Alamance - The Great And Final Experiment E-Book

Calvin Henderson Wiley

• Herausgeber: Jazzybee Verlag
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 680

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

There is something peculiarly pleasing in the pictures which Mr. Wiley presents to the imagination. He does not deal in the darker and sterner materials of humanity to which some writers of fiction are so partial, and which they find so useful in making up scenes of agony and horror. Neither does he delight, as some, to pour out bitterness and gall, satire and invective, against social order and the human race. His landscape has always more of the sunshine than of the shade, and his men and women the clear serene aspect of truth and goodness. He relies for effect on the influence of the gentler rather than of the more violent emotions, and appeal* much more to the affections than to the passions. The reader of " Alamance " on closing the volume, Will not feel perhaps the fierce and painful agitation consequent upon the perusal of a fiction of the modern French school, but he will find his mind stored with scenes and ideas on which the memory will dwell with oft recurring pleasure, he will find himself a wiser, a belter, and a happier man. As a writer of historical fiction, Mr. Wiley deserves special commendation. He has opened an entirely new vein of American history. His " Alamance" and his "Utopia" have given an unpre-cedented impulse to historical inquiry in the state of North Carolina, to which they both refer.

Leseprobe

Alamance

The Great And Final Experiment

Calvin Henderson Wiley

Contents:

Alamance

Dedication

Preface

Chapter I. Alamance In The Olden Time.

Chapter II. The Description Of Alamance Continued By The Parson.

Chapter III. The Old-Field School.

Chapter IV. A Visit To The Old-Field School.

Chapter V. The Turning Out Of The Master.

Chapter VI. A Great Man At Alamance.

Chapter VII. A Christmas Dinner At Alamance.

Chapter VIII. Lights And Shadows.

Chapter IX. The Story Of Hector M'bride.

Chapter X. "Then There Must Be Delusion."

Chapter XI. A Sage Conversation And A Sage Conclusion.

Chapter XII. The Chart.

Chapter XIII. Character In Whom All Our Readers Will Recognize An Old Acquaintance.

Chapter XIV. The Fish-Fry--"A Kettle Of Fish."

Chapter XV. A Lady Confident And A Sentimental Lady.

Chapter XVI. A Scene Behind The Curtain, And One In Front.

Chapter XVII.

Chapter XVIII. The Exhibition.

Chapter XIX. War.

Chapter XX. The Heroines Of Alamance.

Chapter XXI. War--At Home.

Chapter XXII. A Burial At Alamance.

Chapter XXIII. War--On The Embattled Field.

Chapter XXIV. Retrospections.

Chapter XXV. A "Mountain Home" In North Carolina.

Chapter XXVI. Adventures In The Mountains.

Chapter XXVII. Lucy Neal.

Chapter XXVIII.

Chapter XXIX. Home After A Long Absence.

Chapter XXX. Discoveries.

Chapter XXXI. Warden Leaves Alamance Again.

Chapter XXXII.

Chapter XXXIII.

Chapter XXXIV.

Chapter XXXV.

Chapter XXXVI. The Country Inn.

Chapter XXXVII.

Chapter XXXVIII. Captain Demijohn Sets Out To See The Widow Powell.

Chapter XXXIX. Tragedy At The Inn.

Chapter XL. Scraps Of My Own History.

Chapter XLI. An Old Acquaintance And A New One.

Chapter XLII. The Autobiography Of Alan Ross Continued.

Chapter XLIII.

Chapter XLIV.

Chapter XLV. Events Hasten To Their Conclusion.

Chapter XLVI. A Night Of Adventures.

Chapter Xlvii. Events Still Hasten Onward.

Chapter XLVIII.

Chapter XLIX.

Chapter L.

Chapter LI. A Sad And Sweet Remembrance.

Chapter LII. The Master Begins To Make A Strange Discovery.

Chapter LIII.

Chapter LIV.

Chapter LV. Home Again After A Long Absence

Chapter LVI. Letter First, From Henry Warden To Edith Mayfield.

Chapter LVII.

Chapter LVIII. Contains More Sentiment Than Incident, And Not Much Of Either.

Chapter LIX.

Chapter LX.

Chapter LXI. And The Last.

Alamance, C. H. Wiley

Jazzybee Verlag Jürgen Beck

86450 Altenmünster, Loschberg 9

Germany

ISBN: 9783849643768

www.jazzybee-verlag.de

www.facebook.com/jazzybeeverlag

[email protected]

One good deed, dying tongueless,  Slaughters a thousand waiting on that.Winter's Tale.

Alamance

Dedication

TO ----

 THY name, sweet friend, should also grace  This book, whose heroine thou art,  And take in fame's proud fane the place  It long has held within my heart,

 The brightest, dearest, could I see  That this poor offering of mine  Would, by the world's applause, e'er be  For such a name a proper shrine.

 There may, perchance, however, fall  Upon the book and on the scribe  Oblivion's unwelcome pall,  Or censure of a heartless tribe;

 And, therefore, I will brave alone  The dangers of this untried sea.  The losses all shall be my own--  The glories I will share with thee!

New York, Sept. 1847.

Preface

BY HORACE LOCKWITTER, OF NEW YORK.

"ONCE on a time" it was my fortune to pass through that remote and unexplored part of our country designated on the maps as the State of North Carolina. To my great surprise, I found that the inhabitants were neither Cannibals, Salamanders, nor Fire-eaters, nor even Pagans, though there was among them a considerable sprinkling of Jews. Men and women generally dressed after the European fashion, lived in houses with chimneys, and ate three times a-day, though at very unusual hours--breakfast, for instance, was served up at seven in the morning, dinner at about one, post meridian, and supper at sundown--but, bating this barbarous custom, and the still more barbarous habit of going to bed at ten o'clock at night, I became satisfied that the better portion of the inhabitants might be considered as a Christian, civilized people. That class of the natives who live naked in the woods, subsisting on acorus, raw snails, and wild onions, I did not see, nor could I ascertain their exact locality. Those with whom I mingled were a plain, unfrizzled people, sadly addicted to sobriety and matrimony, and greatly deficient in the art of lying, and other fashionable accomplishments and amusements. It was the fashion among the men to shave their faces, and among the women to preserve the original forms bestowed on them by Nature; and I was credibly informed that there were many idolatrous worshippers of those fabulous deities, Love and Friendship, whose temples still exist in considerable numbers. True, missionaries are among them, doing all they can to eradicate the seeds of this noxious superstition, especially among the young and enlightened; but the common people still cling, with singular tenacity, to the antiquated notions of their fathers. So much for the inhabitants. Of the face of the country, its locality, climate, and productions, I regret that I did not take fuller notes, and cannot but hope that some enterprising traveler will yet explore those unknown regions, and give the world the benefit of his investigations and discoveries. The State (as it is in compliment called) is situated somewhere between the Arctic Ocean and Cape Horn, and the climate is a medium between that of Siberia and Ecuador. The principal productions of the soil are tar (so called from Tar River, on which it grows), tobacco, and Indian maize. The largest cities are those of Henderson (named after General Pinckney Henderson, of Texas), Ashboro, and Buncombe; and the only seaport town is that called Nag's Head, on account of its having been built in a semicircle round the bay, into which are emptied the waters of the Yadkin. This information, scant as it is, exhausts my memoranda in regard to the country and people at large.

It was my luck, good or bad, to be delayed several days at a very neat and pleasant village, the shady serenity and repose of which forcibly reminded me of those South Sea Islands, in regard to which so many enchanting stories have recently been written. My landlord, to whom I hereby make my acknowledgments for his kindness and liberality, formally introduced me to all of his boarders, and thus I became acquainted with--an attorney at law, and a gentleman of some local celebrity as a writer. I was informed that this last-named gentleman was writing a book, and it at once occurred to me that he had made a happy hit. A North Carolina book! What a gem for the curious in literature! I supposed, of course, that it was a fiction, and I was enraptured at the idea. All the rest of the habitable and uninhabitable globe has been explored: the character, inhabitants, and manners of all other parts are familiar even to our school-boys. But here, thought I, in this fabulous country--here, in this, the only dark corner of the earth--is a proper scene for the expatiations of genius, and especially French genius. Here can be located wizards, enchanters, hippogriffs, wild giants, swarthy dwarfs, apparitions, prodigies, wandering Jews, mysteries, murders, rapes, and rapine. Here is the place to lay the scene; here all the enginery of a popular fiction-writer's brain may be planted. Hence may stalk forth to astonish, delight, and electrify the world, frightful phantoms, blood-reeking assassins, incarnate devils, celestial wantons, spiritual rowdies, angelic rogues, philanthropic villains, holy martyrs, who love other men's wives, chaste vestals, who consume with immortal ardour for other women's husbands, charitable fiends, satyrs, wood-nymphs, and dragons, with all their accompaniments of cross-purposes, horrible rencontres, glorious suicides, heroic murders, magnanimous robberies, blood, thunder, and earthquakes! Happy man! fortunate genius! You have a world of your own--a glorious theatre for an infernal tragedy. (So thinking, I called one morning at the office of the attorney, and found him listening, with apparent interest, to the story of an old man who had embarked in a suit to recover three dollars and thirty-seven cents out of an insolvent debtor! Seven times the old gentleman took his leave, and seven times he returned with new instructions about his suit, and an increased thickness of tongue. At last, when tolerably drunk, after many and oft-repeated instructions to his counsel to be vigilant and ferocious, he took an affectionate and final leave. The next instant a host of boys lounged in and sat an hour, and these were succeeded by a very voluble gentleman, who, fearing, as he alleged, that his friend might be alone and suffering in solitude, had come down to cheer him up. In the afternoon I called again, and though I heard voices in the room I could not distinguish a single object in it. The floor was slippery with spittle, and the smoke from the pipes of a dozen furious village politicians was so thick that it really seemed to me I could feel it. Having settled the affairs of the nation, these embryo statesmen gave way at last to several octogenarians, who were still telling anecdotes of their youth long after my friend's hopes of even a cold supper had become utterly desperate. When I returned at night I more than ever felt for the misfortunes of the village writer. He was seated by his table with a new pen in his hand, a quire of clean paper before him, looking with an abstracted and melancholy face at two gentlemen who were silently lounging, much at their ease, in one corner of the room, each puffing a cigar. Determined to outsit these gentry, I remained till half after one, and left them in a most lively and wakeful humour.)

Day after day I met with the like state of things at the attorney's office, till at last I was fortunate enough to find him alone. I at once broached the subject that had been dwelling on my mind, and "on that hint he spake." I can never forget his looks, or his words either, as he launched off into a most pathetic account of the miseries of his situation, and an eloquent philippic against bores. He concluded by declaring that he had given up in despair, for it was his destiny to be bored. "What a fate! To have a gimblet boring against each rib every hour of the day, would be delicious titillation compared with the agonies of a moral augerization." I agreed with him that an author, among the hapless and accursed race of whom he spoke, was in a worse condition than the man who lies down to sleep among the spiders, tarantulas, centipedes, chigoes, and mosquitoes that swarm in countless thousands about every blade of grass and every leaf and flower in the valley of the Rio Grande : but still, I suggested, he might find time for the production of a fiction of the kind I alluded to. He astonished me by declaring that he should "never defile his pen in the composition of stuff to feed the morbid appetites of a delirious public." Such were his words, and my astonishment became disgust when he intimated his dislike to the writing of a history of North Carolina, which he might fill with all sorts of portents, prodigies, and marvellous adventures. "Notwithstanding the fuss made about it by her literati," said he, "the history of my native and dear old State would be, indeed, an 'unvarnished tale,' and a very brief one, too, for all the most stirring and delightful incidents are of too little general interest to suit the comprehensive purpose of history. In the broad scope of Clio's eye, there is little in Carolina that rises to the level of her vision, but there is a glorious field for another muse. There have been men here who only wanted a theatre to render them world-renowned; and these men, and the remarkable local incidents in which our annals abound, need only the pen of a Scott to render them as famous as the similar men and events in Scottish story." Hereupon my friend, who had become confidential, read me portions of his work, which was a sort of book of memoirs, and from the inequalities in the style of which the writer's varying humours and constant interruptions and afflictions were clearly discernible, and I even imagined that I could tell where a sentence had been commenced early in the morning, with a clear head and a lively fancy, and finished late at night, with a foggy brain and jaded body. Still I advised the publication of the book, and, after a vast deal of hesitation, the author concluded to follow my counsel. "I think I could write something," said he, "for I have loved my pen from boyhood, and I have materials; I want opportunity, however, and if this undertaking succeeds, I will make opportunity. Now, I have a regular calling of a different character, and my interviews with the muses are like the devotions of a heathen in a Christian land--brief and secret. I am bored, watched, and suspected of some outlandish and pagan practice; but once let me be afloat as an author, and name and vocation will be more respected."

"And I," replied ourself, "will write your preface, and save your modesty by speaking myself of the disadvantages under which you laboured. What else shall I say? Any thing ad captandum?" "No, sir," he exclaimed, "No, sir, not a word : if my book has merits somebody will find them out ; if it has none let it sink. You, however, may say this much :--Say to the North Carolinians that I have ever loved my native State as tenderly, perhaps, as those sons upon whom this partial mother has more freely bestowed her smiles and her caresses that, like the bard of Ayr, filled with her traditions, and dwelling with fervent delight on her glorious recollections, I have, even from a child, hoped that I, in honour of this good old mother,

 'Some usefu' plan or book might make,  Or sing a sang at least.' Say to them, these Carolinians, that they ought to reward me, if only for my intentions--but whether they do or not I shall not die of a broken heart. Say to my friends, that if my book is a failure, they will praise and patronize me the more, and tell the public generally to 'consult my title-page.' ".

I thought to myself that a man's friends were apt to be kind in proportion to his success; but remembering that the author was a simple-hearted Carolinian, I only asked him what more I should say. He earnestly requested me to disclaim for him any intention of painting or hitting at the characters of any of his contemporaries, and to say that his book, its incidents, and the persons introduced are purely historical, and belong to a by-gone age. "In a word," he concluded, "I have written for my own amusement and for the gratification of the public. Yet some will censure, some ridicule, and some will be offended and talk of slander and libel; and thus a general clamour will be raised by those for whose edification I have laboured. If so, let the world wag on--I shall certainly write on. I can truly say I hate no one and I fear no one, and if any petty soul hates me, he is expending his animosity to little purpose, for I shall never feel it or regret it. With a conscience void of offence towards all God's creatures, I have

 'A tear for those who love me,  And a smile for those who hate.' "

Reader! I have given you a brief sketch of the country in which the following scenes are laid. I have feebly depicted the difficulties with which the author contended, and portrayed faintly his good intentions. The book is before you, and though it treats not of Lapland witches, nor of gibbering spectres in old German castles, and contains not, for your fastidious palate, a savoury dish of unnatural and astounding fictions, seasoned with the reeking filth, infamy, and iniquity of St. Giles and the Faubourgs, it may still interest or amuse you for an idle hour. Peace be with you all!

Chapter I. Alamance In The Olden Time.

ON a bright Sabbath morning in June, some three quarters of a century ago, a wayfarer, in passing through one of the middle counties of North Carolina, came to a country church which attracted his attention. There was something in the appearance of things about the place which harmonized with the traveller's feelings, and, dismounting and securing his horse to the bough of a tree, he concluded to wait for the services of the day. The more he looked round him, the better was he pleased with his resolution; for the church and all about it wore a grave and antique air that impressed him much, and rendered him curious to see what sort of people worshipped there. There were two houses, one of which was very large, the sober gravity of its faded red contrasting not unpleasantly with the white sashes of its numerous windows. Over each of the four doorways there was a small, semicircular shed, supported by arms of painted iron that came out, arched akimbo, from the walls, and decorated round the edges with curiously carved work, about which, and on the fretted cornices, swarms of wasps were sunning themselves, and working on their tiny buildings. The steps, which were all of hewn granite, were, at the end doors, six or eight feet high, owing to the declivities which, from near the centre of the church, ran down to two small creeks that met a few hundred yards north of the edifice. On this side, and in the angle of the plateau, or elevation, was another and smaller house, with a chimney, and surrounded by sycamores. From here the eye ranged over an extensive, open country, and several farm-houses and plantations were in view. The other sides were shaded by a few stately and venerable oaks, which, at a short distance from the house, were merged in thick forests of similar growth, in whose leafy coverts myriads of sweet-voiced birds were singing. Not far from the church was an extensive grave-yard, walled in with rock, and entered by an arched gateway, the stone pillars of which were faced with plates of blue slate, on which were Latin inscriptions in honour of the builder of the walls. Hundreds of monuments of various kinds, of marble, rock, and brick, and of all ages, indicated that this silent city was peopled with several generations of a large parish or congregation, while the devices and inscriptions on the tombstones, the holly-trees and cedars, the green ivy and the beds of flowers, attested the taste and piety of the living, and their tenderness and affection for the memory of the dead, each one of whom must have been followed to his last resting-place by troops of sorrowing friends. The stranger, from the grave-yard, went into the church, which, though not dilapidated, bore unequivocal signs of age. The lower part was divided into five compartments by three aisles, one of which ran the full length of the edifice from east to west, and the other two led from it to the two doors on the southern side. In the centre of the other side was a lofty pulpit of mahogany, ascended by a flight of narrow, balustraded stairs, and overhung by a sounding-board supported by rods from the ceiling, and so wrought and painted as to resemble a mass of billowy clouds just rising above the horizon on a summer evening. Immediately in front of the pulpit, and joining it, but several feet lower, was the "stand" or pulpit of the clerk, and round three sides of the building, a little higher than the pulpit proper, ran a gallery with balusters in front. The traveler marked all these things with the eye of a virtuoso; and wondering, whence in a country like this, could come the opulence to build and the people to fill such an edifice, he returned to the yard, where he met a neatly-dressed lad, who at once and strongly excited his interest. The boy was quite young, but on his face was plainly visible the stamp of a bright mind and a good heart, his dark, brilliant eyes, gleaming with an expression tender, pensive, and intelligent.

"Don't be afraid of me, my pretty friend," said the stranger. "I hope we'll soon get better acquainted, and like each other."

"I am not afraid of you, sir," replied the boy; "I am not afraid of any one here; but I never saw you before. Do you belong to Alamance?"

"Is that the name of this congregation?"

"Yes, sir."

"No," said the traveler; "I came from a distant country, and only stopped here to look at the place. But what brought you here so early?"

"I always come early," replied the boy; "I like to get here before any one else does, to ramble over the grave-yard, and sit on the tomb-stones, and think."

The answer going straight to the traveller's heart, he and his new acquaintance soon became intimate, and sitting down on a bench, in the shade of a tree, the time flew fast with both until the Alamancers began to arrive. They came streaming in by different roads, on foot, on horseback, and in gigs; the young ladies generally dashing up on high-mettled and prancing steeds, which they managed with grace and ease. There was no noise but the clatter of the horses' hoofs and the rattle of the gigs; no confusion and bustle; no loud talking and laughing, nor simpering and grimacing, and running to and fro by the females, to show their flaunting dresses, their fluttering ribbons, and smirking faces. The traveler noticed that, with a quiet but hearty manner, every body shook hands with every body else, and then the females went into the house, the young ones sitting modestly and silently in their high-backed pews, while the men, gathering in groups under the trees, talked over their neighbourhood affairs. The traveler noticed also, that in that great multitude of every age, from the white-headed patriarch of three-score and ten to the toddling infant, each one, even among the blacks, bore himself with a still and hushed gravity, while their looks, without being austere, wore an expression sedate and solemn. He observed also, and he marvelled at the fact, that there was not one meanly-clad person in the crowd, and that even the negroes, of whom there were many, were neatly dressed. He noticed, too, that his youthful friend was a great favourite with old and young, and he saw whispered questions frequently put to him, to which he replied by shaking his head. He remained with the boy, and each new-comer cordially shook his hand, but asked him no questions.

"Who is that fine-looking old gentleman, who is hitching his horse to the sycamore behind the church?" asked the stranger.

"That," replied the boy, "is the Rev. Dr. David Caldwell, our minister, sir. He is going into the session-house to put on his silk cloak, and it's time to go in. You must sit in father's pew, and I'll carry you to it."

The stranger entered, following his youthful guide, and saw that his face was scrutinized by more than one, while his bald head seemed to blush during the whole of the service, as if conscious that it was the grand central object of attraction for all the eyes in that crowded audience. He knew, however, that the eyes were kind, and many of them bright, and he was delighted at the edifying silence, attention, and decorum that pervaded the assembly. He was pleased with the sermon, and still more pleased with the singing, the solemn harmony of which impressed him more than he had ever been before on such an occasion. All joined in the song; and, all seeming to know the tunes and to have melodious voices, a strain, grand, solemn, and soul-inspiring swelled through the spacious building, subduing in every heart its worldly lusts and its selfish passions, and lifting it, in devout fervour, above the things of time and sense. After the sermon the congregation were dismissed for a short recess, and the traveler, meditating on what he had heard and seen, was following a crowd in the direction of the spring, when he was accosted by his acquaintance of the morning.

"Mother wants to see you," said the boy; and, following him, the stranger came to where three persons were sitting on the grass, in the shade of a sycamore. One of them he at once recognized as the minister, who, with a smile, said to the boy,

"Introduce us, Henry, to your friend."

"I don't know his name," answered Henry, looking inquiringly at the traveler.

"M'Bride, Hector M'Bride, is my name," said the stranger; "I am a sojourner, who stopped here to hear a sermon, and an excellent one it was."

"And my name," said the parson, "is Caldwell, and I am happy to make your acquaintance. Mr. M'Bride, this is my friend, Mr. Warden, and that is his lady. Your young friend there is their son Henry. As the days are long, and your dinner may be late, Mrs. Warden thought you might be pleased to join us in a snack, in which case you will please fall to."

"I thank you, one and all, for your kindness," replied M'Bride, "and without ceremony, will honour your collation with a traveller's appetite."

"Do you purpose to make any stay at Alamance?" asked Warden, as they were discussing cold chicken, biscuit, and pies. "You must excuse the question, as it is not prompted by idle curiosity."

"I readily excuse it," answered M'Bride, "and, as far as I can, will answer it with pleasure. I am, as I said, a wayfarer, and I have no particular destination in view, having, like the knights-errant in the old romances, given the reins to my horse, and letting him carry me whither-soever his pleasure leads him."

"Surely," said the parson, "you are not about to revive that ancient order--going about in quest of adventures, succoring the distressed and rescuing imprisoned damsels. I see no helmet, lance, or armour.

"I may be said to be seeking the same ends," replied M'Bride, "though not with sword, lance, and buckler, for I belong to the peace establishment. In short, accidents and crosses at an early age gave me a distaste for business; and, having wandered about till I have nearly spent my slender patrimony, I am looking out for a place where the schoolmaster is needed. When I find such a place, if the people suit me--I am hard to please--and I suit them, I shall bring myself to anchor. Indeed, to be plain with you all, though you are strangers to me, I have a theory which I long to see carried out. We all come into the world with ingenuous, innocent, and honourable hearts: where do all the selfish men and--begging your pardon Mrs. Warden--mischievous women come from?"

"We are corrupted by the world," said Mrs. Warden.

"Exactly," exclaimed the master; "and who corrupts the world? We were all good once. The truth is, parents and teachers take it for granted that other children will be corrupted, and, in self-defence, they teach their own to be cunning, selfish, and double minded. Now this is a great evil under the sun, and I wish to see how far the schoolmaster can correct it."

"I like your notions," said the parson, "and, if you will remain awhile at Alamance, we'll have some further discourse upon these subjects, and perhaps, too, may find a location that will suit you."

"In which case," said Warden, "I shall look for you to be my guest, and trust we will be able to make you comfortable."

The traveler consented to go with Warden that night, and saw that the arrangement gave no little satisfaction to the boy Henry, whose admiration he had won, by the facility with which he had translated the Latin inscriptions at the grave-yard gate, and who continued to act as his cicerone, introducing him to various people, and showing him all the curiosities about the place. When the services for the day were concluded, the gravity of the congregation seemed considerably abated, and they went round, taking leave of each other, and pressing the parson to go to their houses. He had, however, kindly to refuse all invitations, for he was engaged to go with Warden, who, by the way, had to wait a long time for his reverend friend, as this latter made it a point to attend to their horses all maiden ladies who were without a beau. It may be mentioned, too, by the way, that many of these, who were somewhat advanced in years, desired their spiritual guide to make known to the sedate-looking traveler, that their fathers' houses were ever open for the reception of strangers. Women's hearts are ever kind, and they were moved with affectionate interest when they saw so grave, gentlemanly, and decent-looking a bachelor (as they feared) wandering about, solitary and alone, without a companion to share his sorrows and heighten his joys.

Chapter II. The Description Of Alamance Continued By The Parson.

THE Rev. Dr. Caldwell and Hector M'Bride sat up late at Warden's, smoking their pipes and discussing various matters. Each one displayed much learning and acuteness, and the parson was so much taken with his new acquaintance that, to induce him to remain at Alamance, he gave the following description of that ancient community.

"Alamance," said he, "was one of the first places settled by the whites in middle Carolina. The lands are fertile, the climate pleasant, and the country healthy, and thus this section of the state early attracted the attention of emigrants. Those who came to settle here were, generally, men of character and substance, and were seeking, not so much to advance their worldly fortunes as to promote their happiness, which was intimately connected with the enjoyment of civil and religious freedom. They were mostly 'Scotch-Irish,' a race of men who, the world over, have been proved to be true to their country, to their friends, and their principles, which are always of a liberal cast. They are Presbyterians in religion, republicans in their political notions, and are ever ready to fight or go to the stake for their opinions. Such were the original inhabitants of Alamance, who, far removed from cities and their fashionable follies and vices, were distinguished in their manners by a primeval simplicity, while their characters displayed the prisca et incorrupta fides, the incorruptible integrity, candour, faith, and singleness of heart attributed by the poets to a fabled pastoral age. There was originally in the neighbourhood (and it is a large one) but one merchant, and not a single trader at large, by which last term I mean that sort of professional character that prowls about society, flourishing on the vices which he propagates, and the necessities he creates. Nearly every family in the whole community was, and even now is, in independent circumstances, and some are even rich. Still there are no grades and coteries in society; no parties in politics; and no hostile religious sects warring rancourously on each other, and claiming as their object the diffusion of a spirit of Christian philanthropy. My parishioners are generally severe in their judgment on themselves, charitable to the failings and shortcomings of others, and, though frugal in their expenditures, ever ready to entertain the stranger and relieve the necessitous. It is, sir, a remarkable and honourable fact, that every one in my congregation, over ten years old, can read and write; some are even well read in history and the belles-lettres, and in every house you are sure to meet with well thumbed copies of 'Fox's Book of Martyrs,' 'The Pilgrim's Progress,' 'The Balm of Gilead,' 'The Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul,' and other kindred books. The learning of my people is thus generally of a theological character, and the midwife, and several other good old ladies in my cure, could hold their own against the famous Aquinas, and put to flight all the doctors of the Sorbonne. Thus religious subjects, with tales of religious persecutions, of Indian massacres, and of civil usurpations, exactions and oppressions, while away the winter evenings at every fireside, and tinge with a devotional hue the sentiments and feelings of the Alamancers. Our people, as I have before intimated, would make excellent republicans, for there is among them a deep-rooted aversion, I may say detestation, of every species of tyranny, and an attachment to liberty--real, true, genuine, and well regulated liberty--stronger than the love of life or the fear of death. They have the virtues becoming citizens of a democracy--that first-born hope of philanthropy. The old men are sedate, just, free-hearted, and single-hearted, well understanding their rights, thinking for themselves, and extremely jealous of those who cultivate popularity: the matrons are chaste, dutiful, and affectionate; the maidens pure, simple, artless, pious, tender, and beautiful; and the young men brave, ingenuous, and modest. Among all there is no one aspiring to take the lead. There is none of that restlessness, that reaching for family aggrandizement, that desire of change, which characterizes every community, even in perfect democracies. There is also another notable difference between this people and other wealthy settlements in this country--"

"By your leave," said M'Bride, "I will mention one which I have observed."

"Certainly, proceed," replied the parson.

"Well, then, you must know," continued M'Bride, "that I came south expecting to find a different sort of people than those with whom I have had the honour of becoming acquainted. I had heard much, and I had believed what I heard, of the sunny south, of its simple virtues, its knightly courtesies, and its generous feelings. I found its much-boasted, old-fashioned hospitality was but a profuse and wasteful extravagance, dictated by a vainglorious desire for notoriety; its social gatherings disorderly routs; its refinement consisting in a contempt for all other men and places, and in a supercilious and arrogant assumption of infinite superiority, and its intelligence limited to the knowledge of games, and of the histories and pedigrees of blood-horses. When I first came south, to a neighbouring province, I was honoured with an invitation to a great party, given by a wealthy planter in honour of the nuptials of his son. It was to take place in midwinter, and for weeks before the whole country was in a buzz of conversation about it, every body appearing to be in a state of entire felicity at the bare anticipation of the glorious enjoyments of the approaching entertainment. On the day appointed, through sleet, and rain, and snow, I made my way to the house of my host. When I arrived, I heard a great tumult, saw loose horses scampering about, carriages and gigs broken and upset, and negroes running to and fro in great confusion, some drunk, and all beside themselves and unapproachable in their new-blown dignities and upstart importance. It appeared that every one had brought his own servant to wait upon him and represent his dignity, and, as I came alone, I was utterly neglected, until, with a handful of silver, I worked upon the sympathies of the most humble-looking negro I saw, got him to show me to the gentlemen's dressing-room and take charge of my horse. I was ushered into a granary, warmed by a villainous old stove, and, in the presence of a parcel of roistering gallants, who paid no attention to me, I arranged my dress. Feeling myself prepared to be ushered into the company of the ladies, I followed the sound of a fiddle, and found myself at the door which opened into the public saloon. As no one met me to welcome me in, and as it was rather moist to wait long out of doors, I followed the example of others, and was soon wedged so tight in the middle of the passage, that I could move in no direction, and could scarcely turn my head. All those around me were chatting and laughing like men in hysterics, making a most forlorn attempt at being perfectly happy, although some were fairly choked by the pressure, some squeezed into a jelly, and all fixed immovably in their stations. Through a door on one side, I saw into a room, around the sides of which men and women were packed together as if put up for exportation, and in the centre of which some young folk were dancing, each one having about eight inches square on which to cut his capers. On the other side of the passage was another room, in which I beheld a sea of old ladies' faces, solemn, prim, and proud, while their bodies were so jammed together that they looked like one solid bale of dry-goods compressed into the smallest possible space. After I had got thoroughly warmed, and even began to perspire, in my position, I felt a disposition to change my location. Accordingly, I learned from a Christian-looking gentleman that there were offices in the yard where married and elderly men could amuse themselves. To one of these I went, and found the tobacco smoke as thick as a London fog, and the floor one broad pool of spittle. I could dimly see that the bed was covered with men, the fireplace surrounded, and that all were deeply interested in games of whist that were going briskly on at several tables, which were covered with decanters of brandy and whiskey. The other offices I found tenanted in like manner, and so, hungry, cold, and wretched, I wandered about without meeting a soul who seemed to take the slightest interest in me. That night I lay, with a great number of others, in the granary, and the hardest scuffle I ever had was for a single blanket, with which I had covered, thereby depriving several of the only thing they had to interpose between themselves and the straw. Next day I indulged in some comments not very eulogistic of such entertainments, and was stared at and avoided as an ignorant and ill-bred booby, totally destitute of all taste for refined and aristocratic amusements. The fact is, I was sadly deficient in their fashionable accomplishments; for, if you will believe me, when the old ladies are good cooks, the old gentlemen deep-players, the damsels untiring dancers, and the young gentlemen accomplished fiddlers, they consider themselves as entitled to take rank in the highest circles. Indeed, I found they were a nation of fiddlers, and in every village and hamlet was kept awake by an everlasting scraping of cat gut."

"The general features in your picture are true," said the parson; "but the colours are too glaring, and the caricature too great. As I was going to observe, a while ago, there is a want of polish among the rich planters of the South. There is little attention paid to the real amenities of life, and a fine scholar or well-read man is a rare avis. Nevertheless, we have the materials--the richest materials. The men are manly, brave, and generous, the women modest, chaste, and beautiful; and when time and the advance of education have worn away the vices incident to new countries and recently acquired wealth, there will be a population and a society, even in the province of which you speak, not excelled by any in the world. Now Alamance has already made considerable progress, and is as free from southern extravagance and pomposity as from northern avarice and venality. Still human nature is the same in all ages and countries, and not more naturally does the decaying carcass produce and attract vultures and obscene vermin than do communities of men bring together, in the course of time, sharpers and speculators, who reap a golden harvest from the follies they foster and the distresses they produce, as I before observed. Some few of these have lately found their way to Alamance, and, though they wear sheep's clothing, I have more than once heard the howl of the wolf and the cry of his victim. But this is not the worst--Cicero says that whatsoever is against nature is contrary to happiness. Now, before the time of Nimrod, that mighty hunter of men--yea, even in the days of our first mother, Eve, a certain feud commenced. To speak after the manner of the heathen, Nature was the first goddess--the original queen of men and brutes. Her undisputed reign was shorter than the golden one of Saturn, for soon her empire was disturbed by the pretensions of a rival. Fashion arose, and, laying claim to universal dominion, she soon won followers, and her power and influence have been steadily increasing. Like all aspiring rebels, this latter affects to be exactly and in all things the opposite of her rival, and indeed there is between them the broadest difference. The one, with a cheek like the first purple blushes of the early dawn, an eye like the morning star, a step like that of the startled fawn, and a voice like the dove's in spring-time, retreats timidly to her sylvan covert, where her votaries find her, like Eve before the fall, 'The fairest of her daughters,' chaste, simple, tender, and constant. 'Her children arise and call her blessed; strength and honor are her clothing.' The other, bedizened with tawdry lace, blazing with jewels, and blushing with paint, with a brazen front, and a form tortured into a shape more uncouth than that of any monster of the deep, flaunts along the highways and the crowded streets, and is heard and seen in the ball-room and the theatre, with a voice like the siren's, and an eye that lures to destruction. Giddy, fickle, and whimsical in her notions; lascivious and wanton in her manners; and gross, bestial, and vulgar in her ways, she amuses herself at the expense of her followers, making them perform all sorts of antics, transform themselves into the vilest shapes, and martyrize themselves in various ways to show their contempt of Nature. And as this latter makes even brutes respectable, so the former would degrade men and women below the beasts of the field."

"By my soul, that was truly and happily said!" exclaimed M'Bride.

"Such," continued the parson, "are the rival queens. Nature for a long time had undisputed sway at Alamance; but some of our travelled young gentlemen have lately been to the cities, where they saw and fell desperately in love with Fashion. She has, therefore, a few proselytes of both sexes among us, for I have recently noticed some uncouth and frightful apparitions, sprinkled through my congregation. As I am a Christian man, I nearly lost my gravity in the pulpit; for I could not banish the fancy that I was preaching to a set of peripatetic baboons and solemn monkeys. These fashionables, however, made an unfavourable impression, and have been so ridiculed, that I trust that they are heartily ashamed of themselves, and will again assume the shapes and follow the habits of civilized human creatures. They have, I believe, Nebuchadnezzarized (to coin a word) long enough, and will henceforth be satisfied with their lot, as members of the human family."

"God grant they may," said Hector M'Bride, "but I doubt it. I am half inclined to believe in the doctrine of Pythagoras, with, however, this modification: that the soul, instead of actually migrating, assumes an affinity to that of various beasts, and that the body endeavours to conform itself to these changes. Thus, I have known a man to be transmuted successively from bear to puppy, from puppy to monkey, and from monkey to ass. Some men have an inherent tendency downward; and I can scarcely believe the aggregate human family are advancing in civilization, when I consider what a large majority of individuals seem to grow worse as they grow older."

"Perhaps," answered the parson, "you generalize too much. It's a dangerous habit--but, to change the subject: What say you to an experiment of your theory about teaching at Alamance?"

"I am willing, with all my heart," returned M'Bride; "for I like the people, from your description."

Chapter III. The Old-Field School.

IN former times, the Old-Field School was an institution of learning known to and patronized by the highest and lowest in every part of the country. How it got its name is a subject for conjecture. Some are of opinion that it was given in derision, to show that there is no affinity between such places and the great Academia of Plato, which was in the midst of a shady grove, while others derive it from the proximity of these country-schools to fields worn out and unenclosed. Be the origin of its name what it may, it is certain that this institution bore little resemblance to the modern academy, and perhaps still less to the ancient. It was never a bantling of the Government, State of Federal, which, for the good of both, knew it not; and, not being incorporated, it was happily freed from the fostering care of an enlightened board of fat trustees, under whose judicious management the cause of education fares about as well as would the machinery of a modern steam-mill, when controlled by a body of learned mandarins. No such nuisance was ever known to the Old-Field School, nor was it ever subject to sectarian influences, or affected by the political disputes of the country; and from it, therefore, humble as it often was, flowed a stream of morals and literature whose pure waters have refreshed and blessed the country. At Alamance the qualifications of the master were tested by an examination by the parson and others best qualified to judge; and it is to be observed, that the fact of being a leading politician, or of holding a commission to be a justice of the peace, no more made a man a scholar than did the possession of land and negroes render him a gentleman. Once installed into office, the master was subject to the control of no impertinent intermeddlers, and, being absolute monarch in his little kingdom, he governed it according to his own conscience and discretion, and without favour or partiality. The teacher out of school was the equal, the companion, and Mentor of his pupils; and hence, between him and them there was not that awful and impassable gulf which now separates professor and student, and renders them the implacable and hereditary enemies of each other. The master, to diffuse the benefits of his conversation, and to prevent imputations of undue favour to any, was the guest of all his patrons, with each of whom he boarded and lodged by turns, and in the families of all of whom he was an honoured member. It was considered important that he should have at least a moderate share of common sense; he was believed to be subject to human sympathies and mortal feelings, and hence, out of school was regarded as a man and a Christian, and in all neighbourhood affairs had "a voice potential."

In those Arcadian times, the boys and girls were supposed to belong to the same human family, and were so brought up and educated together as to be the friends of each other. Thus, an honourable emulation was excited, the confinement of study rendered pleasant, and the young people relieved from that fatal curiosity to penetrate the mystery thrown around the other sex, which now absorbs the entire attention of students.

Such was the general character of the Old-Field School, and it remains only to notice some particulars connected with that of Alamance. Hector M'Bride having been chosen as the teacher, many vague rumours about him got into circulation among the children--some representing him as very mild, and others as extremely expert at the use of the birch. His merits were talked over and discussed at length, and no satisfactory conclusion having been arrived at, all determined to wait till they had tried him. On the day of commencement, the scholars, all in new suits, were early at the school-house, and having introduced themselves or been introduced by their fathers to the master, this latter took down their names. Having next critically examined each one, he arranged them in classes, and assigned them to their studies, putting many into branches that they had long ago passed over, remarking that it was better to know one thing well than half-a-dozen badly. This done, he made an address, laying down the principles on which he should conduct the school, and thereupon read a long list of rules, commenting on and explaining each one separately. They were divided into three heads, and concerned the morals, the manners, and the studies of his students. As these rules are still preserved among the master's papers, and may prove interesting to pedagogues, a few of them are here given, with the number of each prefixed:

10. The punishments shall consist of whipping, slapping in the hand with the rule, riding the ass, and expulsion, according to the gravity of the offence.11. All the boys and girls may laugh, without noise, when any one is mounted on the ass; but no one shall speak to him, or make gestures or ugly mouths at him, in token of derision.20. When the master tells an anecdote the students are not bound to laugh immoderately, though it will be considered respectful to give some indication of their being pleased or amused.21. Whenever one enters or leaves the house, if a boy he shall bow, and if a girl courtesy, to the master, and when a stranger comes in all shall rise and do the same towards him.22. When the boys meet a stranger on the road they must take off their hats and bow: they are enjoined to be, on all occasions, respectful and attentive to their seniors, and not to talk in their presence, except when bidden.23. Every boy shall consult the comfort and convenience of the girls before his own, and whoever is caught standing between a female and the fire shall be whipped.24. If any boy is caught laughing at the homeliness of a girl, or calling her ugly names, he shall ride on the ass.25. Giggles are detestable, and when a girl is amused she must smile gracefully, or laugh out; and if the master catches any one snickering he will imitate and reprimand her in presence of the whole school.30. Every offender, when called on, must fully inform on himself, remembering, that by telling the truth he palliates his offence.31. When the master's rule falls at the feet of any one, he and all his guilty associates must come with it to the teacher.33. The master will inflict on every common informer the punishment due to the offence of which he maliciously gives information.35. As it is God who gives the mind, and as he has bestowed more on some than on others, it shall be considered a grave offence to laugh at or ridicule any one who is by nature dull or stupid, such persons being entitled to general commiseration rather than contempt.40. The girls must remember that the exemptions to which their sex entitles them are to be used as a shield, and not as a sword; and they are therefore enjoined to eschew the abominable and unladylike habit of indulging in sarcasms and attempted wit at the expense of the boys. Whenever a girl loses the docility, gentleness, and benignity of manners becoming her sex, she forfeits her title to the forbearance and differential courtesy of the males.41. No one shall, out of school, speak disrespectfully of the master, or of a fellow-student.45. No one shall ridicule, laugh at, or make remarks about the dress of another; the boys are enjoined to be kind and courteous to the girls, the girls to be neat and cleanly in their dresses, and all to act as if they were brothers and sisters, the children of the same parents.50. Let the words of The Preacher be held in constant remembrance, "Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth," &c., &c.

Such are a few of the many rules which the master declared he would read publicly once a month, and each one of which he said he would rigidly enforce, remarking that it was better to have no laws than good ones not strictly obeyed.

The punishment of riding on the ass was generally inflicted for long-continued and gross neglect of study, vulgarity of manners, and insults to the girls, and was as follows:--The culprit, with a large pair of leather spectacles on his nose and a paper cap on his head, with the inscription "Fool's Cap," in Roman letters, was mounted astraddle one of the joists, being assisted up by a few cuts of the master's switch, which sometimes played, at intervals, across his legs during the hour that he held his seat. This punishment was only inflicted on the males, and was considered as so disgraceful that it was rarely merited, and when imposed attached a stigma to the culprit, which affected his standing in and out of school, for a long time afterwards.

Having thus got his school under way, the master, to inspire at once an affection for him as a man, as well as respect as a teacher, dismissed his students for recreation, went with them to the old field, helped to lay off the play-ground, and discussed with them the various kinds of sports, teaching them, by explanations and practical illustrations, many new ones, which were considered highly interesting. Thus in the morning he at once established for himself a high character as a scholar and disciplinarian; by noon he was the fast friend of every scholar he had, and that evening boys and girls went home perfectly delighted with their new teacher, and feeling an emulous desire to excel in their studies which they had never felt before. In a word, the master was, in each scholar's eye, the very perfection of a man, and to be like him was the highest ambition of all.

After this auspicious beginning, we will now leave, for a season, the master and his little kingdom.

Chapter IV. A Visit To The Old-Field School.

THE school-house at Alamance was a neat log-building, situated in the skirt of a thick wood, with a large, old field in front. Those who were studying the higher branches were permitted to get their lessons out of doors; and hence, as we approach we see faces, male and female, peeping at us from behind the sunny side of every fallen tree. We enter, and the whole school simultaneously rising, but keeping their eyes on their books, the boys dip their heads forward, the girls courtesy, and again take their seats; the master, who is hearing a class recite, politely bowing us to a vacant bench. We, being strangers, our arrival is the occasion of an energetic application to study, signified by an emulous effort to see who can bawl the loudest and the fastest. With every variety of note, and in every possible key, and with a sort of modulated cadence or chant, they sing over their lessons, making a not unpleasant melody, and one which is passing sweet to the master's ears. There, in a corner, with his short legs hooked together under the bench, and the big tears still moist on his swollen cheeks, sits a lately-flagellated urchin, who, in the midst of his sorrows, does not forget the proper sing-song tone, as he sobs out, with long intervening pauses, the letters of his alphabet. Just by him, and swaying to and fro on her seat, like one exercised at a camp-meeting by religious influences, sits a girl humming over the Sermon on the Mount, and interjecting alternately an "um" and an "ah" at the end of every sentence, while on all sides the operations of figures and the results of additions, subtractions, multiplications, and divisions, are announced as if they were set to music. At the end opposite the fire is the writing-bench, a long slab, supported by pins driven under it into the wall, and lighted by a narrow window, whose shutter is a plank swung on leather hinges. Here, with their rounded backs to us, their arms spread out in wide ellipses, their foreheads knit and frowning, and their mouths working and twisting with every motion of their pens, are some eight or ten making desperate efforts to counterfeit their copy; and there, encircling the teacher, stands the grammar class, reciting their lessons and pinching and sticking pins into each other's backs and elbows. A dense crowd is swaying to and fro in front of the blazing fire, the "outs" pushing hard to get in, and the "ins," whose linsey-woolseys are scorching, making desperate efforts to get out. More than one coy lass is peeping at us over the top of her book, and little strips of paper are constantly and mysteriously flitting about, from the male to the female benches and back again, and yet no one is seen to throw them. The manner of each one, as he takes the pass to go out, or hangs it up on his return, excites a smile in which the master sometimes joins. This is more especially the case when a white-haired urchin pitches his head forward as if he would snap it off, or some tall gawk, with his eye fixed on his sweetheart, in scraping one foot backwards and bending his body forwards, loses his balance and pitches on all-fours into the middle of the room. In the farthermost corner of the house we observe a knot of little fellows who are totally oblivious of all going on around them, and are making themselves extremely merry over the master's portrait rudely sketched on a slate, and to which each one gives a touch with his pencil. They are not unseen by a watchful eye, and suddenly their amusement is interrupted by the well-aimed rule, the fall of which at their feet startles them from their seats, as if a thunderbolt had struck in their midst. The slate is instantly laid down with the likeness still on it, and the artists, trembling with fear and blushing with shame at the consciousness of being gazed at by all the school, hide their faces with their books, the more timid beginning to whimper, while the stout-hearted look down on the emblem of justice in sulky silence. "Proximus, the next class!" cries a voice of authority, and as the ring round the master is cleared, there is an instant scampering from near the fire, a few cuts of the master's rod hastening the flight of the fugitives; books that were thrown aside are hastily resumed, some with the wrong end upward, and several gay Lotharios slide softly away from the ends of the benches next to the girls. When this second class have finished their recitation, the master, with a severe gravity, calls out, "Bring me the rule." There is a dead silence for a minute, the boys marked out for execution hanging their heads and sadly gazing on the fatal instrument. "Bring me my rule, I say," repeats the master, "and that slate!" The boldest of the culprits now taking hold of the rule as if it were a snake, and slowly edging himself off his seat, marches up to the master, followed by all his guilty associates, one of whom carries the slate. "When you draw my likeness again," says the master, "you must do it better. This is a miserable botch, for which, and for your laughing, you are punished." So saying, he takes the hand of each and gives it a few gentle taps, whereby the whole school is stimulated to renewed industry, the din of study rising at least a key higher at every slap. At length is heard that sound, of all others the most pleasant to a school-boy's ears, "Shut up books for play." All is instant excitement, confusion, and change--the master descending from his dignity, and the scholar throwing off his reverence. Hats, bonnets and baskets are snatched from the wooden hooks that stud the walls, and the master is soon surrounded by a bevy of lively, chattering girls, with rose-tinted cheeks, asking him questions, proffering presents, and insisting, each one, on his dining with her. Leaving these and the smaller lads by the fire, we will follow to the old field the larger boys, who, with biscuits and slices of bacon in their hands, have hurried off, with a wild clatter, to the play ground.