John Ramsay, for the present, was to return to the Fair Forest camp, to inform Williams of the state of affairs;— and he was hereafter to act as occasion might suggest. Christopher Shaw and Mary were to attend upon Butler, and communicate whatever might transpire of interest to David Ramsay, who promised to find means of intercourse with Williams or Sampler, as circumstances should allow.

These matters being arranged, Mary and Christopher Shaw took their leaves of Ramsay's family, and went about the ostensible object of their expedition.

Horse Shoe's plan of travel during the first, and most perilous stages of his journey towards Virginia, was to avail himself of the darkness of the night;—and he accordingly resolved to set out as soon as this day should draw to a close. His immediate cares were, therefore, directed to making all the necessary preparations for his departure. Captain Peter was carefully tended, and supplied with a double allowance of provender; provisions were stowed away, both for himself and his trusty beast: his pistols wefe put in order:—his rifle cleaned out, and a supply of ammunition provided;—and, finally, the letters were sewed up in a leather pouch, and buckled around his body by a strap, inside of his clothes. It was no inconsiderable item in the sergeant's preparation for his expedition, to sit down and eat a meal, which, from the quantity bestowed, and the vigour with which the assault upon it was made, might have betokened a full week's starvation.

The day waned and the night came a welcome visiter to the sergeant; and, at that hour, which old chroniclers designate as 'inter canem et lupum,' captain Peter was brought to the door, ready dight for travel. Ramsay's family stood around,—and whilst Andy, with boyish affection, held Horse Shoe's rifle in his hand, the sergeant feelingly spoke the words of parting to his friends;—then, with a jaunty air of careless mirth, springing into his saddle, and receiving his trusty weapon from the young comrade of his late gallant adventure, he rode forth with as stout a heart as ever went with knight of chivalry to the field of romantic renown.

CHAPTER V1II.

*

i GLANCE AT THE DOVE COTE.—THE COMPANIONSHIP OF BROTHER AND SISTER.

Our story once more brings us back to the Dove Cote. During the first week that followed her interview with Arthur Butler under the Fawn's Tower, Mildred was calm and thoughtful, and even melancholy: her usual customs of exercise were foregone, and her time was passed chiefly in her chamber. By degrees, however, her firm and resolute temper predominated over the sadness" of her fortunes, and she began to resume that cheerfulness which circumstances can never long subdue in a strong and disciplined mind. She had grown, more than ever watchful of the public events, and sought, with an intense avidity, to obtain information in regard to the state of things in the south. She now felt herself closely allied to the cause in which Arthur Butler had embarked, and, therefore, caught up the floating rumours of the day, in what regarded the progress of the American arms in the southern expedition, with the interest of one who had a large stake depending on the issue.

She had received several letters from Butler, which detailed the progress of his journey from the Dove Cote to Gates' camp, and from thence to Horse Shoe's cottage. They were all written in the confident and even jocular tone of a light-hearted soldier, who sought to amuse his mistress; and they narrated such matters of personal history as were of a character to still her fears for his safety. Their effect upon Mildred was to warm up her enthusiasm, as well as to brighten her anticipations of the future,—and thus to increase the returning elasticity of her spirits. Up to this period, therefore, she grew every day more buoyant and playful in her temper, and brought herself to entertain a more sanguine reckoning of the eventual determination of affairs. She was now frequently on horseback, attended by her brother, with whom she scarcely ever failed to make a visit to the good mistress Dimock, where she either found a letter from Butler, or heard some of the thousand tidings which

VOL. II. 6

report was forever busy in propagating or exaggerating in regard to the movements of the army.

'I'll warrant you, Arthur is a man for the .pen as well as for the spur and broad-sword, my pretty lady,'—was one of the landlady's comments, as she handed to Mildred the eighth or ninth epistle, that had fallen into her hands since Butler's departure;—'there scarcely comes me trotting by a soiled traveller with his head set northward, but it is—good woman, is this mistress Dimock's? —and when I say, aye,—then here's a letter madam, for you, that comes from the army:—and so, there's Arthur's own hand-writing to a great pacquet,—'for mistress Dimock- of the Rockfish inn, of Amherst;'—and not even, after all, one poor line for me, but just a cover, and the inside for Miss Mildred Lindsay of the Dove Cote. Ha, Ha!—we old bodies are only stalking horses in this world.—But God bless him!—he is a fine and noble gentleman.'—And Mildred would take the pacquet and impatiently break the seal;—and, as she perused the close-written contents, the colour waxed and waned upon her cheek, and her eye would one instant sparkle with mirth, and in the next grow dim with a tear.—And when she had finished reading, she would secretly press the paper to her lips, and then bestow it away in her bosom,—evincing the earnest fondness of a devoted and enthusiastic nature.

Mildred and Henry were inseparable; and, in proportion as his sister's zeal and attachment to the cause of independence became more active,- did Henry's inclination to become a partisan grow apace. Her's was a character that would kindle the spirit of brave adventure in •whatever field that character had room to display itself. There was in it a quiet and unostentatious but unvarying current of resolution, that shrunk before no perils, and that could never be moved by selfish inducements. Her feelings, acute and earnest, had given all their warmth and energy to her principles; and what she once believed her duty commanded, was pursued with that kind of devout self-dedication that gave it the force of a religious obligation:—it became a solemn, deep-seated, unalterable resolve. To this temper, which, by some secret of its

constitution, has a spell to sway the minds of mankind, there was added the grace of a soft and amiable, and exquisitely feminine address,—so natural, so unpretending and so gentle, that it might have conjured up rebellion and revolt through a whole nation of rough natures. The union of these two attributes of character,—both of them so rare and so excellent,—rendered Mildred Lindsay an object of very conspicuous interest in such a time as that of the revolutionary struggle. Her youth, her ready genius, her knowledge and her habits of reflection,—much in advance of her years,—enhanced the impression that her character was adapted to produce, and brought upon her, even in her secluded position, a large share of public observation. It was not wonderful that a mind so organized and accomplished, should have acquired an unlimited dominion over the frank, openhearted and brave temper of her brother,—now just stepping beyond the confines of mere boyhood. Her influence over Henry was paramount and unbounded: her affections were his,—her faith was his,—her enthusiasm stole into and spread over his whole temper.

With these means of influence she had sedulously applied herself to infuse into Henry's mind her own sentiments, in regard to the war; and this purpose had led her to interest herself in subjects and pursuits, which, in general, are very foreign from her sex. Her desire to enlist his feelings in aid of Butler, and her conviction that a time was at hand when Henry might be useful, gave rise to an eager solicitude to see him well prepared for the emergencies of the day, by that necessary mode of education which, during the period of the revolution, was common amongst the young gentlemen of the country. He was a most willing and ready pupil,—and she delighted to encourage him in his inclination for military studies, however fanciful some of his (conceptions in regard to them might be.—She, therefore, saw, with great satisfaction, the assiduous, though boyish devotion, with which he set himself to gain a knowledge of matters relating to the duties of a soldier. However little this may fall within the scope of female perception in ordinary times, it will not appear so much removed from the capabilities or even the habits of the sex, when we reflect that in the convulsions of this great national struggle, when every resource of the country was drained for service, the events of the day were contemplated with no less interest by the women than by the men. The fervour with which the American women participated in the cares and sacrifices of the revolutionary war, has challenged the frequent notice and warmest praises of its chroniclers. Mildred but reflected, in this instance, the hues of the society around the Dove Cote,—which consisted of many families, scattered along the country side, composed of persons of elevated character, easy circumstances and of the staunchest whig politics,—with whom she held an uninterrupted and familiar intercourse.

Another consideration may serve to explain the somewhat masculine character of Mildred's pursuits. Her most intimate companion, at all times, and frequently, for weeks together, her only one, was her brother. These two had grown up together in all the confidence of childhood; and this confidence continued still unabated. Their pursuits, sports, exercises, thoughts and habits were alike,—with less of the discrimination, usual between the sexes, than is to be found between individuals in larger associations. They approximated each other in temper and disposition; and Henry might, in this regard, be said to be, without disparagement to his manly qualities, a girlish boy,—and Mildred, on the other hand, with as little derogation, to be a boyish girl. This home-bred freedom of nurture produced, in its development, some grotesque results, which my reader has, doubtless, heretofore observed with a smile; and it will, likewise, serve to explain some of the peculiar forms of intercourse which may hereafter be noticed between the brother and sister.

The news of the battle of Camden had not yet reached the neighbourhood of the Dove Cote; but the time drew nigh when all the country stood on tiptoe, in anxious suspense to receive tidings of that interesting event. A week had elapsed without bringing letters from Butler; and Mildred was growing uneasy at this interval of silence. There was a struggle in her mind,—an un