 
 tions with which we came to this city have van- 
 ished ! Yesterday morning at sunrise, Lamar and 
 I were on the ground (in Jersey) before our an- 
 tagonists were anywhere to be found. As had 
 been agreed upon, I was to furnish the arms for 
 the unnatural occasion. Lamar, though not in 
 bravado, was desperately calm and savage ; I 
 could see from his hurried steps, compressed lips, 
 and flashing eyes, that he was in no condition to 
 do well even the wretched business for which we 
 had come. I thought too, while his present humour 
 lasted, that there was no possibility of succeeding in 
 my deeply cherished hopes of a compromise. To 
 hint directly at a reconciliation would have been 
 to thwart it ; I thought the only plan, therefore, 
 would be to urge upon him coolness and delibera- 
 tion for his own sake. 
 
 " ■ Lamar/ said I, ■ do you think yourself in good 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK, 95 
 
 Condition and feelings to act with entire self-pos- 
 session V 
 
 " ' Never in better ! My eye is clear, heart 
 cheerful, and hand steady ! I could knock a mos- 
 quito's eye out this morning, at twenty steps/ 
 
 " What a singular thing it is, Randolph, that the 
 mind of a firm and courageous man, when about 
 to engage in a personal affair of this kind, seems 
 always to be narrowed down or concentrated to 
 the direction of the lead in its passage from the 
 pistol, and all his ideas seem to run upon straight 
 lines, and steady aims, and that even under an as- 
 pect of levity ! 
 
 " How is it, that one can throw aside all the 
 momentous considerations which press upon a by- 
 stander ? that the profoundest melancholy does not 
 overwhelm him ? Why not throw the thoughts one 
 hour ahead and see himself — perhaps weltering in 
 gore — eyes half closed — tongue- thick and motion- 
 less — feet and hands cold — pulsations feeble, and 
 altogether in a condition which would call forth 
 our tenderest sympathies for a stranger found in 
 this condition by the way side. Perhaps if the 
 thoughts of combatants could be thus carried for- 
 ward for an hour, their imaginations might show 
 them their antagonists in this condition. No en- 
 mity could be so bitter, that they would not feel 
 sympathy for one thus situated. And herein lies 
 the strangeness and inconsistency of the duellist. 
 An antagonist once wounded, and we are all sym- 
 pathy for those very sufferings which we ourselves 
 
96 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 have inflicted ; none was extended while it would 
 have availed any thing, but no sooner is it un- 
 available, than it is showered upon the dying ad- 
 versary ! What wretched mockery is this 1 To 
 thrust one over a precipice only to pick him up 
 and lament over him ! To fire a house, and then 
 seek to extinguish it with tears ! To put out a 
 man's eyes, and then ask him to look upon you with 
 forgiveness ! To shoot a neighbour through the 
 heart, and then kneel and pray for his pardon before 
 he dies ! 
 
 " How much like the child with his toy is all 
 this, when he, in the folly of the moment, destroys 
 some invaluable relic, which millions could not 
 restore. So it is with us * children of a larger 
 growth,' when we go out upon the field to sport 
 with human life, as if it was a thing to be restored 
 when once destroyed. 
 
 " The truth is this, and the position will be sus- 
 tained by the facts which I am going to relate : no 
 man who goes on such an errand, realizes in his 
 own mind what it is he is about to dp or to suffer. 
 Let such a one vividly realize to his own mind his 
 antagonist, stretched out on a litter, just ready to 
 be borne from the field, a ball having passed across 
 the bridge of the nose and knocked out both eyes, 
 and horribly deformed his face, without producing 
 death ! Would he not call upon the rocks and 
 mountains to crush him for a monster, before he 
 would touch a hair-trigger ? But I am, as is usual 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 97 
 
 with letter writers and reviewers, giving you the 
 reflections before the facts. 
 
 " We soon discovered the other party approach- 
 ing the spot. When they were within about fifty 
 yards of us they halted and held a council, as we 
 did likewise, to arrange all the awful particulars. 
 I could see their earnest gestures, as they stood, 
 partly hid by the bushes, dripping with morning 
 dew. The time having nearly arrived, one of 
 their number separated from the rest and ap- 
 proached us. 
 
 " This movement roused me from a very disa- 
 greeable revery, into which I had thoughtlessly or 
 thoughtfully glided, while Lamar stood talking to 
 the surgeon and Damon (who, by-the-by, has just 
 returned from Albany), I suppose that the cause 
 of my so far forgetting myself as to indulge in this 
 habitual mood, was the latter personage calling my 
 mind vividly to the consequences of our present 
 undertaking, by some of his plain, downright mode 
 of speaking to the surgeon. However, I imme- 
 diately recollected my individual responsibility, and 
 hastened to meet the plenipotentiary of the other 
 party, who, I found, was young Hazlehurst. He 
 looked pale and haggard, as if he had been en- 
 deavouring to keep away the intruding imps of the 
 night by the more genial spirits of the bottle ; he 
 was any thing but calm, though he assumed to 
 be so. 
 
 " The idea of a compromise still forced itself 
 
 VOL. II. 1 
 
98 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK* 
 
 upon me ; I therefore urged it upon him by all the 
 considerations in my power. I told him that I had 
 often observed the skill of both ; that they were 
 both * dead shots,' and undoubtedly what the world 
 is wont to call men of courage* Making but little 
 impression, I determined to assail him upon a more 
 tender point, namely, the delicate subject of his 
 sister's concern in this matter. I begged him to 
 recollect that it would give her an unenviable no- 
 toriety, if one of these young men should be killed. 
 I seemed here to toudh his home feelings, if not 
 his judgment and his principles, and he returned to 
 advocate a reconciliation, w T hile I pursued the same 
 course with Lamar. 
 
 li It was all to no purpose ; for when we met 
 again upon middle ground, it appeared that each 
 of the principals had singularly enough construed 
 our overtures into a demand of apology from the 
 opposite party. Each now urged that the time had 
 arrived. The ground had already been measured 
 off (twenty paces). Our next business was to cast 
 lots for choice of position and ' the word.' Hazle- 
 hurst won the privilege, if it could be so called, of 
 giving the word * fire,' and the choice of position 
 fell to me. 
 
 " As seconds, we proceeded to load the pistols ; 
 not, however, before I had spent my logic in vain 
 upon the parties. The task being finished, they 
 took their positions, appearing calm and composed 
 to the hasty eye, although a fierce commotion of 
 subdued elements was going on within. They 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 99 
 
 looked, however, as report generally says, ' calm 
 and steady.' 
 
 " Hazlehurst took his position, and all things 
 being in readiness, his hoarse and evidently ex- 
 cited voice began in slow, measured, and distinct 
 articulation, * Ready ! aim ! fire ! One ! two ! 
 three !' 
 
 "Both pistols were discharged almost at the 
 same instant, and for a moment I could not see 
 through the smoke what injury had been done and 
 received. In another moment Lamar and Arthur 
 were visible, unhurt, and both singularly staring at 
 Hazlehurst and me. For my life I could not, at 
 first, see into this, — the # first impression was that 
 they had both been shot, and were still able to 
 stand, yet unable to move. In this belief I has- 
 tened to Lamar, who said, as I came up, 
 
 " * And were they really and truly charged V 
 
 " ' Upon honour they were/ said I, * and exactly 
 in the same manner in which you and Arthur have 
 been practising ; for I showed Hazlehurst the 
 charge when he took his away some days ago, and 
 I saw him to-day, when we picked up the pistols 
 indiscriminately, load his exactly as I had pre- 
 viously shown him.' 
 
 " ' There must have been some magic in this 
 business,' said Lamar ; ' I never carried a steadier 
 hand up and down a line in my life.' 
 
 " By this time each party had again withdrawn 
 to themselves, when I asked Lamar my instruc- 
 
100 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 tions, as I saw young Hazlehurst again coming to 
 meet me, as might have been expected. * Another 
 fire, of course,' said Lamar. Hazlehurst's instruc- 
 tions were the same ; accordingly, we again went 
 through the same preliminaries, and something in 
 addition, — for Lamar proposed, and Arthur agreed 
 to it, through us, that they should both see the pis- 
 tols loaded. 
 
 Accordingly we again collected, like a sociable 
 little coterie, and proceeded to load. Just as I had 
 done my part, Lamar found some fault with the 
 manner in which I placed the percussion cap, and 
 hastily seized the pistol, somewhat contrary to the 
 usages in such cases ; as no one objected, however, 
 I surrendered it to him. In letting down the cock 
 to a half-cock, it slipped through his fingers and 
 exploded, bursting the barrel and wounding him 
 dreadfully in the hand and the side of the head just 
 above the right ear, by which he was prostrated in 
 an instant, covered with blood and powder. We 
 all thought him dead, as soon as we saw him fall. 
 Arthur, in particular, knelt down beside him, and 
 called upon him by all the endearing titles of old 
 school-fellowship. The surgeon used such means 
 as were at hand, and soon succeeded in restoring 
 animation. As soon as he became sensible, Arthur 
 took his hand and held it between his own during 
 the whole time we were getting a rude litter ready 
 to bear him to the carriage, and they were com- 
 pletely reconciled. We bore him to the carriage 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 101 
 
 and thence by slow marches to the ferry on the 
 Hudson, from which place we safely removed him 
 into the room in which I write. 
 
 " He seems now to be doing well ; though his 
 hand is dreadfully torn, and a deep and large scar 
 will be left on the side of his head as long as he 
 lives. We agreed, before we left the ground, to 
 keep the whole business secret, except so much as 
 related to the bursting of a pistol in Lamar's hand. 
 
 " Damon would have been quite amusing, as 
 usual, if the occasion had not beenunsuited to mer- 
 riment ; however, after Lamar was safely placed 
 in bed, as Arthur insisted on staying with him, I 
 agreed to accompany Damon to the theatre, as it 
 was to be his last night in the city. 
 
 " Accordingly, after tea, he called for me, and we 
 walked over to the old Park Theatre, taking box 
 seats on this occasion. You must know, by-the- 
 by, that I do not find the pit in these theatres the 
 resort of the literati, and critics, and authors. This, 
 I suppose, is owing somewhat to the character of 
 our people, the nature of our institutions, and. the 
 low price of admittance. 
 
 " As we entered, the pit were calling loudly upon 
 the orchestra for our national air, if it may be so 
 called, of Hail Columbia. The band, most of whom 
 were foreigners, were engaged upon some piece of 
 music more to their own tastes, I suppose ; for the 
 yelling and stamping became excessive before they 
 yielded to the voice of the mob, which they were 
 at length compelled to do. It was a benefit night, 
 i 2 
 
102 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 and the house was full ; many persons standing up 
 in the rear of the boxes. Damon and I were 
 lucky enough to procure seats ; which we had 
 scarcely taken, when a little billet was dropped 
 into my hat, which I held between my knees. I 
 picked it up hastily, supposing it belonged to some 
 gentleman behind me ; but was astonished to see it 
 directed to me. I tore it open, and read these 
 words : — 
 
 " * You know now who the widow is. Beware 
 of her, beware !' 
 
 " ' (Signed) Neither a Friend nor an Enemy' 
 
 " I had almost forgotten a similar communica- 
 tion received before. I looked round to see who 
 could have dropped it there. Every countenance 
 was gentlemanly and calm, forbidding at a glance 
 all suspicion. I crushed it into my pocket, and 
 endeavoured to forget it in seeing Damon so 
 amusingly amused. 
 
 " After Hail Columbia had been played to their 
 hearts' content, the mob became calm, and the cur- 
 tain rose. The play, fortunately, was a home-pro- 
 duction; and, as good luck would have it, a Ken- 
 tuckian was the principal character. 
 
 " It was a prize-comedy, the hero of which, 
 Colonel Nimrod Wildfire, of Kentucky, quite cap- 
 tivated Damon's heart. He entered into the spirit 
 of the plot with great interest ; and, as men un- 
 practised in the ways of the refined world generally 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 103 
 
 do, he realized it so vividly as at times to forget 
 that it was not a real scene. When the colonel 
 was rounding off his periods in favour of old Ken- 
 tuck, Damon would slap down his hand upon his 
 knee and exclaim, * Hurrah for old Kentuck !' 
 
 " < This,' said he to me, • is worth a million of 
 your Italian fiddle-faddles. There, at the opera, a 
 man, if he should happen to go to sleep, would be 
 sure to dream that he had fallen foul of a strange 
 hen-roost, or was riding to the devil in a rail-road 
 car of live-stock. But here, a man could a'most 
 dream he was in old Kentuck, with his eyes open/ 
 
 " ' Then you like your countryman the colonel V 
 
 " * You may say that, neighbour ; but between 
 you and me and that pillar there, though he's a 
 plagued clever fellow, yet' (lowering his voice to a 
 whisper) ' he spins rather longer yarns than I'm a 
 thinkin he does at home.' 
 
 " * The sin of a traveller,' said I. 
 
 " * Right again, neighbour ; and I, for one, don't 
 blame him for it. Double and twist me ! if I don't 
 feel myself "very much moved, now and then, to spin 
 a yarn or two about old Kentuck, when I see these 
 etarnal mountebank-dandies, knowing so little 
 about sich a fine country, and sich whole-souled 
 fellows.' 
 
 " * But, Damon,' said I, when the curtain fell upon 
 the first act ; * I have always thought that your 
 boasting-men never act V 
 
 " * I don't understand you,' said he. 
 
104 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 " ' I mean that bullying, swaggering fellows never 
 fight ; or, in other words, ' barking dogs seldom 
 bite/ ' 
 
 " * Oh, ho ! I understand you now ! you suppose 
 because my countryman there on the stage spins 
 a pretty good yarn, and tells a good story of him- 
 self, and what he can do, that he won't fight. But 
 there, neighbour, I rather suppose that you might 
 be mistaken a little ; for it depends upon the com- 
 pany a man keeps what sort of yarns he spins. 
 Now if the colonel there and I should happen to 
 fall out about any trifle, he knowing that 1 was 
 from old Kentuck and I knowing as much of him, 
 why there would only be a word and a blow be- 
 tween us, all in good nature ; but that Mrs. Trol- 
 lope that he is feedin on soft corn don't know no- 
 thing ; Kentuck '1 give her a lesson.' 
 
 " The first piece being concluded, the afterpiece 
 now came on, ' Paul Pry.' Damon relapsed into a 
 brown study for some minutes, until he caught a 
 glimpse of Paul's peculiarities, — which were sud- 
 denly interrupted by his usual slap on the knee, 
 like the fall of a sledge-hammer. ' That fellow,' 
 exclaimed he, ' must be a real Yankee ! yes, he's a 
 Yankee, I see it ! I see it ! them's the sort o' chaps 
 they have in Yankee town ; no such chaps in old 
 Kentuck, except among the old wives.' 
 
 " « How is that, Damon ; I thought that every 
 neighbourhood had a Paul Pry V 
 
 " ' That may be, hereabouts ; but you see we 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 105 
 
 have a cure for such complaints as that chap seems 
 to be troubled with.' 
 
 " * And what may that be, Damon V 
 
 " ' A knock down and drag out/ 
 
 " * That, to be sure, is a very summary remedy; 
 but are you sure it would cure it?' 
 
 " * As sure as that I'm settin here ; just let that 
 chap or the likes of him travel into old Kentuck, 
 and run his nose into other people's business after 
 that fashion, and I'll agree to be hornswoggled if 
 he don't be apt to catch it in his bread-basket. 
 Jist suppose, now, that Mr. Pry was to git a 
 sneezer between his two lookin eyes when he's 
 runnin his nose about after that fashion ! he 
 wouldn't intrude again soon in the same premises. 
 Paul wouldn't be apt to intrude at a regular hand- 
 round in old Kentuck. But what makes you 
 laugh V 
 
 " ' I was laughing at your new doctrine of social 
 order.' 
 
 " 1 Lord, sir, I havn't told you half the good that 
 comes of regulating the people by the five rules.' 
 
 " * Five rules ! what are they V 
 
 " ' These marrowbones !' (holding up his clenched 
 fist.) 
 
 " * Well, let's have it ; what other good do they 
 do, besides what you have already stated V 
 
 " * They make people polite to one another, and 
 keep them from calling names.' 
 
 " ' Calling names !' said I. 
 
 M * Yes, calling names ; no longer than to-day, I 
 
106 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 was coming down this very street the theatre 
 stands on, at a place they call * the square,' and I 
 heard two fellers talking as if their dander was 
 up a little ; so I walked up and leaned against a 
 lamp-post close by, to listen and see if any fun 
 was going to come of it ; presently one of 'em 
 called the other a liar. Now, thinks I, we'll see 
 some sport ; so I rolled up my sleeves, and held 
 my arms both stretched out to keep back the 
 crowd. * Don't press on 'em, gentlemen,' said I ; 
 1 fair play, fair play !' and what do you think it all 
 came to V 
 
 " ■ Nothing, I suppose.' 
 
 " * Right ; instead of knocking the fellow on his 
 sconce, he stood quietly with his hands in his pock- 
 ets, and says, ■ Oh hush ! Do tell now !' I stared 
 at them to see if they had tails and walked on all- 
 fours, and the crowd stared at me like fools, as if 
 there wasn't two fellers there to be stared at sure 
 enough, without putting old Kentuck out of coun- 
 tenance.' 
 
 " ' But you did not interfere any further V 
 " ' Only to ask the man who stood next to me if 
 he had seen a man call another a liar before, with- 
 out being knocked down. ■ I never saw anybody 
 knocked down in my life,' said he, ' except by the 
 watchman.' ' I'm hornswoggled,' said I, ' If I an't 
 glad I'm goin away to-morrow, for I should be 
 spiled here in a short time ;' and then they all set 
 up a horselaugh at me, instead of laughing at the 
 two cowards who stood by/ 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 107 
 
 w * Well,' continued I, * are there any other ad- 
 vantages of the knocking-down system V 
 
 " ' O, yes,' said he, 'hundreds ; it makes the blood 
 circulate, like runnin in the mountains keeps up 
 the blood of the bucks.' 
 
 " ■ But here,' said I, « there is no necessity for 
 such a stimulus; because the difficulties of getting 
 meat and bread where there is such a crowd, are 
 sufficient to make the blood circulate.' 
 
 " ' Ah, that's true,' said Damon, rather sadly ; ' it 
 may suit some stomachs to live in this crowd ; but 
 curse me if it don't make my breath short jist to 
 think of it ; and that ain't the worst of it : I am 
 told that there is as hard scufflin among the dead 
 here for a little elbow-room, as among the living.' 
 
 " ' Yes, you have been rightly informed. The 
 living begin to push the dead out of their quiet 
 resting-places; insomuch, that a man who died 
 here forty years ago, and paid two hundred dollars 
 for the ground to be buried in (if he is cognoscent 
 of such things in another state), finds his bones 
 scattered with those of the dogs and horses of his 
 generation.' 
 
 " ' Oh, I'm off,' said Damon, < this would never 
 do for me. I don't like to be crowded, — living or 
 dead ; Lord ! when I get into one of our long open 
 forest ranges again, I rather expect that I shall 
 snort like a wild beast, when he first snuffs a 
 stranger.' 
 
 " ' You see no advantages, then,' said I, * to 
 
108 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 compensate for these various inconveniences of a 
 crowded city V 
 
 "'None; do youV 
 
 " ■ Some ; for instance, the society of a large 
 city, and the amusements ; as the theatre.' 
 
 " ' The theatre !' exclaimed he, in surprise ; 
 * would you put this clamjamfry against a deer 
 drive, or a fox-chase, or a 'coon hunt ? Why, I 
 wish I may be perlequed through a saw-mill, if I 
 would'nt rather go to a country-wedding, any day, 
 than come to this place. Why, here it's all make- 
 believe ; it's all sham ; but out in old Kentuck we 
 have the real things which you pretend here ; like 
 we do scarecrows to a corn-field.' 
 
 " Much of this dialogue passed between the acts 
 and scenes ; though when Damon becomes inter- 
 ested, he pursues his discourse independently of 
 performers and audience too. After the conclu- 
 sion of the performance, I walked with him to his 
 lodgings, and took leave of him with real regret ; 
 whether we shall ever meet with him again, 
 Heaven only knows ; I, for one, will be glad to 
 see him at any time, and in any company ; I have 
 learned to estimate our rude western yeomanry 
 more justly since I have become intimate with 
 Damon ; the acquaintance was doubtless com- 
 menced in the waywardness di our old college 
 mischief, but it has ended in our all respecting 
 Damon for his good qualities, and looking upon his 
 foibles rather as sources of amusement than as 
 unpardonable faults. There are, doubtless, as 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 109 
 
 many accomplished gentlemen in the state of 
 Kentucky, as in any other in the Union, but it is 
 equally certain that wilder regions of the state 
 produce many such characters as our friend. I 
 have seen many polished gentlemen of our sister 
 state ; and with the exception of those who come 
 from the large towns of Lexington, Louisville, &c., 
 there is about them a wild romantic turn, analo- 
 gous to their native scenes, which renders them, 
 in our older settlements, unique, but by no means 
 disgusting or disagreeable. This tinge is par- 
 ticularly observable when contrasted with the 
 blunted and worn-out societies of our large north- 
 ern and eastern cities. 
 
 " Lamar we found doing extremely well as to 
 his wounds, and sleeping soundly. If he continues 
 thus, I shall soon put an end to this cruel suspense, 
 which tears my tranquillity to pieces, and strikes 
 at the root of every enjoyment ; — you understand 
 me. 
 
 " Present me most affectionately to my mother 
 and cousin ; I read your letters with great interest, 
 I assure you ; you cannot be too minute ; all, all 
 will be interesting to yours, most sincerely, 
 
 "V. Chevillere." 
 
 VOL. II. K 
 
110 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Victor Chevillere to B. Randolph. 
 
 Oaklands, 18—. 
 
 " Dear Friend, 
 " I left Lamar in the city of New- York, under 
 the hands of an experienced surgeon, doing well 
 as to his bodily wounds, and on such a footing with 
 his rival as becomes them both, as gentlemen and 
 old acquaintances. As soon as I had obtained 
 from the surgeon so much of the foregoing informa- 
 tion as was professional, I took my passage on board 
 one of the Albany steamboats. About eight o'clock 
 of the same day, which at this season of the year 
 is just after dark, the sky was clear, serene, and 
 beautiful, save along the western horizon, where a 
 long veil of purple drapery interposed between the 
 land and the sky, as the sun sank to rest in quiet- 
 ness and beauty, while the moon and the stars at 
 the opposite point of the compass were just begin- 
 ning to shed their paler rays over the magnificent 
 scenery of the Hudson. Our boat glided over the 
 scarcely rippled surface of the noble river, until 
 the little bell of the engineer, or of some one in 
 command, was heard in the quiet scene, as a signal 
 
THE KENTUCKIA.N IN NEW-YORK. Ill 
 
 for the engine to cease its ponderous movements, 
 while the captain at the same moment was heard 
 to cry out, * Passenger for Oaklands.' A boat was 
 speedily manned and lowered from the stern, con- 
 taining the said passenger and a small travelling 
 trunk. It was none other than your old chum and 
 humble servant. 
 
 " In a very few moments I was left standing on 
 the banks of the river, and the boat was speedily 
 moving out of sight. I looked all around me, to 
 see in what direction the lights from the mansion 
 were visible, but all was darkness amid the trees 
 in the direction of the land. The surface of the 
 river was still, but no such serenity reigned within 
 my own bosom. Not that I have no taste for tran- 
 quil scenes ; it was just such a one as I love to 
 dwell upon ; but I was approaching a house, the 
 owner of which was secretly hostile to the objects 
 of my visit ; all the rest of the family, save one, 
 were strangers to me, and that one was last seen 
 under circumstances of doubt and mystery, painful 
 and impressive to the heart of one who has been 
 always charged, and perhaps justly, with fastidi-* 
 ousness as to female purity and refinement. 
 
 " Leaving my small trunk hid in a boat-house 
 which I found upon the banks of the river, I began 
 leisurely to ascend a gravelled walk, which was 
 skirted on each side by a row of huge forest trees, 
 each of which, as its black outlines stood forward 
 from the darker regions of others behind, looked 
 like a gigantic bastion of the citadel at the head of 
 
112 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 the lawn, to guard against such intruders as I be- 
 gan to fear I might be considered by some of the 
 garrison. Although I had yet some eight or nine 
 hundred yards to attain the level at the end of 
 the lawn where the house stood, the dogs began to 
 warn the inmates of my approach ; and as I as- 
 cended a little mound, more steep in its ascent than 
 the rest of the walk, the mansion presented itself, 
 dimly seen by the doubtful rays of the rising moon. 
 The size and structure of the edifice I could partly 
 discern from the lights within, as well as from the 
 gleam without. It seemed to be a two-story frame 
 building, painted white, with the longest side facing 
 the river, and a wing or smaller building at each 
 end ; in the centre of the main building was a por- 
 tico, surrounded at the top by a heavy balustrade. 
 The trees and shrubbery, as I approached, became 
 thicker on each side of the avenue, opening into 
 something like a half circle in front of the house 
 with the convex towards me. Within this area 
 there were also trees and shrubbery, but the former 
 were smaller and of a different kind, and the latter 
 more tastefully arranged than that interspersed 
 between the trees along the avenue. 
 
 " I did not present myself immediately in this 
 area to sound my bugle and summon the castle, 
 but wound round one of the wings to reconnoitre 
 the premises. I had a reason for this movement. 
 As I stood among the trees on one side of the ave- 
 nue, waiting till some one should chain up the 
 dogs, a gentle sound at intervals vibrated through 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 113 
 
 the still air, in delightful unison with the scene, the 
 occasion, and my own feelings. There was pa- 
 thos in the touch of every string, as its tones died 
 away amid the serenity of the night. 
 
 " I skirted round among the trees to the other 
 side of the wing from which the sounds seemed to 
 proceed. There was no light in the window, but 
 I could see the gentle songstress as she sat in the 
 casement, the features of her face being just enough 
 discernible in the rich and silvery tints of the queen 
 of night, as her horizontal beams fell amid the 
 boughs of the trees, to give employment to the 
 imagination. I could discern her loosened ringlets, 
 as they fell over a polished forehead and temples, 
 and occasionally caught the lustre of the eye, as 
 she turned her face (under the full rays of the 
 moon) towards the thick grove in which I stood. 
 The song ended, — and by some strange opera- 
 tion of the mind, I began to think of a favourite 
 air which I sometimes play, and which I had given 
 her in score ; the thought had scarcely passed 
 through my mind, before she touched the identical 
 melody in her peculiarly soft and * moonlight' style. 
 Was it not strange? Yet I do not see why we 
 should so consider these things, occurring so often 
 as they do. I call to mind my having once ad- 
 verted suddenly in thought, and without any visible 
 cause, to a friend whom I had not seen for years. 
 But a few minutes afterward I met the identical 
 person, and that too in a city five hundred miles 
 from the spot where we had met before. Is there 
 k2 
 
114 THE KENTUCKIAN TN NEW-YORK. 
 
 some secret connexion or intercommunication of 
 the mind which we know not of, except by its 
 effects ? Is the German theory a mere whim ? 
 But waving these inquiries, the fact that the same 
 ideas were passing through my mind and that of 
 this beautiful and melancholy being, produced novel 
 and delightful emotions. There must have been 
 congeniality of thought, if not of feeling. I could 
 hear the servants scolding and beating the watch- 
 ful guardians of the night, as they still, from time 
 to time, growled forth their knowledge of my pres- 
 ence. I nevertheless maintained my position 
 against one of the venerable oaks, until the air was 
 ended ; she touched the guitar no more that night, 
 but leaning her head on her hand, she gazed on 
 the captivating scene in what seemed profound 
 sadness. 
 
 " * Now,' thought I, ' the plain flute in my pocket 
 (which I always carry with me in my travelling 
 expeditions) will be in place ; and the rest of the 
 family in the apartments fronting the river are not 
 likely to hear my soft tones ;' (and I made them 
 more soft than usual,) as I attempted to imitate a 
 distant, dying echo of the air she had just been 
 playing. 
 
 " The effect was instantaneous ; she started 
 from her sad revery, with her head erect, in the 
 most expressive attitude of listening. I ceased 
 instantly when these effects were visible. She 
 soon seemed to think it a delusion, and, holding her 
 hand to her forehead for a few moments, resumed 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 115 
 
 her former position. I waited to assure myself 
 that I had not aroused any other members of the 
 family. 
 
 " After remaining in that position for a few mo- 
 ments, she began in a kind of thoughtful abstracted 
 mood to sigh over the same air. When she had 
 finished it, I again softly breathed the echo upon 
 the instrument. For an instant only she started 
 to her feet, — looked out of the window, — held her 
 hand to her head again for some time, as if trying 
 to ascertain whether she were dreaming or awake. 
 1 thought now that I had practised upon her feel- 
 ings long enough ; I therefore replaced the instru- 
 ment, and walked round to the main entrance of 
 the building, where I held the knocker some little 
 time in my hand before I could summon resolution 
 for the attack. My knock was soon followed by 
 the sound of footsteps, and when a servant opened 
 the door, I announced myself as Mr. Chevillere of 
 South Carolina. He left me seated but a few mo- 
 ments, before he returned with Mr. Brumley. The 
 latter was more polite and hospitable in his manner 
 than I had expected, and invited me into the par- 
 lour, where his wife, the mother of Miss St. Clair, 
 was sitting at her work-stand, in a very domestic, 
 and, to me, pleasing fashion. 
 
 " She arose upon the introduction, and held out 
 her hand in southern style, giving me altogether 
 one of the most smiling and benignant welcomes 
 I have received for some time. It immediately 
 carried me back to relatives and the scenes of 
 
116 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 home. In addition to this, it was inexpressibly 
 soothing to me on another account ! It said 
 plainly that I had been well reported to her by 
 some one, and that one, I was sure, was not her 
 husband. A servant was despatched for Miss 
 Frances ; in the mean time, the good lady made me 
 quite at home in a few moments ; during which, 
 as I have above intimated, I found her and her 
 daughter were of one counsel. Such things are 
 easily discovered without much of the world's 
 tact. 
 
 " Mrs. Brumley, formerly Mrs. St. Clair, is about 
 the middle height, and apparently about thirty-five 
 years of age, though she may be much older* 
 Her hair is light brown, and her eyes are like her 
 daughter's, blue ; she is really handsome in feature 
 and expression ; the latter especially charmed me. 
 With women of her age, there is generally an ex- 
 pression of suppressed suffering, — partly subdued 
 misanthropy, — disappointment, — bigotry or fanati- 
 cism. How seldom do we see cheerful matrons of 
 the middle age ? But Mrs. Brumley was not only 
 cheerful, — she was simple, unaffected, intelligent, 
 and benevolent. 
 
 " The younger lady entered. I could not ex- 
 actly determine whether she was alarmed or em- 
 barrassed, but she was evidently labouring under 
 some excitement. She was in more simple attire 
 than I had seen her wear before. There was 
 something of the home look both in her dress and 
 manners which I had never observed, and which 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 117 
 
 was inexpressibly delightful to me. And the half- 
 mourning dress sets off fair hair and a fair com- 
 plexion to the best advantage. In addition to all 
 these things, a young lady appears different at home 
 and in the world. Upon her deportment in the 
 latter respect it depends whether that difference 
 redounds to her advantage. Has she been simple 
 and unaffected in the world ? home will make her 
 simplicity more captivating. But if she has been 
 abroad in a holyday suit of manners and deformed 
 with affectation, as is too often the case with very 
 youthful females, the change made by home will 
 be painful to the beholder, because this holyday 
 suit must be thrown aside. It will not pass current 
 in that market. Even the servants would comment 
 upon such an assumption, and the lady would be 
 subjected to the mortification of being laughed at 
 and criticised by her own attendants. 
 
 "No such change was visible here ; Frances 
 was evidently at home, in every sense of that de- 
 lightful word. Permit me to make another obser- 
 vation here : the estimation in which one is held 
 by the persons around them, especially the ser- 
 vants, is no bad criterion. When I see the servants 
 of a family pay unasked homage, and that peculiar 
 touching devotion which comes from the heart, my 
 own follows spontaneously. I would not lack the 
 love of my servants for any earthly consideration. 
 I can truly say that I never did lack it ; and, con- 
 temptible as it may appear to the proud and super- 
 
118 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 cilious, it has afforded me many an hour of self- 
 congratulation. 
 
 " These were the first things that I looked for, 
 nor was I disappointed. Every heart seemed to 
 dictate the actions and services rendered to Fran- 
 ces St. Clair. Mrs. Brumley, after ascertaining 
 that I had already supped, found some business 
 out of the room, whence her husband had been 
 previously called by one of the servants. We 
 were thus left alone within less than half an hour 
 after I had entered the house. I arose and seated 
 myself beside her, and presuming to take her hand, 
 was going to introduce the subject of my visit, 
 perhaps too suddenly, when she said, permitting 
 me still to retain her hand, * Ah ! Mr. Chevillere, 
 a mental illusion concerning yourself greatly 
 alarmed me to-night. Is it not strange that a 
 thought or occurrence will sometimes recall the 
 image of a friend, but a few moments before that 
 friend himself appears V 
 
 " ' I am too happy,' said I, * to know that I some- 
 times dwell in your thoughts during absence, to 
 ask the how or the wherefore ; but I hope the illu- 
 sion was not wholly unpleasant V 
 
 " * Do you perform on the flute, Mr. Chevillere V 
 
 " * Imperfectly.' 
 
 " ■ Do you play the little air which you gave 
 me?' 
 
 " * As well as I play any thing.' 
 
 " ' Then my illusion was still more strange than 
 I before thought it. Ah ! I see you smile ! perhaps 
 
TUB KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 119 
 
 you have been practising upon my superstition ; 
 but I thought of that. Ah ! you smile again ; so 
 you did play that air under my window ! Still 
 there was something strange about it, for I had 
 but a few moments before touched it on the 
 guitar/ 
 
 " ■ Ah, dear lady, I was so happy as to hear it ; 
 and I am so unhappy as to rob you of that slender 
 hold for your superstition also ; but I will give 
 you a better one : at the very moment you touched 
 that air, I was leaning against one of those old oak- 
 trees of the grove behind the house, and that iden- 
 tical piece of music floated as distinctly through 
 my mind, as if it had been played in the air imme- 
 diately over my head !' 
 
 " She was brilliantly beautiful for a moment, as 
 a new train of thought suddenly illumined her eye. 
 She then said, in an absent manner, — 
 
 " * It was strange !' 
 
 " * It was more than strange !' said I. 
 
 " * What, was it more than strange V she eagerly 
 demanded. 
 
 " * It was delightful to me.' 
 
 " Her head dropped, while she blushed at the 
 idea of my reading her thoughts ; ' I shall fear you 
 in future !' 
 
 " * Not for the world, dear lady. Surely it is no 
 cause of fear that delightful thoughts will some- 
 times be spontaneously felt between us ; when I 
 say delightful, I speak for myself alone ; they may 
 be very disagreeable to you. Of that I do not 
 
120 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 pretend to speak at the present moment, further 
 than to acknowledge that I draw the most happy 
 presages from these simultaneous bursts of thought 
 and feeling, which you must often have observed ; 
 nay, further, it is a kind of congeniality which I 
 have thought until lately had no existence except 
 in romances. Perhaps it is presuming too far to 
 say so with regard to the impulses of the heart ; 
 but certainly you will admit the fact with regard 
 to most subjects.' 
 
 " ' I shall not express my opinion just now, be- 
 cause my mind and feelings have been too pain- 
 fully engaged since I saw you, to lengthen the 
 conversation in that direction which I see plainly 
 you are disposed to give it/ 
 
 " 'Ha !' said I, ' you too sometimes read thoughts. 
 But may I presume to ask what that painful em- 
 ployment has been V 
 
 " ' I have been committing to paper a brief and 
 plain narration of those circumstances of my life 
 which I promised to relate to you. I preferred 
 this course, because my feelings have become so 
 irritable of late on the subject, that I should merely 
 tantalize you if I attempted to relate them. Be- 
 sides, in a painful and full confession (which you 
 will find much of this to be), it conduces to truth, 
 and an unvarnished statement of facts, to record 
 them in the closet. It then seems that if we set 
 down aught in extenuation, we lie to the great 
 Searcher of hearts himself.' She then presented 
 to me a roll of manuscript. 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 121 
 
 " On taking it, I said, * It shall be read and pon- 
 dered upon under the same solemn scrutiny. My 
 eyes shall not know rest until they have devoured 
 the contents of these pages ; but I know full well 
 that my heart will rest as well thereafter .as it can 
 do, until it receives its final blessing or quietus in 
 this life.' 
 
 " I did not need a second invitation to .my quar- 
 ters for the night ; but requesting the servant to 
 supply me with an additional candle, greedily de- 
 voured what you will find I have transcribed for 
 you. 
 
 "V. ClIEVILLERE." 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
122 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Narrative of Miss St. Clair. 
 
 My grandfather, Holcomb St. CJair, settled 
 about the year 17 — , where the town of H — — 
 in this state now stands. He had two sons, Hol- 
 comb and Howard, the latter of whom was my 
 father. At the time of this settlement they were 
 mere children. Adjoining his lands lived a Mr. 
 Moreton, whose family consisted of a son and two 
 daughters. Little intercourse had taken place be- 
 tween the two families except among the children 
 at school. When it was determined to lay off a 
 town at the place before mentioned, it was found, 
 upon the survey, that a corner of Moreton's land 
 extended into the very centre of the contemplated 
 town, and much farther, according to his claims, 
 than my grandfather was willing to allow. A 
 deadly animosity and consequent lawsuit arose, 
 which my grandsire gained. In the mean time, 
 the town was laid off and grew apace. 
 
 All the little intercourse between the families 
 was now broken off, and the separation extended 
 to the children at school, with the exception of my 
 ancle Holcomb, a precocious boy, and Moreton's 
 eldest daughter, who was then a beautiful little 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 123 
 
 girl. Thus were the two families situated at the 
 beginning of the revolutionary war. My grand- 
 father espoused the republican cause, and accepted 
 a commission in the army : while his persevering 
 enemy took the opposite side. Whether his en- 
 mity to my grandfather had any thing to do with 
 his determination, I will not undertake to say. 
 During the progress of the war, owing to some 
 reports of my grandfather to the commander of the 
 American army, Mr. Moreton and his family left 
 the neighbourhood, and soon after sailed for Eng- 
 land. Nothing more was heard of the Moretons 
 till long after the recognition of American Inde- 
 pendence by the mother country, when Moreton 
 and his family returned to their former mansion. 
 His daughters were now both nearly grown, and 
 the eldest, a fair and accomplished young lady. 
 My uncle, Holcomb St. Clair, who was much older 
 than my father, and who had now almost arrived 
 at man's estate, from all that I can learn, in nowise 
 participated in the feelings of his father, at least 
 towards one member of the Moreton family — I 
 mean the eldest daughter. Indeed, tradition says 
 that the young people found frequent opportunities 
 of meeting, were devotedly attached to each other, 
 and had resolved to be married when Holcomb be- 
 came of age, in spite of all opposition. 
 
 At length, that time arrived. Young Holcomb 
 was twenty-one. He sought his father and made 
 known to him the state of his affections. In vain 
 did he plead that their attachment was prior to the 
 
124 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 family feud ; the old gentleman was inexorable ; 
 he next boldly presented himself before the lady's 
 father, and asked his consent, declaring that he 
 would marry her without the permission of his 
 own parents, provided Mr. Moreton yielded. He 
 however was more resolved against the match 
 than my grandfather, and forbade his daughter 
 ever afterward to hold communication with Hol- 
 comb, by letter or otherwise. Nevertheless, the 
 young lovers found frequent opportunities of meet- 
 ing, at the house of a former domestic, who lived 
 on the land of Mr. Moreton. At this place many 
 interviews took place, and at length a runaway 
 match was concluded upon. 
 
 Neither of the pair possessed a dollar, inde- 
 pendent of their parents, and they doubtless would 
 have been in the greatest distress if their designs 
 had been accomplished : but these very oversights 
 of the young people were deeply pondered upon 
 by the nurse, at whose house they met, and who 
 had a most parental regard for the young lady, 
 Her mind was greatly moved by seeing, as she 
 thought, a little farther ahead than the lovers. She 
 accordingly sought an interview with my uncle, 
 soon after his separation from his betrothed bride, 
 and asked him plainly to unfold to her his prospects 
 after marriage, and his future means of living. 
 
 As it may be readily supposed, his answers were 
 not very satisfactory to the anxious nurse. On 
 her way home, and while she was deeply musing 
 upon the melancholy prospects which awaited the 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 125 
 
 young people, she accidentally encountered her 
 patron, landlord, and former master, and out of 
 pure devotion to the real interests of the young 
 lady, as she supposed, divulged the whole plot. 
 Mr. Moreton kept his secret for the time within 
 his own breast, but at length the night arrived for 
 the elopement. My uncle was at the appointed 
 rendezvous with the horses, waiting as patiently 
 as could be expected, until the time appointed 
 for setting off had some time elapsed, when he 
 began to grow uneasy at the non-appearance of 
 his bride. Two hours had gone by, and yet no 
 trembling damsel greeted his longing eyes. Mid- 
 night found him still waiting and chafing under the 
 appointed oaks. At length, leaving his horses 
 under the care of his trusty servant, he resolved 
 to reconnoitre the premises of the hostile father. 
 
 Around the mansion of the Moretons the quiet- 
 ness of death reigned ; not a living being was to 
 be seen except the dogs, and the agricultural ani- 
 mals which were quietly grazing over the green 
 in the still moonlight. At length he retired to his 
 own quarters totally discomfited, and at a loss to 
 account for the want of punctuality in the lady, 
 when all things around her father's mansion seemed, 
 to his observation, to have been so propitious to 
 their designs. 
 
 The next day found him without his having 
 
 closed his eyelids, and in no enviable state of mind. 
 
 Again he made his observations, and yet the same 
 
 quiet prevailed. Every thing seemed to be moving 
 
 l2 
 
126 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 on at the usual rate of country life and occupation?. 
 He was now completely at a loss to account for his 
 disappointment in any other way than that which 
 is usually the last for an ardent lover to adopt — 
 namely, the inability of his mistress. And before 
 he was willing to admit a possibility of this, he pro- 
 ceeded to the cottage of the nurse, calculating with 
 great certainty to find some letter or message, giv- 
 ing some explanation of the mystery. But when 
 he arrived at the cottage, the door and rude shut- 
 ters were closed ; a thing so uncommon, except on 
 Sundays, that he was struck with dismay and un- 
 defined alarm. He knocked and stamped, but all 
 in vain. The next day, and the next, his visits to 
 the cottage were repeated with the same results ; 
 and he now became almost maddened by suspense 
 and fear. 
 
 He watched Moreton's domestics, in hopes to 
 bribe some of them to a disclosure of the proceed- 
 ings within the mysterious house, as he now began 
 to consider it, but no opportunity offered. At 
 length the long wished-for Sabbath arrived. Know- 
 ing that both the Moreton family and the nurse 
 were constant attendants at the village church, he 
 repaired thither, with throbbing pulses and an ach- 
 ing heart, in hopes, at least, to catch some stolen 
 and consolatory glance from his adored mistress ; 
 or, at least, to gain intelligence from the nurse, as 
 to the cause of her unusual absence from her an- 
 cient and much loved home. The bell was now 
 ringing, and the people of the village and the 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 127 
 
 country around were pouring in from all quarters ; 
 and with them, at length, came the carriage of the 
 Moretons. His eyes were now riveted to the 
 spot, in hopes to see his betrothed descend as usual. 
 First came the old gentleman, then his proud lady, 
 and lastly, the younger daughter : and then the 
 steps were put up, and the carriage drove away. 
 
 These movements he had watched from his po- 
 sition in the church ; and long did his eyes remain 
 gazing upon the spot from which the carriage had 
 driven, until they were rapidly turned to the seat in 
 the gallery where the old nurse usually sat ; there 
 also he was doomed to disappointment — the seat 
 was vacant. 
 
 Seizing his hat, he rushed out of the church, and 
 over the stile like a maniac ; leaving my grand- 
 father and grandmother completely astounded at 
 his rude behaviour. From the church he ran to 
 the house of the Moretons, being at least a mile ; 
 and bursting into the first door he came to, de- 
 manded of the astounded domestic to see Miss 
 Catharine instantly. 
 
 " Lord bless you, sir ! Miss Catharine's half- 
 way to England by this time !" 
 
 " To England !" cried my uncle, as he fell 
 upon the floor in uncontrolled agony. 
 
 When he had recovered himself, and reflected 
 for a moment, he composed his features, and en- 
 joined upon the two domestics (enforcing his re- 
 quest in the usual way) not to mention his visit. 
 
 After ascertaining that Catharine was accom- 
 
128 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 panied by her brother and the nurse, and that they 
 had set off for the city of New- York on the very 
 night intended for the elopement, he rapidly re- 
 traced his steps to the church, and arrived there in 
 time to be seen quietly reposing under one of the 
 trees surrounding it, both by his own and the 
 Moreton family ; leaving it to be supposed by them, 
 that sudden indisposition was the cause of his ab- 
 rupt exit. On the next morning, while his father's 
 family were yet ignorant of most of the foregoing 
 circumstances, he requested a private audience of 
 my grandfather. The old gentleman was just 
 about to take his usual ride round the farm on 
 horseback, and requested Holcomb to order his 
 horse and join him. At dinner, the old gentleman 
 announced to the family that Holcomb would set 
 out next morning for the city of New- York ; 
 whence, after certain necessary preparations, he 
 would continue his journey through the middle and 
 southern States. He seemed more than ordinarily 
 pleased at his son's determination ; thinking, no 
 doubt, all the while, that it proceeded from a laud- 
 able desire to wean himself from his unfortunate 
 attachment, and a judicious wish, at the same time, 
 to see his countrymen and improve his mind. 
 
 Some weeks after my uncle's departure for the 
 city, my grandfather accidentally heard that Hol- 
 comb had sailed for England immediately on his 
 arrival at New- York. And this piece of bad news 
 seemed but the commencement of an unparalleled 
 series of disasters. Next came the news of the 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 129 
 
 lady's having preceded my uncle : then the more 
 dreadful tidings of the loss of the vessel in which 
 the latter had sailed, every individual on board 
 having perished, except the captain and one or two 
 seamen. 
 
 My grandfather was now almost heartbroken, 
 and his greatest enemy little better ; for it was 
 soon ascertained that the blooming and beautiful 
 Catharine was in a rapid decline. Then came the 
 news of her death, and lastly her mortal remains, 
 to be deposited in the village burying-ground. 
 Thus, in the short space of one year, were these 
 obstinate parents brought to lament, each for the 
 loss of a favourite child. 
 
 But their individual and family griefs by no 
 means softened their hearts towards each other. 
 So far from it, each acted towards the other with 
 renewed hostility, seeming as if he attributed the 
 loss to his enemy. 
 
 These wounds were just beginning to be cica- 
 trized by the lapse of some few years, when, on a 
 beautiful Sunday morning, the More ton family 
 were astonished, on coming into the churchyard 
 (which was also the burying-ground), to see a 
 chaste and elegant monument erected over the 
 grave of their lamented daughter, with this simple 
 inscription : — 
 
 BENEATH THIS STONE IS THE GRAVE OF 
 CATHARINE MORETON. 
 
130 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 Every person in the churchyard had very natu- 
 rally supposed that it was erected by her parents. 
 The latter, however, were dumb with astonish- 
 ment. An inquiry was immediately set on foot to 
 ascertain who had interfered (as the old Mr. More- 
 ton complained) with his private grief; but no clew 
 could be discovered to the mystery : and finally 
 the subject died away, and was never afterward 
 renewed, except when a stranger visited the vil- 
 lage, and was desirous to see the curiosities of the 
 place, among which the mysterious tomb was sure 
 to, be the first. 
 
 There was one small yet singular circumstance 
 connected with this tomb. At the corner where 
 the name of the maker is usually inscribed, there 
 was an anchor very legibly cut into the marble, 
 without the sculptor's name. In a few years the 
 memory of my uncle Holcomb and his unfortunate 
 love was swept into that eternal sleep of oblivion, 
 which had before engulfed a million of heart- 
 rending tales, and which stands ready to bury all 
 the sufferings of their successors. 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 131 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Some years after the circumstances re- 
 lated in the foregoing pages, when many of the 
 persons to whom they were known had sunk to 
 rest for ever, — when Mr. Moreton and my grand- 
 father had both paid the last debt of nature, and 
 taken final leave of their earthly animosities,: — 
 when my father had grown to man's estate, and 
 been married some time, — when I was a little girl 
 just beginning to run about my father's house, — 
 there appeared one day at the village tavern a 
 pedestrian traveller, who excited little more notice 
 at the time than such travellers usually do. He 
 attended worship on Sundays in the only church 
 in the place, being the one so often before men- 
 tioned ; with this solitary exception, he kept him- 
 self secluded, and seemed desirous to make no ac- 
 quaintances. He traversed the hills and dales 
 through the neighbourhood with the zeal of a geol- 
 ogist, and seemed altogether quite domesticated 
 at the village inn. At length it was announced in 
 the village newspaper that the estate of the More- 
 tons was for sale ; the younger Moreton an- 
 nouncing in the advertisement that he was desirous 
 of emigrating to the west. The day of sale arrived, 
 when, to the amazement of all, the pedestrian of 
 
132 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 the inn became the purchaser. Few people be- 
 lieved him able to comply with the terms, until he 
 actually paid the money. 
 
 The Moretons moved away to the far west, and 
 nothing more was heard of them at that time. 
 The mansion-house of the family, which had so 
 long rivalled my grandfather's in their pride and 
 their pretensions, was at length closed for ever, 
 and its classic columns and architectural device 
 were destined to sink into ruins, overrun by those 
 vines and flowers which were once obedient to 
 the training of many a fair hand. The farm was 
 let out in small parcels to the poorest people in 
 the neighbourhood, and, with exceptions to fixtures 
 and improvements to the land, at a mere nominal 
 rent. This strange and' unaccountable being at 
 length paid my father a visit. He was an old 
 bachelor, apparently about fifty-five or sixty years 
 of age ; a full, round-chested man, with dark hazel 
 eyes. He wore a black wig, though it was easy 
 to be seen that his hair had originally been light 
 brown. His complexion was between a bilious 
 and a cadaverous hue, which, with his great cor- 
 poreal bulk, gave him an appearance of unsound 
 health. He was sad and even melancholy in his 
 temperament; but abstemious in his habits, and 
 as generous as a prince in his disposition. He 
 was remarkably fond of children ; at least he 
 showed great fondness for me, and took great de- 
 light in directing my youthful lessons. 
 
 Thus were things moving on in the neighbour- 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 133 
 
 hood of the village of H , when, on a stormy 
 
 and terrible night, a messenger arrived with a sum- 
 mons to the dying bed of Mr. Thornton, as the 
 " old bachelor" was called, and my father imme- 
 diately obeyed the call. The next morning he re- 
 turned unusually dejected, which was accounted 
 for, in some measure, by informing my mother of 
 the death of Mr. Thornton ; but the sadness lasted 
 much longer, and seemed to be much more pro- 
 found in its nature than was called for by the death 
 of a mere stranger. Our family attended the 
 funeral, which, for a time, closed all further par- 
 ticulars relating to this narrative. 
 
 VOL. II. M 
 
134 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mr. Chevillere will perceive that I have 
 merely sketched a long train of circumstances 
 connected with our family history ; but I hope I 
 have said enough to enable him to understand what 
 I have now to relate, more immediately concerning 
 myself. He will, in due time, perceive that the 
 circumstances already glanced at had a powerful 
 and unfortunate influence upon my destiny. 
 
 With the exception of the death of my grand- 
 mother, nothing remarkable occurred between the 
 time just spoken of and my thirteenth year. My 
 childhood was happy and unclouded ; and the atten- 
 tion bestowed upon my mental cultivation was 
 such as might have been expected from devoted 
 and intelligent parents towards an only child ; and 
 my improvement by their instructions was such as, 
 at least, to satisfy their partial judgment. 
 
 Those happy days were destined too soon to 
 end — too soon it was thought that I was old enough 
 to improve under other and less kind and blinded 
 instructers — too soon it was determined that I 
 must leave the dear home of my youth, the society 
 of my parents, and the scenes of my childish ram- 
 bles. Oh ! how little do we know the value of the 
 wild, gay, irresponsible happiness of childhood, until 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 135 
 
 we look back upon it from after years. Already, 
 young as I am, I have often to recur to memory's 
 stores in order to seek consolation from the past 
 for the unutterable sufferings of the present. It 
 was determined that I must now be sent to a 
 boarding-school in the city of New- York. This 
 gave me much pleasure in prospect, so long as the 
 day of separation from my parents was at a dis- 
 tance. The idea of a boarding-school in a large 
 city is pleasing to a gay and thoughtless girl ; and 
 doubtless, under ordinary circumstances, it is the 
 source of much innocent delight. It is in such 
 places that we form the dear friendships which are 
 to endure, at least in memory, for a life-time. If 
 the persons of our friends pass away, they still 
 remain with us in spirit ; and the scenes and en- 
 joyments of younger life will sometimes, upon the 
 casual touching of a chord, rush back upon us with 
 a melancholy which, though desirable, is over- 
 whelming and even suffocating. The term seems 
 to me peculiarly adapted to that singular oppres- 
 sion of the soul which only the female heart en- 
 dures. But I was speaking of more pleasing an- 
 ticipations : these were but too free and buoyant ; 
 and therein, perhaps, was laid the foundation of all 
 my after sorrows. The day of my departure soon 
 arrived, when all my pleasing anticipations were 
 turned into weeping and sorrow. Something in- 
 expressible seemed to burden my heart upon this 
 first separation from my mother. Whether it is a 
 usual thing with our sex on such occasions, or 
 
136 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 whether it was a more especial presentiment of 
 coming evil in my particular case, I do not know. 
 Certain I am, that I had never experienced any 
 thing like it before ; and what seems peculiarly 
 strange to me now is, that the undefined sufferings 
 of that hour were very like those which oppressed 
 me under the real misfortunes of which they could 
 only have been the foregoing shadows. There 
 was really an identity in the miserable feelings 
 attendant upon the two occasions. This may ap- 
 pear like folly : but, certainly, every one who has 
 suffered at all can recur to each link in the gloomy 
 chain, as particularly as we can travel back over 
 the identical feelings of by-gone enjoyments. 
 These are not the associations of the moment only, 
 but specific and peculiar sufferings related to the 
 cause, and even existing when the mind is ab- 
 stracted from all surrounding objects. And these 
 same nightmare feelings will arise again and again 
 over the heart, when we are least expecting them. 
 Sometimes, in the gay and joyous hour, they have 
 come over me like a horrible dream, in exactly the 
 same gloomy hues and colours in which they first 
 presented themselves. 
 
 I have dwelt upon this presentiment a moment, 
 because it seems to me that there was something 
 peculiar in its first appearance ; as I was but a 
 child of thirteen, and had never felt more mental 
 suffering than a moment's childish vexation. These 
 were entirely new feelings, totally unconnected 
 with my past experience at that time : how far 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 137 
 
 they were connected with that which was to come, 
 I leave others to judge for me. 
 
 At length I parted with all those most dear to 
 me upon earth except my father, who accompanied 
 me. And here I may remark, that however pecu- 
 liar and poignant were my feelings of the parting 
 hour, they were of short duration. One night's 
 sleep, away from home, effected the cure ; all was 
 forgotten, and my gay anticipations returned. I 
 began already to select play-fellows and intimates 
 from the crowd with which my imagination peopled 
 the boarding-school. My plans were all arranged, 
 dresses bought, and books selected. 
 
 Having parted from my father, a new life opened 
 upon me, entirely different from any thing I had 
 before experienced. I was now placed with girls 
 near my own age, in that little epitome of the fe- 
 male world called a select boarding-school. Here 
 I found, for the first time, the pleasures of congenial 
 intimacy with beings of my own age, and the pains 
 of envy, jealousy, rivalry, and all the meaner pas- 
 sions. 
 
 The love of admiration is a singular passion in 
 girls so young ; I say singular, because it is a gen- 
 eral, undefined, impracticable feeling, having no 
 ultimate object ; a strange, fluttering, wild emotion, 
 which is seldom analyzed by those who are under 
 its influence. Indeed I doubt whether it could 
 exist in a person who had judgment enough to 
 know exactly its origin, support, and end. 
 
 A boarding-school is a very hot-bed for this tu- 
 m2 
 
138 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 multuous feeling, as it exists primitively, and many 
 of the seemingly whimsical actions and flighty 
 speeches of very young girls, under such circum- 
 stances, may be traced to it as their source. 
 
 There is one radical error of all girls at that age, 
 which, it seems to me, may be the nucleus of this 
 feeling. It is the dread of being overlooked in the 
 human crowd — a fear that our virtues, our beau- 
 ties, our accomplishments, or our intelligence, may 
 be slighted. We cannot easily discern that the 
 very efforts which we make to distinguish our- 
 selves from the common multitude, tend but the 
 more forcibly to stamp us of the commonest ma- 
 terial of the number, and that the method best cal- 
 culated to elevate us above the mass, is to seek 
 deeper retirement in that oblivion which we then, 
 most dread. This grand mistake, it seems to me, 
 has its origin likewise in a preceding error, with 
 regard to those qualities which the other sex most 
 admire in us. How can a girl, without experience, 
 ascertain, at the very threshold of life, that retiring 
 modesty, that seemingly negative virtue, is the 
 index by which all others are supposed to be fore- 
 told ; how can she possess by intuition, that which 
 is nothing less than the grand result of all female 
 education, experience, and accomplishment? True, 
 there is a native modesty in most young girls, 
 whose infantile education has been parental ; but 
 this is more properly called bashfulness, and may 
 be allied with many reprehensible qualities, and 
 of itself requires discriminating cultivation. There 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 139 
 
 is a great difference between native bashfulness 
 and that self-possessed modesty, which can never 
 be attained but through the influence of good sense 
 in the pupil, and discriminating judgment in the 
 parent or teacher. 
 
 It must not be supposed for a moment, that the 
 cultivated humility of which I speak, is the same 
 which many intriguing mothers and chaperones 
 inculcate upon their daughters and protegees. 
 These cunning instructers only enforce the imita- 
 tion ; I am speaking of the genuine principle and 
 feeling ; and I dwell upon these things the more 
 diffusely, because much of my after unhappiness 
 was owing to a neglect of them, as I am sorry 
 to add, they are too often overlooked in similar 
 institutions. It may seem that I speak too openly 
 of the failings of my sex, when I detail the progress 
 of the desire for admiration, and take it for granted 
 that it is a feeling common to all ; but it must be 
 recollected that I speak of the secret motives of 
 action in females of my own age at that time, not 
 of the disgusting exhibitions of the passions which 
 are too often to be met with in forward and un- 
 cultivated young ladies. I speak of it when it is 
 not directly perceptible to any but a discerning 
 mind ; when it displays itself not so much by direct 
 and unwomanly advances, as by whimsical actions 
 and foolish conversation. How often do we hear it 
 said of girls, at about the age of fourteen, that they 
 are " light-headed" and "flighty." This is nothing 
 more than the secret working of the desire for ad- 
 
140 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 miration, and the fear of not receiving it. This 
 may seem a humiliating exposure of secret female 
 motives, and so it would be, if I were speaking of 
 those whose characters are formed ; but it is not 
 so. I refer to the feelings of myself and my asso- 
 ciates at the most interesting period of female edu- 
 cation ; and I consider it by no means humiliating 
 to my sex in general, to expose feelings, which in 
 their rude and natural state, are disgusting to a 
 refined mind, but which, judiciously cultivated and 
 guided, give origin to most of the social happiness 
 of our race. 
 
 It will be perceived that the school into which I 
 was now introduced, like all others of its kind, was 
 a nursery for the growth and nurture of many other 
 things than those which were formally put forth to 
 the world as the regular routine : these indeed 
 form but a small part of boarding-school education. 
 Young ladies are there, for the first time, thrown 
 into a community of their own age, sex, feeling, 
 and prospects ; for the first time cut off from the 
 restraints of affectionate parental authority, and 
 subjected to that which is formal, indiscriminating, 
 and too often, ludicrous. The consequence is, that 
 there is soon established a little republic of feeling, 
 which is ruled by a tacit under-authority among 
 pupils themselves. These develop similar passions 
 and feelings to those which we experience in the 
 world ; female ambition, rivalry, jealousy, hatred, 
 revenge, and all the little wars and contests to 
 which they give rise. 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 141 
 
 For the first year there were no occurrences of 
 an unusual character besides these developments ; 
 at all events, none connected with those events 
 which I have undertaken impartially to relate. 
 Twice a year I was allowed to visit my father's 
 house, and always with renewed delight ; fierce as 
 our little contests sometimes were at school, they 
 were all forgotten when the parting hour came at 
 the end of the session ; plentiful showers of tears 
 washed away every vestige of bitter feeling ; and 
 we returned, at the commencement of the next 
 session, with open arms for every one, like dear 
 friends who had long been parted ; but soon again 
 we were divided into our little factions, each one 
 with her favourites. 
 
142 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 When I was about fifteen years old, and had 
 been at school nearly two years, I received per- 
 mission from my father to attend a riding-school 
 in the city, at which some of the more advanced 
 girls had already been attending. Among these 
 were most of my intimate associates, some of 
 whom resided in the city, and of course did not 
 sleep at the school. Of the latter number was my 
 dear and valued friend, Isabel Hazlehurst. When 
 we had been at riding-school some time, Isabel and 
 I were pronounced sufficiently secure in our seats 
 to ride out into the country. One Saturday after- 
 noon, when I was spending the day with my friend, 
 a riding-party was proposed and soon made up, 
 consisting entirely of the girls of our school, and 
 escorted by Isabel's brother and several other 
 young gentlemen, most of whom had sisters of the 
 party. When we had proceeded safely for several 
 miles, and timidity and caution began to give way 
 to our usual wild mirth, the horse on which Isabel 
 rode became all at once very restless and unman- 
 ageable ; this soon startled mine, which was the 
 most restive and mettlesome of the whole. All 
 my endeavours to quiet and pacify him were fruit- 
 less ; the nearer Isabel or one of the gentlemen 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 143 
 
 endeavoured to approach, the worse he became, 
 until he was at length fairly at the top of his 
 speed. I scarcely recollect what happened after- 
 ward, until I found myself lying on the road- side, 
 and all the party standing around, frightened almost 
 out of their senses. When I became able to sit 
 up and look more freely about me, I found a gen- 
 tleman added to the party, and then began to have 
 some confused recollection of a person galloping 
 by my side. The truth of the matter was, that 
 the gentleman mentioned was riding along the 
 avenue, in a direction to meet us, when he discov- 
 ered my horse to be beyond my control, and saw 
 that the efforts of our escorts to overtake him 
 only made him fly the faster. With admirable 
 address and presence of mind, he wheeled his 
 horse, and began to canter in the same direction 
 with us until my horse came up with his, when he 
 seized the bridle without suddenly checking him, 
 and would have skilfully graduated his movements 
 to our usual gait, had he not discovered mefallingj 
 when, seizing me and drawing me from the saddle, 
 by means of a movement between a jump and a 
 fall, we came to the ground together, without my 
 receiving, however, the slightest injury, and with 
 only a slight bruise on his part. 
 
 As soon as he saw that I had recovered my be- 
 wildered senses, he sprang upon his horse and was 
 out of hearing in an instant, before any one had 
 asked his name or address, or even thanked him 
 for his interference ; all were so much interested 
 
144 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 to know whether I was seriously hurt, that no one 
 thought of it until it was too late : I was much 
 chagrined, but there was no remedy. A carriage 
 was soon procured, and Isabel and I were safely 
 conveyed to Mr. Hazlehurst's. This was the last 
 of our equestrian expeditions beyond the limits of 
 the riding-school grounds. 
 
 On the Monday following our excursion, as I 
 was sitting intently engaged upon a piece of paint- 
 ing in a front apartment of the school, a fashion- 
 able vehicle drove up to the door. Most of the 
 younger misses (as Was usual) ran to the window 
 to see whose friend or relation had arrived. Im- 
 mediately was heard the exclamation, " Oh ! what 
 an elegant young gentleman ! What a beautiful 
 carriage !" I, too, ran to the window now, with 
 the others who were crowding around ; but the 
 gentleman had descended, and was ringing at the 
 door before I arrived. We were all soon seated 
 and waiting with breathless expectation, fluttering 
 hearts, and eyes cast towards the door, to see who 
 would be called down into the parlour. One said, 
 "Tis my brother!" another, "Tis my cousin!" 
 At length the formal old house-servant opened the 
 door, and exclaimed, in her usual drawl, " Miss St. 
 Clair is wanted in the parlour." I went down 
 with fear and trembling, which was little tranquil- 
 lized when I pushed open the door and discovered 
 the handsome horseman of our riding adventure, 
 sitting in conversation with the schoolmistress, 
 with great ease and familiarity, and apparently 
 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 145 
 
 answering inquiries about some person who was 
 mutually known to them. 
 
 " My dear" (the mistress's usual salutation before 
 company), " this is Mr. Sandford, a friend of your 
 father's, whom he has directed me to introduce to 
 you, in order that he may inform them at home of 
 your health, and the progress of your studies." I 
 made a desperate effort at conversation, in order 
 to occupy the time until the mistress should be 
 called out for a moment, lest he should suddenly 
 introduce our surreptitious and disastrous ride be- 
 fore her ; out it came, nevertheless, in spite of all 
 my shallow cunning. " Certainly I cannot be mis- 
 taken in supposing Miss St. Clair to be the same 
 lady whom I was so fortunate as to assist, the day 
 before yesterday, in alighting from her horse ?" I 
 hung my head and blushed like a culprit, or looked 
 guilty as I really felt ; when the mistress, holding 
 up her finger, exclaimed, " Ah ! you naughty girls. 
 I suspected something was in the wind, from so 
 many of you going to Hazlehurst's together, con- 
 trary to the custom." But it is useless to dwell on 
 this particular visit, and every word that passed at 
 it, for it was succeeded by many others, until I 
 became the envy of the whole school. 
 
 But how shall I describe Mr. Sandford to you, 
 so that you will understand his difficult character 
 thoroughly 1 As to his external appearance, there 
 is no difficulty. He was a tall, fashionable, sandy 
 haired gentleman, with a sanguine complexion, 
 eyes between gray and blue, teeth perfect and 
 
 VOL. II. N 
 
146 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK* 
 
 white ; lips thin and compressed ; rather large 
 fox-coloured, fashionable whiskers, extending down 
 under the chin ; cheeks, lips, forehead, and ears 
 were all of the same florid colour. In his address 
 he showed evidently that he had seen much good 
 company ; his speech was rather slow, deliberate, 
 and inclined to pomposity. He had been educated 
 at one of the eastern colleges, and my father men- 
 tioned in his letter, that he had been always dis- 
 tinguished in his classes. His address to females 
 was rather calculated to please a mixed collection 
 of young girls, than a select company of educated 
 ladies, his discourse consisting chiefly of badinage, 
 and a kind of conversational satire upon every 
 passing circumstance and object. Since I have 
 reflected upon* his character, I can account for 
 many things, which at that time made only an 
 evanescent impression. Though he was peculiarly 
 gentle and persuasive in his manners, these quali- 
 ties did not originate in the heart. He was cour- 
 teous from selfish motives, rather than polite from 
 benevolence ; he suited himself to the cast of our 
 girlish society ; yet his courtesy would have been 
 an insult to our understanding, if we had under- 
 stood it at that time as I do now. To me he was 
 peculiarly attentive and polite, in the usual accep- 
 tation of the words ; yet I was neither entertained 
 nor improved by his conversations. Not that I 
 thought or felt his attentions disagreeable to me at 
 that time ; far from it ; I considered myself under 
 obligations to him, to a romantic extent, perhaps, 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 147 
 
 and the failure of our conversations I attributed 
 rather to my own want of tact and information, 
 more especially as he sometimes introduced subjects 
 with which I was entirely unacquainted, and seem- 
 ingly dropped them again, and resumed the com- 
 mon-place, in pity or charity to my youth or igno- 
 rance. Such was my interpretation at that time ; 
 it is very different now. 
 
 He was undoubtedly a man of good sense and 
 education, and I was as certainly pleased and 
 flattered by his attentions. He affected poetry, — 
 and here again he threw me in the background, 
 not because I had not really a soul capable of 
 poetic feelings, but because his exhibitions were 
 too classically refined for my obtuseness ; I rather 
 dreaded the stores of his head, than sympathized 
 with the feelings which he affected. Now the 
 truth is, he had not one particle of poetry in his 
 composition. He no doubt thought otherwise, and 
 his associates and preceptors may have thought so 
 too. I did not discern this by intuition, but from 
 a thorough study and experience of his character, 
 under circumstances well calculated to develop 
 the secret motives of the heart, which will soon 
 appear. 
 
 He was full of anecdotes, which were lavishly 
 told among, and much enjoyed and laughed at by, 
 the girls ; but there was a sneer upon his nose and 
 upper lip, even when he joined in the laugh at his 
 own stories, as if they were told for our amuse- 
 ment solely, and thrown humanely down to us 
 
148 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 rather than contributed as his share of the mutual 
 entertainment. He never listened to the conver- 
 sation or anecdotes of others with the feelings of 
 the heart attuned properly to the social pitch ; he 
 gave his attention as a kind of conventional and 
 fashionable duty. In short, he had an utterly con- 
 temptuous opinion of the understanding of our sex, 
 and one as much too exalted of his own. He had 
 been cried up for a genius at school, because he 
 was successful in getting " his lessons," until he 
 believed it. The truth is, he had no genius, although 
 he was not without good sense, as I have already 
 said, when it could be brought to bear uninfluenced 
 by his contempt for others, or admiration of him- 
 self. He was supremely selfish. He could not 
 laugh, any more than he could listen, with the heart. 
 His mirth was forced. Even when he laughed at 
 his own stories, he would pull the lower part of his 
 ear with each motion of the chest, or place a finger 
 beside his nose, in such a way as seemed to me 
 at that time droll and expressive, but which I now 
 know proceeded from a contempt for the under- 
 standing of his hearers. I have learned to attach 
 some importance to these things. For instance, 
 since I have detected the heartlessness of one 
 through these little tokens, — laughter among the 
 rest, — I now habitually observe people when they 
 give way to their feelings. If I see a man laugh- 
 ing now with the same spirit that he would join 
 in a chorus, I cannot keep my eyes from him, so 
 deeply has my experience in one case affected the 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 149 
 
 general current of my thoughts. But perhaps I 
 anticipate, for it must be recollected that my im- 
 pressions at the time I have been speaking of were 
 very different from the results of. my subsequent 
 mature and painful reflections. Mr. Sandford ap- 
 peared to me to be an elegant and accomplished 
 young gentleman ; and I was flattered by his at- 
 tentions, because they seemed to be highly estimated 
 by my thoughtless associates. 
 
 At length, after repeating his visits to the school 
 as often as it was proper for my father's most inti- 
 mate friends to do, he called for the last time to 
 take leave of me, and be the bearer of my letters. 
 These I gave him, with many verbal messages for 
 my friends in the country, and then shook hands 
 with him, and was about to run away. But he 
 detained me a moment, as no one was present, and 
 said that he hoped again to enjoy the pleasure of 
 
 my society at H , where my father then lived, 
 
 as soon as the session should be ended. There was 
 something sly and peculiar in his way of saying 
 such things ; something that seemed to imply that 
 he knew more than I did, or had a secret worth 
 knowing, of which I would like to be a partaker. 
 However, we parted with a slight fluttering on my 
 part, the result of novelty ; for I can truly say, as 
 far as first impressions were concerned, that I was 
 as free from any thing like being in love with him 
 at first sight as might be. I may have received 
 pleasure from having a handsome, rich, and fashion- 
 n2 
 
150 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 able suitor ; but I had no feelings personally favour- 
 able to Mr. Sandford. 
 
 After his departure, I was as calm and unmoved 
 as if he had never made his appearance, except 
 when the girls teased me about my handsome lover; 
 and then the only effect was a little excitement, 
 having more relation to them than to him. But I 
 was surprised, not long afterward, to receive a 
 most inquisitive letter from my mother, asking 
 particularly what I thought of my father's friend, 
 Mr. Sandford; and, not answering it as promptly 
 as I ought to have done, I soon received another 
 from my father, on the same subject. These sur- 
 prised me very much ; because I never imagined 
 for a moment that they took any interest in our 
 girlish notions of beaux ; and as to any serious 
 thought of marriage, it had never entered my head, 
 except in the same manner in which we think of 
 death. I thought of it only as a thing to happen, if 
 at all, at some far, far distant day. 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 151 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 When I returned home during the vacation, 
 which succeeded the events just related, I found 
 Mr. Sandford completely domesticated at my 
 father's house ; arid what appeared still more 
 strange to me, there appeared to be some subject 
 of secret conference, but of primary and engross- 
 ing interest, between this comparative stranger 
 and my father : whatever it might be, it was stu- 
 diously concealed from the rest of the family. 
 
 This course was so different from my father's 
 usually confidential and unrestrained intercourse 
 with his own family, that it excited my surprise ; 
 but in no way shook my confidence in him or his 
 new friend. My curiosity was excited to find out 
 the subject of these long and secret conferences. 
 It was not that restless, feverish, morbid curiosity 
 with which our sex is so generally charged ; but 
 one partly founded upon selfish feelings, and partly 
 proceeding from a laudable anxiety for the welfare 
 of us all. 
 
 But to proceed with my story ; I found Mr. 
 Sandford, under my father's calm, penetrating eye, 
 a gentleman more to my taste than I had before 
 seen him. He had doffed much of the city gallant, 
 that had been visible when I last saw him ; yet was 
 
152 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 still far from a plain, unaffected country gentle- 
 man ; and he suffered no opportunity of displaying 
 himself to escape. Yet he was not disgustingly 
 ostentatious, for there was much good taste in 
 every thing he did ; his errors lay in the motives, 
 and not in the manner of his actions. This com- 
 bination of good sense, taste, and fine education, 
 without principles, is perhaps one of the most dan- 
 gerous assailants to female happiness which it has 
 ever been my misfortune to contemplate. Almost 
 every one of my sex would do as I did ; look to 
 the effects, not to the secret motives — to the ac- 
 tions, not the principles — and to the accomplish- 
 ments, rather than the morals of a suitor. 
 
 Mr. Sandford took an early opportunity to show 
 me that his acquisitions were not confined to the 
 classical refinements of the school. He seemed to 
 have studied mankind in the true spirit of Chester- 
 field, and to have devoted much time to the cul- 
 tivation of the lighter personal accomplishments. 
 When we all felt ourselves a little accustomed to 
 our new state of society at home, he began gradu- 
 ally to unfold these stores in reserve ; and I found 
 that he danced, and sang, and performed on several 
 musical instruments with taste and skill. These 
 graces were, of course, exhibited by the accident 
 of design, and with the most refined nonchalance ; 
 seeming rather to despise them as trifles, and yet 
 to think no gentleman could do without them. 
 As I was seated, one day, upon the green, in the 
 grove behind the mansion-house at H , he sud- 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 153 
 
 denly made his appearance ; and seizing my hand, 
 avowed himself my most ardent and enthusiastic 
 admirer. I mention this circumstance because the 
 first seeds of a suspicion, that much of it was lip- 
 service, were at this time first sown ; not that I 
 threw his hand from me and turned away in dis- 
 gust ; for the suspicion of which I speak was 
 scarcely known at that time to myself. If I had 
 taken myself to account, I might, indeed, have 
 found it ; but it was one of those singular impres- 
 sions which spring up in the mind nearly unob- 
 served, and yet influence every action of import- 
 ance ; first, scarcely operating on the conduct at 
 all, but in the end affecting it decidedly. This pro- 
 duces a reaction, then the opposite state of unsus- 
 piciousness, and so on, from one extreme to the 
 other, until the mind becomes settled in permanent 
 confidence or distrust. 
 
 At the time alluded to, this suspicion was nothing 
 more than a flash across the mental vision, and in 
 nowise operated upon my conduct ; for to tell the 
 truth, I was still under the dominion of those same 
 girlish feelings with which I had first seen Mr. 
 Sandford ; and I suppose that the pleasure of the 
 avowal was but too visible in my countenance, for 
 when we had concluded our interview, which it is 
 not necessary to describe more particularly, he 
 was referred to my father. As I had expected, 
 my father had but one objection — my age. He 
 gave his consent readily, provided Mr. Sandford 
 would wait until I had spent one more year at 
 
154 THE KENTTJCKJAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 school ; this was also in accordance with my feel- 
 ings, for I could not bear even then to contemplate 
 marriage immediately before me. Not so my 
 suitor ; he became urgent with my father, and ab- 
 solutely tiresome to me, with eternally harping 
 upon the same subject, and that too after the most 
 unanswerable reasons had been assigned by the 
 family, and reiterated by me. 
 
 As I was sitting one night, while matters were 
 in this state, in a little arbour in a secluded corner 
 of our garden, from which there was but one way 
 of egress, two persons approached and seated 
 themselves on a bench immediately outside of the 
 entrance. It was about nine o'clock on a dark 
 night, and the distance to the house so great that 
 the inmates could not have heard me if I had called 
 with all the power of my voice. Under these cir- 
 cumstances, I sat trembling, while the two (men 
 they seemed to be) began a conversation in an 
 under tone of voice. I instantly concluded one of 
 them to be Mr. Sandford, and was soon confirmed 
 in that opinion, by ascertaining the subject of their 
 conversation to be the postponing of the marriage. 
 His companion seemed to be deeply chagrined, 
 and honoured me with several not very flattering 
 epithets, such as minx, obstinate, and provoking 
 devil ; and I often, during the interview, heard ex- 
 clamations which were not so intelligible ; as, for 
 example, " was any thing ever so unlucky ? and 
 yet it seems reasonable ! Ah, there's the difficulty 
 of the case/' 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 155 
 
 I was utterly at a loss to conceive how the post- 
 ponement of the marriage could be so unlucky to 
 any other than Mr. Sandford. He was evidently 
 young ; a year could not greatly affect his for- 
 tunes ; and as to the fortunes of any other, they 
 could have nothing to do with our marriage. Such 
 was the tenor of my reflections, as I slowly walked 
 towards the house after their departure, and medi- 
 tated upon the singularity of what I had seen and 
 heard. I could not in any way account for Mr. 
 Sandford's seeing this intimate of his so clandes- 
 tinely. " Why," thought I, " does he not introduce 
 him to the family V But the thought of there being 
 a propriety in my communicating the circumstance 
 to my father never entered my head, and I finally 
 almost ceased to remember it ; I was nevertheless 
 resolved, without exactly knowing why, to delay 
 the marriage at least for the year stipulated. 
 
 I was now under an engagement to be married 
 in one year, and the period was to be spent in the 
 city, in the completion of my very imperfect edu- 
 cation. Soon afterward I took leave of my father 
 and mother and my affianced husband, with the 
 usual feelings of deep and momentary suffering 
 with regard to the former, but with little sensation of 
 any kind towards the latter ; as long as the marriage 
 could be contemplated at the distance of a whole 
 year (a little lifetime in a young girl's estimation), 
 I was contented and thoughtlessly happy. But 
 this long, long year produced wonderful changes 
 in my views of things. Towards the end of the 
 
156" THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 time, I began to dread and tremble whenever I 
 contemplated the marriage immediately before me. 
 I had now begun to form more consistent pictures 
 of my own future. My imagination painted such 
 a husband as I could fancy, and in very different 
 colours from any in which I had ever seen Mr. 
 Sandford ; the first time I compared the two be- 
 ings — the one of my imagination and the other my 
 real and affianced husband, was one evening when 
 with Isabel Hazlehurst. We were indulging our 
 young hearts, in building gay and dreamy castles 
 in the air ; but the instant afterward, when my 
 engagement came to my recollection, 1 was truly 
 miserable. In fact, I did not love Mr. Sandford ; 
 nay more, he was now disagreeable to me ; while 
 I had viewed the completion of the engagement at 
 a distance, and had never pictured in my imagina- 
 tion a rival to that gentleman, I was perfectly in- 
 different on the subject ; I loathed the thoughts of 
 the marriage, and hated Mr. Sandford because, I 
 suppose, he interfered with my new fancies. 
 
 After reflecting and enduring this state of mind 
 for some weeks, I resolved to break the subject to 
 Isabel Hazlehurst, and to ask her advice. Accord- 
 ingly, having given her the history of Mr. Sand- 
 ford, as far as I knew it myself, and confided to 
 her all my secret feelings, both past and present, I 
 asked her advice ; such are the beginnings of fe- 
 male intimacies. Isabel counselled that I should 
 inform Mr. Sandford, as soon as I could see him, 
 that I had changed my mind, or rather, that at the 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 157 
 
 time of my engagement, I was too young to have 
 any mind of my own on the subject ; that now my 
 views were enlarged, and that I felt capable of 
 judging for myself. 
 
 To my father, who, we concluded, was very 
 anxious for the match, I was to write immediately, 
 and candidly state my views, past and present; 
 inform him of the interview which I had overheard 
 in the garden between Mr. Sandford and his un- 
 known friend, and earnestly beg his forgiveness 
 for my fickleness. 
 
 This letter I wrote immediately to my father, 
 and explained, or rather protested to him, at the 
 same time, that there was no other suitor present 
 or in expectation for my hand ; that my change of 
 views was owing solely to my improved reflec- 
 tion and more mature age, which, however, was 
 advanced only some eight or ten months, — a little 
 age of female experience. 
 
 vol. n. 
 
158 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Before time enough had elapsed for me to re- 
 ceive an answer to my letter, Mr. Sandford sud- 
 denly made his appearance at the school, with the 
 startling and alarming news that my father had 
 been taken suddenly ill, and it being thought prob- 
 able by his physicians that he would not recover, 
 he was very desirous to see me before he died. I 
 was almost heartbroken at this intelligence, and 
 when I arrived next morning at my father's door, 
 after riding post-haste nearly all night, I was ready 
 to sink with fear and confusion, and a rush of 
 thought connected with my various misfortunes, 
 which seemed to be accumulating so fast upon me. 
 I found my father frightfully altered, and too evi- 
 dently near the close of his career ; he grasped 
 my hand convulsively, as he drew me towards him 
 to receive a melancholy embrace. " Oh, Fanny !" 
 said he, " your letter was near killing me." 
 
 " My dear father ! did my letter make you ill ?" 
 
 " No ; I was seized before I received it ; but it 
 was enough to kill me." 
 
 " Do not say so, dear father ; I will do as you 
 desire ; indeed, indeed, I will, — after you have 
 heard all the circumstances." 
 
THE KENTUCKIA.N IN NEW- YORK. 159 
 
 He motioned with his hand for my mother, Mr. 
 Sandford, and the nurse, to leave the room. 
 
 We were now alone, and he made a sign that I 
 should be seated. His countenance, now that I 
 had a good view of it, was indeed terribly altered. 
 A stroke of the palsy had afflicted half his body, 
 and one side of his face ; one eye was bright and 
 excited with the pleasure of seeing me, while the 
 other was dim ; the corner of his mouth drawn 
 down, and all the features on that side relaxed and 
 cadaverous ; it was horrible to look upon ! As if 
 a person, in an awful moment, was making faces 
 with one half of the countenance, and talking to 
 you with the other, — or playing comedy with one 
 side and tragedy with the other. 
 
 " Fanny," said he, " I know all the circumstances 
 far better than you do ; Mr. Sandford has satisfac- 
 torily explained the meeting in the garden to me ; 
 besides, my dear child, I know Mr. Sandford's 
 whole history, and that of his family before him." 
 
 " But, my dear papa, I do not love him !" 
 
 " When, my dear Fanny, did you make that dis- 
 covery ?" 
 
 " Very lately, sir." 
 
 " Did you make it alone, or had you some friend 
 or some book to assist you ?" 
 
 " I had indeed a dear friend ; but her advice was 
 sought, not offered." 
 
 " Ah, I thought so ! I knew it. Trust me, my 
 dear child, that I understand what is good for you 
 better than yourself. I have studied your dispo- 
 
160 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 sition and that of Mr. Sandford long and closely, 
 and have deliberately come to the conclusion, that 
 he is exactly such a prudent, cautious, judicious 
 young man as I should like to leave my family 
 with when I am gone ; besides, there are other 
 powerful reasons, which I cannot mention just 
 now." 
 
 " But, my dear father, may he not be too cautious 
 and prudent ?" 
 
 " There it is now, exactly as I expected ; you 
 have got your head full of some romantic nonsense 
 from reading novels in the last year." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, you wrong me ; I have not read a 
 novel since I left home ; they are not permitted to 
 be brought into the school." 
 
 " No matter, no matter where you caught the 
 disease, you have certainly been infected ; but time 
 presses, — I feel that I have but a short time to 
 live, — I wish you to decide whether you will marry 
 the man whom you have chosen, of your own free 
 will, for your husband ; if not, I must go to work 
 again, and rearrange all my complicated affairs ; 
 but first tell me whether you have seen any other 
 young gentleman whom you like better V 
 
 " I have seen no young gentleman whom I par- 
 ticularly regard." 
 
 " Then decide the question with regard to Mr. 
 Sandford, and I may say with regard to me, too-; 
 for I identify my happiness with his in this case, 
 and perhaps it is the last which I may enjoy in this 
 world." 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 161 
 
 I threw myself on my knees before him, seized 
 his hand, and bathed it with tears, for I could 
 scarcely speak : " Oh ! my dear father, do not say 
 so ! indeed I cannot marry Mr. Sandford ; I will 
 do any thing else you ask me ! I will live single 
 all my days ; I will give up all hopes of fortune ;. 
 I will live poor and secluded if you will." 
 
 " I have none of these to ask," said he, solemnly ; 
 " I have made my last and only request, and you 
 have rejected it ; you may leave me." 
 
 " Oh, my dear father, do not drive me from you 
 in displeasure, under such dreadful circumstances ; 
 my will is not my own in this case." 
 
 " Did you not tell me but now, that you had seen 
 no other young man whom you liked better ?" 
 
 41 I did, and it is true ? and yet I cannot control 
 my affections." 
 
 " Enough I you may leave me !'* 
 
 " Dear father, do not drive me from you while 
 under your displeasure ; I will be all you desire 
 me to be in every thing but this." 
 
 " I have nothing more to say," replied he. " Your 
 whims have thwarted the exertions and designs of 
 more than one life-time* It is enough ;. we will 
 henceforth number it among the things that have 
 passed away." 
 
 " Dearest father, do not break my heart by this 
 cold and settled displeasure. I have never been 
 voluntarily undutiful till now, and God knows I 
 would obey you if I could." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; you will obey me in those things 
 02 
 
162 THE E&NTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 in which it is your pleasure, as well as your duty^ 
 to obey ! But you misunderstand me in this case % 
 I put no commands upon you, nor was it ever my 
 intention to do so ; all I have ever done was for 
 your good, not mine ; now let the subject drop for 
 ever !" 
 
 With this he rang the bell, and when the nurse 
 appeared, he desired the rest of the family to 
 enter. 
 
 From this moment he grew evidently worse ; so 
 that when the physician called again, he was 
 startled by the change, and again bled him. My 
 dutiful attentions were offered on every occasion, 
 but he always appeared scarcely to notice them, 
 and often, as if by accident, accepted those of Mr. 
 Sandford ; who, to tell the truth, acted upon this 
 occasion with great tenderness and delicacy, both 
 towards me and my poor father. This settled and 
 cold displeasure towards myself, under such cir- 
 cumstances, was maddening ; the next morning, 
 after watching most of the night at his bedside un- 
 noticed, I fell upon my knees, and entreated him 
 to hear me ; he turned his disfigured and wretched 
 face slowly towards me, and said, " Say on ; I am 
 all attention." 
 
 " Oh, my father f I will marry Mr. Sandford !" 
 
 " Not by my orders," said he, solemnly. 
 
 " No, my dear father ; of my own free will and 
 choice 1" 
 
 " And this is your settled determinations to be 
 firmly adhered to, whether I live or die 1" 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 163 
 
 "Yes; I have before Heaven solemnly prom- 
 ised, of my own free will, to marry Mr. Sandford 
 at any time my dear father may choose to appoint; 
 whether he lives or dies." 
 
 " Then you are stiil my consistent and devoted 
 child ; my dear Fanny, come to my arms." All 
 my struggles to arrive at this conclusion were for- 
 gotten in the ecstacy of that embrace ; melancholy 
 it undoubtedly was, but it was necessary, and 
 dear to my affections. The truth was, I saw, be- 
 fore this time, that my father's mind had suffered 
 much from the peculiar disease with which he was 
 afflicted, and believing, from what I saw, that his 
 whole soul had been set upon this union during the 
 days of his strength, I felt it to be my duty to 
 make some sacrifice to his happiness in this time 
 of his weakness ; and, to speak the truth fully and 
 freely, Mr. Sandford's truly delicate conduct 
 (whether proceeding from cunning or good taste I 
 will not undertake to say), rather led me to doubt 
 my observations and consequent suspicions of his 
 character. 
 
 Every face now wore a new aspect ; even my 
 own must have been more cheerful, for I was be- 
 fore wretched and miserable ; now I had the joy 
 proceeding from conscious rectitude in my duty to 
 my poor father. My mother truly sympathized 
 with all my feelings, and approved my conduct, 
 though she deplored the necessity. 
 
 In a few days my father was able to sit up in 
 his bed, and in less than two weeks to be rolled 
 
164 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 about in a chair with wheels. Though I saw 
 some of the causes thus removed which had united 
 to coerce me into the dreaded marriage, yet I was 
 firm and resolved in my purpose, for I saw that 
 my father was a mere wreck of his former self, and 
 that he might, and in all probability would, live 
 many years in this feeble state of body and mind,, 
 depending upon the fulfilment of my voluntary 
 promise for all the little consolation and comfort 
 of which he was capable in this life. It seems to 
 me to be a law of our nature, that when a power- 
 ful and vigorous mind is suddenly cut down to im- 
 becility by disease or mental suffering, it almost 
 always dwells with great pertinacity upon the 
 ruling ideas and motives at the time of the attack.. 
 In consideration of this, I knew that the principal 
 stimulus of his mind consisted in ruminating upon 
 this marriage, and that to cut it suddenly away 
 would be to cause his immediate dissolution. 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 165 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 My father, having so far improved as to attain 
 that melancholy state which the physician stated 
 to be his probable zenith, by no means forgot the 
 privilege with which I had invested him, of appoint- 
 ing the wedding-day, though he was thus far silent. 
 That time was now appointed, and it having been 
 determined that I should not return to school, the 
 miserable interval was spent by me in alternate 
 duties to my father, and the solitude of my own 
 room. Mr. Sandford's conduct during this time 
 was to me a riddle. He seemed to move along 
 calmly and quietly, and to divide his time pretty 
 much as I did my own. He seldom intruded his 
 society upon me, unless I met him half-way. This 
 I thought strange for a young and ardent lover, 
 such as he had first exhibited himself to me ; never- 
 theless it was pleasant, and I have no doubt was 
 founded in the most consummate art, and judgment, 
 not only of my character, but also of the depths 
 which I had seen into his. Without any verbal 
 communication, it is easy for two persons to un- 
 derstand each other thoroughly. The weakness 
 of the one is the strength of the other. 
 
 During this most painful interval, we did not 
 enjoy a single confidential, unrestrained interview. 
 
166 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 His pride was either too great, or his judgment 
 imperfect ; he did not see clearly how far I could 
 read his deep and designing character, and therein 
 lay my strength. 
 
 I effected many discoveries at this time, which 
 more ardent lovers seldom make so shortly before 
 marriage, and which, I suppose, are oftener made 
 after : necessity and pain were my teachers in this 
 abstruse branch of human knowledge. A stranger, 
 to have entered the room where Mr. Sandford 
 and myself were sitting, would have said that we 
 were a young couple who had quarrelled : so cold 
 and formal was our intercourse. Not that I in- 
 creased the distance designedly ; for, to tell the 
 truth without disguise, after mature and painful re- 
 flection, I was anxious that we should come to 
 some amicable understanding of each other's feel- 
 ings and views, and thereby form a kind of treaty 
 for our mutual peace and my father's happiness. 
 But Mr. Sandford's conduct confirmed beyond a 
 doubt those suspicions of his primary motives that 
 had been engendered in the interview which I had 
 overheard ; he seemed conscious of his own bad 
 motives, and acquainted with my knowledge o£ 
 them. 
 
 However, the time approached as rapidly as it 
 ever did (and seemingly far more so) to the most 
 anxious and impatient pair. My father grew no- 
 better, and as the day approached I grew no 
 calmer. No one, who has not been similarly situ- 
 ated, can easily imagine the profound sadness of a, 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 167 
 
 heart about to be united in a cold, formal, worldly- 
 sacrifice. When we directly think upon our hard 
 fate, whatever it may be, and directly and boldly 
 face the consequences, the pain is not half so great 
 as when we forget the whole train of ideas for a 
 moment, in gazing out upon the happiness of 
 others, or the beauty of nature ; it suddenly flashes 
 over the memory, in the midst of our pleasing reve- 
 ries, like some horrible spectre, and so it is when 
 we sleep under such circumstances. There is, I 
 believe, in the sleeping of every person, a space 
 between awakening and profound sleep of the most 
 singular nature. This little space is at once 
 discovered by the truly miserable, if they have 
 never done so before ; and consists, as I have been 
 informed by a medical gentleman who is a friend 
 of mine, in the repose of all those parts of the body 
 dependent upon the will. Let the philosophy of it 
 be what it may, I only speak of the facts, which 
 will be readily recognised by every person who 
 has suffered. Nature has evidently designed this 
 interval between sleeping and waking as one of 
 pure and unalloyed delight, and I suppose it to re- 
 semble the happiness of the blessed more than any 
 thing we have in this world ; it is a period of ob- 
 livion to the ordinary mishaps of the day ; under 
 its influence minor ills dwindle into insignificance, 
 and the more pleasing features of our lot in life 
 pass in a calm but most delightful review before 
 the recumbent mind. But let the main-spring to 
 all this happy machinery — hope — be once taken 
 
168 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 away, and the revery becomes a moral engine of 
 torture ; just as the oblivious feeling begins to steal 
 gently over the senses, the spectre of our wrecked 
 hopes starts up in our very path, and we tremble 
 and startle into our wretched consciousness again. 
 I speak of this because much of my most irremedi- 
 able sorrow, at this time, was exhibited in this pe- 
 culiar way. So long as I was awake to all my 
 misery, and could summon judgment or moral and 
 religious principles to my aid, I was not so 
 \vretched ; but no sooner would I lay my throbbing 
 temples on my pillow with these my moral de- 
 fenders asleep, than my evil spectre was before me. 
 
 Oh ! what wretched and sleepless nights did I pass 
 during this interval ! When I did sleep soundly, it 
 was in that profound and deathlike exhaustion of 
 mind, which more resembles the stupidity occa- 
 sioned by some deadly narcotic, than the healthful 
 slumbers of my school-days ; and when I awoke, 
 it was like a fresh burst of misery sweeping over 
 the heart, as a new career of the fcame miserable 
 rounds were again to be begun. 
 
 There is, in every young female mind, a health- 
 ful anticipation of a happy future, a looking for- 
 ward to things not seen, a confident expectation of 
 blessings yet to come, which, though not analyzed 
 by us at that age, is nevertheless ever present and 
 ever acting upon the naturally buoyant spirits ; 
 but, in my case, these healthful supports were sud- 
 denly knocked from under me, and I was left to 
 took forward to a gloomy and unhappy destiny. 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 169 
 
 Escape seemed impossible ; my father's very ex- 
 istence depended upon the fulfilment of that which 
 was the cause of all this suffering to his daughter. 
 He seemed totally ignorant of the sacrifice I was 
 about to make. 
 
 How Mr. Sandford could agree to take me, 
 upon the terms and with the feelings on my part 
 towards him, which were but too evident, was at 
 that time a profound mystery to me. The fortune 
 which I could expect, though handsome, was not 
 such as to hold out any lure for a man who sought 
 that alone ; besides, his time and happiness must 
 necessarily, for a long time, be so burdened with 
 the unfortunate state of our family, that an ordi- 
 nary youth would have fled from us in dismay. 
 My father, too, had expressly stipulated with him 
 to reside in our house till his death or recovery. 
 During this time, Mr. Sandford was as attentive 
 to my father's helplessness as if he had been his 
 own son, and this circumstance prevented the 
 wretchedness which must have been visible upon 
 my countenance from being more observed than it 
 was, and thus necessarily affecting the rest of the 
 family. My mother was little less wretched than 
 myself; it is to the mother's sympathy that the 
 daughter flies for relief; but in this case she could 
 do little more than weep with me, and look wretched 
 too ; and thus was spent, between us, the last of 
 those wretched days and nights which were valued 
 by me — wretched as they were — as happy, in com- 
 parison to those which were so soon to follow. 
 
 VOL. II. — p 
 
170 THE KENTUCK.IAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The important day— the crisis of my destiny, 
 had now arrived. The house was all bustle and 
 confusion. Extra cooks were employed in the 
 kitchen, and additional servants in the house. The 
 br idem aids, whom it was thought proper to invite 
 from the neighbourhood, arrived in the morning. 
 Mr. Sandford set off also quite early to meet a 
 party of gentlemen, and spend the day at the house 
 of one of my father's friends in the neighbourhood. 
 All persons and all things wore an external ap- 
 pearance the most blithe and frolicsome, such as 
 is usual at our large country weddings of the better 
 sort. As for myself, a stupor came over me en- 
 tirely different from what I had expected from my 
 previous anticipations : I found it now difficult to 
 realize the truth that this was indeed my wedding- 
 day. I stood up to be decked out and dressed for 
 the sacrifice, like some stupid idiot, scarcely noticing 
 the jests and playful sallies of my thoughtless and 
 joyful attendants. My mother tried to look gay 
 and cheerful before such of our most particular 
 friends and relations as arrived early in the after- 
 noon, but to me she seemed most miserable when 
 she most affected gayety. My father was full of 
 wretched mirth and humour, and presented a 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 171 
 
 strange contrast between his overflowing spirits 
 and broken constitution, and my mother's sickly- 
 spirits and healthy person. He would be wheeled 
 into the great hall of the house, where we then 
 lived, to direct the proceedings and receive the 
 company himself, as they severally arrived. He 
 said too that he had a great secret by which he 
 was going to surprise the whole company after 
 supper, but more especially would it please the 
 bridegroom and the bride. The house and the 
 adjacent grounds began now to give some evidence 
 of the expected gayeties within. Horses were 
 crowded into stalls, both permanent and tempo- 
 rary ; parties were walking about in various di- 
 rections ; and ladies, and girls, and boys, and ser- 
 vants crowded the apartments. Bandboxes and 
 trunks were piled in pyramids in the various en- 
 tries ; carriages and gigs blockaded the several 
 avenues without ; voices were heard in all direc- 
 tions, and many a peal of laughter resounded 
 through the swarming mansion, while the heart of 
 her who should have been alive to all these de- 
 monstrations was stupified with sorrow. It was 
 fortunate for me, however, that some little reflection 
 and sadness are usually looked for, on such occa- 
 sions, from the more sensible maidens, on the very 
 eve of parting with home, and friends, and objects 
 dear to the heart ; otherwise my bewildered ap- 
 pearance must have attracted the attention of my 
 female friends. 
 
 At length, the clergyman having arrived, and 
 
172 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 the whole company being assembled in the largest 
 room of the house, one of the bridemaids entered 
 to announce the arrival of the bridegroom, and the 
 readiness of him and his attendants to lead us to 
 the expecting company. I was sitting in my own 
 boudoir, dressed for the ceremony, gazing upon 
 passing things like an indifferent spectator when 
 the summons came. It shook my frame for an 
 instant, but I soon mechanically arose and declared 
 myself ready ; all this must have been done in a 
 very different spirit from what is usual on such 
 occasions, when the heart is ready. Feeling, I 
 suppose, there usurps more the place of formal 
 speech. Thanks, however, to the kindness or the 
 dulness of my attendants, my cold mechanical 
 formality was not observed ; no officious kindness 
 was intruded upon me, to make my wretchedness 
 palpable to all. How strange that on those occa- 
 sions, when the mind is most requisite, when it is 
 important that we should have all our thoughts 
 about us, on the greatest and most solemn incident 
 of our lives, they should be wandering, like the 
 fool's eyes, to the ends of the earth. Such was 
 the case on the present occasion. I was led by 
 my destined husband into the midst of a crowd, 
 which looked like the world assembled in judgment. 
 The walls themselves seemed to have given place 
 to a swarm of heads, extending as far as the eye 
 could reach. 
 
 I suppose that the poor criminal on the scaffold, 
 when about to suffer the extreme penalty of the 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 173 
 
 laws, must feel and see much as I did then ; or, 
 to speak more truly, that like me, he lacks those 
 feelings which he would desire to have. The de- 
 mand upon the mind is too great ; there is such a 
 rush of novel sensations, such a crowd of important 
 ideas, such consequences concentrated into a single 
 instant, that the poor object, whether bride or 
 criminal, shrinks from the encounter, as the eye 
 will naturally close when a million of objects de- 
 mand attention at the same instant. 
 
 I was led to my place in the centre of this im- 
 mense crowd, surrounded by my attendants, who 
 were trembling far more than myself. The cler- 
 gyman (of the Presbyterian denomination) already 
 stood before us, and offered up a short prayer, 
 imploring happiness and blessings upon our heads. 
 Oh ! how like a solemn mockery did his words fall 
 upon my ear ! and how like an involuntarily guilty 
 creature did I feel, thus to stand in a solemn atti- 
 tude, in such a presence, with such feelings ! But 
 if this prelude partially aroused my blunted sensi- 
 bilities, how much more exquisitely did I feel the 
 bitter pangs of hopeless and desperate remorse, 
 when called upon, in the presence of God and those 
 witnesses, to promise love and obedience to one 
 whom I could not love ! I could not utter, or sig- 
 nify even by a motion, the awful perjury. A 
 solemn pause occurred in the ceremony. A pin 
 might have been heard to drop, and the very hearts 
 of the people seemed stilled in a profound and 
 deathlike silence ! How this would have termi- 
 p2 
 
174 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 nated, God only knows, had hot some one fortu- 
 nately whispered to one of the attendants to hand 
 a glass of water, which was speedily done, and 
 the ceremony hurried over in order that I might 
 breathe the fresh air ; not, however, before I was 
 pronounced a lawful and wedded wife ! In these 
 trials of the conscience, how the soul clings to any 
 little subterfuge, rather than admit to ourselves 
 that we have committed a great sin. And thus it 
 was with me. Slender as was this hold for my 
 conscience, it was of infinite comfort for me to 
 think, as I then did, that I had been a mere passive 
 instrument in the hands of destiny. 
 
 But now that I was a wife, and receiving the 
 congratulations of friends and relations to an in- 
 terminable extent, the same lethargy came over 
 me under which I had laboured ever since the fatal 
 day had been appointed. Nor could all the devo- 
 tion of my dear mother to the duties of hospitality 
 which pressed upon her so oppressively, remove 
 the cloud which hung over her spirits, and was 
 but too plainly visible upon her usually calm and 
 complacent countenance. 
 
 As is common at country weddings, a set supper 
 had been provided for the guests, in the prepara- 
 tion of which all the young and old ladies of the 
 neighbourhood, who pretended to skill in pastry 
 and confectionary, had contributed their efforts. 
 To this long array of towering cakes, and floating 
 islands, and sparkling wines, we were soon sum- 
 moned. I was led in due state, by my new-made 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 175 
 
 husband, to the head of the table, where my father 
 had already been wheeled in his great arm-chair ; 
 and now commenced the hum and the din of a 
 hundred voices ; the rattling of knives ; the run- 
 ning of servants ; the politeness of beaux to their 
 mistresses ; the drinking of wine, and the telling of 
 stories, — and the joke, and the repartee, and the 
 laugh, which, though not uproarious, was deafening, 
 from the number and the merriment of the guests. 
 
 When this state of confusion, and merriment, 
 and enjoyment to most of those present, had lasted 
 for some three-quarters of an hour, my father, who 
 was as merry as the youngest and the gayest of 
 the party, raised his great carving-knife, and bring- 
 ing down the handle with three loud raps upon the 
 table, astounded the company into silence as per- 
 fect as if they had been petrified. 
 
 " A true story ! a true story !" was first uttered 
 by my father, and then repeated along the table, 
 more loudly as it went farther from its source, until 
 the attention of the whole company had been thus 
 gained, and anxious heads might be seen vying with 
 each other to reach nearer the centre of the table, 
 and thus catch the story as it went down the long 
 line of guests. My father prided himself very 
 much upon his judgment touching the quality of 
 his wines, and a large number of bottles had been 
 that day brought out of the cellar and placed in 
 one of the closets of the room, under his imme- 
 diate inspection. No one was privy to his designs, 
 which he thus laid open. 
 
176 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 " My friends ! before I relate my short but true 
 story, which, I say beforehand, relates to the bride 
 and bridegroom, you must all pledge the young 
 couple in some real old Madeira, which I have had 
 in my cellar since my daughter's birth." 
 
 The servants now began setting the bottles along 
 the table, one before each gentleman, until the whole 
 table was supplied. Each poured out for the 
 ladies within his reach ; Mr. Sandford, of course, 
 filled for me, and his father, who sat at my elbow, 
 and who, I should have told you before, was intro- 
 duced to me in the early part of the evening, and 
 by whose voice I recognised instantly the strange 
 nocturnal visiter of Mr. Sandford in the garden. 
 It may be readily imagined that this discovery did 
 not tend to tranquillize my feelings, or make me 
 enjoy the present company in any very enviable 
 degree. By some strange accident, or perhaps by 
 a providential guidance, I happened to observe that 
 the wine which had been poured out for me had 
 rather a singular appearance, and I therefore con- 
 cluded that I would merely touch it to my lips, as, 
 indeed, was generally my practice. The pledge 
 was soon given, when Mr. Sandford, bowing his 
 head by way of thanks for the honour, as I sup- 
 posed, raised the glass to his lips and drank the 
 contents to the bottom. I imitated his example so 
 far as to touch my lips to mine. The elder Mr. 
 Sandford, I observed, had taken a mouthful of his, 
 and had speedily ejected it on the floor. As soon 
 as the toast was drank, I pointed to the bottle be- 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 177 
 
 fore Mr. Sandford, and remarked to my father (who 
 was particularly touchy upon the subject), that he 
 had given his principal guests a spoiled bottle of 
 wine ; at the same time I ordered one of the ser- 
 vants to throw it out, while my father replaced it 
 from a supply in the cooler. 
 
 " The story ! The story !" was now called for, 
 from various quarters of the table. 
 
 "My friends," said my father, "my story is 
 very simple and soon told. Perhaps there is more 
 than one person present who recollects Mr. Thorn- 
 ton, the old bachelor, as he was called at the neigh- 
 bouring village ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, we recollect him well, ,, replied seve- 
 ral of the older guests. 
 
 " Well !" continued my parent, " the wedding 
 which we have met to celebrate to-night was made 
 by him !" 
 
 I [started ! and many others exhibited evidence 
 of as great surprise ; while my father continued : — 
 
 " That Mr. Thornton was my only brother — 
 my long-lost, shipwrecked brother Holcomb St. 
 Clair. I see you are all amazed, but it is true. I 
 did not, indeed, know of our relationship till the 
 night of his death; when he revealed to me his 
 name; how he had been picked up at sea by a 
 vessel bound for New-Orleans ; how he had com- 
 menced with nothing, and at length amassed a 
 large fortune : not, however, before it was too late ; 
 for the object for which he toiled was no more. 
 This he learned from a friend of his, who is now 
 
178 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 present, the elder Mr. Sandford; and who had 
 married the only remaining daughter of Mr. More- 
 ton, my father's ancient enemy. You see, my 
 friends, how, by the perseverance and determina- 
 tion of one man, the old feud has been healed, and 
 two hearts made happy. Yet an old crone, who 
 remains upon the land of the Moretons, intruded 
 herself into my presence on this the day of my 
 daughter's wedding, to prophesy and anathematize 
 against this most unholy union, as she called it. 
 My brother left his whole estate in the trusteeship 
 of Mr. Sandford, Counsellor Bates, and myself, for 
 the benefit of the young couple before you, pro- 
 vided they should ever be married ; but at the 
 same time earnestly entreating us to keep it a 
 secret, each from his own child. And providing 
 also, in case there should be no disposition on the 
 part of the young people, after being thrown fre- 
 quently together, to form the connexion, that my 
 daughter Frances should then be lawfully entitled 
 to one-half of his whole estate, and the remainder 
 be advantageously invested for the purpose of 
 establishing a free-school at the village hard by. 
 Now, my friends, I feel it to be my duty to declare 
 solemnly, before God and this assembly, that I have 
 kept the trust and the secret reposed in me faith- 
 fully until the present moment ; and I doubt not 
 that my colleague, who is present, has been equally 
 faithful ; but of that he must speak for himself." 
 Mr. Sandford, senior, being thus called upon, 
 
THE KENTtJCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 179 
 
 arose in his place, and, amid a good deal of cough- 
 ing and hemming, said : — 
 
 " In the 'same solemn manner I declare before 
 this assembly" — Here he stopped, and screamed 
 out, reaching his arms half across the table towards 
 his son — " My God ! what is the matter ?" 
 
 I now turned my eyes towards the object of his 
 solicitude, and oh ! the wretchedness of that coun- 
 tenance ! I can even at this distance of time see 
 fear, and despair, and death, written in characters 
 too awful and legible to be mistaken. Before any 
 one had thought of offering assistance, he had fallen 
 to the floor ; and raising himself upon his elbow, 
 pointed to the wine-glass, for he was already 
 speechless. Some of the by-standers, thinking this 
 a sign to hand him drink, presented him water and 
 wine, but his eyes were fixed. The room was now 
 an alarming scene of confusion ; some standing 
 upon chairs, others upon tables ; one recommend- 
 ing this, another that ; some accounting for it in 
 one way, and some in another. The fact is, that 
 corrosive sublimate had been dissolved in some 
 common wine, and carelessly left standing in the 
 repository where my father had secreted his old 
 and choice Madeira. 
 
 I remained on my knees by the side of my new- 
 made husband, in a state of distraction which no 
 pen can describe ; and it was not the least of my 
 afflictions to know within myself, that my sorrow 
 was not such as ought to characterize a widowed 
 
180 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 bride. He was now, indeed, a corpse, and that 
 before any medical aid could be procured. I was 
 borne to my chamber almost as lifeless as he to 
 whom I had mechanically pledged my faith so short 
 a time before. 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 181 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 After the melancholy events just related, I 
 know very little of those which took place around 
 me for the first week. I have a confused recollec- 
 tion of seeing every one in deep mourning, and an 
 expression of wo and sadness upon every counte- 
 nance. I remember also a moving about my 
 chamber upon tiptoe, conversation in whispers, 
 and occasionally the visit of the doctor to the 
 darkened room. One of the first things that I re- 
 collect distinctly, and unaccompanied with the 
 overpowering lethargic feelings of the preceding 
 weeks, was that one morning, while I was lying 
 in a tranquil state of half sleeping, I felt some 
 warm tears falling fast upon my face, and upon 
 looking up to see from whom they came, saw my 
 dear friend Isabel Hazlehurst standing over me. 
 Never was her dear and beautiful face more wel- 
 come to my sight. I needed just such a presence ; 
 not that I was by any means fitted to enjoy her 
 society, but the sight of her countenance brought 
 such consolation to my mind, it tranquillized my 
 nerves and composed my spirit. 
 
 But I was not suffered to improve in this natural 
 and gradual manner. Few days had elapsed thus 
 before she came into the room with something so 
 
 VOL. II. Q 
 
192 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 evidently struggling at her heart, that even I, pros- 
 trated as I was, demanded to know what more 
 dreadful things were yet necessary to fill up the 
 bitter cup of my destiny. She seated herself by 
 the bed, and taking my hand, said, " My dear 
 Fanny, you have great strength of mind ; now is 
 the time to call it into action." 
 
 " To what is this to lead, my dear Isabel ? For 
 God's sake, tell me at once." 
 
 " You know, dear Fanny," continued she, " that 
 your father was far from being well when the 
 dreadful accident happened." 
 
 " My God ! is my father dead too ?" 
 
 " He is alive, and wishes to see you ; but I came 
 to prepare you for seeing him much altered." 
 
 I will not dwell upon the melancholy particulars. 
 My father had desired earnestly to see me. Alas ! 
 that meeting was the last we ever had in this 
 world ! and it seemed to me that all my sorrows 
 had again assembled in presence before me. To 
 crown all, my father — my own dear father — im- 
 plored his child's forgiveness, calling himself crimi- 
 nal, guilty, and blind ! God knows I had nothing 
 to forgive. But the grave, in three short weeks, 
 closed over the last of the St. Clairs, — over the 
 last male of a once numerous, powerful, and 
 wealthy house. Thus were my mother and myself 
 left wretched widows ; but we were miserable 
 from very different feelings. She from too strong 
 an attachment, / from too little ; and yet I was as 
 wretched and as miserable as I could have been if 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 183 
 
 my heart had been deeply concerned in the tragedy 
 which commenced the series. 
 
 My cup was not yet full. When some three 
 months had elapsed, and my health had become 
 somewhat restored and my spirits a little more 
 elastic, the servant one day brought me a letter 
 from the village post-office, directed to Mrs. Fran- 
 ces Sandford. I opened it without dreaming that 
 it was any thing more than a friendly letter from 
 some of my old school friends ; but oh, cruel des- 
 tiny ! all my former sufferings were light in com- 
 parison to those inflicted by this cruel letter. It 
 deliberately charged me with murdering " my hus- 
 band" on his bridal night. The cruel and tremen- 
 dous train of too specious charges which it linked 
 together with an ingenuity that Satan himself could 
 scarcely have excelled, had well-nigh cost me my 
 reason ! It alluded to my not tasting the fatal 
 wine, — my ordering the servant to throw out the 
 evidence of my guilt as soon as my " hellish" work 
 was completed, — my known aversion to the match, 
 — my excuse for the bad wine, — and other lesser 
 corroborating circumstances, which really threw 
 over the whole charge a frightful plausibility. 
 
 I had ever heard the elder Mr. Sandford spoken 
 of as a man of more than ordinary shrewdness 
 and soundness of mind ; I therefore could receive 
 none of the cruel consolation derivable from his 
 supposed insanity. 
 
 Mr. Chevillere has, I believe, witnessed, on more 
 than one occasion, how this individual has pursued 
 
184 THE XENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 me with this idea ; becoming more annoying to 
 me the more unsettled his mind became. His 
 friends are now convinced of his lunacy, and have, 
 it is said, safely secured him from further intrusions 
 upon me. This has given me much consolation ; 
 for of late I have been afraid to move from home 
 on account of his persecutions. Long after the 
 occurrences just related, my mother was united in 
 marriage to her cousin, Mr. Brumley. This alli- 
 ance was eagerly urged upon her, when once pro- 
 posed, by all her friends, and by none more ardently 
 than myself. They were educated together, under 
 the same roof, and from earliest youth had enter- 
 tained the affection of brother and sister for each 
 other. 
 
 I have now given Mr. Chevillere a glance at all 
 those portions of our family history which it was 
 necessary for him to know, in order to approve, as 
 he undoubtedly will do, of my intention, long since 
 formed, never to carry my personal misfortunes 
 and their gloomy consequences into the bosom of 
 a happy family ; at all events, never while I am 
 subject to the persecutions of that man whom he 
 has so lately seen violate my feelings. Some of 
 the leading incidents of this narrative have already 
 been related, as before said, to Mr. Chevillere's 
 honoured mother. She will, I am quite sure, ap- 
 prove of my decision. But Mr. Chevillere once 
 propounded another question to me, which I prom- 
 ised then to answer at another time. It was 
 " whether, if none of these things had ever hap- 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 185 
 
 pened, the offer of his hand would have been ac- 
 cepted by me." I will now candidly and honestly 
 answer that question. My heart would, if I al- 
 lowed it, dictate an answer in the affirmative. 
 
 Now, sir, let us part, — but as friends ; more, I 
 am sure, you will not now desire to be considered. 
 
 Q2 
 
186 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 V. Chevillere to B. Randolph. 
 
 (In continuation.) 
 
 "As you may well imagine, this narrative did not 
 lie unread. Every page was greedily devoured, 
 before I closed my eyes, which was late in the 
 night. I lay late next morning; the family had 
 breakfasted when I descended to the parlour. Mrs. 
 Brumley, however, seasoned that meal to me with 
 her delightful conversation, which was the more 
 agreeable as no one intruded upon us. 
 
 "Announcing the object of my visit, I respectfully 
 solicited her consent and co-operation. The one 
 was charmingly granted, the other enthusiastically 
 promised ; I say enthusiastically, because that 
 good lady was exceedingly anxious to adopt any 
 laudable course which was likely to dispel her 
 daughter's melancholy. 
 
 "Ah, Randolph ! her language was too nattering 
 for me to repeat verbatim ; she, however, told me, 
 that she was sure every feeling of her (admirable) 
 daughter's heart leaned in my favour ; that she had 
 nevertheless not given way even to the first im- 
 pulses of those emotions, because she considered 
 it her duty never to carry her misfortunes into any 
 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 187 
 
 other family. * But,' said she, * this is a morbid 
 sensitiveness, which you must overcome ; and 
 when once she is happily married, she will be 
 again restored to her natural self and to happi- 
 ness/ 
 
 " I found that she had walked to the banks of the 
 river, where I soon found her seated on a rugged 
 little stony seat, looking over upon the water and 
 the blue cliffs, as melancholy as if it had been twi- 
 light instead of a beautiful, cool, unclouded morn- 
 ing. She looked up as my footsteps disturbed the 
 pebbles in the bank. I was in my most happy 
 mood, and springing to the little level, I seated 
 myself on the grass at her feet, and seized her pas- 
 sive hand. 
 
 " * Did Miss Frances suppose that there was one 
 single circumstance in her sad story which would 
 not render her far more dear to my heart than 
 ever ? Could she have been in earnest when she 
 once said that such a revelation would be a suffi- 
 cient answer to my suit 1 Certainly not ! Believe 
 me, dear lady, the sheets which I read last night 
 have made me a hundred times more determined 
 than ever to prosecute my humble claims to this 
 dear hand.' 
 
 "No answer was returned, but one plentiful 
 shower of tears after another : these I thought 
 favourable, and I proceeded : * Your mother and 
 mine unite their irresistible petitions with my feeble 
 suit ; certainly, then, after the concluding acknow- 
 ledgment, which I will ever hold in my possession, 
 
188 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 you cannot persist in your too refined notions of 
 delicacy/ 
 
 "But, Randolph, I am too eager in rushing to- 
 wards the conclusion, to relate all the particulars 
 of the how and wherefore : she is mine ! mine, 
 Randolph; that is, after old Sandford's death: by 
 heavens, I must 'put a spider into his dumpling' if 
 he is not so kind as to die soon. My time now 
 passes off here delightfully. Frances begins really 
 to look cheerful, and I doubt not, when her tran- 
 quillity is more restored, will consent to an early 
 day ; seeing that,, when once she is mine, she will 
 be beyond the reach of her tormentor. Will that 
 day ever come, Randolph? Will this beautiful 
 creature really be mine ? I can scarcely realize 
 my own happiness ; yet her eyes say so, and her 
 very music speaks to my soul in anticipation of 
 coming enjoyment. 
 
 «' Oh 1 how I hate that old saw about a ' slip be- 
 tween the cup and the lip.' 'Tis all stuff; I will 
 not believe a word of it ; there is no philosophy 
 in it : for if it had been so often true as its lan- 
 guage imports, this world would have been, and 
 still would be, nothing but one great and ludicrous 
 scene of broken cups and spilt pleasures. Misery 
 must be common when it becomes ludicrous ; yet 
 if all the world were standing gaping over their 
 broken vessels, looking dismal at their loss, it cer- 
 tainly would turn tragedy into farce. The fact is, 
 there must be a great preponderance of enjoyment 
 in this world before tragedy can be affecting. 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 189 
 
 None feel losses so much as those who are rich. 
 Providence has given us a fair world, and peopled 
 it with beautiful creatures, and covered it with 
 varying trees and flowers, seas and rivers, dia- 
 monds and minerals, delicious fruits and luxuries 
 to gratify the palate and the eye, and charm the 
 soul ; and yet one of our standing thanks to the 
 great Giver of these things is, ' there are many 
 slips between the cup and the lip !' If the slips 
 had been more numerous than the potations, the 
 latter would have been noticed instead of the 
 former. It is the rarity and the greatness of these 
 slips which make them remarkable. 
 
 " There is a page of philosophy for you, with a 
 vengeance ! But you cannot expect me to be very 
 sensible or very consistent under existing circum- 
 stances. Only reflect what a thumping there is 
 against my ribs, whenever I think of the subject 
 with which I commenced this epistle: a pretty 
 story I made of it, indeed ; but then it is natural 
 that it should be so, after all. Does a man, when 
 he climbs to an intoxicating height, turn round and 
 philosophize on the steps by which he ascended ? 
 By no means. He turns himself and elevates his 
 wings in this new heaven to which he has risen, as 
 I now raised mine. He thinks of soaring in these 
 new regions, or climbing to those still more ex- 
 alted ; but let me see if I can, by any strength of 
 resolution, get back to common sense again. 
 
 " This once mysterious lady of the black mantle 
 has wonderfully changed within the last few days. 
 
190 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 She has actually laughed ! yes, till the tears ran 
 down her cheeks ; and at what, do you suppose 1 
 At a certain epistle from a southern gentleman of 
 about your dimensions ! Yes, it is true. I know 
 you will swear never to indite another to so faith- 
 less a correspondent ; but I could not help it. She 
 had a great curiosity to know more about my cou- 
 sin ; so I thought it would exhibit her in a favour- 
 able light to show her your first impressions. Un- 
 fortunately, I handed her the wrong letter, and as 
 bad luck would have it, we had to peruse the 
 whole before we came to the first one, which was 
 a very natural consequence of the pack being 
 turned upside down. I found that the letters them- 
 selves appeared to more advantage, too, when she 
 read them. I could thus receive all the palpable 
 substance of them from her exquisitely musical 
 voice ; besides seeing all the delightful effects of 
 the thoughts, as they were beautifully reflected 
 upon a transparent countenance, the features of 
 which vibrated like the leaves of a sensitive-plant 
 when too rudely assailed. 
 
 " The face is but a reflecting surface for the soul 
 at last. All other beauty than that of the soul 
 transferred to the features is earthy and grovel- 
 ling. Oh, Randolph, how seldom does it fall to 
 the lot of man to find such a treasure ! Age seems 
 almost necessary to bring that experimental wis- 
 dom which engages our respect and esteem, by 
 which process beauty departs ; fate seems gene- 
 rally to determine that no one individual shall have 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 191 
 
 a combination of all the good qualities at once ; 
 but here, Randolph, in the case of this most re- 
 markable young lady, experience and wisdom 
 have come before age had stolen away the beauty. 
 Oh, rare and excellent concurrence of circum- 
 stances ! What if they were the death of a pre- 
 sumptuous aspirant, unworthy to breathe in the 
 same atmosphere with her. Hah ! perhaps I am 
 myself presumptuous ? Methinks I have read 
 somewhere of an enchantress, who slew a host of 
 admirers in succession, for a like presumption ! 
 Shall I indeed possess this idol of all my faculties ? 
 Sanguine youth and southern blood say yes ! Her 
 guardians and mine say yes ! Herself says yes ! 
 And by all that is resolute, naught but the Ruler 
 of our destinies shall say no. 
 
 "Excuse the incoherent strain of this epistle, 
 and believe me to be, far more coherently, your 
 friend, 
 
 " V. Chevillere." 
 
192 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 B. Randolph to V. Chevillere. 
 
 " Rockfish Gap, Virginia. 
 
 " Dear Friend, 
 
 " Once more I behold as it were the dwelling- 
 place of my fathers ! Once more I stand upon 
 these high places, and look down over the loved 
 tracts of " the Old Dominion !" You know that I 
 have always loved old Virginia, and, by my troth, 
 I may now add young Virginia too. But before I 
 tell you of our parting scene, permit me to say a 
 few words of my older mistress. 
 
 " It always of late excites painful and melancholy 
 ideas, when I can have an extended view of this 
 highly-favoured country, as I now have from the 
 table-land of this mountain-top. Here before 
 me are eastern and western Virginia ! The 
 Tuckahoes* and the Cohees. From this rich and 
 highly romantic spot a looker-on may see the on- 
 ward march of events ; and many things which 
 
 * In Virginia, the inhabitants east of the Blue Ridge are called 
 Tuckahoes, and those on the west Cohees ; as some allege, from 
 the Scotch-Irish phrase " quo'he" (quoth he). 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 193 
 
 are not generally observed by those who are im- 
 mediately under their influence ; and it is this 
 which excites my melancholy. But it is the eastern 
 view which principally produces that effect. There 
 are the dilapidated houses, and overgrown fields, 
 and all the evidences of a desperate struggle with 
 circumstances far beyond their control. 
 
 " Here, to the left, are the wide stretching and 
 worn-out domains of some broken lord of the soil, 
 with his wagons loaded, his carriage ready, his 
 descendants collected, and his negroes in travelling 
 array, about to take a final leave of the moss-grown 
 hearths and graves of his ancestors. Many a tear 
 is shed over the scenes of his younger days ; many 
 a longing, lingering look is cast behind him at the 
 old weather-board mansion, in the architecture of 
 the seventeenth century, where he and his fathers 
 before him had dispensed their hospitality with a 
 too generous hand. Assembled also in funeral 
 sadness are the worn-out hounds, and the venerable 
 setter, which had so often made glades and forests 
 resound with their enlivening music ; and swung 
 upon the shoulders of one of the half-grown de- 
 scendants, are the very horn and fowling-piece of 
 more than one head of the family ; the former of 
 which had so often recalled hunter and hounds to 
 the generous entertainments of the day and the 
 evening, when the goblet and the song went round, 
 and the enlivening cotillion closed the ruinous gaye- 
 ties of the festival. 
 
 " I do not envy that man who is callous to these 
 
 VOL. II. R 
 
194 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORE. 
 
 hallowed feelings of the emigrant cavalier. Poor, 
 exhausted, eastern Virginia ! she is in her dotage. 
 Her impassable roads protect her alike from the 
 pity and the contempt of foreign travellers ;* but 
 with all her weakness, with all the imbecilities of 
 premature age upon her, I love her still. 
 
 " On the western side, a totally different scene 
 greets my eyes. There a long and happy valley 
 stretches far as the eye can reach, with its green 
 hills and cultivated vales, neat farm-houses, and fra- 
 grant meadows, and crystal springs, and sparkling 
 streams, its prosperous villages, its numerous 
 churches, and schools, and happy, happy people. 
 There, Chevillere, our college days were spent, when 
 all were joyous, and laughing,and frolicsome around 
 us ; when the happiness of the present hour was 
 all that was asked or cared for ; when the tumul- 
 tuous impulses of young hopes and sanguine youth 
 threw care and trouble to the winds, and buoyed 
 us up upon the flood-tide of thoughtless happiness. 
 There the spirit of the age is working out a gradual 
 revolution, which, in its onward career, will sweep 
 away the melancholy vestiges of a former and 
 more chivalrous and generous age beyond the 
 mountains ; 'tis sad to look upon, but I do not re- 
 pine at the necessity which produces these new 
 impulses. 
 
 * Most of the late English travellers have bestowed little 
 notice upon the Old Dominion. Vide Stewart, Hamilton, and 
 Trollope. The Duke of Saxe Weimar indeed blundered through 
 Virginia, and mistook her buzzards for eagles. 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 195 
 
 « Virginia has been the mother of states. Her 
 sons have peopled the forests of the west, and now 
 her turn has come to build up her own fortunes — 
 destiny has willed this course of events, and man 
 cannot gainsay it. 
 
 "But while I prate of the elder matron, I leave 
 her young namesake neglected. A few days after 
 the interview with your mother, mentioned in my 
 last letter, as the sun was just sinking behind the 
 towering vapours of the Santee, and the sombre 
 shadows of the evening were throwing their 
 lengthening outlines over the green, and the bril- 
 liant fire-flies were flashing their fitful rays over 
 these southern scenes, I espied Virginia sitting 
 at the low parlour window, with her head resting 
 upon her hand, as she gazed out upon the setting 
 sun, through the interstices of the rich vines which 
 so tastefully festoon the windows. I walked into 
 the room, more engaged upon my own thoughts 
 than how I should most appropriately communi- 
 cate them to her who was the object of them. 
 
 " * To-morrow,' said I, \ I leave Belville 1' more 
 as an exclamation than addressed to her. 
 
 " ' To-morrow ! said you V exclaimed Virginia. 
 
 " * Yea, to-morrow, Virginia ; why not to-mor- 
 row ? the sooner I go, the sooner I will return.' 
 
 " ■ True, but I would rather you should stay now 
 the longer, and be longer in returning.' 
 
 "'But you know that would derange all our 
 plans respecting your cousin.' 
 
 " You see we have arranged it thus ; I am to 
 
196 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 return immediately from Virginia, when our nup- 
 tials will be celebrated in the good old southern 
 style ; immediately after which we will proceed, 
 with all convenient despatch, to the home of my 
 fathers, where, if your suit is likely to be crowned 
 with success, we will then await your arrival with 
 your bride ; otherwise we shall proceed to New- 
 York. 
 
 " But to return ; morning came, and with it 
 came the servant and horses to the door. If I had 
 not been so confoundedly sad myself, I should 
 have enjoyed Virginia's confusion most particu- 
 larly. She thought it would not be appropriate 
 to appear melancholy on the occasion. She there- 
 fore attempted to be gay, but fruitlessly : and 
 when she discovered that your mother and I both 
 saw through her too childish arts, she hastily left 
 the breakfast table, without having tasted a mouth- 
 ful. The fact was, as I closely observed her, I 
 saw that her eyes were full, and that she must 
 either let the tears come, or run for it ; she chose 
 the latter, of course. When the gloomy and nomi- 
 nal meal was over, your mother told me that I 
 must seek Virginia to say farewell, as she would 
 not return of her own free will. I bounded through 
 the rooms of the second floor with a false alacrity, 
 similar to the speed which a man employs when 
 he is about to plunge headlong into a cold bath. 
 I at length found her, the green shutters all closed, 
 sitting in the corner of the darkened room, with a 
 white handkerchief thrown over her face ; I drew 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 197 
 
 it away, and found, as soon as my eyes became 
 accustomed to the light, that she had been weeping. 
 I could not bear this ; seizing her therefore in my 
 arms, and printing a parting blessing upon her lips, 
 while mine made a gurgling sound in the throat 
 for a farewell exclamation, I rushed out of the 
 house, mounted my horse and galloped away, 
 without even saying adieu to your mother. Oh ! 
 that wretched day ! fifty times I would have turned 
 back, if the fear of ridicule had not impelled me' 
 forward. 
 
 " And now, my dear fellow, the next that you 
 hear or see of me will be either at the seat of the 
 Randolphs with my bride or in New- York ; till 
 then, fare you well. 
 
 "B. Randolph." 
 
 r2 
 
198 THE KENTUCKIAN KY NEW- YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 V. Chevillere to B. Randolph. 
 
 " Oaklands, 18— 
 
 " Dear Friend, 
 "Give us joy, my dear fellow ; for Lamar and 
 myself are made men. Last evening, just about 
 the same hour at which I came on shore from the 
 "North America" steamboat, who should land at 
 the same spot but Mrs. and Miss Hazlehurst, 
 attended by Lamar, with his arm in a sling. Since 
 that time, I have ascertained that he has not only 
 triumphed over poor Arthur, but which is better, 
 and more to be rejoiced at, he has triumphed over 
 Isabel's scruples about going to the south and to a 
 slave-country. Such was the state of things with 
 him in the city, when a note from me, informing 
 him of a like success on my part, induced him to 
 propose, and to prevail upon the two ladies to 
 make the present visit. Since this addition to our 
 party, we have arranged every thing. The day is 
 set, my dear fellow, and Lamar and myself will, at 
 the same time and place, receive a legal title to the 
 hands of two of the most interesting girls in these 
 northern latitudes : so you may go back to Bel- 
 ville as soon as you like, and inform my mother 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 199 
 
 that you have my most hearty consent to your 
 marriage with my cherished and beloved cousin. 
 Yes ; go, Randolph, and bring her to Virginia, 
 where we will meet you and spend the Christmas- 
 holydays. I suppose you think it strange that my 
 letters become shorter and shorter with the in- 
 crease of my subjects. But my feelings are not 
 now in the writing mood ; I do not feel so commu- 
 nicative — so desirous to commune with old friends : 
 not that I regard you less, for you know that I do 
 not; but that I have a new outlet for my confidence. 
 " Until we all meet again once more, believe me 
 to be yours, most sincerely, 
 
 " Victor CHEVILLERE. ,, 
 
200 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 On a certain evening, about months after 
 
 the events related in the last chapter, and during 
 those most jovial days in " old Virginia" between 
 Christmas and New-Year's-day, the sun was just 
 sinking in the western horizon, behind a long veil 
 of fleecy and dappled winter clouds, tinged with the 
 richest hues of crimson and pink ; a gentle breeze 
 was just rippling the red and dried-up leaves along 
 the lawn, and monotonously sounded through the 
 naked boughs of the grove of ancient oaks, which 
 stood around and in front of the venerable domicil 
 of the Randolphs; the hounds had sought the 
 protection of the kennel from the chills of the even- 
 ing, and the solitary bell of the ancient wether, as 
 he led the little flock into the primitive-looking 
 fold, could just be heard above the lowing of the 
 few household cattle which still remained unshel- 
 tered ; all external objects around the. venerable 
 establishment bore that delightful aspect of rural 
 repose which is so soothing to those who yet re- 
 tain, after the fierce struggles of the world, a heart 
 susceptible of these simple emotions, and a con- 
 science untainted by crime. 
 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 201 
 
 Not so profound, however, was the repose within 
 the extensive walls of the old mansion. Lights 
 were seen passing and repassing through the most 
 uninhabited portions of the house, while all the 
 lower and usually occupied apartments gave evi- 
 dence of some rare occasion. 
 
 In the western wing and largest parlour of the 
 establishment, a roaring hickory fire gave out its 
 genial heat in no niggardly rays. The large 
 branching silver candlesticks, which stood at each 
 side of a full-length picture of General Washington, 
 on the mantel-piece, were richly fringed with white 
 bridal ornaments, after the good old fashion ; and 
 as lively a set of lads and lasses as ever moved 
 through the figures of a cotillion, were keeping time 
 to the impetuous thumping of their own hearts, 
 and the long-sweeping bow-hands of two heredi- 
 tary fiddlers stationed behind the door. In a little 
 recess, formed by the old-fashioned projecting 
 chimney, sat three youthful ladies; their chairs 
 forming the figure of a rude triangle ; the hands of 
 the one in the centre locked in those of her com- 
 panions, and their heads forming a lovely little con- 
 stellation. Three happier brides never united their 
 hands, hearts, and heads, than Virginia Bell Ran- 
 dolph, Frances Chevillere, and Isabel Lamar. It 
 was heart-cheering to behold with what rapidity 
 and gasping eagerness Virginia poured out the 
 rich treasures of a long and, as she thought, an 
 eventful journey, to her new friends on each side 
 of her. A stranger, who should have entered at 
 
202 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 that moment, would have declared that they were 
 sisters, just met after a long and painful separation. 
 
 Along the sides of the antique and lofty parlour 
 sat several old gentlemen, dressed in the fashion of 
 seventy-six. Their small-clothes fastened at the 
 knee with the buckles which their fathers wore in 
 the days of " tobacco-money," and their hair pow- 
 dered and tied behind the collars of their long- 
 tailed coats. A few of these venerable remnants 
 of a former and, at least, a more chivalrous age, 
 are still left in eastern Virginia, to smoke their 
 pipes, fight over their battles, and bewail the im- 
 poverishment of the land and the degeneracy of 
 their descendants. The cocked hats and black 
 cockades, it is true, have disappeared ; but many 
 of their contemporaries still linger upon the scene, 
 as melancholy memorials of the too evident mor- 
 tality of the venerated worthies who wear them. 
 At the farthest extremity of the room from the fire, 
 and on the opposite side of the door from the mu- 
 sicians, stood the three " Southerns." Randolph 
 was holding his hands hard pressed against his 
 sides, as Lamar related to him some of the adven- 
 tures of the Kentuckian in New- York, which he 
 thought Chevillere had not sufficiently descanted 
 upon by letter. Chevillere stood in the middle 
 with his arms folded, apparently listening, but with 
 his eyes fixed upon a certain corner of the room, 
 to which we have already directed the reader's 
 attention. 
 
 Old Cato stood, with a small salver under his 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 203 
 
 arm, a little in the back-ground from the crowd 
 near the door ; his eye intently fixed upon those of 
 his master's bride, and unconsciously moving a step 
 forwards, if she happened to turn her head in that 
 direction. If any one advanced towards or passed 
 by him, his person as naturally bowed forward as 
 the willow to the wind. Notwithstanding the 
 hilarity of the scene, the time, and the occasion, his 
 countenance was still serene and dignified ; the 
 only evidence of a contrary feeling being the almost 
 imperceptible patting of his advanced foot to the 
 cadences of the music. 
 
 u Cato," said Randolph, " tell the musicians, as 
 soon as the present set have gone through the 
 figures, to strike up one of Jessy Scott's* best Vir- 
 ginia reels." Turning to Randolph and Lamar, 
 " We must initiate those three ladies in the corner 
 into the mysteries of the Virginia reel." The set 
 having gone through the figure, the three South- 
 erns, who, it must be recollected, were well versed 
 in the art, presented themselves before the three 
 ladies already mentioned. They begged to be ex- 
 cused, pleaded ignorance of the figures, and de- 
 clared that they would certainly be laughed at by 
 all the young girls in the room. But no excuse 
 
 * Jessy Scott is a coloured gentleman, who lives at Charlotte- 
 ville, Virginia ; has three sons distinguished musicians ; one of 
 whom was educated in France. Few strangers visited Mr. Jef- 
 ferson, during his life-time, who did not likewise visit Mr. Scott. 
 He is an accomplished gentleman. We trust that he is yet alive, 
 and able to play the Cameronian Rant. 
 
204 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 could be taken. Randolph led out Mrs. Chevil- 
 lere ; Lamar, Mrs. Randolph ; and Chevillere, 
 Mrs. Lamar. The additional couples were soon 
 arranged down the room ; the ladies on one side 
 and the gentlemen on the other, as is customary in 
 the usual country-dance. 
 
 The order of the country-dance is in these 
 simple figures reversed ; the usual romping motion 
 of hands round commencing, instead of ending, 
 the set. The general effect of this rural figure is 
 hilarious and exhilirating in the extreme, and, on 
 the present occasion, did not lose credit by our 
 novices. Few persons would have recognised in 
 the bright and laughing countenance of Mrs. Che- 
 villere, the sad and demure little recluse of the 
 Hudson. But a few rounds were necessary to 
 initiate the strangers completely into the apparently 
 abstruse figure. We have seen these figures. fre- 
 quently attempted in Pennsylvania and New- York, 
 but always to the music of some jig or Scotch 
 strathspey. This is not correct ; the time is about 
 the same as that usually employed in cotillions, and 
 the step slow and graceful. In this way each lady 
 dances, at one stage of the reel, a kind of solo 
 minuet, at the conclusion of which she carries on 
 a mock flirtation with each gentleman of the set in 
 succession. It must be apparent at once, to every 
 dancing lady, how ridiculous this must appear when 
 done to the tune of a sailor's hornpipe. 
 
 The reel being brought to a close, and soon after 
 the more substantial entertainments of the evening 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 205 
 
 having been served up, carriages now began to 
 draw up to the door, and such guests took their 
 leave as did not form part of the family party for 
 the holydays. After the bustle of departure, call- 
 ing for shawls, cloaks, and mantles had somewhat 
 subsided, — the three remaining happy pairs drew 
 up their chairs around the large blazing chunk fire, 
 and evidently prepared themselves for some re- 
 maining entertainment. The fiddlers, having stood 
 up in the centre of the room, their instruments tied 
 in green bags under their arms, and each having 
 drank a long and wordy toast in strong waters to 
 each of the brides, took their departure, with many 
 bows, and scrapes, and motions of the hat ; with 
 each of which old Cato, unknowingly to himself, 
 made a slight inclination of the head. Having 
 closed the door, Cato advanced to a corner of the 
 room, and placed a stand with lights at his master's 
 right-hand, and then produced a large, coarse- look- 
 ing letter. It was written upon rough-edged fools- 
 cap paper ; was folded square as a chess-board, 
 and evidently contained many sheets, written upon 
 ruled black-lead pencil lines, — looking very much, 
 upon the whole, like an old copy-book. This for- 
 midable package was addressed to " Victor Che- 
 villere, Esquire, and Augustus Lamar, Esquire. 
 Present." 
 
 It was no sooner opened, than (at the very sight 
 of it) Lamar burst out into one of his long, irre- 
 pressible fits of laughter. "For mercy's sake, 
 Chevillere," said he, " only wait till I compose my- 
 
 VOL. II. S 
 
206 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 self a little, and wipe the tears from my eyes, be- 
 fore you begin that letter. But, tell me, do you 
 really say you can make it all out ?" 
 
 " I have spent two hours, I tell you, in decipher- 
 ing it, on purpose that you might all enjoy it with- 
 out interruption," replied he. " Here it is." 
 
 ' Down low in old Virginny, 25th day of November, in the 
 year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and 
 
 4 Dear Gentlemen, 
 
 * They tell me hereabouts you're married. Well, 
 hurrah for old Kentuck, I say, and her sister Caro- 
 lina. I'm married, too ! yes, and I believe every- 
 body's married, nearabouts, as far as I can learn. 
 It's twisted strange, ain't it, when a feller gets half 
 corned,* everybody reels round ; and when a feller 
 gets married, everybody else should get married 
 just at that particular time. 
 
 4 Yes, it's a fact ; it seems to be goin about now 
 like the influenza and the cholera, and the parsons 
 are dragged about like country doctors in a panic. 
 4 But keep up your heart, my hearty,' says I to the 
 old gentleman that coupled us up, 4 it will soon be 
 over ; for most of 'em won't have it but once, and 
 it'll soon run through a neighbourhood ; and I've 
 been told it kills very few.' 
 
 * But I'm tetotally bamboozled if I ain't tellin 
 you of the killed and wounded, before I've told 
 you who fout, and whereabouts — but let it go, the 
 
 * Western term for drunk. 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 207 
 
 lead always comes first, and the powder afterward 
 — a man must let off a little of the extra steam, 
 you know, or he would burst his biler. I was 
 always one of them sort of fellers that went upon 
 the high pressure system. 
 
 * But ain't it a little particular now, that I should 
 be settin here of a rainy day in Mr. Randolph's 
 house — he that you gentlemen talked so much 
 about — and be writing you this long letter ; my 
 nose close down on the paper, and strainin my 
 eyes till every thing in the world looks like pot- 
 hooks and hangers when I look up. But I rub my 
 eyes, and at it again, for fear I might git off the 
 trail ; and my little wife, Betsy, she sits there, 
 'fraid to wink her eye lest she mout put me out, 
 and I'll be hanged if she hasn't dropped a dozen 
 stitches already in that stockin she's knittin, she 
 says, jist because she can't keep her eyes off my 
 face — with my eyes and mouth all workin up and 
 down, like I was makin mouths at the paper, and 
 could see my face in it. And so I jumped up and 
 turned the table round, with my back to Betsy,— 
 and now she's giglin at me, because, she says, she 
 can see the hair on the crown of my head workin 
 yit, and drops of sweat rollin down my temples 
 this winter day. 'The fact is, Betsy,' says l % 
 * this pen you made me is like an old field-colt, a 
 little skittish in the breakin ; it goes along as stately 
 and as stiff as a charger for a little while, until it 
 comes to some of these hills and gullies in the 
 paper, and then it begins to prance, and caper, and 
 
208 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 git suple in the timbers, until down comes a great 
 dab of ink, like a rider in the mud. There now/ 
 says I, * Betsy, I'm hanged if I wouldn't rather 
 ride a three-year-old filly bare-backed through a 
 cane-brake, than git a fair start on that pen. You 
 kin hold on to the mane even if the filly does kick 
 up behind ; but this pen blots it down as bald as a 
 pancake, no notice and no warnin nor nothin, nor 
 no mane to hold on to/ 
 
 * Well, here I go again, on a new trail, with a 
 fresh pen. A new broom sweeps clean, they say. 
 
 1 1 have read over now what I've writ, an Pm 
 dadshamed if it ain't all up in snarls. I don't see 
 how you'll ever git into it ; and what's more, I don't 
 see how you'll ever git out of it, when once you 
 are in. I thought I had begun at the beginnin of 
 my story, when I left you, and had got more than 
 half-way through by this time. But I find that 
 I've been poppen my bill into it, and out of it again, 
 like a kingfisher in a mill-dam ; or, maybe, I'm 
 more like a feller lost in a rye-field, the rye 
 higher than his head, dodging and poking about ; 
 thinking all the time he's goin straight through, 
 when, in fact, he ain't gone a hundred yards from 
 where he started. I can't see, no how, how you 
 used to git on so slick through them long letters. It 
 used to look mighty easy ; but when a feller comes 
 to the trial of it, it's a real job, I tell you. The great 
 drops of sweat come pouring down every now and 
 then on to the paper, and I jump back, thinkin its 
 the pen lettin off the steam again ; and sure enough, 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 209 
 
 the jump starts another great bald blot as black as 
 a bullet hole ; and that's the way I make so many- 
 big stops. You see, I mind my stops, as the school- 
 master used to say. Oh ! if he had only seen this 
 letter, if he wouldn't have ruled a page on my 
 back. You see, I hav'n't got started yet ; it's like 
 a tangled skeene of thread ; there's no way of gittin 
 into it unless you break right in, like an ox into a 
 corn crib. 
 
 * Oh ! my stars and turnips ! if I did'n't forgit to 
 tell you how I found old Pete Ironsides ; that's 
 just what was the matter with me. I thought 
 something was wrong; but hang me if ever I 
 thought once that that something was old Pete. 
 He spoke to me the minute I sot my foot inside the 
 stable-door. * Hello ! Pete,' says I, ■ stand up there ;' 
 and I'm a papist if he didn't laugh as natural as 
 Mr. Lamar with his white teeth. Yes, he showed 
 every tooth in his head : he didn't laugh loud, as 
 one may say, but he laughed long though. Oh ! it 
 would have done you good to have seen that 
 laugh ; there was the red and white of his teeth and 
 gums ; I'm a steamboat if it didn't look like a ripe 
 water-million. 
 
 4 But whose house do you think Pete had been 
 boarding at ? At Betsy's father's. And who's 
 Betsy ? Why Betsy was the little girl I saw in 
 the Circus. And seeing how well they had treated 
 Pete, I thought, maybe, they mout treat his betters 
 as well. And so I struck up to em ; and a cleverer 
 set of people you never saw south of the Potomack t 
 82 
 
210 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 as Mr. Lamar used to say. The old man got 
 quite in the notion of movin to the West ; and sure 
 enough, he's comin out there next spring, bag and 
 baggage. And well he may, as I've carried off 
 the flower of his flock. But I didn't run away with 
 her ; no, no. I asked the old man and old woman, 
 and all the girls and boys ; but I asked her first 
 though. 
 
 * Well now, Betsy/ says I, after I had been 
 sparkin some weeks, * how would you like to go 
 to old Kentuck V 
 
 * Do you think father will go sure enough V said 
 she. 
 
 * Come now, Betsy, none of your playing sly ; 
 you know what I mean.' 
 
 ' Law, now, Mr. Damon,' says she, ■ you're such 
 a funny man, a body never knows how to take you.' 
 
 * That's the very thing,' says I ; ' take me for a 
 husband/ 
 
 ? Law, Mr. Damon f and she put her arm round 
 her eyes, but I pulled it down again. 
 
 * Now,' says I, * Betsy, you must come up to the 
 scratch now ; no flinchin now.' 
 
 * So in about ten minutes, when I begun to think 
 the jig was up with me, for she began to look 
 serious, 
 
 * Well,' says she to me, ' you may ask father.' 
 
 * I looked over my shoulder just now at her. 
 
 ' Oh !' says she, * you're writing something about 
 me now.' 
 
 'And with that she jumped up, and snatched 
 
THE KENTUCKIA.N IN NEW-YORK. 211 
 
 away the paper, and made this great dash you see 
 here like a fishingpole and a turtle at the end of it. 
 
 ' There now/ says I, ' Betsy, you have made a 
 pretty spot of work of it.' 
 
 ' Let me see where I have got to now. Ah ! I 
 see — we had a tare down sneezer of a wedding : 
 the old folks were quite pleased, and I rather 
 suspicion the young ones were not far behind 
 them. After it was all over, and we had all got 
 settled down agin to the regular old ways, I spoke 
 up one day at dinner about starting next day to 
 old Kentuck. The old lady and Betsy took the 
 hint, and straightways tuned up their pipes. 
 
 * But the old gentleman, he was bothered to think 
 how I was to get Betsy home with me ; and to 
 come right plump down with the plain truth like a 
 centre shot, I was feelin my way a little when I 
 began to talk about goin. So the old man he 
 took the hint, and come up to the trumps like a 
 white head, I assure you. 
 
 1 Well/ says he, ' to be sure I have been thinking 
 about that ; and I have been studyin some time 
 whether your horse will work in a one-horse 
 carriage.' 
 
 * What, Pete Ironsides V said I. 
 
 * Yes ; Peter, to be sure,' said he. 
 
 * Why Pete would no more go inside of harness 
 than a snappin-turtle would work in a horse-boat.' 
 
 ' Well, then,' says he, * you must swap him off, 
 and get one that will ; for I've got a clever little 
 
212 THE KENTUGKIAN IN NEW-YORK. 
 
 one-horse carriage in my eye, which I'm goin to 
 buy, and give to Betsy/ 
 
 4 1 wish I may run my head right into a steam- 
 boat biler, if I would any more part with Pete 
 than I would part with Betsy/ 
 
 * But Betsy struck in here, and told the old man 
 that she was goin to ride on horseback. 
 
 b * That's the girl for me/ said I, and there it ended. 
 
 * At last the whining and pouting was over (and 
 that's a kind of work that always makes my throat 
 raw inside), and we were on the road ; and, after 
 two days' ride, as happy a pair as ever jogged over 
 a turnpike. 
 
 '•On the fourth day, at night, we got benighted 
 near this house ; and the rain came pouring down 
 as if all the steamboats in Christendom had burst 
 their bilers ; and Pete began to get a little melan- 
 choly, and I had to sing to him ; and Betsy laughed 
 at me, rain and all. Ah ! I like these laughin girls. 
 But I'm gittin oft' the trail again. 
 
 * Well, I saw a light in these windows, away far 
 off from the big road yonder. Betsey and I rode 
 up to the door, and I hallooed and hallooed, hut 
 nobody came. At last I raised a whoop, and if I 
 didn't wake the snakes and Junebugs in November, 
 then say I'm a dandy, and eat molasses and pork, 
 and never went to a Yankee singin-school. I'm 
 rather of the opinion that I raised the bats out of 
 a month's nap in these old oaks. Pete raised his 
 ears, and if his thoughts could be found out, I'll bet 
 he was on the look-out for the dogs and some var- 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 213 
 
 mint or other, to come sweepin by with a curley 
 whoop. 
 
 4 But I raised the old housekeeper, too, out of a 
 deep sleep ; she came stickin her head, with the 
 lamp held up above it, through the window, and 
 her gray hair hanging from under her nightcap, 
 till she looked for all the world like a little hail- 
 storm. 
 
 ' * Can a benighted traveller git a night's lodg- 
 ing V said I. 
 
 * * There is nobody at home,' said she ; * Mr. 
 Beverley Randolph has gone to the Carolinas to 
 git married.' 
 
 * * Mr. Beverley Randolph V said I. 
 
 • ' Ay, Mr. Beverley Randolph,' said she, * as 
 tidy a gentleman as ever walked in shoe-leather.' 
 
 * And then I made the woods ring again for 
 gladness, to think what good luck always follows 
 me. But the old woman looked as bewildered as 
 a hound off the trail. But I soon put things to 
 rights. * Halloo, mother,' said I, * Mr. Randolph's 
 a particular friend of my particular friends Mr. 
 Chevillere and Mr. Lamar.' 
 
 * * Mr. Lamar and Mr. Chevillere !' said she, 
 with her great big blue eyes as wide open and as 
 big as a Liverpool chaney saucer ; * why, we expect 
 them and their wives on here soon, to meet Mr. 
 Randolph and his wife.' 
 
 * And then the old lady told us to get down, and 
 go into the front porch out of the rain, until she 
 came. After a while she came down all dressed, 
 
214 THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 and now that she had got wide awake and a sight 
 of Betsy's pretty laughing face, she was quite polite. 
 
 * But she stared at me most confoundedly at first, 
 and asked me if I had been to college with the 
 young gentlemen. « No/ I told her, ' we hadn't 
 been to college together, but we had been on a 
 northern campaign together against the Yankees ;' 
 but for the life of her she couldn't keep her eyes 
 off me. 
 
 1 She soon got us some supper, late as it was, and 
 had the negroes called up to take care of our 
 horses. In the morning, and that's to-day, the rain 
 is still pourin down ; so we have concluded to 
 accept the old lady's invitation to stay till the 
 weather clears up. She has been asking my wife 
 something about my acquaintance with you, and 
 since that she has been wonderful polite ; nothing 
 seems good enough for us now in the eyes of the 
 old lady. But she still stares at me. 
 
 4 Me at college with 'you ! well, now, that's a 
 good one ; but I'll be run through a spinnin jinny, 
 if I havn't seen as big fools as I am come through 
 a college. I know a feller that's been clean through, 
 and he writes little, if any, better than I do* He 
 picks his words maybe a little more ; but what's 
 the difference between one that picks' his steps 
 through a mud-hole, and one that jumps clean 
 over ? I can tell the truth as well as he can, and 
 I'm sure in a case of needcessity, as one may say, 
 I could tell a lie that would make him ashamed to 
 look a college in the face again. I git more off my 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 215 
 
 land than he does, — I'm a better judge of horse- 
 flesh, — I can beat him at a foot-race, and throw 
 him four falls out of five. But, above all, his book 
 larning has made his head so weak he can't stand 
 nothin at all. He gits corned on all occasions just 
 at the very first blush of the thing, as one may say, 
 and he never gits through a regular frolic unless 
 he falls through a trap-door, or down two or three 
 pair of stairs. His face looks like it was boiled 
 in poke-berry juice and indigo, and hang me if I 
 don't think he's a little flumucky altogether about 
 the head. Most of this I rather suspicion mought 
 be larned in York without a regular sheepskin. I 
 suppose there's a sheep's head for every skin, ac- 
 cording to nature. r 
 
 * College spiles a great many people ; not you 
 and Mr. Lamar, — for, as I tell Betsy, I never see 
 two gentlemen come out with so little blast and 
 airs about them. 
 
 * But, as I was saying, it ruins a power of people ; 
 some gits halfway through like an ear of corn in a 
 shelling machine, — and then it will go neither back- 
 wards nor forwards, and is jist good for nothin. 
 
 * Some kick up like wild colts at the first trainin 
 to harness, and if they're cleverly broke of them 
 tricks at the start, they work in harness all their 
 days pretty well. But if they git the upper hand 
 the first time, they'll be like runaway horses ; they'll 
 smash things, you may depend upon it, first chance. 
 Some old regular-built harness nags go well right 
 
 •off at the start ; they may be good at a regular 
 tug, but they'll never make spirited tackies. Give 
 
216 THE KENTUCRIAN IN NEW- YORK. 
 
 me your fiery-blooded colts, that takes a real tear- 
 down blast at the start, and then behave themselves 
 well all their lives afterward. 
 
 ' Take an old field scrub out three or four times 
 to a military parade, and he gits to prancing and 
 snorting, and is worth nothing no more neither for 
 work nor show. Now old Pete's what I call a 
 well brought up horse ; he won't have nothin to 
 do with parading on one side nor harness on the 
 other. When he's goin to do a thing, he says so 
 at once, and there's an end of it. If a nigger comes 
 behind him, he just backs his ears and kicks him, 
 and then goes strait ahead again. 
 
 1 Old Kentuck raises the finest horses in the uni- 
 versal — well, now, I wish I may be tetotally ball- 
 gusted, if here ain't another pretty piece of business. 
 I started as fair as a poney-race to tell you all 
 about colleges and such likes, and here I've got 
 a-straddle of old Pete, and ridin away through a 
 Kentuck colt-pen, like a gust of wind over a chaff 
 bank. 
 
 * But I'll tell you what it is, strangers, — it's not 
 sich an easy job to start, right off and put down in 
 black and white every thing that a feller's been 
 doin for a month of Sundays back. Then there's 
 all the lines to keep straight ; for though Betsy 
 ruled all the paper, I've a confounded hankering 
 after the furrows between. Now talkin of fur- 
 rows, I would rather plough an acre of new ground 
 any day, than write down one side of a letter. But 
 it must be done, and so here goes at it agin, — but * 
 
THE KENTUCKIAN IN NEW- YORK. 217 
 
 where did I leave off? Oh ! I was a-straddle of 
 Pete, confound him, in a Kentuck colt-pen ; but I 
 had to run and jump through the walls of a college 
 to get there. But I must turn back, now, and see 
 what I have writ and what I havn't. 
 
 " I have hardly writ a single thing I wanted to 
 write, I'm jist now like I've been at times when I've 
 been out catting.* I could catch every thing but 
 cat— snakes, and turtles, and all other sort of 
 water varmints except the things I wanted. And 
 so it is now — I've been trying to fish up several 
 things that's still at the bottom ; but all I can do 
 nothing will come up but the varmints. Now I 
 could tell it to you in no time at all. So now as 
 I have fished you up a mess of all sorts of odd 
 creters, I may as well gather up all these papers 
 and put marks on them, so that you will know 
 which to begin with. 
 
 " And now it makes me so sorry I don't know 
 
 what to do — to think I'm goin to tell you both 
 
 farewell for ever and ever and ever. But let what 
 
 will come, never forget that I am yours, till death, 
 
 " Montgomery Damon." 
 
 ###### 
 
 And now, gentle reader, we will take a gentle 
 leave of you, hoping that you have not been alto- 
 gether displeased with the adventures of the Ken* 
 tuckian and the Southerns. 
 
 * Throwing for cat-fish. 
 VOL. II. T 
 
ADDENDA. 
 
 All persons who have occasion to address 
 themselves to the public, find out, sooner or later, 
 the advantage of putting their hearers, or readers, 
 in a good-humour. If a lawyer can induce a jury- 
 to laugh during his exordium, his point is half 
 gained already ; and if a debutante on the political 
 rostrum can produce a like effect, by a well-told 
 anecdote, or a witty repartee, his election may 
 be considered almost sure. 
 
 We confess to our kind readers who have trav- 
 elled with us thus far (and to none else shall it be 
 revealed) that we have put forth " the Kentuckian," 
 with all his sins upon his head, with some such inten- 
 tion of betraying them into a smile of good-humour 
 with us. We trust, therefore, that his adventures 
 will be taken as nothing more than our introductory 
 story in this our maiden effort to get into their 
 good graces. This course was thought the more 
 necessary by a southern aspirant, as there is evi- 
 dently a current in American literature, the foun- 
 tain-head of which lies north of the Potomac, and 
 in which a southern is compelled to navigate up 
 the stream if he jumps in too far south. 
 
 These views may in some measure, perhaps, 
 apologize for the author's having chosen such a 
 hero, and such a location, in preference to the Cav- 
 alier Refugees of Jamestown, of his own loved 
 
ADDENDA. 219 
 
 native soil, around whose jovial memories there 
 lives such a rich store of traditionary lore, and so 
 many manuscript relics of antiquity fast crum- 
 bling into oblivion for want of some competent 
 adventurer, to weave them into such a shape as 
 would at once preserve the general features of 
 historic truth, and throw around these venerable 
 relics the richer and more attractive hues of ro- 
 mance. For want of a better and an abler pen, the 
 humble author has made an attempt to sketch the 
 lives and manners of these early cavaliers of Vir- 
 ginia, to preserve, before it is too late, some faint 
 outlines of these refugees from whom are de- 
 scended* so many of the illustrious men who have 
 figured so largely upon this new theatre of human 
 action and experiment, and from whom were like- 
 wise descended the fox-hunting, horse-racing, and 
 jovial race of Virginians. These too are passing 
 away, and will soon be, like their more chivalrous 
 sires, food for the historian and the novelist. 
 
 Should the " Kentuckian in New- York" be re- 
 ceived, therefore, in the same good-humour and 
 good feeling in which the author makes this his 
 first embarrassed, and perhaps awkward, bow be- 
 fore the public, he will very soon lay before them 
 " The Recluse of Jamestown, a Tale of the Early 
 Cavaliers of Virginia." 
 
 * Virginia is said to have ten native sons in the Senate of the 
 United States at this time. This is put forth in no arrogance, but 
 merely to show the truth of what we are stating.