river cracked his whip with a
bang like a pistol-shot, and firmly holding in his left hand the four
long lines, brought his team to a sudden halt in front of the tavern.

Only two passengers alighted from the stage, clambering out at the
front, a mode of egress requiring agility to avoid awkward slips and
tumbles. The first to step down was a handsome young man, who held his
head proudly and looked about him with easy self-possession. A
fashionable suit of clothes and a hat in the latest Philadelphia style
proclaimed him a man of "quality." But aristocratic as were the mien
and attire of this fine gentleman, he ceased to be the chief object of
attention when his fellow-traveller emerged from the pent darkness of
the coach and sprang to the pavement.

Every eye fastened on the second stranger. His was an individuality
sure to command deference. Though of slight figure, he bore himself
with a lofty air, which lifted his stature and magnified its
proportions. Not one of those tarrying to behold the man could resist
the feeling that his was a dominating spirit, a will and personality
not to be ignored or slighted. A careful scanning of his externals
discovered that his form was symmetrical, though the head seemed
disproportionately large; the brow was high and sloping; the nose,
rather sharp; every curve of the mouth, clear cut and delicate; the
eyes, black, bright and piercing. Such was the man who, attired in a
suit of black broadcloth, with buff vest, ruffled shirt, and white
stock, and with hair tied in a modish queue, revealed himself to the
gaze of the throng in front of the Green Tree.

The spectators observed as he descended from the coach that his feet
were small, and were fitted to a nicety with polished boots of the
finest leather. No amount of gaping, gazing and inquisitive side
remark embarrassed the newcomer. Perhaps his dark eyes emitted a
sparkle of gratified vanity as he glanced about him, distributing a
gracious bow among his unknown fellow-citizens. Addressing the
innkeeper, he asked:

"Can you inform us whether Judge Brackenridge is in town?"

"Yes, sir; we are going that way," politely replied a stripling, who
stepped forward, followed by another youth with a law book under his
arm. "This is Harry Brackenridge, the judge's son."

"Surely? and your name is--?"

"Morgan Neville."

"Son of Colonel Presley Neville?"

"Yes, sir."

"Indeed! The particular friend of Lafayette." Young Neville blush