[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]

The intention of the major to quit the Knoll that day,
was announced to the family at breakfast, on the following
morning. His mother and Beulah heard this intelligence,
with a natural and affectionate concern, that they had no
scruples in avowing; but Maud seemed to have so schooled
her feelings, that the grief she really felt was under a prudent
control. To her, it appeared as if her secret were
constantly on the point of exposure, and she believed that
would cause her instant death. To survive its shame was
impossible in her eyes, and all the energies of her nature
were aroused, with the determination of burying her weakness
in her own bosom. She had been so near revealing it
to Beulah, that even now she trembled as she thought of the
precipice over which she had been impending, strengthening
her resolution by the recollection of the danger she had
run.

As a matter of necessary caution, the intended movements
of the young man were kept a profound secret from all in
the settlement. Nick had disappeared in the course of the
night, carrying with him the major's pack, having repaired
to a designated point on the stream, where he was to be
joined by his fellow-traveller at an hour named. There
were several forest-paths which led to the larger settlements.

[figure description] Page 140.[end figure description]

That usually travelled was in the direction of old Fort Stanwix,
first proceeding north, and then taking a south-eastern
direction, along the shores of the Mohawk. This was the
route by which the major had come. Another struck the
Otsego, and joined the Mohawk at the point more than once
mentioned in our opening chapters. As these were the two
ordinary paths—if paths they could be called, where few or
no traces of footsteps were visible—it was more than probable
any plan to arrest the traveller would be laid in reference
to their courses. The major had consequently
resolved to avoid them both, and to strike boldly into the
mountains, until he should reach the Susquehanna, cross
that stream on its flood-wood, and finding one of its tributaries
that flowed in from the eastward, by following its banks
to the high land, which divides the waters of the Mohawk
from this latter river, place himself on a route that would
obliquely traverse the water-courses, which, in this quarter
of the country, have all a general north or south direction.
Avoiding Schenectady and Albany, he might incline towards
the old establishments of the descendants of the emigrants
from the Palatinate, on the Schoharie, and reach the
Hudson at a point deemed safe for his purposes, through
some of the passes of the mountains in their vicinity. He
was to travel in the character of a land-owner who had
been visiting his patent, and his father supplied him with a
map and an old field-book, which would serve to corroborate
his assumed character, in the event of suspicion, or arrest.
Not much danger was apprehended, however, the quarrel
being yet too recent to admit of the organization and distrust
that subsequently produced so much vigilance and activity.

“You will contrive to let us hear of your safe arrival in
Boston, Bob,” observed the father, as he sat stirring his tea,
in a thoughtful way—“I hope to God the matter will go no
farther, and that our apprehensions, after all, have given
this dark appearance to what has already happened.”

“Ah, my dear father; you little know the state of the
country, through which I have so lately travelled!” answered
the major, shaking his head. “An alarm of fire,
in an American town, would scarce create more movement,
and not so much excitement. The colonies are alive, particularly
those of New England, and a civil war is

[figure description] Page 141.[end figure description]

inevitable; though I trust the power of England will render it
short.”

“Then, Robert, do not trust yourself among the people
of New England”—cried the anxious mother. “Go rather
to New York, where we have so many friends, and so much
influence. It will be far easier to reach New York than to
reach Boston.”

“That may be true, mother, but it will scarcely be as
creditable. My regiment is in Boston, and its enemies are
before Boston; an old soldier like captain Willoughby will
tell you that the major is a very necessary officer to a corps.
No—no—my best course is to fall into the current of adventurers
who are pushing towards Boston, and appear like
one of their number, until I can get an opportunity of stealing
away from them, and join my own people.”

“Have a care, Bob, that you do not commit a military
crime. Perhaps these provincial officers may take it into
their heads to treat you as a spy, should you fall into their
hands!”

“Little fear of that, sir; at present it is a sort of colonial
scramble for what they fancy liberty. That they will fight,
in their zeal, I know; for I have seen it; but matters have
not at all gone as far as you appear to apprehend. I question
if they would even stop Gage, himself, from going through
their camp, were he outside, and did he express a desire to
return.”

“And yet you tell me, arms and ammunition are seized
all over the land; that several old half-pay officers of the
king have been arrested, and put under a sort of parole!”

“Such things were talked of, certainly, though I question
if they have yet been done. Luckily for yourself, under
your present opinions at least, you are not on half-pay,
even.”

“It is fortunate, Bob, though you mention it with a smile.
With my present feelings, I should indeed be sorry to be on
half-pay, or quarter-pay, were there such a thing. I now
feel myself my own master, at liberty to follow the dictates
of my conscience, and the suggestions of my judgment.”

“Well, sir, you are a little fortunate, it must be acknowledged.
I cannot see how any man can be at liberty to

[figure description] Page 142.[end figure description]

throw off the allegiance he owes his natural sovereign.
What think you, Maud?”

This was said half in bitterness, half in jest, though the
appeal at its close was uttered in a serious manner, and a
little anxiously. Maud hesitated, as if to muster her thoughts,
ere she replied.

“My feelings are against rebellion,” she said, at length;
“though I fear my reason tells me there is no such thing
as a natural sovereign. If the parliament had not given us
the present family, a century since, by what rule of nature
would it be our princes, Bob?”

“Ah! these are some of the flights of your rich imagination,
my dear—Maud; it is parliament that has made them
our princes, and parliament, at least, is our legal, constitutional
master.”

“That is just the point in dispute. Parliament may be
the rightful governors of England, but are they the rightful
governors of America?”

“Enough,” said the captain, rising from table — “We
will not discuss such a question, just as we are about to separate.
Go, my son; a duty that is to be performed, cannot
be done too soon. Your fowling-piece and ammunition are
ready for you, and I shall take care to circulate the report
that you have gone to pass an hour in the woods, in search
of pigeons. God bless you, Bob; however we may differ
in this matter — you are my son — my only son — my dear
and well-beloved boy — God for ever bless you!”

A profound stillness succeeded this burst of nature, and
then the young man took his leave of his mother and the
girls. Mrs. Willoughby kissed her child. She did not even
weep, until she was in her room; then, indeed, she went to
her knees, her tears, and her prayers. Beulah, all heart
and truth as she was, wept freely on her brother's neck;
but Maud, though pale and trembling, received his kiss
without returning it; though she could not help saying with
a meaning that the young man had in his mind all that day,
ay, and for many succeeding days—“be careful of yourself,
and run into no unnecessary dangers; God bless you,
dear, dear Bob.”

Maud alone followed the movements of the gentlemen
with her eyes. The peculiar construction of the Hut

[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]

prevented external view from the south windows; but there was
a loop in a small painting-room of the garret that was especially
under her charge. Thither, then, she flew, to ease
her nearly bursting heart with tears, and to watch the retiring
footsteps of Robert. She saw him, accompanied by
his father and the chaplain, stroll leisurely down the lawn,
conversing and affecting an indifferent manner, with a wish
to conceal his intent to depart. The glass of the loop was
open, to admit the air, and Maud strained her sense of hearing,
in the desire to catch, if possible, another tone of his
voice. In this she was unsuccessful; though he stopped
and gazed back at the Hut, as if to take a parting look.
Her father and Mr. Woods did not turn, and Maud thrust
her hand through the opening and waved her handkerchief.
“He will think it Beulah or I,” she thought, “and it may
prove a consolation to him to know how much we love him.”
The major saw the signal, and returned it. His father unexpectedly
turned, and caught a glimpse of the retiring
hand, as it was disappearing within the loop. “That is
our precious Maud,” he said, without other thought than of
her sisterly affection. “It is her painting-room; Beulah's
is on the other side of the gate-way; but the window does
not seem to be open.”

The major started, kissed his hand fervently, five or six
times, and then he walked on. As if to change the conversation,
he said hastily, and with a little want of connection
with what had just passed—

“Yes, sir, that gate, sure enough—have it hung, at once,
I do entreat of you. I shall not be easy until I hear that
both the gates are hung—that in the stockade, and that in
the house, itself.”

“It was my intention to commence to-day,” returned the
father, “but your departure has prevented it. I will wait a
day or two, to let your mother and sisters tranquillize their
minds a little, before we besiege them with the noise and
clamour of the workmen.”

“Better besiege them with that, my dear sir, than leave
them exposed to an Indian, or even a rebel attack.”

The major then went on to give some of his more modern
military notions, touching the art of defence. As one of the
old school, he believed his father a miracle of skill; but

[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]

what young man, who had enjoyed the advantages of ten
or fifteen years of the most recent training in any branch
of knowledge, ever believed the educations of those who
went before him beyond the attacks of criticism. The captain
listened patiently, and with an old man's tolerance for
inexperience, glad to have any diversion to unhappy
thoughts.

All this time Maud watched their movements from the
loop, with eyes streaming with tears. She saw Robert pause,
and look back, again and again; and, once more, she thrust
out the handkerchief. It was plain, however, he did not see
it; for he turned and proceeded, without any answering
signal.

“He never can know whether it was Beulah or I,”
thought Maud; “yet, he may fancy we are both here.”

On the rocks, that overhung the mills, the gentlemen
paused, and conversed for quite a quarter of an hour. The
distance prevented Maud from discerning their countenances;
but she could perceive the thoughtful, and as she fancied
melancholy, attitude of the major, as, leaning on his fowling-piece,
his face was turned towards the Knoll, and his eyes
were really riveted on the loop. At the end of the time
mentioned, the young soldier shook hands hastily and covertly
with his companions, hurried towards the path, and
descended out of sight, following the course of the stream.
Maud saw him no more, though her father and Mr. Woods
stood on the rocks quite half an hour longer, catching occasional
glimpses of his form, as it came out of the shadows
of the forest, into the open space of the little river; and, indeed,
until the major was within a short distance of the
spot where he was to meet the Indian. Then they heard
the reports of both barrels of his fowling-piece, fired in quick
succession, the signals that he had joined his guide. This
welcome news received, the two gentlemen returned slowly
towards the house.

Such was the commencement of a day, which, while it
brought forth nothing alarming to the family of the Hutted
Knoll, was still pregnant with important consequences.
Major Willoughby disappeared from the sight of his father
about ten in the morning; and before twelve, the settlement
was alive with the rumours of a fresh arrival. Joel knew

[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]

not whether to rejoice or to despair, as he saw a party of
eight or ten armed men rising above the rock, and holding
their course across the flats towards the house. He entertained
no doubt of its being a party sent by the provincial
authorities to arrest the captain, and he foresaw the probability
of another's being put into the lucrative station of
receiver of the estate, during the struggle which was in
perspective. It is surprising how many, and sometimes how
pure patriots are produced by just such hopes as those of
Joel's. At this day, there is scarce an instance of a confiscated
estate, during the American revolution, connected
with which racy traditions are not to be found, that tell of
treachery very similar to this contemplated by the overseer;
in some instances of treachery effected by means of kinsmen
and false friends.

Joel had actually got on his Sunday coat, and was making
his way towards the Knoll, in order to be present, at least,
at the anticipated scene, when, to his amazement, and somewhat
to his disappointment, he saw the captain and chaplain
moving down the lawn, in a manner to show that these unexpected
arrivals brought not unwelcome guests. This
caused him to pause; and when he perceived that the only
two among the strangers who had the air of gentlemen,
were met with cordial shakes of the hand, he turned back
towards his own tenement, a half-dissatisfied, and yet half-contented
man.

The visit which the captain had come out to receive, instead
of producing any uneasiness in his family, was, in
truth, highly agreeable, and very opportune. It was Evert
Beekman, with an old friend, attended by a party of chain-bearers,
hunters, &c., on his way from the “Patent” he
owned in the neighbourhood — that is to say, within fifty
miles—and halting at the Hutted Knoll, under the courteous
pretence of paying his respects to the family, but, in reality,
to bring the suit he had now been making to Beulah for
quite a twelvemonth, to a successful termination.

The attachment between Evert Beekman and Beulah
Willoughby was of a character so simple, so sincere, and
so natural, as scarce to furnish materials for a brief episode.
The young man had not made his addresses without leave
obtained from the parents; he had been acceptable to the

[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]

daughter from the commencement of their acquaintance;
and she had only asked time to reflect, ere she gave her
answer, when he proposed, a day or two before the family
left New York.

To own the truth, Beulah was a little surprised that her
suitor had delayed his appearance till near the close of May,
when she had expected to see him at the beginning of the
month. A letter, however, was out of the question, since
there was no mode of transmitting it, unless the messenger
were sent expressly; and the young man had now come in
person, to make his own apologies.

Beulah received Evert Beekman naturally, and without
the least exaggeration of manner, though a quiet happiness
beamed in her handsome face, that said as much as lover
could reasonably desire. Her parents welcomed him cordially,
and the suitor must have been dull indeed, not to
anticipate all he hoped. Nor was it long before every
doubt was removed. The truthful, conscientious Beulah,
had well consulted her heart; and, while she blushed at her
own temerity, she owned her attachment to her admirer.
The very day of his arrival they became formally betrothed.
As our tale, however, has but a secondary connection with
this little episode, we shall not dwell on it more than is necessary
to the principal object. It was a busy morning,
altogether; and, though there were many tears, there were
also many smiles. By the time it was usual, at that bland
season, for the family to assemble on the lawn, everything,
even to the day, was settled between Beulah and her lover,
and there was a little leisure to think of other things. It
was while the younger Pliny and one of the Smashes were
preparing the tea, that the following conversation was held,
being introduced by Mr. Woods, in the way of digressing
from feelings in which he was not quite as much interested
as some of the rest of the party.

“Do you bring us anything new from Boston?” demanded
the chaplain. “I have been dying to ask the question
these two hours—ever since dinner, in fact; but, somehow,
Mr. Beekman, I have not been able to edge in an inquiry.”

This was said good-naturedly, but quite innocently; eliciting
smiles, blushes, and meaning glances in return. Evert
Beekman, however, looked grave before he made his reply.

[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]

“To own the truth, Mr. Woods,” he said, “things are
getting to be very serious. Boston is surrounded by thousands
of our people; and we hope, not only to keep the
king's forces in the Peninsula, but, in the end, to drive them
out of the colony.”

“This is a bold measure, Mr. Beekman!—a very bold
step to take against Cæsar!”

“Woods preached about the rights of Cæsar, no later than
yesterday, you ought to know, Beekman,” put in the laughing
captain; “and I am afraid he will be publicly praying
for the success of the British arms, before long.”

“I did pray for the Royal Family,” said the chaplain,
with spirit, “and hope I shall ever continue to do so.”

“My dear fellow, I do not object to that. Pray for all
conditions of men, enemies and friends alike; and, particularly,
pray for our princes; but pray also to turn the hearts
of their advisers.”

Beekman seemed uneasy. He belonged to a decidedly
whig family, and was himself, at the very moment, spoken
of as the colonel of one of the regiments about to be raised
in the colony of New York. He held that rank in the
militia, as it was; and no one doubted his disposition to resist
the British forces, at the proper moment. He had even
stolen away from what he conceived to be very imperative
duties, to secure the woman of his heart before he went into
the field. His answer, in accordance, partook essentially
of the bias of his mind.

“I do not know, sir, that it is quite wise to pray so very
willingly for the Royal Family,” he said. “We may wish
them worldly happiness, and spiritual consolation, as part of
the human race; but political and specific prayers, in times
like these, are to be used with caution. Men attach more
than the common religious notion, just now, to prayers for
the king, which some interpret into direct petitions against
the United Colonies.”

“Well,” rejoined the captain, “I cannot agree to this,
myself. If there were a prayer to confound parliament and
its counsels, I should be very apt to join in it cordially; but
I am not yet ready to throw aside king, queen, princes and
princesses, all in a lump, on account of a few taxes, and a
little tea.”

[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]

“I am sorry to hear this from you, sir,” answered Evert.
“When your opinions were canvassed lately at Albany, I
gave a sort of pledge that you were certainly more with us
than against us.”

“Well then, I think, Beekman, you drew me in my true
outlines. In the main, I think the colonies right, though I
am still willing to pray for the king.”

“I am one of those, captain Willoughby, who look forward
to the most serious times. The feeling throughout the
colonies is tremendous, and the disposition on the part of
the royal officers is to meet the crisis with force.”

“You have a brother a captain of foot in one of the regiments
of the crown, colonel Beekman—what are his views
in this serious state of affairs?”

“He has already thrown up his commission — refusing
even to sell out, a privilege that was afforded him. His
name is now before congress for a majority in one of the
new regiments that are to be raised.”

The captain looked grave; Mrs. Willoughby anxious;
Beulah interested; and Maud thoughtful.

“This has a serious aspect, truly,” observed the first.
“When men abandon all their early hopes, to assume new
duties, there must be a deep and engrossing cause. I had
not thought it like to come to this!”

“We have had hopes major Willoughby might do the
same; I know that a regiment is at his disposal, if he be
disposed to join us. No one would be more gladly received.
We are to have Gates, Montgomery, Lee, and many other
old officers, from regular corps, on our side.”

“Will colonel Lee be put at the head of the American
forces?”

“I think not, sir. He has a high reputation, and a good
deal of experience, but he is a humourist; and what is something,
though you will pardon it, he is not an American
born.”

“It is quite right to consult such considerations, Beekman;
were I in congress, they would influence me, Englishman
as I am, and in many things must always remain.”

“I am glad to hear you say that, Willoughby,” exclaimed
the chaplain—“right down rejoiced to hear you say so! A

[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]

man is bound to stand by his birth-place, through thick and
thin.”

“How do you, then, reconcile your opinions, in this
matter, to your birth-place, Woods?” asked the laughing
captain.

To own the truth, the chaplain was a little confused. He
had entered into the controversy with so much zeal, of late,
as to have imbibed the feelings of a thorough partisan; and,
as is usual with such philosophers, was beginning to over-look
everything that made against his opinions, and to
exaggerate everything that sustained them.

“How?”—he cried, with zeal, if not with consistency —
“Why, well enough. I am an Englishman too, in the
general view of the case, though born in Massachusetts. Of
English descent, and an English subject.”

“Umph!—Then Beekman, here, who is of Dutch descent,
is not bound by the same principles as we are ourselves?”

“Not by the same feelings, possibly; but, surely, by
the same principles. Colonel Beekman is an Englishman
by construction, and you are by birth. Yes, I'm what may
be called a constructive Englishman.”

Even Mrs. Willoughby and Beulah laughed at this, though
not a smile had crossed Maud's face, since her eye had lost
Robert Willoughby from view. The captain's ideas seemed
to take a new direction, and he was silent some little time
before he spoke.

“Under the circumstances in which we are now placed,
as respects each other, Mr. Beekman,” he said, “it is proper
that there should be no concealments on grave points.
Had you arrived an hour or two earlier, you would have
met a face well known to you, in that of my son, major
Willoughby.”

“Major Willoughby, my dear sir!” exclaimed Beekman,
with a start of unpleasant surprise; “I had supposed him
with the royal army, in Boston. You say he has left the
Knoll—I sincerely hope not for Albany.”

“No—I wished him to go in that direction, at first, and
to see you, in particular; but his representations of the state
of the country induced me to change my mind; he travels
by a private way, avoiding all the towns of note, or size.”

[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]

“In that he has done well, sir. Near to me as a brother
of Beulah's must always seem, I should be sorry to see Bob,
just at this moment. If there be no hope of getting him to
join us, the farther we are separated the better.”

This was said gravely, and it caused all who heard it
fully to appreciate the serious character of a quarrel that
threatened to arm brother against brother. As if by common
consent, the discourse changed, all appearing anxious,
at a moment otherwise so happy, to obliterate impressions
so unpleasant from their thoughts.

The captain, his wife, Beulah and the colonel, had several
long and private communications in the course of the evening.
Maud was not sorry to be left to herself, and the
chaplain devoted his time to the entertainment of the friend
of Beekman, who was in truth a surveyor, brought along
partly to preserve appearances, and partly for service. The
chain-bearers, hunters, &c., had been distributed in the
different cabins of the settlement, immediately on the arrival
of the party.

That night, when the sisters retired, Maud perceived that
Beulah had something to communicate, out of the common
way. Still, she did not know whether it would be proper
for her to make any inquiries, and things were permitted to
take their natural course. At length Beulah, in her gentle
way, remarked—

“It is a fearful thing, Maud, for a woman to take upon
herself the new duties, obligations and ties of a wife.”

“She should not do it, Beulah, unless she feels a love for
the man of her choice, that will sustain her in them. You,
who have real parents living, ought to feel this fully, as I
doubt not you do.”

“Real parents! Maud, you frighten me! Are not my
parents yours?—Is not all our love common?”

“I am ashamed of myself, Beulah. Dearer and better
parents than mine, no girl ever had. I am ashamed of my
words, and beg you will forget them.”

“That I shall be very ready to do. It was a great consolation
to think that should I be compelled to quit home,
as compelled I must be in the end, I should leave with my
father and mother a child as dutiful, and one that loves
them as sincerely as yourself, Maud.”

[figure description] Page 151.[end figure description]

“You have thought right, Beulah. I do love them to my
heart's core! Then you are right in another sense; for I
shall never marry. My mind is made up to that.”

“Well, dear, many are happy that never marry—many
women are happier than those that do. Evert has a kind,
manly, affectionate heart, and I know will do all he can to
prevent my regretting home; but we can never have more
than one mother, Maud!”

Maud did not answer, though she looked surprised that
Beulah should say this to her.

“Evert has reasoned and talked so much to my father
and mother,” continued the fiancée, blushing, “that they
have thought we had better be married at once. Do you
know, Maud, that it has been settled this evening, that the
ceremony is to take place to-morrow!”

“This is sudden, indeed, Beulah! Why have they determined
on so unexpected a thing?”

“It is all owing to the state of the country. I know not
how he has done it — but Evert has persuaded my father,
that the sooner I am his wife, the more secure we shall all
be, here at the Knoll.”

“I hope you love Evert Beekman, dearest, dearest Beulah?”

“What a question, Maud! Do you suppose I could stand
up before a minister of God, and plight my faith to a man
I did not love?—Why have you seemed to doubt it?”

“I do not doubt it — I am very foolish, for I know you
are conscientious as the saints in heaven—and yet, Beulah,
I think I could scarce be so tranquil about one I loved.”

The gentle Beulah smiled, but she no longer felt uneasiness.
She understood the impulses and sentiments of her
own pure but tranquil nature too well, to distrust herself;
and she could easily imagine that Maud would not be as
composed under similar circumstances.

“Perhaps it is well, sister of mine,” she answered laughing,
though blushing, “that you are so resolved to remain
single; for one hardly knows where to find a suitor sufficiently
devoted and ethereal for your taste. No one pleased
you last winter, though the least encouragement would have
brought a dozen to your feet; and here there is no one you
can possibly have, unless it be dear, good, old Mr. Woods.”

[figure description] Page 152.[end figure description]

Maud compressed her lips, and really looked stern, so
determined was she to command herself; then she answered
somewhat in her sister's vein—

“It is very true,” she said, “there is no hero for me to
accept, unless it be dear Mr. Woods; and he, poor man, has
had one wife that cured him of any desire to possess another,
they say.”

“Mr. Woods! I never knew that he was married. Who
can have told you this, Maud?”

“I got it from Robert”—answered the other, hesitating a
little. “He was talking one day of such things.”

“What things, dear?”

“Why—of getting married—I believe it was about marrying
relatives—or connections—or, some such thing; for
Mr. Woods married a cousin-german, it would seem—and
so he told me all about it. Bob was old enough to know
his wife, when she died. Poor man, she led him a hard
life—he must be far from the Knoll, by this time, Beulah!”

“Mr. Woods!—I left him with papa, a few minutes since,
talking over the ceremony for to-morrow!”

“I meant Bob—”

Here the sisters caught each other's eyes, and both blushed,
consciousness presenting to them, at the same instant,
the images that were uppermost in their respective minds.
But, no more was said. They continued their employments
in silence, and soon each was kneeling in prayer.

The following day, Evert Beekman and Beulah Willoughby
were married. The ceremony took place, immediately
after breakfast, in the little chapel; no one being present
but the relatives, and Michael O'Hearn, who quieted his
conscience for not worshipping with the rest of the people,
by acting as their sexton. The honest county Leitrim-man
was let into the secret—as a great secret, however—at early
dawn; and he had the place swept and in order in good
season, appearing in his Sunday attire to do honour to the
occasion, as he thought became him.

A mother as tender as Mrs. Willoughby, could not resign
the first claim on her child, without indulging her tears.
Maud wept, too; but it was as much in sympathy for Beulah's
happiness, as from any other cause. The marriage,
in other respects, was simple, and without any ostentatious

[figure description] Page 153.[end figure description]

manifestations of feeling. It was, in truth, one of those
rational and wise connections, which promise to wear well,
there being a perfect fitness, in station, wealth, connections,
years, manners and habits, between the parties. Violence
was done to nothing, in bringing this discreet and well-principled
couple together. Evert was as worthy of Beulah,
as she was worthy of him. There was confidence in the
future, on every side; and not a doubt, or a misgiving of
any sort, mingled with the regrets, if regrets they could be
called, that were, in some measure, inseparable from the
solemn ceremony.

The marriage was completed, the affectionate father had
held the weeping but smiling bride on his bosom, the tender
mother had folded her to her heart, Maud had pressed her
in her arms in a fervent embrace, and the chaplain had
claimed his kiss, when the well-meaning sexton approached.

“Is it the likes of yees I wish well to!” said Mike—“Ye
may well say that; and to yer husband, and childer, and
all that will go before, and all that have come afther ye! I
know'd ye, when ye was mighty little, and that was years
agone; and niver have I seen a cross look on yer pretthy
face. I've app'inted to myself, many's the time, a consait
to tell ye all this, by wor-r-d of mouth; but the likes of
yees, and of the Missus, and of Miss Maud there—och!
isn't she a swate one! and many's the pity, there's no sich
tall, handsome jontleman to take her, in the bargain, bad
luck to him for staying away; and so God bless ye, all,
praist in the bargain, though he's no praist at all; and
there's my good wishes said and done.”

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