CHAPTER XXVII.

  “My father had a daughter lov'd a man,
  As it might be perhaps, were I a woman,
  I should your lordship.”

  Viola.

As the reader must, by this time, have a pretty accurate idea of our manner of marching in the wilderness, I shall not dwell on this part of our proceedings any longer. On we went, and at a rapid rate, the guide having abandoned the common route, which had got to be a pretty visible trail, and taking another on which, as it appeared to me, he had no other clue than an instinct. Guert had told Susquesus of the ravine, and how desirable it was to reach it, getting for an answer a quiet nod of the head, and a low ejaculation. It was understood, however, that we were to approach Herman Mordaunt's fortress, by that avenue.

It was past the turn of the day when we quitted Mooseridge, and none of us hoped to reach Ravensnest before dark. It fell out, as we expected, night drawing its veil over the scene, about half an hour before the Trackless plunged into the northern, or forest-end of the ravine. Thus far, we had got no evidence whatever of the proximity of foes. Our march had been silent, rapid, and watchful, but it proved to be perfectly undisturbed. We knew, however, that the critical portion of it was still before us; and just as the sun set, we had made a halt, in order to look to our arms. It may now be well to say a word or two on the subject of the position of Herman Mordaunt's 'garrison,' as well as of the adjacent settlement. I call Ravensnest the 'garrison,' for that is the word which New York custom has long applied to the fortress itself, as well as those who defend it. Some critics pretend there is authority to justify the practice, and I see by the dictionaries that they are not entirely in the wrong.

The Nest stood quite half a mile from the nearest point of the forest, a belt of trees that fringed the margin, and which filled the cavity of the ravine, excepted. Near it, and in plain sight, was the heart of the settlement itself, which extended, in an east and west direction, fully four miles. This area, however, was cleared only in a settlement fashion; having patches of virgin forest scattered pretty profusely over its surface. The mill-lot, as Jason's purchase was termed, lay at the most distant extremity of the view, but, as yet, the axe had not been applied to it. I had remarked in my last visit to the place, that, standing before Herman Mordaunt's door, something like a dozen log cabins were to be seen at a time in different parts of the settlement, and that this number might have been increased to twenty, by varying the observer's position.

Of course, the whole of the open space was more or less disfigured by stumps, dead and girdled trees, charred stubs, log-heaps, brush, and all the other unseemly accompaniments of the first eight or ten years of the existence of a new settlement. This period, in the history of a country, may be likened to the hobbledehoy condition in ourselves, when we have lost the graces of childhood, without having attained the finished forms of men.

Herman Mordaunt's settlement would have been thought a strong country, in one sense, for a field fight, had there been men enough to contend with a hostile party of any force. But, I had heard him say that he had but about seventeen rifles and muskets that could be in the least relied on, inasmuch as some of his people were Europeans, and had no knowledge of fire-arms, while experience had shown that others, on the occurrence of an alarm, invariably fled to the woods, with their families, instead of rallying around the settlement colours. Such delinquencies usually take place, I believe, on all emergencies; love of life being even a stronger instinct than love of property. Here and there a sturdy fellow, however, would bar himself in, with a determination to go for the whole, under his own bark roof; and, occasionally, defences were made that would do credit to a hero.

It should be apparent to those who have any accurate notion of savage warfare, that the ravine, being, as it was, the only wooded spot near Herman Mordaunt's fortress, would be the place of all others most likely to contain an enemy who made his approaches against a garrison, by means of natural facilities alone. We were aware of this; and Guert, who took an active command among us, as we drew near to danger, issued his commands for every man to be on the alert, in order that there might be no confusion. We were instructed as to the manner of proceeding the moment an alarm was given; and Guert, who was a capital mimic, had previously taught us several calls and rallying signals, all of which were good imitations of the cries of different tenants of the woods, principally birds. These signals had their origin with the red-man, who often resorted to them, and were said to be more successfully practised by our own hunters and riflemen than even by those with whom they originated.

On entering the ravine, the order of our march was changed. While Susquesus and Jumper were still kept in advance, Guert, Dirck, Jaap and myself moved abreast, and quite close together. The density of the foliage, and the deep obscurity that prevailed in the bottom of this dell-like hollow, rendered this precaution necessary. It soon became so dark, indeed, that our only guide was the brook that gurgled along the bottom of the ravine, and which we knew issued into the open ground at its termination, to join a small river that meandered through some natural meadows to the westward of the Nest, but which, in the language of the country, was called a 'creek.' This abuse of good old English words, I am sorry to say, is getting to be only too common among us; yet, I have heard Americans boast that we speak the language better than the mother country! That we have no class among us that uses an unintelligible dialect, like that of Lancashire or Yorkshire, is true enough; and, that we have fewer persons who use decided vulgarisms, in the way of false grammar, than is the case in England, may be also accurate; but, it might be well for us to correct a great many faults into which we have certainly fallen, before we declaim with so much confidence about the purity of our English. 37 To return to the ravine.

We had gone so far in the hollow, dark dell, as to have reached a point where the faint light of the open ground and the stars in the firmament became visible to us, when we suddenly found ourselves alongside of the Trackless and Jumper. These Indians had halted; for their quick, jealous, eagle-like glances had detected the signs of enemies. Nor was this discovery very difficult to make, though some pains had actually been taken to conceal what was going on in our front. A party of some forty savages, every man of whom was in his war-paint, had lighted a fire beneath a shelving rock, and were gathered around it at supper. The fire had already done its duty, and was now merely smouldering, throwing a faint, flickering light on the dark, fierce features of the group that was clustered round. We might have approached the spot in any other direction, without seeing the danger in time to avoid it; but a kind Providence had carried the two Indians directly to a point where the dying embers immediately caught their attention, and where they halted as has been said. I do not think we were more than forty yards from this fearful band of savages, when they first met my eye; and, hardened as I had certainly somewhat become, by the service and scenes I had so lately gone through, I will confess that my blood was a little chilled at the sight.

Our conference was in whispers. There we stood, huddled together beneath a huge oak, the shade of which rendered the darkness that formed our only safeguard, so much the more intense. So close were we, in fact, that even Jaap's body was in absolute contact with my own. Susquesus proposed making a détour, by crossing the brook, which, fortunately, tumbled down some rocks at this point, making a very favourable noise, and thus pass our enemies, who would not probably end their meal until we had time to reach the 'garrison.' To this Guert applied his veto. He was of opinion, and I have always thought it was the decision of a man born to be a soldier, that we were exactly in the position we might desire to occupy, in order to be of great service to the family, and to strike the enemy with a panic. By attacking, we should certainly surprise the party in our front, and might make such an impression as would induce them to abandon the settlement. Both Dirck and myself coincided in this opinion, which even received the support of Jaap's voice.

“Yes, sah!—yes, Masser Corny, now 'e time to wengeance poor Pete!” he muttered, and that rather louder than was thought quite prudent.

As soon as the Trackless found how things were going, he and Jumper prepared for the conflict, as coolly as any of us. Our arrangements were very simple, and were soon made. We were to deliver a single fire from the spot where we stood, shout, and charge with the knife and tomahawk. No time was to be wasted, however; and, instead of remaining near the light, small as it was, we were to push for the mouth of the ravine, and thence make the best of our way, singly or in company, as chance should offer, to the gate of Ravensnest. In a moment we were in open files, and had our orders.

“Remember Traverse!” said Guert, sternly—“remember poor Sam, and all our murteret frients!”

The reader knows that Guert was apt to be very Dutch, when much excited. We did remember the dead; and I have often thought, but never knew precisely, that each of us sacrificed a victim to the manes of our lost companions, on that stern occasion. Our rifles rang, or cracked would be the better word, almost simultaneously; a yell arose from the savages around the fire; our own shouts mingled with that yell, and forward we went, endeavouring to make our numbers appear as if we were a hundred.

One retains but very indistinct notions of a charge like that, made as it was, in the dark, beyond its general characteristics. We swept directly among the slain and wounded, and I heard Jaap dealing one or two awful blows on the bodies; but no one opposed us. A moment after we had passed the smouldering fire, three or four shot were discharged at us, but there was no sign of their telling on any of our party. The distance from the fire to the mouth of the ravine, might have been a hundred yards; and the external light, or lesser darkness may be a better expression, served us for a guide. Thither we pushed, fast as we could, though by no means in compact order.

For this part of the affair, I can only speak for myself. I saw men moving swiftly among the trees, and I supposed them to be my companions; but we had become separated, it being understood that each man was now to shift for himself. As our rifles were discharged, and there was no time to reload them, there was little use, indeed, in any halt. Perceiving this, I did not issue from the ravine at the brook, but clinging more to its side, left it at a little height above the level of the adjacent plain. Here I paused to load, the cover being good, and the position every way favourable. While thus employed, I found time to look around me, and to ascertain the situation of things in the settlement, so far as the hour and the obscurity would permit.

The plain was glimmering with the remains of a dozen large fires, the ruins of so many log-houses and barns. Their light amounted to no more than to render the darkness of the night distinctly visible, and to afford some small clues to the extent of the ravages that had been already committed. The house of Ravensnest, however, was untouched. There it stood, looking dark and gloomy; for, having no external windows, no other light was to be seen than a single candle, that was probably placed in a loophole as a signal. Profound stillness reigned in and around the building, producing a species of mystery that was, in itself, under such circumstances, an element of force. There was not light enough to distinguish objects at any distance, and, having reloaded my rifle, I thought it wisest to make the best of my way to the gate. At that moment, the stillness in my rear seemed to possess something affirmatively fearful about it.

It was certainly a somewhat hazardous thing to break cover, at such a moment, and under such circumstances; but it was absolutely necessary to incur its risks. My first leap carried me half-way down the declivity, and I was soon on the level land. In my front were two men, one of whom seemed to me to be in the grasp of the other. As they were moving, though slowly, in the direction of the house, I ventured to ask 'Who goes there?'

“Oh, Corny, my lad, is that you?” answered Guert. “Got be praised! you seem unhurt, and are just in time to help me along with this Huron, on whom I blundered in the dark, and have disarmed and captured. Give him a kick or a push, if you please; for the fellow holds back like a hog.”

I had too much knowledge of Indian vindictiveness, however, to adopt the means recommended; but seizing the captive by one arm, while Guert held the other, we ran him up to the abbatis that covered the gate of the “garrison,” with very little difficulty. Here we found Herman Mordaunt and a dozen of his people, all armed, ready to receive Us. They were in expectation of our appearance, both on account of the hour, and on account of the clamour in the ravine, which had been distinctly heard at the house. In less than a minute everybody was in, safe and unharmed. The fact was, that our attack had been so sudden as to sweep everything before it, and the enemy had not time to recover from his panic, before we were all snugly housed. Once within the gate of Ravensnest we ran no risks, beyond those which were common to all such log fortresses in the warfare of the wilderness.

It would not be easy for a pen as unskilful as mine, to portray the change, from the gloom of the ravine, the short but bloody assault, the shouts, the rush, and the retreat, of the outer world, to the scene of domestic security we found within the Nest, embellished, as was the last, by woman's loveliness and graces, and, in many respects, by woman's elegance. Anneke and her friend received us in a bright, cheerful, comfortable apartment, that was rendered so much the more attractive by their tears and their smiles, neither of which were spared. I could see that both had been dreadfully agitated; but joy restored their colour, and brought back the smiles to their sweet faces. The situation of the place was such, perhaps, as to render cheerfulness neither very lasting nor very lively; but the tenderest female can find her heart suddenly so lightened from its burthen of apprehensions, as to be able to seem momentarily happy, even when environed by the horrors of war. Such, in a measure, was the character of the reception we now received, together with a thousand thanks for having so promptly answered their letters in person. The dear creatures had the ingenuity not to seem to ascribe that prompt obedience to their own requests, which we had manifested, to any care for ourselves, but solely to a wish to oblige and protect them. The reader will understand that all explanations still remained to be made, on both sides. These soon came, however; facts pressing themselves on the attention, at such times, with a weight that is irresistible. The ice was broken by Herman Mordaunt's entering the room, and speaking to us, like one who felt that a great omission had been made.

“We had closed the gate, and set the look-out at the loops again,” he said, “before I ascertained that all your party is not here. I see nothing of Traverse and his chain-bearers, nor of Sam or Tom, your hunters! Surely, they are not left behind in the forest?”

Neither of us three spoke. Our looks must have told the sad story, for Herman Mordaunt seemed to understand us on the instant.

“No!” he exclaimed—“Can it be possible? Not all, surely!”

“All, Mr. Mordaunt, even to my poor slave, Petrus,” answered Guert, solemnly. “They were set upon, while dispersed, I suppose, and have been murdered, while we were still absent, on our expedition.”

The dear girls clasped their hands, and I thought Anneke's pallid lips moved, as if in prayer. Her father shook his head, and for some time he paced the room in silence. Then rousing himself, like one conscious of the necessity of calmness and exertion, he resumed the discourse.

“Thank God, Mr. Bulstrode reached us safely last evening, just after we despatched the runner; and he is beyond the reach of these demons for the present!”

After this we were enabled to converse more connectedly, exchanging such statements as enabled each party to understand the precise condition of the other. We were then carried to Bulstrode's room, for he had expressed a desire to see us, as soon as we could be spared. Our fellow campaigner received us in good spirits, for one in his situation, speaking of the events in front of Ticonderoga sensibly, and without any attempt to conceal the mortification that he felt, in common with the whole British empire. His hurt was by no means a bad one; likely to cripple him for a few weeks, but the leg was in no danger.

“I have had the resolution and address, Corny, to work my way into good quarters, this unexpected siege excepted,” he observed to me, when the others had withdrawn, leaving us alone. “This rivalry of ours is a generous one, and may now have fair play. If we quit this Nest of Herman Mordaunt's without ascertaining the true state of Anneke's feelings, we shall deserve to be condemned to celibacy for the remainder of our days. There never were two such opportunities for wooing to advantage!”

“I confess our situation does not strike me as being quite as favourable, Mr. Bulstrode,” I answered. “Anneke must have too many apprehensions on her own account, and on account of others, to be as sensible to the tender sentiments of love, as might be the case in the peace and security of Lilacsbush.”

“Ah! It is very evident you know nothing of the female sex, Corny, by that remark. I will grant you, that unwooed previously, and without any foundation laid, if I may express myself so irreverently, your theory might turn out to be true; but not so under actual circumstances. Here is a young lady in her nineteenth year, who knows she is not only sought, but has long been sought, ay warmly, ardently sought, by two reasonably unobjectionable young men, placed in the very situation to have all her sensibilities excited, by one or the other, and, depend on it, the matter will be determined within this blessed week. If I should prove to be the fortunate man, I hope to be able to manifest a generous sympathy; and, vice versâ, I shall expect the same. Though this sad, sad business before Ty has been a good preparative for humiliation.”

I could not avoid smiling at Bulstrode's singular views of our suit; but, as Anneke was ever with me an engrossing theme, spite of our situation, which certainly was not particularly appropriate to love, I did not feel equal to quitting it abruptly. The matter was consequently pursued. As I asked Bulstrode to explain himself, I got from him the following account of his theory.

“Why, I reason in this wise, Corny. Anneke loves one of us two, beyond all question. That she loves, I will swear; her blushes, her beaming eyes, even her beauty is replete with the loveliness of the sentiment. Now, it is not possible that she should love any other person than one of us two, for the simple reason that she has no other suitor. I shall be frank with you, and confess that I think I am the favoured fellow, while, I dare say, you are just as sanguine and think it is yourself.”

“I give you my honour, Major Bulstrode, so presuming, so improper a thought has never—”

“Yes, yes—I understand all that. You are not worthy of Anne Mordaunt's love, and therefore have never presumed to imagine that she could bestow it on such a poor, miserable, worthless, good-for-nothing a fellow as yourself. I have a great deal of the same very proper feeling; but, at the same time, each of us is quite confident of his own success, or he would have given up the pursuit long since.”

“I do assure you, Bulstrode, anything but confidence mingles with my feelings on this subject. You may have reasons for your own security, but I can boast of none.”

“I have no other than self-love, of which every man has a just portion for his own comfort and peace of mind. I say that hope is indispensable to love, and hope is allied to confidence. My reasoning on these points is very simple. And, now for the peculiar advantages we enjoy for bringing matters to a crisis. In the first place, I am hurt, you will understand; suffering under an honourable wound, received in open battle, fighting for king and country. Then, I have been brought fresh from the field, on my litter, into the presence of my mistress, bearing on my person the evidence of my risk, and, I hope, of my good conduct. There is not one woman in a thousand, if she hesitated between us, that would not decide in my favour, on these grounds alone. You have no notion, Corny, how the hearts of these sweet, gentle, devoted, generous little American girls melt to sympathy, and the sufferings of a poor wretch that they know adores them! Make a nurse of a female, and she is yours, nine times out of ten. This has been a master-stroke of mine, but I hope you will pardon it. Stratagems are excusable in love, as in war.”

“I have no difficulty in understanding your policy, Bulstrode; though I confess to some in understanding your frankness. Such as it is, however, I trust you feel certain it will not be abused. Now, as to my situation, what peculiar countervailing advantages do I enjoy?”

“Those of a defender. Oh, that is a battering-ram of itself! This confounded assault on the settlement, which they tell me is rather serious, and may keep alive apprehensions for some days yet, is a most unlucky thing for me, while it is of great advantage to you. A wounded man cannot excite one-half the interest he otherwise might, when there is a chance that others may be slain, every minute. Then, the character of a defender is a great deal; and being a generous rival, as I have always told you, Corny, my advice is to make the most of it. I conceal nothing, and intend to do all I can with my wound.”

It was scarcely possible not to laugh at this strangely frank, yet, I fully believe, strangely sincere communication; for Bulstrode was a humorist, with all his conventionalism and London notions, and was more addicted to saying precisely what he thought, than is common with men of his class. After sitting and chatting with him half an hour longer, on the subject of the late military operations, of which he spoke with both feeling and good sense, I took my leave for the night.

“God bless you, Corny,” he said, squeezing my hand, as I left him; “improve the opportunity in your own way, for I assure you I shall do it in mine. It is present valour against past valour. If it were not my own case that is concerned, there is not a man living to whom I should more freely wish success.”

And I believe Bulstrode did not exceed the truth in his declarations. That I should succeed with Anneke, he did not think, as was apparent to me by his general manner, and the consciousness he must have possessed of his own advantages in the way of rank and fortune, as well as in having Herman Mordaunt's good wishes. Oddly enough, in quitting my rival, and under circumstances so very peculiar, I was accidentally thrown into the presence of my mistress, and that, too, alone! Anneke was the sole occupant of the little room in which the girls habitually staid, when I returned to it; Guert having managed to induce Mary Wallace to walk with him in the court, the only place the ladies now possessed for exercise; while Herman Mordaunt, Mr. Worden, and Dirck, were together in the public-room, making some arrangement with the confused body of the settlers, who had crowded into the Nest, for the night-watch. I shall not stop to express the delight I felt at finding Anneke there; nor was it in any degree diminished, as I met the soft expression of her sweet eyes, and saw the blushes that suffused her cheek. The conversation I had just held, doubtless, had its effect; for I determined, at once, that so favourable an occasion for pressing my suit should not be lost. I was goaded on, if the truth must be told, by apprehension of Bulstrode's wound.

What I said precisely, in the commencement of that interview, is more than I could record, did I think it would redound to my advantage, as I fear it would not; but I made myself understood, which is more, I fancy, than happens to all lovers in such scenes. At first I was confused and a little incoherent, I suspect; but feeling so far got the better of these defects, as to enable me to utter what I wished to express. Towards the end, if I spoke in the least as warmly and distinctly as I felt, there must have been some slight touch of eloquence about my manner and language. This being the first occasion, too, on which I had ever had an opportunity of urging my suit very directly, there was so much to be said, so many things to be explained, and so many seemingly slighted occasions to account for, that Anneke had little else to do, for the first ten minutes, but to listen. I have always ascribed the self-possession which my companion was enabled to command during the remainder of this interview, to the time that was thus accorded her to rally her thoughts.

Dear, precious Anneke! How admirably did she behave that memorable night! It was certainly an extraordinary situation in which to speak of love; yet, I much question if the feelings be not more likely to be true and natural at such times, than when circumstances admit of more of the expedients of every-day life. I could see that my sweet listener was touched, from the moment I commenced, and that her countenance betrayed a tender interest in what I said. Presuming on this, or encouraged by her blushes and her downcast eyes, I ventured to take a hand, and perceived I was not repulsed. Then it was that I found words, that actually brought tears to my companion's eyes, and Anneke was enabled to answer me.

“This is so unusual—so extraordinary a time to speak of such things, Corny,” she said, “that I hardly know what ought to be my reply. Of one thing, however, I feel certain; persons surrounded as we are by dangers that may, at any instant, involve our destruction, have an unusual demand on them for sincerity. Affectation, I hope, I am never much addicted to, and prudery I know you would condemn. I have a feeling uppermost, at this instant, that I wish to express, yet scarce know how—”

“Do not suppress it, beloved Anneke; be as generous as I am certain you are sincere.”

“Corny, it is this. I know we are in danger—very great danger of being overcome; captured, perhaps slain, by the ruthless beings who are prowling around our dwelling, and that no one in this house can count on a single day of existence even with the ordinary vain security of man. Now, should anything befall you, after this, and I survive you, I should survive for the remainder of my days to mourn your loss, and to feel the keenest regrets that I had hesitated to own how much interest I have long felt in you, and how happy I have been with the consciousness of the preference that you so frankly and honestly avowed in my favour, months ago.”

As the tears, as well as blushes of Anneke, accompanied these admissions, it was not possible for me to doubt what I heard. From that moment, a world of confidence, and a flow of pure, sweet, strong, natural feeling, bound us more and more closely together. Guert was in a happy mood to detain Mary Wallace, and business greatly befriended me, as respected the others. More than an hour had I Anne Mordaunt all to myself; and when the heart is open, how much can be uttered and understood, on such a subject as love, in an hour of unreserved confidence, and of strong feeling! Anneke admitted to me, before we separated, that she had often thought of the chivalrous boy, who had volunteered to do battle in her behalf, when she was little more than a child herself, and thought of him as a generous-minded girl would be apt to think of a lad, under the circumstances. This very early preference had been much quickened and increased by the affair of the lion, and our subsequent intercourse. Bulstrode, that formidable, encouraged rival, encouraged by her father if not by herself, had never interested her in the least, beyond the feeling natural to the affinity of blood; and I might have spared myself many hours of anxious concern, on his account, could I only have seen what was now so unreservedly told to me. Poor Bulstrode! a feeling of commiseration came over me, as I listened to my companion's assurances that he had never in the least touched her heart, while, at the same time, blushing very red, she confessed my own power over it. An expression to this effect even escaped her aloud—

“Have no concern on Mr. Bulstrode's account, Corny,” Anneke answered, smiling archly, like one who had well weighed the pros and cons of the whole subject, in her own mind; “he may be a little mortified, but his fancy will soon be forgotten in rejoicing that he had not yielded to a passing inclination, and connected himself with a young, inexperienced American girl, who is hardly suited to move in the circles in which his wife must live—I do believe Mr. Bulstrode prefers me, just now, to any other female he may tappen to know; but his attachment, if it deserve the name, has not the heart in it, dear Corny, that I know is to be found in your's. We women are said to be quick in discovering when we are really loved, and I confess that my own little experience inclines me to believe that the remark does us no more than justice.”

I then spoke of Guert, and expressed a hope that his sincere, obvious, manly devotion, might finally touch her heart, and that my new friend, towards whom, however, I began already to feel as towards an old friend, might finally meet with a return for a passion that I was persuaded was as deep and as sincere as my own; a comparison that I felt was as strong as any I could make in Guert's behalf.

“On this subject, you are not to expect me to say much, Corny,” answered Anneke, smiling. “Every woman is the mistress of her own secrets on such a subject; and, did I know fully Mary Wallace's mind or wishes in reference to Mr. Ten Eyck, as I do not profess to know either, I should not feel at liberty to betray her, even to you. I have no longer any secret of my own, as respects Corny Littlepage, but must not be expected to be as weak in betraying my whole sex, as I have been in betraying myself!”

I was obliged to be satisfied with this sweet admission and with the knowledge that I had been long loved. When Anneke left me, which, at the expiration of more than an hour, she insisted on doing, under the consciousness of all that had passed between us, I had a good deal of difficulty in believing that I was not dreaming. This ecclaircissement was so sudden, so totally unexpected I fancy to us both, that well might it so seem to either; yet, I fancy we did not part without a deep conviction that both were happier than when we met. I solemnly declare, notwithstanding, that I felt sorrow, almost regret, on behalf of Bulstrode. The poor fellow had been so evidently confident of success, only an hour or two before, that I could not have acquainted him with my own success, had he been up, and able to prefer his own suit; in his actual situation, such a procedure would have appeared brutal.

As for Guert Ten Eyck, he rejoined me sadder and more despairing than ever.

“It struck me, Corny, that if Mary Wallace had the smallest inclination in my behalf, she would manifest it at a moment when we may all be said to be hanging between life and deaf. I have often heard it said that the woman who would trifle with a young fellow at a ball, or on a sleigh-ride, and use him like a dog, while every one was laughing and making merry, would come round like one of the weather-cocks on our Dutch barns, at a shift of the wind, the instant that distress or unhappiness alighted on her suitor. In other worts, that the very girl who would be capricious and uncertain, in happiness and prosperity, would suddenly become tender and truthful, as soon as sorrow touched the man who wished to have her. On the strength of this, then, I thought I would urge Mary, to the best of my poor abilities, and you know they are no great matter, Corny, to give me only a glimmering of hope; but without success. Not a syllable more could I get out of her than that the time was unseasonable to talk of such things; and I do think I should be ready to go and meet these Huron devils, hand to hand, were it not for the fact that the very girl who thus remonstrated, staid with me quite two hours, listening to what I had to say, though I spoke of nothing else. There was a crumb of comfort in that, lad, or I do not understand human nature.”

There was, truly. Still, I could not but compare Anne Mordaunt's generous confessions, under the influence of the same facts, and fancy that the prospects of the simple-minded, warm-hearted, manly young Albanian, were far less flattering than my own.

37 (return)
[ It is northern American, to call a small 'lake' a 'pond,' a small 'river' a 'creek,' even though it should be an 'outlet,' instead of an 'inlet,' &c. &c. It is a more difficult thing than is commonly supposed, to make two great nations, each of which is disposed to innovate, speak the same language with precise uniformity. The Manhattanese, who have probably fewer of the peculiarities of the inhabitants of a capital than the population of any other town in the world of four hundred thousand souls, the consequences of a rapid growth, and of a people who have come principally from the country are much addicted to introducing new significations for words, which arise from their own provincial habits. In Manhattanese parlance, for instance, a 'square' is a 'park,' or, even a 'garden' is a 'park.' A promenade, on the water, is a 'battery!' It is a pity that, in this humour for change, they have not thought of altering the complex and imitative mine of their town.—EDITOR.]