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THE FIGHT BETWEEN THE BONHOMME RICHARD AND THE SERAPIS RICHARD CARVEL BY WINSTON CHURCHILL EDITED BY Hy. Gy*PAUL PROFESSOR OF THE TEACHING OF ENGLISH UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS New Bork THE MACMILLAN COMPANY (3g 1923 EDITOR’S PREFACE GRADUALLY teachers of English are coming to realize that all good authors are not necessarily like the supposedly good Indians, to be found only among the dead. While it would, of course, be foolish to offer to pupils nothing but the works of contemporary writers and to neglect our heritage of one of the greatest literatures the world has ever known, surely it is also a mistake to give our classes the impression that good literature died in 1892 along with Tennyson. Doubtless by far the largest share of our study should be devoted to these older books, but this should not be to the exclusion of the best of contemporary writings. The notes and questions here included are intended to stimulate thought on the part of the student and not to prove a substitute for it. Doubtless the teacher can and should devise many questions better suited to the particular needs of the class than those here provided. It is hoped, however, that the questions and notes here included will prove helpful to the pupils in gaining an increased appreciation of this story and of the story-teller’s art, CHAPTER I iy rT. IV. No VI, VII. VIII. IX. X. 68 XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. XXIII. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. CONTENTS Lionel Carvel, of Carvel Hall Some Memories of Childhood Caught by the Tide . : Grafton would heal an Old Rreach®, “Tf Ladies be but Young and Fair” I first suffer for the Cause Grafton has his Chance . Over the Wall . ; Under False Colours . The Red in the Carvel Blood A Festival and a Parting News from a Far Country Mr. Allen shows his Hand The Volte Coupe. . Of which the Rector has tie Wo orst In which Some Things are made Clear South River. The Black Moll A Man of Destiny A Sad Home-coming . The Gardener’s Cottage . On the Road London Town . Castle Yard The Rescue The Part Horatio Ae In which I am sore tempted. Xl Pace 16 oH | 42 Dib 62 71 79 93 105 118 127 138 146 156 161 167 177 188 199 205 23.9 2o1 238 249 258 Xil CHAPTER XXVIII. XXIX, XXX, XXXI: XXXII. XXXII. XXXIV. XXXY. XXXVI. XXXVI. XXXVITI. XXXIX. XL. XLI. XLT XLT. XLIV. XLV. XLVI. si Vo XLVIITI. XLIX. bs LL EM: LITT: LANs LV: LVI. LVII. CONTENTS Arlington Street I meet a very Great Young Man A Conspiracy . “Upstairs into the W OHA! feat Lady Tankervilie’s Drum-maior Drury Lane ‘ His Grace makes Advice : In which my Lord Baltimore appears . A Glimpse of Mr. Garrick The Serpentine iy In which I am puny bhought | to task Holland House Vauxhall The Wilderness My Friends are proven Annapolis once more . Noblesse Oblige ae The House of Memories . Gordon’s Pride Visitors Multum in Parvo . Liberty loses a Friend Farewell to Gordon’s . ; How an Idle Prophecy came to pass How the Gardener’s Son fought the Serapts In which I make Some Discoveries More Discoveries . “The Love of a Maid fats a Man” How Good came out of Evil I come to my Own again 92.) PAGE 269 276 285 296 310 320 330 336 345 353 364 373 383 391 400 406 415 424 433 438 449 459 468 474. 487 502 512 524 533 THE AUTHOR OF RICHARD CARVEL THE years immediately following the close of our Civil War witnessed many-remarkable and rapid changes in the city of St. Louis. The steamboats which had thronged the Mississippi and had pushed and shoved their prows into the closely packed quarters along the levee gradually gave way before their less picturesque! but more rapid competitors, the railway trains. Shops and stores crowded back the residence district; and on the sites of old, substantial homes rose great factories and foundries which showered smoke and soot over the neighborhood and drove the residents back from one ridge to the next, farther and farther from the river, till the long, quiet country roads were transformed into city streets. Up these ridges a third horse helped the team which pulled each slow-moving street car. In these cars might be heard the sharp, nasal tones of the Yankee and the soft, drawling speech of the Southerner, for in this city met and mingled the two great currents of national emigration, much as the waters of the two wonderful rivers mingle at its side. Such was St. Louis, the metropolis of the Mississippi valley during the presidency of Ulysses S. Grant, where Winston Churchill was born on November to, 1871. vy ke a is little to record of the youth of this quiet, strong-willed boy except that the death of his parents left him to the care of an aunt and uncle, and that he came to know his native city intimately and stored up much of its life and history of which he was later to make such good use. From the public schools and Smith Academy in St. Louis he passed to the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis. Here, as a tall, broad-shouldered cadet, he was especially fond of rowing, and by his enthusiasm did much to revive the interest of his fellows in that sport. xiil xiv THE AUTHOR OF RICHARD CARVEL After his graduation in 1894, the call of the sea proved less enticing than did the lure of journalism. Consequently he became the editor of the 4rmy and Navy Journal and was then drawn into that greatest center of American publications, New York City. Here he served a short apprenticeship as a magazine writer and was chosen managing editor of the Cosmopolitan. In 1895 he was married to Miss Mabel Har- lakenden Hall of St. Louis, gave up his editorship, and re- - turned to his native city, where he finished his first novel, Richard Carvel. The success of this story, on its appearance in 1899, was instantaneous. Edition followed edition rapidly; soon the story was dramatized, John Drew taking the leading art. A little later, the Churchills purchased at Cornish, New Hampshire, a farm of about two hundred acres. There on the edge of the broad, shallow Connecticut River, with Vermont on the opposite bank, they built a large, low, brick, colonial house, quite in keeping with the type of the better homes of Annapolis in the days when the flag of George III was re- placed by that of George Washington. Soon politics as well as authorship claimed a share of Mr. Churchill’s time and energy. In 1903 and again in 1905 he represented the Cornish district in the New Hampshire legislature; and in 1912, as the candidate of the Progressive Party for governor, he made a splendid fight against corporation control in politics. Since the appearance of Richard Carvel in 1899, he has worked steadily and faithfully as an author of fiction, sparing neither pains nor labor in preparing his materials, writing and rewriting with infinite care, and quite content to spend two or three years in perfecting each of the eight other novels he has since produced: The Crisis, 1901; The Crossing, 1904; Coniston, 1906; Mr. Crewe’s Career, 1908; 4 Modern Chron- icle, 1910; The Inside of the Cup, 1913; A Far Country, 1915; The Dwelling Place of Light, 1917. St. Louis, his native city, often appears as the scene of his stories, avowedly and picturesquely as in The Crisis and A Modern Chronicle, or by implication as in The Inside of the Cup; while his experiences THE AUTHOR OF RICHARD CARVEL xv in New Hampshire politics have added a very personal interest to Coniston and Mr. Crewe’s Career. His methods of writing offer some very interesting re- minders of those of Sir Walter Scott: he has shown himself capable of an almost incredible amount of hard work; he likes to break the backbone of the day’s task with a long stretch of toil during the morning hours; and, finally, he delights in galloping away from his task on a clean limbed, well groomed horse, riding it with an ease and skill which would have quite won the heart of the “ Wizard of the North.” yaa sh baa % bs eos THE WRITING OF RICHARD CARVEL STYLES come and flourish in the writing of novels just as truly, if not so rapidly, as they appear in modes of dressing the hair or of fashioning sleeves and skirts and shoes. Thus, during the years when the nineteenth century was old and the twentieth century was new, the historical novel was. the prevailing favorite in the realms of fiction. To this popularity Mr. Churchill’s earlier stories contributed much and were in turn affected by it. It is not surprising that the cadet from the Middle West should have been attracted by the “atmosphere of the eighteenth century which was preserved in Annapolis.” The very names of its quaint streets—Prince George, Duke of Marlborough, Duke of Gloucester—tell of the days when the colonial capital gloried in its loyalty to the British crown. Soon his imagination began to people its spacious old red brick houses with the be-wigged men and the broad- skirted women who had been born and lived, loved, quar- relled, and died in the low-roofed rooms, trimmed in mahogany and white and lighted by the small-paned windows. Gradual- ly he shaped a story of these days of our forefathers, present- ing the old Chase mansion as the home of his heroine and another, now called Carvel Hall, as the city home of the hero’s grandfather. Once entered upon his task, Mr. Churchill went about it with characteristic care and thoroughness. He tells us how he “visited all the places concerned in the story, and read biographies, histories, memoirs, letters, old newspapers—in fact everything which could give insight into the life of those days, or into the character of the people like John Paul Jones or Charles Fox whom he desired to introduce—he took XVil xviii THE WRITING OF RICHARD CARVEL voluminous notes: on costumes in one volume, manners and customs in another, history in another, and so on.” Perhaps we may be helped in forming some conception of the manner in which Mr. Churchill has transformed these raw materials into the finer fabric of romance by noticing a few passages from that historian of Annapolis, Elihu Riley, to whom he frankly confesses his indebtedness: “Lumbering equipages . generally drawn by splendid horses, bore the colonists about the country, while in the city the sedan chair, carried by lackeys in rich livery, was the luxurious car of the queens of the house. These favored people sat on carved chairs at curious tables, ‘amid piles of ancestral silverware, and drank punch out of vast, costly bowls of Japan, or sipped Madeira a half century Ota: AN while the employment of a French hairdresser, by one lady, at a thousand crowns a year, was a suggestion of the luxury and wealth which made Annapolis the home of a gay and haughty circle of aristocrats. . . . Commerce flourished, its merchants imported goods in ships from every sea, and its enterprising citizens made efforts to induce men of all crafts to come and settle in their midst.” Practically every detail in the passage just given finds a place somewhere in the narra- tive of Richard Carvel, but quickened into life, vitalized and. clear to our eyes in the drama which we are called to watch. Of especial interest is the following glimpse which Mr. Churchill has given us into his workshop “Not until I was more than half way through the work did it occur to me to introduce John Paul Jones. I had al- ready used the name Carvel in the manuscript, and I found on looking over the roster of the Bon Homme Richard that an officer by that name was mentioned. ‘This was merely an interesting coincidence.” Since Richard Carvel was written, it may be noted, the re- mains of John Paul Jones, this father of the American navy, have found a final resting place in the quaint, historic Mary- land capital around which centers this story of the days when he fought to help establish our nation. THE WRITING OF RICHARD CARVEL xix His name suggests one problem in the construction of this romance which offered its special difficulties, difficulties which are inherent in the nature of the historical novel. Richard Carvel and Dorothy Manners, Comyn and Chartersea, Grafton Carvel and the Reverend Mr. Allen are the children of Mr. Churchill’s own fancy. As long as he keeps fairly close to probability, we allow him to shape as he wills the careers of these creations. But Washington and John Paul Jones, Walpole and Charles James Fox belong primarily to history. Whenever the author introduces such characters as these, though he may be allowed considerable freedom in devising minor events, he must represent these personages in accord with truth to their historic selves. This Mr. Churchill has done with a fine, sympathetic, painstaking fidelity. Thus, though in the last few years we have learned a little more of the life and character of John Paul Jones, one of the truest and best pictures of him is Mr. Churchill’s portrait of the moment when he said, “I have not yet begun to fight.” SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY THE experienced traveler, on visiting a strange city, tries, if possible, first to get a bird’s-eye view of it from some such height as a church tower or the roof of some tall building, for he realizes the value of thus gaining his bearings and of rap- idly acquainting himself with those chief features which he will soon come to know in detail. Somewhat similarly, before taking up the careful study of a novel, the student will do well to go through it rapidly, endeavoring to grasp the story as a whole, reading as Dr. Johnson used to read “‘to get the heart out of the book.”” When this has been done, the class may well spend a period in making sure that each student has mastered these chief points, in clearing up any, of the larger ~ matters of the story which may have been misunderstood, in becoming familiar with the names of the chief characters, and in placing these characters correctly in the story. One simple yet effective device in reviewing and clinching the story is to study the Table of Contents, seeing what each title suggests, and then returning for a brief re-reading to such chapters as may not be clearly recalled by this study of the titles. The story itself naturally falls into the following divisions: Chapters I-V Chapters VI-XIIT Chapters XIII-XVII Chapters XVIII-XXII Chapters XXIII-XXXI Chapters XX XII-XLII Chapters XLIII-XLIX Chapters L-LII Chapters LITIJ-LVII XX1. XX SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY Each pupil should select a title for each of these main divisions of the story. He should remember that a good title should be (1) brief, (2) attractive, and, most important of all, (3) suggestive of the contents of the division. Then, either the class as a whole, or a committee of its members, should choose the best of the proposed titles. Frequently the divisions suggested above will form con- venient stations in the study of this novel. Of course, when- ever, in the judgment of the teacher, any division is too difh- cult or too important for the class to attempt its mastery in a single lesson, it should be divided. A word of caution, however: Do not undertake an exhaustive (the word is all too significant!) study of the book. Far better to get the heart of it, to appreciate it in the large, and to spend the time thus saved in reading rapidly some of the author’s other stories, such as The Crisis and Coniston. ‘ THE STUDY OF THE PLOT The plot of a novel records the history of a struggle, sometimes with a single opponent, but more frequently with several. Like every other contest, that struggle is most interesting to us when we are led to take sides very keenly and to wish with our whole hearts that our side may win. It grips and holds us more strongly when the opposing forces are very evenly balanced; there 1s little fun in watching two unevenly matched contestants. Like a good game, a plot is most interesting when the advantage sways from side to side, and especially when the forces which enlist our sympathies, after being worsted for a time, finally conquer. Again, suspense and surprise heighten our pleasure in follow- ing either a game or a plot, especially if the situation grows tenser and tenser and finally reaches its height in a climax near the close. Sometimes a story grows tenser and tenser till it resembles the finish of an exciting game of baseball: the last half of the ninth inning; the score a tie; two men out and the bases full; two strikes and three balls for the batter! Suspense; possible surprise; the climax of the game! SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY XXlil What are the contending forces in Richard Carvel? Does the hero struggle with more than one enemy? If so, name these. Show how the advantage is now with the hero and now against him. Where are suspense and surprise employed effectively in the course of the plot? Where does the interest of the story rise to its highest point, or climax? Where, in the course of the story, do you take sides most strongly with the hero? Are there any parts of the story which might be omitted without seriously i injuring the plot as a whole? If so, what was the author’s purpose in including these? Give three advantages and two disadvantages in thus tell- ing the story in the first person, 7. ¢., in allowing the hero to narrate these experiences. Should you prefer a different ending? For example, should Grafton Carvel have been more severely punished for his misdeeds? THE STUDY OF THE CHARACTERS If you could talk with some character that lives in a book, which would you choose? Would it be Silas Marner or Dolly Winthrop; Jim Hawkins or Long John Silver in Treasure Island; or Portia in The Merchant of Venice? Whoever might be our choice, we all know people in bookland whom we admire very much, and whom we seem to know so well that we should recognize them if they came walking down the street. Sometimes his characters are very, very real to an author. Thus, we are told, that after he wrote the chapter in Dombey and Son depicting Little Paul’ 8 death, Charles Dickens walked the city streets, repeating, “Paul Dombey is dead; Paul Dombey is dead!’ Occasionally, indeed, an author pictures so plainly these children of his fancy that we seem to know them better than we do many of the people with whom we touch elbows on the streets of life. In portraying his people the author frequently begins by XXIV SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY giving a short description of their personal appearance, including their dress. If he is a skillful craftsman, he will tell us through these something of their characters. Usually the first appearance of an important personage in the story will be so presented as to suggest much of his nature and of his probable development. Then, through action and dialogue— telling us what the character says and does, what others say to him and do to him—the author acquaints us with these people of his fancy. Sometimes he may. stop the progress of his story while he chats about these characters, analyzing them for us, pointing out this trait and that. Thus George Eliot devotes a great many paragraphs to the analysis of the character of Silas Marner. An unskillful novelist will frequently depict his people as either all good or all bad: he paints them as either all black or all white of mind and of soul. But if we stop to think for a moment, we soon realize that such people are not true to life, that we are all combinations, interesting combinations, of desirable and undesirable qualities, and that the author who would depict real people must show them as similar com- binations. Of course authors differ in their ability to portray character and in their methods of procedure. Some can delineate many life-like characters; some only a few, or one, or none. . Occasionally a writer creates people who so attract us that they seem almost our warm, personal friends. Some writers, such as Scott and Dickens, love to crowd their stories with a great many characters; others, such as Hawthorne, do their best work with only a few in each story. Furthermore, we occasionally discover an author who seems equally at home with nearly every class of society, who draws with almost un- varying powers the rich and the poor, high and low, youth and age, gentlemen and scoundrels. More frequently, how- ever, the novelist 1s at his best with some one class of people, understands them more thoroughly, sympathizes more keenly with them, and consequently depicts them more successfully than he does any others. —— ee SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY XXV Again, to mention but one more phase of this interesting subject, characters may be either stationary or developing; either they continue unchanged throughout the course of the story, or through their experiences they grow and de- velop till they scarcely seem the same persons we met in the early chapters of the narrative. Thus, in George Eliot’s best known story, Dolly Winthrop does not change much, but Silas Marner is almost completely transformed. Of course, whenever an author chooses to represent a character as developing, he must trace clearly the progress of that change, and he must account for it to our satisfaction. To show us in a story even a few characters that are developed con- vincingly is. one of the greatest triumphs of the story-teller’s art. Such, briefly, are some of the chief points to be emphasized in the study of characters in fiction. Using this discussion as a basis, each student may hand to the teacher .or to.a class committee a list of questions for the study of the personages in Richard Carvel. Each pupil should be quite sure before presenting these questions that they are as clear, as important, and as interesting as he can make them. ‘he best of these will then be selected either by the teacher or by a committee and will furnish the basis for one or more periods of class discussion. THE BACKGROUND OF THE STORY Whoever has read Mark Twain’s 4 Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court will recall how the hero of that fas- cinating story is transported to the England of the days of the Round Table. Similarly, the story of Richard Carvel takes us, as on’ a magic wishing carpet, back to the days of the lumbering coach and the sedan chair, to the struggle which gave us the United States. Our author conducts us in fancy to the busy Annapolis coffee house and out to the broad, prosperous tobacco plantation. Now we are watching hie drunken crew on the pirate ship, and later we are walking down the London streets in the days of George III and Charles XXV1 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY James Fox. Thus it is the privilege of the novelist to call to life a past age, to show us how its people lived and thought and talked. Against this background of history are staged the adventures of Richard Carvel. Sometimes the great men of old step forward to play their part in this story of the hero’s fortunes and misfortunes; occasionally the adventures of our hero, as in the thrilling sea fight, become part and parcel of that history. At times this illusion of the past is helped by the introduc- tion of such old-fashioned words as “‘macaroni”’ and “minx” sometimes it comes with a glimpse of Richard’s ruffles at the wrists of his plum colored coat, or the sight of his three cornered hat. Again, it is the brig in flames because its owner has dared to pay the hated tax on tea; or the decks of the Bon Homme Richard strewn with sand to keep the sailors from slipping in the pools of blood. To live for a time in these wonderful days, to observe its men and women, and to watch the pageant of history which forms the setting of the story, are not the least among the privileges of the readers of Richard Carvel. In studying the background of this story, one or more class periods may profitably ‘be given to reports on such topics as the following, the materials for most of which should be drawn primarily from Richard Carvel but enriched with addi- tions from other sources. The Bibliography will suggest some good sources for many of these reports: Dress and Manners in Colonial Annapolis. Amusements of the Time. Occupations and Trades. Servants and Slaves. Eighteenth-Century Words in Richard Carvel. The Colonial Governors of Maryland. Annapolis and the Revolution. More Information about John Paul Jones. The Life of Charles James Fox. London in the Mid-Eighteenth Century. BIBLIOGRAPHY AFTER reading Richard Carvel, the student may wish to take an inexpensive trip to Annapolis. 4 Guide to Annapolis and the Naval Academy, by W. O. Stevens and C. S. Alden, published by the Lord Baltimore Press, Baltimore, 25 cents, contains much material of interest. The Bookman, XLI, 608 ff., is especially valuable for its pictures of some of the scenes of Richard Carvel. One of the best books on the life and times portrayed in this novel is 4 Colonial Governor in Maryland, Horatio Sharpe and His Times, by Matilda Edgar. Longmans, Green and Co., 1912. Hester Dorsey Richardson, Side-lights on Maryland History, I, I1. Williams and Wilkins, 1913. Alice Morse Earle, Home Life in Colonial Days. The Mac- millan Company, 1906. Alice Morse Earle, Costumes of Colonial Times. Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1894. Walter Besant, London in the Eighteenth Century. A. C. Black, 1903. The fullest and best discussion of John Paul Jones is that of Mrs. Reginald de Koven, The Life and Letters of John Paul Jones, I, Il, Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1913. Shorter and very interesting is Cyrus Townsend Brady’s Great Commanders: Commodore Paul Jones, D. Appleton and Co., 1906. John Paul Jones, by Lewis Frank Tooker, The Macmillan Company, 1916, and 4 History of the United States Navy, by John R. Spears, Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1916, are also worth- while books. . George Otto Trevelyan, George the Third and Charles James Fox. Longmans, Green and Co., 1914. XXVIl XXVIill | BIBLIOGRAPHY Henry Cabot Lodge’s Studies in History, Houghton Mifflin” and Co., contains a valuable chapter on the early life of Fox. | The Critic, XL, 135, gives a vivid picture of Mr. Churchill’s: present home. Other magazine articles of especial value are: ; Matte North American Review, LXXXIV, 416, by Hamileont abie. The Atlantic Monthly, LXXXV, 410, by W. E. Simonds. Among the books of worth may also be mentioned: Greene Some American Story Tellers. ree The Iden Who Make Our Novels. Harkins, Little Pilgrimages among the Men Who Hove’ Written Famous Books. Pattee, 4 History of American Literature since 1870. Phelps, The Advance of English Literature. Van Doren, Contemporary American Novelists. The young reader, however, will probably find it more profitable to spend any spare time in reading more widely in © Mr. Churchill’s other novels. The Crisis, The Crossing, Conis- ton, and Mr. Crewe’s Career are the best for his purposes. RICHARD CARVEL CHAPTER LIONEL CARVEL, OF CARVEL HALL LIoneEL CarveEL, Esq., of Carvel Hall, in the county of Queen Anne, was no inconsiderable man in his Lordship’s province of Maryland, and indeed he was not unknown in the colonial capitals from Williamsburg to Boston. When his ships arrived out, in May or June, they made a goodly show- 5 ing at the wharves, and his captains were ever shrewd men of judgment who sniffed a Frenchman on the horizon, so that none of the Carvel tobacco ever went, in that way, to gladden a Gallic heart. Mr. Carvel’s acres were both rich and broad, and his house wide for the stranger who might seek its shelter, ro as with God’s help so it ever shall be. It has yet to be said of the Carvels that their guests are hurried away, or that one, by reason of his worldly goods or position, shall be more welcome than another. I take no shame in the pride with which I write of my rs srandfather, albeit he took the part of his Majesty and Par- lament against the Colonies. He was no palavering turn- coat, like my Uncle Grafton, to cry “‘God save the King!” again when an English fleet sailed up the bay. Mr. Carvel’s nand was large and his heart was large, and he was respected 20 and even loved by the patriots as a man above paltry sub- terfuge. He was born at Carvel Hall in the year of our Lord 1696, when the house was, I am told, but a small dwelling. It was his father, George Carvel, my great-grandsire, reared the present house in the year 1720, of brick brought from England 2s as ballast for the empty ships; he added on, in the years 2 RICHARD CARVEL following, the wide wings containing the ball-room, and th banquet- -hall, and the large library at the eastern end, and the offices. But it was my g erandfather who built the great stables and the kennels where he kept his beagles and his fleeter s hounds. He dearly loved the saddle and the chase, and taught me to love them too. Many the sharp winter day I have fol- lowed the fox with him over two counties, and lain that night, and a week after, forsooth, at the plantation of some kind friend who was only too glad to receive us. Often, too, have 10 we stood together from early morning until dark night, waist deep, on the duck points, I with a fowling-piece I was all but too young to carry, and brought back a hundred red-heads or canvas-backs in our bags. He went with unfailing regularity to the races at Annapolis or Chestertown or Marlborough, rs often to see his own horses run, where the coaches of tha gentry were fifty and sixty around the course; where a negro, or a hogshead of tobacco, or a pipe of Madeira was often staked at a single throw. Those times, my children, are not ours, and I thought it not strange that Mr. Carvel should 20 delight in a good main between two cocks, or a bull-baiting, or a breaking of heads at the Chestertown fair, where he went to show his cattle and fling a guinea into the ring for the winner. But it must not be thought that Lionel Carvel, your ances- tor, was wholly unlettered hesase Hee sportsman, though 25 1t must be confessed that books occupied him only when the weather compelled, or when on his back with the gout. At times he would fain have me read to him as he lay in his great four-post bed with the flowered counterpane, from the Specta- tor, stopping me now and anon at some awakened memory of 30 his youth. He never forgave Mr. Addison for killing stout old Sir Roger de Coverley, and would never listen to the butler’s account of his death. Mr. Carvel, too, had walked in Gray’s Inn Gardens and met adventure at Fox Hall, and seen the great Marlborough himself. He had a fondness for Mr. Con- 35 greve’s comedies, some of which he had seen acted; and was partial to Mr. Gay’s Trivia, which brought him many a recol- lection. He would also listen to Pope. But of the more mod- f ee. a _ LIONEL CARVEL OF CARVEL HALL ; ern poetry I think Mr. Gray’s Elegy pleased him best. He would laugh over Swift’s gall and wormwood, and would never be brought by my mother to acknowledge the defects in the Dean’s character. Why? He had once met the Dean in a London drawing-room, when my grandfather was a young 5 spark at Christ Church, Oxford. He never tired of relating that interview. The hostess was a very great lady indeed, and actually stood waiting for a word with his Reverence, whose whim it was rather to talk to the young provincial. He was a forbidding figure, in his black gown and periwig, so my to grandfather said, with a piercing blue eye and shaggy brow. He made the mighty to come to him, while young Carvel stood between laughter and fear of the great lady’s displeasure. “IT knew of your father,” said the Dean, “before he went to the Colonies. He had done better at home, sir. He was a man 1s of parts.’ “He has done indifferently well in Maryland, sir,” said Mr. Carvel, making his bow. " He hath gained wealth, forsooth,” says the Dean, wrath- fully, “‘and might have had both wealth-and fame had his 20 love for King “James not turned his head. I have heard much of the Col onies, and have read that doggerel ‘Sot Weed Factor’ which tells of the gluttonous life of ease you lead in your own province. You can have no men of mark from such conditions, Mr. Carvel. Tell me,’ > he adds con-2s temptuously, “is genius honoured among your” “Faith, it is honoured, your Reverence,” said my grand- father, “but never encouraged.” This answer so pleased the Dean that he bade Mr. Carvel dine with him next day at Button’s Coffee House, where they 30 drank mulled wine and old sack, for which young Mr. Carvel paid. On which occasion his Reverence endeavoured to per- suade the young man to remain in England, and even went so far as to promise his influence to obtain him preferment. But Mr. Carvel chose rather (wisely or not, who can judge?) to3s come back to Carvel Hall and to the lands of which he was to be master, and to play the country squire and provincial 4 RICHARD CARVEL magnate rather than follow the varying fortunes of a political party at home. And he was a man much looked up to in the province before the Revolution, and sat at the council board of his Excellency the Governor, as his father had done before shim, and represented the crown in more matters than one when the French and savages were upon our frontiers. Although a lover of good cheer, Mr. Carvel was never intem- perate. ‘To the end of his days he enjoyed his bottle after dinner, nay, could scarce get along without it; and mixed a_ ro punch or a posset as well as any in our colony. He chose a good London-brewed ale or porter, and his ships brought Madeira from that island by the pipe, and sack from Spain” and Portugal, and red wine from France when there was peace. And puncheons of rum from Jamaica and the Indies” 1s for his people, holding that no gentleman ever drank rum in the raw, though fairly supportable as punch. Mr. Carvel’s house stands in Marlborough Street, a in mansion enough. Praised be Heaven that those who inherit ita are not obliged to live there on the memory of what was in_ 20 days gone by. The heavy green shutters are closed; the high | steps, “though stoutly built, are shaky after these years of dis- use; the host of faithful servants who kept its state are nearly all laid side by side at Carvel Hall. Harvey and Chess and - Scipio are no more. The kitchen, whither a boyish hunger oft 25 directed my eyes at twilight, shines not with the welcoming | gleam of yore. Chess no longer prepares the dainties which) astonished Mr. Carvel’s guests, and which he alone could cook. The coach still stands in the stables where Harvey left it, a lumbering relic of those lumbering times when methinks there 30 Was more of good will and less of haste in the world. The great brass knocker, once resplendent from Scipio's careful hand, no longer fantastically reflects the guest as he beats his” tattoo, and Mr. Peale’s portrait of my ‘erandfather 3 is gone from the dining-room wall, adorning, as you know, our own, 35 drawing-room at Calvert re See C I shut my eyes, and there comes to me unbidden thatdining room in Marlborough Street of a gray winter's afternoon, when’ LIONEL CARVEL OF CARVEL HALL 5 I was but a lad. I see my dear grandfather in his wig and silver-laced waistcoat and his blue velvet coat, seated at the head of the table, and the precise Scipio has put down the dumb-waiter filled with shining cut-glass at his left hand, and his wine chest at his right, and with solemn pomp driven his 5 black assistants from the room. Scipio was Mr. Carvel’s but- ler. He was forbid to light the candles after dinner. As dark grew on, Mr. Carvel liked the blazing logs for light, and pres- ently sets the decanter on the corner of the table and draws nearer the fire, his guests following. I recall well how jolly ro Governor Sharpe, who was a frequent visitor with us, was wont to display a comely calf in silk stocking; and how Cap- tain Daniel Clapsaddle would spread his feet with his toes out, and settle his long pipe between his teeth. And there were besides a host of others who sat at that fire whose names have :; passed into Maryland’s history,—Whig and Tory alike. And I remember a tall slip of a lad who sat listening by the deep- recessed windows on the street, which somehow are always covered in these pictures with a fine rain. Then a coach passes,—a mahogany coach emblazoned with the Manners’s 2, coat of arms, and Mistress Dorothy and her mother within. And my young lady gives me one of those demure bows which ever set my heart agoing like a smith’s hammer of a Monday. —— CHAPTER II SOME MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD A TRAVELLER who has all but gained the last height of the ereat mist-covered mountain looks back over the painful crags he has mastered to where a light is shining on the first easy slope. That light is ever visible, for it is Youth. s After nigh fourscore and ten years of life that Youth ts nearer to me now than many things which befell me later. I recall as yesterday the day Captain Clapsaddle rode to the Hall, his horse covered with sweat, and the reluctant tidings of Captain Jack Carvel’s death on his lips. And strangely enough ro that day sticks in my memory as of delight rather than sad- ness. When my poor mother had gone up the stairs on my erandfather’s arm the strong soldier took me on his knee, and drawing his pistol from his holster bade me snap the lock, which I was barely able to do. And he told me wonderful 15 tales of the woods beyond the mountains, and of the painted men who tracked them; much wilder and fiercer they were than those stray Nanticokes I had seen from time to time near Carvel Hall. And when at last he would go I clung to him, so he swung me to the back of his great horse Ronald, and I 20 seized the bridle in my small hands. The noble beast, like his master, loved a child well, and he cantered off lightly at the captain’s whistle, who cried “bravo” and ran by my side lest I should fall. Lifting me of at length he kissed me and bade me not to annoy my mother, the tears in his eyes again, 25 And leaning on Ronald was away for the ferry with never so much as a look behind, leaving me standing in the road. 4 And from that time I saw more of him and loved him better than any man save my grandfather. He gave me a pony of my next birthday, and a little hogskin saddle made ee 6 SOME MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD 4 by Master Wythe, the London saddler in the town, with a silver-mounted bridle. Indeed, rarely did the captain return from one of his long journeys without something for me and a handsome present for my mother. Mr. Carvel would have had him make his home with us when we were in town, but this he 5 would not do. He lodged in Church Street, over against the Coffee House, dining at that hostelry when not bidden out, or when not with us. He was much sought after. I believe there was scarce a man of note in any of the colonies not num- bered among his friends. *[was said he loved my mother, 10 and could never come to care for any other woman, and he promised my father in the forests to look after her welfare and mine.. [his promise, you shall see, he faithfully kept. Though you have often heard from my lips the story of my mother, I must, for the sake of those who are to come after is you, set it down here as briefly as I may. My grandfather’s bark Charming Sally, Captain Stanwix, having set out from Bristol on the 15th of April, 1736, with a fair wind astern and a full cargo of English goods below, near the Madeiras fell in with foul weather, which increased as she entered the trades. 20 Captain Stanwix being a prudent man, shortened sail, know- ing the harbour of Funchal to be but a shallow bight in the rock, and worse than the open sea in a southeaster. The third day he hove the Sally to; being a stout craft and not overladen she weathered the gale with the loss of a jib, and was about 25 making topsails again when a full-rigged ship was descried in the ofiing giving signals of distress. Night was coming on very fast, and the sea was yet running too high for a boat to live, but the gallant captain furled his topsails once more to await the morning. It could be seen from her signals that the 30 ship was living throughout the night, but at dawn she foun- dered before the Saily’s boats could be put in the water; one of them was ground to pieces on the falls. Out of the ship’s company and passengers they picked up but five souls, four sailors and a little girl of two years or thereabouts. The men 35 snew nothing more of her than that she had come aboard at Brest with her mother, a quiet, delicate lady who spoke little 8 RICHARD CARVEL with the other passengers. The ship was La Favourite du Roy, bound for the French Indies. Captain Stanwix’s wife, who was a good, motherly person, took charge of the little orphan, and arriving at Carvel Hall 5 delivered her to my grandfather, who brought her up as his” own daughter. You may be sure the emblem of Catholicism found upon her was destroyed, and she was baptized straight- way by Doctor Hilliard, my grandfather’s chaplain, into the Established Church. Her clothes were of the finest quality, ro and her little handkerchief had worked into the corner of it a coronet, with the initials ““E de IT” beside it. Around her neck was that locket with the gold chain which I have so often shown you, on one side of which is the miniature of the young officer in his most Christian Majesty’s uniform, and on the 15 other a yellow-faded slip of paper with these words: “ Elle est la mienne, quoiqu elle ne porte pas mon nom.” “She is mine, although she does not bear my name.” My grandfather wrote to the owners of La Favourite du Roy and likewise directed his English agent to spare nothing 20 in the search for some clew to the child’s identity. All that he found was that the mother had been entered on the passenger- list as Madame la Farge, ‘of Paris, and was bound for Marti- nico. Of the father there was no trace whatever. The name “la Farge” the agent, Mr. Dix, knew almost to a certainty was 25 assumed, and the coronet on the handkerchief implied that the child was of noble parentage. The meaning conveyed by the paper in the locket, which was plainly a clipping from a letter, was such that Mr. Carvel never showed it to my mother, and would have destroyed it had he not felt that some day it 30 might aid in solving the mystery. So he kept it in his strong: box, where he thought it safe from prying eyes. But my Uncle Grafton, ever a deceitful lad, at length discovered the key and read the paper, and afterwards used the knowledge he thus obtained as a reproach and a taunt against my mother. I can; 35 not even now write his name without repulsion. | This new member of the household was renamed Elizabeth Carvel, though they called her Bess, and of course she was SOME MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD 9 greatly petted and spoiled, and ruled all those about her. As she grew from childhood to womanhood her beauty became talked about, and afterwards, when Mistress Carvel went to the Assembly, a dozen young sparks would crowd about the door of her coach, and older and more serious men lost their s heads on her account. Her devotion to Mr. Carvel was such, however, that she seemed to care but little for the attention she received, and she continued to grace his board and entertain his com- pany. He fairly worshipped her. It was his delight to sur- 10 prise her with presents from England, with mch silks and brocades for gowns, for he loved to see her bravely dressed. The spinet he gave her, mlaid with ivory, we have still. And he caused a chariot to be made for her in London, and she had her own horses and her groom in the Carvel livery. rs People said it was but natural that she should fall in love with Captain Jack, my father. He was the soldier of the family, tall and straight and dashing. He differed from his younger brother Grafton as day from night. Captain Jack Was open and generous, though a little given to rash enterprise 20 and madcap adventure. He loved my mother from a child. His friend Captain Clapsaddle loved. her too, and likewise Grafton, but it soon became evident that she would marry Captain Jack or nobody. He was my grandfather’s favourite, and though Mr. Carvel had wished him more serious, his joy 25 when Bess blushingly told him the news was a pleasure to see. And Grafton turned to revenge; he went to Mr. Carvel with the paper he had taken from the strong-box and claimed that my mother was of spurious birth and not fit to marry a Carvel. He afterwards spread the story secretly among the friends of 30 the family. By good fortune little harm arose therefrom, since all who knew my mother loved her, and were willing to give her credit for the doubt; many, indeed, thought the story sprang from Grafton’s jealousy and hatred. Then it was that Mr. Carvel gave to Grafton the estate in Kent County 35 and bade him shift for himself, saying that he washed his hands of a son who had acted such a part. 10 ) RICHARD CARVEL But Captain Clapsaddle came to the wedding in the long drawing-room at the Hall and stood by Captain Jack when he was married, and kissed the bride heartily. And my mother cried about this afterwards, and said that it grieved her sorely 5 that she should have given pain to such a noble man. After the blow which left her a widow, she continued to _ keep Mr. Carvel’s home. I recall her well, chiefly as a sad and beautiful woman, stately save when she kissed me with passion and said that I bore my father’s look. She drooped like the 10 flower she was, and one spring day my grandfather led me to receive her blessing and to be folded for the last time in those dear arms. With a smile on her lips she rose to heaven to meet my father. And she lies buried with the rest of the Carvels at the Hall, next to the brave captain, her husband. 13 And so I grew up with my grandfather, spending the win= ters in town and the long summers on the Eastern Shore. I loved the country best, and the old house with its hundred feet of front standing on the gentle slope rising from the river’s mouth, the green vines Mr. Carvel had fetched from England 20 all but hiding the brick, and climbing to the angled roof; and the velvet green lawn of silvery grass brought from England, descending gently terrace by terrace to the waterside, where lay our pungies and barges. There was then a tiny pillared porch framing the front door, for our ancestors never could be 25 got to realize the Maryland climate, and would rarely build themselves wide verandas suitable to that colony. At Carvel Hall we had, to be sure, the cool spring-house under the wil- lows for sultry days, with its pool dished out for bathing; and a,trellised arbour, and octagonal summer-house with seats 30 Where my mother was wont to sit sewing while my grandfather dreamed over his pipe. On the lawn stood the oaks and wal- nuts and sycamores which still cast their shade over it, and under them of a summer’s evening Mr. Carvel would have his tea alone; save oftentimes when a barge would come swinging 35 up the river with ten velvet-capped blacks at the oars, and one of our friendly neighbours—Mr. Lloyd or Mr. Bordley, or perchance little Mr. Manners—would stop for a long evening SOME MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD II with him. They seldom came without their ladies and chil- dren. What romps we youngsters had about the old place whilst our elders talked their politics. In childhood the season which delighted me the most was spring. I would count the days until St. Taminas, which, as you know, falls on the first of May. And the old custom was for the young men to deck themselves out as Indian bucks and sweep down on the festivities around the Maypole on the town green, or at night to surprise the guests at a ball and force the gentlemen to pay down a shilling, and sometimes a crown apiece, and the host to give them a bowl of punch. Then came June. My grandfather celebrated his Majesty’s birthday in his own jolly fashion, and I had my own birthday party on the tenth. And on the fifteenth, unless it chanced upon a Sunday, my grandfather never failed to embark in his pinnace at the Annapolis dock for the Hall. Once seated in the stern be- tween Mr. Carvel’s knees, what rapture when at last we shot out into the blue waters of the bay and I thought of the long summer of joy before me. Scipio was generalissimo of these arrangements, and was always at the dock punctually at ten to hand my grandfather in, a ceremony in which he took great pride, and to look his disapproval should we be late. As he ‘turned over the key of the town house he would walk away with a stern dignity to marshal the other servants in the horse-boat. — One fifteenth of June two children sat with bated breath in the pinnace,—Dorothy Manners and myself. Mistress Dolly was then as mischievous a little baggage as ever she proved afterwards. She was coming to pass a week at the Hall, her parents, whose place was next to ours, having gone to Philadelphia on a visit. We rounded Kent Island, which lay green and beautiful in the flashing waters, and at length caught sight of the old windmill, with its great arms majesti- cally turning, and the cupola of Carvel House shining white among the trees; and of the upper spars of the shipping, with sails neatly furled, lying at the long wharves, where the Eng- lish wares Mr. Carvel had commanded for the return trips 5 25 30 35 12 RICHARD CARVEL ll were unloading. Scarce was the pinnace brought into the wind before I had leaped ashore and greeted with a shout the. Hall servants drawn up in a line on the green, grinning a wel- come. Dorothy and I scampered over the grass and into the scool, wide house, resting awhile on the easy sloping steps within, hand in hand. And then away for that grand tour of inspection we had been so long planning together. How well I recall that sunny afternoon, ‘when the shadows of the great oaks were just beginning to lengthen. Through the green- ro houses we marched, monarchs of all we surveyed, old Por-= phery, the gardener, presenting Mistress Dolly with a crown of orange blossoms, for which she thanked him with a pretty curtesy her governess had taught her. Were we not king and queen returned to our summer palace? And Spot and Silver z5 and Song and Knipe, the wolf-hound, were our train, though not as decorous as rigid etiquette demanded, since they were forever running after the butterflies. On we went through the stiff, box-bordered walks of the garden, past the weather- beaten sundial and the spinning-house and the smoke-house 20 to the stables. Here old Harvey, who had taught me to ride Captain Daniel’s pony, is equerry, and young Harvey our per- sonal attendant; old Harvey smiles as we go in and out of the stalls rubbing the noses of our trusted friends, and gives a gruff but kindly warning as to Cassandra’s heels. He recalls 2s my father at the same age. Jonas Tree, the carpenter, sits sunning himself on his bench before the shop, but mysteriously disappears when he sees us, and returns presently with a little ship he has fashioned for me that winter, all complete with spars and sails, for Jonas 30 was a shipwright on the Severn in the old country before he came as a king’s passenger to the new. Dolly and I are off directly to the backwaters of the river, where the new boat is, launched with due ceremony as the Conqueror, his Majesty’s. latest ship-of-the-line. Jonas himself trims her sails, and she 3s sets off right gallantly across the shallows, heeling to the breeze for all the world like a real man-o’-war. Then the King would fain cruise at once against the French, but Queen Doro- ; SOME MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD 13 thy must needs go with him. His Majesty points out that when fighting is to be done, a ship of war is no place for a woman, whereat her Majesty stamps her little foot and throws her crown of orange blossoms from her, and starts off for the milk-house in high dudgeon, vowing she will play no more. s And it ends as it ever will end, be the children young or old, for the French pass from his Majesty’s mind and he runs after his consort to implore forgiveness, leaving poor Jonas to take care of the Conqueror. How short those summer days! All too short for the girl 10 and boy who had so much to do in them. ‘The sun rising over the forest often found us peeping through the blinds, and when he sank into the bay at night we were still running, tired but happy, and begging patient Hester for half an hour more. **Lawd, Marse Dick,” I can hear her say, “you an’ Miss rs Dolly’s been on yo feet since de dawn. And so’s I, honey.” And so we had. We would spend whole days on the wharves, all bustle and excitement, sometimes seated on the capstan of the Sprightly Bess or-perched in the nettings of the Oriole, of which ship old Stanwix was now captain. He had grown gray 20 in Mr. Carvel’s service, and good Mrs. Stanwix was long since dead. Often we would mount together on the little horse Captain Daniel had given me, Dorothy on a pillion behind, to go with my grandfather to inspect the farm. Mr. Starkie, ‘the overseer, would ride beside us, his fowling-piece slung 25 over his shoulder and his holster on his hip; a kind man and capable, and unlike Mr. Evans, my Uncle Grafton’s over- seer, was seldom known to use his firearms or the rawhide slung across his saddle. ‘The negroes in their linsey-woolsey jackets and checked trousers would stand among the hills 30 grinning at us children as we passed; and there was not one of them, nor of the white servants for that matter, that I could not call by name. And all this time I was busily wooing Mistress Dolly; but she, little minx, would give me no satisfaction. I see her 35 standing among the strawberries, her black hair waving in the wind, and her red lips redder still from the stain, And the 14 RICHARD CARVEL sound of her childish voice comes back to me now after all these years. And this was my first proposal :— “Dorothy, when you grow up and I[ grow up, you will marry me, and I shall give you all these strawberries.” s ‘I will marry none but a soldier,” says she, “and a great man. “Then will I be a soldier,” I cried, ‘“‘and greater than the Governor himself.”” And I believed it. “Papa says I shall marry an earl,” retorts Dorothy, with a ro toss of her pretty head. “There are no earls among us,”’ I exclaimed hotly, for even then I had some of that sturdy republican spirit which pre- vailed among the younger generation. “Our earls are those who have made their own way, like my grandfather.” For I 1s had lately heard Captain Clapsaddle say this and much more on the subject. But Dorothy turned up her nose. “TI shall go home when I am eighteen,” she said, “and I shall meet his Majesty the King.” And to such an argument I found no logical answer. 2o Mr. Marmaduke Manners and his lady came to fetch Doro- thy home. He was a foppish little gentleman who thought more of the cut of his waistcoat than of the affairs of the province, and would rather have been bidden to lead the assembly ball than to sit in council with his Excellency the 2s Governor. My first recollection of him is of contempt. He must needs have his morning punch just so, and complained whiningly of Scipio if some perchance were spilled on the glass. He must needs be taken abroad in a chair when it rained. And though in the course of a summer he was often at 30 Carvel Hall he never tarried long, and came to see Mr. Car- vel’s guests rather than Mr. Carvel. He had little in common with my grandfather, whose chief business and pleasure was to promote industry on his farm. Mr. Marmaduke was wont to rise at noon, and knew not wheat from barley, or good leaf 3s from bad; his hands he kept like a lady’s, rendermg them almost useless by the long lace in the sleeves, and his chief pastime was cardplaying. It was but reasonable therefore, 7 SOME MEMORIES OF CHILDHOOD 15 when the troubles with the mother country began, that he chose the King’s side alike from indolence and contempt for things republican. Of Mrs. Manners I shall say more by and by. I took a mischievous delight in giving Mr. Manners every 5 annoyance my boyish fancy could conceive. The evening of his arrival he and Mr. Carvel set out for a stroll about the house, Mr. Marmaduke mincing his steps, for it had rained that morning. And presently they came upon the windmill with its long arms moving lazily in the light breeze, near 10 touching the ground as they passed, for the mill was built in the Dutch fashion. I know not what moved me, but hearing Mr. Manners carelessly humming a minuet while my grand- father explained the usefulness of the mill, I seized hold of one of the long arms as it swung by, and before the gentlemen rs could prevent was carried slowly upwards. Dorothy screamed, and her father stood stock still with amazement and fear, Mr. Carvel being the only one who kept his presence of mind. “Hold on tight, Richard!’ 1 heard him cry. It was dizzy riding, though the motion was not great, and before I had 20 reached the right angle I regretted my rashness. I caught a glimpse of the bay with the red sun on it, and as I turned saw far below me the white figure of Ivie Rawlinson, the Scotch miller, who had run out. “‘O haith!’’ he shouted. “‘ Haud fast, Mr. Richard!” And soI clung tightly and came down without 25 much inconvenience, though indifferently glad to feel the ground again. Mr. Marmaduke, as I expected, was in a great temper, and swore he had not had such a fright for years. He looked for Mr. Carvel to cane me stoutly. But Ivie laughed heartily, and 30 said: ““I wad ye’ll gang far for anither laddie wi’ the spunk, Mr. Manners,” and with a sly look at my grandfather, ‘‘Ilka day we hae some sic whigmeleery.”’ I think Mr. Carvel was not ill pleased with the feat, or with Mr. Marmaduke’s way of taking it. For afterwards I over- 3s heard him telling the story to Colonel Lloyd, and both gentle- men laughing over Mr. Manners’ discomfture. CHAPTER III CAUGHT BY THE TIDE Ir is a nigh impossible task on the memory to trace those influences by which a lad is led to form his life’s opinions, and for my part I hold that such things are bred into the bone, and that events only serve to strengthen them. In this way sonly can I account for my bitterness, at a very early age, against that King whom my seeming environment should have made me love. For my grandfather was as stanch a royalist as ever held a cup to majesty’s health. And children are most apt before they can reason for themselves to take the note ro from those of their elders who surround them. It is true that many of Mr. Carvel’s guests were of the opposite persuasion from him: Mr. Chase and Mr. Carroll, Mr. Lloyd and Mr. Bordley, and many others, including our friend Captain Clap- saddle. And these gentlemen were frequently in argument, zs but political discussion is Greek to a lad. Mr. Carvel, as I have said, was most of his life a member of the Council, a man from whom both Governor Sharpe and Governor Eden were glad to take advice because of his tem- perate judgment and deep knowledge of the people of the 20 province. At times, when his Council was scattered, Gov- ernor Sharpe would consult Mr. Carvel alone, and often have I known my grandfather to embark in haste from the Hall in response to a call from his Excellency. *Twas in the latter part of August, in the year 1765, made 25 memorable by the Stamp Act, that | first came in touch with the deep-set feelings of the times then beginning, and I count from that year the awakening of the sympathy which deter- mined by career. One sultry day I was wading in the shal- lows after crabs, when the Governor’s messenger came drifting 16 CAUGHT BY THE TIDE oy in, all impatience at the lack of wind. He ran to the house to seek Mr. Carvel, and | after him, with all a boy’s curiosity, as fast as my small legs would carry me. My grandfather hur- ried out to order his barge to be got ready at once, so that I knew something important was at hand. At first he refused 5 me permission to go, but afterwards relented, and about eleven in the morning we pulled away strongly, the ten blacks bend- ing to the oars as if their lives were at stake. A wind arose before we sighted Greensbury Point, and I saw a bark sailing in, but thought nothing of this until Mr. Carvel, 10 who had been silent and preoccupied, called for his glass and swept her decks. She soon shortened sail, and went so lei- surely that presently our light barge drew alongside, and I perceived Mr. Zachariah Hood, a merchant of the town, re- turning from London, hanging over her rail. Mr. Hood was 1s very pale in spite of his onl voyage; he flung up his cap at our boat, but Mr. Carvel’s salute in return was colder than he looked for. As we came in view of the dock, a fine rain was setting in, and to my astonishment I beheld such a mass of people assembled as I had never seen, and scarce standing- 20 room on the wharves. We were to have gone to the Governor's wharf in the Severn, but my erandfather changed his inten- tion at once. Many of the crowd greeted him as we drew near them, and, having landed, respectfully made room for him to pass through. I followed him a-tremble with excitement and 25 delight over such an unwonted experience. We had barely gone ten paces, however, before Mr. Carvel stopped abreast of Mr. Claude, mine host of the Coffee House, who cried:— “Hast seen his Majesty’s newest representative, Mr. Car- vel?” 30 “Mr. Hood is on board the bark, sir,” replied my grand- father. “I take it you mean Mr. Hood.” “Ay, that I do; Mr. Zachariah Hood, come to lick stamps for his brother-colonists.” “After licking his Majesty’s boots,” says a wag near by, 35 which brings a laugh from those about us. I remembered that I had heard some talk as to how Mr. Hocd had sought and 18 RICHARD CARVEL obtained from King George the office of Stamp Distributor for the province. Now, my grandfather, God rest him! was as doughty an old gentleman as might well be, and would not listen without protest to remarks which bordered sedition. He s had little fear of things below, and none of a mob. “My masters,’ he shouted, with a flourish of his stick, so stoutly that people fell back from him, “know that ye are © met against the law, and endanger the peace of his Lordship’s © government.” | to ‘Good enough, Mr. Carvel,” said Claude, who seemed to be the spokesman. “But how if we are stamped against law and ~ his Lordship’s government? How then, sir? Your honour well knows we have naught against either, and are as peaceful © a mob as ever assembled.” 15 This brought on a great laugh, and they shouted from all sides, ““How then, Mr. Carvel?” And my grandfather, per | ceiving that he would lose dignity by argument, and having” done his duty by a protest, was wisely content with that. They opened wider the lane for him to pass through, and he 20 made his way, erect and somewhat defiant, to Mr. Pryse’ s, the coachmaker opposite, holding me by the hand. The second — storey of Pryse’s shop had a little balcony standing out in~ front, and here we established ourselves, that we might watch what was going forward. 3 25 Lhe crowd below grew strangely silent as the bark ee nearer and nearer, until Mr. Hood showed himself on the) poop, when there rose a storm of hisses, mingled with shouts of derision. “‘How goes it at St. James, Mr. Hood?” and “Have you tasted his Majesty’s barley?’ And some asked 30 him if he was come as their member of Parliament. Mr. Hood dropped a bow, though what he said was drowned. The bark came in prettily enough, men in the crowd even catching her lines and making them fast to the piles. A gangplank vad thrown over. “‘Come out, Mr. Hood,” they cried; ““ we ar 3s here to do you honour, and to welcome you home again. * There were leather breeches with staves a- -plenty around that plank, and faces that meant no trifling. “‘McNeir, the rogue, Ce a er ae CAUGHT BY’ THE ‘TIDE | 19 -exclaimed Mr. Carvel, “‘and that hulk of a tanner, Brown. And I would know those smith’s shoulders in a thousand.” “Right, sir,” says Pryse, “and ’twill serve them proper when the King’s troops come among them for quartering.’’ The ‘gentry being Pryse’s patrons, he shaped his politics according to the company he was in: he could ill be expected to seize one of his own ash spokes and join the resistance. Just then I caught a glimpse of Captain Clapsaddle on the skirts of the crowd, and with him Mr. Swain and some of the dissenting gentry. And my boyish wrath burst forth against that man 10 ‘smirking and smiling on the decks of the bark, so that I shouted shrilly: “‘Mr. Hood will be cudgelled and tarred as he deserves,”’ and shook my little fist at him, so that many under us laughed and cheered me. Mr. Carvel pushed me back into the window and out of their sight. 15 The crew of the bark had assembled on the quarter-deck, stout English tars every man of them, armed with pikes and belaying-pins; and at a word from the mate they rushed in a body over the plank. Some were thrust off into the water, but so fierce was their onset that others gained the wharf, 20 laying sharply about them in all directions, but getting full as many knocks as they gave. For a space there was a very bedlam of cries and broken heads, those behind in the mob surging forward to reach the scrimmage, forcing their own comrades over the edge. McNeir had his thigh broken by a 25 pike, and was dragged back after the first rush was over; and the mate of the bark was near to drowning, being rescued, indeed, by Graham, the tanner. Mr. Hood stood white in the gangway, dodging a missile now and then, waiting his chance, which never came. For many of the sailors were captured 30 and carried bodily to the “ Rose and Crown” and the “Three Blue Balls,” where they became properly drunk on Jamaica rum; others made good their escape on board. And at length the bark cast off again, amidst jeers and threats, and one-third of her crew missing, and drifted slowly back to the roads. 35 From the dock, after all was quiet, Mr. Carvel stepped into his barge and rowed to the Governor’s, whose house was ‘ wn 20 RICHARD CARVEL prettily situated near Hanover Street, with ground running down to the Severn. His Excellency appeared much relieved to see my grandfather; Mr. Daniel Dulany was with him, and _ the three gentlemen at once repaired to the Governor’s writ- s ing-closet for consultation. Mr. Carvel’s town house being closed, we stopped with his Excellency. There were, indeed, scarce any of the gentry in town at that season save a few of the Whig persuasion. Ex- citement ran very high; farmers flocked in every day from the © ro country round about to take part in the demonstration against the Act. Mr. Hood’s storehouse was burned to the ground. Mr. Hood getting ashore by stealth, came, however, unmo- lested to Annapolis and offered at a low price the goods he had brought out in the bark, thinking thus to propitiate his” zsenemies. This step but inflamed them the more. My grandfather having much business to look to, I was left to my own devices, and the devices of an impetuous lad of twelve are not always such as his elders would chose for him. I was continually burning with a desire to see what was pro-. 20 ceeding in the town, and, hearing one day a great clamour and tolling of bells, I ran out of the Governor’s gate and down Northwest Street to the Circle, where a strange sight met” my eyes. A crowd like that I had seen on the dock had col- lected there, Mr. Swain and Mr. Hammond and other bar-_ as risters holding them in check. Mounted on a one-horse cart was a stuffed figure of the detested Mr. Hood. Mr. Ham-— mond made a speech, but for the laughter and cheering I could” not catch a word of it. I pushed through the people, as a boy will, diving between legs to get a better view, when I felt a 30 hand upon my shoulder, bringing me up suddenly. And I recognized Mr. Matthias Tilghman, and with him was Mr. Samuel Chase. “Does your grandfather know you are here, lad?” said Mr. Tilghman. 35 1 paused a moment for breath before I answered: “‘He attended the rally at the dock himself, sir, and | believe | enjoyed it.’ CAUGHT BY THE TIDE 21 Both gentlemen smiled, and Mr. Chase remarked that, if all the other party were like Mr. Carvel, troubles would soon cease. “I mean not Grafton,” says he, with a wink at Mr. Tilghman. “Tl warrant, Richard, your uncle would be but ill pleased to see you in such company.” “Nay, sir,” I replied, for I never feared to speak up, “there are you wrong. | think it would please my uncle mightily.” “The lad hath indifferent penetration,” said Mr. Tilghman, laughing, and adding more soberly: “If you never do worse than this, Richard, Maryland may some day be proud of you.” Mr. Hammond having finished his speech, a paper was placed in the hand of the effigy, and the crowd bore it shout- ing and singing to the hill, where Mr. John Shaw, the city carpenter, had made a gibbet. There nine and thirty lashes were bestowed on the unfortunate image, the people crying out that this was the Mosaic Law. And I cried as loud as any, though I knew not the meaning of the words. They hung Mr. Hood to the gibbet and set fire to a tar barrel under him, and so left him. The town wore a holiday look that day, and I was loth to go back to the Governor’s house. Good patriots’ shops were closed, their owners parading as on Sunday in their best, pausing in knots at every corner to discuss the affair with which the town simmered. | encountered old Farris, the clockmaker, in his brown coat besprinkled behind with pow- der from his queue. “‘How now, Master Richard?’ says he, merrily. “This is no place for young gentlemen of your per- suasion.” Next I came upon young Dr. Courtenay, the wit of the T5 20 25 Tuesday Club, of whom I shall have more to say hereafter. 30 He was taking the air with Mr. James Fotheringay, Will’s eldest brother, but lately back from Oxford and the Temple. The doctor wore five-pound ruffles and a ten-pound wig, was dressed in cherry silk, and carried a long, clouded cane. His hat had the latest cock, for he was our macaroni of Annapolis. “Egad, Richard,” he cries, “you are the only other loyalist I have seen abroad to-day.” 35 22 RICHARD CARVEL I remember swelling with indignation at the affront. “I call them Tories, sir,” I flashed back, “‘and I am none such.” “No Tory!” says he, nudging Mr. Fotheringay, who was with him; ‘‘I had as lief believe your grandfather hated King 5 George.” I astonished them both by retorting that Mr. Carvel ~ might think as he pleased, that being every man’s right; but that I chose to be a Whig. “I would tell you as a friend, young man,” replied the doctor, “that thy politics are not over politic.” And they left me puzzling, laughing with much rorelish over some catch in the doctor’s words. As for me, I could perceive no humour in them. It was now near six of the clock, but instead of going direct to the Governor’s I made my way down Church Street toward — the water. Near the dock I saw many people gathered in the 15 street in front of the ‘‘Ship” tavern, a time-honoured resort much patronized by sailors. My curiosity led me to halt there also. The “Ship” had stood in that place nigh on to three-score years, it was said. Its latticed windows were swung open, and from within came snatches of “Tom Bow- 20 ling,” “Rule Britannia,” and many songs scarce fit for a child to hear. Now and anon some one in the street would throw back a taunt to these British sentiments, which went unheeded. “They be drunk as lords,”’ said Weld, the butcher’s — apprentice, “and when they comes out we'll hev more than 2s one broken head in this street.’ ‘The songs continuing, he cried again, “Come out, d—n ye.’ Weld had had more than his own portion of rum that day. Spying me seated on the gatepost opposite, he shouted: “So, ho, Master Carvel, the streets are not for his Majesty’s supporters to-day.” Other 3o artisans who were there bade him leave me in peace, saying that my grandfather was a good friend of the people. The matter might have ended there had I been older and wiser, but the excitement of the day had gone to my head like wine. ““T am as stout a patriot as you, Weld,” I shouted back, and 3s flushed at the cheering that followed. And Weld ran up to me, and though [| was a good piece of a lad, swung me lightly onto his shoulder. “Harkee, Master Richard,” he said, “I . CAMGEET AD Yak AIDE | 23 can get nothing out of the poltroons by shouting. Do you go in and say that Weld will fight any mother’s son of them single- handed.” “For shame, to send a lad into a tavern,” said old Robbins, who had known my grandfather these many years. But thes desire for a row was so great among the rest that they silenced him. Weld set me down, and I, nothing loth, ran through the open door. I had never before been in the “Ship,” nor, indeed, in any tavern save that of Master Dingley, near Carvel Hall. «Bhe.zo “Ship” was a bare place enough, with low black beams and sanded floor, and rough tables and chairsset-about.. On that September evening it was stifling hot; and the odours from the men, and the spilled rum and tobacco smoke, well-nigh over- powered me. The room was filled with a motley gang of1s sailors, mostly from the bark Mr. Hood had come on, and some from H.M.S. Hawk, then lying in the harbour. A strapping man-o’-war’s-man sat near the door, his jacket thrown open and his great chest bared, and when he perceived me he was In the act of proposing a catch;’ twas “The Great 20 Bell o’ Lincoln,” I believe; and he held a brimming cup of bumbo in his hand. In his surprise he set it aw ‘kwardly down again, thereby spilling full half of it. “ Avast,” says he, with an oath, “what’s this come among us?” and he looked me over wath a comical eye. ““A d— Ri provincial,” he went on 2s scornfully, “but a gentleman’s son, or Jack Ball’s a liar.” Whereupon his companions rose from their seats and crowded round me. More than one reeled against me. And though I was somewhat awed by the strangeness of that dark, ill- smelling room, and by the rough company in which I found 30 myself, I held my ground, and spoke up as strongly as I might. “Weld, the butcher’s apprentice, bids me say he will fight any man among you single-handed.” “So, ho, my little gamecock, my little schooner with a 35 swivel,” said he who had called himself Jack Ball, ‘“‘and where can this valiant butcher be found?” 24 RICHARD CARVEL ‘He waits in the street,’ J answered more boldly. “Split me fore and aft if he waits long,” said Jack, draining the rest of his rum. And picking me up as easily as did Weld he rushed out of the door, and after him as many of his mates sas could walk or stagger thither. In the meantime the news had got abroad im the street that the butcher’s apprentice was to fight one of the Hawk’s men, and when I emerged from the tavern the crowd had doubled, and people were running hither in all haste from both direc- retions. But that fight was never to be. Big Jack Ball had scarce set me down and shouted a loud defiance, shaking his fist at Weld, who stood out opposite, when a soldierly man on a great horse turned the corner and wheeled between the com- batants. I knew at a glance it was Captain Clapsaddle, and rs guiltily wished myself at the Governor’s. The townspeople knew him likewise, and many were slinking away even before he spoke, as his charger stood pawing the ground. What’ s this I hear, you villain,” said he to Weld, in his deep, ringing voice, “that you have not only provoked a row 20 with one of the King’s sailors, but have dared send a child into that tavern with your fool’s message?” Weld was awkward and sullen enough, and no words came to him. “Your tongue, you sot, ’* the captain went on, drawing his 25 sword in his anger, “‘is it true you have made use of a gen- tleman’s son for your low purposes?” But Weld was still silent, and not a sound came from either side until old Robbins spoke up. “There are many here can say I warned him, your honour,” 30 he said. “Warned him!” cried the captain. ‘Mr. Carvel has just given you twenty pounds for your wife, and you warned him!’ Robbins said no more; and the butcher’s apprentice, hang- 3s ing his head, as well he might before the captain, I was much moved to pity for him, seeing that my forwardness had in some sense led him on. CAUGHT BY THE TIDE 25 “*Twas in truth my fault, captain,” I cried out. The captain looked at me, and said nothing. After that the butcher made bold to take up his man’s defence. “Master Carvel was indeed somewhat to blame, sir,” said he, “and Weld is in liquor.” 5 “And I'll have him to pay for his drunkenness,” said Cap- tain Clapsaddle, hotly. ‘Get to your homes,” he criea. ‘Ye are a lot of idle hounds, who would make liberty the excuse for riot.””, He waved his sword at the pack of them, and they scattered like sheep until none but Weld was left. “And as 10 for you, Weld,” he continued, “‘you’ll rue this pretty business, or Daniel Clapsaddle never punished a cut-throat.’ And turning to Jack Ball, he bade him lift me to the saddle, and so I rode with him to the Governor’s without a word; for I knew better than to talk when he was in that mood. 15 The captain was made to tarry and sup with his Excellency and my grandfather, and | sat perforce a fourth at the table, scarce daring to conjecture as to the outcome of my escapade. But as luck would have it, the Governor had been that day in such worry and perplexity, and my grandfather also, that my 20 absence had passed unnoticed. Nor did my good friend the captain utter'a word to them of what he knew. But after- wards he called me to him and set me upon his knee. How big, and kind, and strong he was, and how [I loved his bluff soldier’s face and blunt ways. And when at last he spoke, his 25 words burnt deep in my memory, so that even now I can repeat them. “Richard,” he said, “I perceive you are like your father. I love your spirit greatly, but you have been overrash to-day. Remember this, lad, that you are a gentleman, the son of the 30 bravest and truest gentleman I have ever known, save one; and he is destined to high things.” I know now that he spoke of Colonel Washington. “And that your mother,’— here his voice trembled,—* your mother was a lady, every inch of her, and too good for this world. Remember, and seek no 35 company, therefore, beyond that circle in which you were born. Fear not to be kind and generous, as I know you ever 26 RICHARD CARVEL will be, but choose not intimates from the tavern. > Here the captain cleared his throat, and seemed to seek for words. “‘I fear there are times coming, my lad,” he went on presently, ‘when every man must choose his side, and stand arrayed in s his own colours. It is not for me to shape your way of think- ing. Decide in your own mind that which is right, and when you have so decided,”—he drew his sword, as was his habit when greatly moved, and placed his broad hand upon my head,—*‘ know then that God is with you, and swerve not 10 from thy course the width of this blade for any man.’ We sat upon a little bench in the Governor’s garden, in front of us the wide Severn merging into the bay, and glowing like molten gold in the setting sun. And I was thrilled with a strange reverence such as I have sometimes since felt in rs the presence of heroes, CHARLIE Realy. GRAFTON WOULD HEAL AN OLD BREACH Doctor HIiLuiarp, my grandfather’s chaplain, was as holy a man as ever wore a gown, but I can remember none of his discourses which moved me as much by half as those simple words Captain Clapsaddle had used. The worthy doctor, who had baptized both my mother and father, died suddenly at 5 Carvel Hall the spring following, of a cold contracted while visiting a poor man who dwelt across the river. He would have lacked but three years of fourscore come Whitsuntide. He was universally loved and respected in that district where he had lived so long and ably, by rich and poor alike, and 10 those of many creeds saw him to his last resting-place. Mr. Carroll, of Carrollton, who was an ardent Catholic, stood bareheaded beside the grave. Doctor Hilliard was indeed a beacon in a time when his pro- fession among us was all but darkness, and when many of the 15 scandals of the community might be laid at the door of those whose duty it was to prevent them. The fault lay without doubt in his Lordship’s charter, which gave to the parish- ioners no voice in the choosing of their pastors. This matter was left to Lord Baltimore’s whim. Hence it was that he zo sent among us so many fox-hunting and gaming parsons who read the service ill and preached drowsy and illiterate ser- mons. Gaming and fox-hunting, did I say? These are but charitable words to cover the real characters of those imposters in holy orders, whose doings would often bring the blush of 25 shame to your cheeks. Nay, I have seen a clergyman drunk in the pulpit, and even in those freer days their laxity and immorality were such that many flocked to hear the parsons of the Methodists and Lutherans, whose simple and eloquent 27 i Hise RICHARD CARVEL | words and simpler lives were worthy of their cloth. Small wonder was it, when every strolling adventurer and soldier out of employment took orders and found favour in his Lord-' ship’s eyes, and were given the fattest livings in place of s worthier men, that the Established Church fell somewhat into disrepute. Far be it from me to say that there were not good men and true in that Church, but the wag who writ this verse, which became a common saying in Maryland, was not far wrong for the great body of them:— 10 “Who is a monster of the first renown? A lettered sot, a drunkard in a gown.” My grandfather did not replace Dr. Hilliard at the Hall, afterwards saying the prayers himself. The doctor had been my tutor, and in spite of my waywardness and lack of love for rs the classics had taught me no little Latin and Greek, and early instilled into my mind those principles necessary for the soul’s - salvation. I have often thought with regret on the pranks | played him. More than once at lesson-time have I gone off - with Hugo and young Harvey for a rabbit hunt, stealing two 20 dogs from ‘the pack, and thus committing a double offence. You may be sure I was well thrashed by Mr. Carvel, who thought the more of the latter misdoing, though obliged to emphasize the former. The doctor would never raise his hand against me. His study, where I recited my daily tasks, was 25 that small sunny room on the water side of the east wing; and I well recall him as he sat behind his desk of a morning after prayers, his horn spectacles perched on his high nose and his quill over his ear, and his ink-powder and pewter stand beside him. His face would grow more serious as | scanned my Virgil 30 in a faltering voice, and as he descanted on a passage my eye would wander out over the green trees and fields to the glisten- ing water. What cared I for ‘““Arma virumque” at such a time? I was watching Nebo afishing beyond the point, and as he waded ashore the burden on his shoulders had a much 35 Keener interest for me than that A‘neas carried out of Troy. GRAFTON WOULD HEAL AN OLD BREACH 29 My Uncle Grafton came to Dr. Hilliard’s funeral, choosing this opportunity to become reconciled to my grandfather, who he feared had not much longer to live. Albeit Mr. Carvel was as stout and hale as ever. None of the mourners at the doctor’s grave showed more sorrow than did Grafton. As thousand remembrances of the good old man returned to him, and J heard him telling Mr. Carroll and some other gentlemen, with much emotion, how he had loved his reverend preceptor, from whom he had learned nothing but what was good. ‘‘How fortunate are you, Richard,” he once said, “‘to have had such a za spiritual and intellectual teacher in your youth. Would that Philip might have learned from such a one. And I[ trust you can say, my lad, that you have made the best of your advan- tages, though I fear you are of a wild nature, as your father was before you.” And my uncle sighed and crossed his hands rs behind his back. “’lis perhaps better that poor John is in his grave,” he said. Grafton had a word and a smile for everyone about the old place, but little else, being, as he said, but a younger son and a poor man. I was near to forgetting the shilling he gave Scipio. ~“lwas not so unostentatiously 20 done but that Mr. Carvel and [ marked it. And afterwards I made Scipio give me the coin, replacing it with another, and flung it as far into the river as ever I could throw. As was but proper to show his sorrow at the death of the old chaplain he had loved so much, Grafton came to the Hall 2s drest entirely in black. He would have had his lady and Philip, a lad near my own age, clad likewise in sombre colours. But my Aunt Caroline would none of them, holding it to be the right of her sex to dress as became its charms. Her silks and laces went but ill with the low estate my uncle claimed 30 for his purse, and Master Philip’s wardrobe was twice the size of mine. And the family travelled in a coach as grand as Mr. Carvel’s own, with panels wreathed in flowers and a foot- man and outrider in livery, from which my aunt descended like a duchess. She embraced my grandfather with much 35 warmth, and kissed me effusively on both cheeks. “And this is dear Richard?” she cried. “Philip, come at 30 RICHARD CARVEL | once and greet your cousin. He has not the look of the Car- vels,”’ she continued volubly, ‘but more resembles his mother, | as I recall her.” “Indeed, madam,” my grandfather answered somewhat tes- stily, “he has the Carvel nose and mouth, though his chin 1 is. more pronounced. He has Elizabeth’s eyes. But my aunt was a woman who flew from one subject to” another, and she had already ceased to think of me. She was” in the hall. ‘“‘The dear old home!” she cries, though she had ~ ro been in it but once before, regarding lovingly each object as | her eye rested upon it, nay, caressingly, when she came to the great punch-bowl and the carved mahogany dresser, and the Peter Lely over the broad fireplace. ‘“‘What memories they” must bring to your mind, my dear,” she remarks to her hus-_ 1s band. “’ Tis cruel, as I once said to dear papa, that we cannot always live under the old rafters we loved so well as children.” And the good lady brushes away a tear with her embroidered pocket-napkin. Tears that will come in spite of us all. But she brightens instantly and smiles at the line of servants drawn 20up to welcome them. “This is Scipio, my son, who was with your grandfather when your father was born, and before.” Master Philip nods graciously in response to Scipio’ s delighted bow. “And Harvey,” my aunt rattles on. “Have you any new mares to surprise us with this year, Harvey!” oe 25 not being as overcome with Mrs. Grafton’s condescension as was proper, she turns again to Mr. Carvel. “‘Ah, father, I see you are in sore need of a woman’s baad] about the old house. What a difference a touch makes, to be sure.” And she takes off her gloves and attacks the morning 3o room, setting an ornament here and another there, and draw- ing back for the effect. ‘Such a bachelor’s hall as you are keeping!’ “We still have Willis, Caroline,’ remonstrates my grand= father, gravely. “I have no fault to find with her housekeep- 35 ing.” ; f “Of course not, father; men never notice,” Aunt Caroline replies in an aggrieved tone. And when Willis herself comes GRAFTON WOULD HEAL AN OLD BREACH 31 in, auguring no good from this visit, my aunt gives her the tips of her fingers. And I imagine I see a spark fly between them. As for Grafton, he was more than willing to let bygones be bygones between his father and himself. Aunt Caroline said with feeling that Dr. Hilliard’s death was a blessing, after 5 all, since it brought a long-separated father and son together once more. Grafton had been misjudged and ill-used, and he called Heaven to witness that the quarrel had never been of his seeking,—a statement which Mr. Carvel was at no pains to prove perjury. How attentive was Mr. Grafton to his 10 father’s every want. He read his Gazette to him of a Thurs- day, though the old gentleman’s eyes are as good as ever. If Mr. Carvel walks out of an evening, Grafton’s arm is ever ready, and my uncle and his worthy lady are eager to take a hand at cards before supper. “Philip, my dear,” says my 1s aunt, “‘thy grandfather’s slippers,” or, ‘Philip, my love, thy grandfather’s hat and cane.” But it is plain that Master Philip has not been brought up to wait on his elders. He is curled with a novel in his grandfather’s easy chair by the window. “There is Dio, mamma, who has naught to do but 20 serve grandpapa,” says he, and gives a pull at the cord over his head which rings the bell about the servants’ ears in the hall below. And Dio, the whites of his eyes showing, comes running into the room. — “Tt 1s nothing, Diomedes,” says Mr. Carvel. ‘‘ Master 25 Philip will fetch what I need.” Master Philip’s papa and mamma stare at each other in a surprise mingled with no little alarm, Master Philip being to all appearances intent upon his book. “Philip,” says my grandfather, gently. I had more than 30 once heard him speak thus, and well knew what was coming. “Sir,” replies my cousin, without looking up. ‘Follow me, sir,” said Mr. Carvel, in a voice so different that Philip drops his book. They went up the stairs together, and what occurred there I leave to the imagination. But when next Philip was 35 bidden to do an errand for Mr. Carvel my grandfather said quietly: “‘I prefer that Richard should go, Caroline.” And 32 RICHARD CARVEL : though my aunt and uncle, much mortified, begged him to- give Philip another chance, he would never permit it. Nevertheless, a great effort was made to restore Philip to his grandfather’s good graces. At breakfast one morning, s after my aunt had poured Mr. Carvel’s tea and made her customary compliment to the blue and gold breakfast china, — my Uncle Grafton spoke up. “Now that Dr. Hilliard is gone, father, what do you pur-_ pose concerning Richard’s schooling?” 4 ro ‘“‘He shall go to King William’s school in the autumn,” | Mr. Carvel replied. “In the autumn!” cried my uncle. “I do not give Philip | even the short holiday of this visit. He has his Greek and his Virgil every day.” 1s ‘And can repeat the best passages,” my aunt chimes in. “Philip, my dear, recite that one your father so delights in.” However unwilling Master Philip had been to disturb him- self for errands, he was nothing loth to show his knowledge, and recited glibly enough several lines of his Virgil verbatim; 20 thereby pleasing his fond parents greatly and my grandfather not a little. . “1 will add a crown to your savings, Philip,” says his father. . . “And here is a pistole to spend as you will,” says Mr. Car- 25 vel, tossing him the piece. “Nay, father, | do not encourage the lad to be a spend- thrift,” says Grafton, taking the pistole himself. “I wil place this token of your appreciation in his strong-box. You baer we have a prodigal strain in the family, sir.” An 30 my uncle looks at me significantly. “Let it be as I say, Grafton,” persists Mr. Carvel, who liked not to be balked in any matter, and was not overpleased a this reference to my father. And he gave Philip forthwit another pistole, telling his father to add the first to his saving 35 if he would **And Richard must have his chance,” says my Aunt Car line, sweetly, as she rises to leave the room. GRAFTON WOULD HEAL AN OLD BREACH 33 “Ay, here is a crown for you, Richard,” says my uncle, smiling. “Let us hear your Latin, which should be purer than Philip’s.” My grandfather glanced uneasily at me across the table; he saw clearly the trick Grafton had played me, I think. But for 5 once | was equal to my uncle, and haply remembered a line Dr. Hilliard had expounded, which fitted the present case mar- vellously well. With little ceremony I tossed back the crown, and slowly repeated those words used to warn the Trojans against accepting the Grecian horse:— 10 “Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.” “Eegad,” cried Mr. Carvel, slapping his knee, “the lad hath beaten you on your own ground, Grafton.” And he laughed as my grandfather only could laugh, until the dishes rattled on the table. But my uncle thought it no matter for jesting. 15 _ Philtp was also well versed in politics for a lad of his age, and could discuss glibly the right of Parliament to tax the colonies. He denounced the seditious doings in Annapolis and Boston Town with an air of easy familiarity, for Philip had the memory of a parrot, and ’twas easy to perceive whence his 20 knowledge sprang. But when my fine master spoke dispar- agingly of the tradesmen as at the bottom of the trouble, my grandfather’s patience came to an end. _ “And what think you lies beneath the wealth and power of England, Philip?” he asked. 25 ;. Her nobility, sir, and the riches she draws from her colo- nies,” retorts Master Philip, readily enough. “Not so,” Mr. Carvel said gravely. “She owes her great- ness to her merchants, or tradesmen, as you choose to call them. And commerce must be at the backbone of every 30 great nation. Tradesmen!’ exclaimed my _ grandfather. “Where would any of us be were it not for trade? We sell our tobacco and our wheat, and get money in return. And your father makes a deal here and a deal there, and so gets _ tich in spite of his pittance.’ 35 My Uncle Grafton raised his hand to protest, but Mr. Car- vel continued :-— 34 RICHARD CARVEL “T know you, Grafton, I know you. When a lad it was your habit to lay aside the money I gave you, and so pretend you had none. “And ’twas well I learned then to be careful,” said my s uncle, losing for the instant his control, “for you loved the spendthrift best, and I should be but a beggar now without my wisdom.” “T loved not John’s carelessness with money, but other qualities in him which you lacked,” answered Mr. Carvel. ro Grafton shot a swift glance at me; and so much of malice and of hatred was conveyed in that look that with a sense of prophecy I shuddered to think that some day I should have to cope with such craft. For he detested me threefold, and combined the hate he bore my dead father and mother with rs the ill-will he bore me for standing in his way and Philip’s with my grandfather’s property. But so deftly could he hide his feelings that he was smiling again instantly. To see once, however, the white belly of the shark flash on the surface of the blue water is sufficient. 20 ‘I beg of you not to jest of me before the lads, father,” said Grafton. “God knows there was little jest in what I said,” replied Mr. Carvel, soberly, “and I care not who hears it. Your own son will one day know you well enough, if he does not now. 25 Do not imagine, because I am old, that | am grown so foolish as to believe that a black sheep can become white save by dye. And oh will never deceive such as me. And Philip, the shrewd old gentleman went on, turning to my cousin, “do not let thy father or any other make thee believe there cannot 30 be two sides to every question. I recognize in your arguments that which smacks of his tongue, despite what he says of your reading the public prints and of forming your own opinions. And do not condemn the Whigs, many of whom are worthy men and true, because they quarrel with what they 3s deem an unjust method of taxation.’ Grafton had given many of the old servants cause to remem- ber him. Harvey in particular, who had come from England GRAFTON WOULD HEAL AN OLD BREACH 35 early in the century with my grandfather, spoke with bitter- ness of him. On the subject of my uncle, the old coachman’s taciturnity gave way to torrents of reproach. “Beware of him as has no use for horses, Master Richard,” he would say; for this trait in Grafton in Harvey’s mind lay at the bottom 5 of all others. At my uncle’s approach he would retire into his shell like an oyster, nor could he be got to utter more than a monosyllable in his presence. Harvey’s face would twitch, and his fingers clench of themselves as he touched his cap. And with my Aunt Caroline he was the same. He vouchsafed 10 but a curt reply to all her questions, nor did her raptures over the stud soften him in the least. She would come tripping into the stable yard, daintily holding up her skirts, and crying, “Oh, Harvey, I have heard so much of Tanglefoot. I must see him before I go.” ‘Tanglefoot is led out begrudgingly rs enough, and Aunt Caroline goes over his points, missing the greater part of them, and remarking on the depth of chest, which is nothing notable in Tanglefoot. Harvey winks slyly at me the while, and never so much as offers a word of correc- tion. “You must take Philip to ride, Richard, my dear,” says 20 my aunt. “His father was never as fond of it as I could have wished. I hold that every gentleman should ride to hounds.” “Humph!” grunts Harvey, when she is gone to the house, “Master Philip to hunt, indeed! Foxes to hunt foxes!’ And he gives vent to a dry laugh over his joke, in which I cannot 25 but join. “Horsemen grows. Eh, Master Richard? There was Captain Jack, who jumped from the cradle into the saddle, and I never once seen a horse get the better o’ him. And that’s God’s truth.” And he smooths out Tanglefoot’s mane, adding reflectively, “And you be just like him. But 30 there was scarce a horse in the stables what wouldn’t lay back his ears at Mr. Grafton, and small blame to ’em, say I. He never dared go near ’em. Oh, Master Philip comes by it honestly enough. She thinks old Harvey don’t know a thor- _oughbred when he sees one, sir. But Mrs. Grafton’s no thor- 35 _oughbred; I tell ’ee that, though I’m saying nothing as to her _ points, mark ye. I’ve seen her sort in the old country, and i Wwe b. 36 RICHARD CARVEL I’ve seen ’em here, and it’s the same the world over, in Injy and Chiny, too. Fine trappings don’t make the horse, and they don’t take thoroughbreds from a grocer’s cart. A Phila- delphy grocer,” sniffs this old aristocrat. “I’d knowed her s father was a grocer had I seen her in Pall Mall with a Royal Highness, by her gait, | may say. Thy mother was a thorough- bred, Master Richard, and I'll tell *ee another,” he goes on with a chuckle, ‘‘ Mistress Dorothy Manners is such another; you don’t mistake ’em with their high heads and patreeshan ro ways, though her father be one of them accidents as will occur in every stock. She’s one to tame, sir, and I don’t envy no young gentleman the task. But this I knows,” says Harvey, not heeding my red cheeks, “‘that Master Philip, with all his satin smallclothes, will never do it.” zs Indeed, it was no secret that my Aunt Caroline had been a Miss Flaven, of Philadelphia, though she would have had the fashion of our province to believe that she belonged to the Governor’s set there; and she spoke in terms of easy familiar- ity of the first families of her native city, deceiving no one 20 save herself, poor lady. How fondly do we believe, with the ostrich, that our body is hidden when our head is tucked under our wing! Not a visitor in Philadelphia but knew Terence Flaven, Mrs. Grafton Carvel’s father, who not many years since sold tea and spices and soap and glazed teapots 25 over his own counter, and still advertised his cargoes in the public prints. He was a broad and charitable-minded man enough, and unassuming, but gave way at last to the pressure brought upon him by his wife and daughter, and bought a mansion. [erence Flaven never could be got to stay there gosave to sleep, and preferred to spend his time in his shop, which was grown greatly, chatting with his customers, and bowing the ‘ladies to their chariots. I need hardly say that this worthy man was on far better terms than his family with those personages whose society they strove so hard to attain. 35