the favor of her former protectress, and persuade her to assist him. Here he was deceived, and at length, giving up all hopes of winning Helen, he began to turn his attention to her lovely pupil, the youthful Flora. Her father liked him, but the daughter had given her heart to another. St. Clair, who had merely trifled with her in order to rouse the jealousy of her he really loved, soon grew tired of her caprices, and once more determined to urge his suit to Helen. Suspecting that her indifference was on account of a secret preference for Clarence, he began to hate him. He circulated rumors to his disadvantage, and there were many ready to believe them. He took particular care that these rumors should reach the ears of Helen; and to make this certain, without being himself the bearer, he communicated them to Deacon Jones, whose dislike of Madame Dumont and her religious principles was notorious. Perhaps the good deacon would have shuddered at wilfully wronging any one; but he supposed it his duty to expose error and rebuke sin, wherever he found them. Now, however, the news had come so direct, that poor Clarence was involved in difficulty, and had even brought disgrace upon his name, that prejudice became stronger than ever against him. One heart resisted the torrent; one ear was closed against these insinuations; one voice, trembling and timid as it was, was firm in support of the absent one.

Things were in this state, when a message was brought to Helen that Madaine Dumont was dangerously ill, and even delirious. She refused all attentions from those around her, and her physician advised that Helen should be sent for, trusting that her care and tenderness might effect a favorable change. Not a moment did she hesitate. All the kindness bestowed upon her childhood rushed to her mind, and she flew to the bedside of the suffering invalid, forgetting all her injustice, and resolved to fulfil the duty required of her with all the respect and tenderness of a child for a parent.

VOL. III.

CHAPTER III.

"What man is he

Around whose brow such martial graces shine,
So tall, so awful, and almost divine?
Though some of larger stature tread the green,
None match his grandeur and exalted mien:
He seems a monarch and his country's pride."

On the 2d of January, Lord Cornwallis marched towards Trenton. Here Washington, learning of this movement, approached with a small force the river near Trenton, where he commenced building a bridge. The English several times attempted to cross the river, but without success. Every pass was too well guarded. They then opened a fire upon the Americans, but with little effect. The river was blocked up with ice, and to cross it would have been dangerous. Washington perceived the critical situation of his army, and after reflecting for some time on various projects for accomplishing his object, he at length formed the resolution of abandoning the banks of the Delaware, and entering New-Jersey. He preeded towards Princeton, and there eticountered three English regiments. He attacked them with so much vigor nat they gave way, but soon rallied, and the Americans began to retreat. The commander saw at once that, should he lose this battle, it would involve his whole army in total ruin. With a select corps of men he charged upon the British with great impetuosity, separating their army and throwing them into great confusion. One hundred British were killed, and three hundred taken prisoners. Washington took possession of Princeton. He crossed the river Raritan, and soon commanded the whole coast of New-Jersey in front of Staten Island. So well did he fortify his positions, that the British, who had overrun the whole country a few days before, found themselves confined to only two postsNew-Brunswick and Amboy. Thus, by a skilful management, an army reduced to the greatest extremity took possession of Pennsylvania and New-Jersey, and drove off an enemy three times their number. So glorious a result added new laurels to the brow of the victor. Washington and his

13

achievements became the admiration of the world.

We state these facts, in order to give our readers some idea of the events which had transpired since Clarence Grahame left the British camp in Canada, on his expedition to New-Jersey. He had not learned the news as yet, and it was near evening on the third day of his journey, when, with his escort, he drew up at a small inn, where he intended passing the night. His uniform had been laid aside for his better security, yet the landlord looked at him and his guard with a little suspicion, and would have detained him at the door until he had become better acquainted; but the open, handsome countenance of the young stranger, together with a certain hauteur, inherited from his mother, but seldom seen upon his brow, prevailed so far in his favor that the host stepped back and invited him to enter. There was but one other inmate of the room into which he was ushered. This was a man of dignified, yet mi'd and benignant countenance, rather tall, and cately wrapped in a large overcoat, buttoned up to the chin. He rose suddenly, and made a motion of his hand to his side at the young soldier's entrance, but as quickly resumed his seat after the first glance, placing himself in such a manner that his face was thrown partially into shade. As his eye fell upon the attendants of Clarence, he still drew farther into the shade, and bent his head over a newspaper, though it was evident that he was not much interested in its contents. The bustling landlord soon made his appearappearance with an excellent supper, to which Clarence politely invited the stranger. But But he declined with great courtesy, on the plea that his wants had already been amply supplied. Many glances of curiosity passed between the two, as they were thus employed. Clarence had never felt his own more effectually aroused. After the few words of compliment, there was a pause, which he, younger and more timid, found it difficult to break. At length he ventured to ask,

"Is it possible, sir, to enter New-York with

out encountering danger from straggling troops Pardon the question, but I am a stranger, and would be certain that my way is clear."

"To the young and daring, it is said nothing is impossible," replied the tall stranger. "But for you, who seem so well guarded," (looking, as he spoke, at the six armed men in the yard,) “to you I should imagine it an easy thing to reach the city in safety."

"But may I not be likely to meet some of the enemy on my route."

"The enemy!" repeated the other, looking up with a slight smile. "It depends upon whom you call the enemy. I believe the inhabitants of a country at peace give such a title to the invader who lands upon their shores to desolate their homes. Said invader and his army would give the same title to the roused citizens who presumed to oppose their course by taking up arms in self-defense. Until I know which of these you call the enemy, I am unable to answer you."

Clarence was so struck with the remarkable expression of the speaker's countenance, that he continued for a moment silently gazing at him, unable to answer. A slight color mounted to his cheek and brow at this close scrutiny, but, evidently accustomed to command his feelings, it passed away, leaving him calm and quiet as before. The difficulty of giving a direct reply to such a question also occurred to our hero, and the danger, too, of being more explicit, unless sure of the part which the other took in the present struggle. He therefore evaded the subject, merely wishing to be informed if there were any troops belonging either to the British or American-he could not bring himself to say rebel-armies, between there and the city.

"Perhaps you have heard," said the stranger, appearing not to notice the evasion, "that General Washington has possessed himself of a greater part of Pennsylvania and New-Jersey, and that the British have retreated to New-Brunswick and Amboy?"

Clarence turned pale, and, for a single

instant, he felt for the defeat of the royal troops; but even that feeling was soon lost in a sense of his own perilous situation. To return without executing his commission, appeared to him cowardly; but to rush at once into the midst of those he must then consider his enemies, was not to be thought of.

Could he trust the stranger? It was a hazardous experiment; but there was something in the noble countenance of the man before him that invited confidence, and he ventured to explain his present dilemma. The narrative was listened to with silent attention, but, contrary to his expectations, without exciting the least surprise. The listener did, once or twice, raise his eyes with a look which betrayed a generous sympathy, but it was not till the dispatches were spoken of that he betrayed any great interest. IIe advised the youth to remain where he was until morning, and then, if it should be in his power to aid him, he would certainly do so.

With many thanks, the young officer retired to rest, first ascertaining that his guard were at hand in case of necessity; the image of the stranger, whom he had perhaps imprudently trusted, lingering around his dreams.

The next morning he rose refreshed and in good spirits, and descended to the breakfast-room, anxious to meet his new acquaintance again. To his astonishment he learned that he had left the inn before day-break, without giving any clue to the direction he had taken. Startled at such tidings, our hero started upon his journey with some misgivings that all was not right. His fears were soon confirmed. About noon he and his companions were alarmed at the approach of a body of men three times their number; and although his little band made a desperate resistance, they were soon overpowered, and he a prisoner.

We shall here pass over a few days, during which Clarence—although, as we said, a prisoner in the American camp― had suffered no personal restraint, and even made many friends, among whom was Lord Sterling. In

the mean time, General P— had arrived at the camp, learned the cause of his detention, and held many conversations with him in relation to his situation, together with his connection with Helen, about whom Clarence inquired with the most eager interest. Anxious to learn whether his young friend was guilty of the charges he had heard preferred against him, he commenced a conversation one day, with this remark:

"True love," said he, "is a sentiment not lightly implanted in the soul, nor lightly laid aside. It is a great, a noble feeling. It leads him who is subject to its influence in the path of honor and virtue. It inspires him with the wish to acquire laurels, that he may win the smiles of the loved one by laying them at her feet. The love of a noble, high-minded woman, is the dearest and sweetest tie that binds the wayward heart of man. Such a woman I have always considered the orphan daughter of my early friend. Clarence Grahame, are you worthy of the love of such a being?"

"To say that I am worthy of Helen, would be betraying a self-conceit of which I am not capable, sir. But to intimate that I have done any thing deserving censure, either from her or yourself, would be to do myself equal injustice. I will not deny, since I have already confided in you so far, that I am serving in a cause opposed to my own inclinations; but my conduct since joining the army has, I trust, been such as to merit commendation from my superiors. Your hints of some misconduct are therefore a mystery, which, as one who professes to be my friend, I must beg you to explain."

"Clarence, I will-I do believe you," said the General, warmly grasping his hand. "This mystery shall be explained, and in a few moments you shall know all."

He left the room as he spoke, and the young man remained lost in thought. "A mystery indeed," thought he. "The whole occurrences of the last few days are a mystery, and my arrest, with the loss of the dispatches, a greater mystery than all the rest. Strange that we did not suffer the

his

least violence all the while !" As these thoughts passed through his mind, he raised eyes and met those of the Marquis Lafayette, who was in close conference with Lord Sterling.

The Marquis looked earnestly at the fine countenance of our hero for a few moments, and then, turning to Lord Sterling, said, in a half whisper, "What a pity such a fine fellow should be made a tool of!"

Clarence caught the word pity, and the crimson mounted to his temples, as he wondered in what manner he had become an object of pity to the Marquis Lafayette. Too timid to adress him personally, he waited till his friend was alone, and then asked him "how he had rendered himself so despicable as to be pitied !"

Sterling waived the subject. But the young man would not be contented till he had a decisive answer. "My dear young friend, I would rather not answer your question; but since you are so earnest on this point, I will merely inquire if you are aware of the nature of the mission on which you are employed?"

"I am

Clarence was somewhat startled. not, sir. But I trust it is nothing dishonorable."

"I am confident that you do not think it So. But your superiors are most to blame in sending a noble, ingenuous youth like yourself on what is not only a dishonorable business, but attended with imminent danger."

“With danger I have long been intimate," replied Clarence; "but dishonor. "but dishonor has never yet stained the name of a Grahame, nor shall the last descendant of a noble house be the first to yield to it. will instantly return with these dispatches, and decline being a negotiator in any underhand plots."

I

Lord Sterling walked the floor for some moments, as if in deep thought. At length he stopped, and looking sorrowfully at the youth, "Clarence," said he, "I pity you from my soul. Do not be offended at hearing the word from my lips; it is not meant

to insult you. You have been made a victim-an innocent victim, it is true-but you are not the less in certain peril. Alas! it is no longer in your own power to return to your army, neither will the dispatches be returned to you; and it will require the utmost extent of my influence, added to that of your other friends, with the commanding officer, to prevent your being placed in close confinement, and perhaps suffering worse consequences from your confiding rashness."

Like a flash of lightning the meaning of his words fell upon the heart of Clarence. He could scarcely control his indignation. He, a gentleman of high family, of hitherto unblemished honor! he to be made the tool of a vile conspiracy, of the nature of which he was himself to be kept in ignorance; and, worse than all, to be made a prisoner, without any fault of his own; tried and condemned, perhaps, as a common malefactor! After Lord Sterling left him, he sat down and leaned his head upon a table near him, and gave himself up to melancholy reflections.

A light touch upon his shoulder roused him from his revery, and lifting his head, his eyes fell upon the tall form of the mys tericus stranger at the inn. Clarence started to his feet, both at the surprise, and with some spirit of indignation at what he ima gined the treachery of the other; but the few words he uttered, "Listen and be silent," and the tone of authority in which he bade him be seated, caused our hero to obey as mechanically as if he were a mere machine in the speaker's hands.

"Young soldier," said the stranger, "you perhaps are sensible that this is no child's play in which England and America are engaged: far from it. The future happiness and peace of millions are involved in the issue. Every thing, however trivial, which may tend to counteract the manœuvres of the one party and be of benefit to the other, becomes, therefore, of serious importance. That you are unaware how much this errand of yours is concerned with, and its successful issue calculated to further such

designs, I have had ample proof. Not the least that you so blindly trusted me!" a slight smile played over his face a moment. "But be not alarmed at that imprulence; it may have been the means of bringing you here, but it has most assuredly saved your life. I promised that I would aid you, and I will. Give this paper to General Pand you will be released."

"And the dispatches! how am I to obtain possession of them?" asked our hero.

Another smile appeared on the countenance of the stranger. "It were best for you, my young friend, not to demand again such dangerous companions. Besides, they will be of no use now, as the person who was to be so fairly entrapped is aware of their nature."

"Will you permit me to inquire, sir, since you take such an interest in my fate, whether you know the contents of those letters, and what they are?"

"Certainly, I do know them. They contained information that the rebel leader was at a certain post, and his capture certain, if General Howe pursued the right course. He was to make use of you and your brave comrades to effect this. And now, do you still wish to be the bearer of those letters, as you pass through the American posts with only a passport to protect you?"

Clarence was so overcome, as the truth thus burst upon him, that he could only grasp the hand of his strange friend, and thank him repeatedly for his kind warning; at the same time begging advice as to what course it would be best for him to pursue.

presence and your own story can alone refute these slanders. You will receive your passports from General P—, to whom I refer you for an explanation of what has occurred to you. Farewell! would that we could see so promising a youth engaged in a better cause."

With these words they parted, and Clarence returned to his seat, a prey to conjectures and doubts which he found it very difficult to solve.

"Once more I am at home!" exclaimed our hero, as he rode up to the door of a fine house on the outskirts of the city. "I wonder if I shall be recognized in this rude costume? My mother then has been ill and recovered! and Helen! where is she? Does she still think of the wanderer; or is he quite forgotten? But one reply to my numerous letters! Alas! I am doomed to a life of unhappiness." As he ascended the steps, a large dog, who had been basking in the sun near the door, jumped up, and recognizing him at once, began to frisk around him in the most joyous manner. The old porter opened the door, and stood wondering at the scene. "Down, Cæsar, down!" exclaimed the youth.

"Master Clarence is come!" cried the old servant. The sound reached the drawingroom, and in a moment mother and son were in each other's arms.

"I thought you were ill, my dear mother," said the youth, after the first emotions were

over.

"You seem in better health, or at least look better, than I anticipated."

"I never was better or happier than I am at present, my son," replied Madame Dumont. "My illness was severe, and I should perhaps have suffered more, had it not been

"The name, and fame, too, of Madame Dumont, is, I believe, familiar to almost every one," returned the stranger. "But I understand she has just recovered from a danger ous illness, brought on by reports to your disadvantage, and maliciously circulated among the circle of acquaintance. Your

cian and nurse. The latter I am most anxious to introduce to yourself. I told you, Clarence, that I had long entertained the hope of your being united to the daughter of my early friend. This the young lady herself has rendered impossible, by entering a convent. Since I heard the news, it has ceased to distress me, as I have become