“Well, sir, I think you will see me again. Now I must continue my way, having returned my sincere thanks for your kindness.”
With which words, uttered in that wondrous voice of immovable calmness, the young girl again inclined her head, touched her white horse with the whip, and slowly rode out of sight.
The young man continued his journey to Riverhead; arrived there, and after an animated conversation with the two attractive young ladies, he encountered the father, a fine, portly old gentleman, who met him.
“Good morning, glad to see you.”
Effingham bowed and said:
“The morning was so fine that I thought I could not spend it more agreeably than in a ride to Riverhead, sir.”
“Delightful! These August days are excellent for the corn; what news?”
“Nothing, sir. I have not seen the ‘Gazette.’”
“Oh, the ‘Gazette’ never contains any intelligence; sometimes, it is true, we hear what is going on in Parliament, but it never condescends to afford us any news from Virginia. The tobacco on the south side may be all gone to the devil for anything you read in the ‘Gazette.’ Here it is—an abominable sheet! Ah, I see we are to have a theatrical performance in Williamsburg next week,” added the old gentleman, on glancing over the paper. “Mr. Hallam and his Virginia company of comedians—very politic that addition of Virginia—are to perform ‘The Merchant of Venice,’ by permission of his worship, the Mayor, at the old theater near the capital, he announces. Truly we are improving, really becoming civilized, in this barbarous terra incognita.”
Mr. Effingham winced; he had more than once expressed a similar opinion of Virginia in good faith, not ironically, and the good old gentleman’s words seemed directed to himself. A moment’s reflection, however, persuaded him that this could not be the case; He had not visited Riverhead a dozen times since his arrival from Oxford and London, and on these occasions he never touched upon the subject of Virginia and its dreadful deficiencies.