[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]

The morning was cheerful and smiling, and
Mr. Rainsford appeared at breakfast apparently in
good spirits; but Virginia, who by some newly-awakened
impulse began to feel an interest in a
young man who groaned and walked his chamber
at night, thought she saw in his face the haggard
emblems of long suffering. His features were
regular and singularly expressive, but it was not
altogether a pleasing expression. The lines of
his forehead bore the marks of habitual contraction;
his complexion was of an ashy hue; his
cheek and eyes somewhat more sunken than beseemed
a man so young; and the latter exhibited
a cast of fearful apprehension, as though they
were watching some secret enemy stealing upon
him unawares. His person was of the middle
size; his limbs well formed; but there was nothing
of the brisk vigour of youth in his action, which
was languid, careless, and dilatory. His voice
was musical, but it was the music of melancholy.

Suspicion is the product of experience; naturally,
our race is full of liberal confidence. In
the early stages of society there is little temptation
to fraud, and, consequently, less occasion
for apprehension; for men have little to lose
or gain by it, and hence, in proportion to the simplicity
of manners and modes of life will be the

[figure description] Page 110.[end figure description]

extent of confidence and hospitality. Rainsford
was accordingly received unquestioned at the
house of Colonel Dangerfield, not only because
the colonel was liberal, but that in this sequestered
region, as there was no temptation to attract
rogues, so there had been no examples to create
suspicion.

After breakfast, Colonel Dangerfield proposed
taking a ride to view the lands in the neighbourhood.

“I feel an interest in your settling among us,
and long to see you getting about it. If you bestir
yourself manfully, in two years you will have
every thing comfortable about you.”

“Two years!” echoed Rainsford, with a sigh.

“What, are you so impatient you can't wait
two years? It is but a short time.”

“Too long for me,” said the other, apparently
entirely abstracted from the scene and the occasion.

As they rode to the spot which was the object
of their visit, the colonel spoke of what was necessary
to be done in the first stage of a new settlement,
and entered on a variety of details, such
as he thought might interest his guest; but his
mind seemed to be wandering to other subjects.
Sometimes he did not answer at all, and at others
nothing or very little to the purpose.

“Stranger,” said Bushfield, who accompanied
them on his way home, he not being a resident in
the village of Dangerfieldville, “stranger, you
don't seem on the track of what the colonel says.
But I'll tell you what, a man that comes to settle
in these parts must be wide awake, and rip and
tear away like a horse in a cane-brake. But somehow
you don't appear to mind what's said to you,

[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]

any more than my old horse Shavetail, who lost
his hearing at the last general training, they fired
at such a rate.”

“I believe, indeed, I was guilty of the ill manners
of thinking of something else; I am apt to
be absent,” said Rainsford, with a melancholy
smile.

“What! you're one of the booky fellers that
think of one thing while they are talking about
another. There's an old varmint at Frankford
Academy, as I heard, that one day cut his forefinger
to a sharp point instead of a pencil, for want
of thinking what he was about.”

“What a beautiful country!” exclaimed Rainsford,
as they ascended an eminence which commanded
a vast expanse of all the charming varieties
of nature; forests of primeval growth, rich
meadows, extensive plains, swelling hills gradually
rising into mountains, and little rivers
winding their way as if they neither knew nor
cared whither they were going; “what a beautiful
country is Kentucky!”

“Beautiful?—it's transcendent! Yes, if Old
Kentucky was cut off from all the rest of the
earth, she'd be a world within herself,” answered
Bushfield.

A spot was selected for the residence of Rainsford
on the bank of a little stream which found
its way to the Kentucky River through a rich
meadow imbosomed in the hills.

“'Tis a little paradise,” said he; “but I fear it
is too distant from any other habitation.”

“Distant!” cried Bushfield, “not at all; why,
you and I shall be nigh neighbours. Don't you
see that blue mountain yonder? I live just on the
other side, and it's only fifteen miles off.”

[figure description] Page 112.[end figure description]

`That's rather too far for me; I don't like to
be alone.”

“Not like to be alone! why, where under the
sun did you spring from, stranger? Now, for my
part, I don't want any other company than my
dog, my rifle, and plenty of game. I never wish
to see the smoke of my neighbour's chimney.
You'll have a smart chance of company at Dangerfieldville,
which isn't above six miles off, as I
should calculate.”

After a few minutes' reflection, Mr. Rainsford
assented to the location of his house, observing,
it was after all, perhaps, of little consequence where
he pitched his tent, to the great disgust of Bushfield,
who set him down in his own mind as a
fellow that hadn't fire enough in him to prevent
his being frostbitten in the dog-days.

According to the custom of the backwoods, the
inhabitants of the village turned out the next day,
and before the sun was set had built him a stately
log house of two rooms and a garret, all neat and
complete, and fit for a king. But in these new
countries it is much more difficult to furnish than
to build a house, and it became necessary to resort
to some of the older settlements before his mansion
could be prepared for his reception.

“You've got a cage, said Mr. Littlejohn, “and
now all you want is a bird to sing in it;” and he
looked significantly at the fair Virginia, whose
head was full of the groans and perturbed midwatch
pacings she had heard the night before.
The damsel blushed deeply, while a singularly
inexplicable expression passed like a cloud over
the face of the young man as he replied,—

“I fear no bird will ever sing in cage of mine,
except the screech-owl or the raven.”

[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]

“I shall hear you sing another tune before
long. Why, what will you do, who have been
raised where people stand as thick as canes
in a cane-brake, in a house all alone by yourself?
Miss Dangerfield shall recommend you to a little
bird that sings like a Virginia nightingale.”

“Miss Dangerfield will do no such thing,” replied
Virginia, and left the room in a flurry.

Rainsford walked forth to the house of one
Zeno Paddock,[2] who officiated in the twofold
capacity of schoolmaster and political oracle
to young and old of the village of Dangerfieldville.
His great ambition was to set up a
newspaper, but he could not yet bring the matter
about to his satisfaction. Here the young gentleman
staid so long that Mr. Littlejohn wondered
what he could have to say to that eternal busybody,
whom he despised from the bottom of his
heart, inasmuch as he was not content with attending
to his own business, which was bad enough
in all conscience, but interfered with that of all
his neighbours. There was nothing Ulysses
held so cheap as a man who had a decided taste

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for any species of employment except that of killing
time. Zeno was a huge devourer of newspapers,
and was generally found with one in his
hand at every interval of leisure.

One evening, some ten days afterwards, all
the family, with the exception of Leonard, who
had gone to the state capital to finish the study of
the law, was gathered together. Rainsford announced
his intention of not taking possession of
his new establishment until the ensuing spring,
as he should not like to sojourn alone in the wilderness
during the dreary season of winter. The
colonel and Mrs. Dangerfield expressed their satisfaction
at the prospect of having him for a welcome
guest some time longer.

Mr. Rainsford appeared much affected. “You
have been kind, very kind to me. A stranger, and
without the least claim to your hospitality, you
have received and entertained me as a son or a
brother. But—but—I do not mean to spend the
winter in this part of the world.”

Virginia made a sudden movement of surprise,
and the colonel exclaimed, “Indeed! I am sorry
for it.”

“No; I have thought—I never was at New
Orleans. I should like to see the banks of the
great river Mississippi; and besides, I can furnish
myself with several articles which I confess my
house stands wofully in need of. I shall return
early in the spring, and then set myself seriously
to work, clearing land and raising corn.”

Nothing was said against this arrangement, and
in a few days Rainsford was on his way to the
Ohio, whence he meant to embark in the first
convenient conveyance on his destination. He
took leave of the colonel and Mrs. Dangerfield

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with the deepest expressions of obligation; of
Virginia with the frankness of a brother, while
she parted from him with the only appearance of
affectation she had ever been known to exhibit.
She was in the highest spirits, and laughed excessively,
particularly where there was no occasion.

“Can I bring you any thing from New Orleans?”
said he.

“Let me see—O yes, bring me a parrot, or a
monkey, or something to amuse me; for really,
Mr. Rainsford, I have been almost tired to death
this summer for want of agreeable company.
How I should like to be always in a crowd!”
This was a great story.

“There are plenty of paroquets in the woods.”

“Yes, but they are so dull, they don't talk, and
what is a parrot or a man that can't speak?”

“Well, Miss Dangerfield, I shall certainly attend
to your wishes. I will endeavour to find you a
suitable companion among the parrots or the
monkeys.”

There was something in this little dialogue that
grated harshly on the feelings of both, and a
pause ensued, which lasted until Rainsford was
summoned to proceed on his voyage down the
river.

“Farewell, madam, and farewell, colonel,” said
he, with deep emotion, “and farewell, Miss Dangerfield;”
and his voice assumed a tone of melancholy
kindness.

“Good-by, Mr. Rainsford,” said Virginia; “don't
forget the parrot and the monkey.”

Virginia was so merry for at least an hour after
his departure, that her mother could not help
noticing her extraordinary vivacity.

“One would think you rejoiced at Mr.

[figure description] Page 116.[end figure description]

Rainsford's going away, and yet I cannot help regretting
to lose his society next winter. He was not lively,
but sensible and well informed, and when he did
talk it was very agreeably.”

“Well, for my part,” said the young lady, “I
think he was the stupidest young man I ever met
with in all my life.”

“My dear Virginia, you must excuse me, but I
don't believe one word you have said.”

Virginia laughed, and ran away to the river's
side; but the boat in which Rainsford embarked
had already disappeared in a turn of the river,
and she returned home after a long lingering
walk, in a mood so quiet and sedate, that she
scarcely spoke a word all the rest of the day.

Hardly had Rainsford departed when Zeno
Paddock made his appearance, with a newspaper
in his hand, and asked to speak with Colonel
Dangerfield in private. Their conference lasted
rather longer than was customary with the colonel,
who generally eschewed the company of
Zeno. What was its import he did not think
proper to disclose; but he was observed to be
absent and thoughtful all the rest of the day,
contrary to his usual habits, for he was a man of
great vivacity of character. Zeno marched off
with an air of great importance, occasionally
stopping to look at his newspaper, and nodding
his head significantly as he carefully folded it up
and put it in his pocket.

“I suppose that varlet wanted you to assist
him in setting up his newspaper?” said Littlejohn,
wishing to sound the colonel.

“It was about a newspaper,” replied the other,
and taking horse, rode out without asking the
company of his friend.

[figure description] Page 117.[end figure description]

“There's some mystery in this matter,” quoth
Littlejohn, and he went to consult Pompey the
Great, who still lived in all the dignity of aristocracy,
and was as tenacious of the honour of
the family as ever.

“I'll tell you what,” said Pompey; “'spose he
want massa to scribe to he paper.”

“Pooh! nonsense.”

“Well den, 'spose he want to insult him bout
Massa Leonard setting up for member of 'sembly.”

“Pish! do you think he'd consult anybody but
me in matters of such consequence?”

“Well den, 'spose—I dare say it must have
bin someting else, hey, Massa Leetlejohn?”

“Pomp, I didn't think you was such an old
blockhead.”

“Well den, 'spose you go ax somebody wiser
dan me,” said the great Ducklegs in a huff, and
the two friends parted in no very good-humour
with each other, leaving the mystery to be explained
by the course of time, and the events it
carries in its mighty womb.

eaf311v1.n2

[2] On scanning our work a little more critically, after completing
the story, it for the first time occurred to us that the sketch of Zeno Paddock, in his compound character of schoolmaster and
editor, might possibly be construed into an attempt to throw ridicule
on these two classes. We take this opportunity of entirely
disclaiming any such purpose; our object having been simply to
portray a character from nature, such as without doubt has existed,
and we dare say still exists, in situations similar to that in
which we have imagined him. We should be the last in the
world to attempt weakening the influence or undermining the
respectability of two professions to which the present age owes,
and posterity will owe, more, perhaps, than to any others whatever.
Yet still, there certainly are among them persons whose
follies and whose ignorance diminish the just influence of the
whole; and to ridicule these is to vindicate, not to undervalue,
those who are objects of respect and consideration.

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