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John Dashleigh, is more than six feet in height, and well-proportioned withal, need give little thought to the fashion of his raiment. Then John's face-though by no means strictly handsome-was a very pleasant one even for a stranger to see, and there was a noble, manly, aud yet gentle expression in his blue eyes, that if I were a lady-I should rather my lover would possess than the most polished manners and address, or ever so large an estate. Besides, there was a merry, roguish, good-humored look about his face, that lurked in every feature, and which was heightened by the appearance of his curly brown hair; and as he walked, he carried himself as erect and graceful as any Indian chief. So it is not wonderful that as he sauntered along the main street, gazing curiously to the right and left at whatsoever chanced to arrest his attention, a great many bright glances were directed towards him, which John erred greatly in suspecting were attracted solely by the odd appearance of his coonskin cap and buckskin leggins and hunting-shirt.

If there had been men only to encounter, our hero would have cared little for their gazing; but when groups of ladies, of a beauty quite awful to behold, met him and passed by, rustling in their silken gowns, casting quick, sidelong glances at him from their bright, flashing eyes, and almost always turning their heads to look after him, he began to be sorely dismayed, though, doubtless, if he had happened to overhear the remarks that many of these fair dames made to each other concerning him, his brown cheeks would have reddened with modesty and pleasurable confusion, instead of diffidence and shame; for John, like every other true man and gallant gentleman, regarded women with the utmost respect and reverence, and set a very high value upon their good opinion and praise.

At last, in a by-street, whither he had fled for refuge from curious eyes, he saw coming towards him a little throng of young women, who were talking and laughing together, until one of them happening to espy him, they suddenly became silent, and each endeavored to assume an air of decorous gravity. John heard them whispering together as they cast forward stealthy looks of observation at him from beneath their downcast eyelids, his ear, sharpened by suspicion, caught the sound of a tittering laugh. He was afraid that the whole bevy of

blooming young girls were making sport of his uncouth garb and rude appear ance, and with burning cheeks he anticipated the moment of meeting them. As they approached still nearer, he raised, with an effort, his bashful eyes, and his unsteady glance rested upon a single face in the centre of the group. At once he forgot his dress, he forgot his rustic looks, he forgot himself; nay, all the world was forgotten except that fair young face; and while the train of demure damsels tripped primly by, in becoming silence, unbroken except by a roguish little cough from a slim young witch with a gipsy hat and mischievous black eyes, he stood, cap in hand, in an attitude so full of unstudied grace, and so expressive of profound and respectful admiration, that there was not of them who did not forgive with all her heart the scandalous offence of a salute from an utter stranger, notwithstanding the reproving severity of aspect that each one thought it proper to assume.

As for John Dashleigh, he remained standing in the same place, still uncovered, with his eyes fixed upon one form in the retreating group, until it was eclipsed by the corner of a house at an angle of the street. Then all at once he gave a little start, looked around with the manner of one waking from a dreamn, put his cap on his head and started, walking rapidly, towards the point at which the young women had vanished from his sight. When he reached the place, however, there was nothing to be seen of them. The street around the corner was full of people, and though he looked in every direction, up and down the street and upon both sides of the way, he failed to discover what he so eagerly sought; and after walking about, looking everywhere as he went, until the sun was set and the shops began to be lighted, he gave up the quest and turned his steps towards the inn.

There are many very good and sensible people (if I dare hope that such will read my story) who will, I fear, be disposed to disbelieve this portion of it, or else to set down John Dashleigh as a very weak, silly young fellow, because he suffered himself to fall suddenly and violently in love with a girl whom he saw only for an instant, as she was passing him in the street, and of whose name, rank, and circumstances, he was utterly ignorant. I trust, however, that other persons, of equal good sense and greater experience, will perceive nothing in

credible in what I have related. It is not always a matter of option whether one will fall in love or no. The pure and unsophisticated youthful heart is sometimes like the tablet of the chemist, which, when exposed to the presence of a beautiful face, will instantly receive an impression as delicate as the bloom upon the grape, but capable of being rendered as ineffaceable and enduring as graven steel or sculptured marble. Änd that coarse, rough obtuse natures are not susceptible to this gentle influence, by no means proves that others are not more impressible. For my part, like Falstaff, I entertain a great respect for instinct, and I firmly believe, not only that there is such a thing as love at first sight, but that such a love being an instinctive emotion, is a very safe guide to follow in the choice of a husband or wife.

I once read a touching story of a poor fellow, who, in his youth, while walking in the crowded street of a populous city, saw, for the duration of a single glance, the features of a beautiful lady with who he at once fell madly in love. He turned to follow her, but she had mingled with the throng of passengers and was lost from his sight. And though day after day he thenceforth haunted the spot where he had met her, until weeks lengthened into months, and months grew to be years, he never saw the lady again. His youth was spent and his manhood's prime wasted in the fruitless quest, yet, when extreme old age had come upon him, he was still accustomed to take his stand each morning, in rain or shine, in cold or heat, upon the long-frequented spot, and carefully attired in the style of fifty years bygone, to peer eagerly at the faces of the young and fair as they passed by him, still seeking among them, the original of the picture cherished for so many weary years in his faithful, constant heart; sighing heavily at each new disappointment, and pressing his feeble palins together with a gesture of subdued impatience.

I repeat this story, not because I think John Dashleigh ever would or could have been guilty of a folly like that of this poor heart-blighted creature. Indeed, as we shall presently see, he turned his back upon Hartford, and went on his way towards Walbury the very next morning after his meeting with the beautiful unknown young lady, without having, in the meantime, seen her again, or obtained the least clue by which he might trace out her identity. But my

purpose is to show, by a well authenticated instance, that an enduring love, evidenced by unequalled devotion and fidelity, may be kindled by a single glance.

I am not able to tell (I must confess) with any more certainty than the most sensible and matter-of-fact person in the world, what would have been the effect upon John Dashleigh's future life, if he had never beheld the beautiful unknown again. I think, however, that he himself came very near the truth, as he sat upon the coach-box, with the driver, the next morning, thinking soberly of this very matter, and at the same time looking back towards the steeples of Hartford, piercing through the mist that had risen from the river, and catching on their sharp pinnacles the first ruddy gleams of the early dawn. "The chances are," said John to himself, "that I shall never see her again;" and with this he felt a twinge of the heart-ache, which required all his fortitude to endure and to conceal; "and even if I should," he continued, still to himself, "a beautiful, delicate creature like this, some very rich man's daughter, probably, would be so far above me, that I could never hope to win her. I know that I could love her as I can never love any one else, but I must not let myself love, though I never can forget her. We shall never be to each other more than two fellow-mortals, living separate and apart in the world, and unknown to each other. But she is the very one of whom I've dreamed sometimes. Indeed, it seems as if I must have seen her before; but that can't be. I know I never have, and yet there's a look about her, that she gave me for a single instant, which seemed as familiar as my mother's smile. And how handsome she was! how perfectly lovely! If I could have all the women in the world to choose a wife from, I know, though I've had but one look at her, that she's the one I'd pick out. But it never can be. It's a great misfortune to me too; for though I may be happy without her-working for mother and Ellen and trying to make them happy-yet I'm sure I can never be so completely, perfectly happy as I might have been, if fate had ordered it otherwise. However, it's a man's duty to bear the misfortunes that fall to his lot, and it would be tolly to fret and repine at this, when it isn't going to change anything or do the least good."

Having come to this wise conclusion,

our hero gave a fluttering, sobbing sigh of intense regret, that seemed to come from the very bottom of his heart, and which he was fain to disguise by a shiver, as if he were a-cold; and then, buttoning his coarse blanket over-coat closely to his throat, he rubbed his hands, settled himself in his seat, and tried to look forward at the road, and at the future before him, with a cheerful face and spirit. Nevertheless, there was perceptible to his mental vision, a rose-tint in the dull, grey canopy of mist that overhung the distant city, that he failed to discern among the resplendent hues of dawn with which the eastern sky was all aglow.

I heartily despise all claptrap, especially of that sort which can be easily detected and seen through, and the reader will bear me witness that the purpose for which the narrative set forth in the present chapter has been related, was formally and frankly avowed at the very beginning thereof. I hope, therefore, that I shall not be unjustly suspected of a shallow attempt to surprise the reader by what is to appear in the conclusion.

Some six weeks had elapsed since the arrival of the widow Dashleigh and her children at Walbury. In the meantime, Andrew and his rejoicing helpmeet had entered and possessed themselves of that promised land from which the unfortunate Canaanite, Jim Sparks, had been ejected, and the widow had been established in the little cottage over the way. John had sustained, in a most satisfactory manner, an examination touching his qualifications as a farmer, and had been duly installed into office as the headman and overseer upon the farm. His method of providing bean-poles for the kitchen garden-by saving suitable sticks for that purpose from the woodpile, and laying them by, from time to time, as they came to hand during the course of chopping the supply of fuel for the summer's fire-was found to be in accordance with the colonel's own thrifty custom. The stained snow-banks remaining on the shady side of stone walls and fences, had dwindled day by day in the sun, and had finally vanished from the sight. The Niptuck had celebrated its emancipation from the stern and icy bonds of winter, by a saturnalian freshet, and then returned quietly to its accustomed channel. Where the shallow pools, left in the hollows by the retiring flood, had shrunk and dried away, the

springing herbage had grown more rapidly than elsewhere; though over all the surface of the intervale meadows, the grass had spread its mantle of bril liant green, spangled with dandelions and early wild flowers. The drooping willows on the river banks had put forth, first of all the trees, their slender, silvery leaves, and strewn the ground beneath them with down as light as gossamer. The alders and osiers had hung out their tasseled catkins, and the birchen woods, first attiring their white limbs in the rusty-looking suits of ruddy swelling buds with which they are wont to be clothed in the early spring, had suddenly changed them for a more comely apparel, composed of tender, glossy green leaves, that, for ever quivering, even in the faintest breeze, reveal their delicate silver linings to the sun. In the moist lowlands, and by the brooksides, the woolly-headed polly-pods had fea thered out into fragrant brakes, and the bright-eyed blossoms of the cowslip shone out like stars from among its dark green leaves. The frogs, awakened from their long winter's slumber, had at first tried their voices each for himself, croaking hoarsely, and startling the lonely traveller at night, with strange, uncouth, guttural noises, and fearful mutterings; but now they had learned once more to sing in chorus, and filled the misty evening air with shrill and piercing cries, that smote upon the ear like the confused jangling of millions of sharp-toned sleigh-bells. The white blossoms of the swamp-willow had given the welcome token of the approach and advent of that mighty host of fat and luscious shad, which annually invades the coasts and rivers of Connecticut, and leave the bones of myriads of their number upon the trenchers of the people of the land. The fattening calves were left the sole tenants of the deserted stables, while their mammas, the kine, went forth once more to revisit their summer pastures in the huckleberry swamps, and on the hill-sides, and their uncles, the pa tient oxen, with lolling tongues, toiled in the fields hard by. The hollow spaces of the empty barns resounded all the mornings with clamorous cacklings of triumphant pullets, and in snug corners of the mangers, and sly nooks and burrowings in the shrunken hay-mow, the setting hens brooded upon their hoards of eggs, and winked and dozed in quiet through the period of incubation, secure from all disturbance. The governor and

council, and the representatives of the people of Connectiont, in general court assembled, had convened at Hartford for the purpose of devouring dragon oysters and fresh shad, and enacting laws for the public weal. Colonel Manners, having signified his will to continue in the service of the State, to his fellows of the little clique of village magnates that controlled the political affairs of the town, and having been, of course, elected, as asual, one of the members for the ancient town of Walbury, had gone up with his wife, in a one-horse chaise, to the capital, from whence, at the end of the election week, Mrs. Manners intended to return home, bringing with her Lacy. her daughter; that young lady having finished her education at the Misses Primbers' seminary, and drank to the very dregs of that celebrated fountain of useful knowledge. In a word, it was a warm, bright, sunshiny day near the middle of the delightful month of May, and John Dashleigh and his mother, who had been left joint regents of the Manners' homestead, were awaiting the return of the mistress and heiress apparent of the little realm.

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when John-who was at work pruning in the top of the great peartree which stood by the garden gate, across the lane from the south porch saw in the distance the hood-top of a carriage, which was coming up to the further side of the little hill in the Hartford road. Presently a horse's head bobbed up in the middle of the path, and at length both horse and carriage came into full view, upon the summit of the acclivity, and proved to be old Bob and the expected chaise. The vehicle contained two ladies, as John could plainly see. So, according to previous arrangement, he called to his mother, who sat knitting in the porch, to tell her that the chaise was in sight and to put the tea-kettle over, and then prepared to descend from his perch. But while he was putting his tools into the basket, and lowering it to the ground by means of a cord attached to its handle, the chaise had reached the mouth of the lane. As Old Bob came trotting briskly up the drive towards the house, John glanced downwards with eager curiosity to catch a sight of his old play-fellow and cousin Lucy, and came within an ace of tumbling headlong after his toolba-ket, when he beheld, seated by the side of his aunt Betsey, the charming VOL. V.-27

young girl whom he had seen in the street at Hartford!

CHAPTER IV.

THE chaise stopped at the sterpingstones of the south porch, and in a twinkling, Lucy Manners (for she it was that sat with Mrs Manners), jumped out with one bound, not minding the steps at all, and running up to the widow Dashleigh, who stood in the porch with little Ellen standing bashfully almost behind her, she embraced them both with great ardor, kissing them two or three times apiece, and crying out that she knew they were her dear aunt Polly, and her darling little cousin Nelly, and then she stooped and hugged Boatswain, the big watchdog, about his neck, and, I believe, kissed him too. After that she stamped her pretty feet several times, and shook the dust from her skirts, holding them out wide-spread in front, and slightly stooping, looked first at the toe of one of her slim gaiter boots, and then at the other, as she raised them alternately, displaying no inconsiderable portion of her taper ankles; and finally this position being, I suppose, suggestive of dancing, she took two or three steps on the porch floor, and declared, to the air of the Soldier's Dream, that she was never so hap py before in all the days of her life, and that during the remainder of her existence upon this planet she intended to do just as she pleased, and never to look into any book whatsoever, unless it should be a romance or book of poems; and in conclusion she appealed to the dog to say whether he would not himself be of like mind under similar circumstances; whereto Bose straightway replied with three short, emphatic, affirmative barks, and signified his hearty approval of his young mistress' opinions by thumping applause on the door-step with his tail.

Meanwhile John, recovering from a stupor of astonishment and delight, had been peeping through the lofty covert of leaves and blossoins in which he was hidden, at Lucy's graceful frolics and vivacious extravagances. He did not fail to mark the elegance of her figure,. and took especial note of the tapering symmetry of her ankles. The tones of her voice, singing, laughing, and talking: all in a breath, seemed to his enraptured ears far sweeter music than the melo

dious trills and quavers of a bob-a-link, warbling in the meadow hard by; and her face if it had appeared lovely when he had seen it six weeks before in Hartford, with every feature striving to assume as prim and demure an expression as might be, now that it was all aglow with delight, pleasure, and excitement, it was so bewilderingly beautiful that it fairly dazzled him! Heavens! what a change had come to pass within the last few minutes. It was less than an hour since, in spite of himself, he had been thinking pensively of the beautiful unknown, wondering who and where she might be, and what she might then happen to be doing or saying, and then, rousing from a reverie, murmuring to himself that he must forget her, and there was no use in being a fool; that she was far above him, moving in a higher and distant sphere, and that he should never see her again in the world; but that, of course, some time she would marry some rich and splendid gentleman; at which last-mentioned fancy his heart, in spite of himself, would seem to die within him, poor fellow, and a great lump would rise in his throat that couldn't well be swallowed again without tears to moisten it--and nowwhy here she was, his own cousin Lucy Manners, with whom, when they were both little children, he had played a thousand times; who had written home from Hartford that she remembered Cousin John Dashleigh, and about his going away, and had sent him her love and a kiss for the sake of old times! His heart leaped to his throat, as after five minutes effort he fairly comprehended the truth and its extent, and probable consequences. What a pleasant world it was! he thought. How bright seemed the future that but just now had appeared so dreary! Though the limb of the pear-tree on which John sat was less than a score of feet above the earth, he seemed to be more than half the way to heaven! Now, the reason was apparent why it was that he had been so suddenly and irresistibly attracted by the sweet face of his cousin, and why her image had seemed so strangely familiar to him, that he had been used to wonder whether it were not true, that in some previous state of existence, the soul of the beautiful stranger and his own spirit had known and dearly loved each other.

"But where on earth's John?" at length asked Mrs. Manners, looking

about her. "I expected he'd be the first one to meet us, and somebody ought to untackle Old Bob, and turn him into the pastur."

"To be sure," cried Lucy, who had been kissing Susan Peet, the kitchen help, a former class-mate of hers at the district school. "Sure enough, where is cousin John? I long to kiss him!"

Gracious Goodness! How John, in the top of the pear tree, blushed, till the white blossoms nearest to his face turned rosy red in the reflection.

"Why!" said the widow, "I wonder where he's gone to! He knows you're come, for he was in the garden just now, and hallooed to me that you had come in sight."

"In the garden? Let's go and find him," cried Lucy, putting her arm round Ellen's waist.

As the two girls came running across the lane towards the garden gate, John once more prepared to descend, but in so doing he did not have the luck of Zaecheus of old; for placing his hand upon a branch of the tree, by which to swing himself down, he happened to clasp, not only the branch itself, but also a blossom containing a wasp. The insect, feeling the fatal pressure, had time, before it was crushed to death, to dart its venomous sting; at which John, with an involuntary cry of pain, unloosened his grasp, and the slight twig by which he held with his other hand, not being able to bear his weight, down he came through the cracking branches, plump upon the greensward at Lucy's feet, just as she opened the garden wicket! Lucy screamed, as well she might, for it's a somewhat startling thing for a young maiden to behold a strange man, of twelve stone weight, drop into her path from the clouds. Ellen, though sorely scared, hastened to assist her prostrate brother as soon as ever he came to the ground, while Boatswain, who evidently jumped at once to the conclusion that John Dashleigh was some wild beast, like a panther--to his shame be it spoken-put his tail between his legs, yelped, and fled amain. The three women in the porch uttered loud exclamations of alarm, and Old Bob, frightened out of his wonted propriety by the loud snapping and rustling of the breaking boughs and the uproar that followed, started and ran into the back yard, where, after a circuit about the well, he finally brought up against the leachhogshead and overset the chaise upon

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