Hills and the
Alleghanies. The last day's march of my trusty guide and myself took us
down that wild, magnificent pass of Will's Creek, a valley lying between
cliffs near a thousand feet high--bald, white, and broken into towers
like huge fortifications, with eagles wheeling round the summits of the
rocks, and watching their nests among the crags.

"And hence we descended to Cumberland, whence we had marched in the year
before, and where there was now a considerable garrison of our people.
Oh! you may think it was a welcome day when I saw English colours again
on the banks of our native Potomac!"

CHAPTER LIII. Where we remain at the Court End of the Town

George Warrington had related the same story, which we have just heard,
to Madame de Bernstein on the previous evening--a portion, that is, of
the history; for the old lady nodded off to sleep many times during
the narration, only waking up when George paused, saying it was most
interesting, and ordering him to continue. The young gentleman hem'd and
ha'd, and stuttered, and blushed, and went on, much against his will,
and did not speak half so well as he did to his friendly little auditory
in Hill Street, where Hetty's eyes of wonder and Theo's sympathising
looks, and mamma's kind face, and papa's funny looks, were applause
sufficient to cheer any modest youth who required encouragement for his
eloquence. As for mamma's behaviour, the General said, 'twas as good as
Mr. Addison's trunk-maker, and she would make the fortune of any tragedy
by simply being engaged to cry in the front boxes. That is why we chose
my Lord Wrotham's house as the theatre where George's first piece should
be performed, wishing that he should speak to advantage, and not as when
he was heard by that sleepy, cynical old lady, to whom he had to narrate
his adventures.

"Very good and most interesting, I am sure, my dear sir," says Madame
Bernstein, putting up three pretty little fingers covered with a lace
mitten, to hide a convulsive movement of her mouth. "And your mother
must have been delighted to see you."

George shrugged his shoulders ever so little, and made a low bow, as his
aunt looked up at him for a moment with her keen old eyes.

"Have been delighted to see you" she continued drily, "and killed the
fatted calf, and--and that kind of thing. Though why I say calf, I don't
know, nephew George, for you never were the prodigal. I may say calf to
thee, my poor Harry! Thou hast