“Truly glad am I, my dear Richard, to see that you once more recognize me as your friend. For such I have ever been, as many others are, and your taking up a different impression was not owing to me, or to their conduct, but to your own over sensitiveness. However, let us remember only the brightest spots in the past, and ‘look forward with hopes for the morrow.’ But I am saying nothing of that which most interests you. The bare suspicion is horrible; it cannot be true;—there could have been no motive whatever for his emigrating—but as from the tone of your letter I should judge that you had heard nothing from this place since you left, I will state to you such changes as have occurred. Your departure was unexpected to many, and I mean not to compliment you, when I say that no one could have left, whose absence would have been more deeply regretted by his friends. I did not see her for several weeks after your departure, and then her countenance bore delicate traces of grief; they would not have been perceptible to a stranger, but to me, who had known her long, they were plainly legible. She was calm, and I ventured to inquire if she had heard from you; her eyes filled with tears, she was silent, and after a moment changed the conversation. Her father has been very much censured for his opposition by the few to whom the circumstances are known.
“I think about six months elapsed, when he began to speculate largely, and soon after that time removed with his family to Baltimore, that he might have a wider theatre for action; and I suppose you will pardon the rhapsody, when I say that with his removal, went the brightest star which ever shed its influence over our goodly town. But, by the by, as you are a lover that is not pretty enough. As a friend of mine would say, every thing was quite opaque when she left us,—or, as I with more gallantry would say, for we have still many bright constellations of beauty, her departure was like the gloom which follows the bursting of the rocket.
“Now let me say, I think I can remove your fears, for these pretty things are called up by my having seen her some three months since in Baltimore. I was at her house, she was cheerful, and not a member of her family spoke of moving; so, my dear fellow, all your alarm was unnecessary farther than sympathy with a fellow creature had its claims. Come, quit hunting, and attend to your profession, and you may yet realize your early hopes. We lay in some of our goods in Baltimore, and I shall reserve to myself the pleasure of telling her in person, the wild fancy which entered your brain; it will serve to amuse, and yet she cannot fail deeply to appreciate your conduct.
“Now that we have began a correspondence, let me hope that you will continue it—and do, if you please, tell me more of your friend Earthquake, for he is perfectly an original, and although at first, his name prejudiced me against him, yet I think I could love such a man.
“Believe me, ever yours.”
The above letter served to remove all Rolfe's suspicions, and made him happy; since besides destroying the many painful apprehensions in which he had indulged relative to her he loved, it also served to convince him that he was still esteemed by his friends, and added a fresh impulse to the resolution he had formed to devote his time entirely to his profession. Seeking his friend Earthquake, he lost no time in communicating to him the happy tidings. He was almost as much delighted at them as Rolfe himself, and urging him to prosecute the resolution he had formed, he stated, that he was tired of the woods, and intended to run for the office of sheriff, which was to be filled in a neighbouring county at their next court. Rolfe suggested to him that he did not think he was sufficiently well acquainted with accounts. Earth admitted that he was not as smart at figures as some people he had seen, but said he knew as much as Bob Black, who was the only candidate he had heard spoken of, and added, “Rolfe, if I don't know how to make out a big account agin a poor fellow, why it don't matter much; and if one is able to pay, and wont, why 'taint worth while to be so particular, I will lick him until he settles up, so I think I can make the eends meet.”
“Very well then,” said Rolfe, “take a chance, and, if elected, try and qualify yourself for the office.”
“Well, now,” said Earth, “you have hit the nail right on the head, for that is just what I mean to do, and if I don't hull out Bob Black, I'm a heap worse than I look for.”
Time wore on:—court day arrived, and Bob Black and Earthquake were the only candidates. Near a large square log building, called the court-house, and which had been built for that purpose, until a better one could supply its place, a crowd had gathered, and appearances indicated that no very ordinary event was about to occur; for the multitude swaggered about with an important air, and each one felt larger than on ordinary occasions. Moreover, they seemed excited, not by artificial stimulus, but by the importance of some coming event. That the hour which custom had set apart as the time when they should begin to drink had not arrived, if you are a shrewd observer, you would have seen at a glance; for many of the crowd would change a heavy quid from the left to the right side, and cocking up their eyes at the sun, gaze for a moment to see the hour, then shake their heads and cast them down as if disappointed; and then, if you had been present, you would have heard inquiries of this sort:—“Who toats the silver time of day in his pocket?” and perhaps an answer to this effect:—“Lawyer Rolfe; he's a gentleman all over, and a nation fine man.” Then if you would keep a sharp look out, you might have seen several pressing forward towards Rolfe, who stood in earnest conversation just before a small tippling shop, and to the remark, “you toat the silver time of day, 'Squire, tell us the hour,” have heard Rolfe reply, “twelve, by every good watch, for you know time flies faster on election than on other days;” and then turning to the barkeeper, say, “give us a gallon of your best.” At that call, the tobacco fell in large wads upon the ground, and a pleasing smile played over their countenances.
Yes, it was both an election and court day.—Rolfe was to make his first appearance at the Kentucky bar, and our old friend Earth was to run for the sheriffalty. The space which was marked out as the court-yard, was merely a clearing in the forest, from which the trees had been lately removed, and which still presented an unseemly appearance, from the many stumps which were yet left standing. In this place, the multitude had collected, and it was as marked in its aspect as the spot it occupied. There were present persons of all ages, of all sizes, and of all shapes; and they were clad in garments as dissimilar as themselves. They were habited in hunting shirts, or wrapped in blankets, or wore buckskin breeches, which fitted them tightly, and on their heads they had hats or caps of every shape, and in the latter were exhibited the skins of almost every animal indigenous to our country. Besides these I have particularized, there were also present many well dressed, foppishly dressed, and genteel looking men, who were in fact no better than those we have described, for all were frank, honest, and hospitable; and throughout this multitude were poking about, wherever an opening in the crowd would permit it, women and children, as dissimilar in appearance as the men we have already characterized, and from it, the noise of a thousand jarring voices broke upon the ear. On the outside of the court-yard, and in every direction, fastened to every tree or limb which would swing a bridle, was seen a mule, a jackass, or a horse. They were in every condition, from Don Quixote's Rosinante to that of an Englishman's best hunter. On some there were saddles and bridles. Others had no saddles, but meal bags or blankets were made to serve the same purpose, and with them grape vines or twisted hickory withes, were used as bridles. They amused themselves in various ways,—the mules and jackasses by braying,—most of the horses by whickering, whenever any stranger came up,—and the whole by kicking occasionally, with the exception of a few, to whom years had given great gravity of character, and they seemed to derive much enjoyment by scraping, with their teeth, the bark from the trees.