eye for detecting flatterers in other folks' houses. | Virginia, the Agent from Pennsylvania, and a Against the little knot of official people at Will- few more gentlemen, happened to be dining with iamsburg, she was especially satirical, and had no patience with their etiquettes and squabbles for precedence.

If she had known the cause of Mr. Braddock's politeness, perhaps his compliments would not have charmed Madam Esmond so much. The Commander-in-Chief held levees at Alexandria, and among the gentry of the country, who We may be sure that the arrival of the army paid him their respects, were our twins of Cas- and the approaching campaign formed the subtlewood, who mounted their best nags, took ject of continued conversation in the Castlewith them their last London suits, and, with wood family. To make the campaign was the their two negro-boys, in smart liveries behind dearest wish of Harry's life. He dreamed only them, rode in state to wait upon the great man. of war and battle; he was forever with the offiHe was sulky and angry with the provincial cers at Williamsburg; he scoured and cleaned gentry, and scarce took any notice of the young and polished all the guns and swords in the gentlemen, only asking, casually, of his aid-de- house; he renewed the amusements of his childcamp at dinner, who the young Squire Gawkeys hood, and had the negroes under arms. His were in blue and gold and red waistcoats? mother, who had a gallant spirit, knew that the Mr. Dinwiddie, the Lieutenant-Governor of | time was come when one of her boys must leave

her and serve the King. She scarce dared to think on whom the lot should fall. She admired and respected the elder, but she felt that she loved the younger boy with all the passion of her heart.

Eager as Harry was to be a soldier, and with all his thoughts bent on that glorious scheme, he, too, scarcely dared to touch on the subject nearest his heart. Once or twice when he ventured on it with George, the latter's countenance wore an ominous look. Harry had a feudal attachment for his elder brother, worshiped him with an extravagant regard, and in all things gave way to him as the chief. So Harry saw, to his infinite terror, how George, too, in his grave way, was occupied with military matters. George had the wars of Eugene and Marlborough down from his book-shelves; all the military books of his grandfather, and the most

warlike of Plutarch's Lives. He and Dempster were practicing with the foils again. The old Scotchman was an adept in the military art, though somewhat shy of saying where he learned it.

ers of the letter in reply to his Excellency's Madam Esmond made her two boys the bearmessage, accompanying her note with such large and handsome presents for the General's staff and the officers of the two Royal Regiments, as caused the General more than once to thank Mr. Franklin for having been the means of bringing this welcome ally into the camp.. men like to see the campaign ?" the General "Would not one of the young gentleasked.

of them-Mr. Washington, who had been un"A friend of theirs, who often spoke lucky in the affair of last year-had already

promised to join him as aid-de-camp, and his Excellency would gladly take another young Virginian gentleman into his family." Harry's eyes brightened and his face flushed at this of fer. “He would like with all his heart to go!" he cried out. George said, looking hard at his younger brother, that one of them would be proud to attend his Excellency, while it would be the other's duty to take care of their mother at home. Harry allowed his senior to speak. His will was even still obedient to George's. However much he desired to go, he would not pronounce until George had declared himself. He longed so for the campaign that the actual wish made him timid. He dared not speak on the matter as he went home with George. They rode for miles in silence, or strove to talk upon indifferent subjects; each knowing what was passing in the other's mind, and afraid to bring the awful question to an issue.

On their arrival at home the boys told their mother of General Braddock's offer. "I knew it must happen," she said. "At such a crisis in the country our family must come forward. Have you-have you settled yet which of you is to leave me?" And she looked anxiously from one to another, dreading to hear either

name.

"The youngest ought to go, mother. Of course I ought to go!" cries Harry, turning very red.

"Of course he ought," said Mrs. Mountain, who was present at their talk.

"There! Mountain says so! I told you so!" again cries Harry, with a sidelong look at George.

66

"The head of the family ought to go, mother," says George, sadly.

men," faltered Madam Esmond, and left the
young men-not choosing, perhaps, to show the
emotion which was filling her heart.
It was
speedily known among the servants that Mr.
George was going on the campaign. Dinah,
George's foster-mother, was loud in her lament-
ations at losing him; Phillis, Harry's old nurse,
was as noisy because Master George, as usual,
was preferred over Master Harry. Sady,
George's servant, made preparations to follow
his master, bragging incessantly of the deeds
which he would do, while Gumbo, Harry's boy,
pretended to whimper at being left behind,
though, at home, Gumbo was any thing but a
fire-eater.

But, of all in the house, Mrs. Mountain was the most angry at George's determination to go on the campaign. She had no patience with him. He did not know what he was doing by leaving home. She begged, implored, insisted that he should alter his determination; and vowed that nothing but mischief would come from his departure.

George was surprised at the pertinacity of the good lady's opposition. "I know, Mountain," said he, "that Harry would be the better soldier; but, after all, to go is my duty.”

"To stay is your duty!" says Mountain, with a stamp of her foot.

"Why, did not my mother own it when we talked of the matter just now ?"

"Your mother!" says Mrs. Mountain, with a most gloomy, sardonic laugh; "your mother, my poor child!"

"What is the meaning of that mournful countenance, Mountain ?"

"What in Heaven do you mean ?" cried George, the blood rushing into his face.

"It may be that your mother wishes you away, George !" Mrs. Mountain continued, "No! no! you are ill, and have never recov-wagging her head. "It may be, my poor, deered your fever. Ought he to go, Mountain ?"luded boy, that you will find a father-in-law "You would make the best soldier-I know when you come back." that, dearest Hal. You and George Washington are great friends, and could travel well together, and he does not care for me, nor I for him, however much he is admired in the family. But, you see, 'tis the law of Honor, my Harry." (He here spoke to his brother with a voice of extraordinary kindness and tenderness.) "The grief I have had in this matter has been that I must refuse thee. I must go. Had Fate given you the benefit of that extra half hour of life which I have had before you, it would have been your lot, and you would have claimed your right to go first-you know you would." "Yes, George," said poor Harry, "I own I cried George. should,"

"You will stay at home, and take care of Castlewood and our mother. If any thing happens to me, you are here to fill my place. I would like to give way, my dear, as you, I know, would lay down your life to serve me. But each of us must do his duty. What would our grandfather say if he were here ?"

"Do you suppose I have no eyes, and can not see what is going on? I tell you, child, that Colonel Washington wants a rich wife. When you are gone he will ask your mother to marry him, and you will find him master here when you come back. This is why you ought not to go away, you poor, unhappy, simple boy! Don't you see how fond she is of him? how much she makes of him? how she is always holding him up to you, to Harry, to every body who comes here?"

"But he is going on the campaign, too,"

"He is going on the marrying campaign, child!" insisted the widow.

“Nay; General Braddock himself told me that Mr. Washington had accepted the appointment of aid-de-camp."

"An artifice! an artifice to blind you, my poor child!" cries Mountain. "He will be wounded and come back-you will see if he does The mother looked proudly at her two sons. not. I have proofs of what I say to you-proofs "My papa would say that his boys were gentle-under his own hand-look here!" And she

VOL. XVI.-No. 92.-R

HARPER'S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

took from her pocket a piece of paper in Mr. | When his mother, with alarm in her counteWashington's well-known handwriting.

"How came you by this paper?" asked
George, turning ghastly pale.

"I-I found it in the Major's chamber!"
says Mrs. Mountain, with a shamefaced look.
"You read the private letters of a guest stay-
ing in our house ?" cried George. "For shame!
I will not look at the paper!"
from him on to the fire before him.
And he flung it
"I could not help it, George; 'twas by chance,
I give you my word, by the merest chance. You
know Governor Dinwiddie is to have the Ma-
jor's room, and the state-room is got ready for
Mr. Braddock, and we are expecting ever so
much company, and I had to take the things
which the Major leaves here-he treats the house
just as if it was his own already-into his new
room, and this half-sheet of paper fell out of
his writing-book, and I just gave one look at it
by the merest chance, and when I saw what it
was it was my duty to read it."

"Oh, you are a martyr to duty, Mountain!"
George said, grimly. "I dare say Mrs. Blue-
beard thought it was her duty to look through
the key-hole."

"I never did look through the key-hole, George. It's a shame you should say so! who have watched, and tended, and nursed you I, like a mother. Who have sate up whole weeks with you in fevers, and carried you from your bed to the sofa in these arms. don't want you there now. My dear Mountain, There, Sir, I indeed! Don't tell me! sion, and call names, and wound my feelings, You fly into a paswho have loved you like your mother-like your mother?-I only hope she may love you half as well. I say you are all ungrateful. My Mr. Mountain was a wretch, and every one of you is as bad."

There was but a smouldering log or two in the fire-place, and no doubt Mountain saw that the paper was in no danger as it lay among the ashes, or she would have seized it at the risk of burning her own fingers, and ere she uttered the above passionate defense of her conduct. Perhaps George was absorbed in his dismal thoughts; perhaps his jealousy overpowered him, for he did not resist any further when she stooped down and picked up the paper.

"You should thank your stars, child, that I saved the letter," cried she. his own words, in his great big handwriting like "See! here are a clerk. It was not my fault that he wrote them, or that I found them. Read for yourself, I say, George Warrington, and be thankful that your poor dear old Mounty is watching over you!"

Every word and letter upon the unlucky paper was perfectly clear. George's eyes could not help taking in the contents of the document before him. "Not a word of this, Mountain,' he said, giving her a frightful look. "I-I will return this paper to Mr. Washington."

Mountain was scared at his face, at the idea of what she had done, and what might ensue.

he looked so pale? "Do you suppose, mad-
nance, asked him at dinner what ailed him that
of wine, "that to leave such a tender mother
am?" says he, filling himself a great bumper
as you does not cause me cruel grief?"

words, his strange, fierce looks, and stranger
The good lady could not understand his
laughter. He bantered all at the table; called
more and more.
to the servants and laughed at them, and drank
ed he turned toward it: and so did Mountain,
Each time the door was open-
with a guilty notion that Mr. Washington would
step in.

CHAPTER VIII.

IN WHICH GEORGE SUFFERS FROM A COMMON
DISEASE.

entertainment to the General, the house of Cas-
On the day appointed for Madam Esmond's
and Madam Esmond arrayed herself in a much
tlewood was set out with the greatest splendor;
more magnificent dress than she was accus-
tomed to wear. Indeed, she wished to do every
ment-which, in reality, was a sad one to her-
honor to her guest, and to make the entertain-
General's new aid-de-camp was the first to ar-
as pleasant as might be for her company. The
rive.
gallery before the house.
The widow received him in the covered
to the well known quarters. No young gentle-
the steps, and his servants led away his horses
He dismounted at
ter horseman than Mr. Washington.
man in the colony was better mounted or a bet-

himself of his riding-boots, he and his hostess For a while, ere the Major retired to divest paced the gallery in talk. She had much to say to him; she had to hear from him a confirmaGeneral Braddock, and to speak of her son's aption of his own appointment as aid-de-camp to proaching departure. The negro servants, bearing the dishes for the approaching feast, were passing continually as they talked. They descended the steps down to the rough lawn in front of the house, and paced a while in the shade. lency's speedy approach, with Mr. Franklin of Mr. Washington announced his ExcelPennsylvania in his coach.

er's boy, Mrs. Esmond had heard; a pretty pass This Mr. Franklin had been a common printin the coach of the Commander-in-Chief! Mr. things were coming to when such persons rode Washington said, a more shrewd and sensible gentleman never rode in coach or walked on foot. Mrs. Esmond thought the Major was too liberally disposed toward this gentleman; but widow, that the printer was a most ingenious, Mr. Washington stoutly maintained, against the useful, and meritorious man.

"I am glad, at least, that, as my boy is going
men, but with gentlemen-with gentlemen of
to make the campaign, he will not be with trades-
her most stately manner.
honor and fashion," says Madam Esmond, in

Mr. Washington had seen the gentlemen of

tall young officer's arm.

Here

they were joined by George, who came to them, accurately powdered and richly attired, saluting his parent and his friend alike with low and respectful bows. Nowadays a young man walks into his mother's room with hobnailed high-lows, and a wideawake on his head; and instead of making her a bow, puffs a cigar into her face.

But George, though he made the lowest possible bow to Mr. Washington and his mother, was by no means in good-humor with either of them. A polite smile played round the lower part of his countenance, while watchfulness and wrath glared out from the two upper windows. What had been said or done? Nothing that might not have been performed or uttered before the most decent, polite, or pious company. Why, then, should Madam Esmond continue to blush, and the brave Colonel to look some

honor and fashion over their cups, and perhaps | what red, as he shook his young friend's hand?

thought that all their sayings and doings were not precisely such as would tend to instruct or edify a young man on his entrance into life; but he wisely chose to tell no tales out of school, and said that Harry and George, now they were coming into the world, must take their share of good and bad, and hear what both sorts had to say.

"To be with a veteran officer of the finest army in the world," faltered the widow; "with gentlemen who have been bred in the midst of the Court; with friends of his Royal Highness, the Duke-"

The widow's friend only inclined his head. He did not choose to allow his countenance to depart from its usual handsome gravity.

The Colonel asked Mr. George if he had had good sport? "No," says George, curtly. "Have you?" And then he looked at the picture of his father, which hung in the parlor.

The Colonel, not a talkative man ordinarily, straightway entered into a long description of his sport, and described where he had been in the morning, and what woods he had hunted with the king's officers-how many birds they had shot, and what game they had brought down. Though not a jocular man ordinarily, the Colonel made a long description of Mr. Braddock's heavy person and great boots, as he floundered through the Virginian woods, hunting, as they called it, with a pack of dogs gath"And with you, dear Colonel Washington, ered from various houses, with a pack of neby whom my father always set such store. You groes barking as loud as the dogs, and actually don't know how much he trusted in you. You shooting the deer when they came in sight of will take care of my boy, Sir, will not you? him. "Great God, Sir!" says Mr. Braddock, You are but five years older, yet I trust to you puffing and blowing, "what would Sir Robert more than to his seniors; my father always told have said, in Norfolk, to see a man hunting the children, I always bade them, to look up to with a fowling-piece in his hand, and a pack of Mr. Washington." dogs actually laid on to a turkey!"

"You know I would have done any thing to win Colonel Esmond's favor. Madam, how much would I not venture to merit his daughter's ?"

The gentleman bowed with not too ill a grace. The lady blushed, and dropped one of the lowest courtesies. (Madam Esmond's courtesy was considered unrivaled over the whole province.) "Mr. Washington," she said, "will be always sure of a mother's affection while he gives so much of his to her children." And so saying she gave him her hand, which he kissed with profound politeness. The little lady presently re-entered her mansion, leaning upon the

"Indeed, Colonel, you are vastly comical this afternoon!" cries Madam Esmond, with a neat little laugh, while her son listened to the story, looking more glum than ever. "What Sir Robert is there at Norfolk? Is he one of the newly-arrived army gentlemen ?"

"The General meant Norfolk at home, madam, not Norfolk in Virginia," said Colonel Washington. "Mr. Braddock had been talking of a visit to Sir Robert Walpole, who lived in that county, and of the great hunts the old minister kept there, and of his grand palace, and his pictures at Houghton. I should like to see a good field and a good fox-chase at home