and, what with canvassing at election-polls and muster-grounds, and dancing attendance as a silent voter at the halls of the state legislature, to the membership of which his constituents had returned him, he saw but little of his family, and they almost as little of him.  His influence grew unimportant with his wards, in proportion as it obtained vigor with his faction—­was seldom referred to by them, and, perhaps, if it had been, such was the rapid growth of their affections, would have been but little regarded.  He appeared to take it for granted, that, having provided them with all the necessaries called for by life, he had done quite enough for their benefit; and actually gave far less of his consideration to his own and only child than he did to his plantation, and the success of a party measure, involving possibly the office of doorkeeper to the house, or of tax-collector to the district.  The taste for domestic life, which at one period might have been held with him exclusive, had been entirely swallowed up and forgotten in his public relations; and entirely overlooking the fact, that, in the silent goings-on of time, the infantile will cease to be so, he never seemed to observe that the children whom he had brought together but a few years before might not with reason be considered children any longer.

Children, indeed!  What years had they not lived—­what volumes of experience in human affections and feelings had the influence and genial warmth of a Carolina sun not unfolded to their spirits—­in the few sweet and uninterrupted seasons of their intercourse.  How imperious were the dictates of that nature, to whose immethodical but honest teachings they had been almost entirely given up.  They lived together, walked together, rode together—­read in the same books, conned the same lessons, studied the same prospects, saw life through the common medium of mutual associations; and lived happy only in the sweet unison of emotions gathered at a common fountain, and equally dear, and equally necessary to them both.  And this is love—­they loved!

They loved, but the discovery was yet to be made by them.  Living in its purest luxuries—­in the perpetual communion of the only one necessary object—­having no desire and as little prospect of change—­ignorant of and altogether untutored by the vicissitudes of life—­enjoying the sweet association which had been the parent of that passion, dependent now entirely upon its continuance—­they had been content, and had never given themselves any concern to analyze its origin, or to find for it a name.  A momentary doubt—­the presages of a dim perspective—­would have taught them better.  Had there been a single moment of discontent in their lives at this period, they had not remained so long in such ignorance.  The fear of its loss can alone teach us the true value of our treasure.  But the discovery was at hand.