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what he termed his bachelor’s privilege.
Richard Motte was soon again in the boat
at our side.
“Which do you prefer, Miss Drayton,”
said he, “to cross the plank as my cousin
did, in a celestial manner, or quietly to ac
cept of the aid of my arm in the manner ter
restrial ?”
“The latter, of course,” replied she, laugh
ing: “but you must first see this fair lady
over safely, and Mr. Loring also, for his
Northern ideas of travel will make him fas
tidious about our crazy plank.”
Mr. Loring and I, however, walked quiet
ly over, and received a hearty welcome from
our host, who led the way through the som
bre shades of those dark and romantic grounds.
Proud was his step and bearing, and well they
might be. Wealthy, intellectual, without one
act of cruelty to those who were beneath him
registered against him, a friend to the slave
in sickness, an adviser always, a hard task
master never, he lived beloved and loving,
shedding happiness on all. Many wondered
at his still continuing a bachelor, with all
these advantages : and when questioned about
his youth and celibacy, he would answer,
with a laughing tone —
“ Most assuredly, all women are sublime,
loveable, angelic,” and then a shade would
steal across his face, and he would continue,
“ but the trail of the serpent is over them all,
and they are branded with the accursed marks
of fickleness and treachery.”
It did not require a great deal of penetra
tion to discover in his words a tone of pique,
and so we all came to the conclusion that in
days of yore he had been ill-used by one of
the fair sex. His heart, however, was brim
ful of love, and folded in its inner shrine
were his nephew and niece, Henry and Lucy
Drayton.
We followed on in pleasant converse, un
til we reached the house, with its dark and
time-worn walls, its noble flight of stone
steps, and its gloomy windows. We entered
gaily and carelessly, but every voice was
mute as we stopped on the threshold, while
entering the corridor. On each side it was
hung with family portraits of many genera
tions —proud looking grand-sires and grand
dames —men with powdered hair and pom
pous dress, or with curling jet locks and un
assurhing costume —womefi with beauty like
Cleopatra’s, which might have lost an em
pire—with bearing gentle as a seraph’s, or
with five gleaming from their flashing eyes.
Suddenly we halted before the portrait of a
beautiful woman, of’ at least a century be
fore. She wore a bridal dress, and in her
we beheld an exact likeness to Lucy Dray
ton, so unmistakeable, that none could deny
it. There were the same glossy hair and
brilliant eye, the same proud bearing and
coral lip, which were the leading character
istics of Lucy’s style.
“Come hither, child,” said Mr. Drayton,
“ and look upon your prototype once again.
You grow more and more like your lovely
ancestress, and it is gratifying to think that
the most beautiful of our race has her linea
ments preserved to the world in yours. In
one thing,” added he, changing his serious
tone to one of badinage, “you differ: you
wear not yet the bridal robe, dear Loo; but
who knows how soon you may ?”
We entered the large and high-ceiled sit
ting'room, and sat around as bright a fire as
ever shone within those walls—for even the
lofty dames who lined the corridor. Dinner
was soon announced, and our host, approach
ing me with the lowest bow imaginable, gen
tly took the tips of my fingers within the
tips of his, and with his fine head elevated,
led the way.
What a benign smile overspread the fea
tures of the old butler as we approached !
His only duty consisted in opening the din
ing-room door for guests, and in waiting upon
the dinner service—breakfast and tea being
of too little importance for his aristocratic no
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tions; and he was never called upon, except
at this time. His hair had grown grey in
his master’s service, and the under waiters
dreaded a lecture from old Ned, more than
they did from any other human being.
And what a dinner there was ’ We count
ed eight hungry travellers, but there were
provisions enough for four times that num
ber. Without noticing the artistic order of
the dishes, therfe was game of all kinds, from
the wild turkey—the most palatable bird of
our woods —to the delicious and savoury par
tridge. Not to mention the soup, we had fish
caught in a meandering stream that threaded
its silver course through the western woods,
and to which we afterwards paid many a
piscatory visit—and a round of beef that
made the table groan beneath its weight. —
Nor was the dessert wanting in elegance or
variety, for Maum Patty, the old housekeep
er, knew well her art, and happy the beings,
we thought, who at lunen time could charm
her mysterious bunch of keys, win a smile
from her cross and cold countenance, (which
we dreaded like a night-mare,) and which
was only a mask worn to cover her too gen
erous and good-natured feelings, and ingra
tiate themselves into her favor.
“Go along,” she would say, with a for
bidding scowl, “you follow me all day like
chicken after de hen, and I aint got so much
as a piece of bread to give you,”, while at
the same time she would bestow upon us
some cake, custard, or jelly, fresh from her
ebony fingers.
The silver, too, with which the table abound
ed, was valuable as a curiosity, as well as for
its solidity. Unlike the plain plate of the
present day, it was embossed with figures and
carving now rarely seen. Age showed itself
in every goblet and salver, and many a ro
mantic tale could be woven from the lives of
those, who, in former times, had lingered
around that very boartl. Our host, with con
siderable assiduity, filled and re-filled our
plates, until, at Lucy’s summons, we retired
to our chamber to take a siesta, and make
our toilet to fascinate and be fascinated in the
evening.
Sleep stole gently to Gertrude’s blue-veined
lids. I watched her dark lashes as they clos
ed over her azure eyes, like night over a vio
let. I saw a smile linger around her rosy
lips, fading and fading like the last rays of
an autumnal sunset, while, with her lips
slightly parted, and her dark auburn hair
clustering around her face, she realized in per
fection a sleeping beauty. As for Bell Alls
ton, how restless she was —now admiring
herself in the huge and time-worn mirror, or
examining with the eyes of a critic the mas
sive furniture which adorned the room. An
old easy chair, I remember, with its lion-claw
feet arid faded red damask, was the last thing
that attracted her attention, and she sank in
its inviting arms to a sweet and dreamless re
pose.
Dear Lucy Drayton, in those ancestral
walls, where thought came so busy, slumber
ed not. “ I will be your guardian angel,”
said she, “ and will watch that no grim mon
ster disturbs your rest;” and she threw her
self upon a sofa near the window that over
looked the broad domain. I stood by her for
a while, our arms interlaced, and spoke of
the beauty of the view.
- “This place,” she answered, “ has been the
scene of many an adventure. Here, in the
Tory war, were secreted men and arms; here
many fought bravely and perished, and their
blood is mingled with the very soil; and many
a patriot’s grave lies within that copse. And
here, too, on this very ground, oh! memory
above all others sacred, lived and died the
Indian. His canoe was often plied upon that
lovely stream, his wigwam built, perhaps, in
the shade of these very woods. Yonder is
one of his burial places, a mound which
holds his upright dead. We have been of
ten to visit it, but the negroes have such a
superstition about planting a spade into the
ground, that it has always been left unculti
vated for nearly a mile around it. They
never visit it after night-fall, and would walk
a long distance to avoid the spot*. • Every
thing appertaining to that race of beings,
whom I cannot but think injured and undone,
. whom we displaced from their own soil, trod
upon with our civilization, and hunted with
our gleaming swords and deadly fire-arms,
must ever prove an object of intense interest
to me. How glorious would it have been, if
they yet could have lived among us. Think
of an Indian walking these woods, his stal
wart frame, so much superior to our tall men.
standing upon that rising eminence, his form
in bold relief against the sky, his arrow aim
ed at a bounding deer, his hair streaming in
the wind, his looks all excitement, and his
proud cheek swelling with exultation at his
successful aim; but no,” continued Lucy,
changing her tone from one of great anima
tion to a soft whisper, for fear of disturbing
the sleepers, “ the race is accursed, hunted
themselves and persecuted, taken captive or
confined within the prison walls of a stipu
lated territory, they live a life of ferocious
despair, or die of broken-hearted sadness, and
nothing remains to us of them but their foot
paths, their relics, and their bones. Some
day, dear friend, we will visit their burial
place, the grave, no doubt, of many noble
warriors, and there muse upon their wrongs
and their fate.”
The tone in which Lucy had spoken, ex
cited my imagination. I could not rest for
thought of the Indians who were reputed by
the negroes to walk in the spirit round their
homestead graves. I therefore made my toi
let, while Lucy leaned her head upon the
window-sill, buried in deep thought, or gazed
upon the life-like picture which her fancy
had conjured up in the distant prospect.
Gertrude Middleton awoke from her rest
like the emerging of a star from beneath a
cloud, so refreshed, so dazzlingly beautiful
and bright, that we could not but gaze upon
her. She leturned our looks with a sweet
and serene smile, as if she was accustomed
to such admiration ; and yet not a gleam of
pride lingered within the clear depths of her
speaking eyes. The time-worn mirror re
. fleeted her loveliness, and as she twisted her
; locks around her delicate fingers, they fell
like snow-flakes, softly and gracefully into
bewitching ringlets. Her form, which had
been borne so easily by Richard Motte, was
small yet rounded, and her whole person con
veyed the idea of perfect trust. Binah, our
maid, walked like a presiding genius from
one to another, her plaid Christmas turban
elevated several inches higher than usual, and
her checked apron and neckerchief arranged
with great effect. One thing about her, how
ever, gave us, sensitive, city-bred beings,
quite a feeling of horror.
“What is the matter with your shoes, Bi
nah ?” said Lucy. “ They out-creak the big
oak in a storm, and we imagine that we have
music enough in our own voices, without
your shoe accompaniment.”
“Missis,” replied Binah, with a voice full
of solemnity, “I don’t know myself what is
de matter vvid dem. Dey foller me all about.
De older dey grow, de worse dey holler, and
dey hab dat construction dat dey will neber
wear out. De more softly 1 walks, de louder
dey cry.”
Having delivered herself in an oracular
manner of this speech, Binah resumed our
toilet, and during the merry peals of laughter
which followed, not a smile illumined her
countenance.
“ Soak them in water,” suggested 1.
“I has been try water,” said she sharply,
“dey like water.”
“Try soap,” urged Bell. Binah lifted up
her eyes to Heaven, as if in remembrance of
a wrong too great to be told in words. At
last, she ejaculated—
“ Dat has beentry, also, and day and night
it was notin’ but slip, slide, fall.”
Lucy promised her another pair, but bes -.
ou.r visit was .over, we regarded the
of Binah’s obstinate shoes as music al
those dim and lonely galleries. on s
We descended, a merry quartette, H nke ,
arm in arm, conscious of our loveliness
which we imagined would prove irresktin’
to the gentlemen. Stopping a moment t
the corridor, we again gazed at Lucy’s proto!
type, and were more surprised at the like*
ness, now that she had exchanged her travel
ing dress for one of lighter materials. \y’
opened the parlor door, and a flood of light
burst upon us. The fire rivalled the one~in
the morning, the huge brass andirons reflect!
ed our faces broadly on their polished sur .
faces in a hundred ways, and in every niche
burned a candle, while a huge, old-fashioned
astral lamp shed a steady light over the cen
tre table. Mr. Drayton was sitting atan old
but massive piano, striking chords and play,
ing the first part of Washington’s March
(for he could never, accomplish the second.!
much to his own admiration and the ennui of
his young guests. Dear old man, it was a
pleasure to me at least, to hear him, and l
would watch his expression as he struck
those few stray chords in a kind of reverie.
! as they were speaking to him of the past
On our entrance, the young men started,
Prometheus-like, to life. Henry Drayton
pushed away from his caresses two noble
hounds, who stretched their fine forms upon
the ample rug. and cast their bright and in
telligent eyes often upon our group. Rich
ard Motte rubbed his eyes and arose from a
sofa, trying to look very much as if he had
not been taking a nap ; and Mr. Loring, who
had been listening with Yankee courtesy to
Washington’s March, placed chairs for us
around the crackling faggots. Mr. Drayton,
after paying us each a compliment broad
enough for even the most modest to under
stand, ordered supper. We were conducted
again with due form to the dining-room,
where Lucy did the honors, with a grace
which is often wanting in those who dis
charge the duties of pouring out tea and cof
fee. To be over with the task is the general
aim, but Lucy had often some kind remark or
some pleasant jest for those she served.—
Mr. Drayton declared that we lingered too
long over the tea table conversing, and that
it robbed Abraham, the old black fiddler, of
the pleasure and honor of introducing his in
strument; but we loved the supper hour, and
after a day spent in different ways, discours
ed cn our various experiences. The young
men told of their good or ill luck in sporting,
the number of deer killed, and the exciting
runs—the awkwardness of Mr. Loring, who
was always any where but at his stand, and
who was quite as much delighted at the cap
ture. of a squirrel, as at the death of a noble
buck; while we described our walks in the
woods, and visits to the old and infirm ne
groes, she presents of eggs that we had re
ceived, and lastly, a project we had in view
that we wished and yet dreaded, that of visit
ing the Indian Mound.
But to return to our first evening. The
scraping of Abraham’s violin recalled us to
the parlor, and we heard his authoritative
voice calling out, “ ladies and gemmen, take
out your partners for a contilion.” Mr.
Drayton approached me with due solemnity,
and in form asked for the honor of my hand.
Henry Drayton wished for that of Gertrude,
but Richard was before him again, and he
led her out triumphant. Courtesy required
him to dance with Miss Allston, and Mr.
Loring, who understood nothing that was
going on, for who can calculate upon the
sudden formation of a country quadrille, was
admonished by Abraham, who punched him
respectfully with his fiddle-stick, at the same
time pointing towards Lucy in the most un
equivocal manner. He understood at last,
and as he turned his back towards Abraham,
that individual, in virtuous indignation, ele
vated bis eyes until the pupils were entirely