AT a moderate distance from Yorktown, (since so famous by the surrender of CORNWALLIS,) there stood a plain looking structure, covering a considerable portion of ground, embracing, under one common roof, a long range of buildings of various dimensions, and surrounded with cool looking verandahs, which extended entirely round the lower story of the house; here entirely closing one portion from view, with the extension of green slats, and there throwing open another from the ceiling to the floor, so that the inmates might choose sunshine or shade, as suited their fancy. Besides this main building, there were others of various sizes and shapes, from the kitchen to the coach house, forming, altogether, quite an imposing looking establishment. One side of the dwelling commanded a fine prospect of the Chesapeake Bay, while the other faced a garden, at that day a curiosity in the colony. It extended beyond the reach of the eye landwards, until it was lost in a beautiful green lawn, which fell off abruptly towards a little bubbling brook which wound its way around the extended bluff upon which the mansion stood. This garden was laid out after the prim and rather pragmatical fashion of that day in the old country, and adorned with statues and grotoes, and curiously devised box hedges. In the centre of these, a jet d'eau constantly threw up its glittering spray, giving a most inviting air of coolness and repose to the place. The whole establishment was surrounded by a fence, painted white, the entrance to which was through a high arched gate in the fashion of the times.

This was called Temple Farm, from a circumstance which will appear in the course of our narrative, and was one of the country seats of Sir Alexander Spotswood, then Governor of Virginia, and Commander-in-Chief of Her Majesty's forces in the colony.

Further along the shores of the bay, stood a double row of small white cottages, with a narrow street running between, and one large building of two stories, in the centre, surmounted with a small cupola and weathercock; this was the negro quarter. Beyond this, again, stood the overseer's house; still following the same line.

The whole settlement presented a most inviting prospect to the eye of the weary traveller; and from the water was still more imposing; because, on that side, was one unbroken front, giving the idea of quite a village, from the number of the buildings. No one will wonder at the extent, even of this country establishment, when we state from undoubted authority, that his Excellency's income, at that time, exceeded twenty thousand pounds, per annum, independent of his official salary.

It was near sundown of a sultry day in the summer of 1714; the dim blue outlines of Acomac and North Ampton could just be discovered across the misty surface of the bay. Sir Alexander Spotswood was seated in a large arm chair in the front porch of the building, entirely alone, except his dogs, which were snoozing away around his chair in various groups. He had a pipe in his mouth, held from time to time in his fingers, while he blew away the smoke, and cast his eye now and then along the surface of the water. He were a cocked hat on his head, which was thrown rather to one side, so as to exhibit a profusion of iron-grey hair, done up in the bob wig fashion. His features were large and strong, but not unpleasing, especially when a smile broke over the otherwise bronzed and statue-like countenance. His face, from the brow to the chin, was covered with wrinkles. The sure guarantee that the youth of their possessor had not been passed in inglorious ease and luxury. He had a fine set of white teeth, which greatly redeemed his countenance from a look of premature age, assisted by an eye which, when under excitement, was black and brilliant with the unspent fires of youth or genius. Surmounting this weather-beaten countenance, was a high forehead, falling back at the temple, so as to leave a hollow on each side, and thus to produce what is called, in common parlance, the hatchet face. His limbs were brawny and athletic, showing their possessor capable of extraordinary physical exertion. He wore knee breeches, met by cloth gaiter leggings buttoned close to his well turned limbs, which, truth to say, were Virginia fashion, thrown over the bannisters, in the most careless attitude possible. Over his person he wore a hunting coat, thrown carelessly back from off his shoulders, while near by rested a fowling piece he had apparently just set down, being his almost inseparable companion in his long and celebrated walks.

While his Excellency thus lazily smoked away alone, in the front of his house, the other portions of the building were by no means in the same state of dreamy repose. About the entrance gate there was much bustle and confusion, incident to the departure of some guests and the arrival of others.

His extensive and princely hospitalities were renowned, even in the Old Dominion, and his establishment, whether in town or country, was the centre and focus of all the elite of the colony. Over that portion, he had already swayed a most happy and judicious influence, far better suited in its free and easy grace, to the age of the country, than the stately formalities of his predecessors. Upon occasions of public ceremony, he by no means abated the pomp and parapharnalia of his office. His previous life had been too purely military for that, but that very education of the camp, lent to the privaces of his own home all the careless ease and grace so common to the undress of the camp.

His being thus seated so long and so indolently gazing out upon the slumbering waves, was by no means accidental. Suddenly there appeared a faint flash and a quick report of fire arms in the offing, followed almost instantaneously by two others, so faint and far off as just to be heard and seen. These reports proceeded from small arms, and were very different from those of a vessel in distress, which idea, indeed, the dead calm of the bay itself precluded. Nevertheless, they seemed to rouse the Governor, the pipe was thrown over the bannister, his legs were drawn to the floor, and in the next instant he had snatched a spy glass, and looked long and silently over the water. After he had hurriedly replaced his glass, he seized his gun and fired three charges as rapidly as he could perform the evolutions of loading and firing. He had no sooner done this, than he ordered one of his servants to light a large pine torch, and having manned one of his boats, jumped in, followed by the boy holding aloft his burning brand. They steered out to a considerable distance from the landing, and then again he folded his arms, and looked long and ardently as before over the expanse of waters, the oarsmen resting upon their oars.

While he is thus employed, let us return to the mansion; over the windows of which, various lights are now seen, indicative of some more busy life within, than is usually to be found of summer evenings at an ordinary farm house.

BEFORE we introduce our readers into this drawing room, let us pause at that old fashioned hall door, and read the inscription over the coat of arms, (the plate on which it was inscribed was in existence within the memory of many now living,) we think it reads thus: “PATIOR ET PORTIOR;” the most appropriate that could be conceived for its possessor, it was his life, both previous and subsequent, in an epigraph. Through this large old dining hall we pass into a parlor well lighted up, and furnished with much taste and elegance. The room was nearly full of company; and we shall proceed to introduce such of them as we take a fancy to.

But, before we do so, let us premise, that that drawing-room contained at that moment the future fathers and mothers of some of the most celebrated characters of our country. First, of course, we shall present the lady of the mansion; she was seated with some half dozen others of her own sex at a small table, around which they were working at the needle, busily chatting all the while, sometimes with the gentlemen standing around, and sometimes with other ladies similarly seated and occupied in other parts of the room. Lady Spotswood, notwithstanding the stiff fashion of the female costume and head dress at that time, was the very beau ideal of a rich farmer's wife. She looked quite young in comparison with her husband, and possessed the remains of a beauty that must have been formidable among courtiers of the royal household, from which atmosphere the General had plucked her. How many ladies thus transplanted, would not have carried with them the faded pomps and ceremonies of their former sphere? Not so, however, with lady Spotswood. No one could ever have imagined, that she had figured in her younger days within the cold formalities of a courtly circle, for there was a whole heartedness, a bon hommie of expression, a freedom of conversation in the highest degree enthusiastic sometimes, which we, simple hearted republicans, believe dies within the purlieus of the royal household. She seemed to enjoy her company with the highest relish, and, of course, she entertained them with ease.

At an opposite table sat her two daughters; Ann Catherine, the elder, by the General called Kate, and Dorothea, the younger. The eldest of these was about seventeen, and the other about two years younger. However much we might lament the unromantic sound of their names, we cannot help it, having previously pledged ourselves to adhere to the real ones. Sure we are, that if we cannot interest our readers in them under their real, we could not under fictitious ones. Being familiar with these, (aye, and with their characters,) almost from our youth, we shall use the Governor's privilege, and abbreviate them whenever we please.

WE left the Governor and his boat in a preceding chapter, quietly reposing upon the bosom of the silent and motionless waves of the Chesapeake. He had not remained long in that position before the stealthy sound of muffled oars were heard approaching. He stood up in his boat and leaned forward with eagerness to catch the sound, which grew more and more distinct until the boat itself hove in sight, which proved to be a yawl manned by sailors, and under the command of the second officer of a ship. This official when the yawl came along side, rose and touched his cap, and enquired if he had the honor to address Gen. Spotswood. He replied in the affirmative, when the mate handed him a sealed packet, which he broke open and glanced over by the light of the torch. While he read the letter he trembled, and seemed agitated for one whose nerves had been braced and hardened in the fierce school of contending armies. “Have you the box here,” said he at length addressing the same official.

He replied that it was in the yawl.

The boats were run gunnel to gunnel and lashed together, while all hands proceeded to lift a box of about seven feet long and three broad into the Governor's boat, after which he counted out money to the sailor, and departed as he had come, having ordered the slaves to pull for the little inlet formed by the small stream before described. After rowing some half an hour the boat was run aground high and dry, upon his own lands. The box was lifted out and placed upon poles, and the six oarsmen bore it through the garden until they came to the farthest extremity of the lawn, where had recently been erected a small tomb-like building,* with the ground floor bare and a new made grave open in the centre. On one side of this the box was deposited and the negroes ordered to depart.

About half an hour afterwards the Governor returned bearing in one hand a dark lantern, followed by his carpenter, with various tools on his shoulder. The door was again unlocked and the man ordered to open the box, which he proceeded to do, not without fear and trembling. The outer boards being removed, exhibited a leaden coffin; this also he was ordered to cut through. When it was completed, the man was turned out and the Governor left alone. He then proceeded to roll down the lead about two feet; beneath this, were various folds of what once had been white satin, but now sadly stained and tarnished; this he likewise removed, when a ghastly spectacle exhibited itself. It was the body of a large fine looking man, in the uniform of a General Officer, his head severed entirely from the trunk and all much disfigured with blood. The Governor threw himself upon his knees and hung over this sad spectacle, and wept long and bitterly. Many times he took the last look of the features of that beheaded man, before he finally assumed composure enough to close it again and summon the workman. This he did at length,—and having changed his apparel, appeared in the drawing-room, as we have seen.

About midnight, there sat round the table in the Governor's library, himself, the Rev. Commissary and Dr. Evylin. The countenance of the former exhibited still the same ghastly appearance, and these of the other two gentlemen were not unmoved. We shall break into their conversation at the moment.

“You say truly, your Excellency, that secrecy in this business is of the last importance, not only to the due preservation of your proper authority, but for the interest of the colony itself, as at present situated.”

“I differ with you my dear sir,” replied the Doctor, “because I conceive that it can neither offend King nor Council, for one, however high in authority, to honor the remains of his own near kinsman with Christian burial.”

“You forget, Doctor,” rejoined the Commissary, “that that kinsman died the death of a traitor.”

“Hell and fury!” shouted the Governor, striking his clenched fist upon the table—“he died a patriot—a martyr—a victim!”

“Softly, softly,” said the Rev. gentleman, laying his hand upon the arm of the Governor, “I only spoke the language of common rumor—of the government—of the laws.”

“May a thousand furies seize the government—the laws and rumor, all together!”

“Let me explain all this,” mildly put in the Doctor. “Thus stands the case. Here is a gentleman, an officer of high rank, who is beheaded in Scotland for the alleged crime of high treason—alleged remember,” seeing the Governor again start. “This gentleman who suffered, is the half brother of another military man who has been appointed Governor of one of the colonies under the very government which beheaded his kinsman. This is not all—this government at home had the same suspicious of this very Governor, and many of his friends shrewdly suspect that he was sent hither to keep him out of harm's way—in other words, on account of former brilliant military services—that he was sent hither in a sort of honorable exile. Is it not so?”

“You are right—you are right, Doctor,” said the Governor, between his his teeth, “go on.”

“Then the question presented is, shall he clandestinely inter these remains which have arrived here to-night, or shall he bury them openly in his own burying grounds? I think it better to make no mystery of it, and trust to the liberality and good sense of the ministry, should they hear of it. Such a proceeding would be very natural, surely.”

“But you forget, Doctor,” said the Commissary, “that this thing is to produce a vast effect upon others beside the ministry, and the first effect too. Recollect the state of the colony. Every party at home is exactly represented here. It is useless to conceal from ourselves, that the government of our friend meets with powerful opposition. What is it that prevents him from leading an army now across the mountains into that unknown eldorado beyond, but this very jealousy of his power and popularity; and would this opposition dare, for a moment, to show head, were it not for the more than encouragement they receive at home. Now, what effect would such a funeral have, when the subject of it was proclaimed through the colony?—that is the question.”

“There is force in your reasoning,” said the Doctor.

THE next morning broke bright and cheerful, emancipated by the morning sun from the mists and clouds of the previous night. Kate Spotswood was up with the lark, brushing the dew from the grass and flowers with an elastic foot, which seemed made on purpose only to bound over nature's brightest and freshest beauties, so fawn-like were her movements. Yet her occupation on this morning seemed of a quite homely and domestic kind. She wore a sun bonnet, and carried a basket on her arm. She took the path leading across the garden and down towards the brook, and in a few minutes ascended the rising ground opposite, leading towards the negro quarter. In the basket were various phials and papers, all labelled in the most careful manner, and arranged so as to be of instant use. She entered the door of one of the white cottages rather apart from, and larger than the others, and called, in plantation language, the sick house. Here, around a pretty extensive and well ventilated room, were arranged sundry cots, upon which lay about one dozen negroes; some tossing in the restless delirium of fever, and others cadaverous with the hues of an ague. She approached their bedsides in succession, followed by an old crone, called the nurse, who scarcely ceased to bless her young mistress even to put a spoon between the teeth of a refractory patient. “God a mighty, bress miss Kate; poor nigger been dead but for her. She neber forget em! neber!”

She had not been long thus engaged, when a little pale faced white girl, dressed in linsey woolsey, entered the sick house, and stood before the young lady, dropping an awkward curtesy.

“Father begs, ma'm, that you'll come down and see him this morning, he's laid up with the rheumatis, and can't move a hand or foot.”

“And who is your father, child!”

“He lives, ma'm, in the small log house on the other side of the overseer's, just beyond the nigger landing.”

“Oh! old Jarvis, the fisherman? I remember him now. Run home, and tell your father that I will be there directly.”

This fisherman's hut was full half a mile beyond the negro quarter, but she never hesitated. With alacrity she tripped over the damp grass, throwing back her hood as the blood came bounding into her cheeks with the glow of health and exercise, her fair cheeks fanned by the gentle breeze just rippling the bay. Neither ditches nor fences stopped her progress: she bounded over the one and climbed the other, like one accustomed to such obstacles. When she arrived within the fisherman's hut, she found old Jarvis laid up indeed, as his daughter had described, and racked with fever and pain. She felt his pulse long and carefully, looked at his tongue, and made many enquiries as to the manner of contracting his disease.

“I fear, Jarvis,” she said at length, “that your case is rather beyond my skill, not that I would fail to try some of my simples to relieve you, but good old Dr. Evylin is at the house, and I will bring him to see you presently.”

And then she turned to the old woman, his wife, and made many kind enquiries as to their means of living and present supplies, stroking her hand over the white headed urchins clustering around all the while. She soon after took her leave, promising to send supplies to the old woman as soon as she got home.

A goodly company assembled that morning at breakfast. Dorothea at the head of the table, and lady Spotswood on her right hand, with many other ladies, married and single, occupying the upper, while the gentlemen sat round the Governor at the lower end.

Dorothea seemed to have enjoyed the benefits of exercise, and the consequent glow and bloom of health as well as her sister, but she had been drilling the dairy maids, and marshalling fine pans of new milk, eggs, and butter, and, truth to say, her fair, ruddy face looked as if she enjoyed these good things herself with no little relish. Not that she was at all coarse or vulgar in her appearance, or that there was any thing in these rural occupations, tending that way. We only meant to say, that she looked more like a red checked country lass, the daughter of some respectable farmer, than a descendent of an aristocratic stock. She chatted volubly, but with no effort. She laughed heartily whenever she felt like it, and that was not seldom.

“Ha, Miss Catherine,” said the Rev. Commissary, as that young lady entered and took her seat at the table, “had you been up with the lark this fine morning, and engaged as I saw your sister, you might have transferred the bloom of that pretty flower in your hair to your fair cheek.”

“If your Reverence will but examine that flower,” plucking it from her hair and handing it across the table to him, “you will perceive that it is not one to be had by stepping into the garden. I plead guilty to the remissness of dairy duty.”

“This is truly a flower,” said the old gentleman, examining it with his glass, “which is not to be found among your father's exotics. Is it not so?” handing it to Bernard Moore, “you have just returned from the hot houses and patterns of Europe.” Bernard quietly slipped the beautiful little subject of dispute into the button-hole of his vest, before he replied, “That it was a native plant, and scarcely grew within a mile of the house.”

Dorothea laughed a low musical chuckle, at the sly way in which Bernard appropriated the flower, and the blush with which her sister watched the proceeding. “I think, Reverend Sir,” said she slily, “that the pursuit and capture of that flower has given sister quite as much color as my dairy performances.”

The Governor did not seem to enjoy this small talk with his usual relish, for he was wont to encourage these playful sallies of his children, and loved above all things to see them cheerful. But now he sat silent and dispirited; and an occasional glance at his son John, who was beside him, seemed by no means calculated to inspirit him. That youth was so nervous that he could scarcely carry his cup to his head at all, and had not touched any thing to eat. He looked, too, haggard, bloated and sullen. He had once been the Governor's chief hope and delight, and he was equally the favorite of the old clergyman, who sat opposite to him, for his brilliant native abilities, and the highly creditable manner in which he acquitted himself of all his collegiate duties. It is true, that he was known then to be wild, but not viciously so. Now, however, his whole nature was changed. He scarcely noticed his sisters, whose still clinging affection he seemed to loathe. His mother he avoided on all possible occasions, and for these general family meetings in the country he had an especial abhorrence. There was a stealthy, suspicious glance about his eye, as foreign to his former nature as it was inexplicable to his father now, as he, from time to time, cast a sidelong glance at his rapidly depreciating heir.

There was one person at that table who understood the mystery of John Spotswood's peculiar behavior of late, and that was old Dr. Evylin, but he seemed to observe him even less than any other person at the table. Many strange things were told about John by the servants, such as his great precautions at night before he would go to bed; getting up in the night and calling for lights, swearing that some one was under the bed; at other times he would take a notion that some one was locked up in a certain closet. These things the whole family knew; they had been observed at his former visits, and now he was an object of the most undisguised solicitude to the whole of them, and to his father of dread. He thought his mind touched, and that ere long he would lose his reason, if, indeed, he had not partially done so already.

Catherine's brightest smiles were instantly clouded, if poor John happened to come within the range of her vision. At this very breakfast, she sat scarcely listening to the playful, bantering mood of Bernard Moore, so entirely was she abstracted by observing the more than commonly ferocious aspect of her elder brother. She would sit looking at him, lost in abstraction, until the speaker had twice or thrice repeated his words, and then she would reply without seeming entirely conscious of what she said. In short, a settled dejection brooded over the party since John had entered and taken his seat.

As Dr. Evylin was about to leave the table, Kate stepped behind his chair, and whispered a few words into his ear, which brightened up the old man's countenance instantly. “Ha!” said he aloud, catching her hand, and drawing back her retreating figure, “this young lady suffered herself to lie under mistaken imputations, when she ought not to have done so; she has been a mile this morning on foot, before breakfast, to visit a poor sick fisherman.”

“Ah!” said the Governor “is old Jarvis sick?”

“He is,” continued the Doctor, “and so ill that my pretty pupil has called a consultation upon his case.”

“I owe you an apology, my dear Catherine,” said the good Commissary, “and hope whenever I do get in your debt, it may be always for a similar cause, and as happily liquidated. You were right not to divulge the matter; the right hand should not know what the left doeth. These are services which God reserves for his own special pleasure of rewarding, and not subject to the poor payment of worldly praise.” Kate had broken away and ran, before the old Doctor's sermon (as John called it,) was half over.

SOON after breakfast a number of horses were brought round to the front entrance of the house, to a gravelled court, separated from the box-bound flower beds before described, so as to admit horses and carriages to the very portico of the mansion.

The horses were of various sorts and degrees; some fine generous animals, others common cobs, while the rear was brought up by ponies and dogs in great abundance.

This was the daily custom of the establishment, at least every fair day. The Governor himself rode a fine imported war-horse, of fine proportions and admirably drilled. He stood at the porch door with his high erect head, waiting for his master, with as much pride and gaiety as if he had been a thinking animal. Various were the jokes and rejoinders passed among the grooms and stable boys, as they stood there, each one holding a horse by the bridle.

Any one must have visited a Virginia family party in the country to form any idea what an essential ingredient this morning excursion is in their domestic pleasure, and how highly it is enjoyed by young and old. We shall perhaps have occasion, before we part with our readers, to trace this and many other customs, which have survived the revolution to our British ancestry. At length the party issued from the house. Every one at liberty to consult his own fancy as to his company, unless some previous expedition had been such as a visit to some natural curiosity, or to church on Sunday.

Accordingly Kate on a fine pacing poney and Dr. Evylin by her side, had already set off in the direction of the fisherman's hut. The old gentleman was quite gallant, and managed his sensible looking little poney cavalier fashion.

It may seem strange that Bernard Moore should thus suffer the old gentleman to monopolize the attention of a young lady, for whose favors he was generally understood to be paying the most anxious and solicitous court; but the fact is, she herself had sent him off cantering in an opposite direction. Let our fair readers be not alarmed; he had not already proposed and been rejected. The case stood thus: Kate had expressed some regret that she could not accompany her brother a mile or two on his way to the capital, owing to her engagement with the Doctor. Bernard, in the most self-sacrificing and disinterested manner imaginable, proposed to be her substitute, which offer was most thankfully accepted. He and John were old class-mates and once very intimate, and she desired of all things to see that intimacy renewed, now that Bernard had returned from his foreign tour, acknowledgely one of the first young men in the colony.

Strange to say, the youth was so blinded by his self-doubting mood, as never once to reflect that this was the very highest compliment which she could, in the then position of affairs, pay to him.

He and John had also now cantered off in quite a different style from Kate and her venerable old beau. They made the fire fly from their horses heels, as they careered like winged messengers, over the road to Yorktown and Williamsburg. A very few moments ride at that gait brought them to the door of the tavern in the centre of the former, and Bernard was quite surprised to see John alight and give his bridle to the servant, for he knew not that he so purposed on setting out. He was invited to do likewise, which of course he did not knowing the business which detained his friend. That was soon explained; for John, instantly upon setting foot within the bar-room, ordered a bottle of spirits. It was with no little astonishment that Bernard saw him pour out and gulph down a tumbler of brandy and water, half and half, enough to have staggered any youth at a single blow. But he was still more astonished at the wonderful transformation, which this short and simple process effected. His old friend was himself again: he now chatted cheerfully, rode alongside of his companion without restraint and without effort to leave him; and above all, he appeared the highly intellectual and gifted man he had once known him to be. He spoke freely of European and colonial affairs, and took now an interest in many little things which he seemed not at all to notice before. Moore conversed with him freely, and at length fell into stories of former days and youthful frolics, until the woods rang again with their merriment. Having thus wrought up his subject to a proper key, as he supposed, purely by his own address, he ventured to ask him for an explanation of his late singular and inexplicable mood; but John passed it off in the slightingest manner imaginable; said it was nothing but a fit of the blue-devils—a constitutional infirmity, to which he was subject.

“But how comes it John,” said Moore, most innocently, “that you were not subject to these when we were so long and so constantly together. I do not recollect of your being once so afflicted; during those ever happy and memorable school-boy days, you were the life and soul of every party. If any two started together upon an expedition and you were left behind, it was always—‘come let's get Spotswood, there's no sport without him.’”

“True—true Bernard, but those happy hours of idleness do not last forever, indeed I presume that the change which you see in me is but the natural one of thoughtless boyhood, into the higher and more care-giving responsibilities of man's estate.”

Thus they conversed; Moore pleased and amused at the half playful—half melancholy mood of his old friend, but not more than half convinced, by his reasoning, backed, as it was, by the change of mood itself—then that ungodly drink of brandy—that the son and heir of the Governor of Virginia should alight at a common tavern and thus quaff spirits like a sailor—it was inexplicable to him, but he finally set it down in his own mind to the effect of the military life in which his father was now attempting to train him. He therefore shook hands with his reanimated friend, as he supposed, with scarce concealed impatience, and galloped back to carry news of the pleasing change to Kate. Little did he imagine the real cause of that change and how very short a time it would last, or he would not thus exulting have sought an opportunity of returning his credentials. He met the Governor and Dr. Blair riding along the road at a staid and sober gait, and seemingly engaged in a conversation little less desponding than that from which he supposed he had just rescued poor John. He did not pursue them to see whether they too would be thus suddenly transformed by a glass of brandy and water. He was rather rejoiced than otherwise, for it assured him that his Excellency would not command his attendance, and thus detain him from the point at which he was aiming. Alas! true love never did run smooth; and Mr. Bernard Moore, after all his haste to join Kate and the Doctor, only arrived to find the position he sought already occupied by another young gallant from the capital, not less highly gifted by nature and fortune than himself. It was Mr. Kit Carter, a scion of the genuine aristocratic stock, and heir expectant of the splendid seat of Shirley. Moore was too highly schooled in all the courtesies of conventional breeding to shew chagrin at such an acquisition to the company at the mansion house, as Mr. Carter undoubtedly was; but we may say at once that he was disappointed in not being able to communicate the result of his diplomacy. It would have taken a shrewd and sagacious observer of human nature to have discovered even this, beneath all the courtly grace which they manifested. Carter and he met for the first time since the return of the latter, and that meeting was most warm and cordial. This was magnanimous, certainly, in Bernard; for, from their school days they had been rivals for the favor of Kate. The good old Doctor had not felt pulses so long and not yet be able to see a little into matters as they now stood, accordingly the old gentleman, with a sly smile, reigned in his pony and dropped in the rear, to muse upon one not less lovely and admired than her whose lively chat he had surrendered. Not a lady-love, nor even a wife—for the old gentleman was a widower—it was his lone and only daughter, almost a recluse within the walls of his own house at Williamsburg; yet so young, so highly cultivated, and, withal, so fascinating in every personal grace, she was fast becoming a devotee in religion. The good Doctor did not regret this, but he was naturally one of those calm, cheerful, philosophic minds, that are enabled to appreciate all that is excellent in our holy religion, without surrendering up the choicest blessing of social life—a cheerful and happy spirit. But we anticipate, the Doctor's lone idol will be introduced to the reader in due progress of our story.

In the meantime Kate was like powder between flint and steel; every spark elicited, fell upon her.

An encounter of wits between two highly endowed young men, and paying court to the same lady, is a study to those curious in psychological matters. But we will leave the whole party to dismount and dress for dinner, while we take a peep into other things having relation to the main thread of our narrative; until then, we bid our readers a cheerful and hearty goodnight.

IMAGINE to yourself, reader, a fire-place large enough to roast an ox whole, and within which a common wagon load of wood might be absorbed in such a speedy manner as to horrify one of our city economical house wives—though now, it was late in summer and of course no such pile of combustibles enlivened the scene—besides, it was night, and the culinary operations of the day were over. A few blazing fagots of rich pine, however, still threw a lurid glare over the murky atmosphere, and here and there sat the several domestics of the establishment; some nodding until they almost tumbled into the fire, but speedily regaining the perpendicular without ever opening their eyes, or giving any evidence of discomposure, except a loud snort, perhaps, and then dosing away again as comfortably as ever. Others were conversing without exhibiting any symptoms of weariness or drowsiness.

In one corner of the fire-place sat old Sylvia, a Moor, who had accompanied the father of the Governor (a British naval officer) all the way from Africa, the birth place of his Excellency. She had straight hair, which was now white as the driven snow, and hung in long matted locks about her shoulders, not unlike a bunch of candles. She was by the negroes called outlandish, and talked a sort of jargon entirely different from the broken lingo of that race. She was a general scape-goat for the whole plantation, and held in especial dread by the Ethiopian tribe. She was not asleep, nor dozing, but sat rocking her body back and forth, without moving the stool, and humming a most mournful and monotonous ditty, all the while throwing her large stealthy eyes around the room. In the opposite corner sat a regular hanger-on of the establishment, and one of those who kept a greedy eye always directed towards the fleshpots, whenever he kept them open at all. His name was June, and he wore an old cast-off coat of the Governor's, the waist buttons of which just touched his hips, while the skirts hung down to the ground in straight lines, or rather in the rear of the perpendicular, as if afraid of the constant kicking which his heels kept up against them when walking. His legs were bandied, and set so much in the middle of the foot, as to render it rather a difficult matter to tell which end went foremost. His face was of the true African stamp: large mouth, flat nose, and a brow, overhung with long, plaited queus, like so many whip cords, cut off short and even all round, and now quite grey. The expression of his countenance was full of mirthfulness and good humor, mixed with just enough of shrewdness to redeem it from utter vacuity. There was a slight degree of cunning twinkled from his small terrapin-looking eye, but wholly swallowed up, by his large mouth, kept constantly on the stretch. He had the run of the kitchen; and, for these perquisites, was expected and required to perform no other labor than running and riding errands to and from the capital; and it is because he will sometimes be thus employed, that we have been so particular in describing him, and because he was the banjo player to all the small fry at Temple Farm. He had his instrument across his lap, on the evening in question, his hands in the very attitude of playing, his eyes closed, and every now and then, as he rose up from a profound inclination to old Somnus, twang, twang, went the strings, accompanied by some negro doggrel, just lazily let slip through his lips in half utterance, such as the following:“Massa is a wealthy man, and all de nebor's know it,“Keeps good liquors in his house, and always says, here goes it.”

The last words were lost in another declination of the head, until cat-gut and voice became merged in a grunt or snort, when he would start up, perhaps strain his eyes wide open, and go on again:“Sister Sally's mighty sick, oh what de debil alls her,“She used to eat good beef and beans, but now her stomach fails her.”

The last words spun out again into a drawl to accompany a monotonous symphony, until all were lost together, by his head being brought in wonderful propinquity to his heels in the ashes.

While old June thus kept up a running accompaniment to Sylvia's Moorish monotony, on the opposite side of the fire; the front of the circle was occupied by more important characters.

Old Essex, the major domo of the establishment, sat there in all the panoply of state. He was a tall, dignified old negro, with his hair queued up behind and powdered all over, and not a little of it sprinkled upon the red collar of his otherwise scrupulously clean livery. He wore small clothes and knee-buckles, and was altogether a fine specimen of the gentlemanly old family servant. He felt himself just as much a part and parcel of the Governor's family, as if he had been related to it by blood. The manners of Essex were very far above his mental culture; this, no one could perceive by a slight and superficial observation, because he had acquired a most admirable tact (like some of his betters,) by which he never travelled beyond his depth; added to this, whatever he did say, was in the most appropriate manner, narrowly discerning nice shades of character, and suiting his replies to every one who addressed him. For instance, were a gentleman to alight at the Hall door, and meet old Essex, he would instantly receive the attentions due to a gentleman; whereas, were a gentlemanly dressed man to come, who feared that his whole importance might not be impressed upon this important functionary, Essex would instantly elevate his dignity in exact proportion to the fussiness of his visitor. Alas! the days of Essex's class are fast fading away. Many of them survived the Revolution, but the Mississippi fever has nearly made them extinct.

On the present occasion, though presumed to be not upon his dignity, the old Major sat with folded arms and a benignant, but yet contemptuous smile playing upon his features, illumined as they were by the lurid fire light, while Martin, the carpenter, told one of the most marvelous and wonder-stirring stories of the headless corpse, ever heard within those walls, teeming, as they were, with the marvelous. Essex had often heard stories first told over the gentlemens' wine, and then the kitchen version, and of course knew how to estimate them exactly: now that before mentioned incredulous smile began to spread until he was forced to laugh outright as Martin capped the climax of his tale of horror, by some supernatural appearance of blue flames over the grave. Not so the other domestics, male and female, clustering around his chair; they were worked up to the highest pitch of the marvelous. Even old June ceased to twang his banjo, and at length got his eyes wide open, as the carpenter came to the sage conclusion, that the place would be haunted.

It was really wonderful, with what rapidity this same point was arrived at by every negro upon the plantation, numbering more than a hundred; and these having wives and connexions on neighboring plantations, the news that Temple Farm was haunted, became a settled matter for ten miles round, in less than a week, and so it has remained from that day to this.

On the occasion alluded to, the story-teller for the night had worked his audience up to such a pitch of terror, that not one individual dared stir for his life, every one seeming to apprehend an instant apparition. This effect on their terrified imaginations, was not a little heightened by the storm raging without. The distant thunder had been some time reverberating from the shores of the bay, mingling with the angry roar of the waves as they splashed and foamed against the beach, breaking and then retreating for a fresh onset.

It was yet quite early in the evening, and all the white family had gone to the house of one of the neighboring gentry to spend the evening. No one was apprehending their return for some hours, when a thundering clatter of horses and wheels were heard on the gravelled road, followed by several loud peals upon the knocker of the hall door. A lurid glare of lightning at the same instant flashed athwart the sky, tinging every living and inanimate thing, to the farthest corner of the room, with a bluish silver white, and revealing the mansion-house, on the opposite side of the yard, through the window, in magnified proportions like some giant castle looming up for an instant in goblin outlines, and then vanishing amidst a most astounding and overwhelming crash. During this terrible uproar of the elements, and a deluging torrent of rain, the same incessant rattle of the knocker was kept up on the hall door. No one dared to answer it except old Essex, who sat pinioned to the floor by the poor affrighted creatures clinging to his legs, and arms, and neck; his lips moving all the while in threatening pantomine, vainly endeavoring to be heard amidst the screams around him, and the continuous roar overhead. At every pause in the furious storm, rap—rap—rap went the knocker, a signal for the closer gathering of the terrified domestics. At length the storm took breath, allowing a small interval of repose, which old Essex taking advantage of, threw the crowd from him, in despair of getting his subordinate to answer the summons, and rushed across the court and into the back door of the mansion-house himself, and speedily let go the fastenings of the hall door. Stern, and schooled as he was in the outward show of calmness, borrowed from his betters, the old Major's knees knocked a little as he threw open the hall door and let the light of the lamp fall over the portico and gravelled road.

There stood at the threshold of the door, three persons, two males and a female dressed in black, with black silk masks over their faces. The lady was leaning upon the arm of him who appeared the younger of her two companions, while a carriage and four horses stood opposite the door. The elder of the visitors requested leave to enter for a moment's shelter from the furious peltings of the storm. Essex knew the hospitable habits of the place too well to have paused thus long, had he not been confounded by the studious appearance of mystery in his visitors, and apprehension for the safety of his master's goods and chattels; but these impressions lasted only for a moment, when the old fellow again resumed his courtly air and bowed them into the hall with inimitable grace. His unerring tact had already discovered that these, if robbers at all, were not of the common sort, and were of no ordinary address. One attitude, a wave of the hand, the general air, was enough for the practised eye of the major domo, to discover that they were no ruffians; besides, there was a shrinking, a clinging dependence about the lady, which at once interested him. If he was surprised at this singular visit, thus far, how much more so, when he saw them, after entering the hall, walk straight up to the picture of a soldier in armor, hanging against the wall. It was the well-known portrait of Gen. Elliot, half brother to the Governor, and one of the most renowned soldiers, as well as unfortunate men of his day.*

* This incident was related to the author by a descendant of the Governor.

As they left the hall, the elder of the two threw a sealed packet upon the table, stopping to turn up the direction, and place it in so conspicuous a place as to be sure to attract attention. The steps were put up, the door shut and offering Essex a piece of coin, the whip cracked and the coach and four moved away as it had come, leaving the old Major in sad perplexity, whether the whole occurrences of the night had not been a part of the goblin stories of Old Martin, among the frightened domestics. The sight of the package, was a sure guarantee that it was no such dream of the imagination, and he turned it over and examined it most carefully, seal and surperscription. Not being able to read even the outside, he of course made little progress with its contents, but he examined the coat of arms upon the seal with the eyes of one not entirely unaccustomed to such things—coming to the sage conclusion, that the writer was some body at all events. He did not return to his late affrighted colleagues in the kitchen, but seated himself to wait the return of the family.

The storm was now clearing away, and there was a prospect that he would not long be left to chew the cud of sweet and bitter fancies. He was presently aroused by the sound of horses and carriages, and soon after by the entrance of the whole party, which had by this time received several accessions. These with sundry other matters appertaining thereto, will found in the next chapter.

MOORE returned to breakfast looking rather haggard, after a sleepless night and a fruitless journey. He said he had traced the coach back to York, but there it had been dismissed and there in all probability it belonged. There was a faint clue he said to the supposition that they had gone on to the capital, directly after their return from Temple Farm. Kate, as she entered and took her seat at the table, welcomed him with a cheerful mood, and asked in a playful way if he had discovered their Hero and Heroine of the masks. She looked quite disappointed at the result, and expressed her regret especially that Bernard had not brought the lady back. “It is such an unusual thing,” she said, “people calling at a house in the night with masks on, in a country like this—and that house too belonging to the Chief Magistrate of the Colony.”

“If you had been in York last night, and seen the crowds of houseless strangers that I saw,” said Moore, “just arrived from England, you could not have been at a loss to select any sort of character from among them.”

“Let us all then ride there this morning?” said Kate, “and see for ourselves.”

No objection being made, it was settled that they would make a general descent upon York, and see one of those human swarms from the European hives, by which this country was populated. The letter of the previous night also, added a zest to the general curiosity to see that portion of these said to be of a higher order than usual.

“Who can that hot headed man be?” said Kate, “whom papa's friend speaks of in his letter, as having compromised himself by meddling in matters that did not concern him.”

“Our College,” said the Reverend Commissary, “will one day or other, save our young gentry from the temptation of meddling in transatlantic affairs. Now it is made a mere grammar school—this is all wrong. What say you Mr. Carter? Mr. Moore?”

“I think, Sir, to speak with frankness,” said Moore, “that it will never be any thing else, while it remains half savage, half civilized.”

Both Kate and Dorothea smiled at the rude interpretation which might be put upon this speech. The Doctor replied:

“I understand, you allude to Mr. Boyle's plan of educating the Indians.”

THE morning broke still and serene over the shores of the Chesapeake, now in the full fruition of their summer glories, and the flowers clustering with a rich harvest of beauties o'er hill and dale, garden and lawn, meadow and brook. The sun was just scattering his ruddy rays over the eastern shores, and lighting up the sleepy waters of that glorious inland, sea, like a burnished mirror clearing itself from the taint of human breath. The marine birds soared in lazy flights along the surface, admiring their own graceful shadows, perhaps, while out toward the ocean, they seemed like white feathers floating lazily in the sun beams. It was a morning to give wings to the imagination, yet the picture cannot be embodied perfectly to the mind of another, it must be felt as well as seen. The accessaries of temperature, health, position, and, above all, the true mood must be present to insure its perfect enjoyment. To exist, to breathe, is then a positive enjoyment.

Kate Spotswood was of a temperament to enjoy all these summer glories, with a relish only known to nature's poets and painters. She was not disposed to indulge in the dreamy mood alone, however, for at the first peep of dawn she was in Ellen Evylin's room, and had roused up the valetudinarian. That wakeful child of sorrow lay with her eyes as preternaturally bright as they were the night before, and Kate saw that they had been very differently employed than in sleeping, for her pillow was yet moist with tears. She begged her friend to leave her to her thoughts; but no, Kate said, “she was her physician, that her father had put her under her care, and she was now about to administer the first prescription;” she drew the curtain from the window, and pointed to the glorious scene without, stretching away in the distance, until it was lost in the misty junction of the watery horizon. “Look, dear Ellen, at those long blue pennants sweeping out towards Cape Charles, did you ever see any thing more beautiful? see how they contrast with the lighter blue of the sky, and now how the sun, rolling up behind, tips their edges with crimson. Get up, dear Ellen, God never made these morning glories to be seen in bed; it is the salutation of Heaven to Earth; nature is just drawing the first curtain from before his altar, and we of the earth should not reject the proffered boon.”

“Dear Kate, what an enthusiast you are?” said poor Ellen, still longing to be alone.

“Enthusiast, Ellen? indeed I am an enthusiast, God loves enthusiasts, and the wicked only hate them. They chime not with gross and grovelling pursuits; they are of Heaven, not of Earth. All that is bright and lovely and beneficent on Earth, is born of enthusiasm. Enthusiasm first discovered this glorious land; it fired the hearts of the Crusaders; and if they recovered not the Holy Land, did far more, for they exalted our sex to their true position and dignity. My father, too, he is called an enthusiast by the cold-blooded common sense men: look at him, dear Ellen, his thoughts soar forever over those blue mountains, and that very passion will carry him one day to their summits, and does it not ennoble his character? Is he not elevated by it; see how pure and guileles