Front Cover
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 The Last Penny
 How to Attain True Greatness
 The April Fool
 Back Cover

Group Title: Arthur's juvenile library
Title: The last penny
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00001945/00001
 Material Information
Title: The last penny and other stories
Series Title: Arthur's juvenile library
Physical Description: 153 p. : ill. ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Arthur, T. S ( Timothy Shay ), 1809-1885
Sherman, Conger, 1793-1867 ( Printer )
Waitt, Benjamin Franklin, b. 1817 ( Engraver )
Croome, William, 1790-1860 ( Engraver )
Lippincott, Grambo & Co ( Publisher )
L. Johnson & Co ( Stereotyper )
Publisher: Lippincott, Grambo & Co.
Place of Publication: Philadelphia
Manufacturer: C. Sherman
Publication Date: 1852
Subject: Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Temperance -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Success -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Courage -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1852   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1852
Genre: Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
Statement of Responsibility: by T.S. Arthur ; with illustrations from original designs by Croome.
General Note: Some illustrations engraved by Waitt.
General Note: Baldwin Library copy lacks frontispiece and series title page.
General Note: Stereotyped by L. Johnson & Co., Philadelphia.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00001945
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002221304
oclc - 02616856
notis - ALG1525
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Table of Contents
        Page 5
        Page 6
    The Last Penny
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
    How to Attain True Greatness
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
    The April Fool
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
    Back Cover
        Page 154
        Page 155
Full Text



* V

I i










Entered according to Act of Congrees, in the year 1862, by
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of




THE LAST PENNY............................................. ...

HOW TO ATTAIN TRUE GREATNESS...................... 26

REVOLUTION ........... ........................................ 56

THE APRIL FOOL.... ................................................. 104
A WAY TO BE HAPPY............................. ......... 126




THOMAS CLAIRE, a son of St. Crispin,
was a clever sort of a man; though
not very well off in the world. He was in-
dustrious, but, as his abilities were small,
his reward was proportioned thereto. His
skill went but little beyond half-soles, heel-
taps, and patches. Those who, willing to
encourage Thomas, ventured to order from
him a new pair of boots or shoes, never re-
peated the order. That would have been
carrying their good wishes for his prospe-
rity rather too far.
As intimated, the income o- Thomas
Claire was not large. Industrious though
he was, the amount earned proved so small
A3 7


that his frugal wife always found it insuffis
cient for an adequate supply of the wants
of the family, which consisted of her hus-
band, herself, and three children. It can-
not be denied, however, that if Thomas had
cared less about his pipe and mug of ale,
the supply of bread would have been more
liberal. But he had to work hard, and
must have some little self-indulgence. At
least, so he very unwisely argued. This
self-indulgence cost from two to three shil-
lings every week, a sum that would have
purchased many comforts for the needy
The oldest of Claire's children, a girl ten
years of age, had been sickly from her
birth. She was a gentle, loving child, the
favourite of all in the house, and more es-
pecially of her father. Little Lizzy would
come up into the garret where Claire
worked, and sit with him sometimes for
hours, talking in a strain that caused him
to wonder; and sometimes, when she did
not feel as well as usual, lying upon the


floor and fixing upon him her large bright
eyes for almost as long a period. Lizzy
was never 'so contented as when she was
with her father; and he never worked so
cheerfully, as when she was near him.
Gradually, as month after month went
by, Lizzy wasted away with some disease,
for which the Odoctor could find no remedy.
Her cheeks became paler and paler, her
eyes larger and brighter, and such a weak-
ness fell upon her slender limbs that they
could with difficulty sustain her weight.
She was no longer able to clamber up the
steep stairs into the garret, or loft, where
her father worked; yet she was there as
often as before. Claire had made for her a
little bed, raised a short space from the
floor, and here she lay, talking to him or
looking at him, as of old. He rarely went
up or down the garret-stairs without hav-
ing Lizzy in his arms. Usually her head
was lying upon his shoulder.
And thus the time went on, Claire, for
all the love he felt for his sick child-for


all the regard- he entertained for his family
-indulging his beer and tobacco as usual,
and thus consuming, weekly, a portion of
their little income that would have brought
to his children many a comfort. No one
but himself had any luxuries. Not even
for Lizzy's weak appetite were dainties pro-
cured. It was as much as the. mother could
do, out of the weekly pittance she received,
to get enough coarse food for the table, and
cover the nakedness of her family.
To supply the pipe and mug of Claire,
from two to three shillings a week were re-
quired. This sum he usually retained out
of his earnings, and gave the balance, whe-
ther large or small, to his frugal wife. No
matter what his income happened to be,
the amount necessary to obtain these ar-
ticles was rigidly deducted, and as certain-
ly expended. Without his beer, Claire
really imagined that he would not have
strength sufficient to go through with his
weekly toil-how his wife managed to get
along without even her regular cup of good


tea, it had never occurred to him to. ask-
and not to have had a pipe to smoke in the
evening, or after each meal, would have
been a deprivation beyond his ability to
endure. So, the two or three shillings went
regularly in the old way. When the six-
pences and pennies congregated in goodly
numbers in the shoemaker's pocket, his vi-
sits to the ale-house were often repeated,
and his extra pipe smoked more frequently.
But, as his allowance for the week dimi-
nished, and it required some searching in
the capacious pockets, where they hid
themselves away, to find the straggling
coins, Claire found it necessary to put some
check upon his appetite. And so it went
on, week after week and month after
month. The beer was drunk, and the pipe
smoked as usual, while the whole family
bent under the weight of poverty that was
laid upon them.
Weaker and weaker grew little Lizzy.
From the coarse food that .was daily set
before her, her weak stomach turned, and


she hardly took sufficient nourishment to
keep life in her attenuated frame.
Poor child !" said the mother one morn-
ing, "she cannot live if she doesn't eat.
But coarse bread and potatoes and butter-
milk go against her weak stomach. Ah
me! If we only had a little that the rich
"There is a curse in poverty !" replied
Claire, with a bitterness that was unusual
to him, as he turned his eyes upon his
child, who had pushed away the food that
had been placed before her, and was look-
ing at it with an expression of disappoint-
ment on her wan face. "A curse in pover-
ty !" he repeated. "Why should my child
die for want of nourishing food, while the
children of the rich have every luxury?"
In the mind of Claire, there was usually
a dead calm. He plodded on, from day. to
day, eating his potatoes and buttermilk, or
whatever came before him, and working
steadily through the hours allotted to labour,
his hopes or fears in life rarely exciting him


to an expression of discontent. But he
loved Lizzy better than any earthly thing,
and to see her turn with loathing from her
coarse food, the best he was able to procure
for her, aroused his sluggishnature into re-
bellion against his lot. But he saw no
Can't we get something a little better
for Lizzy ?" said he, as he pushed his plate
aside, his appetite for once gone before his
meal was half eaten.
Not unless you can earn more," replied
the'wife. Cut and carve, and manage as
I will, it's as much as I can do to get com-
mon food."
Claire pushed himself back from the
table, and without saying a word more,
went up to his shop in the garret, and sat
down to work. There was a troubled and
despondent feeling about his heart. He did
not light his pipe as usual, for he had
smoked up the last of his tobacco on the
evening before. But he had a penny left,
and with that, as soon as he had finished


mending a pair of boots and taken them
home, he meant to get a new supply of the
fragrant weed. The boots had only half an
hour's work on them. But a few stitches
had been taken by the cobbler, when he
heard the feeble voice of Lizzy calling to
him from the bottom of the stairs. That
voice never came unregarded to his ears.
He laid aside his work, and went down for
his patient child, and as he took her light
form in his arms, and bore her up into his
little work-shop, he felt that he pressed
against his heart the dearest thing to him
in life. jd with this feeling, came the
bitter certainty that soon she would pass
away and be no more seen. Thomas Claire
did not often indulge in external manifes-
tations of feeling; but now, as he held
Lizzy in his arms, he bent down his face
and kissed her cheek tenderly. A light,
like a gleam of sunshine, fell suddenly upon
the pale countenance of the child, while a
faint, but loving smile played about her
lips. Her father kissed her again, and then


laid her upon the little bed that was al-
ways ready for her, and once more resumed
his work.
Claire's mind had been awakened from
its usual leaden quiet. The wants of his
failing child aroused it into disturbed acti-
vity. Thought beat, for awhile, like a caged
bird, against the bars of necessity, and then
fluttered back into panting imbecility.
At last the boots were done, and with
his thoughts now more occupied with the
supply of tobacco he was to obtain than
with any thing else, Claire started to take
them home. As he walked along he passed
a fruit-shop, and the thought of Lizzy came
into his mind.
If we could afford her some of these
nice things !" he said to himself. They
would be food and medicine both, to the
dear child. But," he added, with a sigh,
" we are poor!-we are poor! Such dainties
are not for the children of poverty."
He passed along, until he came to the
alehouse where he intended to get his pen-



nyworth of tobacco. For the first time a
thought of self-denial entered his mind, as
he stood by the door, with his hand in his
pocket, feeling for his solitary copper.
This would buy Lizzy an orange," he
said to himself. "But then," was quickly
added, "I would have no tobacco to-day,
nor to-morrow, for I won't be paid for these
boots before Saturday, when Barton gets
his wages."
Then came a long, hesitating pause.
There was befoPe the mind of Claire the
image of the faint and feeble child with the
refreshing orange to her lips; and there
was also the image of himself encheered
for two long days by his pipe. But could
he for a moment hesitate, if he really loved
that sick child? is asked. Yes, he could
hesitate, and yet love the little sufferer;
for to one of his order of mind and habits
of acting and feeling, a self-indulgence like
that of the pipe, or a regular draught of
beer, becomes so much like second nature,
that it is as it were a part of the very life;


and to give it up, costs more than a light
The penny was between his fingers, and
he took a single step toward the alehouse-
door; but so vividly came back the image
of little Lizzy, that he stopped suddenly.
The conflict, even though the spending of
a single penny was concerned, now became
severe.: love for the child plead earnestly,
and as earnestly plead the old habit that
seemed as if it would take no denial.
It was his last penny that was between
the cobbler's fingers. Had there been
two pennies in his pocket, all difficulty
would have immediately vanished. Having
thought of the orange, he would have
bought it with one of them, and supplied
his pipe with the other. But, as affairs
now stood, he must utterly deny himself,
or else deny his child.
For minutes the question was debated.
"I will see as I come back," said Claire
at last, starting on his errand, and thus,
for the time, making a sort of a compro-


mise. As he walked along, the argument
still went on in his mind. The more his
thoughts acted in this new channel, the
more light came into the cobbler's mind, at
all times rather dark and dull. Certain
discrimination, never before thought of,
were made; and certain convictions forced
themselves upon him.
What is a pipe of tobacco to a healthy
man, compared with an orange to a sick
child!" uttered half-aloud, marked at last
the final conclusion of his mind; and as
this was said, the penny which was still in
his fingers was thrust determinedly into his
As he returned home, Claire bought the
orange, and in the act experienced a new
pleasure. By a kind of necessity he had
worked on, daily, for his family, upon
which was expended nearly all of his earn-
ings; and the whole matter came so much
as a thing of course, that it was no subject
of conscious thought, and produced no emo-
tion of delight or pain. But, the giving up


of his tobacco for the sake of his little Lizzy
was an act of self-denial entirely out of the
ordinary course, and it brought with it its
own sweet reward.
When Claire got back to his home, Lizy
was lying at the bottom of the stairs, wait-
ing for his return. He lifted her, as usual,
in his arms, and carried her up to his shop.
After placing her upon the rude couch he
had prepared for her, he sat down upon
his bench, and as he looked upon the white,
shrunken face of his dear child, and met
the fixed, sad gaze of her large earnest eye,
a more than usual tenderness came over
his feelings. Then, without a word, he took
the orange from his pocket, and gave it
into her hand.
Instantly there came over Lizzie's face a
deep flush of surprise and pleasure. A smile
trembled around her wan lips, and an un-
usual light glittered in her eyes. Eagerly she
placed tle fruit to her mouth and drank its
refreshing juice, while every part of her body
seemed quivering with a sense of delight.
XL--.2 32



\ "Is it good, dear?" at length asked the
father, who sat looking on with a new feel-
ing at his heart.
The child did not answer in words; but
words could not have expressed her sense
of pleasure so eloquently as the smile that
lit up and made beautiful every feature of
her face.
While the orange was yet at the lips of
Lizzy, Mrs. Claire came up into the shop
for some purpose.
"An orange!" she exclaimed with sur-
prise. "Where did that come from ?"
"Oh, mamma? it is so good !" said the
child, taking from her lips the portion that
yet remained, and looking at it with a
happy face.
"Where in the world did that come
from, Thomas ?" asked the mother.
I bought it with my last penny," replied
Claire. "I thought it would taste good to her."
"But you had no tobacco." *
"I'll do without that until to-morrow,"
replied Claire.



"It was kind in you to deny yourself
for Lizzy's sake."
This was said in an approving voice, and
added another pleasurable emotion to those
he was already feeling. The mother sat
down, and, for a few moments, enjoyed the
sight of her sick child, as with unabated
eagerness she continued to extract the re-
freshing juice from the fruit. When she
went down-stairs, and resumed her house-
hold duties, her heart beat more lightly in
her bosom than it had beaten for a long time.
Not once through that whole day did
Thomas Claire feel the want of his pipe;
for the thought of the orange kept his
mind in so pleased a state, that a mere
sensual desire like that for a whiff of to.
bacco had no power over him.
Thinking of the orange, of course, brought
other thoughts; and before the day closed,
Claire had made a calculation of how much
his beer and tobacco money would amount
to in a year. The sum astonished him.
He paid rent for the little house in which


he lived, two pounds sterling a year, which
he always thought a large sum. But his
beer and tobacco cost nearly seven pounds!
He went over and over the calculation
a dozen times, in doubt of the first esti-
mate, but it always came out the same.
Then he began to go over in his mind the
many comforts seven pounds per annum
would give to his family; and particularly
how many little luxuries might be procured
for Lizzy, whose delicate appetite turned
from the coarse food that was daily set be-
fore her.
But to give up the beer and tobacco in
toto, when it was thought of seriously, ap-
peared impossible. How could he live with-
out them?
On that evening the customer whose
boots he had taken home in the morn-
ing, called in, unexpectedly, and paid for
them. Claire retained a sixpence of the
money and gave the balance to his wife.
With this sixpence in his pocket he went
out for a mug of beer, and some tobacco to


replenish his pipe. He stayed some time
-longer than he usually took for such an
When he came back he had three oranges
in his pocket; and in his hands were two
fresh bunns, and a cup of sweet new milk.
No beer had passed his lips, and his pipe
was yet unsupplied. He had passed
through another long conflict with his old
appetites; but love for his child came off,
as before, the conqueror.
Lizzy, who drooped about all day, lying
down most of her time, never went to sleep
early. She was awake, as usual, when her
father returned. With scarcely less eager-
ness than she had eaten the orange in the
morning, did she now drink the nourish-
ing milk and eat the sweet bunns, while
her father sat looking at her, his heart
throbbing with inexpressible delight.
From that day the pipe and the mug
were thrown aside. It cost a prolonged
struggle. But the man conquered the mere
animal. And Claire found himself no worse


off in health. He could work as many
hours, and with as little fatigue; in fact,
he found himself brighter in the morning,
and ready to go to his work earlier, by
which he was able to increase, at least a
shilling or two, his weekly income. Added
to the comfort of his family, eight or ten
pounds a year produced a great change.
But the greatest change was in little Lizzy.
For a few weeks, every penny saved from
the beer and tobacco the father regularly
expended for his sick child: and it soon
became apparent that it was nourishing
food, more than medicine, that Lizzy needed.
She revived wonderfully; and no long time
passed before she could sit up for hours.
Her little tongue, too, became free once
more, and many an hour of labour did her
voice again beguile. And the blessing of
better food came also in time to the other
children, and to all.
So much to come from the right spend-
ing of a single penny," Claire said to him-


self, as he sat and reflected one day. "Who
could have believed it!"
And as it was with the poor cobbler, so
it will be with all of us. There are little
matters of self-denial, which, if we had but
the true benevolence, justice, and resolu-
tion to practise, would be the beginning of
more important acts of a like nature, that,
when performed, would bless not only our
families, but others, and be returned upon
us in a reward of delight incomparably be-
yond any thing that selfish and sensual in-
dulgences have it in their power to bring.


Y voice shall yet be heard in those
Shells!" said a young man, whom
we will call James Abercrombie, to his
friend Harvey Nelson, as the two walked
slowly, arm in arm, through the beautiful
grounds of the Capitol at Washington.
"Your ambition rises," Nelson replied,
with a smile. "A seat in our State Legis-
lature was, at one time, your highest aim.
"Yes. But as we ascend the mountain,
our prospect becomes enlarged. Why should
I limit my hopes to any halfway position,
when I have only to resolve that I will
reach the highest point? I feel, Harvey,
that I have within me the power to do any


Page 39.



thing that I choose. And I am resolved
that the world shall know me as one of its
great men."
Some, if they were to hear you speak
thus, James, might smile at what they
would consider a weak and vain assump-
tion. But I know that you have a mind
capable of accomplishing great things;
that you have only to use the means,
and take an elevated position as the
natural result. Still I must say, that I
do not like the spirit in which you speak
of these things."
"Why not?"
"You seem to desire an elevated station
more for the glory of filling it, than for the
enlarged sphere of usefulness that it must
necessarily open to you."
"I do not think, Harvey," his friend
replied, "that I am influenced by the
mere glory of greatness to press forward.
There is something too unsubstantial in that.
Look at the advantages that must result
to me if I attain a high place."



"In either case, I cannot fully approve
your motive."
"Then, from what motive would you
have me act, Harvey? I am sure that I
know of none other sufficiently strong to
urge me into activity. Both of these have
their influence; and, in combination, form
the impulse that gives life to my resolu-
"There is a much higher, and purer,
and more powerful motive, James. A
motive to which I have just alluded."
What is that ?"
The end of being useful to our fellow-
"You may act from that motive, if you
can, Harvey, but I shall not attempt the
vain task. It is too high and pure for
"Do not say so. We may attain high
motives of action, as well as attain, by
great intellectual efforts, high positions in
the world."
How so?"


"It is a moral law, that any peculiar
tendency or quality of the mind grows
stronger by indulgence. The converse of
the proposition is, of course, true also.
You feel, then, that your motives of action
are selfish-that they regard your own
elevation and honour as first, and good
to your neighbour as only secondary.
Now, by opposing instead of indulging
this propensity to make all things minister
to self, it must grow weaker, as a natural
consequence. Is not that clear ?"
Why, yes, I believe it is; or at least,
the inference is a logical one, though I
must confess that I do not see it as an
unquestionable truth."
That is because your natural feelings
are altogether opposed to it."
"Perhaps so-for undoubtedly they are.
I cannot see any thing so very desirable
in the motive of which you speak, that I
should seek to act from it. There is some-
thing tame in the idea of striving only to
do good to others."


It really pains me to hear you say so,"
the friend replied in a serious tone. "But
now that we are on this subject, you must
pardon me if I attempt to make you see in
a rational light the truth that it is a much
nobler effort to do good to others, than to
seek only our own glory."
"Well, go on."
"You have, doubtless, heard the term
'God-like' used, as indicating a high degree
of excellence in some individual, who has
stood prominently before the eyes of his
fellow-men ?"
And to your mind it is no doubt clear,
that the nearer we can approach the cha-
racter of the Divine Being, the higher will
be the position that we attain ?"
"And that the purest motives from
which we can act, are an approach to-
ward those from which we see Him act-


"Now, so far as we can judge of His
motives of action, as exhibited in His Word
and in His Works, do we see a desire mani-
fested to promote His own glory, or to do
good to His creatures, and make them
happy ?"
Well, I cannot say, at this moment, for
I have not thought upon the subject."
Suppose, then, we think of it now. It
is certainly worth a little serious attention.
And first, let us refer to His Word, in
which we shall certainly find a transcript
of his character. In that, we perceive a
constant reference to his nature as being,
in one of its principal constituents, love.
Not love of himself, but love going out in
the desire to benefit His creatures. And
His wisdom, which infinitely transcends
that of man, is ever active in devising
means whereby to render those creatures
happy. And not only is His love ever
burning with the desire to do good to His
creatures, and His wisdom ever devising
the best means for this end, but His divine


love and His divine wisdom unite in divine
activity, producing all that is required to
give true happiness to all. In all parts of
His Word we discover evidences of the
strongest character, which go to prove
that such is the nature and activity of the
Lord. There could have been no seeking
of His own glory, when he assumed a
material body, and an infirm human prin-
ciple, in which were direful hereditary
evils, that he might redeem man from the
corruptions of his own fallen nature, and
from the influence and power of hell.
Little glory was ascribed to him by the
wicked men who persecuted him, and con-
demned him, and finally put him to death.
But he sought not His own glory. In his
works, how clearly displayed is His divine
benevolence! I need only direct your
thoughts to nature. I need only refer you
to the fact that the Lord causes the sun to
shine upon the evil and the good, and the
rain to fall alike upon the just and the
unjust. Even upon those who oppose His


laws, and despise and hate his precepts,
does He pour down streams of perpetual
blessings. How unlike man-selfish, vain
man-ever seeking his own glory."
"You draw a strong picture, Harvey,"
the friend said.
," But is it not a true one ?"
"Perhaps so."
"Very well. Now if we are seeking to
be truly great, let us imitate Him who
made us and all the glorious things by
which we are surrounded. He that would
be chief among you, said the Lord to his
disciples, let him be your servant. Even
He washed his disciples' feet."
"Yes, but Harvey, I do not profess to be
governed by religious principle. I only ac-
count myself a moral man."
But there cannot be any true morality
without religion."
That is a new doctrine."
"I think not. It seems to me to be as
old as the Divine Word of God. To be
truly moral is to regard others as well as


ourselves in all our actions. And this we
can never do apart from the potency and
life of a religious principle."
But what do you mean by a religious
principle ?"
I mean a principle of pure love to the
Lord, united with an unselfish love to our
neighbour, flowing out in a desire to do him
But no man can have these. It is im-
possible for any one to feel the unselfish
love of which you speak."
"Of course it is, naturally-for man is
born into hereditary evils. But if he truly
desires to rise out of these evils into a higher
and better state, the Lord will be active in
his efforts-and in just so far as he truly
shuns evils as sins against him, looking to
him all the while for assistance, will he re-
move those evils from their central position
in his mind, and then the opposite good of
those evils will flow in to take their place,
(for spiritually, as well as naturally, there
can be no vacuum,) and he will be a new


man. Then, and only then, can he begin
to lead truly a moral life. Before, he may
be externally moral from mere external re-
straints; now, he becomes moral from an
internal principle. Do you apprehend the
difference ?"
"Yes, I believe that I do. But I must
confess that I cannot see how I am ever to
act from the motives you propose. If I
wait for them, I shall stand still and do
"Still, you can make the effort. Every
thing must have a beginning. Only let the
germ be planted in your mind, and, like the
seed that seems so small and insignificant,
it will soon exhibit signs of life, and pre-
sently shoot up, and put forth its green
leaves, and, if fostered, give a permanent
strength that will be superior to the power
of every tempest of evil principles that may
rage against it."
Your reasoning and analogies are very
beautiful, and no doubt true, but I cannot
feel their force," James Abercrombie said,



with something in his tone and manner so
like a distaste for the whole subject, that
his friend felt unwilling to press it further
upon his attention.
The two young men here introduced had
just graduated at one of our first literary
institutions, and were about selecting pro-
fessions. But in doing so, their acknow-
ledged motives were, as may be gathered
from what has gone before, very different.
The one avowed a determination to be
what he called a great man, that he might
have the glory of greatness. The other
tried to cherish a higher and better motive
of action. Abercrombie was not long in
deciding upon a profession. His choice was
law. And the reason of his choice was,
not that he might be useful to his fellow-
men, but because in the profession of law
he could come in contact with the great
mass of the people in a way to make just
such an impression upon them as he wished.
In the practice of law, too, he could bring
out his powers of oratory, and cultivate a


habit of public speaking. It would, in fact,
be a school in which to prepare himself for
a broader sphere of action in the legislative
halls of his country; for, at no point below
a seat in the national legislature, did his
ambition rest.
"You have made your choice, I pre-
sume, before this," he said to his friend
Harvey, in allusion to this subject.
"Indeed, I have not," was the reply.
"And I never felt so much at a loss how
to make a decision in my life."
"Well, I should think that you might
decide very readily. I found no difficulty."
"Then you have settled that matter?"
"Oh, certainly; the law is to be my sphere
of action-or rather, my stepping-stone to
a higher place."
"I cannot so easily decide the matter !"
"Why not? If you study law, you will
rise, inevitably. And in this profession,
there is a much broader field of action for
a man of talent, than there is in any other



"Perhaps you are right. But the diffi-
cult question with me is--'Can I be as
useful in it ?'"
Nonsense, Harvey! Do put away these
foolish notions. If you don't, they will be
the ruin of you."
I hope not. But if they do, I shall be
ruined in a good cause."
I am really afraid, Harvey," Aber-
crombie said in a serious tone, that you
affect these ultra sentiments, or are self-
deceived. It is my opinion that no man
can act from such motives as you declare
to be yours."
"I did not know that I had declared my-
self governed by such motives. To say
that, I know, would be saying too much,
for I am painfully conscious of the exist-
ence and activity of motives very op-
posite. But what I mean to say is, that I
am so clearly convinced that the motives
of which I speak are the true ones, that I
will not permit myself to come wholly
under the influence of such as are opposite.


And that is why I find a difficulty in choos-
ing a profession. If I would permit myself
to think only of rising in the world, for the
sake of the world's estimation, I should not
hesitate long. But I am afraid of confirm-
ing what I feel to be evil. And therefore
it is that I am resolved to compel myself
to choose from purer ends."
Then you are no longer a free agent."
"Why not?"
"Because, in that kind of compulsion,
you cease to act from freedom."
Is it right, James, for us to compel our-
selves to do right when we are inclined to
do wrong? Certainly there is more free-
dom in being able to resist evil, than in
being bound by it hand and foot, so as to
be its passive slave."
You are a strange reasoner, Harvey."
If my conclusions are not rational, con-
trovert them."
And have to talk for ever ?"
No doubt you would, James, to drive


me from positions that are to me as true
as that the sun shines in heaven."
"Exactly; and therefore it is useless to
argue with you. But, to drop that point
of the subject, to what profession do you
most incline ?"
"To law."
"Then why not choose it ?"
"Perhaps I shall. But I wish first to
define with myself my own position. I
must understand truly upon what ground
I stand, or I will not move forward one
Well, you must define your own posi-
tion for yourself, for I don't see that I can
help you much." And there the subject
was dropped.
It was some time before the debate in
Harvey's mind was decided. His predilec-
tions were all in favour of the law-but in
thinking of it, ambition and purely selfish
views would arise in his mind, and cause
him to hesitate, for he did not wish to act


from them. At last he decided to become
a law student, with the acknowledgment
to himself that he had low and selfish mo-
tives in his mind, but with the determina-
tion to oppose them and put them away
whenever they should arise into activity.
Under this settled principle of action, he
entered upon the study of the profession
he had chosen.
Thus, with two opposite leading motives
did the young men commence life. Let us
see the result of these motives upon their
characters and success after the lapse of ten
years. Let us see which is farthest on the
road to true greatness. Both, in an ardent
and untiring devotion to the duties of their
profession, had already risen to a degree of
eminence, as lawyers, rarely attained under
double the number of years of patient
toil. But there was a difference in the es-
timation in which both were held by those
who could discriminate. And this was ap-
parent in the character of the cases re-
ferred to them. A doubtful case, involving



serious considerations, was almost certain
to be placed in the hands of Abercrombie,
for his acuteness and tact, and determina-
tion to succeed at all hazards, if possible,
made him a very desirable advocate under
these circumstances. Indeed, he often said
that he would rather have a bad cause to
plead than a good one, for there was some
"honour" in success where every thing was
against the case. On the contrary, in the
community where Harvey had settled, but
few thought of submitting to him a case
that had not equity upon its side; and in
such a case, he was never known to fail.
He did not seek to bewilder the minds of
a jury or of the court by sophistry, or to
confuse a witness by paltry tricks; but his
course was straightforward and manly,
evolving the truth at every step with a
clearness that made it apparent to all.
It's all your fault," said an unsuccessful
client to him one day in an angry tone.
No, sir, it was the fault of your cause.
It was a bad one."


But I should have gained it, if you had
mystified that stupid witness, as you could
easily enough have done."
Perhaps I might; but I did not choose
to do that."
"It was your duty, sir, as an advocate,
to use every possible means to gain the
cause of your client."
Not dishonest means, remember. Bring
me a good cause, and I will do you justice.
But when you place me in a position where
success can only be had in the violation of
another's rights, I will always regard jus-
tice first. Right and honour have the first
claims upon me-my client the next."
"It's the last cause you will ever have
of mine, then," replied the angry client.
"And most certainly the last I want, if
you have no higher claims than those you
presented in the present instance."
About the same time that this incident
occurred, an individual, indicted for a large
robbery, sent for Lawyer Abercrombie.
That individual came to the prisoner's cell,



and held a preliminary interview with
And the first thing to be done, if I take
charge of your case," said the lawyer, "is
for you to make a clean confession to me of
every thing. You know that the law pro-
tects you in this. It is necessary that I
may know exactly the ground upon which
we stand, that I may keep the prosecution
at fault."
The prisoner, in answer to this, made
promptly a full confession of his guilt, and
stated where a large portion of the pro-
perty he had taken was concealed.
"And now," said he, after his confession,
"do you think that you can clear me ?"
"Oh yes, easily enough, if I have suffi-
cient inducement to devote myself to the
Will five thousand dollars secure your
best efforts?"
"Very well. The day after I am cleared,
I will place that sum in your hands."


You shall be cleared," was the positive
answer. And he was cleared. Justice was
subverted-property to a large value lost
-and an accomplished villain turned loose
upon the community, by the venal tact
and eloquence of a skilful lawyer.
In these two instances we have an ex-
hibition of the characters of the two indi-
viduals, ripening for maturity. Both pos-
sessing fine talents, both were eminent,
both successful,-but the one was a curse,
and the other a blessing to society. And
all this, because their ends of life were
Time passed on, and Abercrombie, as
the mere tool of a political party, elected
by trick and management, under circum-
stances humiliating to a man of feeling and
principle, became a representative in the
State legislature. But he was a repre-
sentative, and this soothing opiate to his
ambition quieted every unpleasant emotion.
Conscious, in the state of political feeling,
that there was little or no possible chance



of maintaining even his present elevation,
mtich less of rising higher, unless he be-
came pliant in the hands of those who had
elected him, he suffered all ideas-of the ge-
neral good to recede from his mind, and
gave himself up wholly to furthering the
schemes and interested views of his own
party. By this means, he was enabled to
maintain his position. But what a sacri-
fice for an honourable, high-minded man!
A few years in the State legislature, where
he was an active member, prepared him
for going up higher. He was, accordingly,
nominated for Congress, and elected, but
by the same means that had accomplish-
ed all of his previous elections. And
he went there under the mistaken idea
that he was becoming a great man, when
it was not with any particular reference to
his fitness for becoming a representative of
one section of the country for the good of
the whole that he was sent there, but as a
fit tool for the performance of selfish party
ends. Thus he became the exponent in


Congress of the same principles that he had
laid down for his own government, viz.
such as were thoroughly selfish and in-
In the course of time, it so happened that,
as eminent lawyers, the two individuals we
have introduced were again thrown together
as inhabitants of the same city, and became
practitioners at the same bar. At first,
Abercrombie did not fear Harvey; but he
soon learned that, as an opponent, not even
he could gain over him, unless his cause
were just. For some years Abercrombie
went regularly to Congress, usually elected
over the opposing candidate by a large ma-
jority-for his party far outnumbered the
other. At length the time seemed to have
arrived for him to take another step. The
senatorial term for the district in which he
lived was about to expire, and there was to
be an election for a United States senator.
For this vacancy he was nominated as a
candidate by his party, and as that was the
strongest party, he looked confidently for


an election. The opposing interest cast
about them for some time, and at last fixed
upon Harvey, who, after mature delibera-
tion, accepted the nomination.
It is needless here to recapitulate the
principles which governed these two in-
dividuals; they have already been fully
stated. At the time that they became ri-
vals for a high station, each had confirmed
in himself the views of life expressed many
years before, and was acting them out ful-
ly. One was thoroughly selfish-the other
strove to regard, in all that he did, the
W good of others.
A few months before the day of election,
a woman dressed in deep mourning came
into the office of Mr. Harvey. She stated
that she was a widow with a large family
-that her husband had been dead about a
year, and that the executor of her hus-
band's estate, formerly his partner in busi-
ness, was about to deprive her of all the
property that had been left to her for the
maintenance of her family and the educa-


tion of her children, under the plea that
there were, in reality, no assets, after the
settlement of the estate.
"Well, madam, what do you wish done?"
asked Mr. Harvey, a good deal interested
in the woman's case.
I want justice, sir, and no more. If
there are really no assets, then I want no-
thing. But if there is, as I am confident that
there must be a handsome property really
due me, then I wish my rights maintained.
Will you undertake my case ?"
"Certainly I will, madam; and if there
is justice on your side, will see that justice
is done."
Accordingly, suit was brought against
the executor, who at once employed Aber-
crombie, with the promise of a large fee, if
he gained the cause for him.
By some means, the facts of the case, or
at least that such a case was to come up,
became known through the medium of the
newspapers, and also that the two rival
candidates were to be opposed to each


other. Much interest was excited, and
when the trial came on, the court-room was
crowded. The case occupied the attention
of the court for three days, during which
time Abercrombie made some of the most
brilliant speeches that had ever fallen from
his lips. He managed his case, too, with a
tact, spirit, and sagacity, unusual even for
him, as keen a lawyer as he was. To all
this, Harvey opposed a steady, clear, and
rational mode of presenting the claims of
the individual he represented, so that con-
viction attended him at every step. It was
in vain that Abercrombie would tear into
tatters the lucid arguments, full of calm
and truthful positions, that he presented-
he would gather them all up again, and
present them in new and still more con-
vincing forms. At every step of the trial,
it was plainly evident to all, opponents and
friends, that Abercrombie cared solely for
success in his cause, and nothing for justice;
and as the sympathies of nearly all were
in favour of the widow, his manner of con-


ducting the case was exceedingly offensive
to nearly every one. On the contrary, in
Harvey, all could see a deep and conscien-
tious regard for justice. He never took
any undue advantage of his opponent, and
resorted to no tricks and feints to blind and
confuse him, but steadily presented the jus-
tice of the side he argued, in bold and
strong relief, against the evident, wicked
injustice of the defendant.
At last the trial came to a close, and the
whole case was submitted to the jury, who
decided that the widow's cause was just.
This righteous decision was received by a
universal burst of applause. Abercrombie
was deeply chagrined at the result, and
this feeling was apparent to all-so ap-
parent, that nearly every one, friends and
enemies, were indignant. In an elec-
tioneering handbill, which came out in
two or three days afterward, was this ap-
peal :-
Why do we send a man to the Senate-
chamber of the United States? To legislate
XL--4 8


from generous and enlarged principles, or
to be a narrow, selfish seeker of his own
glory? Do we want the generous philan-
thropist there-the man who loves justice
for its own sake-the man of strong natu-
ral powers, rendered stronger and clearer
by honest principles?-or the narrow-
minded timeserver-the man who would
sacrifice any thing, even the liberties of his
country, for a selfish end-the legal oppres-
sor of the widow and the fatherless? Need
'these questions be answered from honest,
high-souled voters? No! let every man
answer for himself, when he goes to assert
the rights of a freeman."
This, and similar appeals, added to the
general disapprobation already felt, com-
pleted the work. Harvey was elected to
fill the vacant seat in the Senate for the
ensuing six years, by a majority of double
the votes polled for Abercrombie.
From that time, the latter took his posi-
tion as a third-rate man. Indeed, he never
afterward reached even to the House of


Representatives at Washington, while Har-
vey still retains his place in the Senate-
chamber, one of the most esteemed and va-
luable members of that distinguished body.
No man, we would remark, in closing
this sketch, can ever be a truly great man,
who is not a good man. The mere selfish-
ness of ambition defeats its own ends; while
the generous impulse to do good to others,
gives to every man a power and an in-
fluence that must be felt and appreciated.


ORT MOTTE, Fort Granby, Fort Wat-
son, the fort at Orangeburg, and every
other post in South Carolina, except Charles-
ton and Ninety-Six, had yielded succes-
sively to the American arms, under the
command of Greene, Sumter, Marion, and
Lee; and now General Greene turned all
his energies to the reduction of Ninety-Six,
giving orders at the same time, for General
Sumter to remain in the country south and
west of the Congaree, so as to cut off
all communication between Lord Rawdon,
who was at Charleston awaiting reinforce-
ments from England, and Colonel Cruger,
who was in command at Ninety-Six.

(11) Page 72.


Day after day the siege of Ninety-Six
went on, the Americans slowly approach-
ing the fort by a series of works con-
structed under the superintendence of Kos-
ciusko, and Cruger still holding out in ex-
pectations of reinforcements from Charles-
ton, although not a single word of intelli-
gence from Lord Rawdon had reached him
since the investment of the post which he
held with so much bravery and perse-
On the 3d of June, the long-expected
reinforcement from England reached Lord
Rawdon, and on the 7th he started for the
relief of Colonel Cruger with a portion of
three Irish regiments, and was joined soon
after by the South Carolina royalists, swell-
ing his force to two thousand men. But
all his efforts to transmit intelligence of his
approach t& the beleaguered garrison at
Ninety-Six proved unavailing. His mes-
sengers were intercepted by Sumter and
Marion, who held possession of the interme-
diate region.


On the 11th of June, General Greene re-
ceived intelligence from General Sumter of
the approach of Rawdon. Directing Sum-
ter to keep in front of the enemy, he rein-
forced him with all his cavalry under
Lieutenant-Colonel Washington, and urged
him to use every means in his power to de-
lay the advancing British army, until he
should be able to complete the investment
of the fort at Ninety-Six, and compel it to
surrender. Then with renewed diligence
he pressed the siege, hoping to obtain a
capitulation before Colonel Cruger should
receive news of the approaching succour,
and thus break up, with the exception of
Charleston, the last rallying point of the
enemy in South Carolina. But the com-
mander of the fort was ever on the alert
to make good his defences and to annoy
and retard the begegers in every possible
way; and, though ignorant of the near ap-
proach of aid, he would listen to no over-
tures for a capitulation.
One evening, while affairs retained this


aspect, a countryman rode along the Ame-
rican lines, conversing familiarly with the
officers and soldiers on duty. No particu-
lar notice was taken of this, as, from the
beginning of the siege, the friends of our
cause were permitted to enter the camp
and go wherever their curiosity happened
to lead them. The individual here men-
tioned moved along, seemingly much in-
terested with all he saw and heard, until
he arrived at the great road leading direct-
ly to the town, in which quarter were only
some batteries thrown up for the protection
of the guards. Pausing here for a few mo-
ments, he glanced cautiously around him,
and then, suddenly putting spurs to his
horse, he dashed at full speed into the town.
Seeing this, the guard and sentinels opened
their fire upon him, but he escaped unhurt,
holding up a letter gs soon as he was
out of danger. The garrison, which had
observed this movement, understood. its
meaning, and the gates were instantly
thrown open to receive the messenger, who


proved to be from Lord Rawdon, and
brought the welcome intelligence of his
near approach.
Hoping still to reduce the fort before the
arrival of Lord Rawdon, General Greene
urged on the work of investment, and by
every means in his power sought to weaken
the garrison, so as to make victory certain
when all was ready for the final assault.
But before he had accomplished his task, a
messenger from Sumter arrived with the
unwelcome intelligence that Rawdon had
succeeded in passing him and was pushing
on rapidly for Ninety-Six. The crisis had
now come. Greene must either hazard an
assault upon the fort ere his works were in
complete readiness, risk a battle with Raw-
don, or retire over the Saluda, and thus
give confidence and strength to the stories
and royalist army. His first determination
was to meet the relieving army under
Rawdon, but every thing depending on his
-not giving the enemy, at this particular
crisis of affairs in the South, a victory, and


seeing that his force was much inferior
to that of the British, he resolved to make
an attack upon the fort, and, if not success-
ful in reducing it, to retire with his army
toward North Carolina before Rawdon
came up.
The 18th of June, 1781, was the day
chosen for this assaults But made, as it
was, with the besiegers' works incomplete,
though the men fought with desperate cou-
rage, the fort was successfully defended,
and General Greene ordered his troops to
retire, after they had suffered the loss of
one hundred and eighty-five killed and
Nothing was now left but retreat. For
some twenty-six days the besieging army
had been at work before the fort, and in three
days more all their arrangements would
have been completed and the post have fallen
into their hands. It was therefore deeply
mortifying and dispiriting to be forced to
retire, just as success was about crowning
their efforts. But far-seeing, prudent, and


looking more to future results than present
triumphs, General Greene, on the 19th,
commenced retreating toward the Saluda,
which river he passed in safety, and moved
forward with all possible despatch for the
Enoree. Before his rear-guard had left the
south side of this river, the van of Lord
Rawdon's army appeared in pursuit. But
the British commander hesitated to make
an attack upon Greene's cavalry, which
was under the command of Lee and Colonel
Washington, and was a brave, well-disci-
plined, and superior troop, and so permitted
them to pass the Enoree unmolested. While
Lord Rawdon paused at this point, un-
determined which course to pursue, Gene-
ral Greene moved on toward the Broad
River, where he halted and made his en-
campment. *
Such was the aspect of affairs at the
time our story begins-a story of woman's
self-devotion and heroism. Near the place
where General Greene had halted with his
weary and disheartened troops, stood the


unpretending residence of a country far-
mer in moderate circumstances. His name
was Geiger. He was a true friend of the
American cause, and, but for ill health, that
rendered him unable to endure the fatigues
of the camp, would have been under arms
in defence of his country. The deep in-
terest felt in the cause of liberty by Geiger,
made him ever on the alert for information
touching the progress of affairs in his State,
and the freedom with which he expressed
his opinions created him hosts of ene-
mies among the evil-minded stories with
whom he was surrounded. Geiger had an
only daughter, eighteen years of age, who
was imbued with her father's spirit.
"If I were only a man!" she would
often say, when intelligence came of Bri-
tisli or tory outrages, or when news was
brought of some reverse to the American
arms; If I were only a man! that I could
fight for my country."
On the third day of General Greene's en-


campment near the residence of Geiger, a
neighbour dropped in.
What news ?" asked the farmer.
Lord Rawdon has determined to aban-
don the fort at Ninety-Six."
Are you certain ?"
Yes. General Greene received the in-
formation this morning. Rawdon has de-
spatched intelligence to Colonel Stuart to
advance with his regiment from Charleston
to Friday's Ferry on the Congaree, where
he will join him immediately. He leaves
Cruger at Ninety-Six, who is to move, as
soon as possible, with his bloody tory re-
cruits and their property, and take a route
that will put the Edisto between him and
our forces. Moving down the southern
bank of this river to Orangeburg, he will
thence make a junction with Rawdon at
Friday's Ferry."
Then they will divide their force ?" said
Geiger eagerly.


"And giving Greene an advantage by
which he will not be slow to profit. Cru-
ger will not be a day on the march before
our general will make his acquaintance."
"No," replied the neighbour. "If I
heard aright, it is General Greene's inten-
tion to pursue Rawdon, and strike a more
decisive blow."
Why did he not encounter him at the
Saluda, when the opportunity offered ?"
General Sumter was not with him."
Nor is he now."
"And, I fear, will not join him, as he so
much desires."
"For what reason ?" inquired Geiger.
He finds no one willing to become
bearer of despatches. The country between
this and Sumter's station on the Wateree,
is full of the enemies of our cause--blood-
thirsty stories, elated by the defeat of our
arms at Ninety-Six-who will to a certainty
murder any man who undertakes the jour-
ney. I would not go on the mission for my
weight in gold.'



"And can no man be found to risk his
life for his country, even on so perilous a
service?" said the farmer in a tone of sur-
prise, not unmingled with mortification.
"None. The effort to reach Sumter
would be fruitless. The bravest man will
hesitate to throw his life away."
God protests those who devote them-
selves to the good of their country," said
Geiger. "If I could bear the fatigue of the
journey, I would not shrink from the ser-
vice an instant."
You would commit an act of folly."
No-of true devotion to my country,"
replied the farmer warmly. "But," he
added in a saddened voice, "what boots it
that I am willing for the task. These feeble
limbs refuse to bear me on the journey."
Emily Geiger, the daughter, heard all
this with feelings of intense interest; and
as she had often said before, so she said
now, in the silence of her spirit: Oh that
I were a man!" But she was simply a
young and. tender girl, and her patriotic


heart could only throb with noble feelings,
while her hands were not able to strike
a blow for her country.
"If I were only a man !" murmured the
young girl again and again, as she mused
on what she had heard, long after the neigh-
bour had departed.
In the mean time, General Greene, who
had heard through messengers from Colonel
Lee of the proposed abandonment of Nine-
ty-six, and the division of the British and
tory forces, was making preparations to re-
trace his steps, and strike, if possible, a de-
cisive blow against Lord Rawdon. In
order to make certain of victory, it was ne-
cessary to inform Sumter of his designs,
and effect a junction with him before at-
tacking the enemy. But, thus far, no one
offered to perform the dangerous service.
On the morning of the day upon which
the army was to commence retracing its
steps, General Greene sat in his tent lost in
deep thought. Since taking command of the
southern army, he had been struggling at


every disadvantage with a powerful ene-
my, whose disciplined troops were daily
strengthened by citizens of the country,
lost to every feeling of true patriotism; and
now, having weakened that enemy, he felt
eager to strike a blow that would destroy
him. But, with the force that he could
command, it was yet a doubtful question
whether an engagement would result in
victory to the American arms. If he could
effect a junction with Sumter before Lord
Rawdon reached Friday's Ferry on the
Congaree, he had great hopes of success.
But the great difficulty was to get a mes-
senger to Sumter, who was distant between
one and two hundred miles. While the
general was pondering these things, an of-
ficer entered *and said-
"A young country girl is before the tent,
and wishes to speak with you."
Tell her to come in," replied the gene-
The officer withdrew, and in- a few mo-
ments reappeared in company with a young


girl, dressed in a closely fitting habit, car-
rying a small whip in her hand. She curt-
sied respectfully as she entered.
The general arose as the maiden stepped
inside of his tent, and returned her saluta-
"General Greene?" inquired the fair
The officer bowed.
I have been told," said the visitor, the
colour deepening in her face, "that you are
in want of a bearer of despatches to Gene-
ral Sumter."
"I am," replied the general. "But I
find no one courageous enough to under-
take the perilous mission."
"Send me," said the maiden. And she
drew her slight form upward proudly.
"Send you!" exclaimed the general,
taken by surprise. "You? Oh no,,child!
I could not do that. It is a journey om
which brave men hold back."
"I am not a brave man. I am only a
woman. But I will go."
XI.-6 ?2



"Touched by such an unlooked-for inci-
dent, General Greene, after pausing for
some moments, said--
Will you go on this journey alone?"
"Give me a fleet horse, and I will bear
your message safely."
Alone ?"
"What is your name ?" inquired the of-
ficer, after another thoughtful pause.
"Emily Geiger."
Is your father living ?"
Have you his consent ?"
"He knows nothing of my intention.
But he loves his country, and, but for ill
health, would be now bearing arms against
their enemies. His heart is with the good
cause, though his arm is powerless. His
head must approve the act, though his
heart might fail him were I to ask his
consent. But it is not for you, general,
to hesitate. Heaven has sent you a mes-
senger, and you dare not refuse to accept


the proffered service when so much is at
Noble girl!" said the general, with emo-
tion, "you.shall go. And may God speed
you and protect you on your journey."
"He will!" murmured the intrepid girl,
in a low voice.
"Order a swift, but well-trained and
gentle horse to be saddled immediately,"
said Greene to the officer who had con-
ducted the maiden into his presence.
The officer retired, and Emily seated
herself while the general wrote a hasty
despatch for Sumter. This, after it was
completed, he read over to her twice, in
order that, if compelled to destroy it, she
might yet deliver the message verbally,
and then asked her to repeat to him its
contents. She did so accurately. He then
gave her minute directions with regard to
the journey, with instructions how to act
in case she was intercepted by the soldiers
of Lord Rawdon, to all of which she listened
with deep attention.


"And now, my good girl," said the ge-
neral, with an emotion that he could not
conceal, as he handed her the despatch, "I
commit to your care this important mes-
sage. Every thing depends on its safe de-
livery. Here is money for your expenses
on the journey," and he reached her a
purse. But Emily drew back, saying-
I have money in my pocket. Keep
what you have. You will need it, and more,
for your country."
At this point, the officer re-entered the
tent, and announced that the horse was
"And so am I," said Emily, as she step-
ped out into the open air. Already a whis-
per of what was going on in the general's
quarters had passed through the camp, and
many officers and men had gathered before
his tent to see the noble-minded girl as she
came forth to start upon her dangerous
There was no sign of fear about the fair
young maiden, as she placed her foot in the


hand of an officer and sprang upon the
saddle. Her face was calm, her eyes slight-
ly elevated, and her lips gently compressed
with resolution. General Greene stood near
her. He extended his hand as soon she
had firmly seated herself and grasped the
reins of the noble Animal upon which she
was mounted.
God peed you on your journey, and
may heaven and your country reward you,"
said he, as he held her hand tightly. Then,
as if impelled by a sudden emotion, he
pressed the fair hand to his lips, and turn-
ing away sought the seclusion of his tent,
deeply moved by so unexpected and touch-
ing an instance of heroism in one who was
little more than a child. As he did so, the
officer, who had until now held the horse
by the bridle, released his grasp, and Emi-
ly, touching her rein, spoke to the animal
upon which she was mounted. Obeying
the word instantly he sprang away, bear-
ing the fair young courier from the camp,
and moved rapidly in a south-westerly di-


reaction. Officers and men gazed after her,
but no wild shout of admiration went up
to the skies. On some minds pressed, pain-
fully, thoughts of the peril that lay in
the path of the brave girl; others, rebuked
by her noble self-devotion, retired to their
tents and refrained from communion with
their fellows on the subject that engrossed
every thought; while others lost all present
enthusiasm in their anxiety for the success
of the mission.
About five miles from the encampment
of General Greene, lived one of the most
active and bitter stories in all South Caro-
lina. His name was Loire. He was ever on
the alert for information, and had risked
much in his efforts to give intelligence to
the enemy. Two of his sons were under
arms at Ninety-Six, on the British side,
and he had himself served against his coun-
try at Camden. Since the encampment of
General Greene in his neighbourhood, Loire
had been daily in communication with
spies who were kept hovering in his vici-


nity, in order to pick up information that
might be of importance to the British.
Some four hours after Emily Geiger had
started on her'journey, one of Loire's spies
reached the house of his employer.
What news?" asked the tory, who saw,
by the man's countenance, that he had
something of importance to communicate.
"The rebel Greene has found a messen-
ger to carry his despatch to Sumter."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes; and she has been on her journey
some four or five hours."
Yes. That girl of Geiger's went to the
camp this morning and volunteered for the
The !" But we will not stain our
pages with a record of the profane and bru-
tal words that fell from the lips of the
She has the swiftest horse in the camp,"
said the man, and unless instant pursuit
is given, she will soon be out of our reach."


With a bitter oath, Loire swore that she
should never reach the camp of Sumter.
Take Vulcan," said he in a quick, ener-
getic voice, "and kill him but what you
overtake the huzzy, between this and Mor-
gan's Range."
"She has nearly five hours' start," re-
plied the man.
"But you must make two miles to her
"Even then she will be most likely
ahead of the Range ere I can reach there."
"Very well. In that case you must start
Bill Mink after her, with a fresh horse. I
will give you a letter, which you will place
in his hands should you fail to overtake
the girl."
With these instructions, the man started
in pursuit. He was mounted on a large,
strong horse, who bore his rider as lightly
as if he had been a child.
In the mean time, Emily, who had re-
ceived minute information in regard to her
journey, and who was, moreover, no stran-



ger to the way, having been twice to Cam-
den, struck boldly into the dense forest
through which she was to pass, and moved
along a bridle track at as swift a pace as
the animal she rode could bear without too
great fatigue. The importance of the work
upon which she had entered, and the en-
thusiasm with which it inspired her, kept
her heart above the influence of fear. No
event of moment happened to her during
the first day of her journey. In passing a
small settlement known as Morgan's Range,
which she did at about four o'clock in the
afternoon, she took the precaution to sweep
around it in a wide circle, as some of the
most active and evil-minded stories in the
state resided in that neighbourhood. Suc-
cessful in making this circuit, she resumed
the road upon which her course lay, still
urging forward her faithful animal, which,
though much fatigued by the rapidity of
his journey, obeyed the word of his rider,
as if he comprehended the importance of
the message she bore.


Gradually, now, the day declined, and,
as the deep shadows mingled more and
more with each other, a feeling of loneli-
ness, not before experienced, came over the
mind of Emily, and her eyes were cast
about more warily, as if she feared the ap-
proach of danger. The house at which she
had proposed to spend the night was still
ten miles, if not more, in advance, and as
the shades of evening began to gather
around, the hope of reaching this resting-
place was abandoned; for there being no
moon, there was danger of her losing her
way in the darkness. This conviction was
so strong, that Emily turned her horse's
head in the direction of the first farmyard
that came in view after the sun had fallen
below the horizon. As she rode up to the
door, she was met by a man, who, accost-
ing her kindly, asked where she was from
and how far she was going.
"I hoped to reach Elwood's to-night," re-
plied Emily. How far away is it ?"
Over ten miles-and the road is bad


and lonely," said the man, whose wife had
by this time joined him. You had better
get down and stay with us 'till morning."
If you will give me that privilege," re-
turned the maiden, "I shall feel greatly
The man promptly offered his hand to
assist Emily to dismount, and while he led
her tired horse away, his wife invited her
to enter the house.
"Have you come far?" inquired the
woman, as she untied Emily's bonnet
strings, looking very earnestly in her face
as she spoke.
Emily knew not whether she were among
the friends or the enemies of the American
cause, and her answer was, therefore, brief
and evasive.
"Your horse looked very tired. You
must have ridden him a long distance.
"I rode fast," said Emily. But still, I
have not been able to reach the place for
which I started this morning."
"It's hardly safe for a young girl like


you to take such a long journey alone, in
these troublesome times."
I'm not afraid. No one will harm me,"
said Emily, forcing a smile.
I'm not so certain of that, child. It's
only a day or two since Greene passed here
in full retreat, and no doubt, there are
many straggling vagabonds from his army
roaming around, whom it would not be safe
for one like you to meet."
As the woman said this, a chill went
over the frame of the young girl, for, in the
tone of her voice and expression of her
face, she read an unfriendliness to the
cause that was so dear to her heart. She
did not venture a reply.
"Might I ask your name?" said the
woman, breaking in upon the anxious
thoughts that were beginning to pass
through her mind.
Emily reflected hurriedly, before reply-
ing, and then answered, "Gieger."
The quick conclusion to which she came
was, that, in all probability, the woman


did not know any thing about her father
as favouring the whig cause; but, even if
she did, a suspicion of the errand upon
which she was going was not likely to
cross either her own mind or that of her
Not John Geiger's daughter!" exclaimed
the woman.
Emily forced an indifferent smile and re-
"I've heard of him often enough as a
bitter enemy to the royalists. Is it possible
you have ridden all the way from home to-
Before Emily replied, the husband of the
woman came in.
"Would you think it," said the latter,
"this is John's Geiger's daughter, of whom
we have so often heard."
"Indeed! Well, if she were the daugh-
ter of my bitterest enemy, she should have
food and shelter to-night. No wonder your
horse is tired," he added, addressing Emily,


"if you have ridden from home to-day.
And, no doubt, you are yourself hungry as
well as tired; so wife, if it is all ready,
suppose we have supper."
The movement to the supper-table gave
Emily time for reflection and self-posses-
sion. No more pointed questions were
asked her during the meal; and after it was
completed, she said to the woman that she
felt much fatigued, and, if she would permit
her to do so, would retire for the night.
The young girl's reflections were by no
means pleasant when alone. She thought
seriously of the position in which she was
placed. Her father was known as an active
whig; and she was in the house of a tory,
who might suspect her errand and prevent
its consummation. After retiring to bed,
she mused for a long time as to the course
to be taken, in case efforts were made to
detain her, when, overwearied nature,
claiming its due repose, locked all her senses
in sleep.
Nearly two hours after Emily had gone


to her chamber, and jilt as the man and
woman who had given her a shelter for
the night, were about retiring, the sound
of a horse's feet were heard rapidly ap-
proaching the house. On going to the door,
a young man rode up and called out in
a familiar way-- f
"Hallo, Preston! Have you seen any-
thing of a stray young girl in these parts?"
Bill Mink!" returned the farmer.
"What in the world brings you here at
this time of night ?" ,
"On a fool's errand, it may be. I re-
ceived a letter from Loire, about an hour
ago, stating that Geiger's daughter had vo-
lunteered to carry important despatches to
General Sumter; that she had been on the
journey some hours; and that I must over-
haul her at the risk of every thing."
"It isn't possible !" said the wife of the
man called Preston.
"It is, though; and it strikes me that
she must be a confounded clever girl."
"It strikes me so, too," returned Preston.


"But I rather think your errand will be
that of a fool, if you go any farther to-
Have you seen any thing of the jade?"
asked Mink in a decided tone.
"Well, perhaps I have," returned Pres-
ton, lowering his voice.
"Aha!" ejaculated Mink, throwing him-
self from his horse. So I have got on the
right track. She is here ?"
"I did not say so."
No matter. It is all the same," and,
hitching his horse to the fence, the young
man entered the house with the familiarity
of an old acquaintance.
The sound of the horse's feet, as Mink
came dashing up to the house, awakened
Emily. The room she occupied being on
the ground-floor, and the window raised to
admit the cool air, she heard every word
that passed. It may well be supposed that
her heart sank in her bosom. For a long
time after the new-comer entered, she heard
the murmur of voices. Then some one


went out, and the horse was led away to
the stable. It was clear that the indivi-
dual in search of her had concluded to
pass the night there, and secure her in the
The intrepid girl now bent all her
thoughts'on the possibility of making an
escape. An hour she lay, with her heart
almost fluttering in her bosom, listening.
intently to every sound that was made by
those who were around her. At length all
became still. Preston and his wife, as
well as the new-comer, had retired to rest,
and the heavy slumber into which both
the men had fallen was made soon appa-
rent by their heavy breathing.
Noiselessly leaving her bed, Emily put
on her clothes in haste, and pushed aside
the curtain that had been drawn before
the window. Through the distant tree-
tops she saw the newly-risen moon shining
feebly. As she stood, leaning out of the
window, listening eagerly, and debating the
question whether she should venture forth



in the silent midnight, a large house-dog,
who was on the watch while his master
slept, came up, and laying his great head
upon the window-sill, looked into her face.
Emily patted him, and the dog wagged his
tail, seeming much pleased with the notice.
No longer hesitating, the girl sprang
lightly from the window, and, accompanied
*by the dog, moved noiselessly in the direc-
tion of the stable. Here she was for some
time at a loss to determine which of the
half-dozen horses it contained had borne
her thus far on her journey; and it was
equally hard to find, in the dark, the
bridle and saddle for which she sought.
But all these difficulties were at length
surmounted, and she led forth the obedient
animal. Making as wide a circuit from
the house as possible, Emily succeeded in
gaining the road without awakening any
one. Up to this time, the dog had kept
closely by her side; but, whearee mounted
the horse and moved away, he stood look-
ing at her until she passed out of sight,



(11) Parg 88.


and then returned to his post at the farm-
The danger she had left behind made
Emily almost insensible to the loneliness
of her situation; and the joy she felt at
her escape scarcely left room for fear in her
heart. Day had hardly begun to break,
when she reached the house of an old
friend of her father's, where she had in-
tended to pass the night To him she con-
fided the nature of her journey, and told
of the narrow escape she had made. A has-
ty meal was provided for her, and, ere the
sun passed above the horizon, mounted on
a strong and fresh horse, she was sweeping
away on her journey. A letter from this
friend to a staunch whig, residing twenty
miles distant, procured her another horse.
More than two-thirds of the distance she
had to go was safely passed over ere tU
sun went down again, and she was riding
along, with: ome doubt as to where she
would rest for the night, when three men,
dressed- in the British uniform, came sud-



denly in view, directly ahead of her. To
turn and go back would be of no avail.
So she rode on, endeavouring to keep a
brave heart. On coming up to her, the sol-
diers reined up their horses, and addressed
her with rude familiarity. She made no
reply, but endeavoured to pass on, when
one of them laid hold of her bridle. Escape
being hopeless, Emily answered the ques-
tions asked of her in such a way as she
deemed prudent. Not satisfied with the
account she gave of herself, they told her
that Lord Rawdon was encamped about a
mile distant, and that she must go before
him, as it was plain she was a rebel, and
most probably a spy.
On being brought into the presence of
the British officer, Emily was interrogated
closely as to where she had come from,
whither she was going, and the nature of
her errand. She would not utter a direct
falsehood, and her answers, being evasive,
only created stronger suspicions against her
in the mind of Lord Rawdon.



"We'll find a way to the truth!" he at
length exclaimed impatiently, after trying
in vain to get some satisfactory statement
from the firm-hearted girl, who did not
once lose her presence of mind during the
trying interview. "Take her over to my
quarters at the farm-house, and see that
she don't escape you."
The officer to whom this command was
given removed Emily, under a guard, to a
house near at hand, and locked her in one
of the rooms. The moment she was alone,
she took from her pocket a pair of scissors,
and hurriedly ripping open a part of her
dress, took therefrom a small piece of paper,
folded and sealed. This was the despatch
she was bearing to General Sumter. To
crumple it in her hand and throw it from the
window was her first impulse; but her ear
caught the sound of a sentinel's tread, and
that idea was abandoned. Hurriedly glanc-
ing around in the dim twilight, she sought
in vain for some mode of hiding the de-
spatch, which, if found upon her, betrayed


every thing. That her person would be
searched, she had good reason to believe;
and, in all probability, every part of the
room would be searched also. To hesitate
long would be to make discovery sure.
Every moment she expected some one to
enter. While she stood irresolute, a thought
glanced through her mind, and acting upon
it instantly, she tore off a part of the de-
spatch, and thrusting it into her mouth,
chewed and swallowed it. Another and
another piece disappeared in the same way;
but, ere the whole was destroyed, the door
opened, and a woman entered. Turning
her back quickly, Emily crowded all that
remained of the paper in her mouth, and
covering her face tightly with her hands,
held them there, as if weeping, until the
last particle of the tell-tale despatch had
disappeared. Then turning to the woman
who had addressed her repeatedly, she said
in a calm voice-
By what authority am I detained and
shut up a prisoner in this room?"


"By the authority of Lord Rawdon," re-
plied the woman in a severe tone.
He might find work more befitting the
position of his noble lordship, I should
think," returned Emily, with ill-concealed
contempt, "than making prisoners of young
girls, who, while travelling the highway,
happen to be so unfortunate as to fall i
with his scouts."
"You'd better keep your saucy tongue
still, or it may get its owner into a worse
trouble," replied the woman promptly.
You are suspected of being the bearer of a
message from the rebel General Greene, and
my business is to find the despatch, if any
exist upon your person."
You must think the general poorly off
for men," replied Emily.
No matter what we think, Miss Pert.
Y6u are suspected, as I said; and, I should
infer from your manner, not without good
cause. Are you willing that I should
search your person for evidence to confirm
our suspicion ?"


"Certainly; though I should be better
pleased to see one of my sex engaged in a
more honourable employment."
"Be silent," exclaimed the woman an-
grily, as she stamped her foot upon the
floor. She then commenced searching the
young girl's person, during which operation
Emily could not resist the temptation she
felt to let a cutting word fall now and then
from her ready tongue; which was hardly
prudent for one in her situation.
The search, of course, elicited nothing
that could fix upon her the suspicion of
being a messenger from the rebel army.
"Are you satisfied?" inquired Emily, as
she re-arranged her dress after the ordeal
had been passed. She spoke with the con-
tempt she felt. The woman made no re-
ply; but went out in silence, taking with
her the light she had brought into the
room, and leaving Emily alone and in dark-
ness. For nearly half an hour, the latter
sat awaiting her return; but during that
period no one approached her rodo nor


was there any movement about the house
that she could interpret as having a re-
ference to herself. At last the heavy
tread of a man was heard ascending the
stairs; a key was applied to the door of
her room, and a soldier appeared. Just be-
hind him stood a female with a light in
her hand.
"Lord Rawdon wishes to see you," said
the soldier.
Emily followed him in silence. In a
large room below, seated at the table with
several officers, was Lord Rawdon. Emily
was brought before him. After asking her
a variety of questions, all of which the wary
girl managed to answer so as not to vio-
late the truth, and yet allay suspicion, he
said to her-" As the night has fallen, you
will not, of course, thinking of proceeding
on your journey?"
Emily reflected for some time before an-
swering. She then said-
If your lordship do not object, I would'
like to go back a short distance. I have
HN ,



friends living on the road, not far from your
"How far?" inquired Lord Rawdon.
About six miles from here."
"Very well, you shall go back; and I
will send an escort for your protection."
Emily had made up her mind to return
a few miles on the way she had come, and
then, taking a wide sweep around the camp,
protected from observation by the dark-
ness, resume her journey, and endeavour
to reach the place where she expected to
find General Sumter by the middle of the
next day. She had gained fresh courage
with every new difficulty that presented it-
self, and now she resolved to accomplish
her errand at all hazard. What she most
dreaded was the-pursuit of the man Mink,
from whom she had escaped, and who, she
doubted not, was now at no great distance
from the camp. To decline the escort, she
felt, might renew suspicion, while it would
not prevent Lord Rawdon from sending
men to accompany her. So she thanked


him for the offer, and asked to be permitted
to go without further delay. This was
granted, and in an hour afterward Emily
found herself safely in the house of a friend
of her father and the good cause of the
country. She had passed this house late in
the afternoon, but was so eager to go for-
ward and gain a certain point in her jour-
ney that night, that she did not stop. For-
tunately, her escort had left her before she
met any of the family, or the surprise ex-
pressed on her appearance might have
created some new doubts in the mind of the
sergeant that accompanied the guard.
About half an hour after her arrival, and
while she was urging the necessity of de-
parting immediately and endeavouring to
pass the British army, a member of the fa-
mily came home, and stated that he had a
few moments before passed Mink on the
road, riding at full speed toward Rawdon's
"Then I must go instantly!" said the
courageous maiden, starting to her feet



"If I remain here, all hope of reaching Ge-
neral Sumter with General Greene's mes-
sage is at an end; for in less than an hour
an order will come back for my re-arrest,
and I will be detained in the British camp.
Let me go, and I will trust to Heaven and
my good cause for safety."
To retain the brave girl, under all the
circumstances, was to incur too great a re-
sponsibility. After a hurried consultation,
it was decided to 1A her proceed under
cover of the darkness, but not alone. A
fresh horse was provided, and soon after
the news that Mink the tory had passed on
toward the camp of Lord Rawdon was re-
ceived, Emily, accompanied by a trusty
guide and protector, was galloping swiftly
in a direction opposite to that in which lay
the British camp. A few miles brought her
to a road that struck off toward the point
on the Wateree which she was desirous to
reach, in a more southerly direction, and
which would take her at a wide angle from
the point she most wished to avoid. Of


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