AN INCIDENT THAT SAVORS OF ROMANCE.

By the time the sun had fallen to the level of the summits of the Blue Ridge, Butler and Robinson had progressed so far in their journey, as to find themselves in the vicinity of the Rockfish river—a rapid mountain stream, that traverses the southern confine of Albemarle, and which, at that period, separated this county from Amherst. Their path had led them, by a short circuit, out of the ravine of Cove creek, along upon the ridges of the neighboring hills; and they were now descending from this elevation, into the valley of the Rockfish, near to the point where the Cove creek forms its junction with this river. The hill was covered with a stately forest, and a broad, winding road had been cut down the steep side, in such a manner as to present a high bank on one hand, and an abrupt sheer descent on the other. From this road might be seen, at intervals, glimmering through the screen of underwood, the waters of the small river below; whilst, at the same time, the circuitous course of the descending track left but few paces of its length visible from any one point, except where, now and then, it came boldly forth to the verge of some wild crag, from which glimpses were to be obtained of its frequent traverses towards the deep and romantic dell that received the mingled tribute of the two streams.

Here, as our travellers journeyed downward, their attention was awakened by the cry of hounds in pursuit of game. These sounds came from the wood on the crest of the hill above them; and the clamorous earnestness with which they assailed the ear, and roused the far echo of the highlands, showed the object of chase to have been suddenly surprised and hotly followed. The outcry was heard, for some moments, pursuing a direction towards the river, when, suddenly from the midst of the forest, the sharp twang of a rifle-shot showed that some hunter was on the watch to profit by the discovery of the dogs.

Robinson, as soon as he heard the report, urged his horse forward with speed, to the first turn of the road below; dismounted, and, throwing his rifle into the palm of his left hand, stood ready to give his fire wherever he might find occasion. Butler followed, and reined up close beside his companion.

"There is game afoot," said Galbraith, "and if that shot has not done its business, it may be my turn to try a hand."

These words were hardly spoken, when a wounded buck rushed to the brink of the bank, some twelve or fifteen feet above the heads of the travellers, and regardless of the presence of enemies, made one frantic bound forward into the air, and fell dead almost at Robinson's feet. So effectually had the work of death been done upon the poor animal, that he seemed to have expired, in the convulsion of this last leap, before he reached the ground; his antlers were driven into the clay; his eyes were fixed, and not a struggle followed.

"It was a home-shot that brought this poor fugitive to the earth," said Butler, as he stood gazing at the piteous spectacle before him, "and sped by a practised hand."

"I don't count him a good man, major," said Galbraith, with professional indifference, "who would mangle his meat by random firing. Now, this buck was taken sideways, as he leaped above the tops of the bushes, which is the ticklishest of all the ways of shooting a deer. The man that plucked this fellow, I'll warrant, can plant his ball just where he likes: right under the arm is the place for certainty; and the thing couldn't have been prettier done if the man had had a rest and a standing shot."

During this short interval, the hounds had arrived on the spot where the buck lay bleeding, and these, after a few minutes, were followed by two hunters of very dissimilar appearance, who came on foot, slowly leading their horses up the hill.

The first was a tall, gaunt woodman, of a sallow complexion, jet black eyes, and round head of smooth black hair. His dress was simply a coarse linen shirt and trowsers, the heat of the day being such as to allow him to dispense with coat and waistcoat. He carried, in one hand, a battered straw hat, and in the other, trailed a long rifle. His feet were covered with a pair of moccasins of brown leather, and the ordinary hunting equipments were suspended about his person.

The second was a youth apparently about sixteen, dressed in a suit of green summer-cloth, neatly and fancifully adapted to his figure, which was graceful and boyish. The jacket was short, and gathered into a small skirt behind; and both this and the pantaloons were garnished with a profusion of black cord and small black buttons. A highly polished leather belt was buckled around his waist; a cap of green cloth rested, somewhat conceitedly, amongst the rich locks of a head of light, curly hair that fell, with girlish beauty, over a fair brow, and gave softness to a countenance of pure white and red; and a neat foot showed to advantage in a laced boot. The whole appearance of the youth was of one of an amiable and docile bearing, and the small rifle or carbine which he bore in his hand, as well as the dainty accoutrements that belonged to it, amongst which was a diminutive bugle, looked more like the toys of a pampered boy, than any apparatus of service.

No sooner had these two approached near enough to Butler and his attendant for recognition, than the youth, quitting the hold of his horse, sprang forward with a joyous alacrity and seized Butler by the hand.

"Captain Butler," he cried with great animation, "how glad I am you have come! And how fortunate it is that I should meet you! Get down from your horse, I have something to tell you. Here, Stephen Foster, take this gentleman's horse."

"You are a fine fellow, Harry," said Butler, dismounting. "That smiling face of yours is full of pleasant news; it assures me that all are well at the Dove Cote." Then having given his horse in charge to Robinson, and walked a few paces apart with his young friend, he enquired, in a low and anxious tone, "Mildred, my dear Henry, what of your sister Mildred? Has she received my letter? Does she expect me? Is your father—"

"Now, captain," interrupted the other—"but heigh! don't the newspapers say you are brevetted? I am a pretty fellow to forget that! Well then, Major Butler, let me answer one question at a time. In the first place, sister Mildred is as well as any girl can be, that has a whole bushel of crosses to keep her out of spirits. Poor thing, she frets so, about you and my father. In the second place, she received your letter a week ago, and has had me patrolling this ridge every day since, just to keep a look-out for you; and, for the sake of company, I have had Stephen Foster hunting here all the time—more for an excuse than anything else, because on this side of the river the drives are not the best for deer—a man might be here a fortnight and not get a shot. Sister Mildred wanted me, if I should see you first, just to whisper to you that it is impossible to do anything with my father, especially at this time, for he has one of these English officers staying at the Dove Cote now, who, I am afraid, and so is sister Mildred, has come to do some mischief. Mildred says I must make some appointment with you to see her privately. I thought of Mrs. Dimock's, but this Englishman has a servant staying over there, and may be it wouldn't do. So, major, you will have to ride down to the big chestnut, on the bank of the river, just under the rock that we call the Fawn's Tower—you know where that is? it isn't more than two miles from here."

"I know it well, Henry, I will wait there patiently," replied Butler, as he now returned to his horse.

"Haven't we been in luck," said Henry, "to get so fine a buck at last? This fellow has eight branches. It is Stephen's rifle that has done it."

The woodman, during this conversation, had taken possession of his spoil, and was now busily engaged with his knife in cutting open and preparing the animal for transportation, according to the usages of woodcraft, whilst Robinson stood by, admiring the dexterity with which this office was performed. When the buck was, at last, thrown by Stephen across his horse, Henry gave him orders to ride forward.

"You will carry our game to your own house, Stephen; and don't forget, to-morrow, to let us have the saddle at the Dove Cote. And Stephen, you need not say that we have found any acquaintances upon the road, you understand!"

The man bowed his head, in token of obedience, and getting upon his long-backed steed, behind the buck, was soon lost to view in the windings of the hill.

"Sister Mildred is sometimes downright melancholy," said the young hunter, after he had remounted, and now rode beside Butler. "She is troubled about you, and is always telling me of some unpleasant dream. I almost think she is over-fanciful; and then she reads everything about the army, and talks almost like a man about soldiering. Do you know she is making a soldier of me? I am constantly reading military books, and practising drill, and laying out fortifications, just as if I was going into camp. My father doesn't know a word of it; his time is taken up with these English officers, writing to them, and every now and then there are some of them at our house. Mildred knows them—a famous spy she would make! Isn't she an excellent girl, Major Butler?"

"You and I should guard her, Henry, with more care than we guard our lives," replied Butler, with a serious emphasis.

"I hope," returned Henry, "she will be in better spirits after she sees you."

"I would to heaven," said Butler, "that we all had more reason to be of good cheer, than we are likely to have. It is as cloudy a day, Henry, as you may ever behold again, should you live, as I pray you may, to the ripest old age."

Henry looked up towards the west.

"There are clouds upon the sky," he said, "and the sun has dropped below them; but there is a streak of yellow light, near to the line of the mountain, that our wise people say is a sign that the sun will rise in beauty to-morrow."

"There is a light beyond the mountain," replied Butler, half speaking to himself, "and it is the best, the only sign I see of a clear to-morrow. I wish, Henry, it were a brighter beam."

"Don't you know Gates has passed South?" said Henry, "and has some pretty fellows with him, they say. And ar'n't we all mustering here—every man most? Ask Stephen Foster what I am?"

"And what will he tell me?"

"Why, that I am his deputy-corporal in the mounted riflemen; Stephen is the lieutenant."

"Oh, I crave your favor, brother officer, good master deputy-corporal, Henry Lindsay! and does your father allow you to ride in the ranks of the friends of liberty?"

"Sister Mildred persuaded him that as I am a mere lad, as she says,—look at me, major,—a pretty well grown lad, I take it, there is no harm in my playing soldier. So I ride always with Stephen Foster, and Mildred got me this light rifle-carbine. Now, major, I fancy I am pretty nearly as good a marksman as rides in the corps. Who is this with you?" asked Henry, looking back at Robinson, who loitered some distance in the rear purposely to avoid what might be deemed an intrusion upon the private conference of the two friends.

"That is a famous soldier, Henry; he was at the siege of Charleston, and last year at Savannah. He has had some hard blows, and can tell you more of war than you have ever read in all your studies."

"He wears a curious uniform," said Henry, "for a regular soldier. What is his name?"

"Galbraith Robinson—or Horse Shoe Robinson—to give him his most popular distinction. But it would be well to keep his name secret."

"I have heard of Horse Shoe," said Henry, with an expression of great interest. "So, this is the man himself? From all reports he is as brave as"—

"As who?" asked Butler, smiling at the tone of wonder with which Henry spoke.

"As Caius Marcius Coriolanus, who, I make no doubt, major, was about the bravest man in the books."

Butler laughed, and applauded the young martialist for his discrimination.

The road from the foot of the hill pursued the left, or northern, bank of the Rockfish, which shot along, with a rapid flood, over the rocks that lay scattered in its bed; and the gush of whose flight fell upon the ear like the loud tones of the wind. From either margin it was shaded by huge sycamores, whose tops, at this twilight hour, were marked in broad lines upon the fading sky, and whose wide spreading boughs met, from side to side, over the middle of the stream, throwing a deeper night upon the clear and transparent waters. The valley was closely bound by high precipitous hills, whose steep crags and narrow passes seemed to echo and prolong the gush of the stream, that was now mingled with the occasional lowing of cattle, the shriek of the owl, and the frequent hoarse scream of the whip-poor-will.

When our party had advanced about a mile along this road, Henry Lindsay took his bugle and blew a blast which seemed to dance in its reverberations from one side of the river to the other.

"Mildred knows my signal," said he; "that is the scout's warning: cavalry approaches: dress your line: prepare to receive a general officer."

"Henry, pray drop your military phrase, and tell me what this means?" said Butler.

"Ride on till you arrive beneath the Fawn's Tower. Wait for me there. I will give you a signal when I approach: and trust me for a faithful messenger. The river is deep at the rock, but you will find a boat fastened to this bank. When you hear my signal come across. Mr. Dimock's is only another mile; and, I'll warrant, the old lady will make you comfortable. Love, they say, major," added Henry, sportively, "is meat and drink, and a blanket to boot; but for all that, Mrs. Dimock's will not be amiss—especially for Horse Shoe, who, I take it, will have the roughest time of the party. If love is a blanket, Mr. Robinson," Henry continued, addressing himself to that worthy, "it doesn't cover two, you know."

"To my thinking, young sir," replied Horse Shoe, with a laugh, "it wouldn't fold so cleverly in a knapsack."

"Now that I have given my orders," said Henry, "and done my duty, I must leave you, for my road lies across the ford here. Where are my hounds? Hylas, Bell, Blanche, you puppies, where are you?"

Here Henry blew another note, which was immediately responded to by the hounds; and, plunging into the rapid and narrow stream, followed by the dogs, who swam close behind him, he was seen, the next moment, through the twilight, galloping up the opposite hill, as he called out his "good night" to his friends.

As soon as Henry had disappeared, the other two pricked their steeds forward at a faster pace. The rapid flow of the river, as they advanced along its bank, began to change into a more quiet current, as if some obstruction below had dammed up the water, rendering it deep and still. Upon this tranquil mirror the pale crescent of the moon and the faintly peeping stars were reflected; and the flight of the fire-fly was traced, by his own light and its redoubled image, upon the same surface.

The high toppling cliff of the Fawn's Tower, that jutted forth like a parapet above the road, soon arrested the attention of Butler; and at its base the great chestnut flung abroad his "vast magnificence of leaves," almost in emulation of the aspiring crag.

"We have reached our appointed ground," said Butler. "I shall want my cloak, Galbraith; the dews begin to chill my limbs."

They dismounted, and Butler threw his cloak around his shoulders. Then, in a thoughtful, musing state of mind, he strolled slowly along the bank of the river, till he was temporarily lost to view in the thick shades and sombre scenery around him. Robinson, having secured the horses, sat himself down at the foot of the chestnut, unwilling to interrupt, by conversation, the anxious state of feeling which he had the shrewdness to perceive predominated in Butler's mind.

A MEETING OF LOVERS——SOME INSIGHT INTO THE FUTURE.

The twilight had subsided and given place to a beautiful night. The moon had risen above the tree tops, and now threw her level rays upon the broad face of the massive pile of rocks forming the Fawn's Tower, and lit up with a silvery splendor, the foliage that clothed the steep cliff and the almost perpendicular hill in its neighborhood. On the opposite side of the river, a line of beech and sycamore trees, that grew almost at the water's edge, threw a dark shadow upon the bank. Through these, at intervals, the bright moonlight fell upon the earth, and upon the quiet and deep stream. The woods were vocal with the whispering noises that give discord to the nights of summer; yet, was there a stillness in the scene which invited grave thoughts, and recalled to Butler's mind some painful emotions that belonged to his present condition.

"How complicated and severe are those trials"—such was the current of his meditations—"which mingle private grief with public misfortune: that double current of ill which runs, on one side, to the overthrow of a nation's happiness, and, on the other, to the prostration of the individual who labors in the cause! What a struggle have I to encounter between my duty to my country and my regard for those tender relations that still more engross my affections, nor less earnestly appeal to my manhood for defence! Upon the common quarrel I have already staked my life and fortune, and find myself wrapt up in its most perilous obligations. That cause has enough in it to employ and perplex the strongest mind, and to invoke the full devotion of a head and heart that are exempt from all other solicitude: yet am I embarrassed with personal cares that are woven into the very web of my existence; that have planted themselves beside the fountain of my affections, and which, if they be rudely torn from me, would leave behind—but a miserable and hopeless wreck. My own Mildred! to what sad trials have I brought your affection; and how nobly hast thou met them!

"Man lives in the contentious crowd; he struggles for the palm that thousands may award, and far-speeding renown may rend the air with the loud huzza of praise. His is the strife of the theatre where the world are spectators; and multitudes shall glorify his success, or lament his fall, or cheer him in the pangs of death. But woman, gentle, silent, sequestered—thy triumphs are only for the heart that loves thee—thy deepest griefs have no comforter but the secret communion of thine own pillow!"

Whilst Butler, who had now returned beneath the cliff of the Fawn's Tower, was absorbed in this silent musing, his comrade was no less occupied with his own cares. The sergeant had acquired much of that forecast, in regard to small comforts, which becomes, in some degree, an instinct in those whose profession exposes them to the assaults of wind and weather. Tobacco, in his reckoning, was one of the most indispensable muniments of war; and he was, accordingly, seldom without a good stock of this commodity. A corn cob, at any time, furnished him the means of carving the bowl of a pipe; whilst, in his pocket, he carried a slender tube of reed which, being united to the bowl, formed a smoking apparatus, still familiar to the people of this country, and which, to use the sergeant's own phrase, "couldn't be touched for sweetness by the best pipe the very Queen of the Dutch herself ever smoked; and that"—he was in the habit of adding—"must be, as I take it, about the tenderest thing for a whiff that the Dutchman knowed how to make."

A flint and steel—part also of his gear—now served to ignite his tobacco, and he had been, for some time past, sedately scanning the length and breadth of his own fancies, which were, doubtless rendered the more sublime by the mistiness which a rich volume of smoke had shed across his vision and infused into the atmosphere around his brain.

"Twelve shillings and nine pence," were the first words which became audible to Butler in the depth of his revery. "That, major," said the sergeant, who had been rummaging his pocket, and counting over a handful of coin, "is exactly the amount I have spent since this time last night. I paid it to the old lady of the Swan at Charlottesville, taking a sixpence for mending your bridle rein. Since you must make me paymaster for our march, I am obliged to square accounts every night. My noddle wont hold two days reckoning. It gets scrimped and flustered with so many numberings, that I lose the count clean out."

"It is of little consequence, Galbraith," replied Butler, seeking to avoid his companion's interruption.

"Squaring up, and smoothing off, and bringing out this and that shilling straight to a penny, don't come natural to me," continued Robinson, too intent upon his reckoning to observe the disinclination of Butler to a parley, "money matters are not in my line. I take to them as disunderstandingly as Gill Bentley did to the company's books, when they made him Orderly on the Waccamaw picquet. For Gill, in the first place, couldn't write, and, in the next place, if he could'a done that, he never larnt to read, so you may suppose what a beautiful puzzleification he had of it to keep the guard roster straight."

"Sergeant, look if yonder boat is loose; I shall want it presently," said Butler, still giving no ear to his comrade's gossip.

"It is tied by an easy knot to the root of the tree," said Robinson, as he returned from the examination.

"Thank you," added Butler with more than usual abstractedness.

"Something, major, seems to press upon your spirits to-night," said the sergeant, in the kindest tones of inquiry. "If I could lend a hand to put any thing, that mought happen to have got crooked, into its right place again, you know, Major Butler, I wouldn't be slow to do it, when you say the word."

"I would trust my life to you, Galbraith, sooner than to any man living," replied the other, with an affectionate emphasis:—"But you mistake me, I am not heavy at heart, though a little anxious, sergeant, at what has brought me here, comrade," he added as he approached the sergeant, upon whose broad shoulder he familiarly laid his hand, with a smile; "you will keep a fellow soldier's counsel?"

"As I keep my heart in my body," interrupted Galbraith.

"I am sure of it; even as you keep your faith to your country my true and worthy brother," added Butler with animation, "and that is with no less honesty than a good man serves his God. Then, Galbraith, bear it in mind, I have come here for the sake of a short meeting with one that I love, as you would have a good soldier love the lady of his soul. You will hereafter speak of nothing that may fall within your notice. It concerns me deeply that this meeting should be secret."

"Major, I will have neither eyes nor ears, if it consarns you to keep any thing that mought chance to come to my knowledge, private."

"It is not for myself, sergeant, I bespeak this caution; I have nothing to conceal from you; but there is a lady who is much interested in our circumspection. I have given you a long and solitary ride on her account, and may hereafter ask other service from you. You shall not find it more irksome, Galbraith, to stand by a comrade in love, than you have ever found it in war, and that, I know, you think not much."

"The war comes naturally enough to my hand," replied Galbraith, "but as for the love part, major, excepting so far as carrying a message, or, in case of a runaway, keeping off a gang of pestifarious intermeddlers, or watching, for a night or so, under a tree, or any thing, indeed, in the riding and running, or watching, or scrimmaging line—I say, excepting these, my sarvice moughtn't turn to much account. I can't even play a fiddle at a wedding, and I've not the best tongue for making headway amongst the women. Howsomdever, major, you may set me down for a volunteer on the first forlorn hope you may have occasion for."

"Mr. Lindsay lives on the hill across the river. There are reasons why I cannot go to his house; and his daughter, Galbraith, is an especial friend to us and to our cause."

"I begin to see into it," interrupted the sergeant, laughing, "you have a notion of showing the old gentleman the same trick you played off upon Lord Howe's provost marshal, when you was lieutenant at Valley Forge, touching your stealing away his prisoner, Captain Roberts. That was a night affair, too. Well, the best wife a man can have, major, is the woman that takes to him through fire and water. There was Colonel Gardiner, that stole his wife just in that way, against all opposition of both father and mother, and a better woman never stitched up a seam, to my knowledge and belief."

"I have no thought of such an enterprise, sergeant," said Butler; "our purpose, for the present, must be confined to a short visit. We are houseless adventurers, Galbraith, and have little to offer to sweetheart or wife that might please a woman's fancy."

"When a woman loves a man, especially a sodger," replied the sergeant, "she sets as little store by house and home as the best of us. Still, it is a wise thing to give the creatures the chance of peace, before you get to tangling them with families. Hark, I hear something like footsteps on t'other side of the river! Mister Henry must be on his march."

After an interval, a low whistle issued from the opposite bank, and, in a moment, Butler was in the skiff, pushing his way through the sparkling waters.

As the small boat, in which he stood upright, shot from the bright moonlight into the shade of the opposite side, he could obscurely discern Mildred Lindsay leaning on her brother's arm, as they both stood under the thick foliage of a large beech. And scarcely had the bow struck upon the pebbly margin, before he bounded from it up the bank, and was, in the next instant, locked in the embrace of one whose affection he valued above all earthly possessions.

When that short interval had passed away, in which neither Mildred nor Arthur could utter speech; during which the lady leant her head upon her lover's bosom, in that fond familiarity which plighted faith is allowed to justify in the most modest maiden, sobbing the while in the intensity of her emotions, she then at last, as she slowly regained her self-possession, said, in a soft and melancholy voice, in which there was nevertheless a tone of playfulness:

"I am a foolish girl, Arthur. I can boast like a blustering coward, when there is nothing to fear; and yet I weep, like a true woman, at the first trial of my courage."

"Ah, my dear Mildred, you are a brave girl," replied Butler, as he held both of her hands and looked fondly into her face, "and a true and a tried girl. You have come kindly to me, and ever, like a blessed and gentle spirit of good, are prompt to attend me through every mischance. It is a long and weary time, love, since last we met."

"It is very, very long, Arthur."

"And we are still as far off, Mildred, from our wishes as at first we were."

"Even so," said Mildred sorrowfully. "A year of pain drags heavily by, and brings no hope. Oh, Arthur, what have I suffered in the thought that your life is so beset with dangers! I muse upon them with a childish fear, that was not so before our last meeting. They rise to disturb my daily fancies, and night finds them inhabiting my pillow. I was so thankful, that you escaped that dreary siege of Charleston!"

"Many a poor and gallant fellow soldier there bit his lip with a chafed and peevish temper," said Butler; "but the day will come, Mildred, when we may yet carry a prouder head to the field of our country's honor."

"And your share," interrupted Mildred, "will ever be to march in the front rank. In spite of all your perils past, your hard service, which has known no holiday, your fatigues, that I have sometimes feared would break down your health, and in spite too, of the claims, Arthur, that your poor Mildred has upon you, you are even now again bound upon some bold adventure, that must separate us, ah, perhaps, for ever! Our fate has malice in it. Ever beginning some fresh exploit!"

"You would not have your soldier bear himself otherwise than as a true knight, who would win and wear his lady-love by good set blows when there was need for them?"

"If I were the genius that conjured up this war, I would give my own true knight a breathing space. He should pipe and dance between whiles," replied Mildred sportively.

"He that puts his sickle into this field amongst the reapers," said Butler, with a thoughtful earnestness, "should not look back from his work."

"No, no, though my heart break while I say it—for, in truth, I am very melancholy, notwithstanding I force a beggar's smile upon my cheek; no, I would not have you stay or stand, Arthur, until you have seen this wretched quarrel at an end. I praised your first resolve—loved you for it—applauded and cheered you; I will not selfishly now, for the sake of my weak, womanish apprehension, say one word to withhold your arm."

"And you are still," said Butler, "that same resolute enthusiast that I found in the young and eloquent beauty who captivated my worthless heart, when the war first drew the wild spirits of the country together under our free banner?"

"The same foolish, conceited, heady, prattling truant, Arthur, that first took a silly liking to your pompous strut, and made a hero to her imagination out of a boasting ensign—the same in all my follies, and in all my faults—only altered in one quality."

"And pray, what is that one quality?"

"I will not tell you," said Mildred carelessly. "'Twould make you vainer than you are."

"It is not well to hide a kind thought from me, Mildred."

"Indeed it is not, Arthur. And so, I will muster courage to speak it," said the confiding girl with vivacity, after a short pause during which she hung fondly upon her lover's arm; and then suddenly changing her mood, she proceeded in a tone of deep and serious enthusiasm, "it is, that since that short, eventful and most solemn meeting, I have loved you, Arthur, with feelings that I did not know until then were mine. My busy fancy has followed you in all your wanderings—painted with stronger hues than nature gives to any real scene the difficulties and disasters that might cross your path—noted the seasons with a nervous acuteness of remark, from very faint-heartedness at the thought that they might blight your health or bring you some discomfort. I have pored over the accounts of battles, the march of armies, the tales of prisoners relating the secrets of their prisons; studied the plans of generals and statesmen, as the newspapers or common rumor brought them to my knowledge, with an interest that has made those around me say I was sadly changed. It was all because I had grown cowardly and feared even my own shadow. Oh, Arthur, I am not indeed what I was."

The solemnity, force and feeling with which Mildred gave utterance to these words, strangely contrasted with the light and gay tone in which she had commenced; but her thoughts had now fallen into a current that bore her forward into one of those bursts of excited emotion, which were characteristic of her temper, and which threw a peculiar energy and eloquence into her manner. Butler, struck by the rising warmth of her enunciation, and swayed in part by the painful reflections to which her topic gave rise, replied, in a state of feeling scarcely less solemn than her own—

"Ah, Mildred," and as he spoke, he parted her hair upon her pale forehead and kissed it, "dearest girl, the unknown time to come has no cup of suffering for me that I would not hold a cheap purchase for one moment like this. Even a year of painful absence past, and a still more solicitous one to come, may be gallantly and cheerfully borne when blessed with the fleeting interval of this night. To hear your faith, which though I never dwelt upon it but with a confidence that I have held it most profane to doubt, still, to hear it avowed from your own lips, now again and again, repeating what you have often breathed before, and in letter after letter, written down, it falls upon my heart, Mildred, like some good gift from heaven, specially sent to revive and quicken my resolution in all the toils and labors that yet await me. There must be good in store for such a heart as thine; and, trusting to this faith, I will look to the future with a buoyant temper."

"The future," said Mildred, as she lifted her eyes to the pale moon that now sheeted with its light her whole figure, as she and her lover strayed beyond the shade of the beech, "I almost shudder when I hear that word. We live but in the present; that, Arthur, is, at least, our own, poor as we are in almost all beside. That future is a perplexed and tangled riddle—a dreadful uncertainty, in the contemplation of which I grow superstitious. Such ill omens are about us! My father's inexorable will, so headstrong, so unconscious of the pain it gives me; his rooted, yes, his fatal aversion to you; my thraldom here, where, like a poor bird checked by a cord, I chafe myself by fluttering on the verge of my prison bounds; and then, the awful perils that continually impend over your head—all these are more than weak imaginings; they are the realities of my daily life, and give me, what I am almost ashamed to confess, a sad and boding spirit."

"Nay, nay, dearest Mildred! Away with all these unreasonable reckonings!" replied Butler, with a manner that too plainly betrayed the counterfeit of mirth. "Seclusion has dealt unworthily with you. It has almost turned thee into a downright sentimental woman. I will have none of this stepping to the verge of melancholy. You were accustomed to cheer me with sunny and warm counsel; and you must not forget it was yourself who taught me to strike aside the waves of fortune with a glad temper. The fates can have no spite against one so good as thou art! Time may bear us along like a rough trotting horse; and our journey may have its dark night, its quagmires, and its jack-o'lanterns, but there will come a ruddy morning at last—a smoother road, and an easier gait; and thou, my girl, shalt again instruct me how to win a triumph over the ills of life."

"And we will be happy, Arthur, because all around us will be so," added Mildred, catching the current of Butler's thoughts, with that ready versatility which eminently showed the earnestness and devotion of her feelings—"Ah, may heaven grant this boon, and bring these dreams to life! I think, Arthur, I should be happier now, if I could but be near you in your wanderings. Gladly would I follow you through all the dangers of the war."

"That were indeed, love, a trial past your faculty to endure. No, no, Mildred, she who would be a soldier's wife, should learn the soldier's philosophy—to look with a resigned submission on the present events, and trust to heaven for the future. Your share in this struggle is to commune with your own heart in solitude, and teach it patience. Right nobly have you thus far borne that grievous burden! The sacrifice that you have made—its ever present and unmitigated weight, silently and sleeplessly inflicting its slow pains upon your free and generous spirit; that, Mildred, is the chief and most galling of my cares."

"This weary war, this weary war," breathed Mildred, in a pensive under key, "when will it be done!"

"The longest troubles have their end," replied Butler, "and men, at last, spent with the vexations of their own mischief, fly, by a selfish instinct, into the bosom of peace. God will prosper our enterprise, and bring our battered ship into a fortunate haven."

"How little like it seems it now!" returned Mildred. "The general sorrow, alone, might well weigh down the stoutest heart. That cause which you have made mine, Arthur, to which you have bestowed your life, and which, for your sake," she added proudly, "should have this feeble arm of mine, could it avail, is it not even now trembling on the verge of ruin? Have not your letters, one after another told me of the sad train in which misfortunes have thickened upon the whole people? of defeat, both north and south, and, at this very time, of disgraceful mutiny of whole regiments under the very eye of Washington—that Washington who loves his country and her soldiers as a husband loves his bride, and a father his children. Have not those, to whom we all looked for champions, turned into mere laggards in the war for freedom? Oh, Arthur, do you not remember that these are the thoughts, the very words, which were penned by your own hand, for my especial meditation? How can I but fear that the good end is still far off? How can I but feel some weight upon my heart?"

"You have grown overwise, Mildred, in these ruminations. I am to blame for this, that in my peevish humor, vexed with the crosses of the day, I should have written on such topics to one so sensitive as yourself."

"Still it is true, Arthur, all report confirms it."

"These things do not become your entertainment, Mildred. Leave the public care to us. There are bold hearts, love, and strong arms yet to spare for this quarrel. We have not yet so exhausted our mines of strength, but that much rough ore still lies unturned to the sun, and many an uncouth lump of metal remains to be fashioned for serviceable use. History tells of many a rebound from despondency, so sudden and unreckoned, that the wisest men could see in it no other spring than the decree of God. He will fight the battle of the weak, and set the right upon a sure foundation."

"The country rings," said Mildred, again taking the more cheerful hue of her lover's hopes, and following out, with an affectionate sympathy, his tone of thought, "with anticipation of victory from Gates's southern march."

"That may turn out to be a broken reed," interrupted Butler, as if thinking aloud, and struck by Mildred's reference to a subject that had already engrossed his thoughts; "they may be deceived, Washington would have put a different man upon that service. I would have a leader in such a war, wary, watchful, humble—diffident as well as brave. I fear Gates is not so."

"Then, I trust, Arthur," exclaimed Mildred, with anxious alacrity, "that your present expedition does not connect you with his fortunes!"

"I neither follow his colors nor partake of his counsels," replied Butler. "Still my motions may not be exempt from the influence of his failure or success. The enemy, you are aware, has possessed himself of every post of value in South Carolina and Georgia. I go commissioned to advise with discreet and prudent men upon the means to shake off this odious domination. So far only, and remotely, too, I am a fellow-laborer with Gates. There are gallant spirits now afoot, Mildred, to strip these masters of their power. My office is to aid their enterprise."

"If you needs must go, Arthur, I have no word to say. You will leave behind you an aching heart, that morning, noon, and night, wearies heaven with its prayers for your safety. Alas, I have no other aid to give! How soon—how soon," she said, with a voice that faltered with the question, "does your duty compel you to leave me?"

"To-morrow's sunrise, love, must find me forth upon my way."

"To-morrow, Arthur? so quickly to part!"

"I dare not linger; not even for the rich blessing of thy presence."

"And the utmost length of your journey?"

"Indeed, I know not. At present my farthest aim is Ninety-six and Augusta. It much depends upon the pleasure of our proud and wilful masters."

Mildred stood for some moments looking upon the ground in profound silence. Her bosom heaved with a sad emotion.

"It is a dangerous duty," said she, at last. "I cannot speak my apprehension at the thought of your risks amongst the fierce and treacherous men that overrun the country to which you travel."

"These perils are exaggerated by distance," returned Butler. "A thousand expedients of protection and defence occur when present, which the absent cannot fancy. It is a light service, Mildred, and may more securely be performed with a gay heart than with a sad one. I pray you, do not suffer that active imagination of yours to invest the every day adventures of your poor soldier with a romantic interest of which they are not worthy. I neither slay giants, nor disenchant ladies, nor yoke captive griffins together. No, no, I shall outrun some over-fed clown, and outwit some simple boobies; and, perhaps, soil my boots in a great slough, and then hasten back, love, to boast of my marvels to the credulous ear of my own sweet girl, who, I warrant, will think me a most preposterous hero."

"How can you laugh, Arthur? And yet I would not have you catch my foolish sadness, either."

"I have with me, besides, Mildred, a friend good at need; one Galbraith Robinson, a practised and valiant soldier, who sits on yonder bank. He is to be the companion of my journey; he is shrewd, vigilant and cautious, an inhabitant, moreover, of the district to which I am bound; his wisdom can do much for my success. Then I travel, too, in peaceful guise. My business is more concerned with negotiation than with battle."

"It is a waylaid path, Arthur," said Mildred, in the same faint voice with which she had spoken before.

"Never take it so heavily, my love!" exclaimed Butler, familiarly seizing her hand, whose trembling now betrayed her agitation,—"it is the mere sport of the war to be upon a running service, where a light stratagem or so will baffle a set of dull-pated clodpoles! I scarcely deem it a venture, to dodge through a forest, where every man flies from his neighbor out of mutual distrust. These fellows have brought themselves upon such bad terms with their own consciences, that they start like thieves at the waving of a bulrush."

"They would be the more cruel," replied Mildred, "if some ill luck should throw you into their power. If that should happen," she added, and for a while she hesitated to speak, as a tear fell upon Butler's hand—"If that should happen, I cannot bear the thought."

"They dare offer me no wrong, Mildred. The chances of battle are sufficiently various to compel even the victors to pursue the policy of humanity to prisoners. The conqueror of to-day may himself be a captive to-morrow, and a bloody reprisal would await his barbarity. Again, let me remind you, these are not fit topics for your meditation."

"They are topics for my heart, Arthur, and will not be driven from it. If your lot should put you in the power of the enemy, the name of Mildred Lindsay, and the relation you bear her, whispered in their ears, may, perhaps, unlock their charity. My father has many friends in those ranks, and it may be that I am not unknown to some of them: oh, remember that!"

"You have little need to teach me to think or speak of Mildred Lindsay," said Butler, eagerly. "I cannot forget that name. But I may well doubt its charm upon the savage bulldogs who are now baiting our citizens in Carolina; those ruthless partizans who are poisoning the fountains of contentment at every fire-side. It is not a name to conjure evil spirits with."

"Major Butler," said Henry, who during this long interval had been strolling backward and forward, like a sentinel, at some distance from his sister and her lover, and who, with the military punctilio of a soldier on duty, forbore even to listen to what he could not have helped overhearing, if it had not been for humming a tune—"Major, I don't like to make or meddle with things that don't belong to me—but you and Mildred have been talking long enough to settle the course of a whole campaign. And as my father thinks he can't be too careful of Mildred, and doesn't like her walking about after night-fall, I shouldn't be surprised if a messenger were despatched for us—only I think that man Tyrrel is hatching some plot with him to-night, and may keep him longer in talk than usual."

"Who is Tyrrel?" inquired Butler.

"One that I wish had been in his grave before he had ever seen my father," answered Mildred with a bitter vehemence. "He is a wicked emissary of the royal party sent here to entrap my dear father into their toils. Such as it has ever been his fate to be cursed with from the beginning of the war; but this Tyrrel, the most hateful of them all."

"Alas, alas, your poor father! Mildred, what deep sorrow do I feel that he and I should be so estranged. I could love him, counsel with him, honor him, with a devotion that should outrun your fondest wish. His generous nature has been played upon, cheated, abused; and I, in whom fortune and inclination should have raised him a friend, have been made the victim of his perverted passion."

"True, true," exclaimed Mildred, bursting into tears, and resting her head against her lover's breast, "I can find courage to bear all but this—I am most unhappy;" and for some moments she sobbed audibly.

"The thought has sometimes crossed me," said Butler, "that I would go to your father and tell him all. It offends my self-respect to be obliged to practise concealment towards one who should have a right to know all that concerns a daughter so dear to him. Even now, if I may persuade you to it, I will go hand in hand with you, and, with humble reverence, place myself before him and divulge all that has passed between us."

"No, no, Arthur, no," ejaculated Mildred with the most earnest determination. "It will not come to good. You do not understand my father's feelings. The very sight of you would rouse him into frenzy; there is no name which might fall upon his ear with deeper offence than yours. Not yet, Arthur, the time has not yet come."

"I have been patient," said Butler, "patient, Mildred, for your sake."

"To try him now," continued Mildred, whose feelings still ran, with a heady impetuosity, upon this newly-awakened and engrossing topic; "now, in the very depth of his bitterest aversion to what he terms an impious rebellion, and whilst his heart is yet moved with an almost preternatural hate against all who uphold the cause, and to you, especially, above whose head there hovers, in his belief, some horrid impending curse that shall bring desolation upon him and all who claim an interest in his blood—no, no, it must not be!"

"Another year of pent-up vexation, self-reproach and anxious concealment must then glide by, and perhaps another," said Butler. "Well, I must be content to bear it, though, in the mean time, my heart bleeds for you, Mildred; it is a painful trial."

"For good or for evil our vow is now registered in heaven," replied Mildred, "and we must abide the end."

"I would not have it other than it is, dearest girl, except this stern resolve of your father—not for the world's wealth," said Butler warmly. "But you spoke of this Tyrrel—what manner of man is he? How might I know him?"

"To know him would answer no good end, Arthur. His soul is absorbed in stratagem, and my dear father is its prey. I too am grievously tormented by him; but it is no matter, I need not vex your ear with the tale of his annoyance."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Butler with a sudden expression of resentment.

"All that concerns my father, concerns me," said Mildred. "It is my evil destiny, Arthur, to be compelled to endure the associations of men, whose principles, habits, purposes, are all at war with my own. Alas, such are now my father's constant companions. This man Tyrrel, whose very name is a cheat put on, I doubt not, to conceal him from observation—goes farther than the rest in the boldness of his practice. I have some misgiving that he is better acquainted with the interest you take in me, than we might suspect possible to a stranger. I fear him. And then, Arthur, it is my peculiar misery that he has lately set up a disgusting pretension to my regard. Oh! I could give him, if my sex had strength to strike, the dagger, sooner than squander upon him one kind word. Yet am I obliged by circumstance to observe a strained courtesy towards him, which, frugal as it is, makes me an unwilling hypocrite to my own heart."

"Tyrrel," ejaculated Butler, "Tyrrel! I have heard no such name abroad!" then, muttering a deep curse, as he bit his lip with passion, he added, "Oh, that I could face this man, or penetrate his foul purpose! How is it likely I might meet him?"

"You shall have no temptation to a quarrel," said Mildred; "your quick resentment would but give activity to his venom. For the sake of my peace, Arthur, and of your own, inquire no further. Time may disclose more than rash pursuit."

"Leave that to sister Mildred and myself, major," said Henry, who listened with great interest to this conversation, "I have my eye upon him—let that satisfy you; and when sister Mildred puts up the game, depend upon it, I will bring him down."

"Thanks, thanks, dear Henry! I can trust you for a ready friend, and will even follow your good advice. A more favorable season for this concern may soon arrive; meantime, I will bear this hint in mind."

Again Henry made an appeal to the lovers to bring their conference to an end. It was a sorrowful moment, the events of which were brief, earnest and impassioned, and such as a dull scribbler, like myself, might easily mar in the telling; yet they were such as zealous and eager natures, who have loved with an intense and absorbing love, and who have parted in times of awful danger and uncertainty, may perchance be able to picture to themselves, when they recall the most impressive incident of their lives to memory. I will only say, that, in that dark shade where the beech tree spread his canopy of leaves over the cool bank, and marked his shadow's profile on the green sward—that grassy sward, on which "the constant moon" lit up the dewy lamps, hung by the spider on blade and leaf; and in that silent time, when the distant water-fall came far-sounding on the ear, when sleepless insects chirped in the thicket, and dogs, at some remote homestead, howled bugle-like to the moon; and in that chill hour, when Mildred drew her kerchief close around her dew-besprinkled shoulders, whilst Arthur, fondly and affectionately, half enveloped her in the folds of a military cloak, as he whispered words of tender parting in her ear, and imprinted a kiss upon her cheek; and when, moreover, Henry's teeth chattered like a frozen warder's, then it was, and there, that this enthusiastic girl again pledged her unalterable devotion to the man of her waking thoughts and nightly dreams, come weal, come woe, whatever might betide; and the soldier paid back the pledge with new ardor and endearment, in the strong language that came unstudied from the heart, meaning all that he said, and rife with a feeling beyond the reach of words. And, after "mony a locked and fond embrace," full tearfully, and lingeringly, and, in phrase oft repeated, the two bade "farewell," and invoked God's blessing each upon the other, and then, not without looking back, and breathing a fresh prayer of blessings, they separated on their dreary way, Mildred retiring, as she had come, on the arm of her brother, and Butler, springing hurriedly into the skiff and directing its swift passage to the middle of the stream, where, after a pause to enable him to discern the last footsteps of his mistress, as her form glided into the obscure distance, he sighed a low "God bless her," then resumed his oar, and sturdily drove his boat against the "opponent bank."

A COMFORTABLE INN, AND A GOOD LANDLADY——THE MISFORTUNES OF HEROES DO NOT ALWAYS DESTROY THE APPETITE.

As soon as Butler landed from the skiff, he threw his cloak into the hands of the sergeant; then, with a disturbed haste, sprang upon his horse, and, commanding Robinson to follow, galloped along the road down the river as fast as the nature of the ground and the obscurity of the hour would allow. A brief space brought them to the spot where the road crossed the stream, immediately in the vicinity of the widow Dimock's little inn, which might here be discerned ensconced beneath the cover of the opposite hill. The low-browed wooden building, quietly stationed some thirty paces off the road, was so adumbrated in the shelter of a huge willow, that the journeyer, at such an hour as this, might perchance pass the spot unconsciously by, were it not for an insulated and somewhat haggard sign-post that, like a hospitable seeker of strangers, stood hard by the road side, and there displayed a shattered emblem in the guise of a large blue ball, a little decayed by wind and weather, which said Blue Ball, without superscription or device, was universally interpreted to mean "entertainment for man and horse, by the widow Dimock." The moonlight fell with a broad lustre upon the sign post and its pendent globe; and our travellers, besides, could descry, through the drapery of the willow, a window, of some rear building of the inn, richly illuminated by what, from the redness of the light, might be conjectured to be a bundle of blazing faggots.

As the horses had, immediately upon entering the ford, compelled their masters to a halt, whilst they thrust their noses into the water and drank with the greediness of a long and neglected thirst, it was with no equivocal self-gratulation that Robinson directed his eye to the presignifications of good cheer which were now before him. Butler had spoken "never a word," and the sergeant's habits of subordination, as well as an honest sympathy in what he guessed to be the griefs of his superior officer, had constrained him to a respectful silence. The sergeant, however, was full of thoughts which, more than once during the gallop from the Fawn's Tower, he was on the point of uttering by way of consolation to Butler, and which nothing prevented but that real delicacy of mind that lies at the bottom of a kind nature, and inhabits the shaggy breast of the rustic, at least full as often as it lodges in the heart of the trim worldling. The present halt, seemed, in Horse Shoe's reckoning, not only to furnish a pretext to speak, but, in some degree, to render it a duty; and, in truth, an additional very stimulating subject presented itself to our good squire, in his instantaneous conviction that the glare from the tavern window had its origin in some active operation which, at this late hour, might be going on at the kitchen chimney; to understand the full pungency of which consideration, it is necessary to inform my reader, that Robinson had, for some time past, been yielding himself to certain doubts, whether his friend and himself might not arrive at the inn at too late an hour to hope for much despatch in the preparation for supper. In this state of feeling, partly bent to cheer the spirits of Butler, and partly to express his satisfaction at the prospect of his own comfort, he broke forth in the following terms—

"God bless all widows that set themselves down by the road-side, is my worst wish! and, in particular, I pray for good luck to the widow Dimock, for an orderly sort of body, which I have no doubt she is; and keeps good hours—to judge by the shine of the kitchen fire which is blazing yonder in the rear—and which, to tell truth, major, I began to be afeard would be as dead, by this time o' night, as the day the hearth-stone was first laid. She desarves to be spoken of as a praiseworthy woman. And, moreover, I should say she has popped her house down in a most legible situation, touching our day's march, by which I mean it isn't one step too near a reasonable bed hour. I count it lucky, major, on your account; and although it isn't for me to give advice in woman affairs—for I know the creatures do try the grit and edge of a man amazingly sometimes—yet, if I mought say what was running in my head fit for a gentleman and an officer like you to do in such a tribulation, it would be this: drop thinking and chawing over your troubles, and take them with a light heart, as things that's not to be mended by a solemncolly long-facedness. A good victual's meal and a fair night's rest would make another man of you. That's my observation; and I remember once to hear you say the same yourself, upon occasion of your losing the baggage wagons last fall on the Beaufort convoy. You ha'n't forgot it, major?"

"Thank you, thank you, sergeant. Your counsel is kindly offered and wisely said, and I will follow it. But it is a little hard, fellow soldier," added Butler, with something like an approach to jocularity, "it's a little hard to have one's misfortunes cast in his teeth by a comrade."

"I thought it would make you laugh, major!" replied Robinson, with a good-natured solicitude, "for it wan't in the possibilities of a mortal earthly man to save the baggage; and, I remember, you laughed then, as well as the rest of us, when them pestifarious, filching sheep stealers made off with our dinners: nobody ever blamed you for it."

"Ah, Galbraith, you are a good friend, and you shall say what you please to me," said Butler, with a returning cheerfulness; "sorrow is a dull companion to him who feeds it, and an impertinent one to everybody beside. So, ride forward, and we will endeavor to console ourselves with the good cheer of the widow. And, hark, Galbraith, this Mistress Dimock is an especial friend of mine: pray you, let her see, by your considerateness towards her, that you are aware of that—for my sake, good Horse Shoe."

The two soldiers soon reached the inn, and, having dismounted, Butler aroused the attention of the inmates by a few strokes upon the door with his riding rod.

The reply to this summons was a shrill invitation, in a feminine voice, to "walk in;" and no sooner had Butler thrown open the door and advanced a few paces into the passage, than the head of an elderly female was seen thrust through the partially expanded doorway of the adjoining room. Another instant, and the dusky figure of Mistress Dimock herself was visible to our travellers.

"What would you be pleased to have, sir?" inquired the dame, with evident distrust at this untimely approach of strangers.

"Accommodation for the night, and whatever you have good to offer a friend, Mistress Dimock."

"Who are you that ride so late?" again interrogated the hostess; "I am cowardly, sir, and cautious, and have reason to be careful who comes into my house; a poor unprotected woman, good man."

"A light, mother," said Butler, "and you shall know us better. We are travellers and want food and rest, and would have both with as little trouble to you as possible; a light will show you an old friend."

"Wait a moment," returned the dame; and then added, as she observed Butler walk into a room on the left, "Take care, sir, it is risking a fall to grope in the dark in a strange house."

"The house is not so strange to me as you suppose. Unless you have moved your furniture I can find the green settee beyond the cupboard," said Butler, familiarly striding across the room, and throwing himself into the old commodity he had named.

The landlady, without heeding this evidence of the conversancy of her visitor with the localities of the little parlor, had hastily retreated, and, in a moment afterwards, returned with a light, which, as she held it above her head, while she peered through a pair of spectacles, threw its full effulgence upon the face of her guest.

"Dear me, good lack!" she exclaimed, after a moment's gazing; "Arthur Butler, o' my conscience! And is it you, Mr. Butler?" Then, putting the candle upon the table, she seized both of his hands and gave them a long and hearty shake. "That Nancy Dimock shouldn't know your voice, of all others! Where have you been, and where are you going? Mercy on me! what makes you so late? And why didn't you let me know you were coming? I could have made you so much more comfortable. You are chilled with the night air; and hungry, no doubt. And you look pale, poor fellow! You surely couldn't have been at the Dove Cote?" which last interrogatory was expressed with a look of earnest and anxious inquiry.

"No, not there," replied Butler, almost in a whisper; "alas, my kind dame, not there," he added, with a melancholy smile, as he held the hand of the hostess and shook his head; "my fortune has in no jot improved since I left you almost a year ago. I broke from you hastily then to resume my share in the war, and I have had nothing but hard blows ever since. The tide, Mistress Dimock, sets sadly against us."

"Never let your heart fail you," exclaimed the landlady; "it isn't in the nature of things for the luck to be for ever on the shady side. Besides, take the good and bad together, you have not been so hardly dealt by, Captain Butler."

"Major Butler, madam, of the second Carolina continental reg'lar infantry," interrupted Robinson, who had stood by all this time unnoticed, "Major Butler; the captain has been promoted, by occasion of the wiping out of a few friends from the upper side of the adjutant's roll, in the scrimmage of Fort Moultrie. He is what we call, in common parley, brevetted."

This annunciation was made by the sergeant with due solemnity, accompanied by an attempt at a bow, which was abundantly stiff and ungraceful.

"My friend Sergeant Robinson," said Butler; "I commend him, Mistress Dimock, to your especial favor, both for a trusty comrade, and a most satisfactory and sufficient trencher man."

"You are welcome and free to the best that's in the house, sergeant," said the landlady, courtesying; "and I wish, for your sake, it was as good as your appetite, which ought to be of the best. Mr. Arthur Butler's word is all in all under this roof; and, whether he be captain or major, I promise you, makes no difference with me. Bless me! when I first saw you, major, you was only an ensign; then, whisk and away! and back you come a pretty lieutenant, about my house: and then a captain, forsooth! and now, on the track of that, a major. It is up-up-up-the ladder, till you will come, one of these days, to be a general; and too proud, I misdoubt, to look at such a little old woman as me! hegh, hegh, hegh! a pinch of snuff, Mr. Arthur." And here the good dame prolonged her phthisicky laugh for some moments, as she presented a box of Scotch snuff to her guest. "But I'll engage promotion never yet made the appetite of a travelling man smaller than before; so, gentlemen, you will excuse me while I look after your supper."

"The sooner the better, ma'am," said Robinson; "your night air is a sort of a whetstone to the stomach; but first, ma'am, I would be obligated to you, if you would let me see the ostler."

"Hut, tut! and have I been drivelling here all this time," exclaimed the dame, "without once spending a thought upon your cattle! Tony, Tony, To-ny, I say," almost shrieked the hostess, as she retreated along the passage towards the region of the kitchen, and then back again to the front door. "Are you asleep? Look to the gentlemen's horses; lead them to the stable, and don't spare to rub them down; and give them as much as they can eat. Where are you, old man?"

"What's the use of all this fuss, Missus Dimck? Arn't I here on the spot, with the cretur's in my hand?" grumbled out an old, stunted negro, who answered to the appellation of ostler; "Arn't I getting the baggage off, as fast as I can onbuckle the straps?—I don't want nobody to tell me when I ought to step out. If a hos could talk, he ain't got nothing new to say to me. Get out, you varmints," he shouted, with a sudden vivacity of utterance, at three or four dogs that were barking around him; "Consarn you! What you making such a conbobberation about? You all throat when you see gentmen coming to the house; better wait tell you see a thief; bound, you silent enough then, with your tail twixt your legs! Blossom, ya sacy slut, keep quiet, I tell you!"

In the course of this din and objurgation, the old negro succeeded in disburdening the horses of their furniture, and was about to lead them to the stable, when Robinson came to give him some directions.

"Mind what you are after with them there cattle. Give them not a mouthful for a good hour, and plenty of fodder about their feet; I'll look at them myself before you shut up. Throw a handful of salt into the trough, Tony, and above all things, don't let me catch you splashing water over their backs; none of that; do you hear?"

"Haw, haw, haw!" chuckled Tony; "think I don't know how to take care of a hos, mass! Been too use to creturs, ever sense so high. Bless the gentman! one of the best things on arth, when you're feared your hos is too much blowed, is to put a sprinkling of salt in a bucket o'water, and just stir a leetle Indian meal in with it; it sort of freshes the cretur up like, and is onaccountable good in hot weather, when you ain't got no time to feed. But cold water across the lines! oh, oh, I too cute in hos larning for that! Look at the top of my head—gray as a fox!"

"Skip then, or I'll open upon you like a pack of hounds," said Robinson, as he turned on his heel to re-enter the house, "I'll look in after supper."

"Never mind me," replied Tony, as he led the horses off, "I have tended Captain Butler's hos afore this, and he wan't never onsatisfied with me."

These cares being disposed of, Horse Shoe returned to the parlor. The tidy display of some plain furniture, and the scrupulous attention to cleanliness in every part of the room, afforded an intelligent commentary upon the exact, orderly and decent character of the Widow Dimock. The dame herself was a pattern of useful thrift. Her short figure, as she now bustled to and fro, through the apartment, was arrayed in that respectable, motherly costume which befitted her years; and which was proper to the period of my story, when the luxury of dress was more expensive than at present, and when a correspondent degree of care was used to preserve it in repair. Evidences of this laudable economy were seen in the neatness with which a ruffle was darned, or a weak point fortified by a nicely adjusted patch, presenting, in some respect, a token both of the commendable pride of the wearer, and of the straitness of the national means, since the prevalence of war for five years had not only reduced the wealth of individuals and rendered frugality indispensable, but had, also, literally deprived the country of its necessary supply of commodities; thus putting the opulent and the needy, to a certain extent, upon the same footing. On the present occasion, our good landlady was arrayed in a gown of sober-colored chintz, gathered into plaits in the skirt, whilst the body fitted closely over a pair of long-waisted stays, having tight sleeves that reached to the elbow. The stature of the dame was increased a full inch by a pair of high-heeled, parti-colored shoes, remarkable for their sharp toes; and a frilled muslin cap, with lappets that reached under the chin, towered sufficiently high to contribute, also, something considerable to the elevation of the tripping little figure of its wearer.

In such guise did Mistress Dimock appear, as she busied herself in preparing needful refreshment for the travellers; and for some time the house exhibited all that stir which belongs to this important care when despatched in a retired country inn.

By degrees, the table began to show the bounties of the kitchen. A savory dish of fried bacon, the fumes of which had been, for a quarter of an hour, gently stimulating the appetite of the guests, now made its appearance, in company with a pair of broiled pullets; and these were followed by a detachment of brown-crested hoecakes—the peculiar favorite of the province; an abundance of rich milk, eggs, butter, and other rural knicknackeries, such as no hungry man ever surveys with indifference. These were successively deposited upon a homespun table cloth, whose whiteness rivalled the new snow, with an accuracy of adjustment that, by its delay, produced the most visible effects upon the sergeant, who, during the spreading of the board, sat silently by, watching, with an eager and gloating earnestness, the slow process, ever and anon uttering a short hem, and turning about restlessly on his chair.

I may pause here, after the fashion of our worthy friend Horse Shoe, to make an observation. There is nothing that works so kindly upon the imagination of a traveller, if he be in any doubt as to his appetite, as the display of such a table. My particularity of detail, on the present occasion, will, therefore, be excused by my reader, when I inform him that Butler had arrived at the inn in that depressed tone of spirits which seemed to defy refreshment; and that, notwithstanding this impediment, he played no insignificant part afterwards at supper; a circumstance mainly attributable to that gentle but irresistible solicitation, which the actual sight and fragrance of the board addressed to his dormant physical susceptibility. I might, indeed, have pretermitted the supper altogether, were there not a philosophical truth at the bottom of the matter, worthy of the notice of the speculative and curious reader; namely, that where a man's heart is a little teased with love, and his temper fretted by crossings, and his body jolted by travel; especially, when he has been wandering through the night air, with owls hooting in his ears; and a thin drapery of melancholy has been flung, like cobwebs, across his spirits, then it is my doctrine, that a clean table, a good-humored landlady and an odorous steaming-up of good things, in a snug, cheerful little parlor, are certain to beget in him a complete change of mood, and to give him, instead, a happy train of thoughts and a hearty relish for his food. Such was precisely Butler's condition.

He and the sergeant now sat down at the table, and each drew the attention of the other by the unexpected vigor of their assaults upon the dainties before them; Robinson surprised to find the major so suddenly revived, and Butler no less unprepared to see a man, who had achieved such wonders at dinner, now successively demolish what might be deemed a stout allowance for a well fed lion.

"It almost seems to go against the credit of my house," said the hostess, "to set gentlefolks down at my table without a cup of tea; but so it is; we must get used to be stripped of all the old-fashioned comforts. It is almost treason for an honest woman to have such an article in her house now, even if it could be fairly come by. Still, I'll engage I am tory enough yet to like the smell of hyson. They have no mercy upon us old women, major; they should have a care, or they will drive us into the arms of the enemy."

"Faith then, ma'am," interrupted Horse Shoe bluntly, as he threw his eye over his shoulder at the landlady, who had broken into a laugh at her own sally of humor, "it would be no wonder if you were soon driven back again."

"Shame on you, Mr. Sergeant Robinson," retorted the dame, laughing again, "I didn't expect to hear such a speech from you; that's a very sorry compliment to a poor country woman. If the men on our side think so little of us as you do, it would be no wonder if we all desert to King George; but Major Arthur Butler, I am sure, will tell you that we old bodies can sometimes make ourselves very useful—gainsay it who will."

"You seem to be rather hard, Galbraith," said Butler, "on my good friend Mistress Dimock. I am sure, madam, the sergeant has only been unlucky in making himself understood; for I know him to be a man of gallantry to your sex, and to cherish an especial liking for the female friends of our cause, amongst whom, Mistress Dimock, I can certify he is prepared to set a high value upon yourself. The sergeant was only endeavoring to provoke your good humor. Try this honey, Galbraith; Mistress Dimock is famous for her beehives; and perhaps it will give a sweeter edge to your tongue."

"I spoke, major," replied Robinson, awkwardly endeavoring to extricate himself under this joint rebuke, and, at the same time, plunging a spoon into the dish to which Butler had invited his notice, "consarning the difficulty of having ladies—whether old or young makes no difference, it wan't respecting the age of Mistress Dimock, nor her beauty, by no means, that I said what I did say; but it was consarning of the difficulty of having the women with them in their marches and their counter-marches. What could such tender creatures have done at such a place as the sieging of Charlestown? Certain, this is most elegant honey!" he added, by way of parenthesis, as he devoured a large slice of bread, well covered with a fragment of honeycomb, as if anxious to gain time to collect his ideas; for, with all Horse Shoe's bluntness, he was essentially a diffident man. "It is my opinion, ma'am, the best thing the women can do, in these here wars, is to knit; and leave the fighting of it out, to us who hav'n't faces to be spoiled by bad weather and tough times."