"And do you consider that as a proof of attachment?—of her being engaged? Does your own experience, sir, confirm such a notion?"

"What else can it be, if it be not a consciousness of a passion—of an attachment that she is afraid every one will see? You do not understand the sex, I perceive, Miles, or the finesse of their natures would be more apparent to you. As for my experience, no conclusion can be drawn from that, as I and my dear wife were thrown together very young, all alone, in her mother's country house; and the old lady being bed-ridden, there was no opportunity for the bashful maiden to betray this consciousness. But, if I understand human nature, such is the secret of Lucy's feelings towards Andrew Drewett. It is of no great moment to you, Miles, notwithstanding, as there are plenty more young women to be had in the world."

"True, sir; but there is only one Lucy Hardinge!" I rejoined with a fervour and strength of utterance that betrayed more than I intended.

My late guardian actually stopped his horse this time, to look at me, and I could perceive deep concern gathering around his usually serene and placid brow. He began to penetrate my feelings, and I believe they caused him real grief.

"I never could have dreamed of this!" Mr. Hardinge at length exclaimed: "Do you really love Lucy, my dear Miles?"

"Better than I do my own life, sir—I almost worship the earth she treads on—Love her with my whole heart, and have loved, I believe, if the truth were known, ever since I was sixteen—perhaps I had better say, twelve years old!"

The truth escaped me, as the torrent of the Mississippi breaks through the levee, and a passage once open for its exit, it cleared a way for itself, until the current of my feelings left no doubt of its direction. I believe I was a little ashamed of my own weakness, for I caused my horse to walk forward, Mr. Hardinge accompanying the movement, for a considerable distance, in a profound, and, I doubt not, a painful silence.

"This has taken me altogether by surprise, Miles," my late guardian resumed; "altogether by surprise. What would I not give could this have been known a year or two since! My dear boy, I feel for you, from the bottom of my heart, for I can understand what it must be to love a girl like Lucy, without hope. Why did you not let this be known sooner—or, why did you insist on going to sea, having so strong a motive for remaining at home?"

"I was too young, at that time, sir, to act on, or even to understand my own feelings. On my return, in the Crisis, I found Lucy in a set superior to, that in which I was born and educated, and it would have been a poor proof of my attachment to wish to bring her down nearer to my own level."

"I understand you, Miles, and can appreciate the generosity of your conduct; though I am afraid it would have been too late on your return in the Crisis. That was only a twelvemonth since, and, then, I rather think, Andrew Drewett had offered. There is good sense in your feeling on the subject of marriages in unequal conditions in life, for they certainly lead to many heart-burnings, and greatly lessen the chances of happiness. One thing is certain; in all such cases, if the inferior cannot rise to the height of the superior, the superior must sink to the level of the inferior. Man and wife cannot continue to occupy different social positions; and, as for the nonsense that is uttered on such subjects, by visionaries, under the claim of its being common sense, it is only fit for pretending theories, and can have nothing to do with the great rules of practice. You were right in principle, then, Miles, though you have greatly exaggerated the facts of your own particular case."

"I have always known, sir, and have ever been ready to admit, that the Hardinges have belonged to a different class of society, from that filled by the Wallingfords."

"This is true, but in part only; and by no means true to a degree that need have drawn any impassable line between you and Lucy. You forget how poor we then were, and bow substantial a benefit the care of Clawbonny might have been to my dear girl. Besides, you are of reputable descent and position, if not precisely of the gentry; and this is not a country, or an age, to carry notions of such a nature beyond the strict bounds of reason. You and Lucy were educated on the same level; and, after all, that is the great essential for the marriage connection."

There was great good sense in what Mr. Hardinge said; and I began to see that pride, and not humility, might have interfered with my happiness. As I firmly believed it was now too late, however, I began to wish the subject changed; for I felt it grating on some of my most sacred feelings. With a view to divert the conversation to another channel, therefore, I remarked with some emphasis, affecting an indifference I did not feel—

"What cannot be cured, must be endured, sir; and I shall endeavour to find a sailor's happiness hereafter, in loving my ship. Besides, were Andrew Drewett entirely out of the question, it is now 'too late,' in another sense, since it would never do for the man who, himself at his ease in the way of money, hesitated about offering when his mistress was poor, to prove his love, by proposing to Mrs. Bradfort's heiress. Still, I own to so much weakness as to wish to know, before we close the subject for ever, why Mr. Drewett and your daughter do not marry, if they are engaged? Perhaps it is owing only to Lucy's mourning?"

"I have myself imputed it to another cause. Rupert is entirely dependent on his sister, and I know Lucy so well as to feel certain—some extraordinary cause not interposing—that she wishes to bestow half her cousin's fortune on her brother. This cannot be done until she is of age, and she wants near two years of attaining her majority."

I made no answer; for I felt how likely this was to be true. Lucy was not a girl of professions, and she would be very apt to keep a resolution of this nature, a secret in her own breast, until ready to carry it into execution. No more passed between Mr. Hardinge and myself, on the subject of our recent conversation; though I could see my avowal had made him sad, and that it induced him to treat me with more affection, even, than had been his practice. Once or twice, in the course of the next day or two, I overheard him soliloquizing—a habit to which he was a good deal addicted—during which he would murmur, "What a pity!"—"How much to be regretted!"'—"I would rather have him for a son than any man on earth!" and other similar expressions. Of course, these involuntary disclosures did not weaken my regard for my late guardian.

About noon, the Grace & Lucy came in, and Neb reported that Dr. Bard was not at home. He had left my letter, however, and it would be delivered as soon as possible. He told me also that the wind had been favourable on the river, and that the Wallingford must reach town that day.

Nothing further occurred, worthy of notice. I passed the afternoon with Grace, in the little room; and we conversed much of the past, of our parents in particular, without adverting, however, to her situation, any further than to apprise her of what I had done. I thought she was not sorry to learn I had sent for Lucy, now that I was with her, and it was no longer possible her illness could be concealed. As for the physicians, when they were mentioned, I could see a look of tender concern in Grace's eyes, as if she regretted that I still clung to the delusion of hoping to see her health restored. Notwithstanding these little drawbacks, we passed a sweet eventide together. For more than an hour, Grace lay on my bosom, occasionally patting her hand on my cheeks, as the child caresses its mother. This was an old habit of hers, and it was one I was equally delighted and pained to have her resume, now we were of the age and stature of man and woman.

The next day was Sunday, and Grace insisted on my driving her to church. This was done, accordingly, in a very old-fashioned, but very easy Boston chaise, that had belonged to my mother, and with very careful driving. The congregation, like the church-edifice of St. Michael's, was very small, being confined, with some twenty or thirty exceptions, to the family and dependants of Clawbonny. Mr. Hardinge's little flock was hedged in by other denominations on every side, and it was not an easy matter to break through the barriers that surrounded it. Then he was not possessed with the spirit of proselytism, contenting himself with aiding in the spiritual advancement of those whom Providence had consigned to his care. On the present occasion, however, the little building was full, and that was as much as could have happened had it been as large as St. Peter's itself. The prayers were devoutly and fervently read, and the sermon was plain and filled with piety.

My sister professed herself in no manner wearied with the exertion. We dined with Mr. Hardinge, at the Rectory, which was quite near the church; and the irreverent, business-like, make-weight sort of look, of going in to one service almost as soon as the other was ended, as if to score off so much preaching and praying as available at the least trouble, being avoided, by having the evening service commence late, she was enabled to remain until the close of the day. Mr. Hardinge rarely preached but once of a Sunday. He considered the worship of God, and the offices of the church, as the proper duties of the day, and regarded his own wisdom as a matter of secondary importance. But one sermon cost him as much labour, and study, and anxiety, as most clergymen's two. His preaching, also, had the high qualification of being addressed to the affections of his flock, and not to its fears and interests. He constantly reminded us of God's love, and of the beauty of holiness; while I do not remember to have heard him allude half a dozen times in his life to the terrors of judgment and punishment, except as they were connected with that disappointed love. I suppose there are spirits that require these allusions, and the temptations of future happiness, to incite their feelings; but I like the preacher who is a Christian because he feels himself drawn to holiness, by a power that is of itself holy; and not those who appeal to their people, as if heaven and hell were a mere matter of preference and avoidance, on the ground of expediency. I cannot better characterize Mr. Hardinge's preaching, than by saying, that I do not remember ever to have left his church with a sense of fear towards the Creator; though I have often been impressed with a love that was as profound as the adoration that had been awakened.

Another calm and comparatively happy evening was passed, during which I conversed freely with Grace of my own intentions, endeavouring to revive in her an interest in life, by renewing old impressions, and making her participate in my feelings. Had I been with her from the hour spring opened, with its renewal of vegetation, and all the joys it confers on the innocent and happy, I have often thought since, I might have succeeded. As it was, she listened with attention, and apparently with pleasure, for she saw it served to relieve my mind. We did not separate until I insisted Grace should retire, and Chloe had made more than one remonstrance about her young mistress's exceeding the usual time. On leaving my sister's chamber, the negress followed me with a light, lest I should fall, among the intricate turnings, and the ups and downs of the old building.

"Well, Chloe," I said, as we proceeded together, "how do you find Neb? Does he improve by this running about on the ocean—especially do you think he is tanned?"

"De fel-ler!"

"Yes, he is a fellow, sure enough, and let me tell you, Chloe, a very capital fellow, too. If it can be of any advantage to him in your favour to know the truth, I will just say a more useful seaman does not sail the ocean than Neb, and that I consider him as of much importance as the main-mast?"

"What be dat, Masser Mile?"

"I see nothing, Chloe—there are no spooks at Clawbonny, you know."

"No, sah! What b'e t'ing Neb like, fel-ler?"

"Oh! I ask your pardon—the main-mast, you mean. It is the most important spar in the ship, and I meant that Neb was as useful as that mast. In battle, too, Neb is as brave as a lion."

Here Chloe could stand it no longer; she fairly laughed outright, in pure, natural admiration of her suitor's qualities. When this was performed, she ejaculated once more "De feller!"—dropped a curtsey, said "Good night, Masser Mile," and left me at my own door. Alas! alas!—Among the improvements of this age, we have entirely lost the breed of the careless, good-natured, affectionate, faithful, hard-working, and yet happy blacks, of whom more or less were to be found in every respectable and long-established family of the State, forty years ago.

The next day was one of great anxiety to me. I rose early, and the first thing was to ascertain the direction of the wind. In midsummer this was apt to be southerly, and so it proved on that occasion. Neb was sent to the point, as a look-out; he returned about ten, and reported a fleet of sloops, in sight. These vessels were still a long distance down the river, but they were advancing at a tolerable rate. Whether the Wallingford were among them, or not, was more than could yet be told. I sent him back to his station, as soon as he had eaten; and unable to remain quiet in the house, myself, I mounted my horse, and rode out into the fields. Here, as usual, I experienced the happiness of looking at objects my ancestors loved to regard, and which always have had a strong and near interest with me.

Perhaps no country that ever yet existed has been so little understood, or so much misrepresented, as this America of ours. It is as little understood, I was on the point of saying, at home as it is abroad, and almost as much misrepresented. Certainly its possessors are a good deal addicted to valuing themselves on distinctive advantages that, in reality, they do not enjoy, while their enemies declaim about vices and evils from which they are comparatively free. Facts are made to suit theories, and thus it is that we see well-intentioned, and otherwise respectable writers, constantly running into extravagances, in order to adapt the circumstances to the supposed logical or moral inference. This reasoning backwards, has caused Alison, with all his knowledge and fair-mindedness, to fall into several egregious errors, as I have discovered while recently reading his great work on Europe. He says we are a migratory race, and that we do not love the sticks and stones that surround us, but quit the paternal roof without regret, and consider the play-grounds of infancy as only so much land for the market. He also hazards the assertion, that there is not such a thing as a literal farmer,—that is a tenant, who farms his land from a landlord—in all America. Now, as a rule, and comparing the habits of America with those of older countries, in which land is not so abundant, this may be true; but as literal fact, nothing can be less so. Four-fifths of the inhabited portion of the American territory, has a civilized existence of half a century's duration; and there has not been time to create the long-lived attachments named, more especially in the regions that are undergoing the moral fusion that is always an attendant of a new settlement. That thousands of heartless speculators exist among us, who do regard everything, even to the graves of their fathers, as only so much improvable property, is as undeniable as the fact that they are odious to all men of any moral feeling; but thousands and tens of thousands are to be found in the country, who do reverence their family possessions from a sentiment that is creditable to human nature. I will not mention Clawbonny, and its history, lest I might be suspected of being partial; but it would be easy for me to point out a hundred families, embracing all classes, from the great proprietor to the plain yeoman, who own and reside on the estates of those who first received them from the hand of nature, and this after one or two centuries of possession. What will Mr. Alison say, for instance, of the Manor of Rensselear? A manor, in the legal sense it is no longer, certainly, the new institutions destroying all the feudal tenures; but, as mere property, the late Patroon transmitted it as regularly to his posterity, as any estate was ever transmitted in Europe. This extensive manor lies in the heart of New York, a state about as large and about as populous as Scotland, and it embraces no less than three cities in its bosom, though their sites are not included in its ownership, having been exempted by earlier grants. It is of more than two centuries' existence, and it extends eight-and-forty miles east and west, and half that distance, north and south. Nearly all this vast property is held, at this hour, of the Van Rensselears, as landlords, and is farmed by their tenants, there being several thousands of the latter. The same is true, on a smaller scale, of the Livingston, the Van Cortlandt, the Philipse, the Nicoll, and various other old New York estates, though several were lost by attainder in the revolution. I explain these things, lest any European who may happen to read this book, should regard it as fiction; for, allowing for trifling differences, a hundred Clawbonnys are to be found on the two banks of the Hudson, at this very hour.[*]

[Footnote *: Even the American may learn the following facts with some surprise. It is now about five-and-twenty years since the writer, as tenant by the courtesy, came into possession of two farms, lying within twenty-three miles of New York, in each of which there had been three generations of tenants, and as many of landlords, without a scrap of a pen having passed between the parties, so far as the writer could ever discover, receipts for rent excepted! He also stands in nearly the same relation to another farm, in the same county, on which a lease for ninety years is at this moment running, one of the covenants of which prescribes that the tenant shall "frequent divine service according to the Church of England, when opportunity offers." What an evidence of the nature of the tyranny from which our ancestors escaped, more especially when it is seen that the tenant was obliged to submit to this severe exaction, in consideration of a rent that is merely nominal!]

But, to return to the narrative.

My curiosity increased so much, as the day advanced, that I rode towards the point to look for the sloop. There she was, sure enough; and there was Neb, too, galloping a young horse, bare-back, to the house, with the news. I met him with an order to proceed to the wharf with the chaise, while I dashed on, in the same direction myself, almost devoured with an impatience to learn the success of my different mission's as I galloped along. I could see the upper part of the Wallingford's sails, gliding through the leaves that fringed the bank, and it was apparent that she and I would reach the wharf almost at the same instant. Notwithstanding all my anxiety, it was impossible to get a glimpse of the vessel's deck.

I did not quit the saddle until the planks of the wharf were under the horse's hoofs. Then I got a view of the sloop's decks, for the first time. A respectable-looking, tall, slender, middle-aged man, with a bright dark eye, was on the quarter-deck, and I bowed to him, inferring at once that he was one of the medical gentlemen to whom I had sent the message. In effect, it was Post, the second named on my list, the first not being able to come. He returned my bow, but, before I could alight and go on board to receive him, Marble's head rose from the cabin, and my mate sprang ashore, and shook me cordially by the hand.

"Here I am, Miles, my boy," cried Marble, whom, off duty, I had earnestly begged to treat me with his old freedom, and who took me at my word—"Here I am, Miles, my boy, and farther from salt-water than I have been in five-and-twenty years. So this is the famous Clawbonny! I cannot say much for the port, which is somewhat crowded while it contains but one craft; though the river outside is pretty well, as rivers go. D'ye know, lad, that I've been in a fever, all the way up, lest we should get ashore, on one side or the other? your having land on both tacks at once is too much of a good thing. This coming up to Clawbonny has put me in mind of running them straits, though we have had rather better weather this passage, and a clearer horizon. What d'ye call that affair up against the hill-side, yonder, with the jig-a-merree, that is turning in the water?"

"That's a mill, my friend, and the jig-a-merree is the very wheel on which you have heard me say my father was crushed."

Marble looked sorrowfully at the wheel, squeezed my hand, as if to express sorrow for having reminded me of so painful an event, and then I heard him murmuring to himself—"Well, I never had a father to lose. No bloody mill could do me that injury."

"That gentleman on the quarter-deck," I remarked, "is a physician for whom I sent to town, I suppose."

"Ay, ay—he's some such matter, I do suppose; though I've been generalizing so much about this here river, and the manner of sailing a craft of that rig, I've had little to say to him. I'm always a better friend to the cook than to the surgeon. But, Miles, my lad, there's a rare 'un, in the ship's after-cabin, I can tell you!"

"That must be Lucy!"—and I did not stop to pay my compliments to the strange gentleman, but almost leaped into the vessel's cabin.

There was Lucy, sure enough, attended by a respectable-looking elderly black female, one of the half-dozen slaves that had become her's by the death of Mrs. Bradfort. Neither spoke, but we shook hands with frankness; and I understood by the anxious expression of my companion's eye, all she wished to know.

"I really think she seems better, and certainly she is far more cheerful, within his last day or two," I answered to the appeal. "Yesterday she was twice at church, and this morning, for a novelty, she breakfasted with me."

"God be praised!" Lucy exclaimed, with fervour. Then she sat down and relieved her feelings in tears. I told her to expect me again, in a few minutes, and joined the physician, who, by this time, was apprised of my presence. The calm, considerate manner of Post, gave me a confidence I had not felt for some days; and I really began to hope it might still be within the power of his art to save the sister I so dearly loved.

Our dispositions for quitting the sloop were soon made, and we ascended the hill together, Lucy leaning on my arm. On its summit was the chaise, into which the Doctor and Marble were persuaded to enter, Lucy preferring to walk. The negress was to proceed in the vehicle that had been sent for the luggage, and Lucy and I set out, arm and arm, to walk rather more than a mile in company, and that too without the presence of a third person. Such an occurrence, under any other circumstances than those in which we were both placed, would have made me one of the happiest men on earth; but, in the actual situation in which I found myself, it rendered me silent and uncomfortable. Not so with Lucy; ever natural, and keeping truth incessantly before her eyes, the dear girl took my arm without the least embarrassment, and showed no sign of impatience, or of doubt. She was sad, but full of a gentle confidence in her own sincerity and motives.

"This is dear Clawbonny, again!" she exclaimed, after we had walked in silence a short distance. "How beautiful are the fields, how fresh the woods, how sweet the flowers! Oh! Miles, a day in such a spot as this, is worth a year in town!"

"Why, then, do you, who have now so much at your command, pass more than half your time between the heated bricks of Wall Street, when you know how happy we should all be to see you, here, among us, again?"

"I have not been certain of this; that has been the sole reason, of my absence. Had I known I should be welcome, nothing would have induced me to suffer Grace to pass the last six sad, sad, months by herself."

"Known that you should be welcome! Surely you have not supposed, Lucy, that I can ever regard you as anything but welcome, here?"

"I had no allusion to you—thought not of you, Miles, at all"—answered Lucy, with the quiet manner of one who felt she was thinking, acting, and speaking no more than what was perfectly right—"My mind was dwelling altogether on Grace."

"Is it possible you could doubt of Grace's willingness to see you, at all times and in all places, Lucy!"

"I have doubted it—have thought I was acting prudently and well, in staying away, just at this time, though I now begin to fear the decision has been hasty and unwise."

"May I ask why Lucy Hardinge has come to so singular and violent an opinion, as connected with her bosom friend, and almost sister, Grace Wallingford?"

"That almost sister! Oh! Miles, what is there I possess which I would not give, that there might be perfect confidence, again, between you and me, on this subject; such confidence as existed when we were boy and girl-children, I might say."

"And what prevents it? Certain I am the alienation does not, cannot come from me. You have only to speak, Lucy, to have an attentive listener; to ask, to receive the truest answers. What can, then, prevent the confidence you wish?"

"There is one obstacle—surely, Miles, you can readily imagine what I mean?"

'Can it be possible Lucy is alluding to Andrew Drewett!'—I thought to myself. 'Has she discovered my attachment, and does she, will she, can she regret her own engagement?' A lover who thought thus, would not be apt to leave the question long in doubt.

"Deal plainly with me, I implore of you, Lucy," I said solemnly. "One word uttered with your old sincerity and frankness may close a chasm that has now been widening between us for the last year or two. What is the obstacle you mean?"

"I have seen and felt the alienation to which you allude quite as sensibly as you can have done so yourself, Miles," the dear girl answered in her natural, simple manner, "and I will trust all to your generosity. Need I say more, to explain what I mean, than mention the name of Rupert?"

"What of him, Lucy!—be explicit; vague allusions may be worse than nothing."

Lucy's little hand was on my arm, and she had drawn its glove on account of the heat. I felt it press me, almost convulsively, as she added—"I do, I must think you have too much affection and gratitude for my dear father, too much regard for me, ever to forget that you and Rupert once lived together as brothers?"

"Grace has my promise already, on that subject. I shall never take the world's course with Rupert, in this affair."

I heard Lucy's involuntary sob, as if she gasped for breath; and, turning, I saw her sweet eyes bent on my face with an expression of thankfulness that could not be mistaken.

"I would have given the same pledge to you, Lucy, and purely on your own account. It would be too much to cause you to mourn for your brother's—"

I did not name the offence, lest my feelings should tempt me to use too strong a term.

"This is all I ask—all I desire, Miles; bless you—bless you! for having so freely given me this assurance. Now my heart is relieved from this burthen, I am ready to speak frankly to you; still, had I seen Grace—"

"Have no scruples on account of your regard for womanly feeling—I know everything, and shall not attempt to conceal from you, that disappointed love for Rupert has brought my sister to the state she is in. This might not have happened, had either of us been with her; but, buried as she has been alone in this place, her wounded sensibilities have proved too strong for a frame that is so delicate."

There was a pause of a minute, after I ended.

"I have long feared that some such calamity would befall us," Lucy answered, in a low, measured tone. "I think you do not understand Grace as well as I do, Miles. Her mind and feelings have a stronger influence than common over her body; and I fear no society of ours, or of others, could have saved her this trial. Still, we must not despair, It is a trial—that is just the word; and by means of tenderness, the most sedulous care, good advice, and all that we two can do to aid, there must yet be hope. Now there is a skilful physician here, he must be dealt fairly by, and should know the whole."

"I intended to consult you on this subject—one has such a reluctance to expose Grace's most sacred feelings!"

"Surely it need not go quite as far as that," returned Lucy, with sensitive quickness, "something—much—must be left to conjecture; but Dr. Post must know that the mind is at the bottom of the evil; though I fear that young ladies can seldom admit the existence of such a complaint, without having it attributed to a weakness of this nature."

"That proceeds from the certainty that your sex has so much heart, Lucy; your very existence being bound up in others."

"Grace is one of peculiar strength of affections—but, Miles, we will talk no further of this at present. I scarce know how to speak of my brother's affairs, and you must give me time to reflect. Now we are at Clawbonny again, we cannot long continue strangers to each other."

This was said so sweetly, I could have knelt and kissed her shoe-ties; and yet so simply, as not to induce misinterpretation. It served to change the discourse, however, and the remainder of the way we talked of the past. Lucy spoke of her cousin's death, relating various little incidents to show how much Mrs. Bradfort was attached to her, and how good a woman she was; but not a syllable was said of the will. I was required, in my turn, to finish the narrative of my last voyage, which had not been completed at the theatre. When Lucy learned that the rough seaman who had come in the sloop was Marble, she manifested great interest in him, declaring, had she known it during the passage, that she would have introduced herself. All this time, Rupert's name was not mentioned between us; and I reached the house, feeling that something like the interest I had formerly possessed there, had been awakened in the bosom of my companion. She was, at least, firmly and confidingly my friend.

Chloe met Lucy at the door with a message—Miss Grace wanted to see Miss Lucy, alone. I dreaded this interview, and looked forward to being present at it; but Lucy begged me to confide in her, and I felt bound to comply. While the dear girl was gone to my sister's room, I sought the physician, with whom I had a brief but explicit conference. I told this gentleman how much Grace had been alone, permitting sorrow to wear upon her frame, and gave him to understand that the seat of my sister's malady was mental suffering. Post was a cool, discriminating man, and he ventured no remark until he had seen his patient; though I could perceive, by the keen manner in which his piercing eye was fixed on mine, that all I said was fully noted.

It was more than an hour before Lucy reappeared. It was obvious at a glance that she had been dreadfully agitated, and cruelly surprised at the condition in which she had found Grace. It was not that disease, in any of its known forms, was so very apparent; but that my sister resembled already a being of another world, in the beaming of her countenance—in the bright, unearthly expression of her eyes—and in the slightness and delicacy of the hold she seemed, generally, to have on life. Grace had always something of this about her—much, I might better have said; but it now appeared to be left nearly alone, as her thoughts and strength gradually receded from the means of existence.

The physician returned with Lucy to my sister's room, where he passed more than an hour; as long a time, indeed, he afterwards told me himself, as he thought could be done without fatiguing his patient. The advice he gave me was cautious and discreet. Certain tonics were prescribed; we were told to endeavour to divert the mind of our precious charge from her sources of uneasiness, by gentle means and prudent expedients. Change of scene was advised also, could it be done without producing too much fatigue. I suggested the Wallingford, as soon as this project was mentioned. She was a small sloop, it is true, but had two very comfortable cabins; my father having had one of them constructed especially in reference to my mother's occasional visits to town. The vessel did little, at that season of the year, besides transporting flour to market, and bringing back wheat. In the autumn, she carried wood, and the products of the neighbourhood. A holiday might be granted her, and no harm come of it. Dr. Post approved the idea, saying frankly there was no objection but the expense; if I could bear that, a better plan could not possibly be adopted.

That night we discussed the matter in the family circle, Mr. Hardinge having come from the Rectory to join us. Everybody approved of the scheme, it was so much better than leaving: Grace to pine away by herself in the solitude of Clawbonny.

"I have a patient at the Springs," said Dr. Post, "who is very anxious to see me; and, to own the truth, I am a little desirous of drinking the waters myself, for a week. Carry me to Albany, and land me; after which you can descend the river, and continue your voyage to as many places, and for as long a time, as the strength of Miss Wallingford, and your own inclinations, shall dictate."

This project seemed excellent in all our eyes; even Grace heard it with a smile, placing herself entirely in our hands. It was decided to put it in practice.



CHAPTER XXX.

"And she sits and gazes at me, With those deep and tender eyes,... Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies." LONGFELLOW;

The next morning I set about the measures necessary for carrying out our plan. Marble was invited to be of the party, the arrangements concerning the ship, allowing of his absence for a few days; Once engaged, he was of infinite service, entering into the plan as my mate. The regular skipper was glad to have a furlough; and I retained on board no one of the proper crew but the river-pilot; a man who could not be dispensed with; By this arrangement, we cleared the cabin from company that was not desirable for the circumstances. Neb, and three of the Clawbonny blacks, were delighted to go on such an excursion, and all were more or less familiar with the little duty that would be required of them. Indeed, Marble, Neb and myself, were every way able to take care of the vessel. But we chose to have plenty of physical force; and a cook was indispensable. Clawbonny supplied the latter, in the person of old Dido of that ilk.

By noon, the whole party were ready to embark. Grace was driven to the wharf, and she walked on board the sloop, supported by Lucy and myself; more, however, from solicitude than from absolute necessity. Every precaution, however, was taken by order of the physician to prevent anything like excitement; the blacks, in particular, who would have followed "Miss Grace" to the water's edge, being ordered to remain at home. Chloe, to her manifest satisfaction, was permitted to accompany her "young mistress," and great was her delight. How often that day, did the exclamation of "de feller," escape her, as she witnessed Neb's exploits in different parts of the sloop. It was some little time before I could account for the black's superfluous activity, imputing it to zeal in my sister's service; but, in the end, I discovered Grace had to share the glory with Chloe.

No sooner was everybody on board than we cast off. The jib was soon up; and under this short sail, we moved slowly out of the creek, with a pleasant southerly breeze. As we passed the point, there stood the whole household arrayed in a line, from the tottering grey-headed and muddy-looking negro of seventy, down to the glistening, jet-black toddling things of two and three. The distance was so small, it was easy to trace even the expressions of the different countenances, which varied according to the experience, forebodings, and characters of the different individuals. Notwithstanding the sort of reverential attachment all felt for "Miss Grace," and the uncertainty some among these unsophisticated creatures must have experienced on the subject of her health, it was not in nature for such a cluster of "niggers" to exhibit unhappiness, at a moment when there were so many grounds of excitement. The people of this race know nothing of the word, perhaps; but they delight in the thing, quite as much as if they did nothing but electioneer all their lives. Most pliant instruments would their untutored feelings make in the hands of your demagogue; and, possibly, it may have some little influence on the white American to understand, how strong is his resemblance to the "nigger," when he gives himself up to the mastery of this much approved mental power. The day was glorious; a brighter sun never shining in Italy, or on the Grecian islands; the air balmy; the vessel was gay to the eye, having been painted about a month before, and every one seemed bent on a holiday; circumstances sufficient in themselves, to make this light-hearted race smiling and happy. As the sloop went slowly past, the whole line doffed their hats, or curtsied, showing at the same time a row of ivory that shone like so many gay windows in their sable faces. I could see that Grace was touched by this manifestation of interest; such a field-day in the Clawbonny corps not having occurred since the first time my mother went to town, after the death of my father. Fortunately, everything else was soothing to my sister's spirits; and, so long as she could sit on the deck, holding Lucy's hand, and enjoy the changing landscape, with her brother within call, it was not possible she should be altogether without happiness.

Rounding the point, as we entered the river, the Wallingford eased-off sheet, set a studding-sail and flying-top-sail, and began to breast the Hudson, on her way towards its sources.

In 1803, the celebrated river we were navigating, though it had all the natural features it possesses to-day, was by no means the same picture of moving life. The steam-boat did not appear on its surface until four years later; and the journeys up and down its waters, were frequently a week in length. In that day, the passenger did not hurry on board, just as a bell was disturbing the neighbourhood, hustling his way through a rude throng of porters, cart-men, orange-women, and news-boys, to save his distance by just a minute and a half, but his luggage was often sent to the vessel the day before; he passed his morning in saying adieu, and when he repaired to the vessel, it was with gentleman-like leisure, often to pass hours on board previously to sailing, and not unfrequently to hear the unwelcome tidings that this event was deferred until the next day. How different, too, was the passage, from one in a steam-boat! There was no jostling of each other, no scrambling for places at table, no bolting of food, no impertinence manifested, no swearing about missing the eastern or southern boats, or Schenectady, or Saratoga, or Boston trains, on account of a screw being loose, nor—any other unseemly manifestation that anybody was in a hurry. On the contrary, wine and fruit were provided, as if the travellers intended to enjoy themselves; and a journey in that day was a festa. No more embarked than could be accommodated; and the company being selected, the cabin was taken to the exclusion of all unwelcome intruders. Now, the man who should order a bottle of wine to be placed at the side of his plate, would be stared at as a fool; and not without reason altogether, for, did it escape the claws of his convives and the waiters, he would probably reach the end of his journey before he could drink it. In 1803, not only did the dinner pass in peace, and with gentleman-like deliberation; not only were the cooler and the fruit taken on deck, and the one sipped and the other eaten at leisure, in the course of an afternoon, but in the course of many afternoons. Passages were certainly made in twenty-four hours in the sloops; but these were the exceptions, a week being much more likely to be the time passed in the enjoyment of the beautiful scenery of the river. The vessel usually got aground, once at least, and frequently several times in a trip; and often a day, or two, were thus delightfully lost, giving the stranger an opportunity of visiting the surrounding country. The necessity of anchoring, with a foul wind, on every opposing tide, too, increased these occasions, thus lending to the excursion something of the character of an exploring expedition. No—no—a man would learn more in one passage, up or down the Hudson, forty years since, than can be obtained by a dozen at the present time. I have a true seaman's dislike for a steam-boat, and sometimes wish they were struck out of existence; though I know it is contrary to all the principles of political economy, and opposed to what is called the march of improvement. Of one thing, however, I feel quite certain; that these inventions, coupled with the gregarious manner of living that has sprung up in the large taverns, is, as one of our writers expresses it, "doing wonders for the manners of the people;" though, in my view of the matter, the wonder is, that they have any left.

There might have been thirty sail in sight, when the Wallingford got fairly into the river, some turning down on a young ebb, making their fifteen or twenty miles in six hours, and others like ourselves, stealing along against it, at about the same rate. Half a dozen of these craft were quite near us, and the decks of most of those which were steering north, had parties including ladies, evidently proceeding to the "Springs." I desired Marble to sheer as close to these different vessels as was convenient, having no other object in view than amusement, and fancying it might aid in diverting the thoughts of my sister from her own sorrows, to the faces and concerns of others. The reader will have no difficulty in understanding, that the Wallingford, constructed under the orders of an old sailor, and for his own uses, was a fast vessel. In this particular she had but one or two competitors on the river; packets belonging to Hudson, Poughkeepsie and Sing-Sing. She was now only in fair ballast-trim, and being admirably provided with sails, in the light wind we had, she actually went four feet to most-of-the-other-vessels-in-sight's three. My request to Marble—or, order, as he chose to call it—was easily enough complied with, and we were soon coming up close on the quarter of a sloop that had its decks crowded with passengers who evidently belonged to the better class; while, on its forecastle were several horses, and a carriage; customary accompaniments to such a scene in that day.

I had not been so happy in a long time, as I felt at that moment. Grace was better, as I fancied at least, and it was certain she was more composed and less nervous than I had seen her since my return; and this of itself was removing the weight of a mountain from my heart. There was Lucy, too, her rounded cheek rosy with the pleasure of the moment, full of health, and with eyes that never turned on me that they did not beam with confidence and kindness—the sincerest friendship, if not love—while every look, movement, syllable or gesture that was directed towards Grace, betrayed how strongly the hearts of these two precious creatures were still knit together in sisterly affection. My guardian too seemed happier than he had been since our conversation on the state of my own feelings towards his daughter. He had made a condition, that we should all—the doctor excepted—return to Clawbonny in time for service on the ensuing Sunday, and he was then actually engaged in looking over an old sermon for the occasion, though not a minute passed in which he did not drop the manuscript to gaze about him, in deep enjoyment of the landscape. The scene, moreover, was so full of repose, that even the movements of the different vessels scarce changed its Sabbath-like character. I repeat, that I had not felt so perfectly happy since I held my last conversation with the Salem Witches, in The Duomo of Firenze.

Marble was excessively delighted with the behaviour of the Wallingford. The latter was a sloop somewhat smaller than common, though her accommodations were particularly commodious, while she was sparred on the scale of a flyer. Her greatest advantage in the way of sailing, however, would have been no great recommendation to her on a wind; for she was nearly start light, and might not have been able to carry full sail in hard November weather, even on the Hudson—a river on which serious accidents have been known to occur. There was little danger in mid-summer, however; and we went gliding up on the quarter of the Gull of Troy, without feeling concern of any sort.

"What sloop is that?" demanded the skipper of the Gull, as our boom-end came within a fathom of his rail, our name being out of his view.

"The Wallingford of Clawbonny, just out of port, bound up on a party of pleasure."

Now, Clawbonny was not then, nor is it now, what might be called a legal term. There was no such place known in law, beyond the right which usage gives; and I heard a low laugh among the passengers of the Gull, as they heard the homely appellation. This came from the equivocal position my family occupied, midway between the gentry and yeomanry of the State, as they both existed in 1803. Had I said the sloop came from near Coldenham, it would have been all right; for everybody who was then anybody in New York, knew who the Coldens were; or Morrisania, the Morrises being people of mark; or twenty other places on the river: but the Wallingfords were as little known as Clawbonny, when you got fifteen or twenty miles from the spot where they had so long lived. This is just the difference between obscurity and notoriety. When the latter extends to an entire nation, it gives an individual, or a family, the note that frees them entirely from the imputation of existing under the first condition; and this note, favourably diffused through Christendom, forms a reputation—transmitted to posterity, it becomes fame. Unfortunately, neither we nor our place had even reached the first simple step in this scale of renown; and poor Clawbonny was laughed at, on account of something Dutch that was probably supposed to exist in the sound—the Anglo-Saxon race having a singular aptitude to turn up their nose's at everything but their own possessions, and everybody but themselves. I looked at Lucy, with sensitive quickness, to see how she received this sneer on my birth-place; but, with her, it was so much a matter of course to think well of everything connected with the spot, its name as well as its more essential things, that I do not believe she perceived this little sign of derision.

While the passengers of the Gull felt this disposition to smile, it was very different with her skipper; his Dutch pilot, whose name was Abrahamus Van Valtenberg, but who was more familiarly known as 'Brom Folleck, for so the children of New Netherlands twisted their cognomens in converting them into English;[*] the black cook, the mulatto steward, and the "all hands," who were one man and a boy. There had been generations of sloops which bore the name of Watlingford, as Well as generations of men, at Clawbonny; and this every river-man knew. In point of fact, we counted four generations of men, and six of sloops. Now, none of these vessels was worthy of being mentioned, but this which my father had caused to be built; but she had a reputation that extended to everybody on the river. The effect of all this was to induce the skipper of the Gull to raise his hat, and to say—

"That, then, I suppose is Mr. Wallingford himself—you are welcome back on the river; I remember the time well, when your respected father would make that boat do anything but talk. Nothing but the new paint, which is different from the last, prevented me from knowing the sloop. Had I taken a look at her bows, this couldn't have happened."

[Footnote *: A story is told of a Scotchman of the name of Farquharson,—who settled among the High Dutch on the Mohawk, sometime previously to the Revolution; where, unable to pronounce his name, the worthy formers called him Feuerstein (pronounced Firestyne). The son lived and died under this appellation; but the grandson, removing to a part of the country where English alone was spoken, chose to anglisise his name; and, by giving it a free translation, became Mr. Flint!]

This speech evidently gave me and my vessel an estimation with the passengers of the Gull that neither had enjoyed the moment before. There was some private conversation on the quarter-deck of the other vessel, and, then, a highly respectable and gentleman-like looking old man, came to the rail, bowed, and commenced a discourse.

"I have the pleasure of seeing Captain Wallingford, I believe," he remarked, "with whom my friends, the Mertons, came passengers from China. They have often expressed their sense of your civilities," he continued, as I bowed in acquiescence, "and declare they should ever wish to sail with you, were they again compelled to go to sea."

Now, this was viewing my relation to the Mertons in any point of view but that in which I wished it to be viewed, or indeed was just. Still it was natural; and the gentleman who spoke, a man of standing and character, no doubt fancied he was, saying that which must prove particularly acceptable to me; another proof how dangerous it is to attempt to decide on other men's feelings or affairs. I could not decline the discourse; and, while the Wallingford went slowly past the Gull, I was compelled to endure the torment of hearing the Mertons mentioned, again and again, in the hearing of Lucy and Grace; on the nerves of the latter of whom I knew it must be a severe trial. At length we got rid of this troublesome neighbour, though not until Lucy and her father were recognised and spoken to by several of the ladies in the other party. While my late guardian and his daughter were thus engaged, I stole a glance at my sister. She was pale as death, and seemed anxious to go below, whither I led her, most happily, I have every reason to think, as things turned out.

When the Wallingford had left the Gull some little distance astern, I returned to the deck, and Lucy went to take my place by the side of Grace's berth. She reappeared, however; in a very few minutes, saying that my sister felt an inclination to rest herself, and might fall asleep. Feeble, almost, as an infant, these frequent slumbers had become necessary, in a measure, to the patient's powers. Chloe coming up soon after with a report that her young mistress seemed to be in a doze, we all remained on deck, in order not to disturb her. In this manner, half an hour passed, and we had drawn quite near to another sloop that was going in the same direction with ourselves. At this moment, Mr. Hardinge was deeply immersed in his sermon, and I perceived that Lucy looked at him, from time to time, as if she expected to catch his eye. I fancied something distressed her, and yet it was not easy to imagine exactly what it could be.

"Do you not intend to go nearer the other sloop?" Lucy at length inquired, alluding to the vessel that was almost in a line with us; but to which I had ordered Neb to give a respectable berth.

"I thought the gossip of the last quite sufficient; but, if you like these interviews, certainly."

Lucy seemed embarrassed; she coloured to her temples, paused a moment, and then added, affecting to laugh—and it was so seldom Lucy affected anything, but this time she did affect to laugh—as she said—

"I do wish to go near that sloop; though it is not exactly for the reason you suppose."

I could see she was distressed, though it was not yet easy to imagine the cause. Lucy's requests were laws to me, and Neb was ordered to sheer down on the quarter of this second sloop, as we had done on that of the first. As we drew near, her stern told us that she was called the "Orpheus of Sing-Sing," a combination of names that proved some wag had been connected with the christening. Her decks had also a party of both sexes on them, though neither carriage nor horses. All this time, Lucy stood quite near me, as if reluctant to move, and when we were sufficiently near the sloop, she pressed still nearer to my side, in the way in which her sex are apt to appeal to those of the other who possess their confidence, when most feeling the necessity of support.

"Now, Miles," she said, in an under tone, "you must 'speak that sloop,' as you call it; I can never hold a loud conversation of this sort, in the presence of so many strangers."

"Very willingly, Lucy; though you will have the goodness to let me know exactly what I am to say."

"Certainly—begin then, in your sailor fashion, and when that is done, I will tell you what to add."

"Enough—Orpheus, there?" I called out, just raising my voice sufficiently to be heard.

"Ay, ay,—what's wanted?" answered the skipper, taking a pipe from his mouth, as he leaned with his back against his own tiller, in a way that was just in accordance with the sleepy character of the scene.

I looked at Lucy, as much as to say, "what next?"

"Ask him if Mrs. Drewett is on board his sloop—Mrs. Andrew Drewett, not Mr.—The old lady, I mean," added the dear girl, blushing to the eyes.

I was so confounded—I might almost add appalled, that it was with great difficulty I suppressed an exclamation. Command myself, I did, however, and observing that the skipper was curiously awaiting my next question, I put it.

"Is Mrs. Andrew Drewett among your passengers, sir?" I inquired with a cold distinctness.

My neighbour nodded his head, and spoke to some of his passengers, most of whom were on the main-deck, seated on chairs, and concealed from us, as yet, by the Wallingford's main-sail, her boom being guyed out on the side next the Orpheus, with its end just clear of her quarter.

"She is, and wishes to know who makes the inquiry?" returned the Sing-Sing skipper, in the singsong manner in which ordinary folk repeat what is dictated.

"Say that Miss Hardinge has a message to Mrs. Drewett from Mrs. Ogilvie, who is on board that other sloop," added Lucy, in a low, and, as I thought, tremulous tone.

I was nearly choked; but made out to communicate the fact, as directed. In an instant I heard the foot of one who leaped on the Orpheus's quarter-deck, and then Andrew Drewett appeared, hat in hand, a face all smiles, eyes that told his tale as plain as any tongue could have uttered it, and such salutations as denoted the most perfect intimacy. Lucy took my arm involuntarily, and I could feel that she trembled. The two vessels were now so near, and everything around us was so tranquil, that by Lucy's advancing to the Wallingford's quarter-deck, and Drewett's coming to the taffrail of the Orpheus, it was easy to converse without any unseemly raising of the voice. All that had been said between me and the skipper, indeed, had been said on a key but little higher than common. By the change in Lucy's position, I could no longer see her face; but I knew it was suffused, and that she was far from being as composed and collected as was usual with her demeanour. All this was death to my recent happiness, though I could not abstain from watching what now passed, with the vigilance of jealousy.

"Good-morning," Lucy commenced, and the words were uttered in a tone that I thought bespoke great familiarity, if not confidence; "will you have the goodness to tell your mother that Mrs. Ogilvie begs she will not leave Albany until after her arrival. The other sloop, Mrs. Ogilvie thinks, cannot be more than an hour or two after you, and she is very desirous of making a common party to—ah! there comes Mrs. Drewett," said Lucy, hastily interrupting herself, "and I can deliver my message, myself."

Mrs. Drewett coming aft at this instant, Lucy certainly did turn to her, and communicated a message, which it seems the lady in the Gull had earnestly requested her to deliver in passing.

"And now," returned Mrs. Drewett, when Lucy had ceased, first civilly saluting me, "and now, my dear Lucy, we have something for you. So sudden was your departure, on the receipt of that naughty letter," my letter, summoning the dear girl to the bed-side of her friend, was meant, "that you left your work-box behind you, and, as I knew it contained many notes besides bank-notes, I would not allow it to be separated from me, until we met. Here it is; in what manner shall we contrive to get it into your hands?"

Lucy started, and I could see that she both felt and looked anxious. As I afterwards learned, she had been passing a day at Mrs. Drewett's villa, which joined her own, both standing on the rocks quite near to that spot which a mawkish set among us is trying to twist from plain homely, up-and-down, old fashioned Hell Gate, into the exquisite and lackadaisical corruption of Hurl Gate—Heaven save the mark! What puny piece of folly and affectation will they attempt next?—but Lucy was paying this visit when she received my letter, and it appears such was her haste to get to Grace, that she quitted the house immediately, leaving behind her a small work-box, unlocked, and in it various papers that she did not wish read. Of course, one of Lucy's sentiments and tone, could hardly suspect a lady, and Mrs. Drewett was strictly that, of rummaging her box or of reading her notes and letters; but one is never easy when such things can be supposed to be in the way of impertinent eyes. There are maids as well as mistresses, and I could see, in a moment, that she wished the box was again in her own possession. Under the circumstances, therefore, I felt it was time to interfere.

"If your sloop will round-to, Mr. Drewett," I remarked, receiving a cold salutation from the gentleman, in return for my own bow, the first sign of recognition that had passed between us, "I will round-to, myself, and send a boat for the box."

This proposal drew all eyes towards the skipper, who was still leaning against his tiller, smoking for life or death. I was not favourably received, extorting a grunt in reply, that any one could understand denoted dissent. The pipe was slowly removed, and the private opinion of this personage was pretty openly expressed, in his Dutchified dialect.

"If a body coult get a wint for der askin', dis might do very well," he said; "but nobody rounts-to mit a fair wind."

I have always remarked that they who have used a dialect different from the common forms of speech in their youth, and come afterwards to correct it, by intercourse with the world, usually fall back into their early infirmities in moments of trial, perplexity, or anger. This is easily explained. Habit has become a sort of nature, in their childhood, and it is when most tried that we are the most natural. Then, this skipper, an Albany—or Albonny man, as he would probably have styled himself, had got down the river as far as Sing-Sing, and had acquired a tolerable English; but, being now disturbed, he fell back upon his original mode of speaking, the certain proof that he would never give in. I saw at once the hopelessness of attempting to persuade one of his school, and had begun to devise some other scheme for getting the box on board, when to my surprise, and not a little to my concern, I saw Andrew Drewett, first taking the box from his mother, step upon the end of our main-boom, and move along the spar with the evident intention to walk as far as our deck and deliver Lucy her property with his own hands. The whole thing occurred so suddenly, that there was no time for remonstrance. Young gentlemen who are thoroughly in love, are not often discreet in matters connected with their devotion to their mistresses. I presume Drewett saw the boom placed so favourably as to tempt him, and he fancied it would be a thing to mention to carry a lady her work-box across a bridge that was of so precarious a footing. Had the spar lain on the ground, it would certainly have been no exploit at all to for any young man to walk its length, carrying his arms full of work-boxes; but it was a very different matter when the same feat had to be performed on a sloop's boom in its place, suspended over the water, with the sail set, and the vessel in motion. This Drewett soon discovered, for, advancing a step or two, he grasped the topping-lift, which luckily for him happened to be taut, for a support. All this occurred before there was time for remonstrance, or even for thought. At the same instant Neb, in obedience to a sign previously given by me, had put the helm down a little, and the boom-end was already twenty feet from the quarter-deck of the Orpheus.

Of course, all the women screamed, or exclaimed, on some key or other. Poor Mrs. Drewett hid her face, and began to moan her son as lost. I did not dare look at Lucy, who remained quiet as to voice, after the first involuntary exclamation, and as immovable as a statue. Luckily her face was from me. As Drewett was evidently discomposed, I thought it best, however, to devise something not only for his relief, but for that of Lucy's box, which was in quite as much jeopardy as the young man, himself; more so, indeed, if the latter could swim. I was on the point of calling out to Drewett to hold on, and I would cause the boom-end to reach over the Orpheus's main-deck, after which he might easily drop down among his friends, when Neb, finding some one to take the helm, suddenly stood at my side.

"He drop dat box, sartain, Masser Mile," half-whispered the negro; "he leg begin to shake already, and he won'erful skear'd!"

"I would not have that happen for a good deal—can you save it, Neb?"

"Sartain, sir. Only hab to run out on 'e boom and bring it in, and gib it Miss Lucy; she mighty partic'lar about dat werry box, Masser Mile, as I see a hundrer time, and more too."

"Well, lay out, boy, and bring it in,—and look to your footing, Neb."

This was all Neb wanted. The fellow had feet shaped a good deal like any other aquatic bird, with the essential difference, however, that no small part of his foundation had been laid abaft the perpendicular of the tendon Achilles, and, being without shoes, he could nearly encircle a small spar in his grasp. Often and often had I seen Neb run out on a top-sail-yard, the ship pitching heavily, catching at the lift; and it was a mere trifle after that, to run out on a spar as large as the Wallingford's main-boom. A tolerably distinctive scream from Chloe, first apprised me that the negro was in motion. Looking in that direction, I saw him walking steadily along the boom, notwithstanding Drewett's loud remonstrances, and declarations that he wanted no assistance, until he reached the spot where the young gentleman stood grasping the lift, with his legs submitting to more tremour than was convenient. Neb now grinned, looked as amiable as possible, held out his hand, and revealed the object of his visit.

"Masser Mile t'ink 'e gentleum better gib me Miss Lucy box"—said Neb, as politely as he knew how.

I believe in my soul that Drewett could have kissed Neb, so glad was he to obtain this little relief. The box was yielded without the slightest objection, Neb receiving it with a bow; after which the negro turned round as coolly as if he were on the deck, and walked deliberately and steadily in to the mast. He stopped an instant just at the small of the spar, to look back at Drewett, who was saying something to pacify his mother; and I observed that, as he stood with his heels in a line, the toes nearly met underneath the boom, which his feet grasped something in the manner of talons. A deep sigh reached my ear, as Neb bounded lightly on deck, and I knew whence it came by the exclamation of—

"De fel-ler!"

As for Neb, he advanced with his prize, which he offered to Lucy with one of his best bows, but in a way to show he was not conscious of having performed any unusual exploit. Lucy handed the box to Chloe, without averting her eyes from Drewett, in whose situation she manifested a good deal more concern than I liked, or fancied he deserved.

"Thank you, Mr. Drewett," she said, affecting to think the box had been recovered altogether by his address; "it is now safe, and there is no longer any necessity for your coming here. Let Mr. Wallingford do what he says"—I had mentioned in a low voice, the practicability of my own scheme—"and return to your own sloop."

But, two things now interposed to the execution of this very simple expedient. The first was Drewett's pride, blended with a little obstinacy, and the other was the "Albonny" skipper's pride, blended with a good deal of obstinacy. The first did not like to retreat, after Neb had so clearly demonstrated it was no great matter to walk on the boom; and the latter, soured by the manner in which we had outsailed him, and fancying Andrew had deserted to get on board a faster vessel, resented the whole by sheering away from us to the distance of a hundred yards. I saw that there remained but a single expedient, and set about adopting it without further delay.

"Take good hold of the lift, Mr. Drewett, and steady yourself with both hands; ease away the peak halyards to tauten that lift a little more, forward. Now, one of you stand by to ease off the guy handsomely, and the rest come aft to the main-sheet. Look out for yourself, Mr. Drewett; we are about to haul in the boom, when it will be a small matter to get you in, upon the taffrail. Stand by to luff handsomely, so as to keep the boom as steady as possible."

But Drewett clamorously protested against our doing anything of the sort. He was getting used to his situation, and intended to come in Neb-fashion, in a minute more. All he asked was not to be hurried.

"No—no—no—touch nothing I entreat of you, Captain Wallingford"—he said, earnestly. "If that black can do it, surely I ought to do it, too."

"But the black has claws, and you have none, sir; then he is a sailor, and used to such things, and you are none, sir. Moreover, he was barefooted, while you have got on stiff, and I dare say slippery boots."

"Yes, the boots are an encumbrance. If I could only throw them off, I should do well enough. As it is, however, I hope to have the honour of shaking you by the hand, Miss Hardinge, without the disgrace of being helped."

Mr. Hardinge here expostulated, but all in vain; for I saw plainly enough Drewett was highly excited, and that he was preparing for a start. These signs were now so apparent that all of us united our voices in remonstrances; and Lucy said imploringly to me—"Do not let him move, Miles—I have heard him say he cannot swim."

It was too late. Pride, mortified vanity, obstinacy, love, or what you will, rendered the young man deaf, and away he went, abandoning the lift, his sole protection. I saw, the moment he quitted his grasp, that he would never reach the mast, and made my arrangements accordingly. I called to Marble to stand by to luff; and, just as the words passed my lips, a souse into the water told the whole story. The first glance at poor Drewett's frantic manner of struggling told me that Lucy was really aware of his habits, and that he could not swim. I was in light duck, jacket and trowsers, with seaman's pumps; and placing a foot on the rail, I alighted alongside of the drowning young man, just as he went under. Well assured he would reappear, I waited for that, and presently I got a view of his hair, within reach of my arm, and I grasped it, in a way to turn him on his back, and bring his face uppermost. At this moment the sloop was gliding away from us, Marble having instantly put the helm hard down, in order to round-to. As I afterwards learned, the state of the case was no sooner understood in the other sloop, than the Albon-ny men gave in, and imitated the Wallingford.

There was no time for reflection. As soon as Drewett's hair was in my grasp, I raised his head from the water, by an effort that forced me under it, to let him catch his breath; and then relaxed the power by which it had been done, to come up myself. I had done this to give him a moment to recover his recollection, in the hope he would act reasonably; and I now desired him to lay his two hands on my shoulders, permit his body to sink as low as possible and breathe, and trust the rest to me. If the person in danger can be made to do this, an ordinarily good swimmer could tow him a mile, without any unusual effort. But the breathing spell afforded to Drewett had the effect just to give him strength to struggle madly for existence, without aiding his reason. On the land, he would have been nothing in my hands; but, in the water, the merest boy may become formidable. God forgive me, if I do him injustice! but I have sometimes thought, since, that Drewett was perfectly conscious who I was, and that he gave some vent to his jealous distrust of Lucy's feelings towards me. This may be all imagination; but I certainly heard the words "Lucy" "Wallingford," "Clawbonny," "hateful," muttered by the man, even as he struggled there for life. The advantage given him, by turning to allow him to put his hands on my shoulders, liked to have cost me dear. Instead of doing as I directed, he grasped my neck with both arms, and seemed to wish to mount on my head, forcing his own shoulders quite out of water, and mine, by that much weight, beneath it. It was while we were thus placed, his mouth within an inch or two of my very ear, that I heard the words muttered which have been mentioned. It is possible, however, that he was unconscious of that which terror and despair extorted from him.

I saw no time was to be lost, and my efforts became desperate. I first endeavoured to swim with this great encumbrance; but it was useless. The strength of Hercules could not long have buoyed up the under body of such a load, sufficiently to raise the nostrils for breath; and the convulsive twitches of Drewett's arms were near strangling me. I must throw him off, or drown. Abandoning the attempt to swim, I seized his hands with mine, and endeavoured to loosen his grasp of my neck. Of course we both sank while I was thus engaged; for it was impossible to keep my head above water, by means of my feet alone, with a man of some size riding, from his shoulders up, above the level of my chin.

I can scarcely describe what followed. I confess I thought ho longer of saving Drewett's life, but only of saving my own. We struggled there in the water like the fiercest enemies, each aiming for the mastery, as, if one were to live, the other must die. We sank, and rose to the surface for air, solely by my efforts, no less than three times; Drewett getting the largest benefits by the latter, thus renewing his strength; while mine, great as it was by nature, began gradually to fail. A struggle so terrific could not last long. We sank a fourth time, and I felt it was not to rise again, when relief came from an unexpected quarter. From boyhood, my father had taught me the important lesson of keeping my eyes open under water. By means of this practice, I not only felt, but saw the nature of the tremendous struggle that was going on. It also gave me a slight advantage over Drewett, who closed his eyes, by enabling me to see how to direct my own exertions. While sinking, as I believed, for the last time, I saw a large object approaching me in the water, which, in the confusion of the moment, I took for a shark, though sharks never ascended the Hudson so high, and were even rare at New York. There it was, however, swimming towards us, and even descending lower as if to pass beneath, in readiness for the fatal snap. Beneath it did pass, and I felt it pressing upward, raising Drewett and myself to the surface. As I got a glimpse of the light, and a delicious draught of air, Drewett was drawn from my neck by Marble, whose encouraging voice sounded like music in my ears. At the next instant my shark emerged, puffing like a porpoise; and then I heard—

"Hole on, Masser Mile—here he nigger close by!"

I was dragged into the boat, I scarce knew how, and lay down completely exhausted; while my late companion seemed to me to be a lifeless corpse. In a moment, Neb, dripping like a black river god, and glistening like a wet bottle, placed himself in the bottom of the boat, took my head into his lap, and began to squeeze the water from my hair, and to dry my face with some one's handkerchief—I trust it was not his own.

"Pull away, lads, for the sloop," said Marble, as soon as everybody was out of the river. "This gentleman seems to have put on the hatches for the last time—as for Miles, he'll never drown in fresh water."

THE END