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diff --git a/old/52113.txt b/old/52113.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 473c229..0000000 --- a/old/52113.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7587 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Fifteen Days, by Mary Lowell Putnam - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: Fifteen Days - An Extract from Edward Colvil's Journal - - -Author: Mary Lowell Putnam - - - -Release Date: May 20, 2016 [eBook #52113] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIFTEEN DAYS*** - - -E-text prepared by Judith Wirawan, Charlene Taylor, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images -generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries -(https://archive.org/details/americana) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive/American Libraries. See - https://archive.org/details/fifteendaysanext00putniala - - -Transcriber's note: - - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - - Small capitals are presented as all capitals. - - - - - -FIFTEEN DAYS. - -An Extract from Edward Colvil's Journal. - - - "Aux plus desherites le plus d'amour." - - - - - - - -[Illustration] - -Boston: -Ticknor and Fields. -1866. - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by M. Lowell -Putnam, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District -of Massachusetts. - - - - "Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more, - Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, - I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, - And with forced fingers rude - Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year." - - - - -FIFTEEN DAYS - - - - - GOOD-FRIDAY EVENING, April 5, 1844. - - -No entry in my journal since the twenty-eighth of March. Yet these -seven silent days have a richer history than any that have arrived, -with their exactions or their gifts, since those liberal ones of two -springs ago came to endow me with your friendship. - -Easy to tread and pleasant to look back upon is the level plain of our -life, uniform, yet diversified, familiar, yet always new; but, from -time to time, we find ourselves on little sunny heights from which the -way we have traversed shows yet fairer than we knew it, and that which -we are to take invites with more cheerful promise. - -I did not know last Friday morning that anything was wanting to me. -And had I not enough? My farm-duties, which restrict my study-time -just enough to leave it always the zest of privilege; my books, -possessed or on the way; my mother's dear affection; your faithful -letters, true to the hour; Selden's, that come at last;--these, and -then the casual claims, the little countless pleasures infinitely -varied, special portion of each human day! always something to do, -something to enjoy, something to expect. And yet I would not now go -back and be where I was last Friday morning. Beautiful miracle! Our -cup is always full, yet its capacity is never reached! - -Since the day I stood at my gate, listening for the fading sounds of -your horse's feet, many guests have crossed my threshold and recrossed -it,--all received with good-will, dismissed with good wishes. Last -Friday brought one whom I took to my heart and hold there. The first -clasp of his firm hand, the first look of his sweet, frank eyes, bound -me to him forever. Keith, I have more to love than I had a week ago, -and the world is more beautiful for me, life better worth living. - -We had had gray weather for a week before he came; the blue sky -appeared with him, and smiled on us every day while he was here. I -cannot now separate the thought of him from that of sunshine, nor can -I tell how much of the glow and freshness of those days was of the -atmosphere, how much from his happy nature. - -I had just come in from work, and was sitting near the window, -watching the slowly clearing sky, when I heard a step coming down the -road. You know I am used to listen to approaching footsteps, and to -judge beforehand what manner of man is about to present himself at my -door. This was a step that struck very cheerfully on the ear. Firm, -regular, it had no haste in it, yet a certain eagerness. My mother -heard it, too. "The feet of him that bringeth good tidings," she said, -smiling. The sun broke out full and clear as she spoke. "Can it be Dr. -Borrow?--it must be," I asked and answered myself; and my heart warmed -to him as it had not when I was reading his praises in Selden's -letter. I heard the gate open and close again. I went to the door, and -saw, coming along the path I guided you on that first dark night, a -figure that agreed perfectly with the step, but not at all with what I -had imagined Dr. Borrow. It was that of a man hardly more than twenty, -who carried about with him, it seemed, a world of youthful happiness, -but assuredly no great weight of learning. Erect, vigorous, animated, -his whole person spoke harmonious strength and freedom of soul and -body. His head was uncovered,--or, rather, it was protected only by -its masses of fair brown hair, whose curls the light wind that had -sprung up to meet him lifted tenderly, as if to show them sparkling in -the sunshine. This was no chance visitor; he walked as if he knew -where he was going, and felt himself an expected and a welcome guest. -He had come from far; his well-fitting travelling-suit of dark gray -told of a very distant skill and fashion, and was a little the worse -for the long road. He had a knapsack on his shoulders. From a strap -which crossed his breast hung a green tin case, such as botanists -carry on their tours. This, again, connected him with Dr. Borrow; but -the wild-flowers in his hand had been gathered for their beauty, not -their rarity, and the happy grace of their arrangement denoted rather -the artist than the savant. - -He saw me as soon as I came to the door; for he quickened his step, -and, from where I stood, I could see his face brighten. You do not -know the face, and it is not like any other; how can you understand -the impression it made on me? - -Our hands were soon joined in a cordial clasp. He answered my warm -welcome with a look full of youthful delight, behind which lay an -earnest, manly satisfaction. - -The name which was in my mind came, though hesitatingly, to my lips: -"Dr. Borrow----" I began. A flash of merriment passed over my guest's -features; but they were instantly composed, as if he felt the mirthful -thought a disrespect to the absent. - -"I am Harry Dudley. Dr. Borrow is coming. I walked on before to let -you know." - -He laid his bouquet of wild-flowers in the shadow of the doorsteps, -threw off his knapsack, flung down on it the felt hat he had carried -crumpled up under his arm, and, turning, showed himself ready to walk -off with me to meet the Doctor. We had reached the gate, when he -stopped suddenly and looked towards the house. - -"But do you not wish----?" - -"No,"--I understood him at once,--"my mother is prepared; we have been -for some time expecting Dr. Borrow--and you," I ought in politeness to -have added, but in truth I could not. I looked at him a little -anxiously, fearing he might have remarked the omission, but his eyes -met mine, glad and frank. - -Dr. Borrow had engrossed us. His visit, from the time it was first -promised, had been the one theme here within doors and without. -Morning and evening I had consulted with my mother over his -entertainment; Tabitha had, more than once, in his behalf, displaced -and reinstated every object in the house; Hans and his boys had -stimulated each other to unusual efforts, that the farm might find -favor in such enlightened eyes. Harry Dudley! certainly I ought to -have been expecting him. Certainly Selden's letter had told me he was -coming. But the mention of him had been so slight, or, I will now -rather say, so simple, that I had almost overlooked it. A line held -it, after three full pages given to Dr. Borrow. "Harry Dudley goes -with him,"--that was all. How little importance the name had for me -which was to have so much! - -But, if no pains had been taken to prepossess me in Harry's favor, -full justice, I am sure, had been done me with him. He seemed to -regard me not as an acquaintance newly found, but as an old friend -rejoined: we were going out to meet and welcome the stranger whose -comforts we were to care for together. - -"I suppose you will give Dr. Borrow your room, and you will take the -little one down-stairs, that you had when Selden was here? I shall -sleep in the barn on the hay." - -I was, to be sure, just considering whether I should have one of our -little impromptu bedsteads set up for Harry, in a corner of the -room--yours--which had been assigned to the Doctor, or whether I -should share my little nook down-stairs with him. In the end, he had -it all his own way. - -It was not long before we came upon the Doctor. I could not draw his -full portrait at first sight, as I did Harry's, for I had only a -profile view of his stooping figure, until I was quite close to him. -He, too, carried a knapsack;--a large russet one; Harry's was -black;--and strapped to it was a long umbrella, which protruded on -either side. He was grubbing in a meadow, and was either really so -intent that he did not see us, or thought it better not to let us -know that he did until he had finished his work. We stood near him -some minutes before he straightened himself up, booty in hand. He -scrutinized his prize for a moment, and then, apparently satisfied, -came forward and saluted mo in a very friendly tone. His dark-blue -spectacles prevented me from seeing whether the eyes seconded the -voice, and his other features are too heavy to be very expressive. -When I had made known my satisfaction at his arrival, and he had -acquiesced,--when I had inquired after Selden, and he had answered -that he had not seen our common friend for six weeks, we stood -opposite each other, I looking for a subject which could not be -disposed of so promptly, and he, apparently, waiting for me to bring -it forward. But Harry now spoke eagerly:-- - -"Have you found it?"--holding out his hand at the same time for the -poor little specimen which the Doctor held between his thumb and -finger. - -"Yes." - -"The very one you have been looking for?" - -"The very thing." - -"Shall I put it into the box?" - -Harry received the little object respectfully, and deposited it in the -tin case with care. He then relieved Dr. Borrow's shoulders of the -knapsack and took it on his own, having first withdrawn the umbrella -and placed it in the hands of the owner, who watched its extrication -with interest, and received it in a way which showed it to be an -object of attachment. The Doctor gathered up some inferior spoil which -lay in a circle round the place where he had been at work. Harry found -room for all in the box. He had entered so fully into his companion's -success, that I thought he might after all be a botanist himself; but -he told me, as we walked towards the house, that he knew nothing of -plants except what he had learned in journeying with Dr. Borrow. - -"But I know what it is to want to complete your collection," he added, -laughing. "We have been all the morning looking for this particular -kind of grass. Dr. Borrow thought it must grow somewhere in this -neighborhood, and here it is at last. The Doctor has a great -collection of grasses." - -"The largest, I think I may say, on this continent,--one of the -largest, perhaps, that exists," said the Doctor, with the candor of a -man who feels called upon to render himself justice, since there is no -one else qualified to do it. And then he entered upon grasses; setting -forth the great part filled by this powerful family, in the history of -our earth, and vindicating triumphantly his regard for its humblest -member. - -When we came within sight of the house, Harry walked rapidly on. By -the time the Doctor and I rejoined him at the door, he had -disencumbered himself of the knapsack, had taken his flowers from -their hiding-place, and stood ready to follow us in. - -I introduced Dr. Borrow to my mother in form, and was about to do the -same by Harry, who had stood back modestly until his friend had been -presented; but he was now already taking her extended hand, bowing -over it with that air of filial deference which we hear that high-bred -Frenchmen have in their manner to elder women. I wondered that I had -before thought him so young; his finished courtesy was that of a man -versed in society. But the next moment he was offering her his -wild-flowers with the smile with which an infant brings its little -fistful of dandelions to its mother, delighting in the pleasure it has -been preparing for her. His name had made more impression on my mother -than on me. She called him by it at once. This redeemed all my -omissions, if, indeed, he had remarked them, and I believe he had not. - -The Doctor, in the mean while, had lifted his spectacles to the top of -his head. You have not seen a man until you have looked into his eyes. -Dr. Borrow's, of a clear blue, made another being of him. His only -speaking feature, they speak intelligence and good-will. I felt that I -should like him, and I do. He did not, however, find himself so -immediately at home with us as Harry did. He took the chair I offered -him, but sat silent and abstracted, answering absently, by an -inclination of the head, my modest attempts at conversation. Harry, -interpreting his mood, brought him the green tin case. He took it a -little hastily, and looked about him, as if inquiring for a place -where he could give himself to the inspection of its contents. I -offered to conduct him to his room. Harry went out promptly and -brought in the well-stuffed russet knapsack,--took the respectable -umbrella from the corner where it was leaning, and followed us -up-stairs,--placed his load inside the chamber-door, and ran down -again. I introduced the Doctor to the chair and table in my little -study, where he installed himself contentedly. - -When I came down, I found Harry standing by my mother. He was putting -the flowers into water for her,--consulting her, as he arranged them, -now by a look, now by a question. She answered the bright smile with -which he took leave of her, when his work was done, by one tender, -almost tearful. I knew to whom that smile was given. I knew that -beside her then stood the vision of a little boy, fair-haired, -dark-eyed, like Harry, and full of such lovely promise as Harry's -happy mother could see fulfilled in him. But the sadness flitted -lightly, and a soft radiance overspread the dear pale face. - -The name of our little Charles had been in my mind too, and my -thoughts followed hers backward to that sweet infancy, and forward to -that unblemished maturity, attained in purer spheres, of which Harry's -noble and tender beauty had brought us a suggestion. - -It was the absence of a moment. I was recalled by a greeting given in -Harry's cordial voice. Tabitha stood in the doorway. She studied the -stranger with a long look, and then, advancing in her stateliest -manner, bestowed on him an emphatic and elaborate welcome. He listened -with grave and courteous attention, as a prince on a progress might -receive the harangue of a village mayor, and answered with simple -thanks, which she, satisfied with having performed her own part, -accepted as an ample return, and applied herself to more practical -hospitality. - -Harry had been intent on some purpose when Tabitha intercepted him. He -now went quickly out, brought in the knapsack he had thrown down -beside the door on his first arrival, and began to undo the straps. I -felt myself interested, for there was a happy earnestness in his -manner which told of a pleasure on the way for somebody, and it seemed -to be my turn. I was not mistaken. He drew out a book, and then -another and another. - -"These are from Selden." - -He watched me as I read the title-pages, entering warmly into my -satisfaction, which was great enough, I am sure, to be more than a -reward for the weight Selden's gift had added to his pack. - -"It does not take long to know Harry Dudley. Dear, affectionate boy, -in what Arcadia have you grown up, that you have thus carried the -innocence and simplicity of infancy through your twenty years!" This I -said within myself, as I looked upon his pure forehead, and met the -sweet, confiding expression of his beautiful eyes. Yet, even then, -something about the mouth arrested me, something of deep, strong, -resolute, which spoke the man who had already thought and renounced -and resisted. It does not take long to love Harry Dudley, but I have -learned that he is not to be known in an hour. Selden might well leave -him to make his own introduction. I can understand, that, to those who -are familiar with him, his very name should seem to comprehend a -eulogium. - -Tabitha gave Dr. Borrow no such ceremonious reception as she had -bestowed on Harry. She was hospitable, however, and gracious, with a -touch of familiarity in her manner just enough to balance the -condescension in his. As he had not been witness of the greater state -with which Harry was received, he was not, I trust, sensible of any -want. - -We sat up late that evening. The hours passed rapidly. Dr. Borrow had -laid aside his preoccupations, and gave himself up to the pleasures of -discourse. He passed over a wide range of topics, opening freely for -us his magazines of learning, scientific and scholastic, and -displaying a power of graphic narration I was not prepared for. He -aids himself with apt and not excessive gesture. In relating -conversations, without descending to mimicry, he characterizes his -personages for you, so that you are never in doubt. - -Selden, telling me almost everything else about the Doctor, had said -nothing of his age; but he spoke of him as of a friend of his own, and -is himself only twenty-seven; so I had supposed it to lie on the -brighter side of thirty. It did, indeed, seem marvellous that the -stores of erudition attributed to him could have been gathered in so -early, but I made allowance for Selden's generous faculty of -admiration. - -Dr. Borrow must be forty, or perhaps a little more. He is of middle -height, square-built, of a dull complexion, which makes his open blue -eyes look very blue and open. You are to imagine for him a strong, -clear voice, a rapid, yet distinct utterance, and a manner which -denotes long habit of easy and secure superiority. - -I have never known the Doctor in finer vein than that first evening. -We were only three to listen to him, but it was long since he had had -even so large an audience capable of admiring, I will not say of -appreciating him. Whatever his topic, he enchained our attention; but -he made his power most felt, perhaps, when treating of his own -specialty, or scientific subjects connected with it. He is, as he told -us, emphatically a practical man, preferring facts to speculations. He -propounds no theories of his own, but he develops those of others very -happily, setting forth the most opposite with the same ingenuity and -clearness. When, in these expositions, he sometimes approached the -limits where earthly science merges in the heavenly, Harry's face -showed his mind tending powerfully forward. But the Doctor always -stopped short of the point to which he seemed leading, and was on the -ground again without sharing in the fall he had prepared for his -listeners. - -Very entertaining to me were Dr. Borrow's accounts of his travelling -experiences and observations in our own State and neighborhood. His -judgments he had brought with him, and I soon found that his inquiry -had been conducted with the view rather of confirming than of testing -them. I felt myself compelled to demur at some of his conclusions; but -I cannot flatter myself that I did anything towards shaking his faith -in them: he only inculcated them upon me with greater zeal and -confidence. When a little debate of this kind occurred, Harry followed -it attentively, but took no part in it. I sometimes felt that his -sympathies were on my side, and my opponent certainly thought -so,--for, when I pressed him a little hard, he would turn upon his -travelling-companion a burst of refutation too lively to be addressed -to a new acquaintance. The pleasant laugh in Harry's eyes showed him -amused, yet still far within the limits of respect. - -Sometimes, in the course of his narrations, or of his disquisitions -upon men and manners, American or foreign, the Doctor turned for -corroboration to Harry, who gave it promptly and gladly when he could. -If he felt himself obliged to dissent, he did so with deference, and -forbore to urge his objections, if they were overruled, as they -commonly were. - -I found, however, before the first evening was over, that, with all -his modesty, Harry maintained his independence. When the Doctor, who -is no Utopist, found occasion to aim a sarcasm at the hopes and -prospects of the lovers of humanity, or pronounced in a slighting tone -some name dear to them, Harry never failed to put in a quiet, but -express protest, which should at least exempt him from complicity. And -Dr. Borrow would turn upon him a satirical smile, which gradually -softened into an indulgent one, and then take up again quietly the -thread of his discourse. At times, Harry was forced into more direct -and sustained opposition. I observed that his tone was then, if less -positive than his antagonist's, quite as decided. If the Doctor's -words came with all the weight of a justifiable self-esteem, Harry's -had that of deep and intimate conviction. I am persuaded that -conversation would lose all zest for the Doctor, if conducted long -with persons who agreed with him. He kindles at the first hint of -controversy, as the horse at the sound of the trumpet. To Harry -sympathy is dearer than triumph; he enters upon contest only when -compelled by loyalty to principle or to friendship. - -The elder man needs companionship as much as the younger, and perhaps -enjoys it as much, though very differently. The admiration he excites -reacts upon him and stimulates to new efforts. Harry's tender and -grateful nature expands to affectionate interest, as a flower to the -sunshine. - -The Doctor has a certain intellectual fervor, which quickens the flow -of his thought and language, and enables him to lead you, willingly -fascinated, along the road he chooses to walk in for the time. When -Harry is drawn out of his usual modest reserve to maintain a position, -his concentrated enthusiasm sometimes gives to a few words, spoken in -his calm, resolute voice, the effect of a masterly eloquence. These -words pass into your heart to become a part of its possessions. - -I think I never fully understood the meaning of the expression -_personal influence_, until I knew Harry Dudley. What a divine gift it -is, when of the force and quality of his! What a bright line his -life-stream will lead through the happy region it is to bless! And he -holds this magical power so unconsciously! Here is another point of -contrast between him and his friend. Dr. Borrow is very sensible of -all his advantages, and would be surprised, if others were insensible -to them. No one can do him this displeasure; his merits and -acquirements must be manifest on first acquaintance. But Harry -Dudley,--you do not think of asking whether he has this or that talent -or accomplishment. You feel what he is, and love him for it, before -you know whether he has anything. - -These two companions, so different, are yet not ill-assorted. Harry's -simplicity and strength together prevent him from being injured by his -friend's love of domination, which might give umbrage to a more -self-conscious, or overbear a weaker man; his frankness and courage -only make his esteem of more value to the Doctor, who, with all his -tendency to the despotic, is manly and loves manliness. - -I shall not attempt to write down for you any of the Doctor's -brilliant dissertations. You will know him some time, I hope, and he -will do himself a justice I could not do him. Harry you _must_ know. -He will go to see you on his way home, and, if he does not find you, -will make a visit to you the object of a special journey. He will be a -new bond between us. We shall watch his course together. It will not, -it cannot, disappoint us; for "spirits are not finely touched, but to -fine issues." - -They are gone. We have promised each other that this parting shall not -be the final one. And yet my heart was heavy to-day at noon. When the -gate fell to after they had passed out, it seemed to me the sound had -in it something of determined and conclusive. I rebuked the regret -almost before it had made itself felt. Dudley is going out into the -world, which has so much need of men like him, true, brave, steadfast. -I can have no fear or anxiety for him. He must be safe everywhere in -God's universe. Do not all things work together for good to those that -love Him? - - - - - SATURDAY EVENING, April 6, 1844. - - -My date ought to be March 30th, for I have been living over again -to-day the scenes of a week ago, and in my twilight talk with my -mother it was last Saturday that was reviewed, instead of this. - -Last Saturday! The friends who now seem to belong to us, as if we had -never done without them, were then new acquisitions. The Doctor we had -not yet made out. How bright and pure that morning was! I was up -early, or thought I was, until I entered our little parlor, which I -had expected to find cheerless with the disorder that had made it -cheerful the evening before. But Tabitha, watchful against surprises, -had it in receiving-trim. She was giving it the last touches as I -entered. I had heard no sound from my mother's little chamber, which -my present one adjoins, and had been careful in my movements, thinking -her not yet awake. But here she was already in her place on the couch, -wearing a look of pleased solicitude, which I understood. I was not -myself wholly free from hospitable cares. Selden had been so exact in -forewarning me of Dr. Borrow's tastes and habits, that in the midst of -my anticipations intruded a little prosaic anxiety about the -breakfast. My mother, perhaps, shared it. Tabitha did not. She heard -some officious suggestions of mine with a lofty indifference. The -event justified her. How important she was, and how happy! How -considerately, yet how effectively, she rang the great bell! I did not -know it capable of such tones. When it summoned us, Harry was absent. -The Doctor and I took our places at the table without him. My mother -made his apology: he must have been very tired by his long walk the -day before, and had probably overslept himself. "Not he!" cried the -Doctor, with energy, as if repelling a serious accusation. "It's your -breakfast"--he pointed to the clock--"was ready four minutes too soon. -I've known two punctual men in my life, and Harry's one of them. He's -never two minutes after the time, _nor_ two minutes before it." - -The Doctor had hardly done speaking when Harry's step was heard. It -was always the same, and always gave the same sensation of a joy in -prospect. Nor did it ever deceive. Dr. Borrow's good-morning was very -hearty. Harry had arrived just one minute before the time. If he had -come a minute earlier, or three minutes later, I do not know how it -might have been, for the Doctor does not like to be put in the wrong. - -Harry brought in a bouquet for my mother. He did not fail in this -attention a single morning while he was here. I could not but -sometimes think of her who missed this little daily offering. - -I had determined beforehand to give myself entirely to Dr. Borrow -during the time of his visit. I have often regretted the hours my farm -took from you. I had forewarned Hans of my intention of allowing -myself a vacation, and had arranged for the boys some work which did -not require oversight. They were to take hold of it, without further -notice, as soon as the distinguished stranger arrived. I could -therefore give myself up with an easy mind to the prolonged pleasures -of the breakfast-table. The Doctor was in excellent spirits,--full of -anecdote and of argument. I was very near being drawn into a -controversy more than once; but I was more willing to listen to him -than to myself, and avoided it successfully. Harry was in the same -peaceful disposition, but was not so fortunate. - -A subject of difference between the friends, which seems to be a -standing one, is the character of the French. How did the Doctor bring -it on the table that morning? I think it was a-propos of the coffee. -He praised it and compared it with Paris coffee, which he did not -dispraise. But, once landed in France, that he should expatiate there -for a time was of course; and he found himself, as it appeared, in a -favorite field of animadversion. He began with some general -reflection,--I forget what; but, from the tone in which it was given, -I understood perfectly that it was a glove thrown down to Harry. It -was not taken up; and the Doctor, after a little defiant pause, went -forward. He drew highly colored sketches of the Gaul and the -Anglo-Saxon. Harry simply abstained from being amused. Dr. Borrow -passed to his individual experiences. It appeared, that, -notwithstanding the light regard in which he held the French, he had -done them the honor to pass several years in their country. This -intimate acquaintance had only given him the fairer opportunity of -making a comparison which was entirely to the advantage of the race he -himself represented. He declared, that, walking about among the -population of Paris, he felt himself on quite another scale and of -quite another clay. Harry here suggested that perhaps a Frenchman in -London, or in one of our cities, might have the same feeling. - -"He can't,--he can't, if he would. No race dreams of asserting -superiority over the Anglo-Saxon,--least of all the French." - -"If the French do not assert their superiority," Harry answered, -laughing, "it is because they are ignorant that it has been -questioned." - -"That gives the measure of their ignorance; and they take care to -maintain it: a Frenchman never learns a foreign language." - -"Because--as I once heard a Frenchman say--foreigners pay him the -compliment of learning his." - -The Doctor burst out upon French vanity. - -"At least you will admit that it is a quiet one," Harry replied. "The -French are content with their own good opinion. The tribute that -foreigners pay them is voluntary." - -The Doctor arraigned those who foster the conceit of the French, first -by trying to copy them and then by failing in it. He was very -entertaining on this head. Neither Harry nor I thought it necessary to -remind him that the pictures he drew of the French and their imitators -did not precisely illustrate Anglo-Saxon superiority. He told the -origin of several little French customs, which, founded simply in -motives of economy or convenience, have been superstitiously adopted, -without any such good reason, and even made a test of breeding, by -weak-minded persons in England and this country. No one took up the -defence of those unfortunates, but the Doctor was not satisfied with -this acquiescence. He had an uneasy sense that his advantage in the -encounter with Harry had not been decisive. He soon returned to the -old field. Harry continued to parry his attacks playfully for a time, -but at last said seriously,-- - -"Doctor, I know you are not half in earnest; but if I hear ill spoken -of France, without replying, I feel as if I were not as true to my -friends there as I know they are to me. One of the best and noblest -men I ever knew is a Frenchman. This is not to argue with you. You -know better than anybody what the world owes to France. If you were to -take up my side, you would find a great deal more to say for it than I -could. I wish you would!" - -A pause followed, long enough for the bright, earnest look with which -Harry made this appeal to fade from his face. As I did not think there -was much hope of the Doctor's taking the part proposed to him, at -least until he should find himself in company with persons who -professed the opinions he was now maintaining, I tried to divert him -to another topic, and succeeded; but it was only to bring about a yet -warmer passage between him and his friend. I was not sorry, however; -for this time the subject was one that interested me strongly. He had -referred, the evening before, to some dangerous adventures Harry and -he had had among the mountains of Mantaw County, which they crossed, -going from Eden to Cyclops. I now asked him for the details. He turned -to me at once, and entered upon the story with great spirit. I am -familiar with the region in which the scene was laid, but, listening -to him, it took a new aspect. I believe those hills will always be -higher for me henceforth,--the glens deeper and darker; I shall hear -new voices in the rush of the torrents and the roar of the pines. -Harry listened admiringly too, until the Doctor, brought by the course -of his narrative to the services of a certain slave-guide, named -Jonas, took a jocular tone, seemingly as much amused by the black -man's acuteness and presence of mind as he might have been by the -tricks of an accomplished dog. - -"A capital fellow!" interposed Harry, with emphasis. - -"He showed himself intelligent and faithful, certainly. I sent his -master a good account of him. He did his duty by us." This in the -Doctor's mildest tone. - -The answer was in Harry's firmest:--"His duty as a man. It was real, -hearty kindness that he showed us. We owe him a great deal. I am not -sure that we did not owe him our lives that dark night. I regard him -as a friend." - -"Your other friends are flattered.--It is curious how these -negrophiles betray themselves";--the Doctor had turned to me;--"they -show that they think of the blacks just as we do, by their admiration -when they meet one who shows signs of intelligence and good feeling." -Ho looked at Harry, but in vain. "Here Harry, now, has been falling -into transports all along the road." Harry kept his eyes on the table, -but the Doctor was not to be balked. "Confess now, confess you have -been surprised--and a good deal more surprised than I was--to find -common sense and humanity in black men!" - -"No, not in black men. I have been surprised to find not only talent -and judgment, but dignity and magnanimity, in _slaves_." - -"You must find the system not altogether a bad one which has developed -such specimens of the human being,--out of such material, above all." - -"You must admit that the race is a strong and a high one which has not -been utterly debased by such a system,--if it is to be called a -system. I only wish our own race"---- - -"Showed an equal power of resistance?" - -"That was what I was going to say." - -"You might have said it. Yes,--the whites are the real sufferers." - -"I stopped because I remembered instances of men who have resisted -nobly." - -"I am glad you can do justice to them. I thought you did not believe -in humane slaveholders." - -"I was not thinking of them." - -"Ah! to be sure not! My friend Harvey, who entertained us so -hospitably, is a bad man, I suppose?" - -"A mistaken man." - -"That is to be proved; he is trying to work out a difficult problem." - -"He is attempting an impossible compromise." - -"Compromise! Word of fear to the true New-Englander! Compromise? He is -trying to reconcile his own comfort with that of his laborers, I -suppose you mean." - -"He is trying to reconcile injustice with humanity." - -"See the stern old Puritan vein! I doubt whether his ancestor, the -model of Massachusetts governors, ever carried a stiffer upper lip." -And the Doctor surveyed Harry with a look from which he could not -exclude a certain softening of affectionate admiration. "And he, a -living exemplification of the persistence of race, is a stickler for -the equality of all mankind! It is hard for one of that strict line to -bend his views to circumstances," the Doctor went on, in a more -indulgent tone. "Harry, my boy, you are in a new latitude. You must -accept another standard. You cannot try things here by the weights and -measures of the Puritans of the North. But who are your examples of -resistance, though?" - -"The Puritans of the South. The men here who have but one -standard,--that of right. The men here who are true to the principle -which our country represents, and by which it is to live." - -"What principle?" - -"That the laws of man must be founded on the law of God." - -"You mean, to be explicit, such men as Judge Henley of Virginia, Dr. -Kirwin of South Carolina, and, above all, Shaler of this State?" - -"Yes." - -"Who, instead of living with the people among whom their lot had been -cast, and protecting and improving them, scattered them to the four -winds of heaven, and all for the comfort of their own sickly -consciences!" - -"Charles Shaler does not look like a man of a sickly conscience." - -The Doctor could not forbear smiling at the image Harry brought before -him. He was beginning to answer, but stopped short and turned to me -with a look of apology. - -"The subject is ill-chosen," he said; "I do not know how we came upon -it; though, indeed, we are always coming upon it. We have sworn a -truce a dozen times, but the war breaks out again when we are least -expecting it." - -"The subject cannot be more interesting to you than it is to me," I -answered. - -"But your interest in it may be of a different sort from ours." - -"It is quite as impartial. I am not a slaveholder." - -"Is it possible?" - -The Doctor's voice betrayed that there was pleasure in his surprise, -but, except in this involuntary way, he did not express it. He went on -in his former tone. - -"Well, that is more than Harry here can say. Since he has been in your -State, he has become master, by right of purchase, of a human soul." - -I looked at Harry. - -"Yes," he said, gravely, "I have made myself my brother's keeper." - -"And very literally of a soul," the Doctor continued. "The body was -merely thrown in as an inconsiderable part of the bargain. We were on -the road from Omocqua to Tenpinville, where we meant to dine. Harry -was a little ahead. I was walking slowly, looking along the side of -the road for what I might find, when I heard, in front of us and -coming towards us, a tramping and a shuffling and a clanking that I -knew well enough for the sound of a slave-coffle on the move. I did -not lift my head; I am not curious of such sights. But presently I -heard Harry calling, and in an imperative tone that he has sometimes, -though, perhaps, you would not think it. I looked up, upon that, and -saw him supporting in his arms a miserable stripling, who was falling, -fainting, out of the coffle. Harry was hailing the slave-trader, who -brought up the rear of the train on horseback. I foresaw vexation, and -made haste. The cavalier got there first, though. By the time I came -up, he had dismounted, and Harry and he were in treaty, or at least in -debate. It was a picture! The poor wretch they were parleying over was -lying with his wasted, lead-colored face on Harry's shoulder, but was -still held by the leg to his next man, who was scowling at him as if -he thought the boy had fainted only to make the shackles bite sharper -into the sore flesh of his comrade. Harry held his prize in a way -which showed he did not mean to part with it. 'Name your price! Name -your own price!' were the first words I heard. It seemed the -slave-dealer was making difficulties. I thought he would jump at the -chance of getting rid of what was only a burden, and plainly could -never be anything else to anybody; but no; he said he could not sell -the boy, and seemed to mean it. Harry is too much used to having his -own way to give it up very easily, but I don't know whether he -would have got it this time, if I had not interfered with my -remonstrances:-- - -"'What are you going to do with him? Where are you going to take him? -Who's to be his nurse on the road?' - -"I meant to bring Harry to his senses. I only brought the slave-dealer -to his. - -"'Do you belong in this State?' asked he, growing reasonable as he saw -a reasonable man to deal with. - -"'No; in Massachusetts.' - -"'Do you mean to take him off there?' - -"'Yes!' cried Harry, without giving me a chance to answer. - -"'How soon?' - -"'In a few weeks.' - -"'And what will you do with him in the mean while?' - -"Harry seemed now to remember that I was a party concerned. He turned -to me with a deprecating and inquiring look, but I was not prepared to -make any suggestion. - -"'If you care enough about having the boy to pay part of his price in -trouble,' says the dealer, 'perhaps we may manage it. I bought him -with conditions. If I sell him to you, I make them over to you, too. -If you'll engage to take him as far as Omocqua to-day, and never bring -him, or let him be brought, within twenty miles of Tenpinville in any -direction, you shall have him for fifty dollars; that will give me -back what he's cost me. I don't want to make anything on him. I only -took him to oblige.' - -"I knew by experience that there was no use in opposing Harry in -anything he had made up his mind about. I looked grim, but said -nothing. So the bargain was struck; the money was paid; the boy -unfettered. The slave-dealer moved on with his drove, leaving us his -parting words of encouragement,-- - -"'If he lives, he'll be worth something to you.' - -"And there we were in the middle of the road, with a dying boy on our -hands. - -"'_If he lives!_' Harry's look answered,--'He will live!' - -"For my own part, I hoped it very little, and was not sure that I -ought to hope it at all. - -"It was my turn to fume now; for Harry, as soon as he had carried his -point, was as calm as a clock. He had everything planned out. I was to -go back to Quickster and hire some sort of wagon to take our patient -to Omocqua, where Harry had promised to have him before night. I had -permission to stay at Quickster, if I chose, until he came back,--or -to go on to Tenpinville, or even to Harvey's, without him. But I had -heard, since I left Omocqua, of a remarkable cave, not five miles from -there, which had some points of interest for me. I had had half a mind -to propose to Harry to go back and see it before we met with this -adventure. So, as I must humor him at any rate, I thought it as well -to do it with a good grace. I walked off to Quickster, got my wagon, -drove back, and found our godsend asleep, with Harry watching by him -like a miser over his treasure. We lifted him into the wagon without -waking him,--he was no great weight,--and got him safe to the hotel we -had left in the morning. - -"Harry, when he was making his purchase, had his wits sufficiently -about him to require the means of proving his title in case of -question. The dealer promised to set all right at Omocqua. I had -doubts whether we should meet him again; but Harry had none, and was -right. The man arrived the next morning with his convoy, found us out, -and gave Harry a regular bill of sale. Being now twenty miles from -Tenpinville, he was somewhat more communicative than he had been in -the morning. It appeared the sick boy was a great musical genius. He -could sing anything he had ever heard, and many things that never had -been heard before he sang them. He played upon the piano without any -instruction except what he had got by listening under the windows. -Indeed, he could make any instrument that was put into his hands, -after a little feeling about, do whatever he wanted of it. But he had -accidentally received a blow on the chest that had spoiled his voice, -and had so injured his health besides, that his master, a -tender-hearted man, couldn't bear to see him about. The family, -tender-hearted too, couldn't bear to see him sold. So the master, to -spare pain all round, decided that the boy should disappear silently, -and that it should be understood in the house and neighborhood that he -had been enticed away by an amateur from the North, who hoped to cure -him and make a fortune out of his talent. - -"'How came the master's sensibility to take such a different turn from -that of the rest of the family?' I asked,--and drew out that the boy, -being a genius, had some of the ways of one, and was at times -excessively provoking. He had silent fits, when he would sit dreaming, -moving his lips, but making no sound. There was no use in trying to -rouse him. You might have shaken him to pieces without his soul's -giving the least sign of being in his body. Not only this, but, -sometimes, when he did sing, he wouldn't sing well, though perhaps it -was just when he was most wanted. There were people he never would -sing before, if he could help it; and when he was obliged to, he did -himself no credit. Some of his caprices of this kind were -insupportable. His master was only too indulgent; but one day, it -seems, the provocation was too much for him. In a moment of anger, he -flung the unlucky boy down the door-steps, or over a bank, or out of -the open window, I forget which. Either the push on the chest or the -shock of the fall did a harm that was not meant. The master was a good -man, and was so accounted. He reproached himself, whenever he saw the -ailing boy, and felt as if others reproached him. Better out of sight -and out of mind. - -"So Harry became the owner, or, as he says, the keeper, of a fragment -of humanity distinguished from the mass by the name of Orphy: Orphy -for Orpheus, I suppose; though Harry is modest for him, and calls him -Orfano. He has splendid visions for his protege, nevertheless. He sees -in him the very type and representative of the African. I shouldn't -wonder if he were looking forward to the rehabilitation of the race -through him. He is to be a Mozart, a Beethoven, a Bach, or, perhaps, -something beyond either. The world is to listen and be converted." - -"I wish you could have brought him here," I said. - -"Your house is within the twenty miles, and so is Harvey's, or we -should have taken him on there with us. But he is well off where he -is. Harry, by the aid of our innkeeper,--a Northern man, by the -way,--installed him in a comfortable home at Omocqua. We are to take -him up there on our return. We expect to be there again on the -eighteenth of next month." - -"So soon?" I exclaimed; for, with the Doctor's words the pang of -parting fell on me prematurely. - -"We mean to stay with you, if you want us so long, until the fifth. We -have a few excursions to make yet; but we shall guide ourselves so as -to reach Omocqua at the appointed time." - -"Meet us there," cried Harry. "Meet us there in fifteen days from the -time we leave you. Let us keep the nineteenth of April there -together." - -My mother, who had not hitherto taken any part in the conversation, -spoke now to express her warm approbation of the plan. This was all -that was wanting. The project was ratified. My happiness was freed -again from the alloy of insecurity which had begun to mingle with it. - -The Doctor divined my feeling, and smiling pleasantly,--"Our -leave-taking will not be so hard; it will be _au revoir_, not -_adieu_." - -Harry was the first to leave the breakfast-table. He had made -acquaintance with Karl and Fritz that morning, and had promised to -help them on a drag they were getting up for hauling brush. He was to -join us again in two hours, and we were to have a walk to Ludlow's -Woods. - -"He has been to the post-office this morning!" cried the Doctor, as -soon as Harry was out of hearing. It was evident that my mother's -unacceptable suggestion still rested on his mind. "He has been to the -post-office: that was it! You remember he asked you last night how far -to the nearest one? The first thing he does, when he arrives in a -place, is to inquire about the means of forwarding letters." - -"How he must be missed in his home!" my mother said. - -"Ah, indeed! He is an only son. But, contrary to the custom of only -sons, he thinks as much of his home as his home does of him. He has -not failed to write a single day of the thirty-five we have been -travelling together. His letters cannot have been received regularly -of late; but that is no fault of ours." - -"His parents must be very anxious, when he is so far from them," said -my mother. - -"He knows how to take care of himself,--and of me too," the Doctor -added, laughing. "I thought that on this journey I was to have charge -of him, but it turned out quite the other way. He assumed the business -department from the first. I acquiesced, thinking he would learn -something, but expecting to be obliged to come to his aid from time to -time. I think it wrong for a man to submit to imposition. I never do. -But Harry, open-hearted and lavish,--I thought anybody could take him -in. I did not find that anybody wanted to." - -"I can understand," said my mother, "that, with his trusting -disposition and his force of character together, he should always find -people do what he expects of them." - -"You are right,--you are quite right."--The Doctor seldom contradicted -my mother, and very considerately when he did.--"It is not your -generous men that tempt others to overreach, but your uncertain ones. -It seems he carries about with him something of the nature of a -divining-rod, that makes men's hearts reveal what of gold they have in -them. I have known a churlish-looking fellow, who has come to his door -on purpose to warn us thirsty wayfarers off from it, soften when his -eye met Harry's, urge us in as if he were afraid of losing us, do his -best for us, and then try to refuse our money when we went away. Well, -if son of mine could bring but one talent into the world with him, let -it be that for being loved; it is worth all others put together." - -"How many does it not include?" asked my mother. - -"Truly, there is perhaps more justice in the world than appears on the -outside." - -I found this the place to put in a little apology for Tabitha, who had -persisted in treating Harry with marked distinction, although I had -tried to remind her of the elder guest's claims to precedence by -redoubling my attentions to him. - -"Oh, I'm used to it, I'm used to it," cried the Doctor, cutting short -my apologies very good-humoredly. "Wherever we go, people treat him as -if he had done them some great service, or was going to do them one. -But I find my account in his good reception. I reap the practical -advantages. And then I am something of a fool about Harry myself; so I -can hardly blame the rest of the world. Think of his drawing me into -complicity in that affair of the negro Orpheus! I made a pretence to -myself that I wanted to see a foolish cave at Egerton, just to excuse -my weakness in humoring his whims; but, in truth, by the time we were -well on the road to Omocqua, I was feeling as if the welfare of the -world depended on our getting that poor wretch safely housed there. -Well, we shall see what will come of it! I remember, when Harry was a -little boy, saying to him once, after seeing him bestow a great deal -of labor in accomplishing a work not very important in older eyes, -'Well, Harry, now what have you done, after all?' 'I have done what I -meant to do,' said the child. I am so used now to seeing Harry do what -he means to do, that even in this case I can't help looking for some -result,--though, probably, it will be one not so important in my view -as in his, nor worth all that may be spent in arriving at it. I want -to see him once fairly engaged in some steady career to which he will -give himself heart and soul, as he does give himself to what he -undertakes; then he'll have no time nor thought for these little -extravagances." - -"Does Harry intend to take a profession?" - -"The law, I hope. He will study it in any case. This makes part of a -plan he formed for himself years ago. He considers the study of law as -a branch of the study of history, and a necessary preparation for the -writing of history,--his dream at present. But when he once takes hold -of the law, I hope he will stick to it." - -"Harry has very little the look of a student." - -"Yet he has already learned - - "'To scorn delights and live laborious days.' - -"But he has measure in everything,--and it is something to say of a -boy of his ardent temper. He observes the balance between physical and -mental exercise. He follows the counsel Languet gave to Sir Philip -Sidney,--to 'take care of his health, and not be like one who, on a -long journey, attends to himself, but not to the horse that is to -carry him.'" - -"Do his parents wish him to follow the law?" my mother asked. - -"They wish whatever he does. It seems they hold their boy something -sacred, and do not dare to interfere with him. But I wish it. The law -is the threshold of public life. I want to see him in his place." - -The Doctor sat smiling to himself for a little while, nodded his head -once or twice, and then, fixing his clear, cool blue eyes on my face, -said, in an emphatic voice,--"That boy will make his mark. Depend upon -it, he will make his mark in one way or another!" A shadow fell over -the eyes; the voice was lowered:--"I have only one fear for him. It is -that he may throw himself away on some fanaticism." - -"How long have you known Harry Dudley?" I asked, when the pause had -lasted so long that I thought the Doctor would not begin again without -being prompted. - -"All his life. Our families are connected;--not so nearly by blood; -but they have run down side by side for four or five generations. His -father and I pass for cousins. We were in college together. He was my -Senior, but I was more with him than with any of my own classmates -until he was graduated. He married very soon after, and then his house -was like a brother's to me. I went abroad after I left college, and -was gone three years. When I came back, we took things up just where -we left them. Dudley went to Europe himself afterwards with his -family, but I was backwards and forwards, so that I have never lost -sight of them. I have nobody nearer to me." - -"I was surprised to learn, from what you said last evening, that -Harry had passed a good deal of time in Europe." - -The Doctor turned upon me briskly. Perhaps my tone may have implied -that I was sorry to learn it. - -"He has lost nothing by that. He has lost nothing by it, but that -fixed stamp of place and time that most men wear. Though I don't know -whether he would have had it at any rate: he was always himself. You -have seen some shallow fellow who has been spoiled for living at home -by a few years of sauntering and lounging about Europe. But rely on -it, he who comes back a coxcomb went out one. Never fear! Harry is as -good an American as if he had not been away,--and better. Living -abroad, he has had the simplicity to study the history of his own -country as carefully as if it had been a foreign one, not aware that -it is with us no necessary part of a polite education. As for its -institutions, he has an enthusiasm for them that I could almost envy -him while it lasts, though I know he has got to be cured of it." - -"How long was he abroad?" - -"More than seven years." - -"Was he with his parents all the time?" - -"They were near him. His home was always within reach. But he was for -several years at a large school in Paris, and again at one in -Germany. At sixteen he had done with school and took his education -into his own hands. He lived at home, but his parents did not meddle -with him, except to aid him to carry out his plans. It was a course -that would not answer with every young man, perhaps; but I don't know -that any other would have done with him. He is one to cut out his own -path. He chose not only his own studies, but, to a great extent, his -own acquaintances; took journeys when he pleased and as he pleased. -Wherever he was, with whomever, he always held his own walk straight -and firm. You would not think that boy had seen so much of the world?" - -"I could have thought he had been carefully guarded from it, and -shielded almost from the very knowledge of wrong." - -"He has never been kept out of danger of any kind; but it seems there -was none anywhere for him. He is now, as you say, just as much a -simple, innocent boy as if he were nothing more." - -"His wings are grown, and shed off evil as the birds' do rain." - -The Doctor started as this voice came from behind his chair. Tabitha, -who had disappeared as soon as her attendance on the table was no -longer needed, had reentered unobserved, and stood, her basket of -vegetables poised on her head, absorbed in our conversation, until she -forgot herself into joining in it. - - - - - SUNDAY, April 7, 1844. - - -The storm which has been gathering since Friday evening came on last -night. This morning the rain pelts heavily against the windows. This -is not the Easter-Sunday I was looking forward to when I urged Harry -Dudley to stay for it. He would have been glad to stay, I know; but he -did not think it right to ask Dr. Borrow to change his plans again, -and merely for a matter of pleasure. When I addressed the Doctor -himself on the subject, he showed me a paper on which he had planned -out occupation for every day and almost for every hour of the two -weeks that were to pass before our meeting at Omocqua. I had not the -courage to remonstrate. - -I am afraid we shall have none of the neighbors here to-day. But the -table is set out with all the prettiest things the house affords, -ready for the collation which is to follow the morning reading. This -is a munificence we allow ourselves at Christmas and Easter. We keep -ceremoniously and heartily the chief holy days, the religious and the -national. In your large cities, where sources of emotion and -instruction are open on every hand, where the actual day is so full -and so animated that it is conscious of wanting nothing outside of -itself, it is not strange, perhaps, that men should become careless of -these commemorations or yield them only a formal regard. Our life must -widen and enrich itself, by stretching its sympathies and claims far -beyond its material limits. We cannot forego our part in the sorrows -and joys of universal humanity. - -It was a pleasure to me to find that Harry, who has lived so long in -countries where the public observance of the Christian festivals is -too marked to allow even the indifferent to overlook them, remembers -them from affection as well as by habit. When I came into the parlor, -early last Sunday morning, I saw by the branches over the windows that -he had not forgotten it was Palm-Sunday. He was sitting on the -doorstep trimming some long sprays of a beautiful vine, which he had -brought from the thicket. As soon as I appeared, he called on me to -help him twine them round the engraving of the Transfiguration. You -did right to tell me to bring that engraving down-stairs. It hangs -between the windows. I have made a simple frame for it, which answers -very well; but next winter I am going to carve out quite an elaborate -one, after an Italian pattern which Harry has sketched for me. If I -could think that you would ever see it! - -Harry and I had a walk before breakfast,--the first of the early -morning walks that were afterwards our rule. He is not a great -talker. The sweet modesty of his nature retains its sway even in the -most familiar moments. He is earnest; sometimes impassioned; but never -voluble, never excited, never diffuse. What he has to say is generally -put in the form of simple and concise statement or suggestion; but he -gives, and perhaps for that very reason, a great deal to be thought -and felt in an hour. - -The bouquet that Harry brought in that morning was of green of -different shades, only in the centre there were a few delicate -wood-flowers. - -"Has Dr. Borrow seen these?" my mother asked, looking at them with -pleasure. - -"No," the Doctor answered for himself, laying down on the window-seat -beside him the microscope with which he had been engaged. "No," he -said, with a good-humored smile; "but I know Harry's choice in -flowers. He begins to have a nice tact as to what's what, when it is a -question of helping me; but, for himself, he still likes flowers for -their looks, or sometimes, I think, for their names. His favorites are -the May-flower and the Forget-me-not. They represent for him the New -World and the Old,--that of hope, and that of memory. But he is a -friend of all wild-flowers, especially of spring wild-flowers,--and -more especially of those of New England. He loves the blood-root, -though he ought not, for it is a dissembler; it wears outwardly the -garb of peace and innocence, but, out of sight, wraps itself in the -red robes of tyranny and war." - -"No," Harry answered; "red is the color of tyrants only because they -have usurped that with the rest. Red, in the old tradition, is -symbolic of Divine Love, the source of righteous power. White is the -symbol of Divine Wisdom, and is that of peace, because where this -wisdom is there must be harmony." - -This talk of New-England wild-flowers, the mention of names once so -familiar, was very pleasant to me. I must have the blood-root, if it -will grow here. I could never see it again without seeing in it a -great deal more than itself. For me, the pure white of the flower will -symbolize the wisdom of God, always manifest; the red of the root, His -love, sometimes latent, yet still there. - -The Doctor, having made his protest, put the microscope into its case, -and came to my mother's table to examine. When he spied the little -flowers nestled in the green, he exclaimed,-- - -"Where did you find these, Harry? You must have gone far for them." - -"No; I found them where the old forest used to be, among the stumps." - -"Waiting for a new generation of protectors to grow up about them," -said the Doctor, looking at them kindly; "this generous climate -leaves nothing long despoiled. If Nature is let alone, she will soon -have a forest there again. But, Harry, you must take me to that spot. -We'll see what else there is to find." - -"Are these flowers scarce?" Harry asked. - -"They are getting to be." - -"I should have shown them to you, but they are so pretty I thought -they must be common." - -"Well, to do you justice, you don't often make a mistake now.--When we -first set out," continued the Doctor, turning to me, "he was always -asking me to see this beautiful flower or that superb tree; but now he -never calls my attention to anything that is not worth looking at." - -"I called you to see one superb tree that you found worth looking at," -said Harry,--"Brompton's oak at Omocqua. Colvil, when you see that -tree!" - -Love of trees is one of the things that Harry and I are alike in. - -"Yes, that is one of the finest specimens of the live-oak I have met -with," affirmed the Doctor. - -"We will hold our meeting under it on the nineteenth," said Harry. -"Colvil, come on the afternoon of the eighteenth. Be there before -sunset." - -"Harry will bespeak fine weather," said the Doctor. - -"You know how Omocqua stands?" asked Harry. "It is in a plain, but a -high plain." - -"I have heard that it is a beautiful place." - -"It is beautiful from a distance," said the Doctor; "and when you are -in it, the distant views are beautiful. The hotel we were at,--the -Jefferson Hotel, Harry?" - -"The Jackson, I believe, Doctor." - -"No, the Jefferson," decided the Doctor, after a moment's thought. "We -heard the two hotels discussed at Cyclops, and decided for the -oldest." - -"They are opposite each other on Union Square," said Harry, waiving -the question. - -"The hotel we were at," the Doctor began again, "is on the northern -side of the town. From the field behind it, where Harry's tree stands, -the prospect is certainly very grand. Hills, mountains, to the north -and east,--and west, a fine free country, intersected by a river, and -happily varied with low, round, wooded hills, and soft meadows, and -cultivated fields. Harry drew me there almost against my will, but it -needed no force to keep me there. I had my flowers to see to. Harry -brought out my press and my portfolios, and established me in a shed -that runs out from the barn, at right angles with it, fronting west. -He found a bench there that served me for a table, and brought me a -wooden block for a seat. So there I could sit and work,--my plants -and papers sheltered from the wind,--and look up at the view when I -chose. Harry is right. Meet us there on the afternoon of the -eighteenth. I wish it as much as he does; and the sunset will be worth -seeing, if there is one." - -"Come on the eighteenth," said Harry,--"and if you arrive before us, -wait for us under that tree; if after, and you do not find me at the -door, look for me there. You go through the house by the main entry, -across the court, through the great barn; the field is in front of -you, and the tree." - -"Or, if you like better," said the Doctor, "you can enter by a gate on -a side-street, from which a wagon-road leads straight to my work-shed. -The street runs west of the hotel. In any case, don't fail us on the -nineteenth. We'll hold your celebration under your tree, Harry,--that -is, if Colvil agrees to it." - -There was no doubt about that. - -After breakfast, I went up into the study to prepare for the morning's -reading. I had intended to choose a sermon suited to Palm-Sunday; but -I happened to take down first a volume of South, and, opening on the -text, "I have called you friends," could not lay it down again. What -lesson fitter to read on that beautiful day, and in that dear company, -than this, which aids us to comprehend the inexhaustible resources of -the Divine Affection,--its forbearance, its constancy, its eager -forgiveness, beforehand even with our prayer for it,--by drawing for -us the portrait of a true, manly friendship? - -I have never been able to accept the doctrine that the Great Source of -Love is jealous of His own bounty, and reproaches us for bestowing -again what He has freely bestowed. Yet, though unassenting, I feel -pain when I read in the works of pious men that a devoted regard -yielded to a mortal is an infringement of the Highest Right, and I am -grateful to the teachers who permit us to learn to love the Father -whom we have not seen by loving the brother whom we have seen. In -those seasons which happen to us all, when a shadow seems to pass -between the spirit and its sun, I have brought myself back to a full -and delighted sense of the Supreme Benignity by supposing the -generosity and tenderness of a noble human heart infinitely augmented; -and I have invigorated my trust in the promises of God, the spoken and -the implied, by calling to mind what I have known of the loyalty of -man. - -Human ties wind themselves very quickly and very closely round my -heart. I cannot be brought even casually into contact with others so -nearly that I am made aware of their interests and aims, without in -some sort receiving their lives into my own,--sharing, perhaps, in -disappointments, that, in my own person, I should not have -encountered, and rejoicing in successes which would have been none to -me. But friendship is still something very different from -this,--different even from a kind and pleasant intimacy. Nor can we -create it at will. I feel deeply the truth of South's assurance, that -"it is not a human production." "A friend," he says, "is the gift of -God: He only who made hearts can unite them. For it is He who creates -those sympathies and suitablenesses of nature that are the foundation -of all true friendship, and then by His providence brings persons so -affected together." - -Last Sunday was one of those days that are remembered for their own -perfection, apart from the associations that may have gathered about -them; and it seems to be one of the properties of these transcendent -seasons to come attended by all harmonious circumstances. Nothing was -wanting to last Sunday. It stands cloudless and faultless in my -memory. - -Harry proposed that we should hold our services in the open air. My -mother approved. We took up her couch and carried it out to your -favorite dreaming-ground, setting it down near the old tree that goes, -for your sake, by the name of Keith's Pine. The place is not rough as -when you were here. I have had the stumps cleared away, and your pine -no longer looks so lonely, now that it seems to have been always -alone. - -We brought out a bench and all the chairs in the house. We placed the -bench opposite my mother's couch, about thirty feet off. We set the -great arm-chair for the Doctor, near the head of the couch, which we -considered the place of honor. My straight-backed oak chair was put -near the foot, with my mother's little table before it for the books. -The other chairs were arranged in a semicircle on each side, with -liberal spaces. Tabitha assisted at these dispositions, and chose a -place for her own favorite willow chair close to the trunk of the -pine-tree, between it and the couch, where, as she said, she had a -full view of the congregation. I understood very well that the poor -soul had another motive, and was guarding her dignity by selecting a -distinguished and at the same time a secluded station. When she saw -that all was in order, she went back to the house to stay until the -last moment, in order to direct late comers. - -Harry, at first, sat down on the grass near me; but when Karl and -Fritz came, they looked toward him, evidently divided between their -desire to be near him and their fear of presuming. Discretion -prevailed, and they took their seats on the ground at a little -distance from the bench. Harry perceived their hesitation, and saw -Hans consulting me with his eyes. He was up in a moment, brought a -chair and put it beside mine for the old man, who is getting a little -deaf, and then exchanging a smiling recognition with the boys, took -his own place near them. - -Barton, the landlord of the Rapid Run, at Quickster, came that -morning. You cannot have forgotten Quickster, the pretty village with -a water-fall, which charmed you so much,--about five miles from -Tenpinville, to the north. And I hope you remember Barton, the -landlord of the inn that takes its name and its sign from the swift -little river that courses by his door. He never sees me without -inquiring after you. He shows the delights of his neighborhood always -with the same zeal. He guided the Doctor and Harry about it for an -hour or two the day they passed through Quickster, coming from -Omocqua. It was to him the Doctor had recourse, when he went back to -hire a wagon for poor Orphy. I thought at first that Barton had -forgotten the custom of our Sunday morning, and had only meant to pay -me a visit. But it was not so. He had his son with him,--Isaac Davis -Barton,--who is now ten years old, and in whom, he says, he wants to -keep a little of the New-Englander, if he can, and so shall bring him -over to our reading every fair Sunday. I did not know whether I ought -to feel pleased or not. There is no church at Quickster yet; but -there is one at Tenpinville,--two, I think. I have no doubt at all -that I have done well to invite our few neighbors, who have no chance -of hearing a good word in any other way, to listen to a chapter in the -Bible and a sermon here on Sunday. I have had evidence that some of -them have been made happier, and I almost dare to think better, by -coming. But it is another thing when there is an opportunity of -attending regular religious services. I did not think it well to -discourage Barton by telling him my scruples on this first occasion. -It would have been rather ungracious after his ten miles' ride. I like -the little boy very much, and hope we shall be good friends. I shall -feel a better right to advise by and by. Barton had a chair near Dr. -Borrow's; his son sat in front of him on the grass. - -Next to Barton came an old man and his wife, who have -established themselves in one of the empty houses on the Shaler -plantation,--whether by permission or as squatters I do not know, and -nobody about here does. But as the man has a smattering of two or -three trades through which he makes himself acceptable, and the woman -some secrets in cookery and other household arts which she imparts -very readily, no umbrage is taken at them. Their name is Franket. They -have simple, honest faces, and bring nothing discordant with them. - -The next place in this semicircle was filled by a man who has not a -very good name in the neighborhood. Meeting him one day, I asked him -to join us on Sundays, only because I ask all who live near enough to -come easily. I did it with a little trouble, expecting to see a sneer -on his face; but he thanked me quite civilly, and, though several -weeks passed without his taking any further notice of my invitation, -it seems he had not forgotten it. He is not an ill-looking man, when -you see him fairly. His expression is melancholy rather than morose, -as I used to think it. After this, I shall never take refusal for -granted, when I have anything to offer which I believe worth -accepting. This man's name is Winford. I assigned to him, as a -stranger, one of two remaining chairs; but he declined it, taking his -seat on the ground. The chairs were immediately after occupied by the -wife and daughter of Rufe Hantham, a man tolerated for abilities -convenient rather than useful. He is one of the class of parasites -that spring up about every large plantation. He is a hanger-on of the -Westlake estate, which lies just beyond Shaler's, between that and -Tenpinville. The wife is a poor little woman, whose face wears an -habitual expression of entreaty. It is the daughter who brings her, I -think. This young girl, of fifteen or less, has a look of thought and -determination, as if she held in her mind some clearly formed plan -which she will carry out to the end, towards which her coming here is -possibly one of the first steps. She keeps her eyes fixed on the -ground, but evidently is listening intently,--committing, as it seems, -everything she hears to a memory that never lets go what it has once -taken hold of. They have been twice before. When the reading is over, -the mother looks as if she would like to have a little chat with -somebody; but the daughter holds her in check with hand and eye,--not -unkindly, but effectually. They wait until some one sets the example -of going, and then follow quickly and silently. We have made no -attempt to invade a reserve which seems deliberate. - -Harvey's plantation is on the other side of Tenpinville, more than -eighteen miles from us; but it had a representative here, in young -Lenox, one of the sons of the overseer. He came for the first time. He -sat in the opposite semicircle, next to Harry, with whom he was -already acquainted. The chairs on that side were occupied by the -Segrufs and Blantys, respectable neighbors, whom you may remember. - -Another new-comer was a little boy whom we met in our morning walk, -and who joined himself to us at once with a confidence which was very -pleasant. Harry took a great fancy to him. I asked him to come to us -at ten, hardly hoping he would accept; but he did, eagerly. He does -not belong to our part of the world. He is the son of a carpenter who -has work here for a few months. I was glad to see him come in, and -another little fellow whose father has brought him once or twice, but -who has not been alone before. The father is not often well enough to -come. - -There are one or two persons whom I am always glad _not_ to see; and -that morning my wishes were answered in those who came and in those -who stayed away. Of these last is Phil Phinn, who thinks to make up -for the time of mine he uses in the adjustment of his neighborly -differences by devoting an hour of his own, once in two or three -weeks, to the penance of listening to me. I could well spare his -vacant solemnity that day. His absence was of good augury, too, for he -is strict in attendance when an occasion for mediation is imminent. - -At ten o'clock precisely we heard the great bell rung by Tabitha, who -until then kept watch at the house. While it was ringing, a family -came in of which I must speak more particularly, because I feel -already that I shall speak of it often. This family has only recently -arrived in the neighborhood. The father, I think, is Southern born; -the mother must be from the North. They brought all their children, -down to the baby, three years old, that listened with all its eyes, as -the rest with all their hearts. They had been here only twice before; -but the perfect unity of this little family, which seemed always -influenced by one feeling, moved by one will, the anxious watchfulness -of the parents, the close dependence of the children, had already -greatly interested me. This man and woman have certainly known more -prosperous, if not better days. The lines of their faces, their whole -bearing, tell of successive reverses, worthily, though not resolutely -borne,--of a down-hill path long trodden by patient, but unresisting -feet. There are no signs of struggle against adverse fortune. But, in -such a struggle, how often do the charm and joy of life perish, torn -and trampled by their very rescuers! These people have maintained -their equanimity, if not their cheerfulness. They have no reproaches -for themselves or each other. The bench was for this family. The -father, the mother with the baby in her lap, the daughter, and the -second son filled it; the eldest sat at his mother's feet, and, when -he was particularly moved or pleased by anything that was read, looked -up to her to see if he was right. A great gravity held the whole -group,--deepest on the elder faces, and gradually shading off into -the undue tranquillity of the infantile look. - -When Tabitha came, she brought the little white vase with Harry's -flowers, and put it on the table, where, indeed, it ought to have -been. - -I seldom read the whole of a sermon. I like to keep more time for the -Bible. And then I omit those passages which I foresee might provoke -questions which I should not dare to assume the responsibility of -answering. I do not presume to take upon myself the office of -religious teacher. I only strive, in the absence of one, to keep alive -in myself and those near me a constant sense of God's presence and -care, and of the bond which, uniting us to Him, unites us to each -other. This I do by reading the words of those who have had this sense -most strongly and have expressed it most vividly. - -Of the sermon I had chosen I read the first paragraph, and then, -turning over nine pages, began with the Privileges of Friendship. I do -not know whether this discourse of South's is to others what it is to -me. Perhaps there is something in it particularly adapted to my -needs,--or perhaps it is because it came to me first at a time when I -was very eager for the assurances it gives; but I never read it -without feeling a new inflow of peace and security. At least some of -those who heard it with me that day felt with me. Harry I was sure of -beforehand. When we broke up, and I went forward to speak to the -strangers on the bench, it seemed to me that their anxieties were -soothed by something softer than patience. An indefinable change had -passed over the whole family. They all seemed lightened of a part of -the habitual burden. I took them up to my mother. She asked them to be -sure and come on Easter Sunday; they accepted in earnest; but with -their poor little wagon and poor old mule they will hardly encounter -the rain and the mud to-day. - -I was so intent on my letter, that I forgot the weather, until, -writing the word _rain_, I looked towards the window. It does not -rain, and has apparently held up for some time. And now I hear a -racket in the road, and a stumping, that can come only from the poor -little wagon and the poor old mule. - - - AFTERNOON, 3 O'CLOCK. - -It is raining again; but I think our friends had time to reach their -homes before it began. We have had a happy day, notwithstanding its -dull promise. I read an Easter sermon,--"_Because it was not possible -that he should be holden of it_." The text itself is more than a -thousand sermons. - - * * * * * - -The name of the family that was arriving this morning when I left off -writing is Linton. They are from Western Virginia. They stayed with us -for an hour after the reading was over. Our interest in them is still -increased. Winford came again. I asked him to stay; he declined; but I -think he was pleased at being invited. The Hanthams came, mother and -daughter. They arrived at the last moment, and went at the closing of -the book. The corner in which the table stood was curtained off, so -that there was no visible sign of unusual hospitality; but they had -perhaps heard of the custom of the day. Mrs. Hantham would not have -been inexorable; but she was summoned away by a gesture a little too -imperative, perhaps, from a daughter to her mother. Davis Barton came -on horseback, without his father. I set him off again at one o'clock; -for the sky threatened, and his road home was a difficult one at best. - -But let me go back to last Sunday. I was just at the breaking-up of -our little assembly by the pine. - -The Lintons--they had no name then--were the first to go. The Hanthams -were the next. Then the others dropped off, one by one and two by two: -some taking leave as if they felt themselves guests; others -withdrawing silently, as considering themselves only part of a -congregation. Barton went round shaking hands with one and another. I -was surprised to see him show this attention to Winford. Barton likes -to be well with the world,--that is, with as much of it as he -respects; but he respects himself, and does not seek popularity at the -expense of sincerity. I am confirmed in my belief that there is good -in Winford. - -When all the rest were gone, Barton came up to have a talk with the -Doctor, for whom he evidently has a great admiration. Harry remained -with Karl and Fritz, who were holding him in conversation, apparently -on some important matter,--old Hans, a critical listener, completing -the group. - -Barton inquired after the success of the Doctor's late excursions, and -complimented him warmly on his powers of endurance, which seemed -almost miraculous in a city man. This Doctor Borrow freely admitted, -declaring that he had hardly ever undertaken an expedition with a -party of people which had not turned out a disappointment,--that he -seldom, indeed, found even a single companion who could walk with him, -or who could rough it as he could. - -"You've got one now, though," said Barton. - -"Oh, for that," the Doctor answered, laughing, "Harry is a degree -beyond me. I can bear as much as any man, but I know that I'm bearing, -and like to give myself credit for it. Harry never feels either heat -or cold or damp or dust. Nothing disagreeable is able to get at him. -There is no such thing as hard fare for him; and if he knows what -fatigue is, he has never confessed to it." - -"And yet I suppose he's something of a scholar, too?" asked Barton; -and he looked thoughtfully down at his son, who always kept close to -him, and who had been drinking all this in eagerly. - -As the Doctor hesitated to reply, Barton added,--"I asked him, that -day you were at Quickster, if he had read a book that I had seen a -good deal of talk about in the newspapers, and he said, No, that he -had hardly read anything yet." - -"Of course, of course, at his age! Still, you need not precisely take -him at his own estimate. His modesty misleads, as much as some -people's conceit does the other way. He is not always up to the -fashion of the moment in literature; does not try to read everything -that is talked about; but he has read the best of the best." - -"Is that the best way, do you think?" asked Barton, anxiously. - -"What do you think yourself?" asked the Doctor. - -"I should think it must be a good one." - -"It depends altogether on what you want to have," said the Doctor, -following the track of Barton's thought, and fixing a searching look -on Davis, as if to ascertain what material was there. "The queen-bee -is fed on special and choice food from the first; if you want a -king-man, you must follow the same course." - -"You've seen some fine countries abroad, Sir?" said Barton, presently. -"Any finer than ours?" - -"Finer than yours? No. You've a fine country here, Mr. Barton, and a -fresh country: Nature stands on her own merits, as yet. No -'associations' here; no 'scenes of historical interest' for sightseers -to gape at and enthusiasts to dream over. You have your Indian mounds, -to be sure; but these are simple objects of curiosity, and don't exact -any tribute of feeling: you've no 'glorious traditions,' and I assure -you, it is reposing to be out of their reach." - -"We've only what we bring with us," answered Barton, a little touched; -"we don't leave our country when we come here." - -"Colvil looks now as if he had something in reserve. But I'm not -alarmed. If there had been anything about here that had a tinge of -poetry, I should have heard of it long ago from Harry. Most people -think this sort of folly is in good taste only in Europe. But Harry -brought it home with him in full force. Before he'd been on land a -week, he'd seen Concord and Lexington." - -"Had he, though?" cried Barton. "I am an Acton boy, you know," he -added, in a subdued tone, a little abashed by his own vivacity. - -"Upon my word, Dudley has waked up the old-fashioned patriot in you -already."--Harry had now come up, and made one of the Doctor's -listeners.--"I saw he was getting hold of you that morning at -Quickster, when you were talking up your State to us. You were -beginning to feel that you had something to do about it. It isn't the -country that belongs to her sons, according to him, but her sons that -belong to the country. Take care! give him time, and he'll make a -convert of you." - -"I will give him time," answered Barton, laughing. - -"Don't be too confident of yourself. I have to stand on my guard, -myself, sometimes. And don't be misled into supposing that his notions -are the fashion in the part of the world we come from, or in any other -civilized part of it. Harry, you were born some hundreds of years too -late or too early. Fervor in anything, but above all in public -service, is out of place in the world of our day. - - "'Love your country; wish it well; - Not with too intense a care: - Let it suffice, that, when it fell, - Thou its ruin didst not share.' - -"That's modern patriotism, the patriotism of Europe. Ours is of the -same strain, only modified by our circumstances. Our Mother-land is a -good housekeeper. She spreads a plentiful table, and her sons -appreciate it. She wants no sentimental affection, and receives none. -She is not obliged to ask for painful sacrifice; and lucky for her -that she is not!" - -Harry's cheek flushed, and his eye kindled:-- - -"Let her only have need of them, and it will be seen whether her sons -love her!" - -Davis Barton was in more danger of conversion than his father; his -eyes were fixed ardently on Harry; his face glowed in sympathy. - -"The nearest thing we have to a place with 'associations,'" I began -quickly, preventing whatever sarcastic answer may have been ready on -the Doctor's lips, "is the Shaler plantation." - -"Yes," said Barton, "the Colonel was an old Revolutioner." - -"The father?" asked the Doctor. - -"Yes." - -"To be sure. The son's title is an inherited one, like my friend -Harvey's, who, now he is beginning to get a little gray, is 'the -Judge,' I find, with everybody." - -"And he looks it very well," said Barton. "I don't know whether it -will go down farther." - -"And the present Colonel is a _new_ Revolutioner, probably," said the -Doctor, inquiringly. - -"I suppose some people might think he only followed after his father," -Barton answered. - -We were getting on delicate ground. Barton is no trimmer, but he is -landlord of the Rapid Run. He made a diversion by inquiring after -Orphy, and the Doctor gave him the account of their journey as he had -given it to me,--yet not forgetting that he had given it to me. The -same in substantial facts, his story was amplified and varied in -details and in ornament, so that I heard it with as much interest as -if it had been the first time. - -"Is musical genius of the force of Orphy's common among the negroes of -your plantations?" The Doctor addressed this question to me. - -"Not common, certainly,--nor yet entirely singular. Almost all our -large plantations have their minstrel, of greater or less talent. Your -friend, Mr. Frank Harvey, has a boy on his place, who, if not equal to -Orphy, has yet a remarkable gift. Did not Mr. Harvey speak to you of -him?" - -"I dare say. He had several prodigies of different kinds to exhibit to -us. But we were there so short a time! He introduced us to a -blacksmith of genius; to a specimen of ugliness supposed to be the -most superior extant,--out of Guinea; and to a few other notabilities. -But we had hardly time to see even the place itself, which really -offers a great deal to admire. I could have given a few more days to -it, but I saw that Harry was in a hurry to be off." - -"I am sorry you did not see that boy. He would have taken hold of your -imagination, I think, and certainly of Harry's. Airy has seen only the -sunny side of life. He has all the _espieglerie_ of the African -child." - -"Orphy has not much of that," said the Doctor. - -You ought to have seen little Airy, too, Keith. He was already famous -when you were here. He is rightly named; a very Ariel for grace and -sportiveness. With the African light-heartedness, he has also -something of African pathos. In his silent smile there is a delicate -sadness,--not the trace of any pain he has known, but like the -lingering of an inherited regret. His transitions are more rapid than -belong to our race: while you are still laughing at his drollery, you -see that he has suddenly passed far away from you; his soft, shadowy -eyes are looking out from under their drooping lashes into a land -where your sight cannot follow them. - -"If you were to go there again, it would be worth while to ask for -him," I said to the Doctor. "Airy Harvey is one of the wonders of our -world." - -"Airy Harvey!" cried the Doctor; "does Harvey allow his servants to -bear his name? Westlake strictly forbids the use of his to his people. -But then he supplies them with magnificent substitutes. He doesn't -think any name but his own too good for them." - -"Does he forbid them to take it?" asked Barton. "I heard so, but -thought it was a joke. Why, there isn't a living thing on his place -but goes by his name, down to that handsome hound that follows him, -who's known everywhere about as Nero Westlake." - -Barton seemed to enjoy Westlake's failure, and so, I am afraid, did -the Doctor. He laughed heartily. - -"He's rather unlucky," he said, "considering it's almost the only -thing he is particular about." - -"I don't believe Mr. Harvey could change the custom either, if he -wished," I said; "but I do not think he does wish it. A name is a -strong bond." - -"That's true," said the Doctor. "Harvey's a wise man; it's a means of -government." - -"If I had to live under one of them," said Barton, "Westlake's -haphazard fashions would suit me better than Harvey's regular system: -a life in which everything is known beforehand tells on the nerves. -But, strangely enough, Mr. Harvey never loses one of his people, and -Westlake's are always slipping off." - -"If Harvey carried on his plantation himself, as Westlake does," -replied the Doctor, "he would be adored where now he is only loved. -His rule would abound in that element of uncertainty whose charm you -appreciate so justly. But he is wisely content to reign and not to -govern." - -"Mr. Harvey has a good overseer, I understand," said -Barton,--"supervisor, though, I believe it is." - -"Lenox; yes. He is able, perfectly temperate, cool, inflexible, and -just." - -"You have learned his character from Mr. Harvey?" - -"And from what I have myself seen. The estate is really well -ordered,--all things considered; Harvey tells me it is rare that a -complaint is heard from his negroes." - -"Lenox takes care of that," said Harry. - -"And he ought. I walked round among the cabins with Harvey. Not a -creature but had his petition; not one but would have had his -grievance, if he had dared." - -"Do you suppose they have no real grievances, then?" - -"I suppose no such thing. I never saw the man yet--the grown -man--without one; and as I did not expect to meet with him here, I -didn't look for him. Harvey allows no unnecessary severity; his -plantation is governed by fixed laws, to which the overseer is -amenable as well as the slaves. Every deviation from them has to be -accounted for. He sees that his people have justice done them,--that -is to say, as far as justice ever is done on this earth. He has -wrought no miracles, and probably did not expect to work any. He has -run into no extravagances of benevolence; and I respect him for it all -the more that I know he is by nature an impetuous man. I cannot but -think our friend Shaler would have done better to follow his example -than to abandon his negroes as he has." - -"He gave them something to begin their new life with," said Harry. - -"So much thrown away. Just a sop to his conscience, like the rest; a -mode of excusing himself to himself for shifting off his own -responsibilities upon other people. Two thirds of his rabble are -paupers by this time." - -Harry looked to me for the answer. - -"They have been free four years. Two of them have fallen back on his -hands,--two out of one hundred and seventy-three. He has not abandoned -them. They still apply to him when they need advice or aid." - -"I was not so much arguing about this particular case, which I don't -pretend to have much knowledge of, as reasoning upon general grounds. -I still think he would have done better to keep his slaves and try to -make something of them here." - -"The law would not let him make men of them here," Harry answered. - -"A great deal may be done, still keeping within the law," replied the -Doctor, "by a man more intent on doing good than on doing it precisely -in his own way." - -"Even in what it allowed, the law did not protect him. Where injustice -is made law, law loses respect,--most of all with those who have -perverted it to their service. You know Mr. Westlake's maxim,--'Those -who make the laws can judge what they are made for.'" - -"The power of opinion in what are called free countries," replied the -Doctor, "is indeed excessive. It has long been a question with me, -whether a single hand to hold the sceptre is not preferable to this -Briareus. But we have chosen. I am not disposed to deliver myself up, -bound hand and foot, to this fetich of public opinion. Still, a man -owes some respect to the feelings and principles of the community in -which he lives. I may think the best way of disposing of old houses is -to burn them down; but my neighbors will have something to say, and -justly." - -Harry did not reply; nor did I at that time. - -Tabitha appeared and bore off three chairs,--one on her head and one -in each hand. We understood the signal. Harry and I took up my -mother's couch; Barton and his son loaded themselves with two chairs -each; the Doctor lifted the arm-chair with both hands, and, holding -it out before him, led the way, somewhat impeded by his burden; and so -we moved in slow procession to the house. - -In the afternoon, when Barton and his son were gone, the Doctor, -Harry, and I took a walk to the site of the old forest. We found a few -more flowers like those Harry had brought to my mother in the morning, -but nothing else that the Doctor cared for. On our way back, I told -him the story of Shaler's attempt and failure. I wonder I did not tell -it to you when you were here. But we had so much to ask and to say, -and the time was so short! I will tell it to you now. - -Shaler did not wish to burn down the old house, nor even to pull it -down. He wished to renew and remodel it so slowly and so cautiously -that those who were in it should hardly be aware of change until they -learned it by increase of comfort. He was not a self-centred, but a -very public-spirited man. He had a great ambition for his State. He -wished it to be a model of prosperity, material and moral. He saw that -its natural advantages entitled it to take this position. The most -practical of reformers, he began with himself. He found fault with -nobody; he preached to nobody; he meant to let his plantation speak -for him. His plan was simply to substitute inducement for -coercion,--to give his men a healthy interest in their labor by -letting them share the profits,--in short, to bring them under the -ordinary motives to exertion. This does not appear to you a very -original scheme, nor, probably, a very dangerous one. He entered upon -it, however, with great precautions, having due regard to law, and, as -he thought, to opinion. He did not pay his people wages, nor even make -them presents in money. He gave them better food, better clothes, -better houses, letting their comforts and luxuries increase in exact -proportion to their industry. The result was what he had hoped,--or -rather, it was beyond his hopes. The pecuniary advantage was greater -and more speedy than he had expected. He did not boast himself. He -waited for his abundant crops, his fine gardens and orchards, and his -hard-working people to bring him enviers and imitators. The report, in -fact, soon spread, that Shaler was trying a new system, and that it -was succeeding. Neighbors came to inspect and inquire,--first the -near, then the more distant. Shaler forgot his caution. He was an -enthusiast, after all. He saw proselytes in his guests. He laid bare -his schemes and hopes. These aimed at nothing less than the conversion -of the whole State, through his success, to more enlightened views; -thence, a revisal of the laws, a withdrawal of the checks on -benevolent effort; and finally, the merging of slavery in a new -system, which should have nothing of the past but the tradition of -grateful dependence on the part of the employed and of responsibility -on that of the employer, rendering their relation more kindly and more -permanent. - -Among his visitors and hearers were generous men to be moved by his -ideas, and wise men to appreciate their practical fruit; but the -sensitiveness of delicate minds, and the caution of judicious ones, -withholding from prompt speech and action, too often leave the sway in -society to men of small heart, narrow mind, and strong, selfish -instincts. Such never hesitate. Their sight is not far enough or -strong enough to show them distant advantages or dangers. Their -nearest interest is all they inquire after. These men combine easily; -they know each other, and are sure of each other. The sensitive shrink -aside and let them pass on; the prudent deliberate until the moment -for arresting them has gone by. Men who are both good and brave come -singly, and, for the most part, stand and fall alone. - - "Great Tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, - For Goodness _dares_ not check thee!" - -Shaler had not miscalculated so much as the result would seem to show: -the opinion of the majority was perhaps with him; but the only voices -raised were against him. The storm had already gathered thick about -him before he was aware of its approach. The first intimations were -not violent. He was admonished that his course was disapproved,--was -advised to let things slip back quietly into the old track, and that -so his eccentricities would be forgotten. This mildness failing, he -was told that he was endangering the welfare of the community,--and, -lastly, that he would incur peril himself, if he persisted. He was not -a man to be driven from his ground by threats, nor by loss or -suffering which he was to bear alone. His cattle died; his horses fell -lame; his barns and store-houses took fire. He ignored the cause of -these disasters and kept quietly on, still hoping to overcome evil -with good. His great strength and courage, with his known skill in the -use of arms, deterred from personal violence. But there were surer -means: his people were subjected to annoyance and injury,--and, -moreover, were accused of every offence committed within a circuit of -twenty miles. His duty as their protector obliged him to give way: he -took the only course by which he could provide for their welfare. - -"I have no quarrel with Shaler," said the Doctor, after he had heard -the story, which I gave him much less at length than I have told it to -you. "I have no quarrel with Shaler. He had a right to do what he -would with his own. I only ask the same liberty for my friend Harvey, -and for those who, like him, accept their lot as it is given to them." - -"Mr. Harvey is not happy," said Harry, seriously. "There are lines of -pain on his face. I do not think he accepts his lot." - -"Well, submits to it, then,--the next best thing." - -"Hardly even submits. I think he begins to doubt himself." - -"He is of the age for doubting himself. It is at twenty that we are -infallible. To be sure, some happy men are so all their lives. Shaler, -I dare say, wouldn't have a doubt of his own wisdom, if the whole -hundred and seventy-three were starved or hanged. If there are marks -of care on Harvey's face, reasons might be found for it without -inventing for him an uneasy conscience." - -"I think he envies Shaler, and would follow his example, if he had the -resolution. It is strange to see a brave man under such a thraldom." - -"If Frank Harvey wants courage, it is something new." - -"There are men who have courage to face a foe, but not to stand up -against a friend." - -"Certainly, in such a project, he would have his wife's family to -count with, to say nothing of his own children. I fancy he would -hardly find a co-adjutor in Fred. You know Fred Harvey, Harry; he was -at school with you in Paris. What sort of a fellow was he then?" - -"I liked him." - -"I was not ill-pleased with him, when I saw him in Paris four years -ago. A fine-looking fellow; formed manners; modest enough, too. I -thought he would fill his place in the world creditably. Did you see -much of him, Harry, after you left school?" - -"For a year I saw him constantly. We went to the same lectures at the -Jardin des Plantes." - -While this conversation was going on, a reminiscence had been waking -in my mind. - -"Did you ever take a journey with Frederic Harvey?" I asked Harry. - -"Yes, into Brittany." - -"Were you at a Trappist monastery with him?" - -"At La Meilleraie. We passed a night there." - -It was clear. I had been present once at a conversation between -Frederic and his sister, in which he spoke of his companion on this -journey into Brittany more warmly than I had ever heard him speak of -any other man, and yet with a discrimination that individualized the -praise, and made it seem not only sincere, but accurate. This -conversation interested me very much at the time; but, as I had no -expectation of seeing the person who was the subject of it, his name -passed from me. - -I was glad to hear Harry say he liked Frederic Harvey. It would have -been hard, if he had not. And yet I am not sure that I like him very -much myself. I am grateful for the preference he shows for my society; -but I cannot meet as I would his evident desire for intimacy. How true -is what South says:--"That heart shall surrender itself and its -friendship to one man, at first view, which another has long been -laying siege to in vain"! - - - - - MONDAY, April 8, 1844. - - -Those full days must still furnish these.--My walk with Harry was the -first of last Monday's pleasures. Roaming over our fields with him, I -found myself now in one, now in another European scene; and -everywhere, hardly speaking of himself, he set his individual stamp on -every object he called up before me. He had seen and felt with his own -eyes and heart; and everywhere had been disclosed for him those -special sympathies which Nature and the works of genius hold for each -separate human soul. - -Florence will always be dear to me among Italian cities because it was -so dear to Harry. He has taught me to love, beside those greatest -names in Art familiar to us all from infancy, and which we have -chiefly in mind when we long for _Europe_, others less universally -cherished, and for which I had before only a vague respect which I -should have found it hard to justify. - -Rome is no longer for me merely the Rome I have read of. With the -distant historic interest is now mingled one near and familiar. -Harry's favorite spots are already mine. I would walk on the green -turf where the altar to Hercules stood, in that oldest time when -monuments were raised to benefactors, and not yet to oppressors. I -would bring away an ivy-leaf from the ruined heap, the ever "recent" -tomb of the young Marcellus. I would gather white daisies on the path -along which Saint Agnes was borne to the grave, which was to become a -shrine. I cannot, but you will for me. And you will find the little -chapel on the Appian Way which marks the place consecrated in popular -tradition as that where Peter, escaping, met Christ "going up to Rome -to be crucified again," and turned back to meet his martyrdom. You -will look up from the Ponte Molle to the beautiful blue Italian sky, -where the symbol of suffering appeared as the sign of victory. - -When you are in Europe, old Europe, do not carry about with you among -the monuments of its past all the superiorities of the nineteenth -century. Respect the legend. Our age does not produce it, but it is -the part of our inheritance we could least do without. Be reverent -before the monuments of the early Christian martyrs: they are true -shrines. With the people they have not yet lost their sacredness, and -have not yet lost their use. Faith in something stronger than violence -and nobler than rank is kept alive by the homage paid to the -courageous defiers of older usurpations and oppressions. - -When we came in, we found the Doctor in excellent spirits and in -excellent humor. He had not been idle that morning. He had been at -work over his pressed flowers, and, owing to the dry weather of the -last two days, had had no trouble with them. I proposed to take him, -after breakfast, to a piece of marsh land where I thought he might -find something to interest him. - -Harry again left the table first. He had made an engagement with Karl -and Fritz. We were to find him at the place where they were at work, -which was almost on our way. The Doctor wanted an hour or two more for -his flowers. While he was busy with them, I occupied myself with the -books which Harry had brought me. - -We set off for the marshes. We walked the first part of the way in -silence, or nearly so, only exchanging now and then an observation on -the weather or scenery, not very earnest. "How we miss Harry Dudley!" -I was just saying within myself, when the Doctor made the same -exclamation aloud. I wanted nothing better than to hear him talk of -Harry again. I saw he was ready, and turned to him with a look of -expectation which he understood. - -"I told you I had known Harry all his life; and so I have. But our -friendship began when he was about five years old. The time before -that has left me only a general remembrance of his singular beauty -and a certain charming gayety that seemed to lighten the air all about -him. But I went one day to his father's house in the country with some -friends I wanted to introduce there,--strangers. There was no one at -home, the man who answered our knock said, except---- He stepped back, -and there came forward this lovely child, who received us in due form, -regretted his father's absence, conducted us in, ordered refreshments -for us, and, in short, did the honors of the house with the ease and -courtesy of a man of society, and, at the same time, with a sweet, -infantile grace not to be described. I was content with Young America -that day. Harry and I have been intimates ever since then. We had our -little differences from the first, just as we have now. I thought my -twenty years' advantage in experience gave me a right to have my -judgments accepted without being examined; but he took a different -view of my claims. When I went out to his father's, I always used to -look the little fellow up,--in the garden, or in the barn, or wherever -he might be. As soon as I appeared, his eyes took a merry sparkle, as -if he knew there was good sport ahead: and so there was, for both of -us. He maintained his side with an originality and quaint humor that -made a debate with him a very entertaining exercise. Some of his -childish sayings have stayed in my mind, though many wiser things -have passed out of it." - -The Doctor enjoyed his thoughts a little while; and then, with a -graver, and something of a confidential tone,-- - -"If Harry should talk to you about his future, do not encourage that -little vein of Quixotism that runs in his blood." - -"The enterprise of the Pilgrim Fathers was somewhat Quixotic,--was it -not?" - -"Certainly it was; you would not have found me among them." - -Again a silence, which I left the Doctor to break. - -"At any rate, I need not begin to disturb myself already. He will not -enter upon active life before he has prepared himself well. That I -know. And preparation, as he understands it, involves long work and -hard. But I sometimes almost think in good earnest that he has come -into the world in the wrong age. He is made for great times, and he -has fallen on very little ones. These are the days of the supple and -the winding, not of the strong and the straightforward." - -"Since he has been sent to these times," I answered, "without doubt -his part in them has been marked out for him." - -Dr. Borrow's brow lowered. It seemed he had a misgiving that the part -allotted to Harry might not be that which he himself would have -assigned to him. - -Here some flowers at a little distance caught the Doctor's eye, and he -ran off to examine them. They were not to his purpose, and were left -to nod and wave away their life unconscious that a great danger and a -great honor had been near them. When he came back, the cloud had -passed. He began talking pleasantly, and still on the subject on which -I most wished to hear him talk. - -Harry has not always been an only son. He had once a brother, to whom -he was fondly, even passionately, attached. After his brother's death, -a deeper thoughtfulness was seen in him. He was not changed, but -matured and strengthened. - -"You still see the fun look out of his eyes at times," said the -Doctor, "and his laugh has a quality that refreshes and refines for us -again the meaning of the good old word 'hearty'; but mirthfulness is -no longer so marked a characteristic in him as it once was." - -When we came in sight of the little plantation prophetically known as -"The Grove," I could not help calling the Doctor's attention to it. He -took a much more flattering interest in it than you did, I must tell -you. He turned his steps towards it immediately, commended the spaces -which made full allowance for growth, and, seating himself on one of -the benches,--according to you, such premature constructions,--gave me -a dissertation on soils, very entertaining and very profitable. When -he had finished, I would gladly have carried him back to the subject -from which the sight of my trees had diverted us, but I felt that this -required a little skill: I had known him repelled by a question of too -incautious directness from a topic on which he would have been -eloquent, if he had led the way to it himself. However, as soon as we -were once walking forward on our former path again, his thoughts, too, -returned to the old track. Our intimacy had ripened fast on the common -ground of sympathy we had found in the grove. He was more expansive -than before, and revealed a latent gentleness I had begun to suspect -in him. He went on to tell of Harry's infancy and childhood, and to -relate instances of his early daring, self-reliance, and generosity of -heart,--smiling, indeed, a little at himself as he did so, and casting -now and then towards me a glance of inquiry, almost of apology, like -one who is conscious of being indiscreet, but who cannot resolve to -refrain. I could not but observe that the anecdotes related with most -pleasure illustrated that very side of Harry's character which gave -the Doctor uneasiness. - -Karl and Fritz were employed that day in clearing a piece of ground -overgrown with brushwood. We had found them at their work in our -morning walk, and Harry had promised to come back and take a hand in -it. It was an animated scene that the Doctor and I came upon. Before -we reached it, we heard a pleasant clamor of voices and laughter. My -German boys are faithful workers, and generally cheerful ones; but now -they carried on their task with an ardor and an hilarity which doubled -their strength, and gave them an alertness which I had thought was not -of their race. - -"Will you let me finish my stint?" Harry cried, as soon as we were -near enough to answer him. The merry light in his eye and the gleeful -earnestness of his manner brought up to me the little boy of whom the -Doctor had been talking to me. He was taking the lead. He could not -have been practised in the work; but the strong sweep of his arm, his -sure strokes, did not speak the novice. He directed and encouraged his -assistants in familiar and idiomatic German, which made me feel that -my carefully composed sentences must be somewhat stilted to their -native ears. - -Old Hans found himself there, too, drawn by I don't know what -attraction,--for a share in this work did not belong to his day's -plan. He was not taking a principal part in it; he had a hatchet in -his hand and chopped a little now and then in a careless and fitful -way, but he was chiefly occupied in observing the amateur, whose -movements he followed with an admiration a little shaded by -incredulity. He stood like the rustic spectator of an exhibition of -legerdemain, his applause restrained by the displeasure of feeling -himself the subject of an illusion. - -But over the boys Harry's ascendancy was already complete: not only -did their bush-scythes keep time with his, but their voices, when they -answered him, and even when they spoke to each other, were more gently -modulated,--their very laugh had caught something of the refinement of -his. When afterwards in my talks with him he unfolded, among his plans -for the future, a favorite one of leading a colony to some yet -unsettled region, I felt, remembering this scene, that he was the man -for it. - -Hans was won over before we left him. When we arrived, he had searched -my face with a look which, at the same time that it asked my opinion -of the stranger, gave me to understand that he himself was not one to -be dazzled by outward show. As we were going, his eye caught mine -again: he gave me a nod of satisfaction, which said that he had at -last made up his mind, and that it was one with my own. Perhaps he had -been aided in coming to a decision by the care with which Harry -delivered up to him the tools he had been using, and by the frank -pleasure with which the volunteer woodman received the words of -approbation which the veteran could not withhold. - -I cannot write you the whole of last Monday's journal to-night. I came -in late. The weather is fine again, and I took a long day in the field -to make up for lost time. - - - - - TUESDAY, April 9, 1844. - - -We were on our way from the thicket to the marshes. - -The Doctor had a successful morning. The tin case was always opening -and closing for some new treasure. Noon found him in high good-humor. -I did not propose to go home for dinner. It had been arranged with -Tabitha that we should take it on the little knoll known in our level -region as Prospect Hill. We found two baskets in the shade of its two -trees. Harry and I unpacked them, the Doctor superintending and -signifying cooperation by now and then putting his thumb and finger to -the edge of a dish or plate on its way to the turfy table. Harry -filled our bottle from the cool spring that bubbles up at the foot of -the mound. There was a log under one of the trees, affording seats for -three, but we left it to the Doctor, and took our places on the -ground, fronting him, on either side of the outspread banquet. - -We talked of plans for the coming week. I told over our few objects of -modest interest, and the names of such of our neighbors as could lay -claim to the honor of a visit from Dr. Borrow, or could in any degree -appreciate his society. The nearest of these was Westlake. - -"We have been at Westlake's," said the Doctor; "we passed a day and -night with him. He pressed us to stay longer, and I was very well -amused there; but Harry looked so plainly his eagerness to be on, and -his fear lest I should allow myself to be persuaded, that I put your -hospitable neighbor off with a promise to give him another day, if we -had time, after we had been here. Harry has all along wanted to secure -the visit here as soon as possible, for fear something or other should -interfere with it. I believe, if I had proposed it, he would even have -put off going to the Harveys, old friends as they are. You must know -that you have been his load-star from the first." - -Very much pleased, yet surprised, I looked at Harry. His color -deepened a little as he answered, "I have heard Selden speak of you; -but it was after we met Mr. Shaler that I had so great a desire to -know you." - -Here the Doctor took up the word again:-- - -"We met Shaler in a great forlorn tavern at Mantonville, quite by -chance. We hadn't been in the house half an hour before Harry and he -found each other out. I had just had time to give some orders -up-stairs for making my room a little habitable,--for we were going to -pass a day or two there,--and came down to look about me below. There -I find Harry walking up and down the breezy entry with a stately -stranger, engaged in earnest and intimate conversation. Presently he -comes to ask me if it would be agreeable to me to have our seats at -the table taken near Mr. Charles Shaler's, who, it seemed, was by two -days more at home than we were. Of course it was agreeable to me in -that populous No Man's Land to sit near any one who had a name to be -called by. And the name was not a new one. I had never seen Charles -Shaler,--Colonel Shaler, as he is called,--of Metapora; but I had -heard a great deal of him, for he is own cousin to the Harveys. I felt -sure that this was the man. His appearance agreed perfectly with the -description given me, and then Harry's foregathering with him so -instinctively was a proof in itself. I found him very agreeable that -day at dinner, though, and continued to find him so, except when he -mounted his hobby; then he was insupportable. There's no arguing with -enthusiasts. They are lifted up into a sphere entirely above that of -reason. And when they have persuaded themselves that the matter they -have run wild upon is a religious one, they're wrapped in such a -panoply of self-righteousness that there's no hitting them anywhere. -You may _demonstrate_ to such a man as Shaler the absurdity, the -impracticability, of his schemes: he seems to think he's done his -part in laying them before you; he doesn't even show you the attention -to be ruffled by your refutation, but listens with a complacent -politeness that is half-way to an affront. However, I had my little -occupations, and he and Harry used to found Utopias together to their -own complete satisfaction, whatever good the world may derive from -their visions.--Does Shaler ever come here now?" - -"From time to time he appears, unlocks the old house, and walks -through the empty rooms." - -"I hear that his plantation is going to ruin." - -"Yes; it is a melancholy sight." - -"We passed by it on our way here from Westlake's. But we saw only the -fine trees on the border. We did not enter. Why doesn't he sell it, -let it, have it occupied by some one who might get a support from it? -Or does he carry his respect for liberty so far that he thinks it a -sin for a man to compel the earth to supply his needs?" - -"He is, as you say, an enthusiast. He regards the culture of the earth -as a religious work, and thinks it sacrilege to carry it on in the -frantic pursuit of exorbitant gain, watering the innocent soil with -tears and the painful sweat of unrewarded labor. But he has not given -up the hope of returning." - -"What! does he repent his rashness already?" - -"No; but he loves his native State, and believes in it." - -"Nobody interferes with Harvey; nobody objects to his reforms," said -the Doctor, after a little silence. - -"Because they lead to nothing," answered Harry. - -"They have led to giving him a splendid income, and to giving his -people as much comfort as they can appreciate, and as much instruction -as they can profit by. Harvey is really a religious man. He regards -his relation to his slaves as a providential one, and does not believe -he has a right to break it off violently, as Shaler has done." - -I had all along tried, in these discussions, to maintain an impartial -tone, confining myself to a simple statement of facts, and leaving the -controversy to the Doctor and Harry; but I had been gradually losing -my coolness, and found myself more and more drawn to take a side. The -repetition of this reflection upon Shaler was more than I could bear. - -"There is certainly," I said, "a wide difference between Shaler's view -of the relation of the master to his laborers and Harvey's. Shaler -believed that these dependent beings were a charge intrusted to him by -their Maker and his. As unto him more had been given than unto them, -of him, he knew, more would be required. Harvey supposes that these -inferior creatures have been given to him for his use. His part is to -supply them with sustenance, and to show them so much of kindness and -indulgence as is consistent with keeping them in the condition to -which they have been called; theirs is to serve him with all their -soul and all their strength, to render him an unqualified obedience, -to subordinate even the most sacred ties of nature to their attachment -to him. Here is, indeed, no danger to slavery. Ameliorations, under -such conditions, fortify instead of undermining it. The sight of an -apparent well-being in this state pacifies uneasy consciences in the -master-class; while the slave, subjugated by ideas instilled from -infancy, not less than by the inexorable material force which incloses -him, finds even his own conscience enlisted in his oppressor's -service, steeled and armed against himself." - -"You wrong Frank Harvey, if you suppose he allows his slaves a mere -animal support; he has them taught what is needful for them to know." - -"He has them taught just so much as shall increase their usefulness to -him, without giving them a dangerous self-reliance." - -"Precisely, so far as secular knowledge is concerned. And it is -possible he may be right in view of their interests as well as of his -own. But he allows them religious instruction to any extent,--takes -care that they have it." - -"The religious instruction allowed by Harvey, and by other humane -slaveholders who maintain the lawfulness of slavery, inculcates the -service of the earthly master as the fulfilment of the practical -service of God on earth. For the rest, the slaves are allowed to look -forward to another world, to which this life is a sorrowful -passage,--whose toils, pains, and privations, however unnecessary and -resultless, are, if only passively accepted, to be compensated by -proportionate enjoyments." - -"This constitutes, then, the whole of the much talked-of religion of -your negro Christians?" - -"Of too many; but the promise, 'Ask, and ye shall receive,' was made -to them as to all. Even to the slave-cabin has been sent the Comforter -who teacheth all things. But we were speaking not so much of the -religion of the slaves as of the religious instruction given or -allowed them by their masters. It is necessarily circumscribed, as I -have told you." - -"What was the creed inculcated upon Colonel Shaler's proteges?" - -"They were taught that life, even earthly life, is a sacred and -precious gift, for which they were to show themselves grateful by -keeping it pure and noble and by filling it with useful work. They -were taught that duty to God consists not in mere acquiescence, but in -active obedience. They were taught that there are earthly duties -which no human being can lay down; that on the relation of husband and -wife, of parent and child, all other human relations are founded. In -short, Shaler recognized men in his slaves. He attributed to them the -natural rights of men, and the responsibilities of civilized and -Christian men." - -"And his neighbors unreasonably took umbrage! Mind, I am no upholder -of slavery. I am merely speaking of what is, not of what ought to be. -A slaveholder, meaning to remain one, can yield nothing in principle, -let him be as indulgent as he will in practice. What becomes of his -title in the slave-family, if the slave-father has one that he is -religiously bound to maintain and the rest of the world to respect? -The master is the owner no longer. The property has died a natural -death." - -So slavery dies before Christianity without formal sentence. - -"But," the Doctor began, in a different tone, passing lightly from a -train of argument which might have led him where he had not meant to -go, "I should never have taken Shaler to be the lowly-minded man you -represent him. I cannot imagine his people addressing him with the -familiarity that even Harvey permits; still less can I think of him as -treating them with the good-natured roughness of your neighbor -Westlake." - -"I have never seen him followed about his place by a crowd of begging -children, nor throwing down coppers or sugar-plums to be scrambled and -squabbled for." - -"Nor tweaking their ears, I suppose," broke in the Doctor, laughing, -"nor pulling their hair to make them squeal and rub their heads, and -grin gratefully under the flattering pain of master's condescension. I -have witnessed these little urbanities. I have not met with a case of -the hailing with sugar-plums; but I have known Westlake pelt his -people with some pretty heavy oaths, which were as acceptable, to -judge by the bobbings and duckings and mowings with which they were -received. He is very fond of his people, he tells me, and especially -of a distinguished old crone who was his nurse, and who is to be -gratified with a majestic funeral. She was impartially graced with his -emphatic compliments, and did her utmost to make an adequate return in -'nods and becks and wreathed smiles.' So I suppose it was understood -that he was expressing himself in the accepted terms of patrician -endearment. Probably Shaler's affection for his wards was not so -demonstrative?" - -"There was in his manner to them a considerate kindness,--not -familiar, yet intimate; in theirs to him an affectionate reverence. He -was well fitted to be the chief of a primitive people." - -"He would have been sure of election in the days when being taller by -the head and shoulders than the common crowd was a qualification." - -"He had the qualification of the ordained as well as that of the -popular leader: 'A comely person, and _the Lord is with him_.' This -last is the mark of the true rulers by divine right,--of the men who -seem framed to be the conductors of higher influences. The less finely -organized - - "'Know them, as soon as seen, to be their lords, - And reverence the secret God in them.'" - -Harry's beautiful face was wonderfully illuminated. Strange, this -unconscious consciousness of the elect! - -"The relation of master and slave," I went on,--for the Doctor did not -offer to speak,--"is, in Shaler's opinion, a most perverted and -unnatural one; but he believes in that of protector and protected. The -love of power, the instinct of dominion, is strong in him. Perhaps it -must be so in those who are to be called to its exercise. 'I know thy -pride,' David's elder brother said to him, when the boy left the -charge of his few sheep to offer himself as the champion of a nation. -But Shaler's ambition was directed by the precept, 'Let him who would -be greatest among you be your servant';--whether deliberately, or by -the spontaneous flow of his large, generous nature, I do not know. -Whatever superiority he possessed, whether of position, education, or -natural endowment, he employed for the advantage of the people under -his care. All the proceeds of the estate were spent upon it. The land -was brought into a high state of cultivation. Its productiveness was -not only maintained, but increased. Nor was beauty neglected. Groves -were planted, marshes drained, ponds formed. The old cabins gave place -to new and pretty cottages. The owners and builders were encouraged to -employ their own invention on them; thus there was great variety in -the architecture. Vines planted about them, by favor of our kind -climate, soon draped them luxuriantly, harmonizing the whole, and -giving even to eccentricities of form a beauty of their own. While he -took care that ability and energy should enjoy their just return of -prosperity, the inferior, whether in body, mind, or soul, were not -Pariahs. As Shaler believed the exercise of beneficent power to be the -greatest privilege accorded to mortals, he made it one of the chief -rewards of exertion." - -"Was the privilege appreciated?" asked the Doctor. - -"The slave of a tyrannical master is too often the most brutal of -oppressors; but disinterestedness and tenderness have a sympathetic -force, no less, surely, than rapacity and cruelty. Besides, with a -race in which sense of honor is so leading a characteristic as in the -African, the glory of being the doer and the giver, the shame of being -the mere idle recipient, are very potent. Shaler was not too wise and -good for dealing with ordinary human nature; he was considerate of -innocent weaknesses, even of those with which his nature least enabled -him to sympathize. He found, for example, that his people did not like -to see the 'great house' on their estate surpassed in furniture and -decoration by the mansions of neighboring planters. He respected their -simple pride. He understood that his house was their palace, their -state-house,--that their wish to embellish it was, in fact, a form of -public spirit. He indulged them in what was no indulgence to himself." - -"Harvey has rather the advantage of him there: he can please himself -and his people at the same time. How long have you known the Harvey -plantation,--Land's End, as Judge Harvey called it, when he first came -to settle here?" - - - - - WEDNESDAY, April 10, 1844. - - -"How long have you known the Harvey plantation?" Dr. Borrow had just -asked me. - -"Ten years," I answered. "I was there for the first time about three -years after Mr. Frank Harvey came back from Europe." - -"I was there nearly twenty-three years ago. Frank and I had just left -Harvard. We were both going to finish our studies abroad. We were to -sail together. Frank must go home for a visit first, and asked me to -go with him. I saw slavery then for the first time. I had heard enough -about it before. We had just been through the Missouri storm. I did -not find it, as it showed itself on Judge Harvey's place, 'the sum of -all villanies'; though, perhaps, looking back, I may think it was the -sum of all absurdities. I did not reason or moralize about it then. I -was hardly eighteen, and took things as they came. But to judge of -what has been done on that plantation, you should have seen it as I -saw it in '21. Sans Souci would have been the right name for it. Not -that I liked it the less. I made none of these wise observations then. -On the contrary, I was fresh from the study of dead antiquity, and was -charmed to find that it wasn't dead at all. It must be admitted, -there is a certain dignity in the leisurely ease of primitive peoples, -past and present. They seem to think that what they are doing is just -as important as what they may be going to do. We moderns and civilized -talk a good deal about immortality; but those simple folks have a more -vital sense of it: they seem to be conscious that there will be time -enough for all they shall ever have to do in it. Old Judge Harvey was -a sort of pristine man,--about as easy and indolent as the negroes -themselves." - -"He was, indeed, of the old type. Formerly, I believe, planters--at -least the well-born and well-reputed--were content, if their estates -yielded them the means of living generously and hospitably, without -display or excessive luxury. They took life easily, and let their -people do the same. I have heard that Judge Harvey moved off here, -from one of the older Slave States, when the money-making mania came -in, hoping to keep up for himself and his people the primitive regime -they had grown up under. I believe he was no advocate of slavery." - -"The only forcible thing about him was his dislike of it. He had the -greatest compassion for the slave of any man I ever saw, and with the -best reason, for he was one himself. He was as much the property of -his worshippers as the Grand Lama. He always entertained the -intention of emancipating himself. But there were legal forms to be -gone through with. To encounter them required an immense moral force. -His hundred tyrants were, of course, all as happy as clams, and had as -little thought of a change of domicile. So there was nothing to stir -him up, and there was never any more reason for acting to-day than -there had been yesterday. I must do him the justice, however, to say -that he made provision for his son's living in freedom, in case he -should choose it. In spite of the loose way in which the estate was -managed, it yielded, as of its own free will, a pretty fair income. -The old man spent little, and so put by really a respectable sum, half -of which was to be employed in securing an independence to his son, -and the other half in compensating his natural proprietors for the -loss of his valuable services. Shaler was not original: the scheme he -carried out in the end was old Judge Harvey's exactly,--if, indeed, it -was his, and not his daughter's. I always suspected that it originated -in the head of that little girl. You know Shaler and she were own -cousins. The abolition vein, they say, came down from a grandmother. -At any rate, Judge Harvey's plan, as he detailed it to me, was to -colonize his blacks in a Free State, each with a pretty little sum in -his pocket for a nest egg. He had taken into his confidence---- No, -there was no confidence about it; the Judge was as liberal of his -thoughts as of everything else; there was not an urchin on the place -that might not have known what was planning, for the fatigue of -listening; but the gentle flow of the Judge's words was heard as the -notes of the birds and the frogs were,--with a little more respect, -perhaps, but with no more inquiry after meaning. He had taken, not as -the confidant, then, but as the partner of his day-dreams, a man who -governed his estate for him,--as far as it was governed,--one of the -blackest negroes I ever saw, and one of the cleverest, by name -Jasper." - -"Jasper!" exclaimed Harry. - -"He has fallen from his high estate,--a Belisarius, only not -quite blind. It is really almost touching to see him feebly fussing -round doing little odd jobs of work about the grounds where he -was once monarch of all he surveyed. At the time I speak of -he was in his glory. It was worth while to see him holding -audience,--according or discarding petitions,--deciding between -litigating parties,--pronouncing sentence on offenders, or bestowing public -commendation on the performer of some praiseworthy act. He carried on -the farm in a loose, Oriental sort of way,--letting the people eat, -drink, and be merry, in the first place, and work as much as they -found good for them, in the second. With all this, he made the estate -do more than pay for itself. It was he who carried the surplus up to -Danesville to be invested. He was like the eldest servant in Abraham's -house, who ruled over all that he had. Frank treated him with as much -respect as, I dare say, Isaac did Eliezer. And I ought to mention that -Jasper kept his master's son very handsomely supplied,--paid off his -college debts too, without a wry look, though it must have come hard -to subtract anything from the hoard. Our Jasper missed it in not -having their schemes carried into effect when he might. He could have -prevailed, as he did in regard to some other matters, by getting his -master embarked in the preliminaries, and then persuading him that -'returning were as tedious as go o'er.' But possibly Jasper himself, -having got the habit of power, did not like to lay it down; or perhaps -he thought he must always have the store yet a little larger, seeing -what Frank's wants were likely to be. And then it probably never -occurred to him that a daughter could die before her father. At any -rate, it was decided that the Judge should arrange the matter by will, -things remaining as they were during his life. He never made a will, -any more than he ever did anything else he meant to do. Did you know -him?" - -"I remember him only as a pale, exhausted old man, drawn about in a -garden-chair by Jasper, who was almost as sad and humble-looking then -as he is now." - -"It was already over with his reign and his projects. All was at an -end when Constance died. Her father broke down at once and forever. -She was his very soul. When I was there she was only thirteen, but she -was art and part in all her father's plans,--if, indeed, they were not -hers. If she had lived, they would have been carried out;--though, as -far as that is concerned, I believe things are better as they are. But -her brother was as much her subject as her father was. There was a -force about that gentle, generous creature! It was a force like that -of sunshine,--it subdued by delighting. You did not know Constance -Harvey?" - -"I have seen her at Colonel Shaler's." - -"She recognized what her father did not,--the necessity of some -preparation for freedom. The law against letters did not exist then, I -believe; I remember them, the great and little, painted on boards and -put up round a pretty arbor she called her school-house. I don't know -whether her pupils ever mastered them or not; but what certainly did -prosper was the class for singing, and that for recitation. I had not -seen much of men and things then, and had not learned to distinguish -the desirable and the practicable. Even I came under the illusion of -the hour, and dreamed liberty, equality, and perfectibility with the -best. Not that Constance talked about these fine things, but she had -an innate faith in them of the sort that makes mole-hills of -mountains. Even now, looking back on that diligent, confident child, I -seem to feel the 'almost thou persuadest me.' Poor Constance! She -died, at twenty-two, of overwork. She wore herself out in efforts to -bring her poor barbarians up to the standard her imagination had set -for them." - -Constance Harvey had a spirit strong enough to have sustained a -slighter frame than hers through all the fatigues necessary to the -attainment of a great end. She died, not of her work, but of its -frustration. She had all power with her father, except to overcome his -inertness. To this, as years went on, other hindrances were added. Her -brother married a fashionable woman and lived in Paris. His demands -forbade the increase of the reserved fund, and soon began to encroach -upon it. She urged her brother's return. He replied, that the delicacy -of his wife's health made the climate of France necessary to her. His -expenses increased, instead of lessening. Constance saw, coming nearer -and nearer, a danger far more terrible to her than mere pecuniary -embarrassment. She saw that her father must either exercise a courage -that she had little hope of, or break his faith with Jasper,--with -the faithful people who had worked for them, or rather, as she viewed -it, with them, for the accomplishment of a common object. One half of -the fund she regarded as a deposit,--as a sacred trust. Until her -brother's claims had exhausted the portion always intended to be his, -she combated her anxieties, and kept up hope and effort. Through her -genius and energy the income of the estate was increased, the expenses -diminished, and yet the comforts of the work-people not curtailed. -Jasper seconded her bravely. But the hour of dishonor came at -last,--came hopeless, irretrievable. She struggled on a little while -for her poor father's sake, and Jasper exerted himself strenuously for -hers, stimulating the people to renewed industry by his warm appeals. -Before, he had roused them with the hope of freedom and independent -wealth; now, he urged them to rescue from ruin the generous master who -had meant them so much good. But the demands from Paris increased as -the means of supplying them diminished. Debt came, and in its train -all the varied anguish which debt involves, where human souls are a -marketable commodity. Let Dr. Borrow give you the outside of this -story, now that you have the key to it. - -"Frank and I were not much together after we got to Paris. Our worlds -were different. Frank was going from ball to ball and from -watering-place to watering-place after Flora Westlake, until they -were married, and then they followed the same round together. His -father wrote to them to come home and live with him, so Frank told me, -and I believe that was what he had expected to do; but Madame Harvey -naturally preferred Paris to the World's End; so there they -stayed,--Frank always meaning to go home the next year, for eight -years. Their establishment, by the way, did Jasper great credit. Then -he heard of his sister's death: they could not go home then; it would -be too sad. But soon followed news of his father's illness: that -started them. On the voyage to New York, he met with this Lenox, liked -him, and engaged him for the place he has filled so satisfactorily. He -judged wisely: Frank has an excellent head for organizing, but no -faculty for administration. Once at home, he devoted himself to his -plantation as his sister had done. I believe her example has had a -great influence with him. But he has respected her practice more than -her theories. He is content to take his people as they are, and to -make them useful to themselves and to him. His father lived a few -years, but did not meddle with anything. Frank has shown an ability -and an energy that nobody expected of a man of leisure and of pleasure -like him. Except a short visit to Europe, two summers ago, here he has -been steady at his post for twelve years through. His life here is -not an hilarious one, for a man of his tastes; but, if doing one's -duty is a reason for being happy, Frank Harvey has a right to be so. -You think he looks sad, Harry. He does,--and older than his age; but I -am afraid there is a nearer cause than you have found for it." - -The Doctor sat silent for a few moments with contracted brows; then, -throwing off his vexation with an effort, began again,-- - -"Frederic is expected home in a week or two. Perhaps we shall fall in -with him somewhere on our road. I should like to see you together and -hear you have a talk about slavery. He is as great a fanatic on one -side as you are on the other." - -"He was very far from upholding slavery when I knew him. At school he -used to be indignant with Northern boys who defended it. He used to -tell me terrible things he had himself known. The first thing I ever -heard of Fred made me like him. A New-York boy, who made the passage -to France with him, told me that there was on board the steamer a -little mulatto whom some of the other boys teased and laughed at. Fred -took his part, used to walk up and down the deck with him, and, when -they landed, went up with him to the school he was going to in Havre." - -"You were not on board?" - -"No." - -"Lucky for the mulatto, and for Fred Harvey, too, if he values your -good opinion,--and he values everybody's. If you had taken the boy up, -Fred would have put him down." - -"I think not, then. I have heard that he has changed since I knew -him." - -"He has changed, if he ever admitted anything against slavery. When -you see him, you can serve up to him some of his own stories." - -"I would not do that; but, if he introduces the subject, I shall say -what I think of slavery as plainly as ever I did." - -"He certainly will introduce it. And he would not be at all -embarrassed, if you were to cast up his old self to him. He would -admit freely that in his green age he entertained crude opinions which -time and experience have modified. You must be prepared to be -overwhelmed with his learning, though. He is a great political -economist,--as they all are, for that matter, down here. He almost -stifled me with his citations, the last time I was in his company. -When he was in Boston, about eight months ago, I asked him to dine. He -exerted himself so powerfully to prove to me that slavery is the most -satisfactory condition for ordinary human nature, and to persuade me -in general of the wisdom, humanity, and Christian tendencies of -'Southern institutions,' that I determined not to invite him too -often, for fear he should make an abolitionist of me. - -"However, I gave half the blame to Shaler. His conduct was really a -reflection upon his cousin Harvey, who had been something of a -celebrity. The Harvey plantation was one of the sights of the State. -Fred knew that his father's humanity made a part of his own prestige -in Northern society. His filial piety took alarm. If Shaler's style of -benevolence became the fashion, Harvey's would be obsolete. He must -either follow the lead of another, and so take a secondary place, or -count as one behind the times. Fred appreciated the position: it was a -question of condemning or being condemned; of course there was no -question. But all has gone to heart's wish. Shaler has passed out of -mind, and Harvey's is still the model plantation." - -"I should be glad to have nothing to find fault with in Fred but his -dogmatism and his pedantry," the Doctor began again, lowering his -voice. "After you left Paris, Harry, he fell in with intimates not so -safe. He gives his father anxiety,--has, I very much fear, even -embarrassed him by his extravagance." - -Harry looked pained, but made no reply. The Doctor expected one, but -having waited for it a moment in vain, went back to the dinner which -had left so unfavorable an impression. He gave some examples of -Frederic's strain of argument, rather shallow, certainly, and, for so -young a man, rather cold-blooded. - -"I thought," Harry exclaimed at last, with emotion, "that I had always -hated slavery as much as I could hate it; but, when I see what it has -done to men whom I like,--whom I want to like,--when I see what it has -done"---- - -"When you see what it has done to women?" asked the Doctor, as Harry -hesitated to finish his sentence. "Ah, I understand. You are thinking -of that garden scene." - -The Doctor turned from Harry and addressed himself to me, taking up -his narrative tone. - -"You know we ought to have been here three days earlier. The delay was -owing to that Orpheus escapade I told you of. It took us back to -Omocqua, and, once there, we determined to give a day or two to -Egerton, which we had missed before. The cave was no great affair, -after those we had seen; and the wonderful flowers that grow there -turned out a humbug, as I knew they would. However, Egerton proved to -be something of a place, and who should be there but my friend Harvey -himself, to whose plantation we were bound. He had his carriage, and -proposed to take us down there with him. We accepted, excusing to -ourselves the breach of our rule, in consideration of the gratuitous -tramp we had taken between Omocqua and Tenpinville. We didn't start -until afternoon, so it was rather late when we arrived. However, -Madame received us charmingly, and we had a pleasant hour or two -talking over the old times at Paris and Dieppe. Nobody else appeared -that evening, and I didn't inquire after anybody: I knew Fred was -away, and the other children _were_ children when I last heard of -them. - -"I had a room that looked on the garden. Harry was in early in the -morning,--not too early for me. I was already some time dressed, had -unscrewed my press, and was beginning to release my flowers, prizes of -the day before. Harry knew better than to interrupt me, and I sat -working away comfortably and leisurely while he stood at the open -window. Without, not far off, an old man was dressing a border. The -click, click, of his strokes, not very rapid and not very strong, made -a pleasant accompaniment to the other pleasant sounds,--such as those -of the birds, of the insects, and of a little unseen human swarm whose -hum rose and fell at intervals. Suddenly, notes before which -everything else seemed stilled to listen,--those of a clear, rich -voice,--a woman's voice. It chanted a morning hymn. Every word was -distinctly heard. The precision and purity of the tones told of -careful training, and the simplicity of the delivery showed either -high breeding or a fine artistic sense. Was the charm received through -the ear to be heightened or dissolved by the eye? To judge whether -there was anything worth getting up for, I looked at Harry. He had an -expression--awe-struck shall I call it? Yes, but with a soft, -delightful awe. I took my place beside him where he stood looking down -into the garden, as James of Scotland looked down from the Tower, upon -the fair vision flitting among the flowers, and wondered what name -could be sweet enough to call it by,--only Harry was not wondering. It -was I. 'Margarita!' he said, under his breath, and quickly, to prevent -my question. And Margarita it ought to have been! All in white, soft -white; fresh and cool as if a sea-shell had just opened to give her -passage; her face of that lovely pallor which makes Northern roses -seem rude. What two years could do, if this were little Maggie Harvey! -The song was broken off abruptly, just when, recounting the blessings -of the season, it had come to the opening flowers. The theme was -continued, but the tone was changed. The poor old man, in spite of an -immense pair of iron spectacles, with half a glass remaining in one of -the eye-holes, had failed to distinguish a plant of price from the -plebeian crowd that had shot up about it. There it lay on the ignoble -heap, its wilted flowers witnessing against him! Behold our Maggie a -Megaera! If half the promises she made the old offender were -fulfilled, he never sinned again. But I don't believe they were:-- - - "'Words are like leaves; and where they most abound, - Much fruit beneath them is not often found.' - -Jasper trembled under hers, though. Yet he still had thought for the -honor of the family: he lifted his eyes meaningly to our window; she -turned, perceived us; and you should have seen the shame on--Harry's -face!" - - - - - THURSDAY, April 11, 1844. - - -Going home, we made a long circuit. We passed near Piney's plantation. -The slaves were in the field. We stopped to look at them. They all -seemed to work mechanically,--seemed all of the same low type. We -could not have discerned any differences of character or capacity -among them. But the overseer, who stood by, whip in hand, evidently -distinguished shades of industry or reluctance. - -"You see nothing of that at Harvey's," said the Doctor, as we walked -on again. "You see nothing like it there," he repeated, as Harry did -not reply. - -"The force is there, whether we see it or not," said Harry. "Dr. -Falter told us that his negroes never thought of running away. -Presently we saw the bloodhounds." - -"He said that the dogs were never used." - -"That their being there was enough." - -"Dr. Falter is not an inhuman man, Harry." - -"No, indeed. He is only not a free man." - -"You mean to say these precautions are a necessity of his position. It -is true; and there is his justification. He has a good heart; he would -rather be served through love than fear. As things are, he must base -his authority on both." - -"Is it not terrible, when law and opinion, which should restrain from -tyranny, compel to it?" - -"Let us talk of something else." - -The Doctor himself led the way to a new topic. He stopped to admire -the great plain which surrounded us. As we walked on again, he spoke -of our magnificent prairies, of the pampas of South America, of the -landes of Gascony, of the pusztas of Hungary, all of which he had -seen, and of which he discriminated for us the characteristic -features. He spoke of the love which the inhabitant of these immense -extents feels for them,--equal to that with which the dweller on the -coast, or the mountaineer, regards his home; a love, the intensity of -which is due to the emotions of sublimity which they, like the ocean -and grand highland scenery, excite, and debarred from which, he whose -life they have exalted pines with a nameless want. The Doctor passed -to the Campagna of Rome, where Harry was at home,--and I, too, through -imagination. Our conversation left its record on the scene we were -passing through. The Doctor, illustrating his descriptions, pointed -out now this, now that feature of our own landscape. The name he -associated with it rested there. Fidenae, Antemnae, have thus made -themselves homes on beautiful undulations of our Campagna, never to be -dislodged for me. - -The Doctor left us presently, as he was in the habit of doing on our -walks, and went on a little before. Harry and I continued to talk of -Italy,--of all that it has given to the world of example and of -warning. We talked of its ancient fertility and beauty, and of the -causes of its decline. We talked of its earlier and later republican -days; of its betrayal by the selfish ambition and covetousness of -unworthy sons; of the introduction of masses of foreign slaves; of the -consequent degradation of labor, once so honorable there; of the -absorption of landed property in a few hands; of the gradual reduction -of freemen to a condition hopeless as that of slaves; of the -conversion of men of high race--and who should have been capable, by -natural endowment, of what humanity has shown of best and -greatest--into parasites, hireling bravoes, and shameless mendicants; -of the revival of its primitive heroism in its early Christians; of -its many and strenuous efforts after renovation; of the successes it -attained only to be thrown back into ruin by its misleaders and -misrulers. Harry has as warm hopes for Italy as I have, and his nearer -knowledge of her people has not rendered his faith in them less -confident than mine. We talked of the value of traditions, and -especially of those which a people cherishes in regard to its own -origin and early history. I found that Harry had interested himself -very much in the ancient history of Italy, and in the questions -concerning the origin of its different races. In the morning I had -seen the poetical side of his mind, and had received an impression of -his general culture. I now became aware of the thoroughness and -exactness of his special studies. - -We came to Blanty's farm. The Doctor stopped at the gate and we -rejoined him there. Blanty was standing before his door, in conference -with a tall, strong, self-reliant-looking black man,--a slave, but a -slave as he might have been in Africa: the respectful and respected -aid, companion, adviser of his master. Blanty, seeing us, came down to -the gate and asked us to go in. We had not time; but we had a little -talk where we were. Blanty and I discussed the future of our crops. He -was well content with the season and its prospects. He had seen Dr. -Borrow and Harry on Sunday. A single interview at a common friend's -makes intimate acquaintance out here. Blanty was quite unreserved, and -praised himself and everything belonging to him as frankly as ever -Ulysses did. He is a grand good fellow. Dr. Borrow's eye rested on the -black man, who remained where his master had left him, in an attitude -for a statue,--so firm was his stand, so easy, so unconscious. - -"He would make a good Othello," said the Doctor to Blanty. - -"Yes, it is Othello. Mr. Colvil has told you about him?" - -"Where did he get his name?" asked the Doctor. - -"My mother gave it to him. He will not let himself be called out of -it. He never knows himself by it, if it is shortened. He is a native -African, though all of his life that he can remember he has passed -here. His mother brought him away in her arms. They were carried to -Cuba first, and re-shipped. He is more of a man than I am," continued -Blanty, who is enough of a man to risk admitting a superior. "If I had -his head and his tongue, I would have been in Congress before this." - -"Can he read?" asked the Doctor. - -"Can and does." - -"But how does that agree with your law?" - -"He's thirty years old," answered Blanty. "The law hadn't taken hold -of reading and writing when he had his bringing up. My mother gave him -as careful teaching as she did her own boys, and he got more out of -it. 'Search the Scriptures,' she said, was a plain command; and how -could a man search the Scriptures, if he couldn't read? But he works -as well. Things here look famously, as you say; I see it myself. It's -more to his praise than mine. He has done well by me; I should like -to do well by him. My farm's larger than I want. I might give him a -piece, as you have your German; but I can't, you know. It's hard, in a -free country, that a man can't do as he would with his own. I don't -want to send him off, and he doesn't want to go. I married late; if I -should be taken away, I should leave my children young. I'd as soon -leave them to his care as to a brother's. I've talked it over with -him; he knows how I feel. And then, he's married his wife on Piney's -plantation. Foolish; but I didn't tell him so. I knew marriage was a -thing a man hadn't his choice in. I sometimes think it was a -providence for the easing of my mind." - -"You are a young man, Mr. Blanty," said the Doctor. - -"I am forty-five." - -"You have thirty good years before you, at least." - -"I hope so, and in thirty years a great deal may happen. I mean right, -and I hope God will bring things out right for me somehow." - -After we left Blanty's, we walked on in silence for a time. Then the -Doctor spoke abruptly,--in answer to himself, probably, for neither -Harry nor I had said anything:-- - -"What then? What then? Here is an instance of a slave capable of -taking care of himself,--that is to say, of a man out of place. There -are cases of as great hardship elsewhere. Are we not constantly -hearing, even with us, of men who have never found their place? A -Southern planter would feel himself very much out of place anywhere -but where he is,--and very much out of place where he is, in changed -relations with his people. Blanty is no example. Blanty has half a -dozen slaves perhaps at most, with whom he works himself. He might -change them into day-laborers and hardly know the difference. But -Harvey, Westlake, Falter,--because they are provided for too well, as -you seem to think,--will you dispossess them altogether? Why all -sympathy for the black? Have not the whites a right to a share,--our -own brothers by blood?" - -"Yes, to a large share," Harry answered. "But we are made to feel most -for those who have fewest to feel for them; we offer our help first to -the helpless. And would not Mr. Harvey be happier, if there were no -whip or stocks on his plantation, seen or unseen? Would not Dr. Falter -be happier, if his bloodhounds were kept only as curiosities? I wish -them both happier,--and I wish Blanty happier, who seems all the more -like a brother to me, since he can see one in Othello." - -"Let Blanty talk, who has a claim. If he can find men enough in his -own State who agree with him, they may be able to do something. We -have no part in the matter." - -"We take a part, when we give our sympathy to the maintainers of -slavery, and withhold it from such as Shaler, our truest -brothers,--from such as Blanty, and thousands like him, whom it might -strengthen and embolden." - -"Harry, you are a Northerner. You belong to a State where you need not -know that there is such a thing as slavery, if you don't inquire after -it. Take your lot where it has been given to you, and be thankful." - -"I am neither a Northerner nor a Southerner: I am an American. If -Massachusetts is dearer to me than all other States, it is only as our -little farm at Rockwood is dearer to me than all other farms: I do not -wish the rain to fall upon it or the sun to shine upon it more than -upon others. When we met an Alabamian or a Georgian abroad, was he not -our countryman? Did we not feel ourselves good Kentucks, walking -through beautiful Kentucky?" - -"How is it, Harry, that you, who love your country so passionately, -who take such pride in her institutions, such delight in her -prosperity, will yet fix your eyes on her one blemish, will insist on -suffering pain she hardly feels? There is enough to do. Leave slavery -where it is." - -"It will not remain where it is." - -"The principles on which our national institutions are founded, if -they have the vital force you attribute to them, will prevail. Let -patience have its perfect work." - -"Sloth is not patience." - -"The world is full of evils. You have not found that out yet, but you -will. You have spied this one, and, young Red-Cross Knight, you must -forthwith meet the monster in mortal combat. Every country has its -household foe, its bosom viper, its vampire, its incubus. We are -blessed in comparison with others; but we are not celestial yet. We -are on the same earth with Europe, if we are on the other side of it. -We have our mortal portion; but, young and strong, our country can -bear its incumbrance more easily than the rest." - -"She can throw it off more easily." - -"Leave her to outgrow it. Let her ignore, forget it." - -"Prometheus could as soon forget his vulture!" - -"We will talk of something else." - -We talked of something else for about half a mile, and then the -Doctor, turning to Harry, said,-- - -"There is enough to do; and you, of all persons, have laid out enough, -without embarking in a crusade against slavery. Write your histories; -show the world that it has known nothing about itself up to this time; -set up your model farm; aid by word and example to restore to the -culture of the ground its ancient dignity; carry out, or try to carry -out, any or all of the projects with which your young brain is -teeming; but do not throw yourself into an utterly thankless work. I -laugh, but I am in earnest. I do hope something from you, Harry. Do -not disappoint us all!" - -"It is the work of our time. I cannot refuse myself to it." - -"Who calls you to it? Who made you arbiter here? From whom have you -your warrant?" - -Harry did not answer. I spoke for him:-- - - "'From that supernal Judge who stirs good thoughts - In every breast of strong authority, - To look into the blots and stains of right.'" - -Harry turned to me with a look, grateful, earnest, nobly humble: he -longed to believe an oracle in these words, yet hardly dared. - -"I do not know yet whether I am called to it," he said, after a few -moments of grave silence; "but I stand ready. I do not know yet what I -am worth. It must be years before I am prepared to be useful, if I can -be. But when the time comes, if it is found that I have anything to -give, I shall give it to that cause." - -He spoke solemnly and with a depth of resolution which showed him -moved by no new or transient impulse. The Doctor's lips were -compressed, as if he forbade himself to answer. He walked away and -looked at some flowers, or seemed to look at them, and then strolled -along slowly by himself. We observed the same pace with him, but did -not attempt to join him. - -When we came near the grove, Doctor Borrow took his way toward it, and -we followed him. He sat down on a bench; I took my place beside him, -and Harry his, as usual, on the grass near us. The Doctor, refreshed -by the little interval of solitude, was ready to talk again. - -"Do not make me out an advocate of slavery. I am not fonder of it than -you are, Harry. It has brought trouble enough upon us, and will bring -us worse still." - -"It can never bring upon us anything worse than itself." - -"When you have disposed of slavery, what are you going to do with the -slaves?" - -"Slavery disposed of, there are no slaves. The men I would leave where -they are, to till the ground as they till it now, only better. There -has never been a time or a place in which men did not work for their -family, their community, their State. The black man will work for his -family, as soon as he has one,--for his community, as soon as he is a -member of one,--for the State, as soon as we admit him to a share in -it." - -"You will not dare to say of these poor beings that they are capable -of self-government?" - -"Which of us would dare to say it of himself?" replied Harry, -reverently; "and yet God trusts us." - -"If He intends for them what He has bestowed on us, He will grant it -to them." - -"Through us, I hope." - -"In His own time. - - "'Never the heavenly fruits untimely fall: - And woe to him who plucks with impious haste!' - -Remember the words of your favorite Iphigenia:-- - - "'As the king's hand is known by lavish largess,-- - Little to him what is to thousands wealth,-- - So in the sparing gift and long-delayed - We see the careful bounty of the gods.'" - -"Those are the words of a Pagan priestess," Harry answered. "The hand -of our God is not known by its parsimony. He does not force on us what -we will not accept, but His bounty is limited only by our trust in it. -Ask large enough!" he exclaimed, springing up, and standing before -us,-- - - "'Ask large enough! and He, besought, - Will grant thy full demand!'" - -"Who says that?" asked the Doctor. - -"The greatest religious poet of the old time, translated by the -greatest of the new,--David, by Milton." - -It was I who answered,--for Harry, absorbed in his own thoughts, had -not heard the question. - -"You uphold him!" cried the Doctor, almost accusingly. - -He rose presently and walked off for home. Harry and I followed, but -at a little distance, for he had the air of wishing to be alone. - -I found that Harry's interest in the question of slavery was not new. -In Europe, it had pained him deeply to see the injury done to the -cause of freedom by our tolerance of this vestige of barbarism,--in -truth, a legacy from the arbitrary systems we have rejected, but -declared by the enemies of the people to be the necessary concomitant -of republican institutions. He has studied, as few have, the history -of slavery in the United States, and its working, political and -social. It has not escaped him, that, though limited in its material -domain, it has not been so in its moral empire: North, as well as -South, our true development has been impeded. His great love for his -country, his delight in what it has already attained, his happy hopes -for its future, only quicken his sight to the dangers which threaten -it from this single quarter. He sees that not only the national -harmony is threatened by it, but the national virtue;--for a habit of -accepting inconsistencies and silencing scruples must infallibly -impair that native rectitude of judgment and sincerity of conscience -through which the voice of the people is the voice of God. It is this -perception, not less than the strong call the suffering of the weak -makes upon every manly heart, that has brought Harry Dudley to the -conviction that the obliteration of slavery is the work of our time. - -We talked of the slave; of his future, which depends not more on what -we do for him than on what he is able to do for himself. We spoke of -the self-complacent delusion cherished among us, that he brought his -faults with him from Africa, and has gained his virtues here; of the -apprehension consequent on this error, that what is original will -cleave to him, while that which has been imposed is liable to fall -from him with his chain. - -We talked of the mysterious charm possessed by the name of Africa, -while its wonders and wealth were only divined and still unproved. We -talked of Henry the Navigator; of the great designs so long brooded in -his brain; of the sudden moment of resolution, followed up by a -quarter of a century of patience; of the final success which was to -have such results to the world,--in the African slave-trade, which he, -of Christian princes, was the first to practise,--in the discovery of -America by Columbus, to whose enterprises those of Henry immediately -led. - -If we could suppose that man ever, indeed, anticipated the decrees of -Providence, or obtained by importunity a grant of the yet immature -fruits of destiny, it might seem to have been when Henry of Portugal -overcame the defences of the shrouded world, and opened new theatres -to the insane covetousness of Western Europe. We cannot suppose it. -Doubtless mankind needed the terrible lesson; and, happily, though the -number of the victims has been immense, that of the criminals has been -more limited. - -The history of early Portuguese adventure--this strange history, full -of the admirable and the terrible, attractive at the same time and -hateful--owes nothing of its romance or its horror to the fancy of the -poet or of the people. It does not come to us gathered up from -tradition, to be cavilled at and perhaps rejected,--nor woven into -ballad and legend. It has been preserved by sober and exact -chroniclers. The earliest and most ample of its recorders, called to -his task by the King of Portugal, was historiographer of the kingdom -and keeper of its archives. Long a member of the household of Prince -Henry, and the intimate acquaintance of his captains, he heard the -story of each voyage from the lips of those who conducted it. - -He makes us present at Henry's consultations before the fitting out of -an expedition,--at his interviews with his returning adventurers. He -gives us the report of the obstacles they met with, and the -encouragements. We follow the long disappointment of the sandy coast; -gain from the deck of the caravel the first glimpse of the green land, -with its soft meadows, quietly feeding cattle, and inviting shade. We -receive the first kindly welcome of the wondering inhabitants, and -meet their later defiance. - -These earliest witnesses to the character of the black man are among -the most sincere. They were not tempted to deny to him the qualities -they found in him. They had no doubt of the validity of the principle, -that the stronger and wiser are called upon to make property of the -faculties and possessions of the weaker and simpler; they were as -sincerely persuaded that the privileges of superiority were with -themselves. They believed in the duty and glory of extirpating -heathenism, and with it the heathen, if need were. They acted under -the command of "their lord Infant," to whose bounty and favor their -past and their future were bound by every tie of gratitude and -expectation. They had no occasion, then, to malign their victims in -order to justify themselves. They did not call in question the -patriotism of the people whom they intended to dispossess, nor its -right to defend a country well worth defending. This people was odious -to them for its supposed worship of "the Demon," and for its use of -weapons of defence strange to the invaders, and therefore unlawful. -But, even while grieving for the losses and smarting under the shame -of an incredible defeat, they admitted and admired the courage by -which they suffered. If they seized and carried away the children left -on the river-side in barbarian security, with as little remorse as any -marauders that came after them, they made themselves no illusions in -regard to the feelings of the father, who, discovering his loss, -rushed down to the beach in a vain attempt at rescue, "without any -fear, through the fury of his paternal love." They made no scruple of -employing guile, when it served better than force,--the civilized and -the Christian are thus privileged in their dealings with the man of -Nature and the Pagan,--but their report does justice to the loyalty of -primitive society. Nor does their chronicler feel any call to make -himself their advocate. Glorying in their exploits, he is not ashamed -of their motives. He does, indeed, bestow higher praise on those with -whom desire of honor is the more prevailing incentive; but he has no -fear of detaching any sympathies by avowing that their courage was -fired and fortified by the promise and the view of gain. - -I related to Harry some scenes from this narrative. He asked me to -write it out, and hereafter to continue it, by gathering from other -early witnesses what indications are to be found of the original -qualities of the black races; of their condition and civilization, and -of the character of their institutions, before they had been -demoralized and disorganized by foreign violence and cunning. I had -already sketched to him my views on this subject. His historical -studies, his knowledge of the laws and customs of primitive peoples, -enabled him to draw at once, from the facts I stated, the inferences -to which I would have led him, and to see titles to respect where more -superficial minds might have found only matter for a condescending, or -perhaps a disdainful, curiosity. - -Harry's request came to confirm an intention whose execution I had -continually put off to a more convenient season. I gave him my promise -gladly, and determined to begin while he was still with me, that I -might have the pleasure of reading over at least the first pages with -him. Dr. Borrow likes to spend two hours or so after breakfast in -arranging and labelling his pressed flowers; Harry is pleased to have -some active work in his day. It was agreed between us that he should -give that time to helping Karl and Fritz, and that I should take it -for writing. I resolved within myself, though, that I would not wait -for the morning. Dr. Borrow was not in talking vein that evening. We -broke up early. As soon as I found myself in my room, I took out my -portfolio and began. It happened to me, however,--as it has often -happened to me,--that what I wrote was not what I had meant to write. - - - - - FRIDAY, April 12, 1844. - - -I was to tell the story of the Finding of Guinea. But let us leave the -land of mystery and promise still lying in shadow, until we have first -informed ourselves a little concerning the world with which the -Portuguese explorers are to bring it into relation,--the civilized and -Christian world, which is about to rush into the opened road, -proposing, in exchange for dominion and gold, to share with its -intended tributaries its own moral and spiritual wealth, and to endow -them with the fruits of its social and political wisdom. - -We must be content to receive our accounts of Africa from Europeans: -let us try to look at Europe with the eyes of an African. - -Let us suppose that the Moorish traders, whose golden legends drew the -eyes of Europe southward, have excited in a Ialof or Fulah prince a -desire to see the wonders of the North. Or rather, let the traveller -be a Mandingo; for that people is as remarkable for good judgment as -for truthfulness, and our observer of Christian manners must be one -who will not easily commit injustice. We will give him about a -three-years' tour,--more time than most travellers allow themselves -for forming an opinion of a quarter of the globe. It is the year 1415 -schemes of African expedition are germinating in the brains of the -Portuguese Infants. The Mandingo has heard of Portugal from the Moors, -and of the young prince who has questioned them of Africa with so keen -an interest. Portugal, then, attracts him first. We may take it for -granted that the representative of Africa is well received. We may -suppose him to be entertained with the superb hospitality that Bemoy, -the Ialof prince, actually met with at the Portuguese court something -more than half a century later. All its magnificence is displayed for -his admiration; and its most delightful entertainments, such as -bull-baiting, feats of dogs, tricks of buffoons, and the like, are put -in requisition for him as for Bemoy. - -The Mandingo traveller is, of course, very welcome to Prince Henry, as -a living evidence of the existence of the hidden world he has dreamed -of. The reports he receives of its resources, from so competent a -witness, confirm his hopes and inflame his zeal. He expresses to the -stranger his strong desire to see these interesting regions brought -into communication with Europe, and discloses those projects of -maritime adventure whose execution afterwards gained him the surname -of the Navigator. The manners and conversation of Henry are very -acceptable to his foreign guest, who is especially won by his -disinterestedness: for this prince, and his young brother Ferdinand, -not less ardent than himself, have the good of Africa as much at heart -as that of their own country. They wish, so they tell him, to aid its -advance in science and the arts; above all, they wish to carry there a -religion which has been revealed to them, and which cannot but prove -an inestimable blessing. - -The Mandingo is surprised, and at first a little disturbed, by this -last announcement; for the account he has heard of the religions of -Europe is not such as to make him desire to see any of them -transported to Africa. But he learns that he has been grossly -misinformed: it is not true, as the Moors have reported, that the -Europeans are ignorant of a Supreme Being and worship only idols: they -do, indeed, pay homage to the images of tutelary divinities, whom they -call saints; but they are perfectly aware that these are subordinate -beings. The Africans themselves might, on the same evidence, be -accused, by a superficial traveller, of a like deplorable ignorance. -Neither is it true that many of the states of Europe worship an Evil -Demon who delights in carnage and is propitiated by massacre. On the -contrary, the Christian religion, which prevails in the greater part -of Europe, teaches especially love to God and love to man; it is -opposed to every form of violence, forbidding even retaliation, and -requiring its followers to love not only friends and strangers, but -even enemies. This account he receives from a good priest, who is -appointed to give him instruction. He is greatly moved by the -exposition of this sublime doctrine. Far from dreading, he now -ardently desires to see the influences of the religion of Christendom -extended to Africa. He has arrived at a favorable time for studying -its precepts; for Portugal is at peace with itself and its neighbors: -an unusual state of things, however, and not likely to last, as the -stranger cannot but soon perceive,--for preparations unmistakably -warlike are going on about him. He observes that the people are -agitated by various apprehensions; he hears them murmur at their -increased burdens, and at the prospect of having their sons taken from -them to die in a foreign land. All this is very puzzling to our -traveller. How reconcile it with the religion he was on the point of -embracing? At the court he sees elation and mystery on the faces of -the younger men; in those of the elder, grave concern. The people, he -finds, are as ignorant as himself of the object of the military -preparations: some saying that a new war with Castile is impending; -others, that the king is about to aid the Father at Rome against the -Father at Avignon. He is more and more perplexed; but, mindful of the -reserve and delicacy becoming a stranger, he is sparing of questions, -and waits for time and a wider experience to enlighten him. - -In the mean time, he turns his attention to what seems to concern -himself more nearly. He believes that Henry, whom he perceives to be -as resolute as adventurous, will one day carry out his schemes of -maritime enterprise, and that he will thus exercise an influence on -the destinies of Africa. Will this influence be exerted for good or -evil? He sets himself to study the character of the young prince more -carefully, makes diligent inquiry concerning his deportment in -childhood, and tries to collect information in regard to his -lineage,--for this is a point much considered among the Mandingos. He -is so fortunate as to make the acquaintance of an ancient nobleman, -versed in the history and traditions of the country, as well as in -those of the royal court, and fond of telling what he knows, when he -has a safe opportunity,--for he is a man of experience, and does not -make either the past or the future a topic of conversation with his -brother-courtiers. To him the African addresses his questions, and not -in vain. The old man knew the present king when he was only Grand -Master of the Order of Avis, and the Infant Henry has grown up under -his very eyes. All that the traveller learns in regard to Henry -himself is satisfactory; and he finds that King John, his father, is -regarded as a just and wise sovereign. But, on nearer inquiry, he -discovers that this great king is, in fact, a usurper; for, in -Portugal, the successor to the crown must be the son of his father's -principal wife, and King John had not this advantage. He learns, with -yet more regret, that this sovereign is of a family in which filial -impiety is hereditary. The first of the dynasty, King Alphonso, made -war against his own mother, and imprisoned her in a fortress, where -she died, having first, as the Mandingo heard with horror, bestowed -her malediction on her son and his line. She foretold that he should -be great, but not happy; that his posterity should live in domestic -strife and unnatural hatred; that success should only bring them -sorrow, and even their just enterprises should turn to evil. - -The African asks anxiously whether the religion of the Christians had -already been revealed in the time of Alphonso. His venerable friend -replies that it had, and that Alphonso, by his great piety displayed -in the building of monasteries and in the slaughter of Moors,--for he -did not spare even the tender infants,--averted from himself some of -the effects of the curse. But though he obtained the crown of Portugal -and was permitted to triumph over the infidels, yet it was remarked -that his life was disturbed and unhappy, and that he met with strange -disasters in the midst of his successes. The curse seemed to deepen -with time. His grandson, the second Alphonso, set aside his father's -will, and seized on the inheritance of his sisters; a third Alphonso, -son to this second one, deprived his elder brother of his throne; the -fourth Alphonso rebelled against his father, and was rebelled against, -in his turn, by his son Peter, whose wife he had murdered, and who, in -revenge, ravaged the country that was to be his own inheritance. When -he came to the throne, Peter caused the men who had been the -instruments of his father's crime to be put to death by horrible and -lingering tortures, which he himself superintended. This Peter, -surnamed the Severe, was father to the reigning king, entitled John -the Great. - -The Mandingo, hearing this history of the royal house of Portugal, is -made to feel that he is indeed in a country of barbarians: a fact -which the pomp of their court, and the account he has heard of their -religion, had almost made him forget. The old courtier becomes more -and more communicative, as he sees the surprise and interest his -narrative excites, and ventures at last, in strict confidence, to -reveal that King John himself, before attaining to the crown, gave -evidence of the qualities that marked his house. He assassinated with -his own hand a man whom he considered his enemy, after inviting him to -an amicable conference; he spread devastation and horror through the -kingdom on his way to the throne, which, when he seized it, had -several other claimants. One of these was, like himself, a son of -Peter the Severe, and had the superiority of a legal birth; but he, -having murdered his wife, went on foreign travel, and happening, when -the throne of Portugal was left vacant, to be in the dominions of the -husband of his niece,--another of the claimants,--was seized and -thrown into prison. In this state of the family-affairs, John, the -Grand Master of Avis, saw a chance for himself. He consented to act, -until the true heir should be decided on, as Protector of the kingdom, -and in this capacity opened the prisons, offering pardon to all who -would enter his service. He thus formed a devoted little army, which -he provided for by giving it license to plunder the enemies of order, -among whom, it seemed, were dignitaries of Church and State, and holy -recluse women: at least, their estates were ravaged, themselves -murdered, and their dead bodies dragged through the streets in terror -to others. There was no lack of recruits; the reformed convicts found -the path of duty as congenial as that of crime, and all the ruined -spendthrifts and vagabonds of the country were content to link their -fortunes to those of the Protector. No corner of the kingdom was left -unschooled by summary executions. In fine, the adherents of the Grand -Master played their part so well, that the people, tired of the -interregnum, begged him to make an end of it and set the crown on his -own head. He complied, and the country had the relief of being ravaged -by the armies of his Castilian competitor and of supporting his own -forces in a more regular manner. - -But all this is now over; the kingdom has enjoyed an interval of -peace, and begins to look with pride on the prince who won it so -adroitly and governs it so firmly. The curse which hung over the royal -line seems to have been baffled, or, at least, suspended, by his -irregular accession. He has held his usurped sceptre with a fortunate -as well as a vigorous hand. His five sons are dutiful, united, and of -princely endowments. - -The Mandingo then inquires about the descent of Henry on the maternal -side, and learns that his mother is a sister of the late king of -England, a great and wise sovereign, whose son Henry, the fifth of the -name, now reigns in his stead. He must see the island-kingdom governed -by Prince Henry's cousin and namesake. But he postpones this -visit,--for he hears that in a certain city of the mainland the most -illustrious persons of Europe are assembled to hold a solemn council, -whose decrees are to have force in all Christian states. Even the -Supreme Pontiff himself is to be there, the head of the Christian -world, superior to all potentates. The African will not lose such an -opportunity of studying the manners and institutions of Europe. He -hastens to Constance, where the concourse and the magnificence surpass -his expectations. He inquires earnestly if he may be permitted to see -the Great Pontiff, and learns, to his surprise, that three sacred -personages claim this title, to the great confusion and misery of -Christendom, which has already shed torrents of blood in these holy -quarrels and sees new wars in preparation. Nor is this the worst that -is to be dreaded. The power of the rightful Pontiff extends into the -future life; and as each of the claimants threatens the followers of -his rivals with terrible and unending punishment in the next world, -the uncertainty is truly fearful. One of the pretenders is compelled -by the council to renounce his claims, and is instantly thrown into -prison, that he may have no opportunity of resuming them. A second -withdraws his pretensions by deputy; and it is understood that the -council intends to require a similar resignation of the third, that -the anxiety of the world may be put to rest by the election of a -fourth, whose rights and powers shall be unquestionable. There seems, -however, no prospect of a speedy solution of these difficulties; and -our traveller, having seen all the great personages of the assembly, -with their equipages and attendants, begins to weary of the noise and -bustle. But he hears that a ceremony of a very particular kind is -about to take place, and stays to witness it; for he will neglect no -opportunity of improvement. He is present, therefore, at the burning -of John Huss, which he understands to be a great propitiatory -sacrifice. When he hears, the following year, that a holocaust of the -same kind has again been offered in the same place, he, of course, -feels justified in recording it as an annual celebration. He notes as -a remarkable circumstance, that the victim, on both occasions, is -taken from the same nation; but he cannot learn that any law -prescribes this selection, or that the efficacy of the sacrifice would -be affected by a different choice. Another circumstance which seems to -him noteworthy is, that, whereas, under their old religions, the -people of these countries offered up, in preference, malefactors -reserved for the purpose, or captives taken in war, the Europeans of -this newer faith, on the contrary, select men without spot or blemish, -and possessed of all the gifts and acquirements held in highest honor -among them. He hears vaunted, on all sides, the virtue and learning of -Huss, and, above all, his extraordinary eloquence,--for this gift is -held in as much esteem in Europe as in Africa. He hears the same -encomiums pronounced on the second victim, Jerome of Prague, and -learns, at the same time, that the possession of these powers renders -his doom the more necessary. He can but infer that the great, though -mistaken, piety of the Christians makes them conceive that only what -they have of best is worthy to be devoted to so sacred a purpose. But -these reflections were made a year later. We must go back to the -summer of 1415. - - - - - SATURDAY, April 13, 1844. - - -It is in the month of August that our African traveller arrives in -England. The king is just setting off on a hostile expedition against -a country whose inhabitants, though Christian, like the English, are -held by them in detestation and contempt. Just before going, the king -is obliged to cut off the head of one of his cousins. The cause of -this severity is thus explained:--The late king, cousin to his own -predecessor, dethroned and killed him; and it being a rule in England -that what has been done once is to be done again, the present king -lives in great fear of cousins. He finds the people considerate of -these royal exigencies. He hears praises bestowed on the clemency of -the young Henry, who remits,--so it is reported,--in the case of his -kinsman, a grievous part of the punishment which the law awards to -treason, only suffering the sentence to be executed in full on a man -of inferior rank condemned with him as his accomplice. - -Notwithstanding the disturbed state of the times, the stranger is well -received, and is questioned with avidity. He is gratified to find that -his country is a subject of interest to the English as well as to the -Portuguese. They seem, indeed, to be fully aware that Africa is the -most favored portion of the globe. They are never tired of asking -about its perpetual summer, its marvellous fertility, its -inexhaustible mines. Even the common soldiers in Henry's army "speak -of Africa and golden joys." He finds that some of the learned maintain -that continent to have been the first home of man, and believe that -the terrestrial Paradise lies somewhere hidden among its mountains. -When he becomes a little more familiar with his hosts, however, he -finds that they entertain some notions not altogether so flattering. -They are curious about a certain people of Africa who live in the -caves of the earth, whose meat is the flesh of serpents, and who have -no proper human speech, but only a grinning and chattering; they ask -him whether his travels in his own country have extended as far as the -land of the Blemmyes, a people without heads, who have their eyes and -mouth set in their breasts. He answers, a little stiffly, that he has -no knowledge of any such people. When they go on to inquire whether he -ever ventured into the region inhabited by the Anthropophagi, -explaining at the same time what peculiarities are intimated by that -name, his indignation almost gets the better of him, and he denies, -with some vehemence, that such wretches hold any portion of his native -soil. His English friends assure him that it is nevertheless very -certain that such a people live in the neighborhood of the Mountains -of the Moon. When he finds that he cannot otherwise persuade them out -of this injurious opinion, he ventures, though with as much delicacy -as possible, to tell them, that, while on the mainland of Europe, he -heard stories equally wonderful and equally absurd of their own -island. In especial, he heard a Frenchman assert that the eating of -human flesh was practised in some part of the dominions of the English -king. He assures his English friends that he refused to credit this -story, as well as some other particulars in regard to their island, -which seemed to him too monstrous for belief, though they were given -to him on the authority of a Greek traveller of high reputation, who -had not long before visited England in company with the Emperor of the -East, and who had enjoyed extraordinary opportunities for studying the -manners of the most polite society of the kingdom. The Mandingo is -here interrupted by his English hosts, who make haste to assure him -that the Greeks are everywhere known to be great liars; that the same -may be said of Frenchmen; and that, indeed, there is no nation of -Europe, except their own, whose word is at all to be relied upon. The -Mandingo refrains from passing so severe a judgment on the travellers -who brought back such rash reports of his own country, but he permits -himself to suppose that they did not themselves visit the regions -whose manners they described, but received with too little examination -stories prevalent in other, perhaps hostile, countries; for he is -obliged to confess, with regret, that Africa is not, any more than -Europe, always at peace within itself. For himself, he protests, that, -even if his natural caution did not prevent him from accepting too -readily the statements of the enemies of England, he should have been -guarded from this error by the favorable accounts he had heard from -Henry of Portugal, by whom he had been warned against believing the -stories current among the common Portuguese, who held their English -allies in ungrateful abhorrence, and regarded their visits in the same -light as those of the plague or of famine. His English friends approve -the African's candor; but he can perceive, that, so far as his own -country is concerned, they remain of their first opinion. They -politely turn the conversation, however, from the men of Africa to its -animals,--asking, in particular, about that strange creature, shaped -like a pig, but having a horse's mane, whose shadow, falling on a dog, -takes from him the power of barking, and which, lurking near a -sheepfold until it learns the shepherd's name, calls him by it, and, -when he comes, devours him. The African does not deny that an animal -possessed of these endowments may somewhere exist, but he is not -acquainted with it; neither has he met with the wonderful stone, said -to be found in the same creature's eye, which, being placed under a -man's tongue, causes him to foretell future events. This ignorance of -the natural history of his country does not raise his reputation with -the English. - -They give him, on their part, every opportunity of forming a correct -judgment of their own country,--not concealing or extenuating things -liable to be found fault with by a stranger. Indeed, he cannot enough -admire the contented and cheerful character of this people, who find -advantages where others would have seen deficiencies or evils, and -account by latent virtues for disagreeable appearances on the surface. -They congratulate themselves that their sun never oppresses them with -its rays,--that their soil has not that superabundant fertility which -is only a temptation to laziness. They tell him, with pride, that it -is necessary, in travelling in their country, to go in strong parties -and well armed: for such is the high spirit and great heart of their -people, that they cannot bear to see another have more than -themselves; and such is their courage, that what they desire they -seize, unless the odds are plainly too great against them. One special -subject of gratulation among the English he finds to be the possession -of a king whose passion is military glory; inasmuch as the foreign -wars in which he engages the country have the double advantage of -keeping up a warlike spirit in the nation, and of clearing off the -idle hands, which might become too formidable, if their natural -increase were permitted. The Mandingo, seeing so much land in the -island left to itself, cannot help thinking that the hands might find -employment at home. But he suppresses this reflection, and, turning -the conversation upon agriculture, inquires how so energetic a people -as the English can be contented with so scanty a return from their -land; for he has remarked that the meagreness of their crops is not -wholly due to the poverty of the soil, but likewise, and in great -measure, to very imperfect tillage. Many reasons are given for this -neglect of their land, all more or less creditable to the English -people, but not very satisfactory to the mind of the stranger. At -last, however, one is brought forward which he at once accepts as -sufficient: namely, the insecurity of possession. It seems that -property in England often changes owners in the most unexpected -manner; so that a common man, who has hired land for cultivation of -its noble proprietor, is liable to be suddenly ejected, and to lose -all the fruits of his industry, to say nothing of the risk he runs of -laying down his life with his lease. For it appears that the nobles of -the country are equally remarkable for courage with the other idle -persons, and display it in the same manner. If they think themselves -strong enough to add their neighbor's estate to their own, they -will--so one of the Mandingo's English friends tells him--"make -forcible entry and put out the possessor of the same, and also take -his goods and chattels, so that he is utterly disinherited and -undone." - -The African dismisses his surprise on the subject of agriculture, and -gives his attention to the cities, expecting to see the national -industry turned to arts which might offer a more certain reward. He -finds that the most skilful artisans are foreigners. It occurs to him, -seeing the great demand for weapons of all sorts among the English, -and their love of golden ornaments, that some of the skilful cutlers -and ingenious goldsmiths of his own country might find encouragement. -But he gives up this hope, when he sees the hatred borne to the -foreign artisans by the natives, who need their skill, but grudge them -the profit they draw from it. It is not an unheard-of thing for a -foreign artisan or merchant, who has begun to be a little prosperous, -to have his house pulled down about his ears. And well for him, if he -escape with this! Besides, the jealousy of the people obliges the -kings to be always making regulations for the injury of these -foreigners; thus the laws are perpetually changing, so that by the -time the unlucky men have adapted themselves to one set they find -they are living under another. The restrictions and heavy exactions of -the law are not enough: foreign artisans and traders are further -subjected to the capricious extortions of the collectors. The Mandingo -congratulates himself on the more liberal policy of his own country, -and on the great respect paid there to the professors of useful arts, -whose persons are inviolable even in time of war; above all, he -reflects with satisfaction on the sacredness of the common law there, -which, having been handed down through centuries, is known to all and -admits of no dispute,--whereas, under this system of written -enactments, continually varied, a man may spend his life in learning -the rules he is to live by, and after all, perhaps, become a -law-breaker before he knows it. - -Notwithstanding some drawbacks, the African enjoys his visit to the -English highly, and finds much to praise and admire among them. He -does not neglect to note that they have the choicest wool in the -world. This possession, he finds, has endowed them with a branch of -manufacture which may be regarded as national. Their woollen cloths -are not very fine, it is true, but they are much prized, both in -England and in foreign countries, for their strength and durability. - -He is much impressed by the religious architecture of the Christians. -Before their sacred edifices, he feels his soul lifted into a sublime -tranquillity, as in the presence of the grandest objects in Nature. He -is much moved at recognizing in the rich stone carving a resemblance -to the ornamental cane-work of African houses. This reminds him of -what he once heard said by a learned Arab,--that Africa was the first -home of the arts, as of man himself, and that they had gone forth from -their too indulgent mother to be perfected in sterner regions, where -invention is quickened by necessity. He cannot but bow before the -wisdom of the superintending Providence which has caused the rigors of -climate and the poverty of soil so to act on the mind of man, that, -where Nature is less great and exuberant, his own works are the more -transcendent, so that his spiritual part may never lack the food it -draws from the view of sublime and genial objects. - -He admires less the arrangements of private dwellings. He finds that -in England, as in Africa, the habitations of families in easy -circumstances consist of several houses; but, instead of being all -placed on the ground at a little distance from each other, the square -in which they stand surrounded by a pretty palisade, as is the case in -Africa, they are here piled one upon another, sometimes to a -considerable height, so that it is necessary to mount by long flights -of uneasy steps; and then, in the cities, houses occupied by different -families often adjoin each other, having a partition-wall in common, -and their doors opening on a common way, so that it would seem the -people living in them can have no proper notion of home or of domestic -retirement. He finds that the houses of the common people in the -country are not of more durable material than African houses. Those of -the great are very commonly of stone, and, unless ruined by violence, -are capable of serving for centuries. The African does not think this -an advantage, as in the case of the temples; for these damp stone -houses, so long used as human abodes, become unwholesome; and what is -even worse, when evil deeds have been committed in them,--and this is -too often the case with the houses of the powerful,--the contagion of -guilt hangs round the walls, and the same crime is repeated in -after-generations. - -The African learns, while in England, what was the real aim of the -warlike preparations he saw going on in Portugal. He hears of the -taking of Ceuta,--an event which excites almost as much interest in -England as in Portugal; for the English are supposed to have had a -great part in this success. He hears, however, the chief merit -ascribed to a beneficent being who bears the title of "The Lady of -Mercy." It seems, the besiegers landed on a day especially consecrated -to her; and to her kind interposition is referred the taking of the -city and the terrible slaughter of the Moors who defended it. The -African asks how favors of this kind can be made consistent with the -character ascribed to this divinity, and is answered, that her mercies -are for those who reverence her,--that the unbelieving Moors have no -claim on her grace. He is pained; for the lovely qualities he has -heard attributed to this gracious being had drawn his heart to her as -to one well fitted to be a dispenser of the bounties of Heaven. But it -does not appear that she is consistent even in the protection of -Christians; for he hears it mentioned as an auspicious augury, that -the English king effected his landing in the Christian kingdom of -France on the eve of her chosen day; and later, when the Battle of -Agincourt fills England with rejoicing, he hears the circumstance -again referred to, and the Merciful Lady invoked as a benefactress. - -He is daily more and more perplexed in regard to the religion of the -Christians. He obtains instruction of an English priest, and finds he -has made no mistake as to its tenets: it is understood to teach -universal love and ready forgiveness in England as in Portugal. Yet he -observes that nothing is considered more shameful among Christians -than to pardon an injury; even the smallest affront is to be atoned by -blood; and so far from the estimation in which a man is held depending -on the good he has done, he is the greatest man who has slain the -greatest number of his fellow-creatures. - -As he stands one day before a cathedral, marvelling how people so -selfish and narrow in their religious views could imagine this grand -temple, which seems, indeed, raised to the Universal Father, his -attention is drawn to a man of noble aspect, who is observing him with -a look so kind and pitiful that he is emboldened to give the -confidence which it seems to invite. - -"I cannot understand the religion of the Christians!" - -"The time will come when they will understand it better themselves. -They are now like little children, who do, indeed, reverence the words -of their father, but have not yet understanding to comprehend and -follow them." - -The Mandingo has no time to thank his new instructor. A party of -ruffians, who have been for some moments watching the venerable man, -now seize upon him, put irons on his hands and feet, and drag him -away, amid the shouts and cries of the people, who crowd round, some -insulting the prisoner, others bemoaning his fate, others asking his -blessing as he passes. The wondering traveller can get no other reply -to his questions than, "A Lollard! a Lollard!" uttered in different -tones of disgust or compassion. - -He learns, upon inquiry, that the Lollards are people who hold -opinions disagreeable to the king and to the great generally. For they -pretend to understand the doctrines of the Christian religion after a -manner of their own; and it is thought this interpretation, if -disseminated among the common people, would cause serious -inconvenience to their superiors. In order to prevent the spread of -these dangerous doctrines, open and notorious professors of them are -shut up in prison. Yet, notwithstanding the severities which await the -adherents of this sect, such is the hard-heartedness of its leaders, -that, when they can manage to elude justice for a time, they use -unceasing efforts to persuade others to their ruin. There are among -them some men of eloquence, and their success in making converts has -been so great that the prisons are filled with men of the better -condition, who look for no other release than death; while, in the -dungeons below them, people of the common sort are heaped upon each -other, perishing miserably of fevers engendered by damp and hunger. - -In spite of this unfavorable account of the Lollards, the African is -glad when he hears that the only one of them he knows anything about -has escaped from prison,--for the second or third time, it seems. - -The words of the fugitive have sunk deep into the heart of the -Mandingo. But the distant hope, that the Christians may in time grow -up to their religion, cannot revive the delight which, when he first -became acquainted with its doctrines, he felt in the thought that this -divine revelation was to be carried to Africa. What teachers are those -who themselves know not what they teach! His heart is heavy, when he -sees how the Christians triumph over the fall of Ceuta. Their foot -once set on African soil, their imagination embraces the whole -continent. He sees the eyes of the narrators and the listeners -alternately gleam and darken with cupidity and envy over the story of -the successful assault, and of the immense booty won by the victors, -who "seem to have gathered in a single city the spoil of the -universe." He is not reassured by the admiration bestowed on the craft -of the Portuguese, who contrived to keep their intended prey lulled in -a false security until they were ready to fall upon it. They sent out -two galleys, splendidly equipped and decorated, to convey a pretended -embassy to another place. The envoys, according to private -instructions, stopped on the way at Ceuta, as if for rest and -refreshment, and, while receiving its hospitality, found opportunity -to examine its defences and spy out its weak points. The King of -Portugal himself, arriving near the devoted place with the fleet that -brought its ruin, deigned to accept civilities and kind offices from -the Infidels, in order the better to conceal his designs until the -moment came for disclosing them with effect. The Mandingo recalls with -less pleasure than heretofore the kind words of the Infant Henry and -his brother. When he hears that the terrible first Alphonso of -Portugal has made himself visible in a church at Coimbra, urging his -descendants to follow up their successes, he shudders with foreboding. - -We will not follow our explorer through all his voyages and -experiences. They are numerous and wide. He carries his investigations -even to the far North, where Eric of Pomerania wears the triple crown, -placed on his head by the great Margaret. His wife is Philippa of -England, niece and namesake of the mother of Henry of Portugal. It is, -in part, interest in the family of that prince, his first intimate -acquaintance in Europe, which leads the African on this distant -journey. But he soon finds that neither pleasure nor profit is to be -had in the dominions of Eric, an untamed savage, who beats his wife -and ruins his subjects. The great men who rule under him are as bad as -himself. Some of them have been noted sea-robbers; even the prelates -are not ashamed to increase their revenues by the proceeds of piracy. -The traveller gives but a glance to the miseries of Sweden, where the -people are perishing under Eric's officials, who extort tribute from -them by the most frightful tortures, and where women, yoked together, -are drawing loaded carts, like oxen. - -He returns to England, where he finds preparations making for a solemn -sacrifice. He hears, not without emotion, that the victim selected for -this occasion is the stately man who once stood with him in front of -the great cathedral. He visits the place chosen for the celebration, -and sees the pile of wood prepared to feed the fire, over which the -victim is to be suspended by an iron chain. He cannot bring himself to -witness the sacrifice, but he afterwards hears that it was performed -with great pomp in the presence of many illustrious persons. The king -himself, it seems, once superintended a similar ceremony in the -lifetime of his father, by whom this species of sacrifice had been -reinstituted after a very long disuse. It is customary to choose the -victim from among the Lollards, as it is thought that the chance of -serving on these occasions will contribute to deter people from -adopting, or at least from proclaiming, the unsafe opinions of that -sect. - -The African traveller's last visit is to France. He made an earlier -attempt to see that country, but, finding it ravaged by invasion and -by civil war, deferred his design to a quieter time. Such a time does -not arrive; but he cannot leave one of the most important countries of -Europe unseen. On landing in France, he finds the condition of things -even worse than he had anticipated. But he resolves to penetrate to -Paris, in spite of the dangers of the road. He passes through -desolated regions, where only the smoke rising from black heaps gives -sign of former villages, and where the remaining trees, serving as -gibbets, still bear the trophies of the reciprocal justice which the -nobles and gentlemen of the country have been executing on each other. - -It is on this journey through France that the Mandingo learns to be -truly grateful for having been born in a civilized country. The -unfortunate land in which he now finds himself has at its head a young -prince who has robbed his own mother and sent her to prison. Such -impious guilt cannot, the African feels, fail to draw down the -vengeance of Heaven. Accordingly, when he reaches the capital, he -finds the inhabitants engaged in an indiscriminate slaughter of their -friends and neighbors. It almost seems to a stranger that the city is -built on red clay, so soaked are the principal streets with blood. -The traveller meets no one sane enough to give an explanation of this -state of things. Nor does he require one. It is plain that this people -is afflicted with a judicial madness, sent upon it for the crimes of -its chiefs. He finds his way to a street where the work seems -completed. All is quiet here, except where some wretch still struggles -with his last agony, or where one not yet wounded to death is dragging -himself stealthily along the ground towards some covert where he may -perhaps live through to a safer time. The stranger stoops -compassionately to a child that lies on its dead father; but, as he -raises it, he feels that the heaviness is not that of sleep, and lays -it back on the breast where it belongs. In a neighboring quarter the -work is still at its highest. Where he stands, he hears the yell of -fury, the sharp cry of terror, the burst of discordant laughter, rise -above the clang of weapons and the clamor of threatening and -remonstrance; while, under all, the roar of a great city in movement -deepens with curse and prayer and groan. And now a woman rushes from a -side-street, looks wildly round for refuge, then runs, shrieking, on, -until, stumbling over the dead bodies in her way, she is overtaken and -silenced forever. - -He has made his way out of France, and is planning new journeys, when -he receives, through some travelling merchants, a peremptory summons -from his father, who has heard such accounts of the barbarous state of -Europe that he regrets having given him leave to go out on this -dangerous exploring expedition. - -Our Mandingo did not meet the tragic fate of Bemoy, to whom the -friendship of the whites proved fatal. He returned in safety to his -country. - -The house of the renowned traveller became a centre of attraction. The -first question asked by his guests was, invariably, whether, in his -long residence among the Christians, he had learned to prefer their -manners to those of his own people. He was happy to be able to assure -them that this was not the case. He had met in Europe, he said, some -admirable men, and he thought the people there, in general, quite as -intelligent as those of his own country, but far less amiable; they -were, perhaps, even more energetic, especially the Portuguese and -English; but he was obliged to add, that their energies were not as -constantly employed in the service of mankind as their professions -gave reason to expect. What he had found very displeasing in the -manners of the Europeans was their disregard of cleanliness. Their -negligence in this respect was a thing inconceivable to an African who -had not lived among them. - -He was much embarrassed, when called upon to speak of the religion of -the Europeans and their mode of professing it. His audience was -indignant at the hypocrisy of the Christians. But he was of opinion -that their enthusiasm for their creed and their zeal for its -propagation were undoubtedly genuine. Why, then, did they allow it no -influence on their conduct? He could only conclude that they knew it -to be too good for them, and that, though they found it, for this -reason, of no use at all to themselves, they were perfectly sincere in -thinking it an excellent religion for other people. - -The result of his observations on the Christian nations was, that -their genius especially displayed itself in the art of war, in which -they had already attained to great eminence, and yet were intent on -new inventions. Indeed, he gave it as his unqualified opinion, that -the European had a great natural superiority over the African in -everything which concerns the science of destruction. - -The Mandingo had news, from time to time, through the travelling -merchants, of what was going on in the North. He heard, in this way, -of the captivity and miserable end of the Infant Ferdinand, of the -accession of a fifth Alphonso, and of the revival of the bloody -dissensions of the royal house of Portugal. He waited long for tidings -of Henry's expeditions, although the year of his own return from -Europe was the same in which John Goncalvez Zarco and Tristam Vaz set -off on the search for Guinea. But the looked-for news came at last, to -bring with it a revival of his old foreboding. - - * * * * * - -You must allow that I have been tender of Europe. I might have -introduced our traveller to it at a worse moment. Instead of going to -England in the time of a chivalrous, popular prince, like Henry the -Fifth, he might have seen it under Richard the Third; or I might have -taken him there to assist at the decapitation of some of the eighth -Henry's wives, or at a goodly number of the meaner executions, which -went on, they say, at the rate of one to every five hours through that -king's extended reign. Instead of making him report that human -burnt-offerings, though not unknown in England, were infrequent, and -that only a single victim was immolated on each occasion, I might have -let him collect his statistics on this subject in the time of the -bloody Mary. I am not sure that he could have seen France to much less -advantage than in the days of the Bourgignon and Armagnac factions; -but perhaps he would not have formed a very different judgment, if, -going there a century and a half later, he had happened on the -Massacre of Saint Bartholomew. - -The African traveller sometimes a little misapprehended what he saw, -no doubt; but he noted nothing in malice. If he did not see our -English ancestors precisely with their own eyes or with ours, at least -he did not fall into the monstrous mistakes of the Greek historian -Chalcondyles, of whose statements in regard to English manners Gibbon -says,--"His credulity and injustice may teach an important lesson: to -distrust accounts of foreign and remote nations, and to suspend our -belief of every tale that deviates from the laws of Nature and the -character of man." - - - - - SUNDAY MORNING, April 14, 1844. - - -Yesterday was the day my journal should have gone; and my delay has -not the usual excuse, for here was already a heavy budget. It is my -love of completeness which has detained it. Next Saturday I can send -you, together with the account of Harry's arrival and visit here, that -of our leave-taking at Omocqua. You will thus have this little episode -in my life entire. - -The solicitude we had felt beforehand about Dr. Borrow's entertainment -was thrown away. He has his particularities certainly, but we soon -learned to accommodate ourselves to them. Harry, with perfect -simplicity and directness, all along as on the first day, kept us -informed of the Doctor's tastes and warned us of his antipathies, so -that we had no difficulty in providing for his general comfort. As to -his little humors and asperities, we accepted them, in the same way -that Harry does, as belonging to the man, and never thought of asking -ourselves whether we should like him better without them. One thing I -will say for the Doctor: if, when he feels annoyance, he makes no -secret of it, on the other hand, you can be sure that he is pleased -when he appears to be,--and this is a great satisfaction. He is not -inconsiderate of the weaknesses of others, either. I do not know how -he divined that I disliked his blue glasses, but after the second day -they disappeared. He said our pure air enabled him to do without them. -Then the umbrella,--it attended us on the Saturday's walk. I supposed -it was to be our inevitable companion. But on Sunday it came only as -far as the door; here the Doctor stopped, held it up before him, -considered, doubted, and set it down inside. Harry carried it -up-stairs in the evening. I expected to see it come down again the -next morning,--but it had no part in our pleasant Monday rambles. I -had not said a word against the umbrella. - -The engagement I made with Harry that Monday afternoon had Dr. -Borrow's concurrence. He even expressed a willingness to assist at our -readings. The order of our day was this:--In the early morning we had -our walk,--Harry and I. Coming back, we always went round by Keith's -Pine. We were sure to find the Doctor seated on the bench, which had -been left there since the last Sunday, microscope in hand and -flower-press beside him. Then all to the house, where we arrived with -an exactitude which caused the Doctor, whose first glance on entering -was at the clock, to seat himself at the table in a glow of -self-approval sufficient to warm all present into a little innocent -elation. After breakfast we separated,--Harry walking off to take my -place with Karl and Fritz, the Doctor going to his flowers, and I to -my writing. We all met again at an appointed time and place for an -excursion together. We carried our dinner with us; or, if we were not -going very far, had it left at some pleasant spot, where we found it -on our way home. After dinner I read, and then we had an hour or so of -discussion and criticism. - -I have given you the readings of two days. I shall try to copy the -rest for you in the course of the week. Copying is work; I cannot do -any this morning; and then I have still other things remaining to me -from those days which I have not yet shared with you. - -On Tuesday, the ninth, the first day of the new arrangement, Harry -went away as soon as breakfast was over. The Doctor rose, as if going -to his room, hesitated, and sat down again. I saw that he had -something to say to me, and waited. My thoughts went back to the -conversation of the afternoon before. Had I really displeased him? He -spoke seriously, but very kindly. - -"Harry has no need of incitement in the direction of"---- - -He stopped, as if for a word which should be true at once to his pride -and his disapprobation. He did not find it, and began over again:-- - -"It is the office of friendship to restrain even from generous error. -It is possible to err on the side of too great disinterestedness. A -man such as Harry will be, while living for himself,--living nobly and -wisely as he must live,--is living for others; he has no need to -become a crusader." - -"Harry will be what he was meant to be; you would not have him force -himself to become anything else?" - -"No, I would not," the Doctor answered confidently, yet with a little -sadness in his voice. "It almost seems," he added, a moment after, -"that the qualities which fit a man for a higher sphere are -incompatible with his success in this." - -"Not, perhaps, with what Harry would call success." - -"I am ambitious for him; I own it. And so are you, though you do not -own it. You want to see him recognized for what he is." - -Certainly it is natural to wish that others should love what we love, -should admire what we admire. Our desire of sympathy, our regard for -justice, both ask it. But we must have trust. - - "Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, - Nor in the glistering foil - Set off to the world, nor in broad rumor lies; - But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes - And perfect witness of all-judging Jove." - -I could not answer the Doctor immediately. "Whatever course Harry may -take," I said at last, "his power will make itself felt. He will -disappoint neither of us." - -"He has never given me a disappointment yet; though I prepare myself -for one, whenever he begins anything new. We have no right to expect -everything of one; but, whatever he is doing, it seems as if that was -what he was most meant to do." - -"It is in part his simple-mindedness, his freedom from the disturbing -influence of self-love, which gives him this security of success in -what he undertakes. You have said that Harry was one to take his own -path. I will trust him to find it and hold to it." - -"I must come to that," answered the Doctor, whose anxiety had -gradually dissipated itself. "I don't know why I should hope to guide -him now, if I could not when he was seven years old. On the infantile -scale his characteristics were then just what they are now, and one of -them certainly always was to have a way of his own. - - "'The hero's blood is not to be controlled; - In childhood even 'tis manly masterful.' - -"And yet he was always so tender of others' feelings, so ready to give -up his pleasure for theirs, you might almost have thought him of too -yielding a nature, unless you had seen him tried on some point where -he found it worth while to be resolved." - -The Doctor sat silent a little while, held by pleasant thoughts, and -then began again:-- - -"There comes back to me now an earlier recollection of him than any I -have given you. I witnessed once a contest of will between him and a -person who was put over the nursery for a time in the absence of its -regular head, and who was not thoroughly versed in the laws and -customs of the realm she was to administer. Harry could not have been -much more than two, I think, for he had hardly yet English enough for -his little needs. He was inflexible on his side; the poor woman at -first positive and then plaintive. She had recourse to the usually -unfailing appeal,--'But, Harry, do you not want me to love you?' He -held back the tears that were pressing to his eyes,--'I want all the -peoples to love me.' But he did not give way, for he was in the right. - -"Candor, however, obliges me to add that he did not always give way -when he was in the wrong. Oh, I _was_ in the right sometimes."--The -Doctor laughed good-humoredly in answer to my involuntary smile.--"You -may believe it, for Harry has admitted it himself later. Our debates -were not always fruitless. I have known him come to me, three months, -six months, after a discussion in which we had taken opposite sides, -and say,--'I see now that you knew better about that than I did. I was -mistaken.' On the other hand, some of his little sayings have worked -on me with time, if not to the modification of my opinions, at least -to that of my conduct, and sometimes in a way surprising to myself. -For the rest, I liked to have him hold his ground well, and was just -as content, when he did make a concession, that it was made out of -deference, not to me, but to truth. - -"I don't know whose opinion was authority with him. He did not respect -even the wisdom of the world's ages as condensed in its proverbs, but -coolly subjected them to the test of his uncompromising reason. I -remember somebody's citing to him one day, 'A penny saved is a penny -earned.' He considered it, and then rejected it decisively, proposing -as a substitute,--'A penny spent is a penny saved.' I suppose that -little word of his has spent me many a penny I might have saved,--but -I don't know that I am the poorer. - -"Another of his childish sayings passed into a by-word in the -household. He was filling with apples for her grandchildren the tin -kettle of an old family pensioner, whose eyes counted the rich, red -spoil, as it rolled in. 'Enough!' says the conscientious gardener, who -is looking on. 'Enough!' echoes the modest beneficiary. '_Enough is -not enough!_' gives sentence the little autocrat, and heaps the -measure. I thought of this as he was walking beside me, grave and -silent, over Harvey's well-ordered plantation. 'The child is father of -the man.'" - -The time was past when the Doctor had scruples in talking of Harry or -I in asking. He forgot his flowers, and I my writing. Nothing more -interesting to me than real stories of childhood. As a means of -instruction, it seems to me the study of the early years of the human -being has been strangely neglected by the wise. I listened well, then, -whenever, after one of his contemplative pauses, the Doctor began -again with a new "I remember." - -"I remember being in the garden with him once when a barefooted boy -came in and asked for shoes. Harry ran off, and presently reappeared -with a fine, shining pair, evidently taken on his own judgment. A -woman, who had been looking from the window, came hurrying out, and -arrived in time to see the shoes walking out of the gate on strange -feet. 'Why, Harry, those were perfectly good shoes!' 'I should not -have given them to him, if they had not been good,' the child -answered, tranquilly. The poor woman was posed. As for me, I ignored -the whole affair, that I might not be obliged to commit myself. But I -thought internally that we should not have had the saying, 'Cold as -charity,' current in our Christian world, if all its neighborly love -had been of the type of Harry's. - -"You are not to suppose that Harry and I were always at variance. Our -skirmishing was our amusement. He was teachable, very teachable,--and -more and more as he grew older. Some of the happiest hours I have to -look back upon were passed with him by my side, his reverent and -earnest look showing how devoutly, with what serious joy, his young -soul welcomed its first conscious perceptions of the laws of Nature, -the sacred truths of Science." - - - BY THE RIVERSIDE. - -The morning called me out imperatively. It is almost like that Sunday -morning on which I took my first early walk with Harry. I fell into -the same path we followed then. This path led us to the Dohuta. We -walked slowly along its fringed bank, as I have been walking along it -now, and stopped here where the river makes a little bend round a just -perceptible rising graced by three ilex-trees. We found ourselves here -more than once afterwards. We never thought beforehand what way we -should take; we could not go amiss, where we went together. - -The river holds its calm flow as when Harry was beside it with me. -Here are the trees whose vigorous growth he praised, their thorny -foliage glittering in the new sunlight as it glittered then. These -associates of that pleasant time, renewing their impressions, awaken -more and more vividly those of the dearer companionship. - -It is strange the faithfulness with which the seemingly indifferent -objects about us keep for us the record of hours that they have -witnessed, rendering up our own past to us in a completeness in which -our memory would not have reproduced it but for the suggestions of -these unchosen confidants. Without displacing the familiar scene, -distant and far other landscapes rise before me, visions that Harry -Dudley called up for me here; to all the clear, fresh sounds of the -early morning join themselves again our asking and replying voices. - -I knew at once when a place had a particular interest for Harry, by -the tone in which he pronounced the name. Fiesole was always a -beautiful word for me, but how beautiful now that I must hear in it -his affectionate accent! Volterra has a charm which it does not owe to -its dim antiquity, or owes to it as revivified by him. His strong -sympathy, embracing the remoter and the near, makes the past as actual -to him as the present, and both alike poetic. - -Harry's researches have not been carried on as a pastime, or even as a -pursuit, but as a true study, a part of his preparation for a -serviceable life. It is the history of humanity that he explores, and -he reads it more willingly in its achievements than in its failures. -The remains of the early art of Etruria, its grand works of utility, -give evidence of the immemorial existence of a true civilization upon -that favored soil, the Italy of Italy. - -Among the retributions of time--as just in its compensations as in its -revenges--there is hardly one more remarkable than this which is -rendering justice to the old Etruscans, awakening the world to a long -unacknowledged debt. Their annals have been destroyed, their -literature has perished, their very language has passed away; but -their life wrote itself on the country for whose health, fertility, -and beauty they invented and labored,--wrote itself in characters so -strong that the wear of the long ages has not effaced them. This -original civilization has never been expelled from the scene of its -ancient reign. Through all changes, under all oppressions, amid all -violences, it has held itself in life,--has found means to assert and -reassert its beneficent rights. Its very enemies have owed to it that -they have been able to blend with their false glory some share of a -more honorable fame. In its early seats it has never left itself long -without a witness; but still some new gift to the world, in letters, -in art, or in science, has given proof of its yet unexhausted -resources. - -As freedom is older than despotism, so civilization is older than -barbarism. Man, made in the image of God, was made loving, loyal, -beneficently creative. - -No country except his own is nearer to Harry's heart than Italy,--not -even France, though it is almost a second home to him; but perhaps -there cannot be that passion in our love for the prosperous. For me, -too, Italy has always stood alone;--sacred in her triple royalty of -beauty, genius, and sorrow. - -Harry has ties of his own to Italy, and of those which endear most -closely. It was the scene of his first great grief,--as yet his only -one. The firm, devout expression which his face took, whenever he -spoke of his brother, showed that the early departure of the friend -with whom he had hoped to walk hand in hand through life had not -saddened or discouraged him,--had only left with him a sense of double -obligation. - -Harry does not speak of himself uninvited; but he was ready to do so, -as simply and frankly as of anything else, when I drew him to it. He -has his day-dreams like other young men, and found a true youthful -delight in sharing them. I could not but observe that into his plans -for the future--apart from the little home, vaguely, yet tenderly -sketched, for which a place was supposed in them--his own advantage -entered only inasmuch as they provided him a sphere of beneficent -activity. - -The one great duty of our time may oblige him to postpone all designs -which have not its fulfilment for their immediate object. But only to -postpone, I will hope. For why should we suppose that the struggle -with slavery is to last through the life of the present generation? -May we not believe that the time may come, even in our day, when we -shall only have to build and to plant, no longer to overthrow and -uproot? - - * * * * * - -Karl and Fritz have found me out here. They came to propose to me that -we should have our service this morning in the open air, at the same -place where we had it Sunday before last. They had already been at the -house, and had obtained my mother's assent. Karl was the spokesman, as -usual; but he stopped at the end of every sentence and looked for his -brother's concurrence. - -I have remarked a change in Karl lately. He has the advantage of -Fritz, not only in years, but in capacity and energy. He has always -been a good brother; but his superiority has been fully taken for -granted between them, and all its rights asserted and admitted without -a struggle. Within a short time, however, his character has matured -rapidly. He has shown greater consideration for Fritz, and in general -more sympathy with what is weaker or softer or humbler than himself. I -had observed a greater thoughtfulness in him before Harry Dudley's -visit here. But that short intercourse has extended his view in many -directions. The entire absence of assumption, where there was so -incontestable a superiority, could not but affect him profoundly. And -then Harry, although Karl's strength and cleverness made him a very -satisfactory work-fellow, took a great interest in Fritz, in whom he -discovered fine perceptions. He tried to draw him out of his reserve, -and to give him pleasure by making him feel he could contribute to -that of others. Some latent talents, which the shy boy had cultivated -unnoticed, brought him into a new importance. He knows the habits of -all our birds, and has a marvellous familiarity with insects. His -observations on their modes of life had been so exact, that Doctor -Borrow, in questioning him, had almost a tone of deference. He was -able to render signal service to the Doctor, too, by discovering for -him, from description, tiny plants hard to find when out of bloom. -Hans, who is fondest of the son that never rivalled him, exulted -greatly in this sudden distinction. Karl took a generous pleasure in -it; and, under the double influence of increased respect from without -and enhanced self-esteem, Fritz's diffident powers are warming out -wonderfully. - -The boys thanked me very gratefully, as if I had done them a real -favor, when I gave my consent to their plan; though I do not know why -they should not suppose it as agreeable to me as to themselves. - - - EVENING. - -When I went home to breakfast this morning, I found the chairs already -gone, except the great arm-chair. Nobody was expected to-day of -sufficient dignity to occupy it. I was unwilling to draw it up to the -table for myself. I believe I should have taken my breakfast standing, -if it had not been that this would have called for explanation. How -little I thought, when the Doctor first took his place among us, that -a time would come when I should not wish to have his seat filled by -any one else! I did not know how much I cared for him, until after he -was gone; I do not think I knew it fully until this morning, when I -came in and saw that solitary, empty chair. Then it came over me with -a pang that he would never lay down the law to me from it -again,--never would lean towards me sideways over its arm, to tell me, -with moderated tone and softened look, little childish stories of his -foster-son. - -Karl stayed behind to-day, instead of Tabitha, to warn those who -arrived of the place of meeting. He came in with the Lintons, who were -late,--the fault of their poor old mule, or rather his misfortune. He -fell down, and so broke and otherwise deranged his ingenious harness -that the family were obliged to re-manufacture it on the road. - -My mother did a courageous thing this morning. When the Hanthams came, -she addressed them by name, and, calling the daughter up to her, took -her hand and said some kind words to her. I thought they would be -thrown away on her, but they were not. Her look to-day had in it less -of purpose and more of sympathy. The Blantys were not here. I cannot -understand why, in such fine weather. We missed them very much. But -all the rest of those who are most to be desired came. We had a happy -and united little assemblage. - -I read Jeremy Taylor's second sermon on the "Return of Prayers." I am -sure that we all heard and felt together, and were left with softened -and more trustful hearts; yet doubtless each took away his own -peculiar lesson or solace, according to his separate need. What has -remained with me is a quickened sense of the Divine munificence, which -so often grants us more and better than we pray for. "We beg for a -removal of a present sadness, and God gives us that which makes us -able to bear twenty sadnesses." - -After the services were over, Franket came up and handed me a -letter,--a most unexpected and a most welcome one. If I had not seen -Harry's writing before, I think I should have known his strong, frank -hand. I held the letter up before my mother, and her face brightened -with recognition. Harry writes in fine spirits. The Doctor has been -very successful. And they met Shaler again. "Perhaps he will be one of -us on the nineteenth." That is good news indeed. Altogether this has -been a very happy Sunday. - -Davis Barton stayed with us until four o'clock, and then I rode part -of the way home with him. This boy is becoming of importance to me; he -is bringing a new interest into my life. This morning, after I had -read Harry's letter aloud, and after my mother had read it over again -to herself, I gave it to him to read. His eyes sparkled, and he cast -up to me a quick glance of gratitude; for he felt, as I meant he -should, that this was a mode of admitting him to full fellowship. I -saw, as he walked off before us to the house, that he was a little -taller already with the sense of it. Just before we arrived, however, -he was overtaken by a sudden humiliation. Looking round at me, who, -with Fritz, was carrying my mother's couch, the poor child espied Karl -and Tabitha following, both loaded with chairs. He stood for an -instant thoroughly shame-stricken, and then darted by us without -lifting his eyes. He made so many and such rapid journeys, that he -brought back more chairs than anybody, after all. When dinner was -over, I gave Davis some engravings to look at, meaning to spend an -hour in writing to you. I had taken out my portfolio, but had not yet -begun to write, when I found him standing beside me, looking up at me -with a pretty, blushing smile, which asked me to ask him what he -wanted. He wanted me to teach him.--"What do you want to -learn?"--"Whatever I ought to know."--Whatever I am able to teach, -then, I will teach him, and perhaps more; for, in thinking out what he -ought to know, I shall discover what I ought to know myself. It was -soon settled. He is to come over three times a week, very early in the -morning. I shall give him an hour before breakfast, and another in the -course of the day. I shall have an opportunity of testing some of the -theories I have talked over with Harry. Davis has a good mother, and -has been pretty well taught, and, what is more important, very well -trained, up to this time. I am looking forward to a busier and more -useful summer than I have known for a long while. - - - - - MONDAY, April 15, 1844. - - -"When are we going to see the Shaler plantation?" the Doctor asked me -abruptly one morning at breakfast. "We passed it by on our way here, -knowing that we should have more pleasure in going over it with you." - -I had been over it only once since Shaler left it, and that once was -with himself on one of his rare visits. Franket's house is near the -great gates. It was a porter's lodge in the old time, and is now a -sort of post-office,--Franket having added to his other avocations the -charge of going once a week to Tenpinville with letters intrusted to -him, and bringing back those he is empowered to receive. When I go -there to ask for letters or to leave them, no old associations are -roused, for I did not use the main entrance formerly. I had a key to a -little gate which opens on a bridle-path through the oak-wood. I -entered the grounds through this gate when I was last there with -Shaler, and I had pleased myself with the thought, that, when I -entered them by it again, it would be again with him, on that happy -return to which he is always looking forward. - -But it seemed no violation of my compact with myself to unlock this -gate for Harry, to walk with him through these grounds sacred to him -as to me; for I knew that in his thought, as in mine, these untenanted -lands were not so much deserted as dedicated. It was right that these -places should know him. And what pleasure hereafter to talk of him as -having been there,--to point out to Shaler the trees he had -distinguished, the views that had delighted him! But I wished this -visit to be the last we should make together. My delay in proposing it -had, perhaps, made Harry attribute to me a secret reluctance. After -the first eager expression of his desire to see the early home of his -friend and mine, when we talked of Shaler together that pleasant -afternoon on Prospect Hill, he did not mention the subject again. The -Doctor did not second him then; but I knew he felt as much curiosity -as Harry did interest, before his impatience broke bounds as I have -told you. - -"Let us go on Thursday, if you will," I answered. - -Harry understood me.--"The right day!" - -"Any day is the right one for me," said the Doctor, who would have -named an earlier one, perhaps, if I had asked him to choose. - -On Thursday, then, the last day but one of their visit here, I was -their guide over "The Farms." - -Two brothers settled at Metapora side by side. Their two plantations -were carried on as one, under the direction of the younger brother, -Colonel Shaler, the father of my friend. The brothers talked together -of "The Farms"; their people took up the name; it gradually became the -accepted one in the neighborhood, and has maintained itself, although -the two places, having both been inherited by Charles Shaler, are now -really one estate. - -I opened the little gate for the Doctor and Harry to pass in, and -followed them along the wood-path. All was the same as formerly; -unkindly the same, it seemed. - -"You have not been missed," said the Doctor, entering into my feeling, -though not quite sympathizing with it. "You have not been missed, and -you are not recognized. The birds are not jubilant because you have -come back. The wood was as resonant before your key turned in the -lock." He stopped and looked about him at the grand old oaks. "The man -who grew up under these trees, and calls them his, may well long for -them, but they will wait very patiently for his return. We could not -spare trees and birds, but they can do without us well enough. Strange -the place of man on his earth! Everything is necessary to him, and he -is necessary to nothing." - -Shaler had left the key of his house with me. There could be no -indiscretion in introducing such guests into it. We went first into -the dining-room. Everything was as it used to be, except that the -family portraits had been taken away. The cords to which they had been -attached still hung from the hooks, ready to receive them again. The -large oval table kept its place in the middle of the room. What -pleasant hours I had had in that room, at that table! - -Colonel Shaler was our first friend in this part of the world. My -father and he were distantly related, and had had a week's -acquaintance at the house of a common friend when my father was a very -young man and the Colonel a middle-aged one. On the third day after -our arrival here, my father somewhat nervously put into my hand a note -which had taken some time to write, and asked me to find the way with -it to Colonel Shaler's plantation, which lay somewhere within ten -miles of us in a southeasterly direction. As I was to go on horseback, -I liked the adventure very much, and undertook it heartily. I was -first made conscious that it had a shady side, when I found myself in -the hall of the great, strange house, waiting to be ushered into the -presence of its master. - -"Hallo!" exclaimed a voice beside and far above me, as I stood with -eyes fixed on the ground, expecting that serious moment of entrance. -"You are Ned Colvil's son!" And my hand was lost in a capacious -clasp, well proportioned to the heart it spoke for. I looked up to see -a massive head, shaggy with crisp curls of grizzled hair, and to meet -quick, bright blue eyes, that told of an active spirit animating the -heavy frame. The Colonel did not expect me to speak. "We are to be -neighbors! Good news! Your horse cannot go back at once, and I cannot -wait. You must take another for to-day, and we will send yours home to -you to-morrow." - -Colonel Shaler's stout gray was soon led round, and presently -followed, for me, a light-made, graceful black, the prettiest horse I -had ever yet mounted. As soon as I saw it, I knew that it must be his -son's, and visions of friendship already floated before me. - -"One of Charles's," said the Colonel; "he is out on the other. I wish -he was here to go with us, but we cannot wait." - -I did not keep the Doctor and Harry long in the house. It was the -plantation they wanted to see. We spent several hours in walking over -it. I tried to do justice, not only to the plans and works of my -friend, but to his father's schemes of agricultural improvement, and -also to the very different labors of his uncle, Dr. George Shaler, -who, utterly abstracted from matters of immediate utility, took the -beautiful and the future under his affectionate protection. Through -his vigilance and pertinacity, trees were felled, spared, and -planted, with a judgment rare anywhere, singular here. If he gave into -some follies, such as grottos, mimic ruins, and surprises, after the -Italian fashion, even these are becoming respectable through time. -They are very innocent monuments; for their construction gave as much -delight to those who labored as to him who planned, and the completed -work was not less their pride than his. His artificial mounds, which, -while they were piling, were the jest of the wider neighborhood,--as -the good old man himself has often told me,--now, covered with thrifty -trees, skilfully set, are a legacy which it was, perhaps, worth the -devotion of his modest, earnest life to bequeath. - -Charles Shaler has piously spared all his uncle's works,--respecting -the whimsical, as well as cherishing the excellent. - -We went last to the quarters of the work-people. A few of the cabins -were left standing. Most of them had been carried off piecemeal, -probably to build or repair the cabins of other plantations. Those -that remained seemed to have been protected by the strength and beauty -of the vines in which they were embowered. I was glad to find still -unmolested one which had an interest for me. It had been the home of -an old man who used to be very kind to me. I lifted the latch and was -opening the door, when I became aware of a movement inside, as of -some one hastily and stealthily putting himself out of sight. If this -was so, the purpose was instantly changed; for a firm step came -forward, and the door was pulled open by a strong hand. I stepped back -out of the little porch, and addressed some words to the Doctor, to -make known that I was not alone; but the man followed me out, and -saluted me and my companions respectfully and frankly. I offered him -my hand, for he was an old acquaintance. - -"Senator, why are you here?" - -"Because I ought to be here." - -"There is danger." - -He did not reply, but the kindling of his look showed that he saw in -danger only a challenge to his powers. He saluted us again, and -walking away, with a slow, even step, disappeared in a thicket which -shrouded one of Dr. George's favorite grottos. - -"The true Othello, after all!" exclaimed the Doctor, when we turned to -each other again, after watching until we were sure that we had seen -the last of this apparition. "Of royal siege, assuredly!" - -"He claims to be, or rather it is claimed for him," I answered. "His -mother was a native African, a king's daughter, those who came with -her said; and she bore, by all accounts, the stamp of primitive -royalty as clearly impressed as her son does. Her title was never -questioned either in the cabin or at the great house. She was a slave -on the Westlake plantation,--but only for a few weeks, as I have -heard." - -"Did you ever see her?" the Doctor asked. - -"No, she died long ago; but her story is still told on the plantation -and in the neighborhood. Old Westlake bought her with four others, all -native Africans, at Perara. The rest throve and made themselves at -home. She, stately and still, endured until she had received her son -into the world, and then, having consigned him to a foster-mother of -her choice, passed tranquilly out of it. During her short abode on the -plantation, she was an object of general homage, and when she died, -the purple descended to her son." - -"And the son has his story?" said the Doctor. - -"A short one." - -The Doctor and Harry both turned to me with expectation. They knew the -Westlake plantation and its master; but you do not. If Senator's story -has not the interest for you that it had for them, that must be the -reason. - -The prestige of rank was the only inheritance of the little foreign -orphan. The very name his mother gave him, and which she impressed, by -frequent, though faint repetition, upon those about her, was lost in -the surprise of her sudden departure. The good souls to whom it had -been committed strove faithfully to recover it. They were sure it was -no proper Christian name, but a title of dignity; and, comparing their -recollections of the sound, and their intuitions of the meaning, -agreed among themselves that its nearest equivalent must be "Senator." - -Senator was born on Christmas day; and this was regarded as all the -greater distinction that it had been enjoyed before him by the young -master,--the then heir and now owner, our present Westlake. - -As he grew up, he took, as of course, and held, the place assigned to -him in advance. At the age of sixteen he was already in authority over -men, and exercised it with an ease and acceptance which proved that he -was obeyed as instinctively as he commanded. - -I do not know a prouder man than Westlake, or one more saturated with -the prejudice of race. But he is not exempt from the laws which govern -human intercourse. He came under the spell of Senator's cool -self-reliance and unhesitating will. The petted slave did not directly -or palpably misuse his power; yet his demeanor occasioned a secret -dissatisfaction. He gave to his master's interests the whole force of -his remarkable abilities, but it was not clear that he duly -appreciated the indulgence which permitted him to exercise them -untrammelled. He had never undergone punishment,--had hardly even met -rebuke; but it was more than suspected that he attributed his -immunities to his own merits. Westlake valued him for his high spirit -as much as for his capacity; but should not Senator be very sensible -to such magnanimity? This spirit had never been broken by fear; ought -it not all the more to bend itself in love and gratitude? - -Poor Westlake is very fond of gratitude. He enjoys it even from the -most worthless and neglected of his slaves,--enjoys it even when it is -prospective and conditional, and when he has the best reasons for -knowing that the implied stipulations are not to be fulfilled. To -Senator's gratitude he felt he had so entire a claim that he could not -but believe in its existence. He tried to see in its very silence only -a proof of its depth. But, if not necessary to his own feelings, some -outward expression was important to his dignity in the eyes of others. -He exerted himself, therefore, by gracious observations made in the -presence of guests or before the assembled people on holidays, to -afford Senator an opportunity at once of testifying to his master's -liberality and of displaying the eloquence which was one of the chief -glories of the plantation. These condescending efforts, constantly -baffled by the self-possessed barbarian, were perpetually renewed. - -One Christmas morning the common flood of adulation had been poured -out more profusely than usual, and Westlake had quaffed it with more -than usual satisfaction. His outlay for the festival had been truly -liberal, and he felt that the quality of the entertainment guarantied -that of the thanks. Besides the general benevolence of the -dinner,--already arranged on long, low tables set about the lawn, to -be enjoyed in anticipation by their devouring eyes,--special gifts -were bestowed on the most deserving or the most favored. Senator was -greatly distinguished, but took his assigned portion in silence; and -Westlake felt, through every tingling nerve, that the attentive crowd -had seen, as he had, that it was received as a tribute rather than as -a favor. He had hitherto covered his defeats with the jolly laugh that -seemed meant at once to apologize for his servant's eccentricity and -to forgive it. But now he had made too sure of triumph; surprise and -pain hurried him out of himself. - -"What is it now?" he cried, fiercely, raising his clenched fist -against the impassive offender. - -"I have not spoken, Master." - -"Speak, then! It is time. I have done more for you than for all the -rest, and not a word!" - -"We have done more for you than you for us all. What you give us we -first give you." - -It was as if a thunderbolt had fallen. The assembly scattered like a -flock of frightened sheep. - -I had this from Westlake himself. He came straight over to me. Not -that Westlake and I are friends. There had never been any intimacy -between us. There never has been any, unless for those few hours that -day. - -Senator had been secured. His sentence had been announced. It was -banishment. Those who were nearest the master's confidence had leave -to add the terrible name--New Orleans. - -Senator had neither mother nor wife. He was nineteen, the age of -enterprise and confidence. Perhaps, after all, it was the master on -whom the doom would fall most heavily, I thought, while Westlake was -making his recital. He was almost pale; his heavy features were -sharpened; his firm, round cheeks were flaccid and sunken; his voice -was hoarse and tremulous. Surely, that birthday might count for ten. - -"I cannot overlook it," he groaned out. "You know that yourself, -Colvil. I cannot forgive it. It would be against my duty, and---- Any -way, I cannot. But--you may think it strange--but I am not angry. I -was, but I am not now. I cannot bear to know him locked up there in -the corn-barn, shackled and chained, and thinking all the time that -it is I who have done it to him!" - -Westlake had not seen the man since his imprisonment, and had come -over to ask me to be present at the first interview. I declined -positively. - -"I do not believe," I said, "that he is to be reasoned out of his -opinions. Certainly he will not be reasoned out of them by me. If -anything could persuade a nature like his to submission, it would be -the indulgent course you have till now pursued with him. If that has -failed, no means within your reach will succeed." - -"You do not understand me. I do not want you to reason with him, or to -persuade him to anything. I only ask you to be witness to what I am -going to say to him, that he may believe me,--that he may not himself -thwart me in my plans." - -"In what plans?" - -"Plans that you will agree to, and that you will help me in, I -hope,--but which I cannot trust to any one but you, nor to you except -to have your help. If you will come with me, you shall know them; if -not, I must take my chance, and he must take his." - -I did not put much faith in Westlake's plans; but the thought of -Senator chained and caged drew me to his prison. There might be -nothing for me to do there; but, since I was called, I would go. - -By the time my horse was saddled, Westlake had recovered his voice, -and, in part, his color. This birthday would not count for more than -five. He plucked up still more on the road; but when we came within a -mile of his place, his trouble began to work on him again. He would -have lengthened that last mile, but could not much. His horse snuffed -home, and mine a near hospitality. Our entrance sustained the master's -dignity handsomely. There was no misgiving or relenting to be -construed out of that spirited trot. - -We went together to the corn-barn. Senator was extended on the floor -at the farther end of the room. He lifted his head when we entered, -and then, as if compelled by an instinctive courtesy, rose to his -fettered feet. I saw at once that there had been no more harshness -than was needful for security; it even seemed that this had not been -very anxiously provided for. The slender shackles would be no more -than withes of the Philistines to such a Samson. A chain, indeed, -fastened to a strong staple in the floor, passed to a ring in an iron -belt about his waist; but it was long enough to allow him considerable -liberty of movement. His hands were free. Perhaps Westlake had half -expected to find the room empty. He stopped, a little startled, when -he heard the first clank of the chain, and watched his prisoner as he -slowly lifted himself from the ground and rose to his full height. -Then, recollecting himself, he went forward. One ignorant of what had -gone before might have mistaken between the culprit and the judge. - -"Senator," Westlake began, in a voice whose faltering he could not -control, "I have been a kind master to you." - -No answer. - -"You allow that?" - -Senator was inflexible. - -"I would never have sent you away of my own free will. This is your -doing, not mine. You cannot _want_ to go!" This in indignant -surprise,--for something like a smile had relaxed the features of the -imperious slave. - -Senator spoke. - -"This is my home, as it is yours. I was born here, as you were. This -land is dear to me as it is to you; dearer,--for I have given my labor -to it, and you never have. In return, I have had a support, and the -exercise of my strength and my skill. This has been enough for me -until now. But I am a man. I look round and see how other men live. I -want somebody else to do for: not you, but somebody that could not do -without me." - -"Things might have gone differently," Westlake began, recovering his -self-complacency, as visions, doubtless, of the fine wedding he would -have given Senator, of the fine names he would have bestowed upon his -children, rose before his fancy. "Things might have gone differently, -if you had been"---- - -"If I had been what I am not," answered Senator, becoming impatient as -Westlake relapsed into pomposity. "It is enough, Master. We have done -with each other, and we both know it. Let me go." - -"I will let you go,"--Westlake spoke now with real dignity,--"but not -as you think. If I would have you remember what I have been to you, it -is for your own sake, not for mine. I am used to ingratitude; I do not -complain of yours. I have never sold a servant left me by my father, -and I do not mean to begin with you. You shall not drive me to it. You -are to go, and forever, but by your own road. I will set you on it -myself. Is there any one in the neighborhood you can trust? We shall -need help." - -A doubtful smile passed over Senator's face. - -"There is no one, then? Think! no one?" - -"I am not so unhappy. There are those whom I trust." - -"Then I will trust them. Tell me who they are and where they are. And -quick! This news will be everywhere soon. To-morrow morning the -neighbors will be coming in. What is done must be done to-night. -Senator, do not ruin yourself! I mean right by you. Here is Mr. -Colvil to witness to what I say. Is this mad obstinacy only? or do you -_dare_ not to trust yourself to me?" - -"I do not trust to you those who trust me." - -"Do you suppose I would give up those whose aid I have asked?" - -"You would know where to find them when they give aid you have not -asked." - -"Colvil, speak to him! If he goes off by himself, I cannot hide it -long. The country will be roused. I shall have to hunt him down -myself. My honor will be at stake. I shall have to do it!" - -The obdurate slave studied his master's features with curiosity -mingled with triumph. - -"Help me, Colvil! Help him! Tell him to listen to my plan and join in -it! The useful time is passing!" - -"Senator," I said at last, being so adjured, "your master means you -well. He is not free to set you free,--you know it. You have done work -for him,--good and faithful work; but never yet have you done him a -pleasure, and he has intended you a good many. This is your last -chance. Gratify him for once!" - -Senator looked again, and saw, through the intent and wistful eyes, -the poor, imploring soul within, which, hurried unconsenting towards -crime, clung desperately to his rescue as its own. He comprehended -that here was no tyrant, but a wretched victim of tyranny. A laugh, -deep, reluctant, uncontrollable, no mirth in it, yet a certain bitter -irony, and Senator had recovered his natural bearing, self-possessed -and authoritative; he spoke in his own voice of composed decision. - -"What is the plan, Master?" - -Westlake told it eagerly. He was to save his authority with his people -and his reputation with his neighbors by selling the rebellious -servant,--that is to say, by pretending to sell him. Senator was to -entitle himself to a commutation of his sentence into simple -banishment by lending himself to the pious fraud and acting his part -in it becomingly. Westlake had been so long accustomed to smooth his -path of life by open subterfuges and falsehoods whose only guilt was -in intention, that he had formed a very high opinion of his own -address, and a very low one of the penetration of the rest of the -world. As he proceeded with the details of his plot, childishly -ingenious and childishly transparent, Senator listened, at first with -attention, then with impatience, and at last not at all. When Westlake -stopped to take breath, he interposed. - -"Now hear me. Order the long wagon out, with the roans. Have me -handcuffed and fastened down in it. Tell those whom you trust that you -are taking me to Goosefield." - -"To Goosefield?" - -"To Dick Norman." - -"Dick Norman! He help you! He is not an ----?" - -Westlake could not bring himself to associate the word abolitionist -with a man who had dined with him three days before. - -"He is a slave-trader." - -The blood, which had rushed furiously to the proud planter's cheeks, -left them with a sudden revulsion. To be taken in by a disguised -fanatic might happen to any man too honorable to be suspicious. He -could have forgiven himself. But to have held a slave-trader by the -hand! to have asked him to his table! Westlake knew that Senator never -said anything that had to be taken back. - -Richard Norman was a man of name and birth from old Virginia. Of easy -fortune, so it was reported, still unmarried, he spent a great part of -the year in travelling; and especially found pleasure in renewing old -family ties with Virginian emigrants or their children in newer -States. When he favored our neighborhood, he had his quarters at -Goosefield, where he always took the same apartments in the house of a -man, also Virginian by birth, who was said to be an old retainer of -his family. Norman's father had been the fathers' friend of most of -our principal planters. He was welcome in almost every household for -the sake of these old memories, and apparently for his own. He was -well-looking, well-mannered, possessed of various information, ready -with amusing anecdote. And yet all the time it was perfectly known to -every slave on every plantation where he visited what Mr. Richard -Norman was. It was perfectly known to every planter except Westlake, -and possibly Harvey. I do not remember to have heard of him at -Harvey's. Those who never sold their servants, those who never -separated families, those who never parted very young children from -their mothers, found Norman a resource in those cases of necessity -which exempt from law. - -The slaves talked of him among themselves familiarly, though -fearfully. He was the central figure of many a dark history; the house -at Goosefield was known to them as Dick Norman's Den. The masters held -their knowledge separately, each bound to consider himself its sole -depository. If, arriving at the house of a friend, soon after a -visitation of Richard Norman, one missed a familiar hand at his -bridle, a kind old face at the door, curiosity was discreet; it would -have been very ill manners to ask whether it was Death or Goosefield. - -"Dick Norman starts at midnight. He has been ready these three days. -He only waited to eat his Christmas dinner at old Rasey's." - -Westlake had pondered and understood. "Where shall I really take you?" -he asked, despondingly. - -"Leave me anywhere six or eight miles from here, and I will do for -myself." - -"Colvil, you will ride along beside?" - -"No." - -I find in myself such an inaptitude for simulation or artifice of any -kind, that I do not believe it was intended I should serve my -fellow-men by those means. - -"No," repeated Senator,--"not if we are going to Goosefield." - -"It is true," assented Westlake, sadly; "nobody would believe you were -going with me there!" - -I rode off without taking leave of Senator. I felt sure of seeing him -again. I thought I knew where the aid he would seek was to be found. -Mine was just the half-way house to it. He would not be afraid of -compromising me, for his master himself had called me to be witness to -their compact. Senator would have the deciding voice, as usual; and -Westlake would be guided by him now the more readily that he himself -would tend in the direction of his only confidant. When I had put up -my horse, I went into the house only for a few moments to tell my -mother what I had seen and what I was expecting. - -I walked up and down between the gate and the brook that evening,--I -could not tell how long. I had time to become anxious,--time to invent -disasters,--time to imagine encounters Westlake might have had on the -way, with officious advisers, with self-proposed companions. I was -disappointed more than once by distant wheels, which came nearer and -nearer only to pass on, and farther and farther away, on the road -which, crossing ours, winds round behind our place to Winker's Hollow. -At last I caught sound of an approach which did not leave me an -instant in uncertainty. This time, beyond mistake, it was the swift, -steady tramp of Westlake's roans. As they entered our sandy lane, -their pace slackened to a slow trot, and then to a walk. Westlake was -on the lookout for me. I went into the middle of the road. He saw me; -I heard him utter an exclamation of relief. - -Senator, who had been stretched out on the bottom of the wagon, sat up -when the horses stopped, took the manacles from his wrists and threw -them down on the straw. With his master's help, he soon disencumbered -himself of his fetters, and sprang lightly to the ground. Westlake -followed, and the two stood there in the starlight confronting each -other for the last time. - -The face of the banished man was inscrutable. His master's worked -painfully. This boy, born on his own twenty-first birthday, had been -assigned to him, not only by his father's gift, but also, so it -seemed, by destiny itself. He had had property in him; he had had -pride in him; he had looked for a life-long devotion from him. And -now, in one moment, all was to be over between them forever. The scene -could not be prolonged. There was danger in every instant of delay. - -"Westlake, he must go." - -"He must go," Westlake repeated, but hesitatingly. And then, with a -sudden impulse, he put out his hand to his forgiven, even if -unrepentant, servant. - -The movement was not met. - -"No, Master; I will not wrong you by thanking you. This is not my -debt." Senator raised towards heaven the coveted hand. "It is His who -always pays." - - - - - TUESDAY, April 16, 1844. - - -You can always tell what view of certain questions Harry Dudley will -take. You have only to suppose them divested of all that prejudice or -narrow interest may have encumbered them with, and look at them in the -light of pure reason. One of the charms of your intercourse with Dr. -Borrow is that it is full of surprises. - -"I have a weakness for Westlake, I own it," said the Doctor, when we -were seated at the tea-table after our return from The Two Farms. "If -you had known him when he was young, as I did, Colvil! Such an easy, -soft-hearted, dependent fellow! You couldn't respect him very greatly, -perhaps; but like him you must! His son Reginald you ought to like. I -do. And--what you will think more to the purpose--so does Harry." - -Harry enforced this with a look. - -Reginald Westlake is a handsome boy, rather sullen-looking, but with a -face capable of beaming out into a beautiful smile. He is always -distant in his manners to me, I do not know whether through shyness or -dislike. - -"He will make a man," Doctor Borrow went on; "if I am any judge of -men, he will make a man." - -The Doctor was interrupted by the brisk trot of a horse coming up the -road. The rider did not stop at the gate; he cleared it. In another -moment Westlake's jolly red face was looking down on us through the -window. I might have found this arrival untimely; but turning to Harry -to know how he took it, I saw in his eyes the "merry sparkle" the -Doctor had told of, and divined that there was entertainment in a -colloquy between the classmates. - -Westlake made a sign with his hand that he was going to take his horse -to the stable. I went out to him, Harry following. I welcomed him as -cordially as I could, but his manner was reserved at first. We had not -met in a way to be obliged to shake hands since Shaler went away. -Westlake knew that I was greatly dissatisfied with him at that time. -Not more so, though, than he was with himself, poor fellow! He was -evidently sincerely glad to see Harry again, and Harry greeted both -him and his horse very kindly. Westlake is always well-mounted, and -deserves to be: he loves his horses both well and wisely. It is -something to be thoroughly faithful in any one relation of life, and -here Westlake is faultless. The horse he rode that afternoon--one -raised and trained by himself--bore witness in high spirit and gentle -temper to a tutor who had known how to respect a fiery and -affectionate nature. We all three gave our cares to the handsome -creature, and this common interest put me quite in charity with my -unexpected guest before we went into the house. - -"This is a way to treat an old friend!" cried Westlake, as he gave his -hand to the Doctor, who had come down the door-steps to meet him. "I -cannot get two whole days from you, and then you come here and stay on -as if you meant to live here!" - -Tabitha watched my mother's reception of the new-comer, and, seeing it -was hospitable, placed another chair at the table with alacrity. She -knew he was out of favor here, but had never thought very hardly of -him herself. Her race often judges us in our relations with itself -more mildly than we can judge each other. In its strange simplicity, -it seems to attribute to itself the part of the superior, and pities -where it should resent. - -"You cannot make it up to me, Borrow," Westlake went on, as soon as we -had taken our places, "except by going right back with me to-night, or -coming over to me to-morrow morning, and giving me as many days as you -have given Colvil. Next week is the very time for you to be with us. I -want you to see us at a gala season: next week is the great marrying -and christening time of the year. It usually comes in June; but this -year we have it two months earlier, on account of Dr. Baskow's -engagements. My little Fanny is to give all the names. She has a fine -imagination." - -"Westlake, I would do all but the impossible to show my sense of your -kindness. For the rest, my appreciation of little Miss Fanny's -inventive powers could not be heightened." - -"Does that mean no? Borrow, I shall think in earnest that you have -done me a wrong in giving so much time away from me, if these are -really your last days in our parts." - -"We will make it up to you. I will tell you how we will make it up to -you. Come to us,--come to Massachusetts: I will give you there a week -of my time for every day we have taken from you here. Come to us in -June: that is the month in which New England is most itself. Come and -renew old associations." - -"You will never see me again, if you wait to see me there." - -"What now? You used to like it." - -"I am not so sure that I used to like it, when I think back upon it. -At any rate, if you want to see _me_, you must see me in my own place. -I am not myself anywhere else. Equality, Borrow, equality is a very -good thing for people who have never known anything better: may be a -very good thing for people who can work themselves up out of it. But -for a man who has grown up in the enjoyment of those privileges -inappreciable by the vulgar, but which by the noble of every age have -been regarded as the most real and the most valuable,--for such a man -to sit, one at a long table, feeling himself nobody, and knowing all -the time he has a right to be somebody! You can talk very easily about -equality. You have never suffered from it. You have your learning -and---- Well, you know how to talk. I have no learning, and I can't -talk, except to particular friends. A man cannot ticket himself with -his claims to estimation. Even Paris has too much equality for me. -Flora liked it; she had her beauty and her toilet. But I! how I longed -to be back here among my own simple, humble people! As soon as she was -married, I made off home. In my own place, among my own people, I am, -I might almost say, like a god, if I were not afraid of shocking you. -And is not their fate in my hands? My frown is their night, my smile -is their sunshine. The very ratification of their prayers to a Higher -Power is intrusted to my discretion. Homage, Borrow, homage is the -sweetest draught ever brought to mortal lips!" - -"The homage of equals I suppose may be," said Dr. Borrow, modestly. - -"You do not understand. How should you? Our modes of thinking and -feeling are not to be comprehended by one brought up in a society so -differently constituted. We avow ourselves an aristocracy." - -"You do well: something of the inherent meaning of a word will always -make itself felt. _Aristocracy!_ It is vain to try to dispossess it of -its own. The world will not be disenchanted of the beautiful word. -Cover yourselves with its prestige. It will stand you in good stead -with outsiders. But, between ourselves, Westlake, how is it behind the -scenes? Can you look each other in the face and pronounce it? Or have -you really persuaded yourselves down here that you are governed by -your best men?" - -"We do not use the word so pedantically down here. By an aristocracy -we mean a community of gentlemen." - -"And, pronouncing it so emphatically, you of course use the word -gentleman in the sense it had when it had a sense. You bear in mind -what the gentleman was pledged to, when to be called one was still a -distinction. 'To eschew sloth,' 'to detest all pride and -haughtiness,'--these were among his obligations: doubtless they are of -those most strictly observed in your community. He was required 'to be -true and just in word and dealing'; 'to be of an open and liberal -mind.' You find these conditions fulfilled in Rasey, your leading -man." - -"Our leading man?" - -"Certainly, your leading man. Whose lead did you follow, when you -joined in worrying Charles Shaler out of your community of gentlemen?" - -Westlake shrank. He was conscious that he had been going down hill -ever since Shaler left the neighborhood. The hold that Rasey took of -him then the crafty old man has never let go. - -When Westlake's plantation came into his possession by the death of -his father, he undertook to carry it on himself, and has been supposed -to do so ever since. It was carried on well from the time that Senator -was old enough to take charge; but with his disappearance disappeared -all the credit and all the comfort his good management had secured to -his master. Westlake needed some one to lean on, and Rasey was ready -to take advantage of this necessity. His ascendancy was not -established all at once. It is only during the last year that it has -been perfected. In the beginning, he gave just a touch of advice and -withdrew; showed himself again at discreet intervals, gradually -shortened; but, all the time, was casting about his victim the singly -almost impalpable threads of his deadly thraldom, until they had -formed a coil which forbade even an effort after freedom. Westlake had -put no overseer between himself and his people; but he had, without -well knowing how it came about, set a very hard one over both. He -found the indulgences on his plantation diminished, the tasks more -rigidly enforced, the holidays fewer. The punishments, which were -before sometimes capriciously severe, but more often threatened and -remitted, he was now expected to carry out with the inflexibility of -fate. He has found himself reduced to plotting with his servants -against himself,--to aiding them in breaking or evading his own laws; -reduced--worst humiliation of all--to ordering, under the sharp eye -and sharp voice of his officious neighbor, the infliction of -chastisement for neglect which he himself had authorized or connived -at. - -All came of that unhappy Christmas I have told you of. If Westlake -could only have been silent, the simple plot devised by Senator would -have worked perfectly. All the neighborhood would have respected a -secret that was its own. But Westlake could not be silent; he was too -uneasy. It was not long before the culprit's escape and his master's -part in it were more than surmised. In view of the effect of such a -transaction on the servile imagination, Westlake's weakness was -ignored by common consent; but it was not the less incumbent upon him -to reinstate himself in opinion on the first opportunity. The -opportunity was offered by the storm then brewing against Shaler. - -Westlake's sufferings are, happily for him, intermittent. Rasey is -away from the neighborhood one month out of every three, looking after -the estates of yet more unlucky vassals,--his through debt, and not -from simple weakness. During these intervals, Westlake takes his ease -with his people, as thoughtless as they of consequences no more within -his ability to avert than theirs. He has lately had an unusual -respite. Rasey has been confined to the house by an illness,--the -first of his life. - -I do not know how far Dr. Borrow is aware of Westlake's humiliations; -and Westlake, I think, does not know. When he was able to speak again, -he sheltered himself under a question. - -"Do you know Rasey?" - -"He is owner of the plantation which lies south of yours and Shaler's, -larger than both together." - -"His plantation;--but do you know _him_?" - -"Root and branch. But who does not know him, that knows anybody here? -In the next generation his history may be lost in his fortune, but it -is extant yet. His father was overseer on a Georgia plantation, from -which he sucked the marrow: his employer's grandchildren are crackers -and clay-eaters; his are--of your community." - -"Not exactly." - -"Strike out all who do not yet belong to it, and all who have ceased -to have a full claim to belong to it, and what have you left?" - -"Do you know old Rasey personally? Have you ever seen him?" - -"I have seen him." - -"Lately? I hear that a great change has come over him. He has lost his -elder son." - -"You might say his only one. He turned the other out of doors years -ago, and has had no word of him since. The old man has a daughter; but -her husband has challenged him to shoot at sight. He has lost his -partner and heir, and, in the course of Nature, cannot himself hold on -many years longer. If a way could be found of taking property over to -the other side, he might be consoled. The old Gauls used to manage it: -they made loans on condition of repayment in the other world; but I -doubt whether Rasey's faith is of force to let him find comfort in -such a transaction. - -"I had to see him about a matter of business which had been intrusted -to me. I went there the day I left you. If I had known how it was with -him, I should have tried to find a deputy. It is an awful sight, a man -who never had compassion needing it, a man who never felt sympathy -claiming and repelling it in one. - -"When I entered the room, where he was sitting alone, he looked up at -me with a glare like a tiger-cat's. He was tamed for the moment by the -mention of my errand, which was simply to make him a payment. He -counted the money carefully, locked it up, and gave me a receipt. Then -he began to talk to me, or rather to himself before me. I could -acquiesce in all he said. I knew what Giles Rasey was, and understood -that the loss of such a son, to such a father, was irreparable. - -"'Another self! another self!' he repeated, until I hardly knew -whether to pity him more for having had a son so like himself, or for -having him no longer. It was an injustice that he felt himself -suffering,--a bitter injustice. He had counted on this son as his -successor, and the miscalculation was one with which he was not -chargeable. 'Not thirty-five! I am past sixty, and a young man yet! My -father lived to be ninety!' - -"His rage against this wrong which had been done him was aggravated by -another which he had done himself, a weakness into which he had been -led by his son,--the only one, probably, in which they had ever been -partners. The son had a slave whose ability made him valuable, whose -probity made him invaluable. - -"'I gave him to Giles myself,' said the old man. 'He was such as you -don't find one of in a thousand; no, not in ten thousand. I could have -had any money for him, if money could have bought him. It couldn't. I -gave him to Giles.' - -"Giles, on the death-bed where he found himself with very little -warning, exacted of his father a promise that this man should be made -free. - -"'What could I refuse him then?' asked old Rasey. - -"The man in whose behalf the promise was made, and who was present -when it was made, took it in earnest. - -"'A fellow whom we had trusted!' cried the old man. 'A fellow in whose -attachment we had believed! We have let him carry away and pay large -sums of money for us; have even let him go into Free States to pay -them, and he always came back faithfully! You may know these people a -life long and not learn them out! A fellow whom we had trusted!' - -"The fellow bade good-day as soon as the funeral services were over. -His master was sufficiently himself to surmise his purpose and to make -an attempt to baffle it. But the intended freedman was too agile for -him; he disappeared without even claiming his manumission-papers. -Imagine Rasey's outraged feelings! It was like the Prince of Hell in -the old legend, complaining of the uncivil alacrity with which Lazarus -obeyed the summons to the upper air:--'He was not to be held, but, -giving himself a shake, with every sign of malice, immediately he went -away.'" - -"So Rasey has lost Syphax! he has lost Syphax!" repeated Westlake, -thoughtfully. "Rasey is not a good master, but he was good to him. It -was hard, even for Rasey." - -"Rasey has lost Syphax, and Syphax has found him," said the Doctor, -dryly. - -"You do not understand. You see in the rupture of these ties only a -loss of service to the master. We feel it to be something more." - -"The human heart is framed sensible to kindness; that you should have -an attachment for the man who devotes his life to yours without return -has nothing miraculous for me. I can believe that even Rasey is -capable of feeling the loss of what has been useful to him." - -"No, you do not understand the relation between us and this -affectionate subject race." - -"Frankly, I do not. I cannot enter into it on either side. If I were -even as full of the milk of human kindness as we are bound to suppose -these soft-tempered foreigners to be, it seems to me I should still -like to choose my beneficiaries; and, in your place, I should have -quite another taste in benefactors. When I indue myself in imagination -with a black skin, and try to think and feel conformably, I find my -innate narrowness too much for me; I cannot disguise from myself that -I should prefer to lavish my benefits on my own flesh and blood. -Resuming my personality, I can as little divest myself in fancy of my -pride of race. If I must accept a state of dependence, I would take -the bounty of a white man, hard and scanty though it might be, rather -than receive luxurious daily bread at the hands of blacks." - -"Borrow, you always had the knack of making a fellow feel -uncomfortable. I would rather talk with Dudley than with you. I do not -see that you are any better friend to our institutions than he is." - -"A friend to slavery? Distrust the man not born and bred to it who -calls himself one! - -"I suppose I am as much of a pro-slavery man as you will easily find -in New England,--for an unambitious, private man, I mean. Slavery does -not mean for me power or place. What does slavery mean for me when I -oppose its opponents? It means you, Westlake, my old schoolmate,--you -and your wife and children. It means Harvey and his wife and children. -I have the weakness to care more for you than for your slaves. I -cannot resolve to see you deprived of comforts and luxuries that use -has made necessary to you, that they may rise to wants they have no -sense of as yet. As to your duties to your humble neighbors, and the -way you fulfil them, that account is kept between you and your Maker. -He has not made me a judge or a ruler over you." - -Westlake's deep red deepened. "I leave religious matters to those -whose charge it is. I have been instructed to hold the place which has -been awarded me, without asking why I have been made to differ from -others. And the teaching which is good enough for me is, I suppose, -good enough for my servants. As for the rest, we know that our people -are as well off as the same class in any part of the world, not -excepting New England." - -"I dare say such a class would be no better off there than here. But -come and learn for yourself how it is there." - -"I could not learn there how to live here. And I do not pretend that -we can understand you better than you can us. But, Borrow, you are -hard to suit. You twit us with our waste and improvidence, and yet you -are not better pleased with Rasey, who follows gain like a -New-Englander." - -"Rasey follows gain from the blind impulse of covetousness. The -New-Englander's zeal is according to knowledge. Rasey's greed is the -inherited hunger of a precarious race. The New-Englander thrives -because he has always thriven. He has in his veins 'the custom of -prosperity.' - -"Fuller tells us, that, in his time, 'a strict inquiry after the -ancient gentry of England' would have found 'most of them in the class -moderately mounted above the common level'; the more ambitious having -suffered ruin in the national turmoils, while these even-minded men, -'through God's blessing on their moderation, have continued in their -condition.' It was from this old stock that the planters of New -England were chiefly derived, mingled with them some strong scions of -loftier trees." - -"Do we not know that there is no such thing as birth in New England? -There, even if a man had ancestry, he would not dare to think himself -the better for it." - -"Disabuse yourself; the New-Englander is perfectly human in this -respect, and only a very little wiser than the rest of the world. But -he disapproves waste, even of so cheap a thing as words: he does not -speak of his blood, because his blood speaks for itself. - -"Rasey thinks whatever is held by others to be so much withheld from -him. To make what is theirs his is all his aim. He has no conception -of a creative wealth, of a diffusive prosperity. To live and make live -is an aristocratic maxim. Rasey, and such as he, grudge almost the -subsistence of their human tools. With the New-Englander, parsimony is -not economy. The aristocratic household law is a liberal one, and it -is his. He lives up to his income as conscientiously as within it. -Rasey and his like think what is theirs, enjoyed by another, -wasted;--they think it wasted, enjoyed by themselves. The -New-Englander's rule of personal indulgence is the same with that -given to the Persian prince Ghilan by his father, the wise Kyekyawus, -who, warning him against squandering, adds, 'It is not squandering to -spend for anything which can be of real use to thee either in this -world or the next.' - -"Together with the inherited habit of property, the well-descended -have and transmit an inherited knowledge of the laws which govern its -acquisition and its maintenance: laws older than legislation; as old -as property itself; as old as man; a part of his primitive wisdom; -always and everywhere the common lore of the established and endowed. -If Rasey had inherited or imbibed this knowledge, perhaps he would -have been more cautious. 'Beware of unjust gains,' says an Eastern -sage, an ancient member of our Aryan race; 'for it is the nature of -such, not only to take flight themselves, but to bear off all the rest -with them.' 'Do not think,' it is set down in the book of Kabus, a -compendium of Persian practical wisdom, 'Do not think even a good use -of what has been ill acquired can make it thine. It will assuredly -leave thee, and only thy sin will remain to thee.' - -"The well-born would not dare to amass a fortune by such means as -Rasey uses; amassed, they would not expose it to such hazards. 'The -same word in the Greek'--I am citing now an English worthy, the -contemporary of our New-England fathers--'The same word in the -Greek--[Greek: ios]--means both rust and poison; and a strong poison -is made of the rust of metals; but none more venomous than the rust of -the laborer's wages detained in his employer's purse: it will infect -and corrode a whole estate.' - -"A man's descent is written on his life yet more plainly than on his -features. In New England you shall see a youth come up from the -country to the metropolis of his State with all his worldly goods upon -his back. Twenty years later you shall find him as much at ease in the -position he has retaken rather than gained, as he was in the -farm-house where he was born, or on the dusty road he trudged over to -the scene of his fortunes. His house is elegant, not fine; it is -furnished with paintings not bought on the advice of the -picture-dealer, with a library not ordered complete from the -bookseller. He is simple in his personal habits, laborious still, -severe to himself, lenient and liberal to those who depend upon him, -munificent in his public benefactions, in his kindly and modest -patronage. If he enters public life, it is not because he wants a -place there, but because there is a place that wants him. He takes it -to work, and not to shine; lays it down when he can, or when he must; -and takes hold of the nearest duty, great or small as may be, with -the same zeal and conscience. Such a man is called a self-made man. He -is what ages of culture and highest discipline have made him,--ages of -responsibility and thought for others. - -"Stealthy winning and sterile hoarding are the marks of a degraded and -outlawed caste. When these tendencies show themselves in a member of -an honest race, they have come down from some forgotten interloper. -The Raseys are the true representatives of the transported wretches -who, and whose progeny, have been a dead weight upon the States -originally afflicted with them, and upon those into which they have -wandered out. In their native debasement, they furnish material for -usurpation to work upon and with; raised here and there into fitful -eminence, they infect the class they intrude upon with meannesses not -its own. - -"Thomas Dudley, writing to England from New England in its earliest -days, when, as he frankly owns, it offered 'little to be enjoyed and -much to be endured,' is explicit as to the class of men he and his -colleagues would have join them. He invites only godly men of -substance. Such, he says, 'cannot dispose of themselves and their -estates more to God's glory.' Those who would 'come to plant for -worldly ends' he dissuades altogether; for 'the poorer sort' it was -'not time yet.' As for reckless adventurers and the destitute idle, -who sought the New World for gold or an indolent subsistence, when -these, 'seeing no other means than by their labor to feed themselves,' -went back discouraged, or off to find some more indulgent plantation, -the colony felt itself 'lightened, not weakened.' - -"The chief distinctive mark of high race is the quality the Romans -called _fortitudo_,--a word of larger meaning than we commonly intend -by ours derived from it: that strength of soul, namely, which gives -way as little before work as before danger or under suffering. A Roman -has defined this Roman fortitude as the quality which enables a man -fearlessly to obey the highest law, whether by enduring or by -achieving. - -"Another mark of high race is its trust in itself. The early heads of -New England did not try to secure a position to their children. They -knew that blood finds its level just as certainly as water does. -Degenerate sons they disowned in advance. - -"Westlake, you ought to know New England better. Even if your memory -did not prompt you to do it justice, there ought to be a voice to -answer for it in your heart. But I find ancestry is very soon lost in -the mists of antiquity down here. You come early into the advantages -of a mythical background. Must I teach you your own descent?" - -"I thank you. I am acquainted with it. My great-grandfather was an -Englishman,--a man of some consideration, as I have been informed. He -went over to Massachusetts; but my grandfather left it, as soon as he -was of age, for a newer State, where he could enjoy greater freedom." - -"Your great-grandfather came from England to New England, as you say. -He fixed himself in that part of our Massachusetts town of Ipswich -which used to go by the name of 'The Hamlet.' What he was before he -came out I do not know; but I suppose he brought credentials, for he -married his wife from a family both old and old-fashioned. Your -grandfather, Simeon Symonds Westlake, at seventeen found the Hamlet -too narrow for him, and the paternal, or perhaps the maternal, rule -too strict. He walked over into New Hampshire one morning, without -mentioning that he was not to be back for dinner. New Hampshire did -not suit him: he went to Rhode Island; then tried New York for a year -or so: it did not answer. His father died, and Simeon made experiment -of life at home again, but only again to give it up in disgust. -Finally he emigrated to Georgia, taking with him a little money and a -great deal of courage; invested both in a small farm which was soon a -large plantation; added a yet larger by marriage; died, a great -landholder and a great slaveholder. - -"Simeon--I must call him by that name, historical for me, although I -know that the first initial disappeared from his signature after his -marriage--Simeon left two sons, Reginald and Edwin. He had the -ambition of founding a dynasty; so left his whole estate to the elder, -yet with certain restrictions and conditions, which, doubtless, he had -good reasons for imposing, and which the intended heir lost no time in -justifying. By some law of inheritance which statutes cannot supersede -nor wills annul, this son of a father in whom no worst enemy could -have detected a trace of the Puritan, was born in liberal Georgia, in -the last half of the enlightened eighteenth century, as arrogant a -bigot and as flaming a fanatic as if he had come over in the -Mayflower. He refused his father's bequest, on the ground that God has -given man dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowls of the -air, and over the cattle,--but none over his fellow-man, except such -as he may win through affection or earn by service. He went back to -New England, where he belonged. I knew a son of his, a respectable -mason. You need not blush for him, though he was your own cousin and -worked with his hands. He was never conscious of any cause for shame, -himself, unless it were the sin of his slaveholding grandfather; and -that did not weigh on him, for he believed the entail of the curse cut -off with that of the rest of the inheritance. - -"If I have grieved the shade of Simeon by pronouncing that rejected -name, I will soothe it again by stating that this name has not been -perpetuated by his New-England descendants. That branch of his house -has already a third Reginald, about a year younger than yours. He is -now a Freshman in college. You may hear of him some day." - -"He is in college? That is well. He has, then, recovered, or will -recover, the rank of a gentleman?" - -"No need of that, if he ever had a claim to it. You, who know so much -about birth, should know that its rights are ineffaceable. This was -well understood by those whom it concerned, in the time of our first -ancestors. We have it on high heraldic authority of two hundred years -ago, that a gentleman has a right so to be styled in legal -proceedings, 'although he be a husbandman.' 'For, although a gentleman -go to the plough and common labor for a maintenance, yet he is a -gentleman.' The New-England founders had no fear of derogating in -taking hold of anything that needed to be done; had no fear that their -children could derogate in following any calling for which their -tastes and their abilities qualified them. Carrying to it the ideas, -feelings, and manners of the gentle class, they could ennoble the -humblest occupation; it could not lower them. - -"It is out of this respect that good blood has for itself, that the -true New-Englander, whatever his station, is not ashamed of a humbler -relative. You are amazed down here at the hardihood of a Northern man -who speaks coolly of a cousin of his who is a blacksmith, it may be, -or a small farmer; and you bless yourselves inwardly for your greater -refinement. But you are English, you say, not New-English. - -"When I was in Perara, dining with one of the great folks there, I -happened to inquire after a cousin of his, an unlucky fellow, who, -after trying his fortune in half the cities of the Union, had had the -indiscretion to settle down in a very humble business, within a -stone's throw of his wealthy namesake. I had known him formerly, and -could not think of leaving Perara without calling on him. To my -surprise, my question threw the family into visible confusion. They -gave me his address, indeed, but in a way as if they excused -themselves for knowing it. This may be English, but it is not -Old-English. - -"In the Old England which we may call ours,--for it was before, and -not long before, she founded the New,--a laboring man came to the Earl -of Huntingdon, Lieutenant of Leicestershire, to pray for the discharge -of his only son, the staff of his age, who had been 'pressed into the -wars.' The Earl inquires the name of his petitioner. The old man -hesitates, fearing to be presumptuous, for his family name is the same -with that of the nobleman he addresses; but being urged, he takes -courage to pronounce it. 'Cousin Hastings,' said the Earl then, 'my -kinsman, your son, shall not be pressed.' This 'modesty in the poor -man and courtesy in the great man' were found in that day 'conformable -to the gentle blood in both.' Those who know New England know that -this absence of assumption and of presumption, this modest kindliness -and this dignified reserve, are characteristic there, testifying to -the sources from which it derives. - -"I am a cosmopolite. I could never see why I should think the better -or the worse of a place, for my happening to draw my first breath -there. I am of the company of the truth-seekers. A fact, though it -were an ugly one, is of more worth to me than a thousand pleasantest -fancies. But a fact is not the less one for being agreeable: the -extension of a fine race is an agreeable fact to a naturalist. - -"The earlier emigrations to New England were emphatically aristocratic -emigrations. Their aim was to found precisely what you claim to show -here. Their aim was to found a community of gentlemen,--a community, -that is to say, religious, just, generous, courteous. They proposed -equality, but equality on a high plane. Their work has been hindered -by its very success. The claimants for adoption have crowded in faster -than full provision could be made for them. They cannot instantly be -assimilated. Their voices sometimes rise above those of the true -children. But New England is there, strong and tranquil. Her heart has -room for all that ask a place in it. She welcomes these orphans to it -motherly, and will make them all thoroughly her own with time. - -"Come to us, Westlake. I have planned out a tour for you." - -And Dr. Borrow, tracing the route he had marked out for his friend, -sketched the country it led through, comparing what came before us -with reminiscences of other travels. No contrasts here of misery with -splendor rebuke a thoughtless admiration. Nowhere the picturesqueness -of ruin and squalor; everywhere the lovely, living beauty of -healthfulness, dignity, and order. - -With what a swell of feeling does the distant New-Englander listen to -accounts of family life in the old home! How dear every detail, making -that real again which had come to be like a sweet, shadowy dream! - -Dr. Borrow led us through the beautiful street of a New-England -village, under the Gothic arches of its religious elms. He did not -fear to throw open for us the willing door. He showed us the simple, -heartsome interior, with its orderly ease, its unambitious -hospitality, its refined enjoyments. Other travellers have drawn for -us other pictures. They have told us of a pomp and state which have -reconciled us to our rudeness. But Dr. Borrow sketched the New-England -home, such as we know it by tradition, such as it still exists among -those who are content to live as their fathers lived before them. - -"Hold on, Borrow!" cried Westlake; "you don't suppose you are going to -persuade me that there is neither poverty nor overwork in New England! -I have heard, and I think I have seen, that there are hard lives lived -there,--harder than those of our slaves, of my slaves, for -example;--and that not by foreigners, who, you may say, are not up to -the mark yet, but by Americans born and bred." - -"There are very hard lives lived there. The human lot is checkered -there as everywhere. Death sometimes arrests a man midway in his -course and leads him off, leaving his wife and children to struggle -along the road they never knew was rough before. It happened thus to -your Cousin Reginald. His wife and children were thus left. You are -right. His son, the boy I told you of, is as much a slave as any of -yours: almost as poorly fed, and twice as hardly worked. He lives at -a distance from his college, to have a cheaper room; his meals he -prepares himself;--no great fatigue this, to be sure, for they are -frugal, and he contents himself with two. In what ought to be his -vacation, he delves away at his books harder than ever, and is besides -a hewer of wood and a drawer of water,--all without wages. His only -pay is his mother's pride in him, and the joy of sometimes calling -back the old smiles to her face." - -"How did he get to college? How does he stay there, if he has -nothing?" - -"He has less than nothing. To go to college, he has incurred -debts,--debts for which he has pledged himself, body and soul. He was -ten when his father died. His sister was sixteen. She assumed the -rights of guardian over him, kept him up to his work at school, sent -him to college when he was fourteen, and maintains him there. - -"If his life is a hard one, hers is not easier. Every morning she -walks nearly three miles to the school she teaches, gives her day -there, and walks back in the late afternoon. The evening she passes in -sewing, a book on the table before her. She catches a line as she -draws out her thread, and fixes it in her memory with the setting of -the next stitch. Besides Reginald, there are two other boys to make -and mend for, not yet so mindful of the cost of clothes as he has -learned to be; and she has her own education to carry on, as well as -that of the little community among whom she must hold her place as one -who has nothing left to learn. - -"Her mother works at the same table, evenly, continuously, not to -disturb or distract by haste or casual movement, and under a spell of -silence, which only the child whose first subject she is is privileged -to break. It is broken from time to time,--the study being suspended, -though not the needlework. These intervals are filled with little, -happy confidences,--hopes, and dreams, which the two cherish apart and -together, and whose exchange, a hundred times renewed, never loses its -power to refresh and reassure. If you were near enough to hear the -emphatic word in these snatches of conversation, be sure you would -hear 'Reginald.'" - -"Do you know them so well?" - -"Perhaps I may have spent a summer in the country town where they -live. Perhaps it has been my chance some evening to walk by the -little, old, black house they moved into after their father's death, -from the nice, white, green-blinded one he built for them, and the -astral lamp on the round table may have lighted for me the tableau I -am showing you. Our heroine works and studies late, perhaps; but she -must not the less be up early the next morning, to do the heavier -portion of the house-work before her mother is stirring. If ever you -hear a severe tone in her voice, be sure the mother has been -encroaching upon the daughter's prerogative by rising first, or by -putting her hand to some forbidden toil.--Well, is all this enough? -Not for Anna Westlake. There is a music lesson to be given, before she -sets off for her regular day's work." - -"Is her name Anna?"--Westlake had once a sister Anna, whom he -loved.--"Is she pretty?" - -"She might have been." - -"Fair hair? Blue eyes?" - -"Yes; a true Westlake in features and complexion; but somewhat thin -for one of your family, as you may believe." - -"Pale, delicate?" - -"The winds of heaven have visited her too roughly." - -"Graceful?" - -"I should not dare to say Yes, seeing that grace is denied to -New-England women; still less do I dare to say No, remembering how I -have seen her taking her small brothers to their school, on the way to -her own, making believe run races with them, to get the little wilful -loiterers over the ground the quicker." - -"Borrow, it is a hard life for Anna Westlake,--for my cousin's child." - -"You would be a severe taskmaster, if you demanded of a slave such a -day's work as hers. Of a slave! He would be insane who should expect -it of any woman who had not the developed brain, the steady nerves, -the abounding vitality of the born aristocrat. - -"But how is Reginald ever going to pay his debt to this sister? Do you -think she will be satisfied with anything short of seeing him -President? Who knows but she looks for more yet? The Puritan stamp is -as strong on her as on her grandfather. Who knows but she looks to see -him one of the lights of the world,--one of the benefactors of his -race,--a discoverer in science,--a reformer? Here are responsibilities -for a boy to set out under!" - -"For the boys, let them rough it; I have nothing to say. But, Borrow, -when you go back, tell Anna Westlake there is a home for her here, -whenever she is ready to come and take it." - -"I will tell her, if you will, that her cousins here wish to have news -of her, and are ready to love her and hers. But propose to her a life -of dependence! You must get a bolder man to do that errand." - -"It should not be a life of dependence. She may surely do for her own -kindred what she does for a pack of village children. She should be an -elder sister to my girls. Why, Borrow, I should like to have her here. -I don't put it in the form of a favor to her. Her being here would be -a great pleasure and a great good to my little Fanny." - -"And her own brothers?" - -"She should be able to do for them all she does now." - -"All she does now! Do you know what that is?" - -"She should be able to do more than she does now. Reginald should live -as he ought." - -"He shall have three good meals a day, and cooked for him: is that it? -And the two little boys?" - -"They should be as much better off as he. I do not forget that I have -the whole inheritance, which might have been divided." - -"Yes, the means for their material bread might be supplied by another; -but it is from her own soul that she feeds theirs. And then, homage, -Westlake,--homage, that sweetest draught! Do you suppose it is least -sweet when most deserved?" - -"I have nothing, then, to offer which could tempt her?" asked -Westlake, a little crestfallen. - -"You have nothing to offer, the world has nothing to offer, which -could tempt her to resign her little empire;--little now, but which -she sees widening out in futurity through her three brothers' work and -their children's." - -"I knew," said Westlake, after he had sat for a few moments in -dissatisfied silence, "I knew I had once an uncle who went off to -parts unknown; but it never occurred to me that he might have -descendants to whom I might owe duties. Have they not claims upon me?" - -"No more than you on them. Their ancestor made his choice, as yours -made his. They have the portion of goods that falleth to them. They -are quite as content with their share as you are with yours. Moreover, -each party is free to complete his inheritance without prejudice to -the other. They can recover the worldly wealth they gave up, if they -choose to turn their endeavors in that direction; and nothing forbids -to your children the energy and self-denial which are their birthright -as much as that of their cousins. - -"New England never gives up her own. A son of hers may think he has -separated himself forever from her and from her principles, but she -reclaims him in his children or in his children's children. - -"You have forgotten your tie to the old home. The conditions of your -life forbid you to remember it. But your heart formerly rebelled -against these conditions. It has never ceased to protest. Reginald's -protests already, and will some day protest to purpose." - -"You think so!" cried Westlake; then, checking himself, "I am glad, -at least, that you think so; it proves that you like him. I was -afraid"---- - -"You are right. I do not like him as he is, but only as he is to be. I -saw what you feared I did, and marked it. I saw him knock down the boy -whom he had condescended to make his playmate in default of better, -for taking too much in earnest the accorded equality. But I saw, too, -that his own breast was sorer with the blow than the one it hit. That -is not always a cruel discipline which teaches a man early what he is -capable of, whether in good or evil. When your Reginald comes to the -responsible age, his conscience will hand in the account of his -minority. Looking, then, on this item and on others like it, he will -ask himself, 'Am I a dog that I have done these things?' and he will -become a man, and a good one. - -"We see farcical pretensions enough down here, where men are daily -new-created from the mud. There is Milsom. He does not own even the -name he wears. His father borrowed it for a time, and, having worn it -out, left it with this son, decamping under shelter of a new one. The -son, abandoned to his wits at twelve years old, relieved his father -from the charge of inhumanity by proving them sufficient. His first -exploit was the betraying of a fugitive who had shared a crust with -him. This success revealed to him his proper road to fortune. He -passed through the regular degrees of slave-catcher and slave-trader, -to the proud altitude of slave-holder; then, moving out of the reach -of old associations, proclaims himself a gentleman by descent as well -as by desert. His sons take it on his word; in all simplicity believe -themselves an integral part of time-honored aristocracy, and think it -beneath them to do anything but mischief. - -"Your claims I neither blame nor make light of. I know what their -foundation is better than you do yourself. Only dismiss illusions, and -accept realities, which do not yield to them even in charm to the -imagination. When you know the ground under your feet, you will stand -more quietly as well as more firmly. You will understand then that the -silence of the New-Englander in regard to his extraction is not -indifference, but security. Nowhere is the memory of ancestry so -sacredly cherished as in New England, nowhere so humbly. What are we -in presence of those majestic memories? We may lead our happy humdrum -lives; may fulfil creditably our easy duties; we may plant and build -and legislate for those who come after us; but it will still be to -these great primitive figures that our descendants will look back; it -will still be the debt owed there that will pledge the living -generation to posterity. - -"John Westlake, your first paternal ancestor in New England had -nothing in common with the Puritan leaders. You are well informed -there. He came over to seek his fortune. They came to prepare the -destinies of a nation. He had nothing to do with them, except in being -one of those they worked for. He came when the country was ready for -him. His motive was a reasonable one. I shall not impugn it; but it -tells of the roturier. The founding of states is an aristocratic -tendency. He was a respectable ancestor. I have more than one such of -my own. I owe to them the sedate mind which permits me to give myself -to my own affairs, without feeling any responsibility about those of -the world. But these are not the men who ennoble their descendants in -perpetuity. If your breast knows the secret suggestions of lineage, -these promptings are not from John Westlake. You must go back to our -heroic age to find yours." - -"I should be very glad to find myself in an heroic age," said -Westlake, with a slight laugh, followed by a heavy sigh. "I feel as if -I might have something to do there. But this thought never yet took me -back to the Puritans: the battle-field is the hero's place, as I -imagine the hero. They, I have understood, were especially men of -peace. Is it not one of their first titles to honor?" - -"The office of the hero is to create, to organize, to endow;--works of -peace which incidentally require him to suppress its disturbers. The -heroes have always been men of peace--its winners and maintainers for -those who can only enjoy it--from Hercules down, that first great -overthrower of oppressions and founder of colonies. - -"To the age I call on you to date from--that of the imagining and -founding a new England, a renovated world--belongs the brightest and -dearest of English heroic names: the name whose associations of valor -and tenderness, of high-heartedness and humility are as fresh now as -when the love of the noble first canonized it. It is not without good -reason that the name of Philip Sidney is a household word throughout -New England, held in traditional affection and reverence. He was one -of the first to project a new state beyond the seas, in which the -simplicity and loyalty of primitive manners were to be restored, and -the true Christian Church revived. He turned from these hopes only -because he felt that he owed himself to Europe as long as an effort -for the vindication of human rights upon its soil was possible. It was -not love of war that led him to his fate in the Netherlands. He was -not to be misled by false glory. In his Defence of Poesy he makes it a -reproach to History, that 'the name of rebel Caesar, after a thousand -six hundred years, still stands in highest honor.' The peace-loving -Burleigh, when the expedition in which Sidney fell was setting forth, -wrote,--deprecating the reproach of lukewarmness,--that he 'should -hold himself a man accursed, if he did not work for it with all the -powers of his heart, seeing that its ends were the glory of God and -the preservation of England in perpetual tranquillity.' - -"'Nec gladio nec arcu' was the motto of Thomas Dudley, Harry's first -ancestor in this country. He was a man of peace. But he offered his -life to the same cause for which Philip Sidney laid down his,--drawing -the sword for it in France, as Sidney had done ten years before in -Flanders. He was reserved to aid in carrying out the other more -effectual work which Sidney had designed, but from which his early -death withdrew him. - -"I am not telling you of Harry's ancestor for Harry's sake. You have -your own part in all this, Westlake. When Reginald and Harry met and -loved each other, blood spoke to blood. - -"How many descendants do you suppose there are now from Governor -Thomas Dudley's forty grandchildren? Hardly a family of long standing -in New England but counts him among its ancestors; hardly a State of -our Union into which some of that choice blood has not been carried, -with other as precious. - -"New England is not limited to that little northeastern corner. Our -older country, 'that sceptred isle, that earth of majesty,' did not -send forth the happiest of its 'happy breed of men' to found a world -no wider than its own: wherever the descendants of those great -pioneers set up their home, they plant a new New England. - -"Do you know how their regenerate Transatlantic country presented -itself to its early projectors? The most sanguine of us do not paint -its future more brightly now than it was imaged in 1583. - -"A Hungarian poet, on a visit to England, enjoyed the intimacy of -Hakluyt, and, through him introduced to the society of such men as Sir -Humphrey Gilbert and Sir Philip Sidney, was initiated into the hopes -and projects of the nobler England of the day. He has celebrated these -in a poem addressed to Sir Humphrey Gilbert. The return of the Golden -Age promised in ancient prophecy is, he believes, impossible in -Europe, sunk below the iron one. He sees it, in vision, revive upon -the soil of the New World, under the auspices of men who, true -colonizers, renounce home and country, and dare the vast, vague -dangers of sea and wilderness, not for gain or for glory, but 'for the -peace and welfare of mankind.' - - "'Oh, were it mine to join the chosen band, - Predestined planters of the promised land, - My happy part for after-time to trace - The earliest annals of a new-born race! - There Earth, with Man at amity once more, - To willing toil shall yield her willing store. - There Law with Equity shall know no strife; - Justice and Mercy no divided life. - Not there to birth shall merit bend; not there - Riches o'ermaster freedom. Tyrant care - Shall lay no burden on man's opening years, - Nor bow his whitening head with timeless fears; - But--every season in its order blest-- - Youth shall enjoy its hope, and age its rest!' - -"Our poet was in earnest. He did not write the annals of the country -that his hero did not found; but he shared his grave under the waves -of the Atlantic. Their hope outlived them. Visions like theirs are not -for you and me, Westlake. They are for young men,--for the men who -never grow old. We may admit that such have their place in the world. -Man must strive for something greatly beyond what he can attain, to -effect anything. He cannot strive for what he has not faith in. Those -men who live in aspirations that transcend this sphere believe that -all human hearts can be tuned to the same pitch with theirs. We know -better, but let us not for that contemn their efforts. I am no -visionary. I have no inward evidence of things not seen; but I am -capable of believing what is proved. I believe in work,--that none is -lost, but that, whether for good or ill, every exertion of power and -patience tells. I believe in race, and I believe in progress for a -race with which belief in progress is a tradition, and which -inherits, besides, the strength, the courage, and the persistence -which make faith prophetic. - -"Your institutions, Westlake, are to yield the ground to other forms. -They are contrary to the inborn principles of the race that leads on -this continent. We at the North, who tolerate them, tolerate them -because we know they are ephemeral. It is a consciousness of their -transitoriness that enables you yourselves to put up with them." - -"Not so fast! If they are not rooted, they are taking root. They have -a stronger hold with every year. If any of us felt in the way you -suppose, we should have to keep our thoughts to ourselves." - -"So you all keep your thoughts to yourselves for fear of each other. -What a lightening of hearts, when you once come to an understanding! I -wish it soon for your own sakes; but a few years in the life of a -people are of small account. I am willing to wait for the fulness of -time. The end is sure." - -"It all looks very simple to you, I dare say." - -"I do not undervalue your difficulties. The greatest is this miserable -population that has crept over your borders from the older Slave -States: progeny of outcasts and of reckless adventurers, they never -had a country and have never found one. Without aims or hopes, they -ask of their worthless life only its own continuance. Ignorant that -they can never know anything worse than to remain what they are, -dreading change more than those who may have something to lose by it, -they uphold the system that dooms them to immobility, shameful -Atlantes of the dismal structure." - -"You will not wonder that we are ready to renounce the theories of -equality put forth by the men you would have us look to as founders. -We make laws to keep our black servants from getting instruction. Do -you think we could legislate the class you speak of into receiving -it?" - -"Westlake, they are here. They are among you, and will be of you, or -you of them." - -"We must take our precautions. We intend to do so. The dividing line -must be more strongly marked. They must have their level prescribed to -them, and be held to it." - -"The more you confirm their degradation, the more you prepare your -own. The vile and abject, for being helpless, are not harmless. Unapt -for honest service, but ready tools of evil, they corrupt the class -whose parasites they are, tempting the strong and generous to tyranny -and scorn." - -"You know them!" - -"They are known of old. The world has never wanted such. - - 'The wretches will not be dragged out to sunlight. - They man their very dungeons for their masters, - Lest godlike Liberty, the common foe, - Should enter in, and they be judged hereafter - Accomplices of freedom!' - -"But ten righteous men are enough to redeem a state. No State of ours -but has men enough, greatly more than enough, to save and to exalt it, -whose descent pledges them to integrity and entitles them to -authority. Only let them know themselves, and stand by themselves and -by each other. - - 'Nought shall make us rue, - If England to itself do rest but true.' - -And it will. The sins of the fathers are visited upon the children to -the third and fourth generation, but their virtues are a perpetual -inheritance. - -"I should not talk as I have been talking out of the family."--The -Doctor fell into his familiar tone.--"I take in Colvil, because I -know, if we had time to trace it up, we should not go back far without -coming upon common ancestors. Our pedigrees all run one into another. -When I see a New-England man, I almost take for granted a cousin. I -found one out not many days' journey from here, by opening the old -family Bible, which made an important part of the furniture of his - log-house, and running over the names of his grandmothers. I am so -well informed in regard to your great-grandfather, because his story -is a part of my own family history. It is through your mother that -you are related to Harry. Perhaps, if she had lived long enough for -you to remember her, you would not have forgotten New England." - -"My mother was an orphan young, and had neither brother nor sister. I -have never seen any member of her family. They tell me that Reginald -looks like her." - -"Where is Reginald? Why did he not come with you?" - -"I asked him to come. He said that Dudley and he had agreed on a time -of meeting. He is not very communicative with me; but they seem to -understand each other." - - * * * * * - -The parting of the classmates was very kindly. Westlake led his horse -as far as the end of our road,--the Doctor, Harry, and I accompanying. -When he had mounted, he still delayed. I thought that he looked worn -and weary. With his old friend, he had been his old, easy self; but -now that his face was turned towards home, it seemed that he felt its -vexations and cares confronting him again. The Doctor probably does -not know as much of Westlake's position as is known in the -neighborhood; he saw in this sadness only that of the separation from -himself, and was more gratified than pained by it. - -"We shall not see each other again, Borrow," said Westlake, stretching -down his hand for a last clasp of his friend's. - -"Yes, we shall. Why not, if we both wish it? Say good-bye for me to -the little Fanny," the Doctor added, gayly. - -Westlake brightened with the one pleasant thought connected with his -home, and, under its influence, set forward. - -The Doctor stood looking after him with a friendly, contented air. He -was pleased with himself for having spoken his mind out, and with -Westlake for having heard it. But when he turned and met Harry's -happy, affectionate look, his face clouded. He passed us and walked on -fast. When we came into the house, he was seated in the arm-chair, -looking straight before him. Harry went and stood beside him, waiting -for him to give sign that all was right between them again by opening -a new conversation. - -The Doctor did not hold out long. "I have told, or as good as told, my -old friend," he began, with rather a sour smile, "that he is suffering -himself to be infected by the meannesses of those below him; and now I -am almost ready to tell myself that my grave years are giving into the -fanaticisms of boyhood. But I stand where I did, Harry. I stand -precisely where I did. I have always told you that I hate slavery as -much as you do. The only difference between us is, that I am not for -justice though the heavens fall." - -"Justice, and the heavens will _not_ fall," Harry answered, firmly, -but with a tender deference in look and tone. - -"And you make too much account of a name," the Doctor went on. "What -does it signify that men are called slaves and slaveholders, if, in -their mutual relations, they observe the laws of justice and kindness? -You will not deny that this is possible? I object to slavery, as it -exists, because it too often places almost absolute power in -unqualified hands. But you are too sweeping. Good men are good -masters. I should count Harvey among such. Colvil has given you a -portrait you will accept in Shaler, who was as good a man when he was -a slaveholder as he is now. Cicero, a slaveholder,--and Roman -slaveholders have not the best repute,--writing upon justice, does not -put the slave beyond its pale; he recognizes his humanity and its -rights. Will you suppose that we have not American slaveholders as -Christian as Cicero?" - -"Cicero has said that to see a wrong done without protesting is to -commit one." - -"We will not dispute to-night, Harry. I am not altogether insensible -to the interests of the world, but I have some regard for yours. -Perhaps I should take less thought for them, if there were hope that -you would take any. At any rate, we will not dispute to-night." - -Harry, at least, was in no mood for disputing. He was very happy. He -had a gayety of manner I had hardly seen in him. The Doctor soon fell -into tune with it, and reconciled himself to the pleasure he had -caused. - - - - - WEDNESDAY, April 17, 1844. - - -The Friday came. We had made our last evening a long one, but we were -up early on the last morning. Harry and I had our walk together. -Coming back, we found the Doctor under Keith's Pine, busy making up -his dried grasses and flowers into little compact packages. We sat -down there with him as usual. I read aloud. My reading gave us matter -of discussion on the way home. - -After breakfast, Hans, Karl, and Fritz came up to the house. Good -Friday we always keep alone with our own family; but these three are -of it, though they are lodged under a different roof. I read part of a -sermon of South's:--"For the transgression of my people was he -stricken." - -How real seemed to me, that morning, the sacred story! I had hitherto -contemplated the Christ in his divine being, looking up to him from a -reverent distance. Now he seemed suddenly brought near to me in his -human nature. I felt that our earth had, indeed, once owned him. And -then how vivid the sense of loss and waste,--a beautiful and -beneficent life cut short by violence! "Dying, not like a lamp that -for want of oil can burn no longer, but like a torch in its full flame -blown out by the breath of a north wind!" - -Everything that I read with Harry, or that I talk over with him, has -new meaning for me, or a new force. - -Why are we so careful to avoid pain? If it was a necessary part of the -highest mortal experience, how can we ask that it may be left out from -ours? And yet, on every new occasion, we strive to put from us the -offered cross. Even while we say, "Thy will be done!" an inward hope -entreats that will to be merciful. Such remonstrances with myself rose -in me as I read. They did not prevent me from feeling a thrill of -dread as this warning passed over my lips:--"Who shall say how soon -God may draw us from our easy speculations and theories of suffering, -to the practical experience of it? Who can tell how soon we may be -called to the fiery trial?" I turned involuntarily to Harry. He, too, -had heard a summons in these words. I read in his eyes the answer that -came from his steady breast,--"My Father, I am here!" I felt my spirit -lifted with the closing words,--"If we suffer with him, we shall also -reign with him"; but there was no change in Harry's clear, prepared -look. I have never known a faith so implicit as his. He does not ask -after threats or promises; he only listens for commands. - -When the services were over, Hans came forward to say good-bye to the -Doctor and Harry. He took a hand of each, and stood looking from one -to the other. - -"We cannot spare you, Harry Dudley. We shall miss you, Doctor. Harry, -when you are ready to set up your farm, come and take a look round you -here again. We are good people, and love you. There will be land near -in the market before long. Sooner should you have it than old Rasey. -Think of it; we can talk things over, evenings." - -"You shall have your turn," he said to his boys, who were waiting, one -on either side of him. "I am an old man, and leave-taking comes hard. -Youth has many chances more." - -He gave his benediction, repeated a little rhyming German couplet,--a -charm, perhaps, for a good journey,--and then turned away sturdily, -went slowly out of the door and down the steps, leaving Karl and Fritz -to say their words of farewell. Karl spoke for both. What Fritz had in -his heart to say he could not utter, for the tears would have come -with it. - -At a quarter before twelve Harry brought down the russet -knapsack,--brought down the little flower-press,--brought down the -long umbrella. - -He transferred from the over-full knapsack to his own some packages of -flowers. The flower-press would not enter either knapsack. The Doctor -had it strapped on outside his. I watched these little arrangements, -glad of the time they took. Harry helped the Doctor on with his pack. -I would have done the same for Harry, but he was too quick for me. I -adjusted the strap from which the green tin case hung, that I might do -something for him. - -Doctor Borrow took a serious leave of my mother,--for this, at least, -was a final one. But Harry would not have it so. The tears were -gathering in her eyes. "You will see us again," he said, confidently. - -The Doctor shook his head. "You have made us too happy here for us not -to wish that it might be so." - -But my mother accepted Harry's assurance. - -They looked round for Tabitha. She appeared from my mother's room, the -door of which had been a little open. Both thanked her cordially for -her kind cares. She gave them her good wishes, affectionately and -solemnly, and disappeared again. - -"I shall not bid you good-bye," said the Doctor, yet taking my hand. - -"Only till the nineteenth," said Harry, clasping it as soon as the -Doctor relinquished it. "Till the eighteenth," I mean; "till the -eighteenth," he repeated, urgently. - -"Till the eighteenth," I answered. - -The Doctor mounted the blue spectacles. This was the last act of -preparation. The minute-hand was close upon the appointed moment. - -At the first stroke of twelve, they were on their way. I followed, -slowly, as if the reluctance of my steps could hold back theirs. The -gate closed behind them. The Doctor took at once his travelling gait -and trudged straight on; but Harry turned and gave a glance to the -house, to the barn, to the little patch of flowers,--to all the -objects with which the week had made him familiar. Then his look fell -upon me, who was waiting for it. He searched my face intently for an -instant, and then, with a smile which made light of all but happy -presentiments, waved me adieu, and hastened on to overtake the Doctor. - -I was glad it was not a working-day,--glad that I could go in and sit -down by my mother, to talk over with her, or, silent, to think over -with her, the scenes which had animated our little room, and which -were still to animate it. Harry's parting look stayed with me. I felt -all my gain, and had no more sense of loss. Can we ever really lose -what we have ever really possessed? - - - EVENING. - -I have been over to Blanty's. I should have gone yesterday, but it -rained heavily from early morning until after dark. Such days I -consider yours. I had been anxious about Blanty since Sunday, and not -altogether without reason. He has had a threatening of fever. I hope -it will prove a false alarm. I found him sitting at his door, already -better,--but still a good deal cast down, for he was never ill in his -life before. He had been wishing for me, and would have sent to me, if -I had not gone. He could hardly let me come away, but pressed me to -stay one hour longer, one half hour, one quarter. But I had some -things to attend to at home, and, as he did not really need me, I bade -him good-bye resolutely, promising to go to him again next Monday. I -cannot well go sooner. - -If I had stayed, I should have missed a visit from Frederic Harvey. -When I came within sight of our gate, on the way back, a horseman was -waiting at it, looking up the road, as if watching for me. He darted -forward, on my appearance,--stopped short, when close beside -me,--dismounted, and greeted me with a warmth which I blamed myself -for finding it hard to return. He did not blame me, apparently. -Perhaps he ascribes the want he may feel in my manner to New-England -reserve; or perhaps he feels no want. He is so assured of the value of -his regard, that he takes full reciprocity for granted. The docile -horse, at a sign, turned and walked along beside us to the gate, -followed us along the path to the house, and took his quiet stand -before the door when we went in. - -Frederic Harvey, having paid his respects to my mother, seated himself -in the great arm-chair, which now seems to be always claiming the -Doctor, and which this new, slender occupant filled very inadequately. - -"I stayed in New York three weeks too long," he exclaimed, after -looking about him a little--for traces of Harry, it seemed. "Time goes -so fast there! But I thought, from one of my sister's letters, that -Dudley was to go back to World's End after he left you. Is he changed? -Oh, but you cannot tell. You never knew him till now. I need not have -asked, at any rate. He is not one to change. While I knew him, he was -only more himself with every year." - -"It is two years since you met, is it not?" - -"Yes; but what are two years to men who were children together? We -shall take things up just where we laid them down. Ours is the older -friendship. I shall always have the advantage of you there. But you -and he must have got along very well together. Your notions agree with -his better than mine do. It does not matter. Friendship goes by fate, -I believe. He may hold what opinions he likes, for me; and so may -you." - -"I believe that on some important subjects my opinions differ very -much from yours."--I am determined to stand square with Frederic -Harvey. - -"In regard to our institutions, you mean? I know, that, spoken or -unspoken, hatred of them is carried in the heart of every -New-Englander. It is sometimes suppressed through politeness or from -interest, but I never saw a Northerner who was good for anything, in -whom it did not break out on the first provocation. I like as well to -have it fairly understood in the outset. I have had a letter from -Harry in answer to one of mine. It is explicit on this point." - -I had no doubt it was very explicit. Frederic's eye meeting mine, he -caught my thought, and we had a good laugh together, which made us -better friends. - -"The Northerners are brought up in their set of prejudices, as we in -ours. I can judge of the force of theirs by that of my own. I only -wish there was the same unanimity among us. We are a house divided -against itself." - -And Frederic's face darkened,--perhaps with the recollection of the -rupture of old ties in Shaler's case,--or rather, as it seemed, with -the rankling of some later, nearer pain. He turned quickly away from -the intrusive thought, whatever it was. He does not like the -unpleasant side of things. - -"At any rate, because Harry Dudley and I are to be adverse, it does -not follow that we are to be estranged. I cannot forget our -school-days,--our walks on the boulevards and the quays,--our rides in -the Bois,--our journeys together, when we were like brothers. I was -never so happy as in those days, when I had not a care or a duty in -the world." - -He had the air, with his twenty-one years, of a weary -man-of-the-world. There was no affectation in it. Unless report have -done him injustice, the last two years have put a gulf between him and -that time. - -I reminded him of the conversation between him and his sister, in -which they spoke of Harry Dudley before I knew who Harry Dudley was. -He remembered it, and returned very readily to the subject of it. He -related many incidents of the tour in Brittany, and spoke warmly of -the pleasure of travelling with a companion who is alive to everything -of interest in every sort. He said his travels in Germany, and even in -Italy, had hardly left with him so lively and enduring impressions as -this little journey into Brittany; for there he had gone to the heart -of things. - -"I must see him again. We must meet once more as we used to meet. We -must have one good clasp of the hand; we must, at least, say a kind -good-bye to the old friendship. If, hereafter, we find ourselves -opposed in public life, I shall deal him the worst I can, but with -openness and loyalty like his own, and doing him more justice in my -heart, perhaps, than he will do me." - -Frederic Harvey inquired anxiously where Harry was to be found, and I -was obliged to tell him of our intended meeting. I was afraid he would -propose to go with me. He was on the point of doing so, but refrained, -seeing that I was not expecting such a suggestion. - -We could easily have arranged to meet at Quickster, which is about the -same distance from him that it is from me. But a ride of twenty miles, -most of them slow ones, beside a man with whom you are not in full -sympathy, is a trial. I did not feel called upon to undergo it for -him. When he took leave of me, he again seemed about to propose -something, and I felt it was this plan which was so natural; but he -was again withheld, by pride or by delicacy. Either feeling I could -sympathize with, and I was more touched by this reserve than by all -his friendly advances; but I hardened my heart. He mounted his horse. -I saw him go slowly down the path to the road, stoop from the saddle -to open the gate,--pass out. And then I was seized with sudden -compunction. I heard the slow step of his horse, receding as if -reluctantly, and ready to be checked at a hint. I ran to the gate. -Frederic was just turning away, as if he had been looking back, -expecting to see me; but in the same instant he gave an intimation to -his horse, and was out of the reach of my repentance. - -"_I liked him._" With Harry these words mean a great deal. Could Harry -ever have liked him, if he had not been worthy to be liked? How sad -his look was, when he spoke of his happy boyish days!--happier than -these only because they were blameless. Was not this regret itself an -earnest of the power of return? He had good blood in him. He is -Charles Shaler's cousin. He has a weak, shallow mother,--a father -whose good qualities and whose faults are overlaid with the same -worldly varnish impartially. He feels the need of other influences, -and clings to Harry. He comes to me instinctively seeking something he -has not in his home. My mother has always judged him more kindly than -I have. If he had been a poor outcast child, I should have felt his -coming to me so frankly and so persistently to be a sign I was to do -something for him. Is there a greater need than that of sympathy and -honest counsel? I have been selfish, but this pain is punishment -enough. I feel a remorse surely out of proportion to my sin. I do not -prevent his going to meet Harry by not asking him to go with me. He is -not one to give up his wish; and in this case there is no reason that -he should. He will arrive; I am sure of it. And I will atone, at -least in part. I will ask him to join me on the ride home. - -Old Jasper has told me stories of Frederic Harvey's good-heartedness -in childhood: tells them to me, indeed, every time he sees me. I -remember one in particular, of the pretty little boy in his foreign -dress, and speaking his foreign language, carrying his own breakfast -one morning to the cabin where the old man lay sick; and another of -his taking away part of her load from a feeble woman; and another of -his falling on a driver and wresting from him the whip with which he -was lashing a fainting boy. But Jasper has only these early stories to -tell of him; and what different ones are current now! - -In dear old New England the child is father of the man. There the -lovely infancy is the sure promise of the noble maturity. But where -justice is illegal! where mercy is a criminal indulgence! where youth -is disciplined to selfishness, and the man's first duty is to deny -himself his virtues! If the nephew of Augustus had lived, would he -indeed have been Marcellus? _Heu pietas! Heu prisca fides!_--these -might have been mourned, though Octavia had not wept her son. - - - - - THURSDAY, April 18, 1844. - - -It is thirty-five miles to Omocqua by the common road through Metapora -and Tenpinville; but I shall save myself five, going across fields and -through wood-paths, and coming out at Quickster. You left the Omocqua -road there, and took that to Quarleston. I shall stop half an hour at -Quickster to rest my horse and have a little talk with Barton. I mean -to allow myself ample time for the journey, that Brownie may take it -easily and yet bring me to Omocqua in season for a stroll about the -neighborhood with the Doctor and Harry before nightfall. Some miles of -my way are difficult with tree-stumps and brush; a part of it is -sandy; the last third is hilly. I have never been farther on that road -than Ossian, about three miles beyond Quickster; but the country -between Ossian and Omocqua is, I know, very much like that between -Quarleston and Cyclops, which you found so beautiful and so tiresome. - -I do not mean that my parting with Harry shall be a sad one. After -that day at Omocqua, I shall not meet his smile,--his hand will not -clasp mine again; but he will leave with me something of himself which -will not go from me. His courage, the energy of his straightforward -will, shall still nerve and brace me, though his cordial voice may -never again convey their influence to my heart. Wherever he is, I -shall know we are thinking, feeling together, and working together; -for I shall surely do what he asks of me: that he thinks it worth -doing is enough. - -And Dr. Borrow does not leave me what he found me. It was with a -continual surprise that I learned how much there is of interest and -variety in our uniform neighborhood for a man who knows the meaning of -what he sees. How many things are full of suggestion now that were -mute before! He has given me glimpses of undreamed-of pleasures. A -practical man, following him in his walks, and gathering up the hints -he lets fall, might turn them to great real use. - -What a part the Doctor and such as he, disciples and interpreters of -Nature, would have in the world, how warmly they would be welcomed -everywhere, if these were only times in which men could live as they -were meant to live, happy and diligent, cherishing Earth and adorning -her, receiving her daily needful gifts, and from time to time coming -upon precious ones, which she, fond and wise mother, has kept back for -the surprise of some hour of minuter search or bolder divination! - -But now, how can we be at ease to enjoy our own lot, however -pleasantly it may have been cast for us, or to occupy ourselves with -material cares or works, even the most worthy and the most rational? - -We are taught to pray, "Thy kingdom come," before we ask for our daily -bread. - -To pray for what we do not at the same time strive for, is it not an -impiety? - -Dr. Borrow says that Harry is out of place in our time. I should -rather say that it is he himself who is here a century, or perhaps -only a half-century, too soon. Our first need now is of men -clear-sighted to moral truths, and intrepid to announce and maintain -them. - -It was through the consciousness, not yet lost, of eternal principles, -that primitive poetry made Themis the mother of the gracious -Hours,--those beneficent guardians, bringers of good gifts, promoters -and rewarders of man's happy labor. When Justice returns to make her -reign on earth, with her come back her lovely daughters, and all the -beautiful attendant train. - -When that time arrives, the Doctor will have found his place, and -Harry will not have lost his. - -Perhaps I shall not come back until Saturday. According to their plan, -Dr. Borrow and Harry are to leave Omocqua again to-morrow afternoon; -but I shall try to persuade them to remain until the next morning. -While they stay, I shall stay. When they go, Brownie and I take our -homeward road. In any case, I will write to you Friday night, and send -off my budget on Saturday without fail. - -To-day has not given me anything to tell of it yet, except that it has -opened as it should, fresh and cloudless. In five hours I shall be on -the road. - -My paper is blistered and the writing blurred with wet drops. It is -only that some freshly gathered flowers on my table have let fall -their dew upon the page. You, with the trace of mysticism that lurks -in your man of the world's heart, would be drawing unfavorable -auguries. I am too happy to accept any to-day. If fancy will sport -with this accident, let it feign that these morning tears are of -sympathy, but not of compassion; that they fall, not to dim my hopes, -but to hallow them. - - - EVENING. - -"In five hours I shall be on the road." So I wrote at six o'clock. I -wrote too confidently. - -At eleven I had mounted my horse, had sent my last good-bye through -the open window, and had caught the last soft answer from within. I -lingered yet an instant, held by those links of tenderness and -solicitude that bind to home and make the moment of parting for any -unusual absence, even though a pleasant and desired one, a moment of -effort. A heavy, dragging step, which I almost knew before I saw the -lounging figure of Phil Phinn, warned me of a different delay. I -watched his slow approach with a resignation which had still a little -hope in it; but when he at last stood beside me and began his -ingratiating preamble, I felt my sentence confirmed. His woe-begone -face, his quivering voice, announced the suppliant before he reached -the recital of his wrongs; while the utter self-abandonment of his -attitude conveyed renunciation of all cares and responsibilities in -favor of his elected patron. I will not give you the details of the -difficulty of to-day,--an absurd and paltry one, yet capable of -serious consequences to him. I obeyed instinctively the old-fashioned -New-England principle I was brought up in, which requires us to -postpone the desire of the moment to its demands. Sadly I led my horse -to the stable, took off the saddle and put him up. "I cannot be back -until two," I thought, "perhaps not before three. I shall lose our -walk and our sunset; but even if it is as late as four, I will still -go." I ran into the house to say a word of explanation to my mother; -but she had heard and understood. She gave me a look of sympathy, and -I did not wait for more. - -I set out resolutely in a direction opposite to that in which my own -road lay. Phil Phinn followed, already raised to complacency, though -not to energy. I outwalked him continually, and was obliged to stop -and wait for him to come up. He plainly thought my haste unseasonable, -and did not disguise that he was incommoded by the sun and the mud. It -was a tedious way, a long five miles for him and for me. - -We arrived at last at the house of his adversary, who, having, besides -the advantage of being in a superior position, also that of justice on -his side, could the more easily give way. I should soon have come to -an understanding with him, if my client, while leaving me the whole -responsibility of his case, had not found himself unable to resign its -management: he must lend me the aid of his argumentative and -persuasive gifts. After some hours of wrangling and pleading, the -matter was accommodated, and Phil Phinn, without a care in the world, -or the apprehension of ever having one again, sauntered away toward -his home. I set off for mine, already doubtful of myself, remembering -that I was not the only disappointed one. - -When I reached home, it was half-past six o'clock. I felt strongly -impelled to go, even then. My mother did not offer any objection, but -her look showed so plainly the anxiety the thought of a night-ride -caused her, that I gave it up without a word. I could not, indeed, -have arrived at Omocqua before midnight, and Harry would long have -done expecting me. - -I am not as well satisfied with myself as I ought to be, having made -such a sacrifice to duty. I begin to ask myself, Was it made to duty? -After all, a little suspense would have done Phil Phinn good,--if -anything can do him good. And are not the claims of friendship -paramount to all other? Harry will be pained by needless anxiety. Can -he believe that I would, without grave cause, lose any of the time we -might yet have together? But a few hours will set all right. - - - - - FRIDAY NIGHT, April 19. - - -I am at home again. I take out the package which has been waiting for -the day at Omocqua. Hoarding is always imprudence. If these letters of -last week had gone on their day, they would have been faithful -messengers. Now they go to tell you of a happiness which already is -not mine,--of hopes and plans that you can never share. - -Are these last pages yesterday's? A lifetime is between me and them. -The book I pushed aside to write them lies there open, waiting to be -recalled. Had it an interest for me only yesterday? The flowers on my -table still hold their frail, transient beauty. No longer ago than -when I gathered them, I could take pleasure in flowers! - -I sit here and go through the history of these last two days, -retracing every minutest incident. I begin again. I make some one -little circumstance different, and with it all is changed. I pass into -a happy dream; I find myself smiling. And then I remember that I -cannot smile! - -I was to write to you to-night. I should have written, if I had not -promised. I must spend these hours with you. Every object here is so -full of pain! Everything is so exactly as it was; and yet nothing can -ever be as it was to me again! - -It seemed last evening that I suffered more from my disappointment -than was reasonable. I wished for sleep to shorten the hours of -waiting. But troubled dreams lengthened them instead. I was up at -three; at four I was on the road. I had an hour over fields and -cleared land; then came some miles through the woods. The forest-ride -had not its usual charm. I was still haunted by the failure of -yesterday. I could not bear the thought of being misjudged by Harry, -even for a moment. I longed to be with him and explain. But would he -find me absolved? I was glad to come out into light and cheerfulness -at Quickster. It was six o'clock when I stood before the door of the -Rapid Run. Barton came down to me, drew out his pocket-book, and took -from it a folded paper. - -"Here is something of yours." - -I opened it and found written in pencil,--"Jackson House, Omocqua." -The sight of that frank handwriting dispelled every doubt. - -"When was he here?" - -"He came in a little before one yesterday. He asked if you had been -along. I thought not; you would have given me a call. He stayed round -here about an hour, waiting for you. I told him that you might have -struck the road farther down,--at Ossian, perhaps. He took a horse of -me, knowing you would ride." - -"He was alone?" - -"Yes. He told me Dr. Borrow was at Rentree; was to join him at Omocqua -this morning, though." - -In half an hour we were on our way again. I was eager still, but no -longer impatient. There was no uncertainty in my mind now. Harry was -at Omocqua. He was expecting me. As to blaming me, he had never -thought of it. He would have imagined for me some better excuse than I -had to give. Or rather, it had never occurred to him that I could need -excuse. I should find him at the door on the lookout for me. His hand -would be in mine before I could dismount. In the mean while the miles -between us diminished rapidly. My horse enjoyed, as I did, every step -of the happy road. His prompt, elastic tread showed it, and the alert -ears which seemed not watchful against danger, but vigilant to catch -all the sweet and animating sounds that cheered us forward. - -Three miles from Quickster we came on the intended town of Ossian. I -stopped a moment. Harry had probably lingered here yesterday, watching -to see me emerge from that dusky wood-path. He had found no one to -speak to. One inhabitant outstayed the rest a year; but he has now -been long gone, and his house is falling in. - -Beyond Ossian the road was new to me. For about three miles it is -good. Then the country becomes uneven, and soon after very hilly. It -was slower work here; but Brownie and I took it pleasantly. - -"How far is it to Omocqua?" I asked, as he was passing me, a man whom -I had watched painfully descending in his little wagon the hill I was -about to climb. - -He drew up at once. - -"Omocqua? You are for Omocqua? An hour, or a little more; though I am -a good hour and a half from there. They had something of a fuss down -there last night, perhaps you know." - -"What about?" - -"Well, a man from Tenpinville met a runaway boy of his who had been -hiding round there. The fellow ran; his master hailed him, and when he -wouldn't stop, out with a pistol and shot him flat." - -"What was the man's name?" - -"If I heard, I've lost it. I put up just outside the town. If I'd gone -in to hear the talk, I might have got mixed up; and I'd no call." - -The hour was a long one. I hardly wished it shorter, yet I tried to -hasten. I urged my horse; but mastery is of the spirit, not of the -hand or will. He had obeyed so well the unconscious impulse! and now, -though he started forward under the spur of an inciting word, he soon -forgot it, and mounted the slow hills and descended them again with -drudging step and listless ears. - -What a meeting! what a topic for the nineteenth of April! I imagined -Harry's grief, his shame, his concentrated indignation. I remembered -the flash of his eye, the flush of his cheek, when Dr. Borrow was -telling of the approach of the slave-coffle from which they had -rescued Orphy. And with this a keen apprehension seized me. Would -Harry have been able to repress his remonstrance, his reprobation? The -common man I had just met had not trusted the acquired prudence of -half a century. Could Harry's warm young heart contain itself? - -Why was I not there? A warning, a restraining word----. But would -Harry have heard it? Could I have spoken it? Would he not have felt, -must not I have felt with him, that this was one of those moments when -to see wrong done without protesting is to share in it? And then rose -before me the possible scenes:--the beautiful, glowing face, the -noble, passionate words, the tumult, the clamor, the scoff, the -threat, the ---- Oh, no! surely the angels would have had charge -concerning him! - -When we reached the summit of the last hill, my horse stopped of -himself, as if to let me receive well into my mind the first lovely -aspect of the town below us, and thus connect a charm with its name -which nearer knowledge should not be able to disturb. - -I yielded to the influence of the scene the more easily that it was in -such contrast with my perturbed feelings. We may court and cherish a -fanciful or a superficial grief; but the bitterly tormented mind asks -ease as the tortured body does, and takes eagerly the soothing draught -from any hand. The landscape, still freshened by the night, and -already brilliant with the day, spoke peace and hope. I accepted the -promise. Descending the hill, I thought and reasoned cheerfully. I -smiled that I should have fancied nothing could happen in Omocqua, -when Harry was there, without his having a part in it. This took place -last evening; he had not heard of it yet, perhaps. Or he had heard of -it; but not until it was over, and there was nothing to be done. He -was commonly silent under strong emotion. He would have heard this -story as he had heard others of the sort, with resolved composure, -finding in it new food for his inward purpose. - -On the outskirts of the town I came to a little tavern, the one -probably at which my acquaintance of the road had lodged. I had -almost stopped to ask the news, but thought better of it, and was -going on, when a man sitting on a bench under a tree started up and -ran after me, shouting. I stopped, and he came up out of breath. - -"You thought we were shut, seeing us so still; but we're all on hand." - -I explained, that I was going to the Jackson House, where a friend was -to meet me. - -"The Jackson House! That's head-quarters for news, just now. All -right. You looked as if you wanted to stop." - -"I thought of stopping for a moment. I heard on the road that there -had been some sort of disturbance in your town yesterday. Is all quiet -now?" - -"For aught I know." - -"I heard there was a boy shot here yesterday." - -"A boy?" - -"A runaway." - -"One of our waiters brought down such a story last night. They are -sharp after news of their own. I told him 'twas wholesome, if it -turned out so. But this morning it comes that it was the man who was -running him off that was shot. You'll hear all about it at the -Jackson. If you come back this way, stop and give me a word. I can't -leave." - -There were a number of men on the piazza of the Jackson House. Most -of them had the air of habitual loungers; a few were evidently -travellers newly arrived. Not a figure that even from a distance I -could take for Harry Dudley. Some trunks and valises were waiting to -be carried in, but I saw nothing familiar. I recognized the landlord -in a man who was leaning against a pillar, smoking. He did not come -forward, or even raise his eyes, when I rode up. I bade him -good-morning, addressing him by name. He came forward a little,--bowed -in answer to my salutation, but did not speak. - -"Is Mr. Dudley here?" - -Brompton did not reply. He threw out two or three puffs of smoke, then -took the cigar from his lips and flung it from him. He looked serious, -and, I thought, displeased. My misgivings returned. Had Harry incurred -ill-will by some generous imprudence? Had he left the house, perhaps? -Was the landlord afraid of being involved in his guest's discredit? - -He spoke at last, with effort. - -"Is your name ----?" - -"Colvil." - -He came down the steps and stood close to me, laying a hand on my -horse's neck and stroking down his mane. - -"Mr. Colvil, I don't know that anybody is to blame; but an accident -has happened here. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you of it." - -I dismounted. Brompton made several attempts at beginning, but stopped -again. - -"You had some trouble in your town yesterday," I said; "can that in -any way concern Mr. Dudley?" - -"Are you a near friend of his?" - -"Yes." - -"A relation?" - -"No." - -He went on with more assurance. - -"Mr. Dudley was here about a month ago. He had a sick boy with him, -whom he left here, in a manner under my care. He was to have taken him -away to-day. He arrived yesterday afternoon and asked me to send for -the boy. I sent for him. Mr. Dudley was expecting you yesterday -afternoon, and walked over to the Jefferson to see if there was any -mistake. - -"The boy was his. It was all regular. He had him of Ruffin, who never -does anything unhandsome. I knew all about it. Ruffin was here with a -lot of all sorts he had been picking up round the country. He told me -to keep the boy pretty close while I had him in charge; and I boarded -him outside the town, with an old granny, who didn't know but he was -really in hiding. But it was all right. He was a pet servant, spoiled -till he grew saucy, and his master swapped him off,--but quietly, the -family set so much by the boy. They were to think he'd been enticed -away. But it must happen, that, exactly yesterday afternoon, one of -the sons came riding up to this very house. He left his horse to the -servant he brought with him; then comes up to the door and asks if Mr. -Dudley is here; hears that he has walked out, and so walks out too. -The first thing he meets, just out here on the square, is this boy, -whom he had been fond of, and only over-kind to. The boy checks up, -and then, like a fool, turns and runs. The young man calls to him to -stop,--and then, to stop or he'd shoot. The boy only runs faster. -Dudley was crossing the square, on his way back from the Jefferson, -and came up at the moment. He told Orphy to stand still, and, stepping -right between him and the levelled pistol, called to the other to hold -on. But the man was so mad with rage at seeing his servant flout him -and mind another, that he could not stop his hand. I was standing -where you are now. I saw Dudley come up, with his even step, just as -usual. I heard his voice, clear and cool. I did not look for mischief -until I heard the crack of the pistol,--and there he was on the -ground! I ran down to him. I was going to have him taken into the -house, but he wanted to lie in the open air. We carried him round to -the green behind the barn. There was an army-surgeon here, on his way -West. He did what he could, but said it was only a question of hours. -Dudley knew it. He wanted to keep on till morning, thinking you might -come. He lasted till after daybreak. Will you go to him?" - -I followed Brompton into the house, along the entry, across the yard, -through the great barn. A road led from a gate on a side-street to a -shed. Before us, on the other side of the road, was a green field with -one great tree. The grass under the tree was flattened. - -"Yes, it was there," said Brompton. "He asked to be laid under that -tree. The sun was just setting over there. When evening came, we -wanted to take him to the house; but no. We let him have his will. It -was natural he should want to see the sky while he could." - -Brompton led the way to the shed. - -What struggles must have rent that strong young breast before the life -was dislodged from it! How must the spirit which had known this earth -only through innocent joys and sweet affections and lovely hopes,--how -must it have clung to its dear mortal dwelling-place! how mourned its -dividing ties! how claimed its work, unfinished, unbegun! This grief, -this yearning, this reluctance would have left their story on the -cold immovable face. With these, bodily torture would have done its -part to alter and impair! I followed my guide, foreboding that the -dumb anguish in my heart was to be displaced by a fiercer pain. - -There was no pain in his presence. In death, as in life, he kept his -own gift of blessing. The holy light still lay on the brow; about the -lips hovered a smile, last ethereal trace of the ascended spirit. My -soul lifted itself to his. I understood the peace that passeth -understanding. - -An angry voice brought me back to the world and its discords. - -"Do you think you were worth it?" - -I looked where Brompton was looking, and saw, seated near, on an -overturned barrel, a figure which could be no other than that of -Orphy. He sat impassive. Brompton's cruel words had not reached him. -His misery was its own shield. His utter wretchedness precluded more. -But he felt my look fixed upon him. He raised his eyes to me for a -moment, then closed them again to shut himself in with his woe. And -now his face quivered all over; his lips parted and closed -rapidly,--not as forming articulate accents, but in the helpless -forlornness that has no language in which to utter plaint or appeal. -And yet on these trembling cheeks, about this inane mouth, still -lingered some of the soft, playful lines I remembered on the pretty, -varying face of little Airy Harvey! - -On the way from the house I was conscious that a step followed us, -stopping when we stopped, and going on again when we did; but I had -not given thought to it until now, when I perceived a timid movement -behind me, and felt a light touch laid on my arm. I turned, and met a -pair of mournful, pleading eyes. - -"Jasper!" - -The old man stretched one trembling hand toward the dead, while the -other clasped my wrist.--"It was not meant! It was not meant!" - -"It was not," said Brompton. - -"Do not bear anger! _He_ did not." - -"He did not," echoed Brompton. - -Jasper, searching my face, saw there what changed his look of entreaty -into one of compassion. He stroked my sleeve soothingly with his poor -shrunken fingers.--"And yet there never was anything but love between -you! Oh, think there is a sorer heart than yours this day!" - -"Where is he?" I asked, fearing lest that most unhappy one might be -near. - -"Gone."--It was Brompton who answered.--"Gone, I believe. He was here -until all was over. He locked himself into a room up-stairs. Dudley -sent for him many times the night through, in the intervals of his -pain. I took the messages to him. But he could neither bear to see the -one he had killed, nor yet to go away, and have no chance of seeing -him again. At daybreak Dudley got up, saying he had strength enough, -and went as far as the barn on his way to the house. There the surgeon -met him and led him back, pledging his word that the man should be -brought, if it was by force. And it was almost by force, but he was -brought. Dudley raised himself a little, when he came up, took his -hand and clasped it close. 'Good-bye, Fred!'--in a pleasant voice, as -if he were ready for a journey and must cheer up the friend he was to -leave behind. And then he sank back, still holding the other's hand, -and looking up at him with his kind eyes, not forgiving, but -loving,--till the eyelids drooped and closed softly, and he passed -into a quiet sleep. When we left him, he was breathing gently. We -thought it was rest." - -Jasper went humbly away, secure of his suit. Brompton, too, withdrew -silently. - - * * * * * - -In those first moments I had left below my loss and my grief to follow -the ascended; but now my human heart asked after the human friend. - -On the rich, disordered hair were signs of the mortal agony: the soft, -bright curls were loosened and dimmed. The pure forehead could not be -fairer than it was, yet the even, delicately finished eyebrows seemed -more strongly marked. The brown eyelashes showed long and dark over -the white cheek. The same noble serenity; the same gentle strength; -only the resolute lines about the mouth were softened;--nothing now to -resist or to dare! - -Dr. Borrow would be here soon. I sat down on a block and waited. Dr. -Borrow! I had thought his love for Harry tinctured with worldliness; -but how honest and hearty it appeared to me now! I had loved in Harry -Dudley what he was to be, what he was to do. Dr. Borrow had loved him -for himself only, simply and sincerely. I remembered the Doctor's -misgivings, his cautions to me. How negligently heard! Then it was -only that he did not yet comprehend the high calling of the boy whom -we equally loved. Now I almost felt as if I had a complicity in his -fate,--as if the Doctor could demand account of me. - -That Harry Dudley would give himself to a great cause had been my hope -and faith; that he would spend himself on a chimera had been Doctor -Borrow's dread. But which of us had looked forward to this utter -waste? How reconcile it with Divine Omnipotence? with Supreme Justice? -Was there not here frustration of a master-work? Was there not here a -promise unfulfilled? - -Careless footsteps and voices gave notice of the approach of men -brought by curiosity. Seeing me, and judging me not one of themselves, -they stop outside, confer a moment in lower tones, come in singly, -look, and go out again. - -Then new voices. A tall, stout man stalked heavily in. "And the boy -was his own, after all," burst from him as he rejoined the others. - -"The boy was not his own. He didn't buy him fairly to keep and work -him. It was a sham sale. He meant to free him from the first, and the -boy knew it. He was free by intention and in fact. He had all the -mischief in him of a free negro." - -"The man was a New-Englander, and saw it differently," answered the -first voice. - -"A man is not a fool because he is a New-Englander," replied the -second. "I am from New England myself." - -"I don't see much of the same about you. Are there more there like him -or like you?" - -"I tell you he has died as the fool dieth," the other answered -sharply, coming carelessly in as he spoke. He was a mean-looking man, -trimly dressed, in whom I could not but recognize the Yankee -schoolmaster. - -As he stooped down over the man he had contemned, some dormant -inheritance of manhood revealed itself in his breast, some lingering -trace of richer blood stirred in his dull veins. He turned away, cast -towards me a humble, deprecating look, and, still bending forward, -went out on tiptoe. - -Then, accompanied by a sweeping and a rustling, came a light step, but -a decided, and, I felt, an indifferent one. A woman came in. She took -account with imperious eyes of every object,--of me, of Orphy, of the -coarse bench spread with hay, which served as bier,--and then walked -confidently and coldly forward to the spectacle of death. When she had -sight of the beautiful young face, she uttered a cry, then burst into -passionate sobs, which she silenced as suddenly, turned, shook her -fist at Orphy, and was gone. - -"Dr. Borrow is come." - -_Come!_ To what a different appointment! - -"He asked for you," persisted Brompton, seeing that I did not rise. -"He is in the same room he had when they were here together. He -mistrusted something, or he had heard something; he said no word until -he was there. Then he asked me what he had got to be told, and I told -him." - -I made a sign that I would go. Brompton left me with a look which -showed that he knew what a part I had before me. - -Dr. Borrow was not a patient man. He was ruffled by a slight -contrariety. This unimagined grief, how was it to be borne? With what -words would he receive me? Would he even spare Harry Dudley himself, -in the reproaches which his love would only make more bitter? - -We three were to have met to-day. Was _he_ the one to be wanting? he -who was never wanting? He who had been the life, the joy, of those -dearly remembered hours, was he to be the sorrow, the burden of these? -I went to him again; again earth and its anxieties vanished from me. -No, he would not be wanting to us. - - * * * * * - -When I touched the handle of the door, it was turned from the inside. -Dr. Borrow seized my hand, clasping it, not in greeting, but like one -who clings for succor. He searched my face with ardently questioning -look, as if I might have brought him mercy or reprieve. He saw that I -had not. A spasm passed over his face. His mouth opened to speak, with -voiceless effort. He motioned me to lead where he was to go. We went -down-stairs, and he followed me, as I had followed Brompton, along the -entry, across the yard, through the barn. He glanced towards the tree -and then took his way to the shed. I did not enter with him. - -When he came back to me, he was very pale, but his expression was soft -and tender as I had never known it. We went in again together, and -stood there side by side. - -Brompton spoke from without. "There is one thing I have not told you, -Dr. Borrow." - -The Doctor turned to him patiently. - -"There was an inquest held early this morning." - -Dr. Borrow lifted his hand to ward off more. - -"Let me take my child and go!" - -The Doctor looked towards Orphy. Again I had almost wronged him in my -thought. "Come, my lad," he said, kindly; "you and I must take care of -him home." - -Orphy left his place of watch. He came and stood close beside the -Doctor, devoting his allegiance; tears gathered in the eyes that the -soul looked through once more; the mouth retook its own pathetic -smile. - -I knew that Harry Dudley must lie in Massachusetts ground, but I could -not look my last so soon. Dr. Borrow saw my intention and prevented -it. He took my hand affectionately, yet as holding me from him. - -"Do not come. I am better off without you. I must battle this out -alone." - -Then, a moment after, as feeling he had amends to make,-- - -"You have known him a few weeks. Think what I have lost,--the child, -the boy, the man! All my hopes were in him,--I did not myself know how -wholly!" - -And beyond this anguish lay other, that he would have put off till its -time, but it pressed forward. - -"Colvil, you are going home. You go to be consoled. What am I going -to?" - -On the side-street, the swift tread of horses and the roll of rapid -wheels. A wagon stopped before the gate. What a joy Charles Shaler's -coming was to have been to us! - -He was prepared. He came forward erect and stern. He saluted us -gravely in passing, went in and stood beside the bier. He remained -gazing intently for a little time,--then, laying his hand lightly on -the sacred forehead, raised his look to heaven. He came out composed -as he had entered. - -Shaler spoke apart with Brompton, and returned to us. - -"You would leave this place as soon as possible?" he said to Dr. -Borrow. - -"Yes." - -I had meant to combat the Doctor's desire that I should leave -him,--not for my own sake, but because I thought he would need me; but -I submitted now. Shaler would assume every care, and I saw that Dr. -Borrow yielded himself up implicitly. - - * * * * * - -The moment came. We lifted him reverently, Orphy propping with his -weak hands the arm that had once lent him its strength. We carried -him out into the sunshine he had loved, bright then as if it still -shone for him. The wind ruffled the lifeless hair whose sparkling -curls I had seen it caress so often. - - * * * * * - -It is over. Over with the last meeting, the last parting. Over with -that career in which I was to have lived, oh, how much more than in my -own! That brain cold! What vigorous thought, what generous enterprise -benumbed within it! That heart still, whose beats should have stirred -a nation's! The head for which I had dreamed so pure a glory has sunk -uncrowned. The name dies away in space; not a whisper repeats it. -Harry Dudley has passed from a world which will never know that it -possessed and has lost him. - - - RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: - STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY - H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. - - - - - * * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber's note: - -Obvious printer's errors have been corrected. - -Inconsistent spellings and use of hyphens have been kept (e.g., -"door-steps" and "doorsteps"). - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIFTEEN DAYS*** - - -******* This file should be named 52113.txt or 52113.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/2/1/1/52113 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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