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THE OAKWOODS OF OAKWOOD;

OR, THE DAYS OF WILLIAM THE THIRD.

CHAPTER V.-A MEETING IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. "Youth is a perpetual intoxication, it is the fever of reason.

THERE are moments in life when we are more swayed by impulse and emotion, than by reason, principle, or common sense; when a chance word, a trivial incident, or a casual meeting determines our career for a period, and diverts from their ordinary and regular course the thoughts, the feelings, and the actions of our lives. It was a moment such as this, an incident so trivial, and a meeting so unexpected, which had just occurred to Reginald Oakwood; who, impetuous, rash, and thoughtless, yielded to the impulse of the moment without much consideration, and separating from

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his companion, left the painter to pursue his way to the city alone.

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'Prenez garde, Monsieur Oakwood," said Sir Godfrey, as they parted, "take care of dat pretty face, it may lead you into de devil of a mess, ah! sare, beware of de women." And, with a shrug and a smile, he trotted on through Cheapside, while Oakwood turned his horse's head towards Westminster.

As he approached the Abbey, that most splendid and enduring monument of church architecture in its palmiest days, he caught sight of the carriage which had conveyed the strangers from

the scene of their disaster, and throwing his bridle rein to his page, he dismounted and proceeded on foot to the grand old edifice. Passing the carriage, which was empty, he entered the Abbey at Poets' Corner, where but few of the illustrious dead, whom "storied urn and animated bust" now recal to our remembrance, had then found a resting place. The interior was nearly deserted, here and there, occasional figures would be seen flitting about, like dusky shadows, but the general stillness and quietude of the place was scarcely broken by a footfall; the mellowed light of the evening sun, softened and subdued by the pictured windows and gray arcades of shade, streamed gloriously in, lighting up tomb and tablet, statue and altar, with its holy radiance. The clanging noise of Reginald's footsteps on the pavement, and the jingle of his spurs, caused the attention of the few who were in the Abbey to be directed towards him, and in one of the faces which turned to gaze at him, he recognised the elder of the ladies of his late adventure.

Approaching her with a graceful bow, he inquired after her safety and that of her friend, after the accident; but vainly looked around him for the beautiful unknown.

"I must return you," replied the lady, "my warmest thanks for saving my life at the risk of your own; and I am sure that"-here she paused a moment "that my husband, if he were here, would add his to mine."

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"I must disclaim, madam," said Re"all merit in the matter, for who ginald, would not risk a life, like mine, to save a beauty like yours."

The lady laughed musically. "Ah, sir cavalier, you are a courtier and can compliment us to our faces; I thought that the age of gallantry was past, but you seem to revive it. But," she added, "will you inform me whether the king be at Whitehall still or not?"

"At Whitehall still, madam, with her majesty; there will be a court ball to-night, at which he will be present." "Would I could be there!" said the stranger, "but that is impossible."

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Impossible! to you, madam. Oh, no! Beauty never seeks admittance in vain at Whitehall. Should you wish to see the ball, a gallery is at your disposal, as I have the honour to be in waiting on his majesty."

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Reginald paused a moment, uncertain whether he should undeceive the lady or not as to his real name, but captivated with the air of romance already thrown round the adventure, and not unwilling to add to it, he resolved to encourage her mistake, as he replied, "Ah! madam, how can one hope to elude a lady's observation."

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However, sir, if I consent to go with you to the ball to-night, no effort must be made by you to attempt to discover who or what I am, and should I be accompanied, I rely on your honour, to ask no questions of my companion.” "If a lady, none."

"Then a lady it shall be, but at what hour shall we be there ?"

As she spoke, a figure which had for some time seemed immovable beside one of the pillars, glided from his station and approached them, hurriedly, and laying his hand on the arm of the lady, drew her aside and whispered in her ear a moment. It was the same tall stranger whom we have already met in the adventure in Cheapside. The conference was a short one; the lady started for a moment, and then turning to Reginald, informed him that circumstances would now prevent her being present at the ball. May I request you, however," she added, "to deliver into the hands of Churchill this packet," and, drawing from her pocket, a large letter, she presented it to Reginald.

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Chagrined and vexed though he was at the unexpected turn affairs had taken, he accepted the commission, and after being entreated by the lady to take the earliest and most private opportunity of delivering the letter, as it contained important intelligence, he prepared to take his leave, when he perceived Sir Godfrey Kneller entering the Abbey, and at the same moment, the beautiful unknown joined the party from Henry the Seventh's chapel.

She blushed as she caught sight of Reginald, and extending her hand to him, thanked him most warmly for his

late assistance, and was proceeding, when the gentleman of the party hurriedly left the two ladies alone with the young courtier, and at the same moment, Sir Godfrey approached them.

Whether it was that the elder of the ladies still suffered from the effects of the accident, or did not wish to be recognised, she dropped her veil over her face, and requested St. Victor to conduct them to their carriage, and merely bowing to Sir Godfrey, left the Abbey. Kneller stood for a moment alone, as if in meditation, when he was joined by the tall stranger still muffled in his cloak, who, giving him a signal, drew him into Henry the Seventh's chapel, and closed the door after him.

"Ah! Sir Arthur," said the painter, you are too rash to venture to dis country now; de king will have you in de tower, if you are caught."

"Too old a fox to be caught easily, however, Kneller. I have taken care of my safety, but a word with you-how do matters go on at Whitehall?"

"All right, Sir Arthur, de king is still obstinate, and the nobles willing." "Then the blow must be soon struck," said Sir Arthur Sackville musingly, for it was that daring intriguer and statesman who now stood in the Abbey of Westminster, in the very centre of the king's power," then, Kueller, the Prince of Orange must soon sail."

Sir Godfrey was an adherent, though a concealed one, of William of Orange, and as such rendered valuable service at the court; but yet he was unprepared for the announcement which Sackville now made of the intended descent on England, and eagerly inquired for particulars. After Sackville had given him a few general answers, he explained that, with his wife and daughter, he had landed in the South of England after leaving Ireland, and that Henry Oakwood had gone direct to the Hague.

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the reply, as Sackville paced up and down the chapel. "If, flighty and rash as he is, we can romance sufficiently to cover our designs, he will be a blind tool in our hands as long as we want him ; but no more of this. I leave London to-night for the Hague; Lady Sackville and Florence remain here."

"And vhere is de pretty Mistress Oakwood?"

"Gone to the Hague with her brother; the Princess wishes her to be there. Adieu, Sir Godfrey; when we meet again, it will be under a different sovereign."

Lady

While Sackville and Kneller were conversing in the chapel, Reginald had conducted the strangers to their carriage, still ignorant of their name and rank; but yielding to the usual thoughtlessness of his disposition, and captivated by the beauty of the younger lady, he offered to accompany them to their residence, as their guardian did not appear. Lady Sackville, for it was that lady who was now assisting her husband's intrigues at the court, assented, and Reginald seated himself with a throb of pleasure by the side of the lovely Florence, and in gay and animated conversation passed the time, until they arrived near Whitehall. Sackville was not aware that Monsieur St. Victor, whom she supposed was a French attaché of her majesty's, was the same person as Reginald Oakwood, and her inquiries after him, though guarded, amused and yet puzzled Reginald exceedingly. He could not imagine who Lady Sackville was, to take such an interest in him, never having met or seen her before; and though vague remembrances of beautiful eyes like the sunny orbs of Florence, floated before his mind, as of something seen and loved in childhood, yet he could not recollect distinctly where, when, or how they had beamed on him. How often in life do we experience this sensation, this consciousness of knowledge, indistinct and imperfect, of faces, scenery, and incidents, mind pictures of early infancy, when observation had just awakened, though intellect still slept.

At Whitehall they parted, Lady Sackville, again reminding Reginald of his promise to deliver the letter at once to Churchill, and giving him as a souvenir of the adventure, a small ring with the word "Fidelity."

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IT is a remarkable instance of the comparative wisdom and humanity of modern times, that, deeply seated as slavery is in the social system of the United States, the opinion is yet very general that it ought not to be and cannot be perpetual. They are, however, a small minority who wish for a sudden or violent overthrow of the system; the great majority of thinking Americans are in favour of leaving its extinction to the slow but sure operation of natural

causes.

The abolition of slavery in the British West Indies is frequently regarded as a proof of its practicability in the United States. But a little knowledge of the circumstances of the two countries will show that the proof is the other way. It was not the Colonial Legislatures, but the Imperial Parliament, that abolished West Indian slavery, and paid for its abolition; and there is no power in America that stands in the same relation to the legislative bodies of the separate states that Parliament does to those of the West Indian Colonies, for Congress is prohibited by the constitution from interfering with the internal affairs of the states. Had any West Indian legislature abolished slavery within its jurisdiction, this might be regarded as a proof that the American States might do the same; but such is not the case. Congress cannot abolish slavery, and the states will not. We may add, that the states cannot. In the event of emancipation, it would be necessary to compensate the owners of slaves; and the slave-holding states could not raise money for that purpose. The emancipation of 800,000 of slaves in our colonies cost twenty millions sterling; and there are nearly four times that number of slaves in the United States. It would be necessary, moreover, to pay for the slaves of the Ame

ricans at a much higher price per head than the West Indians were forced to accept; for the compensation which our Parliament voted was very inadequate; and the American slaveholders being represented in the legislatures, would be able to insist on receiving the full value of what they regard as their property. It needs no proof that those states where the slaves number half the population, could not raise the necessary funds for their emancipation; and even if the non-slave-holding states were to unite in the work, we doubt whether a nation of twenty millions could afford to pay the price of the freedom of three millions of slaves.

For the loss of property consequent on emancipation, would not be compensated by paying the full market price of the slaves. In a country where abundance of labour is to be had for hire, the value of a slave is in proportion to the greater cheapness of his labour than that of a freeman; and where free labour is cheaper than that of slaves, a slave can have no value at all, and slavery will not pay. It is this cause which, at an early period, abolished slavery throughout the west of Europe. But in the cotton and sugar-growing districts of the United States, free labour is not to be had in sufficient quantities at any price. The position of the planters, if deprived of their slaves, would be like that of a farmer deprived of his horses, and unable to purchase or hire any others; the loss he would sustain would be far greater than the market price of the horses.

But, it may be said, the emancipated slaves would be willing to work for hire. This opinion is not borne out by facts. In those parts of the West Indies where population is dense, as in Barbadoes and Antigua, the emancipated slaves have become day labourers; but where

population is scanty and land abundant, as in Jamaica and Guiana, they prefer to settle on little patches of land, and raise produce enough for their own subsistence; and there can be no doubt that they would do the same in the United States, where the greater part of the land remains still uncultivated.

Were free labour obtainable in sufficient quantities, the question between free and slave labour would be one merely of cost; and there can be little doubt that the former would be found the cheaper. A slave in America may, we doubt not, be fed, clothed, and lodged, for a less sum than the wages of a freeman; but the labour of the freeman is more efficient, and his employer saves the interest on the purchase-money of the slave. The opinion is very general in the United States, that, if free labour could be had, it would be cheaper than that of slaves. Sir Charles Lyell,* from whom we take this statement, mentions a planter, near New Orleans, who tried to do without slaves, and hired Irish and German labourers; but his project was defeated by a strike for wages in the middle of harvest. Had free field-labourers been abundant, others might have been engaged, and the experiment might have been successful. The neighbourhood of New Orleans being in the heart of the slave country, and having a climate which is injurious to the white though not to the negro race, was a most unfavourable place for such an experiment; but the substitution of free for slave labour is going on in Maryland, Virginia, and other parts of the slaveholding states, where the climate is favourable to the health of the European race. The New Englanders, after leading the way in the settlement of the magnificent country between the Alleghanies and the Missisippi, are now beginning to buy out the planters of Virginia and Maryland, and to cultivate the country by means of free labour. This process will, no doubt, be accelerated by the immense immigration of Europeans which is now going on into the United States. The slaves, whose labour is thus dis placed, are removed to the South, to grow cotton or sugar, without any fear, as yet, of the competition of freemen.

Opinions seem to vary as to whether it is possible to employ the European race in field labour on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico. Everywhere, except in the rice-swamps, the whites form a great proportion of the population; and in New Orleans, notwithstanding its pestilential climate, they are a large majority. They are employed at all kinds of work except field labour: they fell timber and make railways. But we doubt whether it has been proved that they are able to become a permanent labouring population in so hot a climate, and transmit the vigour of their race undiminished to their children. One generation is not enough to test the capabilities of a race and a very large proportion of the free labouring population of the southern states is of foreign origin. Irishmen are employed in making railways and at all kinds of earth-works: men from Kentucky and Maine in felling timber. There is a large native white population, but it does not mainly consist of labourers; the hard work of the country being left to strangers and slaves.

The climate of the northern coast of the Gulf of Mexico is as hot in summer as that of the West Indies; but in winter and spring it is healthy and delightful, resembling the spring and summer of our own country; and it is then that the population is most active, for then the cotton crop is harvested, and has to be shipped, and the rivers are swollen and become easily navigable. For these various reasons a large proportion of the population of the cities consists merely of winter residents, who spend the summer in the more healthful climate of the north. These migratious are as yet confined to the city populations; but we have seen it suggested in an American work, that when the various lines of railway which are to connect the southern with the northern states are finished, and when it becomes possible to travel from Philadelphia or Cincinnati into the heart of the cotton country in a day or two, and at the cost of a few dollars, the rural labourers of the northern states will then come every year to gather the cotton of the south, and will supersede slave labour to a vast extent. In the northern

* A Second Visit to the United States, by Sir Charles Lyell. Cincinnati in 1851, by Charles Cist. Cincinnati, 1851.

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