f,
without rendering it necessary that we should cross over to any other."

"It's a true word, 'squire--the business of the one territory is
sufficient for me, at this time, and more than I shall well get through
with: but, though I know this, somehow or other I want to forget it all,
if possible; and sometimes I close my eyes in the hope to shut out ugly
thoughts."

"The feeling is melancholy enough, but it is just the one which should
test your manhood. It is not for one who has been all his life buffeting
with the world and ill-fortune, to despond at every mischance or
misdeed. Proceed with your narrative; and, in providing for the future,
you will be able to forget not a little of the past."

"You are right, 'squire; I will be a man, and stand my chance, whether
good or ill, like a man, as I have always been. Well, as I was saying,
Kate is neither unkind nor unwilling, and the only difficulty is with
her father. He is now mighty fond of the needful, and won't hear to our
marriage until I have a good foundation, and something to go upon. It is
this, you see, which keeps me here, shoulder to shoulder with these men
whom I like just as little perhaps as yourself; and it was because the
soldiers came upon us just as I was beginning to lay up a little from my
earnings, that made me desperate. I dreaded to lose what I had been so
long working for; and whenever the thought of Kate came through my
brain, I grew rash and ready for any mischief--and this is just the way
in which I ran headlong into this difficulty."

"It is melancholy, Forrester, to think that, with such a feeling as that
you profess for this young woman, you should be so little regardful of
her peace or your own; that you should plunge so madly into strife and
crime, and proceed to the commission of acts which not only embitter
your life, but must defeat the very hopes and expectations for which you
live."

"It's the nature of the beast," replied the woodman, with a melancholy
shake of the head, in a phrase which has become a proverb of familiar
use in the South. "It's the nature of the beast, 'squire: I never seem
to think about a thing until it's all over, and too late to mend it.
It's a sad misfortune to have such a temper, and so yesterday's work
tells me much more forcibly than I can ever tell myself. But what am I
to do, 'squire? that's what I want to know. Can you say nothing to me
which will put me in better humor--can you give me no advice, no