WAS HE SUCCESSFUL?

'Do but grasp into the thick of human life! Every one lives it—to not many is it known; and seize it where you will, it is interesting.'—GOETHE.

'SUCCESSFUL.—Terminating in accomplishing what is wished or intended.'—WEBSTER'S Dictionary.

CHAPTER XI.

Miss Arabella Thorne was the daughter of an old citizen of New York, a worthy man, a plumber by trade, who, by means of plenty of work, small competition, and high prices, managed to scrape together fifty or sixty thousand dollars, which from time to time he judiciously invested in real estate. Late in life he married a tall, lean, sour-visaged spinster, considerably past thirty, with nothing whatever to recommend her except that she belonged to one of the first families. The fact is, she was a poor relation, and had all her life been passed around from cousin to cousin, each endeavoring to shift the burden as quick as possible. As she grew older she became more fretful and ill tempered, until it was a serious question with all interested how to dispose of her. Of late years she had taken to novel reading, and when engaged with a favorite romance, she was so peevish and irritable, that, to use a common expression, there was no living with her.

Things were at this pass when Thorn (he spelled his name without an e) was called to do some work at the house of Mr. de Silver, an uncle of the 'poor relation,' with whom she was then staying. This gentleman, who for years had been at his wits' end to know what to do with his niece, conceived the design of marrying her to Thorn, who was in good circumstances, and could give her a comfortable home. It so happened that she was at that time absorbed with a novel (she always fancied herself the heroine) where the principal character was called on to make a sacrifice, and by so doing married a nobleman in disguise. She therefore was ready; but it was not without some difficulty that Thorn was brought into the arrangement. However, the distinction of marrying so much above him, and the advantage which might avail to his children, overcame his natural good sense, and the 'poor relation' became Mrs. Thorn.

It is very certain that Mrs. Thorn would have been the death of her husband in a reasonably short period, had she not herself been suddenly cut off the second year of her married life, leaving an infant a few hours old, whom she named Arabella, after her last heroine, just as the breath was leaving her body.

Mr. Thorn buried his wife, and was comforted. He never married again. His eighteen months' experience was sufficient. He even consented to give up the direction of the infant, who would not be a poor relation like her mother, to Mrs. de Silver, who proceeded to look after it quite as she would one of her own children.

[And this was all because old Thorn was getting rich, and would probably not marry again, and Arabella would have his money.]

When Arabella was ten years old, her father died. By his will he made Mr. de Silver his executor, but prudently forbade any sale of his real estate till his daughter should be twenty-one, when she was to enter into possession. The personal property was ample for her meantime. Arabella grew up quite as the adopted child of the De Silvers. They had no daughter, but were blessed with three sons. The youngest was but ten years older than Arabella, for whom Mrs. de Silver had destined him. Miss Thorne (to whose name an e had been mysteriously added) bore a strong resemblance to her deceased mother, but there was one striking, I may say overwhelming difference between them. Mrs. Thorn had all her life been poor and dependent, and treated as such while thrown about from house to house for a precarious home. She was crossed and snubbed, and a naturally unamiable temper made a thousand times worse by the treatment she received. Arabella was rich and independent, and spoiled by over indulgence to her idle whims and caprices. For Mrs. de Silver, intent on making the match, did not dare cross her dear Arabella in the least thing. She was shrewd, and soon perceived that she controlled the situation, and did not hesitate to take advantage of it. In fact, she kept everybody dancing attendance on her. Fond of admiration to an absurd degree, she still had a constant suspicion that she was courted for her money. As I have said, in person she resembled her mother, but here wealth came in to do away with the resemblance. True, she was tall and angular, but she made up superbly, so that on looking at her one would exclaim: 'What a stylish woman!' True, her features were homely, and her complexion without freshness, but over these were spread the magic atmosphere of fashion and assured position. She had a consciousness which repelled any idea that she could be otherwise than handsome, fascinating, intelligent, and everything else desirable, and this consciousness actually produced, in a large majority, the pleasing illusion that she was really all these. But she was not. On the contrary, stripped of the gloss, she was censorious, supercilious, and selfish. Deprived of her dressmaker, she was gaunt and unsightly. Separated from her position, she would have been unbearable. Arabella had many offers, of course, but she was too fond of her power and too suspicious of an attempt on her purse to yield easily. She was enough of a coquette not absolutely to destroy the hopes of an admirer, but managed to keep him dangling in her train. She had never absolutely discouraged young De Silver, but she would not commit herself even to Mrs. de S., who still fondly hoped that the money of the industrious plumber would come into her family. So matters ran on till Miss Thorne was of age. Mr. de Silver evidently did not suppose there was to be any change in the management of his ward's affairs. He was soon undeceived. The young lady, about two weeks after the event, asked for a private interview with her guardian, and very quietly, after a series of polite phrases, announced that from that time she should herself take charge of her own property. There was nothing in this to which Mr. de Silver could object. Beyond some advantages which he derived from its management, without injury to his ward, it was of no importance; but he was not a little mortified nevertheless. It looked as if there was a lack of confidence in his management, but he could only assent, and say his accounts were ready for her inspection. The truth is that Arabella had made some acquaintances who ranked a grade higher in the fashionable world even than the De Silvers. They had impressed her with an idea that it would add to her importance to have her own 'solicitor' and take on herself the management of her affairs. To this end she had consulted Mr. Farrar, a well-known and experienced lawyer, who had been recommended to her by one of her friends. Just then speculation in real estate was rife, and prices had reached an extravagant point. The first thing which Miss Thorne did under the advice of Mr. Farrar, was to sell from time to time, as opportunity offered, all the real estate which her father had left her, and invest it in personal securities. In this way a very large sum was realized, and Miss Thorne's labors soon reduced to the simple task of receiving her semi-annual dividends. Mr. Bennett had not overrated the value of her property when he pronounced her worth two hundred thousand dollars. On the contrary, it is probable one might add fifty thousand to the computation and be nearer the mark.

When Mrs. de Silver saw the independent course Miss Thorne was pursuing, she became still more assiduous in her efforts to please her dear Arabella. The latter, since it was still convenient to live with the De Silvers, was sufficiently amiable, but she never omitted an opportunity to show that she was her own mistress and intended to continue so. The De Silvers were Episcopalians, but they did not attend the most fashionable church. Miss Thorne very soon purchased an expensive pew in St. Jude's, and although Mrs. de Silver kept a carriage which was always at Miss Thorne's disposal, the latter set up a handsome brougham of her own. The young lady, after joining her new church, had determined to distinguish herself. She was not content with moderate performances. She aspired to lead. She kept at the very height of fashion. Yet St. Jude's had no more zealous member. She was an inveterate party goer, and nothing pleased her better than to have double engagements through the whole season; but the period of Lent found her utterly devote—a most zealous attendant on all the ordinances of the Church. She was very intimate with Mr. Myrtle, and it is probable no one had half so much influence with her as the Rev. Charles Myrtle himself. She had her proteges also—generally some handsome young fellow about taking orders, whose devotion to Miss Thorne was perfectly excruciating. Time went on and Miss Arabella Thorne was carried along in the train of the tyrant. With the passing years she became more intensely fashionable, more bigoted, more fond of admiration, more difficult to please. She had refused so many offers, while she had coquetted so much, that young men began to avoid her. This greatly increased her natural irritability; made her jealous of the success of every rising belle, censorious, ill natured in remark, and generally disagreeable. When Hiram Meeker first saw Miss Arabella Thorne in her pew at St. Jude's, the interesting young woman was (dare I mention it?) already twenty-eight. In respect to appearance, she had altered very little since she was eighteen. So much depended on her milliner, her dressmaker, her costumer, and her maid, and to their credit be it spoken, they performed their duty so well, that the 'ravages' of the fashionable seasons she had passed through were not at all visible. There were times when Miss Arabella Thorne would confess to herself that she ought to marry. But with every succeeding birthday came increased suspicion that she was sought only for her fortune.

Such was the position of affairs when the shrewd wholesale drygoods merchant, satisfied that all his cousin cared for in matrimony was money, conceived the idea of making a match between Hiram and the fashionable Arabella. It did not take the former long, after Mr. Bennett once explained just how things stood, to comprehend exactly the situation, and to form and mature his plans accordingly. He had committed a blunder, as Mr. Bennett termed it, in giving up Miss Tenant, but that was a conventional mistake, if, which it is very doubtful, Hiram ever admitted that it was a mistake. Here, however, he could bring his keen knowledge of human nature to play, and once understanding the character of Miss Thorne, he felt fully equal to the enterprise. In fact, Hiram was once more on his old ground, and he enjoyed the idea of the contest he was about to engage in.

Mr. Myrtle was fully enlisted on Hiram's side. He was much pleased with the addition of a wealthy, rising young man—and a proselyte besides—to his church. He feared that Miss Thorne might in time be lost to it by her marrying outside of his congregation. Here was a capital chance to secure her and add to his own influence and popularity.

He was too astute to approach the subject directly. Miss Thorne might be suspicious even of him. He would give her no opportunity. Mr. Myrtle was too polished and too refined a man, too dignified indeed, to even appear in the light of a match maker. But assurance was conveyed by Mrs. Myrtle to Mrs. Bennett, and thence via Mr. Bennett confidentially to Hiram, that Mr. Myrtle might be relied on to do everything in his power in the delicate business.

Thus fortified, and conscious of the aid of the Bennett family, which was a very strong point, our hero entered on the fall and winter campaign, resolved before it was over to secure the two hundred thousand dollars of the fashionable Arabella, and, as it must needs be, that inestimable person along with it.

I have mentioned their first sight of each other in church, and the curiosity of Miss Thorne to know who the young man in the next pew could be. And here Hiram's generalship must be specially noticed. Mrs. Bennett proposed to bring about an immediate introduction by arranging an accidental meeting at her house. This Hiram peremptorily objected to; and in speaking on the subject with Mr. Bennett, with whom all his conversations were held, he displayed such a subtle insight into the character, habits, and peculiarities of Miss Thorne, that Mr. Bennett was amazed. He afterward told his wife she must let Hiram have his own way, as the fellow knew more than all of them.

Two parties came off the following week, to both of which Hiram was invited through the influence of the Bennetts. Miss Thorne was of course present. Hiram, now perfectly at his ease, and fashionably attired, made no insignificant display. He was introduced to a great many young ladies, and saluting two or three of the most attractive, he paid at different stages of the evening assiduous court to them. His waltzing was really superb [O Hiram, what a change!], and not a few inquired, 'Who is he?' Mrs. Bennett was really proud to answer, 'A cousin of ours. A very fine young man, indeed—very rich.'

Miss Thorne did not ask any questions—not she; but she quickly recognized in the waltzer the occupant of the pew who had already attracted her notice. She waited complacently for the moment when Hiram should be led up to her for presentation, and she had already decided just how she should receive him. She was resolved to ruffle his complacency, and thus punish him for not paying his first tribute to her charms; then, so she settled it, she would relax, and permit him to waltz with her.

When the evening passed, and the fashionable young man had made no demonstration, she was amazed. Such a thing had never happened before. To think he should not ask her, while he devoted half the evening to Miss Innis, who waltzed shockingly (every one knew that), and who had no money either!

She went home in a very uncomfortable state of mind.

The following Wednesday there was a repetition of this very scene. The party was even more brilliant than the last, Miss Thorne more exquisitely dressed, but Hiram kept aloof. Miss Thorne had never been slighted before—never. This evening she was tempted to waive her pride, and inquire of her dear friend Mrs. Bennett, with whom she saw Hiram conversing—but the thought was too humiliating, and she forbore.

How she hated the wretch!—that is, as women hate, and as men like to be hated. What should she do? Could she endure to attend another party, and be so treated? Why, the creature never even looked toward her! What right had he to dress so fashionably and to waltz with such ease, and in fact appear so well every way? To occupy quite by himself the very best pew in St. Jude's, directly in front of her! What audacity! Then his provoking nonchalance. Oh, what was she to do? She should go crazy. Not quite that. She would first inquire of Mr. Myrtle, in a very careless manner. So she ran in that same morning on the accomplished clergyman, and was speedily in a full gallop of conversation.

'By the way,' she exclaimed, at length, as if a new thought had suddenly struck her, 'pray, tell me, who is my new neighbor? I intended asking the last time I saw you, but forgot it.'

The Rev. Charles Myrtle looked completely mystified, and asked with his eyes, plainly as eyes could ask, 'Pray, what do you mean?'

'I see you don't take. I mean the new occupant of the Winslows' pew; some relation, I suppose.'

'Oh, no. He is a cousin of the Bennetts, a young merchant, who has purchased the pew.'

'Indeed? A good churchman, I hope, if he is to sit so near me.'

'I should judge so. I am but slightly acquainted with him. Mrs. Bennett, however, speaks of him in the most enthusiastic terms. She says he has but one fault (I mention it to save you young people from disappointment), which is, that he is not fond of ladies' society.'

'I know better,' interrupted Miss Thorne, betraying herself; for she was thinking of what she had witnessed at the two parties. Too much a woman of the world to blush or betray any embarrassment, she as quickly recovered, and added, laughingly, 'No one can make me believe he takes all that pains with his dress for nothing.'

'Now I think of it, he does dress in very good taste,' said Mr. Myrtle carelessly. 'I think, however, what Mrs. Bennett meant to convey is that Mr. Meeker is not a marrying man. She says he is very rich, and has a horror of being caught, as it is called.'

'So then his name is Meeker,' replied Miss Thorne, with an absent air, as if she had paid no attention to Mr. Myrtle's concluding observation, though she had drunk in every word with eager interest.

'Yes. You will probably meet him at the Bennetts', though I do not think he would please you, Miss Arabella. [Mr. Myrtle knew the weakness of spinsters after reaching a certain age for being called by their first name.] You are too exegeante, my dear young lady, and Mr. Meeker is devoted to affairs.'

'I wonder Mrs. Myrtle does not return; she told me she would not be gone two minutes,' said Miss Thorne, with the air of complete indifference to what Mr. Myrtle was saying, which a fashionable thorough-bred knows so well how to assume.

'Here she is,' said Mr. Myrtle. 'I will leave you together, and go back to my labors. Good morning.'

Miss Thorne by this time was really very much excited; so much so that she could not resist speaking of Hiram to Mrs. Myrtle, though of course in the same accidental way in which she had inquired of her husband.

Mrs. Myrtle of course had much more to say in reply. All about Hiram's joining their church—what a good young man he was, how conscientious, how devoted to business, and how rich, and getting richer every day.

Miss Thorne drew herself up slightly, as if that could be of no consequence to her. Still she unbent directly, and said with an amiable smile, as if simply to continue the conversation, 'But Mr. Myrtle says he is a woman hater.'

'Oh, I think not so bad as that; but Mrs. Bennett says the ladies are all crazy about him, and he has a ridiculous suspicion that they are after his money.'

'The wretch!' exclaimed Miss Arabella, laughing.

'So I say,' rejoined Mrs. Myrtle. 'But the fact is, Mrs. Bennett says that Mr. Meeker thinks too much about business, and if he goes on in this way he will never get married, and she tells him she is determined he shall marry.'

'A very proper resolve!' exclaimed Miss Thorne in the same vein.

The conversation now turned on other topics, and after a few minutes Miss Thorne took leave in no very enviable state of mind. Here was a young man about to become one of the stars of fashion, rich, accomplished, quite in her own set, too; yet not a step had he taken toward securing her favor. Why, he might even outstrip her at St. Jude's! Then what would become of her? 'I wonder if he keeps Lent?' she muttered between her clenched teeth, as she walked along.

At that very moment, who should she encounter but Miss Innis, a charming, bewitching, and very fashionable young creature (so all the gentlemen said), to whom at the late parties, as I have already mentioned, Hiram had been devoted the larger part of the evening.

The ladies rushed toward each other and embraced in the most affectionate manner. The usual rapid chitchat ensued.

'What do you think of our new beau?' asked Miss Innis.

Now Miss Thorne was burning with envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness toward the young and rising belle, which was greatly increased by witnessing Hiram's extraordinary devotion to her. After the conversation with Mrs. Myrtle, she could no longer doubt the fact that he was soon to become of decided importance in the fashionable world. The moment she saw Miss Innis approaching, she anticipated some such question as was now put to her, and knowing that through her dear friend Mrs. Bennett she could make Hiram's acquaintance at any time, she had decided how to treat it.

She replied therefore with considerable animation, and as if she knew at once to whom Miss Innis alluded: 'Oh, I think we shall make something of him before the season is over. I tell Mrs. Bennett she must cure him of some little provincialisms, however.'

'Provincialisms!' exclaimed Miss Innis, who prided herself on her family and aristocratic breeding, though she had not wealth to boast of; 'provincialisms! I confess I discovered none, and I certainly had a pretty good opportunity for judging. He waltzes divinely, doesn't he?'

The tantalizing minx knew very well that Miss Thorne could only judge by observation.

'He waltzes with much perfection, certainly,' replied Miss Thorne, with the air of a connoisseur, 'but I think a little stiffly.'

'Quite the reverse, I assure you. I never had a partner with whom it was so easy to waltz. He supports one so perfectly. I declare I am in love with him already. Arabella dear, I give you warning I shall try my best to engross his attention the entire season.'

She laughed as she said this, and Miss Thorne laughed; then these young women of fashion again embraced, and with smiles and amiable expressions went their way.

How suddenly the countenance of each then changed! That of Miss Innis gave unmistakable tokens of contempt and disgust, while Miss Thorne's face expressed a concentrated venom, which, if I had not myself often witnessed, I would not believe is in the power of woman to display.

The rencontre with Miss Innis was so unendurable that Miss Thorne resolved to proceed at once to Mrs. Bennett's, where she could get definite information. Her pride was beginning to give way before her jealousy of a rival.

Mrs. Bennett was at home, and welcomed her dear 'Arabella' with more than usual cordiality. A long conversation ensued before Miss Thorne could bring herself to broach the delicate subject. At last, and it had to be apropos of nothing, she said:

'Oh, I declare, I forgot. Do you know I am angry with you? Yes, very, very angry.'

Mrs. Bennett immediately put on the proper expression.

'Tell me, quick, all about it,' she said. 'I will do penance if I have given you cause.'

'Indeed, you have given great cause. You have undertaken to bring out a gentleman, and your own cousin, too, without presenting him to me, and I made up my mind never to speak to you again; but you see how I keep my resolution.'

'Poor Mr. Meeker!' exclaimed Mrs. Bennett. 'He little thinks in what trouble he has involved me.'

'But what have you to say for yourself?' persisted Miss Thorne.

'I declare, Arabella, I don't know what to say. Cousin Hiram is so odd and so obstinate on some points, although in most respects the best creature in the world.'

'Why, what can you mean?'

'I can hardly explain what I do mean. In short, while Cousin Hiram asks my advice in many matters, and, indeed, follows it; yet, where ladies are concerned, he is as obstinate as a mule.'

'But what has that to do with your not presenting him?'

'Well, since you must know,' hesitated Mrs. Bennett, 'he declined being introduced to you.'

'Declined!'

'Yes.'

'It is all through that hateful Mary Innis!' exclaimed Miss Thorne, reddening with rage. 'I know it. I am sure of it. Yes, I see through it all—all.'

'I dare say,' returned Mrs. Bennett. 'I can't believe it either,' she continued. 'He is not so easily influenced. But, Arabella, my dear, think no more of the matter. You will like Mr. Meeker, I know, when you do meet, and all the more for any little obstacle at the beginning. I was just thinking how I could bring you together. What do you say to dropping in at—no, that won't do. I have it; come round this very evening and take tea with us. Mr. Meeker is almost sure to come in. He has not been here this week.'

'Arabella' had her little objections.

'Nonsense, my darling. I am determined you two shall become acquainted before Mrs. Jones's party, and that is next Thursday. Don't forget how fond you are of waltzing, and there Cousin Hiram is superb.'

'I know it,' said Miss Thorne, with a sigh. 'But won't it look strange?'

'Look strange to do what you have done so often, my darling! Now, Arabella, I won't take 'no' from you.'

'I consent,' said Miss Thorne, languidly. 'He won't be rude to me, will he?'

'Rude! why, Arabella, what do you take him for?'

The ladies separated in great good humor.

Miss Thorne, with a view to be revenged on Miss Innis, was determined to secure our hero on any terms. She was at Mrs. Bennett's at the appointed hour. On this occasion her toilette was elaborately simple. She always exhibited, not only great taste, but great propriety, in dress. On this occasion one might readily suppose that, running in for a brief call, she had been induced to prolong her stay.

About eight o'clock, who should arrive but Hiram! What a singular coincidence!

An introduction followed.

Miss Thorne was very natural. She appeared entirely at ease, receiving Hiram with quiet cordiality, as if he were a member of the family.

Hiram, on his part, did not exhibit any of those disagreeable qualities for which he received credit, but was apparently quite disarmed by the domesticity of the scene.

The conversation became general, and all joined in it. After a while Mr. Bennett withdrew to 'spend a half hour at the club,' assuring Miss Thorne he would return in ample time to hand her to her carriage. Presently the servant called Mrs. Bennett, and hero and heroine were left alone together.

There was an awkward pause, which was first broken by Arabella, when the conversation ran on much in this way:

'We are to have a very gay season, I believe.'

'Indeed!'

'I suppose you take a great interest in it?'

'Quite the contrary. I take very little.'

'Still, you seem to enjoy parties.'

'Why, yes. When I go, the best thing I can do is to enjoy them.'

'But you like to go, don't you?'

'I can scarcely say I do—sometimes, perhaps.'

'A person who waltzes as well as you do ought to like parties, I am sure.'

'I feel very much flattered to have you praise my waltzing.'

There was another pause. It was again broken by Miss Thorne.

'Do you know I think you so droll?'

'Me! pray, what is there droll about me?'

'Oh, I don't know. I can't tell. But you are droll—very droll.'

'Really, I was not conscious of it.'

'Were you aware that you occupy a seat directly in front of me in church?'

'Certainly; that's not droll, is it?'

'Well, yes; I think it is, rather. But that is not what I was going to say. Will you answer me one question truly? It will seem strange for me to ask it,' simpered Arabella; 'but you must know your cousin Mrs. Bennett and I are the dearest friends—the very dearest friends; and meeting you here, it seems different, and I am not so much afraid of you.'

Hiram sat with eyes wide open, in affected ignorance of what could possibly come next.

'Now you put me out, indeed you do; I can never say what I was going to, in the world.'

'Do,' said Hiram, gently.

'Well, will you tell me why you refused to be introduced to me, and who it is that has so prejudiced you against me?'

'No one, I assure you,' replied Hiram.

'Then why did you decline the introduction? It is of no use to deny it; I know you did decline it.'

'I heard you were an heiress,' replied Hiram naively, 'and I don't like heiresses.'

'Why not, pray?'

'Oh, for various reasons. They are always such vain, stuck-up creatures. Then they are excessively requiring, and generally disagreeable.'

'You saucy thing, you,' exclaimed Miss Thorne, but by no means in a displeased tone.

'Then why did you ask me? I must tell the truth. I confess I did not want to make your acquaintance. Everybody was talking about Miss Thorne—Miss Thorne—Miss Thorne. For my part, it made me detest you.'

'Oh, you horrible creature,' said Arabella, now quite appeased.

'I don't deny it,' continued Hiram, pleasantly. 'I repeat, I can't bear an heiress. I wouldn't marry one for the whole world.'

'Why, pray?'

'Because she would want her separate purse and separate property, and it would be her house, and her horses and carriage, her coachman, and so on. Oh no—nothing of that for me. I will be master of my own establishment.'

'What a savage you are! I declare it is as refreshing to hear you talk as it would be to visit a tribe of Indians.'

'You are complimentary.'

'You see I do you justice, though we are enemies. But tell me now that you have been introduced to me, do I seem at all dangerous?'

Hiram Meeker's countenance changed from an expression of pleasant badinage to one of sentimental interest, while he gazed abstractedly in the young lady's face, without making any reply.

Arabella's heart beat violently, she scarce knew why.

'You do not answer,' she said.

'I cannot tell,' said Hiram, dreamily; then, starting, as if from a revery, he said, in his former tone, 'Oh, your sex are all dangerous; only there are degrees.'

'I see you are not disposed to commit yourself. I will not urge you. But do you think you will be afraid to waltz with me at the next party?'

'It was the introduction I objected to, not the waltz.'

'Then you consent?'

'With your permission, gladly.'

'The first waltz at the next party?'

'The first waltz at the next party.'

It is not necessary to detail the conversation which ensued, and which was of a more general nature, referring to New York society, life a la mode, the reigning belles, then by an easy transition to Mr. Myrtle, and topics connected with St. Jude's. Soon they fell into quite a confidential tone, as church subjects of mutual interest were discussed, so that, when Mrs. Bennett returned to the room, it seemed almost like an interruption.

'I knew you two would like each other if you ever became acquainted,' said Mrs. Bennett, with animation.

'Pray, how do you arrive at any such conclusion?' replied Miss Thorne, in a reserved tone, while she gave Hiram a glance which was intended to assure him she was merely assuming it.

'Oh, never mind, my dear; it is not of so much consequence about your liking Hiram. You may detest him, if you please, but I am resolved he shall like you, for you are my pet, you know.'

Arabella looked affectionate, and Hiram laughed.

'Oh, you may laugh as much as you please; men cannot understand our attachments for each other, can they, Arabella?'

'No, indeed.'

'That is true enough,' quoth Hiram.

After Mr. Bennett came in, a handsome little supper was served. That concluded, Hiram waited on Miss Thorne to her carriage.

'I shall expect you to take back all the naughty things you have said about me to your cousin,' she said, very sweetly, after she was seated.

'About you, yes; but not about the heiress. But—but if you were not one, I do think I should like you pretty well. As it is, the objection is insuperable; good night.'

Away went carriage and horses and Arabella Thorne. Hiram stepped back into the house.

'My wife says you have made a splendid hit to-night, Hiram,' remarked Mr. Bennett.

'Does she?' replied the other, in an absent tone.

* * * * *

Hiram went late to Mrs. Jones's party.

So did Miss Thorne.

In a pleasant mood, Mrs. Bennett walked with her cousin to where the heiress was standing, and said, 'Miss Thorne, this is Mr. Meeker. I believe, however, you have met before.'

The waltzing had already commenced, and Hiram led his not unwilling partner to the floor, where they were soon giddily whirling, to the intense admiration of the lookers on.

It was now Hiram felt grateful to the unknown young lady who taught him how to waltz close. He practised it on this occasion to perfection. Arabella, by degrees, leaned more and more heavily. One arm resting fondly on his shoulder, she was drawn into immediate contact with Hiram's calculating heart. Round and round she sped—round and round sped Hiram, until the two were so blended that it was difficult to decide who or what were revolving.

At last Arabella was forced to yield. Faintly she sighed, 'I must stop,' and Hiram, coming to a graceful termination, seated her in triumph—the master of the situation!

Miss Innis looked on and smiled. Others expressed their admiration of the performance. None could deny it was very perfect.

Soon they were on the floor again, and again Arabella struggled hard for the mastery. It was in vain. After repeated attempts to hold the field, she was obliged to yield.

Hiram was too familiar with the sex to attempt to pursue his advantage. Indeed, Miss Arabella, having accomplished her object in showing Miss Innis that she could monopolize Hiram if she chose, would have been quite ready to play the coquette and assume the dignified.

Hiram was prepared for this, and further was resolved not to expose himself to any manifestation of her caprice. He perceived Miss Thorne was disinclined to converse, and fancied she was preparing to be reserved. So he passed quietly into the next room, where he found Miss Innis quite ready to welcome him, though surrounded by a number of gentlemen. He claimed her for the next waltz by virtue of an engagement entered into at Mrs. Jones's. Soon the music commenced, and away they went, responsive to its fascinating strains. Both waltzed admirably. They entered with zest into the spirit of the scene and with that sympathy of motion which makes every step so easy and so enjoyable. There was no rivalry, no holding out against the other. The pauses were natural, not by either, but, as it were, by mutual understanding. Miss Thorne was also on the floor with a very showy partner, doing her best to attract attention. She managed, as she swept by her rival, accidentally to step on her dress in a very damaging manner. But Miss Innis was one of those natural creatures who are never discomfited by such an occurrence. She very quietly withdrew, and in about two minutes was on the floor again.

'It is well,' said Hiram to her in a low tone, 'that this happened to you instead of Miss Thorne.'

'Why?'

'Because she never could have appeared again the same evening.'

Miss Innis smiled, and spoke of something else. The little hit did not seem in the least to gratify her.

Hiram noted this. 'Youth and beauty can well afford to be amiable, but it does not always happen that they are so,' he whispered.

Miss Innis looked at him seriously, but made no reply; and the two took seats within the recess of a window.

At this moment Miss Thorne, having stopped waltzing, passed across the room to the same vicinity, and stood talking with a gentleman, in a position to command a view of the couple just seated. As Hiram raised his eyes he encountered hers, for she was looking intently toward him. He saw enough to be satisfied that his plans were working to perfection.

Without appearing to notice her presence, he continued the conversation with his partner, and so engrossing did it become on both sides that neither seemed aware of the rapid flight of the hours. And it was only when Miss Innis perceived that the rooms were becoming thinned that she started up with an exclamation of surprise that it was so late.

Hiram Meeker walked slowly homeward. He could not resist a certain influence from stealing over him.

'Why is it,' he muttered to himself, 'that all the handsome girls are without money, and all the rich ones are ugly?'

He drew a long sigh, as if it were hard for him to give up such a lovely creature. He soon reached his lodgings, and going to his room, he seated himself before the fire, which burned cheerfully in the grate, and remained for a time completely lost in thought.

* * * * *

O Hiram Meeker, is it even now too late to obey some natural instincts? You are well embarked in affairs, have already made money enough to support a wife pleasantly. Your business is daily increasing, your mercantile position for a young man remarkably well assured. Here is a really lovely young girl—a little spoiled, it may be, by fashionable associations, but amiable, intelligent, and true hearted. Probably you might win her, for she seems to like you. The connection would give you position, for you would marry into an old and most respectable family. True, you have conducted yourself shamefully toward Emma Tenant—to say nothing of Miss Burns. Let that pass. There is still opportunity to retrace. Attempt to win Miss Innis. If you do win her, what a happy home will be yours! As for Miss Thorne—Hiram, you know what she is. You despise her in your heart. Besides, she is almost twenty-nine—you but twenty-seven. Will her money compensate? O Hiram, stop—stop now, and think!

This may have been the revery of Hiram Meeker.

* * * * *

At last he rose and prepared to retire. Doubtless he had made a final and irrevocable decision.

What was it?

CHAPTER XII.

There is good news for the Tenant family! The large commercial house in London whose failure dragged down Tenant & Co., had a branch at Rio. This branch had been heavily drawn on, and suspended because the firm in London stopped. When affairs were investigated, it turned out that the Rio branch was well aboveboard. The result was that the London house was enabled to pay a composition of fifteen and sixpence in the pound. This not only enabled Tenant & Co. to settle with their creditors, but placed that old and respectable firm in a position to go on with their business, though in a manner somewhat limited when compared with their former operations. The whole commercial community rejoiced at this. Tho house had been so long established, and was conducted with so much integrity, that to have it go down seemed a blow struck at the fair name and prosperity of the city. A committee appointed by the creditors had investigated everything connected with the failure, prior to hearing of the news from Rio. This committee utterly refused to permit Mr. Tenant to put his house into the list of assets from which to pay the company's debts. He insisted, but they were inexorable. This was highly gratifying to him, but he was not content. Now he could meet all on equal terms.

We must forgive Mrs. Tenant if she felt a very great degree of exultation at this result. The affair between Hiram Meeker and her daughter had touched her so deeply (until Emma was away she did not feel how deeply), that she could not but indulge her triumph that now, when she encountered him, she was able to pass him with complete indifference. While her husband was crippled, she continued to feel scorn and contempt. Having regained her old position, she enjoyed a repose of spirits and was no longer tantalized by recollection of the scenes of the last few months.

Emma Tenant had a most charming European tour. She was absent a year. Two or three months before her return, and while spending a few weeks among the Bernese Alps (I think Emma once told me it was at the Hotel Reichenbach, near Meyringen), she encountered an old acquaintance, that is, an acquaintance of her childhood, in the person of young Lawrence—Henry Lawrence—who was taking advantage of a business trip abroad to view the glory and the majesty of nature in the Oberland Bernois.

However much it may seem contrary to the theory of romantic young men and women, I am forced to state that notwithstanding her former love for Hiram Meeker, Emma Tenant had not been six months in Europe before the wound might be considered healed. As her mind became enlarged by taking in the variety of scenes which were presented, scenes ever fresh and changing, she was better enabled to judge how far such a person as Hiram Meeker could ultimately make her happy. Day by day she saw his character more clearly and in a truer light, and could thus fully appreciate the narrow escape she had from a life of wretchedness.

Before she encountered young Lawrence, she had become entirely disenchanted. The former illusion was fully dispelled, and her heart left quite free to be engrossed by a new interest.

Young ladies and gentlemen! Am I giving currency to theories which you are accustomed to consider heretical? I am but recording the simple truth.

* * * * *

By the time Emma Tenant had reached New York the affianced of Henry Lawrence (subject, of course, to her parents' approbation), Hiram Meeker was engaged to—Miss Thorne.

Once decided on his course, Hiram pursued his object with the tenacity of a slow hound.

He took advantage of every weakness. He operated on her jealous nature so as to subject her to all the tortures which that spirit begets. By turns he flattered and browbeat her. He was sunny and amiable, or crabbed and austere, as suited his purpose. In fact, he so played on the poor girl, whose vanity and suspicion and jealous fear of a rival were intense, that he made her life miserable. She was even thwarted in the quarter where her strength principally lay. For Hiram treated her fortune as a mere nothing at all. If she, as had been her custom, headed a subscription for some charity at St. Jude's, Hiram was sure to put down his name for double the amount in close proximity to hers.

At last her spirit was completely broken by the persevering, unsparing, flattering, cajoling, remorseless Hiram. So she stopped quarrelling, and yielded. Then, how charming was our hero! Amiable, kind, desirous to please, yet despotic to an extent: never yielding the power and ascendency he had gained over her.

The great point now was to prevent any marriage settlement. Being married, since Miss Thorne's property was all 'personal,' he could at once possess himself of it. Prior to the engagement, Hiram had often repeated that he would many no woman who maintained a separate estate. And so much did he dwell on this that Miss Thorne was actually afraid to speak to her solicitor on the subject.

In the summer succeeding the gay season we have spoken of, Hiram Meeker and Arabella Thorne were united at St. Jude's by the Rev. Charles Myrtle, in presence of 'the most aristocratic and fashionable concourse ever assembled on such an occasion.' The Bennetts were present in great profusion. Mrs. Myrtle, all smiles and tears, stood approvingly by. Mr. Myrtle, so all declared, never performed the ceremony so well before. Miss Innis had a conspicuous place in the proceedings, she being the first of the four bridesmaids who attended Arabella to the altar.

I have never been able to explain her selection of one she had so feared and hated as a rival, nor Miss Innis's acceptance. But there she stood, very beautiful, and apparently much interested in what was going on.

* * * * *

After they had returned from their wedding tour, Hiram took possession of his wife's securities. His heart throbbed with excitement and his eyes glistened as he looked them over.

Mr. Bennett had fallen considerably short of the mark. Here were more than two hundred and fifty thousand dollars!

Just then real estate had fallen to the extreme lowest point after the collapse of the former high speculative prices. Hiram took immediate advantage of this state of things. During the next three months he had sold out his wife's securities, and invested two hundred thousand dollars in vacant lots admirably situated in the upper part of the city. The balance he put into his business.

From that period it did not require a heavy discounting of the future to write Hiram Meeker a MILLIONAIRE.

END OF PART II.



DEAD!

Dead—dead—no matter, the skies are blue, In their fathomless depths above, And the glad Earth's robes are as bright in hue, And worn with as regal a grace, and true, As they were on the day they were woven new By the hand of Infinite Love.

Hush! hush!—there is music out in the street, A popular martial strain; While the constant patter of countless feet Keeps time to the strokes of the drum's quick beat, And the echoing voices that mix and meet Swell out in a glad refrain.

Lost—lost! Oh, why, when the earth is bright, And soft is the zephyr's breath, Oh! why, when the world is so full of light, Should the wild heart, robed in a cloak of night, Send up from frozen lips and white A desolate cry of death?

Dead—dead! How wearily drag the days; And wearily life runs on! The skies look cold, through a misty haze, That curdles the gold of the bright sun's rays, And the dead leaves cover the banks and braes, A shroud of the summer gone.

Last year—nay! nay! I do not complain; There are graves in the heart of all; So I do not murmur; 'twere weak and vain; I accept in silence my share of pain, And the clouds, with their fringes of crimson stain, That over my young life fall.

There were beautiful days last year, I mind, When the maple trees turned red, They flew away like the sportive wind, But I gathered the joys they left behind, As I gather the leaves, but to-day I find That the joys, like the leaves, are dead.

One year! It is past, and I stand alone, Where I stood with another then; 'Tis well—I had scorned to have held my own From the bloody strife, though my soul had known That his life would ebb ere the day was gone, Amid thousands of nameless men.

Nameless, yet never a one less dear Than the dearest of all the dead; I weep—but, Father, my bitter tear Falleth not down o'er a single bier— I mourn not the joys of the lost last year, But the rivers of bright blood shed.



RECONSTRUCTION.

Reconstruction sounds the key note of American politics to-day. It is as true now as when Webster first said it, that 'the people of this country, by a vast and countless majority, are attached to the Union.' Reconstruction is the hope of the Union; and the hope of the Union is the controlling energy of the war. Hence, naturally, the theories that prevail in regard to reconstruction begin to define the political parties of the immediate future. United on the war, which they hold to be not simply inevitable, but also a war in the combined interests of liberty and order, and, therefore, just, the people seem likely about to be divided on questions suggested by the probably speedy termination of the war. The Union one and indivisible is the fundamental maxim on which all such questions must be based. So long as the name of Washington is reverenced among them, the American people will accept no other basis of settlement. The Union is to them the security and hope of all political blessings—liberty, justice, political order—which blessings it insures. Disunion is revolution, and puts them in peril. Therefore, no theory of reconstruction is practicable which countenances disunion, or in anywise assails the principle of the eternal oneness and indivisibility of the Union.

THEORIES OF RECONSTRUCTION.

There are three prominent theories of reconstruction now before the people. The first, as being in the natural and constitutional order of things, has shaped the policy of the Administration in its whole conduct of affairs. It supposes the rebellion to be an armed insurrection against the authority of the United States, usurping the functions and powers of various State Governments, and seeking to overthrow the Nation. So considering it, the whole power of the Nation has been brought to bear to subdue it, in accordance with the just authority conferred by the Constitution, which is the organic law of the Nation. The steadfast prosecution of this policy, upheld and supported by the people with a unanimity and patient faith that have strengthened the cause of democratic government all over the earth, has rescued from the rebellion and restored to their undisputed position in the Union, the States of Kentucky, Missouri, and now, at last, Tennessee, with a portion of Virginia. Such are the results to the Union of the natural and constitutional policy that aims at reconstruction through restoration.

The two other theories spoken of may be best considered together, as they originated in a common purpose, namely, the abolition of slavery, which it is supposed cannot be attained by the ordinary processes of war under the Constitution. Their advocates, however, contend that they are strictly constitutional.

The first of these theories supposes that the States included in the rebellion have, by the fact of rebellion, forfeited all rights as States. It is argued that States, like individuals, forfeit their rights by rebellion.

The other theory supposes that the States having rebelled, may be dealt with as foreign States; so that, according to the laws of war, the nation may treat them altogether as alien enemies, and in the event of the Nation's triumph, the States will be in all respects like conquered provinces.

It will be observed that each of these theories ignores the principle of the indivisibility of the Union, and presupposes a dismemberment of it on the part of every rebellious State.

I. THEORY OF STATE SUICIDE.

Probably no one will deny that rebellion works a forfeiture of all political rights to those engaged in it. The subject who renounces his allegiance can claim no protection: just as the Government that should fail to protect its subjects, could not claim their allegiance. Allegiance and protection are reciprocal and interdependent duties, and the failure of one involves and works the failure of the other. So that it might be quite correct to declare, in reference to the Southern rebellion, that a rebel has no rights which the United States is bound to respect. It will be perceived that the question of right is here spoken of, and not the question of policy. No feeling of sympathy with a defeated people, not the thousand-fold natural ties that bind the North and the South, should blind our eyes to the main question of right. Any policy toward repentant rebels that is not magnanimous and honorably befitting our complete triumph, can never find favor with the American people, nor ought to; but the incalculably precious interests of the Nation will not admit of any uncertain precedents in regard to secession. The precedent must be perfectly clear. It must be established unqualifiedly and unalterably that secession is treason, and that whoever is concerned in it is a traitor and must expect a traitor's punishment. It has been common to call secession a political heresy. The rebellion, the fruit of secession, stamps it as more and worse than simply a heresy. It is inchoate treason, and only awaits the favorable conditions to become open and flagrant. The patriotism, therefore, of any man may fairly be suspected, who, refusing to be taught by the experience of this war, revealing these things as in the clear light of midday, can speak softly and with 'bated breath' of secession. His country's baptism of fire has not regenerated such a man.

The attempt, as the legitimate and inevitable result of secession, to overthrow a Government whose burdens rested so lightly on its citizens as to have given rise to a current phrase that they were unfelt; and yet whose magnificent power gave it rank among the first of nations, securing full protection to the humblest of its citizens, and causing the name of American to be as proud a boast as Roman in the day of Rome's power; and withal being the recognized refuge and hope of liberty and humanity all over the globe, as vindicating the right royalty of man;—the attempt to overthrow such a Government must stand forever as the blackest of crimes. For the Confederate treason is more than treason against the United States: it is a crime against humanity, and a conspiracy in the interest of despotism, denying the royalty of man.

But, to return to our argument, a distinction is carefully to be noted between the consequences of rebellion to the individuals who engage in it and to the State which it assumes to control. It needs no argument to show that rebellion against the supreme power of a State does not necessarily affect the permanence of that power. If the rebellion fails, the rightful authority resumes its functions. If the rebellion succeeds, the movers of it assume the powers of the State, and succeed to all its functions. The civil wars of England furnish abundant illustration of this principle. However the course of Government may for the time have been checked, and its whole machinery disarranged, the subsidence of the tumult left the state, in every case, as an organic whole, the same. The consequences of unsuccessful rebellion fell only upon the persons engaged in it. So, in the successive changes that befell France after the Revolution, the state, as the body politic, remained unchanged. In dealing with the question of rebellion in our country the same principle applies, only another element enters into the calculation. That element results from the peculiar character of our Government in its twofold relation to the people of State and Nation. The Government springs directly from the people, who have ordained separate functions for the two separate organisms, or bodies politic, the State and the Nation. Strictly considered, there are not two Governments, there is only one Government. Certain functions of it are ordained to be executed by the State, and certain other functions by the Nation, How, then, can the State, as such, assume to set aside the ordained functions of the Nation? How, on the other hand, might the Nation assume to control the ordained functions of the State? Each to its own master standeth or falleth, and that master is the people. Hence, the absurdity of the doctrine which claims the right of a State to resume powers once delegated to the Nation. For the State, as such, never delegated those powers. Hence, the absurdity of secession as a dogma in American politics. And hence, also, it equally appears how absurd is any claim on the part of the Nation to visit upon the State organism the penalties of the treason of individuals against itself.

Let it be remembered that the State derives none of its rights from the Nation. How, then, can it be said to forfeit its rights to the Nation? The State is a separate and distinct organism, deriving its rights directly from the people within its territorial limit. They established it, and to them alone it is responsible. In the same manner, the people of the whole country, without regard to the territorial limits of States, established the Nation. The people of the whole country, therefore, have a permanent interest in the Nation, and no one portion of them may rightfully assume to set aside its supreme obligations, in disregard and violation of the organic law. If certain of the people of any State have rebelled against the National Government, attempting thus to set aside its paramount obligations, undoubtedly their lives and property are forfeit to the Nation. But how can their individual treason work a forfeiture of the State powers and functions? These have been usurped, indeed, by the armed combinations of the rebellion, but they are still complete, only awaiting the overthrow of the armed combinations to be resumed and controlled by those persons within the same territorial limit who have not rebelled.

It is objected to this view that it assumes a substratum of loyal people still existing in the rebel States. The assumption is certainly warrantable when we read of the scenes—witnesses against the Southern Confederacy whose eloquence surpasses speech—that have attended the overthrow of the rebellion in Tennessee; and when we remember that even in South Carolina there are such names as Judge Pettigrew and Governor Aiken; and when in New York city alone there is to-day a large body of Georgians, whose loyalty has made them exiles, and who only await the day of their State's deliverance to return and restore their State's loyalty; and when the signs in North Carolina are so positive that a Union element yet survives there; and when even far-off Texas has her loyal exiles in our midst. Considering those 'signs of the times,' the assumption that there are loyal men in the rebellious States seems certainly a valid and proper one, and one on which fairly to rest an argument. But it is believed that the argument is good without this assumption. Suppose that, the rebellion being overthrown, not even one man remains loyal to the Nation within the territorial limits of any single State, has the State ceased to exist? A State is called, in the language of publicists, a body politic. It is, in effect, a sort of corporation, administered for the benefit of its inhabitants by trustees whom they appoint. One of the maxims of law is that a trust shall not fail for lack of a person to execute it. It might, therefore, in such a case as the one supposed, be competent for the United States to designate persons who should take charge of the State Government, and administer it in trust for the children of its former recreant inhabitants, and as their legal and political successors. Reverting to the settled principles of the law, we find that the essential idea of a corporation is its immortality, or individuality, or the perpetual succession of persons under it, notwithstanding the changes of the individual persons who compose it. The State, like a corporation, has an individuality of its own, which is not affected by the changes of the individual persons composing it. It has an immortality, not affected by their entire extinction. Its own organic existence is not thereby extinguished. In other words, the State cannot be merged, or swallowed up, in the Nation.

It seems, then, that the doctrine of State suicide, as propounded in so many words, by its author, in the original resolutions offered in Congress, is equally repugnant to the Constitution and good sense. It is, in effect, revolutionary; for it would dismember the Union, by striking out of existence States as purely and completely sovereign within the sphere of their functions as the Nation itself. It is idle to deny that it thus recognizes and gives support to the doctrine of secession; for it accepts the results of secession, and supposes that accomplished by the rebellion which the war is meant to thwart and prevent, to wit, the disruption of the ties that bind the States and the Nation together in one harmonious whole.

What are we fighting for? To restore constitutional order; to vindicate 'the sacredness of nationality.' In other words, to combat the principle of secession, by force and arms, in its last appeal, just as we have always combated and opposed it hitherto on the platform and in the senate. But what right have we to oppose secession by coercion? The right of self-preservation. For secession loosens the very corner-stone of our Government, so that the whole arch falls, breaking the Union into an infinity of wretched States. Admitting secession, our Constitution is, indeed, no stronger than 'a rope of sand.' We fight to maintain the Constitution as an Ordinance of Sovereignty (as it has been forcibly styled) over the whole Nation. We must so maintain it, or surrender our national existence. This being so, we cannot admit any such right as secession; for that would be to sanction the revolutionary doctrine that a body of men, usurping a State Government, and calling themselves the State, can absolve their fellow citizens from their allegiance to the Constitution, the supreme law of the land. The rebel States are, then, still members of the Union. Otherwise, we are waging an unjust war. Otherwise we falsify and contradict the record of our Revolution, and are striving to reduce to dependence a people who are equally striving to maintain their independence. There is no justification for this war save in the plea for the National Union; no warrant for it save in the preservation of the Constitution, which is the palladium and safeguard of the Nation. The Southern rebellion has usurped the functions and powers of various State Governments: when it is overthrown, the victims of its usurpation will be restored to their former rights. Their allegiance is still perfect. Nothing but their own act can absolve them from it.

II. THEORY OF THE STATES AS ALIEN ENEMIES.

The advocates of the theory that the rebel States are foreign enemies, and may be treated according to all the laws of war with foreign nations, seek support for their views in the decision of the Supreme Court rendered last March in the Hiawatha and other prize cases. The question was raised in those cases whether we had the right to confiscate the property of persons resident in the rebel States who might be non-combatants or loyal men. The Court decided that 'all persons residing within this territory (the rebellious region) whose property may be used to increase the revenues of the hostile power, are in this contest liable to be treated as enemies, though not foreigners.' This decision defines the status of persons in the rebellion region bello flagranti, or while the war lasts. It calls all persons within that region enemies, because their 'property may be used to increase the revenues of the hostile power.' Could their property be so used after the defeat of the rebellious power? The decision does not assume to determine that question. Nor could it come within the province of the Court to decide what might at some future time be the condition and status of loyal men at the South.

It is said that in accordance with this decision all persons in the rebellious States are to be treated as alien enemies, and the deduction is hastily made that as to them all the Constitution, like any treaty, or compact, with foreign States, is, by the fact of rebellion, annulled. Aside from the fact that the Constitution is not a compact, and when rightly understood cannot be confounded with a compact, such a conclusion is at war with that essential principle of our Government, which denies to any body of men the right to absolve their unwilling fellow citizens from their allegiance, that is, denies the right of secession. Such citizens, whose will is overpowered by force, have never proved false to their fealty. The Constitution is still theirs; they are still parties to it; and their rights are still sacred under it.

That no such conclusion is warranted by the decision above referred to, will still further appear from the following considerations:—Our dealings with foreign nations are regulated by the principles of international law, and, according to that law, war abrogates all treaties between belligerents, as of course. But international law supposes the belligerents to be of equal and independent sovereignty. This is the very point in dispute in our contest with the rebellion. We deny to the rebellion the attribute of independent sovereignty, as we deny it to every one of the States included in the rebellion. Our Constitution is, in no sense, a treaty between sovereign States. It is an organic law, establishing a nation, ordained by the people of the whole country. Therefore, only such persons under it as voluntarily wage war upon it, can be strictly called enemies: only such persons, on the defeat of the rebellion, will be liable to be treated as enemies. As to all men who have not participated in the rebellion, it is not easy to see how war, rebellion, usurpation, or any power on earth can destroy their rights under the Constitution.

III. THEORY OF THE CONSTITUTION AND COMMON SENSE.

Reconstruction, then, must come, as the Union came, by the action of the people within the territorial limits of each recreant State. That it will so come is, in a manner, assured and made certain by the action of Kentucky, Missouri, Virginia, and Tennessee. Surely, we cannot expect the political action of an oppressed minority, in any one of the rebel States, to anticipate the National forces sent for their deliverance. The armed combinations in those States have overborne all opposition, and, during the past two years, have wielded the complete powers of a military despotism. The Southern confederacy is a monstrous usurpation in each and every rebel State. The United States is intent on dethroning that usurpation, for the purpose of restoring, to every man who asks it, the rights guaranteed to him by the Constitution of his fathers; and for the equal purpose of asserting its rightful powers as the National Government under the Constitution. The present Administration, then, has taken the only course possible to be taken without open and flagrant violation of the Constitution, which is the sole and sufficient warrant for the war. For this course Abraham Lincoln is entitled to the gratitude of the people. His conscientious policy has been the salvation of the Republic, maintaining its integrity against armed rebellion, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, saving it from destructives whose zeal in a noble cause has often blinded their minds to the higher claims of the Nation: in whose existence, nevertheless, that cause alone has promise of success.

But, it is asked, does not rebellion affect the institution of slavery? Not as a State institution, so far as the municipal law of any State is concerned. That the slaves of rebels may properly be confiscated, as other property, seems not only reasonable and right, but also in accordance with well-settled decisions of the Supreme Court. Moreover, the Constitution gives to Congress the power to prescribe the punishment of treason, and undoubtedly the Supreme Court will hold the Confiscation Act under that power to be constitutional and valid.

But does not the Emancipation Proclamation operate to confer freedom on all slaves within the rebel States? This question must likewise be brought to the Supreme Court for adjudication. If the Proclamation can be shown to have the qualities of a legislative act, doubtless it will operate as a statute of freedom to all slaves within the districts named in it. But it must be remembered that the Executive cannot make law. The Proclamation, as an edict of the military commander, can only operate upon the condition of such slaves as are in a position to take advantage of its terms. As such military edict, therefore, it might be of no force outside of the actual military lines of the United States armies.

But the fact of freedom to many thousands of slaves by reason of this war, and the inevitable speedy breaking down of the institution of slavery as one of the consequences to slaveholders of their mad folly, are beyond dispute, and assure us of the wise Providence of Him who maketh even the wrath of man to praise Him, and the remainder of wrath He will restrain.



VIRGINIA.

One of the most curious and interesting results of that eclectic spirit which has brought into suggestive relations the different spheres of human knowledge and inquiry, is the application of geographical facts to historical interpretation. The comprehensive researches of Ritter and the scientific expositions of Humboldt enable us to recognize the vast influence of local conditions upon social development, and to account for the peculiar traits of special civilization by the distribution of land and water, and the agency of climate and position. In the calm retrospect of the present crisis of our national history, when the philosopher takes the place of the partisan and the exciting incidents of the present are viewed in the chastened light of the past, it will be seen and felt that a kind of poetical justice and moral necessity made Virginia the scene of civil and physical strife. Of all the States, she represents, both in her annals and her resources, her scenery, and her social character, the average national characteristics: natives of each section of the land find within her limits congenial facts of life and nature, of manners and industry: like her Southern sisters, she has known all the consequences of slavery—but at certain times and places, free labor has thriven; commerce and agriculture, the miner, the mariner, the tradesman, not less than the planter, found therein scope for their respective vocations; the life of the sea coast, of the mountains, and of the interior valleys—the life of the East, West, and Middle States was there reproduced in juxtaposition with that of the South. Nowhere in the land could the economist more distinctly trace the influence of free and slave labor upon local prosperity: nowhere has the aristocratic element been more intimately in contact with the democratic. Her colonial record indicates a greater variety in the original population than any other province: she has given birth to more eminent statesmen, has been the arena of more fierce conflicts of opinion, and is associated most directly with problems of government, of society, and of industrial experiment. On her soil were first landed African captives; and when the curse thus entailed was dying out, it was renewed and aggravated by the inducement to breed slaves for the cotton and sugar plantations. From Virginia flowed the earliest stream of immigration to the West, whereby a new and mighty political element was added to the Republic: there are some of the oldest local memorials of American civilization: for a long period she chiefly represented Southern life and manners to the North: placed between the extremes of climate—producing the staples of all the States, except those bordering on the Gulf—earlier colonized, prominent in legislation, fruitful in eminent men, she was more visited by travellers, more written about, better known, and therefore gathered to and grafted upon herself more of the rich and the reckless tendencies and traits of the country; and became thus a central point and a representative State—which destiny seems foreshadowed by her physical resources and her local situation. Except New England, no portion of our country has been more fully and faithfully illustrated as to its scenery, domestic life, and social traits, by popular literature, than Virginia. The original affinity of her colonial life with the ancestral traditions of England, found apt expression in Spenser's dedication of his peerless allegory to Elizabeth, wherein the baptism of her remote territory, in honor of her virginal fame, was recognized. The first purely literary work achieved within her borders was that of a classical scholar, foreshadowing the long dependence of her educated men upon the university culture of Great Britain; and those once admired sketches of scenery and character which gave to William Wirt, in his youth, the prestige of an elegant writer, found there both subjects and inspiration; while the American school of eloquence traces its early germs to the bar and legislature of the Old Dominion, where the Revolutionary appeals of Patrick Henry gave it a classic fame. The most prolific and kindhearted of English novelists, when he had made himself a home among us and looked round for a desirable theme on which to exercise his facile art, chose the Southampton Massacre as the nucleus for a graphic story of family life and negro character. The 'Swallow Barn' of Kennedy is a genuine and genial picture of that life in its peaceful and prosperous phase, which will conserve the salient traits thereof for posterity, and already has acquired a fresh significance from the contrast its pleasing and naive details afford to the tragic and troublous times which have since almost obliterated the traces of all that is characteristic, secure, and serene. The physical resources and amenities of the State were recorded with zest and intelligence by Jefferson before Clinton had performed a like service for New York, or Flint for the West, or any of the numerous scholars and writers of the Eastern States for New England. The very fallacy whereon treason based her machinations and the process whereby the poison of Secession was introduced into the nation's life-blood, found exposition in the insidious fiction of a Virginian—Mr. George Tucker—secretly printed years ago, and lately brought into renewed prominence by the rebellion. 'Our Cousin Veronica,' a graceful and authentic family history, from the pen of an accomplished lady akin to the people and familiar with their life, adds another vivid and suggestive delineation thereof to the memorable illustrations by Wirt, Kennedy, and James; while a score of young writers have, in verse and prose, made the early colonial and the modern plantation and waterplace life of the Old Dominion, its historical romance and social and scenic features, familiar and endeared; so that the annals and the aspects of no State in the Union are better known—even to the local peculiarities of life and language—to the general reader, than those of Virginia, from negro melody to picturesque landscape, from old manorial estates to field sports, and from improvident households to heroic beauties; and among the freshest touches to the historical and social picture are those bestowed by Irving in some of the most charming episodes of his 'Life of Washington.'

When the river on whose banks was destined to rise the capital of the State received the name of the English monarch in whose reign and under whose auspices the first settlers emigrated, and the Capes of the Chesapeake were baptized by Newport for his sons Charles and Henry, the storm that washed him beyond his proposed goal revealed a land of promise, which thenceforth beguiled adventure and misfortune to its shores. Captain John Smith magnified the scene of his romantic escape from the savages: 'Heaven and earth,' he wrote, 'seemed never to have agreed better to frame a place for man's commodious and delightful habitation.' To the wonderful reports of majestic forests, rare wild flowers, and strange creatures, such as the opossum, the hummingbird, the flying squirrel, and the rattlesnake—to the pleasures of the chase, and the curious traits of aboriginal life—were soon added the attractions of civic immunities and possibilities—free trade, popular legislative rule, and opportunities of profitable labor and social advancement. Ere long, George Sandys, a highly educated employee of the Government, was translating Ovid on the banks of the James river; industry changed the face of the land; a choice breed of horses, the tobacco culture, hunting, local politics, hospitality—churches after the old English model, manor houses with lawns, bricks, and portraits significant of ancestral models, justified the pioneer's declaration that Virginia 'was the poor man's best country in the world.' Beautiful, indeed, were the natural features of the country as described by the early travellers; auspicious of the future of the people as it expanded to the eye of hope, when the colony became part of a great and free nation. Connected at the north and east, by thoroughfare and watercourse, with the industrial and educated States of New England, the fertile and commercial resources of New York, and the rich coal lands and agricultural wealth of Pennsylvania; Maryland and the Atlantic providing every facility to foreign trade, and the vast and then partially explored domains of Kentucky and Ohio inviting the already swelling tide of immigration, and their prolific valleys destined to be the granary of the two hemispheres—all that surrounded Virginia seemed prophetic of growth and security within, the economist and the lover of nature found the most varied materials; with three hundred and fifty-five miles of extent, a breadth of one hundred and eighty-five, and a horizontal area of sixty-five thousand six hundred and twenty-four square miles—one district embracing the sea coast to the head of tidewater, another thence to the Blue Ridge, a third the valley region between the latter range and that of the Alleghanies, and a fourth the counties beyond them—every kind of soil and site, from ocean margin to river slope, from mountain to plain, are included within her limits: here, the roads stained with oxides, indicative of mineral wealth; there, the valleys plumed with grain and maize; the bays white with sails; the forest alive with game; lofty ridges, serene nooks, winding rivers, pine barrens, alluvial levels, sterile tracts, primeval woods—every phase and form of natural resource and beauty to invite productive labor, win domestic prosperity, and gratify the senses and the soul. Rivers, whose names were already historical—the James, the York, the Rappahannock, the Potomac, and the peaceful Shenandoah, flowing through its beautiful valley and connecting the base of the Blue Ridge with the Potomac; Chesapeake bay, a hundred and ninety miles from its entrance through Maryland and Virginia, on the one side, and the Roanoke, finding an outlet in Albemarle sound, while the Kanawha and Monongahela, as tributaries of the Ohio, on the other, keep up that communication and natural highway which links, in a vast silver chain, the separate political unities of the land. The hills ribbed with fine marble and pierced by salubrious springs; picturesque natural bridges, cliffs, and caves, described with graphic zeal by Jefferson, and the wild and mysterious Dismal Swamp, sung by Moore; the tobacco of the eastern counties, the hemp of lands above tidewater, the Indian corn, wheat, rye, red clover, barley, and oats, of the interior, and the fine breeds of cattle and horses raised beyond the Alleghany—are noted by foreign and native writers, before and immediately after the Revolution, as characteristic local attractions and permanent economical resources; and with them glimpses of manorial elegance, hospitality, and culture—which long made the life and manners of the State one of the most congenial social traditions of the New World.

Yet, as if prophetic of the long political issues of which she was destined to be the scene of conflict, the colonial star of Virginia was early obscured by misfortune. When John Smith left her shores for the last time in 1609, discontent and disaster had already marred the prospects of the new settlement; and, in half a year, Gates, Somers, Newport arrived to find but sixty colonists remaining, and they resolved to abandon the enterprise; but on encountering Delaware, they were induced to return, and Jamestown was again the scene of life and labor. Ten years of comparative success ensued; and then one hundred and sixty poor women were imported for wives, at a cost of about the same number of pounds of tobacco; but simultaneously with this requisite provision for domestic growth and comfort, the germ of Virginia's ruin came: a Dutch vessel entered the James river, bringing twenty African captives, which were purchased by the colonists. Two years later the Indians made a destructive foray upon the thriving village; the king became alarmed at the freedom of political discussion, dissolved the Virginia company, and appointed a governor and twelve councillors to rule the province;—the father's policy was followed by Charles the First, many of whose zealous partisans found a refuge from Cromwell in the province. At last came the Revolution and the Union. Meantime slavery was dying out; its abolition was desired; and had free labor then and there superseded it, far different would have been the destiny of the fair State; whose western portion affords such a contrast to that wherein this blight induced improvidence and deterioration, the tokens whereof were noted by every visitor in the spare and desultory culture of the soil, the neglected resources, the dilapidated fences and dwellings, and the absence of that order and comfort which inevitably attaches to legitimate industry and self-reliance. This melancholy perversion of great natural advantages was the result of slave breeding for the Southern market. Otherwise Virginia would have continued the prosperous development initiated in her colonial days. The exigencies of the cotton culture, rendered immensely profitable by a mechanical invention which infinitely lessened the cost of preparing the staple for the market, had thus renewed and prolonged the original and fast-decaying social and political bane of a region associated with the noblest names and most benign prospects. Chief-Justice Marshall aptly described to an English traveller this sad and fatal transition:

'He said he had seen Virginia the leading State for half his life; he had seen her become the second, and sink to be the fifth. Worse than this, there was no arresting her decline if her citizens did not put an end to slavery; and he saw no signs of any intention to do so, east of the mountains at least. He had seen whole groups of estates, populous in his time, lapse into waste. He had seen agriculture exchanged for human stock breeding; and he keenly felt the degradation. The forest was returning over the fine old estates, and the wild creatures which had not been seen for generations were reappearing; numbers and wealth were declining, and education and manners were degenerating. It would not have surprised him to be told that on that soil would the main battles be fought when the critical day should come which he foresaw.'

That day it is our lot to behold. Forced at the point of the bayonet to arrogate to herself the illegal claims she had vainly sought to establish by popular suffrage, as reserved rights, in 1787, and the resolutions of 1798, the Secession Ordinance was nominally passed and summarily enforced, despite the protests of the citizens and the withdrawal of the western counties; and thus the traitors of the Cotton States made Virginia the battle field between slaveocracy and constitutional government. As early as 1632 a fierce controversy for territorial rights occurred on the Chesapeake, when that portion of Virginia, now Maryland, was brought into dispute by Claiborne, who began to trade, notwithstanding the grant which Lord Baltimore had secured: this, the first conflict between the whites, and two Indian massacres, made desolate the region so lately devastated by the civil war. Nor was the original enjoyment of remarkable political rights coincident with American independence; for, while Charles the Second was an exile, and Parliament demoralized, the fugitive king still held nominal sway in Virginia; and when the flight of Richard Cromwell left the kingdom without a head, that distant colony was ruled by its own assembly, and enjoyed free suffrage and free trade: then came what is called Bacon's rebellion—an effective protest against oppressive prohibitions. Nor did these civil discords end with the Restoration; many old soldiers of Cromwell emigrated to Virginia, and, under their auspices, an insurrection 'against the tobacco plot' was organized; and this was followed by numerous difficulties in home legislation, by violent controversies with royal governors; deputies continually were sent to England to remonstrate with the king against 'intolerable grants' and the exportation of jailbirds. Their despotic master over the sea appropriated the lands of the colonists, while their own representatives monopolized the profits; cruel or obstinate was the sway of Berkeley, Spottwood, Dinwiddie, and Dunmore; and after the people had succumbed as regards military opposition, they continued to maintain their rights by legislative action. Under James the Second, Lord Howard repealed many of these conservative acts and prorogued the House of Burgesses. A respite, attested by glad acclaim, marked the accession of William and Mary, and the recall of Howard. Andros was sent over in 1692. The skirmish with Junonville initiated the French war and introduced upon the scene its most hallowed name and character, when Colonel Washington appeared first as a soldier, strove in vain against the ignorance and self-will of Dinwiddie, and shared Braddock's defeat, to be signally preserved for the grandest career in history.

And when the war of the Revolution gave birth to the nation, not only was Virginia the native State of its peerless chief, but some of its memorable scenes and heroes there found scope; Steuben and Lafayette there carried on military operations, there the traitor Arnold was wounded, Hamilton and Rochambeau gained historic celebrity, and there the great drama was closed by the surrender of Cornwallis. In the debates incident to the adoption of the Federal Constitution, there was manifested in Virginia that jealousy of a strong central government, which thwarted the wise advocacy and ignored the prophetic warnings of the best statesmen, thereby confirming the fundamental error destined, years after, to give facility to treasonable usurpation: the Constitution was only ratified, at last, by a majority of ten. In the war of 1812, Hampton, Craney Island, White House, and various places on and near the Potomac, since identified with fierce encounters and forays in the war of the rebellion, witnessed gallant deeds in behalf of the Republic. In 1829 a convention assembled in Virginia to modify the Constitution. Long having the most extensive territory and largest slaveholders, the aristocratic element disturbed and overmastered democratic principles. During Cromwell's rule, when virtually independent, Virginia proffered a fleet to the fugitive monarch; who, when restored, in gratitude ordered her arms to be quartered with those of England, Scotland, and Ireland; in exile even accepted her invitation to migrate thither and assume the privileges of royalty: coins of the Old Dominion yet testify this projected despotism. Instead of Dissenters as in New England, Quakers as in Pennsylvania, or Romanists as in Maryland, Virginia, from her earliest colonization, was identified with the Church of England. It was regarded, says one of her historians, as an 'unrighteous compulsion to maintain teachers; and what they called religious errors were deeply felt during the regal government:' the children of the more prosperous colonists were sent to England to be educated; their pursuits and habits, on returning, were unfavorable to study; and, therefore, the advantage thus gained was, for the most part, confined to 'superficial good manners,' and the ideal standard attained that of 'true Britons and true churchmen;' the former was a more cherished distinction there than elsewhere in America. In 1837 was copied from a tombstone in an old-settled part of the State, this inscription: 'Here lyes the body of Lieut. William Harris, who died May ye 16, 1608—a good soldier, husband, and neighbor: by birth a Briton.' In these facts of the past and normal tendencies we find ample means and motives to account for the anomalous political elements involved in the history—social and civic—of Virginia. While boasting the oldest university where four Presidents of the United States were educated, she sustained a slave code which was a bitter satire on civilized society: the law of entail long prevailed in a community ostensibly democratic, and only by the strenuous labors of Jefferson was church monopoly abolished. It is not surprising, in the retrospect, that her roll of famous citizens includes the noblest and the basest names which illustrate the political transitions of the land; the architects and subverters of free polity, the magnanimous and the perfidious. When the ameliorating influence of time and truth had, in a degree, harmonized the incongruous elements of opinion and developed the economical resources, while they liberalized the sentiments and habitudes of the people; when, says Caines, 'slavery, by exhausting the soil, had eaten away its own profits, and the recolonization by free settlers had actually begun, came suddenly the prohibition of the African slave trade, and nearly at the same time, the vast enlargement of the field for slavery, by the purchase of Louisiana; and these two events made Virginia again profitable as a means of breeding for exportation and sale at the South.

The future geographer who elaborately applies the philosophy of that science, as interpreted by its modern professors, to our own history, will find in the events of the last few years in Virginia the richest and most impressive illustrations of local and physical causes in determining political and social destinies. Between the eastern and western portion of that State it will be demonstrated that nature placed irreconcilable barriers to the supremacy of slave labor and slave property; and the economical value of each will be shown thus and there tested with emphatic truth; so that by the laws of physical geography the first effect of an appeal to arms to maintain the one, was to alienate, as a civic element, the other, and give birth to a new State, by virtue of the self assertion incident to the violation of a normal instinct and necessity of civilization.

What a change came over the scene when the grave civic interests so long and recklessly involved in the conflict of opinion were submitted to the arbitrament of battle! Along the river on whose shores the ashes of Washington had slept for more than half a century in honored security, batteries thundered upon each passing craft that bore the flag of the nation: every wood became a slaughter pen, every bluff a shrine of patriotic martyrdom; bridges were destroyed and rebuilt with alacrity; the sentinel's challenge broke the stillness of midnight; the earth was honeycombed with riflepits; campfires glowed on the hills; thousands perished in the marshes; creeks were stained with human blood; here sank the trench; there rose a grave mound or a fortress; pickets challenged the wanderer; every ford and mountain pass witnessed the clash of arms and echoed with the roar of artillery; the raid, the skirmish, the bivouac, the march, and the battery successively spread desolation and death; Arlington House, full of peaceful trophies, once dear to national pride, was the headquarters of an army; balloons hung in the sky, whence the movements of the foe were watched. Gaps and junctions were contested unto death; obscure towns gained historic names and bloody memories; and each familiar court-house and village came to be identified with valorous achievements or sanguinary disaster.