WOODCLIFF.

BY

HARRIET B. McKEEVER,

AUTHOR OF "EDITH'S MINISTRY," "SUNSHINE," "FLOUNCED ROBE," ETC.

PHILADELPHIA: LINDSAY & BLAKISTON. 1865.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by LINDSAY & BLAKISTON, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.

STEREOTYPED BY J. FAGAN & SON. PRINTED BY SHERMAN & CO.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER

I.—The Sea-Shore II.—A Ride on Horseback III.—Maddy's Triumph IV.—Too Proud to Bend V.—Youthful Visions VI.—A Scotch Matron VII.—The Cottage and the Hall VIII.—Boston Relatives IX.—Home Again X.—Sunshine at the Hall, Shadows at the Cottage XI.—A Mother's Life Sorrow XII.—Stars in the Night Season XIII.—Driftwood XIV.—Excelsior XV.—Strife XVI.—Rugged Hills for Weary Feet XVII.—Mirage, or Madeline after a Triumph XVIII.—The Early Dawn XIX.—"Auld Lang Syne" XX.—Out in the Light XXI.—Searching for Scottish Friends XXII.—Mist on the Mountain XXIII.—Graham Hall XXIV.—Wings Clipped that had Commenced to Soar XXV.—Parting from English Friends XXVI.—The First Link Lost and Found XXVII.—Hearts' Ease XXVIII.—Seaweed XXIX.—Beatitudes XXX.—Fellow Heirs of the Grace of Life XXXI.—Reunion

WOODCLIFF.

CHAPTER I. THE SEA-SHORE.

It is a summer afternoon—the light fleecy clouds float lazily over the glowing landscape—the sun is shining brightly over the deep blue waves, gilding their crested foam with sparkling diamonds, and lighting up the golden hair of a little girl, who sits upon the beach, gazing out upon the wide-spread ocean. It is a graceful form which sits there, tapping her dainty little foot, and laying her hand caressingly, every now and then, upon the head of her favorite old dog, Hector.

Her hat is thrown down by her side, and leaves uncovered a head of remarkable beauty: the deep blue eyes, fringed with their dark lashes, express a world of feeling; the delicately arched nostril and curved mouth betoken pride, but a troop of dimples is playing around that expressive feature, lighting up the whole face with arch humor; the transparent complexion, through which glows, in rosy tints, the feelings of her sensitive nature, lends its finishing touch of enchanting loveliness to the sweet picture; and, as the sea-breeze lifts the flowing ringlets which lie in such rich profusion around her shoulders, seldom could be seen such a revelation of bright and happy childhood as the young being who sits there, singing one of her favorite songs.

A passer-by, who knows something of the thorny paths of life's pilgrimage, would scarce know which to do, to sigh or smile at the glimpse of such a beaming face; but the ever-changing expression and flitting color would be most likely to cause a sigh, as one might anticipate the discipline which such a spirit must taste in a rough and stormy world.

But we will not anticipate sorrows, sweet child!

Bright days of happy childhood are before thee!

She certainly dreams of nothing yet but joy, and hope, and love.

"You're a good dog, Hector—don't we love each other, old fellow?" and Madeline stooped down to rub her cheek against her pet's shaggy head.

Looking up in her face as though he understood all she said, he seemed proud of his little friend's caresses, and making a kind of pleasant growl, he put up his shaggy paw, as was his custom, when he wanted to be especially petted. Not far from where she sits, may be seen a group of children playing with their wheelbarrows.

A little girl of six, and two older boys are busily engaged in filling their barrows with shining white pebbles, and while pursuing their innocent play, they prattle merrily together about the riches which they supposed themselves to be gathering.

But little difference is there between these children and men of larger growth—for these are gathering pebbles, and men are gathering dust.

"Look here! Philip," said the little girl, "I am sure that this is a real diamond; don't you remember when John Stanley came from Cape May, what a heap of diamonds he brought with him, and sold them for ever so much money?"

"Yes, sis, but then you know that he said you might gather a great many pebbles, before you get one diamond?"

"But I'm sure, Philip, that I have found a great many; so clear and so big; I'm so glad, because I'll give 'em all to mother, and we shall be so rich; she won't have to work so hard any longer; I could work here all day if I could only see dear mother smile again."

"Well, you're a good little girl, sis, and I hope that we shall find that you are right," and as they continued their innocent employment, they sang cheerily, and little Susan, in her delight, would frequently stop to clap her hands, and dance with joy. Just then, a couple of boys came up, who had been watching the children for some time.

They were clad in the height of boyish fashion, and with a conceited air, approached our little speculators, tapping their pantaloons with their canes, and with a supercilious manner, accosted them.

"What are you about there, you little fools?" said Harry Castleton. "Do you call these stones that you have been wheeling up diamonds? they're nothing but common pebbles, and you're a set of fools for your pains—you'd better go home, and dig potatoes," and rudely snatching the wheelbarrow, Harry tumbled it down to the edge of the surf, and upset all the contents into the ocean; while Charles Davenport stood by snapping his fingers with malicious delight.

It was a dreadful loss to poor little Susan, who burst into a bitter fit of weeping, and Philip stood looking angrily on.

These were larger boys, and neither of Susan's brothers felt old enough to attack them, although they were boiling with anger.

Just at that moment, a poor boy who had seen the whole proceeding, stepped up.

'Tis true that he wore patched pantaloons, which were too short, and an old threadbare jacket; but his linen collar, though coarse, was white; and his shoes, though very old and worn out, were neatly tied with black strings—poverty was stamped upon his attire, but nobility upon his broad expansive brow.

A look of manliness which shot from his fine dark eyes, and the firmness which compressed the lip, rather overawed the boys who saw him advancing; but when their mean spirits perceived the poverty of his attire, contempt mastered their temporary fear, and they stood ready for the encounter.

"For shame! young gentlemen," said the boy, "couldn't you find your equals in size and age when you attempt such cowardly acts?"

"Who are you, sir?" said Harry Castleton, "that you dare speak to your betters in such a tone? take yourself off in a minute, or I'll lay the weight of my cane across your face."

"I'm a boy like yourself, young gentleman, but I scorn to attack weak little children in their plays, or to fight with puppies."

"Do you dare to call me a puppy?" shouted Harry Castleton, and flying at the boy, he dealt him a violent blow across the face, causing the blood to fly from his nose, and at the same moment, kicking the little wheelbarrow out into the ocean.

The little girl with the golden locks had been looking on the scene, but as soon as she saw the blow struck by the young upstart, she flew towards the boy.

"Oh, Harry Castleton! aren't you ashamed of yourself! first to disturb these poor little children, and then to make a coward of yourself by attacking a boy that won't fight?" and hastening up to the boy, she took her delicate handkerchief, and wiping his bleeding nose, she said kindly,

"I am afraid that you are hurt."

"Not much, miss, it's only a trifle;" but as she seated the boy, she perceived the blood gushing from a wound in the temple, that she had not seen before.

Running to the surf, she brought the handkerchief back again, and with the most tender, generous care, continued wiping the blood which still kept oozing from the wound.

Charles and Harry stood by sneering.

"Really, coz," said Charles, "you are making a fool of yourself, waiting upon a beggar boy, as if he were the son of a gentleman."

"I don't think that fine clothes always make the gentleman; for I'm sure I've learned this afternoon, that the feelings of a gentleman may lodge under a threadbare jacket; what is your name young gentleman?" continued the child.

"My name is Roland Bruce," was the answer.

"And mine is Madeline Hamilton," was the frank response. "Why didn't you knock Harry down! I should have been so angry that I'm sure I should have struck back again."

"I was very angry, miss, but I've been taught that 'He who mastereth his spirit, is better than he that taketh a city.'

"But when you are struck, I think that you ought to defend yourself."

"I did, by trying to ward off the blow; but I should have made it no better by stooping to fight with such a boy as that."

"Well, I'm glad to see that you're a proud boy," continued the child, laughing, "and I'm sure that you made those upstarts ashamed of themselves—see how they're slinking off! I'm ashamed to call Charles Davenport cousin—do you feel better?" added the little girl.

"Yes, thank you, I'm much obliged to you for your kindness; and here, miss, is your pocket-handkerchief."

"I don't want it," said the child; "you must wear it home," and she tied it carefully over the wounded temple.

As the boy raised his cap to bid her good afternoon, looking after him, she said aloud, "I wonder what is meant by a nobleman, nature's nobleman? I guess that's one—I'd rather call him cousin, with his patched clothes, than that mean, contemptible pair."

Thus soliloquized Madeline Hamilton, the spoiled and petted child of rich Mr. Hamilton, of Woodcliff. Turning to little Susan, who still cried for her wheelbarrow, she said,

"Let us see if we can't find your barrow," and running down to the shore, she found that it had been washed up, and was fastened between a couple of large stones, from which she soon lifted it, and restored it to the poor child.

"Come over to Woodcliff to-morrow, and Aunt Matilda will give you something." Then giving the child particular directions, Madeline returned to the spot where she had left her flat, and calling Hector, hastened home. It was a tolerably long walk, and by the time that she reached home, it was late sundown.

She entered full of excitement. Throwing down her flat, and seating herself at the tea-table, she commenced telling her adventure.

"Aunt Matilda," continued the child, "what is a nobleman—nature's nobleman?"

"Why, a nobleman is one who is born of a noble family, to be sure," was the answer. "Our descent is English, and our ancestors were all nobles."

"Once I remember that you told me a nobleman was coming to dine with us, and I expected to see a very grand person; and when he came, he was only a little man, who took snuff out of a gold snuff-box, drank wine, and talked about hunting. I didn't see anything noble about him. Another time, our pastor said that Mr. Linwood would call upon us, who had divided a very large fortune equally among his brothers and sisters, though they had all been cut off by the father's will. Our pastor called him noble, because he had done a noble deed. Now, aunty, there is no use to try to make me believe anything else—everybody is noble who does noble acts; and I don't care how he is dressed, or where he lives. Now, aunty, don't be affronted, I can't help my feelings; I do love good people, and high-spirited people, even in rags; and I hate mean, low-minded people, even dressed in fine clothes. I can't act deceitfully; they make me mad, and I can't help showing it. Now, aunty, what is a gentleman?"

"One who is brought up with the manners of a gentleman, who dresses like a gentleman, and who belongs to a genteel family."

"Well, aunt, I suppose then that you call Charles Davenport a gentleman?"

"Why, to be sure I do."

"Well, I call him a vulgar, low-bred boy; and, aunt, I suppose that you would call Roland Bruce, with his patched clothes, short pantaloons, and old jacket, a common boy?"

"To be sure I would, child; why, what is he?"

"Why, I think he must be one of nature's noblemen, for he looked ever so much grander than Charles or Harry, as he stood on the beach, taking the part of poor little children, and wouldn't fight, either. They looked really mean in their fine dress, and he looked like a hero in his poor clothes. Give me nature's nobleman, after all, aunty."

"Brother, just listen to the child," said Aunt Matilda; "did you ever hear such horrid talk? I can't instil any proper pride into that girl."

Mr. Hamilton threw himself back in his chair, and laughed heartily at what he called "Madcap's spirit," and told his sister "not to be alarmed, for he was afraid that they'd find too much pride there some day, for either of them to manage."

Aunt Matilda loved her high-spirited little niece, and found it very easy to forgive her; but she was often sadly afraid that she would forget her rank, and disgrace her family, by improper connexions. Soon after tea was over, Charles and Harry made their appearance, but Madeline was still so indignant that she quickly left the room, and steadily refused all her aunt's entreaties to return.

"They're a mean pair, aunty, and I can't see either of them this evening," was all the response that she could obtain from her wilful little niece.

Before retiring, the warm-hearted child sought her father's study, and seating herself on his lap, laid her cheek softly against his, and said, "Papa, kiss me before I go to bed. If I've said anything wrong, forgive me, dear papa."

"No, little Mad-cap, you've done nothing wrong; only, dear, I don't want you to associate with all kinds of common people." And thus the impulsive child's faults were winked at by her indulgent father, and false worldly sentiments inculcated by her frivolous aunt. The next day, little Susan presented herself at Woodcliff, and Aunt Matilda, who was really kind-hearted, gave her some very nice garments for her mother and brothers; and Madeline, with the impulsiveness of her nature, was loading gifts upon her that were wholly unsuitable, until aunty came in to check the profuseness of the generous child; and Madeline was sadly disappointed as she carried back to her wardrobe a handsomely flounced pink lawn, and a pretty little jaunty hat trimmed with flowers.

"I'm sure they would have been very nice for Sundays," soliloquized the child; "at any rate, I wanted her to have them. Aunt Matilda is so stingy and so cross—dear me! I wish I was a young lady, just to do as I please. I'll have what I want, and give what I choose, then, that I will."

Many a nice garment found its way to Mrs. Grant, for Madeline regarded little Susan as her own particular protégé after the adventure by the sea-shore, and the child herself was never tired of telling her mother about the good boy that took her part so warmly, and the beautiful child that wiped his face with her fine linen handkerchief; and the mother could not help laughing as she mimicked the manner in which Harry and Charles sneaked away after her indignant rebuke; "and I am sure that they are no gentlemen, though they were dressed ever so grand," was the conclusion that little Susan always reached at the end of her story.

CHAPTER II. A RIDE ON HORSEBACK.

Woodcliff is truly a pleasant home, where Mr. Hamilton has displayed his fine taste, and rendered it one of the most attractive residences in the whole neighborhood. It is a very elegant mansion, surrounded on the first floor by piazzas, while balconies from the second story command a fine view of the adjacent country. It stands majestically on the top of a high cliff, sloping down in grassy terraces to an artificial lake, where numerous goldfish enjoy their merry gambols, and where Madeline frequently sits dabbling her pretty white feet, and throwing crumbs of bread to the pets which she has tamed. At the back of the house may be seen a large conservatory, filled with rare and beautiful flowers, and at the opposite wing a fine library; both wings opening into gardens laid out with the most exquisite taste, adorned with every variety of rich and costly shrubbery.

And here has passed the childhood of Madeline Hamilton, the only and petted child of a father who idolizes her, and who will not cross her strong will, or deny any indulgence that wealth can purchase.

Having lost her mother in her infancy, her only female guide is a maiden aunt, whose weak character is entirely unable to control the strong will of her wayward little niece. Indeed, though often much provoked, a few cunning compliments, and a shower of warm kisses, could at any time disarm Aunt Matilda's anger; so that by flattering her aunt, by numerous blandishments, and by sundry coaxing ways with her father, Madeline pretty generally ruled the household. Though proud spirited and passionate, she had a warm and generous nature—a creature of storms, and tears, and smiles; and parlor and kitchen alike bent to the will of the spoiled child, for her witcheries had bound all to her little car. Her favorite amusement was riding about the country upon a pony, which her father had purchased for her two years before.

Mounted on Selim, away she would scamper up and down the lanes and hills of Woodcliff, sometimes attended by a groom; but if she could contrive to elude his vigilance, most frequently she took these rides alone.

Selim was very gentle, and they were great friends; but occasionally he had been known to run away when suddenly frightened.

Aunt Matilda often remonstrated against these wild rides, but all in vain.

"There she goes like a Mad-cap down the lane! I tell you, brother, that we shall have her brought home some day, either crippled or killed."

Just as Aunt Matilda concluded her speech to Mr. Hamilton, the child turned her beautiful face, beaming with mischief, back upon her father, and waving her little whip in defiance, she tossed her bright locks to the wind, and galloped off.

"I can't bear to restrain her, sister; nothing has ever happened yet, and it seems such a pity to check such a spirit as that."

Madeline was in high glee, and Selim was equally frolicsome. Taking the path with which they were both familiar, she rode gaily along, fearless and joyous, singing some merry song.

Passing a corner of the road, she was suddenly attracted by the sight of the boy of the sea-shore. As she passed, he took off his cap respectfully to the little girl, and she returned the salutation by reining up her horse, and inquiring about his injuries.

"They are quite well, miss," was the reply; "and mother is very thankful to the young lady, who so kindly lent me her handkerchief."

Just then Maddy perceived Harry and Charles riding rapidly up the road, and who started off at a quick pace as they passed her. Charles gave two or three cuts of his whip upon Selim's haunches, a liberty which he would not bear. He started in full gallop. Madeline kept her seat bravely, but with a pale cheek and quivering lip; for now she was really frightened, and found herself incapable of checking his speed. On he galloped, more and more fiercely, for the sight of the flying horses but increased the swiftness of his flight.

Roland saw her danger, and every moment expected to see her thrown as he perceived her swaying backward and forward. With lightning speed, he had started as soon as he saw the mean act of the boys, and by wondrous efforts succeeded in reaching the horse. Exerting all his strength, he headed off the animal at the risk of his life, and seizing the bridle, held on even while the horse was rearing.

"Hold tight, Miss Madeline," said Roland, with a firm voice; "men are coming."

At that moment he was thrown to the ground, but still held on to the bridle, though kicked severely by the frightened animal.

In another instant two men arrived, who succeeded in lifting Madeline from Selim's back; and extricating Roland from his perilous condition, found that he had severely sprained his ankle, and received several bruises.