“I know all about the rain and the caterpillar; I
know the mischief they have done, and wish to hear
nothing on that subject;—but had you minded what
I said, had you taken in the upper fields instead of
the lower, they would not have been drowned, and we
should have saved sixty acres there at least; but no,
you must have your own way; you must know better
than anybody else.”

“Well, maussa, you nebber been say plant dem,
and leff de lower field; you say, `I tink you better
plant dem upper,' and I been tink diffren, so I tells
you, and you say, `Well!'”

The answer was conclusive. Colonel Openheart,
instead of issuing his orders, had left it to Enoch's
discretion, contenting himself with giving a suggestion
instead of a command. This is a frequent error
of the old planter of Carolina.

“Well, it is too late now to complain. How are
your cattle?”

“De winter is mighty hard 'pon dem, maussa.”

“How many hogs have you got in pen for slaughter?”

“Sebenty-tree.”

“Instead of a hundred and fifty. How do you
account for that, Enoch, when we turned out more
than two hundred and fifty into the swamp last spring,
and your hog-minder has been carrying out his three
bushels of corn daily, for six months, to keep them
up?”

“Well, maussa, dere's no telling; but de varmints
in de swamp is mighty hard 'pon de pigs dis season—

[figure description] Page 390.[end figure description]

de wild-cat, de niggers, and dem poor buckrah, Moses
Daborne, 'Lishe Webter, Zeke Tapan, and dat half
Ingin, Sam Johnson. Ef you could only clear de
swamp of dem white niggers, you could raise hog tell
you couldn't count dem.”

“The old story! Enough. Ride up to the postoffice
and bring me the papers and letters.”

Our proprietor was once more alone. “The world
goes wrong with me on every side. I am either destined,
or I am imbecile. I have certainly been weak
and erring, profligate, thoughtless; as wildly confident
of the future as ever was a poor boy with a pocket
full of shillings and a long holiday before him. I
must amend promptly or all is lost. If Ingelhart and
Cripps, or rather, if Skinflint will indulge, one good
crop will gain me time; two good crops at good prices,
and all would be safe. But there's the rub! This
swamp cultivation is so uncertain, and these good
prices are so doubtful, and—the d—l take these
lawyers and merchants; they get everything at last!”
And then he mused in silence, looking neither to the
right nor left, as he went forward. Passing out of
the open fields, he penetrated a dark avenue which
ran through a dense and umbrageous swamp-forest,
which formed, as it were, a boundary between the
river-lands and uplands, and was crowded with an
immense growth of cypress, ash, poplar, and pine—
so densely arrayed that, though in midwinter, when
all but the evergreens were stripped of foliage, the
beams of the sun were seldom suffered to find entrance.
The day being clouded, the darkness of this

[figure description] Page 391.[end figure description]

region was still more oppressive, and a slight shiver
shook the frame of our already desponding proprietor
as he entered the narrow and dismal passage. At
this moment an owl shrieked above him, a huge fowl,
bald but horned, whose great human eyes and horrid
screech might well disquiet, with unpleasant forebodings,
the mood of one so circumstanced as our worthy
planter. “How like,” he exclaimed, “to the voice
of Skinflint. I almost fancied at first that it was he
crying out to me.” He looked up as he spoke, and
beheld the bird sitting upon a great limb almost overhead,
and looking directly down upon him. He rode
on, the little incident oppressing him unpleasantly,
and much more than his pride was willing to admit.
“Why does that fellow cross my fancy thus? What
is he to me? What can he do? He can have no purpose
but for his clients, and these may be satisfied—
let the worst come to the worst—by a timely surrender
of the property.” But a second thought taught
him not to lay this flattering unction to his soul. He
had bought the Butler negroes at high, and the same
sort of property was now selling at low prices. The
loss must be large, and must be made up out of his
own estates. Then the interest, then his own debts,
which, to meet this interest, already had been suffered
to grow to a heavy item! Altogether, the prospect
was such that our proprietor of “Maize-in-milk” was
only too happy to exclude the subject altogether from
his thoughts. But this was not so easy, and his
gloomy mood continued till he reached his dwelling,
where, soon after, the contents of his mail gave it an

[figure description] Page 392.[end figure description]

increase of sting and bitterness. “A letter from Mr.
Skinflint,” he remarked quietly to his wife, “in which
he speaks of being here in three days. That must
bring him here to-morrow. Let us see—the letter is
dated the 12th. Yes, indeed, to-morrow we may look
for him.”

“What does he come for?” said the simple-hearted
but shrewd mother, looking up at Bessy Clinton. The
latter did not see the glance, and did not appear to
hear the inquiry.

“You forget,” said the colonel, “that he has the
management of all the business of the Butler estate.”

“Did you say that Mary Butler was coming, papa?”

“Not unless this letter says so, which I see comes
from Bloomsdale, and is addressed to you.”

Bessy Clinton received and read the epistle with
eagerness. “There, mamma, it is from Mary, and
she and her aunt both are coming, and will be here
on Saturday.”

“We shall have a full house, then, for Fergus
Berkshire rode in this morning to say that his mother
would be up from the city in three days, and would
spend the Christmas with us.”

The communication was received in grave silence;
Colonel Openheart, his letters still in his hand, steadily
watching the fire as flake by flake crumbled away into
the mass below.

“We shall have a full house, Mr. Openheart,”
repeated the lady.

“Yes.”

A pause.

[figure description] Page 393.[end figure description]

“Why, husband, you seem to be in a dream!”

“Yes—yes, I hear.”

“I am glad you do, for it is necessary that you
should write at once for supplies for Christmas. The
sugar is almost out; we must have several pounds of
green tea, and perhaps a little black, for Mrs. Berkshire
asked for it when she was here before. She
has learned the use of it at the North, where I am told
they drink no other kind. And raisins, and currants,
and almonds, apples, and—”

We need not follow the good housekeeper through
the catalogue. Our worthy proprietor was almost in
despair, yet he subdued his feelings with great firmness
and strength of will. Bessy Clinton alone perceived
that something was wrong. Her eye perused the
countenance of her father with a modest interest, that
did not suffer him to see that he was watched. She
saw that his face had grown somewhat paler than its
wont. She had already remarked that he had grown
thinner during the past few months, and she now
fancied that his hair had put on a more snowy complexion.
She saw and mused, but was properly silent.
Colonel Openheart reopened one of the letters which
he had just received. It was the polite request of his
grocer that his account should be attended to. The
sum total was set down, that there should be no mistake,
$718 44; and here were wants which must increase
it considerably, and no crop, and no means of
payment, but by a great sacrifice of property.

“I wish there was no such season as Christmas.”

[figure description] Page 394.[end figure description]

“Oh, papa!” exclaimed Bessy Clinton, in reproachful
accents, “how can you wish so?”

Mrs. Openheart looked up in surprise.

“At least,” said the proprietor, “I may be permitted
to wish that this Christmas were fairly over.”

“What, papa, just when I am calculating upon this
as the most merry Christmas of any that we have ever
had!” and the sweet girl, as she spoke, had glided to
the chair where her father sat, and with arm that
circled his neck was bending round and looking up
affectionately in his face. A slight moisture gathered
in his eyes, which it was just possible for him to subdue.

“May you ever find it happy with you at Christmas,
Bessy, and at all other seasons. God bless you,
my dear child; you are of more comfort to me than
all the others. But I can scarcely share with you in
your delights this Christmas.”

“And why not, papa?”

“You know that I have made no crop this year;
there was a fai0lure last year also, and another partial
failure the year before, and my expenses have been
very heavy. Bills must be paid, and—”

“Didn't I warn you of it, husband, when you would
buy those Butler negroes?” said the good wife, with
an exulting shake of the head and finger.

“Yes, Mrs. Openheart, you did,” answered the
husband, mildly, “but that was only after they were
bought; and the question now is, not exactly as to
your credit as a prophet, but to mine as a paymaster.”

[figure description] Page 395.[end figure description]

The sagacious lady felt the gentle rebuke and was
silent.

“There are debts to be paid, Bessy Clinton,” continued
the father, affectionately, though sadly; “and
this it is which makes me tremble even at the additional
charges which this Christmas is to bring upon
me.”

“But our friends must be received with proper
welcome, Colonel Openheart,” said the lady.

“Oh, true,” was the answer, as if it were a matter
of course that certain appearances should be maintained
even though at the sacrifice of everything;
“true, true, your groceries shall be ordered, and we
shall be prepared, I trust, to welcome with proper
warmth every guest who may honor us with his presence—
not forgetting that bird of evil aspect and
voice, Richard Skinflint, Esq., himself. But I am
afraid it will cost us greatly, and we must look to
contract our expenses among ourselves, and make up
in this way what our hospitality may dissipate. I
will order what you desire. This year there shall be
no changes. Merrie old Christmasse must visit the
children, too, as usual; and, as we continue our own
luxuries, the negroes must have theirs. The New
Year must not be clouded to our inferiors because
we are gloomy.”

“But we shall not be gloomy, papa,” said Bessy
Clinton, twining herself about him and kissing his
cheeks fondly. “This dark weather will disappear;
hereafter you will have good seasons and good luck.
Let me prophesy—me, Bessy Clinton, among the

[figure description] Page 396.[end figure description]

prophets—that next year will be a famous crop year,
prices high—”

“And grocers' low,” was the somewhat sober conclusion
of the father. “You are a good girl, Bessy,
and I will probably remind you of your prophecy next
Christmas, as your mother takes care to remind me of
hers—that is, when they happen to be true. But
what is here? Looking at Skinflint's letter and the
grocer's, I have omitted one that would seem to be
from Ned.”

“From Ned?” exclaimed mother and daughter in
the same breath.

“It looks like his hand, and is from New York.
Sure enough, it is he. He reached New York on
Friday last, in the Sylvie de Grasse, from Havre, and
will be in Charleston by the Wilmington boat.”

“When, papa, when?”

“To-morrow.”

“To-morrow! Dear, dear Ned, how I long to see
his face again.”

The ejaculations of Bessy Clinton were sufficient
for the rest. The mother's eyes were full of bright
tears, and in the grateful thoughts of a favorite son
arrived at home and manhood, the cares which troubled
the father were temporarily forgotten.

The next day brought Skinflint. He was received
with respect and kindness, if not cordiality; though
neither our proprietor nor the worthy matron, his
wife, beheld his coming with any satisfaction. The
former could not forget that it was in the power of
this man, with whom he could have no sympathies,

[figure description] Page 397.[end figure description]

materially to impair his fortunes; and the latter had
suspicions which never crossed her companion's mind,
that Skinflint's eye was fixed upon her daughter with
an expression which already denotes the foregone conclusion
of the hawk, who sees, from his swing in air,
where the partridge is about to nestle. Any notion
that such was the passion of the attorney, never once
troubled the thought of Colonel Openheart, whose
pride of character could not for an instant tolerate
the idea of any sympathies between a creature of such
avid and selfish character and his purely-minded and
generous child. But Mrs. Openheart said nothing of
her conjectures, and the fears of her husband with
regard to Skinflint were wholly of a different character.
They rode out together a little while after the
arrival of the latter, and crossed the cotton and cornfields
in their route to the river. There was an unpleasant
grin upon the lips of Skinflint as the mean
appearance of the cotton stems denoted the complete
failure of the crop. He had heard something of this
before, enough to satisfy him that things were going
on as he wished them. A southern planter is apt to
be suspicious of your comments when he is conscious
that his crop is obviously inferior, and the eye of
Colonel Openheart was soon sensible of the expression
on the countenance of Skinflint.

“Not much cotton here this year, colonel,” said he,
switching his boot as they rode.

“None, sir, none, as you may see,” was the sudden,
almost sharp reply.

[figure description] Page 398.[end figure description]

“Hum!” A pause. “How is your corn crop,
colonel?”

“Turn your horse's head with mine, and you shall
answer your own question.”

They rode aside to other fields. The corn-stalks,
low and slender, told their own story of a blight quite
as great as that in the cotton field.

“Why, colonel, you will hardly make enough to do
you at this rate.”

“Shall have to buy a thousand bushels at least, sir,”
responded the other, almost fiercely.

Skinflint knew the fact a month before, but it was
the nature of the creature to extort the acknowledgment
of the sufferer, by making him lay bare his sore
as frequently as possible, though at each effort he tore
away some portion of the skin.

“And corn already seventy cents,” was the muttered
commentary of the executor.

“Seventy-five here,” was the stern correction which
the proprietor interposed.

“Indeed!” exclaimed Skinflint; “then in three
weeks more it will be a dollar.”

“Possibly two, sir,” was the second moody amendment.

“Scarcely, colonel,” was the speculative suggestion
of the attorney. “Prices here, whenever they pass
beyond a certain point, bring in competition from
other quarters. Here, sellers must be governed by
some regard to the Charleston market, which in turn
takes its color from the extent of the crops in Maryland
and North Carolina. Now, as the crops this

[figure description] Page 399.[end figure description]

year in these two States have been of average character,
it follows that the article will scarcely exceed
eighty cents in Charleston. Allow for the cost of
each transition and freight by railroad or wagon, and
you must see that it can by no possibility exceed one
dollar here, unless with reference to some very great
scarcity. I don't think, all things considered, that
you will have to give more than a dollar, though it
may possibly, in two months more, go two-eighths
above it, particularly as I suppose that none of your
neighbors have done better than yourself.”

“You mistake, sir; few of them but have done
better.”

“Indeed! But that is very unfortunate! But
you have past seasons to rely upon, colonel. You
have made good crops heretofore, and can very well
afford to contend with the evils of the present.”

“Unfortunately, sir, I have no such source of consolation.
This is the third, though the worst by far,
of three successive failures.”

“Indeed! But suffer me to ask, Colonel Openheart,
to what do you ascribe these failures?”

“Why, sir, I do not see what good can possibly
arise to either of us from the inquiry. Perhaps the
shortest way would be to adopt the suggestion of my
neighbors, and to assume that all the mischief lay in
the incapacity of the proprietor.”

An audible “hem!” answered this cold conclusion,
which shut the door upon any farther annoyance from
this score at least, and a somewhat protracted silence
followed, broken at length by Colonel Openheart,

[figure description] Page 400.[end figure description]

whose mind had been gradually steeled by the tone,
manner, and comments of his companion, to a resolute
approach to the very subject which, over all, he most
dreaded and could have wished to avoid. It was with
something of desperation, therefore, that he himself
opened the business of his debt to the estate of Butler.

“I take for granted, Mr. Skinflint, that there can
be no reason why, in the present condition of my
affairs, I should not have every indulgence from
Messrs. Ingelhart and Cripps. Miss Butler is still a
minor, and the investment is notoriously safe. I am
aware that the entire payment is now due, but it must
be evident to you that in the failure of my crops,
and the low prices of cotton for the last three years,
so large a payment was impossible except at great
sacrifice of property. Besides, as you are aware, the
negroes were bought at very high prices.”

“Quite too high,” said Skinflint, with some gravity,
well remembering that but for the generous impulse
of Openheart, he would have had them at his own
prices. The recollection did not make him more accessible
to the suggestions of the proprietor. “There
may be some difficulty about the matter; and I am
free to confess, Colonel Openheart, that your own
statement holds forth nothing encouraging to a creditor,
particularly in such a case as ours, where we
represent the interests of a minor. The investment
may be safe at present, but when you speak of a failure
of three crops in succession, upon the successful
making of which your only chance of payment depends,
we are a little disquieted. Another failure diminishes

[figure description] Page 401.[end figure description]

our securities, and necessarily increases your responsibility
to other creditors, and the game may finally
depend upon the degree of speed which the creditor
may make in securing the stakes.”

Openheart winced at this cool suggestion, but he
had to control his emotions. The matter was one
simply of business, and he felt that he had nothing to
do but put aside all the sensibilities—quite unnecessary
in such a case and with such a companion—of the
gentleman. He answered quietly, though it tasked
some effort to do so: “But the property is always
there, secured by mortgage, which you may foreclose
at any moment.”

“But the property may not be always there.”

“How, sir?”

“It is a perishable property; and your real estates,
which are the collateral securities, may be subject to
the more perfect liens of other creditors. Besides,
sir, negroes are falling in value, and the foreclosure
of mortgage at this moment may be of vast importance
even to your own safety, since the probabilities
are that they will bring much better prices now—
though still far less than when you bought—than
they would twelve months hence.”

“Am I to understand from this, Mr. Skinflint, that
your instructions are to foreclose if payment be not
now made?”

“By no means, sir. What I say, is simply to suggest
some of the difficulties in the way of a decision
at this moment. I must reflect on the condition of
affairs, and will communicate with my clients.”

[figure description] Page 402.[end figure description]

“It is understood, Mr. Skinflint, that you have the
entire confidence of Messrs. Ingelhart and Cripps, and
that your opinion will be almost certain to determine
their conduct?”

“I flatter myself,” replied the attorney, with a
mixed expression of meekness and complacency, “that
I am not wholly without my influence over the minds
of those gentlemen. But you will permit me to ask,
Colonel Openheart, with what purpose your remark is
made?”

“Surely, sir, my purpose was a very simple one;
it was only that I might express the hope that your
dealings with me, and your knowledge of my affairs,
were such as would enable you to assure your clients
of the undoubted security which they possess, collaterally,
for the bonds which they hold of mine in behalf
of the estate of Butler.”

The lawyer looked grave for a moment, then smiling
and turning round to his companion with an air
of great amenity and frankness: “Colonel Openheart,
it may be that I shall find it equally my pleasure and
my interest to serve you in this manner. I think it
likely, sir, that I shall have to seek a favor at your
hands before I leave you. Now, sir, one good turn
deserves another, and—”

“A favor at my hands, Mr. Skinflint? And, pray,
what is it?”

“Excuse me, sir; not just now. Sufficient for the
day, &c. Excuse me; not yet; not yet! Meanwhile,
sir, if you please, we will suspend the conversation
on this subject.”

[figure description] Page 403.[end figure description]

The manner of Skinflint struck our proprietor unpleasantly.
Without question, Colonel Openheart was
an aristocrat; and the familiar, very frank, and friendly
tones of his companion, were decidedly more grating
upon his ears than the keen, avid utterance of
the calculating and selfish man of business. They
made him uneasy for a moment, as he could not possibly
divine in what way he was expected to requite
the service of the attorney. He was relieved when
he recollected that Skinflint had lately bought a plantation
in his neighborhood, and, being a lawyer, naturally
looked to fill some seat either in Congress or the
legislature. The large influence of Colonel Openheart
was unquestionable, and he now worried himself with
asking if he could conscientiously support such a
person. But the adage of which Skinflint had reminded
him, and which is always a favorite one with
those who recoil from trouble, determined him to dismiss
the evil to the day when it must come up; and
thus satisfied, our colonel readily complied with the
evident desires of his companion to canter off in the
direction of the dwelling.

They left the fields, accordingly, after a ten minutes'
ride, and took their way out into one of the main
roads of the country. They were scarcely entered
upon this, when they encountered Bessy Clinton and
Fergus Berkshire, on horseback, emerging from one
of the long and lonely avenues leading out into the
pine lands. Could Colonel Openheart have seen the
scowl that showed itself upon Skinflint's brow at this
unexpected meeting? The two young people rode

[figure description] Page 404.[end figure description]

slowly, and seemed totally absorbed in their own affairs.
There was an evident flush upon the face of Bessy
Clinton, while the cheeks of Fergus seemed rather
pale than otherwise. The parties exchanged greetings,
and while the colonel and his companion walked their
horses, the youth and damsel gave their steeds a free
rein, and were soon out of sight in the direction of the
dwelling.

“A good-looking young fellow, that,” said Skinflint,
with some natural cleverness. “But ours is not
an age of industry and exertion; and once give a
fellow a chance with plenty of money on foreign travel,
and you may be sure that all's over with him. I
have good reason to believe that young Berkshire
made a monstrous hole in his own and mother's capital
when he was abroad. His dissipation while in
Paris was said to be notorious.”

“Said by whom, Mr. Skinflint?”

“Oh, by everybody. The thing was all over town
when he first came home from Europe.”

“Town is a famous place for scandal, Mr. Skinflint,
and `they say' is a proverbial liar. I know nothing of
Berkshire's doings while abroad except while he was
in Paris, and there my son Edward happened to be
with him during his whole stay. Edward speaks of
him there as a close and eager student of the language,
the country, and the fine arts. I very much doubt if
the charge of dissipation was ever less properly made
than against Fergus. He shows no traces of it now;
and, indeed, by his general intelligence, equal readiness
and modesty, and large acquisition of facts, he

[figure description] Page 405.[end figure description]

shows that he could have employed but little time in
excesses, or his intellectual gains must have come by
instinct. As for his expenditures—but it may be that
your profession has brought you to a knowledge of
straits in the family with which I am unfamiliar, and
I must not oppose my conjectures to your facts. Still,
I cannot persuade myself that either he or his mother
is in any difficulty.”

“Nor do I say it. I have no knowledge of their
affairs myself, but it was said they would probably
have to put down the city establishment, and retire
wholly upon the country.”

“Said probably by those who speak rather from
their wishes than their wit. Mrs. Berkshire, while a
very liberal and lofty-minded woman, is yet a very
prudent one. She has, I think, trained her son very
admirably, and—”

“All that may be, Colonel Openheart, but the best
of training will not always or often secure our children
against the temptations of a new sphere and an intoxicating
novelty in society.”

“Always, sir; good training will always secure the
young against any temptation. But the question is as
to the quality of training. What is good and what
is bad training is hardly settled yet among philosophers.
It certainly is not among parents and school-masters,
who seem to me to pride themselves most
upon their system where the regimen is the very
worst.”

“You may be right, sir, and I am not prepared to
discuss a mere abstraction; but though this young

[figure description] Page 406.[end figure description]

man's education may have been as you think it, still
the exception is possible, you know; and while such
are the reports in the city, if I were a father, I should
be very jealous of the familiarity of any such person
with a daughter of mine.”

Colonel Openheart half wheeled his horse, about to
survey the speaker. “Really, Mr. Skinflint, I have
reason to thank you for your counsel, and so has my
family; but, believe me, we have none of us any apprehensions
either from the vices of Fergus Berkshire
or the weaknesses of my daughter. Her training, at
least, has been such that we can confide everything to
her delicacy; which, in the case of women, is the best
security for their discretion. Still, sir, I thank you;
I thank you.”

There was something in the tone and manner of
Colonel Openheart, that warned Mr. Skinflint he had
ventured a little too far.

“Pardon me, Colonel Openheart,” he said, quickly,
“but I meant not to advise. My remark was purely
general, and did not specially relate to your case.
This young man may be a very good young man.
Of my own knowledge, I can say nothing against him.”

“Can you upon the knowledge of any other person?
If you can, Mr. Skinflint, you shall see that I am as
vigilant in the protection of my fireside as any man
in the country.”

“Why no, sir, not upon the knowledge of any one
in particular; but what is said by many, sir, places
the matter said in that category, which, among legal

[figure description] Page 407.[end figure description]

men, constitutes a proverbial notoriety, and such is
not supposed to need proving.”

“Good law, no doubt, but most awful morality!
Can you mention, among those who deal in this notoriety,
one person who professes to speak from his
own knowledge?”

“No; I am not sure that I can.”

“Then I think that we may safely venture to dismiss
the story, since the truth that no man will father
is very apt to prove a falsehood. Your law rule,
which rejects all hearsay testimony, will justify our
irreverence.”

We need not pursue the dialogue, which Skinflint,
confident as he usually was, could not but see had
terminated to his disadvantage. His tone was judiciously
lowered, though without lessening any of the
unfavorable impressions which his companion had
contrived to form of his character and heart. Our
proprietor treated him, however, with a peculiar civility,
the stateliness of which, as it kept him at a distance
without affording him definite cause of resentment,
was sufficiently irksome, and he longed in his
heart to have an opportunity to punish the patrician
for the privilege which he exercised, being an honest
man, of behaving fearlessly like one. It was the
error of Skinflint to suppose that, having shown Colonel
Openheart that he was somewhat in his power, he
had acquired the right to prescribe to him in moral
and social respects. He was soon made to see that
there were some personal barriers which not even his
legal and moneyed strength would enable him to break

[figure description] Page 408.[end figure description]

down. The character which is well grounded upon
principle and well trained by habit, never yields in
any misfortune, never succumbs to any condition,
though these may menace every social and domestic
security that we possess.

At dinner, Colonel Openheart was the hospitable
landholder; that noble old English character which
we do not sufficiently value, but which is the source of
England's best securities. He seemed to forget that
he had cause of apprehension or annoyance, and the
ease, the dignity, the grace with which he presided,
the perpetual watchfulness, that saw that no one remained
unsupplied, these all served to extort from
the secret thought of Skinflint a wholesome wonder as
to the source of so much equilibrium. Dinner was
late, and with night came the mail, bringing a hurried
letter from Edward, which our proprietor, for reasons
of his own, and with (for him) unwonted circumspection,
forbore to read aloud. This letter told him of
the young man's safe arrival in Charleston, and of his
intention to be en route for the plantation in another
day. Was it the postscript which informed the father
that it was the writer's purpose to take Bloomsdale in
his way, and if possible bring Mary Butler and her
aunt along with him, that kept him from reading it
aloud?

The two gentlemen sat up late. We did not mention
that Fergus Berkshire did not stay to supper, but
left the company as soon as dinner was over, with an
apology, in which he pleaded necessary business. He
ceased to be the subject of Skinflint's comment, but

[figure description] Page 409.[end figure description]

the occasional glance of the latter, as the youth engaged
the attention of Bessy Clinton, did not escape
the eyes of the vigilant mother. The intimacy between
the young man and the maiden seemed to disturb
the equilibrium of the attorney, and probably
rendered him much more precipitate than he would
have been in a matter which, as he sat with Colonel
Openheart that night—the family having retired—he
proceeded to bring up. We will not adopt his language,
the substance of which was a formal proposal
from him, Richard Skinflint, attorney at law, for the
hand in wedlock of the fair maiden, Bessy Clinton
Openheart. Many long speeches, circuitously conceived
and cumbrously worded, prefaced this offer.
Colonel Openheart looked upon the speaker with
unmitigated astonishment; but he was prudent, kept
his temper and his secret, and calmly answered the
lawyer, that he, Skinflint, should be permitted an
interview in the morning with his daughter, and
hear his answer from her own lips. Skinflint said
something in reply to this in approbation of the excellent
custom prevailing in certain countries, where the
parents adjusted among themselves the contracts of
marriage, and the young people were sufficiently dutiful
to submit. But Colonel Openheart's reply was
brief and to the purpose. His daughter must determine
for herself in a matter so vital to her own happiness.
The night passed over with due rapidity.
The morning brought breakfast and the promised interview.
Conducting his daughter to the library, he
instructed her to await the coming of Mr. Skinflint,

[figure description] Page 410.[end figure description]

and to give becoming ear to his communications. The
latter was apprised that the damsel was in waiting,
and with something more of flurry and agitation than
ever troubled him in his ordinary practice, he stole
half on tiptoe into the designated apartment. How
he purred and prabbled, with what studied and formal
phrase he proceeded to a declaration, in which, if the
heart be only warm and faithful, the lips may bungle
and the tongue falter without dread of censure or
ridicule, we will not say. Enough that his proposals,
when Bessy Clinton fully understood them, were
quite as confounding to that damsel as they were to
her father. We need scarcely say that they met with
ready rejection. What a blind thing is selfishness!
Here, now, was a person of great worldly shrewdness,
singularly sagacious in common business transactions,
yet blundering with the inconceivable notion that he
could possibly prevail with youth, beauty, tenderness,
and the most generous and confiding faith. Taught
by selfishness to regard wealth as the only power, he
had forgotten that such subjects as affection, duty,
taste, sweetness, and grace, must always acknowledge
far different authorities. It was impossible for sweet
Bessy Clinton to be unkind or harsh, and though
greatly surprised, if not indignant, at the proposal,
she replied with gentleness: She was sorry that Mr.
Skinflint had set his heart—his heart!—on his hand-maid,
but really the thing was out of the question.
She was very grateful, but begged respectfully to be
excused. Do not suppose that there was any mocking
in her response. The irony is wholly ours. His

[figure description] Page 411.[end figure description]

pill was quite as much sweetened as it well could be,
but was still such as he found it difficult to swallow.
He would have argued the case, as he recovered his
courage, precisely as he would have done before a
jury, in the matter of cow and calf, in trespass or
replevin—and did argue it. The damsel heard him
quietly to the end, and affirmed the previous verdict.
He hurried to Colonel Openheart, as to a court of
appeal, but the colonel disclaimed jurisdiction; and
ordering his horses, with fury but ill concealed, Skinflint
prepared to take his departure before dinner.
With genuine politeness, regarding the circumstances,
our proprietor did not urge him to delay. With nice
and delicate consideration, he complied with his
wishes, conversed with him without reserve and with
studied kindness, but studiously forbore any absurd,
apologetic, or sympathetic discourses. The parties
separated on good terms, Skinflint shaking his host's
hand warmly, and smiling in his face affectionately as
he took his departure; but ere he was well out of
sight, he shook his hand menacingly back upon the
habitation, and swore, in muttered accents, through
his closed teeth, a bitter oath of vengeance. Our
proprietor knew enough of the person to apprehend
that he had made a fast enemy, but he remembered
the proverb, and put off his regrets and sorrows, as
well as he might, to the day of evil that should compel
them.

We pass over three days, and still Edward had not
arrived. “He is sick in Charleston,” said the anxious
mother. “He is at Bloomsdale,” said the more

[figure description] Page 412.[end figure description]

knowing daughter. “He is spending time and money,
wherever he is,” said the dissatisfied father, “instead
of being at his law.” The fourth day brought the
truant, as an escort to Mrs. St. Clair and Mary
Butler. He had been delayed at Bloomsdale at the
requisition of the ladies, and the excuse was readily
received by the parents, particularly as it was urged
by a tall, handsome, and well-bred youth, more than
six feet high, admirably proportioned, and carrying
himself like a prince of the blood royal. The father
forgot his troubles as he saw his own youth restored
and reflected in his son. He was not suffered to
forget them long. That very evening brought him a
letter from Skinflint, as the attorney for Ingelhart
and Cripps.

“Sense of duty, &c. Foreclosure of mortgage, &c.
Unavoidable, &c. Very sorry, &c.

“With sentiments of profound respect, &c.

The proprietor crumpled the graceless epistle in
his palm, and hurled it into the fire. The wife alone
saw the act. The young people were busy around
the evening table, examining a world of curiosities
which Edward had brought home from Europe. They
little knew of the bitterness that dashed the cup of
joy even while it was at the old father's lips. He
uttered no sigh, no word. He would not cloud the
happiness of that youthful circle. He resolved upon
the exercise of all his manhood. Taking his hat, he
went forth into the night. It was a lovely starlight.
The skies were never more thickly studded with the

[figure description] Page 413.[end figure description]

saintly watchers, and all were bright and beautiful as
if they had never felt a cloud. He walked down the
noble avenue of oaks and cedars towards the high
road. Ere he reached the gateway, a vehicle dashed
by in considerable haste, which he recognized as that
of Skinflint. This person was also a proprietor, and
planted only a few miles distant. Though not a resident
at his place, for his professional duties in the city
would not suffer this, he yet contrived occasionally to
visit his plantation, where, when not the guest of his
neighbors, he was of his overseer. The angry feeling
in Colonel Openheart's breast was strongly excited as
he detected the carriage of his enemy. He himself
remained unseen in the shadow of the ancestral trees,
but he clearly discerned the head of Skinflint as he
thrust it forth for examination while passing the avenue
of the man whom he now fondly thought to victimize.
Colonel Openheart conjectured his thoughts, and
the fierce idea rose in his mind of a deadly grapple
with the scoundrel. Had they met on foot or on
horseback in the high road, it had been scarcely possible,
in the present mood of our proprietor, to have
forborne inflicting some indignity upon the base and
malignant creature. But he passed, never dreaming
that Openheart was so near. Had he fancied it, his
head had never shown itself from the carriage window.

We must hurry over a week in order to realize the
more important events in our narrative. We are
again on the threshold of Father Chrystmasse. Our
lady proprietor at “Maize-in-milk” has received the
necessary supplies from the grocer. The hogs are

[figure description] Page 414.[end figure description]

killed, the mince-pies are made, and the usual guests,
invited and uninvited, are already pouring in. The
songs of Bessy Clinton and Mary Butler are ringing
through the dwelling, and every customary chorus,
gathered from the early poets in tribute to the season,
has been employed to guide the merry damsels in the
decoration of mantel, and mirror, and window, and to
cheer them in the prosecution of their pretty tasks.
For a week beforehand the dance was continued
nightly in the great hall. There were now Fergus
Berkshire and Edward Openheart, and one or more
of the latter's old acquaintances, to say nothing of
neighboring maidens just rising into womanhood, whom
the hospitalities of “Maize-in-milk” had brought together.
Two days before Christmas, John and William
made their appearance from college; and Tom Openheart,
now a lad of twelve, and very tall for his age,
was permitted to add to the strength of the company,
in regard to the interests of certain of the damsels
who were about his own age. Altogether, the auspices
were particularly favorable to the sports of the
young. Our ancient friends, Jones, Whipple, Whitfield,
Bond and daughter, and good old father Kinsale—
who in growing older did not seem to have grown
a jot more feeble than he was twenty years before—
also came with the day preceding Christmas, and wore
their pleasantest aspects. But the weather had a cold
forbidding complexion still, and our proprietor found
it difficult to keep from his own visage the doubts and
apprehensions which were working in his mind. At
this moment a stranger rode into the inclosure, who

[figure description] Page 415.[end figure description]

proved to be the sheriff of the district. He declared
his purpose very civilly, regretted the necessity under
which he was placed, showed his credentials, and
would receive either the money on the bond, or the
negroes. There was no remedy; Colonel Openheart
submitted with simple fortitude. The negroes were
at the sheriff's service. He excused himself to his
guests, and accompanied the officer to the negroquarter.

“But why not wait till sale day, sir?” was the inquiry
of Colonel Openheart. “They shall then be
forthcoming.”

The officer hesitated, but at length remarked: “I
should do so cheerfully, sir, having myself every confidence
in your honor; but I have been counselled that
I shall be held rigidly responsible unless the levy is
at once made, as some reason exists for suspecting
that your son will be employed to run the negroes to
Texas.”

“By whom, sir, has this intimation been given?”

“By Mr. Skinflint, acting for Ingelhart and
Cripps.”

“The scoundrel! But I have no more to say.
Make your levy.”

The negroes were by this time assembled, and listening
with eager anxiety.

“You must go, my people,” said the proprietor,
addressing them with a voice which his emotions hardly
suffered to be articulate; “you must go, I cannot
help it. I would have saved you, but cannot. I have
done for you all I could; I can do no more!”

[figure description] Page 416.[end figure description]

He turned away to conceal his emotion, and hurried
into the neighboring woods. The strong man wept
like a child as the loud outcries and lamentations of
the slaves still pursued him. He had been to them
a father and a benefactor, had watched them in sickness,
and indulged them with moderate tasks when
well. As he thought upon the parting, he recovered
all his strength. He came forth, and said to the
sheriff: “You will bring them up to the house?”

“Why, sir,” said the officer, with considerate sensibility,
“I had proposed taking them through the
woods. It would mortify you before your guests.”

“I thank you, sir,” was the respectful but proud
answer; “I thank you, but I must request that you
will bring them to the dwelling before you depart. I
have something to bestow upon them. My guests will
know all before long, and may as well hear it at once.

The negroes were brought accordingly.

“You see, my friends, I have some troubles for my
Christmas. They are rather new to me in my old
age, but it is probable that I shall become familiar
with them before I die.”

Something more was said, enough to show that
our proprietor, in his unaffected grief, had lost nothing
of his manliness. He proceeded to open the
cases in which the Christmas presents were kept.
These were not to have been given till the ensuing
day, but this delay would have deprived the Butler
negroes of their share of gifts. With hasty hand our
proprietor bestowed his wares.

“Now take them, Mr. Sheriff, as quickly as you

[figure description] Page 417.[end figure description]

please, so that our young people may not see them.
They are down the road, and if you pursue that path,
you will escape them. Good-morning, sir, good-morning,”
and the speaker retired among his guests. He
maintained his courage manfully, was once more the
courtly and considerate host, still solicitous of the
wants and wishes of the meanest, until, some two
hours having elapsed, an uproar without drew attention
to the windows. What was the surprise of Col.
Openheart to see all the negroes returned, and to
find them quite clamorous in the publication of their
delight that they were not to lose their present master.
One of their number presented himself with a
letter, which our proprietor opened with no little
curiosity, for as yet nothing had been got from the
negroes, by reason of the multitude of voices, which
threw any or much light upon the mystery. The
letter was from young Berkshire. We give it without
curtailment.

“Dear Sir: Meeting with the sheriff, and being
in want of a sufficient force for my Cedar Island
plantation, I have ventured to assume your bond,
with interest, being perfectly satisfied to pay the
same price for the negroes at which you bought
them. As I hold them to be amply worth the
amount, I leave it entirely with yourself to retain
them, if you please, paying me at your leisure;
though I should prefer to have them, on my assumption
of your several responsibilities in regard to this
property. Whatever may be your decision, which

[figure description] Page 418.[end figure description]

you can make at your leisure, it will at least be proper
that they should remain in your keeping until
after the holidays. Very faithfully, and with great
respect, I am, my dear sir,

Colonel Openheart had not a word to say. The
act was so handsome, that he at once gave the letter
into the hands of old Kinsale, who read it twice
aloud to the company. The proprietor went out to
the negroes, and sent them back happy to their habitations.
The young people soon after made their
appearance. They had heard something of the matter,
and Edward Openheart, as soon as all the facts
were made known to him, at once rode over to Berkshire's
to give him his own and the thanks of the
family.

“Tell him, Ned, that he shall have the negroes,
and tell him what you please besides, from your own
heart.”

Such was all the message of the father. Berkshire
looked somewhat anxious when the young man
paused.

“Do you bring any letter, Ned?”

“No.”

“No message from anybody?”

“None but that from my father. What do you
expect?”

“Nay, never mind; you will hear soon enough.”

The young man seemed dull and disappointed, and

[figure description] Page 419.[end figure description]

was not easily persuaded to give a detailed account
of his fortunate interposition to arrest the departure
of the sheriff with the property. His narrative was
briefly to the effect that, having occasion to ride a
few miles up the road, he had suddenly, on his return,
encountered the troop, with the sheriff and
Skinflint at their head. The former had been summoned
to the house of the latter, where he had
stayed the last night, and they had gone out together
the next day on their official mission immediately
after breakfast, Skinflint waiting some four miles off
for the return of the officer. He had timed his proceedings
with the basest cunning and malevolence.
He knew that “Maize-in-milk” was crowded with
guests and neighbors, and that the pride of the proprietor
would be touched to the quick by such a
humiliating exposure as that which he meditated.
He had not anticipated the issue. Fergus Berkshire
met the party even while Skinflint was receiving from
the sheriff a description of what had taken place.
The exulting grin had not passed from his features as
Fergus drew nigh. A few words sufficed to put him
in possession of all the facts.

“I will assume this obligation,” he said to the
officer, by whom he was well known.

“Costs, interest, &c.?” said Skinflint.

“I will assume them all.”

“It must be in writing,” muttered Skinflint.

“Very good, sir.”

The sheriff produced the papers with which the
providence of the lawyer had furnished him, and a

[figure description] Page 420.[end figure description]

pocket-inkstand-and pen enabled Berkshire to prepare
and sign an adequate obligation, under the instructions
of Skinflint himself, with which he had
to confess himself satisfied. No unnecessary words
passed between the parties.

“Go home to your master, good people,” said
Berkshire to the negroes. The sheriff he asked to
dine with him; to Skinflint he bowed, and bade goodmorning.

“The rascal!” exclaimed Ned Openheart; “if I
had him under my horsewhip! But, dear Fergus,
you will go back with me to `Maize-in-milk?'”

“Not to-day, Ned,” said the other, somewhat
sadly.

“To-night, then?”

“No; you must excuse me, but I have good reasons
for not visiting your house to-day.”

“Pshaw! you fear that we shall be thanking you,
and all that sort of thing, but I promise you on my
honor we shall say nothing about it.”

Berkshire was firm, and Ned rode away, somewhat
wondering what had so suddenly come over the fellow.
The mystery was explained as soon as he got home.
Sweet Bessy Clinton had seized the first moment,
when she could divert her father from his guests, to
place before his eyes a written proposal from Fergus
Berkshire for her hand, and to throw herself in tearful
silence upon the old man's neck.

“And when did you get this, Bessy Clinton?”

“Last night, sir.”

“And what do you say, Bessy?”

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