On the first day of November, I took passage in a commodious packet, bound from New York to Charleston. The day of embarkation was fine, and my feelings of regret, on leaving my native city, gave place to an exhilarating superiority, as, in clearing her port, I saw her proud ramparts spurn the encroaching billow, while the flag of every nation swept by me, seeking her free and rich commerce.
We had a fair and pleasant voyage to Charleston, which (except in contrast with my own imperial city,) I should pronounce both an interesting and handsome looking town from its harbor. On landing, I had more than enough very civil offers to take me to the best hotel, in the best coach, on the very best terms. This matter was soon settled, and away I was whirled into the heart of the town, and set down before a spacious and ancient looking building, not exhibiting all the Corinthian ornament of our northern style of architecture, but sumptuous in its accommodations. There was an ease and an elegance in all its “appointments,” very gratifying to the flesh, as I can say from experience. Either I was in the humor to be pleased with every thing, or every thing was in the humor to please me. The very attendants, to the lowest menial, evinced the most perfect delight in waiting my pleasure, or doing my bidding; unlike our northern gentry, who by their impertinent empressement, show that they are working “for a consideration.”
The first morning after my arrival opened with smiles so bland, that I was tempted to walk to the post office and deposit my letters of introduction; for I soon learnt that the etiquette here is not to force yourself upon the acquaintance of any one. The following day brought a number of calls in answer to my letters. The gentlemen were all courteous and prepossessing, but none came up exactly to my idea of Ashton. It was late in the evening, and I was getting a little miffed, that my claims on his attention had not been acknowledged with the promptitude my importance demanded, when a quick rap at the door announced a visiter. Before I had time to smooth down my ruffled temper into any thing like complacency, in walked a tall and elegant gentleman, who, addressing me, said, “May H. Ashton claim the privilege of a friend, in greeting Mr. M—— with a heartfelt shake of the hand?” He went on to say, that an unexpected call into the country had prevented his receiving intelligence of my arrival until late in the evening, which, he remarked, must account for his apparent neglect. But as soon as I saw the man, every unworthy thought was gone. He could not be mistaken. Nature had set her stamp upon him, as one of her premium productions, when she makes the moral attributes correspond and harmonize in beautiful proportions with noble external lineaments. He had passed the zenith of life, being then perhaps sixty years old, yet time had not extinguished the fires of youth; tempered and mellowed in the school of experience, they beamed still in the smile of benevolence, and were practically illustrated in every virtue. I could dwell on the charming traits of his character forever—but lest I should tire my reader, I will hasten on to the incident which gave rise to the following interesting narrative.
It was soon settled, that I should spend as much of my leisure time as I found agreeable, at the house of my new friend. He gave me a sort of running history of what I might expect to encounter, of noise and confusion, in a castle populous with brats of all ages and sizes; but, concluded he, “good humor, like charity, hides all their failings, in my eyes, at least.” With these prepossessions, you will not be surprised to learn, that I found his family not only pleasant, but interesting. Mrs. Ashton was a lady, whose polished and dignified manners showed that she had moved in the select circle of society, which she still adorned by the charms of her conversation and the sweetness of her disposition. Her two eldest sons were settled in life, and the youngest daughter at a boarding school; but the six little rioters of grand-children were sufficiently uproarious, to show that the tranquillity of the house must not depend on silence.
I had, on my first entrance into the saloon, remarked a PORTRAIT, which, with many others, adorned the room, but which, though it hung in a much less conspicuous light, had, from the first moment I beheld it, irresistibly attracted my attention. Its subject was a young lady, apparently not more than sixteen years old. Whenever the conversation flagged, or my thoughts were free, my eyes insensibly turned to the charmed spot, and there they would rest, while with a strange delight, my mind would busy itself in trying to define, and to gift with “a local habitation and a name,” the deep, overpowering sympathies its beauty awakened in the mind of the beholder. I can speak of the effect on my feelings, but words would be inadequate to express its surpassing loveliness. In beholding it, I could only exclaim, in the celebrated words of Burke, “There surely never lighted on this globe a more delightful vision.” To describe the features separately, would give you no idea of the bewitching harmony of the whole expression. “Her eyes dark charm 'twere vain to tell.” Their light seemed as emanated from the celestial world, and while you were gazing on it, your soul appeared to catch something of the beatific vision. And yet this heavenly being seemed not sublimated beyond the affections of earth—No, the rainbow of hope and love looked as it were spanning a dark cloud, which might blot it out forever. This fascination continued from day to day, and yet no remark or inquiry was made as to the original of the portrait. I felt as if there were something mysterious or sacred about it, and that it would be intruding into the sanctuary of private feelings, to show any curiosity on the subject. None of the family ever alluded to it, though they must have observed the deep interest with which I regarded it.
One evening, after all the little nurslings were hushed, we sat as usual, telling over, with the garrulity of age, the events of “by-gone days.” Ashton's talent for animated narrative was of the first order, and the hours flew on the wings of delight, when I could get him to dilate on the revolutionary struggles at the south. Of those times his mind retained the faint recollections of childhood, but his memory was stored with volumes of their kindling and heart-stirring facts, which seemed to possess double interest, when told by the patriot and the sage. His early fancies had been fed with this “ancient lore” from the fountain of a mother's love and a mother's instructions. Listening to her stories of the self-denial, hardships and dangers, our ancestors encountered in the path to freedom, his soul had become transformed into their image; and now, the spirits of Laurens, and Rutledge, and Sumpter, seemed to stalk before me, while he rehearsed their deeds.
I inquired if any members of his own immediate family were engaged in the war? “None,” he replied, “but its evils were felt in almost every family, and its consequences, like those of other civil wars, were often destructive to domestic peace and happiness. Such was the case in our own house. I have remarked the fixed attention with which you have gazed on a female portrait in my saloon. It is not often I lift the veil which conceals the story of one whose fate was so intimately linked with the tenderest feelings of my own heart; but I see that your sympathies are already interested, and if you desire it, I will give you a brief sketch of the original of the portrait, referring, where my recollections fail, to my mother's memoranda.” I expressed my high gratification at his offer, and he proceeded to relate the following particulars.
“Morna Ridgely was the only child of Colonel Charles Ridgely, an officer in the forty-second regiment of British light infantry. He was the younger son of a noble family in Northumberland; and, as usual in such cases, the laws of entail excluded him from the advantages of patrimony, leaving him to choose between the church and the army. He possessed a gallant, noble, and sincere disposition, and scorned the idea of making ‘merchandise of the gospel;’ but to fight his country's battles, to bring glory to Old England, was quite congenial to his feelings. His choice was made, and he was to go into the army as soon as a vacancy occurred in the regiment. Meantime, he was pursuing his studies at the University of Edinburgh, where many of the younger branches of English nobility are sent.
“It was here that he formed an attachment to a lovely young Scottish maiden, by the name of Morna Donald. Her father had been the leader of a clan, which had often made incursions on the border, and, of course, his name was in ‘ill odor’ with the English gentry of the neighboring lands. But the gentle Morna bloomed in unstained purity and innocence, the brightest flower on Scottish heath—and she gave the ‘jewel of her heart’ to the gallant and open hearted Ridgely, not dreaming how soon it would be withered by the cold blight of scorn and unkindness.
“All his family, except my mother, spurned poor Morna as the daughter of a savage rebel, and declared they felt it a disgrace to receive her into their houses. Ridgely's feelings were wounded in the keenest manner by this treatment, and he would have sunk under the mortification, but for the soothing affection of my mother, between whom and himself there existed the warmest and most confidential intimacy. She proffered her heart and her house to receive the forlorn Morna, who found her bosom the ark of safety and repose, amidst the storms by which she was buffetted. About this time his commission was obtained, but the regiment not being called into service, the young couple, at my mother's solicitation, remained with her during the first year of their marriage. The spirits of the young bride had received a shock of disappointment from which they never recovered. She was calm and resigned, but the thrill of pleasure which once gave joy to her heart and beauty to her countenance, was gone never to return. Sadness preyed on her health, but her friends looked forward in hope to the interesting period when a mother's cares and a mother's love should win her spirit back to hope and happiness.