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348 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 ©©(BTFiaiBM ILO 1 ? &&&&¥ If 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