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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:46:19 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15244-0.txt b/15244-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b29f5e7 --- /dev/null +++ b/15244-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6836 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lewie or, The Bended Twig, by Cousin Cicely + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Lewie or, The Bended Twig + +Author: Cousin Cicely + AKA Sarah Hopkins Bradford (b. 1818) + +Release Date: March 3, 2005 [eBook #15244] +[Most recently updated: December 16, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Juliet Sutherland, Graeme Mackreth and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEWIE *** + + + + +Lewie; +or, +The Bended Twig + +by Cousin Cicely + +AUTHOR OF THE “SILVER LAKE STORIES,” ETC. ETC. + + +“Train up this child for me, and I will give thee thy wages.” + +“Mother! thy gentle hand hath mighty power, +For thou alone may’st train, and guide, and mould, +Plants that shall blossom with an odor sweet, +Or like the cursed fig-tree, wither and become +Vile cumberers of the ground.” + + + + +AUBURN: +ALDEN, BEARDSLEY & CO. +ROCHESTER: +WANZER, BEARDSLEY & CO. +1854. + + +Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by +ALDEN BEARDSLEY & CO. +In the Clerk’s Office for the Northern District of New York. + + +Contents + + Preface + Detailed Contents + + CHAPTER I. LITTLE AGNES. + CHAPTER II. BROOK FARM. + CHAPTER III. CHRISTMAS TIME. + CHAPTER IV. COUSIN BETTY. + CHAPTER V. HOME AGAIN. + CHAPTER VI. THE TABLEAUX. + CHAPTER VII. THE GOVERNESS. + CHAPTER VIII. BITTER DISAPPOINTMENTS. + CHAPTER IX. EMILY’S TRIALS. + CHAPTER X. THE TUTOR AND THE PUPIL. + CHAPTER XI. RUTH GLENN. + CHAPTER XII. LEWIE AT SCHOOL. + CHAPTER XIII. NEW SCENES FOR AGNES. + CHAPTER XIV. THE SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING. + CHAPTER XV. THE STRANGERS IN THE ROOKERY. + CHAPTER XVI. DEATH AND THE FUGITIVE. + CHAPTER XVII. THE JAIL. + CHAPTER XVIII. THE TRIAL. + CHAPTER XIX. THE SEALED PAPER. + CHAPTER XX. TWICE FREE. + CHAPTER XXI. THE WINDING UP. + + + + +[Illustration: BROOK FARM] + + + + +Preface. + + +It seems to be thought that a preface or introduction of some sort is +absolutely necessary to a book; why, I do not know, unless it be that +it looks rather abrupt to begin one’s story without a word as to the +why or wherefore of its being written. This in the present case can be +said very shortly. + +The principal events in the following story, the loved and petted child +being, as it seemed, given back to life in answer to the mother’s +importunate cry; the indulgence under which he grew up, and the fatal +consequences of that indulgence upon a temper such as his; are taken +from real life, and may be used as sad warnings to those who shrink +from the present trouble and pain, of rightly training the little ones +God has given them. + +The story of the Governess is a true one in every particular; names +only being altered; I believe there are none remaining now whose +feelings will be pained by this sad history being made public, so far +as this little book may make it so, but there are one or two I know, +and perhaps more, now living, who will smile if the chapter entitled +“Ruth Glenn” meets their eyes, when they remember the disturbed nights +years ago at a certain city boarding school. If she to whom I have +given this name should ever see these pages, I hope she will forgive me +for thus “telling tales out of school,” in consideration of the high +station to which by my single voice I have raised her, and the pleasant +memory she leaves behind. + +Many other little scenes and incidents interwoven in, the story, are +from life. + +And now I can only close my preface as I have closed the book, in the +earnest hope that it may have the effect of leading some mothers to +train rightly the little shoots springing up around the parent tree, +restraining their wandering inclinations, and teaching them ever to +look and grow towards Heaven. + +THE AUTHOR. + + + + +Contents. + + +CHAPTER I. +LITTLE AGNES. +Page The cross baby brother—The patient sister—The novel-reading +mamma—The broken work-box—Undeserved punishment—The lock of papa’s +hair—Old Mammy—The cold north room—“Never alone”—Aunt Wharton—Lewie +sick—A pleasant change for the little prisoner + + +CHAPTER II. +BROOK FARM. +Bridget’s rage—Mammy’s story—The runaway match—The dead father—The +cheerful home at Brook Farm—Cousin Emily—The ice palace—Christmas +secrets—The mother’s agony—Life from the dead + + +CHAPTER III. +CHRISTMAS TIME. +Preparations for Christmas—The needle-book—Santa Claus himself expected +-Old Cousin Betty—Loads of presents—Christmas Eve—Appearance of Santa +Claus—“Who can he be?”—Cousin Tom—Poor Emily’s grief + + +CHAPTER IV. +COUSIN BETTY. +Cousin Betty—Absence of mind and body—A habit of dying—The shadow on +the wall—Cousin Betty’s ride on Prancer—Training day—Cousin Betty a +captain of militia—Cousin Betty’s stories + + +CHAPTER V. +HOME AGAIN. +Agnes and Mr. Wharton on their way to the Hemlocks—The novel-reading +mamma again—Lewie better—Agnes must stay—A lay sermon to Mrs. Elwyn—The +needle-case—The bitter disappointment + + +CHAPTER VI. +THE TABLEAUX. +Lewie roving the woods and fields again—Capricious and fretful +still—The birth-day party at Mr. Wharton’s—Preparations for +tableaux—Another disappointment for Agnes—The sweetest tableaux of all + + +CHAPTER VII. +THE GOVERNESS. +The lady who came for wool—The home in New-England—Midnight +studies—Miss Edwards engaged as governess—A universal genius—A letter +from the long-lost brother—The journey—The old Virginia church—The +ghost no ghost at all—The old log-house—Horrible murder!—of _pigs_ + + +CHAPTER VIII. +BITTER DISAPPOINTMENTS. +No news from Miss Edwards—The letter from the strange physician—The +manuscript—The brother found, and where—The engagement—Desertion—The +country house—The “crazy room”—The Eastern Asylum—Rest at last in the +quiet nook + + +CHAPTER IX. +EMILY’S TRIALS. +Lewie’s education—Mr. Malcolm tutor at the Hemlocks—Frequent calls at +Brook Farm—Emily’s sufferings—The disclosure—Strength for time of trial + + +CHAPTER X. +THE TUTOR AND THE PUPIL. +Lewie’s insubordination—Passion and tears—The mother’s anxiety—Mr. +Malcolm’s firmness—No dinner for Lewie—Sulking—Brought to terms at +last—The tutor dismissed + + +CHAPTER XI. +RUTH GLENN. +Leaving for boarding-school—Mrs. Arlington and her daughters—The third +story room—The new strange girl—Nocturnal disturbances—Ruth Glenn’s +expostulations—Imminent danger—The physician consulted—Morning +walks—Sad partings + + +CHAPTER XII. +LEWIE AT SCHOOL. +The dictator in the play-ground—Strife and contention—The +tormentor—Lewie’s mortification—The sore spot—The attack upon +Colton—The removal from school—Mrs. Elwyn’s failing health—Agnes +summoned—A death bed—Changes proposed to Agnes—Her departure for +Wilston + + +CHAPTER XIII. +NEW SCENES FOR AGNES. +The two Miss Fairlands—The step-mother—Arrival at Wilston—Unpromising +pupils—Poor Tiney—Dreadful scene at the tea-table—Tiney’s suffering—The +effect of music + + +CHAPTER XIV. +THE SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING. +A hard task—The children’s toilettes—Bible teachings—Practical +applications—Sunday at Mr. Fairland’s—The children’s singing—The +father’s tears—A visit to Brook Farm—A visit from Lewie + + +CHAPTER XV. +THE STRANGERS IN THE ROOKERY. +An arrival—The Rookery—Mrs. Danby and Bella—A sudden accident—The +rescue—The strangers—An old friend—A row on the lake—Music on the +water—Shrieking in the house—A new method of laying spirits—Mortifying +disclosures by Frank + + +CHAPTER XVI. +DEATH AND THE FUGITIVE. +Music on the lawn—The midnight interview—The horrid truth +disclosed—Lewie a fugitive from justice—Jealousy of Calista and +Evelina—Poor Tiney’s death bed—The search—The arrest + + +CHAPTER XVII. +THE JAIL. +Return to Brook Farm—The visit to the jail—The involuntary and the +voluntary prisoner—A talk about the future—Mr. Malcolm’s visits—The +lawyer—The evening before the trial + + +CHAPTER XVIII. +THE TRIAL. +The Court-room—Mr. W.—The testimony—Speeches—Mr. G.’s agitation—Charge +to the jury + + +CHAPTER XIX. +THE SEALED PAPER. +A night of fearful suspense—The verdict—Insensibility—Delirium—Meeting +between the brother and sister—Lewie’s illness—Longings for freedom—A +journey to the capital—Ruth Glenn again—The governor—A sister’s +pleadings—Her reward + + +CHAPTER XX. +TWICE FREE. +Freedom for the captive—Removal to Brook Farm—Decline—Changes of temper +and heart—A final release—The quiet nook—Resignation —Cheerfulness—The +unexpected visitor + + +CHAPTER XXI. +THE WINDING UP. +Repairs at the Rookery—Calista and Evelina on the _qui vive_—Mr. +Harrington and his bride—Another Christmas gathering—Farewell, and kind +wishes + + + + +I. +Little Agnes. + + +“And she, not seven years old, +A slighted child.”—WORDSWORTH. + + +“What _is_ it Lewie wants? Does he want sister’s pretty book?” + +“No!” roared the cross baby boy, pointing with his finger to the +side-board. + +“Well, see here, Lewie! here is a pretty ball; shall we roll it? There! +now roll it back to sister.” + +“No-o-o!” still screamed Master Lewie, the little finger still +stretched out towards something on the side-board which he seemed much +to desire. + +“Here is my lovely dolly, Lewie. If you will be very careful, I will +let you take her. See her beautiful eyes! Will Lewie make her open and +shut her eyes?” + +“No-o-o-o!” again shouted the fretful child, and this time so loud as +effectually to arouse his youthful mamma, who was deep in an arm-chair, +and deeper still in the last fashionable novel. + +“Agnes!” she exclaimed sharply, “cannot you let that child alone? I +told you to amuse him; and instead of doing so, you seem to delight in +teazing him and making him scream.” + +Again the little girl tried in various ways to amuse the wayward child. +He really was not well, and felt cross and irritable, and nothing that +his little sister could do to please him would succeed. With the utmost +patience and gentleness she labored to bring a smile to her little +brother’s cheek, or at least so to win his attention as to keep him +from disturbing her mother. But the handkerchief rabbits, and the paper +men and women she could cut so beautifully, and which at times gave +little Lewie so much pleasure, were now all dashed impatiently aside. +One by one her little playthings were brought out, and placed before +him, but with no better success. Lewie had once seen the contents of a +beautiful work-box of his sister’s, which stood in the centre of the +side-board: at this he pointed, and for this he screamed. Nothing else +would please him; at nothing else would he condescend to look. + +“Oh, Lewie! darling Lewie! play with something else! Don’t you know +Aunt Ellen gave sister that pretty work-box? and she said I must be so +careful of it, and Lewie would break all sister’s pretty things.” + +Again Master Lewie had recourse to the strength of his lungs, which he +knew, by past experience, to be all-powerful in gaining whatever his +fancy might desire, and sent forth a roar so loud as once more to +arouse the attention of the novel-reading mamma; who, with a stamp of +the foot, and a threatening shake of the finger, gave the little girl +to understand that she must expect instant and severe punishment, if +Lewie was heard to scream again. + +Still Lewie demanded the work-box, and nothing that the patient little +Agnes could do would divert his attention from it for a moment. The +little angry brow was contracted, and the mouth wide open for another +shriek, when little Agnes, with a sigh of despair, went to the +side-board, and, mounting on a chair, lifted down her much-valued and +carefully-preserved treasure, saying to herself: + +“If Aunt Ellen only _knew_, I think she would not blame me!” + +And now with a shout of delight the spoiled child seized on the pretty +work-box; and in another moment, winders, spools, scissors, thimble, +were scattered in sad confusion over the carpet. In vain did little +Agnes try, as she picked up one after the other of her pretty things, +to conceal them from the baby’s sight; if one was gone, he knew it in a +moment, and worried till it was restored to him. + +Finally, laying open the cover of the box, he began to pound with a +little hammer, which was lying near him, upon the looking-glass inside +of it; and, pleased with the noise it made, he struck harder and still +harder blows. + +“No, no, Lewie! please don’t! You will break sister’s pretty +looking-glass. No! Lewie must not!” And Agnes held his little hand. At +this the passionate child threw himself back violently on the floor, +and screamed and shrieked in a paroxysm of rage; in the midst of which, +the threatened punishment came upon poor little Agnes, in the shape of +a sharp blow upon her cheek, from the soft, white hand of her mother, +who exclaimed: + +“There! didn’t I tell you so? It seems to be your greatest pleasure to +teaze and torment that poor baby; and you know he is sick, too. Now, +miss, the next time he screams, I shall take you to the north room, and +lock you up, and keep you there on bread and water all day!” + +Agnes retreated to a corner, and wept silently, but very bitterly, not +so much from the pain of the blow, as from a sense of injustice and +harsh treatment at the hands of one who should have loved her; and the +mother returned to her novel, in which she was soon as deep as ever. At +the same moment, the looking-glass in the cover of the work-box flew +into fifty pieces, under the renewed blows of the hammer in Master +Lewie’s hand. + +The little conqueror now had free range among his sister’s hitherto +carefully-guarded treasures; her bits of work, and little trinkets, +tokens of affection from her kind aunt and her young cousins at Brook +Farm, were ruthlessly torn in pieces, or broken and strewed over the +floor. Agnes sat in mute despair. She knew that as long as her mother +was absorbed in the novel, no sound would disturb her less powerful +than Lewie’s screams, and that all else that might be going on in the +room would pass unnoticed by her. So, wiping her eyes, she sat still in +the corner, watching Lewie with silent anguish, as he revelled among +her precious things, as “happy as a king” in the work of destruction, +and only hoping that he might not discover one secret little spot in +the corner of the box where her dearest treasure was concealed. + +But at length she started, and, with an exclamation of horror, and a +cry like that of pain, she sprang towards her little brother, and +violently wrenched something from his hand. And now the piercing +shrieks of the angry and astonished child filled the house, and brought +even Old Mammy to the room, to see what was the matter with the baby. +Mammy opened the door just in time to witness the severe punishment +inflicted upon little Agnes, and to receive an order to take that +naughty girl to the north room, and lock her in, and leave her there +till farther orders. + +Agnes had not spoken before, when rebuked by her mother; but now, +raising her mild blue eyes, all dimmed by tears, to her mother’s face, +she said: + +“Oh, mamma! it was papa’s hair!—it was that soft curl I cut from his +forehead, as he lay in his coffin, Lewie was going to tear the paper!” +But even this touching appeal, which should have found its way to the +young widow’s heart, was unheeded by her—perhaps, in the storm of +passion, it was unheard; and Agnes was led away by Mammy to a cold, +unfurnished room, where she had been doomed to spend many an hour, when +_Lewie was cross_; while the fretful and half-sick child, now tired of +his last play-thing, was taken in his mother’s arms, and rocked till he +fell into a slumber, undisturbed for perhaps an hour, except by a +start, when the tears from his mother’s cheek fell on his—tears caused +by the _well-imagined_ sufferings of the heroine of her romance. + +All the time Mammy was leading little Agnes through the wide hall, and +up the broad stairs and—along the upper hall to the door of the “North +Room,” the good old woman was wiping her eyes with her apron, and +trying to choke down something in her throat which prevented her +speaking the words of comfort she wished to say to the sobbing child. +When they reached the door of the room in which little Agnes was to be +a prisoner, Mammy sat down, and taking the child in her lap she took +off her own warm shawl and pinned it carefully around her, and as she +stooped to kiss her, Agnes saw the tears upon her cheek. + +“Why do you cry, Mammy?” she asked, “mamma has not scolded you to-day, +has she?” + +“No, love.” + +“Are you crying then because you are so sorry for me?” + +“That’s it, my darling, I cannot bear to lock you up here alone for the +day and leave you so sorrowful, you that ought to be as blithe as the +birds in spring.” + +“Mammy, do you think I deserve this punishment?” + +“No, sweet, if I must say the truth, I do not think you ever deserve +any punishment at all. But I must not say anything that’s wrong to you, +about what your mamma chooses to do.” + +“Then, Mammy, don’t you think I ought to be happier than if I had +really been naughty and was punished for it. Don’t you remember Mammy +the verse you taught me from the Bible the last time Lewie was so +fretful and mamma sent you to lock me up here. I learned it afterwards +from my Bible: hear me say it:—” + +‘For what glory is it if when ye be buffeted for your faults ye take it +patiently; but if when ye do well and suffer for it, ye take it +patiently, this is acceptable with God.’ + +“Now, Mammy, I did try to be patient with Lewie, and I gave him +everything I had, but I could not let him destroy that lock of papa’s +hair. I am afraid I was rough then, I hope I did not hurt his little +hand. Mammy, do you think mamma loves me _any_.” + +“How could anybody help loving you, my darling!” + +“But, oh! Mammy, if I thought she would ever love me as she does Lewie! +She never kisses me, she never speaks kind to me. No, Mammy, I do not +think she loves me; but how strange it is for a mother not to love her +own little girl.” + +“Well, darling, we will talk no more of that, or we shall be saying +something naughty; we will both try and do our duty, and then God will +bless us, and whatever our troubles and trials may be, let us go to Him +with them all. Now, darling, I must leave you.” + +“Mammy, will you please bring me my Bible; and my little hymn-book? I +want to learn the” + +‘I am never alone.’ + + +“God is always by my side, isn’t he Mammy?” + +“Yes, love, and he says, ‘I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.’” + +When little Agnes was left alone in the great cold room, she walked up +and down the floor repeating to herself verses from her Bible and +hymn-book. Sometimes she stopped at the window and looked across the +country, towards a wooded hill, where just above the tops of the trees +she could see the chimneys of her uncle’s house; and she thought how +happy her young cousins were in the love of their father and mother, +and she remembered how her own dear papa had loved her, and she thought +of the difference now; and the tears flowed afresh. Then she walked the +room again, repeating in a low voice to herself the words: + +“Never alone; though through deserts I roam +Where footstep of man has ne’er printed the sand. +Never alone; though the ocean’s wild foam +Rage between me and the loved ones on land. +Though hearts that have cherished are laid ’neath the sod, +Though hearts which should cherish are colder than stone, +I still have thy love and thy friendship my God, +Thou always art near me; I’m never alone.” + + +Soon she grew tired of walking, and seating herself at the table, she +laid her head upon her crossed arms and was soon in a sweet slumber, +and far away in her dreams from the cold desolate north room, at “the +Hemlocks.” + +At the end of an hour the youthful widow was disturbed by the sound of +merry sleigh-bells, and she had only time to throw her novel hastily +aside, when the door opened and her sister-in-law, Mrs. Wharton, +entered, accompanied by two of her little girls, their bright faces +glowing with health and happiness. + +“And how are the children?” Mrs. Wharton asked, after the first +salutations were over. + +“Why, Lewie does not seem well, he has been complaining for a day or +two.” + +“And where is Agnes? We rode over to see if you let her go over and +pass the holidays with us.” + +“Why, to tell the truth, Agnes has been very naughty, and I have been +obliged to shut her up.” + +“Again!” exclaimed Mrs. Wharton, while glances of indignation shot from +the eyes of her two little girls. “Agnes naughty, and shut up again! +Why, Harriet, do you know she appears to me so perfectly gentle and +lovely, that I can hardly imagine her as doing anything wrong. Mr. +Wharton and I often speak of her as the most faultless child we have +ever met with.” + +“She is not so bad in other ways, but she does delight to tease Lewie, +and keep him screaming. Now, it has been one incessant scream from the +child all this morning, and Agnes _can_ amuse him very well when she +chooses.” + +“Judging from all her own pretty things scattered about the floor here, +I should think she had been doing her best to amuse him,” said Mrs. +Wharton; “she has even taken down her beautiful work-box, of which she +has always been so careful. You may be sure it was a case of extremity, +which compelled her to do that.” + +“Why, what a sad litter they have made to be sure; I did not observe it +before. The fact is, Ellen, I have been exceedingly occupied this +morning, and did not know what the children were about, only that Agnes +kept Lewie screaming, and, at last, with the utmost rudeness, for that +I saw myself, she snatched something from his hand, and for that, I +punished her.” + +“Ah, yes, I see, Harriet,” said Mrs. Wharton, glancing at the +yellow-covered publication on the table; “I see how it is, now; you +have been wholly absorbed in one of those wretched novels, and left +little Agnes to take care of a sick, cross baby. That child is very +sick, Harriet; do you see what a burning fever he has?” + +“Ellen, do you think so?” said the mother hastily and in great +agitation. “Oh, Ellen, what shall I do; oh, what _shall_ I do! perhaps +my baby, my darling, is going to be very ill.” + +“Do not agitate yourself so, Harriet, I will send Matthew directly over +to the village for the doctor; but first, may I have Agnes?” + +“Oh, do what you please with Agnes, only send the doctor to my baby; +call Mammy, she will bring Agnes, and do go, quick!” + +The bell was rung, and Mammy was despatched to bring the little +prisoner down; she found her as we left her, sleeping with her head +upon her arms. + +“Precious lamb!” said Mammy, “she has cried herself to sleep.” Then, +kissing her, and rousing her gently, she told her that her aunt and +cousins had come to take her to Brook Farm. + +Agnes was at first very happy at the idea of once more enjoying the +sunshine of her aunt’s cheerful home, but, when she heard that Lewie +was sick, a cloud came over her face. + +“Aunty,” she whispered, “I think I had better not go, perhaps I can do +something for Lewie. I can _almost_ always amuse him.” + +“Lewie is too sick to be amused now, my dear, and you can do no good +here; besides, I want to get you away as quickly as possible, for I +think it may be the scarlet fever that Lewie has. Come, darling, we +will go.” + +Agnes drew her hand quietly from that of her aunt, and running back, +she stooped over her little brother as he lay in his mother’s arms, and +kissed him; and then, standing a moment before her mother, she raised +her eyes to her face. But her mother’s eyes, with a gaze of almost +despair, were fixed on her darling boy, and she did not seem to be +aware even of the presence of her little daughter. + +A look of disappointment passed over the face of Agnes, as, without +intruding upon her mother by even a word of farewell, she turned, and +put her hand once more in that of her aunt. And now, as, comfortably +wrapped in buffalo skins, Mrs. Wharton and the little girls are flying +over the country roads, to the sound of the merry sleigh-bells, we will +relate a conversation which took place between Mammy and Bridget; and +by so doing, will give a little insight into the history of the young +widow, whom we have introduced to the reader. + + + + +II. +Brook Farm. + + +“By the gathering round the winter hearth, +When twilight called unto household mirth; +By the fairy tale, or the legend old, +In that ring of happy faces told; +By the quiet hours when hearts unite +In the parting prayer and the kind “good night”, +By the smiling eye and the loving tone, +Over thy life has the spell been thrown.”—SPELLS OF HOME. + + +When Mammy left little Agnes in the north room, and descended to the +kitchen, she found Bridget, who had already been made acquainted with, +passing events by Anne, the chambermaid, in a state of great wrath and +indignation. The china must have been strong that stood so bravely the +rough treatment it received that morning, and the tins kept up a +continued shriek of anguish as they were dashed against each other in +the sink; while every time Bridget set down her foot as she stamped +about the kitchen, it was done with an emphasis that made itself felt +throughout the whole house. + +“And so ye’ve been locking up that swate crathur again, have ye, Mrs. +McCrae?” were the words with which, in no gentle tones, she assailed +Mammy as she entered the kitchen. + +“I did as I was bid, Bridget,” said Mammy, with a sigh. + +“And indade it wouldn’t be me would do as I was bid, if I was bid to do +the like o’ that. I’d rather coot off my right hand than use it to turn +the kay on the darlint.” + +“I always mind my mistress, Bridget,” said Mammy, “though it’s often +I’m forced to pray for patience wi’ her.” + +“And indade I don’t ask for patience wid her at all, anny how,” stormed +Bridget. “To think of sending the swate child, that never has anny but +a kind an’ a pleasant word for _iverybody_, away to the cold room, just +because the brat she doats on chooses to _yowl_ in the fashion he did +the morn. I don’t know, indade, what’s the matther with the woman! I +think it’s a quare thing, and an _on nattheral_ thing, _anny how_!” + +“She’s much to be blamed, no doubt, Bridget, and yet there’s excuses to +be made for my mistress,” said Mammy, mildly. “She’s young yet in +years, no but twenty-two; and she’s nothing but a child in her ways and +her knowledge. She never knew the blessing of a mither’s care, puir +thing; and up to the very day she was married, her life was passed at +one o’ them fashionable boarding-schules, where they teach them to play +on instruments, and to sing, and to dance, and to paint, and to talk +some unchristian tongue that’s never going to do them no good for this +life nor the next. But they never give them so much as a hint that +they’ve got a soul to be saved, and they take no pains to fit them to +be wives and mothers. My mistress was but fifteen years old when she +ran away with Master Harry. Poor dear Master Harry! It was the only +fulish thing I ever knew him to do, was running away wi’ that chit of a +schule-girl. He met her, I think, at a ball that was given at this +schule, and Master Harry was over head and ears in love in a minute; +and after two or three meetings and a few notes passing, they +determined on this runnin’ away folly. I think it was them novels she +was always readin’ put it in her head. It wouldn’t do, you know, to be +like other folks, but they must have a little kind of a romance about +it. Puir, fulish, young things!” + +“You see, I was living with old Mr. Elwyn then,” continued Mammy; +“indeed, I’ve been in the family ever since I came over from Scotland, +quite a lassie, thirty-one years ago come next April. I left them, +besure, when I married; but as my gude-man lived but two years, I was +soon back in my old home again. Old Mr. Elwyn, Master Harry’s father, +had lost his property before this time; but his brother, ‘Uncle Ben,’ +as they called him, was very rich. They all lived together—‘Uncle Ben,’ +old Mr. Elwyn, Master Harry and Miss Ellen, that’s Mrs. Wharton. Miss +Ellen was a few years older than Master Harry, and she was the +housekeeper. But Master Harry, bless you! was only twenty years old, +when he walked in one morning, and told his father he was married. I +never shall forget the time there was then! The old gentleman was +complaining, and had had a bad night, though Master Harry did not know +that. Well, the sudden shock threw him into an apoplectic fit; and two +days after, he had another, and died. Master Harry was almost +distracted then: he called himself his father’s murderer; and, indeed, +I think he was never what you might call well from that time.” + +“But you never saw any one so angry as Mr. Benjamin Elwyn was. He had +always intended to make master Harry his heir, but his conduct in this +foolish affair enraged him so that he said he would leave him nothing. +At first the young folks lived with her father, but he soon died, +leaving his daughter a little property settled on herself. But it was +not enough to support them, and so Master Harry had to apply to old Mr. +Benjamin Elwyn again, and the old man gave him this place, and enough +to live on pretty comfortably here. He told Master Harry that perhaps +something might be made of his baby wife yet, if he brought her away +from the follies of the city, to a country place like this, and tried +to improve her mind; and so they have lived here ever since, till last +year, when poor master Harry died.” + +“And what do ye think is the raison that the misthress thrates little +Miss Agnes the way she does?” + +“Well, I can hardly tell you, Bridget. In the first place, I have often +heard her say that she couldn’t abide _girls_, and bating other +reasons, I think she would have been disappointed on her own account, +you know, to have the first child a girl. But, besides this, I have +heard that Mr. Benjamin Elwyn quite forgave Mr. Harry, and promised him +that if his oldest child was a boy, and he named it after him, he would +leave him the bulk of his property. I cannot tell you how bitterly +disappointed my young mistress was, when her first born proved to be a +girl. She was but sixteen years old then, you know, Bridget, and she +acted like a cross, spoiled baby. She cried herself into a fever, and +she wouldn’t let the poor, helpless baby, come into her sight. I think +she never loved her; and from the time of Master Lewie’s birth, she has +seemed to dislike her more and more.” + +“But how the father loved her, Mrs. McCrae!” + +“Aye, indeed he did; he never could be easy a minute without her. It +was a sore day for my poor bairn, when it pleased God to take her +father; poor man! But He knows best, Bridget, and He orders all things +right.” + +Here Mammy was summoned by the bell, and despatched to bring little +Agnes down; to accompany her aunt and cousins to their home. + +As Agnes was riding along, seated so comfortably by the side of her +kind aunt, in the large covered sleigh, with the rosy, smiling faces of +her little cousins, Grace and Effie, opposite her, she could scarcely +believe that she was the same little girl, who, but an hour or two +before, was walking so sadly up and down the desolate North Room, and +trying to persuade herself that she was “not alone.” Agnes was +naturally of a lively, cheerful disposition, and like any other little +girl of six years of age, she soon forgot past sorrow in present +pleasure, though, at times, the sudden remembrance of her dear little +baby brother, lying so ill at home, would cause a sigh to chase away +the smile of pleasure beaming on her lovely face. + +It was but little more than two miles from “The Hemlocks,” Mrs. Elwyn’s +residence, to “Brook Farm,” the home of the Wharton’s, and, as Matthew +had received orders to drive very rapidly, it seemed to Agnes that her +ride was just begun, when they turned into the lane that led up to her +Uncle Wharton’s house. And now the pillars of the piazza appear between +the trees, and now the breakfast room windows, and more bright young +faces are looking out, and little chubby hands are clapped together, as +the sleigh is discovered coming rapidly up the lane, and the cry +resounds through the house, “They’ve come! they’ve come! and Agnes is +with them!” + +A bright, cheerful wood fire was burning in the pleasant, great +breakfast room, and the party who had just arrived were soon surrounded +by smiles of welcome, while busy little fingers were assisting them to +untie their bonnets, and unfasten their cloaks. In a few moments the +door opened, and a pale, but lovely looking girl, in deep mourning, +entered the room. She was a niece of Mr. Wharton’s, and, having lately +been left an orphan, by the death of her mother, she had been brought +by her kind uncle, to his hospitable home, where she was received by +all as a member, henceforth, of their family. + +“Well, aunty,” said she, after stooping to kiss Agnes, “you are back +sooner than I expected.” + +“Yes, dear, I was obliged to hurry; little Lewie is very ill, I fear. +By the way, Harry, run and tell Matthew that just as soon as he is +warm, he must drive as fast as possible to the village, and ask Dr. +Rodney to get directly into the sleigh, to go to your Aunt Elwyn’s; and +tell him to call for me, as he comes back.” + +“Why, mamma, are you going back there again?” asked Effie. + +“Yes, love, I must go back, and remain with your Aunt Harriet to-day. I +only came home to make some arrangements for the family. I want your +papa to drive over for me to-night, after the little ones are all in +bed; and I desire the rest of you to keep out of my way till I have +changed my dress. I do not know yet what is the matter with Lewie. How +do you feel, Emily?” + +“Much better, thank you, aunty; I am quite prepared to play lady of the +house in your absence.” + +“Well, do put aside those books, dear: your health is the most +important thing now. I wish I could leave you so busy with household +concerns as to give you not a moment’s time for reading.” + +“Dear aunty, I do not think the books hurt me; and you certainly would +not have me grow up a dunce, would you?” + +“No fear of that, dear; and I by no means wish you to give up your +books altogether, but only to lay them aside till you get a little +color in these pale cheeks. I shall lay my commands on your uncle not +to give you any more assistance in your studies till I give him +permission.” + +“Well, I’ll be very good, aunty, and I’ve promised the boys to take a +run with them over to the pond, and see them skate; and besides, we are +all invited to an entertainment in a certain snow palace, which is +nearly finished, and which I have promised to grace with my presence.” + +Just then two fine handsome boys, the pictures of health and good +nature, rushed in. These were Robert and Albert Wharton, home from +school for the Christmas holidays. + +“Mother, what will you give us for our entertainment?” they cried. + +“Have you a table and seats?” she asked. + +“Yes, all made of snow,” said Albert. “But don’t let us tell her all +about it, Bob; I want to surprise her.” + +“I think your entertainment, to be in keeping with your furniture, +ought to be of snow and icicles,” said Mrs. Wharton; “but, whatever it +is, I am sorry that I cannot visit your snow palace to-day.” + +“Oh! that’s too bad, mother; it will spoil all our fun. But, say, will +you give us something to eat?” + +“Yes; I leave Emily mistress of the keys for to-day, and you may call +upon her for pies, cake, or anything the store-room contains; only be a +little moderate, and don’t leave us entirely destitute.” + +“It won’t be half so pleasant without you, mother,” said Robert; “but +we shall have quite as many as our palace can accommodate, if all these +go. Hallo! here’s Agnes! Why, Aggy, how do you do? I didn’t see you +before.” + +At this moment the sleigh was seen coming up the lane, and Mrs. Wharton +hastened to get ready to accompany the doctor to the Hemlocks. + +“I want to whisper to you, dear mother, one minute,” said little Grace. + +“What more Christmas secrets?” asked her mother. + +A whispered consultation here took place, some request being urged with +great eagerness by Grace; and the pleasant “Yes, yes,” from her mother, +made her bright eyes dance with joy. + +As Mrs. Wharton was driving from the door, Albert called out: + +“Mother, may the baby go with us?” + +“Yes, if Kitty will wrap him up well,” was the answer, and the sleigh +flew down the lane, and was soon out of sight. + +Agnes was now hurried off by her young cousins to inspect the various +preparations for Christmas, and was made the repository of some most +important secrets, “of which she must not give a hint for the world.” +She saw the purse Effie was knitting for Albert, and the guard-chain +Grace was weaving for Robert, and the mittens for Harry, and the socks +for the baby, and the pen-wiper for papa, and the iron-holder for +mamma; and then Effie took her aside alone, to show her something she +was making for Grace; and Grace took her aside alone, to show something +she had bought with “her own money” for Effie; and there was a +beautiful book for Cousin Emily. “And we cannot show you yet whether we +have anything for you, Agnes, because, you know, we always keep our +secrets till Christmas comes,” they said. + +“There comes papa from the mill,” cried Effie, looking out of the +window; “let’s run down and see him. How surprised he will be to find +mamma gone, and Agnes here!” + +Mr. Wharton came in with his usual cheerful manner; and soon as he was +warming his feet by the fire, he had Agnes on one knee, and Harry on +the other, and the rest of the noisy little tribe round him, eagerly +telling the events of the day, and the pleasant anticipations for the +afternoon. + +“Oh, papa,” said Effie, “I’ve got something I want to say to you, if +you would only come in the other room a few minutes, or if the children +would only be kind enough to go out of this room a little while.” + +“Won’t it keep, Effie, till I warm my feet?” asked her father; +“because, if it will not, I suppose I must go now.” + +“Oh no, papa, I will wait patiently,” said Effie. + +In a few minutes her father said, “Now, Effie, for that important +secret;” and they went together into another room. + +“This is what I wanted to say, papa,” said Effie: “you know poor Agnes +never has any money of her own; and I know, when she sees us all giving +presents to each other, she will feel badly, if she cannot give +something too; and I want to know if you won’t give her a little money, +and let her go to the village with us the next time we go, and get some +materials to make something out of?” + +Mr. Wharton answered by putting his hand in his pocket, and giving +Effie some silver for Agnes, with which she went off perfectly happy. + +And now little Grace put in her curly head, and said, “Effie, when you +are through with papa, I’ve got something to say to him too.” + +The sum and substance of Grace’s communication was this: “she had seen +something at a store in the village, with which she was sure her mamma +would be perfectly charmed, but she hadn’t _quite_ enough money to +purchase it; she only wanted _ten cents_ more.” And she too went off +with a smiling face. + +Emily now came in jingling her keys and called them all to dinner. + +As soon as possible after dinner, the boys laden with a basket of good +things, which Emily had provided for them, started off for the snow +palace, one of them carrying the dinner-horn, which was used in the +summer, to call the men to the farm-house to their meals. When the +entertainment was ready the horn was to sound. In the meantime, the +children were sitting around the fire, waiting impatiently for the +signal, to call them to the palace of snow. + +“Cousin Emily,” said Agnes, for she too said “Cousin Emily,” though +there was no relationship, in fact, between them, “Cousin Emily, I wish +I knew _what_ to read and study. I do want to know something, and I +don’t know anything but my Bible, and my little book of hymns. Mammy +taught me to read, or I should’nt have known anything at all,” she +added sadly. + +“Well, Agnes,” that is the best knowledge you could possibly have, said +Emily, “though I am far from thinking other studies unimportant; but, +if I can help you in any way, I will gladly lend you books, and tell +you how to study.” + +“Oh! will you, cousin Emily?” said Agnes, her face brightening; “how +happy I shall be! aunty has taught Effie and Grace, and they have +studied Geography and History, and they can cipher, and I don’t know +anything at all about those things; why, even little Harry knows more +than I do.” + +“But you can beat us all in Bible knowledge, I know, Agnes,” said +Emily, “and, in a very little time, you will catch up to the other +children, for aunty has little leisure time to devote to them. But +there! I hear the horn! call Kitty, to bring the baby, and we’ll all +start.” + +And now all warmly wrapped in cloaks and hoods, the little party left +the side piazza, and walked down towards the pond. The path was well +broken, as the boys travelled it so often, on their way to the pond and +the snow palace, and the little party went briskly on. Emily and Agnes +headed the procession, then came Effie and Grace, dragging a box-sled +in which the baby was comfortably stowed, and Kitty, the nurse, brought +up the rear, leading little Harry. The two boys met them at some +distance from the snow palace, and told them they must go through the +labyrinth before they could reach the place of entertainment. + +The labyrinth was composed of paths, cut in the deep snow, winding in +and out, and circling about in all directions, till, at length, the +foremost of the party halted before the entrance to the snow palace. +The boys had, indeed, been industrious, and the new comers stared in +amazement, at the results of their labor. They found themselves, on +entering the palace, in a room high enough for the tallest of the party +to stand upright in, and of dimensions large enough to seat them all +comfortably around the square block of snow which formed the centre +table. The seats were of the same material, and were substantial +enough, while the extreme cold weather lasted. On the table was placed +the entertainment provided by Emily, to which the party did all +possible justice, considering that they had just risen from a plentiful +dinner at home. After the feast, Robert and Alfred entertained them +with feats of agility on the ice, dragging one or the other of the +children after them upon the sled, and when they returned home, even +Emily’s usually pale cheeks were in a glow. + +Towards evening Agnes began to be uneasy, and to watch at the window +for her aunt’s return. “I will not see aunty, cousin Emily,” she said, +“but I cannot go to bed till I hear how Lewie is to-night.” + +At length her uncle and aunt returned, and Agnes heard that her little +brother was very ill; but the doctor was of opinion that his disease +was a brain fever, and therefore there was no danger of contagion. +Agnes went to bed with a heavy heart, and cried herself to sleep. + +The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Mrs. Wharton again +ordered the sleigh and drove to “the Hemlocks.” She found Mrs. Elwyn in +a state bordering on distraction. + +“Oh, Ellen,” she said, “how I have wanted you! Lewie has had a night of +dreadful suffering, and now he is unconscious. He does not know me, +Ellen! He does not hear me when I call. I think he does not see. Oh, +Ellen, what would life be to me if I lose my darling. And now I want +you to _pray!_ You can pray, Ellen, and God answers your prayers. Pray +for the life of my child! Mammy prays, but she will only say, ‘The will +of the Lord be done!’” + +“And I can say no more, Ellen. I _do_ pray; I _have_ prayed, that your +darling boy’s life may be spared, if it be the will of God, but more +than that I cannot say.” + +“And what if it be His will to take my darling from me, Ellen?” + +“Then, Harriet, I hope you might learn to acquiesce without a murmur, +and to say from your heart, ‘It is the Lord, let Him do what seemeth to +Him good.’” + +“No, Ellen, never! I cannot contemplate the bare possibility of losing +my boy. If you will not pray as I wish, I will try to pray myself;” and +falling on her knees, she prayed for the life of her child. “Take +whatever else thou wilt, oh God,” she cried, “but oh, spare me my +child.” + +“Harriet, this seems to me most horrible impiety,” said Mrs. Wharton, +“to ask God to grant your desires, whether agreeable to His will, or +not; I should much fear if your request were granted, that it would +only be to show you, that you know not what is best for yourself, and +for those you love; and that you might some day wish you had left this +matter in the hands of God, even if it had been His will to take your +darling to Himself.” + +When Dr. Rodney came that morning, he found the child in a profound +slumber. “This,” said he, “is, I think, the crisis of the disease; on +no account let him be disturbed; if he awakes conscious, he will in all +human probability recover.” + +And they watched him in breathless stillness, Mrs. Wharton on one side +of the cradle, and his mother on a low stool beside him, with her sad +gaze riveted on his little face, to catch his first waking glance, and +to see whether the eye then beamed with intelligence, or not. + +Oh, who can imagine the agony, the terrible suspense of such watching, +but those who have sat as that poor mother did, over a loved one +hovering between life and death. And as Mrs. Wharton sat so silently +opposite her, her thoughts were sometimes raised in prayer for her poor +misguided sister; and sometimes she sat looking at her as a perfect +enigma; with a heart so capable of loving devotedly, and yet so steeled +against her own child, and so lovely and winning a little creature as +Agnes. It was a puzzle which she had often tried to solve, in vain. + +After an hour more of deep slumber, Lewie started and awoke. For a +moment his glance rested with a bewildered expression upon his mother’s +face; and then, stretching out his little hands, he said, “Mamma!” Mrs. +Wharton’s attention was fixed upon the child; but when she turned to +the mother, she saw her, white as the snow, falling back upon the +floor. The revulsion of feeling was too much for her; she had fainted. + +When Mrs. Wharton came home that night, she said, “Agnes, my love, your +little brother is better, and, with great care, he may now recover.” + +“Oh, aunty!” exclaimed Agnes, joyfully, “and when may I see him?” + +“You must be content to remain with us without going home for some days +yet, dear; for the doctor says the most perfect quiet is necessary, and +you could not see Lewie if you were at home.” + +And now that the mind of little Agnes was comparatively free from +anxiety, she entered with great delight into the preparations going on +at Brook Farm for Christmas. + + + + +III. +Christmas Time. + + + “In the sounding hall they wake +The rural gambol.”—THOMSON. + + +And now but a week was wanting to Christmas, and all was excitement and +bustle among the little folks at Brook Farm. Lewie was quite out of +danger, and Agnes was as happy and as busy as any of her little +cousins. The cutter was in constant demand; for when one was +particularly desirous to go over to the village on some secret +expedition, that one must go alone, or only with those who were in her +secret. Many were the mysterious brown-paper parcels which were +smuggled into the house, and hidden away under lock and key in various +closets and drawers; and there were sudden scramblings and hidings of +half-finished articles, when some member of the family who “was not to +see” entered the room. + +“Aunty,” said Agnes one day, in a confidential tone, “I should like to +make a needle-book for mamma, like the one cousin Emily is making for +Effie. She says she will show me, and fix it for me, and I think I can +do it. Do you think mamma would like it?” + +“Certainly, darling, I should think she would like it; I do not see how +any mamma could help being pleased with anything her little girl made +for her.” + +“But, aunty,” said Agnes, as if speaking of a well-known and +acknowledged fact, “you know mamma doesn’t love me much, and perhaps it +would trouble her.” + +The sad tone in which these words were said brought tears to the eyes +of Mrs. Wharton, but still she encouraged Agnes to go on with the +needle-book. It was not a very complicated affair, and Emily arranged +all the most difficult parts; but still it was a work of time, and one +requiring much patience and perseverance on the part of so young a +child as Agnes. However, it was at length completed on the day before +Christmas, and, when handed about for inspection, was much admired by +all her friends. Agnes was very happy, for on Christmas day her uncle +was to take her over home to see Lewie, who called for her constantly, +her aunt said. Mammy had walked over too, to see her little girl, and +she told her that “Lewie was greetin’ for ‘sister’ from morn till +night.” + +The day before Christmas came, and with it the party at Brook Farm was +augmented by the arrival of Mrs. Ellison, a younger sister of Mr. +Wharton’s, her husband and baby, a beautiful child of about a year old. +There was great joy at the arrival of “Aunt Fanny,” who was very +lively, and always ready to enter with glee into the frolics and sports +of the children. + +As they were sitting at the dinner table that day, Mr. Wharton said: + +“I have received certain information that Santa Claus himself is to +visit us to-night, and bring his gifts in person. He desires me to +inform the children, that all packages to be entrusted to his care must +be handed into my study, labelled and directed, before six o’clock this +evening.” + +Many were the wonders and speculations as to the nature and appearance +of the expected Santa Claus; but they were suddenly interrupted by +Robert, who exclaimed: + +“Why, who comes here up the lane? It’s old cousin Betty, I do declare, +in her old green gig set on runners.” + +“I thought cousin Betty would hardly let Christmas go by without making +her appearance,” said Mrs. Wharton; “I have thought two or three times +to-day that she might come along before night.” + +“Cousin Betty” was a distant relation of Mrs. Wharton’s, a lonely old +body, who lodged with a relative in a village about ten miles distant +from Brook Farm. She was very eccentric—so much so, that she was by +some thought crazy; but Mrs. Wharton was of opinion that cousin Betty +had never possessed sufficient _mind_ to subject her to such a +calamity. She was more silly than crazy, very good-natured, very +inquisitive as to the affairs of others, and very communicative as to +her own. + +In a few minutes cousin Betty had received a hearty welcome, and was +seated by the bright fire, asking and answering questions with the +utmost rapidity. + +“I’ve been looking for you, cousin Betty,” said Mrs. Wharton. + +“Have! What made you?” + +“Oh, I thought you could hardly let Christmas go by without coming to +see the fun.” + +“Did! Well, I never thought nothing about comin’ till yesterday, when I +sat in my little room, and I got feelin’ pretty dull; and thinks I to +myself, I’ll just borrow Mr. White’s old horse, and take my old gig, +and drive up to the farm, and see the folks.” + +“Cousin Betty, who do you think is coming to see us to-night?” asked +little Grace. + +“I’m sure I can’t tell, child. Who is it?” + +“Why, Santa Claus himself, with all his presents around him.” + +“Is, hey?” said cousin Betty; “well, I shall be mighty glad to see him, +I can tell you; for, old as I am, I’ve never seen him yet.” + +“I’m so glad you’ve come, cousin Betty!” said Effie; “we want you to go +with us some day over to the farm-house, and tell us about our +great-grandfather, whose house stood where the farm-house stands now; +and how his house was burnt down by the Indians, and he was carried +off. Agnes wants to hear it so much.” + +“Does! Well, I will go over there, and tell you the story, some day. +But I can’t walk over there while the weather is so cold; I should get +the rheumatiz.” + +“I’ll drag you over on my sled, if that will do, cousin Betty,” said +Robert. + +The children laughed so heartily at the picture presented to their +imagination of little old cousin Betty riding on Robert’s sled, that +Grace actually rolled out of her chair. + +“Why wouldn’t it do to tell the story here, Effie?” asked Agnes. + +“Oh, because it is a great deal more interesting, told on the spot you +know. Cousin Betty has heard it all over and over again from +grandmamma, and she can point out, from one window of the farm-house, +all the places where all those dreadful things happened.” + +Some warm dinner was now brought in for cousin Betty, and the children +went off to tie up and label the gifts for Santa Claus. + +“What shall we do with the presents we have for papa and mamma?” asked +Grace. + +“Oh, we cannot hand those in to the study,” said Effie; “we must +contrive some way to give them afterwards.” + +And now the children, one after the other, with their arms laden with +packages, were making their way to their father’s study; Emily and +Agnes, too, had several contributions to make to the heap of bundles +which was piled up on the study table; and before six o’clock, Mr. +Wharton said he had taken in enough articles to stock a very +respectable country store. At six o’clock the study door was locked, +and there was no more admittance. + +An hour or two after this, the whole family were assembled in the two +large parlors, which were brilliantly lighted for the occasion, and all +were on the tiptoe of expectation. + +“I should like to know how he is coming,” said Albert; “he’ll be likely +to get well scorched, if he comes down either chimney.” + +At this moment there was a slight tap at one of the windows opening on +to the piazza, which Mr. Wharton immediately proceeded to open, and in +walked St. Nicholas. + +He was a jolly, merry-looking, little old gentleman, with beard and +whiskers as white as snow, and enveloped in furs from head to foot. +Around his neck, around his waist, over his shoulders, down his back, +and even on the top of his head, were presents and toys of every +description. Behind him he dragged a beautiful sled, which was loaded +with some articles too bulky to be carried around his person. Every +pocket was full; and as he passed through the rooms, he threw sugar +plums and mottoes, nuts and raisins, on all sides, causing a great +scrambling and screaming and laughing among the children. + +Then he began to disengage the presents, which were pinned about him, +and tied to the buttons of his coat; and as he did so, he looked at the +label, and threw it at the one for whom it was intended. It would be +hard for one who was not there to imagine the lively scene which was +now presented in the great parlors at Brook Farm; the presents flying +round in all directions; the children dodging, and diving, and +catching, while shouts and screams of laughter made the house ring. + +“But who is he?—who can he be?” was the question which each asked of +the other a great many times during this merry scene. Mr. Wharton and +Mr. Ellison, “Aunt Fanny’s” husband, were both in the room, and they +were sure there was no other gentleman in the house. + +Just then Robert screamed, “Oh, I know now! It’s cousin Tom! He throws +left-handed!” And now the effort was made to pull off the mask, but +Santa Claus avoided them with great dexterity, still continuing his +business of distributing the presents. + +At the feet of Agnes he placed a work-box, much handsomer than that +which Lewie had destroyed; at Emily’s, a writing-desk, and some +valuable books; and when his sled was emptied, he drew the sled, and +left it with little Harry, for whom it was intended. + +“My goodness gracious!” said cousin Betty, as a beautiful muff “took +her in the head,” as Albert said, and sadly disarranged the set of her +odd little turban. + +“And now I believe old Santa Claus has finished his labors,” said Mr. +Wharton. + +“Oh no, not yet,” cried Effie; “he must come with us for a new supply. +But I feel a little afraid of him yet. If I only could be sure it was +cousin Tom!” + +“You need not doubt that, Effie,” said Robert; “nobody else ever threw +like cousin Tom. I’ve seen him play snow-ball often enough.” + +And now Santa Claus was taken captive by the children, and in a few +minutes he re-appeared, laden with gifts, but this time for the older +members of the family; and the products of the children’s industry made +quite a display, and much astonished those for whom they were intended, +the children having kept their secrets well. + +And now, as the rooms were warm, old Santa Claus was quite willing to +get rid of his mask and his furs; and this done, he straightened up, +and cousin Tom stood revealed. + +“And how did you come, and where have you been?” asked the children. + +“Oh, I came this afternoon, and stopped at the farm house,” answered +cousin Tom, or Mr. Thomas Wharton, for it is time he should be +introduced by his true name to the reader. “And after it was dusk I +slipped over here, and went round to uncle’s study door while you were +at tea. I sent word by Aunt Fanny that you might expect Santa Claus +to-night.” + +And now began a game of romps, which lasted for an hour or more, and +then little bodies began to be stumbled over, and were found under +tables, and on sofas fast asleep, and were taken off to bed. Mrs. +Ellison’s baby being roused by the noise, had awaked, and persisted in +keeping awake, and his mother came back to the parlor bringing him in +her arms, with his night-gown on, and his cheeks as red as roses. + +“Isn’t he a splendid fellow?” said she, holding him up before cousin +Tom. + +“A very comfortable looking piece of flesh certainly,” he answered; +“but then they are all alike. I think you might divide all babies into +two class, the fat and the lean; otherwise, there is no difference in +them that I can see.” + +“Pshaw, how ridiculously you talk; there is a great deal more +difference between two babies, than between you and all the other young +dandies who walk Broadway. They are all alike, the same cut of the coat +and collar, and whiskers; the same tie of the neck-cloth, and shape of +the boot: when you have seen one, you have seen all. But now just take +a good look at this magnificent baby, and confess; wouldn’t you like to +kiss him?” + +“Excuse me, my dear aunty, but that is a thing I haven’t been left to +do very often. I’ve no fancy for having my cheeks and whiskers +converted into spitoons. It is really astonishing now,” continued +cousin Tom, “what fools such a brat as that will make of very sensible +people.” + +“Are your allusions personal, sir?” asked Mrs. Ellison, laughing. + +“No, not just now; but I was thinking of a man in our place, who used +to be really a _very_ sensible fellow; and though quite an old +bachelor, he was the life of every party he attended, and more of a +favorite than most of the young men. Well, when he was about fifty +years old he got married, and he’s got a young one now about two years +old. And what kind of an exhibition do you suppose that man made of +himself the other day. Why, this refractory young individual couldn’t +be persuaded to walk towards home in any other way, when they had him +out for an airing, and what does this old friend of mine do, but allow +a handkerchief to be pinned to his coat-tail, and go prancing along the +street like a horse for the spoiled brat to drive. The calf! I declare, +before I’d make such a fool of myself as that, I’d eat my head! What +are you writing there, uncle?” + +“Only taking notes of these remarks, Tom,” answered Mr. Wharton, “for +your benefit on some future occasion.” + +There was only one in that Christmas party who could not heartily join +in the glee; it was poor Emily, to whom this scene brought back so +vividly other holiday seasons passed with those who had “gone from +earth to return no more,” that only by a strong effort could she +prevent her own sadness from casting a shade over the happiness of +others; for they all loved cousin Emily so dearly, that they could not +be merry when she was sad. Emily was usually so quiet, that in their +noisy play they did not miss her as she retired to the sofa and shaded +her eyes with her hand; but her kind uncle noticed her, and readily +understood the reason of her sadness. Taking a seat by her he put his +arm around her, and took her hand in his. This act of tenderness was +too much for poor Emily’s already full heart, and laying her head on +her uncle’s shoulder, she sobbed out her grief unchecked. + + + + +IV. +Cousin Betty. + + +“Come, wilt thou see me ride!”—HENRY VIII. + + +Cousin Betty was a little bit of a woman, with a face as full of +wrinkles as a frozen apple, and a pair of the busiest and most +twinkling little black eyes you ever saw, a prominent and parrot like +nose, with a chin formed on the very same pattern, only that it turned +up instead of down, the two so very nearly meeting that the children +said they had “to turn their faces sideways to kiss her.” She had some +very unaccountable ways too, which no one understood, and which she +never made any attempt to explain, perhaps because she did not +understand them herself. + +For instance, whenever meals were ready, and the family prepared to sit +down, though cousin Betty might have been hovering round for an hour or +two before, she was often missing at that very moment, and when a +search was instituted she was sometimes found taking a stroll in the +garret where she could have no possible business, and sometimes poking +about in the darkest corner of the dark cellar, without the slightest +conceivable object. If her thimble or spectacles were lost, she has +often been known to go to the pantry and lift up every tumbler and +wine-glass on the shelf, one after the other, and look under it as if +she really expected to find the missing article there; and to take off +the cover of vegetable dishes to look for her snuff-box, or open the +door of the stove, if her work-bag, or knitting were missing, +apparently with the confident expectation of finding them unharmed +amidst the blazing fire. + +Cousin Betty had a very uncomfortable fashion of _dying_ too, every +little while, which at first alarmed her friends so much that +restoratives were speedily procured; but as she never failed to come to +life again, they became, after a time, accustomed to the parting scene, +so that there was great danger that when she really did take her +departure, nobody would believe it. + +“My dear,” said she one night to Effie, “I feel very unwell; very +unwell, indeed; I think it’s more’n likely I shan’t last the night +through. I wish you wouldn’t leave me alone this evening, and then if +I’m suddenly taken worse, you know you can call the family. I should +like to see them all before I go.” + +Effie promised she would not leave her, and bringing her book, she +seated herself by the stove in cousin Betty’s room. In about a hour she +appeared in the parlor, her face purple with the effort to suppress the +inclination to laugh, and said, “Oh, do all of you please to come to +cousin Betty’s room a few moments.” + +“What, is she dying?” they asked. + +“Oh, no! but just come; very quietly; there’s a sight for you to see.” + +Cousin Betty always tied a large handkerchief about her head when she +went to bed, and on the night in question, the two ends of the +handkerchief being tied in a knot stood up from her head like two +enormous ears. She was bolstered up by pillows, as she declared she +could not breathe in any other position, and at every breath she drew +she opened and shut her mouth with a sudden jerk. Effie had looked up +from her reading suddenly, and caught the reflection of cousin Betty’s +profile, thrown by the light, greatly magnified upon the wall, and +stuffing her handkerchief in her mouth to prevent a sudden explosion of +laughter, by which cousin Betty might be awakened, she ran to call the +family. No pen-sketch but an actual profile would give the slightest +idea of the extraordinary and most ludicrous appearance of the image +thus thrown upon the wall; with the enormous ears standing up, and the +mouth and chin snapping together like the claws of a lobster. One by +one they rushed from the room, till at length a smothered cacchination +from one of the little ones awoke cousin Betty, who exclaimed: + +“Who is sobbing there? My dear friends do not distress yourselves, I +find myself considerably more comfortable.” + +This “clapped the climax,” and the room was unavoidably deserted for a +few minutes; but at length Effie found courage to return, and, by +placing the light in another position, was enabled to keep watch for +the remainder of the evening. + +There were some very amusing stories told in the family of cousin +Betty’s adventures, one of which I will relate here. She was at one +time making one of her long visits at Mr. Wharton’s, when, getting out +of yarn, and not being willing to remain long idle, she began to worry +about some way to get over to the village. The horses were all out at +work upon the farm, except Old Prancer, a superannuated old horse, who +was never used except for Mrs. Wharton or the girls to drive; for, +whatever claims “Prancer” may once have had to his name, it had been a +misnomer for some years past, and no one suspected him of having a +spark of spirit. + +When Mr. Wharton came in to dinner, and cousin Betty consulted him as +to the best means of getting over to the village, he told her that the +best thing he could do for her would be to put the side-saddle on to +Old Prancer, and let her ride over. To this cousin Betty consented, not +without a slight trepidation, for she had never been much of a +horse-woman, but still, as she had known Prancer for many years, and he +had always borne the character of a staid, steady-going animal, she +thought there could surely be no risk in trusting herself to him. + +Soon after dinner, cousin Betty, with a very short and very scanty +skirt, was mounted on the back of Old Prancer. She felt quite timid at +first at finding herself upon so lofty an elevation, (for Prancer was +an immense animal;) but when she found how steadily and sedately he +went on, and that neither encouragement nor blows could induce him to +break into a trot, she lost all her fears, and began to enjoy her ride +saving that the pace was rather a slow one. + +But just as cousin Betty began to ascend the hill leading into the +village, the sound of martial music burst upon her ear, and she +remembered hearing the children say that this was “general training +day.” Cousin Betty did not know that Prancer had once belonged to a +militia officer; and if she had, it would have made no difference, as +all the fire of youth seemed to have died out with Prancer years ago. +But early associations are strong; and as the “horse scenteth the +battle afar off,” so did Prancer prick up his ears and quicken his pace +at the spirit-stirring sounds of the fife and drum; and now he began to +make an awkward attempt to dance sideways upon the points of his hoofs; +and as he neared the brow of the hill, his excitement became more +intense, and his curveting and prancing more animated. Cousin Betty was +almost terrified to death. Throwing away her whip, and grasping the +reins, she endeavored to stop him; but he only held in his head, and +danced sideways up the street with more animation and spirit than ever. +She thought of throwing herself off, but the immense height rendered +such a feat utterly unsafe; she endeavored to rein the horse up to the +side-walk; but now he had caught sight of the motley array of trainers, +and of the gay horses and gayer uniforms of the officers, and, +regardless alike of bit and rein, he started off at full speed, to join +the long-forgotten but once familiar spectacle. + +Cousin Betty had by this time dropped the reins, and was clinging with +both arms to Old Prancer’s neck; and as he turned his face to the +company, and backed gallantly down the street, the sight was too +irresistibly ludicrous. Shouts and laughter, and expressions of +encouragement to poor cousin Betty, were heard on all sides; till at +length a militia officer, taking pity upon her helpless condition, led +the unwilling Prancer to the tavern, and assisted her to alight. Here +cousin Betty remained till sun-down, and all was quiet; and then, +requesting the tavern-keeper to lead the horse out of town while she +walked, she again, with much fear and trembling, mounted when beyond +the precincts of the village. + +Prancer, however, walked slowly home, with his head drooping, as if +thoroughly mortified at the excesses into which he had been betrayed; +and cousin Betty, when she once got safely home, declared that she’d go +without yarn another time, if it was a whole year, before she would +mount such a “treacherous animal as that ’ere.” + +But, with all her oddities, cousin Betty was sometimes a very amusing +companion. She had many stories of her youth stowed away in her memory, +which, when wanted, could be found and brought to light much more +readily than the articles she was so constantly missing now; and though +these stories were not told in the purest English, they were none the +less interesting to the children for that. + +There came, early in February, some pleasant, mild days, which soon +made a ruin of the boys’ palace of snow; and though cousin Betty had +been in a dying state for an hour or two the night before, she was so +far revived that morning, that she was easily persuaded by the children +to go over with them to the farm-house, and tell them the story of +their great-grandfather, and his capture by the Indians; which same, +though a very interesting story to the children, might not be so to my +readers; and after changing my mind about it several times, I have +concluded to leave it out, as having nothing to do with the rest of my +story. + + + + +V +Home Again. + + +“Deal very, very gently with a young child’s tender heart.” + + +With a face beaming with joy, little Agnes took her place in the cutter +by her uncle on Christmas morning, and nodded good-bye to her cousins, +who were crowded at the window to see her off. + +“Mind you come back to dinner!” screamed little Grace, knocking with +her knuckles on the window pane. + +Agnes nodded again, and they were gone. Many a time during the short +ride did Agnes take out of her little muff the paper in which her +needle-case for her mother was rolled up, to see if it was all safe; +and she never let go for a moment of the basket in which were some toys +for Lewie, which she and her cousins had purchased at the village. As +she drove up the road from the gate to her mother’s house, it seemed to +her so long since she had been away, that she expected to see great +changes. She had never been from home so long before, and a great deal +had happened in that fort night. + +Mrs. Elwyn was reading again; indeed, she had resumed that very +yellow-covered book, the reading of which Lewie’s sickness had +interrupted; so she had not much time for a greeting for Agnes, though +she did allow her to kiss her cheek, and of course laid aside her book, +out of compliment to Mr. Wharton. But little Lewie, who was sitting in +his cradle, surrounded by toys, was in perfect ecstasies at the return +of Agnes. + +He stretched his little arms towards her; and as she sprang towards +him, and stooped to kiss him, he threw them around her neck, and +clasped his little hands together, as if determined never to let her go +again. + +“Sister come! sister come!” he exclaimed over and over again, with the +greatest glee; “sister stay with Lewie now.” + +“Sister will stay a little while,” said Agnes, kissing over and over +again her beautiful little brother. + +“No, sister _stay_!—sister shall not go!” said Lewie, in the best +manner in which he could express it; but exactly _how_, we must be +excused from making known to the reader, having a great horror of +_baby-talk_ in books. + +“But I _must_ go, darling; all my things are at uncle’s, and I want to +get some books cousin Emily is going to give me; but I will come back +very soon to stay with Lewie.” + +“No! sister _shall_ not go!” was still the cry; and Mrs. Elwyn settled +the matter by saying: + +“Agnes, if Lewie wants you here so much, you may as well take off your +things; you cannot return to Brook Farm; besides, I want you to amuse +Lewie.” Agnes thought of some of the consequences of her endeavors to +amuse Lewie, and sighed. + +“If your mother insists upon your remaining, Agnes,” said her uncle, “I +will bring over your things, and Emily shall come with me, to bring the +books, and tell you how to study.” + +“Oh, thank you, dear uncle!” said Agnes, her face brightening at once. + +In the first scene in which our little hero is introduced to the +reader, he certainly does not appear to advantage, as few persons would +in the first stages of a fever. He was not always so hard to please, or +so recklessly destructive, as he was that day; and had an intimation +ever been conveyed to his mind, that it was a possible thing for any +desire of his to remain ungratified, he might have grown up less +supremely selfish than he did. + +But the natural selfishness of his nature being constantly fed and +ministered to by his doating mother, led the little fellow to +understand very early that no wish of his was to be denied; and before +he was two years old, he fully understood the power he held in his +hands. + +He was a beautiful boy; “as handsome as a picture,” as Mammy said; but, +for my part, I have seldom seen a picture of a child that could at all +compare with Lewie Elwyn, with his golden curls, and deep blue eyes, +and brilliant color. He was warm-hearted and affectionate, too, and +might have been moulded by the hand of love into a glorious character. +But selfishness is a deformity which early attention and care may +remedy, and the grace of God alone may completely subdue; but, if +allowed to take its own course, or worse, if encouraged and nurtured, +it grows with wonderful rapidity, and makes a horrid shape of what +might be the fairest. + +Upon this text, or something very like it, Mr. Wharton spake to Mrs. +Elwyn, when Agnes had carried Lewie into the next room to spin his top +for him. + +“Lewie is a most beautiful little fellow, certainly,” said he; “but, +Harriet, take care; he is getting the upper hand of you already. It is +time already—indeed, it has long been time—to make him understand that +his will is to be _subservient_ to those who are older.” + +To which Mrs. Elwyn replied, “How absurd, Mr. Wharton, to talk of +governing a child like that!” + +“There are other ways of governing, Harriet, besides the whip and the +lock and key, neither of which do I approve of, except in extreme +cases. Lewie could very easily be guided by the hand of love, and it +rests with you now to make of him almost what you choose. A mother’s +gentle hand hath mighty power.” + +“Well, Mr. Wharton, to tell you the truth, nothing seems to me so +absurd as all these ideas of nursery education; and the people who +write books on the subject seem to think there is but one rule by which +all children are to be governed.” + +“I perfectly agree with you, Harriet, that it is very ridiculous to +suppose that one set of rules will answer for the education of all, +except, of course, so far as the Bible rule is the foundation for all +government. I think the methods adopted with children should be as +numerous and different as the children themselves, each one, by their +constitution and disposition, requiring different treatment; but still +there are some general rules, you must admit, which will serve for all. +One of these is a rule of very long standing; it is this—‘Honor thy +father and thy mother;’ and another—‘Children, obey your parents in the +Lord.’ Now, how can you expect your son, as he grows up, to honor, +respect, or obey you, if you take the trouble to teach him, every day +and hour, that _he_ is the master, and you only the slave of his will. +There is another saying in that same old book from which these rules +are drawn, which tells you that ‘A child left to himself bringeth his +mother to shame.’” + +Mrs. Elwyn, during this conversation, kept up a series of polite little +bows, but could not altogether conceal an expression of weariness, and +distaste at the turn the conversation had taken. She had a sincere +respect, however, for Mr. Wharton, who always exercised over her the +power which a strong mind exercises over a weak one, and she felt in +her heart that he was a real friend to her, and one who had the +interests of herself and her children at heart. + +As Mr. Wharton rose to go she said, laughingly: + +“I thank you for your kind advice with regard to Lewie, Mr. Wharton, +but in spite of it, I do not think I shall put him in a straight-jacket +before he is out of his frocks.” + +“No straight-jacket is needed, Harriet; you have often written in your +copy-book at school, I suppose, ‘Just as the twig is bent the tree’s +inclined.’ You remember that strange apple-tree in my orchard, which +the children use for a seat, it rises about a foot from the ground, and +then turns and runs along for several feet horizontally, and then +shoots up again to the sky. When that was a twig, your thumb and finger +could have bent it straight; but now, what force could do it. If +sufficient strength could be applied it might be _broken_, but never +bent again. Excuse my plain speaking, Harriet, but I see before you so +much trouble, unless that little boy’s strong will is controlled, that +my conscience would not let me rest, unless I spoke honestly to you +what is in my mind.” + +“I must say you are not a prophesier of ‘_smooth things_’” said Mrs. +Elwyn, “but still, I hope the dismal things you have hinted at may not +come to pass.” + +“I hope not too, Harriet,” said Mr. Wharton, “but God has now +mercifully spared your little boy’s life, and it rests with you whether +he shall be trained for His service or not.” + +Then calling for Agnes and Lewie, Mr. Wharton kissed them for good-bye, +telling Agnes that he would bring Emily over the next day. + +Mrs. Elwyn looked infinitely relieved when Mr. Wharton drove off, and +returned to her novel with as much interest as ever, and in the very +exciting scene into which her heroine was now introduced, she soon +forgot the unpleasant nature of Mr. Wharton’s “lecture,” as she called +it. + +Agnes was contriving in her mind all the morning, how she should +present the needle-case to her mother, and wondering how it would be +received. It was such a great affair to her, and had cost her so much +time and labor, that she was quite sure it must be an acceptable gift, +and yet natural timidity in approaching her mother, made her shrink +from presenting it, and every time she thought of it her heart beat in +her very throat. + +At length the novel was finished and thrown aside, and Mrs. Elwyn sat +with her feet on the low fender gazing abstractedly into the fire. Now +was the time Agnes thought, and approaching her gently, she said: + +“Mamma, here is a needle-case I made for you, all myself, for a +Christmas present.” + +The _words_ could not have been heard by Mrs. Elwyn, she only knew that +a voice _not_ Lewie’s interrupted her in her reverie. + +“Hush! hush! child,” she said, waving her hand impatiently towards +Agnes, “be quiet! don’t disturb me!” + +Oh, what a grieved and disappointed little heart that, as Agnes turned +away with the tears in her eyes, and a lump in her throat. + +The next voice that disturbed the young widow was one to which she +always gave attention: + +“Mamma! mamma!” cried Lewie, pulling imperiously at her gown; “mamma! +sister feels sorry, speak to sister.” + +“What is it, dear?” his mother asked. + +“Speak to sister! sister crying,” said Lewie, pulling her with all the +strength of his little hands towards Agnes. + +“What is the matter, Agnes? Why are you crying? What did you say to me +a few moments ago?” asked her mother. + +Agnes tried to say “It is no matter, mamma,” bet she sobbed so bitterly +that she could not form the words. But Lewie, who had seen and +understood the whole thing, pulled the needle-case from his sister’s +hand, and gave his mother to understand that Agnes had made it for her, +and then he struck his little hand towards her and called her “naughty +mamma, to make sister cry!” + +More to please Lewie than for any other reason, Mrs. Elwyn took the +needle-case, and said: + +“Why Agnes, did you make this yourself, and for me? how pretty it is; +isn’t it, Lewie? Now Agnes, you may fill it with needles for me.” + +Agnes wiped her eyes and began her task, but that painful lump would +not go away from her throat. Ah! if those kind words had only come at +first! + +How much suffering is caused to the hearts of little children by mere +thoughtlessness, sometimes in those even who love them; by a want of +sympathy in their little griefs and troubles, as great and +all-important to them, as are the troubles of “children of a larger +growth,” in their own estimation. + + + + +VI. +The Tableaux. + + +“A mournful thing is love which grows to one so mild as thou, +With that bright restlessness of eye—that tameless fire of brow +Mournful! but dearer far I call its mingled fear and pride, +And the trouble of its happiness than aught on earth beside.” + —MRS. HEMANS. + + +Lewie recovered rapidly; and by the time that “the singing of birds had +come,” the roses bloomed as brightly as ever in his cheeks; and, with +his hand in that of Agnes, he roamed about the woods and groves which +surrounded their home, gathering wild flowers, and watching with +delight the nimble squirrel and the brilliant wild birds, as they +hopped from limb to limb. The children were always happy together; +Lewie was more yielding and less passionate when with his gentle sister +than at other times; and it was only when again in the presence of his +mother that his wilful, fretful manner returned, and he was again +capricious and hard to please. + +Thus, while he was still almost in his infancy, his mother began to +reap the fruit of her sowing; for, while to others he could be gentle +and pleasant, with her he was always fretful and capricious. Already +her wishes had no weight with him, if they ran counter to his own, and +commands she never ventured to lay upon him; already the little twig +was taking its own bent. + +The birth-days were all rigidly kept in Mr. Wharton’s family, and some +little pleasant entertainment provided on every such occasion. Thus, +while Mr. and Mrs. Wharton failed not to make every proper and serious +use of these way-marks on the journey of life, they loved to show their +children how pleasant to themselves was the remembrance of the day when +one more little bright face had come to cheer and brighten their +earthly pilgrimage. Miss Effie was the important character in +commemoration of whose “first appearance on any stage” a pleasant party +had collected in Mr. Wharton’s parlor, one evening in May. Mrs. Elwyn +and her children were spending a few days at Brook Farm; and the family +of Dr. Rodney, and a few other little folks from the village, were +invited, on Effie’s birth-day, to pass the afternoon and evening. + +Great had been the preparations, for they were, for the first time, to +have an exhibition of the “tableaux vivants” in the evening. Mr. +Wharton had constructed a large frame, which, covered with gilt paper, +and having a black lace spread over it, made the illusion more perfect. +Many pretty scenes had been selected by cousin Emily, who was mistress +of ceremonies; and that no child’s feelings might be hurt, a character +was assigned for each one, in one or other of the pictures. A temporary +curtain was hung across the room, which was to be drawn whenever the +pictures were ready for exhibition. + +Agnes had been as busy as anybody in bringing down from a certain +closet devoted to that purpose old finery, and other things which +belonged to days long gone by, and her anticipations of pleasure for +the evening were raised to the highest pitch. But just when all were +assembled in the darkened parlor, the lights all being arranged behind +the curtain so as to fall upon the pictures, Master Lewie, who was up +beyond his usual bed time, and who was hardly old enough to take much +interest in what was going on, declared that he was sleepy, and would +go to bed. Neither Mammy nor Anne were with them at Brook Farm; and as +Mrs. Elwyn seemed as much interested as any one in seeing the tableaux, +Agnes knew what the result would be, if Lewie insisted upon going to +bed; so she endeavored to amuse him and keep him awake till she had +seen at least one tableau. + +“Oh, Lewie, wait _one_ moment!” said she; “Lewie will see a beautiful +picture.” + +“Lewie don’t want to see pictures; Lewie wants to go to bed. Sister, +come! sing to Lewie.” + +“In one moment, then, little brother. Let Agnes see one picture. Won’t +you let sister see _one_ picture?” + +“No; Lewie must go to bed. Mamma, tell sister to come with Lewie.” + +The result was, of course, in accordance with Master Lewie’s wishes, +and Agnes was directed to take him up to bed. “He will very soon be +asleep,” her mother added, “and then you can come down.” + +This Master Lewie heard, and it put quite a new idea into his head, it +never having occurred to him before that the person who sang him to +sleep left him alone, after her task was accomplished. That was a thing +he was not going to submit to, and he was so determined to watch Agnes, +lest she should slip away from him, that all sleep seemed to have +deserted his eyes, which were wider open, and more bright and wide +awake, than ever. + +Agnes laid down beside him, and, patting him gently on the cheek, she +sang in a sleepy sort of way, hoping the tone of her voice would have a +somniferous effect. + +“Sing louder!” shouted Master Lewie. + +Agnes obeyed, and sang many nursery songs suggested by Master Lewie, +hoping, at the end of each one, that there would be some signs of +drowsiness manifested on the part of the little tyrant; but the moment +it was finished, brightly and quickly he would speak up: + +“Sing that over again!—sing another!—sing ‘Old Woman!’—sing ‘Jack +Horner,’” &c., &c. + +And Agnes’ heart died within her as question upon question would follow +each other in quick succession, suggested by the lively imagination of +Master Lewie, as to the name and parentage of “the little boy who lived +by himself;” and the childless condition of the man whose “old wife +wasn’t at home;” and where the dogs actually _did_ take the +“wheel-barrow, wife and all;” he feeling perfectly satisfied of the +accurate information of Agnes on all these important topics. + +Several times the little bright eyes slowly closed, and Agnes thought +he was fairly conquered. Slowly drawing her arm from under his head, +she began cautiously to rise; but before she had stolen a foot from the +bed, he would start up and stare at her in amazement, exclaiming, +“Where going, sister?” and then he seemed to learn by experience, and +to determine that he wouldn’t be “caught napping” again that evening. + +In the meantime, the fun was going on below, and several beautiful +pictures had been exhibited and admired before Agnes was missed from +the darkened parlor. But now came the cry, “Agnes! Come, Agnes! Where’s +Agnes? She is to be in this picture.” To which Mrs. Elwyn replied, that +“Agnes was putting Lewie to sleep.” + +“And hasn’t she been here at all, Aunt Harriet?” + +“No,” answered Mrs. Elwyn, “Lewie takes a long time to get to sleep +to-night.” + +“That is _too bad_, I declare!” said little Grace, her cheeks reddening +with vexation, “Agnes did want to see these pictures so; can’t I go up +and see if Lewie is asleep, Aunt Harriet.” + +“Better not,” said Mrs. Elwyn; “you may disturb him just as he is +dropping asleep, and then Agnes will have to stay much longer.” + +The exclamations of indignation were loud and furious from the whole +party of little folks, when it was found that Agnes had been all the +evening banished from the room, and they were ready to go up to Lewie’s +room in a body and take possession of Agnes, and bring her down in +triumph. But Emily said, “stop children, and I will go.” + +Very quietly Emily stole into the room and up to the bedside. The +children were lying with their arms about each other, Agnes’ little +hand was on her brother’s cheek, and both were soundly sleeping. Emily +touched Agnes gently and whispered in her ear, but her slumber was so +very sound that she could not arouse her. “Better to let her sleep on +now,” said Emily, “and if Agnes only knew it, she has helped to make +the prettiest tableaux we have had this evening.” + +Thus early was little Agnes learning to give up her own gratification +for the sake of others, while the strong will of her little brother was +strengthened by constant exercise and indulgence, for this was but one +of many instances daily occurring, in which Agnes was obliged to +relinquish her own pleasure in order to gratify the whims and caprices +of her little brother. Lewie had so often heard such expressions from +his mother, that almost as soon as he could speak a connected sentence, +he would say, “Lewie must have his own way; Lewie must not be crossed,” +and in this way did his mother prepare him for the jostling and +conflicts of life. + + + + +VII. +The Governess. + + +“An ower true tale.” + + +Mr. Wharton was one day writing in his study, for though a practical +farmer he devoted much of his time to literary pursuits,—when there was +a knock at his door, and on opening it he saw there a young woman of +delicate appearance, and of so much apparent refinement and +cultivation, that he was quite taken by surprise when she asked him the +question, “if he had any wool to be given out on shares?” + +Mr. Wharton replied, that he had had so much trouble with those to whom +he had given out wool in that way, and had been so often cheated by +them, that he had said he would give out no more, but he believed he +must break through his rule for once, in her favor. She seemed very +grateful, and said she hoped he would have no reason to regret his +kindness in giving her employment. And so it proved; Miss Edwards, (for +that was her name,) gave such entire satisfaction as to her work, and +the share of it she returned, that Mr. Wharton kept her for some time +in constant employment. Every time she came, he was more and more +pleased with her gentle and unaffected manners, and with the style of +her conversation, which showed without the slightest appearance of +effort, a person of great intelligence and good breeding, while an air +of subdued melancholy excited an interest in her, which increased with +every interview. + +“She is an unmistakable lady,” said Mr. Wharton to his wife, “but how +she came to be living in the village, without friends, and as I believe +in circumstances of great necessity, I cannot imagine. There is a +slight reserve about her,” he added, “which may be difficult to +penetrate, but if I mistake not, she is much in need of a friend, and I +think she will not long resist the voice of kindness.” + +Accordingly, the next time she called, Mr. Wharton, in his kind and +sympathising manner, led her to speak of her own peculiar +circumstances; and at length drew from her this much of her history: +She was the daughter of a plain New England farmer; had had a good +common school education; and was expected to devote the rest of her +life to the making of butter and cheese, and to the other occupations +carried on in a farmer’s family. Everything that she could do to aid +her father and mother she was willing and ready to perform, but she +sighed for knowledge; she had learned enough to wish to know more, and +she felt that there was that in her, which properly cultivated, might +fit her for something higher than the making of butter and cheese. +Thus, when the day’s labor was ended, and the old people, as was their +custom, had retired early to rest, their dutiful daughter, her work for +the day well done, sought with delight her little chamber, and her +beloved books, in whose companionship she passed the hours always till +midnight, and sometimes till she was startled by the + +“Cock’s shrill clarion,” + + +and reminded that body and mind alike needed repose. + +In her studies, and in the choice of her reading, she was guided by her +pastor; and a better guide, or one more willing to extend a helping +hand to the seeker for knowledge she could not have found. With such a +teacher, and with such an eager desire for improvement, she could not +fail to progress rapidly. On the death of her parents, both of whom she +followed to the grave in the course of one year, the kind pastor took +her to his own home; but not being willing to be even for a time a +burden to him, she immediately opened a small school in a village near +them. Now her kind pastor too was dead; and having heard that a teacher +was wanted in the village of Hillsdale, she had come there in hopes of +getting the situation. Here she was doomed to disappointment, the +vacant place having been supplied but a day or two before she reached +the village; and now, among entire strangers, heart-sick with +disappointment, and with no friend to turn to in her distress, she was +taken down with a fever. It was a kind-hearted woman, in whose house +she had rented a small room, and she nursed her as if she had been a +daughter, without hope of remuneration. As soon as she was sufficiently +recovered to think again of work, she began to inquire eagerly for +employment; and her landlady having directed her to Mr. Wharton, she +had taken that long walk from the village, while yet very feeble, which +resulted in the accomplishment of her wishes. + +There had been a brother, she told Mr. Wharton, an only child besides +herself; but, as Mr. Wharton inferred from what she said, he was a +wild, unsteady youth, and he had wandered from his home some years +before, and gone far west towards the Mississippi. For some time they +continued to hear from him, but he had long since ceased to write. She +feared that he was dead; but sometimes she had a strong hope, which +seemed like a presentiment to her, that she should yet look upon his +face on earth; and in this hope, she continued still occasionally to +direct letters to the spot from which he had last written. + +When Mr. Wharton had repeated to his wife the story of Miss Edwards, +she said immediately: + +“Why, is she not just the person for a governess for our younger +children? No doubt, too, she might aid Emily in her studies, for the +child is too delicate to send away from home.” + +“Well thought of, my dear wife,” said Mr. Wharton; “and if we could +persuade Harriet to let poor little Agnes join us, what a nice little +school we might have. It is strange the idea has not occurred to me +before, for I have thought, a great many times, what a pity it was that +such a woman as Miss Edwards should spend her life in spinning wool.” + +“When do you expect her again?” asked Mrs. Wharton. + +“She will probably be here this afternoon.” + +“Let us save her the long walk, by driving over to see her this +morning: perhaps she can return with us.” And in less than an hour, Mr. +and Mrs. Wharton were seated in the widow Crane’s neat little parlor, +in earnest conversation with Miss Edwards. + +I need not say that the offer made by Mr. and Mrs. Wharton was +unhesitatingly and gratefully accepted by Miss Edwards. Those only who +have felt as utterly forlorn and desolate as she had done for the last +few weeks, can understand with what joy she hailed the prospect of a +home among such kind and sympathizing hearts. + +And a _home_ indeed she found. From the time she entered Mr. Wharton’s +hospitable door, she was treated as companion, friend, and sister. No +more sad, lonely hours for her, so long as she remained under that +roof. There were plenty of happy, bright little faces around her; there +were kind words always sounding in her ear; there were opportunities +enough to be useful; there were rare and valuable books for her leisure +hours. With all these sources of enjoyment, could she fail to be happy? + +And if Miss Edwards esteemed herself most fortunate in having found so +delightful a home, Mrs. Wharton was no less so in having secured her +invaluable services. + +“How have I ever lived so long without Rhoda!” she often exclaimed; for +the new governess, by her own earnest request, soon lost the formal +title of Miss Edwards in the family, and was simply “Rhoda” with Mr. +and Mrs. Wharton, and “Miss Rhoda” with the children. + +“I think there is nothing that she cannot do, and do well,” she added. +“She is a most charming companion in the parlor, with a never-failing +fund of good humor and cheerfulness; a kind and patient, and in all +respects most admirable teacher, for the children; an unwearied nurse +in sickness; a complete cook, if for any reason her services are +required in the kitchen; and perfectly ready to turn her hand to +anything that is to be done.” + +“And now you have not mentioned the crowning excellence of her +character, my dear,” said Mr. Wharton; “she is, I believe, a sincere +and earnest Christian; and, as you say, I think we are most fortunate +in having secured her as an inmate in our family, and a teacher for our +children.” + +Mr. Wharton, who had unbounded influence with Mrs. Elwyn, had no great +difficulty in persuading her to allow Agnes to become a member of his +family, that she might with his children enjoy the benefit of Miss +Edwards’ instructions. Indeed, so long as Mrs. Elwyn had her darling +Lewie with her, it seemed almost a matter of indifference to her what +became of Agnes; and thus the neglect and unkindness of her mother were +overruled for good, and Agnes was placed in the hands of those who +would sow good seed in her young heart, while improving and cultivating +her mind. Happy would it have been for poor little Lewie, could he have +been taken from the indulgent arms of his weak and doating mother, and +placed under like healthy training, where his really fine qualities of +heart and mind might have been cultured, and he might early have been +taught to curb that hot and hasty temper, and to restrain those habits +of self-indulgence, which finally proved his ruin. + +Miss Edwards remained six years in her happy home at Mr. Wharton’s, and +had become as they all thought essential to their comfort and +happiness, when she one day received a letter, which agitated her +exceedingly. She was sitting at the dinner table, when the letters were +brought from the village. One was handed to her; she looked at the +superscription, at the post-mark, which was that of a town far to the +south-west; her cheek flushed, and with trembling fingers she broke the +seal. She glanced at the signature, and turned so pale they thought she +would faint, but in a moment she was relieved by a burst of tears. + +Her long lost brother was alive! he wrote that he was married, and +settled in that far distant State. One of his sister’s letters (for she +still continued from time to time to write to him) had lately reached +him, he said, and he wished her to come to him. Her mind was +immediately made up to go; she dearly loved her sweet pupils, and the +kind friends who had given her a home, and a place in their hearts, but +the ties of kindred were stronger than all other ties, and they drew +her with resistless force towards the home of her own and only brother. + +There was something about the tone of this letter which Mrs. Wharton +did not like, and she had a foreboding that this journey would not be +for the happiness of her friend, and tried to dissuade her from +undertaking it. And in this she was entirely disinterested; for great +as would be the loss of this gifted young lady to her, Mrs. Wharton was +not the one to put a straw in her way, if she felt assured the journey +would end happily for her. + +All that she said, however, was of no avail; it had been the hope of +Miss Edwards’ life, once more to see this darling brother, and nothing +could deter her from making the attempt. Her preparations were made in +haste, and with many tears on her part, and on that of the kind friends +she was leaving, and amid loud sobs and lamentations from her dear +little scholars, they parted, never again to meet on earth. A tedious +and perilous journey she had, by river and land, but she seemed to bear +all the discomforts of the way with her own cheerful, happy spirit, and +the letters she wrote to her friends from different points on the +journey were exceedingly amusing and entertaining. One of them, and the +last she wrote before reaching her point of destination, I will +transcribe here in her own words:— + +“Springdale, Oct.—” + + +“My beloved pupils,—I am going, in this letter, to tell you a ghost +story, and a murder story, of both of which your humble servant was the +heroine. But before your little cheeks begin to grow white, and your +eyes to open in horror, let me tell you that the ghost was no ghost at +all, and in the murder scene, nobody’s life was in danger, though both +matters at the time were very serious ones to me.” + +“I wrote you last from a little tavern in the northern part of +Virginia, while I was waiting for a conveyance to continue on my +journey, the stage passing over these unfrequented roads only twice a +week. It has always been my lot to have friends raised up for me when +friends were most needed; and while sitting in the little parlor of the +tavern, feeling very desolate, and very impatient, a gig drove up to +the door, from which an old clergyman alighted. He soon entered the +parlor, and in a few minutes we were engaged in a pleasant +conversation, in the course of which I mentioned the circumstances of +my detention in that place, and my extreme anxiety to progress in my +journey.” + +“The old gentleman, it seems, had been on a three days’ journey to a +ministers’ meeting, and was now returning home, and as he was +travelling in the same direction in which I wished to go, he said it +would give him great pleasure if I would take a seat in his gig, in +case my heaviest trunks could be sent on by stage. This the +good-natured landlord very willingly consented to attend to. The trunks +were to be sent to the care of the old clergyman, who was to ship me +for my destined port, and send my trunks on after me.” + +“You may be sure I did not hesitate about accepting the old clergyman’s +offer, for after jolting along with rough men, over rough roads, as I +had done for many days, I anticipated with much pleasure a ride of two +or three days in a gig, with the kind, pleasant old gentleman. And now +comes the ghost story.” + +“As we were riding along through this thinly settled part of Western +Virginia, I noticed occasionally large, dark, barn-like looking +buildings, with the wooden shutters tightly closed. After passing two +or three of these buildings, I at length asked my companion for what +purpose they were used.” + +“‘Why, those,’ said he, ‘are our churches. I had forgotten how entirely +unacquainted you were with this part of the country, or I should have +pointed them out to you.’” + +“‘Is it possible,’ I exclaimed, ‘that you worship in those dreary, +dark-looking places! I must go inside of one of them on the first +opportunity.’” + +“Soon after I spoke, as we were ascending a hill, some part of the +harness gave way, and we were obliged to alight from the gig, while the +old gentleman endeavored to repair the injury.” + +“‘How long will it take you, sir,’ said I, ‘to set this matter right?’” + +“‘Oh, some time—perhaps a quarter of an hour,’ he answered.” + +“‘And cannot I help you?’ I asked. ‘I believe I can do almost anything +I undertake to do.’” + +“‘Oh, no, no,’ he answered; ‘you had better not undertake to mend a +harness, or you will be obliged, after this, to say that you have +failed in one thing; besides, I can do this very well alone.’” + +“‘I have a great mind to take hold and mend it, just to show you that +my boast was not an idle one,’ said I; ‘but if you are determined to +scorn my offered assistance, I will run back, and take a survey of the +interior of the old church we passed a few moments since.’” + +“‘You will not see much,’ the old clergyman called out after me; ‘for, +as you see, the wooden shutters are kept closed during the week, and it +is almost total darkness inside.’” + +“However, on I ran down the hill, and was soon at the door of the old +barn-like building. The door was not fastened, and I opened it, and +entered the church. At first, the darkness seemed intense, broken only +by little streaks of sunlight which streamed in through the small, +crescent-shaped holes in the shutters; but at length my eye became +accustomed to the darkness, and I could begin to distinguish the rude +seats and aisles, and even to see, at the end of the church, an +elevation which I knew must be the pulpit. Determined to see all that +was to be seen, I made my way along the aisle, ascended the pulpit +stairs, and had just laid my hand on the door, when a tall, white +figure suddenly rose up in the pulpit, and laid a cold hand on mine. I +believe I shrieked; but I was filled with such an indescribable horror, +that I know not what I did, when a hollow voice said:” + +“‘Don’t be afraid; I will not harm you.’” + +“I snatched my hand from the cold grasp which held it, and fled from +the church. I remember nothing more, till I opened my eyes, and found +the old clergyman bathing my face with water. He had become alarmed at +my long absence, and, on coming back to seek me, had found me lying on +my face, on the grass, in front of the old church. We had been riding +again for some time, before I summoned resolution to tell the old +gentleman what I had seen in the church. He complimented me by saying, +that though his acquaintance with me had been short, he was much +mistaken in me, if I was a person to be deceived by the imagination; +and he said he much regretted that I had not mentioned the cause of my +fright before we left the old church, as it was always best to +ascertain at once the true nature of any such apparently frightful +object.” + +“‘We have no time to turn back now,’ said he, ‘as we have already lost +more than half an hour; but the next best thing we can do is to stop at +the first house we come to, and see if we can find out anything +concerning the apparition which appeared to you in the church.’” + +“We soon stopped before the door of a small log house, and at our +summons a pleasant-looking woman appeared. To the inquiries of the old +clergyman as to the appearance by which I had been so much alarmed, she +replied:” + +“‘Oh, it’s the crazy minister, sir. He used to preach in that old +church; but he’s been crazy for a long time, and often he dresses +himself in a long white robe, and goes and sits in the pulpit of that +old church all day. He’s very gentle, she added, turning to me, ‘and +wouldn’t hurt anybody for the world; but I don’t wonder you got a good +fright.’ So ends my ghost story; and now, if you are ready for more +horrors, I will tell you my other adventure.” + +“Our detention near the old church, and the state of the roads, +rendered heavy by late rains, made it impossible for us to reach the +town at which we had hoped to spend the night; and we had made up our +minds that we would stop at the first _promising_-looking establishment +we should see, when the coming up of a sudden storm left us no option, +but made us hail gladly the first human dwelling we came to, though +that was but a rough, rambling old hut, built of unhewn logs.” + +“There was only an old woman at home when we stopped at the door, and I +fancied she looked rather _too well pleased_ when we asked if she could +accommodate us for the night. I must confess to you, my dear children, +I felt rather nervous after the fright of that afternoon; I, who used +to boast that I was ignorant of the fact of possessing such a thing as +nerves; but I do think I must have been nervous, for very little things +troubled me that evening, and my imagination had never been so busy +before. In a very few moments, an old man, and three strapping, +rough-looking youths, entered, with their axes over their shoulders, +and dripping with rain; and now I began to imagine that I saw +suspicious glances passing between these young men, and I certainly +heard a long whispered conversation pass between two of them and the +old woman in the next room. I looked towards my old friend the +clergyman; but he, good, unsuspicious old soul, was nodding in his +chair by the log fire. I grew more and more uncomfortable, and heartily +wished we had jogged on in the pelting rain, rather than trust +ourselves to such very questionable hospitality. One thing I made up my +mind to, which was this—that I would not close my eyes to sleep that +night, but would keep on the watch for whatever might happen.” + +“The old woman gave us a very comfortable supper, and soon afterwards +she asked me if I would like to go to bed. Not liking to show any +distrust of my hosts, I assented with apparent readiness, and followed +the old woman into a hall, and up a rude ladder, which I should have +found it very difficult to mount had it not been for my early exercise +in this kind of gymnastics, when searching for hen’s eggs in the barn, +at my New England home.” + +“At the head of the ladder was a small passageway, from which we +entered the room which was to be my sleeping apartment. Whether there +had ever been any door to this room or not I do not know; certain it is +there was no door now; the only other room I could perceive in the +upper part of the house, was a sort of a granary filled with bins to +hold different kinds of grain.” + +“‘Is the old gentleman with whom I came, to sleep in this part of the +house?’ I asked in as careless a tone as I could assume.” + +“‘No, he sleeps in the loft of the other part where the boys sleep;’ +answered the old woman, and then looking at me with a grin which I +thought gave her the appearance of an ugly old hag, she said, ‘Why ye +ain’t afeard on us, be ye?’” + +“‘I told her I had had quite a fright that day, and felt a little +nervous.’” + +“‘Well,’ said she, ‘ye can just go to sleep without any frights here. +We shan’t do ye no harm, I reckon,’ and she left me and descended the +ladder.” + +“Before going to bed I took my light, and stepping out softly I went to +reconnoitre the other room, the door of which we had passed on the way +to the room in which I was to spend the night: I was obliged to descend +two steps to enter this room, where I found nothing frightful to be +sure, there being only some old clothes hanging up, and the bins of +grain of which I have spoken before. I returned to my room, and with +great difficulty moved a rude chest of drawers, across the place where +a door should be, on this I placed my little trunk, and the only chair +in the room, an old shovel, and a broken pitcher, determined that if +any one did enter the room, it should not be without noise enough to +give me warning. Before this barricade I set my candle, hoping it might +continue to burn all night.” + +“I laid down without undressing, determined that I would only rest; I +would not even close my eyes to sleep. I had laid thus as I supposed an +hour, listening to the voices of the old people and their sons, as in +subdued tones they talked together below. At the end of that time the +door opened, and I heard stealthy steps ascending the ladder. My heart, +as the saying is, was in my throat, and I could hear its every throb. +The steps came nearer and nearer, and as the first foot-fall sounded on +the floor of the little passage, which led to my room, I shrieked, ‘Who +is there? what do you want?’” + +“‘Bless your soul it’s only me; you need not scream so,’ said the old +woman. ‘I’m only going to the bin for some corn-meal to make mush for +your breakfast.’” + +“‘I do believe the gal thinks we are going to murder her in her bed,’ I +heard her say with a loud laugh as she descended the ladder; ‘you ought +to see the _chist_, and the things she’s got piled on top of it, all +standing in the door-way.’” + +“At this the men’s voices joined in the laugh, and they sounded +horribly to me. ‘Yes,’ I thought to myself, ‘how easy it would be for +them to murder us in our beds, and there would be no one to tell the +tale.’ Soon after this, in spite of my resolution to keep awake, sleep +must have overpowered me, for I was awakened by a tremendous crash, as +if the house was falling, and I opened my eyes to find myself in total +darkness, and to hear soft footsteps in my room.” + +“Oh, how I shrieked this time! I believe I cried ‘help! help! murder!’ +and I soon heard footsteps approaching, and saw a light gleaming up the +ladder way, and soon the old woman’s night-cap appeared over the chest. +‘What _is_ the matter now?’ she cried with some impatience, ‘you +certainly are the most _narvous_ lodger I’ve ever had yet.’” + +“‘Matter enough,’ said I, ‘there is some one in my room. Didn’t you +hear that awful crash?’” + +“‘Pshaw! it’s only our old black cat!’ said the old woman; ‘he always +comes up to this room to sleep, but we thought we had shut him out.’” + +“‘Can he climb the ladder?’ I asked.” + +“‘Just like a _human_,’ said the old woman; and, pushing aside the +chest, she seized the cat, and raising the only window in the room, +threw him out.” + +“Again weariness overpowered me, and I slept; only to awake to new +horrors; for now I heard cautious footsteps and whispered voices, and +outside the grindstone was at work making something very sharp. Then +the door opened, and a smothered voice said, ‘Mother, is the water +hot?’” + +“‘Yes, bilin’,’ answered the old woman; ‘are the knives sharp?’” + +“‘All ready,’ answered the young man; ‘where’s father?’” + +“‘He’s gone to the loft,’ said the old woman; and then came some +whispered words, which I could not catch. You will most probably laugh +at me, but my mind was now so worked up by all the agitation I had +experienced, that I had not the smallest doubt that we were now to be +murdered, and that the dreadful work was already going on in the loft, +my kind old friend being the first victim. Still I thought I might be +in time to save him yet, and there might be a bare possibility of our +escape. Springing from my bed in great haste and agitation, I hurried +on my shawl, and cautiously descended the ladder; but my blood froze +with horror, as just then I heard a piercing shriek. In the passage +below I encountered the old woman; she had just come into the house, +and had an old shawl over her head, and a lantern in her hand, I +thought she gave a guilty start when she saw me, as she exclaimed:” + +“‘Why, bless me, gal! what are you down at this time in the morning +for?’” + +“‘What are _you_ all up so early in the morning for?’ I asked, in a +voice which I meant should strike terror to her heart.” + +“‘Why, my old man and the boys had determined to kill hogs this +morning,’ she answered; ‘but we tried to keep so quiet as not to +disturb ye. I was afeared, though, that the squealing of the hogs would +wake ye.’” + +“The relief was so sudden, that I could hardly refrain from putting my +arms round the old woman’s neck, and confessing all my unjust +suspicions, but the fear of hurting her feelings prevented. With a +tranquil mind I again climbed the ladder, and sought my humble bed, and +was soon in such a sound slumber, that even the squealing of the hogs, +in their dying agonies, failed to rouse me.” + +“Seen by the morning light, as we were seated around the breakfast +table, these midnight robbers and murderers of my fancy appeared a +family of honest, hardy New Englanders, who had bought a tract of land +in Western Virginia. They showed us, at a little distance, a clearing +where they were just erecting a larger and more comfortable log +dwelling; and the old woman assured us that if we would stop and visit +them, if we ever passed that way again, we should not have to climb a +ladder, for they were going to have a ‘reg’lar stairway in t’other +house.’” + +“When the time came for parting with our kind hosts, and we offered to +remunerate them for their trouble, they rejected the proffered money +almost with scorn.” + +“‘No, no,’ said the old man, ‘we haven’t got quite so low as that yet; +and I hope that I nor none of mine will ever come to taking pay for a +night’s lodging from a traveller. We don’t keep _tavern_ here.’” + +“The old woman’s parting advice to me was to try and ‘git over my +_narvousness_; and she thought I hadn’t better drink no more strong +green tea.’” + +“‘I think your tea _was_ strong last night, my friend,’ said I; ‘and +that, together with the sight of the ghost, of which I have been +telling you, made me very uneasy and restless.’” + +“‘Well,’ said the old woman, ‘I hope ye won’t be so suspicious of us +next time ye come; for it’s a _cartain_ fact, that we never murdered +any _human_ yet. We do kill _hogs_; that I won’t deny.’ And she laughed +so heartily, that I felt quite sure she had seen through all my fears +and suspicions of the night before. So ends the murder story.” + +“I wish you could have heard my old clergyman laugh, as I related to +him all the horrors of the night; and when I came to mistaking the last +squeal of a dying pig for his own death groan, I thought he would have +rolled out of the gig. That night, which was _last_ night, found us in +the old gentleman’s hospitable home, where his kind lady gave me as +cordial a welcome as I could desire. Here I am still with these good +friends, only waiting for my trunks; and then, with God’s blessing, two +days more will find me in the home of my own dear brother.—And here, +with many kind remembrances to the dear ones at Brook Farm, Miss +Edwards’ letter closed.” + + + + +VIII. +Bitter Disappointments. + + + “Oh! art thou found? +But yet to find thee thus!” + VESPERS OF PALERMO. + + +It may be as well for us to continue the history of Miss Edwards here, +though its sad sequel was not known to the family of Mr. Wharton till a +long time after she had left them. The letter with which the preceding +chapter closes, was the last heard from her for many weeks. Various +were the surmises in the family as to the reasons for her unaccountable +silence, but at length they settled down in the belief that she must +have fallen a victim to some of the diseases of a new country; though +why they should not have received some tidings of her fate from her +brother, still remained a mystery. + +At last, after many weeks, there came a letter from her, but it was +short, and sad, and unsatisfactory in all respects. She had had a +terrible disappointment she said, but her friends must have forbearance +with her, and excuse her from detailing the events of the past few +weeks. She was now at Springdale with her kind old friend, the +clergyman, and was just recovering from a long and tedious illness; she +hoped soon to be able to be at work again, and a little school was +ready for her, as soon as she should be sufficiently restored to take +charge of it. Not one word was said of her brother, or of her reasons +for returning to the home of the old clergyman. + +“She is evidently very unhappy,” said Mr. Wharton, “and perhaps her +funds are exhausted. She must return to us, and for this purpose I will +send her the means without delay.” + +But still Miss Edwards did not come, and her letters were few and far +between. At length there came one written in much better spirits, and +in her old cheerful style, in which she informed them that she was +engaged to be married to a young physician of that place. She seemed +now very happy, and full of bright anticipations, not the least +cheering of which, was the prospect of visiting her kind friends once +more, when she should travel to the east on her bridal tour. And this +was the last letter they ever received from Miss Edwards. + +That same summer a package came to Mr. Wharton, directed in an unknown +hand, from a place, the name of which he had never heard before. It was +from a physician, and ran thus: + +SIR,—I was called a few weeks since to attend a young lady, who was +lying dangerously ill, at the only tavern in our little village. I +found her raving in delirium, and your name, and the names of many whom +I suppose to be members of your family, were constantly mingled with +her ravings. She had stopped at the tavern the night before in the +stage; and when the other passengers went on was too ill to proceed +with them. I attended her constantly for a week or ten days, and at the +end of that time, I had the happiness to find that her fever had +entirely left her, and her mind was quite restored. She was, however, +extremely weak, and feeling assured, she said, that she should never be +able to reach the home of her kind friends, (mentioning the name of +your family,) she begged earnestly for writing materials, and though I +remonstrated and entreated, I found it impossible to prevent her +writing. She said she had a communication which it was due to you that +she should make, and she charged me over and over again, to remember +your direction, and send the package to you in case she did not leave +that place alive. She was busily engaged in writing one day, when the +noise of wheels attracted her to the window, which she reached in time +to see a gentleman alight from a chaise, who proceeded to hand out a +lady. A person in the room with her, saw her put her hands to her head, +and then she rushed from the back door of the house, and did not stop +till she reached the woods. When found she was a raving maniac, and is +so still. We have been obliged to place her in the county house, where +she is confined in the apartment devoted to Lunatics, and is as +comfortable as she can be made under the circumstances. The +accompanying package I found just as she left it, when she dropped her +pen and hastened to the window, and I now comply with her earnest +request and enclose it to you. + +With respect, &c. +JAMES MASTEN. + + +The manuscript, when opened, was found to be in Miss Edwards’ well +known hand-writing, though the fingers that held the pen, had evidently +trembled from weakness and agitation. It was with the saddest emotions, +that those who had loved her so tenderly, read the following +communication: + +“Painful and harrowing to my feelings as the task must be which I have +undertaken, I feel that it is due to my kind and ever sympathising +friends, to make them acquainted with the sad trials through which I +have passed, and the bitter disappointments I have met with. I have +tried to bear up with the spirit of a Christian, and to feel that these +trials are sent by One who orders all things in justice and +righteousness; I do submit; I am not inclined to murmur; I hope I am +resigned; but heart, and flesh, and mind, are weak, and these alas! are +all failing.” + +“With the fondest anticipations I reached the village, where I expected +to be received in the arms of my long lost brother. Oh, how my heart +bounded, as the prolonged sound of the stage-horn told me we were +approaching the end of my journey! and how my imagination pictured the +joyful meeting, the cordial welcome, the fond embrace once more of my +own loved kindred! I was much surprised that my brother was not at the +tavern to meet me, and more so when, on asking for his residence, the +landlord hesitated, as if perplexed.” + +“‘Edwards! Edwards!’ said he; ‘there is but one person of that name +that I know of in all the village; but he can’t be brother to such a +lady as you.’” + +“‘Perhaps you have not been here long,’ I said.” + +“‘O yes, ma’am, nearly fifteen years,’ he answered.” + +“‘And what is the name of this man of whom you speak?’” + +“‘Richard, I think; they always call him Dick Edwards about here,’ +answered the landlord.” + +“I did not tell him that was my brother’s name, but with a trembling +heart I asked him to point me to the house of this Richard Edwards of +whom he spoke.” + +“There was something of pity in the tone of the landlord’s voice, as he +told me to turn down the second lane I should come to, and go on to the +last hut on the right hand. ‘But I advise you not to go,’ he continued, +‘for I’m sure there must be some mistake.’” + +I was too heart-sick to answer, but, taking my travelling-bag on my +arm, I followed the directions of the landlord, and picked my way as +well as I could through the mud of the miserable, filthy lane he had +mentioned to me, all the time saying to myself, ‘It cannot be—there +surely must be some mistake,’ and yet impelled irresistibly to go on. + +“As I approached the door of the hut at which I knew I was to stop, I +heard the sound of singing and shouting; and as I came nearer, the +words of a low drinking chorus sounded on my ear. I paused before the +door, and a feeling of faintness came over me. I thought, ‘I will turn +back, and give up the attempt. Better never to find my brother, than to +find him here, and thus.’ But again something impelled me to tap at the +door. It would be such an inexpressible relief, I thought, to find +myself mistaken.” + +“It was some time before I could make myself heard above the noise of +drunken revelry which sounded within the hovel; but at length the door +was opened by a wretched, frightened-looking woman, and a scene of +indescribable misery was presented to my eyes. Around a table were +seated three or four brutish-looking men, with a jug and some glasses +before them. On the table was a pack of greasy-looking cards; but those +who surrounded the table were too far gone to play now; they could only +drink, and sing, and shout, and drink again; and one of them, in +attempting to rise from the table, fell, and lay in a state of utter +helplessness on the floor.” + +“The man of the house was not so far gone as the rest; and when he came +staggering forward, a few words sufficed to explain the reason of my +appearance.” + +“His answer seemed to seal my fate.” + +“‘Ho! you’re Rhoda, then! I wrote to you. I thought likely enough you’d +got some money. We’re pretty hard up here.’ This was said with a silly +laugh and hiccough, which filled me with an indescribable loathing.” + +“And was this miserable, bloated wretch my brother—that brother whom I +had so longed and prayed once more to see, of whom I had thought by +day, and dreamed by night, for so many long years! I turned to go +without another word, but fell at the door, and lay, I know not how +long, without sense or motion. When I revived, I found the woman (who, +I suppose, was my sister-in-law) bathing my face. I have a dim +recollection, too, of seeing some dirty, miserable-looking children, +and of being asked for _money_. I laid all that I had about me on the +table, and, while they were eagerly catching for it, I left the +wretched place; and grasping by the fence to steady my feeble +footsteps, I made my way back to the inn. I took the next stage, and +then the boat, for the home of my kind old friend at Springdale, and +arrived there ill in body and mind. From there I wrote you, when +partially recovered. As soon as I was able, I began my school, and +before long became much interested in my little scholars; and in the +hospitable home of my kind old friends, regained tranquillity of mind, +and after a time even cheerfulness. But other trials awaited me. My +head is weary, and I must rest before I relate to you the remainder of +my melancholy story.” + +“There was a young physician in that place, who had recently come from +the East, and settled there. He was a man of agreeable person and +manners, of much general information, and of very winning address; at +least, so he seemed to me. He was entirely different from all whom I +had met in that new country, and was the only person, besides my old +friend the clergyman and his wife, with whom it was really pleasant to +converse; and I felt perfectly at ease in his society, having been +assured that he was engaged to a certain Miss G——, the daughter of a +merchant in the village. Though much surprised at this, she having +appeared to me but a mere flippant gossip, and he a man of refined and +cultivated intellect, still I had no reason to doubt it, and was +completely taken by surprise when, after an acquaintance of a few +weeks, he one day made an offer of his hand and heart to _me_. I told +him what I had heard of his engagement to another, but he assured me it +was the idlest village gossip. ‘There was nowhere else to go,’ he said, +‘till I came there, and so he had occasionally visited at Mr. G——’s, +but without the slightest intention of paying any serious attention to +either of his daughters, who were girls not at all to his taste.’” + +“The idea of this gentleman appearing in the character of a lover of +_mine_ was so new to me that I was obliged to take time to accustom +myself to it, and to ascertain the nature of my own feelings, which I +soon found were such as to satisfy me that I should commit no perjury +in giving him my hand. I will not tell you how I loved him! I cannot +write about it now! But for a short time I was very, very happy, and +even my bitter disappointments were forgotten. But suddenly he ceased +to visit me. Day after day passed and he did not come; and yet I knew +that he was in the village. At length I could no longer conceal my +distress from my old friend; who, being very indignant at this +treatment, called my truant lover to account.” + +“My cheeks glow with indignation as I write it! A story had been +circulated, which was afterwards traced to the G—— ’s, that I had left +a _husband_ in an Eastern State; and this man, without coming to me for +a word of explanation, believed the story and deserted me. I had no +friend of long enough standing there to contradict the report; I wrote +to you, Mr. Wharton, but the letter could never have reached you, for +no answer came; and this only confirmed the suspicions of those who had +heard this slanderous story. All but my kind hosts looked upon me with +suspicion; the object of the slander was accomplished; my former lover +resumed his visits at the house of Mr. G——, and his attentions to his +daughter. He was not worthy of a love like mine! Stranger as he had +been to me, could I have believed a tale like that of him, without +making an effort to investigate its truth, or giving him full +opportunity to clear himself from the imputation? That place could no +longer be a home for me. I left it, dear friends, and turned my face +once more towards those who had been for so many years tried and true +to me. But strength failed! I have been here I know not how many weeks, +enduring torment of mind and body. My hope of reaching you is dying +out. I _have_ no hope but in God; my friend and refuge in time of +trouble! I have—’” + +Here the writing ceased; and the next moment she had seen her faithless +lover hand his bride from the carriage, and reason fled from her poor +brain forever. + +The day after this letter was received found Mr. Wharton on his way to +the West, to ascertain for himself the condition of Miss Edwards, and +to endeavor to devise some means for her comfort and restoration, if +possible. Has my reader ever visited a _county house_, and especially +the apartment devoted exclusively to Lunatics? If not, I will endeavor +to describe a few of the sights which met the eyes of Mr. Wharton, on +his sad visit to the county house, which then stood a few miles from——. +He proceeded thither in company with the physician who had written to +him, and sent him the package from Miss Edwards, and it was with a +heavy heart that he first saw the desolate brick building in which she +had been placed, and thought, “Is this the only asylum for one so +lovely and so gifted, and must she wear out her days in hopeless +madness here?” Making their way through the crowd of miserable, +hobbling, bandaged, blind and helpless creatures who were standing +about the yard and halls, Mr. Wharton and Dr. Masten, guided by the +superintendent of the county house, paused before the door of the +“crazy room.” Sounds of many voices were already heard, in various +tones, singing and shouting, and preaching, and when the door was +opened the din was such that it was impossible for the gentlemen to +hear each other speak. + +What a place, thought Mr. Wharton, for those who should be kept quiet +and tranquil, and who should have nothing about them but pleasant, +cheerful sights. What possible hope is there of the restoration of any +here! + +About the large and not over clean room, were a number of _cages_, much +like those you now see placed around a menagerie tent, though not so +large or so comfortable as these cages of wild beasts. In each of these +cages was confined a human being, and these poor creatures stricken by +the hand of God, were in various stages of insanity, some wildly +raving, others more quiet, and others still in a state of helpless +idiocy. One poor creature had preached till her voice had sunk to a +hoarse whisper, and so she continued to preach, the keeper told them, +day and night, till utterly exhausted, when she would fall into a state +of insensibility, which could hardly be called _sleep_, but from which +she would arouse to preach again, day and night, till again exhausted. + +A boy about sixteen years of age sat in one of the cages, with scarcely +a rag to cover him, idly pulling through his fingers a bit of cord. +This had been his employment for months, the keeper said. He was +perfectly quiet, except the cord was taken from him; but then he would +be quite frantic. The ends of his fingers were quite worn with drawing +this cord between them, and it was necessary to supply him constantly +with a new bit of cord. When asked why the boy remained nearly naked, +the keeper said, they had never been able to devise any means to keep +clothing upon him, or to find anything strong enough to resist the +strength of his hands; but if allowed to remain in a state almost of +nudity, and to have his bit of cord, he was perfectly quiet and +contented. + +These, and many more sad and horrible things, were seen and heard +during their visit; but Mr. Wharton’s first object was to find her for +whose sake he had undertaken this long journey. He knew her +immediately, though her face was worn with trouble and sickness, and +there was an intense and unnatural brightness about her eye. Her +beautiful hair was unbound, and falling about her shoulders, as she sat +in the farthest corner of her cage, perfectly quiet, and entirely +unoccupied. + +“Rhoda!” said Mr. Wharton, gently. She started, and put back her thick +hair from her ear, at the sound of his familiar voice. + +“Rhoda!” said he, “don’t you remember me?” + +She looked at him intently, and the expression of her eye began to +change. + +“The children want to see you so much, Rhoda! Emily and Effie, and +Agnes and little Grace.” He mentioned each name slowly and distinctly, +and then spoke of his wife and the other children, and mentioned scenes +and incidents connected with his home. Her eye still looked with an +earnest gaze into his; her brow contracted, as if she was trying to +recall some long forgotten thing; until at length, with the +helplessness of an infant, she stretched her arms towards Mr. Wharton, +and exclaimed, piteously: + +“Oh, take me away!—take me to my home!” + +“You shall go with me, Rhoda; I will not leave you here,” said Mr. +Wharton; and beckoning to Dr. Masten, he left the room. As he reached +the door, he heard a cry of agony, and turning, he saw Miss Edwards at +the front of her cage, with both arms extended towards him through the +bars, and the most agonized, imploring expression upon her face. +Stepping back to her, he said: + +“Rhoda, I _will not_ leave you. Be quiet, and I will come back very +soon to take you with me. Did I ever deceive you, Rhoda?” + +“Oh!” said she, putting her hand to her head, “they have all deceived +me. Richard deceived me! _He_ deceived me!—oh, so cruelly! Who can I +trust? They all desert me. I am _all, all_ alone!” And she sat down; +and dropping her head upon her knees, she wept very bitterly. + +When Mr. Wharton had again called the doctor from the room, he said to +him: + +“Doctor, this does not seem to me such a hopeless case. How any sane +person could retain his senses in that awful scene, I cannot imagine; I +am sure I should soon go crazy myself. But could I once remove Miss +Edwards from these terrible associations, and place her in one of our +Eastern asylums, where she might have cheerful companionships, and +pleasant occupation for her mind and fingers, I doubt not she might be +completely restored.” + +The doctor thought it possible, but was not so sanguine on the subject +as Mr. Wharton, who, he said, had only seen the young lady in one of +her calmer moods. Still he by all means advised the trial. “We have no +hope of _cure_” said he, “in placing these lunatics in the County +House; the only object is to keep them from injuring themselves or +others. They are all of them from the families of the poor, who cannot +afford to send them to an Eastern asylum. This young lady was a +stranger, and without means, and so violent, at times, that restraint +was absolutely necessary; so that the only thing we could do with her +was to place her here till I could write to you.” + +“You did the very best that could be done under the circumstances, my +dear sir,” answered Mr. Wharton; “but I sincerely hope the day is not +far distant when your State will possess a more comfortable home than +this for those afflicted as these poor creatures are. But I feel as if +I could not lose a moment in removing my young friend from this place; +and if you, doctor, will be so kind as to take the journey with me, and +aid me in the care of her, you shall be well rewarded for your loss of +time.” + +It was with no great difficulty that this undertaking was accomplished; +and in less than a fortnight from the time when Mr. Wharton found Miss +Edwards, caged like a wild beast in the County House at——, she was +placed at an asylum where every comfort surrounded her. It was not long +before she seemed quite at home amid these new scenes, and began to +interest herself in books and work; and though her mind never fully +regained its tone, she yet seemed tranquil and happy. But the scenes of +trial through which she had passed had done their work upon her +constitution, and she sank rapidly, until, in a little less than a year +from the time of her entering the asylum, Mr. Wharton was summoned to +her death-bed. He arrived but a short time before she breathed her +last, and had the satisfaction to find that she knew him, to hear from +her own lips the assurance that her faith in her Redeemer was firm and +unshaken, and to bear her last kind messages to all the dear ones at +Brook Farm. And then the poor sad heart was still—the mind was bright +and clear again—for the shattered strings were tuned anew in heaven. + +In a quiet nook at Brook Farm, where the willow bends, and the brook +murmurs, is a spot marked out for a burying-place, and the first stone +planted there bears on it the name of “Rhoda Edwards.” + + + + +IX. +Emily’s Trials. + + +“And dost thou ask what secret woe +I bear, corroding joy and youth? +And wilt thou vainly seek to know +A pang, even thou must fail to soothe?”—BYRON. + + +In the meantime the education of Master Lewie was going on as best it +might, and in a manner most agreeable to that young gentleman’s +inclinations. When he chose to do so, he studied, and then no child +could make more rapid advancement than he, but as he was brought up +without any habits of regular application, study soon became +distasteful to him, and at the first puzzling sentence he threw aside +his books in disgust, and started off for play. The only thing he +really loved, was music, and in his devotion to this delightful +accomplishment he was indefatigable, and his proficiency at that tender +age was remarkable. + +But being now nine or ten years old, his mother, urged to this course +by some pretty strong hints from Mr. Wharton, began to determine upon +some systematic plan of education for him. And, acting upon Mr. +Wharton’s advice, she was so happy as to secure the services of Mr. +Malcolm, the young clergyman at the village, as a tutor for Lewie, upon +the condition on his part, that unlimited authority, in no case to be +interfered with, should be given to him in his government of the +hitherto untrained and petted child. + +And so it was settled, that Mr. Malcolm should ride over from the +village every morning at a certain hour, and attend to the education of +little Lewie Elwyn. It was soon observed, that as the young clergyman +rode from the Hemlocks back to the village, it seemed a difficult +matter for him to pass Mr. Wharton’s lane, but he often, and then +oftener, and at length every day, turned his horse’s head up the lane, +and stopped to make a call. And the children (than whom there are no +quicker observers in matters of this kind) soon made up their minds +that the object of Mr. Malcolm’s frequent and prolonged visits was +sweet cousin Emily. And they thought too, judging by the bright blush +that came up in cousin Emily’s usually pale cheek when he was +announced, and by the look of interest with which she listened to his +conversations with her uncle, or replied to him when he addressed a +remark to herself, that cousin Emily was by no means indifferent to the +young minister. + +Having drawn their own conclusions from these premises, and watching +with much interest, as children always do the progress of a love +affair, they were surprised and disappointed when they found that as +Mr. Malcolm’s attentions increased and became more pointed, cousin +Emily gradually withdrew from his society, and often declined +altogether to come into the sitting room when he was there. Yet they +were certain she liked him, for they often found her watching from her +window his retreating figure; and sometimes before she knew that she +was observed, she would be seen to wipe away the tears which were +stealing unbidden down her cheek. + +At length, one day, the minister came, and as he walked up the steps of +the front piazza, those who caught sight of his face, saw that it was +pale and agitated, and that he looked as if important matters for him +were at stake. And he asked for Emily. There was no bright blush in her +cheek now as she descended the stairs; it was pale and cold as marble. +The interview was a long one, and when at length Mr. Malcolm mounted +his horse and rode slowly away, his face was as white as when he came, +but the look of suspense and expectation had passed away, and in its +place was that of settled and fixed despair. Emily went to her room, +and to her bed, which she did not leave for some days; when she again +appeared in the family she was calm and sweet as ever, but a shade more +pensive. + +And the young minister came no more. That was all. + +He was sometimes seen in the distant road riding rapidly by, to or from +the Hemlocks, but though the horse from long custom, invariably turned +his head towards Mr. Wharton’s lane, he was not permitted to follow his +inclinations, but was speedily hurried by. + +And Emily grew paler and thinner day by day, and there was sometimes a +contraction about the brow which told of intense suffering; and +sometimes, early in the evening she would leave the parlor, and not +appear again for the remainder of the evening. On one of these +occasions Agnes followed her, as she had observed the deadly paleness +of her countenance, and feared she would faint before she reached her +room. As Emily ascended the stairs, Agnes thought she heard groans, as +of one in extreme pain. Emily closed her door and Agnes stood upon the +outside; and now the groans were plainly to be distinguished. + +“Cousin Emily,” Agnes called, “dear cousin Emily, may I come in?” + +There was no answer, but those same deep groans and now and then a +plaintive moaning. Agnes opened the door gently, and saw Emily upon her +knees, and yet writhing as if in intense agony. She seemed to be trying +to pray, and Agnes caught the words, “Oh, for strength, for strength to +endure this agony, and not to murmur.” + +Putting her arm around her, Agnes said: “What is it, cousin Emily? Can +you not tell _me_?” + +Emily started at finding that she was not alone, and then said: + +“Help me to rise, Agnes, and hand me those drops. I am glad that it is +you: better you than any of the others. Fasten the door, Agnes.” + +Emily reclined upon the sofa, weak and exhausted, the cold beads of +perspiration standing on her brow. Agnes sat in silence beside her, +holding her thin white hands in hers. At length Emily said: + +“Agnes, I try to be patient; I make an endeavor even to be cheerful; +but I am indeed a great sufferer, and the anguish I endure seems, at +times, more than mortal frame can bear. It is only by escaping to the +solitude of my own room, to endure the agony in secret, that I am +enabled to keep it to myself. I am obliged to practice evasion to +escape aunty’s anxious interrogatories; for, in her present state of +health, I would not for the world cause her the anxiety and trouble +which the knowledge of my sufferings would bring upon her.” + +Then, with frequent pauses for rest, Emily told the weeping Agnes +_all_. + +“And now,” said she, “dear Agnes, you are very young for scenes like +this; but I know that you possess uncommon nerve and courage. Can you, +do you think, sit by my side, and hold my hand through a painful +operation? I _can_ endure it alone, dear, and I intended to; but as +accident has revealed my sufferings to you, I feel that it would be a +comfort to me to have my hand in that of one I love at that time.” + +“I _think_ I can, cousin Emily. I believe I could do _anything_ for +you, dear cousin Emily.” + +“I do not want aunty and uncle to know of this till it is all over, +Agnes. They go to the Springs to-morrow, to remain some days, as you +know: and I have arranged with Dr. Rodney to come while they are gone, +and bring a surgeon from the city, and it will all be over before they +return.” + +“And is there no _danger_, cousin Emily?” + +“Danger of what, dear?—of death? Oh yes; the chances are many against +me; and even if the operation is safely performed, it may not arrest +the disease. But to one who suffers the torture which it is the will of +Heaven that I should bear, speedy death would only be a happy release. +And yet, Agnes, do not misunderstand me; I would not for the world do +anything to shorten my life of suffering. Oh no! ‘All the years of my +appointed time will I wait till my change come.’ The course I am going +to pursue is advised by the physicians, and it may be the means of +restoration to health, at least for some years. Agnes, pray for me.” + +When Mrs. Wharton kissed Emily for good-bye, and told her to be a good +girl, and take care of her health, she little imagined the suffering +through which her gentle niece was to pass before they met again. No +one dreamed of it but Agnes. + +The next day, in answer to a message from Emily, the physicians came. +They found her courageous and cheerful; for she was sustained by an arm +all-powerful. Strength was given to her for the day and the occasion; a +wonderful fortitude sustained her; and the precious promise was +verified to her—“When thou goest through the waters, I will be with +thee.” + +And Agnes, who sat with one hand over her eyes, and the other clasping +that of Emily, knew only by a sudden and long-continued pressure of the +hand that the knife was doing its work. There was not a groan—only one +long-drawn sigh—and it was over; and the result was better than their +most sanguine hopes. + +Mrs. Wharton returned, after an absence necessarily prolonged to some +weeks. She found Emily sitting on the sofa, looking much as she had +done when they parted; and it was not till long afterward that she +discovered what had been the cause of Emily’s illness, and learned how +much she had endured. She understood many things now which had been +mysteries to her before, realizing, in some degree, the torment of mind +and body through which this gentle one had passed, and the reason of +the bidding down of the tenderest feelings of her heart. + +Poor Emily! None but He who seeth in secret had known the agony which +wrung thy loving heart to its very depths, causing even the keen +torture of physical suffering to be at times forgotten. But He can, and +He _does_, give strength for the occasion, whatever it may be, and +however sore the trial; and leaning on His arm, His people pass +securely through fires of tribulation, which, in the prospect, would +seem utterly unendurable, and come out purified, even as gold from the +furnace. + + + + +X. +The Tutor and the Pupil. + + +“Untutor’d lad, thou art too malapert.”—HENRY VI. + + +Mr. Wharton had endeavored to give Mr. Malcolm a correct understanding +of the nature of the case he was about to undertake, in becoming the +instructor of the spoiled and wayward Lewie. He told him of his natural +good qualities, never suffered to develop themselves, and of the many +evil ones, fostered and encouraged by the unwise indulgence of his fond +and foolish mother. And yet, when the young clergyman had fairly +entered upon his duties as tutor at the Hemlocks, he found, that “the +half had not been told him.” + +Lewie chafed and fretted under the slightest restraint, and had not the +remotest idea of doing anything that was not in all respects agreeable +to his own inclinations. The idea of compulsion was so new to him, that +he was overwhelmed with amazement one day, when his tutor (after trying +various means to induce him to learn a particular lesson) finally told +him that that lesson must be learned, and recited, before he could +leave the library. Master Lewie, fully determined in his own mind to +ascertain whose will was the strongest, and whose resolution would +soonest give out, now openly rebelled, and informed his master that “he +would _not_ learn that lesson.” + +With his handsome face flushed with passion, he struggled from his +tutor, rushed to the door, and endeavored to open it; but Mr. Malcolm +was before-hand with him, and quietly turning the key in the lock, and +putting it in his pocket, he walked back to the table. The frantic boy +now endeavored to open the windows and spring out, but being foiled in +this attempt likewise, as they were securely fastened, he threw himself +upon the floor as he had been in the habit of doing when crossed, ever +since his baby-hood, and screamed with all the strength of baffled +rage. + +His anxious mother was at the door in an instant, demanding admittance. +Mr. Malcolm unfastened the door, stepped out to her in the hall, and +gave her a faithful account of her son’s conduct during the morning. +“And now, Mrs. Elwyn,” said he, “the promise was, that I was not to be +interfered with in my government of your son. As long as he hears your +voice at the door, and knows that he has your sympathy on his side, he +will continue obstinate and rebellious.” + +“But, Mr. Malcolm, excuse me, but you do not know how to manage him, +you should soothe and coax him; he will not be driven. Oh, I cannot +bear to hear him scream so,” she exclaimed, as a louder roar from Lewie +reached her ears; “Oh, Mr. Malcolm, I must go to him.” + +“Not unless you desire, madam, that I should resign at once, and +forever, the charge of your son,” said Mr. Malcolm, laying his hand +upon the lock to prevent her carrying her purpose into execution. “I +have spent this whole morning,” he continued, “in expostulation and +persuasion, and in endeavoring, as I always do, to make the lessons +plain and interesting to my pupil; but Lewie is in one of his perverse +humors, and nothing but decision as unyielding as his own obstinacy, +will conquer him. If you will return to your own room and allow me the +sole management of him, I will remain here to-day till I have subdued +him, if the thing is possible.” + +“You will not use _severity_, Mr. Malcolm,” said the weeping mother. + +“Never in the way of corporeal punishment, madam. When I cannot govern +a pupil without having recourse to such means, I will abandon him. But +I must stipulate that untill Lewie submits, and learns that lesson, +which he could easily learn in a few minutes, if he chose, he goes +without food, and remains in the library with me. I am deeply +interested in your son, Mrs. Elwyn; he is a boy of fine talents, and of +too many good qualities of heart, to be allowed to go to destruction. I +would save him if I can, but he must be left to me. I have the hope of +yet seeing him a noble and useful character, but I must do it in my own +way.” + +Mrs. Elwyn silently acquiesced, and withdrew to her own room very +wretched. If she had been willing to inflict upon herself one tithe of +the pain she suffered now, in controlling her son in his infancy, how +different he might have been, as he grew up towards manhood. + +Mr. Malcolm returned to the library, and told Lewie that his mother had +decided to leave them settle this matter between themselves. He should +remain there, he said; he could employ himself very agreeably with the +books. Lewie might lie on the floor and scream, or get up and study; +but until that lesson was learned, he would not leave the library, or +taste a morsel of food. + +The shrieks were now renewed in a louder and more agonized tone than +ever, and were plainly heard in Mrs. Elwyn’s sitting-room, where, in a +state bordering on distraction, she was hurriedly pacing the floor, at +times almost determined to insist upon being admitted to the library, +that she might take her unhappy son to her arms, and dismiss his +inexorable tutor; and then deterred from this course by the promise she +had made, and the deep respect which she could not but feel for the +young minister. She could not but confess, too, in her inmost heart, +that this discipline was really for the good of her passionate boy, +though the means resorted to seemed to her severe. Of the two, she was +more wretched than Lewie, who really had no small sense of enjoyment, +in the consciousness of the pain and annoyance he was causing to +others. + +The screams now ceased, and the anxious mother really hoped that Lewie +was about to comply with his tutor’s wishes, and that she should soon +clasp him to her breast, wipe away his tears, and soothe his troubled +heart. She was already, in her mind, planning some reward for him for +condescending at length to yield his stubborn will. But the quiet was +only in consequence of the utter exhaustion of Master Lewie’s lungs, +and he took refuge in a dogged silence, still rolling on the floor. Mr. +Malcolm sat reading, as much at his ease, and apparently with as much +interest, as if he were the only occupant of the library. + +At last the young rebel was made aware, by certain ringing sounds, and +divers savory odors, that the hour of dinner had arrived; and his +appetite being considerably sharpened by the excitement through which +he had passed, he began to entertain the suspicion that he had been +rather foolish in holding out so long in his obstinacy. He really +wished that he had learned the lesson, and was free for the afternoon; +but how to come down was the puzzle now. He determined to be as ugly +about it as possible, thinking that his tutor might be pretty weary by +that time as well as he, and might hail joyfully any tokens of +submission. + +So Master Lewie began to call out: + +“I want my dinner!” + +“What is that, Lewie?” said Mr. Malcolm, looking up quietly from his +book. + +“I want my _dinner_, I tell you!” roared Lewie. + +Pushing his book towards him, Mr. Malcolm said, in a quiet, determined +manner: + +“You know the conditions, Lewie, on which you leave this room: they +will not change, if we remain here together till to-morrow morning. +This lesson must be learned and recited perfectly, before you taste any +food.” + +Lewie murmured that “there was one good thing—his teacher would have to +fast too.” + +“As for me, I never take but two meals a day,” said Mr. Malcolm; “I can +wait till five o’clock very well for my dinner; and should I be very +hungry, your mother will doubtless give me something to eat.” + +Through most of the afternoon, Lewie sat scrawling figures with his +pencil on some paper which was lying near, and really beginning to +suffer from the “keen demands of appetite.” After sitting thus an hour +or two, he suddenly said: + +“Give me the book, then, if there is no other way! I can learn that +lesson in five minutes, if I have a mind.” + +“I know that, Lewie,” said his tutor; “no one can learn quicker or +better than you, when you choose; but you cannot have this book till +you ask me for it in a different way.” + +It took another hour of sulking before Master Lewie’s pride could be +sufficiently humbled to admit of his asking in a civil tone for the +book; but hunger, which has reduced the defenders of many a strong +fortress, at last brought even this obstinate young gentleman to terms. +The book was handed him, on being properly asked for, and in a very few +minutes the lesson was learned, and recited without a mistake. Lewie +evidently expected a vast amount of commendation from his teacher, but +he received nothing of the kind. Mr. Malcolm only endeavored to make +him understand how much trouble he might have saved himself by +attention to his studies in the morning, and then talked to him very +seriously for some moments upon the folly and wickedness of giving way +to such a furious temper, endeavoring to point out some of the results +to which it would be likely to lead him. + +One would think that two or three such contests with his tutor, in each +of which he was finally obliged to yield, would have taught our little +hero _who_ was the master, and would have led him, by timely +compliance, to avoid the recurrence of such scenes. But no! he was so +unaccustomed to having his will thwarted in any particular, that it +seemed almost an impossibility for him to submit to have it crossed. +The moment anything occurred in opposition to his wishes, his strong +will rose rebellious; and having been accustomed to carry all before +it, could only with the utmost difficulty, and after a terrible +struggle, be controlled. + +His kind and judicious tutor, to whom the task of instructing so +wayward a youth was by no means a pleasant one, was urged to a +continuance of his labors only by a stern sense of duty; having at +heart the best good of his pupil, and humbly trusting that, with the +blessing of God upon his efforts, he might be able at length to teach +him to exercise some control over himself. This might possibly have +been effected, perhaps, but for the unwise indulgence and sympathy of +his foolishly-fond mother, who was ever at hand, when Mr. Malcolm left, +to listen to her son’s tale of grievances, by which he sometimes +succeeded in convincing her that he was most unjustly and cruelly +treated. + +Lewie had become tired of the loneliness and quiet of his country home, +and wished to be among other boys, and particularly to go to the school +at which his cousins, the young Whartons, had been placed. They had +lately been home for a vacation, and he had heard much of the _fun_ +they enjoyed at school; in comparison with which, his quiet life with +his mother, and under the care of his tutor, seemed very tame and dull. +He now became more restive and impatient under control, and seemed +determined to weary out his kind tutor, in the hope that he would +voluntarily relinquish his charge. In the meantime, he continued to +give his mother no rest on the subject of Dr. Hamilton’s school; and +she, poor woman, knew not what course to take, between her desire to +please her importunate son, and her dislike to offend Mr. Malcolm. + +At last, however, as usual, Lewie conquered; and rushing out of one +door, as he saw Mr. Malcolm enter at the other, he left his mother to +inform the young minister that he was no longer to be tutor there. As +far as his own comfort was concerned, this dismissal was a great relief +to Mr. Malcolm; but, as he told Mrs. Elwyn, he feared that her troubles +would not be lessened, but rather increased, by sending Lewie to a +public school. He had never been much among other boys; and he would +find his own inclinations crossed many times a day, not only by +teachers, but by schoolmates, who would have no more idea of always +giving up their own will than Lewie himself had, and constant trouble +might be the result. + +All this Mrs. Elwyn admitted; but what could she do? She was like a +reed in the wind before the might of Lewie’s determination, and he knew +it. Ah! she was learning already that “A child left to himself bringeth +his mother to shame” and sorrow; and it was with the deepest +mortification that she was obliged to confess that she had suffered the +golden hours of infancy to slip by, without acquiring over her son’s +mind that influence which every mother should and may possess. The +opportunity, alas! was now lost forever. Her son had neither respect +for her authority, or regard for her wishes. + + + + +XI. +Ruth Glen. + + +“The more I looked, I wondered more— +And while I scanned it o’er and o’er +A moment gave me to espy +A trouble in her strong black eye; +A remnant of uneasy light, +A flash of something over bright; +Not long this mystery did detain +My thoughts—she told in pensive strain +That she had borne a heavy yoke, +Been stricken by a two-fold stroke; +Ill health of body; and had pined +Beneath worse ailments of the mind.” + WORDSWORTH. + + +It had been determined ever since poor Miss Edwards left the Wharton’s, +that the girls should be sent to the city, to boarding school, and it +was without much difficulty that Mr. Wharton succeeded in obtaining +Mrs. Elwyn’s consent to his sending Agnes with them, that the cousins +might continue their education together. Indeed, as I have before +intimated, Mrs. Elwyn always listened, and answered with the utmost +indifference, when any plan respecting her daughter was proposed to +her. She supposed, rightly enough, that her own means might be required +for the support of herself and Lewie, (for she intended to close her +house and accompany Lewie to Stanwick,) and as Mr. Wharton seemed +anxious to take the care of Agnes from her hands, and she knew he could +well afford to do so, she made no objection whatever to the proposed +plan. In short, Mr. and Mrs. Wharton regarded this lovely girl, thus +cast off and neglected by her only natural protector, as their own, and +cherished her accordingly. + +Mrs. Wharton’s health, which had delayed, for some months, the +departure of the girls for the city, now seemed fully re-established; +Emily, also, seemed better than she had done for years, and it was with +light hearts, and many pleasant anticipations, that the three cousins, +under the care of Mr. Wharton, started, for the first time, for school. +At about the same time, Lewie, accompanied by his mother, went to +Stanwick, and began his school life under the care of Dr. Hamilton. + +The boarding-school at which Agnes and her cousins were placed, was +under the superintendence of Mrs. Arlington and her daughters, ladies +who had received a most thorough education in England, and who had long +kept an extensive and popular boarding-school there. The hope of +passing her declining days in the society of an only son, who had some +years before emigrated to America, induced Mrs. Arlington, accompanied +by her daughters, to follow him, and though it pleased Providence to +remove this idolized son and brother, by death, in a little more than a +year after their reunion in this country, the mother and daughters +determined to remain, and continue their vocation here, where they had +very flattering hopes of success. + +Mr. and Mrs. Wharton had long known and esteemed these estimable +ladies, and though, in many respects, opposed to boarding-schools in +general, yet, as there seemed, at present, no other means for the girls +to acquire an education, but by sending them from home, they thought +that a more unexceptionable place could not be provided for them than +Mrs. Arlington’s school. + +Mrs. Arlington, though a woman of more than sixty years of age, still +possessed an erect and queen-like figure, a most dignified and stately +appearance, and a face of remarkable beauty. She commanded respect at +first sight, and there was no punishment greater for her pupils, than +to be reported to Mrs. Arlington, and to be obliged to meet her face to +face, to receive a reprimand. Her three daughters, Miss Susan, Miss +Sophie, and Miss Emma, taught in different departments of the school, +and were in every respect most admirably fitted for their different +stations. Miss Emma taught music; Miss Sophie, French and drawing; +while Mrs. Arlington and her eldest daughter attended solely to the +more solid branches of education. + +It took some little time, of course, before our young friends felt at +home in so strange a place, and among so many new faces. But many of +the older scholars, who had been long in the school, were very kind in +coming forward to make their acquaintance, and endeavor to do away the +feeling of awkwardness, ever an attendant upon the introduction to +scenes so untried and new. Grace and Effie were very shy and silent at +first, but the peculiarly sweet and unaffected friendliness of Agnes’ +manner, won every heart immediately. The younger scholars, especially, +seemed to love her the moment she spoke to them, and to feel as if in +her they should ever find a friend. + +Agnes and her cousins were placed in a large room in the third story; +this room contained three beds, one of which was taken possession of by +Grace and Effie, another was occupied by two little girls, of the names +of Carrie and Ella Holt and Agnes was, for the present, alone. Mrs. +Wilkins, the housekeeper, informed her, however, that Mrs. Arlington +expected a new scholar soon, who was to be her bed-fellow. For some +reason or other, the new scholar did not arrive at the time expected, +and it was not till Agnes and her cousins had been some weeks at the +school, and had began to feel quite at home there, that they were made +aware, by the advent of an old hair trunk and a band-box, that the +sixth occupant of their room had arrived. + +The new scholar’s name was Ruth Glenn. She was a strange-looking girl; +very tall and thin, with a pale, greenish cast of complexion; +coal-black eyes, very much sunken in her head; hair as black as her +eyes, and colorless lips. When she smiled, which was very seldom, she +displayed a fine set of teeth, her only redeeming feature. Her manners +were as strange as her appearance. When she spoke, which was only when +absolutely necessary, or in reciting her lesson, there was a constant +nervous twitching about her bloodless lips; and she had a peculiar way +of pulling at her long, thin fingers, as if it was her full intention +to pull them off. + +We cannot help being influenced by first impressions; and though Agnes +felt the sincerest pity for this strange, awkward, shy girl, and did +her best to make her feel at her ease, she could not but feel sorry +that she was to be her bed-fellow. Ruth Glenn sat by herself in the +school-room, always intently occupied with her book, having no +communication with her school-mates, and always seizing on the moment +of dismissal from the school-room to retire to her own apartment. And +yet, as far as the girls could judge, she was full of kindness and +generosity of feeling, evinced by many little quiet acts which one +school-mate may always find it in her power to do for another. + +One night, the third or fourth after the arrival of Ruth Glenn at the +school, the girls sleeping in the room with her were suddenly aroused +from sleep by loud and piercing screams from little Carrie Holt. Agnes +sprang up, and was by her side in a moment. As she left her bed she +perceived that Miss Glenn was not there. + +“What is the matter, Carrie? Why do you scream so, dear?” asked Agnes. + +“Oh, Miss Elwyn!—that tall, white figure!—that tall, white figure! It +came and stood by me, and laid its cold white hand right on my face. It +was a ghost—I know it was—I saw it so plain in the moonlight. Oh, don’t +leave me!—don’t leave me, Miss Elwyn! It will come again!” And the +trembling child clung with both arms tightly around Agnes. + +“I will not leave the room, Carrie,” said Agnes; “but I must find out +what has frightened you so. There are no such things as ghosts, Carrie: +you have been dreaming.” + +“Oh no, Miss Elwyn, I did not dream that!” sobbed little Carrie; “I was +having a beautiful dream about ho-o-o-me and mother, when that cold +hand came on my cheek, and I opened my eyes, and saw that tall, white +figure. Oh, it had such great hollow eyes! I saw them so plain in the +moonlight!” + +“Now lie down, dear little Carrie, till I find out what all this +means,” said Agnes. The weeping child obeyed, hugging up close to her +little sister for protection. + +The light had been taken away at ten o’clock, as was the invariable +custom at Mrs. Arlington’s; but Agnes opened both shutters, and +admitted the bright moonlight into the room, making every object to be +discerned almost as plainly as in the day-time. She then stepped to her +own bed. Miss Glenn certainly was not there. She went to the door of +her room, and found it locked on the inside, as she had left it when +she went to bed. Miss Glenn, then, must still be in the room. Agnes +walked around it, carefully examining every object: she then went into +the closet, and felt carefully all around the walls. She began to think +there was something very strange in all this; and the other girls, all +of whom had been wide awake ever since they were aroused by the screams +of little Carrie, were sitting up in their beds in a great state of +agitation and alarm. + +“I will not stay in this room another night!” said little Carrie; “I +wish we dared to go down to Mrs. Arlington. Let’s all go down together +to Miss Emma, and ask her to come up here.” + +“No, no; hush, children!” said Agnes. Then she called, as loudly as she +dared, without awaking those in the neighboring rooms: + +“Miss Glenn! Miss Glenn! where are you?” + +“Here I am! What do you want of me?” answered a smothered voice. + +“Mercy on us!” shrieked Carrie and Ella in a breath, and springing with +one bound on to the floor—“mercy on us! she is under our bed!” + +Agnes looked under the bed, and could just distinguish something white, +huddled up in one corner under the head of the bed. + +“Miss Glenn! what do you mean?” exclaimed Agnes, in a tone of +amazement. “Are you trying to frighten these poor children? Come out +here directly.” + +With all Agnes’ gentleness, she had sufficient spirit when roused, and +she was now really indignant at what she supposed was a cruel attempt +to frighten little Carrie and Ella. Ruth Glenn was three or four years +older than Agnes, but yet she submitted at once to the tone of +authority in which she was addressed, and came crawling out from under +the bed. + +“I think it’s a little too bad,” said the trembling little sisters, +crying and talking together; “it’s real mean, to wake us up, and +frighten us so. I mean to tell Mrs. Arlington of you to-morrow, Miss +Glenn. I know our mother won’t let us stay here to be frightened so!” + +Ruth Glenn sat down on the edge of her own bed and said nothing, but +Agnes noticed that she shivered, as if with cold. + +“Come, Miss Glenn, lie down,” said Agnes, “and let us see if we can +have quiet for the rest of the night; we shall none of us be fit for +study to-morrow, I fear.” + +Ruth Glenn obeyed quietly, and was soon asleep, but the others had been +so agitated that it was a long time before their minds were +sufficiently calmed for repose. When startled by the rising bell, they +got up tired and unrefreshed, and with no very amiable feelings towards +the author of the disturbance in the night. Miss Glenn went about +dressing as quietly as usual, saying nothing to any one; till little +Ella, who was a spirited little thing, just as she was leaving the +room, turned about and said: + +“Now, Miss Glenn! I am going right down to tell Mrs. Arlington about +you.” + +To the surprise of all, this cold silent girl sat down on the bed, and +wringing her hands, and rocking back and forth, and crying most +piteously, she begged little Ella not to tell of her. + +“I will do anything I can for you, Ella,” said she, “I will help you in +your lessons, whenever you want any help; only don’t tell Mrs. +Arlington; she will send me away perhaps, and then what shall I do!” +She then implored Agnes to use her influence with the little girls, and +her cousins, to ensure their silence on the subject, promising not to +disturb them again, if she could help it. + +“I don’t know what I went to your bed for, Carrie,” she said, “I did +not want to frighten you.” + +“Why did you act so strangely then, Miss Glenn?” asked Agnes, “were you +asleep?” + +“I don’t know; I cannot tell; don’t ask me;” was all they could get +from Miss Glenn, who continued to weep and wring her hands. + +Though apparently very poor, Miss Glenn possessed some few rare and +curious things, which she said her father, who had been a sea-captain, +had brought her from other countries, and by means of some of these, +she succeeded in securing the silence of the little girls. Grace and +Effie were easily induced by the remonstrances of Agnes, and partly by +pity for Miss Glenn’s evident distress, to promise not to betray her. +None of the occupants of that room felt fit for study that day, except +Miss Glenn. She sat alone, as usual, and studied as perseveringly as +ever. This was only the beginning of a series of nocturnal +performances, continued almost every night, with every morning a +repetition of the same scene of begging and remonstrance with her +room-mates, to persuade them not to betray her to Mrs. Arlington. +Sometimes, as Miss Glenn was quietly leaving her bed, Agnes would wake +and follow her, determined to see what she would do, and to prevent, if +possible, her waking the other girls. At times she would seat herself +upon a chest in one corner of the room, and commence a conversation +with some imaginary individual near her; then she would move silently +round the room, and sitting down in some other part of it, would talk +again, as if in conversation with some lady next her. Then she would +open the window very quietly, and look up, and down, and around, +talking all the time in a low tone, but in a much more lively and +animated manner than was usual with her in the day-time. She would +sometimes cross over to the bed where Grace and Effie Wharton were +sleeping, but just as she was about laying her hand on one of them, +Agnes would touch her, and ask her what she meant by wandering about so +night after night, and tell her to come directly back to bed. + +“Oh,” Miss Glenn would answer quietly, “I have only been talking to the +ladies, and holding a little conversation with the moon and stars—don’t +mind me—go to bed—I will come.” + +But Agnes would answer resolutely, + +“No, Miss Glenn, I will not leave you to frighten the girls again; you +must come back to bed with me, and let me hold your hand tightly in +mine.” And Miss Glenn would obey immediately. + +When the moon was shining brightly into the room, these performances of +Miss Glenn’s were only annoying, but when the nights were very dark, +and nothing could be seen in the room, it was really horrible to hear +this strange girl chattering and mumbling, now in one corner, now in +another, sometimes in the closet, sometimes under the beds; and one +night, in a fearful thunder-storm, she seemed to be terribly excited, +and when the lightning flashed upon the walls, the shadow of her figure +could be seen strangely exaggerated, performing all manner of wild +antics. + +This conduct of Miss Glenn’s puzzled Agnes exceedingly: she could not +decide in her own mind whether the girl was trying to frighten them, +whether she was asleep, or whether she had turns of derangement at +night. Neither of these suppositions seemed exactly to account for her +singular actions. Her evident, and, Agnes doubted not, real distress, +at the possibility of Mrs. Arlington being informed of her nocturnal +performances, and the sacrifices of every kind that she was willing to +make to ensure silence, convinced Agnes that it was not done merely to +alarm them; her vivid remembrance of all that she had said or done in +the night, and her answering questions, and coming to bed so readily +when addressed by Agnes, without any appearance of waking up, led her +to suppose it was not somnambulism; and as Miss Glenn never showed any +sign of wandering of mind in the day time, Agnes could not suppose it +to be derangement. Miss Glenn was a perfect enigma; night after night +disturbing her room-mates with her strange performances, and every +morning going over the same scene of earnest expostulation and +entreaty, accompanied by violent weeping, to induce them not to betray +her to Mrs. Arlington. Poor little Carrie and Ella kept the secret +bravely, though, on the night of the thunder-storm, they were so +terrified by Miss Glenn’s conduct, that, wrapping themselves in the +bed-blankets, and persuading Agnes to lock the door after them, they +went out, and sat upon the stairs till morning. The very next day, two +sisters who slept in another room received tidings of the death of +their mother, which hurried them home; and as they were not to return +that quarter, little Carrie and Ella, with Agnes to intercede for them, +requested to be allowed to take their vacated place. Mrs. Arlington +readily acquiesced, as, she said, it would be much better to have four +in each room. + +Thus things went on, till, one night, Agnes was horror-stricken to find +that Miss Glenn was endeavoring to climb out of the window. As I have +said, they were in the third story of the building; and the distance to +the ground being very great, the unfortunate girl would inevitably have +been dashed to pieces upon the flag stones below, had not Agnes +suddenly caught her, and, with a strength that astonished herself, +succeeded in drawing her back into the room. + +The terror and agitation into which Agnes was thrown by this +circumstance determined her to do something decisive the very next day; +she was now convinced that it was her duty, and resolved to do it, in +spite of Miss Glenn’s tears and persuasions. She thought it right, +however, in the first place, to acquaint Miss Glenn with her +determination, and began by informing her, when they were alone the +next morning, of the imminent danger from which she had been so +fortunate as to save her in the night. Ruth Glenn seemed to remember it +all, and shuddered as she thought of it. + +“Now, Ruth,” said Agnes, “I really think we have all kept silence as +long as could be expected, or as it is _right_ that we should. You will +bear witness that we have endured very patiently all this nightly +disturbance. I have long been convinced, whatever may be the reason of +your conduct, that you have not the control of your own actions at +night; and I think we shall be very culpable if we conceal this matter +longer from Mrs. Arlington; for, as you must now be convinced, the +consequences may be fatal to yourself, or perhaps to others. You need +not fear that Mrs. Arlington will dismiss you, but I think she will +consult medical advice in your case, which most probably should have +been done long before this.” + +Ruth acknowledged the justice of all that Agnes said, and at length +consented that she should make Mrs. Arlington acquainted with all that +had transpired in their room. “But, oh, Agnes!” she said, “do persuade +her to let me remain, and finish my education. It has been my hope for +years, that I might be enabled to prepare myself to be a governess. My +father was lost at sea, and my poor mother died of a broken heart, and +I was left all alone to take care of myself at the age of fourteen. +Since then, I have sewed night and day, night and day, denying myself +sleep, and almost all the necessaries of life, in the hope of getting +an education. That hope, with all my unwearied industry, would never +have been fulfilled, had not a kind lady for whom I sewed offered to +make up the requisite sum; and now, if Mrs. Arlington sends me away, +what will become of me? The hope of my life will be disappointed.” + +“Well, I do not wish to discourage you, my dear Ruth, but you must see +I think that you are totally unfitted to have children under your care +at present.” + +“I suppose I am, Agnes, but I have been hoping that I should get over +this; it seems to grow worse and worse, however, and you may now do as +you choose. You have exercised great forbearance with me, dear Agnes. +You have been a true friend, and whatever may be the result, you may go +to Mrs. Arlington.” + +Mrs. Arlington was very kind, and only regretted that she had not +before been made acquainted with Ruth Glenn’s singular conduct. She +said she did not doubt that it was entirely owing to her state of +health, and her sedentary manner of life for years past, and sent +immediately for her family physician, and made him acquainted with the +case. + +Agnes was sent for, and questioned as to Miss Glenn’s actions and +appearance, when thus restless at night, and she as well as the +different teachers, were interrogated as to her habits in the day time. +The doctor thus learned that it was with the greatest difficulty that +Miss Glenn could be persuaded to take any exercise, and Agnes told him +what Ruth had related to her of her mode of life for the last few +years. The doctor thought it one of the most singular cases he ever met +with, and prescribed a strict course of medicine, diet and exercise, +insisting particularly upon the latter. + +It was a hard thing to persuade Ruth to take her early morning walk, +and other exercise advised by the physician, and Mrs. Arlington was at +length obliged to tell her, that only upon condition of her obeying his +directions, could she consent to allow her to remain in the school. +This, together with the indefatigable endeavors of Agnes, prevailed +upon Ruth Glenn to take the accustomed walks, which Agnes with great +cunning contrived to lengthen every morning, until at length Ruth Glenn +would return with a slight tinge of color in her cheek, and an unusual +brightness about her eye. The result was very soon seen, in more quiet +nights in the third-story-room, and, before long, Ruth confessed that +she felt like another creature, and began to realize an enjoyment in +life, of which she had known nothing since her childhood. + +Often, however, the old feeling of indolence returned, and it was very +amusing to Grace and Effie to hear poor Ruth beg and plead with Agnes +to be allowed to remain quiet “just one morning,” and to see how +vigorously and perseveringly Agnes resisted her appeals, rousing her up +and leading her off, poor Ruth looking much like a martyr about to be +dragged to the stake. + +Before Agnes and her cousins left Mrs. Arlington’s school, Ruth Glenn +was so changed for the better, that she would not have been recognized +as the same pale, strange girl, who came there three years before. Her +spirits and appetite were good, and there was no longer any complaint +of disturbance at night by her room-mates. + +It was a sad day in the school when Agnes and her cousins took their +final leave, but no one seemed so broken-hearted as poor Ruth Glenn. + +“Oh, Agnes,” said she, “who will be the friend to me that you have +been? Who will drag me out with such relentless cruelty?” and here she +smiled sadly through her tears, “through rain and sunshine, heat and +cold; I am afraid I shall be as bad as ever, for my walks will be so +dull without you.” + +But Agnes told her she hoped she had now received sufficient benefit +from her regular exercise, to be willing to make a little sacrifice, +and obtained from her a solemn promise that she would continue the +course they had so long pursued together. + +Agnes had employed herself most perseveringly while at Mrs. Arlington’s +school, in becoming thoroughly acquainted with various branches of +education and accomplishments, being fully determined in her own mind +no longer to be a burden to her uncle, but to use the means he was so +kindly putting into her hands, in enabling her to gain her own support +hereafter. But she had no sooner left the school than other duties +claimed her attention, as will presently be seen. + + + + +XII. +Lewie at School. + + +“The child is father of the man.”—WORDSWORTH. + + +Had our friend Lewie heard Mr. Malcolm’s prediction relative to his +school experiences, he would have had reason to think him a true +prophet. He came into the school and the play-ground with the same +ideas which had been predominant with him ever since his baby-hood; and +though he did not, as then, continually say the _words,_ his actions +proclaimed as loudly, “Lewie must have his own way!—Lewie must not be +crossed!” He found his school companions not quite so complying as his +indulgent mother, and those over whom she had control; and before he +had been long in the school, he was known by the various names of +“Dictator-General,” “First Consul,” “Great Mogul,” &c., and with these +epithets he was greeted whenever he put on any of his dictatorial airs. + +These constant insults and impertinences, as he called them, irritated +his ungoverned spirit, and in consequence many a school-mate measured +his length upon the ground in the most sudden manner, and innumerable +were the fights and “rows” which were the result. The presence of Lewie +seemed everywhere the signal of contention and strife, where all had +been heretofore, with very few exceptions, harmony and peace; and yet, +but for his hasty and impatient temper, Lewie might have been an +unparalleled favorite among his schoolmates. In the still summer +evenings, when he took his guitar, and sat upon the steps of the +portico, the boys would crowd around him, and listen in breathless +silence to his sweet music. As long as his own inclinations were not +crossed or interfered with, a more agreeable companion could not be +found. He had the frank, open manners, which are not seldom joined with +a quick temper, and in many things he showed a noble, generous +disposition; but as soon as the wishes of others in their sports and +recreations came in conflict with his own, his terrible passion was +roused at once, and carried all before it. Many were the complaints +which he carried to his mother of insult and ill-treatment; and before +he had been six months at Dr. Hamilton’s school, he was urging her to +allow him to remove to another of which he had heard, and where he +fancied he should be more happy. Mrs. Elwyn’s health was not as firm as +it once was; she was becoming weak and nervous, and dreaded change, and +endeavored to pacify her son, and to persuade him to remain at Dr. +Hamilton’s school. No doubt he would have effected his object by +teazing, but it was accomplished in another way. + +There are boys to be found in every large school who delight in playing +practical jokes, and in teazing and tormenting those who are +susceptible of annoyance in this way. There was a large, stout boy in +Dr. Hamilton’s school, of the name of Colton, a great bully and teaze, +whose delight it seemed to be to torment and put into a passion one so +fiery as our little hero, feeling safe from the only kind of +retaliation which could injure him, as he was so much the stoutest and +strongest of the two. This boy soon found that there was one point upon +which Lewie was peculiarly sensitive, and the slightest allusion to +which would call the red blood to his face. This was the fact of his +being accompanied by his mother when he came to the school, and her +having taken board in the village, that she might be near him as long +as he was there. Lewie had remonstrated with his mother, when she +proposed accompanying him, and had urged her to accept his Uncle +Wharton’s invitation to make his house her home. He was just at that +age when boys love to appear independent and manly, and able to take +care of themselves; and he had hoped that he should be allowed to go +alone to school, as many of the other boys did, or perhaps to accompany +his uncle and cousins. But to be taken there under the care of a +_woman_, and to have her remain near him, as if he could not take care +of himself! Lewie thought this a most humiliating state of things. But +for once his mother was firm. It would be like severing her +heart-strings, to separate her from her darling son; and wherever he +went, she must go as long as she lived. This ingratitude on the part of +Lewie and evident desire to rid himself of her company, after so many +years spent in devotion to his slightest wishes, wore upon her spirits, +and was one cause, perhaps the principal one, of her nervous +depression, and consequent ill health. + +As soon as Colton understood the state of Lewie’s feelings on this +tender point, and noticed How his cheeks would flush with passion +whenever the subject was mentioned, he took advantage of it to harass +and enrage him, renewing the subject most unmercifully at every +convenient opportunity. Thus, whenever, in their sports, Lewie took +upon himself to dictate, in his authoritative way, Colton would ask the +boys if they were going to be governed by a baby who had not yet broken +loose from his mother’s apron-strings; and when Lewie could no longer +restrain his passion, and began to show signs of becoming pugnacious, +Colton would advise him to “run to mother,” to be petted and soothed. + +For sometime prudence restrained Lewie from making an attack upon this +boy, so much larger and stronger than himself, for he was almost +certain that he would get the worst of it in an encounter with him. But +one day when Colton was more aggravating than ever, Lewie suddenly lost +all command of himself, and flew at him in a most fearful storm of +rage, and with all the might of his passion concentrated in one blow, +he dashed the great boy against a tree; and after he was down, and +lying insensible, with his head cut and bleeding, Lewie could scarcely +be restrained, by the united strength of those about him, from rushing +upon his senseless body, and by renewed blows continuing to injure him. + +His rage was fearful to witness, and his companions stood aghast, for +they saw clearly that murder was in his heart, and that nothing but the +restraint they exercised upon him, prevented him from carrying his +horrible purpose into execution. Colton was borne to the house, and it +was long feared that he would never entirely recover from the effects +of the severe blow upon his head as he fell. Lewie seemed to feel +nothing like remorse; he had always hated Colton, and everything this +boy had done had tended to increase and aggravate his feelings of +dislike; he thought nothing in his frantic rage of the consequences to +himself, but would have rejoiced to see his tormentor dead at his feet. + +This last affair decided Dr. Hamilton that it would not do to keep a +boy of such fierce, unrestrained temper, longer in the school. Lewie +had all this time been progressing rapidly in his studies; a fierce +ambition seemed to have seized upon, him, and he applied himself to his +books as if he had come to the determination that he would at least +rise superior to his school-mates, in his standing in the class, if +they would not acknowledge his superiority in anything else. + +Dr. Hamilton called soon after Lewie’s attack upon Colton, to see Mrs. +Elwyn, and while he spoke of Lewie as one on whom he could justly be +proud, as the best and most forward scholar in his classes, he said it +was impossible for him to allow him to remain; that the lives of his +other pupils were hardly to be considered safe with so passionate a +companion, and for the sake of the reputation of his school, he must +ask her to save him the necessity of a public dismissal of her son. Sad +by this time were the forebodings of Mrs. Elwyn, but they were useless; +her remonstrances with her self-willed son were vain. If Lewie was +obliged to submit to being accompanied by his mother wherever he went, +he seemed determined to show her, that her wishes had not the slightest +power over him. The sowing time had passed;—the reaping time had begun. + +Lewie no longer urged and entreated, but merely expressed his +determination to go to the school to which he had so long been desirous +to remove, and his poor mother knowing that henceforth his will must be +hers, made her preparations for accompanying him. + +Boys are the same everywhere; and unless all are willing in some degree +to relinquish their own gratification for the sake of others, there +will surely be trouble. So Lewie found at Stanwick; so at the next +school, and the next; for as he became dissatisfied with one and +unpopular there, he removed to another, his poor mother following his +fortunes everywhere. Many were the kind and remonstrating letters which +Lewie received during these three years of change, from his lovely +sister, but the affectionate advice contained in them as to an endeavor +to gain command over his temper, and in regard to his treatment of his +mother, seemed to have no permanent effect. + +All this time, wherever he went, he ranked’ among the highest as to his +scholarship, and at the age of sixteen he entered college at C——, about +ten or fifteen miles from Hillsdale. By the time they were fairly +established at C——, Mrs. Elwyn’s health completely failed. Lewie’s time +much taken up with his college duties, and even if it had not been, he +was not one to wait with patience upon the humors of a nervous and +fretful invalid; and the greater part of the time was spent by Mrs. +Elwyn in loneliness and repining. + +And now her thoughts turned often, and rested almost fondly upon the +memory of her long neglected daughter. Oh! for such a kind and gentle +nurse and companion to be ever near her, to minister to her wants and +soothe her lonely hours. The more she thought of her, the more she +longed for her presence, and it was soon after Agnes left Mrs. +Arlington’s and returned to Brook Farm, that she received with delight +a summons to come to her mother at C——. The idea that her mother really +_wished_ for her, and that she could be in any degree useful to her, +made her heart bound with joy; and then, too, the idea of being so near +her brother, to endeavor to exercise a restraining influence upon him, +was happiness in itself for Agnes. + +She found her mother greatly changed: anxiety of mind and bodily +suffering had worn upon her, till her face, which might still have been +young and blooming, was faded and wrinkled. She was glad to see Agnes, +only because now she could be _useful_ to her; and Agnes often found +her whole stock of patience brought into requisition, in endeavoring to +gratify the changing whims and fancies of a nervous invalid. Lewie was +in ecstasies at his sister’s arrival; for he did dearly love Agnes, and +he now passed all his leisure time at his mother’s room. Agnes thought +him more gentle and tractable, and hoped that he really exercised some +control over his passionate temper; but it was only, for the time, the +want of provocation, and the restraining influence of his sister’s +presence, which kept him from any serious out-break. The grace of God +alone could materially change Lewie Elwyn now. + +Agnes remained many months in attendance upon her mother, who failed +very gradually. As she grew weaker, she became more exacting; and +though never betrayed into any expression of affection for Agnes, yet +she was not willing to have her out of her sight for a moment. The +consciousness of being useful to her mother, was sufficient reward for +sleepless nights and days of close confinement; and Agnes resisted all +Lewie’s entreaties that she would leave the sick room for a while each +day, and take a stroll with him. + +Had Lewie been inclined to dissipation, this would have been a +dangerous time for him; for his wonderful musical powers made him such +a favorite, that no gathering was thought complete without him. As long +as Agnes was at C——, he preferred spending his evenings with her to any +party of pleasure; and after he could no longer enjoy her society, and +when he began again to mingle in scenes of festivity, though sometimes +betrayed into excesses, he never was habitually dissipated. + +Mrs. Elwyn lingered on, becoming weaker and weaker, until, after Agnes +had been with her about six months, she perceived that she was failing +more rapidly, and at length was informed by the physician, that her +mother could live but very few days longer. Agnes hastily summoned Mr. +and Mrs. Wharton, who arrived only in time to witness the death-bed +scene. Just before her death, Mrs. Elwyn seemed to awake to a sudden +realization of the great mistakes of her life with regard to her son +and daughter. She seemed to see now, as clearly as others had seen all +along, the evils of her own management, and to trace the unhappy +results to their proper source. It was sad to hear her, when all too +late to remedy these evils, lament over “a wasted life—a worse than +wasted life;” and so, with words of remorse upon her lips, she, who had +had such power for good in her hands, passed away from earth. + +And Agnes returned to her uncle’s house, leaving her brother at +college. As soon as she had taken a little time to recruit, and to +consider, she began to look about for a situation as governess, much +against the wishes of every member of her uncle’s family, who would +have considered it a privilege to keep her always with them. About this +time, a distant relative of Mrs. Wharton’s, a Mr. Fairland, in passing +from his Western home to the city, stopped to make them a visit. He was +a plain, kind-hearted man, and seemed to take a particular interest in +Agnes, with whose father and grandfather he had been intimately +acquainted. Mr. Fairland had made quite a fortune by successful +speculation, in a large Eastern city; but the extravagance of his wife +and daughters, who were not willing to be outdone in dress or +establishment by any of their neighbors, made such rapid inroads upon +his newly-acquired wealth, that Mr. Fairland soon became convinced that +it was leaving him as rapidly as it came. So he thought it the part of +prudence to beat a retreat at once; and, in spite of the tears and +remonstrances of his wife and eldest daughters, he removed the whole +family to the beautiful village of Wilston, near which place he owned +some fine and flourishing mills. + +It was while speaking of his new home, and its many beauties, at Mr. +Wharton’s breakfast table, that Mr. Fairland mentioned the only +drawback to his happiness there, which, he said, was the want of the +advantages of education for his younger children, who were running wild +without any instruction, as their mother was unwilling to allow them to +attend the village school. He had long been looking, he said, for a +governess for them—one who would bring them up with right habits and +principles, at the same time that she was instructing their minds. + +Agnes seized the first opportunity in which she could find Mr. Fairland +alone, to propose herself as governess to his children. This was more +than Mr. Fairland had dared to hope for, and her proposal was hailed by +him with gratitude and joy. He wished her to return immediately with +him; but Agnes had some preparations to make, and her uncle was not +willing to part with her quite yet: he promised, however, to bring her +himself in the course of a month. A serious illness, however, deranged +all Mr. Wharton’s plans and as soon as he was able to travel, business +of the utmost importance called him to the city; so that Agnes, who +disliked to keep Mr. Fairland waiting for her any longer, wrote to him +when he might expect her, and, much against Mrs. Wharton’s wishes, set +out alone in the stage for Wilston. + + + + +XIII. +New Scenes for Agnes. + + +“The stranger’s heart! oh, wound it not! +A yearning anguish is its lot; +In the green shadow of the tree, +The stranger finds no rest with thee.” + + +“And when may we expect to be favored with the presence of this paragon +of perfection, and embodiment of all wisdom, papa?” asked Miss Evelina +Fairland, with what was intended for the utmost girlish sprightliness +of manner; for, although it was only at breakfast, Miss Evelina never +laid aside her manner of extreme youth, as she thought it best to be +continually in practice. + +Her father answered quietly, that he expected Miss Elwyn by the +afternoon stage. + +“Is she one of these prim, _old-maidish_ governesses, like our poor old +Miss Pratt?” asked Miss Calista, a lady of something over thirty, and +rather the worse for twelve years’ wear, in the way of balls and +parties, the theatre and the opera. Indeed, at the breakfast table, +Miss Calista looked considerably older than she really was, with her +pale, faded cheeks, and her hair “en papillottes;” but, in the +afternoon, by the use of a little artificial bloom, some cork-screw +ringlets, and a manner as gay and girlish as that of her sister, she +appeared quite another creature. + +To Miss Calista’s question Mr. Fairland, with an amused pucker about +the mouth, answered: + +“Oh, I shall tell you nothing about her looks; you must wait and judge +for yourselves. There’s one thing I will say, however. I suppose you +can’t alter your looks, girls; but, as far as manners are concerned, I +wish very much that I could place my two eldest daughters under Miss +Elwyn’s tuition.” + +“Perhaps she will condescend to take a class, twice or three times a +week, in ‘manners for six-pence,’” said the sprightly Miss Evelina. “I +should like to see Calista and myself curtseying, and walking, and +leaving and entering a room, as we used to be obliged to do for old +Miss Pratt. Wouldn’t you, Calista?” + +“Let’s see,” said Mr. Fairland, whose reminiscences were not always of +the most agreeable nature to the young ladies—“let’s see. How long is +it since you and C’listy _were_ under the care of Miss Pratt? I think +it must be nigh twenty years.” + +“Twenty years, papa!—absurd!” shrieked Miss Calista; “why, you must be +losing your memory!” + +Now, if Mr. Fairland’s daughters were touchy on the subject of their +_ages,_ their father was no less so on that of his _memory,_ as Miss +Calista well knew when she made the foregoing remark. + +“Losing my memory indeed, Miss C’listy! My memory is as sound as ever; +and, to prove it to you, I will inform you, that I shall be sixty-four +years old this coming August; and by the same token, you are just +exactly half my age; and if you don’t believe it, you may just take a +look at the family record, in the big Bible.” + +“C’listy’s _scratched out her date,”_ said little Rosa, “and so has +Evelina.” + +“Hold your tongue, you impertinent little minx!” said Miss Calista; “I +really hope the prinky old governess who is coming will be able to whip +a little manners into you. I really wonder you can allow the children +to be so pert, mamma!” + +The lady addressed as _“mamma”_ was the second wife of Mr. Fairland, a +rather handsome, but very languid lady of forty, who was sleepily +sipping her coffee during the foregoing conversation. Now, as Mrs. +Fairland did not look much older (perhaps not at all older, at the +breakfast table,) than the oldest of her step-daughters, the young +ladies quite prided themselves on so youthful a “mamma;” and when in +company, or at the various watering-places to which, in former tunes, +they had succeeded in dragging their parents, they hung round her, and +asked her permission to do this and that, with the most child-like +confidence in her judgment. + +This was by no means relished by the step-mother, who had no fancy for +matronizing daughters so nearly her own age, and who wished no less +fervently than the young ladies themselves, that something in the shape +of a husband would appear to carry each of them off. She never failed +after such a display of filial affection on their part to explain to +those near her; that the young ladies were her _step-daughters;_ and to +mention how odd it sounded to her when she was first married, to hear +those great girls as tall as herself, call her “mamma.” + +It was a beautiful evening in the pleasant month of July, when Agnes +entered the lovely village of Wilston, and drove through its one long +street, to the spacious and rather showy dwelling of Mr. Fairland. +Agnes had heard much of the beauty of Wilston, but her heart was now so +oppressed with many agitating emotions, at the near prospect of the new +and strange scenes upon which she was about to enter in so new a +character, that not even the loveliness of the landscape, with its +variety of hill, and dale, and wood-land, on the one hand, and on the +other the peaceful lake tinged with crimson by the setting sun, had +power to win her attention. + +Yet we need not fear for Agnes, that in thus appearing in the character +of a governess, she will lose aught of her gentle dignity, or quiet +self-possession. Agnes was a _lady_ in every sense of the term, and +place her where you would, or under whatever circumstances, she would +invest her occupation with a dignity all her own, and make it +honorable; winning from all around her an involuntary respect and +homage. Though ever kind and amiable, and ready to oblige, she will +never _cringe_ to those who, by the favors of fortune, are placed for +the time in circumstances more prosperous than her own. Tried, she may +be by their arrogance, and airs of assumed superiority; but with the +inward conviction which in spite of her modesty she must possess, that +in all that is of real and true worth she is far above them, she will +toil on undisturbed in her vocation, anxious only to fulfil her duty +towards God, and toward those whom He has placed under her influence; +and to acquit herself well of the high responsibility resting upon her. + +Mr. Fairland met Agnes at the door, with his kind pleasant face, and +with both hands extended to give her a cordial welcome to his roof. +Mrs. Fairland rose languidly from her chair to receive the governess, +and gave her a ceremonious, and to Agnes a most chilling greeting. The +young ladies were out walking; but presently a troop of noisy children, +who from some part of the grounds where they were at play, had seen the +arrival of the stranger, came bursting rudely into the room. These, as +Agnes supposed, were her future pupils, and a most unpromising set they +at first sight appeared. + +The eldest, “Tiney,” was a heavy, dull looking girl of about ten years +of age. Her eyes had no more brightness or expression in them than two +balls of lead, and her flabby colorless cheeks hung down each side of +her mouth, giving that feature much the expression of a bull-dog, while +a sullen fierceness about her face, increased the resemblance to that +animal. Her teeth, utterly unacquainted with the action of a brush, +were prominent, so that her lip seldom covered them, and her uncombed +hair hung rough and shaggy around her unattractive face. Agnes at once +guessed that this poor child was deficient in intellect, and unamiable +in temper. + +The next, _Rosa,_ was a wild, handsome little gipsey, with eyes as +black as jet, and as bright as diamonds, a brilliant color shining +through her sunburnt cheek, and with straight black hair, no better +cared for than her sister Tiney’s. + +The third little girl, _Jessie,_ was very fair, with beautiful deep +blue eyes, and golden curling hair; but the curls were all in tangles, +for no one took the trouble to keep them in order, except on great +occasions, when the poor child was put to the torture of having it +brushed and combed, and laid in ringlets, which for the time were the +special pride of her mother. + +“You’ll have enough to do, Miss Agnes, to tame all these rough +spirits,” said Mr. Fairland, “they have been running wild ever since we +left the city, and a more rude and ungoverned set of little +desperadoes, it has never been your lot to meet with, I’ll venture to +say.” And then addressing them, he said, “come here, children, what do +you stand there gaping for, with your thumbs in your mouths, as if you +had never seen anybody before? Tiney! Rosa, you witch! Jess, my +chicken! come up here this minute, and speak to Miss Elwyn.” + +But Tiney only pouted her ugly mouth and scowled; and Rosa, making a +sudden dart for her mother’s chair, retreated behind it, peering out +her black eyes occasionally, to take a look at the stranger; while +Jessie ran and sprang into her father’s lap, hiding her little tangled +head on his shoulder. And now a whooping and shouting made known the +approach of Master Frank, the son and heir, a young individual of about +four years of age, who, nothing daunted by the stranger’s appearance, +made for his father’s chair, and proceeded to dislodge his sister +Jessie from her seat, and to establish himself in her place. Jessie +screamed, and scratched, and pulled in vain. Frank, though younger, was +much the strongest, and the fight ended by the sudden descent of Miss +Jessie to the floor, and the ascension of Master Frank into the vacated +place. + +“Be quiet now, will you, Frank, and speak to Miss Elwyn,” said his +father. + +“Hallo! is that Miss Elwyn?” exclaimed Master Frank, aloud; “why, +C’lista said she was old and ugly.” + +“Well, C’listy didn’t know, did she?” said his father. + +“And Ev’lina said she’d train us well, and whip us, and shut us up, and +be awful cross all the time. She doesn’t look like that, does she, +papa?” + +“No, she does not,” said his father; “and I guess Evelina must have +been mistaken too.” + +Agnes was all this time looking at Frank, very much amused, and +laughing quietly at the description which had been given of her to the +children. + +“You think I do not look so very terrible, then, Master Frank,” said +she; “do you think you will ever like me?” + +“I don’t know,” said Master Frank, boldly; “if you don’t make me +_mind,_ I’ll like you.” + +“But she _is_ going to make you mind, Master Frank,” said his father; +“and, do you know, I have promised Miss Elwyn that she shall do just +what she pleases with you all, and nobody shall interfere.” + +“In _school hours,”_ said Agnes. + +“Yes, in school hours, and out of school hours, except when their +mother or I are present: they are always to obey you, Miss Elwyn. I +wish that to be understood in the family. But, my dear,” said he to his +wife, “perhaps Miss Elwyn would like to change her dress before tea.” + +Mrs. Fairland languidly directed Tiney to show Miss Elwyn to her room; +but the only notice taken of this command by Miss Tiney was a stupid, +sullen stare. Agnes had risen to leave the room; but perceiving that +Tiney did not stir, she turned, and putting out one hand toward Rosa, +said, in her own bright, winning way: + +_“This_ little black-eyed girl will show me the way, I’m sure.” + +There was no resisting the gentle kindness of Agnes, and the confidence +of little Rosa was won immediately. Coming out from behind her mother’s +chair, she put her hand in that of Agnes, and led her up stairs into a +large room, on the second floor, overlooking the beautiful lake. + +“What a very pleasant room!” said Agnes. “Is this to be mine?” + +“Yes,” answered Rosa, who, having once found her tongue, showed that +she could make very rapid use of it when she chose—“and that bed is +yours, and that one is for me and Jessie.” + +“‘Jessie and _me_,’ you mean, Rosa, do you not?” + +“I’m the _oldest_,” answered Rosa. + +“I know that, Rosa; but recollect, whenever you speak of any _one_, no +matter who, in connection with yourself always to mention the other +person first. Will you remember that?” + +“Yes, I’ll try,” answered Rosa. She then proceeded to inform Agnes, +that her mamma had wished to give her a little room on the other side +of the hall, but papa said she should have this room, because it was so +pleasant, and he had heard her say that she was so fond of the water. + +“That was very kind of your papa,” said Agnes; “and where does Tiney +sleep?” + +“Oh, Tiney sleeps with Susan, because she has fits, you know.” + +_“Who_ has?—Susan?” asked Agnes. + +“No, Tiney has fits, and nobody likes to take care of her but papa and +Susan.” + +Agnes was disappointed to find that she was not to have a room to +herself. “I came here to instruct these children,” said she to herself, +“not to act in the capacity of nursery-maid. However, I will bear it +patiently for the present; perhaps I shall gain an influence over them, +by having them so constantly with me, that I could not acquire in any +other way. There is so much to be corrected in their habits and +language, besides their being so woefully ignorant!” + +Agnes continued talking pleasantly to little Rosa, while she was +dressing; and when they went down stairs, hand in hand, the very +pleasantest relations appeared to be established between them. + +“What shall we call you?” asked Rosa. + +“You may call me ‘cousin Agnes,’ if you choose,” she answered, “and if +your papa and mamma are willing.” + +“Oh, I shall like that!” said Rosa. + +Soon after Agnes and little Rosa re-entered the sitting-room, the +Misses Fairland returned from their walk. They were gayly and showily +attired in the very height of the fashion, and entered the door talking +and laughing very loudly; but when introduced to Miss Elwyn, they +stopped and opened their eyes in unaffected amazement. As Agnes rose +with graceful ease to meet them, looking so lovely in her deep mourning +dress, and with her rich waving chesnut hair, simply parted on her +forehead, and gathered in a knot behind, there was a most striking +contrast between her and the gaudily dressed, beflounced, and +beflowered ladies, who were fashionably and formally curtseying, and +presenting her the tips of their fingers. + +Though younger by some years than the youngest of the Miss Fairlands, +there was a dignified self-possession about Agnes, which was quite +astonishing to them. Though rather of the _hoyden-ish_ class +themselves, they could not fail at once to recognize the air of +refinement which marks the true lady, and while intending by their own +appearance to over-awe the new governess, they were so completely taken +by surprise by her perfect ease and composure of manner, that they +alone appeared stiff and awkward, and she unembarrassed and easy. + +And this was the prim old-maidish governess they had been expecting! +this fresh, blooming, lovely looking girl! It was by no means a +pleasant surprise to the Misses Fairland. However, she was nothing but +a _governess_ after all; and could easily be kept in the back ground; +it was to Be hoped she would know her place and keep it. + +The Misses Fairland made the mistake very common with persons of weak +mind, and little cultivation at that, and instead of judging of others +by their intrinsic worth, character, or intellect, formed their +estimate only by the outward circumstances in which they found them. +Had this same Agnes Elwyn come to make a visit to her far away cousins, +in her own carriage, and surrounded by external marks of wealth, they +would have been ready to fall down and worship her; but coming as a +_governess,_ and by the _stage,_ what notice could she expect from the +Misses Fairland! These young ladies had so often been made wretched, by +intentional slights from those in whose sphere they had aspired to +move, that they did not doubt Agnes would be rendered equally +uncomfortable by their own neglect. + +The tea-bell rang, and the Misses Fairland hastened to take off their +bonnets and soon re-appeared at the tea-table, where they took up the +entire conversation, telling of all they had heard and seen, in their +calls through the village. For like the ancient Athenians, these young +ladies literally “spent their time in nothing else, but to hear or to +tell of some new thing.” + +In the midst of the conversation there was a sudden bustle, and Tiney +rose hastily from the table. Her father immediately left his chair, and +went round to her place, and took her by the arm. There was a ghastly +and disturbed look about poor Tiney’s face, and an expression of +terrible malignity about her eye, and as she passed the chairs of her +little sisters, one screamed loudly and then the other, and when she +came near Agnes, it was with great difficulty that she too could resist +the inclination to scream with the pain, caused by a terrible pinch +from the fingers of Tiney, which left its mark upon her arm for many +days. + +Mr. Fairland led the child from the room, and as the door closed after +them, Agnes heard a succession of the most piercing shrieks, as if all +the strength of the sufferer’s lungs were expended upon each one. + +“Oh, dear! Susan is out, and your father will need assistance,” said +Mrs. Fairland; “but really, these scenes have such an effect upon my +nerves, that I find it necessary to avoid them altogether.” + +“And so do I,” said Miss Calista, “indeed I always suffer with a severe +headache after them.” + +“And they are so utterly disagreeable to me, to to be more candid than +either of you,” said Miss Evelina, “that I always keep as far out of +the way as possible.” + +“Can I be of any use?” asked Agnes, partly rising and looking towards +Mrs. Fairland. She would have followed poor Tiney and her father +immediately, but did not wish to appear to pry into that of which +nothing had been mentioned to her, and of which they might not like to +speak out of their own family. + +“Oh, do go, Miss Elwyn, if you have the _nerve,”_ said Mrs. Fairland. + +The reader knows enough of Agnes to feel assured that her _nerves_ were +never in the way, if opportunity offered to make herself useful to the +suffering; and the moment Mrs. Fairland answered her, she left the +room, and, guided by those still piercing shrieks, she passed through a +long hall, and entered a small bath-room, where she found Mr. Fairland +holding the struggling Tiney, who presented a shocking appearance. Her +face was now quite purple, and the white froth stood about her mouth; +and her father was holding both of her hands in one of his, to quiet +her frantic struggles. + +“Oh, bless you, Miss Agnes!” said Mr. Fairland, as soon as she opened +the door; “set that water running immediately till it is quite hot, and +take off this poor child’s stockings and shoes. You see I can do +nothing.” + +As quickly and as quietly as possible Agnes did as she was directed; +and then also, by Mr. Fairland’s direction, took down a bottle of +medicine, always kept ready for this purpose in the bath-room, and +dropped some of it for him. In a few moments, the shrieks subsided to +moans, as Tiney lay with her head back on her father’s shoulder. + +“Poor child!” said Mr. Fairland, wiping her lips and forehead, “she is +a dreadful sufferer.” + +“Has she been so long?” asked Agnes. + +“Ever since her third year,” answered Mr. Fairland, “though, at first, +the attacks were comparatively slight; but of late years they have +grown more and more severe. Her intellect, as you perhaps have already +noticed, is much weakened by them, and her temper, naturally very +sweet, is at times almost fiendish. It seems to be her great desire, +while suffering so intensely, to injure all within her reach.” + +Agnes now understood the reason of the screams of the children, and +also of the pinch she had received as Tiney passed her chair. When poor +Tiney’s moans had become more faint, Mr. Fairland said: + +“Agnes, will you sing? Music seems to soothe her more than anything +else, after the extreme suffering is over.” + +Agnes sang, with her marvellously sweet voice, a simple air: presently +poor Tiney turned her head, and fixed her half-closed eyes on Agnes’ +face. Then she said, from time to time, in a dreamy way, +“Pretty!—sweet! Sing more;” and then she lay perfectly quiet, and soon +fell into a gentle slumber. Often and often, after that, when poor +Tiney was seized with these excruciating attacks, as soon as the first +intense suffering was over, she would say, “Cousin Agnes, sing!” and, +from the time she heard the gentle tones of Agnes’ voice, she would be +quiet and gentle as a lamb. The effect could be likened to nothing but +the calming of the evil spirit which possessed the monarch of Israel, +by the tones of the sweet harp of David. + + + + +XIV. +The School in the West Wing. + + +“Scatter diligently, in susceptible minds, +The germs of the good and beautiful, +They will develop there to trees, bud, bloom, +And bear the golden fruit of paradise.” + + +Agnes found it no easy task to bring into training minds so ignorant +and so utterly undisciplined as those of her little pupils. Left +entirely to themselves, as they had been for many months, with a mother +too indolent to trouble herself about any systematic plan of +government, and a father too easy and good-natured to carry out the +many plans he was ever forming for their “breaking in;” scolded and +fretted at by their older sisters, to whom they were perfect torments; +by turns playing harmoniously, and then quarrelling most +vigorously,—they roamed the house and grounds, doing mischief +everywhere, and bringing wrath upon their heads at every turn. + +With a perfect horror of anything like _study_, they had expected with +great dread the arrival of a governess, as putting a final stop to all +their fun and freedom. This dread had been in nowise diminished by the +constant remarks of their older sisters upon governesses in the +abstract, and their own expected governess in particular. One evening +with Agnes served to dispel the horror, so far as she was concerned, +though the dread of books was still as great as ever. Before the +evening was over, Agnes had them all round her, as she sat on the sofa, +telling them beautiful stories, and asking them questions. + +“Have you any pretty flowers in the woods about here?” she asked. + +“Oh, lots!” answered Rosa; “yellow flowers, and blue flowers, and white +flowers.” + +“Then if you would like to learn something of Botany, so as to know the +names of all these beautiful flowers, we will take many pleasant +rambles in the woods, and gather the lovely wild flowers, and I will +teach you how to press them.” + +“But we haven’t got any _Botany books_,” said little Jessie. + +“Oh, I think we shall not need any _books_, for all the Botany I shall +teach you, Jessie; and if we do, we will take the leaves of the flowers +for the leaves of the books, and the flowers themselves for the +pictures. Do you not think we can make beautiful books that way? +Jessie, can you read?” + +“_I_ can!” said Rosa, while Jessie hung her curly head. + +“And can you _write_, Rosa?” + +“No. I can make straight marks,” answered Rosa. + +“And what can you do, Master Frank?” + +“Oh, Frank doesn’t know anything?” said Jessie. “He did know his ABC’s +once, but he’s forgot them all.” + +“Take care, Miss Jessie, that he does not read before you,” said Agnes. +“Your papa says we are to take the west wing for our school-room; you +must show me where it is, and after a day or to get in order, and to +make each other’s acquaintance, we will begin school in earnest.” + +The next morning Agnes took the toilettes of her two little room-mates +under her care, and when they appeared at the breakfast-table, the rest +of the family hardly knew them, they looked so tidy and sweet. And poor +Tiney, who gazed with astonishment at her two little sisters, made her +appearance at Agnes’ door soon after breakfast, to ask “if she wouldn’t +make _her_ look nice too.” + +Agnes found so little to sympathise with, and took so little pleasure +in the society of the ladies of the Fairland family, that she longed +for her school to begin, that she might have useful occupation for her +thoughts and time. On the appointed morning therefore, she was well +pleased to meet her little pupils in the pleasant little room in the +“west wing,” and to begin in earnest her labors as a teacher. Such a +pile of soiled, well-thumbed, and dogs-eared books, as the children +produced, Agnes had never seen together, and on opening them she found +that the young Fairland’s had been exercising their taste for the fine +arts, by daubing all the pictures from a six-penny paint-box. + +“Now, my dear children,” said she, “the first thing we shall do every +morning, will be to read in the Bible; but I do not see any Bible or +Testament among your books; I suppose you each own one, do you not?” + +If Agnes had been a little longer in the family of Mr. Fairland, +perhaps she would not have asked this question; for she soon found that +she had come into a family of as complete heathens, as she would have +found if she had gone to be governess among the Hindoos. There was a +“family Bible” in the house to be sure, but the only use to which it +had ever been applied, was that of registering the births of the +family, and the testimony it bore proved so exceedingly disagreeable to +the Misses Fairland, that as Rosa has informed us, they took the +liberty one day of erasing it. + +Agnes told the children to ask their papa if they might each have a +Bible of their own, to which he consented, and when the Bibles were +brought home, the exclamations of derision from the Misses Fairland, +were loud and long. + +“A missionary in disguise!” they exclaimed; “a saint in the form of a +governess; come to convert us all, and the first thing is an +importation of Bibles!” and many were the sneering and sarcastic +remarks and allusions which came to the ears of Agnes, but she kept on +her way quiet and undisturbed. Agnes was perfectly astonished to find +how utterly unacquainted these children were with the contents of the +Bible. It was all new to them; and after she had read to them every +morning, she would gather them around her, and tell them in simple +language the sweet stories from the Bible, while they listened, the +younger ones with their bright, wide-open eyes fixed upon her face, as +if they could not lose a word; and even poor Tiney loved to lay her +head in Agnes’ lap, and hear of Him who ever sympathised with the sick +and suffering. + +It was very strange, and very interesting to Agnes, to hear the remarks +these children made, and the many questions they would ask on subjects +so new to them; and as they had not yet learned to look at the +character of God, as revealed in his Son, with the reverence which +better instructed children feel, they often spoke of Him as they would +of any good man of whom they might hear, and in a way which would seem +too irreverential, were I to tell you all they said. + +Once when Agnes had been telling them of some of the miracles of our +Saviour, in curing the sick, and giving sight to the blind, and hearing +to the deaf, Rosa with her bright black eyes fixed intently on her +face, said with the utmost earnestness: + +“Why, He was real _good_, wasn’t He?” + +“Yes,” said Agnes, “always good and kind, and always ready to help the +sick and suffering.” + +“He could cure _anybody_, couldn’t He?” continued Rosa. + +“Yes; He was _all-powerful_,” answered Agnes. + +“Could He cure Tiney?” asked Jessie. + +“Yes; if Tiney had lived when Christ was on earth, or if He was here +now, He could say the word, and make her well.” + +And then they asked, “Where is He now?” and “How can we talk to Him +now?” and “Why will He not cure Tiney now?” And Agnes tried, in the +most simple manner, to teach them the nature of the prayer of faith. + +Once, when she was talking to them of our Saviour’s meekness under +injuries, and telling them of His bitter sufferings, and the kindness +of His feelings towards His persecutors, the large tears rolled down +their cheeks, and Rosa made a practical application of the lesson at +once, by saying: + +“The next time Tiney pinches me, cousin Agnes, I don’t mean to slap her +back again.” + +“Nor I either,” said Jessie. + +And Tiney whispered, “I will _try_ and not hurt them next time.” + +Frank, who had been choking down something in his throat, as he sat in +his chair, said, in an unsteady voice: + +“_Is it all _true_?” + +“Every word of it, Franky,” said Agnes. + +“I’ve got something in my eye,” said Frank, rubbing both eyes very hard +with the back of his hands; and then throwing himself on the settee, he +cried bitterly for a long time. + +Agnes taught them many pretty hymns; and as they all had good voices, +and loved music dearly, they were never so happy as in singing, morning +and evening, these sweet hymns with Agnes. Even poor Tiney, who was +passionately fond of music, readily caught the tunes, though it was +almost impossible to teach her the words. + +The very first Sunday that Agnes passed under the roof of Mr. Fairland, +was enough to convince her that the Sabbath day with them was passed +much like all other days. She was shocked to see novels, and other +light and trashy works, in the Lands of the Misses Fairland on this +holy day, and to hear them _howling_ snatches of opera tunes, as they +ran up and down the stairs. These young ladies sometimes went to church +in the morning, to be sure, especially if they had lately received new +bonnets from the city, which they wished to display for the envy or +admiration of their neighbors. Mrs. Fairland was too indolent to take +the trouble, even if she possessed the inclination, to appear at +church; and Mr. Fairland looked upon this seventh day of the week +literally as a day of rest, in which to recruit the exhausted energies +of the body, in preparation for the labors of another week. The day was +passed by him in looking over the newspapers, or sleeping in his large +chair, with his red silk handkerchief over his head; and towards +evening, he usually took a stroll over to his mills, or around his +grounds, to mark out what was necessary to be done on the coming week. + +Agnes felt the importance of exerting in this ungodly family a strictly +religious influence; but, except with her own little pupils, she did +not attempt, at first, to do so in any other way than by her own quiet, +consistent example. Mr. Fairland was much surprised when Agnes +requested permission to take the children to church with her he readily +granted it, however, as he invariably did the wishes of Agnes; and from +that time, Mr. Fairland’s pew had at least four or five occupants, on +the morning and evening of the Sabbath day. Though not required by her +engagement to do so, Agnes kept the children with her on Sunday, +reading to them, singing with them, or telling them beautiful Bible +stories; and those pleasant Sabbaths spent with her they never forgot, +nor did they ever lay aside the habits they acquired under her care. + +“What a pleasant day Sunday is!” exclaimed little Rosa; “I never knew +it was such a pleasant day before.” + +“It’s cousin Agnes makes it so pleasant,” said blue-eyed Jessie. + +“It is because you spend it as God directs, that it is a pleasant day +to you, dear children,” said Agnes; “and I wish you to remember that it +will always be a happy day, if you spend it in His service, ‘from the +beginning unto the end thereof.’” + +Even if I were sufficiently acquainted with them to detail all the +plans of Agnes for the education and improvement in manners and habits +of her rude and ignorant little pupils, I should not do so here. They +required peculiar training and an unfailing stock of patience, and it +was long before any very perceptible change was wrought in their almost +confirmed habits of carelessness, or any improvement in their rude and +unformed manners; but at length a material change was apparent, and +even the Misses Fairland could not keep their eyes closed to the +visible improvement of the children. They were all much more gentle and +quiet; and even poor Tiney softened much, under Agnes’ gentle +influence, and the light of intelligence began to beam in her +heretofore dull eye. For the first time in her life, she was gaining +useful ideas; and the consciousness that she was learning something as +well as her sisters, seemed to make her happier and more kindly in her +feelings. + +It was not long before the door would open gently, as the sound of +their evening hymn was heard, and Mr. Fairland, who was extravagantly +fond of sweet and simple music, would steal into the room, and seat +himself in the corner. And when he heard the voices of his children +singing the praises of God, and saw his poor Tiney, hitherto so +neglected, joining with eager interest in the singing, the tears would +glisten in his eye, and roll unbidden down his cheek. Then he began to +find his way to the school-room on Sunday evenings, and Agnes always +took the opportunity on such occasions, to question the children on the +elements of religious truth, that their young voices might be the means +of instructing their father, who was more ignorant even than they, on +these all-important subjects. At these times he never said one word, +but when he left the room, it was often wiping the tears first, from +one cheek and then from the other, and the heavy tread of his feet +could be heard far into the night, as he walked the whole length of the +two large parlors, with his hands behind him, and his head bent down. +Before Agnes had been six months in the family, the good people sitting +in the church at Wilston, one Sunday, opened their eyes with +astonishment, to see Mr. Fairland walk into church and take his seat in +a pew; and still more were they amazed, to see him do the same thing in +the afternoon. It was a surprise to Agnes too; for though she had not +failed to notice an unusual solemnity about Mr. Fairland, yet no word +on the subject of his duty in this matter had ever passed between them. + +Thus in the strict and conscientious performance of her daily duties, +passed the summer with Agnes, with one delightful break, of a +fortnight’s vacation, spent with the dear loving friends at Brook Farm, +where she saw much of her dear brother Lewie, who rode over every +evening and passed the night, returning to his college duties early in +the morning. The quick eye of a sister’s love soon detected that all +was not right with Lewie. He was as affectionate as ever, and if +possible handsomer; but the faults of his childhood had grown with his +growth and strengthened with his strength; his temper seemed more hasty +and impetuous than ever, and there was a dashing recklessness about him +which gave his sister many a heart-ache; and she had painful, though +undefined fears for the future, for her rash and hot-headed brother. + +Her kind friends at Brook Farm, who fancied from some things they drew +from Agnes, that her home at the Fairlands’ was not in all respects a +happy one, urged her most earnestly not to return there, but without +success. Agnes was convinced that there the path of duty lay, at least +for the present, and nothing could make her swerve from it. + +“Remember then, my sweet niece,” said her uncle, as he kissed her at +parting, “this is your home, whenever, for any reason, you will make us +so happy as to return to it.” + +The winter passed by very quietly to Agnes, in her accustomed round of +duties; indeed she was happier than she had yet found herself under Mr. +Fairland’s roof, in consequence of the absence of the two young ladies, +who having by some means or other succeeded in securing an invitation +out of some acquaintances in the city, to make them a short visit, +inflicted themselves upon them for the whole winter, and did not return +to Wilston till the spring was far advanced. Their hosts, in order to +rid themselves of such persevering and long-abiding guests, began to +make their preparations long before the usual time for closing their +house and going to the country, and the Misses Fairland, invulnerable +as they proved all winter to anything like a _hint_, were obliged to +take this intended removal of their friends as a “notice to quit,” +which they accordingly did. + +One bright spot to Agnes this winter, was a visit of a week from Lewie, +who took his vacation at the time of the holidays to run up and see his +sister. + +He had his guitar with him, and his voice, which had gained much in +depth and richness, was indescribably sweet. It seemed as if Mr. +Fairland never would tire of hearing the brother and sister sing +together. His mills and everything else were forgotten, while he sat +silently in his great chair with his eyes closed, listening hour after +hour to the blended harmony of their charming voices. + +That happy week was soon over, and the brother and sister parted. The +next time Agnes heard the sound of her brother’s guitar, under what +different circumstances did its tones strike upon her ear! + + + + +XV. +The Strangers in the Rookery. + + +“If thou sleep alone in Urrard, +Perchance in midnight gloom +Thou’lt hear behind the wainscot +Sounds in that haunted room, +It is a thought of horror, +I would not sleep alone +In the haunted room of Urrard, +Where evil deeds are done.” + —UNKNOWN. + + +“What do you think, Calista? What _do_ you think?” exclaimed Miss +Evelina Fairland, one day soon after their return from the city, +bursting in, in a great state of excitement. “Two of the _handsomest_ +men have come to the village, one of them is a Mr. Harrington; isn’t it +a lovely name? and he has purchased “_the Rookery_” do you believe! +some say that he is a young man, others that he is a widower. They have +come down to hunt and fish, and he was mightily taken with “the +Rookery,” and in spite of ghosts and goblins he has actually bought +it;” and here Miss Evelina paused to take breath. + +“The Rookery” was a large old mansion which had once been a very +handsome dwelling. It stood quite alone on a rising ground a little out +of the village, and was surrounded with an extensive lawn, which on one +side sloped down the lake, over which were scattered magnificent elms; +and there was only one thing that prevented “the Rookery” from being +the most delightful residence in the country. This was the +well-attested fact that the house was haunted; and though at different +times, those who were above being influenced by these idle fears, had +fitted up the place and endeavored to live there, yet there could be no +comfort in so large a house without servants, and not one could be +found to remain in it more than one night. Servants were brought from a +distance, but they soon heard in the village the story of the lady who +died so mysteriously in that house twenty years before, and how she +_walked_ every night, and then of course they heard sounds, and saw +sights; and they too, forthwith took their departure. + +So the old house was quite falling into decay when these two brave men +came down and took possession of it; and fitting up comfortably two or +three of the most tenantable rooms, they there kept bachelors’ hall, +unterrified and undisturbed, at least by _spirits_. A few days after +the announcement of the arrival of the strangers in the village, a +widow lady of the name of Danby came to make a visit to the Fairland’s. +She had with her a little girl, her only child, a wilful, spoiled +little thing, who took her own course in everything, utterly regardless +of the wishes or commands of others. In the afternoon, as Agnes was +preparing to start with her little pupils for their accustomed walk, +Mrs. Danby said: + +“Bella wishes to accompany you, Miss Elwyn, but you must take good care +of her.” + +“I will do my best, Mrs. Danby,” said Agnes, “but one thing I shall +insist upon, and that is, that Bella shall obey me as my own little +scholars do.” + +Miss Bella was not at all pleased with the idea of obeying any one, and +so she was continually showing off her independent airs as they walked, +hiding behind trees, describing eccentric circles around the rest of +the party, or darting off in tangents. At length she became so +troublesome, that Agnes determined to shorten their walk, and turned to +retrace their steps; at this Miss Bella was highly indignant, and +declared “that she would not go back, she would go on, down there by +the water.” + +They were at this time near an open space, which reached to the water, +at the end of which was a dock, for the convenience of those who wished +to go out upon the lake in boats. Agnes endeavored to detain the wilful +child, but she suddenly pulled away from her, and started like the wind +for the dock. Agnes called, and the children screamed, in vain; faster +and faster ran the little witch, still looking behind every moment to +see if she was pursued, till at length she tripped over a log, and fell +far out into the water. Agnes clasped her hands in speechless terror, +while the cries of the children were loud and agonizing. Just then a +boat in which were two gentlemen rounded a point of land near them, and +made rapidly for the struggling child, who in another moment was lifted +into the boat, and handed up to the arms of Agnes. + +Agnes was too much agitated to take particular notice of these +strangers, but taking off her shawl she wrapped the dripping child in +it, while one of her preservers carried her into a cottage near by, +Agnes and the still weeping children following. When the child was +placed in the kind woman’s bed, and little Rosa was sent home to ask +Susan for some clothes to put on her, with special directions not to +alarm Mrs. Danby, Agnes returned to the sitting-room of the cottage, to +thank the strangers who had so opportunely come to their assistance, +when what was her astonishment to find that one of them was her old +friend, Tom Wharton. + +“And you knew I was in town, Mr. Wharton, and have been here three or +four days without coming to see me,” said she. + +“Oh! you know I don’t do things just like other people,” answered Tom; +“and to tell the truth, though I have no fear of ghosts and hobgoblins, +I have not yet had the courage to face two famous man-hunters, who I +hear reside under the same roof with you, Agnes. But it is time I +should introduce you to my friend Mr. Harrington, the present +proprietor of “the Rookery,” together with all the spirits, black and +white, red and grey, who are the inhabitants thereof.” + +Agnes was glad to meet Mr. Harrington, of whom she had often heard her +uncle speak in terms of great admiration, as an accomplished gentleman +and a Christian; and one who used the large property he had inherited +in deeds of benevolence and usefulness. They had been for some time in +conversation about the friends at Brook Farm, from whom the two +gentlemen had lately parted, when little Rosa returned. + +Rosa found that her older sisters and Mrs. Danby had gone out for a +walk; so it was a very easy matter to get some dry clothes for Bella, +and bring her safe home before her mother heard of the accident. What +was the surprise of the Misses Fairland, as, in coming down the street, +they saw Agnes returning, accompanied by one of the handsome strangers +whose acquaintance they had been “dying” to make; while the other +followed, carrying little Bella Danby in his arms. A few words sufficed +to tell the story of the accident, and to introduce the strangers, who, +with the utmost cordiality, were urged to come in; an invitation which +was unhesitatingly accepted by Mr. Harrington, and rather reluctantly +by Mr. Tom Wharton. Mrs. Danby, pale and agitated, took her little +darling in her arms, and hurried to her own room, there to administer +certain restoratives, and, much against the young lady’s will, to place +her again in bed. + +Mr. Harrington, having now gained the _entrée_ to Mr. Fairland’s house, +seemed inclined to be a frequent visitor, much to the gratification of +the ladies Calista and Evelina, who laid siege to him right and left. +If my reader possessed the key to Mr. Harrington’s real object in +coming to Wilston, perhaps he would be as much amused as the gentleman +himself at the efforts, so exceedingly apparent, to gain for one of +them possession of his hand and fortune; for that Mr. Harrington was +wealthy, they were well assured. They each kept out a _hook_, too, for +Mr. Tom Wharton, in case the other was successful in taking the more +valuable prey; but the bait was by no means tempting to Mr. Tom, who +darted off, leaving his friend, unsupported and alone, to resist the +attacks of these practised, but hitherto unsuccessful anglers. + +“Well, Harrington,” said Mr. Tom Wharton to his friend one day, “since +your object in bringing me down here with you is accomplished, I must +now leave you to your fate. What that may be, in the midst of attacks +from spirits by night, and from more substantial persecutors by day, I +cannot divine; but if there is anything left of you, I shall hope to +see you in the city before long, and to hear the account you have to +give of yourself.” + +“I thank you for your services thus far, my dear friend,” said Mr. +Harrington; “still, I think it would be the part of disinterested +friendship to stay and help me a little longer.” + +“I can’t—I can’t stand it, Harrington. _You_ may be able to bear it +better; but I’m not used to this sort of thing, and I don’t know how to +get along with it at all. Your case is a hard one, I acknowledge, my +friend; but having some business of my own to attend to, I must leave +you to fight out your own battles.” And Mr. Tom Wharton, resolutely +closed his ears to his friend’s appeals, and took his departure. + +A beautiful little boat which Mr. Harrington had ordered from the city +having arrived, he called, one afternoon, at Mr. Fairland’s, to ask the +ladies if they would take a sail with him upon the lake. Most eagerly +the Misses Fairland consented, and were leaving the room to prepare to +go, when Mr. Harrington turned to Agnes, who happened to be in the +room, and said: + +“May I not hope for the pleasure of Miss Elwyn’s company too?” Upon +which Miss Evelina, with a childishly-confidential air, raised herself +on tiptoe, and whispered in his ear: + +“It is not _at all_ necessary to ask her: we never feel obliged to, I +assure you. She is only _governess to the children_.” + +But Mr. Harrington renewed his invitation, which Agnes had respectfully +declined, when Mr. Fairland entered the room, and Mr. Harrington +appealed to him. + +“Go? Certainly Agnes must go; she has never been on the lake in a +sail-boat, and I have often heard her say she would delight to go. +Come, Agnes! put on your things without a word, and go along.” + +Thus urged, Agnes consented to go, though she felt a little +uncomfortable at the silent displeasure of the Misses Fairland. There +was a pleasant breeze, and the little boat flew like a bird over the +dancing waves. Agnes, a devoted admirer of nature, was in an ecstasy +which she could not conceal, as one beautiful view succeeded another +during their sail up the lake; but the other ladies were so much +occupied in trying the effect of _art_, that they had no eye for the +beauties of _nature_. The breeze soon died away, leaving them far from +home, and Mr. Harrington was obliged to take to his oars; and long +before the village was in sight, the gentle moon had begun her walk +through “golden gates,” throwing across the water a brilliant column of +light, sparkling and dancing in glorious beauty on the gentle ripples +of the lake. + +“Now is the time for music,” said Mr. Harrington; “for truly + +‘Music sounds the sweetest +Over the rippling waves.’” + + +But for once the Misses Fairland were obliged to relinquish the +opportunity of charming by their united voices; the only music in which +they were practised, and which they thought worth listening to, being +of the flourishing, trilling, running, quavering, shrieking kind; and +this they could not attempt without their “notes” and the “instrument.” +Mr. Harrington then proposed to Agnes to sing some sweet old-fashioned +airs; and laying down his oars, he took a seat beside her, and joined +his rich tenor to the strangely-melodious tones of her voice; and as +the harmony floated over the water, it seemed almost like the music of +heaven. This was a state of things by no means agreeable to the two +neglected ladies in the other end of the boat, and Miss Calista began +to be afraid of the night air, and Miss Evelina was taken with a +hacking cough; so that Mr. Harrington was obliged to resume his oars, +and row them rapidly to the village. + +Mr. Harrington consented to moor his boat, and accompany the ladies up +to the house to tea. Anxious to try the effect of their own +accomplishments, the Misses Fairland, soon after tea, led the +conversation to the subject of music, and were easily persuaded to +attempt, with the “notes” and “instrument,” some of their favorite +songs. And now began a flourishing and screaming unparalleled in the +annals of music. Miss Calista screamed, “I love only thee!” and then +Miss Evelina shrieked, “I love only thee!” and then Miss Calista +trilled it—and Miss Evelina howled it—and Miss Calista quavered it—and +Miss Evelina ran it—and then one of them started on it, and the other +ran and caught up with her—and then one burred for some time on +thee-e-e-e-e, while the other ran up and down, still asserting as +rapidly as possible, and insisting boldly, and stoutly asseverating, “I +love only thee!”—and then, with a combined shriek, they made known the +fact once more and finally, and then the ears of their hearers were +allowed to rest. + +“Now, girls, if you have done with that clatter,” said Mr. Fairland, “I +want Agnes to sing for _me_ one of those sweet old Scotch songs; it +will be quite refreshing after all this screeching.” + +“Oh!” said Miss Calista, rising from the instrument, and casting up her +eyes at Mr. Harrington, “my dear old papa has the _oddest, +old-fashioned_ taste!” + +But as soon as Agnes began to sing, it seemed as if Mr. Harrington’s +taste was quite as “odd” and “old-fashioned” as that of the “dear old +papa” himself; for he was guilty of the impropriety of not hearing what +Miss Evelina was saying to him, and soon rose and took his stand by the +piano, where he showed very plainly that he had no ear for any other +sound than that of Agnes’ voice. + +Agnes went to bed with some very pleasant thoughts that night; for, +though tongues may be silent, _eyes_ can tell their story very soon; +and it _is_ a pleasant thing to find one’s self an object of interest +to some noble heart; and particularly grateful was it to Agnes, in her +present lonely, toiling life. And she needed all the inward peace and +comfort she possessed, to enable her to bear the increased ill-nature +of Mrs. Fairland and her daughters; for the “mamma” was no less +displeased than the young ladies themselves at the prospect of the +failure of one of their cherished plans. + +And now, when Mr. Harrington called, there was generally some excuse +contrived for sending Agnes from the room, and for keeping her busy in +some other part of the house; and though Agnes was indignant at this +evident desire to get her out of the way, by putting upon her labor +which they had no right to require of her, yet, at the time, and in Mr. +Harrington’s presence, she would not contest the point, but quietly +left the room. This never happened, however, when Mr. Fairland was +present, as the good man, if he had fully seen through all the plans of +his wife and daughters, could not have discomfited them more surely +than he always contrived to do. + +In the meantime, the ladies Calista and Evelina never for a moment +relaxed their efforts, or ceased to practise their arts, upon the +wealthy and agreeable stranger. + +“How _charming_ your place must be Mr. Harrington!” said Miss Evelina +one evening; “I do delight in these old haunted mansions; there is +something so delightfully romantic about them.” + +“And have you really heard any of these strange noises at night?” asked +Miss Calista. + +“Noises?—enough of them,” he answered; “I have sometimes been so +disturbed, that I could not sleep at all.” + +“And what _did_ you do?” asked the young ladies in a breath, their eyes +dilating with horror. + +“Why, in the first place,” said Mr. Harrington, “I bought a _terrier_, +and in the next a large _rat-trap_; and by means of both, I succeed in +laying several of the spirits every night, and have strong hopes that, +before long, perfect quiet will be restored to the haunted mansion.” + +Then calling Jessie, who was in the room, to his side, Mr. Harrington +took her in his lap, and said: + +“You remind me very much of a little blue-eyed, flaxen-haired girl I +have in the city.” + +“Why, have you a little girl?” Mr. Harrington, asked the young ladies. + +“Yes, two of them,” he answered. + +“Oh, how I _doat_ on children!” exclaimed Miss Calista. + +“Cousin Agnes, what is the meaning of _doat_?” screamed Master Frank, +running up to Agnes, who just then entered the room. + +“What is it to _doat_ on any one?” + +“It is to love them very dearly;” answered Agnes quietly. + +“Ho! C’listy says she _doats_ on children—she doats on us, don’t she +Rosa?” and Master Frank laughed such a laugh of derision, that Mr. +Harrington was obliged to say something very funny to little Jessie, +who was still sitting on his knee, in order to have an excuse for +laughing too. + +Miss Calista fairly trembled with concealed rage, and soon succeeded in +having Master Frank sent off to bed. Indeed, Frank was the cause of so +much mortification to Miss Calista, that she would gladly have banished +him too from the parlor, but he was lawless, and no one in the house +could do anything with him but Agnes. + +Mr. Harrington was very fond of children, and often had long +conversations with little Frank, whose bold, independent manners seemed +to please him much. One evening when he was talking to him, Frank said: + +“Mr. Harrington I’m saving up my money to buy a boat just like yours.” + +“You are, hey, Frank? and how much have you got towards it?” asked Mr. +Harrington. + +“Oh! I’ve got two sixpences, and a shilling, and three pennies;” said +Frank. “I keep all my money in a china-box, one of C’listy’s boxes she +used to keep her red paint in; _this_, you know!” touching each cheek +with his finger. + +This was too much for Miss Calista; she rushed from the room, and +vented her indignation in a burst of angry tears, and the next time she +met Master Frank, she gave him a slap upon his cheek, which made it a +deeper crimson than the application of her own paint would have done. +All these slights and mortifications were revenged upon poor Agnes, who +would gladly have left a place where she was so thoroughly +uncomfortable; but the thought of the children, to whom she had become +attached, and who seemed now to be rewarding her pains and trouble by +their rapid improvement, deterred her from taking a step which should +separate her from them forever. Poor Tiney too, who seemed rapidly +failing under the power of disease, and who clung to her so fondly, how +could she leave her? + + + + +XVI. +Death and the Fugitive. + + +“She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer, +Apart she sighed; alone, she shed the tear, +Then, as if breaking from a cloud she gave +Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave.” + —CRABBE. + + +One summer night, Agnes, who had been up till very late, soothing and +quieting poor Tiney, and had at last succeeded in singing her to sleep, +left her in Susan’s care, and returned to her own room. It was a +lovely, warm, moonlight evening, and Agnes stood by her raised window, +watching the shadows of the tall trees which were thrown with such +vivid distinctness across the gravel walks and the closely trimmed +lawn, and thinking of a pleasant walk she had taken that day, and of +some one who joined her, (as was by no means unusual,) on her return +from the woods with the younger children. + +Suddenly her reverie was broken by the sound of a few chords struck +very lightly and softly upon a guitar. The sound came from the clump of +trees, the shadows of which Agnes had just been admiring; and she +supposed they were the prelude to a serenade. Her heart whispered to +her who the musician might be, for though she had never heard him, with +whom her thoughts had been busy, touch the guitar, yet with his ardent +love for music, she did not doubt that he might if he chose, accompany +his rich voice upon so simple an instrument. + +But now the blood which had crimsoned her cheek flowed back +tumultuously to her heart, as she heard a voice she could not mistake, +humming very softly the notes of a sad and touching air, which she and +Lewie had often sung together. This plaintive singer could be no other +than her brother. But why here, at night, and in this clandestine +manner, evidently trying to win her attention, without arousing that of +others? The house seemed quiet: and Agnes, throwing a shawl about her, +quickly descended the stairs, and, quietly opening a side door, crossed +the lawn, and in another moment stood beside her brother, under the +shade of the tall old elms. + +“Lewie! is it indeed you?” + +He made no answer, he said not one word, but, drawing Agnes to a seat +under one of the trees, he seated himself beside her, and laying his +head upon her shoulder, he was quiet for a few moments; and then Agnes +felt his frame tremble with sudden emotion, and heard a deep sob. + +“Lewie! my brother! do speak to me! What is it? Do not keep me in +suspense! What dreadful thing has happened?” + +“Agnes,” said he, with a sudden and forced calmness, the words coming +slowly from between his white, stiffened lips—“Agnes, it is—_murder_!” + +Agnes did not scream—she did not faint—forgetfulness for a moment would +have been a relief. In a flash she had comprehended it all. + +“Lewie,” said she, “is there blood upon this hand?” + +“Agnes, it is true; your brother is a murderer! No less a murderer, +because the blow was struck in the heat of sudden passion, and when the +brain was inflamed with wine; and no less a murderer, because it was +repented of the moment given, and before the fatal consequences were +suspected. My sister, I am a fugitive and a wanderer, hunted by the +officers of justice, and doomed to the prison or the gallows.” + +It seemed to Agnes like a fearful dream! It was too dreadful to be +true! The thought crossed her mind, perhaps it _is_ a dream; she had +had dreams as vivid, and had awakened with such a blessed feeling of +relief. But no! she clasped Lewie’s cold hand in hers, and felt assured +it was all reality. For a few moments she could only bury her face in +her hands, and rock to and fro and groan. She was aroused from this +state of agonized feeling by Lewie, who said: + +“And now, what shall I do, Agnes? I have come all this way on foot, and +at night, to see you once more, and to ask you what I should do? Oh +that I had been more willing to follow your gentle guidance before, +sweet sister!—but I have followed nothing but the dictates of my own +ungoverned passions. Shall I try to escape, or shall I give myself up +for trial? On my word, Agnes, I am not a murderer by intention. I was +excited; something was said which tried my quick temper; I answered +with a burst of sudden passion; more taunting words followed; and, +quicker than the lightning’s flash, I had dealt the blow which laid my +class-mate dead at my feet I was sobered in one moment; and oh, Agnes! +what, _what_ would I not have given to restore my murdered friend to +life!—not for my own sake; for I never thought of myself till urged by +my terror-stricken companions to fly. Then I thought of my own safety; +and, my darling sister, I thought of you, and determined that you +should hear of your brother’s disgrace and crime from no lips but his +own. I have been hanging about here all day, but could not see you; and +finding no other way to call your attention, I borrowed this guitar at +the tavern, and have been watching from these trees, till I saw a white +form at a window, which I knew was yours. Now, Agnes, what shall I do?” + +“Oh, Lewie, what can I say but _fly_, and save yourself from an +ignominious fate! It may not be right counsel; but how can a sister +advise otherwise? My poor, poor brother!” And Agnes was relieved by a +passionate burst of tears. And now came the time for parting. He must +go, for they would be likely to seek him in the home of his only +sister,—he must go quickly and quietly;—and, with a few hurried words, +in which his sister commended him to God, and entreated him to go to +_Him_ for pardon and peace, and with one last fond embrace, they +parted. Agnes returned to the house with feeble, staggering steps, +stricken to the very heart. + +No sleep visited the eyes of Agnes that night; and when she appeared in +the breakfast room the following morning, her pale and haggard +countenance showed marks of extreme suffering, which should have been +respected even by the Misses Fairland. But no! their quick ears had +also caught the tones of the guitar, and rushing to a window on that +side of the house, in the expectation of a serenade, they had seen +Agnes as she crossed the lawn, and returned again to the house. Here +was food for conjecture, and jealousy for the suspicious ladies, and +they had long been awaiting the arrival of Agnes in the breakfast room, +hoping to have the mystery cleared up. + +“May we be informed, Miss Elwyn,” began Miss Calista, “how long you +have been in the habit of receiving signals from lovers, and stealing +out at night to give them clandestine meetings in the grove?” + +A bright blush suffused the cheek of Agnes, which died away +immediately, leaving it of an ashy paleness, as she said: + +“I have met no lover in the grove, Calista, at least not what _you_ +mean by a lover,” she added, thinking this might be an evasion, for did +not her brother love her dearly? + +“Not what _I_ call a lover,” said Miss Calista; “a very nice +distinction! then you do not deny that you met what _you_ call a lover +in the grove. Indeed you need trouble yourself to make no denial, for +Evelina and I both watched you.” + +Agnes rose from the table, and all who were gathered around it were +amazed at the unusual vehemence of her manner, as with an expression of +intense wretchedness upon her face, she exclaimed: + +“Oh! _do, do_ let me alone! do leave me in quiet; for I am very, very +unhappy!” + +And hastily, and with great agitation, Agnes left the room. + +Mr. Fairland, who was so much interested in a paragraph in the paper, +which appeared to shock him exceedingly, that he had not heard the +ill-natured remarks of his daughters, looked up just as Agnes rose from +the table, and heard her agonized address. + +With more sternness than usual, he asked his daughters what they had +been saying to Agnes, and on hearing their account of the conversation, +he exclaimed: + +“Poor Agnes! you will see in this paper girls something that will shock +you, and will perhaps inspire you with a little sympathy for one whom +it seems to be your delight to torment. You may perhaps now guess who +it was that Agnes met in the grove last night.” + +The Misses Fairland were really shocked to read the account of the +murder, and to read the name of Lewis Elwyn as the murderer; and +something like remorse for a moment visited their minds, that they had +added to the sufferings of the already burdened heart of Agnes. + +“Poor fellow! poor young man!” exclaimed Mr. Fairland; “such a handsome +fellow as he was, and such a sweet singer too! this seems to have been +done in a sudden passion; and not without provocation too. But it is an +awful thing! Poor Agnes! she must not attempt to teach the children +while she is so distressed; and I do desire girls, that you will have +the _decency_, if you have not the _feeling_, to leave her entirely +undisturbed.” + +Days passed on and nothing was heard of the fugitive. Oh, what days of +restless and painful suspense to Agnes! Had she not had constant and +unusual occupation for her time, it seemed to her that she could not +keep her reason. But poor Tiney had grown suddenly and alarmingly +worse, and the physician said a very days at most would terminate her +sufferings. With all the distressing thoughts which crowded upon her, +Agnes remained by the bed-side of the little sufferer, endeavoring to +soothe and cheer her descent to the dark valley. + +Mrs. Fairland, who though indolent and indifferent in many things with +regard to her children, was not altogether without natural affection, +passed much of her time, during the last two or three days of Tiney’s +life, in her room, sitting quietly near the head of the bed. Mr. +Fairland, who seemed more overcome even than Agnes expected, hardly +ever left the bed-side. The older sisters looked in occasionally for a +few moments, but their “nerves” (always ready as an excuse with people +destitute of feeling) would not allow their staying for more than five +minutes at a time, in the room of the sick child. The younger children +wandered restlessly about the house, their little hearts oppressed by +the first approach of death among their number; sometimes coming in +quietly to look at the dying sister, and then wandering off again. + +“Cousin Agnes, _must_ I _die_?” asked Tiney, the day before her death, +as Agnes and her father and mother were sitting near her. + +“You are not afraid to die, dear Tiney, are you?” asked Agnes in reply. + +“No, I shall love to die, because you told me I would never be sick any +more; but I feel a _little_ afraid to go to Heaven.” + +“Afraid to go to Heaven, dear Tiney! And why should you be afraid to go +there?” asked Agnes, in astonishment; for she had, oftener than ever, +of late, talked to the failing child of the glories of heaven, and did +not doubt that, even with her poor weak mind, she had so trusted by +faith in the merits of an all-sufficient Redeemer, that through those +merits her spirit would be welcomed to that blissful abode. + +“I was thinking,” answered Tiney, “that I don’t _know anybody_, there; +not a single soul; and I feel so shy with strangers. Will they love me +there, cousin Agnes, as you and papa do?” + +Agnes could not repress the tears at this question, so natural, +perhaps, to a simple child, and yet one which she had never thought of +as likely to occur to one before. But she talked to Tiney so soothingly +and sweetly of Him who loved little children when on earth, and who was +watching for her now, and would send some lovely angel to bear her to +His breast, that poor Tiney lost her fears, and longed for the hour of +her release. And it came the next morning. Just as the glorious sun was +rising over the lake, the spirit of poor little suffering Tiney left +its earthly dwelling, and began its long and never-ending day of +happiness. + +Oh! what a brilliant light shone for once in those dark gray eyes, as +Tiney raised them, with a look of wonder and astonishment and joy, as +if she saw far, far beyond the limits which bounded her mortal +sight!—and as, with an enraptured expression, she murmured something +about “that lovely music,” the light faded from the still wide open and +glassy eye; and Agnes, passing her hand gently over the lids, said, +“Mr. Fairland, she is gone!” and the first thought of her sad heart +was, “Oh that I too were at rest!” But she checked it in one moment, +when she remembered that there were duties and conflicts and trials +before her yet; and she determined she would go forward, in the Divine +strength, into the furnace which she must needs go through, in order to +be refined and purified. + +Once, during Tiney’s last sickness, a messenger called for Agnes, and +put a note and a little bouquet of green-house flowers into her hand. +At first, Agnes hoped that the note might contain tidings of her +brother; but though disappointed in this respect, the contents of the +note were soothing and grateful to her troubled heart. The words were +simply these: + +“Is there _anything_ I can do for you? And if you need a friend, will +you call upon me?” The note was signed “C.H.” + +At first Agnes merely said, in a despairing tone, “Oh no! nothing can +be done;” and then, feeling that a different answer should be sent to a +message so kind, she tore off a bit of the paper, and wrote upon it: + +“Nothing can be done for me now. Believe me, I will not hesitate to +call upon you, when you can do me any good.” + +The day after Tiney’s death, officers came to search Mr. Fairland’s +house for the fugitive, having traced him to Wilston. Every corner of +the house was searched, and even the chamber of death was not spared. +The search, of course, was unsuccessful; but, the day after poor +Tiney’s funeral, came tidings to Agnes of the arrest of her brother. He +was taken at last, and safely lodged in the jail at Hillsdale, where he +was to await his trial. + +And now Agnes, whose office ever seemed of necessity to be that of +consoler and comforter, must leave her little charge, and go to be near +her brother. It was a bitter parting; it seemed as if the children +could not let her go; and the scene recalled so vividly to Agnes the +parting with Miss Edwards at Brook Farm, that the recollection made +her, if possible, still more sad, as she thought the resemblance might +be carried out even to the end, and the close of this earthly scene to +her might be as melancholy as was that of her beloved teacher. + +She promised Mr. Fairland that, as soon as she could attend to it, she +would ascertain if there were vacancies in Mrs. Arlington’s school for +Rosa and Jessie, and also if Mr. Malcolm would consent to take charge +of Frank’s education; and, accompanied by Mr. Fairland, she left +Wilston, as she supposed, forever. + + + + +XVII. +The Jail. + + +“I may not go, I may not go, +Where the sweet-breathing spring-winds blow; +Nor where the silver clouds go by, +Across the holy, deep blue sky; +Nor where the sunshine, warm and bright +Comes down, like a still shower of light; + I must stay here + In prison drear; +Oh! heavy life, wear on, wear on, +Would God that thou wert gone.” + —FANNY KEMBLE. + + +They reached Brook Farm late in the evening, and here the greeting, +though not as noisy and joyous, was warmer, and if possible more +affectionate than ever. They all loved Lewie in spite of his many +faults, and their sympathy was most sincere and hearfelt for Agnes, who +was very dear to them all. As soon as Agnes could speak to Mr. Wharton +alone, she said: + +“Uncle, have you seen him?” + +“Every day, dear Agnes, and have been with him some hours each day.” + +“And how does he feel, dear Uncle?” + +“Relieved, I think, on the whole; that the suspense is over thus far. +He says he would not live over again the last three weeks for worlds. +Many and many a time he had almost resolved to return and give himself +up for trial; but the thought of you, Agnes, prevented. He said that +you must be a sharer in all his trouble and disgrace, and if he could +spare your distress and suffering, by escaping from the country, he +meant to try and do it, and then he would soon be forgotten, except by +the few who cared for him.” + +“And how does he feel about the—the result, uncle?” + +“Hopeful, I think; he seems to think it cannot be brought in murder, +when murder was so far from his intention.” + +“And what do _you_ think, uncle?” + +“I am inclined to think with Lewie, dear; there is always a leaning +towards mercy, and your brother has counsel, the very best in the +State.” + +“Oh, uncle, how very kind! how can we ever repay you for your +kindness?” + +“No thanks to me in this matter, Agnes; Mr. W—— has been retained by +one who does not wish his name known; one who would be glad, I fancy, +to have a nearer right to stand by you through these coming scenes, but +who will not trouble you with these matters at present.” + +A bright blush came up in Agnes’ cheek, and as suddenly died away as +she said: + +“One question more, uncle; when will it take place—the trial, I mean?” + +“It will probably come on in November,” her uncle answered. + +“Two long months of imprisonment for my poor brother!” said Agnes. + +“But remember, Agnes, those two months will be diligently employed by +his counsel in preparing his defence.” + +“And by those on the other side, in making strong their cause against +him, uncle. My poor dear Lewie! how I long to see him; and yet how I +dread the first meeting, oh! if that were only over!” + +The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Mr. Wharton and Agnes +drove over to Hillsdale. Agnes shuddered, and turned pale, as they drew +near the gloomy jail with its iron-barred windows, and closing her eyes +she silently prayed for strength and calmness for the meeting with her +brother. Mr. Wharton conducted her to the door of the room in which her +brother was confined, and left her there, as he knew they would both +prefer that their first meeting should be without witnesses. In one +respect Agnes was agreeably disappointed; she had expected to find her +brother in a close, dark dungeon; and was much surprised to find +herself in a pleasant, light room, with table, books, writing +materials, and everything very comfortable about him; the only things +there to remind her that she was in a prison, being the locked door, +and the grated window. + +Agnes had been preparing herself ever since she first received the +tidings of her brother’s arrest, for this meeting; and she went through +it with a calmness and composure which astonished herself. But poor +Lewie was completely overcome. He knew his sister would come to him; +but he had not expected her so soon, and the first intimation he had of +her arrival, was the sight of her upon the threshold of his door. + +“Poor Agnes! poor dear sister!” said he, as soon as he could speak; +“what have I ever been from my childhood up, but a source of trouble +and distress to you. You were punished for my ungoverned temper all +through your childhood; you are suffering for it now; you will have to +suffer for it more, till your bloom is all gone, and you are worn to a +skeleton. If I had dared, Agnes—if I had dared, I should have put an +end to this mortal existence; and thus I should have saved you all this +coming disgrace and misery. But I had not the courage to lay violent +hands upon myself, and go, a deliberate suicide, into the presence of +my Maker. I have tried all other means; I have gone through exposure +and fatigue, which at any other time I know would have killed me; I +have laid out all night in the rain; _I_, who used to be so susceptible +to cold, but nothing seemed to hurt me. I have been reserved for other +and more terrible things. And you, Agnes, who are always kind, and +forbearing, and self-sacrificing, it seems to be your fate ever to +suffer and endure for others. Oh, my sister, you deserve a happier +lot!” + +“Don’t talk so, dear Lewie!” said Agnes; “you have given me very many +happy hours, and all the little troubles of ‘long, long ago’ are +forgotten. And now, what greater pleasure can I have than that of +sitting with you here, working and reading, and trying to wile away the +tedious hours of your captivity?” + +“Agnes! this must not be! I cannot allow it. It will brighten the whole +day for me, if you will come and spend an hour or two with me every +morning; but I cannot consent that you shall be immured for the whole +day in the walls of this gloomy prison-house.” + +“But what can you do, Lewie? I am going to be obstinate for once, and +take my own course. Uncle will drive me over every morning, and come +for me at night; and I am going to enjoy a pleasure long denied me, of +spending every day with my darling brother.” + +“Oh, Agnes! this is too, too much!” + +“Not too much at all, Lewie. Do you think I could be happy anywhere +else than with you? What should I do at uncle’s but roam the house, +restless and impatient, every moment I am absent from you? And the +nights will seem so long, because they separate me from you!” + +“Oh! how utterly undeserving!—how _utterly undeserving_ such love and +devotion!” said Lewie, pacing up and down the room. “Sweet +sister!—dearest Agnes!—now has my prison lost all its gloom; and were +it not for the future, I might be happier here than when out in the +world; for temptation here is far from me, and only good influences +surround me.” + +“And what of the future, dear?” + +“Of my trial, Agnes? Well, I hardly know what to say. My friends and +lawyers try to keep up my spirits, and mention to me many hopeful +things; and, for the time, I too feel encouraged. But I can think of +many things that a skilful lawyer can bring up against me, and which +would weigh very heavily. I am trying to think of the _worst_ as a +_probability_; so that if it comes, I shall not be overwhelmed.” + +“Oh!” said Agnes, shuddering, and covering her eyes, as if to shut out +some horrid spectacle, “it cannot be! I cannot bring myself to +contemplate it for a moment!” + +“And yet it _may be_, Agnes! or they may spare my life, and doom me to +wear out long years of imprisonment, and then send me out into the +world a blighted and ruined man! That is the best I can hope for; and +but for the disgrace which would come upon me, I should say the sudden +end is better.” + +“And what of the future _after that_, Lewie? for that, after all, is +the great concern.” + +“The _eternal future_ you mean, Agnes. Ah! my sister, the prospect +there is darker and more dreary still. I know enough of religion to +feel assured that my short life has not been spent in the way to +prepare me for a future of happiness; and I am not yet so hardened as +to pretend not to dread a future of misery.” + +“God grant such may not be your fate, dear brother. Whether life be +long or short, happy or sorrowful, our future depends upon heart-felt +repentance here, and faith in the ‘sinner’s Friend.’ You have now time +for quiet and reflection. Oh! improve it dear Lewie, in so humbling +yourself before Him whom you have offended, and in so seeking for +pardon, that He will bless you and grant you peace.” + +“I see, Agnes,” said her brother, with a sad smile, “you want me to +follow in the footsteps of all other offenders and criminals, who, +after doing all the mischief possible, and living for their own selfish +gratification while abroad in the world, spend the time of their +imprisonment in acts of penitence and devotion, and go out of the +world, as they all invariably do, in the full odor of sanctity, in +peace with God, and in charity with men.” + +“Is my advice to you in any way different, my dear brother, from what +it was when you were free and unrestrained? Indeed, so much did I dread +the effect of your undisciplined temper, and so assured did I feel that +for you the grace of God was peculiarly necessary, that I have feared I +sometimes made my presence unwelcome by my constant warnings and +admonitions.” + +“Never, Agnes—never, dearest sister! I always thanked you from my +inmost heart for your kind, loving, tender counsel; and though +apparently I turned it off lightly and carelessly, yet it often sank +deep in my heart; and when parted from you, I often thought what a +miserable wretch I was not to give better heed to it.” + +“Yet, Lewie dear, I will not deny that I think the need more urgent +than ever for repentance and pardon now. I do not wish to harrow up +your feelings, dear brother; but, oh! it is an awful thing to send a +fellow-creature into eternity!” + +“And do you think that thought ever for a moment leaves me, Agnes? +Indeed, I think that while I have been skulking and hiding, hunted and +pursued from one place to another, and since I have been shut up in +these walls, every harrowing thought that could possibly be brought +before my mind, has been dwelt upon till it seemed sometimes as if I +should go mad. I have mourned for Cranston as if I had no hand in his +death; I have thought of him in all his hope and promise; I have +thought of his poor mother and sisters, till the tears have rained from +my cheeks; and I believe I have been sincere in my feeling, that if by +suffering an ignominious death, I could restore my murdered friend to +life, I should be _glad_ to be the sacrifice. And then when I thought +of _myself_ as the cause of all this suffering, it seemed as if it +ought not to be a matter of wonder or complaint if the verdict should +be, that such a wretch should cumber the earth no longer. And yet, +Agnes, in the eye of Him who looketh only on the heart, I believe I was +as much a murderer when I struck down my school-mate in the play-ground +as now. For in the height of my passion then, I think I should have +been glad to have killed him. But the thought of _murder_ did not enter +my heart when I struck poor Cranston; it was a sort of instinctive +movement; the work of a moment; and had not the murderous weapon been +in my hand, the effects of the blow would have been but slight.” + +Many such conversations as these passed between the young prisoner and +his sister, during those two months preceding the trial—every day of +which, except during church hours on Sunday, Agnes passed with him from +morning till night, almost as much a prisoner as he, except that hers +was not compulsory. This time was faithfully improved by Agnes, in +endeavoring to lead her brother to right views upon the subject of his +own condition in the sight of a Holy God. He was very gentle and +teachable now, and before the day of trial came, Agnes hoped that her +brother was a true penitent, though his own hopes of pardon were faint +and flickering. + +Mr. Malcolm too, often visited young Elwyn, in whom he was most deeply +interested; and his gentle teachings and fervent prayers were eagerly +listened to by the youthful prisoner. Mr. W——, his counsel, came often, +also, but in his endeavors to keep up the spirits of Lewie and his +sister, his manner was so trifling and flippant that it grated on their +feelings painfully. He was working as laboriously it seemed, as the +enormous fee promised him would warrant, leaving no stone unturned +which would throw some favorable light on young Elwyn’s case. Thus days +and weeks passed on, and in the midst of increasing agitation and +excitement, the day of trial came. + +When the brother and sister parted the evening before the trial, Agnes +once more renewed the entreaties she had so often made that Lewie would +allow her to remain by his side during the painful events of the coming +day. But his refusal was firm and unyielding. + +“No, no, dear sister, pray do not urge it,” said he. “I know I shall be +too much agitated as it is; I do not believe I can go through it with +even an appearance of calmness alone; and how much more difficult it +would be for me with you by my side. I know I could not bear it. No! +Agnes, remain in the village if you prefer it, but do not let me see +your dear face again till my fate is decided. Let us pray once more +together, sweet sister—let us pray for mercy from God and man.” And +when they arose from their knees they took their sad farewell, and +Agnes accompanied her uncle to the house of her kind friend, Dr. +Rodney, where she was to remain till the trial was over. + + + + +XVIII. +The Trial. + + +“The morn lowered darkly; but the sun hath now, +With fierce and angry splendor, through the clouds +Burst forth, as if impatient to behold +This our high triumph. Lead the prisoner in.” + —VESPERS OF PALERMO. + + +To say that, long before the hour fixed for the trial, the court room +was crowded to its utmost capacity with eager and expectant faces, +would be to repeat what has been written and said of every trial, the +events of which have been chronicled; but it would be no less true for +that. And when the young prisoner was brought into the room, his +handsome face pale from agitation and recent confinement, and with an +expression of intense anxiety in his eye, all not before deeply +interested for the friends of the unfortunate Cranston were moved to +pity, and strongly prepossessed in his favor. + +Mr. W——, the counsel for the prisoner, was an able and eloquent lawyer. +He was a small, slight man, with a high, bald forehead; and a pair of +very bright, black, restless eyes. His manner was naturally quick and +lively; but he well knew how to touch the tender strings, and make them +give forth a tone in unison with his own, or with that which he had +adopted for his own to suit the occasion. He had an appearance, too, of +being assured of the justice of his cause, and perfectly confident of +success, which was encouraging to the prisoner and his friends. + +After the necessary preliminaries and statements had been gone through +with, the witnesses against the prisoner and in his favor were called, +who testified to the fact of the murder, and to the prisoner’s natural +quickness of temper, inducing fits of sudden passion, which, even in +childhood, seemed at times hardly to leave him the mastery of himself. +Friends, school-mates, college-mates, in turn gave their testimony to +the prisoner’s kindness of heart, which would not suffer him to harbor +resentment; and yet many instances were mentioned of fierce and +terrible passion, utterly heedless of results for the moment, and yet +passing away quick as the lightning’s flash. + +It was shown that he had no ill-will to young Cranston; on the +contrary, they were generally friendly and affectionate; that they had +been so throughout the evening on which the fatal deed was done. It was +at a supper table, when all were excited by wine; and Cranston, who was +fond of a joke, and rather given to teazing, and being less guarded +than usual, introduced some subject exceedingly unpleasant to young +Elwyn. The quick temper of the latter was aroused at once, and he gave +a hasty and angry reply. The raillery was pushed still farther; and +before those about him had time to interfere, the fatal blow was struck +in frantic passion. + +“And is this no palliating circumstance,” said Mr. W——, “that God has +given to this young man a naturally fierce and hasty temper, which +could not brook that which might be borne more patiently by those whose +blood flows more coldly and sluggishly? Is there no difference to be +made in our judgment of men, because of the different tempers and +dispositions with which they were born? Of course there is!—_of course_ +there is! It has been clearly shown that there was no malice +aforethought in this case; the injury was not brooded over in silence, +and the plan matured in cold blood to murder a class-mate and friend. +No! on the moment of provocation the blow was struck, with but the +single idea of giving vent to the passion which was bursting his +breast. And those who witnessed his deep remorse and agony of mind, +when he discovered the fatal effects of his passion, as, all regardless +of his own safety, he endeavored to restore his expiring friend to +life, have assured me, that though they were witnesses of the whole +scene, they felt for _him_ only the deepest commiseration.” + +And here Mr. W—— paused and wiped his eyes repeatedly, and the sobs of +the young prisoner were heard all over the court room. + +“There was one,” Mr. W—— continued, “of whom he wished to speak, and +whom, on some accounts, he would have been glad to bring before the +jury to-day. But he would not outrage the feelings of his young friend +by urging him to consent to the entreaties of his lovely sister, that +she might be permitted to sit by his side in that prisoner’s seat +to-day. She is his only sister; he her only brother; and they are +orphans.” (Here there was a faltering of the voice, a pause, which was +very effective; and after apparently a great effort, Mr. W—— went on.) + +“She has sat beside him hour after hour, and day after day, in yonder +dreary jail, endeavoring to make the weary hours of solitude and +captivity less irksome, and lead the prisoner’s heart away from earthly +trouble to heavenly comfort. Her hope in the jury of to-day is strong. +She believes they will not doom her young and only brother to an +ignominious death, and a dishonored grave; she even hopes that they +will not consign him to long years of weary imprisonment; she feels +that he is changed; that he no longer trusts to his own strength to +overcome his naturally strong and violent passions; but that his trust +is in the arm of the Lord his God, who ‘turneth the hearts of men as +the rivers of water are turned.’” + +“May He dispose the hearts of these twelve men, on whom the fate of +this youth now hangs, so that they shall show, that like Himself they +are _lovers of mercy_.” + +And Mr. W—— sat down and covered his face with his handkerchief. The +hope and expectation of acquittal now were very strong. + +And now slowly rose the counsel for the prosecution. Mr. G—— was a tall +thin man, of a grave and stern expression of countenance; his hair was +of an iron-gray, and his piercing gray eye shone from under his shaggy +eye-brows like a spark of fire. It was the only thing that looked like +_life_ about him; and when he first rose he began to speak in a slow, +distinct, unimpassioned manner, and without the least attempt at +eloquence. + +“He _had_ intended,” he said, “to call a few more witnesses, but he +found it was utterly unnecessary; those already called had said all he +cared to hear; indeed, he had been much surprised to hear testimony on +the side of the prisoner which he should have thought by right his own. +No one attempts to deny the fact of the killing, and that the deed was +done by the hand of the prisoner. The question for us to decide is, was +it murder? was it man-slaughter? or was it _nothing at all_? for to +that point my learned adversary evidently wishes to conduct us.” + +“The young man it appears, by the testimony of friends and +school-mates, has always been of a peculiarly quick and fiery temper; +so much so it seems, that a playful allusion, or what is commonly +called a _teazing_ expression, could not be indulged in at his expense +but his companion was instantly felled to the ground. And was _he_ the +one to arm himself with bowie-knife or revolver? Should one who was +perfectly conscious that he had not the slightest control over his +temper, keep about him a murderous weapon ready to do its deed of death +upon any friend who might unwittingly, in an hour of revelry, touch +upon some sore spot?” + +“As soon would I approach a keg of gun-powder with a lighted candle in +my hand, as have aught to do with one so fiery and so armed for +destruction. It has been said that it is the custom for young men in +some of our colleges to go thus armed; the more need of signal +vengeance upon the work of death they do. Gentlemen of the jury, if +this practice is not loudly rebuked we shall have work of this kind +accumulating rapidly on our hands.” + +“‘It was done in the heat of frenzied passion, and so the prisoner must +go unpunished.’ My learned friend argued not so, when he appeared in +this place against the murder Wiley; poor, ignorant, and half-witted; +who with his eyes starting from his head with starvation, entered a +farmer’s house, and in the extremity of his suffering demanded bread. +And on being told by the woman of the house to take himself off to the +nearest tavern and get bread, caught up a carving knife and stabbed her +to the heart, seized a piece of bread, and fled from the house. He had +a fiendish temper too; it was rendered fiercer by starvation; and when +asked why he did the dreadful deed, he said he never could have dragged +himself on three miles to the nearest tavern, and he had no money to +buy bread when he got there. He must die anyway, and it might as well +be on the gallows as by the road-side.” + +“He, poor fellow, had no friends; he had been brought up in vice and +misery; he had no gentle sister to lead him in the paths of virtue, a +kind word was never spoken to him; a crust of bread was denied him when +he was starving; and above all, he had no wealthy friend to pay an +enormous counsel fee, and my learned opponent standing where he did +just now, called loudly on the jury and said, ‘away with such a fellow +from the earth!’” + +“Do not think me blood-thirsty or unfeeling. The innocent sufferer in +this case, the sister of this unfortunate young man, has my deepest +sympathy and commiseration, as she has that of this audience and the +jury. But could those here present have gone with me”—(here the speaker +paused, too agitated to proceed)—“to yonder desolated home; had they +seen a mother, lately widowed, and four young sisters, around the bier +where lay the remains of the murdered son and brother—their only hope +next to God—he for whom they were all toiling early and late, that, +when his education was completed, he in turn might work for them,—had +they heard that mother’s cry for strength, now that her last earthly +prop was thus rudely snatched away, they would have found food for pity +there. I tell you, my friends, I pray that I may never be called upon +to witness such a scene again!” + +Wiping his cheeks repeatedly, Mr. G——resumed: + +“These tears surprise me; for I am not used to the ‘melting mood,’ and +I cannot afford to weep as readily as my learned opponent, who will +count his pile of bank notes for every tear he sheds, and think those +tears well expended. I speak for an outraged community; my sympathies +are with the poor—with the widow and the fatherless—with those whose +only son and brother has been cut off in his hope and promise, and +consigned to an early grave.” + +“Shall these things take place unnoticed and unpunished?—and for a +light and hasty word, shall our young men of promise be cut down in the +midst of their days, and the act go unrebuked of justice? I look not so +much at this individual case as to the general good. Were I to look +only on the prisoner, I too might yield to feeling, and forget justice. +But feeling must not rule here: in the court room, justice alone should +have sway; and I call upon the jury to decide as impartially in this +case as if the poorest and most neglected wretch, brought up in vice +and wretchedness, sat there, instead of the handsome and interesting +prisoner; and I call upon the jury to show that, though in private life +they may be ‘lovers of mercy,’ yet, where the general good is so deeply +involved, they are determined to ‘deal justly’ with the prisoner.” + +The judge then gave his charge to the jury, which was thought to lean +rather to the side of the prisoner, though he agreed with Mr. G——, that +some sharp rebuke should be given to the practice, so common among the +young men in some of our colleges, of carrying about with them +offensive weapons. + +The prisoner was led back to the jail; the jury retired; and it being +now evening, the court room was deserted. + + + + +XIX. +The Sealed Paper. + + +“Sister, thy brother is won by thee.”—MRS. HEMANS. + + +The verdict would not be made known till the next morning. Oh! what a +night of mental torture was that to the devoted sister of the prisoner! +The terrible suspense left it out of her power to remain quiet for a +moment, but she restlessly paced the room, watching for the dawn of +day, and yet dreading the signs of its approach. Her aunt, who remained +with her during that anxious night, endeavored as well as she could to +soothe and calm her excited feelings; but how little there was to be +said; she could only point her to the Christian’s never-failing trust +and confidence; and it was only by constant supplications for strength +from on high, as she walked the room, that Agnes was enabled to retain +the slightest appearance of composure, or, as it seemed to her, to keep +her brain from bursting. + +The longest night will have an end, and morning at length dawned on the +weary eyes of the watchers. The family rose and breakfasted early, for +an intense excitement reigned throughout the house. Agnes begged to be +allowed to remain in her own room; and though, in compliance with the +entreaties of her friends, she endeavored to eat, she could not swallow +a morsel. Mr. Wharton came early; and soon after breakfast, he and Dr. +Rodney went out. At nine o’clock the court were to assemble, to hear +the verdict; and from that moment, Agnes seated herself at the window, +with her hands pressed on her aching forehead, and her eyes straining +to catch the first glimpse of them as they returned. + +She sat thus for an hour or more at the window, and at the end of that +time the crowds began to pass the house, and she soon caught sight of +Dr. Rodney and her uncle. They did not hasten as if they had joyful +news to tell, and as Agnes in her agitation rose as they approached the +gate, and watched their faces as they came up the gravel walk, she saw +there enough to tell her the whole story; and pressing both hands upon +her heart she sat down again, for she had no longer strength to stand. +In a few moments she heard her uncle’s step coming slowly towards her +room. As the door opened very gently she did not raise her head; it had +fallen upon her breast, and she was asking for strength to bear what +she knew was coming. When at length she looked towards her uncle she +saw him standing with his hand still on the lock, and gazing at her +intently. His face was of an ashy paleness, and he seemed irresolute +whether to approach her or to leave the room. + +“Uncle,” gasped Agnes, “do not speak now; there is no need; I see it +all,” and slowly she fell to the floor and forgot her bitter sorrow in +long insensibility. When she recovered it was nearly mid-day, and only +her aunt was sitting by her bedside. + +“Aunty,” said she, as if bewildered, “what time is it?” Her aunt told +her the time. + +“And is it possible,” said Agnes, “that I have slept so late?” and then +pressing her hands to her head, she said: + +“Who said ‘_condemned_’ and ‘_sentenced_?’” + +“No one has said those words to you, dear Agnes,” said Mrs. Wharton. + +“But oh, aunty!” she exclaimed, seizing Mrs. Wharton’s hand, “it is +_true_, is it not? Yes, I know it is. My poor young brother! And here I +have been wasting the time when he wants me so much. I must get up this +moment and go to him.” + +Her aunt endeavored to persuade her to remain quiet, telling her that +Mr. Malcolm was with Lewie, and that he was not left alone for a +moment. Agnes insisted, however, upon rising, but on making the attempt +her head became dizzy and she sank back again upon her pillow; and this +was the beginning of a brain fever, which kept her confined to her bed +in unconscious delirium for more than three weeks. In her delirium she +seemed to go back to the days of her childhood, and live them over +again with all the trouble they caused her young heart. Sometimes she +fancied herself a lonely prisoner again in the cold north room, and +sometimes pleading with her little brother, and begging him to “be a +good boy, and to try and not be so cross.” At one time Dr. Rodney had +little hope of her life, and after that he feared permanent loss of +reason, but in both fears he was disappointed. Agnes recovered at +length, and with her mind as clear as ever. + +During the days when she was convalescing, but still too weak to leave +her bed, her impatience to get to her brother was so great, that the +doctor feared it would retard her recovery. It could not be concealed +from her that Lewie was ill, and the consciousness that she was so +necessary to him, made it the more difficult for Agnes to exercise that +patience and calmness which were requisite to ensure a return of her +strength. Lewie had taken to his bed, immediately after his return to +the jail, on the morning of the sentence, and had not left it since. He +seemed fast sinking into a decline, and much of the good doctor’s time +was taken up in ministering at the bed-side of the brother and sister. + +At length Agnes was so much better that the doctor consented to her +paying her brother a visit. She found him in the condemned cell, but no +manacles were necessary to fetter his limbs, for a chain stronger than +iron bolts confined him to his bed, and that strong chain was perfect +weakness. Though his cell was darker and more dungeon-like, yet through +the kindness of friends the sick young prisoner was made as comfortable +as possible. By a very strong effort Agnes so far commanded herself as +to retain an appearance of outward composure, during that first meeting +after so long and so eventful a separation; and now began again the +daily ministrations of Agnes at the bed-side of her brother, for in +consideration of his feeble condition his sister was permitted to +remain with him constantly. + +Lewie knew that he was failing; “I think,” said he to Agnes, “that God +will call for my spirit before the time comes for man to set it free. +But oh! Agnes, if I could once more look upon the green earth, and the +blue sky, and breathe the pure fresh air; and die _free_.” + +It was after longings for freedom like these, that when Agnes returned +to Dr. Rodney’s one evening, (for ever since the trial, at the earnest +request of the kind doctor and his wife, she had made their house her +home except when with her brother,) she found her cousin Grace, who +often came over to pass the night with her, waiting her arrival with +tidings in her face. + +“Agnes,” said she, “I have heard something to-day which may possibly +cast a ray of hope on Lewie’s case yet.” + +“What can it be, dear Grace?” asked Agnes. + +“Who do you think the new Governor’s wife is, Agnes?” + +“I am sure I cannot imagine.” + +“Do you remember that strange girl, Ruth Glenn?” + +“Certainly.” + +“Well, it is she. Only think how strange! I have no idea how much +influence she has with the Governor; but unless she has changed +wonderfully in her feelings, she would do anything in the world to +serve you, Agnes, as she ought.” + +“Oh, blessings on you, Grace! I will go; there _may_ be hope in it; and +if poor Lewie could only die free; for die he must, the doctor assures +me—perhaps before the flowers bloom.” + +“Father will go with you, Agnes. I have been talking with him about +it.” + +“Oh, how very, very kind you all are to us!” said Agnes. “Then, no time +must be lost, Grace; and if uncle will go with me, we will start as +early as possible in the morning.” + +Agnes rose early the next morning, with something like a faint tinge of +color in her cheek, lent to it by the excitement of hope; and after +visiting her brother, to give some explanation of the cause of her +absence, she took her seat in the carriage by her uncle, for they must +ride some miles in order to reach the cars. + +They reached the Capitol that afternoon; and Agnes, who felt that she +had very little time to spare, left the hotel a few moments after their +arrival in the city, and, leaning on her uncle’s arm, sought the +Governor’s house. Agnes felt her heart die within her as she ascended +the broad flight of marble steps. Years had passed, and many changes +had taken place since she had met Ruth Glenn. Would she find her again +in the Governor’s lady? + +Mrs. F—— was at home, and Mr. Wharton left Agnes at the door, thinking +that, on all accounts, the interview had better be private. “He should +return for her in an hour or two,” he said, “when he intended to call +upon the Governor, who had once been a class-mate and intimate friend.” + +Having merely sent word by the servant that an old friend wished to see +Mrs. F——, Agnes was shown into a large and elegantly-furnished parlor, +to await her coming. In a few moments, she heard a light step +descending the stairs, and the rustling of a silk dress, and the +Governor’s lady entered the room. + +Could it be possible that this blooming, elegant, graceful woman was +the pale, nervous Ruth Glenn, whom Agnes had befriended at Mrs. +Arlington’s school? To account for this extraordinary change, we must +go back a few years, which we can fortunately do in a few moments, and +give a glance at Ruth Glenn’s history. + +She had left school almost immediately after Agnes and her cousins, +having been recommended by Mrs. Arlington to a lady who was looking for +a governess to her children. Here she became acquainted with a lawyer +who visited frequently at the house; a middle-aged man, and a widower, +who was just then looking out for some one to take care of himself and +his establishment. By one of those unaccountable whims which men +sometimes take, this man (who, from his position and wealth, might have +won the hand of almost any accomplished and dashing young lady of his +acquaintance,) was attracted towards the plain, silent governess, and +he very soon, to the astonishment of all, made proposals to her, which +were accepted. + +Soon after their marriage, business made it necessary for Mr. F—— to go +to Europe, and Ruth accompanied him. A sea voyage and two years’ travel +abroad entirely restored her health, and with it came, what her husband +had never looked for—_beauty_; while the many opportunities for +improvement and cultivation which she enjoyed, and the good society +into which she was thrown, worked a like marvellous change in her +manners. All her nervous diffidence banished, and in its place she had +acquired a dignified self-possession and grace of manner, which fitted +her well for the station of influence she was to occupy. Soon after her +return, her husband was elected Governor; and the city was already +ringing with praises of the loveliness and affability of the new +Governor’s wife. + +No wonder, then, that as Agnes rose to meet her they stood looking at +each other in silence for a moment; Agnes vainly endeavoring to +discover a trace of Ruth Glenn in the easy and elegant woman before +her, and Mrs. F—— trying to divine who this guest who had called +herself an old friend might be. + +For sickness and sorrow had changed Agnes too. Her bright bloom was all +gone; her charming animation of manner had given place to a settled +sadness; and though still most lovely, as she stood in her deep +mourning dress, she was but a wreck of the Agnes Elwyn of former years. + +But when after a moment Agnes said, “Ruth, do you not know me?” + +The scream of delight with which Ruth opened her arms, and clasped her +to her breast, crying out, “_Agnes Elwyn!_—my dear, dear Agnes!” +convinced her that in heart at least her old school-mate was unchanged. +Ruth immediately took Agnes to her own room, that they might be +undisturbed, for she guessed at once her purpose in coming; and then +Agnes opened to her her burdened heart; relating all her brother’s +history; telling her of his naturally strong passions, and saying all +that was necessary to say, in justice to her brother, of the +injudicious training he had received; at the same time treating her +mother’s memory with all possible delicacy and respect. + +“And now, dear Ruth,” she said, “I do not come to ask that my young +brother shall be permitted to walk forth to do like evil again;—there +would be no danger of that, even if he were not greatly changed, as I +solemnly believe he is, in heart and temper; for his doom is sealed; +consumption is wasting his frame;—we only ask that we may carry him +forth to die and be buried among his kindred. Oh! how he pines for the +free air and the blue sky, and longs to die elsewhere than in a +condemned cell! If I might be permitted to remove him to my uncle’s +kind home, where he could have comforts and friends about him, I could +close his eyes, it seems to me, with thankfulness, for I do believe +that the Christian’s hope is his.” + +Ruth’s sympathizing tears had been flowing down her cheeks, as, with +her hand clasping that of Agnes, she had listened to her sad story. She +now rose, and said she would go to her husband, who was slightly +indisposed, and confined to his room, and prepare him to see Agnes. +“And do, Agnes, talk to him just as you have done to me,” she said. “He +is called a stern man; but he has tender feelings, I can assure you, if +the right chord is only touched.” + +Ruth was gone a long time, and Agnes walked the floor of her room in a +state of suspense and agitation only equalled by that of the night +after the trial. At length Ruth returned: she looked sad and troubled. + +“Agnes,” said she, “you must see my husband yourself, and say to him +all you have said to me. He is deeply grateful for all you have done +for me, and would do anything in the world for you except what he +thinks, or what he seems to think, would be yielding to the call of +feeling at the expense of justice. He says his predecessor has been +much censured for so often granting pardons to criminals, especially to +any who had influential friends; and I fear that, in avoiding his +errors, he will go to the opposite extreme. He remembers your brother’s +case well, and says, that though it could not be called _deliberate_ +murder, still it was murder; and he agrees with the lawyer, Mr. G——, +that some signal reproof should be given to this practice among the +young men of carrying about them offensive weapons. This is all he +said; but he has consented to see you, and is expecting you. I shall +leave you alone with him; and oh! Agnes, do speak as eloquently as you +did to me. I know he cannot resist it.” + +The Governor, a tall, fine-looking man, was wrapped in his +dressing-gown, and seated in his easy chair. He rose to receive Agnes, +gave her a cordial welcome as a friend to his wife, and bade her take a +seat beside him; but there was something in his look which said, that +he did not mean to be convinced against his better judgment by two +women. + +Agnes was at first too much agitated to speak; but the Governor kindly +re-assured her, by asking her some questions about her brother’s case, +and soon she thought of nothing but him; her courage all revived; and +with an eloquence the more effective from being all unstudied, she told +her brother’s story to the Governor. “He is so young,” said she, “only +eighteen years old; and yet he must die. But, oh! sir, if you would but +save him from being dragged in his weakness to a death of shame, or +from lingering out his few remaining days in that close, dark cell; oh! +if he might only die free!” + +“Ruth tells me,” said the Governor, quietly, “that your uncle, Mr. +Wharton, is with you. Is it William Wharton, of C—— County?” + +Agnes answered in the affirmative. + +“Once a very good friend of mine,” said he; “but it is many years since +we have met. Where is he?” + +“He came to the door with me,” answered Agnes, “and will return for me +soon. He hoped to have the pleasure of seeing you, sir.” + +“I will see him when he comes,” said the Governor. “Go you back to +Ruth, my dear young lady. I will think of all you have said.” + +When Mr. Wharton called, he was admitted to the Governor; and the two +former friends, after a cordial greeting, were closeted together for a +long time. He confirmed all that Agnes said of her brother, and assured +the Governor that it was the opinion of physicians that he could not +recover, and might not last a month. He spoke long and feelingly of the +devotion of Agnes to her brother, in attendance upon whom, in his +loneliness and imprisonment, she had worn out health and strength. + +The eyes of the Governor now glistened with emotion as he said, “Well, +well, I hope I shall not be doing wrong. At what time do you leave in +the morning, Mr. Wharton?” + +“In the very first train. Agnes cannot be longer from her brother’s +bedside.” + +“Can you bring her here for one moment before you leave?” + +“Certainly.” + +“Well, then, tell her to lie down to-night, and sleep in peace; and may +Heaven bless a sister so devoted, and a friend so true.” + +The Governor was not so well when Mr. Wharton and Agnes called the next +morning; but Ruth. appeared, her face radiant with joy, and, throwing +her arms around Agnes’ neck, she put into her hand a _sealed paper_. + + + + +XX. +Twice Free. + + + “Oh liberty! +Thou choicest gift of Heaven, and wanting which +Life is as nothing.”—KNOWLES. + + +Oh! the sunshine, and the glad earth, and the singing of the birds of +early spring, to the prisoner, sick, and worn, and weary! How the +feeble pulse already begins to throb with pleasure, and life which had +seemed so valueless before, looks lovely and much to be desired now. + +The official announcement of the pardon reached Hillsdale almost as +soon as Agnes herself, and the friends of the young prisoner lost no +time in removing him as gently and as comfortably as possible, to his +uncle’s kind home at Brook Farm. Here nothing was left undone by his +devoted friends to soothe his declining days; and with a heart +overflowing with gratitude and love, Lewie sank quietly towards the +grave. + +He was very gentle now, and the change in him was so great, that his +sister doubted not that repentance and faith had done their work. His +own doubts and fears were many, though sometimes a glimmering of hope +would beam through the clouds which seemed to have gathered about him. +One day, after a long conversation with Agnes upon the love and mercy +of God, he said: + +“Well Agnes, it may be, there is hope for me too; I know He is +all-powerful and all-merciful; why, as you say, should not his mercy +extend even to me?” + +“He is _able_ and _willing_ to save unto the uttermost,” said Agnes. + +“Unto—the—uttermost! Unto—the—uttermost!” repeated the sick youth +slowly; then looking up with his beautiful eye beaming with +expression;— + +“Yes, Agnes,” said he, “I will trust him!” + +Day by day he grew weaker, and at times his sufferings were intense; +but such a wonderful patience and calmness possessed him, and he seemed +so to forget self in his thought for others, that Mrs. Wharton said, in +speaking of him: + +“I never so fully realized the import of the words ‘_a new creature_.’ +Who would think that this could be our impetuous, thoughtless Lewie, of +former times.” + +“You must make some allowance for the languor of sickness, my dear,” +said Mr. Wharton, who of course did not see so much of the invalid as +those who had the immediate charge of him. + +“Weakness, I grant, would make him less impetuous and violent,” +answered his wife, “but would it make him patient, and docile, and +considerate, if there were not some radical change in his feelings and +temper?” + +During the last few days of his life, and when the flickering flame was +hourly expected to die out, his uncle saw more of him, and he, too, +became convinced of the change in Lewie, and was certain that for him +to die would be gam. And at last, with words of prayer upon his lips +and a whisper of his sister’s name, he sank away as gently as an infant +drops asleep. + +“How like he looks,” said old Mammy, with the tears streaming down her +withered cheeks, “how like he looks, with the bonny curls lying round +his forehead, to what he did the day he lay like death at the +Hemlock’s, when he was only two years old.” + +Mrs. Wharton’s mind immediately reverted to the scene, and to that +young mother’s prayer of agony, “Oh, for his life! his life!” and as +she thought over the events of that short life of sin and sorrow, she +said within herself, “Oh! who can tell what to choose for his portion! +Thou Lord, who knowest the end from the beginning, choose Thou our +changes for us, and help us in the darkest hour to say, ‘Thy will be +done.’” + +And in the quiet spot where the willow bends, and the brook murmurs, by +the side of his mother, and near the grave of Rhoda Edwards, rest the +remains of _Lewie_. + +It is strange how much a human heart may suffer and yet beat on and +regain tranquillity, and even cheerfulness at last. It is a most +merciful provision of Providence, that our griefs do not always press +upon us as heavily as they do at first, else how could the burden of +this life of change and sorrow be borne. But the loved ones are not +forgotten when the tear is dried and the smile returns to the cheek; +they are remembered, but with less of sadness and gloom in the +remembrance; and at length, if we can think of them as happy, it is +only a pleasure to recall them to mind. + +So Agnes found it, as after a few months of rest and quiet in her +uncle’s happy home, the gloom of her sorrow began to fade away, the +color returned to her cheek, and she began to be like the Agnes of +former times. And now that health and energy had returned, she began to +long for employment again, and though she knew it would cost a great +struggle to leave her dear friends at Brook Farm, she began to urge +them all to be on the watch for a situation for her as governess or +teacher. + +At length, one day, some months after her brother’s death, Mr. Wharton +entered the room where she was sitting, and said: + +“Agnes, there is a gentleman down stairs, who would like to engage you +to superintend the education of his children.” + +If Agnes had looked closely at her uncle’s face, she would have +observed a very peculiar expression there; but only laying aside her +work, she said: + +“Please say to him, uncle, that I will come down in one moment.” + +With a quiet step and an unpalpitating heart, Agnes opened the parlor +door, and found herself alone with—Mr. Harrington! + +And here we will end our short chapter, though enough was said that +morning to make it a very long one, as it certainly was an eventful one +in the history of Agnes. + + + + +XXI +The Winding Up or the Turning Point, whichever the Reader likes Best. + + +“Still at thy father’s board +There is kept a place for thee +And by thy smile restored, +Joy round the hearth shall be.”—MRS. HEMANS. + + +“He will not blush that has a father’s heart, +To take in childish plays a childish part, +But bends his sturdy back to any toy +That youth takes pleasure in, to please his boy.”—COWPER + + +“What do you think, Calista?—what _do_ you think?” asked Miss Evelina +Fairland of her sister, about two years after she had asked these same +questions before. “There are masons, and carpenters, and painters, and +paperers, and gardeners, at work at the old Rookery; a perfect army of +laborers have been sent down from the city. What can it mean?” + +“I cannot imagine, I am sure,” answered Miss Calista, “unless Mr. +Harrington is really going to settle down, and look out for a wife at +last.” And Miss Calista looked in the glass over her sister’s shoulder, +and both faces looked more faded and considerably older than when we +saw them last. + +“Do you know,” said Miss Evelina, “that I really believe Agnes Elwyn +thought the man was in love with _her_?” + +“Absurd!” exclaimed Miss Calista. “Besides, if he ever had entertained +such a thought, he would not, of course, think of anything of the kind +since that affair of her brother’s. Such a disgrace, you know!” + +The appearance of the old Rookery changed so rapidly, that it seemed +almost as if the fairies had been at work; and in a few weeks, glimpses +of a fair and elegant mansion, with its pretty piazzas and porticos, +could be seen between the noble oaks which surrounded the mansion. And +now Miss Calista and Evelina, who kept themselves informed of all that +was going on at the Rookery, reported that “the _most magnificent_ +furniture” had come, and the curtains and pictures were being hung, and +it was certain that the owner of the place would be there soon. + +At length a travelling carriage, in which was seated Mr. Harrington, +with a lady by his side, and two little girls in front, was seen by +these indefatigable ladies to drive rapidly through the street, and out +towards the Rookery. The lady was in mourning, and her veil was down. +Who could she be? + +And now it was rumored in the village that Mr. Harrington was actually +married; and whenever he met any of his old acquaintances, he invited +them with great cordiality to call to see his wife. The Misses Fairland +determined not to be outdone by any, and, the more effectually to +conceal their own disappointment, were among the first to call. + +Who can conceive of their astonishment and mortification, when they +found that the mistress of the Rookery was no other than the former +governess, Agnes Elwyn! Agnes received them with the utmost kindness; +begged them to ask their father, whom she remembered with much +affection, to come very soon to see her; was much pleased to hear how +happy Rosa and Jessie were at Mrs. Arlington’s; and brought them +tidings of Frank, who was under Mr. Malcolm’s care. + +“And where is that delightful gentleman who was with Mr. Harrington, +when he was here two summers since—Mr. Wharton I think his name was?” +asked Miss Evelina. + +“Mr. Tom Wharton? Oh, he will be here in a few days. He has purchased +the place next to us, and is about to build there. I suppose, as it is +no longer a secret, I may tell you that he is soon to be married to my +cousin, Effie Wharton. They will remain with us most of the time till +their house is finished.” + +The countenances of the visitors fell on hearing this, and they soon +rose and took leave. + +And now we know not better how to wind up or _run down_ our story, than +to pass over two or three years and introduce our reader to another +Christmas party at Mr. Wharton’s, for it still is the custom, for all +the scattered members of the family to gather in the paternal mansion +to spend the Christmas holidays. + +Mr. and Mrs. Wharton appear as a fine-looking middle-aged couple, on +whom the years sit lightly, for their lives have been happy and useful +ones, and there is no such preservative of fresh and youthful looks, as +a contented mind and an untroubled conscience. The two older sons are +married. Robert is settled as a clergyman in a western village, and +Albert as a merchant in the city; these with their wives, most charming +women both, are there. + +Mr. Malcolm, who wondered more and more that he ever had the +presumption to suppose that such a woman as Emily Wharton could fancy +him, at last so recovered from his disappointment as again to entertain +thoughts of matrimony; and he and our friend Grace have been married +about six months, and are nicely settled in their own pretty house at +Hillsdale, where Mr. Malcolm is still the loved and honored pastor. +Cousin Emily, calm and tranquil as ever to all outward appearance, +aided in the preparations and appeared at the wedding, and it was no +cause of wonderment to any, that she was confined to her bed the next +day with one of her nervous headaches, for great excitement and fatigue +were always too much for cousin Emily. + +Mr. Tom Wharton and Effie are at home too, the former no whit more +sedate, in consequence of the added dignities of husband and father +which attach to him. + +And our own dear Agnes is there too, with her husband, her two little +step-daughters, and her own little boy, a noble, handsome little +fellow, but with some traits of character which occasionally cause a +pang to cross the heart of his mother; they remind her so of the +childhood of one whose sun went down so early and so sadly. But we hope +much that proper training, with the divine blessing, will so mould and +guide this tender plant, that it will grow up to be an ornament and a +blessing to all around, Agnes makes just such a step-mother as we +should expect, and her dear little girls feel that in her they have +indeed found a mother. + +But long after all the rest of the large party have been seated at the +dinner-table, there remains a vacant seat, and here at last slowly +comes the expected occupant. + +What, cousin Betty! alive yet? Yes, and “alive like to be,” till she +has finished her century. She retains many of her old, strange habits, +but has long since given up _dying_, as others begin to expect such an +event to happen in the ordinary course of nature; indeed, it rather +hurts cousin Betty’s feelings to be spoken of as a very aged person, or +as one whose time on earth is probably short. She is laying her plans +for the future as busily as any one, and it may be that her old +wrinkled face will be seen in its accustomed haunts long after some of +the blooming ones around that board are mouldering in the grave. + +Old Mammy too, whose home has been with Agnes ever since her marriage, +has come back to her old home for the Christmas holidays. But Mammy is +a good deal broken, and nothing is required of her by her kind +mistress, except such little offices as it is a pleasure to her to +perform. + +Cousin Emily, the “old maid cousin,” as she calls herself, is in great +demand; indeed, as she says, she is a perfect “bone of contention,” and +in order to keep peace with all, she has had to divide the year into +four parts, and give three months to each of those who have the +strongest claim upon her time. It is always a season of rejoicing when +cousin Emily arrives, with her ever cheerful face, her entertaining +conversation for the older ones, and her fund of stories and anecdotes +for the children. + +After dinner came an old-fashioned Christmas frolic, and the older ones +were children again, and the children as wild and noisy as they chose +to be. Mr. Wharton on entering the room suddenly, saw his nephew, Mr. +Tom, going around the room on all fours, as a horse, driven by his only +son and heir, Master Tom, junior. + +“Tom,” said Mr. Wharton suddenly, “how do you prefer calf’s head?” + +“What do you mean by that, uncle?” said Mr. Tom, pausing a moment and +looking up. + +“I took some notes of a certain conversation which took place some +years ago,” said his uncle, “in which a certain young gentleman called +a certain old gentleman _a calf_, because he made such a fool of +himself as to be a horse for his little son to drive; and this young +gentleman said he would sooner eat his head, than make such an +exhibition of himself.” + +“Well, circumstances do alter cases, don’t they, uncle?” said Mr. Tom, +beginning to prance about again under the renewed blows of the whip in +Master Tom junior’s hand. + +Mrs. Arlington and her daughters still keep their school, which is as +popular and flourishing as ever. Rosa and Jessie Fairland are still +under their care, and it is a great pleasure to Agnes to see what fine, +agreeable girls they are growing up to be. They retain a warm affection +for Agnes and pass many a pleasant day at the Rookery, when they are at +home for a vacation. Frank is still under Mr. Malcolm’s care, and a +member of his family, Mr. Malcolm finds him a much more tractable pupil +than one we know of, to whom he tried to do his duty many years ago. +And we must not close without saying a word of the kind, true-hearted, +Ruth Glenn. Governor F——, at the close of his term of office was +re-elected, and when at last he left the city and returned to his +country home, it was with the deep regrets of all the many friends +which his residence in the capitol had not failed to create for +himself, and his amiable wife. As she passed within a few miles of +Wilston, Mrs. F—— turned out of her way to stop and pay Agnes a short +visit, and she found again the bright and cheerful Agnes of former +times; and many a pleasant hour the friends enjoyed together, in +talking over the days and _nights_ at Mrs. Arlington’s school, for even +out of the latter they could now draw some amusing recollections. + +Miss Calista and Miss Evelina are still on the “look out.” The wife of +the clergyman at Wilston, having died about a year since, Miss Calista, +ever ready to take advantage of any _opening_, began immediately to +attend church very regularly, and with a vary sanctimonious and +attentive air. It remains to be seen whether anything comes of it. + +And now our task is done. If the sad story of the short life of poor +Lewie, will be the means of leading any mother to use more carefully +and more conscientiously, the power which she _alone_ possesses now, of +training aright the little plants in her nursery, so that they may grow +up fair and flourishing, and bear good fruit; and in time repay her +care by the fragrance and beauty and comfort which they shower about +her declining days, it will be enough. And may each little plant, so +trained, bloom evermore in the paradise of God. + +THE END. + + + + +Every one is Enraptured with the Book—Every one will Read it! + +SIX THOUSAND PUBLISHED IN THIRTY DAYS! + +UPS AND DOWNS, + + +Or Silver Lake Sketches. + +BY COUSIN CICELY, Author of Lewie or the Bended Twig + +_One Elegant 12mo. Vol., with Ten Illustrations by Coffin, and engraved + +by the best artists. Cloth, gilt_, $1.25. + +ALDEN & BEARDSLEY, Auburn and Rochester, N.Y., Publishers + +_The Critics give it Unqualified Commendation_. + +Cousin Cicely’s “Lewie, or the Bended Twig,” published and widely read +not long ago, was a volume to sharpen the reader’s appetite for “more +of the same sort.” ***** ‘Ups and Downs’ is a cluster of sketches and +incidents in real life, narrated with a grace of thought and flow of +expression rarely to be met. The sketches well entitle the volume to +its name, for they are pictures of many sides of life—some grave, some +gay, some cheering and some sad, pervaded by a genial spirit and +developing good morals. + +Either of the fifteen sketches will amply repay the purchaser of the +volume, and unless our judgment is false, _after a careful reading_, +“Ups and Downs” will make an impression beyond “the pleasant effect to +while away a few unoccupied moments.” The Publishers have given Cousin +Cicely’s gems a setting worthy of their brilliancy. The ten +illustrations are capital in design and execution, and it strikes us as +remarkable how such a volume can be profitably got up at the price for +which it is sold. The secret must lie in large circulation—which “Ups +and Downs” is certain to secure.—N.Y. _Evening Mirror_. + +_Who is Cousin Cicely_?—We begin to think Cousin Cicely is _somebody_, +and feel disposed to ask, who is she? We several months ago noticed her +“Lewie” in this journal. It is a story with a fine moral, beautiful and +touching in its development. It has already quietly made its way to a +circulation of _twelve thousand_, “without beating a drum or crying +oysters.” Pretty good evidence that there is something in it. Our +readers have already had a taste of “_Ups and Downs_,” for we find +among its contents a story entitled “_Miss Todd, M.D., or a Disease of +the Heart_,” which was published in this journal a few months ago We +venture to say that _no one_ who read has forgotten it, and those who +remember it will be glad to know where they can find plenty more of the +“same sort.”—_U.S. Journal_. + +* * * Sketches of life as it is, and of some things as they should be; +all drawn with a light pencil, and abounding with touches of real +genius, Cousin Cicely has improved her former good reputation in our +opinion, by this effort.—_The Wesleyan_. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEWIE *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Lewie or, The Bended Twig</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Cousin Cicely<br /> + AKA Sarah Hopkins Bradford (b. 1818)</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: March 3, 2005 [eBook #15244]<br /> +[Most recently updated: December 16, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Juliet Sutherland, Graeme Mackreth and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEWIE ***</div> + +<h1>Lewie;<br /> +or,<br /> +The Bended Twig</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Cousin Cicely</h2> + +<h5>AUTHOR OF THE “SILVER LAKE STORIES,” ETC. ETC.</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +“Train up this child for me, and I will give thee thy wages.” +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Mother! thy gentle hand hath mighty power,<br/> +For thou alone may’st train, and guide, and mould,<br/> +Plants that shall blossom with an odor sweet,<br/> +Or like the cursed fig-tree, wither and become<br/> +Vile cumberers of the ground.”<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="center"> +AUBURN:<br/> +ALDEN, BEARDSLEY & CO.<br/> +ROCHESTER:<br/> +WANZER, BEARDSLEY & CO.<br/> +1854. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by<br/> +ALDEN BEARDSLEY & CO.<br/> +In the Clerk’s Office for the Northern District of New York. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref01">Preface</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref02">Detailed Contents</a><br/><br/></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. LITTLE AGNES.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. BROOK FARM.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. CHRISTMAS TIME.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. COUSIN BETTY.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. HOME AGAIN.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. THE TABLEAUX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. THE GOVERNESS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. BITTER DISAPPOINTMENTS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. EMILY’S TRIALS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. THE TUTOR AND THE PUPIL.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. RUTH GLENN.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. LEWIE AT SCHOOL.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. NEW SCENES FOR AGNES.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. THE SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. THE STRANGERS IN THE ROOKERY.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. DEATH AND THE FUGITIVE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. THE JAIL.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII. THE TRIAL.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX. THE SEALED PAPER.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX. TWICE FREE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI. THE WINDING UP.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/img01.jpg" width="700" height="537" alt="[Illustration]" /> +<p class="caption"><small>BROOK FARM</small></p> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="pref01"></a>Preface.</h2> + +<p> +It seems to be thought that a preface or introduction of some sort is +absolutely necessary to a book; why, I do not know, unless it be that it looks +rather abrupt to begin one’s story without a word as to the why or +wherefore of its being written. This in the present case can be said very +shortly. +</p> + +<p> +The principal events in the following story, the loved and petted child being, +as it seemed, given back to life in answer to the mother’s importunate +cry; the indulgence under which he grew up, and the fatal consequences of that +indulgence upon a temper such as his; are taken from real life, and may be used +as sad warnings to those who shrink from the present trouble and pain, of +rightly training the little ones God has given them. +</p> + +<p> +The story of the Governess is a true one in every particular; names only being +altered; I believe there are none remaining now whose feelings will be pained +by this sad history being made public, so far as this little book may make it +so, but there are one or two I know, and perhaps more, now living, who will +smile if the chapter entitled “Ruth Glenn” meets their eyes, when +they remember the disturbed nights years ago at a certain city boarding school. +If she to whom I have given this name should ever see these pages, I hope she +will forgive me for thus “telling tales out of school,” in +consideration of the high station to which by my single voice I have raised +her, and the pleasant memory she leaves behind. +</p> + +<p> +Many other little scenes and incidents interwoven in, the story, are from life. +</p> + +<p> +And now I can only close my preface as I have closed the book, in the earnest +hope that it may have the effect of leading some mothers to train rightly the +little shoots springing up around the parent tree, restraining their wandering +inclinations, and teaching them ever to look and grow towards Heaven. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +THE AUTHOR. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="pref02"></a>Contents.</h2> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I.<br/> +LITTLE AGNES.</a><br/> +Page The cross baby brother—The patient sister—The novel-reading +mamma—The broken work-box—Undeserved punishment—The lock of +papa’s hair—Old Mammy—The cold north room—“Never +alone”—Aunt Wharton—Lewie sick—A pleasant change for +the little prisoner<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II.<br/> +BROOK FARM.</a><br/> +Bridget’s rage—Mammy’s story—The runaway +match—The dead father—The cheerful home at Brook Farm—Cousin +Emily—The ice palace—Christmas secrets—The mother’s +agony—Life from the dead<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III.<br/> +CHRISTMAS TIME.</a><br/> +Preparations for Christmas—The needle-book—Santa Claus himself +expected -Old Cousin Betty—Loads of presents—Christmas +Eve—Appearance of Santa Claus—“Who can he +be?”—Cousin Tom—Poor Emily’s grief<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV.<br/> +COUSIN BETTY.</a><br/> +Cousin Betty—Absence of mind and body—A habit of dying—The +shadow on the wall—Cousin Betty’s ride on Prancer—Training +day—Cousin Betty a captain of militia—Cousin Betty’s stories<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V.<br/> +HOME AGAIN.</a><br/> +Agnes and Mr. Wharton on their way to the Hemlocks—The novel-reading +mamma again—Lewie better—Agnes must stay—A lay sermon to Mrs. +Elwyn—The needle-case—The bitter disappointment<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI.<br/> +THE TABLEAUX.</a><br/> +Lewie roving the woods and fields again—Capricious and fretful +still—The birth-day party at Mr. Wharton’s—Preparations for +tableaux—Another disappointment for Agnes—The sweetest tableaux of +all<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII.<br/> +THE GOVERNESS.</a><br/> +The lady who came for wool—The home in New-England—Midnight +studies—Miss Edwards engaged as governess—A universal +genius—A letter from the long-lost brother—The journey—The +old Virginia church—The ghost no ghost at all—The old +log-house—Horrible murder!—of <i>pigs</i><br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII.<br/> +BITTER DISAPPOINTMENTS.</a><br/> +No news from Miss Edwards—The letter from the strange physician—The +manuscript—The brother found, and where—The +engagement—Desertion—The country house—The “crazy +room”—The Eastern Asylum—Rest at last in the quiet nook<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX.<br/> +EMILY’S TRIALS.</a><br/> +Lewie’s education—Mr. Malcolm tutor at the Hemlocks—Frequent +calls at Brook Farm—Emily’s sufferings—The +disclosure—Strength for time of trial<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X.<br/> +THE TUTOR AND THE PUPIL.</a><br/> +Lewie’s insubordination—Passion and tears—The mother’s +anxiety—Mr. Malcolm’s firmness—No dinner for +Lewie—Sulking—Brought to terms at last—The tutor dismissed<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI.<br/> +RUTH GLENN.</a><br/> +Leaving for boarding-school—Mrs. Arlington and her daughters—The +third story room—The new strange girl—Nocturnal +disturbances—Ruth Glenn’s expostulations—Imminent +danger—The physician consulted—Morning walks—Sad partings<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII.<br/> +LEWIE AT SCHOOL.</a><br/> +The dictator in the play-ground—Strife and contention—The +tormentor—Lewie’s mortification—The sore spot—The +attack upon Colton—The removal from school—Mrs. Elwyn’s +failing health—Agnes summoned—A death bed—Changes proposed to +Agnes—Her departure for Wilston<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII.<br/> +NEW SCENES FOR AGNES.</a><br/> +The two Miss Fairlands—The step-mother—Arrival at +Wilston—Unpromising pupils—Poor Tiney—Dreadful scene at the +tea-table—Tiney’s suffering—The effect of music<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV.<br/> +THE SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING.</a><br/> +A hard task—The children’s toilettes—Bible +teachings—Practical applications—Sunday at Mr. +Fairland’s—The children’s singing—The father’s +tears—A visit to Brook Farm—A visit from Lewie<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV.<br/> +THE STRANGERS IN THE ROOKERY.</a><br/> +An arrival—The Rookery—Mrs. Danby and Bella—A sudden +accident—The rescue—The strangers—An old friend—A row +on the lake—Music on the water—Shrieking in the house—A new +method of laying spirits—Mortifying disclosures by Frank<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI.<br/> +DEATH AND THE FUGITIVE.</a><br/> +Music on the lawn—The midnight interview—The horrid truth +disclosed—Lewie a fugitive from justice—Jealousy of Calista and +Evelina—Poor Tiney’s death bed—The search—The arrest<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII.<br/> +THE JAIL.</a><br/> +Return to Brook Farm—The visit to the jail—The involuntary and the +voluntary prisoner—A talk about the future—Mr. Malcolm’s +visits—The lawyer—The evening before the trial<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII.<br/> +THE TRIAL.</a><br/> +The Court-room—Mr. W.—The testimony—Speeches—Mr. +G.’s agitation—Charge to the jury<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX.<br/> +THE SEALED PAPER.</a><br/> +A night of fearful suspense—The +verdict—Insensibility—Delirium—Meeting between the brother +and sister—Lewie’s illness—Longings for freedom—A +journey to the capital—Ruth Glenn again—The governor—A +sister’s pleadings—Her reward<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX.<br/> +TWICE FREE.</a><br/> +Freedom for the captive—Removal to Brook Farm—Decline—Changes +of temper and heart—A final release—The quiet +nook—Resignation —Cheerfulness—The unexpected visitor<br/><br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI.<br/> +THE WINDING UP.</a><br/> +Repairs at the Rookery—Calista and Evelina on the <i>qui +vive</i>—Mr. Harrington and his bride—Another Christmas +gathering—Farewell, and kind wishes +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>I.<br/> +Little Agnes.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“And she, not seven years old,<br/> +A slighted child.”—WORDSWORTH. +</p> + +<p> +“What <i>is</i> it Lewie wants? Does he want sister’s pretty +book?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” roared the cross baby boy, pointing with his finger to the +side-board. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, see here, Lewie! here is a pretty ball; shall we roll it? There! +now roll it back to sister.” +</p> + +<p> +“No-o-o!” still screamed Master Lewie, the little finger still +stretched out towards something on the side-board which he seemed much to +desire. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is my lovely dolly, Lewie. If you will be very careful, I will let +you take her. See her beautiful eyes! Will Lewie make her open and shut her +eyes?” +</p> + +<p> +“No-o-o-o!” again shouted the fretful child, and this time so loud +as effectually to arouse his youthful mamma, who was deep in an arm-chair, and +deeper still in the last fashionable novel. +</p> + +<p> +“Agnes!” she exclaimed sharply, “cannot you let that child +alone? I told you to amuse him; and instead of doing so, you seem to delight in +teazing him and making him scream.” +</p> + +<p> +Again the little girl tried in various ways to amuse the wayward child. He +really was not well, and felt cross and irritable, and nothing that his little +sister could do to please him would succeed. With the utmost patience and +gentleness she labored to bring a smile to her little brother’s cheek, or +at least so to win his attention as to keep him from disturbing her mother. But +the handkerchief rabbits, and the paper men and women she could cut so +beautifully, and which at times gave little Lewie so much pleasure, were now +all dashed impatiently aside. One by one her little playthings were brought +out, and placed before him, but with no better success. Lewie had once seen the +contents of a beautiful work-box of his sister’s, which stood in the +centre of the side-board: at this he pointed, and for this he screamed. Nothing +else would please him; at nothing else would he condescend to look. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lewie! darling Lewie! play with something else! Don’t you know +Aunt Ellen gave sister that pretty work-box? and she said I must be so careful +of it, and Lewie would break all sister’s pretty things.” +</p> + +<p> +Again Master Lewie had recourse to the strength of his lungs, which he knew, by +past experience, to be all-powerful in gaining whatever his fancy might desire, +and sent forth a roar so loud as once more to arouse the attention of the +novel-reading mamma; who, with a stamp of the foot, and a threatening shake of +the finger, gave the little girl to understand that she must expect instant and +severe punishment, if Lewie was heard to scream again. +</p> + +<p> +Still Lewie demanded the work-box, and nothing that the patient little Agnes +could do would divert his attention from it for a moment. The little angry brow +was contracted, and the mouth wide open for another shriek, when little Agnes, +with a sigh of despair, went to the side-board, and, mounting on a chair, +lifted down her much-valued and carefully-preserved treasure, saying to +herself: +</p> + +<p> +“If Aunt Ellen only <i>knew</i>, I think she would not blame me!” +</p> + +<p> +And now with a shout of delight the spoiled child seized on the pretty +work-box; and in another moment, winders, spools, scissors, thimble, were +scattered in sad confusion over the carpet. In vain did little Agnes try, as +she picked up one after the other of her pretty things, to conceal them from +the baby’s sight; if one was gone, he knew it in a moment, and worried +till it was restored to him. +</p> + +<p> +Finally, laying open the cover of the box, he began to pound with a little +hammer, which was lying near him, upon the looking-glass inside of it; and, +pleased with the noise it made, he struck harder and still harder blows. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, Lewie! please don’t! You will break sister’s pretty +looking-glass. No! Lewie must not!” And Agnes held his little hand. At +this the passionate child threw himself back violently on the floor, and +screamed and shrieked in a paroxysm of rage; in the midst of which, the +threatened punishment came upon poor little Agnes, in the shape of a sharp blow +upon her cheek, from the soft, white hand of her mother, who exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“There! didn’t I tell you so? It seems to be your greatest pleasure +to teaze and torment that poor baby; and you know he is sick, too. Now, miss, +the next time he screams, I shall take you to the north room, and lock you up, +and keep you there on bread and water all day!” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes retreated to a corner, and wept silently, but very bitterly, not so much +from the pain of the blow, as from a sense of injustice and harsh treatment at +the hands of one who should have loved her; and the mother returned to her +novel, in which she was soon as deep as ever. At the same moment, the +looking-glass in the cover of the work-box flew into fifty pieces, under the +renewed blows of the hammer in Master Lewie’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +The little conqueror now had free range among his sister’s hitherto +carefully-guarded treasures; her bits of work, and little trinkets, tokens of +affection from her kind aunt and her young cousins at Brook Farm, were +ruthlessly torn in pieces, or broken and strewed over the floor. Agnes sat in +mute despair. She knew that as long as her mother was absorbed in the novel, no +sound would disturb her less powerful than Lewie’s screams, and that all +else that might be going on in the room would pass unnoticed by her. So, wiping +her eyes, she sat still in the corner, watching Lewie with silent anguish, as +he revelled among her precious things, as “happy as a king” in the +work of destruction, and only hoping that he might not discover one secret +little spot in the corner of the box where her dearest treasure was concealed. +</p> + +<p> +But at length she started, and, with an exclamation of horror, and a cry like +that of pain, she sprang towards her little brother, and violently wrenched +something from his hand. And now the piercing shrieks of the angry and +astonished child filled the house, and brought even Old Mammy to the room, to +see what was the matter with the baby. Mammy opened the door just in time to +witness the severe punishment inflicted upon little Agnes, and to receive an +order to take that naughty girl to the north room, and lock her in, and leave +her there till farther orders. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes had not spoken before, when rebuked by her mother; but now, raising her +mild blue eyes, all dimmed by tears, to her mother’s face, she said: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, mamma! it was papa’s hair!—it was that soft curl I cut +from his forehead, as he lay in his coffin, Lewie was going to tear the +paper!” But even this touching appeal, which should have found its way to +the young widow’s heart, was unheeded by her—perhaps, in the storm +of passion, it was unheard; and Agnes was led away by Mammy to a cold, +unfurnished room, where she had been doomed to spend many an hour, when +<i>Lewie was cross</i>; while the fretful and half-sick child, now tired of his +last play-thing, was taken in his mother’s arms, and rocked till he fell +into a slumber, undisturbed for perhaps an hour, except by a start, when the +tears from his mother’s cheek fell on his—tears caused by the +<i>well-imagined</i> sufferings of the heroine of her romance. +</p> + +<p> +All the time Mammy was leading little Agnes through the wide hall, and up the +broad stairs and—along the upper hall to the door of the “North +Room,” the good old woman was wiping her eyes with her apron, and trying +to choke down something in her throat which prevented her speaking the words of +comfort she wished to say to the sobbing child. When they reached the door of +the room in which little Agnes was to be a prisoner, Mammy sat down, and taking +the child in her lap she took off her own warm shawl and pinned it carefully +around her, and as she stooped to kiss her, Agnes saw the tears upon her cheek. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you cry, Mammy?” she asked, “mamma has not scolded +you to-day, has she?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, love.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you crying then because you are so sorry for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it, my darling, I cannot bear to lock you up here alone for +the day and leave you so sorrowful, you that ought to be as blithe as the birds +in spring.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mammy, do you think I deserve this punishment?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sweet, if I must say the truth, I do not think you ever deserve any +punishment at all. But I must not say anything that’s wrong to you, about +what your mamma chooses to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, Mammy, don’t you think I ought to be happier than if I had +really been naughty and was punished for it. Don’t you remember Mammy the +verse you taught me from the Bible the last time Lewie was so fretful and mamma +sent you to lock me up here. I learned it afterwards from my Bible: hear me say +it:—” +</p> + +<p> +‘For what glory is it if when ye be buffeted for your faults ye take it +patiently; but if when ye do well and suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this +is acceptable with God.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Mammy, I did try to be patient with Lewie, and I gave him +everything I had, but I could not let him destroy that lock of papa’s +hair. I am afraid I was rough then, I hope I did not hurt his little hand. +Mammy, do you think mamma loves me <i>any</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“How could anybody help loving you, my darling!” +</p> + +<p> +“But, oh! Mammy, if I thought she would ever love me as she does Lewie! +She never kisses me, she never speaks kind to me. No, Mammy, I do not think she +loves me; but how strange it is for a mother not to love her own little +girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, darling, we will talk no more of that, or we shall be saying +something naughty; we will both try and do our duty, and then God will bless +us, and whatever our troubles and trials may be, let us go to Him with them +all. Now, darling, I must leave you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mammy, will you please bring me my Bible; and my little hymn-book? I +want to learn the” +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘I am never alone.’ +</p> + +<p> +“God is always by my side, isn’t he Mammy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, love, and he says, ‘I will never leave thee nor forsake +thee.’” +</p> + +<p> +When little Agnes was left alone in the great cold room, she walked up and down +the floor repeating to herself verses from her Bible and hymn-book. Sometimes +she stopped at the window and looked across the country, towards a wooded hill, +where just above the tops of the trees she could see the chimneys of her +uncle’s house; and she thought how happy her young cousins were in the +love of their father and mother, and she remembered how her own dear papa had +loved her, and she thought of the difference now; and the tears flowed afresh. +Then she walked the room again, repeating in a low voice to herself the words: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Never alone; though through deserts I roam<br/> +Where footstep of man has ne’er printed the sand.<br/> +Never alone; though the ocean’s wild foam<br/> +Rage between me and the loved ones on land.<br/> +Though hearts that have cherished are laid ’neath the sod,<br/> +Though hearts which should cherish are colder than stone,<br/> +I still have thy love and thy friendship my God,<br/> +Thou always art near me; I’m never alone.” +</p> + +<p> +Soon she grew tired of walking, and seating herself at the table, she laid her +head upon her crossed arms and was soon in a sweet slumber, and far away in her +dreams from the cold desolate north room, at “the Hemlocks.” +</p> + +<p> +At the end of an hour the youthful widow was disturbed by the sound of merry +sleigh-bells, and she had only time to throw her novel hastily aside, when the +door opened and her sister-in-law, Mrs. Wharton, entered, accompanied by two of +her little girls, their bright faces glowing with health and happiness. +</p> + +<p> +“And how are the children?” Mrs. Wharton asked, after the first +salutations were over. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Lewie does not seem well, he has been complaining for a day or +two.” +</p> + +<p> +“And where is Agnes? We rode over to see if you let her go over and pass +the holidays with us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, to tell the truth, Agnes has been very naughty, and I have been +obliged to shut her up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Again!” exclaimed Mrs. Wharton, while glances of indignation shot +from the eyes of her two little girls. “Agnes naughty, and shut up again! +Why, Harriet, do you know she appears to me so perfectly gentle and lovely, +that I can hardly imagine her as doing anything wrong. Mr. Wharton and I often +speak of her as the most faultless child we have ever met with.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is not so bad in other ways, but she does delight to tease Lewie, +and keep him screaming. Now, it has been one incessant scream from the child +all this morning, and Agnes <i>can</i> amuse him very well when she +chooses.” +</p> + +<p> +“Judging from all her own pretty things scattered about the floor here, I +should think she had been doing her best to amuse him,” said Mrs. +Wharton; “she has even taken down her beautiful work-box, of which she +has always been so careful. You may be sure it was a case of extremity, which +compelled her to do that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what a sad litter they have made to be sure; I did not observe it +before. The fact is, Ellen, I have been exceedingly occupied this morning, and +did not know what the children were about, only that Agnes kept Lewie +screaming, and, at last, with the utmost rudeness, for that I saw myself, she +snatched something from his hand, and for that, I punished her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, yes, I see, Harriet,” said Mrs. Wharton, glancing at the +yellow-covered publication on the table; “I see how it is, now; you have +been wholly absorbed in one of those wretched novels, and left little Agnes to +take care of a sick, cross baby. That child is very sick, Harriet; do you see +what a burning fever he has?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ellen, do you think so?” said the mother hastily and in great +agitation. “Oh, Ellen, what shall I do; oh, what <i>shall</i> I do! +perhaps my baby, my darling, is going to be very ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not agitate yourself so, Harriet, I will send Matthew directly over +to the village for the doctor; but first, may I have Agnes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, do what you please with Agnes, only send the doctor to my baby; call +Mammy, she will bring Agnes, and do go, quick!” +</p> + +<p> +The bell was rung, and Mammy was despatched to bring the little prisoner down; +she found her as we left her, sleeping with her head upon her arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Precious lamb!” said Mammy, “she has cried herself to +sleep.” Then, kissing her, and rousing her gently, she told her that her +aunt and cousins had come to take her to Brook Farm. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes was at first very happy at the idea of once more enjoying the sunshine of +her aunt’s cheerful home, but, when she heard that Lewie was sick, a +cloud came over her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Aunty,” she whispered, “I think I had better not go, perhaps +I can do something for Lewie. I can <i>almost</i> always amuse him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lewie is too sick to be amused now, my dear, and you can do no good +here; besides, I want to get you away as quickly as possible, for I think it +may be the scarlet fever that Lewie has. Come, darling, we will go.” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes drew her hand quietly from that of her aunt, and running back, she +stooped over her little brother as he lay in his mother’s arms, and +kissed him; and then, standing a moment before her mother, she raised her eyes +to her face. But her mother’s eyes, with a gaze of almost despair, were +fixed on her darling boy, and she did not seem to be aware even of the presence +of her little daughter. +</p> + +<p> +A look of disappointment passed over the face of Agnes, as, without intruding +upon her mother by even a word of farewell, she turned, and put her hand once +more in that of her aunt. And now, as, comfortably wrapped in buffalo skins, +Mrs. Wharton and the little girls are flying over the country roads, to the +sound of the merry sleigh-bells, we will relate a conversation which took place +between Mammy and Bridget; and by so doing, will give a little insight into the +history of the young widow, whom we have introduced to the reader. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>II.<br/> +Brook Farm.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“By the gathering round the winter hearth,<br/> +When twilight called unto household mirth;<br/> +By the fairy tale, or the legend old,<br/> +In that ring of happy faces told;<br/> +By the quiet hours when hearts unite<br/> +In the parting prayer and the kind “good night”,<br/> +By the smiling eye and the loving tone,<br/> +Over thy life has the spell been thrown.”—SPELLS OF HOME. +</p> + +<p> +When Mammy left little Agnes in the north room, and descended to the kitchen, +she found Bridget, who had already been made acquainted with, passing events by +Anne, the chambermaid, in a state of great wrath and indignation. The china +must have been strong that stood so bravely the rough treatment it received +that morning, and the tins kept up a continued shriek of anguish as they were +dashed against each other in the sink; while every time Bridget set down her +foot as she stamped about the kitchen, it was done with an emphasis that made +itself felt throughout the whole house. +</p> + +<p> +“And so ye’ve been locking up that swate crathur again, have ye, +Mrs. McCrae?” were the words with which, in no gentle tones, she assailed +Mammy as she entered the kitchen. +</p> + +<p> +“I did as I was bid, Bridget,” said Mammy, with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“And indade it wouldn’t be me would do as I was bid, if I was bid +to do the like o’ that. I’d rather coot off my right hand than use +it to turn the kay on the darlint.” +</p> + +<p> +“I always mind my mistress, Bridget,” said Mammy, “though +it’s often I’m forced to pray for patience wi’ her.” +</p> + +<p> +“And indade I don’t ask for patience wid her at all, anny +how,” stormed Bridget. “To think of sending the swate child, that +never has anny but a kind an’ a pleasant word for <i>iverybody</i>, away +to the cold room, just because the brat she doats on chooses to <i>yowl</i> in +the fashion he did the morn. I don’t know, indade, what’s the +matther with the woman! I think it’s a quare thing, and an <i>on +nattheral</i> thing, <i>anny how</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s much to be blamed, no doubt, Bridget, and yet there’s +excuses to be made for my mistress,” said Mammy, mildly. +“She’s young yet in years, no but twenty-two; and she’s +nothing but a child in her ways and her knowledge. She never knew the blessing +of a mither’s care, puir thing; and up to the very day she was married, +her life was passed at one o’ them fashionable boarding-schules, where +they teach them to play on instruments, and to sing, and to dance, and to +paint, and to talk some unchristian tongue that’s never going to do them +no good for this life nor the next. But they never give them so much as a hint +that they’ve got a soul to be saved, and they take no pains to fit them +to be wives and mothers. My mistress was but fifteen years old when she ran +away with Master Harry. Poor dear Master Harry! It was the only fulish thing I +ever knew him to do, was running away wi’ that chit of a schule-girl. He +met her, I think, at a ball that was given at this schule, and Master Harry was +over head and ears in love in a minute; and after two or three meetings and a +few notes passing, they determined on this runnin’ away folly. I think it +was them novels she was always readin’ put it in her head. It +wouldn’t do, you know, to be like other folks, but they must have a +little kind of a romance about it. Puir, fulish, young things!” +</p> + +<p> +“You see, I was living with old Mr. Elwyn then,” continued Mammy; +“indeed, I’ve been in the family ever since I came over from +Scotland, quite a lassie, thirty-one years ago come next April. I left them, +besure, when I married; but as my gude-man lived but two years, I was soon back +in my old home again. Old Mr. Elwyn, Master Harry’s father, had lost his +property before this time; but his brother, ‘Uncle Ben,’ as they +called him, was very rich. They all lived together—‘Uncle +Ben,’ old Mr. Elwyn, Master Harry and Miss Ellen, that’s Mrs. +Wharton. Miss Ellen was a few years older than Master Harry, and she was the +housekeeper. But Master Harry, bless you! was only twenty years old, when he +walked in one morning, and told his father he was married. I never shall forget +the time there was then! The old gentleman was complaining, and had had a bad +night, though Master Harry did not know that. Well, the sudden shock threw him +into an apoplectic fit; and two days after, he had another, and died. Master +Harry was almost distracted then: he called himself his father’s +murderer; and, indeed, I think he was never what you might call well from that +time.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you never saw any one so angry as Mr. Benjamin Elwyn was. He had +always intended to make master Harry his heir, but his conduct in this foolish +affair enraged him so that he said he would leave him nothing. At first the +young folks lived with her father, but he soon died, leaving his daughter a +little property settled on herself. But it was not enough to support them, and +so Master Harry had to apply to old Mr. Benjamin Elwyn again, and the old man +gave him this place, and enough to live on pretty comfortably here. He told +Master Harry that perhaps something might be made of his baby wife yet, if he +brought her away from the follies of the city, to a country place like this, +and tried to improve her mind; and so they have lived here ever since, till +last year, when poor master Harry died.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what do ye think is the raison that the misthress thrates little +Miss Agnes the way she does?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I can hardly tell you, Bridget. In the first place, I have often +heard her say that she couldn’t abide <i>girls</i>, and bating other +reasons, I think she would have been disappointed on her own account, you know, +to have the first child a girl. But, besides this, I have heard that Mr. +Benjamin Elwyn quite forgave Mr. Harry, and promised him that if his oldest +child was a boy, and he named it after him, he would leave him the bulk of his +property. I cannot tell you how bitterly disappointed my young mistress was, +when her first born proved to be a girl. She was but sixteen years old then, +you know, Bridget, and she acted like a cross, spoiled baby. She cried herself +into a fever, and she wouldn’t let the poor, helpless baby, come into her +sight. I think she never loved her; and from the time of Master Lewie’s +birth, she has seemed to dislike her more and more.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how the father loved her, Mrs. McCrae!” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, indeed he did; he never could be easy a minute without her. It was +a sore day for my poor bairn, when it pleased God to take her father; poor man! +But He knows best, Bridget, and He orders all things right.” +</p> + +<p> +Here Mammy was summoned by the bell, and despatched to bring little Agnes down; +to accompany her aunt and cousins to their home. +</p> + +<p> +As Agnes was riding along, seated so comfortably by the side of her kind aunt, +in the large covered sleigh, with the rosy, smiling faces of her little +cousins, Grace and Effie, opposite her, she could scarcely believe that she was +the same little girl, who, but an hour or two before, was walking so sadly up +and down the desolate North Room, and trying to persuade herself that she was +“not alone.” Agnes was naturally of a lively, cheerful disposition, +and like any other little girl of six years of age, she soon forgot past sorrow +in present pleasure, though, at times, the sudden remembrance of her dear +little baby brother, lying so ill at home, would cause a sigh to chase away the +smile of pleasure beaming on her lovely face. +</p> + +<p> +It was but little more than two miles from “The Hemlocks,” Mrs. +Elwyn’s residence, to “Brook Farm,” the home of the +Wharton’s, and, as Matthew had received orders to drive very rapidly, it +seemed to Agnes that her ride was just begun, when they turned into the lane +that led up to her Uncle Wharton’s house. And now the pillars of the +piazza appear between the trees, and now the breakfast room windows, and more +bright young faces are looking out, and little chubby hands are clapped +together, as the sleigh is discovered coming rapidly up the lane, and the cry +resounds through the house, “They’ve come! they’ve come! and +Agnes is with them!” +</p> + +<p> +A bright, cheerful wood fire was burning in the pleasant, great breakfast room, +and the party who had just arrived were soon surrounded by smiles of welcome, +while busy little fingers were assisting them to untie their bonnets, and +unfasten their cloaks. In a few moments the door opened, and a pale, but lovely +looking girl, in deep mourning, entered the room. She was a niece of Mr. +Wharton’s, and, having lately been left an orphan, by the death of her +mother, she had been brought by her kind uncle, to his hospitable home, where +she was received by all as a member, henceforth, of their family. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, aunty,” said she, after stooping to kiss Agnes, “you +are back sooner than I expected.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dear, I was obliged to hurry; little Lewie is very ill, I fear. By +the way, Harry, run and tell Matthew that just as soon as he is warm, he must +drive as fast as possible to the village, and ask Dr. Rodney to get directly +into the sleigh, to go to your Aunt Elwyn’s; and tell him to call for me, +as he comes back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, mamma, are you going back there again?” asked Effie. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, love, I must go back, and remain with your Aunt Harriet to-day. I +only came home to make some arrangements for the family. I want your papa to +drive over for me to-night, after the little ones are all in bed; and I desire +the rest of you to keep out of my way till I have changed my dress. I do not +know yet what is the matter with Lewie. How do you feel, Emily?” +</p> + +<p> +“Much better, thank you, aunty; I am quite prepared to play lady of the +house in your absence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, do put aside those books, dear: your health is the most important +thing now. I wish I could leave you so busy with household concerns as to give +you not a moment’s time for reading.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear aunty, I do not think the books hurt me; and you certainly would +not have me grow up a dunce, would you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No fear of that, dear; and I by no means wish you to give up your books +altogether, but only to lay them aside till you get a little color in these +pale cheeks. I shall lay my commands on your uncle not to give you any more +assistance in your studies till I give him permission.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll be very good, aunty, and I’ve promised the boys +to take a run with them over to the pond, and see them skate; and besides, we +are all invited to an entertainment in a certain snow palace, which is nearly +finished, and which I have promised to grace with my presence.” +</p> + +<p> +Just then two fine handsome boys, the pictures of health and good nature, +rushed in. These were Robert and Albert Wharton, home from school for the +Christmas holidays. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother, what will you give us for our entertainment?” they cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you a table and seats?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, all made of snow,” said Albert. “But don’t let us +tell her all about it, Bob; I want to surprise her.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think your entertainment, to be in keeping with your furniture, ought +to be of snow and icicles,” said Mrs. Wharton; “but, whatever it +is, I am sorry that I cannot visit your snow palace to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! that’s too bad, mother; it will spoil all our fun. But, say, +will you give us something to eat?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I leave Emily mistress of the keys for to-day, and you may call +upon her for pies, cake, or anything the store-room contains; only be a little +moderate, and don’t leave us entirely destitute.” +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t be half so pleasant without you, mother,” said +Robert; “but we shall have quite as many as our palace can accommodate, +if all these go. Hallo! here’s Agnes! Why, Aggy, how do you do? I +didn’t see you before.” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment the sleigh was seen coming up the lane, and Mrs. Wharton +hastened to get ready to accompany the doctor to the Hemlocks. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to whisper to you, dear mother, one minute,” said little +Grace. +</p> + +<p> +“What more Christmas secrets?” asked her mother. +</p> + +<p> +A whispered consultation here took place, some request being urged with great +eagerness by Grace; and the pleasant “Yes, yes,” from her mother, +made her bright eyes dance with joy. +</p> + +<p> +As Mrs. Wharton was driving from the door, Albert called out: +</p> + +<p> +“Mother, may the baby go with us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, if Kitty will wrap him up well,” was the answer, and the +sleigh flew down the lane, and was soon out of sight. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes was now hurried off by her young cousins to inspect the various +preparations for Christmas, and was made the repository of some most important +secrets, “of which she must not give a hint for the world.” She saw +the purse Effie was knitting for Albert, and the guard-chain Grace was weaving +for Robert, and the mittens for Harry, and the socks for the baby, and the +pen-wiper for papa, and the iron-holder for mamma; and then Effie took her +aside alone, to show her something she was making for Grace; and Grace took her +aside alone, to show something she had bought with “her own money” +for Effie; and there was a beautiful book for Cousin Emily. “And we +cannot show you yet whether we have anything for you, Agnes, because, you know, +we always keep our secrets till Christmas comes,” they said. +</p> + +<p> +“There comes papa from the mill,” cried Effie, looking out of the +window; “let’s run down and see him. How surprised he will be to +find mamma gone, and Agnes here!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wharton came in with his usual cheerful manner; and soon as he was warming +his feet by the fire, he had Agnes on one knee, and Harry on the other, and the +rest of the noisy little tribe round him, eagerly telling the events of the +day, and the pleasant anticipations for the afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, papa,” said Effie, “I’ve got something I want to +say to you, if you would only come in the other room a few minutes, or if the +children would only be kind enough to go out of this room a little +while.” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t it keep, Effie, till I warm my feet?” asked her +father; “because, if it will not, I suppose I must go now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no, papa, I will wait patiently,” said Effie. +</p> + +<p> +In a few minutes her father said, “Now, Effie, for that important +secret;” and they went together into another room. +</p> + +<p> +“This is what I wanted to say, papa,” said Effie: “you know +poor Agnes never has any money of her own; and I know, when she sees us all +giving presents to each other, she will feel badly, if she cannot give +something too; and I want to know if you won’t give her a little money, +and let her go to the village with us the next time we go, and get some +materials to make something out of?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wharton answered by putting his hand in his pocket, and giving Effie some +silver for Agnes, with which she went off perfectly happy. +</p> + +<p> +And now little Grace put in her curly head, and said, “Effie, when you +are through with papa, I’ve got something to say to him too.” +</p> + +<p> +The sum and substance of Grace’s communication was this: “she had +seen something at a store in the village, with which she was sure her mamma +would be perfectly charmed, but she hadn’t <i>quite</i> enough money to +purchase it; she only wanted <i>ten cents</i> more.” And she too went off +with a smiling face. +</p> + +<p> +Emily now came in jingling her keys and called them all to dinner. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as possible after dinner, the boys laden with a basket of good things, +which Emily had provided for them, started off for the snow palace, one of them +carrying the dinner-horn, which was used in the summer, to call the men to the +farm-house to their meals. When the entertainment was ready the horn was to +sound. In the meantime, the children were sitting around the fire, waiting +impatiently for the signal, to call them to the palace of snow. +</p> + +<p> +“Cousin Emily,” said Agnes, for she too said “Cousin +Emily,” though there was no relationship, in fact, between them, +“Cousin Emily, I wish I knew <i>what</i> to read and study. I do want to +know something, and I don’t know anything but my Bible, and my little +book of hymns. Mammy taught me to read, or I should’nt have known +anything at all,” she added sadly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Agnes,” that is the best knowledge you could possibly have, +said Emily, “though I am far from thinking other studies unimportant; +but, if I can help you in any way, I will gladly lend you books, and tell you +how to study.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! will you, cousin Emily?” said Agnes, her face brightening; +“how happy I shall be! aunty has taught Effie and Grace, and they have +studied Geography and History, and they can cipher, and I don’t know +anything at all about those things; why, even little Harry knows more than I +do.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you can beat us all in Bible knowledge, I know, Agnes,” said +Emily, “and, in a very little time, you will catch up to the other +children, for aunty has little leisure time to devote to them. But there! I +hear the horn! call Kitty, to bring the baby, and we’ll all start.” +</p> + +<p> +And now all warmly wrapped in cloaks and hoods, the little party left the side +piazza, and walked down towards the pond. The path was well broken, as the boys +travelled it so often, on their way to the pond and the snow palace, and the +little party went briskly on. Emily and Agnes headed the procession, then came +Effie and Grace, dragging a box-sled in which the baby was comfortably stowed, +and Kitty, the nurse, brought up the rear, leading little Harry. The two boys +met them at some distance from the snow palace, and told them they must go +through the labyrinth before they could reach the place of entertainment. +</p> + +<p> +The labyrinth was composed of paths, cut in the deep snow, winding in and out, +and circling about in all directions, till, at length, the foremost of the +party halted before the entrance to the snow palace. The boys had, indeed, been +industrious, and the new comers stared in amazement, at the results of their +labor. They found themselves, on entering the palace, in a room high enough for +the tallest of the party to stand upright in, and of dimensions large enough to +seat them all comfortably around the square block of snow which formed the +centre table. The seats were of the same material, and were substantial enough, +while the extreme cold weather lasted. On the table was placed the +entertainment provided by Emily, to which the party did all possible justice, +considering that they had just risen from a plentiful dinner at home. After the +feast, Robert and Alfred entertained them with feats of agility on the ice, +dragging one or the other of the children after them upon the sled, and when +they returned home, even Emily’s usually pale cheeks were in a glow. +</p> + +<p> +Towards evening Agnes began to be uneasy, and to watch at the window for her +aunt’s return. “I will not see aunty, cousin Emily,” she +said, “but I cannot go to bed till I hear how Lewie is to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +At length her uncle and aunt returned, and Agnes heard that her little brother +was very ill; but the doctor was of opinion that his disease was a brain fever, +and therefore there was no danger of contagion. Agnes went to bed with a heavy +heart, and cried herself to sleep. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Mrs. Wharton again ordered the +sleigh and drove to “the Hemlocks.” She found Mrs. Elwyn in a state +bordering on distraction. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Ellen,” she said, “how I have wanted you! Lewie has had +a night of dreadful suffering, and now he is unconscious. He does not know me, +Ellen! He does not hear me when I call. I think he does not see. Oh, Ellen, +what would life be to me if I lose my darling. And now I want you to +<i>pray!</i> You can pray, Ellen, and God answers your prayers. Pray for the +life of my child! Mammy prays, but she will only say, ‘The will of the +Lord be done!’” +</p> + +<p> +“And I can say no more, Ellen. I <i>do</i> pray; I <i>have</i> prayed, +that your darling boy’s life may be spared, if it be the will of God, but +more than that I cannot say.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what if it be His will to take my darling from me, Ellen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, Harriet, I hope you might learn to acquiesce without a murmur, and +to say from your heart, ‘It is the Lord, let Him do what seemeth to Him +good.’” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Ellen, never! I cannot contemplate the bare possibility of losing my +boy. If you will not pray as I wish, I will try to pray myself;” and +falling on her knees, she prayed for the life of her child. “Take +whatever else thou wilt, oh God,” she cried, “but oh, spare me my +child.” +</p> + +<p> +“Harriet, this seems to me most horrible impiety,” said Mrs. +Wharton, “to ask God to grant your desires, whether agreeable to His +will, or not; I should much fear if your request were granted, that it would +only be to show you, that you know not what is best for yourself, and for those +you love; and that you might some day wish you had left this matter in the +hands of God, even if it had been His will to take your darling to +Himself.” +</p> + +<p> +When Dr. Rodney came that morning, he found the child in a profound slumber. +“This,” said he, “is, I think, the crisis of the disease; on +no account let him be disturbed; if he awakes conscious, he will in all human +probability recover.” +</p> + +<p> +And they watched him in breathless stillness, Mrs. Wharton on one side of the +cradle, and his mother on a low stool beside him, with her sad gaze riveted on +his little face, to catch his first waking glance, and to see whether the eye +then beamed with intelligence, or not. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, who can imagine the agony, the terrible suspense of such watching, but +those who have sat as that poor mother did, over a loved one hovering between +life and death. And as Mrs. Wharton sat so silently opposite her, her thoughts +were sometimes raised in prayer for her poor misguided sister; and sometimes +she sat looking at her as a perfect enigma; with a heart so capable of loving +devotedly, and yet so steeled against her own child, and so lovely and winning +a little creature as Agnes. It was a puzzle which she had often tried to solve, +in vain. +</p> + +<p> +After an hour more of deep slumber, Lewie started and awoke. For a moment his +glance rested with a bewildered expression upon his mother’s face; and +then, stretching out his little hands, he said, “Mamma!” Mrs. +Wharton’s attention was fixed upon the child; but when she turned to the +mother, she saw her, white as the snow, falling back upon the floor. The +revulsion of feeling was too much for her; she had fainted. +</p> + +<p> +When Mrs. Wharton came home that night, she said, “Agnes, my love, your +little brother is better, and, with great care, he may now recover.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, aunty!” exclaimed Agnes, joyfully, “and when may I see +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“You must be content to remain with us without going home for some days +yet, dear; for the doctor says the most perfect quiet is necessary, and you +could not see Lewie if you were at home.” +</p> + +<p> +And now that the mind of little Agnes was comparatively free from anxiety, she +entered with great delight into the preparations going on at Brook Farm for +Christmas. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>III.<br/> +Christmas Time.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> + “In the sounding hall they wake<br/> +The rural gambol.”—THOMSON. +</p> + +<p> +And now but a week was wanting to Christmas, and all was excitement and bustle +among the little folks at Brook Farm. Lewie was quite out of danger, and Agnes +was as happy and as busy as any of her little cousins. The cutter was in +constant demand; for when one was particularly desirous to go over to the +village on some secret expedition, that one must go alone, or only with those +who were in her secret. Many were the mysterious brown-paper parcels which were +smuggled into the house, and hidden away under lock and key in various closets +and drawers; and there were sudden scramblings and hidings of half-finished +articles, when some member of the family who “was not to see” +entered the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Aunty,” said Agnes one day, in a confidential tone, “I +should like to make a needle-book for mamma, like the one cousin Emily is +making for Effie. She says she will show me, and fix it for me, and I think I +can do it. Do you think mamma would like it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, darling, I should think she would like it; I do not see how +any mamma could help being pleased with anything her little girl made for +her.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, aunty,” said Agnes, as if speaking of a well-known and +acknowledged fact, “you know mamma doesn’t love me much, and +perhaps it would trouble her.” +</p> + +<p> +The sad tone in which these words were said brought tears to the eyes of Mrs. +Wharton, but still she encouraged Agnes to go on with the needle-book. It was +not a very complicated affair, and Emily arranged all the most difficult parts; +but still it was a work of time, and one requiring much patience and +perseverance on the part of so young a child as Agnes. However, it was at +length completed on the day before Christmas, and, when handed about for +inspection, was much admired by all her friends. Agnes was very happy, for on +Christmas day her uncle was to take her over home to see Lewie, who called for +her constantly, her aunt said. Mammy had walked over too, to see her little +girl, and she told her that “Lewie was greetin’ for +‘sister’ from morn till night.” +</p> + +<p> +The day before Christmas came, and with it the party at Brook Farm was +augmented by the arrival of Mrs. Ellison, a younger sister of Mr. +Wharton’s, her husband and baby, a beautiful child of about a year old. +There was great joy at the arrival of “Aunt Fanny,” who was very +lively, and always ready to enter with glee into the frolics and sports of the +children. +</p> + +<p> +As they were sitting at the dinner table that day, Mr. Wharton said: +</p> + +<p> +“I have received certain information that Santa Claus himself is to visit +us to-night, and bring his gifts in person. He desires me to inform the +children, that all packages to be entrusted to his care must be handed into my +study, labelled and directed, before six o’clock this evening.” +</p> + +<p> +Many were the wonders and speculations as to the nature and appearance of the +expected Santa Claus; but they were suddenly interrupted by Robert, who +exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Why, who comes here up the lane? It’s old cousin Betty, I do +declare, in her old green gig set on runners.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought cousin Betty would hardly let Christmas go by without making +her appearance,” said Mrs. Wharton; “I have thought two or three +times to-day that she might come along before night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cousin Betty” was a distant relation of Mrs. Wharton’s, a +lonely old body, who lodged with a relative in a village about ten miles +distant from Brook Farm. She was very eccentric—so much so, that she was +by some thought crazy; but Mrs. Wharton was of opinion that cousin Betty had +never possessed sufficient <i>mind</i> to subject her to such a calamity. She +was more silly than crazy, very good-natured, very inquisitive as to the +affairs of others, and very communicative as to her own. +</p> + +<p> +In a few minutes cousin Betty had received a hearty welcome, and was seated by +the bright fire, asking and answering questions with the utmost rapidity. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been looking for you, cousin Betty,” said Mrs. Wharton. +</p> + +<p> +“Have! What made you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I thought you could hardly let Christmas go by without coming to see +the fun.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did! Well, I never thought nothing about comin’ till yesterday, +when I sat in my little room, and I got feelin’ pretty dull; and thinks I +to myself, I’ll just borrow Mr. White’s old horse, and take my old +gig, and drive up to the farm, and see the folks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cousin Betty, who do you think is coming to see us to-night?” +asked little Grace. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure I can’t tell, child. Who is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Santa Claus himself, with all his presents around him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is, hey?” said cousin Betty; “well, I shall be mighty glad +to see him, I can tell you; for, old as I am, I’ve never seen him +yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m so glad you’ve come, cousin Betty!” said Effie; +“we want you to go with us some day over to the farm-house, and tell us +about our great-grandfather, whose house stood where the farm-house stands now; +and how his house was burnt down by the Indians, and he was carried off. Agnes +wants to hear it so much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does! Well, I will go over there, and tell you the story, some day. But +I can’t walk over there while the weather is so cold; I should get the +rheumatiz.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll drag you over on my sled, if that will do, cousin +Betty,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +The children laughed so heartily at the picture presented to their imagination +of little old cousin Betty riding on Robert’s sled, that Grace actually +rolled out of her chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Why wouldn’t it do to tell the story here, Effie?” asked +Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, because it is a great deal more interesting, told on the spot you +know. Cousin Betty has heard it all over and over again from grandmamma, and +she can point out, from one window of the farm-house, all the places where all +those dreadful things happened.” +</p> + +<p> +Some warm dinner was now brought in for cousin Betty, and the children went off +to tie up and label the gifts for Santa Claus. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall we do with the presents we have for papa and mamma?” +asked Grace. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, we cannot hand those in to the study,” said Effie; “we +must contrive some way to give them afterwards.” +</p> + +<p> +And now the children, one after the other, with their arms laden with packages, +were making their way to their father’s study; Emily and Agnes, too, had +several contributions to make to the heap of bundles which was piled up on the +study table; and before six o’clock, Mr. Wharton said he had taken in +enough articles to stock a very respectable country store. At six o’clock +the study door was locked, and there was no more admittance. +</p> + +<p> +An hour or two after this, the whole family were assembled in the two large +parlors, which were brilliantly lighted for the occasion, and all were on the +tiptoe of expectation. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to know how he is coming,” said Albert; +“he’ll be likely to get well scorched, if he comes down either +chimney.” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment there was a slight tap at one of the windows opening on to the +piazza, which Mr. Wharton immediately proceeded to open, and in walked St. +Nicholas. +</p> + +<p> +He was a jolly, merry-looking, little old gentleman, with beard and whiskers as +white as snow, and enveloped in furs from head to foot. Around his neck, around +his waist, over his shoulders, down his back, and even on the top of his head, +were presents and toys of every description. Behind him he dragged a beautiful +sled, which was loaded with some articles too bulky to be carried around his +person. Every pocket was full; and as he passed through the rooms, he threw +sugar plums and mottoes, nuts and raisins, on all sides, causing a great +scrambling and screaming and laughing among the children. +</p> + +<p> +Then he began to disengage the presents, which were pinned about him, and tied +to the buttons of his coat; and as he did so, he looked at the label, and threw +it at the one for whom it was intended. It would be hard for one who was not +there to imagine the lively scene which was now presented in the great parlors +at Brook Farm; the presents flying round in all directions; the children +dodging, and diving, and catching, while shouts and screams of laughter made +the house ring. +</p> + +<p> +“But who is he?—who can he be?” was the question which each +asked of the other a great many times during this merry scene. Mr. Wharton and +Mr. Ellison, “Aunt Fanny’s” husband, were both in the room, +and they were sure there was no other gentleman in the house. +</p> + +<p> +Just then Robert screamed, “Oh, I know now! It’s cousin Tom! He +throws left-handed!” And now the effort was made to pull off the mask, +but Santa Claus avoided them with great dexterity, still continuing his +business of distributing the presents. +</p> + +<p> +At the feet of Agnes he placed a work-box, much handsomer than that which Lewie +had destroyed; at Emily’s, a writing-desk, and some valuable books; and +when his sled was emptied, he drew the sled, and left it with little Harry, for +whom it was intended. +</p> + +<p> +“My goodness gracious!” said cousin Betty, as a beautiful muff +“took her in the head,” as Albert said, and sadly disarranged the +set of her odd little turban. +</p> + +<p> +“And now I believe old Santa Claus has finished his labors,” said +Mr. Wharton. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no, not yet,” cried Effie; “he must come with us for a +new supply. But I feel a little afraid of him yet. If I only could be sure it +was cousin Tom!” +</p> + +<p> +“You need not doubt that, Effie,” said Robert; “nobody else +ever threw like cousin Tom. I’ve seen him play snow-ball often +enough.” +</p> + +<p> +And now Santa Claus was taken captive by the children, and in a few minutes he +re-appeared, laden with gifts, but this time for the older members of the +family; and the products of the children’s industry made quite a display, +and much astonished those for whom they were intended, the children having kept +their secrets well. +</p> + +<p> +And now, as the rooms were warm, old Santa Claus was quite willing to get rid +of his mask and his furs; and this done, he straightened up, and cousin Tom +stood revealed. +</p> + +<p> +“And how did you come, and where have you been?” asked the +children. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I came this afternoon, and stopped at the farm house,” +answered cousin Tom, or Mr. Thomas Wharton, for it is time he should be +introduced by his true name to the reader. “And after it was dusk I +slipped over here, and went round to uncle’s study door while you were at +tea. I sent word by Aunt Fanny that you might expect Santa Claus +to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +And now began a game of romps, which lasted for an hour or more, and then +little bodies began to be stumbled over, and were found under tables, and on +sofas fast asleep, and were taken off to bed. Mrs. Ellison’s baby being +roused by the noise, had awaked, and persisted in keeping awake, and his mother +came back to the parlor bringing him in her arms, with his night-gown on, and +his cheeks as red as roses. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t he a splendid fellow?” said she, holding him up before +cousin Tom. +</p> + +<p> +“A very comfortable looking piece of flesh certainly,” he answered; +“but then they are all alike. I think you might divide all babies into +two class, the fat and the lean; otherwise, there is no difference in them that +I can see.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pshaw, how ridiculously you talk; there is a great deal more difference +between two babies, than between you and all the other young dandies who walk +Broadway. They are all alike, the same cut of the coat and collar, and +whiskers; the same tie of the neck-cloth, and shape of the boot: when you have +seen one, you have seen all. But now just take a good look at this magnificent +baby, and confess; wouldn’t you like to kiss him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, my dear aunty, but that is a thing I haven’t been left +to do very often. I’ve no fancy for having my cheeks and whiskers +converted into spitoons. It is really astonishing now,” continued cousin +Tom, “what fools such a brat as that will make of very sensible +people.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are your allusions personal, sir?” asked Mrs. Ellison, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not just now; but I was thinking of a man in our place, who used to +be really a <i>very</i> sensible fellow; and though quite an old bachelor, he +was the life of every party he attended, and more of a favorite than most of +the young men. Well, when he was about fifty years old he got married, and +he’s got a young one now about two years old. And what kind of an +exhibition do you suppose that man made of himself the other day. Why, this +refractory young individual couldn’t be persuaded to walk towards home in +any other way, when they had him out for an airing, and what does this old +friend of mine do, but allow a handkerchief to be pinned to his coat-tail, and +go prancing along the street like a horse for the spoiled brat to drive. The +calf! I declare, before I’d make such a fool of myself as that, I’d +eat my head! What are you writing there, uncle?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only taking notes of these remarks, Tom,” answered Mr. Wharton, +“for your benefit on some future occasion.” +</p> + +<p> +There was only one in that Christmas party who could not heartily join in the +glee; it was poor Emily, to whom this scene brought back so vividly other +holiday seasons passed with those who had “gone from earth to return no +more,” that only by a strong effort could she prevent her own sadness +from casting a shade over the happiness of others; for they all loved cousin +Emily so dearly, that they could not be merry when she was sad. Emily was +usually so quiet, that in their noisy play they did not miss her as she retired +to the sofa and shaded her eyes with her hand; but her kind uncle noticed her, +and readily understood the reason of her sadness. Taking a seat by her he put +his arm around her, and took her hand in his. This act of tenderness was too +much for poor Emily’s already full heart, and laying her head on her +uncle’s shoulder, she sobbed out her grief unchecked. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>IV.<br/> +Cousin Betty.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“Come, wilt thou see me ride!”—HENRY VIII. +</p> + +<p> +Cousin Betty was a little bit of a woman, with a face as full of wrinkles as a +frozen apple, and a pair of the busiest and most twinkling little black eyes +you ever saw, a prominent and parrot like nose, with a chin formed on the very +same pattern, only that it turned up instead of down, the two so very nearly +meeting that the children said they had “to turn their faces sideways to +kiss her.” She had some very unaccountable ways too, which no one +understood, and which she never made any attempt to explain, perhaps because +she did not understand them herself. +</p> + +<p> +For instance, whenever meals were ready, and the family prepared to sit down, +though cousin Betty might have been hovering round for an hour or two before, +she was often missing at that very moment, and when a search was instituted she +was sometimes found taking a stroll in the garret where she could have no +possible business, and sometimes poking about in the darkest corner of the dark +cellar, without the slightest conceivable object. If her thimble or spectacles +were lost, she has often been known to go to the pantry and lift up every +tumbler and wine-glass on the shelf, one after the other, and look under it as +if she really expected to find the missing article there; and to take off the +cover of vegetable dishes to look for her snuff-box, or open the door of the +stove, if her work-bag, or knitting were missing, apparently with the confident +expectation of finding them unharmed amidst the blazing fire. +</p> + +<p> +Cousin Betty had a very uncomfortable fashion of <i>dying</i> too, every little +while, which at first alarmed her friends so much that restoratives were +speedily procured; but as she never failed to come to life again, they became, +after a time, accustomed to the parting scene, so that there was great danger +that when she really did take her departure, nobody would believe it. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” said she one night to Effie, “I feel very unwell; +very unwell, indeed; I think it’s more’n likely I shan’t last +the night through. I wish you wouldn’t leave me alone this evening, and +then if I’m suddenly taken worse, you know you can call the family. I +should like to see them all before I go.” +</p> + +<p> +Effie promised she would not leave her, and bringing her book, she seated +herself by the stove in cousin Betty’s room. In about a hour she appeared +in the parlor, her face purple with the effort to suppress the inclination to +laugh, and said, “Oh, do all of you please to come to cousin +Betty’s room a few moments.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, is she dying?” they asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no! but just come; very quietly; there’s a sight for you to +see.” +</p> + +<p> +Cousin Betty always tied a large handkerchief about her head when she went to +bed, and on the night in question, the two ends of the handkerchief being tied +in a knot stood up from her head like two enormous ears. She was bolstered up +by pillows, as she declared she could not breathe in any other position, and at +every breath she drew she opened and shut her mouth with a sudden jerk. Effie +had looked up from her reading suddenly, and caught the reflection of cousin +Betty’s profile, thrown by the light, greatly magnified upon the wall, +and stuffing her handkerchief in her mouth to prevent a sudden explosion of +laughter, by which cousin Betty might be awakened, she ran to call the family. +No pen-sketch but an actual profile would give the slightest idea of the +extraordinary and most ludicrous appearance of the image thus thrown upon the +wall; with the enormous ears standing up, and the mouth and chin snapping +together like the claws of a lobster. One by one they rushed from the room, +till at length a smothered cacchination from one of the little ones awoke +cousin Betty, who exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Who is sobbing there? My dear friends do not distress yourselves, I find +myself considerably more comfortable.” +</p> + +<p> +This “clapped the climax,” and the room was unavoidably deserted +for a few minutes; but at length Effie found courage to return, and, by placing +the light in another position, was enabled to keep watch for the remainder of +the evening. +</p> + +<p> +There were some very amusing stories told in the family of cousin Betty’s +adventures, one of which I will relate here. She was at one time making one of +her long visits at Mr. Wharton’s, when, getting out of yarn, and not +being willing to remain long idle, she began to worry about some way to get +over to the village. The horses were all out at work upon the farm, except Old +Prancer, a superannuated old horse, who was never used except for Mrs. Wharton +or the girls to drive; for, whatever claims “Prancer” may once have +had to his name, it had been a misnomer for some years past, and no one +suspected him of having a spark of spirit. +</p> + +<p> +When Mr. Wharton came in to dinner, and cousin Betty consulted him as to the +best means of getting over to the village, he told her that the best thing he +could do for her would be to put the side-saddle on to Old Prancer, and let her +ride over. To this cousin Betty consented, not without a slight trepidation, +for she had never been much of a horse-woman, but still, as she had known +Prancer for many years, and he had always borne the character of a staid, +steady-going animal, she thought there could surely be no risk in trusting +herself to him. +</p> + +<p> +Soon after dinner, cousin Betty, with a very short and very scanty skirt, was +mounted on the back of Old Prancer. She felt quite timid at first at finding +herself upon so lofty an elevation, (for Prancer was an immense animal;) but +when she found how steadily and sedately he went on, and that neither +encouragement nor blows could induce him to break into a trot, she lost all her +fears, and began to enjoy her ride saving that the pace was rather a slow one. +</p> + +<p> +But just as cousin Betty began to ascend the hill leading into the village, the +sound of martial music burst upon her ear, and she remembered hearing the +children say that this was “general training day.” Cousin Betty did +not know that Prancer had once belonged to a militia officer; and if she had, +it would have made no difference, as all the fire of youth seemed to have died +out with Prancer years ago. But early associations are strong; and as the +“horse scenteth the battle afar off,” so did Prancer prick up his +ears and quicken his pace at the spirit-stirring sounds of the fife and drum; +and now he began to make an awkward attempt to dance sideways upon the points +of his hoofs; and as he neared the brow of the hill, his excitement became more +intense, and his curveting and prancing more animated. Cousin Betty was almost +terrified to death. Throwing away her whip, and grasping the reins, she +endeavored to stop him; but he only held in his head, and danced sideways up +the street with more animation and spirit than ever. She thought of throwing +herself off, but the immense height rendered such a feat utterly unsafe; she +endeavored to rein the horse up to the side-walk; but now he had caught sight +of the motley array of trainers, and of the gay horses and gayer uniforms of +the officers, and, regardless alike of bit and rein, he started off at full +speed, to join the long-forgotten but once familiar spectacle. +</p> + +<p> +Cousin Betty had by this time dropped the reins, and was clinging with both +arms to Old Prancer’s neck; and as he turned his face to the company, and +backed gallantly down the street, the sight was too irresistibly ludicrous. +Shouts and laughter, and expressions of encouragement to poor cousin Betty, +were heard on all sides; till at length a militia officer, taking pity upon her +helpless condition, led the unwilling Prancer to the tavern, and assisted her +to alight. Here cousin Betty remained till sun-down, and all was quiet; and +then, requesting the tavern-keeper to lead the horse out of town while she +walked, she again, with much fear and trembling, mounted when beyond the +precincts of the village. +</p> + +<p> +Prancer, however, walked slowly home, with his head drooping, as if thoroughly +mortified at the excesses into which he had been betrayed; and cousin Betty, +when she once got safely home, declared that she’d go without yarn +another time, if it was a whole year, before she would mount such a +“treacherous animal as that ’ere.” +</p> + +<p> +But, with all her oddities, cousin Betty was sometimes a very amusing +companion. She had many stories of her youth stowed away in her memory, which, +when wanted, could be found and brought to light much more readily than the +articles she was so constantly missing now; and though these stories were not +told in the purest English, they were none the less interesting to the children +for that. +</p> + +<p> +There came, early in February, some pleasant, mild days, which soon made a ruin +of the boys’ palace of snow; and though cousin Betty had been in a dying +state for an hour or two the night before, she was so far revived that morning, +that she was easily persuaded by the children to go over with them to the +farm-house, and tell them the story of their great-grandfather, and his capture +by the Indians; which same, though a very interesting story to the children, +might not be so to my readers; and after changing my mind about it several +times, I have concluded to leave it out, as having nothing to do with the rest +of my story. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>V<br/> +Home Again.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“Deal very, very gently with a young child’s tender heart.” +</p> + +<p> +With a face beaming with joy, little Agnes took her place in the cutter by her +uncle on Christmas morning, and nodded good-bye to her cousins, who were +crowded at the window to see her off. +</p> + +<p> +“Mind you come back to dinner!” screamed little Grace, knocking +with her knuckles on the window pane. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes nodded again, and they were gone. Many a time during the short ride did +Agnes take out of her little muff the paper in which her needle-case for her +mother was rolled up, to see if it was all safe; and she never let go for a +moment of the basket in which were some toys for Lewie, which she and her +cousins had purchased at the village. As she drove up the road from the gate to +her mother’s house, it seemed to her so long since she had been away, +that she expected to see great changes. She had never been from home so long +before, and a great deal had happened in that fort night. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Elwyn was reading again; indeed, she had resumed that very yellow-covered +book, the reading of which Lewie’s sickness had interrupted; so she had +not much time for a greeting for Agnes, though she did allow her to kiss her +cheek, and of course laid aside her book, out of compliment to Mr. Wharton. But +little Lewie, who was sitting in his cradle, surrounded by toys, was in perfect +ecstasies at the return of Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +He stretched his little arms towards her; and as she sprang towards him, and +stooped to kiss him, he threw them around her neck, and clasped his little +hands together, as if determined never to let her go again. +</p> + +<p> +“Sister come! sister come!” he exclaimed over and over again, with +the greatest glee; “sister stay with Lewie now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sister will stay a little while,” said Agnes, kissing over and +over again her beautiful little brother. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sister <i>stay</i>!—sister shall not go!” said Lewie, in +the best manner in which he could express it; but exactly <i>how</i>, we must +be excused from making known to the reader, having a great horror of +<i>baby-talk</i> in books. +</p> + +<p> +“But I <i>must</i> go, darling; all my things are at uncle’s, and I +want to get some books cousin Emily is going to give me; but I will come back +very soon to stay with Lewie.” +</p> + +<p> +“No! sister <i>shall</i> not go!” was still the cry; and Mrs. Elwyn +settled the matter by saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Agnes, if Lewie wants you here so much, you may as well take off your +things; you cannot return to Brook Farm; besides, I want you to amuse +Lewie.” Agnes thought of some of the consequences of her endeavors to +amuse Lewie, and sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“If your mother insists upon your remaining, Agnes,” said her +uncle, “I will bring over your things, and Emily shall come with me, to +bring the books, and tell you how to study.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, thank you, dear uncle!” said Agnes, her face brightening at +once. +</p> + +<p> +In the first scene in which our little hero is introduced to the reader, he +certainly does not appear to advantage, as few persons would in the first +stages of a fever. He was not always so hard to please, or so recklessly +destructive, as he was that day; and had an intimation ever been conveyed to +his mind, that it was a possible thing for any desire of his to remain +ungratified, he might have grown up less supremely selfish than he did. +</p> + +<p> +But the natural selfishness of his nature being constantly fed and ministered +to by his doating mother, led the little fellow to understand very early that +no wish of his was to be denied; and before he was two years old, he fully +understood the power he held in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +He was a beautiful boy; “as handsome as a picture,” as Mammy said; +but, for my part, I have seldom seen a picture of a child that could at all +compare with Lewie Elwyn, with his golden curls, and deep blue eyes, and +brilliant color. He was warm-hearted and affectionate, too, and might have been +moulded by the hand of love into a glorious character. But selfishness is a +deformity which early attention and care may remedy, and the grace of God alone +may completely subdue; but, if allowed to take its own course, or worse, if +encouraged and nurtured, it grows with wonderful rapidity, and makes a horrid +shape of what might be the fairest. +</p> + +<p> +Upon this text, or something very like it, Mr. Wharton spake to Mrs. Elwyn, +when Agnes had carried Lewie into the next room to spin his top for him. +</p> + +<p> +“Lewie is a most beautiful little fellow, certainly,” said he; +“but, Harriet, take care; he is getting the upper hand of you already. It +is time already—indeed, it has long been time—to make him +understand that his will is to be <i>subservient</i> to those who are +older.” +</p> + +<p> +To which Mrs. Elwyn replied, “How absurd, Mr. Wharton, to talk of +governing a child like that!” +</p> + +<p> +“There are other ways of governing, Harriet, besides the whip and the +lock and key, neither of which do I approve of, except in extreme cases. Lewie +could very easily be guided by the hand of love, and it rests with you now to +make of him almost what you choose. A mother’s gentle hand hath mighty +power.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mr. Wharton, to tell you the truth, nothing seems to me so absurd +as all these ideas of nursery education; and the people who write books on the +subject seem to think there is but one rule by which all children are to be +governed.” +</p> + +<p> +“I perfectly agree with you, Harriet, that it is very ridiculous to +suppose that one set of rules will answer for the education of all, except, of +course, so far as the Bible rule is the foundation for all government. I think +the methods adopted with children should be as numerous and different as the +children themselves, each one, by their constitution and disposition, requiring +different treatment; but still there are some general rules, you must admit, +which will serve for all. One of these is a rule of very long standing; it is +this—‘Honor thy father and thy mother;’ and +another—‘Children, obey your parents in the Lord.’ Now, how +can you expect your son, as he grows up, to honor, respect, or obey you, if you +take the trouble to teach him, every day and hour, that <i>he</i> is the +master, and you only the slave of his will. There is another saying in that +same old book from which these rules are drawn, which tells you that ‘A +child left to himself bringeth his mother to shame.’” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Elwyn, during this conversation, kept up a series of polite little bows, +but could not altogether conceal an expression of weariness, and distaste at +the turn the conversation had taken. She had a sincere respect, however, for +Mr. Wharton, who always exercised over her the power which a strong mind +exercises over a weak one, and she felt in her heart that he was a real friend +to her, and one who had the interests of herself and her children at heart. +</p> + +<p> +As Mr. Wharton rose to go she said, laughingly: +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you for your kind advice with regard to Lewie, Mr. Wharton, but +in spite of it, I do not think I shall put him in a straight-jacket before he +is out of his frocks.” +</p> + +<p> +“No straight-jacket is needed, Harriet; you have often written in your +copy-book at school, I suppose, ‘Just as the twig is bent the +tree’s inclined.’ You remember that strange apple-tree in my +orchard, which the children use for a seat, it rises about a foot from the +ground, and then turns and runs along for several feet horizontally, and then +shoots up again to the sky. When that was a twig, your thumb and finger could +have bent it straight; but now, what force could do it. If sufficient strength +could be applied it might be <i>broken</i>, but never bent again. Excuse my +plain speaking, Harriet, but I see before you so much trouble, unless that +little boy’s strong will is controlled, that my conscience would not let +me rest, unless I spoke honestly to you what is in my mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must say you are not a prophesier of ‘<i>smooth +things</i>’” said Mrs. Elwyn, “but still, I hope the dismal +things you have hinted at may not come to pass.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope not too, Harriet,” said Mr. Wharton, “but God has now +mercifully spared your little boy’s life, and it rests with you whether +he shall be trained for His service or not.” +</p> + +<p> +Then calling for Agnes and Lewie, Mr. Wharton kissed them for good-bye, telling +Agnes that he would bring Emily over the next day. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Elwyn looked infinitely relieved when Mr. Wharton drove off, and returned +to her novel with as much interest as ever, and in the very exciting scene into +which her heroine was now introduced, she soon forgot the unpleasant nature of +Mr. Wharton’s “lecture,” as she called it. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes was contriving in her mind all the morning, how she should present the +needle-case to her mother, and wondering how it would be received. It was such +a great affair to her, and had cost her so much time and labor, that she was +quite sure it must be an acceptable gift, and yet natural timidity in +approaching her mother, made her shrink from presenting it, and every time she +thought of it her heart beat in her very throat. +</p> + +<p> +At length the novel was finished and thrown aside, and Mrs. Elwyn sat with her +feet on the low fender gazing abstractedly into the fire. Now was the time +Agnes thought, and approaching her gently, she said: +</p> + +<p> +“Mamma, here is a needle-case I made for you, all myself, for a Christmas +present.” +</p> + +<p> +The <i>words</i> could not have been heard by Mrs. Elwyn, she only knew that a +voice <i>not</i> Lewie’s interrupted her in her reverie. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! hush! child,” she said, waving her hand impatiently towards +Agnes, “be quiet! don’t disturb me!” +</p> + +<p> +Oh, what a grieved and disappointed little heart that, as Agnes turned away +with the tears in her eyes, and a lump in her throat. +</p> + +<p> +The next voice that disturbed the young widow was one to which she always gave +attention: +</p> + +<p> +“Mamma! mamma!” cried Lewie, pulling imperiously at her gown; +“mamma! sister feels sorry, speak to sister.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, dear?” his mother asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak to sister! sister crying,” said Lewie, pulling her with all +the strength of his little hands towards Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter, Agnes? Why are you crying? What did you say to me a +few moments ago?” asked her mother. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes tried to say “It is no matter, mamma,” bet she sobbed so +bitterly that she could not form the words. But Lewie, who had seen and +understood the whole thing, pulled the needle-case from his sister’s +hand, and gave his mother to understand that Agnes had made it for her, and +then he struck his little hand towards her and called her “naughty mamma, +to make sister cry!” +</p> + +<p> +More to please Lewie than for any other reason, Mrs. Elwyn took the +needle-case, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Why Agnes, did you make this yourself, and for me? how pretty it is; +isn’t it, Lewie? Now Agnes, you may fill it with needles for me.” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes wiped her eyes and began her task, but that painful lump would not go +away from her throat. Ah! if those kind words had only come at first! +</p> + +<p> +How much suffering is caused to the hearts of little children by mere +thoughtlessness, sometimes in those even who love them; by a want of sympathy +in their little griefs and troubles, as great and all-important to them, as are +the troubles of “children of a larger growth,” in their own +estimation. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>VI.<br/> +The Tableaux.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“A mournful thing is love which grows to one so mild as thou,<br/> +With that bright restlessness of eye—that tameless fire of brow<br/> +Mournful! but dearer far I call its mingled fear and pride,<br/> +And the trouble of its happiness than aught on earth beside.”<br/> + —MRS. HEMANS. +</p> + +<p> +Lewie recovered rapidly; and by the time that “the singing of birds had +come,” the roses bloomed as brightly as ever in his cheeks; and, with his +hand in that of Agnes, he roamed about the woods and groves which surrounded +their home, gathering wild flowers, and watching with delight the nimble +squirrel and the brilliant wild birds, as they hopped from limb to limb. The +children were always happy together; Lewie was more yielding and less +passionate when with his gentle sister than at other times; and it was only +when again in the presence of his mother that his wilful, fretful manner +returned, and he was again capricious and hard to please. +</p> + +<p> +Thus, while he was still almost in his infancy, his mother began to reap the +fruit of her sowing; for, while to others he could be gentle and pleasant, with +her he was always fretful and capricious. Already her wishes had no weight with +him, if they ran counter to his own, and commands she never ventured to lay +upon him; already the little twig was taking its own bent. +</p> + +<p> +The birth-days were all rigidly kept in Mr. Wharton’s family, and some +little pleasant entertainment provided on every such occasion. Thus, while Mr. +and Mrs. Wharton failed not to make every proper and serious use of these +way-marks on the journey of life, they loved to show their children how +pleasant to themselves was the remembrance of the day when one more little +bright face had come to cheer and brighten their earthly pilgrimage. Miss Effie +was the important character in commemoration of whose “first appearance +on any stage” a pleasant party had collected in Mr. Wharton’s +parlor, one evening in May. Mrs. Elwyn and her children were spending a few +days at Brook Farm; and the family of Dr. Rodney, and a few other little folks +from the village, were invited, on Effie’s birth-day, to pass the +afternoon and evening. +</p> + +<p> +Great had been the preparations, for they were, for the first time, to have an +exhibition of the “tableaux vivants” in the evening. Mr. Wharton +had constructed a large frame, which, covered with gilt paper, and having a +black lace spread over it, made the illusion more perfect. Many pretty scenes +had been selected by cousin Emily, who was mistress of ceremonies; and that no +child’s feelings might be hurt, a character was assigned for each one, in +one or other of the pictures. A temporary curtain was hung across the room, +which was to be drawn whenever the pictures were ready for exhibition. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes had been as busy as anybody in bringing down from a certain closet +devoted to that purpose old finery, and other things which belonged to days +long gone by, and her anticipations of pleasure for the evening were raised to +the highest pitch. But just when all were assembled in the darkened parlor, the +lights all being arranged behind the curtain so as to fall upon the pictures, +Master Lewie, who was up beyond his usual bed time, and who was hardly old +enough to take much interest in what was going on, declared that he was sleepy, +and would go to bed. Neither Mammy nor Anne were with them at Brook Farm; and +as Mrs. Elwyn seemed as much interested as any one in seeing the tableaux, +Agnes knew what the result would be, if Lewie insisted upon going to bed; so +she endeavored to amuse him and keep him awake till she had seen at least one +tableau. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lewie, wait <i>one</i> moment!” said she; “Lewie will +see a beautiful picture.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lewie don’t want to see pictures; Lewie wants to go to bed. +Sister, come! sing to Lewie.” +</p> + +<p> +“In one moment, then, little brother. Let Agnes see one picture. +Won’t you let sister see <i>one</i> picture?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; Lewie must go to bed. Mamma, tell sister to come with Lewie.” +</p> + +<p> +The result was, of course, in accordance with Master Lewie’s wishes, and +Agnes was directed to take him up to bed. “He will very soon be +asleep,” her mother added, “and then you can come down.” +</p> + +<p> +This Master Lewie heard, and it put quite a new idea into his head, it never +having occurred to him before that the person who sang him to sleep left him +alone, after her task was accomplished. That was a thing he was not going to +submit to, and he was so determined to watch Agnes, lest she should slip away +from him, that all sleep seemed to have deserted his eyes, which were wider +open, and more bright and wide awake, than ever. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes laid down beside him, and, patting him gently on the cheek, she sang in a +sleepy sort of way, hoping the tone of her voice would have a somniferous +effect. +</p> + +<p> +“Sing louder!” shouted Master Lewie. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes obeyed, and sang many nursery songs suggested by Master Lewie, hoping, at +the end of each one, that there would be some signs of drowsiness manifested on +the part of the little tyrant; but the moment it was finished, brightly and +quickly he would speak up: +</p> + +<p> +“Sing that over again!—sing another!—sing ‘Old +Woman!’—sing ‘Jack Horner,’” &c., &c. +</p> + +<p> +And Agnes’ heart died within her as question upon question would follow +each other in quick succession, suggested by the lively imagination of Master +Lewie, as to the name and parentage of “the little boy who lived by +himself;” and the childless condition of the man whose “old wife +wasn’t at home;” and where the dogs actually <i>did</i> take the +“wheel-barrow, wife and all;” he feeling perfectly satisfied of the +accurate information of Agnes on all these important topics. +</p> + +<p> +Several times the little bright eyes slowly closed, and Agnes thought he was +fairly conquered. Slowly drawing her arm from under his head, she began +cautiously to rise; but before she had stolen a foot from the bed, he would +start up and stare at her in amazement, exclaiming, “Where going, +sister?” and then he seemed to learn by experience, and to determine that +he wouldn’t be “caught napping” again that evening. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, the fun was going on below, and several beautiful pictures had +been exhibited and admired before Agnes was missed from the darkened parlor. +But now came the cry, “Agnes! Come, Agnes! Where’s Agnes? She is to +be in this picture.” To which Mrs. Elwyn replied, that “Agnes was +putting Lewie to sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“And hasn’t she been here at all, Aunt Harriet?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered Mrs. Elwyn, “Lewie takes a long time to get to +sleep to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is <i>too bad</i>, I declare!” said little Grace, her cheeks +reddening with vexation, “Agnes did want to see these pictures so; +can’t I go up and see if Lewie is asleep, Aunt Harriet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Better not,” said Mrs. Elwyn; “you may disturb him just as +he is dropping asleep, and then Agnes will have to stay much longer.” +</p> + +<p> +The exclamations of indignation were loud and furious from the whole party of +little folks, when it was found that Agnes had been all the evening banished +from the room, and they were ready to go up to Lewie’s room in a body and +take possession of Agnes, and bring her down in triumph. But Emily said, +“stop children, and I will go.” +</p> + +<p> +Very quietly Emily stole into the room and up to the bedside. The children were +lying with their arms about each other, Agnes’ little hand was on her +brother’s cheek, and both were soundly sleeping. Emily touched Agnes +gently and whispered in her ear, but her slumber was so very sound that she +could not arouse her. “Better to let her sleep on now,” said Emily, +“and if Agnes only knew it, she has helped to make the prettiest tableaux +we have had this evening.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus early was little Agnes learning to give up her own gratification for the +sake of others, while the strong will of her little brother was strengthened by +constant exercise and indulgence, for this was but one of many instances daily +occurring, in which Agnes was obliged to relinquish her own pleasure in order +to gratify the whims and caprices of her little brother. Lewie had so often +heard such expressions from his mother, that almost as soon as he could speak a +connected sentence, he would say, “Lewie must have his own way; Lewie +must not be crossed,” and in this way did his mother prepare him for the +jostling and conflicts of life. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>VII.<br/> +The Governess.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“An ower true tale.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wharton was one day writing in his study, for though a practical farmer he +devoted much of his time to literary pursuits,—when there was a knock at +his door, and on opening it he saw there a young woman of delicate appearance, +and of so much apparent refinement and cultivation, that he was quite taken by +surprise when she asked him the question, “if he had any wool to be given +out on shares?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wharton replied, that he had had so much trouble with those to whom he had +given out wool in that way, and had been so often cheated by them, that he had +said he would give out no more, but he believed he must break through his rule +for once, in her favor. She seemed very grateful, and said she hoped he would +have no reason to regret his kindness in giving her employment. And so it +proved; Miss Edwards, (for that was her name,) gave such entire satisfaction as +to her work, and the share of it she returned, that Mr. Wharton kept her for +some time in constant employment. Every time she came, he was more and more +pleased with her gentle and unaffected manners, and with the style of her +conversation, which showed without the slightest appearance of effort, a person +of great intelligence and good breeding, while an air of subdued melancholy +excited an interest in her, which increased with every interview. +</p> + +<p> +“She is an unmistakable lady,” said Mr. Wharton to his wife, +“but how she came to be living in the village, without friends, and as I +believe in circumstances of great necessity, I cannot imagine. There is a +slight reserve about her,” he added, “which may be difficult to +penetrate, but if I mistake not, she is much in need of a friend, and I think +she will not long resist the voice of kindness.” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, the next time she called, Mr. Wharton, in his kind and +sympathising manner, led her to speak of her own peculiar circumstances; and at +length drew from her this much of her history: She was the daughter of a plain +New England farmer; had had a good common school education; and was expected to +devote the rest of her life to the making of butter and cheese, and to the +other occupations carried on in a farmer’s family. Everything that she +could do to aid her father and mother she was willing and ready to perform, but +she sighed for knowledge; she had learned enough to wish to know more, and she +felt that there was that in her, which properly cultivated, might fit her for +something higher than the making of butter and cheese. Thus, when the +day’s labor was ended, and the old people, as was their custom, had +retired early to rest, their dutiful daughter, her work for the day well done, +sought with delight her little chamber, and her beloved books, in whose +companionship she passed the hours always till midnight, and sometimes till she +was startled by the +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Cock’s shrill clarion,” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +and reminded that body and mind alike needed repose. +</p> + +<p> +In her studies, and in the choice of her reading, she was guided by her pastor; +and a better guide, or one more willing to extend a helping hand to the seeker +for knowledge she could not have found. With such a teacher, and with such an +eager desire for improvement, she could not fail to progress rapidly. On the +death of her parents, both of whom she followed to the grave in the course of +one year, the kind pastor took her to his own home; but not being willing to be +even for a time a burden to him, she immediately opened a small school in a +village near them. Now her kind pastor too was dead; and having heard that a +teacher was wanted in the village of Hillsdale, she had come there in hopes of +getting the situation. Here she was doomed to disappointment, the vacant place +having been supplied but a day or two before she reached the village; and now, +among entire strangers, heart-sick with disappointment, and with no friend to +turn to in her distress, she was taken down with a fever. It was a kind-hearted +woman, in whose house she had rented a small room, and she nursed her as if she +had been a daughter, without hope of remuneration. As soon as she was +sufficiently recovered to think again of work, she began to inquire eagerly for +employment; and her landlady having directed her to Mr. Wharton, she had taken +that long walk from the village, while yet very feeble, which resulted in the +accomplishment of her wishes. +</p> + +<p> +There had been a brother, she told Mr. Wharton, an only child besides herself; +but, as Mr. Wharton inferred from what she said, he was a wild, unsteady youth, +and he had wandered from his home some years before, and gone far west towards +the Mississippi. For some time they continued to hear from him, but he had long +since ceased to write. She feared that he was dead; but sometimes she had a +strong hope, which seemed like a presentiment to her, that she should yet look +upon his face on earth; and in this hope, she continued still occasionally to +direct letters to the spot from which he had last written. +</p> + +<p> +When Mr. Wharton had repeated to his wife the story of Miss Edwards, she said +immediately: +</p> + +<p> +“Why, is she not just the person for a governess for our younger +children? No doubt, too, she might aid Emily in her studies, for the child is +too delicate to send away from home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well thought of, my dear wife,” said Mr. Wharton; “and if we +could persuade Harriet to let poor little Agnes join us, what a nice little +school we might have. It is strange the idea has not occurred to me before, for +I have thought, a great many times, what a pity it was that such a woman as +Miss Edwards should spend her life in spinning wool.” +</p> + +<p> +“When do you expect her again?” asked Mrs. Wharton. +</p> + +<p> +“She will probably be here this afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us save her the long walk, by driving over to see her this morning: +perhaps she can return with us.” And in less than an hour, Mr. and Mrs. +Wharton were seated in the widow Crane’s neat little parlor, in earnest +conversation with Miss Edwards. +</p> + +<p> +I need not say that the offer made by Mr. and Mrs. Wharton was unhesitatingly +and gratefully accepted by Miss Edwards. Those only who have felt as utterly +forlorn and desolate as she had done for the last few weeks, can understand +with what joy she hailed the prospect of a home among such kind and +sympathizing hearts. +</p> + +<p> +And a <i>home</i> indeed she found. From the time she entered Mr. +Wharton’s hospitable door, she was treated as companion, friend, and +sister. No more sad, lonely hours for her, so long as she remained under that +roof. There were plenty of happy, bright little faces around her; there were +kind words always sounding in her ear; there were opportunities enough to be +useful; there were rare and valuable books for her leisure hours. With all +these sources of enjoyment, could she fail to be happy? +</p> + +<p> +And if Miss Edwards esteemed herself most fortunate in having found so +delightful a home, Mrs. Wharton was no less so in having secured her invaluable +services. +</p> + +<p> +“How have I ever lived so long without Rhoda!” she often exclaimed; +for the new governess, by her own earnest request, soon lost the formal title +of Miss Edwards in the family, and was simply “Rhoda” with Mr. and +Mrs. Wharton, and “Miss Rhoda” with the children. +</p> + +<p> +“I think there is nothing that she cannot do, and do well,” she +added. “She is a most charming companion in the parlor, with a +never-failing fund of good humor and cheerfulness; a kind and patient, and in +all respects most admirable teacher, for the children; an unwearied nurse in +sickness; a complete cook, if for any reason her services are required in the +kitchen; and perfectly ready to turn her hand to anything that is to be +done.” +</p> + +<p> +“And now you have not mentioned the crowning excellence of her character, +my dear,” said Mr. Wharton; “she is, I believe, a sincere and +earnest Christian; and, as you say, I think we are most fortunate in having +secured her as an inmate in our family, and a teacher for our children.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wharton, who had unbounded influence with Mrs. Elwyn, had no great +difficulty in persuading her to allow Agnes to become a member of his family, +that she might with his children enjoy the benefit of Miss Edwards’ +instructions. Indeed, so long as Mrs. Elwyn had her darling Lewie with her, it +seemed almost a matter of indifference to her what became of Agnes; and thus +the neglect and unkindness of her mother were overruled for good, and Agnes was +placed in the hands of those who would sow good seed in her young heart, while +improving and cultivating her mind. Happy would it have been for poor little +Lewie, could he have been taken from the indulgent arms of his weak and doating +mother, and placed under like healthy training, where his really fine qualities +of heart and mind might have been cultured, and he might early have been taught +to curb that hot and hasty temper, and to restrain those habits of +self-indulgence, which finally proved his ruin. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Edwards remained six years in her happy home at Mr. Wharton’s, and +had become as they all thought essential to their comfort and happiness, when +she one day received a letter, which agitated her exceedingly. She was sitting +at the dinner table, when the letters were brought from the village. One was +handed to her; she looked at the superscription, at the post-mark, which was +that of a town far to the south-west; her cheek flushed, and with trembling +fingers she broke the seal. She glanced at the signature, and turned so pale +they thought she would faint, but in a moment she was relieved by a burst of +tears. +</p> + +<p> +Her long lost brother was alive! he wrote that he was married, and settled in +that far distant State. One of his sister’s letters (for she still +continued from time to time to write to him) had lately reached him, he said, +and he wished her to come to him. Her mind was immediately made up to go; she +dearly loved her sweet pupils, and the kind friends who had given her a home, +and a place in their hearts, but the ties of kindred were stronger than all +other ties, and they drew her with resistless force towards the home of her own +and only brother. +</p> + +<p> +There was something about the tone of this letter which Mrs. Wharton did not +like, and she had a foreboding that this journey would not be for the happiness +of her friend, and tried to dissuade her from undertaking it. And in this she +was entirely disinterested; for great as would be the loss of this gifted young +lady to her, Mrs. Wharton was not the one to put a straw in her way, if she +felt assured the journey would end happily for her. +</p> + +<p> +All that she said, however, was of no avail; it had been the hope of Miss +Edwards’ life, once more to see this darling brother, and nothing could +deter her from making the attempt. Her preparations were made in haste, and +with many tears on her part, and on that of the kind friends she was leaving, +and amid loud sobs and lamentations from her dear little scholars, they parted, +never again to meet on earth. A tedious and perilous journey she had, by river +and land, but she seemed to bear all the discomforts of the way with her own +cheerful, happy spirit, and the letters she wrote to her friends from different +points on the journey were exceedingly amusing and entertaining. One of them, +and the last she wrote before reaching her point of destination, I will +transcribe here in her own words:— +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“Springdale, Oct.—” +</p> + +<p> +“My beloved pupils,—I am going, in this letter, to tell you a ghost +story, and a murder story, of both of which your humble servant was the +heroine. But before your little cheeks begin to grow white, and your eyes to +open in horror, let me tell you that the ghost was no ghost at all, and in the +murder scene, nobody’s life was in danger, though both matters at the +time were very serious ones to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wrote you last from a little tavern in the northern part of Virginia, +while I was waiting for a conveyance to continue on my journey, the stage +passing over these unfrequented roads only twice a week. It has always been my +lot to have friends raised up for me when friends were most needed; and while +sitting in the little parlor of the tavern, feeling very desolate, and very +impatient, a gig drove up to the door, from which an old clergyman alighted. He +soon entered the parlor, and in a few minutes we were engaged in a pleasant +conversation, in the course of which I mentioned the circumstances of my +detention in that place, and my extreme anxiety to progress in my +journey.” +</p> + +<p> +“The old gentleman, it seems, had been on a three days’ journey to +a ministers’ meeting, and was now returning home, and as he was +travelling in the same direction in which I wished to go, he said it would give +him great pleasure if I would take a seat in his gig, in case my heaviest +trunks could be sent on by stage. This the good-natured landlord very willingly +consented to attend to. The trunks were to be sent to the care of the old +clergyman, who was to ship me for my destined port, and send my trunks on after +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may be sure I did not hesitate about accepting the old +clergyman’s offer, for after jolting along with rough men, over rough +roads, as I had done for many days, I anticipated with much pleasure a ride of +two or three days in a gig, with the kind, pleasant old gentleman. And now +comes the ghost story.” +</p> + +<p> +“As we were riding along through this thinly settled part of Western +Virginia, I noticed occasionally large, dark, barn-like looking buildings, with +the wooden shutters tightly closed. After passing two or three of these +buildings, I at length asked my companion for what purpose they were +used.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, those,’ said he, ‘are our churches. I had +forgotten how entirely unacquainted you were with this part of the country, or +I should have pointed them out to you.’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Is it possible,’ I exclaimed, ‘that you worship in +those dreary, dark-looking places! I must go inside of one of them on the first +opportunity.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Soon after I spoke, as we were ascending a hill, some part of the +harness gave way, and we were obliged to alight from the gig, while the old +gentleman endeavored to repair the injury.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘How long will it take you, sir,’ said I, ‘to set this +matter right?’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, some time—perhaps a quarter of an hour,’ he +answered.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘And cannot I help you?’ I asked. ‘I believe I can do +almost anything I undertake to do.’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, no, no,’ he answered; ‘you had better not +undertake to mend a harness, or you will be obliged, after this, to say that +you have failed in one thing; besides, I can do this very well +alone.’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘I have a great mind to take hold and mend it, just to show you +that my boast was not an idle one,’ said I; ‘but if you are +determined to scorn my offered assistance, I will run back, and take a survey +of the interior of the old church we passed a few moments since.’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘You will not see much,’ the old clergyman called out after +me; ‘for, as you see, the wooden shutters are kept closed during the +week, and it is almost total darkness inside.’” +</p> + +<p> +“However, on I ran down the hill, and was soon at the door of the old +barn-like building. The door was not fastened, and I opened it, and entered the +church. At first, the darkness seemed intense, broken only by little streaks of +sunlight which streamed in through the small, crescent-shaped holes in the +shutters; but at length my eye became accustomed to the darkness, and I could +begin to distinguish the rude seats and aisles, and even to see, at the end of +the church, an elevation which I knew must be the pulpit. Determined to see all +that was to be seen, I made my way along the aisle, ascended the pulpit stairs, +and had just laid my hand on the door, when a tall, white figure suddenly rose +up in the pulpit, and laid a cold hand on mine. I believe I shrieked; but I was +filled with such an indescribable horror, that I know not what I did, when a +hollow voice said:” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Don’t be afraid; I will not harm you.’” +</p> + +<p> +“I snatched my hand from the cold grasp which held it, and fled from the +church. I remember nothing more, till I opened my eyes, and found the old +clergyman bathing my face with water. He had become alarmed at my long absence, +and, on coming back to seek me, had found me lying on my face, on the grass, in +front of the old church. We had been riding again for some time, before I +summoned resolution to tell the old gentleman what I had seen in the church. He +complimented me by saying, that though his acquaintance with me had been short, +he was much mistaken in me, if I was a person to be deceived by the +imagination; and he said he much regretted that I had not mentioned the cause +of my fright before we left the old church, as it was always best to ascertain +at once the true nature of any such apparently frightful object.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘We have no time to turn back now,’ said he, ‘as we +have already lost more than half an hour; but the next best thing we can do is +to stop at the first house we come to, and see if we can find out anything +concerning the apparition which appeared to you in the church.’” +</p> + +<p> +“We soon stopped before the door of a small log house, and at our summons +a pleasant-looking woman appeared. To the inquiries of the old clergyman as to +the appearance by which I had been so much alarmed, she replied:” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, it’s the crazy minister, sir. He used to preach in that +old church; but he’s been crazy for a long time, and often he dresses +himself in a long white robe, and goes and sits in the pulpit of that old +church all day. He’s very gentle, she added, turning to me, ‘and +wouldn’t hurt anybody for the world; but I don’t wonder you got a +good fright.’ So ends my ghost story; and now, if you are ready for more +horrors, I will tell you my other adventure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Our detention near the old church, and the state of the roads, rendered +heavy by late rains, made it impossible for us to reach the town at which we +had hoped to spend the night; and we had made up our minds that we would stop +at the first <i>promising</i>-looking establishment we should see, when the +coming up of a sudden storm left us no option, but made us hail gladly the +first human dwelling we came to, though that was but a rough, rambling old hut, +built of unhewn logs.” +</p> + +<p> +“There was only an old woman at home when we stopped at the door, and I +fancied she looked rather <i>too well pleased</i> when we asked if she could +accommodate us for the night. I must confess to you, my dear children, I felt +rather nervous after the fright of that afternoon; I, who used to boast that I +was ignorant of the fact of possessing such a thing as nerves; but I do think I +must have been nervous, for very little things troubled me that evening, and my +imagination had never been so busy before. In a very few moments, an old man, +and three strapping, rough-looking youths, entered, with their axes over their +shoulders, and dripping with rain; and now I began to imagine that I saw +suspicious glances passing between these young men, and I certainly heard a +long whispered conversation pass between two of them and the old woman in the +next room. I looked towards my old friend the clergyman; but he, good, +unsuspicious old soul, was nodding in his chair by the log fire. I grew more +and more uncomfortable, and heartily wished we had jogged on in the pelting +rain, rather than trust ourselves to such very questionable hospitality. One +thing I made up my mind to, which was this—that I would not close my eyes +to sleep that night, but would keep on the watch for whatever might +happen.” +</p> + +<p> +“The old woman gave us a very comfortable supper, and soon afterwards she +asked me if I would like to go to bed. Not liking to show any distrust of my +hosts, I assented with apparent readiness, and followed the old woman into a +hall, and up a rude ladder, which I should have found it very difficult to +mount had it not been for my early exercise in this kind of gymnastics, when +searching for hen’s eggs in the barn, at my New England home.” +</p> + +<p> +“At the head of the ladder was a small passageway, from which we entered +the room which was to be my sleeping apartment. Whether there had ever been any +door to this room or not I do not know; certain it is there was no door now; +the only other room I could perceive in the upper part of the house, was a sort +of a granary filled with bins to hold different kinds of grain.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Is the old gentleman with whom I came, to sleep in this part of +the house?’ I asked in as careless a tone as I could assume.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘No, he sleeps in the loft of the other part where the boys +sleep;’ answered the old woman, and then looking at me with a grin which +I thought gave her the appearance of an ugly old hag, she said, ‘Why ye +ain’t afeard on us, be ye?’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘I told her I had had quite a fright that day, and felt a little +nervous.’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ said she, ‘ye can just go to sleep without any +frights here. We shan’t do ye no harm, I reckon,’ and she left me +and descended the ladder.” +</p> + +<p> +“Before going to bed I took my light, and stepping out softly I went to +reconnoitre the other room, the door of which we had passed on the way to the +room in which I was to spend the night: I was obliged to descend two steps to +enter this room, where I found nothing frightful to be sure, there being only +some old clothes hanging up, and the bins of grain of which I have spoken +before. I returned to my room, and with great difficulty moved a rude chest of +drawers, across the place where a door should be, on this I placed my little +trunk, and the only chair in the room, an old shovel, and a broken pitcher, +determined that if any one did enter the room, it should not be without noise +enough to give me warning. Before this barricade I set my candle, hoping it +might continue to burn all night.” +</p> + +<p> +“I laid down without undressing, determined that I would only rest; I +would not even close my eyes to sleep. I had laid thus as I supposed an hour, +listening to the voices of the old people and their sons, as in subdued tones +they talked together below. At the end of that time the door opened, and I +heard stealthy steps ascending the ladder. My heart, as the saying is, was in +my throat, and I could hear its every throb. The steps came nearer and nearer, +and as the first foot-fall sounded on the floor of the little passage, which +led to my room, I shrieked, ‘Who is there? what do you +want?’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Bless your soul it’s only me; you need not scream +so,’ said the old woman. ‘I’m only going to the bin for some +corn-meal to make mush for your breakfast.’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘I do believe the gal thinks we are going to murder her in her +bed,’ I heard her say with a loud laugh as she descended the ladder; +‘you ought to see the <i>chist</i>, and the things she’s got piled +on top of it, all standing in the door-way.’” +</p> + +<p> +“At this the men’s voices joined in the laugh, and they sounded +horribly to me. ‘Yes,’ I thought to myself, ‘how easy it +would be for them to murder us in our beds, and there would be no one to tell +the tale.’ Soon after this, in spite of my resolution to keep awake, +sleep must have overpowered me, for I was awakened by a tremendous crash, as if +the house was falling, and I opened my eyes to find myself in total darkness, +and to hear soft footsteps in my room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, how I shrieked this time! I believe I cried ‘help! help! +murder!’ and I soon heard footsteps approaching, and saw a light gleaming +up the ladder way, and soon the old woman’s night-cap appeared over the +chest. ‘What <i>is</i> the matter now?’ she cried with some +impatience, ‘you certainly are the most <i>narvous</i> lodger I’ve +ever had yet.’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Matter enough,’ said I, ‘there is some one in my +room. Didn’t you hear that awful crash?’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Pshaw! it’s only our old black cat!’ said the old +woman; ‘he always comes up to this room to sleep, but we thought we had +shut him out.’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Can he climb the ladder?’ I asked.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Just like a <i>human</i>,’ said the old woman; and, pushing +aside the chest, she seized the cat, and raising the only window in the room, +threw him out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Again weariness overpowered me, and I slept; only to awake to new +horrors; for now I heard cautious footsteps and whispered voices, and outside +the grindstone was at work making something very sharp. Then the door opened, +and a smothered voice said, ‘Mother, is the water hot?’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes, bilin’,’ answered the old woman; ‘are the +knives sharp?’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘All ready,’ answered the young man; ‘where’s +father?’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘He’s gone to the loft,’ said the old woman; and then +came some whispered words, which I could not catch. You will most probably +laugh at me, but my mind was now so worked up by all the agitation I had +experienced, that I had not the smallest doubt that we were now to be murdered, +and that the dreadful work was already going on in the loft, my kind old friend +being the first victim. Still I thought I might be in time to save him yet, and +there might be a bare possibility of our escape. Springing from my bed in great +haste and agitation, I hurried on my shawl, and cautiously descended the +ladder; but my blood froze with horror, as just then I heard a piercing shriek. +In the passage below I encountered the old woman; she had just come into the +house, and had an old shawl over her head, and a lantern in her hand, I thought +she gave a guilty start when she saw me, as she exclaimed:” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, bless me, gal! what are you down at this time in the morning +for?’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘What are <i>you</i> all up so early in the morning for?’ I +asked, in a voice which I meant should strike terror to her heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, my old man and the boys had determined to kill hogs this +morning,’ she answered; ‘but we tried to keep so quiet as not to +disturb ye. I was afeared, though, that the squealing of the hogs would wake +ye.’” +</p> + +<p> +“The relief was so sudden, that I could hardly refrain from putting my +arms round the old woman’s neck, and confessing all my unjust suspicions, +but the fear of hurting her feelings prevented. With a tranquil mind I again +climbed the ladder, and sought my humble bed, and was soon in such a sound +slumber, that even the squealing of the hogs, in their dying agonies, failed to +rouse me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Seen by the morning light, as we were seated around the breakfast table, +these midnight robbers and murderers of my fancy appeared a family of honest, +hardy New Englanders, who had bought a tract of land in Western Virginia. They +showed us, at a little distance, a clearing where they were just erecting a +larger and more comfortable log dwelling; and the old woman assured us that if +we would stop and visit them, if we ever passed that way again, we should not +have to climb a ladder, for they were going to have a ‘reg’lar +stairway in t’other house.’” +</p> + +<p> +“When the time came for parting with our kind hosts, and we offered to +remunerate them for their trouble, they rejected the proffered money almost +with scorn.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘No, no,’ said the old man, ‘we haven’t got +quite so low as that yet; and I hope that I nor none of mine will ever come to +taking pay for a night’s lodging from a traveller. We don’t keep +<i>tavern</i> here.’” +</p> + +<p> +“The old woman’s parting advice to me was to try and ‘git +over my <i>narvousness</i>; and she thought I hadn’t better drink no more +strong green tea.’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘I think your tea <i>was</i> strong last night, my friend,’ +said I; ‘and that, together with the sight of the ghost, of which I have +been telling you, made me very uneasy and restless.’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ said the old woman, ‘I hope ye won’t be +so suspicious of us next time ye come; for it’s a <i>cartain</i> fact, +that we never murdered any <i>human</i> yet. We do kill <i>hogs</i>; that I +won’t deny.’ And she laughed so heartily, that I felt quite sure +she had seen through all my fears and suspicions of the night before. So ends +the murder story.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you could have heard my old clergyman laugh, as I related to him +all the horrors of the night; and when I came to mistaking the last squeal of a +dying pig for his own death groan, I thought he would have rolled out of the +gig. That night, which was <i>last</i> night, found us in the old +gentleman’s hospitable home, where his kind lady gave me as cordial a +welcome as I could desire. Here I am still with these good friends, only +waiting for my trunks; and then, with God’s blessing, two days more will +find me in the home of my own dear brother.—And here, with many kind +remembrances to the dear ones at Brook Farm, Miss Edwards’ letter +closed.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>VIII.<br/> +Bitter Disappointments.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> + “Oh! art thou found?<br/> +But yet to find thee thus!”<br/> + VESPERS OF PALERMO. +</p> + +<p> +It may be as well for us to continue the history of Miss Edwards here, though +its sad sequel was not known to the family of Mr. Wharton till a long time +after she had left them. The letter with which the preceding chapter closes, +was the last heard from her for many weeks. Various were the surmises in the +family as to the reasons for her unaccountable silence, but at length they +settled down in the belief that she must have fallen a victim to some of the +diseases of a new country; though why they should not have received some +tidings of her fate from her brother, still remained a mystery. +</p> + +<p> +At last, after many weeks, there came a letter from her, but it was short, and +sad, and unsatisfactory in all respects. She had had a terrible disappointment +she said, but her friends must have forbearance with her, and excuse her from +detailing the events of the past few weeks. She was now at Springdale with her +kind old friend, the clergyman, and was just recovering from a long and tedious +illness; she hoped soon to be able to be at work again, and a little school was +ready for her, as soon as she should be sufficiently restored to take charge of +it. Not one word was said of her brother, or of her reasons for returning to +the home of the old clergyman. +</p> + +<p> +“She is evidently very unhappy,” said Mr. Wharton, “and +perhaps her funds are exhausted. She must return to us, and for this purpose I +will send her the means without delay.” +</p> + +<p> +But still Miss Edwards did not come, and her letters were few and far between. +At length there came one written in much better spirits, and in her old +cheerful style, in which she informed them that she was engaged to be married +to a young physician of that place. She seemed now very happy, and full of +bright anticipations, not the least cheering of which, was the prospect of +visiting her kind friends once more, when she should travel to the east on her +bridal tour. And this was the last letter they ever received from Miss Edwards. +</p> + +<p> +That same summer a package came to Mr. Wharton, directed in an unknown hand, +from a place, the name of which he had never heard before. It was from a +physician, and ran thus: +</p> + +<p> +SIR,—I was called a few weeks since to attend a young lady, who was lying +dangerously ill, at the only tavern in our little village. I found her raving +in delirium, and your name, and the names of many whom I suppose to be members +of your family, were constantly mingled with her ravings. She had stopped at +the tavern the night before in the stage; and when the other passengers went on +was too ill to proceed with them. I attended her constantly for a week or ten +days, and at the end of that time, I had the happiness to find that her fever +had entirely left her, and her mind was quite restored. She was, however, +extremely weak, and feeling assured, she said, that she should never be able to +reach the home of her kind friends, (mentioning the name of your family,) she +begged earnestly for writing materials, and though I remonstrated and +entreated, I found it impossible to prevent her writing. She said she had a +communication which it was due to you that she should make, and she charged me +over and over again, to remember your direction, and send the package to you in +case she did not leave that place alive. She was busily engaged in writing one +day, when the noise of wheels attracted her to the window, which she reached in +time to see a gentleman alight from a chaise, who proceeded to hand out a lady. +A person in the room with her, saw her put her hands to her head, and then she +rushed from the back door of the house, and did not stop till she reached the +woods. When found she was a raving maniac, and is so still. We have been +obliged to place her in the county house, where she is confined in the +apartment devoted to Lunatics, and is as comfortable as she can be made under +the circumstances. The accompanying package I found just as she left it, when +she dropped her pen and hastened to the window, and I now comply with her +earnest request and enclose it to you. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +With respect, &c.<br/> +JAMES MASTEN. +</p> + +<p> +The manuscript, when opened, was found to be in Miss Edwards’ well known +hand-writing, though the fingers that held the pen, had evidently trembled from +weakness and agitation. It was with the saddest emotions, that those who had +loved her so tenderly, read the following communication: +</p> + +<p> +“Painful and harrowing to my feelings as the task must be which I have +undertaken, I feel that it is due to my kind and ever sympathising friends, to +make them acquainted with the sad trials through which I have passed, and the +bitter disappointments I have met with. I have tried to bear up with the spirit +of a Christian, and to feel that these trials are sent by One who orders all +things in justice and righteousness; I do submit; I am not inclined to murmur; +I hope I am resigned; but heart, and flesh, and mind, are weak, and these alas! +are all failing.” +</p> + +<p> +“With the fondest anticipations I reached the village, where I expected +to be received in the arms of my long lost brother. Oh, how my heart bounded, +as the prolonged sound of the stage-horn told me we were approaching the end of +my journey! and how my imagination pictured the joyful meeting, the cordial +welcome, the fond embrace once more of my own loved kindred! I was much +surprised that my brother was not at the tavern to meet me, and more so when, +on asking for his residence, the landlord hesitated, as if perplexed.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Edwards! Edwards!’ said he; ‘there is but one person +of that name that I know of in all the village; but he can’t be brother +to such a lady as you.’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Perhaps you have not been here long,’ I said.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘O yes, ma’am, nearly fifteen years,’ he +answered.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘And what is the name of this man of whom you speak?’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Richard, I think; they always call him Dick Edwards about +here,’ answered the landlord.” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not tell him that was my brother’s name, but with a +trembling heart I asked him to point me to the house of this Richard Edwards of +whom he spoke.” +</p> + +<p> +“There was something of pity in the tone of the landlord’s voice, +as he told me to turn down the second lane I should come to, and go on to the +last hut on the right hand. ‘But I advise you not to go,’ he +continued, ‘for I’m sure there must be some mistake.’” +</p> + +<p> +I was too heart-sick to answer, but, taking my travelling-bag on my arm, I +followed the directions of the landlord, and picked my way as well as I could +through the mud of the miserable, filthy lane he had mentioned to me, all the +time saying to myself, ‘It cannot be—there surely must be some +mistake,’ and yet impelled irresistibly to go on. +</p> + +<p> +“As I approached the door of the hut at which I knew I was to stop, I +heard the sound of singing and shouting; and as I came nearer, the words of a +low drinking chorus sounded on my ear. I paused before the door, and a feeling +of faintness came over me. I thought, ‘I will turn back, and give up the +attempt. Better never to find my brother, than to find him here, and +thus.’ But again something impelled me to tap at the door. It would be +such an inexpressible relief, I thought, to find myself mistaken.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was some time before I could make myself heard above the noise of +drunken revelry which sounded within the hovel; but at length the door was +opened by a wretched, frightened-looking woman, and a scene of indescribable +misery was presented to my eyes. Around a table were seated three or four +brutish-looking men, with a jug and some glasses before them. On the table was +a pack of greasy-looking cards; but those who surrounded the table were too far +gone to play now; they could only drink, and sing, and shout, and drink again; +and one of them, in attempting to rise from the table, fell, and lay in a state +of utter helplessness on the floor.” +</p> + +<p> +“The man of the house was not so far gone as the rest; and when he came +staggering forward, a few words sufficed to explain the reason of my +appearance.” +</p> + +<p> +“His answer seemed to seal my fate.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Ho! you’re Rhoda, then! I wrote to you. I thought likely +enough you’d got some money. We’re pretty hard up here.’ This +was said with a silly laugh and hiccough, which filled me with an indescribable +loathing.” +</p> + +<p> +“And was this miserable, bloated wretch my brother—that brother +whom I had so longed and prayed once more to see, of whom I had thought by day, +and dreamed by night, for so many long years! I turned to go without another +word, but fell at the door, and lay, I know not how long, without sense or +motion. When I revived, I found the woman (who, I suppose, was my +sister-in-law) bathing my face. I have a dim recollection, too, of seeing some +dirty, miserable-looking children, and of being asked for <i>money</i>. I laid +all that I had about me on the table, and, while they were eagerly catching for +it, I left the wretched place; and grasping by the fence to steady my feeble +footsteps, I made my way back to the inn. I took the next stage, and then the +boat, for the home of my kind old friend at Springdale, and arrived there ill +in body and mind. From there I wrote you, when partially recovered. As soon as +I was able, I began my school, and before long became much interested in my +little scholars; and in the hospitable home of my kind old friends, regained +tranquillity of mind, and after a time even cheerfulness. But other trials +awaited me. My head is weary, and I must rest before I relate to you the +remainder of my melancholy story.” +</p> + +<p> +“There was a young physician in that place, who had recently come from +the East, and settled there. He was a man of agreeable person and manners, of +much general information, and of very winning address; at least, so he seemed +to me. He was entirely different from all whom I had met in that new country, +and was the only person, besides my old friend the clergyman and his wife, with +whom it was really pleasant to converse; and I felt perfectly at ease in his +society, having been assured that he was engaged to a certain Miss +G——, the daughter of a merchant in the village. Though much +surprised at this, she having appeared to me but a mere flippant gossip, and he +a man of refined and cultivated intellect, still I had no reason to doubt it, +and was completely taken by surprise when, after an acquaintance of a few +weeks, he one day made an offer of his hand and heart to <i>me</i>. I told him +what I had heard of his engagement to another, but he assured me it was the +idlest village gossip. ‘There was nowhere else to go,’ he said, +‘till I came there, and so he had occasionally visited at Mr. +G——’s, but without the slightest intention of paying any +serious attention to either of his daughters, who were girls not at all to his +taste.’” +</p> + +<p> +“The idea of this gentleman appearing in the character of a lover of +<i>mine</i> was so new to me that I was obliged to take time to accustom myself +to it, and to ascertain the nature of my own feelings, which I soon found were +such as to satisfy me that I should commit no perjury in giving him my hand. I +will not tell you how I loved him! I cannot write about it now! But for a short +time I was very, very happy, and even my bitter disappointments were forgotten. +But suddenly he ceased to visit me. Day after day passed and he did not come; +and yet I knew that he was in the village. At length I could no longer conceal +my distress from my old friend; who, being very indignant at this treatment, +called my truant lover to account.” +</p> + +<p> +“My cheeks glow with indignation as I write it! A story had been +circulated, which was afterwards traced to the G—— ’s, that I +had left a <i>husband</i> in an Eastern State; and this man, without coming to +me for a word of explanation, believed the story and deserted me. I had no +friend of long enough standing there to contradict the report; I wrote to you, +Mr. Wharton, but the letter could never have reached you, for no answer came; +and this only confirmed the suspicions of those who had heard this slanderous +story. All but my kind hosts looked upon me with suspicion; the object of the +slander was accomplished; my former lover resumed his visits at the house of +Mr. G——, and his attentions to his daughter. He was not worthy of a +love like mine! Stranger as he had been to me, could I have believed a tale +like that of him, without making an effort to investigate its truth, or giving +him full opportunity to clear himself from the imputation? That place could no +longer be a home for me. I left it, dear friends, and turned my face once more +towards those who had been for so many years tried and true to me. But strength +failed! I have been here I know not how many weeks, enduring torment of mind +and body. My hope of reaching you is dying out. I <i>have</i> no hope but in +God; my friend and refuge in time of trouble! I have—’” +</p> + +<p> +Here the writing ceased; and the next moment she had seen her faithless lover +hand his bride from the carriage, and reason fled from her poor brain forever. +</p> + +<p> +The day after this letter was received found Mr. Wharton on his way to the +West, to ascertain for himself the condition of Miss Edwards, and to endeavor +to devise some means for her comfort and restoration, if possible. Has my +reader ever visited a <i>county house</i>, and especially the apartment devoted +exclusively to Lunatics? If not, I will endeavor to describe a few of the +sights which met the eyes of Mr. Wharton, on his sad visit to the county house, +which then stood a few miles from——. He proceeded thither in +company with the physician who had written to him, and sent him the package +from Miss Edwards, and it was with a heavy heart that he first saw the desolate +brick building in which she had been placed, and thought, “Is this the +only asylum for one so lovely and so gifted, and must she wear out her days in +hopeless madness here?” Making their way through the crowd of miserable, +hobbling, bandaged, blind and helpless creatures who were standing about the +yard and halls, Mr. Wharton and Dr. Masten, guided by the superintendent of the +county house, paused before the door of the “crazy room.” Sounds of +many voices were already heard, in various tones, singing and shouting, and +preaching, and when the door was opened the din was such that it was impossible +for the gentlemen to hear each other speak. +</p> + +<p> +What a place, thought Mr. Wharton, for those who should be kept quiet and +tranquil, and who should have nothing about them but pleasant, cheerful sights. +What possible hope is there of the restoration of any here! +</p> + +<p> +About the large and not over clean room, were a number of <i>cages</i>, much +like those you now see placed around a menagerie tent, though not so large or +so comfortable as these cages of wild beasts. In each of these cages was +confined a human being, and these poor creatures stricken by the hand of God, +were in various stages of insanity, some wildly raving, others more quiet, and +others still in a state of helpless idiocy. One poor creature had preached till +her voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper, and so she continued to preach, the +keeper told them, day and night, till utterly exhausted, when she would fall +into a state of insensibility, which could hardly be called <i>sleep</i>, but +from which she would arouse to preach again, day and night, till again +exhausted. +</p> + +<p> +A boy about sixteen years of age sat in one of the cages, with scarcely a rag +to cover him, idly pulling through his fingers a bit of cord. This had been his +employment for months, the keeper said. He was perfectly quiet, except the cord +was taken from him; but then he would be quite frantic. The ends of his fingers +were quite worn with drawing this cord between them, and it was necessary to +supply him constantly with a new bit of cord. When asked why the boy remained +nearly naked, the keeper said, they had never been able to devise any means to +keep clothing upon him, or to find anything strong enough to resist the +strength of his hands; but if allowed to remain in a state almost of nudity, +and to have his bit of cord, he was perfectly quiet and contented. +</p> + +<p> +These, and many more sad and horrible things, were seen and heard during their +visit; but Mr. Wharton’s first object was to find her for whose sake he +had undertaken this long journey. He knew her immediately, though her face was +worn with trouble and sickness, and there was an intense and unnatural +brightness about her eye. Her beautiful hair was unbound, and falling about her +shoulders, as she sat in the farthest corner of her cage, perfectly quiet, and +entirely unoccupied. +</p> + +<p> +“Rhoda!” said Mr. Wharton, gently. She started, and put back her +thick hair from her ear, at the sound of his familiar voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Rhoda!” said he, “don’t you remember me?” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him intently, and the expression of her eye began to change. +</p> + +<p> +“The children want to see you so much, Rhoda! Emily and Effie, and Agnes +and little Grace.” He mentioned each name slowly and distinctly, and then +spoke of his wife and the other children, and mentioned scenes and incidents +connected with his home. Her eye still looked with an earnest gaze into his; +her brow contracted, as if she was trying to recall some long forgotten thing; +until at length, with the helplessness of an infant, she stretched her arms +towards Mr. Wharton, and exclaimed, piteously: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, take me away!—take me to my home!” +</p> + +<p> +“You shall go with me, Rhoda; I will not leave you here,” said Mr. +Wharton; and beckoning to Dr. Masten, he left the room. As he reached the door, +he heard a cry of agony, and turning, he saw Miss Edwards at the front of her +cage, with both arms extended towards him through the bars, and the most +agonized, imploring expression upon her face. Stepping back to her, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Rhoda, I <i>will not</i> leave you. Be quiet, and I will come back very +soon to take you with me. Did I ever deceive you, Rhoda?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said she, putting her hand to her head, “they have all +deceived me. Richard deceived me! <i>He</i> deceived me!—oh, so cruelly! +Who can I trust? They all desert me. I am <i>all, all</i> alone!” And she +sat down; and dropping her head upon her knees, she wept very bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +When Mr. Wharton had again called the doctor from the room, he said to him: +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor, this does not seem to me such a hopeless case. How any sane +person could retain his senses in that awful scene, I cannot imagine; I am sure +I should soon go crazy myself. But could I once remove Miss Edwards from these +terrible associations, and place her in one of our Eastern asylums, where she +might have cheerful companionships, and pleasant occupation for her mind and +fingers, I doubt not she might be completely restored.” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor thought it possible, but was not so sanguine on the subject as Mr. +Wharton, who, he said, had only seen the young lady in one of her calmer moods. +Still he by all means advised the trial. “We have no hope of +<i>cure</i>” said he, “in placing these lunatics in the County +House; the only object is to keep them from injuring themselves or others. They +are all of them from the families of the poor, who cannot afford to send them +to an Eastern asylum. This young lady was a stranger, and without means, and so +violent, at times, that restraint was absolutely necessary; so that the only +thing we could do with her was to place her here till I could write to +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You did the very best that could be done under the circumstances, my +dear sir,” answered Mr. Wharton; “but I sincerely hope the day is +not far distant when your State will possess a more comfortable home than this +for those afflicted as these poor creatures are. But I feel as if I could not +lose a moment in removing my young friend from this place; and if you, doctor, +will be so kind as to take the journey with me, and aid me in the care of her, +you shall be well rewarded for your loss of time.” +</p> + +<p> +It was with no great difficulty that this undertaking was accomplished; and in +less than a fortnight from the time when Mr. Wharton found Miss Edwards, caged +like a wild beast in the County House at——, she was placed at an +asylum where every comfort surrounded her. It was not long before she seemed +quite at home amid these new scenes, and began to interest herself in books and +work; and though her mind never fully regained its tone, she yet seemed +tranquil and happy. But the scenes of trial through which she had passed had +done their work upon her constitution, and she sank rapidly, until, in a little +less than a year from the time of her entering the asylum, Mr. Wharton was +summoned to her death-bed. He arrived but a short time before she breathed her +last, and had the satisfaction to find that she knew him, to hear from her own +lips the assurance that her faith in her Redeemer was firm and unshaken, and to +bear her last kind messages to all the dear ones at Brook Farm. And then the +poor sad heart was still—the mind was bright and clear again—for +the shattered strings were tuned anew in heaven. +</p> + +<p> +In a quiet nook at Brook Farm, where the willow bends, and the brook murmurs, +is a spot marked out for a burying-place, and the first stone planted there +bears on it the name of “Rhoda Edwards.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>IX.<br/> +Emily’s Trials.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“And dost thou ask what secret woe<br/> +I bear, corroding joy and youth?<br/> +And wilt thou vainly seek to know<br/> +A pang, even thou must fail to soothe?”—BYRON. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime the education of Master Lewie was going on as best it might, +and in a manner most agreeable to that young gentleman’s inclinations. +When he chose to do so, he studied, and then no child could make more rapid +advancement than he, but as he was brought up without any habits of regular +application, study soon became distasteful to him, and at the first puzzling +sentence he threw aside his books in disgust, and started off for play. The +only thing he really loved, was music, and in his devotion to this delightful +accomplishment he was indefatigable, and his proficiency at that tender age was +remarkable. +</p> + +<p> +But being now nine or ten years old, his mother, urged to this course by some +pretty strong hints from Mr. Wharton, began to determine upon some systematic +plan of education for him. And, acting upon Mr. Wharton’s advice, she was +so happy as to secure the services of Mr. Malcolm, the young clergyman at the +village, as a tutor for Lewie, upon the condition on his part, that unlimited +authority, in no case to be interfered with, should be given to him in his +government of the hitherto untrained and petted child. +</p> + +<p> +And so it was settled, that Mr. Malcolm should ride over from the village every +morning at a certain hour, and attend to the education of little Lewie Elwyn. +It was soon observed, that as the young clergyman rode from the Hemlocks back +to the village, it seemed a difficult matter for him to pass Mr. +Wharton’s lane, but he often, and then oftener, and at length every day, +turned his horse’s head up the lane, and stopped to make a call. And the +children (than whom there are no quicker observers in matters of this kind) +soon made up their minds that the object of Mr. Malcolm’s frequent and +prolonged visits was sweet cousin Emily. And they thought too, judging by the +bright blush that came up in cousin Emily’s usually pale cheek when he +was announced, and by the look of interest with which she listened to his +conversations with her uncle, or replied to him when he addressed a remark to +herself, that cousin Emily was by no means indifferent to the young minister. +</p> + +<p> +Having drawn their own conclusions from these premises, and watching with much +interest, as children always do the progress of a love affair, they were +surprised and disappointed when they found that as Mr. Malcolm’s +attentions increased and became more pointed, cousin Emily gradually withdrew +from his society, and often declined altogether to come into the sitting room +when he was there. Yet they were certain she liked him, for they often found +her watching from her window his retreating figure; and sometimes before she +knew that she was observed, she would be seen to wipe away the tears which were +stealing unbidden down her cheek. +</p> + +<p> +At length, one day, the minister came, and as he walked up the steps of the +front piazza, those who caught sight of his face, saw that it was pale and +agitated, and that he looked as if important matters for him were at stake. And +he asked for Emily. There was no bright blush in her cheek now as she descended +the stairs; it was pale and cold as marble. The interview was a long one, and +when at length Mr. Malcolm mounted his horse and rode slowly away, his face was +as white as when he came, but the look of suspense and expectation had passed +away, and in its place was that of settled and fixed despair. Emily went to her +room, and to her bed, which she did not leave for some days; when she again +appeared in the family she was calm and sweet as ever, but a shade more +pensive. +</p> + +<p> +And the young minister came no more. That was all. +</p> + +<p> +He was sometimes seen in the distant road riding rapidly by, to or from the +Hemlocks, but though the horse from long custom, invariably turned his head +towards Mr. Wharton’s lane, he was not permitted to follow his +inclinations, but was speedily hurried by. +</p> + +<p> +And Emily grew paler and thinner day by day, and there was sometimes a +contraction about the brow which told of intense suffering; and sometimes, +early in the evening she would leave the parlor, and not appear again for the +remainder of the evening. On one of these occasions Agnes followed her, as she +had observed the deadly paleness of her countenance, and feared she would faint +before she reached her room. As Emily ascended the stairs, Agnes thought she +heard groans, as of one in extreme pain. Emily closed her door and Agnes stood +upon the outside; and now the groans were plainly to be distinguished. +</p> + +<p> +“Cousin Emily,” Agnes called, “dear cousin Emily, may I come +in?” +</p> + +<p> +There was no answer, but those same deep groans and now and then a plaintive +moaning. Agnes opened the door gently, and saw Emily upon her knees, and yet +writhing as if in intense agony. She seemed to be trying to pray, and Agnes +caught the words, “Oh, for strength, for strength to endure this agony, +and not to murmur.” +</p> + +<p> +Putting her arm around her, Agnes said: “What is it, cousin Emily? Can +you not tell <i>me</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +Emily started at finding that she was not alone, and then said: +</p> + +<p> +“Help me to rise, Agnes, and hand me those drops. I am glad that it is +you: better you than any of the others. Fasten the door, Agnes.” +</p> + +<p> +Emily reclined upon the sofa, weak and exhausted, the cold beads of +perspiration standing on her brow. Agnes sat in silence beside her, holding her +thin white hands in hers. At length Emily said: +</p> + +<p> +“Agnes, I try to be patient; I make an endeavor even to be cheerful; but +I am indeed a great sufferer, and the anguish I endure seems, at times, more +than mortal frame can bear. It is only by escaping to the solitude of my own +room, to endure the agony in secret, that I am enabled to keep it to myself. I +am obliged to practice evasion to escape aunty’s anxious interrogatories; +for, in her present state of health, I would not for the world cause her the +anxiety and trouble which the knowledge of my sufferings would bring upon +her.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, with frequent pauses for rest, Emily told the weeping Agnes <i>all</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” said she, “dear Agnes, you are very young for +scenes like this; but I know that you possess uncommon nerve and courage. Can +you, do you think, sit by my side, and hold my hand through a painful +operation? I <i>can</i> endure it alone, dear, and I intended to; but as +accident has revealed my sufferings to you, I feel that it would be a comfort +to me to have my hand in that of one I love at that time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>think</i> I can, cousin Emily. I believe I could do <i>anything</i> +for you, dear cousin Emily.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not want aunty and uncle to know of this till it is all over, +Agnes. They go to the Springs to-morrow, to remain some days, as you know: and +I have arranged with Dr. Rodney to come while they are gone, and bring a +surgeon from the city, and it will all be over before they return.” +</p> + +<p> +“And is there no <i>danger</i>, cousin Emily?” +</p> + +<p> +“Danger of what, dear?—of death? Oh yes; the chances are many +against me; and even if the operation is safely performed, it may not arrest +the disease. But to one who suffers the torture which it is the will of Heaven +that I should bear, speedy death would only be a happy release. And yet, Agnes, +do not misunderstand me; I would not for the world do anything to shorten my +life of suffering. Oh no! ‘All the years of my appointed time will I wait +till my change come.’ The course I am going to pursue is advised by the +physicians, and it may be the means of restoration to health, at least for some +years. Agnes, pray for me.” +</p> + +<p> +When Mrs. Wharton kissed Emily for good-bye, and told her to be a good girl, +and take care of her health, she little imagined the suffering through which +her gentle niece was to pass before they met again. No one dreamed of it but +Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +The next day, in answer to a message from Emily, the physicians came. They +found her courageous and cheerful; for she was sustained by an arm +all-powerful. Strength was given to her for the day and the occasion; a +wonderful fortitude sustained her; and the precious promise was verified to +her—“When thou goest through the waters, I will be with +thee.” +</p> + +<p> +And Agnes, who sat with one hand over her eyes, and the other clasping that of +Emily, knew only by a sudden and long-continued pressure of the hand that the +knife was doing its work. There was not a groan—only one long-drawn +sigh—and it was over; and the result was better than their most sanguine +hopes. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Wharton returned, after an absence necessarily prolonged to some weeks. +She found Emily sitting on the sofa, looking much as she had done when they +parted; and it was not till long afterward that she discovered what had been +the cause of Emily’s illness, and learned how much she had endured. She +understood many things now which had been mysteries to her before, realizing, +in some degree, the torment of mind and body through which this gentle one had +passed, and the reason of the bidding down of the tenderest feelings of her +heart. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Emily! None but He who seeth in secret had known the agony which wrung thy +loving heart to its very depths, causing even the keen torture of physical +suffering to be at times forgotten. But He can, and He <i>does</i>, give +strength for the occasion, whatever it may be, and however sore the trial; and +leaning on His arm, His people pass securely through fires of tribulation, +which, in the prospect, would seem utterly unendurable, and come out purified, +even as gold from the furnace. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>X.<br/> +The Tutor and the Pupil.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“Untutor’d lad, thou art too malapert.”—HENRY VI. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wharton had endeavored to give Mr. Malcolm a correct understanding of the +nature of the case he was about to undertake, in becoming the instructor of the +spoiled and wayward Lewie. He told him of his natural good qualities, never +suffered to develop themselves, and of the many evil ones, fostered and +encouraged by the unwise indulgence of his fond and foolish mother. And yet, +when the young clergyman had fairly entered upon his duties as tutor at the +Hemlocks, he found, that “the half had not been told him.” +</p> + +<p> +Lewie chafed and fretted under the slightest restraint, and had not the +remotest idea of doing anything that was not in all respects agreeable to his +own inclinations. The idea of compulsion was so new to him, that he was +overwhelmed with amazement one day, when his tutor (after trying various means +to induce him to learn a particular lesson) finally told him that that lesson +must be learned, and recited, before he could leave the library. Master Lewie, +fully determined in his own mind to ascertain whose will was the strongest, and +whose resolution would soonest give out, now openly rebelled, and informed his +master that “he would <i>not</i> learn that lesson.” +</p> + +<p> +With his handsome face flushed with passion, he struggled from his tutor, +rushed to the door, and endeavored to open it; but Mr. Malcolm was before-hand +with him, and quietly turning the key in the lock, and putting it in his +pocket, he walked back to the table. The frantic boy now endeavored to open the +windows and spring out, but being foiled in this attempt likewise, as they were +securely fastened, he threw himself upon the floor as he had been in the habit +of doing when crossed, ever since his baby-hood, and screamed with all the +strength of baffled rage. +</p> + +<p> +His anxious mother was at the door in an instant, demanding admittance. Mr. +Malcolm unfastened the door, stepped out to her in the hall, and gave her a +faithful account of her son’s conduct during the morning. “And now, +Mrs. Elwyn,” said he, “the promise was, that I was not to be +interfered with in my government of your son. As long as he hears your voice at +the door, and knows that he has your sympathy on his side, he will continue +obstinate and rebellious.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Mr. Malcolm, excuse me, but you do not know how to manage him, you +should soothe and coax him; he will not be driven. Oh, I cannot bear to hear +him scream so,” she exclaimed, as a louder roar from Lewie reached her +ears; “Oh, Mr. Malcolm, I must go to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not unless you desire, madam, that I should resign at once, and forever, +the charge of your son,” said Mr. Malcolm, laying his hand upon the lock +to prevent her carrying her purpose into execution. “I have spent this +whole morning,” he continued, “in expostulation and persuasion, and +in endeavoring, as I always do, to make the lessons plain and interesting to my +pupil; but Lewie is in one of his perverse humors, and nothing but decision as +unyielding as his own obstinacy, will conquer him. If you will return to your +own room and allow me the sole management of him, I will remain here to-day +till I have subdued him, if the thing is possible.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will not use <i>severity</i>, Mr. Malcolm,” said the weeping +mother. +</p> + +<p> +“Never in the way of corporeal punishment, madam. When I cannot govern a +pupil without having recourse to such means, I will abandon him. But I must +stipulate that untill Lewie submits, and learns that lesson, which he could +easily learn in a few minutes, if he chose, he goes without food, and remains +in the library with me. I am deeply interested in your son, Mrs. Elwyn; he is a +boy of fine talents, and of too many good qualities of heart, to be allowed to +go to destruction. I would save him if I can, but he must be left to me. I have +the hope of yet seeing him a noble and useful character, but I must do it in my +own way.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Elwyn silently acquiesced, and withdrew to her own room very wretched. If +she had been willing to inflict upon herself one tithe of the pain she suffered +now, in controlling her son in his infancy, how different he might have been, +as he grew up towards manhood. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Malcolm returned to the library, and told Lewie that his mother had decided +to leave them settle this matter between themselves. He should remain there, he +said; he could employ himself very agreeably with the books. Lewie might lie on +the floor and scream, or get up and study; but until that lesson was learned, +he would not leave the library, or taste a morsel of food. +</p> + +<p> +The shrieks were now renewed in a louder and more agonized tone than ever, and +were plainly heard in Mrs. Elwyn’s sitting-room, where, in a state +bordering on distraction, she was hurriedly pacing the floor, at times almost +determined to insist upon being admitted to the library, that she might take +her unhappy son to her arms, and dismiss his inexorable tutor; and then +deterred from this course by the promise she had made, and the deep respect +which she could not but feel for the young minister. She could not but confess, +too, in her inmost heart, that this discipline was really for the good of her +passionate boy, though the means resorted to seemed to her severe. Of the two, +she was more wretched than Lewie, who really had no small sense of enjoyment, +in the consciousness of the pain and annoyance he was causing to others. +</p> + +<p> +The screams now ceased, and the anxious mother really hoped that Lewie was +about to comply with his tutor’s wishes, and that she should soon clasp +him to her breast, wipe away his tears, and soothe his troubled heart. She was +already, in her mind, planning some reward for him for condescending at length +to yield his stubborn will. But the quiet was only in consequence of the utter +exhaustion of Master Lewie’s lungs, and he took refuge in a dogged +silence, still rolling on the floor. Mr. Malcolm sat reading, as much at his +ease, and apparently with as much interest, as if he were the only occupant of +the library. +</p> + +<p> +At last the young rebel was made aware, by certain ringing sounds, and divers +savory odors, that the hour of dinner had arrived; and his appetite being +considerably sharpened by the excitement through which he had passed, he began +to entertain the suspicion that he had been rather foolish in holding out so +long in his obstinacy. He really wished that he had learned the lesson, and was +free for the afternoon; but how to come down was the puzzle now. He determined +to be as ugly about it as possible, thinking that his tutor might be pretty +weary by that time as well as he, and might hail joyfully any tokens of +submission. +</p> + +<p> +So Master Lewie began to call out: +</p> + +<p> +“I want my dinner!” +</p> + +<p> +“What is that, Lewie?” said Mr. Malcolm, looking up quietly from +his book. +</p> + +<p> +“I want my <i>dinner</i>, I tell you!” roared Lewie. +</p> + +<p> +Pushing his book towards him, Mr. Malcolm said, in a quiet, determined manner: +</p> + +<p> +“You know the conditions, Lewie, on which you leave this room: they will +not change, if we remain here together till to-morrow morning. This lesson must +be learned and recited perfectly, before you taste any food.” +</p> + +<p> +Lewie murmured that “there was one good thing—his teacher would +have to fast too.” +</p> + +<p> +“As for me, I never take but two meals a day,” said Mr. Malcolm; +“I can wait till five o’clock very well for my dinner; and should I +be very hungry, your mother will doubtless give me something to eat.” +</p> + +<p> +Through most of the afternoon, Lewie sat scrawling figures with his pencil on +some paper which was lying near, and really beginning to suffer from the +“keen demands of appetite.” After sitting thus an hour or two, he +suddenly said: +</p> + +<p> +“Give me the book, then, if there is no other way! I can learn that +lesson in five minutes, if I have a mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know that, Lewie,” said his tutor; “no one can learn +quicker or better than you, when you choose; but you cannot have this book till +you ask me for it in a different way.” +</p> + +<p> +It took another hour of sulking before Master Lewie’s pride could be +sufficiently humbled to admit of his asking in a civil tone for the book; but +hunger, which has reduced the defenders of many a strong fortress, at last +brought even this obstinate young gentleman to terms. The book was handed him, +on being properly asked for, and in a very few minutes the lesson was learned, +and recited without a mistake. Lewie evidently expected a vast amount of +commendation from his teacher, but he received nothing of the kind. Mr. Malcolm +only endeavored to make him understand how much trouble he might have saved +himself by attention to his studies in the morning, and then talked to him very +seriously for some moments upon the folly and wickedness of giving way to such +a furious temper, endeavoring to point out some of the results to which it +would be likely to lead him. +</p> + +<p> +One would think that two or three such contests with his tutor, in each of +which he was finally obliged to yield, would have taught our little hero +<i>who</i> was the master, and would have led him, by timely compliance, to +avoid the recurrence of such scenes. But no! he was so unaccustomed to having +his will thwarted in any particular, that it seemed almost an impossibility for +him to submit to have it crossed. The moment anything occurred in opposition to +his wishes, his strong will rose rebellious; and having been accustomed to +carry all before it, could only with the utmost difficulty, and after a +terrible struggle, be controlled. +</p> + +<p> +His kind and judicious tutor, to whom the task of instructing so wayward a +youth was by no means a pleasant one, was urged to a continuance of his labors +only by a stern sense of duty; having at heart the best good of his pupil, and +humbly trusting that, with the blessing of God upon his efforts, he might be +able at length to teach him to exercise some control over himself. This might +possibly have been effected, perhaps, but for the unwise indulgence and +sympathy of his foolishly-fond mother, who was ever at hand, when Mr. Malcolm +left, to listen to her son’s tale of grievances, by which he sometimes +succeeded in convincing her that he was most unjustly and cruelly treated. +</p> + +<p> +Lewie had become tired of the loneliness and quiet of his country home, and +wished to be among other boys, and particularly to go to the school at which +his cousins, the young Whartons, had been placed. They had lately been home for +a vacation, and he had heard much of the <i>fun</i> they enjoyed at school; in +comparison with which, his quiet life with his mother, and under the care of +his tutor, seemed very tame and dull. He now became more restive and impatient +under control, and seemed determined to weary out his kind tutor, in the hope +that he would voluntarily relinquish his charge. In the meantime, he continued +to give his mother no rest on the subject of Dr. Hamilton’s school; and +she, poor woman, knew not what course to take, between her desire to please her +importunate son, and her dislike to offend Mr. Malcolm. +</p> + +<p> +At last, however, as usual, Lewie conquered; and rushing out of one door, as he +saw Mr. Malcolm enter at the other, he left his mother to inform the young +minister that he was no longer to be tutor there. As far as his own comfort was +concerned, this dismissal was a great relief to Mr. Malcolm; but, as he told +Mrs. Elwyn, he feared that her troubles would not be lessened, but rather +increased, by sending Lewie to a public school. He had never been much among +other boys; and he would find his own inclinations crossed many times a day, +not only by teachers, but by schoolmates, who would have no more idea of always +giving up their own will than Lewie himself had, and constant trouble might be +the result. +</p> + +<p> +All this Mrs. Elwyn admitted; but what could she do? She was like a reed in the +wind before the might of Lewie’s determination, and he knew it. Ah! she +was learning already that “A child left to himself bringeth his mother to +shame” and sorrow; and it was with the deepest mortification that she was +obliged to confess that she had suffered the golden hours of infancy to slip +by, without acquiring over her son’s mind that influence which every +mother should and may possess. The opportunity, alas! was now lost forever. Her +son had neither respect for her authority, or regard for her wishes. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>XI.<br/> +Ruth Glen.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“The more I looked, I wondered more—<br/> +And while I scanned it o’er and o’er<br/> +A moment gave me to espy<br/> +A trouble in her strong black eye;<br/> +A remnant of uneasy light,<br/> +A flash of something over bright;<br/> +Not long this mystery did detain<br/> +My thoughts—she told in pensive strain<br/> +That she had borne a heavy yoke,<br/> +Been stricken by a two-fold stroke;<br/> +Ill health of body; and had pined<br/> +Beneath worse ailments of the mind.”<br/> + WORDSWORTH. +</p> + +<p> +It had been determined ever since poor Miss Edwards left the Wharton’s, +that the girls should be sent to the city, to boarding school, and it was +without much difficulty that Mr. Wharton succeeded in obtaining Mrs. +Elwyn’s consent to his sending Agnes with them, that the cousins might +continue their education together. Indeed, as I have before intimated, Mrs. +Elwyn always listened, and answered with the utmost indifference, when any plan +respecting her daughter was proposed to her. She supposed, rightly enough, that +her own means might be required for the support of herself and Lewie, (for she +intended to close her house and accompany Lewie to Stanwick,) and as Mr. +Wharton seemed anxious to take the care of Agnes from her hands, and she knew +he could well afford to do so, she made no objection whatever to the proposed +plan. In short, Mr. and Mrs. Wharton regarded this lovely girl, thus cast off +and neglected by her only natural protector, as their own, and cherished her +accordingly. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Wharton’s health, which had delayed, for some months, the departure +of the girls for the city, now seemed fully re-established; Emily, also, seemed +better than she had done for years, and it was with light hearts, and many +pleasant anticipations, that the three cousins, under the care of Mr. Wharton, +started, for the first time, for school. At about the same time, Lewie, +accompanied by his mother, went to Stanwick, and began his school life under +the care of Dr. Hamilton. +</p> + +<p> +The boarding-school at which Agnes and her cousins were placed, was under the +superintendence of Mrs. Arlington and her daughters, ladies who had received a +most thorough education in England, and who had long kept an extensive and +popular boarding-school there. The hope of passing her declining days in the +society of an only son, who had some years before emigrated to America, induced +Mrs. Arlington, accompanied by her daughters, to follow him, and though it +pleased Providence to remove this idolized son and brother, by death, in a +little more than a year after their reunion in this country, the mother and +daughters determined to remain, and continue their vocation here, where they +had very flattering hopes of success. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. and Mrs. Wharton had long known and esteemed these estimable ladies, and +though, in many respects, opposed to boarding-schools in general, yet, as there +seemed, at present, no other means for the girls to acquire an education, but +by sending them from home, they thought that a more unexceptionable place could +not be provided for them than Mrs. Arlington’s school. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Arlington, though a woman of more than sixty years of age, still possessed +an erect and queen-like figure, a most dignified and stately appearance, and a +face of remarkable beauty. She commanded respect at first sight, and there was +no punishment greater for her pupils, than to be reported to Mrs. Arlington, +and to be obliged to meet her face to face, to receive a reprimand. Her three +daughters, Miss Susan, Miss Sophie, and Miss Emma, taught in different +departments of the school, and were in every respect most admirably fitted for +their different stations. Miss Emma taught music; Miss Sophie, French and +drawing; while Mrs. Arlington and her eldest daughter attended solely to the +more solid branches of education. +</p> + +<p> +It took some little time, of course, before our young friends felt at home in +so strange a place, and among so many new faces. But many of the older +scholars, who had been long in the school, were very kind in coming forward to +make their acquaintance, and endeavor to do away the feeling of awkwardness, +ever an attendant upon the introduction to scenes so untried and new. Grace and +Effie were very shy and silent at first, but the peculiarly sweet and +unaffected friendliness of Agnes’ manner, won every heart immediately. +The younger scholars, especially, seemed to love her the moment she spoke to +them, and to feel as if in her they should ever find a friend. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes and her cousins were placed in a large room in the third story; this room +contained three beds, one of which was taken possession of by Grace and Effie, +another was occupied by two little girls, of the names of Carrie and Ella Holt +and Agnes was, for the present, alone. Mrs. Wilkins, the housekeeper, informed +her, however, that Mrs. Arlington expected a new scholar soon, who was to be +her bed-fellow. For some reason or other, the new scholar did not arrive at the +time expected, and it was not till Agnes and her cousins had been some weeks at +the school, and had began to feel quite at home there, that they were made +aware, by the advent of an old hair trunk and a band-box, that the sixth +occupant of their room had arrived. +</p> + +<p> +The new scholar’s name was Ruth Glenn. She was a strange-looking girl; +very tall and thin, with a pale, greenish cast of complexion; coal-black eyes, +very much sunken in her head; hair as black as her eyes, and colorless lips. +When she smiled, which was very seldom, she displayed a fine set of teeth, her +only redeeming feature. Her manners were as strange as her appearance. When she +spoke, which was only when absolutely necessary, or in reciting her lesson, +there was a constant nervous twitching about her bloodless lips; and she had a +peculiar way of pulling at her long, thin fingers, as if it was her full +intention to pull them off. +</p> + +<p> +We cannot help being influenced by first impressions; and though Agnes felt the +sincerest pity for this strange, awkward, shy girl, and did her best to make +her feel at her ease, she could not but feel sorry that she was to be her +bed-fellow. Ruth Glenn sat by herself in the school-room, always intently +occupied with her book, having no communication with her school-mates, and +always seizing on the moment of dismissal from the school-room to retire to her +own apartment. And yet, as far as the girls could judge, she was full of +kindness and generosity of feeling, evinced by many little quiet acts which one +school-mate may always find it in her power to do for another. +</p> + +<p> +One night, the third or fourth after the arrival of Ruth Glenn at the school, +the girls sleeping in the room with her were suddenly aroused from sleep by +loud and piercing screams from little Carrie Holt. Agnes sprang up, and was by +her side in a moment. As she left her bed she perceived that Miss Glenn was not +there. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter, Carrie? Why do you scream so, dear?” asked +Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Miss Elwyn!—that tall, white figure!—that tall, white +figure! It came and stood by me, and laid its cold white hand right on my face. +It was a ghost—I know it was—I saw it so plain in the moonlight. +Oh, don’t leave me!—don’t leave me, Miss Elwyn! It will come +again!” And the trembling child clung with both arms tightly around +Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +“I will not leave the room, Carrie,” said Agnes; “but I must +find out what has frightened you so. There are no such things as ghosts, +Carrie: you have been dreaming.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no, Miss Elwyn, I did not dream that!” sobbed little Carrie; +“I was having a beautiful dream about ho-o-o-me and mother, when that +cold hand came on my cheek, and I opened my eyes, and saw that tall, white +figure. Oh, it had such great hollow eyes! I saw them so plain in the +moonlight!” +</p> + +<p> +“Now lie down, dear little Carrie, till I find out what all this +means,” said Agnes. The weeping child obeyed, hugging up close to her +little sister for protection. +</p> + +<p> +The light had been taken away at ten o’clock, as was the invariable +custom at Mrs. Arlington’s; but Agnes opened both shutters, and admitted +the bright moonlight into the room, making every object to be discerned almost +as plainly as in the day-time. She then stepped to her own bed. Miss Glenn +certainly was not there. She went to the door of her room, and found it locked +on the inside, as she had left it when she went to bed. Miss Glenn, then, must +still be in the room. Agnes walked around it, carefully examining every object: +she then went into the closet, and felt carefully all around the walls. She +began to think there was something very strange in all this; and the other +girls, all of whom had been wide awake ever since they were aroused by the +screams of little Carrie, were sitting up in their beds in a great state of +agitation and alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“I will not stay in this room another night!” said little Carrie; +“I wish we dared to go down to Mrs. Arlington. Let’s all go down +together to Miss Emma, and ask her to come up here.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no; hush, children!” said Agnes. Then she called, as loudly as +she dared, without awaking those in the neighboring rooms: +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Glenn! Miss Glenn! where are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Here I am! What do you want of me?” answered a smothered voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Mercy on us!” shrieked Carrie and Ella in a breath, and springing +with one bound on to the floor—“mercy on us! she is under our +bed!” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes looked under the bed, and could just distinguish something white, huddled +up in one corner under the head of the bed. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Glenn! what do you mean?” exclaimed Agnes, in a tone of +amazement. “Are you trying to frighten these poor children? Come out here +directly.” +</p> + +<p> +With all Agnes’ gentleness, she had sufficient spirit when roused, and +she was now really indignant at what she supposed was a cruel attempt to +frighten little Carrie and Ella. Ruth Glenn was three or four years older than +Agnes, but yet she submitted at once to the tone of authority in which she was +addressed, and came crawling out from under the bed. +</p> + +<p> +“I think it’s a little too bad,” said the trembling little +sisters, crying and talking together; “it’s real mean, to wake us +up, and frighten us so. I mean to tell Mrs. Arlington of you to-morrow, Miss +Glenn. I know our mother won’t let us stay here to be frightened +so!” +</p> + +<p> +Ruth Glenn sat down on the edge of her own bed and said nothing, but Agnes +noticed that she shivered, as if with cold. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Miss Glenn, lie down,” said Agnes, “and let us see if +we can have quiet for the rest of the night; we shall none of us be fit for +study to-morrow, I fear.” +</p> + +<p> +Ruth Glenn obeyed quietly, and was soon asleep, but the others had been so +agitated that it was a long time before their minds were sufficiently calmed +for repose. When startled by the rising bell, they got up tired and +unrefreshed, and with no very amiable feelings towards the author of the +disturbance in the night. Miss Glenn went about dressing as quietly as usual, +saying nothing to any one; till little Ella, who was a spirited little thing, +just as she was leaving the room, turned about and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Miss Glenn! I am going right down to tell Mrs. Arlington about +you.” +</p> + +<p> +To the surprise of all, this cold silent girl sat down on the bed, and wringing +her hands, and rocking back and forth, and crying most piteously, she begged +little Ella not to tell of her. +</p> + +<p> +“I will do anything I can for you, Ella,” said she, “I will +help you in your lessons, whenever you want any help; only don’t tell +Mrs. Arlington; she will send me away perhaps, and then what shall I do!” +She then implored Agnes to use her influence with the little girls, and her +cousins, to ensure their silence on the subject, promising not to disturb them +again, if she could help it. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what I went to your bed for, Carrie,” she said, +“I did not want to frighten you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you act so strangely then, Miss Glenn?” asked Agnes, +“were you asleep?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know; I cannot tell; don’t ask me;” was all +they could get from Miss Glenn, who continued to weep and wring her hands. +</p> + +<p> +Though apparently very poor, Miss Glenn possessed some few rare and curious +things, which she said her father, who had been a sea-captain, had brought her +from other countries, and by means of some of these, she succeeded in securing +the silence of the little girls. Grace and Effie were easily induced by the +remonstrances of Agnes, and partly by pity for Miss Glenn’s evident +distress, to promise not to betray her. None of the occupants of that room felt +fit for study that day, except Miss Glenn. She sat alone, as usual, and studied +as perseveringly as ever. This was only the beginning of a series of nocturnal +performances, continued almost every night, with every morning a repetition of +the same scene of begging and remonstrance with her room-mates, to persuade +them not to betray her to Mrs. Arlington. Sometimes, as Miss Glenn was quietly +leaving her bed, Agnes would wake and follow her, determined to see what she +would do, and to prevent, if possible, her waking the other girls. At times she +would seat herself upon a chest in one corner of the room, and commence a +conversation with some imaginary individual near her; then she would move +silently round the room, and sitting down in some other part of it, would talk +again, as if in conversation with some lady next her. Then she would open the +window very quietly, and look up, and down, and around, talking all the time in +a low tone, but in a much more lively and animated manner than was usual with +her in the day-time. She would sometimes cross over to the bed where Grace and +Effie Wharton were sleeping, but just as she was about laying her hand on one +of them, Agnes would touch her, and ask her what she meant by wandering about +so night after night, and tell her to come directly back to bed. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” Miss Glenn would answer quietly, “I have only been +talking to the ladies, and holding a little conversation with the moon and +stars—don’t mind me—go to bed—I will come.” +</p> + +<p> +But Agnes would answer resolutely, +</p> + +<p> +“No, Miss Glenn, I will not leave you to frighten the girls again; you +must come back to bed with me, and let me hold your hand tightly in +mine.” And Miss Glenn would obey immediately. +</p> + +<p> +When the moon was shining brightly into the room, these performances of Miss +Glenn’s were only annoying, but when the nights were very dark, and +nothing could be seen in the room, it was really horrible to hear this strange +girl chattering and mumbling, now in one corner, now in another, sometimes in +the closet, sometimes under the beds; and one night, in a fearful +thunder-storm, she seemed to be terribly excited, and when the lightning +flashed upon the walls, the shadow of her figure could be seen strangely +exaggerated, performing all manner of wild antics. +</p> + +<p> +This conduct of Miss Glenn’s puzzled Agnes exceedingly: she could not +decide in her own mind whether the girl was trying to frighten them, whether +she was asleep, or whether she had turns of derangement at night. Neither of +these suppositions seemed exactly to account for her singular actions. Her +evident, and, Agnes doubted not, real distress, at the possibility of Mrs. +Arlington being informed of her nocturnal performances, and the sacrifices of +every kind that she was willing to make to ensure silence, convinced Agnes that +it was not done merely to alarm them; her vivid remembrance of all that she had +said or done in the night, and her answering questions, and coming to bed so +readily when addressed by Agnes, without any appearance of waking up, led her +to suppose it was not somnambulism; and as Miss Glenn never showed any sign of +wandering of mind in the day time, Agnes could not suppose it to be +derangement. Miss Glenn was a perfect enigma; night after night disturbing her +room-mates with her strange performances, and every morning going over the same +scene of earnest expostulation and entreaty, accompanied by violent weeping, to +induce them not to betray her to Mrs. Arlington. Poor little Carrie and Ella +kept the secret bravely, though, on the night of the thunder-storm, they were +so terrified by Miss Glenn’s conduct, that, wrapping themselves in the +bed-blankets, and persuading Agnes to lock the door after them, they went out, +and sat upon the stairs till morning. The very next day, two sisters who slept +in another room received tidings of the death of their mother, which hurried +them home; and as they were not to return that quarter, little Carrie and Ella, +with Agnes to intercede for them, requested to be allowed to take their vacated +place. Mrs. Arlington readily acquiesced, as, she said, it would be much better +to have four in each room. +</p> + +<p> +Thus things went on, till, one night, Agnes was horror-stricken to find that +Miss Glenn was endeavoring to climb out of the window. As I have said, they +were in the third story of the building; and the distance to the ground being +very great, the unfortunate girl would inevitably have been dashed to pieces +upon the flag stones below, had not Agnes suddenly caught her, and, with a +strength that astonished herself, succeeded in drawing her back into the room. +</p> + +<p> +The terror and agitation into which Agnes was thrown by this circumstance +determined her to do something decisive the very next day; she was now +convinced that it was her duty, and resolved to do it, in spite of Miss +Glenn’s tears and persuasions. She thought it right, however, in the +first place, to acquaint Miss Glenn with her determination, and began by +informing her, when they were alone the next morning, of the imminent danger +from which she had been so fortunate as to save her in the night. Ruth Glenn +seemed to remember it all, and shuddered as she thought of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Ruth,” said Agnes, “I really think we have all kept +silence as long as could be expected, or as it is <i>right</i> that we should. +You will bear witness that we have endured very patiently all this nightly +disturbance. I have long been convinced, whatever may be the reason of your +conduct, that you have not the control of your own actions at night; and I +think we shall be very culpable if we conceal this matter longer from Mrs. +Arlington; for, as you must now be convinced, the consequences may be fatal to +yourself, or perhaps to others. You need not fear that Mrs. Arlington will +dismiss you, but I think she will consult medical advice in your case, which +most probably should have been done long before this.” +</p> + +<p> +Ruth acknowledged the justice of all that Agnes said, and at length consented +that she should make Mrs. Arlington acquainted with all that had transpired in +their room. “But, oh, Agnes!” she said, “do persuade her to +let me remain, and finish my education. It has been my hope for years, that I +might be enabled to prepare myself to be a governess. My father was lost at +sea, and my poor mother died of a broken heart, and I was left all alone to +take care of myself at the age of fourteen. Since then, I have sewed night and +day, night and day, denying myself sleep, and almost all the necessaries of +life, in the hope of getting an education. That hope, with all my unwearied +industry, would never have been fulfilled, had not a kind lady for whom I sewed +offered to make up the requisite sum; and now, if Mrs. Arlington sends me away, +what will become of me? The hope of my life will be disappointed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I do not wish to discourage you, my dear Ruth, but you must see I +think that you are totally unfitted to have children under your care at +present.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I am, Agnes, but I have been hoping that I should get over +this; it seems to grow worse and worse, however, and you may now do as you +choose. You have exercised great forbearance with me, dear Agnes. You have been +a true friend, and whatever may be the result, you may go to Mrs. +Arlington.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Arlington was very kind, and only regretted that she had not before been +made acquainted with Ruth Glenn’s singular conduct. She said she did not +doubt that it was entirely owing to her state of health, and her sedentary +manner of life for years past, and sent immediately for her family physician, +and made him acquainted with the case. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes was sent for, and questioned as to Miss Glenn’s actions and +appearance, when thus restless at night, and she as well as the different +teachers, were interrogated as to her habits in the day time. The doctor thus +learned that it was with the greatest difficulty that Miss Glenn could be +persuaded to take any exercise, and Agnes told him what Ruth had related to her +of her mode of life for the last few years. The doctor thought it one of the +most singular cases he ever met with, and prescribed a strict course of +medicine, diet and exercise, insisting particularly upon the latter. +</p> + +<p> +It was a hard thing to persuade Ruth to take her early morning walk, and other +exercise advised by the physician, and Mrs. Arlington was at length obliged to +tell her, that only upon condition of her obeying his directions, could she +consent to allow her to remain in the school. This, together with the +indefatigable endeavors of Agnes, prevailed upon Ruth Glenn to take the +accustomed walks, which Agnes with great cunning contrived to lengthen every +morning, until at length Ruth Glenn would return with a slight tinge of color +in her cheek, and an unusual brightness about her eye. The result was very soon +seen, in more quiet nights in the third-story-room, and, before long, Ruth +confessed that she felt like another creature, and began to realize an +enjoyment in life, of which she had known nothing since her childhood. +</p> + +<p> +Often, however, the old feeling of indolence returned, and it was very amusing +to Grace and Effie to hear poor Ruth beg and plead with Agnes to be allowed to +remain quiet “just one morning,” and to see how vigorously and +perseveringly Agnes resisted her appeals, rousing her up and leading her off, +poor Ruth looking much like a martyr about to be dragged to the stake. +</p> + +<p> +Before Agnes and her cousins left Mrs. Arlington’s school, Ruth Glenn was +so changed for the better, that she would not have been recognized as the same +pale, strange girl, who came there three years before. Her spirits and appetite +were good, and there was no longer any complaint of disturbance at night by her +room-mates. +</p> + +<p> +It was a sad day in the school when Agnes and her cousins took their final +leave, but no one seemed so broken-hearted as poor Ruth Glenn. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Agnes,” said she, “who will be the friend to me that you +have been? Who will drag me out with such relentless cruelty?” and here +she smiled sadly through her tears, “through rain and sunshine, heat and +cold; I am afraid I shall be as bad as ever, for my walks will be so dull +without you.” +</p> + +<p> +But Agnes told her she hoped she had now received sufficient benefit from her +regular exercise, to be willing to make a little sacrifice, and obtained from +her a solemn promise that she would continue the course they had so long +pursued together. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes had employed herself most perseveringly while at Mrs. Arlington’s +school, in becoming thoroughly acquainted with various branches of education +and accomplishments, being fully determined in her own mind no longer to be a +burden to her uncle, but to use the means he was so kindly putting into her +hands, in enabling her to gain her own support hereafter. But she had no sooner +left the school than other duties claimed her attention, as will presently be +seen. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>XII.<br/> +Lewie at School.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“The child is father of the man.”—WORDSWORTH. +</p> + +<p> +Had our friend Lewie heard Mr. Malcolm’s prediction relative to his +school experiences, he would have had reason to think him a true prophet. He +came into the school and the play-ground with the same ideas which had been +predominant with him ever since his baby-hood; and though he did not, as then, +continually say the <i>words,</i> his actions proclaimed as loudly, +“Lewie must have his own way!—Lewie must not be crossed!” He +found his school companions not quite so complying as his indulgent mother, and +those over whom she had control; and before he had been long in the school, he +was known by the various names of “Dictator-General,” “First +Consul,” “Great Mogul,” &c., and with these epithets he +was greeted whenever he put on any of his dictatorial airs. +</p> + +<p> +These constant insults and impertinences, as he called them, irritated his +ungoverned spirit, and in consequence many a school-mate measured his length +upon the ground in the most sudden manner, and innumerable were the fights and +“rows” which were the result. The presence of Lewie seemed +everywhere the signal of contention and strife, where all had been heretofore, +with very few exceptions, harmony and peace; and yet, but for his hasty and +impatient temper, Lewie might have been an unparalleled favorite among his +schoolmates. In the still summer evenings, when he took his guitar, and sat +upon the steps of the portico, the boys would crowd around him, and listen in +breathless silence to his sweet music. As long as his own inclinations were not +crossed or interfered with, a more agreeable companion could not be found. He +had the frank, open manners, which are not seldom joined with a quick temper, +and in many things he showed a noble, generous disposition; but as soon as the +wishes of others in their sports and recreations came in conflict with his own, +his terrible passion was roused at once, and carried all before it. Many were +the complaints which he carried to his mother of insult and ill-treatment; and +before he had been six months at Dr. Hamilton’s school, he was urging her +to allow him to remove to another of which he had heard, and where he fancied +he should be more happy. Mrs. Elwyn’s health was not as firm as it once +was; she was becoming weak and nervous, and dreaded change, and endeavored to +pacify her son, and to persuade him to remain at Dr. Hamilton’s school. +No doubt he would have effected his object by teazing, but it was accomplished +in another way. +</p> + +<p> +There are boys to be found in every large school who delight in playing +practical jokes, and in teazing and tormenting those who are susceptible of +annoyance in this way. There was a large, stout boy in Dr. Hamilton’s +school, of the name of Colton, a great bully and teaze, whose delight it seemed +to be to torment and put into a passion one so fiery as our little hero, +feeling safe from the only kind of retaliation which could injure him, as he +was so much the stoutest and strongest of the two. This boy soon found that +there was one point upon which Lewie was peculiarly sensitive, and the +slightest allusion to which would call the red blood to his face. This was the +fact of his being accompanied by his mother when he came to the school, and her +having taken board in the village, that she might be near him as long as he was +there. Lewie had remonstrated with his mother, when she proposed accompanying +him, and had urged her to accept his Uncle Wharton’s invitation to make +his house her home. He was just at that age when boys love to appear +independent and manly, and able to take care of themselves; and he had hoped +that he should be allowed to go alone to school, as many of the other boys did, +or perhaps to accompany his uncle and cousins. But to be taken there under the +care of a <i>woman</i>, and to have her remain near him, as if he could not +take care of himself! Lewie thought this a most humiliating state of things. +But for once his mother was firm. It would be like severing her heart-strings, +to separate her from her darling son; and wherever he went, she must go as long +as she lived. This ingratitude on the part of Lewie and evident desire to rid +himself of her company, after so many years spent in devotion to his slightest +wishes, wore upon her spirits, and was one cause, perhaps the principal one, of +her nervous depression, and consequent ill health. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as Colton understood the state of Lewie’s feelings on this tender +point, and noticed How his cheeks would flush with passion whenever the subject +was mentioned, he took advantage of it to harass and enrage him, renewing the +subject most unmercifully at every convenient opportunity. Thus, whenever, in +their sports, Lewie took upon himself to dictate, in his authoritative way, +Colton would ask the boys if they were going to be governed by a baby who had +not yet broken loose from his mother’s apron-strings; and when Lewie +could no longer restrain his passion, and began to show signs of becoming +pugnacious, Colton would advise him to “run to mother,” to be +petted and soothed. +</p> + +<p> +For sometime prudence restrained Lewie from making an attack upon this boy, so +much larger and stronger than himself, for he was almost certain that he would +get the worst of it in an encounter with him. But one day when Colton was more +aggravating than ever, Lewie suddenly lost all command of himself, and flew at +him in a most fearful storm of rage, and with all the might of his passion +concentrated in one blow, he dashed the great boy against a tree; and after he +was down, and lying insensible, with his head cut and bleeding, Lewie could +scarcely be restrained, by the united strength of those about him, from rushing +upon his senseless body, and by renewed blows continuing to injure him. +</p> + +<p> +His rage was fearful to witness, and his companions stood aghast, for they saw +clearly that murder was in his heart, and that nothing but the restraint they +exercised upon him, prevented him from carrying his horrible purpose into +execution. Colton was borne to the house, and it was long feared that he would +never entirely recover from the effects of the severe blow upon his head as he +fell. Lewie seemed to feel nothing like remorse; he had always hated Colton, +and everything this boy had done had tended to increase and aggravate his +feelings of dislike; he thought nothing in his frantic rage of the consequences +to himself, but would have rejoiced to see his tormentor dead at his feet. +</p> + +<p> +This last affair decided Dr. Hamilton that it would not do to keep a boy of +such fierce, unrestrained temper, longer in the school. Lewie had all this time +been progressing rapidly in his studies; a fierce ambition seemed to have +seized upon, him, and he applied himself to his books as if he had come to the +determination that he would at least rise superior to his school-mates, in his +standing in the class, if they would not acknowledge his superiority in +anything else. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Hamilton called soon after Lewie’s attack upon Colton, to see Mrs. +Elwyn, and while he spoke of Lewie as one on whom he could justly be proud, as +the best and most forward scholar in his classes, he said it was impossible for +him to allow him to remain; that the lives of his other pupils were hardly to +be considered safe with so passionate a companion, and for the sake of the +reputation of his school, he must ask her to save him the necessity of a public +dismissal of her son. Sad by this time were the forebodings of Mrs. Elwyn, but +they were useless; her remonstrances with her self-willed son were vain. If +Lewie was obliged to submit to being accompanied by his mother wherever he +went, he seemed determined to show her, that her wishes had not the slightest +power over him. The sowing time had passed;—the reaping time had begun. +</p> + +<p> +Lewie no longer urged and entreated, but merely expressed his determination to +go to the school to which he had so long been desirous to remove, and his poor +mother knowing that henceforth his will must be hers, made her preparations for +accompanying him. +</p> + +<p> +Boys are the same everywhere; and unless all are willing in some degree to +relinquish their own gratification for the sake of others, there will surely be +trouble. So Lewie found at Stanwick; so at the next school, and the next; for +as he became dissatisfied with one and unpopular there, he removed to another, +his poor mother following his fortunes everywhere. Many were the kind and +remonstrating letters which Lewie received during these three years of change, +from his lovely sister, but the affectionate advice contained in them as to an +endeavor to gain command over his temper, and in regard to his treatment of his +mother, seemed to have no permanent effect. +</p> + +<p> +All this time, wherever he went, he ranked’ among the highest as to his +scholarship, and at the age of sixteen he entered college at C——, +about ten or fifteen miles from Hillsdale. By the time they were fairly +established at C——, Mrs. Elwyn’s health completely failed. +Lewie’s time much taken up with his college duties, and even if it had +not been, he was not one to wait with patience upon the humors of a nervous and +fretful invalid; and the greater part of the time was spent by Mrs. Elwyn in +loneliness and repining. +</p> + +<p> +And now her thoughts turned often, and rested almost fondly upon the memory of +her long neglected daughter. Oh! for such a kind and gentle nurse and companion +to be ever near her, to minister to her wants and soothe her lonely hours. The +more she thought of her, the more she longed for her presence, and it was soon +after Agnes left Mrs. Arlington’s and returned to Brook Farm, that she +received with delight a summons to come to her mother at C——. The +idea that her mother really <i>wished</i> for her, and that she could be in any +degree useful to her, made her heart bound with joy; and then, too, the idea of +being so near her brother, to endeavor to exercise a restraining influence upon +him, was happiness in itself for Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +She found her mother greatly changed: anxiety of mind and bodily suffering had +worn upon her, till her face, which might still have been young and blooming, +was faded and wrinkled. She was glad to see Agnes, only because now she could +be <i>useful</i> to her; and Agnes often found her whole stock of patience +brought into requisition, in endeavoring to gratify the changing whims and +fancies of a nervous invalid. Lewie was in ecstasies at his sister’s +arrival; for he did dearly love Agnes, and he now passed all his leisure time +at his mother’s room. Agnes thought him more gentle and tractable, and +hoped that he really exercised some control over his passionate temper; but it +was only, for the time, the want of provocation, and the restraining influence +of his sister’s presence, which kept him from any serious out-break. The +grace of God alone could materially change Lewie Elwyn now. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes remained many months in attendance upon her mother, who failed very +gradually. As she grew weaker, she became more exacting; and though never +betrayed into any expression of affection for Agnes, yet she was not willing to +have her out of her sight for a moment. The consciousness of being useful to +her mother, was sufficient reward for sleepless nights and days of close +confinement; and Agnes resisted all Lewie’s entreaties that she would +leave the sick room for a while each day, and take a stroll with him. +</p> + +<p> +Had Lewie been inclined to dissipation, this would have been a dangerous time +for him; for his wonderful musical powers made him such a favorite, that no +gathering was thought complete without him. As long as Agnes was at +C——, he preferred spending his evenings with her to any party of +pleasure; and after he could no longer enjoy her society, and when he began +again to mingle in scenes of festivity, though sometimes betrayed into +excesses, he never was habitually dissipated. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Elwyn lingered on, becoming weaker and weaker, until, after Agnes had been +with her about six months, she perceived that she was failing more rapidly, and +at length was informed by the physician, that her mother could live but very +few days longer. Agnes hastily summoned Mr. and Mrs. Wharton, who arrived only +in time to witness the death-bed scene. Just before her death, Mrs. Elwyn +seemed to awake to a sudden realization of the great mistakes of her life with +regard to her son and daughter. She seemed to see now, as clearly as others had +seen all along, the evils of her own management, and to trace the unhappy +results to their proper source. It was sad to hear her, when all too late to +remedy these evils, lament over “a wasted life—a worse than wasted +life;” and so, with words of remorse upon her lips, she, who had had such +power for good in her hands, passed away from earth. +</p> + +<p> +And Agnes returned to her uncle’s house, leaving her brother at college. +As soon as she had taken a little time to recruit, and to consider, she began +to look about for a situation as governess, much against the wishes of every +member of her uncle’s family, who would have considered it a privilege to +keep her always with them. About this time, a distant relative of Mrs. +Wharton’s, a Mr. Fairland, in passing from his Western home to the city, +stopped to make them a visit. He was a plain, kind-hearted man, and seemed to +take a particular interest in Agnes, with whose father and grandfather he had +been intimately acquainted. Mr. Fairland had made quite a fortune by successful +speculation, in a large Eastern city; but the extravagance of his wife and +daughters, who were not willing to be outdone in dress or establishment by any +of their neighbors, made such rapid inroads upon his newly-acquired wealth, +that Mr. Fairland soon became convinced that it was leaving him as rapidly as +it came. So he thought it the part of prudence to beat a retreat at once; and, +in spite of the tears and remonstrances of his wife and eldest daughters, he +removed the whole family to the beautiful village of Wilston, near which place +he owned some fine and flourishing mills. +</p> + +<p> +It was while speaking of his new home, and its many beauties, at Mr. +Wharton’s breakfast table, that Mr. Fairland mentioned the only drawback +to his happiness there, which, he said, was the want of the advantages of +education for his younger children, who were running wild without any +instruction, as their mother was unwilling to allow them to attend the village +school. He had long been looking, he said, for a governess for them—one +who would bring them up with right habits and principles, at the same time that +she was instructing their minds. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes seized the first opportunity in which she could find Mr. Fairland alone, +to propose herself as governess to his children. This was more than Mr. +Fairland had dared to hope for, and her proposal was hailed by him with +gratitude and joy. He wished her to return immediately with him; but Agnes had +some preparations to make, and her uncle was not willing to part with her quite +yet: he promised, however, to bring her himself in the course of a month. A +serious illness, however, deranged all Mr. Wharton’s plans and as soon as +he was able to travel, business of the utmost importance called him to the +city; so that Agnes, who disliked to keep Mr. Fairland waiting for her any +longer, wrote to him when he might expect her, and, much against Mrs. +Wharton’s wishes, set out alone in the stage for Wilston. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>XIII.<br/> +New Scenes for Agnes.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“The stranger’s heart! oh, wound it not!<br/> +A yearning anguish is its lot;<br/> +In the green shadow of the tree,<br/> +The stranger finds no rest with thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“And when may we expect to be favored with the presence of this paragon +of perfection, and embodiment of all wisdom, papa?” asked Miss Evelina +Fairland, with what was intended for the utmost girlish sprightliness of +manner; for, although it was only at breakfast, Miss Evelina never laid aside +her manner of extreme youth, as she thought it best to be continually in +practice. +</p> + +<p> +Her father answered quietly, that he expected Miss Elwyn by the afternoon +stage. +</p> + +<p> +“Is she one of these prim, <i>old-maidish</i> governesses, like our poor +old Miss Pratt?” asked Miss Calista, a lady of something over thirty, and +rather the worse for twelve years’ wear, in the way of balls and parties, +the theatre and the opera. Indeed, at the breakfast table, Miss Calista looked +considerably older than she really was, with her pale, faded cheeks, and her +hair “en papillottes;” but, in the afternoon, by the use of a +little artificial bloom, some cork-screw ringlets, and a manner as gay and +girlish as that of her sister, she appeared quite another creature. +</p> + +<p> +To Miss Calista’s question Mr. Fairland, with an amused pucker about the +mouth, answered: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I shall tell you nothing about her looks; you must wait and judge +for yourselves. There’s one thing I will say, however. I suppose you +can’t alter your looks, girls; but, as far as manners are concerned, I +wish very much that I could place my two eldest daughters under Miss +Elwyn’s tuition.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps she will condescend to take a class, twice or three times a +week, in ‘manners for six-pence,’” said the sprightly Miss +Evelina. “I should like to see Calista and myself curtseying, and +walking, and leaving and entering a room, as we used to be obliged to do for +old Miss Pratt. Wouldn’t you, Calista?” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s see,” said Mr. Fairland, whose reminiscences were not +always of the most agreeable nature to the young +ladies—“let’s see. How long is it since you and C’listy +<i>were</i> under the care of Miss Pratt? I think it must be nigh twenty +years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty years, papa!—absurd!” shrieked Miss Calista; +“why, you must be losing your memory!” +</p> + +<p> +Now, if Mr. Fairland’s daughters were touchy on the subject of their +<i>ages,</i> their father was no less so on that of his <i>memory,</i> as Miss +Calista well knew when she made the foregoing remark. +</p> + +<p> +“Losing my memory indeed, Miss C’listy! My memory is as sound as +ever; and, to prove it to you, I will inform you, that I shall be sixty-four +years old this coming August; and by the same token, you are just exactly half +my age; and if you don’t believe it, you may just take a look at the +family record, in the big Bible.” +</p> + +<p> +“C’listy’s <i>scratched out her date,”</i> said little +Rosa, “and so has Evelina.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongue, you impertinent little minx!” said Miss Calista; +“I really hope the prinky old governess who is coming will be able to +whip a little manners into you. I really wonder you can allow the children to +be so pert, mamma!” +</p> + +<p> +The lady addressed as <i>“mamma”</i> was the second wife of Mr. +Fairland, a rather handsome, but very languid lady of forty, who was sleepily +sipping her coffee during the foregoing conversation. Now, as Mrs. Fairland did +not look much older (perhaps not at all older, at the breakfast table,) than +the oldest of her step-daughters, the young ladies quite prided themselves on +so youthful a “mamma;” and when in company, or at the various +watering-places to which, in former tunes, they had succeeded in dragging their +parents, they hung round her, and asked her permission to do this and that, +with the most child-like confidence in her judgment. +</p> + +<p> +This was by no means relished by the step-mother, who had no fancy for +matronizing daughters so nearly her own age, and who wished no less fervently +than the young ladies themselves, that something in the shape of a husband +would appear to carry each of them off. She never failed after such a display +of filial affection on their part to explain to those near her; that the young +ladies were her <i>step-daughters;</i> and to mention how odd it sounded to her +when she was first married, to hear those great girls as tall as herself, call +her “mamma.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a beautiful evening in the pleasant month of July, when Agnes entered +the lovely village of Wilston, and drove through its one long street, to the +spacious and rather showy dwelling of Mr. Fairland. Agnes had heard much of the +beauty of Wilston, but her heart was now so oppressed with many agitating +emotions, at the near prospect of the new and strange scenes upon which she was +about to enter in so new a character, that not even the loveliness of the +landscape, with its variety of hill, and dale, and wood-land, on the one hand, +and on the other the peaceful lake tinged with crimson by the setting sun, had +power to win her attention. +</p> + +<p> +Yet we need not fear for Agnes, that in thus appearing in the character of a +governess, she will lose aught of her gentle dignity, or quiet self-possession. +Agnes was a <i>lady</i> in every sense of the term, and place her where you +would, or under whatever circumstances, she would invest her occupation with a +dignity all her own, and make it honorable; winning from all around her an +involuntary respect and homage. Though ever kind and amiable, and ready to +oblige, she will never <i>cringe</i> to those who, by the favors of fortune, +are placed for the time in circumstances more prosperous than her own. Tried, +she may be by their arrogance, and airs of assumed superiority; but with the +inward conviction which in spite of her modesty she must possess, that in all +that is of real and true worth she is far above them, she will toil on +undisturbed in her vocation, anxious only to fulfil her duty towards God, and +toward those whom He has placed under her influence; and to acquit herself well +of the high responsibility resting upon her. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Fairland met Agnes at the door, with his kind pleasant face, and with both +hands extended to give her a cordial welcome to his roof. Mrs. Fairland rose +languidly from her chair to receive the governess, and gave her a ceremonious, +and to Agnes a most chilling greeting. The young ladies were out walking; but +presently a troop of noisy children, who from some part of the grounds where +they were at play, had seen the arrival of the stranger, came bursting rudely +into the room. These, as Agnes supposed, were her future pupils, and a most +unpromising set they at first sight appeared. +</p> + +<p> +The eldest, “Tiney,” was a heavy, dull looking girl of about ten +years of age. Her eyes had no more brightness or expression in them than two +balls of lead, and her flabby colorless cheeks hung down each side of her +mouth, giving that feature much the expression of a bull-dog, while a sullen +fierceness about her face, increased the resemblance to that animal. Her teeth, +utterly unacquainted with the action of a brush, were prominent, so that her +lip seldom covered them, and her uncombed hair hung rough and shaggy around her +unattractive face. Agnes at once guessed that this poor child was deficient in +intellect, and unamiable in temper. +</p> + +<p> +The next, <i>Rosa,</i> was a wild, handsome little gipsey, with eyes as black +as jet, and as bright as diamonds, a brilliant color shining through her +sunburnt cheek, and with straight black hair, no better cared for than her +sister Tiney’s. +</p> + +<p> +The third little girl, <i>Jessie,</i> was very fair, with beautiful deep blue +eyes, and golden curling hair; but the curls were all in tangles, for no one +took the trouble to keep them in order, except on great occasions, when the +poor child was put to the torture of having it brushed and combed, and laid in +ringlets, which for the time were the special pride of her mother. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have enough to do, Miss Agnes, to tame all these rough +spirits,” said Mr. Fairland, “they have been running wild ever +since we left the city, and a more rude and ungoverned set of little +desperadoes, it has never been your lot to meet with, I’ll venture to +say.” And then addressing them, he said, “come here, children, what +do you stand there gaping for, with your thumbs in your mouths, as if you had +never seen anybody before? Tiney! Rosa, you witch! Jess, my chicken! come up +here this minute, and speak to Miss Elwyn.” +</p> + +<p> +But Tiney only pouted her ugly mouth and scowled; and Rosa, making a sudden +dart for her mother’s chair, retreated behind it, peering out her black +eyes occasionally, to take a look at the stranger; while Jessie ran and sprang +into her father’s lap, hiding her little tangled head on his shoulder. +And now a whooping and shouting made known the approach of Master Frank, the +son and heir, a young individual of about four years of age, who, nothing +daunted by the stranger’s appearance, made for his father’s chair, +and proceeded to dislodge his sister Jessie from her seat, and to establish +himself in her place. Jessie screamed, and scratched, and pulled in vain. +Frank, though younger, was much the strongest, and the fight ended by the +sudden descent of Miss Jessie to the floor, and the ascension of Master Frank +into the vacated place. +</p> + +<p> +“Be quiet now, will you, Frank, and speak to Miss Elwyn,” said his +father. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo! is that Miss Elwyn?” exclaimed Master Frank, aloud; +“why, C’lista said she was old and ugly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, C’listy didn’t know, did she?” said his father. +</p> + +<p> +“And Ev’lina said she’d train us well, and whip us, and shut +us up, and be awful cross all the time. She doesn’t look like that, does +she, papa?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, she does not,” said his father; “and I guess Evelina +must have been mistaken too.” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes was all this time looking at Frank, very much amused, and laughing +quietly at the description which had been given of her to the children. +</p> + +<p> +“You think I do not look so very terrible, then, Master Frank,” +said she; “do you think you will ever like me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Master Frank, boldly; “if you +don’t make me <i>mind,</i> I’ll like you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But she <i>is</i> going to make you mind, Master Frank,” said his +father; “and, do you know, I have promised Miss Elwyn that she shall do +just what she pleases with you all, and nobody shall interfere.” +</p> + +<p> +“In <i>school hours,”</i> said Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, in school hours, and out of school hours, except when their mother +or I are present: they are always to obey you, Miss Elwyn. I wish that to be +understood in the family. But, my dear,” said he to his wife, +“perhaps Miss Elwyn would like to change her dress before tea.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Fairland languidly directed Tiney to show Miss Elwyn to her room; but the +only notice taken of this command by Miss Tiney was a stupid, sullen stare. +Agnes had risen to leave the room; but perceiving that Tiney did not stir, she +turned, and putting out one hand toward Rosa, said, in her own bright, winning +way: +</p> + +<p> +<i>“This</i> little black-eyed girl will show me the way, I’m +sure.” +</p> + +<p> +There was no resisting the gentle kindness of Agnes, and the confidence of +little Rosa was won immediately. Coming out from behind her mother’s +chair, she put her hand in that of Agnes, and led her up stairs into a large +room, on the second floor, overlooking the beautiful lake. +</p> + +<p> +“What a very pleasant room!” said Agnes. “Is this to be +mine?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Rosa, who, having once found her tongue, showed +that she could make very rapid use of it when she chose—“and that +bed is yours, and that one is for me and Jessie.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Jessie and <i>me</i>,’ you mean, Rosa, do you not?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m the <i>oldest</i>,” answered Rosa. +</p> + +<p> +“I know that, Rosa; but recollect, whenever you speak of any <i>one</i>, +no matter who, in connection with yourself always to mention the other person +first. Will you remember that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I’ll try,” answered Rosa. She then proceeded to inform +Agnes, that her mamma had wished to give her a little room on the other side of +the hall, but papa said she should have this room, because it was so pleasant, +and he had heard her say that she was so fond of the water. +</p> + +<p> +“That was very kind of your papa,” said Agnes; “and where +does Tiney sleep?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Tiney sleeps with Susan, because she has fits, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>“Who</i> has?—Susan?” asked Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Tiney has fits, and nobody likes to take care of her but papa and +Susan.” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes was disappointed to find that she was not to have a room to herself. +“I came here to instruct these children,” said she to herself, +“not to act in the capacity of nursery-maid. However, I will bear it +patiently for the present; perhaps I shall gain an influence over them, by +having them so constantly with me, that I could not acquire in any other way. +There is so much to be corrected in their habits and language, besides their +being so woefully ignorant!” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes continued talking pleasantly to little Rosa, while she was dressing; and +when they went down stairs, hand in hand, the very pleasantest relations +appeared to be established between them. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall we call you?” asked Rosa. +</p> + +<p> +“You may call me ‘cousin Agnes,’ if you choose,” she +answered, “and if your papa and mamma are willing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I shall like that!” said Rosa. +</p> + +<p> +Soon after Agnes and little Rosa re-entered the sitting-room, the Misses +Fairland returned from their walk. They were gayly and showily attired in the +very height of the fashion, and entered the door talking and laughing very +loudly; but when introduced to Miss Elwyn, they stopped and opened their eyes +in unaffected amazement. As Agnes rose with graceful ease to meet them, looking +so lovely in her deep mourning dress, and with her rich waving chesnut hair, +simply parted on her forehead, and gathered in a knot behind, there was a most +striking contrast between her and the gaudily dressed, beflounced, and +beflowered ladies, who were fashionably and formally curtseying, and presenting +her the tips of their fingers. +</p> + +<p> +Though younger by some years than the youngest of the Miss Fairlands, there was +a dignified self-possession about Agnes, which was quite astonishing to them. +Though rather of the <i>hoyden-ish</i> class themselves, they could not fail at +once to recognize the air of refinement which marks the true lady, and while +intending by their own appearance to over-awe the new governess, they were so +completely taken by surprise by her perfect ease and composure of manner, that +they alone appeared stiff and awkward, and she unembarrassed and easy. +</p> + +<p> +And this was the prim old-maidish governess they had been expecting! this +fresh, blooming, lovely looking girl! It was by no means a pleasant surprise to +the Misses Fairland. However, she was nothing but a <i>governess</i> after all; +and could easily be kept in the back ground; it was to Be hoped she would know +her place and keep it. +</p> + +<p> +The Misses Fairland made the mistake very common with persons of weak mind, and +little cultivation at that, and instead of judging of others by their intrinsic +worth, character, or intellect, formed their estimate only by the outward +circumstances in which they found them. Had this same Agnes Elwyn come to make +a visit to her far away cousins, in her own carriage, and surrounded by +external marks of wealth, they would have been ready to fall down and worship +her; but coming as a <i>governess,</i> and by the <i>stage,</i> what notice +could she expect from the Misses Fairland! These young ladies had so often been +made wretched, by intentional slights from those in whose sphere they had +aspired to move, that they did not doubt Agnes would be rendered equally +uncomfortable by their own neglect. +</p> + +<p> +The tea-bell rang, and the Misses Fairland hastened to take off their bonnets +and soon re-appeared at the tea-table, where they took up the entire +conversation, telling of all they had heard and seen, in their calls through +the village. For like the ancient Athenians, these young ladies literally +“spent their time in nothing else, but to hear or to tell of some new +thing.” +</p> + +<p> +In the midst of the conversation there was a sudden bustle, and Tiney rose +hastily from the table. Her father immediately left his chair, and went round +to her place, and took her by the arm. There was a ghastly and disturbed look +about poor Tiney’s face, and an expression of terrible malignity about +her eye, and as she passed the chairs of her little sisters, one screamed +loudly and then the other, and when she came near Agnes, it was with great +difficulty that she too could resist the inclination to scream with the pain, +caused by a terrible pinch from the fingers of Tiney, which left its mark upon +her arm for many days. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Fairland led the child from the room, and as the door closed after them, +Agnes heard a succession of the most piercing shrieks, as if all the strength +of the sufferer’s lungs were expended upon each one. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear! Susan is out, and your father will need assistance,” +said Mrs. Fairland; “but really, these scenes have such an effect upon my +nerves, that I find it necessary to avoid them altogether.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so do I,” said Miss Calista, “indeed I always suffer +with a severe headache after them.” +</p> + +<p> +“And they are so utterly disagreeable to me, to to be more candid than +either of you,” said Miss Evelina, “that I always keep as far out +of the way as possible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can I be of any use?” asked Agnes, partly rising and looking +towards Mrs. Fairland. She would have followed poor Tiney and her father +immediately, but did not wish to appear to pry into that of which nothing had +been mentioned to her, and of which they might not like to speak out of their +own family. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, do go, Miss Elwyn, if you have the <i>nerve,”</i> said Mrs. +Fairland. +</p> + +<p> +The reader knows enough of Agnes to feel assured that her <i>nerves</i> were +never in the way, if opportunity offered to make herself useful to the +suffering; and the moment Mrs. Fairland answered her, she left the room, and, +guided by those still piercing shrieks, she passed through a long hall, and +entered a small bath-room, where she found Mr. Fairland holding the struggling +Tiney, who presented a shocking appearance. Her face was now quite purple, and +the white froth stood about her mouth; and her father was holding both of her +hands in one of his, to quiet her frantic struggles. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, bless you, Miss Agnes!” said Mr. Fairland, as soon as she +opened the door; “set that water running immediately till it is quite +hot, and take off this poor child’s stockings and shoes. You see I can do +nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +As quickly and as quietly as possible Agnes did as she was directed; and then +also, by Mr. Fairland’s direction, took down a bottle of medicine, always +kept ready for this purpose in the bath-room, and dropped some of it for him. +In a few moments, the shrieks subsided to moans, as Tiney lay with her head +back on her father’s shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor child!” said Mr. Fairland, wiping her lips and forehead, +“she is a dreadful sufferer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has she been so long?” asked Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +“Ever since her third year,” answered Mr. Fairland, “though, +at first, the attacks were comparatively slight; but of late years they have +grown more and more severe. Her intellect, as you perhaps have already noticed, +is much weakened by them, and her temper, naturally very sweet, is at times +almost fiendish. It seems to be her great desire, while suffering so intensely, +to injure all within her reach.” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes now understood the reason of the screams of the children, and also of the +pinch she had received as Tiney passed her chair. When poor Tiney’s moans +had become more faint, Mr. Fairland said: +</p> + +<p> +“Agnes, will you sing? Music seems to soothe her more than anything else, +after the extreme suffering is over.” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes sang, with her marvellously sweet voice, a simple air: presently poor +Tiney turned her head, and fixed her half-closed eyes on Agnes’ face. +Then she said, from time to time, in a dreamy way, “Pretty!—sweet! +Sing more;” and then she lay perfectly quiet, and soon fell into a gentle +slumber. Often and often, after that, when poor Tiney was seized with these +excruciating attacks, as soon as the first intense suffering was over, she +would say, “Cousin Agnes, sing!” and, from the time she heard the +gentle tones of Agnes’ voice, she would be quiet and gentle as a lamb. +The effect could be likened to nothing but the calming of the evil spirit which +possessed the monarch of Israel, by the tones of the sweet harp of David. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>XIV.<br/> +The School in the West Wing.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“Scatter diligently, in susceptible minds,<br/> +The germs of the good and beautiful,<br/> +They will develop there to trees, bud, bloom,<br/> +And bear the golden fruit of paradise.” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes found it no easy task to bring into training minds so ignorant and so +utterly undisciplined as those of her little pupils. Left entirely to +themselves, as they had been for many months, with a mother too indolent to +trouble herself about any systematic plan of government, and a father too easy +and good-natured to carry out the many plans he was ever forming for their +“breaking in;” scolded and fretted at by their older sisters, to +whom they were perfect torments; by turns playing harmoniously, and then +quarrelling most vigorously,—they roamed the house and grounds, doing +mischief everywhere, and bringing wrath upon their heads at every turn. +</p> + +<p> +With a perfect horror of anything like <i>study</i>, they had expected with +great dread the arrival of a governess, as putting a final stop to all their +fun and freedom. This dread had been in nowise diminished by the constant +remarks of their older sisters upon governesses in the abstract, and their own +expected governess in particular. One evening with Agnes served to dispel the +horror, so far as she was concerned, though the dread of books was still as +great as ever. Before the evening was over, Agnes had them all round her, as +she sat on the sofa, telling them beautiful stories, and asking them questions. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any pretty flowers in the woods about here?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, lots!” answered Rosa; “yellow flowers, and blue flowers, +and white flowers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then if you would like to learn something of Botany, so as to know the +names of all these beautiful flowers, we will take many pleasant rambles in the +woods, and gather the lovely wild flowers, and I will teach you how to press +them.” +</p> + +<p> +“But we haven’t got any <i>Botany books</i>,” said little +Jessie. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I think we shall not need any <i>books</i>, for all the Botany I +shall teach you, Jessie; and if we do, we will take the leaves of the flowers +for the leaves of the books, and the flowers themselves for the pictures. Do +you not think we can make beautiful books that way? Jessie, can you +read?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> can!” said Rosa, while Jessie hung her curly head. +</p> + +<p> +“And can you <i>write</i>, Rosa?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I can make straight marks,” answered Rosa. +</p> + +<p> +“And what can you do, Master Frank?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Frank doesn’t know anything?” said Jessie. “He did +know his ABC’s once, but he’s forgot them all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take care, Miss Jessie, that he does not read before you,” said +Agnes. “Your papa says we are to take the west wing for our school-room; +you must show me where it is, and after a day or to get in order, and to make +each other’s acquaintance, we will begin school in earnest.” +</p> + +<p> +The next morning Agnes took the toilettes of her two little room-mates under +her care, and when they appeared at the breakfast-table, the rest of the family +hardly knew them, they looked so tidy and sweet. And poor Tiney, who gazed with +astonishment at her two little sisters, made her appearance at Agnes’ +door soon after breakfast, to ask “if she wouldn’t make <i>her</i> +look nice too.” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes found so little to sympathise with, and took so little pleasure in the +society of the ladies of the Fairland family, that she longed for her school to +begin, that she might have useful occupation for her thoughts and time. On the +appointed morning therefore, she was well pleased to meet her little pupils in +the pleasant little room in the “west wing,” and to begin in +earnest her labors as a teacher. Such a pile of soiled, well-thumbed, and +dogs-eared books, as the children produced, Agnes had never seen together, and +on opening them she found that the young Fairland’s had been exercising +their taste for the fine arts, by daubing all the pictures from a six-penny +paint-box. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, my dear children,” said she, “the first thing we shall +do every morning, will be to read in the Bible; but I do not see any Bible or +Testament among your books; I suppose you each own one, do you not?” +</p> + +<p> +If Agnes had been a little longer in the family of Mr. Fairland, perhaps she +would not have asked this question; for she soon found that she had come into a +family of as complete heathens, as she would have found if she had gone to be +governess among the Hindoos. There was a “family Bible” in the +house to be sure, but the only use to which it had ever been applied, was that +of registering the births of the family, and the testimony it bore proved so +exceedingly disagreeable to the Misses Fairland, that as Rosa has informed us, +they took the liberty one day of erasing it. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes told the children to ask their papa if they might each have a Bible of +their own, to which he consented, and when the Bibles were brought home, the +exclamations of derision from the Misses Fairland, were loud and long. +</p> + +<p> +“A missionary in disguise!” they exclaimed; “a saint in the +form of a governess; come to convert us all, and the first thing is an +importation of Bibles!” and many were the sneering and sarcastic remarks +and allusions which came to the ears of Agnes, but she kept on her way quiet +and undisturbed. Agnes was perfectly astonished to find how utterly +unacquainted these children were with the contents of the Bible. It was all new +to them; and after she had read to them every morning, she would gather them +around her, and tell them in simple language the sweet stories from the Bible, +while they listened, the younger ones with their bright, wide-open eyes fixed +upon her face, as if they could not lose a word; and even poor Tiney loved to +lay her head in Agnes’ lap, and hear of Him who ever sympathised with the +sick and suffering. +</p> + +<p> +It was very strange, and very interesting to Agnes, to hear the remarks these +children made, and the many questions they would ask on subjects so new to +them; and as they had not yet learned to look at the character of God, as +revealed in his Son, with the reverence which better instructed children feel, +they often spoke of Him as they would of any good man of whom they might hear, +and in a way which would seem too irreverential, were I to tell you all they +said. +</p> + +<p> +Once when Agnes had been telling them of some of the miracles of our Saviour, +in curing the sick, and giving sight to the blind, and hearing to the deaf, +Rosa with her bright black eyes fixed intently on her face, said with the +utmost earnestness: +</p> + +<p> +“Why, He was real <i>good</i>, wasn’t He?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Agnes, “always good and kind, and always ready to +help the sick and suffering.” +</p> + +<p> +“He could cure <i>anybody</i>, couldn’t He?” continued Rosa. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; He was <i>all-powerful</i>,” answered Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +“Could He cure Tiney?” asked Jessie. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; if Tiney had lived when Christ was on earth, or if He was here now, +He could say the word, and make her well.” +</p> + +<p> +And then they asked, “Where is He now?” and “How can we talk +to Him now?” and “Why will He not cure Tiney now?” And Agnes +tried, in the most simple manner, to teach them the nature of the prayer of +faith. +</p> + +<p> +Once, when she was talking to them of our Saviour’s meekness under +injuries, and telling them of His bitter sufferings, and the kindness of His +feelings towards His persecutors, the large tears rolled down their cheeks, and +Rosa made a practical application of the lesson at once, by saying: +</p> + +<p> +“The next time Tiney pinches me, cousin Agnes, I don’t mean to slap +her back again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I either,” said Jessie. +</p> + +<p> +And Tiney whispered, “I will <i>try</i> and not hurt them next +time.” +</p> + +<p> +Frank, who had been choking down something in his throat, as he sat in his +chair, said, in an unsteady voice: +</p> + +<p> +“_Is it all <i>true</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +“Every word of it, Franky,” said Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got something in my eye,” said Frank, rubbing both eyes +very hard with the back of his hands; and then throwing himself on the settee, +he cried bitterly for a long time. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes taught them many pretty hymns; and as they all had good voices, and loved +music dearly, they were never so happy as in singing, morning and evening, +these sweet hymns with Agnes. Even poor Tiney, who was passionately fond of +music, readily caught the tunes, though it was almost impossible to teach her +the words. +</p> + +<p> +The very first Sunday that Agnes passed under the roof of Mr. Fairland, was +enough to convince her that the Sabbath day with them was passed much like all +other days. She was shocked to see novels, and other light and trashy works, in +the Lands of the Misses Fairland on this holy day, and to hear them +<i>howling</i> snatches of opera tunes, as they ran up and down the stairs. +These young ladies sometimes went to church in the morning, to be sure, +especially if they had lately received new bonnets from the city, which they +wished to display for the envy or admiration of their neighbors. Mrs. Fairland +was too indolent to take the trouble, even if she possessed the inclination, to +appear at church; and Mr. Fairland looked upon this seventh day of the week +literally as a day of rest, in which to recruit the exhausted energies of the +body, in preparation for the labors of another week. The day was passed by him +in looking over the newspapers, or sleeping in his large chair, with his red +silk handkerchief over his head; and towards evening, he usually took a stroll +over to his mills, or around his grounds, to mark out what was necessary to be +done on the coming week. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes felt the importance of exerting in this ungodly family a strictly +religious influence; but, except with her own little pupils, she did not +attempt, at first, to do so in any other way than by her own quiet, consistent +example. Mr. Fairland was much surprised when Agnes requested permission to +take the children to church with her he readily granted it, however, as he +invariably did the wishes of Agnes; and from that time, Mr. Fairland’s +pew had at least four or five occupants, on the morning and evening of the +Sabbath day. Though not required by her engagement to do so, Agnes kept the +children with her on Sunday, reading to them, singing with them, or telling +them beautiful Bible stories; and those pleasant Sabbaths spent with her they +never forgot, nor did they ever lay aside the habits they acquired under her +care. +</p> + +<p> +“What a pleasant day Sunday is!” exclaimed little Rosa; “I +never knew it was such a pleasant day before.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s cousin Agnes makes it so pleasant,” said blue-eyed +Jessie. +</p> + +<p> +“It is because you spend it as God directs, that it is a pleasant day to +you, dear children,” said Agnes; “and I wish you to remember that +it will always be a happy day, if you spend it in His service, ‘from the +beginning unto the end thereof.’” +</p> + +<p> +Even if I were sufficiently acquainted with them to detail all the plans of +Agnes for the education and improvement in manners and habits of her rude and +ignorant little pupils, I should not do so here. They required peculiar +training and an unfailing stock of patience, and it was long before any very +perceptible change was wrought in their almost confirmed habits of +carelessness, or any improvement in their rude and unformed manners; but at +length a material change was apparent, and even the Misses Fairland could not +keep their eyes closed to the visible improvement of the children. They were +all much more gentle and quiet; and even poor Tiney softened much, under +Agnes’ gentle influence, and the light of intelligence began to beam in +her heretofore dull eye. For the first time in her life, she was gaining useful +ideas; and the consciousness that she was learning something as well as her +sisters, seemed to make her happier and more kindly in her feelings. +</p> + +<p> +It was not long before the door would open gently, as the sound of their +evening hymn was heard, and Mr. Fairland, who was extravagantly fond of sweet +and simple music, would steal into the room, and seat himself in the corner. +And when he heard the voices of his children singing the praises of God, and +saw his poor Tiney, hitherto so neglected, joining with eager interest in the +singing, the tears would glisten in his eye, and roll unbidden down his cheek. +Then he began to find his way to the school-room on Sunday evenings, and Agnes +always took the opportunity on such occasions, to question the children on the +elements of religious truth, that their young voices might be the means of +instructing their father, who was more ignorant even than they, on these +all-important subjects. At these times he never said one word, but when he left +the room, it was often wiping the tears first, from one cheek and then from the +other, and the heavy tread of his feet could be heard far into the night, as he +walked the whole length of the two large parlors, with his hands behind him, +and his head bent down. Before Agnes had been six months in the family, the +good people sitting in the church at Wilston, one Sunday, opened their eyes +with astonishment, to see Mr. Fairland walk into church and take his seat in a +pew; and still more were they amazed, to see him do the same thing in the +afternoon. It was a surprise to Agnes too; for though she had not failed to +notice an unusual solemnity about Mr. Fairland, yet no word on the subject of +his duty in this matter had ever passed between them. +</p> + +<p> +Thus in the strict and conscientious performance of her daily duties, passed +the summer with Agnes, with one delightful break, of a fortnight’s +vacation, spent with the dear loving friends at Brook Farm, where she saw much +of her dear brother Lewie, who rode over every evening and passed the night, +returning to his college duties early in the morning. The quick eye of a +sister’s love soon detected that all was not right with Lewie. He was as +affectionate as ever, and if possible handsomer; but the faults of his +childhood had grown with his growth and strengthened with his strength; his +temper seemed more hasty and impetuous than ever, and there was a dashing +recklessness about him which gave his sister many a heart-ache; and she had +painful, though undefined fears for the future, for her rash and hot-headed +brother. +</p> + +<p> +Her kind friends at Brook Farm, who fancied from some things they drew from +Agnes, that her home at the Fairlands’ was not in all respects a happy +one, urged her most earnestly not to return there, but without success. Agnes +was convinced that there the path of duty lay, at least for the present, and +nothing could make her swerve from it. +</p> + +<p> +“Remember then, my sweet niece,” said her uncle, as he kissed her +at parting, “this is your home, whenever, for any reason, you will make +us so happy as to return to it.” +</p> + +<p> +The winter passed by very quietly to Agnes, in her accustomed round of duties; +indeed she was happier than she had yet found herself under Mr. +Fairland’s roof, in consequence of the absence of the two young ladies, +who having by some means or other succeeded in securing an invitation out of +some acquaintances in the city, to make them a short visit, inflicted +themselves upon them for the whole winter, and did not return to Wilston till +the spring was far advanced. Their hosts, in order to rid themselves of such +persevering and long-abiding guests, began to make their preparations long +before the usual time for closing their house and going to the country, and the +Misses Fairland, invulnerable as they proved all winter to anything like a +<i>hint</i>, were obliged to take this intended removal of their friends as a +“notice to quit,” which they accordingly did. +</p> + +<p> +One bright spot to Agnes this winter, was a visit of a week from Lewie, who +took his vacation at the time of the holidays to run up and see his sister. +</p> + +<p> +He had his guitar with him, and his voice, which had gained much in depth and +richness, was indescribably sweet. It seemed as if Mr. Fairland never would +tire of hearing the brother and sister sing together. His mills and everything +else were forgotten, while he sat silently in his great chair with his eyes +closed, listening hour after hour to the blended harmony of their charming +voices. +</p> + +<p> +That happy week was soon over, and the brother and sister parted. The next time +Agnes heard the sound of her brother’s guitar, under what different +circumstances did its tones strike upon her ear! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>XV.<br/> +The Strangers in the Rookery.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“If thou sleep alone in Urrard,<br/> +Perchance in midnight gloom<br/> +Thou’lt hear behind the wainscot<br/> +Sounds in that haunted room,<br/> +It is a thought of horror,<br/> +I would not sleep alone<br/> +In the haunted room of Urrard,<br/> +Where evil deeds are done.”<br/> + —UNKNOWN. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think, Calista? What <i>do</i> you think?” exclaimed +Miss Evelina Fairland, one day soon after their return from the city, bursting +in, in a great state of excitement. “Two of the <i>handsomest</i> men +have come to the village, one of them is a Mr. Harrington; isn’t it a +lovely name? and he has purchased “<i>the Rookery</i>” do you +believe! some say that he is a young man, others that he is a widower. They +have come down to hunt and fish, and he was mightily taken with “the +Rookery,” and in spite of ghosts and goblins he has actually bought +it;” and here Miss Evelina paused to take breath. +</p> + +<p> +“The Rookery” was a large old mansion which had once been a very +handsome dwelling. It stood quite alone on a rising ground a little out of the +village, and was surrounded with an extensive lawn, which on one side sloped +down the lake, over which were scattered magnificent elms; and there was only +one thing that prevented “the Rookery” from being the most +delightful residence in the country. This was the well-attested fact that the +house was haunted; and though at different times, those who were above being +influenced by these idle fears, had fitted up the place and endeavored to live +there, yet there could be no comfort in so large a house without servants, and +not one could be found to remain in it more than one night. Servants were +brought from a distance, but they soon heard in the village the story of the +lady who died so mysteriously in that house twenty years before, and how she +<i>walked</i> every night, and then of course they heard sounds, and saw +sights; and they too, forthwith took their departure. +</p> + +<p> +So the old house was quite falling into decay when these two brave men came +down and took possession of it; and fitting up comfortably two or three of the +most tenantable rooms, they there kept bachelors’ hall, unterrified and +undisturbed, at least by <i>spirits</i>. A few days after the announcement of +the arrival of the strangers in the village, a widow lady of the name of Danby +came to make a visit to the Fairland’s. She had with her a little girl, +her only child, a wilful, spoiled little thing, who took her own course in +everything, utterly regardless of the wishes or commands of others. In the +afternoon, as Agnes was preparing to start with her little pupils for their +accustomed walk, Mrs. Danby said: +</p> + +<p> +“Bella wishes to accompany you, Miss Elwyn, but you must take good care +of her.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will do my best, Mrs. Danby,” said Agnes, “but one thing I +shall insist upon, and that is, that Bella shall obey me as my own little +scholars do.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Bella was not at all pleased with the idea of obeying any one, and so she +was continually showing off her independent airs as they walked, hiding behind +trees, describing eccentric circles around the rest of the party, or darting +off in tangents. At length she became so troublesome, that Agnes determined to +shorten their walk, and turned to retrace their steps; at this Miss Bella was +highly indignant, and declared “that she would not go back, she would go +on, down there by the water.” +</p> + +<p> +They were at this time near an open space, which reached to the water, at the +end of which was a dock, for the convenience of those who wished to go out upon +the lake in boats. Agnes endeavored to detain the wilful child, but she +suddenly pulled away from her, and started like the wind for the dock. Agnes +called, and the children screamed, in vain; faster and faster ran the little +witch, still looking behind every moment to see if she was pursued, till at +length she tripped over a log, and fell far out into the water. Agnes clasped +her hands in speechless terror, while the cries of the children were loud and +agonizing. Just then a boat in which were two gentlemen rounded a point of land +near them, and made rapidly for the struggling child, who in another moment was +lifted into the boat, and handed up to the arms of Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes was too much agitated to take particular notice of these strangers, but +taking off her shawl she wrapped the dripping child in it, while one of her +preservers carried her into a cottage near by, Agnes and the still weeping +children following. When the child was placed in the kind woman’s bed, +and little Rosa was sent home to ask Susan for some clothes to put on her, with +special directions not to alarm Mrs. Danby, Agnes returned to the sitting-room +of the cottage, to thank the strangers who had so opportunely come to their +assistance, when what was her astonishment to find that one of them was her old +friend, Tom Wharton. +</p> + +<p> +“And you knew I was in town, Mr. Wharton, and have been here three or +four days without coming to see me,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! you know I don’t do things just like other people,” +answered Tom; “and to tell the truth, though I have no fear of ghosts and +hobgoblins, I have not yet had the courage to face two famous man-hunters, who +I hear reside under the same roof with you, Agnes. But it is time I should +introduce you to my friend Mr. Harrington, the present proprietor of “the +Rookery,” together with all the spirits, black and white, red and grey, +who are the inhabitants thereof.” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes was glad to meet Mr. Harrington, of whom she had often heard her uncle +speak in terms of great admiration, as an accomplished gentleman and a +Christian; and one who used the large property he had inherited in deeds of +benevolence and usefulness. They had been for some time in conversation about +the friends at Brook Farm, from whom the two gentlemen had lately parted, when +little Rosa returned. +</p> + +<p> +Rosa found that her older sisters and Mrs. Danby had gone out for a walk; so it +was a very easy matter to get some dry clothes for Bella, and bring her safe +home before her mother heard of the accident. What was the surprise of the +Misses Fairland, as, in coming down the street, they saw Agnes returning, +accompanied by one of the handsome strangers whose acquaintance they had been +“dying” to make; while the other followed, carrying little Bella +Danby in his arms. A few words sufficed to tell the story of the accident, and +to introduce the strangers, who, with the utmost cordiality, were urged to come +in; an invitation which was unhesitatingly accepted by Mr. Harrington, and +rather reluctantly by Mr. Tom Wharton. Mrs. Danby, pale and agitated, took her +little darling in her arms, and hurried to her own room, there to administer +certain restoratives, and, much against the young lady’s will, to place +her again in bed. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Harrington, having now gained the <i>entrée</i> to Mr. Fairland’s +house, seemed inclined to be a frequent visitor, much to the gratification of +the ladies Calista and Evelina, who laid siege to him right and left. If my +reader possessed the key to Mr. Harrington’s real object in coming to +Wilston, perhaps he would be as much amused as the gentleman himself at the +efforts, so exceedingly apparent, to gain for one of them possession of his +hand and fortune; for that Mr. Harrington was wealthy, they were well assured. +They each kept out a <i>hook</i>, too, for Mr. Tom Wharton, in case the other +was successful in taking the more valuable prey; but the bait was by no means +tempting to Mr. Tom, who darted off, leaving his friend, unsupported and alone, +to resist the attacks of these practised, but hitherto unsuccessful anglers. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Harrington,” said Mr. Tom Wharton to his friend one day, +“since your object in bringing me down here with you is accomplished, I +must now leave you to your fate. What that may be, in the midst of attacks from +spirits by night, and from more substantial persecutors by day, I cannot +divine; but if there is anything left of you, I shall hope to see you in the +city before long, and to hear the account you have to give of yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you for your services thus far, my dear friend,” said Mr. +Harrington; “still, I think it would be the part of disinterested +friendship to stay and help me a little longer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t—I can’t stand it, Harrington. <i>You</i> may +be able to bear it better; but I’m not used to this sort of thing, and I +don’t know how to get along with it at all. Your case is a hard one, I +acknowledge, my friend; but having some business of my own to attend to, I must +leave you to fight out your own battles.” And Mr. Tom Wharton, resolutely +closed his ears to his friend’s appeals, and took his departure. +</p> + +<p> +A beautiful little boat which Mr. Harrington had ordered from the city having +arrived, he called, one afternoon, at Mr. Fairland’s, to ask the ladies +if they would take a sail with him upon the lake. Most eagerly the Misses +Fairland consented, and were leaving the room to prepare to go, when Mr. +Harrington turned to Agnes, who happened to be in the room, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“May I not hope for the pleasure of Miss Elwyn’s company +too?” Upon which Miss Evelina, with a childishly-confidential air, raised +herself on tiptoe, and whispered in his ear: +</p> + +<p> +“It is not <i>at all</i> necessary to ask her: we never feel obliged to, +I assure you. She is only <i>governess to the children</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +But Mr. Harrington renewed his invitation, which Agnes had respectfully +declined, when Mr. Fairland entered the room, and Mr. Harrington appealed to +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Go? Certainly Agnes must go; she has never been on the lake in a +sail-boat, and I have often heard her say she would delight to go. Come, Agnes! +put on your things without a word, and go along.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus urged, Agnes consented to go, though she felt a little uncomfortable at +the silent displeasure of the Misses Fairland. There was a pleasant breeze, and +the little boat flew like a bird over the dancing waves. Agnes, a devoted +admirer of nature, was in an ecstasy which she could not conceal, as one +beautiful view succeeded another during their sail up the lake; but the other +ladies were so much occupied in trying the effect of <i>art</i>, that they had +no eye for the beauties of <i>nature</i>. The breeze soon died away, leaving +them far from home, and Mr. Harrington was obliged to take to his oars; and +long before the village was in sight, the gentle moon had begun her walk +through “golden gates,” throwing across the water a brilliant +column of light, sparkling and dancing in glorious beauty on the gentle ripples +of the lake. +</p> + +<p> +“Now is the time for music,” said Mr. Harrington; “for truly +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘Music sounds the sweetest<br/> +Over the rippling waves.’” +</p> + +<p> +But for once the Misses Fairland were obliged to relinquish the opportunity of +charming by their united voices; the only music in which they were practised, +and which they thought worth listening to, being of the flourishing, trilling, +running, quavering, shrieking kind; and this they could not attempt without +their “notes” and the “instrument.” Mr. Harrington then +proposed to Agnes to sing some sweet old-fashioned airs; and laying down his +oars, he took a seat beside her, and joined his rich tenor to the +strangely-melodious tones of her voice; and as the harmony floated over the +water, it seemed almost like the music of heaven. This was a state of things by +no means agreeable to the two neglected ladies in the other end of the boat, +and Miss Calista began to be afraid of the night air, and Miss Evelina was +taken with a hacking cough; so that Mr. Harrington was obliged to resume his +oars, and row them rapidly to the village. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Harrington consented to moor his boat, and accompany the ladies up to the +house to tea. Anxious to try the effect of their own accomplishments, the +Misses Fairland, soon after tea, led the conversation to the subject of music, +and were easily persuaded to attempt, with the “notes” and +“instrument,” some of their favorite songs. And now began a +flourishing and screaming unparalleled in the annals of music. Miss Calista +screamed, “I love only thee!” and then Miss Evelina shrieked, +“I love only thee!” and then Miss Calista trilled it—and Miss +Evelina howled it—and Miss Calista quavered it—and Miss Evelina ran +it—and then one of them started on it, and the other ran and caught up +with her—and then one burred for some time on thee-e-e-e-e, while the +other ran up and down, still asserting as rapidly as possible, and insisting +boldly, and stoutly asseverating, “I love only thee!”—and +then, with a combined shriek, they made known the fact once more and finally, +and then the ears of their hearers were allowed to rest. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, girls, if you have done with that clatter,” said Mr. +Fairland, “I want Agnes to sing for <i>me</i> one of those sweet old +Scotch songs; it will be quite refreshing after all this screeching.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Miss Calista, rising from the instrument, and casting up +her eyes at Mr. Harrington, “my dear old papa has the <i>oddest, +old-fashioned</i> taste!” +</p> + +<p> +But as soon as Agnes began to sing, it seemed as if Mr. Harrington’s +taste was quite as “odd” and “old-fashioned” as that of +the “dear old papa” himself; for he was guilty of the impropriety +of not hearing what Miss Evelina was saying to him, and soon rose and took his +stand by the piano, where he showed very plainly that he had no ear for any +other sound than that of Agnes’ voice. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes went to bed with some very pleasant thoughts that night; for, though +tongues may be silent, <i>eyes</i> can tell their story very soon; and it +<i>is</i> a pleasant thing to find one’s self an object of interest to +some noble heart; and particularly grateful was it to Agnes, in her present +lonely, toiling life. And she needed all the inward peace and comfort she +possessed, to enable her to bear the increased ill-nature of Mrs. Fairland and +her daughters; for the “mamma” was no less displeased than the +young ladies themselves at the prospect of the failure of one of their +cherished plans. +</p> + +<p> +And now, when Mr. Harrington called, there was generally some excuse contrived +for sending Agnes from the room, and for keeping her busy in some other part of +the house; and though Agnes was indignant at this evident desire to get her out +of the way, by putting upon her labor which they had no right to require of +her, yet, at the time, and in Mr. Harrington’s presence, she would not +contest the point, but quietly left the room. This never happened, however, +when Mr. Fairland was present, as the good man, if he had fully seen through +all the plans of his wife and daughters, could not have discomfited them more +surely than he always contrived to do. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, the ladies Calista and Evelina never for a moment relaxed +their efforts, or ceased to practise their arts, upon the wealthy and agreeable +stranger. +</p> + +<p> +“How <i>charming</i> your place must be Mr. Harrington!” said Miss +Evelina one evening; “I do delight in these old haunted mansions; there +is something so delightfully romantic about them.” +</p> + +<p> +“And have you really heard any of these strange noises at night?” +asked Miss Calista. +</p> + +<p> +“Noises?—enough of them,” he answered; “I have +sometimes been so disturbed, that I could not sleep at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what <i>did</i> you do?” asked the young ladies in a breath, +their eyes dilating with horror. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, in the first place,” said Mr. Harrington, “I bought a +<i>terrier</i>, and in the next a large <i>rat-trap</i>; and by means of both, +I succeed in laying several of the spirits every night, and have strong hopes +that, before long, perfect quiet will be restored to the haunted +mansion.” +</p> + +<p> +Then calling Jessie, who was in the room, to his side, Mr. Harrington took her +in his lap, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“You remind me very much of a little blue-eyed, flaxen-haired girl I have +in the city.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, have you a little girl?” Mr. Harrington, asked the young +ladies. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, two of them,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, how I <i>doat</i> on children!” exclaimed Miss Calista. +</p> + +<p> +“Cousin Agnes, what is the meaning of <i>doat</i>?” screamed Master +Frank, running up to Agnes, who just then entered the room. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it to <i>doat</i> on any one?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is to love them very dearly;” answered Agnes quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“Ho! C’listy says she <i>doats</i> on children—she doats on +us, don’t she Rosa?” and Master Frank laughed such a laugh of +derision, that Mr. Harrington was obliged to say something very funny to little +Jessie, who was still sitting on his knee, in order to have an excuse for +laughing too. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Calista fairly trembled with concealed rage, and soon succeeded in having +Master Frank sent off to bed. Indeed, Frank was the cause of so much +mortification to Miss Calista, that she would gladly have banished him too from +the parlor, but he was lawless, and no one in the house could do anything with +him but Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Harrington was very fond of children, and often had long conversations with +little Frank, whose bold, independent manners seemed to please him much. One +evening when he was talking to him, Frank said: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Harrington I’m saving up my money to buy a boat just like +yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are, hey, Frank? and how much have you got towards it?” asked +Mr. Harrington. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I’ve got two sixpences, and a shilling, and three +pennies;” said Frank. “I keep all my money in a china-box, one of +C’listy’s boxes she used to keep her red paint in; <i>this</i>, you +know!” touching each cheek with his finger. +</p> + +<p> +This was too much for Miss Calista; she rushed from the room, and vented her +indignation in a burst of angry tears, and the next time she met Master Frank, +she gave him a slap upon his cheek, which made it a deeper crimson than the +application of her own paint would have done. All these slights and +mortifications were revenged upon poor Agnes, who would gladly have left a +place where she was so thoroughly uncomfortable; but the thought of the +children, to whom she had become attached, and who seemed now to be rewarding +her pains and trouble by their rapid improvement, deterred her from taking a +step which should separate her from them forever. Poor Tiney too, who seemed +rapidly failing under the power of disease, and who clung to her so fondly, how +could she leave her? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>XVI.<br/> +Death and the Fugitive.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer,<br/> +Apart she sighed; alone, she shed the tear,<br/> +Then, as if breaking from a cloud she gave<br/> +Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave.”<br/> + —CRABBE. +</p> + +<p> +One summer night, Agnes, who had been up till very late, soothing and quieting +poor Tiney, and had at last succeeded in singing her to sleep, left her in +Susan’s care, and returned to her own room. It was a lovely, warm, +moonlight evening, and Agnes stood by her raised window, watching the shadows +of the tall trees which were thrown with such vivid distinctness across the +gravel walks and the closely trimmed lawn, and thinking of a pleasant walk she +had taken that day, and of some one who joined her, (as was by no means +unusual,) on her return from the woods with the younger children. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly her reverie was broken by the sound of a few chords struck very +lightly and softly upon a guitar. The sound came from the clump of trees, the +shadows of which Agnes had just been admiring; and she supposed they were the +prelude to a serenade. Her heart whispered to her who the musician might be, +for though she had never heard him, with whom her thoughts had been busy, touch +the guitar, yet with his ardent love for music, she did not doubt that he might +if he chose, accompany his rich voice upon so simple an instrument. +</p> + +<p> +But now the blood which had crimsoned her cheek flowed back tumultuously to her +heart, as she heard a voice she could not mistake, humming very softly the +notes of a sad and touching air, which she and Lewie had often sung together. +This plaintive singer could be no other than her brother. But why here, at +night, and in this clandestine manner, evidently trying to win her attention, +without arousing that of others? The house seemed quiet: and Agnes, throwing a +shawl about her, quickly descended the stairs, and, quietly opening a side +door, crossed the lawn, and in another moment stood beside her brother, under +the shade of the tall old elms. +</p> + +<p> +“Lewie! is it indeed you?” +</p> + +<p> +He made no answer, he said not one word, but, drawing Agnes to a seat under one +of the trees, he seated himself beside her, and laying his head upon her +shoulder, he was quiet for a few moments; and then Agnes felt his frame tremble +with sudden emotion, and heard a deep sob. +</p> + +<p> +“Lewie! my brother! do speak to me! What is it? Do not keep me in +suspense! What dreadful thing has happened?” +</p> + +<p> +“Agnes,” said he, with a sudden and forced calmness, the words +coming slowly from between his white, stiffened lips—“Agnes, it +is—<i>murder</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes did not scream—she did not faint—forgetfulness for a moment +would have been a relief. In a flash she had comprehended it all. +</p> + +<p> +“Lewie,” said she, “is there blood upon this hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Agnes, it is true; your brother is a murderer! No less a murderer, +because the blow was struck in the heat of sudden passion, and when the brain +was inflamed with wine; and no less a murderer, because it was repented of the +moment given, and before the fatal consequences were suspected. My sister, I am +a fugitive and a wanderer, hunted by the officers of justice, and doomed to the +prison or the gallows.” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to Agnes like a fearful dream! It was too dreadful to be true! The +thought crossed her mind, perhaps it <i>is</i> a dream; she had had dreams as +vivid, and had awakened with such a blessed feeling of relief. But no! she +clasped Lewie’s cold hand in hers, and felt assured it was all reality. +For a few moments she could only bury her face in her hands, and rock to and +fro and groan. She was aroused from this state of agonized feeling by Lewie, +who said: +</p> + +<p> +“And now, what shall I do, Agnes? I have come all this way on foot, and +at night, to see you once more, and to ask you what I should do? Oh that I had +been more willing to follow your gentle guidance before, sweet +sister!—but I have followed nothing but the dictates of my own ungoverned +passions. Shall I try to escape, or shall I give myself up for trial? On my +word, Agnes, I am not a murderer by intention. I was excited; something was +said which tried my quick temper; I answered with a burst of sudden passion; +more taunting words followed; and, quicker than the lightning’s flash, I +had dealt the blow which laid my class-mate dead at my feet I was sobered in +one moment; and oh, Agnes! what, <i>what</i> would I not have given to restore +my murdered friend to life!—not for my own sake; for I never thought of +myself till urged by my terror-stricken companions to fly. Then I thought of my +own safety; and, my darling sister, I thought of you, and determined that you +should hear of your brother’s disgrace and crime from no lips but his +own. I have been hanging about here all day, but could not see you; and finding +no other way to call your attention, I borrowed this guitar at the tavern, and +have been watching from these trees, till I saw a white form at a window, which +I knew was yours. Now, Agnes, what shall I do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lewie, what can I say but <i>fly</i>, and save yourself from an +ignominious fate! It may not be right counsel; but how can a sister advise +otherwise? My poor, poor brother!” And Agnes was relieved by a passionate +burst of tears. And now came the time for parting. He must go, for they would +be likely to seek him in the home of his only sister,—he must go quickly +and quietly;—and, with a few hurried words, in which his sister commended +him to God, and entreated him to go to <i>Him</i> for pardon and peace, and +with one last fond embrace, they parted. Agnes returned to the house with +feeble, staggering steps, stricken to the very heart. +</p> + +<p> +No sleep visited the eyes of Agnes that night; and when she appeared in the +breakfast room the following morning, her pale and haggard countenance showed +marks of extreme suffering, which should have been respected even by the Misses +Fairland. But no! their quick ears had also caught the tones of the guitar, and +rushing to a window on that side of the house, in the expectation of a +serenade, they had seen Agnes as she crossed the lawn, and returned again to +the house. Here was food for conjecture, and jealousy for the suspicious +ladies, and they had long been awaiting the arrival of Agnes in the breakfast +room, hoping to have the mystery cleared up. +</p> + +<p> +“May we be informed, Miss Elwyn,” began Miss Calista, “how +long you have been in the habit of receiving signals from lovers, and stealing +out at night to give them clandestine meetings in the grove?” +</p> + +<p> +A bright blush suffused the cheek of Agnes, which died away immediately, +leaving it of an ashy paleness, as she said: +</p> + +<p> +“I have met no lover in the grove, Calista, at least not what <i>you</i> +mean by a lover,” she added, thinking this might be an evasion, for did +not her brother love her dearly? +</p> + +<p> +“Not what <i>I</i> call a lover,” said Miss Calista; “a very +nice distinction! then you do not deny that you met what <i>you</i> call a +lover in the grove. Indeed you need trouble yourself to make no denial, for +Evelina and I both watched you.” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes rose from the table, and all who were gathered around it were amazed at +the unusual vehemence of her manner, as with an expression of intense +wretchedness upon her face, she exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! <i>do, do</i> let me alone! do leave me in quiet; for I am very, +very unhappy!” +</p> + +<p> +And hastily, and with great agitation, Agnes left the room. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Fairland, who was so much interested in a paragraph in the paper, which +appeared to shock him exceedingly, that he had not heard the ill-natured +remarks of his daughters, looked up just as Agnes rose from the table, and +heard her agonized address. +</p> + +<p> +With more sternness than usual, he asked his daughters what they had been +saying to Agnes, and on hearing their account of the conversation, he +exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Agnes! you will see in this paper girls something that will shock +you, and will perhaps inspire you with a little sympathy for one whom it seems +to be your delight to torment. You may perhaps now guess who it was that Agnes +met in the grove last night.” +</p> + +<p> +The Misses Fairland were really shocked to read the account of the murder, and +to read the name of Lewis Elwyn as the murderer; and something like remorse for +a moment visited their minds, that they had added to the sufferings of the +already burdened heart of Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor fellow! poor young man!” exclaimed Mr. Fairland; “such +a handsome fellow as he was, and such a sweet singer too! this seems to have +been done in a sudden passion; and not without provocation too. But it is an +awful thing! Poor Agnes! she must not attempt to teach the children while she +is so distressed; and I do desire girls, that you will have the <i>decency</i>, +if you have not the <i>feeling</i>, to leave her entirely undisturbed.” +</p> + +<p> +Days passed on and nothing was heard of the fugitive. Oh, what days of restless +and painful suspense to Agnes! Had she not had constant and unusual occupation +for her time, it seemed to her that she could not keep her reason. But poor +Tiney had grown suddenly and alarmingly worse, and the physician said a very +days at most would terminate her sufferings. With all the distressing thoughts +which crowded upon her, Agnes remained by the bed-side of the little sufferer, +endeavoring to soothe and cheer her descent to the dark valley. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Fairland, who though indolent and indifferent in many things with regard +to her children, was not altogether without natural affection, passed much of +her time, during the last two or three days of Tiney’s life, in her room, +sitting quietly near the head of the bed. Mr. Fairland, who seemed more +overcome even than Agnes expected, hardly ever left the bed-side. The older +sisters looked in occasionally for a few moments, but their +“nerves” (always ready as an excuse with people destitute of +feeling) would not allow their staying for more than five minutes at a time, in +the room of the sick child. The younger children wandered restlessly about the +house, their little hearts oppressed by the first approach of death among their +number; sometimes coming in quietly to look at the dying sister, and then +wandering off again. +</p> + +<p> +“Cousin Agnes, <i>must</i> I <i>die</i>?” asked Tiney, the day +before her death, as Agnes and her father and mother were sitting near her. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not afraid to die, dear Tiney, are you?” asked Agnes in +reply. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I shall love to die, because you told me I would never be sick any +more; but I feel a <i>little</i> afraid to go to Heaven.” +</p> + +<p> +“Afraid to go to Heaven, dear Tiney! And why should you be afraid to go +there?” asked Agnes, in astonishment; for she had, oftener than ever, of +late, talked to the failing child of the glories of heaven, and did not doubt +that, even with her poor weak mind, she had so trusted by faith in the merits +of an all-sufficient Redeemer, that through those merits her spirit would be +welcomed to that blissful abode. +</p> + +<p> +“I was thinking,” answered Tiney, “that I don’t <i>know +anybody</i>, there; not a single soul; and I feel so shy with strangers. Will +they love me there, cousin Agnes, as you and papa do?” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes could not repress the tears at this question, so natural, perhaps, to a +simple child, and yet one which she had never thought of as likely to occur to +one before. But she talked to Tiney so soothingly and sweetly of Him who loved +little children when on earth, and who was watching for her now, and would send +some lovely angel to bear her to His breast, that poor Tiney lost her fears, +and longed for the hour of her release. And it came the next morning. Just as +the glorious sun was rising over the lake, the spirit of poor little suffering +Tiney left its earthly dwelling, and began its long and never-ending day of +happiness. +</p> + +<p> +Oh! what a brilliant light shone for once in those dark gray eyes, as Tiney +raised them, with a look of wonder and astonishment and joy, as if she saw far, +far beyond the limits which bounded her mortal sight!—and as, with an +enraptured expression, she murmured something about “that lovely +music,” the light faded from the still wide open and glassy eye; and +Agnes, passing her hand gently over the lids, said, “Mr. Fairland, she is +gone!” and the first thought of her sad heart was, “Oh that I too +were at rest!” But she checked it in one moment, when she remembered that +there were duties and conflicts and trials before her yet; and she determined +she would go forward, in the Divine strength, into the furnace which she must +needs go through, in order to be refined and purified. +</p> + +<p> +Once, during Tiney’s last sickness, a messenger called for Agnes, and put +a note and a little bouquet of green-house flowers into her hand. At first, +Agnes hoped that the note might contain tidings of her brother; but though +disappointed in this respect, the contents of the note were soothing and +grateful to her troubled heart. The words were simply these: +</p> + +<p> +“Is there <i>anything</i> I can do for you? And if you need a friend, +will you call upon me?” The note was signed “C.H.” +</p> + +<p> +At first Agnes merely said, in a despairing tone, “Oh no! nothing can be +done;” and then, feeling that a different answer should be sent to a +message so kind, she tore off a bit of the paper, and wrote upon it: +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing can be done for me now. Believe me, I will not hesitate to call +upon you, when you can do me any good.” +</p> + +<p> +The day after Tiney’s death, officers came to search Mr. Fairland’s +house for the fugitive, having traced him to Wilston. Every corner of the house +was searched, and even the chamber of death was not spared. The search, of +course, was unsuccessful; but, the day after poor Tiney’s funeral, came +tidings to Agnes of the arrest of her brother. He was taken at last, and safely +lodged in the jail at Hillsdale, where he was to await his trial. +</p> + +<p> +And now Agnes, whose office ever seemed of necessity to be that of consoler and +comforter, must leave her little charge, and go to be near her brother. It was +a bitter parting; it seemed as if the children could not let her go; and the +scene recalled so vividly to Agnes the parting with Miss Edwards at Brook Farm, +that the recollection made her, if possible, still more sad, as she thought the +resemblance might be carried out even to the end, and the close of this earthly +scene to her might be as melancholy as was that of her beloved teacher. +</p> + +<p> +She promised Mr. Fairland that, as soon as she could attend to it, she would +ascertain if there were vacancies in Mrs. Arlington’s school for Rosa and +Jessie, and also if Mr. Malcolm would consent to take charge of Frank’s +education; and, accompanied by Mr. Fairland, she left Wilston, as she supposed, +forever. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>XVII.<br/> +The Jail.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“I may not go, I may not go,<br/> +Where the sweet-breathing spring-winds blow;<br/> +Nor where the silver clouds go by,<br/> +Across the holy, deep blue sky;<br/> +Nor where the sunshine, warm and bright<br/> +Comes down, like a still shower of light;<br/> + I must stay here<br/> + In prison drear;<br/> +Oh! heavy life, wear on, wear on,<br/> +Would God that thou wert gone.”<br/> + —FANNY KEMBLE. +</p> + +<p> +They reached Brook Farm late in the evening, and here the greeting, though not +as noisy and joyous, was warmer, and if possible more affectionate than ever. +They all loved Lewie in spite of his many faults, and their sympathy was most +sincere and hearfelt for Agnes, who was very dear to them all. As soon as Agnes +could speak to Mr. Wharton alone, she said: +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle, have you seen him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Every day, dear Agnes, and have been with him some hours each +day.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how does he feel, dear Uncle?” +</p> + +<p> +“Relieved, I think, on the whole; that the suspense is over thus far. He +says he would not live over again the last three weeks for worlds. Many and +many a time he had almost resolved to return and give himself up for trial; but +the thought of you, Agnes, prevented. He said that you must be a sharer in all +his trouble and disgrace, and if he could spare your distress and suffering, by +escaping from the country, he meant to try and do it, and then he would soon be +forgotten, except by the few who cared for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how does he feel about the—the result, uncle?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hopeful, I think; he seems to think it cannot be brought in murder, when +murder was so far from his intention.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what do <i>you</i> think, uncle?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am inclined to think with Lewie, dear; there is always a leaning +towards mercy, and your brother has counsel, the very best in the State.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, uncle, how very kind! how can we ever repay you for your +kindness?” +</p> + +<p> +“No thanks to me in this matter, Agnes; Mr. W—— has been +retained by one who does not wish his name known; one who would be glad, I +fancy, to have a nearer right to stand by you through these coming scenes, but +who will not trouble you with these matters at present.” +</p> + +<p> +A bright blush came up in Agnes’ cheek, and as suddenly died away as she +said: +</p> + +<p> +“One question more, uncle; when will it take place—the trial, I +mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“It will probably come on in November,” her uncle answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Two long months of imprisonment for my poor brother!” said Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +“But remember, Agnes, those two months will be diligently employed by his +counsel in preparing his defence.” +</p> + +<p> +“And by those on the other side, in making strong their cause against +him, uncle. My poor dear Lewie! how I long to see him; and yet how I dread the +first meeting, oh! if that were only over!” +</p> + +<p> +The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Mr. Wharton and Agnes drove over +to Hillsdale. Agnes shuddered, and turned pale, as they drew near the gloomy +jail with its iron-barred windows, and closing her eyes she silently prayed for +strength and calmness for the meeting with her brother. Mr. Wharton conducted +her to the door of the room in which her brother was confined, and left her +there, as he knew they would both prefer that their first meeting should be +without witnesses. In one respect Agnes was agreeably disappointed; she had +expected to find her brother in a close, dark dungeon; and was much surprised +to find herself in a pleasant, light room, with table, books, writing +materials, and everything very comfortable about him; the only things there to +remind her that she was in a prison, being the locked door, and the grated +window. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes had been preparing herself ever since she first received the tidings of +her brother’s arrest, for this meeting; and she went through it with a +calmness and composure which astonished herself. But poor Lewie was completely +overcome. He knew his sister would come to him; but he had not expected her so +soon, and the first intimation he had of her arrival, was the sight of her upon +the threshold of his door. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Agnes! poor dear sister!” said he, as soon as he could speak; +“what have I ever been from my childhood up, but a source of trouble and +distress to you. You were punished for my ungoverned temper all through your +childhood; you are suffering for it now; you will have to suffer for it more, +till your bloom is all gone, and you are worn to a skeleton. If I had dared, +Agnes—if I had dared, I should have put an end to this mortal existence; +and thus I should have saved you all this coming disgrace and misery. But I had +not the courage to lay violent hands upon myself, and go, a deliberate suicide, +into the presence of my Maker. I have tried all other means; I have gone +through exposure and fatigue, which at any other time I know would have killed +me; I have laid out all night in the rain; <i>I</i>, who used to be so +susceptible to cold, but nothing seemed to hurt me. I have been reserved for +other and more terrible things. And you, Agnes, who are always kind, and +forbearing, and self-sacrificing, it seems to be your fate ever to suffer and +endure for others. Oh, my sister, you deserve a happier lot!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t talk so, dear Lewie!” said Agnes; “you have +given me very many happy hours, and all the little troubles of ‘long, +long ago’ are forgotten. And now, what greater pleasure can I have than +that of sitting with you here, working and reading, and trying to wile away the +tedious hours of your captivity?” +</p> + +<p> +“Agnes! this must not be! I cannot allow it. It will brighten the whole +day for me, if you will come and spend an hour or two with me every morning; +but I cannot consent that you shall be immured for the whole day in the walls +of this gloomy prison-house.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what can you do, Lewie? I am going to be obstinate for once, and +take my own course. Uncle will drive me over every morning, and come for me at +night; and I am going to enjoy a pleasure long denied me, of spending every day +with my darling brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Agnes! this is too, too much!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not too much at all, Lewie. Do you think I could be happy anywhere else +than with you? What should I do at uncle’s but roam the house, restless +and impatient, every moment I am absent from you? And the nights will seem so +long, because they separate me from you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! how utterly undeserving!—how <i>utterly undeserving</i> such +love and devotion!” said Lewie, pacing up and down the room. “Sweet +sister!—dearest Agnes!—now has my prison lost all its gloom; and +were it not for the future, I might be happier here than when out in the world; +for temptation here is far from me, and only good influences surround +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what of the future, dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of my trial, Agnes? Well, I hardly know what to say. My friends and +lawyers try to keep up my spirits, and mention to me many hopeful things; and, +for the time, I too feel encouraged. But I can think of many things that a +skilful lawyer can bring up against me, and which would weigh very heavily. I +am trying to think of the <i>worst</i> as a <i>probability</i>; so that if it +comes, I shall not be overwhelmed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Agnes, shuddering, and covering her eyes, as if to shut +out some horrid spectacle, “it cannot be! I cannot bring myself to +contemplate it for a moment!” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet it <i>may be</i>, Agnes! or they may spare my life, and doom me +to wear out long years of imprisonment, and then send me out into the world a +blighted and ruined man! That is the best I can hope for; and but for the +disgrace which would come upon me, I should say the sudden end is +better.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what of the future <i>after that</i>, Lewie? for that, after all, is +the great concern.” +</p> + +<p> +“The <i>eternal future</i> you mean, Agnes. Ah! my sister, the prospect +there is darker and more dreary still. I know enough of religion to feel +assured that my short life has not been spent in the way to prepare me for a +future of happiness; and I am not yet so hardened as to pretend not to dread a +future of misery.” +</p> + +<p> +“God grant such may not be your fate, dear brother. Whether life be long +or short, happy or sorrowful, our future depends upon heart-felt repentance +here, and faith in the ‘sinner’s Friend.’ You have now time +for quiet and reflection. Oh! improve it dear Lewie, in so humbling yourself +before Him whom you have offended, and in so seeking for pardon, that He will +bless you and grant you peace.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see, Agnes,” said her brother, with a sad smile, “you want +me to follow in the footsteps of all other offenders and criminals, who, after +doing all the mischief possible, and living for their own selfish gratification +while abroad in the world, spend the time of their imprisonment in acts of +penitence and devotion, and go out of the world, as they all invariably do, in +the full odor of sanctity, in peace with God, and in charity with men.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is my advice to you in any way different, my dear brother, from what it +was when you were free and unrestrained? Indeed, so much did I dread the effect +of your undisciplined temper, and so assured did I feel that for you the grace +of God was peculiarly necessary, that I have feared I sometimes made my +presence unwelcome by my constant warnings and admonitions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never, Agnes—never, dearest sister! I always thanked you from my +inmost heart for your kind, loving, tender counsel; and though apparently I +turned it off lightly and carelessly, yet it often sank deep in my heart; and +when parted from you, I often thought what a miserable wretch I was not to give +better heed to it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet, Lewie dear, I will not deny that I think the need more urgent than +ever for repentance and pardon now. I do not wish to harrow up your feelings, +dear brother; but, oh! it is an awful thing to send a fellow-creature into +eternity!” +</p> + +<p> +“And do you think that thought ever for a moment leaves me, Agnes? +Indeed, I think that while I have been skulking and hiding, hunted and pursued +from one place to another, and since I have been shut up in these walls, every +harrowing thought that could possibly be brought before my mind, has been dwelt +upon till it seemed sometimes as if I should go mad. I have mourned for +Cranston as if I had no hand in his death; I have thought of him in all his +hope and promise; I have thought of his poor mother and sisters, till the tears +have rained from my cheeks; and I believe I have been sincere in my feeling, +that if by suffering an ignominious death, I could restore my murdered friend +to life, I should be <i>glad</i> to be the sacrifice. And then when I thought +of <i>myself</i> as the cause of all this suffering, it seemed as if it ought +not to be a matter of wonder or complaint if the verdict should be, that such a +wretch should cumber the earth no longer. And yet, Agnes, in the eye of Him who +looketh only on the heart, I believe I was as much a murderer when I struck +down my school-mate in the play-ground as now. For in the height of my passion +then, I think I should have been glad to have killed him. But the thought of +<i>murder</i> did not enter my heart when I struck poor Cranston; it was a sort +of instinctive movement; the work of a moment; and had not the murderous weapon +been in my hand, the effects of the blow would have been but slight.” +</p> + +<p> +Many such conversations as these passed between the young prisoner and his +sister, during those two months preceding the trial—every day of which, +except during church hours on Sunday, Agnes passed with him from morning till +night, almost as much a prisoner as he, except that hers was not compulsory. +This time was faithfully improved by Agnes, in endeavoring to lead her brother +to right views upon the subject of his own condition in the sight of a Holy +God. He was very gentle and teachable now, and before the day of trial came, +Agnes hoped that her brother was a true penitent, though his own hopes of +pardon were faint and flickering. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Malcolm too, often visited young Elwyn, in whom he was most deeply +interested; and his gentle teachings and fervent prayers were eagerly listened +to by the youthful prisoner. Mr. W——, his counsel, came often, +also, but in his endeavors to keep up the spirits of Lewie and his sister, his +manner was so trifling and flippant that it grated on their feelings painfully. +He was working as laboriously it seemed, as the enormous fee promised him would +warrant, leaving no stone unturned which would throw some favorable light on +young Elwyn’s case. Thus days and weeks passed on, and in the midst of +increasing agitation and excitement, the day of trial came. +</p> + +<p> +When the brother and sister parted the evening before the trial, Agnes once +more renewed the entreaties she had so often made that Lewie would allow her to +remain by his side during the painful events of the coming day. But his refusal +was firm and unyielding. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, dear sister, pray do not urge it,” said he. “I know +I shall be too much agitated as it is; I do not believe I can go through it +with even an appearance of calmness alone; and how much more difficult it would +be for me with you by my side. I know I could not bear it. No! Agnes, remain in +the village if you prefer it, but do not let me see your dear face again till +my fate is decided. Let us pray once more together, sweet sister—let us +pray for mercy from God and man.” And when they arose from their knees +they took their sad farewell, and Agnes accompanied her uncle to the house of +her kind friend, Dr. Rodney, where she was to remain till the trial was over. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>XVIII.<br/> +The Trial.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“The morn lowered darkly; but the sun hath now,<br/> +With fierce and angry splendor, through the clouds<br/> +Burst forth, as if impatient to behold<br/> +This our high triumph. Lead the prisoner in.”<br/> + —VESPERS OF PALERMO. +</p> + +<p> +To say that, long before the hour fixed for the trial, the court room was +crowded to its utmost capacity with eager and expectant faces, would be to +repeat what has been written and said of every trial, the events of which have +been chronicled; but it would be no less true for that. And when the young +prisoner was brought into the room, his handsome face pale from agitation and +recent confinement, and with an expression of intense anxiety in his eye, all +not before deeply interested for the friends of the unfortunate Cranston were +moved to pity, and strongly prepossessed in his favor. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. W——, the counsel for the prisoner, was an able and eloquent +lawyer. He was a small, slight man, with a high, bald forehead; and a pair of +very bright, black, restless eyes. His manner was naturally quick and lively; +but he well knew how to touch the tender strings, and make them give forth a +tone in unison with his own, or with that which he had adopted for his own to +suit the occasion. He had an appearance, too, of being assured of the justice +of his cause, and perfectly confident of success, which was encouraging to the +prisoner and his friends. +</p> + +<p> +After the necessary preliminaries and statements had been gone through with, +the witnesses against the prisoner and in his favor were called, who testified +to the fact of the murder, and to the prisoner’s natural quickness of +temper, inducing fits of sudden passion, which, even in childhood, seemed at +times hardly to leave him the mastery of himself. Friends, school-mates, +college-mates, in turn gave their testimony to the prisoner’s kindness of +heart, which would not suffer him to harbor resentment; and yet many instances +were mentioned of fierce and terrible passion, utterly heedless of results for +the moment, and yet passing away quick as the lightning’s flash. +</p> + +<p> +It was shown that he had no ill-will to young Cranston; on the contrary, they +were generally friendly and affectionate; that they had been so throughout the +evening on which the fatal deed was done. It was at a supper table, when all +were excited by wine; and Cranston, who was fond of a joke, and rather given to +teazing, and being less guarded than usual, introduced some subject exceedingly +unpleasant to young Elwyn. The quick temper of the latter was aroused at once, +and he gave a hasty and angry reply. The raillery was pushed still farther; and +before those about him had time to interfere, the fatal blow was struck in +frantic passion. +</p> + +<p> +“And is this no palliating circumstance,” said Mr. W——, +“that God has given to this young man a naturally fierce and hasty +temper, which could not brook that which might be borne more patiently by those +whose blood flows more coldly and sluggishly? Is there no difference to be made +in our judgment of men, because of the different tempers and dispositions with +which they were born? Of course there is!—<i>of course</i> there is! It +has been clearly shown that there was no malice aforethought in this case; the +injury was not brooded over in silence, and the plan matured in cold blood to +murder a class-mate and friend. No! on the moment of provocation the blow was +struck, with but the single idea of giving vent to the passion which was +bursting his breast. And those who witnessed his deep remorse and agony of +mind, when he discovered the fatal effects of his passion, as, all regardless +of his own safety, he endeavored to restore his expiring friend to life, have +assured me, that though they were witnesses of the whole scene, they felt for +<i>him</i> only the deepest commiseration.” +</p> + +<p> +And here Mr. W—— paused and wiped his eyes repeatedly, and the sobs +of the young prisoner were heard all over the court room. +</p> + +<p> +“There was one,” Mr. W—— continued, “of whom he +wished to speak, and whom, on some accounts, he would have been glad to bring +before the jury to-day. But he would not outrage the feelings of his young +friend by urging him to consent to the entreaties of his lovely sister, that +she might be permitted to sit by his side in that prisoner’s seat to-day. +She is his only sister; he her only brother; and they are orphans.” (Here +there was a faltering of the voice, a pause, which was very effective; and +after apparently a great effort, Mr. W—— went on.) +</p> + +<p> +“She has sat beside him hour after hour, and day after day, in yonder +dreary jail, endeavoring to make the weary hours of solitude and captivity less +irksome, and lead the prisoner’s heart away from earthly trouble to +heavenly comfort. Her hope in the jury of to-day is strong. She believes they +will not doom her young and only brother to an ignominious death, and a +dishonored grave; she even hopes that they will not consign him to long years +of weary imprisonment; she feels that he is changed; that he no longer trusts +to his own strength to overcome his naturally strong and violent passions; but +that his trust is in the arm of the Lord his God, who ‘turneth the hearts +of men as the rivers of water are turned.’” +</p> + +<p> +“May He dispose the hearts of these twelve men, on whom the fate of this +youth now hangs, so that they shall show, that like Himself they are <i>lovers +of mercy</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +And Mr. W—— sat down and covered his face with his handkerchief. +The hope and expectation of acquittal now were very strong. +</p> + +<p> +And now slowly rose the counsel for the prosecution. Mr. G—— was a +tall thin man, of a grave and stern expression of countenance; his hair was of +an iron-gray, and his piercing gray eye shone from under his shaggy eye-brows +like a spark of fire. It was the only thing that looked like <i>life</i> about +him; and when he first rose he began to speak in a slow, distinct, +unimpassioned manner, and without the least attempt at eloquence. +</p> + +<p> +“He <i>had</i> intended,” he said, “to call a few more +witnesses, but he found it was utterly unnecessary; those already called had +said all he cared to hear; indeed, he had been much surprised to hear testimony +on the side of the prisoner which he should have thought by right his own. No +one attempts to deny the fact of the killing, and that the deed was done by the +hand of the prisoner. The question for us to decide is, was it murder? was it +man-slaughter? or was it <i>nothing at all</i>? for to that point my learned +adversary evidently wishes to conduct us.” +</p> + +<p> +“The young man it appears, by the testimony of friends and school-mates, +has always been of a peculiarly quick and fiery temper; so much so it seems, +that a playful allusion, or what is commonly called a <i>teazing</i> +expression, could not be indulged in at his expense but his companion was +instantly felled to the ground. And was <i>he</i> the one to arm himself with +bowie-knife or revolver? Should one who was perfectly conscious that he had not +the slightest control over his temper, keep about him a murderous weapon ready +to do its deed of death upon any friend who might unwittingly, in an hour of +revelry, touch upon some sore spot?” +</p> + +<p> +“As soon would I approach a keg of gun-powder with a lighted candle in my +hand, as have aught to do with one so fiery and so armed for destruction. It +has been said that it is the custom for young men in some of our colleges to go +thus armed; the more need of signal vengeance upon the work of death they do. +Gentlemen of the jury, if this practice is not loudly rebuked we shall have +work of this kind accumulating rapidly on our hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘It was done in the heat of frenzied passion, and so the prisoner +must go unpunished.’ My learned friend argued not so, when he appeared in +this place against the murder Wiley; poor, ignorant, and half-witted; who with +his eyes starting from his head with starvation, entered a farmer’s +house, and in the extremity of his suffering demanded bread. And on being told +by the woman of the house to take himself off to the nearest tavern and get +bread, caught up a carving knife and stabbed her to the heart, seized a piece +of bread, and fled from the house. He had a fiendish temper too; it was +rendered fiercer by starvation; and when asked why he did the dreadful deed, he +said he never could have dragged himself on three miles to the nearest tavern, +and he had no money to buy bread when he got there. He must die anyway, and it +might as well be on the gallows as by the road-side.” +</p> + +<p> +“He, poor fellow, had no friends; he had been brought up in vice and +misery; he had no gentle sister to lead him in the paths of virtue, a kind word +was never spoken to him; a crust of bread was denied him when he was starving; +and above all, he had no wealthy friend to pay an enormous counsel fee, and my +learned opponent standing where he did just now, called loudly on the jury and +said, ‘away with such a fellow from the earth!’” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not think me blood-thirsty or unfeeling. The innocent sufferer in +this case, the sister of this unfortunate young man, has my deepest sympathy +and commiseration, as she has that of this audience and the jury. But could +those here present have gone with me”—(here the speaker paused, too +agitated to proceed)—“to yonder desolated home; had they seen a +mother, lately widowed, and four young sisters, around the bier where lay the +remains of the murdered son and brother—their only hope next to +God—he for whom they were all toiling early and late, that, when his +education was completed, he in turn might work for them,—had they heard +that mother’s cry for strength, now that her last earthly prop was thus +rudely snatched away, they would have found food for pity there. I tell you, my +friends, I pray that I may never be called upon to witness such a scene +again!” +</p> + +<p> +Wiping his cheeks repeatedly, Mr. G——resumed: +</p> + +<p> +“These tears surprise me; for I am not used to the ‘melting +mood,’ and I cannot afford to weep as readily as my learned opponent, who +will count his pile of bank notes for every tear he sheds, and think those +tears well expended. I speak for an outraged community; my sympathies are with +the poor—with the widow and the fatherless—with those whose only +son and brother has been cut off in his hope and promise, and consigned to an +early grave.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall these things take place unnoticed and unpunished?—and for a +light and hasty word, shall our young men of promise be cut down in the midst +of their days, and the act go unrebuked of justice? I look not so much at this +individual case as to the general good. Were I to look only on the prisoner, I +too might yield to feeling, and forget justice. But feeling must not rule here: +in the court room, justice alone should have sway; and I call upon the jury to +decide as impartially in this case as if the poorest and most neglected wretch, +brought up in vice and wretchedness, sat there, instead of the handsome and +interesting prisoner; and I call upon the jury to show that, though in private +life they may be ‘lovers of mercy,’ yet, where the general good is +so deeply involved, they are determined to ‘deal justly’ with the +prisoner.” +</p> + +<p> +The judge then gave his charge to the jury, which was thought to lean rather to +the side of the prisoner, though he agreed with Mr. G——, that some +sharp rebuke should be given to the practice, so common among the young men in +some of our colleges, of carrying about with them offensive weapons. +</p> + +<p> +The prisoner was led back to the jail; the jury retired; and it being now +evening, the court room was deserted. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>XIX.<br/> +The Sealed Paper.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“Sister, thy brother is won by thee.”—MRS. HEMANS. +</p> + +<p> +The verdict would not be made known till the next morning. Oh! what a night of +mental torture was that to the devoted sister of the prisoner! The terrible +suspense left it out of her power to remain quiet for a moment, but she +restlessly paced the room, watching for the dawn of day, and yet dreading the +signs of its approach. Her aunt, who remained with her during that anxious +night, endeavored as well as she could to soothe and calm her excited feelings; +but how little there was to be said; she could only point her to the +Christian’s never-failing trust and confidence; and it was only by +constant supplications for strength from on high, as she walked the room, that +Agnes was enabled to retain the slightest appearance of composure, or, as it +seemed to her, to keep her brain from bursting. +</p> + +<p> +The longest night will have an end, and morning at length dawned on the weary +eyes of the watchers. The family rose and breakfasted early, for an intense +excitement reigned throughout the house. Agnes begged to be allowed to remain +in her own room; and though, in compliance with the entreaties of her friends, +she endeavored to eat, she could not swallow a morsel. Mr. Wharton came early; +and soon after breakfast, he and Dr. Rodney went out. At nine o’clock the +court were to assemble, to hear the verdict; and from that moment, Agnes seated +herself at the window, with her hands pressed on her aching forehead, and her +eyes straining to catch the first glimpse of them as they returned. +</p> + +<p> +She sat thus for an hour or more at the window, and at the end of that time the +crowds began to pass the house, and she soon caught sight of Dr. Rodney and her +uncle. They did not hasten as if they had joyful news to tell, and as Agnes in +her agitation rose as they approached the gate, and watched their faces as they +came up the gravel walk, she saw there enough to tell her the whole story; and +pressing both hands upon her heart she sat down again, for she had no longer +strength to stand. In a few moments she heard her uncle’s step coming +slowly towards her room. As the door opened very gently she did not raise her +head; it had fallen upon her breast, and she was asking for strength to bear +what she knew was coming. When at length she looked towards her uncle she saw +him standing with his hand still on the lock, and gazing at her intently. His +face was of an ashy paleness, and he seemed irresolute whether to approach her +or to leave the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle,” gasped Agnes, “do not speak now; there is no need; I +see it all,” and slowly she fell to the floor and forgot her bitter +sorrow in long insensibility. When she recovered it was nearly mid-day, and +only her aunt was sitting by her bedside. +</p> + +<p> +“Aunty,” said she, as if bewildered, “what time is it?” +Her aunt told her the time. +</p> + +<p> +“And is it possible,” said Agnes, “that I have slept so +late?” and then pressing her hands to her head, she said: +</p> + +<p> +“Who said ‘<i>condemned</i>’ and +‘<i>sentenced</i>?’” +</p> + +<p> +“No one has said those words to you, dear Agnes,” said Mrs. +Wharton. +</p> + +<p> +“But oh, aunty!” she exclaimed, seizing Mrs. Wharton’s hand, +“it is <i>true</i>, is it not? Yes, I know it is. My poor young brother! +And here I have been wasting the time when he wants me so much. I must get up +this moment and go to him.” +</p> + +<p> +Her aunt endeavored to persuade her to remain quiet, telling her that Mr. +Malcolm was with Lewie, and that he was not left alone for a moment. Agnes +insisted, however, upon rising, but on making the attempt her head became dizzy +and she sank back again upon her pillow; and this was the beginning of a brain +fever, which kept her confined to her bed in unconscious delirium for more than +three weeks. In her delirium she seemed to go back to the days of her +childhood, and live them over again with all the trouble they caused her young +heart. Sometimes she fancied herself a lonely prisoner again in the cold north +room, and sometimes pleading with her little brother, and begging him to +“be a good boy, and to try and not be so cross.” At one time Dr. +Rodney had little hope of her life, and after that he feared permanent loss of +reason, but in both fears he was disappointed. Agnes recovered at length, and +with her mind as clear as ever. +</p> + +<p> +During the days when she was convalescing, but still too weak to leave her bed, +her impatience to get to her brother was so great, that the doctor feared it +would retard her recovery. It could not be concealed from her that Lewie was +ill, and the consciousness that she was so necessary to him, made it the more +difficult for Agnes to exercise that patience and calmness which were requisite +to ensure a return of her strength. Lewie had taken to his bed, immediately +after his return to the jail, on the morning of the sentence, and had not left +it since. He seemed fast sinking into a decline, and much of the good +doctor’s time was taken up in ministering at the bed-side of the brother +and sister. +</p> + +<p> +At length Agnes was so much better that the doctor consented to her paying her +brother a visit. She found him in the condemned cell, but no manacles were +necessary to fetter his limbs, for a chain stronger than iron bolts confined +him to his bed, and that strong chain was perfect weakness. Though his cell was +darker and more dungeon-like, yet through the kindness of friends the sick +young prisoner was made as comfortable as possible. By a very strong effort +Agnes so far commanded herself as to retain an appearance of outward composure, +during that first meeting after so long and so eventful a separation; and now +began again the daily ministrations of Agnes at the bed-side of her brother, +for in consideration of his feeble condition his sister was permitted to remain +with him constantly. +</p> + +<p> +Lewie knew that he was failing; “I think,” said he to Agnes, +“that God will call for my spirit before the time comes for man to set it +free. But oh! Agnes, if I could once more look upon the green earth, and the +blue sky, and breathe the pure fresh air; and die <i>free</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +It was after longings for freedom like these, that when Agnes returned to Dr. +Rodney’s one evening, (for ever since the trial, at the earnest request +of the kind doctor and his wife, she had made their house her home except when +with her brother,) she found her cousin Grace, who often came over to pass the +night with her, waiting her arrival with tidings in her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Agnes,” said she, “I have heard something to-day which may +possibly cast a ray of hope on Lewie’s case yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“What can it be, dear Grace?” asked Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +“Who do you think the new Governor’s wife is, Agnes?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure I cannot imagine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember that strange girl, Ruth Glenn?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it is she. Only think how strange! I have no idea how much +influence she has with the Governor; but unless she has changed wonderfully in +her feelings, she would do anything in the world to serve you, Agnes, as she +ought.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, blessings on you, Grace! I will go; there <i>may</i> be hope in it; +and if poor Lewie could only die free; for die he must, the doctor assures +me—perhaps before the flowers bloom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Father will go with you, Agnes. I have been talking with him about +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, how very, very kind you all are to us!” said Agnes. +“Then, no time must be lost, Grace; and if uncle will go with me, we will +start as early as possible in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes rose early the next morning, with something like a faint tinge of color +in her cheek, lent to it by the excitement of hope; and after visiting her +brother, to give some explanation of the cause of her absence, she took her +seat in the carriage by her uncle, for they must ride some miles in order to +reach the cars. +</p> + +<p> +They reached the Capitol that afternoon; and Agnes, who felt that she had very +little time to spare, left the hotel a few moments after their arrival in the +city, and, leaning on her uncle’s arm, sought the Governor’s house. +Agnes felt her heart die within her as she ascended the broad flight of marble +steps. Years had passed, and many changes had taken place since she had met +Ruth Glenn. Would she find her again in the Governor’s lady? +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. F—— was at home, and Mr. Wharton left Agnes at the door, +thinking that, on all accounts, the interview had better be private. “He +should return for her in an hour or two,” he said, “when he +intended to call upon the Governor, who had once been a class-mate and intimate +friend.” +</p> + +<p> +Having merely sent word by the servant that an old friend wished to see Mrs. +F——, Agnes was shown into a large and elegantly-furnished parlor, +to await her coming. In a few moments, she heard a light step descending the +stairs, and the rustling of a silk dress, and the Governor’s lady entered +the room. +</p> + +<p> +Could it be possible that this blooming, elegant, graceful woman was the pale, +nervous Ruth Glenn, whom Agnes had befriended at Mrs. Arlington’s school? +To account for this extraordinary change, we must go back a few years, which we +can fortunately do in a few moments, and give a glance at Ruth Glenn’s +history. +</p> + +<p> +She had left school almost immediately after Agnes and her cousins, having been +recommended by Mrs. Arlington to a lady who was looking for a governess to her +children. Here she became acquainted with a lawyer who visited frequently at +the house; a middle-aged man, and a widower, who was just then looking out for +some one to take care of himself and his establishment. By one of those +unaccountable whims which men sometimes take, this man (who, from his position +and wealth, might have won the hand of almost any accomplished and dashing +young lady of his acquaintance,) was attracted towards the plain, silent +governess, and he very soon, to the astonishment of all, made proposals to her, +which were accepted. +</p> + +<p> +Soon after their marriage, business made it necessary for Mr. F—— +to go to Europe, and Ruth accompanied him. A sea voyage and two years’ +travel abroad entirely restored her health, and with it came, what her husband +had never looked for—<i>beauty</i>; while the many opportunities for +improvement and cultivation which she enjoyed, and the good society into which +she was thrown, worked a like marvellous change in her manners. All her nervous +diffidence banished, and in its place she had acquired a dignified +self-possession and grace of manner, which fitted her well for the station of +influence she was to occupy. Soon after her return, her husband was elected +Governor; and the city was already ringing with praises of the loveliness and +affability of the new Governor’s wife. +</p> + +<p> +No wonder, then, that as Agnes rose to meet her they stood looking at each +other in silence for a moment; Agnes vainly endeavoring to discover a trace of +Ruth Glenn in the easy and elegant woman before her, and Mrs. F—— +trying to divine who this guest who had called herself an old friend might be. +</p> + +<p> +For sickness and sorrow had changed Agnes too. Her bright bloom was all gone; +her charming animation of manner had given place to a settled sadness; and +though still most lovely, as she stood in her deep mourning dress, she was but +a wreck of the Agnes Elwyn of former years. +</p> + +<p> +But when after a moment Agnes said, “Ruth, do you not know me?” +</p> + +<p> +The scream of delight with which Ruth opened her arms, and clasped her to her +breast, crying out, “<i>Agnes Elwyn!</i>—my dear, dear +Agnes!” convinced her that in heart at least her old school-mate was +unchanged. Ruth immediately took Agnes to her own room, that they might be +undisturbed, for she guessed at once her purpose in coming; and then Agnes +opened to her her burdened heart; relating all her brother’s history; +telling her of his naturally strong passions, and saying all that was necessary +to say, in justice to her brother, of the injudicious training he had received; +at the same time treating her mother’s memory with all possible delicacy +and respect. +</p> + +<p> +“And now, dear Ruth,” she said, “I do not come to ask that my +young brother shall be permitted to walk forth to do like evil +again;—there would be no danger of that, even if he were not greatly +changed, as I solemnly believe he is, in heart and temper; for his doom is +sealed; consumption is wasting his frame;—we only ask that we may carry +him forth to die and be buried among his kindred. Oh! how he pines for the free +air and the blue sky, and longs to die elsewhere than in a condemned cell! If I +might be permitted to remove him to my uncle’s kind home, where he could +have comforts and friends about him, I could close his eyes, it seems to me, +with thankfulness, for I do believe that the Christian’s hope is +his.” +</p> + +<p> +Ruth’s sympathizing tears had been flowing down her cheeks, as, with her +hand clasping that of Agnes, she had listened to her sad story. She now rose, +and said she would go to her husband, who was slightly indisposed, and confined +to his room, and prepare him to see Agnes. “And do, Agnes, talk to him +just as you have done to me,” she said. “He is called a stern man; +but he has tender feelings, I can assure you, if the right chord is only +touched.” +</p> + +<p> +Ruth was gone a long time, and Agnes walked the floor of her room in a state of +suspense and agitation only equalled by that of the night after the trial. At +length Ruth returned: she looked sad and troubled. +</p> + +<p> +“Agnes,” said she, “you must see my husband yourself, and say +to him all you have said to me. He is deeply grateful for all you have done for +me, and would do anything in the world for you except what he thinks, or what +he seems to think, would be yielding to the call of feeling at the expense of +justice. He says his predecessor has been much censured for so often granting +pardons to criminals, especially to any who had influential friends; and I fear +that, in avoiding his errors, he will go to the opposite extreme. He remembers +your brother’s case well, and says, that though it could not be called +<i>deliberate</i> murder, still it was murder; and he agrees with the lawyer, +Mr. G——, that some signal reproof should be given to this practice +among the young men of carrying about them offensive weapons. This is all he +said; but he has consented to see you, and is expecting you. I shall leave you +alone with him; and oh! Agnes, do speak as eloquently as you did to me. I know +he cannot resist it.” +</p> + +<p> +The Governor, a tall, fine-looking man, was wrapped in his dressing-gown, and +seated in his easy chair. He rose to receive Agnes, gave her a cordial welcome +as a friend to his wife, and bade her take a seat beside him; but there was +something in his look which said, that he did not mean to be convinced against +his better judgment by two women. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes was at first too much agitated to speak; but the Governor kindly +re-assured her, by asking her some questions about her brother’s case, +and soon she thought of nothing but him; her courage all revived; and with an +eloquence the more effective from being all unstudied, she told her +brother’s story to the Governor. “He is so young,” said she, +“only eighteen years old; and yet he must die. But, oh! sir, if you would +but save him from being dragged in his weakness to a death of shame, or from +lingering out his few remaining days in that close, dark cell; oh! if he might +only die free!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ruth tells me,” said the Governor, quietly, “that your +uncle, Mr. Wharton, is with you. Is it William Wharton, of C—— +County?” +</p> + +<p> +Agnes answered in the affirmative. +</p> + +<p> +“Once a very good friend of mine,” said he; “but it is many +years since we have met. Where is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“He came to the door with me,” answered Agnes, “and will +return for me soon. He hoped to have the pleasure of seeing you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will see him when he comes,” said the Governor. “Go you +back to Ruth, my dear young lady. I will think of all you have said.” +</p> + +<p> +When Mr. Wharton called, he was admitted to the Governor; and the two former +friends, after a cordial greeting, were closeted together for a long time. He +confirmed all that Agnes said of her brother, and assured the Governor that it +was the opinion of physicians that he could not recover, and might not last a +month. He spoke long and feelingly of the devotion of Agnes to her brother, in +attendance upon whom, in his loneliness and imprisonment, she had worn out +health and strength. +</p> + +<p> +The eyes of the Governor now glistened with emotion as he said, “Well, +well, I hope I shall not be doing wrong. At what time do you leave in the +morning, Mr. Wharton?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the very first train. Agnes cannot be longer from her brother’s +bedside.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you bring her here for one moment before you leave?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, tell her to lie down to-night, and sleep in peace; and may +Heaven bless a sister so devoted, and a friend so true.” +</p> + +<p> +The Governor was not so well when Mr. Wharton and Agnes called the next +morning; but Ruth. appeared, her face radiant with joy, and, throwing her arms +around Agnes’ neck, she put into her hand a <i>sealed paper</i>. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>XX.<br/> +Twice Free.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> + “Oh liberty!<br/> +Thou choicest gift of Heaven, and wanting which<br/> +Life is as nothing.”—KNOWLES. +</p> + +<p> +Oh! the sunshine, and the glad earth, and the singing of the birds of early +spring, to the prisoner, sick, and worn, and weary! How the feeble pulse +already begins to throb with pleasure, and life which had seemed so valueless +before, looks lovely and much to be desired now. +</p> + +<p> +The official announcement of the pardon reached Hillsdale almost as soon as +Agnes herself, and the friends of the young prisoner lost no time in removing +him as gently and as comfortably as possible, to his uncle’s kind home at +Brook Farm. Here nothing was left undone by his devoted friends to soothe his +declining days; and with a heart overflowing with gratitude and love, Lewie +sank quietly towards the grave. +</p> + +<p> +He was very gentle now, and the change in him was so great, that his sister +doubted not that repentance and faith had done their work. His own doubts and +fears were many, though sometimes a glimmering of hope would beam through the +clouds which seemed to have gathered about him. One day, after a long +conversation with Agnes upon the love and mercy of God, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Well Agnes, it may be, there is hope for me too; I know He is +all-powerful and all-merciful; why, as you say, should not his mercy extend +even to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is <i>able</i> and <i>willing</i> to save unto the uttermost,” +said Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +“Unto—the—uttermost! Unto—the—uttermost!” +repeated the sick youth slowly; then looking up with his beautiful eye beaming +with expression;— +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Agnes,” said he, “I will trust him!” +</p> + +<p> +Day by day he grew weaker, and at times his sufferings were intense; but such a +wonderful patience and calmness possessed him, and he seemed so to forget self +in his thought for others, that Mrs. Wharton said, in speaking of him: +</p> + +<p> +“I never so fully realized the import of the words ‘<i>a new +creature</i>.’ Who would think that this could be our impetuous, +thoughtless Lewie, of former times.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must make some allowance for the languor of sickness, my +dear,” said Mr. Wharton, who of course did not see so much of the invalid +as those who had the immediate charge of him. +</p> + +<p> +“Weakness, I grant, would make him less impetuous and violent,” +answered his wife, “but would it make him patient, and docile, and +considerate, if there were not some radical change in his feelings and +temper?” +</p> + +<p> +During the last few days of his life, and when the flickering flame was hourly +expected to die out, his uncle saw more of him, and he, too, became convinced +of the change in Lewie, and was certain that for him to die would be gam. And +at last, with words of prayer upon his lips and a whisper of his sister’s +name, he sank away as gently as an infant drops asleep. +</p> + +<p> +“How like he looks,” said old Mammy, with the tears streaming down +her withered cheeks, “how like he looks, with the bonny curls lying round +his forehead, to what he did the day he lay like death at the Hemlock’s, +when he was only two years old.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Wharton’s mind immediately reverted to the scene, and to that young +mother’s prayer of agony, “Oh, for his life! his life!” and +as she thought over the events of that short life of sin and sorrow, she said +within herself, “Oh! who can tell what to choose for his portion! Thou +Lord, who knowest the end from the beginning, choose Thou our changes for us, +and help us in the darkest hour to say, ‘Thy will be done.’” +</p> + +<p> +And in the quiet spot where the willow bends, and the brook murmurs, by the +side of his mother, and near the grave of Rhoda Edwards, rest the remains of +<i>Lewie</i>. +</p> + +<p> +It is strange how much a human heart may suffer and yet beat on and regain +tranquillity, and even cheerfulness at last. It is a most merciful provision of +Providence, that our griefs do not always press upon us as heavily as they do +at first, else how could the burden of this life of change and sorrow be borne. +But the loved ones are not forgotten when the tear is dried and the smile +returns to the cheek; they are remembered, but with less of sadness and gloom +in the remembrance; and at length, if we can think of them as happy, it is only +a pleasure to recall them to mind. +</p> + +<p> +So Agnes found it, as after a few months of rest and quiet in her uncle’s +happy home, the gloom of her sorrow began to fade away, the color returned to +her cheek, and she began to be like the Agnes of former times. And now that +health and energy had returned, she began to long for employment again, and +though she knew it would cost a great struggle to leave her dear friends at +Brook Farm, she began to urge them all to be on the watch for a situation for +her as governess or teacher. +</p> + +<p> +At length, one day, some months after her brother’s death, Mr. Wharton +entered the room where she was sitting, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Agnes, there is a gentleman down stairs, who would like to engage you to +superintend the education of his children.” +</p> + +<p> +If Agnes had looked closely at her uncle’s face, she would have observed +a very peculiar expression there; but only laying aside her work, she said: +</p> + +<p> +“Please say to him, uncle, that I will come down in one moment.” +</p> + +<p> +With a quiet step and an unpalpitating heart, Agnes opened the parlor door, and +found herself alone with—Mr. Harrington! +</p> + +<p> +And here we will end our short chapter, though enough was said that morning to +make it a very long one, as it certainly was an eventful one in the history of +Agnes. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>XXI<br/> +The Winding Up or the Turning Point, whichever the Reader likes Best. +</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“Still at thy father’s board<br/> +There is kept a place for thee<br/> +And by thy smile restored,<br/> +Joy round the hearth shall be.”—MRS. HEMANS. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“He will not blush that has a father’s heart,<br/> +To take in childish plays a childish part,<br/> +But bends his sturdy back to any toy<br/> +That youth takes pleasure in, to please his boy.”—COWPER +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think, Calista?—what <i>do</i> you think?” asked +Miss Evelina Fairland of her sister, about two years after she had asked these +same questions before. “There are masons, and carpenters, and painters, +and paperers, and gardeners, at work at the old Rookery; a perfect army of +laborers have been sent down from the city. What can it mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot imagine, I am sure,” answered Miss Calista, “unless +Mr. Harrington is really going to settle down, and look out for a wife at +last.” And Miss Calista looked in the glass over her sister’s +shoulder, and both faces looked more faded and considerably older than when we +saw them last. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know,” said Miss Evelina, “that I really believe +Agnes Elwyn thought the man was in love with <i>her</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absurd!” exclaimed Miss Calista. “Besides, if he ever had +entertained such a thought, he would not, of course, think of anything of the +kind since that affair of her brother’s. Such a disgrace, you +know!” +</p> + +<p> +The appearance of the old Rookery changed so rapidly, that it seemed almost as +if the fairies had been at work; and in a few weeks, glimpses of a fair and +elegant mansion, with its pretty piazzas and porticos, could be seen between +the noble oaks which surrounded the mansion. And now Miss Calista and Evelina, +who kept themselves informed of all that was going on at the Rookery, reported +that “the <i>most magnificent</i> furniture” had come, and the +curtains and pictures were being hung, and it was certain that the owner of the +place would be there soon. +</p> + +<p> +At length a travelling carriage, in which was seated Mr. Harrington, with a +lady by his side, and two little girls in front, was seen by these +indefatigable ladies to drive rapidly through the street, and out towards the +Rookery. The lady was in mourning, and her veil was down. Who could she be? +</p> + +<p> +And now it was rumored in the village that Mr. Harrington was actually married; +and whenever he met any of his old acquaintances, he invited them with great +cordiality to call to see his wife. The Misses Fairland determined not to be +outdone by any, and, the more effectually to conceal their own disappointment, +were among the first to call. +</p> + +<p> +Who can conceive of their astonishment and mortification, when they found that +the mistress of the Rookery was no other than the former governess, Agnes +Elwyn! Agnes received them with the utmost kindness; begged them to ask their +father, whom she remembered with much affection, to come very soon to see her; +was much pleased to hear how happy Rosa and Jessie were at Mrs. +Arlington’s; and brought them tidings of Frank, who was under Mr. +Malcolm’s care. +</p> + +<p> +“And where is that delightful gentleman who was with Mr. Harrington, when +he was here two summers since—Mr. Wharton I think his name was?” +asked Miss Evelina. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Tom Wharton? Oh, he will be here in a few days. He has purchased the +place next to us, and is about to build there. I suppose, as it is no longer a +secret, I may tell you that he is soon to be married to my cousin, Effie +Wharton. They will remain with us most of the time till their house is +finished.” +</p> + +<p> +The countenances of the visitors fell on hearing this, and they soon rose and +took leave. +</p> + +<p> +And now we know not better how to wind up or <i>run down</i> our story, than to +pass over two or three years and introduce our reader to another Christmas +party at Mr. Wharton’s, for it still is the custom, for all the scattered +members of the family to gather in the paternal mansion to spend the Christmas +holidays. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. and Mrs. Wharton appear as a fine-looking middle-aged couple, on whom the +years sit lightly, for their lives have been happy and useful ones, and there +is no such preservative of fresh and youthful looks, as a contented mind and an +untroubled conscience. The two older sons are married. Robert is settled as a +clergyman in a western village, and Albert as a merchant in the city; these +with their wives, most charming women both, are there. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Malcolm, who wondered more and more that he ever had the presumption to +suppose that such a woman as Emily Wharton could fancy him, at last so +recovered from his disappointment as again to entertain thoughts of matrimony; +and he and our friend Grace have been married about six months, and are nicely +settled in their own pretty house at Hillsdale, where Mr. Malcolm is still the +loved and honored pastor. Cousin Emily, calm and tranquil as ever to all +outward appearance, aided in the preparations and appeared at the wedding, and +it was no cause of wonderment to any, that she was confined to her bed the next +day with one of her nervous headaches, for great excitement and fatigue were +always too much for cousin Emily. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tom Wharton and Effie are at home too, the former no whit more sedate, in +consequence of the added dignities of husband and father which attach to him. +</p> + +<p> +And our own dear Agnes is there too, with her husband, her two little +step-daughters, and her own little boy, a noble, handsome little fellow, but +with some traits of character which occasionally cause a pang to cross the +heart of his mother; they remind her so of the childhood of one whose sun went +down so early and so sadly. But we hope much that proper training, with the +divine blessing, will so mould and guide this tender plant, that it will grow +up to be an ornament and a blessing to all around, Agnes makes just such a +step-mother as we should expect, and her dear little girls feel that in her +they have indeed found a mother. +</p> + +<p> +But long after all the rest of the large party have been seated at the +dinner-table, there remains a vacant seat, and here at last slowly comes the +expected occupant. +</p> + +<p> +What, cousin Betty! alive yet? Yes, and “alive like to be,” till +she has finished her century. She retains many of her old, strange habits, but +has long since given up <i>dying</i>, as others begin to expect such an event +to happen in the ordinary course of nature; indeed, it rather hurts cousin +Betty’s feelings to be spoken of as a very aged person, or as one whose +time on earth is probably short. She is laying her plans for the future as +busily as any one, and it may be that her old wrinkled face will be seen in its +accustomed haunts long after some of the blooming ones around that board are +mouldering in the grave. +</p> + +<p> +Old Mammy too, whose home has been with Agnes ever since her marriage, has come +back to her old home for the Christmas holidays. But Mammy is a good deal +broken, and nothing is required of her by her kind mistress, except such little +offices as it is a pleasure to her to perform. +</p> + +<p> +Cousin Emily, the “old maid cousin,” as she calls herself, is in +great demand; indeed, as she says, she is a perfect “bone of +contention,” and in order to keep peace with all, she has had to divide +the year into four parts, and give three months to each of those who have the +strongest claim upon her time. It is always a season of rejoicing when cousin +Emily arrives, with her ever cheerful face, her entertaining conversation for +the older ones, and her fund of stories and anecdotes for the children. +</p> + +<p> +After dinner came an old-fashioned Christmas frolic, and the older ones were +children again, and the children as wild and noisy as they chose to be. Mr. +Wharton on entering the room suddenly, saw his nephew, Mr. Tom, going around +the room on all fours, as a horse, driven by his only son and heir, Master Tom, +junior. +</p> + +<p> +“Tom,” said Mr. Wharton suddenly, “how do you prefer +calf’s head?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean by that, uncle?” said Mr. Tom, pausing a moment +and looking up. +</p> + +<p> +“I took some notes of a certain conversation which took place some years +ago,” said his uncle, “in which a certain young gentleman called a +certain old gentleman <i>a calf</i>, because he made such a fool of himself as +to be a horse for his little son to drive; and this young gentleman said he +would sooner eat his head, than make such an exhibition of himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, circumstances do alter cases, don’t they, uncle?” said +Mr. Tom, beginning to prance about again under the renewed blows of the whip in +Master Tom junior’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Arlington and her daughters still keep their school, which is as popular +and flourishing as ever. Rosa and Jessie Fairland are still under their care, +and it is a great pleasure to Agnes to see what fine, agreeable girls they are +growing up to be. They retain a warm affection for Agnes and pass many a +pleasant day at the Rookery, when they are at home for a vacation. Frank is +still under Mr. Malcolm’s care, and a member of his family, Mr. Malcolm +finds him a much more tractable pupil than one we know of, to whom he tried to +do his duty many years ago. And we must not close without saying a word of the +kind, true-hearted, Ruth Glenn. Governor F——, at the close of his +term of office was re-elected, and when at last he left the city and returned +to his country home, it was with the deep regrets of all the many friends which +his residence in the capitol had not failed to create for himself, and his +amiable wife. As she passed within a few miles of Wilston, Mrs. F—— +turned out of her way to stop and pay Agnes a short visit, and she found again +the bright and cheerful Agnes of former times; and many a pleasant hour the +friends enjoyed together, in talking over the days and <i>nights</i> at Mrs. +Arlington’s school, for even out of the latter they could now draw some +amusing recollections. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Calista and Miss Evelina are still on the “look out.” The wife +of the clergyman at Wilston, having died about a year since, Miss Calista, ever +ready to take advantage of any <i>opening</i>, began immediately to attend +church very regularly, and with a vary sanctimonious and attentive air. It +remains to be seen whether anything comes of it. +</p> + +<p> +And now our task is done. If the sad story of the short life of poor Lewie, +will be the means of leading any mother to use more carefully and more +conscientiously, the power which she <i>alone</i> possesses now, of training +aright the little plants in her nursery, so that they may grow up fair and +flourishing, and bear good fruit; and in time repay her care by the fragrance +and beauty and comfort which they shower about her declining days, it will be +enough. And may each little plant, so trained, bloom evermore in the paradise +of God. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE END. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p> +Every one is Enraptured with the Book—Every one will Read it! +</p> + +<h5>SIX THOUSAND PUBLISHED IN THIRTY DAYS!</h5> + +<h5>UPS AND DOWNS,</h5> + +<p> +Or Silver Lake Sketches. +</p> + +<p> +BY COUSIN CICELY, Author of Lewie or the Bended Twig +</p> + +<p> +_One Elegant 12mo. Vol., with Ten Illustrations by Coffin, and engraved +</p> + +<p> +by the best artists. Cloth, gilt_, $1.25. +</p> + +<p> +ALDEN & BEARDSLEY, Auburn and Rochester, N.Y., Publishers +</p> + +<p> +<i>The Critics give it Unqualified Commendation</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Cousin Cicely’s “Lewie, or the Bended Twig,” published and +widely read not long ago, was a volume to sharpen the reader’s appetite +for “more of the same sort.” ***** ‘Ups and Downs’ is a +cluster of sketches and incidents in real life, narrated with a grace of +thought and flow of expression rarely to be met. The sketches well entitle the +volume to its name, for they are pictures of many sides of life—some +grave, some gay, some cheering and some sad, pervaded by a genial spirit and +developing good morals. +</p> + +<p> +Either of the fifteen sketches will amply repay the purchaser of the volume, +and unless our judgment is false, <i>after a careful reading</i>, “Ups +and Downs” will make an impression beyond “the pleasant effect to +while away a few unoccupied moments.” The Publishers have given Cousin +Cicely’s gems a setting worthy of their brilliancy. The ten illustrations +are capital in design and execution, and it strikes us as remarkable how such a +volume can be profitably got up at the price for which it is sold. The secret +must lie in large circulation—which “Ups and Downs” is +certain to secure.—N.Y. <i>Evening Mirror</i>. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Who is Cousin Cicely</i>?—We begin to think Cousin Cicely is +<i>somebody</i>, and feel disposed to ask, who is she? We several months ago +noticed her “Lewie” in this journal. It is a story with a fine +moral, beautiful and touching in its development. It has already quietly made +its way to a circulation of <i>twelve thousand</i>, “without beating a +drum or crying oysters.” Pretty good evidence that there is something in +it. Our readers have already had a taste of “<i>Ups and Downs</i>,” +for we find among its contents a story entitled “<i>Miss Todd, M.D., or a +Disease of the Heart</i>,” which was published in this journal a few +months ago We venture to say that <i>no one</i> who read has forgotten it, and +those who remember it will be glad to know where they can find plenty more of +the “same sort.”—<i>U.S. Journal</i>. +</p> + +<p> +* * * Sketches of life as it is, and of some things as they should be; all +drawn with a light pencil, and abounding with touches of real genius, Cousin +Cicely has improved her former good reputation in our opinion, by this +effort.—<i>The Wesleyan</i>. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEWIE ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5a49e26 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #15244 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15244) diff --git a/old/15244-8.txt b/old/15244-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..68aac5c --- /dev/null +++ b/old/15244-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6809 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lewie, by Cousin Cicely + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Lewie + Or, The Bended Twig + +Author: Cousin Cicely + AKA Sarah Hopkins Bradford (b. 1818) + +Release Date: March 3, 2005 [EBook #15244] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEWIE *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Graeme Mackreth and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + +[Illustration: BROOK FARM (Frontispiece)] + + + + +LEWIE; + +OR, + +THE BENDED TWIG. + +BY COUSIN CICELY, AUTHOR OF THE "SILVER LAKE STORIES," ETC. ETC. + + "Train up this child for me, and I will give thee thy wages." + + "Mother! thy gentle hand hath mighty power, + For thou alone may'st train, and guide, and mould, + Plants that shall blossom with an odor sweet, + Or like the cursed fig-tree, wither and become + Vile cumberers of the ground." + + +AUBURN AND ROCHESTER: ALDEN & BEARDSLEY. 1856. + + + + +Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by ALDEN +BEARDSLEY & CO. In the Clerk's Office for the Northern District of New +York. + + + + +Preface. + + +It seems to be thought that a preface or introduction of some sort is +absolutely necessary to a book; why, I do not know, unless it be that it +looks rather abrupt to begin one's story without a word as to the why or +wherefore of its being written. This in the present case can be said +very shortly. + +The principal events in the following story, the loved and petted child +being, as it seemed, given back to life in answer to the mother's +importunate cry; the indulgence under which he grew up, and the fatal +consequences of that indulgence upon a temper such as his; are taken +from real life, and may be used as sad warnings to those who shrink from +the present trouble and pain, of rightly training the little ones God +has given them. + +The story of the Governess is a true one in every particular; names only +being altered; I believe there are none remaining now whose feelings +will be pained by this sad history being made public, so far as this +little book may make it so, but there are one or two I know, and perhaps +more, now living, who will smile if the chapter entitled "Ruth Glenn" +meets their eyes, when they remember the disturbed nights years ago at a +certain city boarding school. If she to whom I have given this name +should ever see these pages, I hope she will forgive me for thus +"telling tales out of school," in consideration of the high station to +which by my single voice I have raised her, and the pleasant memory she +leaves behind. + +Many other little scenes and incidents interwoven in, the story, are +from life. + +And now I can only close my preface as I have closed the book, in the +earnest hope that it may have the effect of leading some mothers to +train rightly the little shoots springing up around the parent tree, +restraining their wandering inclinations, and teaching them ever to look +and grow towards Heaven. + +THE AUTHOR. + + + + +Contents. + +CHAPTER I. + +LITTLE AGNES. + + Page +The cross baby brother--The patient sister--The novel-reading mamma--The +broken work-box--Undeserved punishment--The lock of papa's +hair--Old Mammy--The cold north room--"Never alone"--Aunt +Wharton--Lewie sick--A pleasant change for the little prisoner 11 + + +CHAPTER II. + +BROOK FARM. + +Bridget's rage--Mammy's story--The runaway match--The dead father--The +cheerful home at Brook Farm--Cousin Emily--The ice palace--Christmas +secrets--The mother's agony--Life from the dead 28 + + +CHAPTER III. + +CHRISTMAS TIME. + +Preparations for Christmas--The needle-book--Santa Claus himself expected +-Old Cousin Betty--Loads of presents--Christmas Eve--Appearance +of Santa Claus--"Who can he be?"--Cousin Tom--Poor Emily's +grief 58 + + +CHAPTER IV. + +COUSIN BETTY. + +Cousin Betty--Absence of mind and body--A habit of dying--The shadow on +the wall--Cousin Betty's ride on Prancer--Training day--Cousin Betty a +captain of militia--Cousin Betty's stories 67 + + +CHAPTER V. + +HOME AGAIN. + +Agnes and Mr. Wharton on their way to the Hemlocks--The novel-reading +mamma again--Lewie better--Agnes must stay--A lay sermon to Mrs. +Elwyn--The needle-case--The bitter disappointment 77 + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE TABLEAUX. + +Lewie roving the woods and fields again--Capricious and fretful +still--The birth-day party at Mr. Wharton's--Preparations for +tableaux--Another disappointment for Agnes--The sweetest tableaux of all + 89 + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE GOVERNESS. + +The lady who came for wool--The home in New-England--Midnight +studies--Miss Edwards engaged as governess--A universal genius--A letter +from the long-lost brother--The journey--The old Virginia church--The +ghost no ghost at all--The old log-house--Horrible murder!--of _pigs_ + 98 + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +BITTER DISAPPOINTMENTS. + +No news from Miss Edwards--The letter from the strange physician--The +manuscript--The brother found, and where--The engagement--Desertion--The +country house--The "crazy room"--The Eastern Asylum--Rest at last in the +quiet nook 127 + + +CHAPTER IX. + +EMILY'S TRIALS. + +Lewie's education--Mr. Malcolm tutor at the Hemlocks--Frequent calls at +Brook Farm--Emily's sufferings--The disclosure--Strength for time of +trial 140 + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE TUTOR AND THE PUPIL. + +Lewie's insubordination--Passion and tears--The mother's anxiety--Mr. +Malcolm's firmness--No dinner for Lewie--Sulking--Brought to terms at +last--The tutor dismissed 159 + + +CHAPTER XI. + +RUTH GLENN. + +Leaving for boarding-school--Mrs. Arlington and her daughters--The third +story room--The new strange girl--Nocturnal disturbances--Ruth Glenn's +expostulations--Imminent danger--The physician consulted--Morning +walks--Sad partings 173 + + +CHAPTER XII. + +LEWIE AT SCHOOL. + +The dictator in the play-ground--Strife and contention--The +tormentor--Lewie's mortification--The sore spot--The attack upon +Colton--The removal from school--Mrs. Elwyn's failing health--Agnes +summoned--A death bed--Changes proposed to Agnes--Her departure for +Wilston 196 + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +NEW SCENES FOR AGNES. + +The two Miss Fairlands--The step-mother--Arrival at Wilston--Unpromising +pupils--Poor Tiney--Dreadful scene at the tea-table--Tiney's +suffering--The effect of music 212 + + + CHAPTER XIV. + +THE SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING. + +A hard task--The children's toilettes--Bible teachings--Practical +applications--Sunday at Mr. Fairland's--The children's singing--The +father's tears--A visit to Brook Farm--A visit from Lewie 223 + + +CHAPTER XV. + +THE STRANGERS IN THE ROOKERY. + +An arrival--The Rookery--Mrs. Danby and Bella--A sudden accident--The +rescue--The strangers--An old friend--A row on the lake--Music on the +water--Shrieking in the house--A new method of laying spirits--Mortifying +disclosures by Frank 250 + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +DEATH AND THE FUGITIVE. + +Music on the lawn--The midnight interview--The horrid truth +disclosed--Lewie a fugitive from justice--Jealousy of Calista and +Evelina--Poor Tiney's death bed--The search--The arrest 269 + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THE JAIL. + +Return to Brook Farm--The visit to the jail--The involuntary and the +voluntary prisoner--A talk about the future--Mr. Malcolm's visits--The +lawyer--The evening before the trial 284 + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +THE TRIAL. + +The Court-room--Mr. W.--The testimony--Speeches--Mr. G.'s +agitation--Charge to the jury 298 + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +THE SEALED PAPER. + +A night of fearful suspense--The +verdict--Insensibility--Delirium--Meeting between the brother and +sister--Lewie's illness--Longings for freedom--A journey to the +capital--Ruth Glenn again--The governor--A sister's pleadings--Her +reward 310 + + +CHAPTER XX. + +TWICE FREE. + +Freedom for the captive--Removal to Brook Farm--Decline--Changes of +temper and heart--A final release--The quiet nook--Resignation +--Cheerfulness--The unexpected visitor 328 + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +THE WINDING UP. + +Repairs at the Rookery--Calista and Evelina on the _qui vive_--Mr. +Harrington and his bride--Another Christmas gathering--Farewell, and +kind wishes 331 + + + + +I. + +Little Agnes. + + "And she, not seven years old, + A slighted child."--WORDSWORTH. + + +"What _is_ it Lewie wants? Does he want sister's pretty book?" + +"No!" roared the cross baby boy, pointing with his finger to the +side-board. + +"Well, see here, Lewie! here is a pretty ball; shall we roll it? There! +now roll it back to sister." + +"No-o-o!" still screamed Master Lewie, the little finger still stretched +out towards something on the side-board which he seemed much to desire. + +"Here is my lovely dolly, Lewie. If you will be very careful, I will let +you take her. See her beautiful eyes! Will Lewie make her open and shut +her eyes?" + +"No-o-o-o!" again shouted the fretful child, and this time so loud as +effectually to arouse his youthful mamma, who was deep in an arm-chair, +and deeper still in the last fashionable novel. + +"Agnes!" she exclaimed sharply, "cannot you let that child alone? I told +you to amuse him; and instead of doing so, you seem to delight in +teazing him and making him scream." + +Again the little girl tried in various ways to amuse the wayward child. +He really was not well, and felt cross and irritable, and nothing that +his little sister could do to please him would succeed. With the utmost +patience and gentleness she labored to bring a smile to her little +brother's cheek, or at least so to win his attention as to keep him from +disturbing her mother. But the handkerchief rabbits, and the paper men +and women she could cut so beautifully, and which at times gave little +Lewie so much pleasure, were now all dashed impatiently aside. One by +one her little playthings were brought out, and placed before him, but +with no better success. Lewie had once seen the contents of a beautiful +work-box of his sister's, which stood in the centre of the side-board: +at this he pointed, and for this he screamed. Nothing else would please +him; at nothing else would he condescend to look. + +"Oh, Lewie! darling Lewie! play with something else! Don't you know Aunt +Ellen gave sister that pretty work-box? and she said I must be so +careful of it, and Lewie would break all sister's pretty things." + +Again Master Lewie had recourse to the strength of his lungs, which he +knew, by past experience, to be all-powerful in gaining whatever his +fancy might desire, and sent forth a roar so loud as once more to arouse +the attention of the novel-reading mamma; who, with a stamp of the foot, +and a threatening shake of the finger, gave the little girl to +understand that she must expect instant and severe punishment, if Lewie +was heard to scream again. + +Still Lewie demanded the work-box, and nothing that the patient little +Agnes could do would divert his attention from it for a moment. The +little angry brow was contracted, and the mouth wide open for another +shriek, when little Agnes, with a sigh of despair, went to the +side-board, and, mounting on a chair, lifted down her much-valued and +carefully-preserved treasure, saying to herself: + +"If Aunt Ellen only _knew_, I think she would not blame me!" + +And now with a shout of delight the spoiled child seized on the pretty +work-box; and in another moment, winders, spools, scissors, thimble, +were scattered in sad confusion over the carpet. In vain did little +Agnes try, as she picked up one after the other of her pretty things, to +conceal them from the baby's sight; if one was gone, he knew it in a +moment, and worried till it was restored to him. + +Finally, laying open the cover of the box, he began to pound with a +little hammer, which was lying near him, upon the looking-glass inside +of it; and, pleased with the noise it made, he struck harder and still +harder blows. + +"No, no, Lewie! please don't! You will break sister's pretty +looking-glass. No! Lewie must not!" And Agnes held his little hand. At +this the passionate child threw himself back violently on the floor, and +screamed and shrieked in a paroxysm of rage; in the midst of which, the +threatened punishment came upon poor little Agnes, in the shape of a +sharp blow upon her cheek, from the soft, white hand of her mother, who +exclaimed: + +"There! didn't I tell you so? It seems to be your greatest pleasure to +teaze and torment that poor baby; and you know he is sick, too. Now, +miss, the next time he screams, I shall take you to the north room, and +lock you up, and keep you there on bread and water all day!" + +Agnes retreated to a corner, and wept silently, but very bitterly, not +so much from the pain of the blow, as from a sense of injustice and +harsh treatment at the hands of one who should have loved her; and the +mother returned to her novel, in which she was soon as deep as ever. At +the same moment, the looking-glass in the cover of the work-box flew +into fifty pieces, under the renewed blows of the hammer in Master +Lewie's hand. + +The little conqueror now had free range among his sister's hitherto +carefully-guarded treasures; her bits of work, and little trinkets, +tokens of affection from her kind aunt and her young cousins at Brook +Farm, were ruthlessly torn in pieces, or broken and strewed over the +floor. Agnes sat in mute despair. She knew that as long as her mother +was absorbed in the novel, no sound would disturb her less powerful than +Lewie's screams, and that all else that might be going on in the room +would pass unnoticed by her. So, wiping her eyes, she sat still in the +corner, watching Lewie with silent anguish, as he revelled among her +precious things, as "happy as a king" in the work of destruction, and +only hoping that he might not discover one secret little spot in the +corner of the box where her dearest treasure was concealed. + +But at length she started, and, with an exclamation of horror, and a +cry like that of pain, she sprang towards her little brother, and +violently wrenched something from his hand. And now the piercing shrieks +of the angry and astonished child filled the house, and brought even Old +Mammy to the room, to see what was the matter with the baby. Mammy +opened the door just in time to witness the severe punishment inflicted +upon little Agnes, and to receive an order to take that naughty girl to +the north room, and lock her in, and leave her there till farther +orders. + +Agnes had not spoken before, when rebuked by her mother; but now, +raising her mild blue eyes, all dimmed by tears, to her mother's face, +she said: + +"Oh, mamma! it was papa's hair!--it was that soft curl I cut from his +forehead, as he lay in his coffin, Lewie was going to tear the paper!" +But even this touching appeal, which should have found its way to the +young widow's heart, was unheeded by her--perhaps, in the storm of +passion, it was unheard; and Agnes was led away by Mammy to a cold, +unfurnished room, where she had been doomed to spend many an hour, when +_Lewie was cross_; while the fretful and half-sick child, now tired of +his last play-thing, was taken in his mother's arms, and rocked till he +fell into a slumber, undisturbed for perhaps an hour, except by a start, +when the tears from his mother's cheek fell on his--tears caused by the +_well-imagined_ sufferings of the heroine of her romance. + +All the time Mammy was leading little Agnes through the wide hall, and +up the broad stairs and--along the upper hall to the door of the "North +Room," the good old woman was wiping her eyes with her apron, and trying +to choke down something in her throat which prevented her speaking the +words of comfort she wished to say to the sobbing child. When they +reached the door of the room in which little Agnes was to be a prisoner, +Mammy sat down, and taking the child in her lap she took off her own +warm shawl and pinned it carefully around her, and as she stooped to +kiss her, Agnes saw the tears upon her cheek. + +"Why do you cry, Mammy?" she asked, "mamma has not scolded you to-day, +has she?" + +"No, love." + +"Are you crying then because you are so sorry for me?" + +"That's it, my darling, I cannot bear to lock you up here alone for the +day and leave you so sorrowful, you that ought to be as blithe as the +birds in spring." + +"Mammy, do you think I deserve this punishment?" + +"No, sweet, if I must say the truth, I do not think you ever deserve any +punishment at all. But I must not say anything that's wrong to you, +about what your mamma chooses to do." + +"Then, Mammy, don't you think I ought to be happier than if I had really +been naughty and was punished for it. Don't you remember Mammy the verse +you taught me from the Bible the last time Lewie was so fretful and +mamma sent you to lock me up here. I learned it afterwards from my +Bible: hear me say it:--" + +'For what glory is it if when ye be buffeted for your faults ye take +it patiently; but if when ye do well and suffer for it, ye take it +patiently, this is acceptable with God.' + +"Now, Mammy, I did try to be patient with Lewie, and I gave him +everything I had, but I could not let him destroy that lock of papa's +hair. I am afraid I was rough then, I hope I did not hurt his little +hand. Mammy, do you think mamma loves me _any_." + +"How could anybody help loving you, my darling!" + +"But, oh! Mammy, if I thought she would ever love me as she does Lewie! +She never kisses me, she never speaks kind to me. No, Mammy, I do not +think she loves me; but how strange it is for a mother not to love her +own little girl." + +"Well, darling, we will talk no more of that, or we shall be saying +something naughty; we will both try and do our duty, and then God will +bless us, and whatever our troubles and trials may be, let us go to Him +with them all. Now, darling, I must leave you." + +"Mammy, will you please bring me my Bible; and my little hymn-book? I +want to learn the" + + 'I am never alone.' + +"God is always by my side, isn't he Mammy?" + +"Yes, love, and he says, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.'" + +When little Agnes was left alone in the great cold room, she walked up +and down the floor repeating to herself verses from her Bible and +hymn-book. Sometimes she stopped at the window and looked across the +country, towards a wooded hill, where just above the tops of the trees +she could see the chimneys of her uncle's house; and she thought how +happy her young cousins were in the love of their father and mother, and +she remembered how her own dear papa had loved her, and she thought of +the difference now; and the tears flowed afresh. Then she walked the +room again, repeating in a low voice to herself the words: + + "Never alone; though through deserts I roam + Where footstep of man has ne'er printed the sand. + Never alone; though the ocean's wild foam + Rage between me and the loved ones on land. + Though hearts that have cherished are laid 'neath the sod, + Though hearts which should cherish are colder than stone, + I still have thy love and thy friendship my God, + Thou always art near me; I'm never alone." + +Soon she grew tired of walking, and seating herself at the table, she +laid her head upon her crossed arms and was soon in a sweet slumber, and +far away in her dreams from the cold desolate north room, at "the +Hemlocks." + +At the end of an hour the youthful widow was disturbed by the sound of +merry sleigh-bells, and she had only time to throw her novel hastily +aside, when the door opened and her sister-in-law, Mrs. Wharton, +entered, accompanied by two of her little girls, their bright faces +glowing with health and happiness. + +"And how are the children?" Mrs. Wharton asked, after the first +salutations were over. + +"Why, Lewie does not seem well, he has been complaining for a day or +two." + +"And where is Agnes? We rode over to see if you let her go over and +pass the holidays with us." + +"Why, to tell the truth, Agnes has been very naughty, and I have been +obliged to shut her up." + +"Again!" exclaimed Mrs. Wharton, while glances of indignation shot from +the eyes of her two little girls. "Agnes naughty, and shut up again! +Why, Harriet, do you know she appears to me so perfectly gentle and +lovely, that I can hardly imagine her as doing anything wrong. Mr. +Wharton and I often speak of her as the most faultless child we have +ever met with." + +"She is not so bad in other ways, but she does delight to tease Lewie, +and keep him screaming. Now, it has been one incessant scream from the +child all this morning, and Agnes _can_ amuse him very well when she +chooses." + +"Judging from all her own pretty things scattered about the floor here, +I should think she had been doing her best to amuse him," said Mrs. +Wharton; "she has even taken down her beautiful work-box, of which she +has always been so careful. You may be sure it was a case of extremity, +which compelled her to do that." + +"Why, what a sad litter they have made to be sure; I did not observe it +before. The fact is, Ellen, I have been exceedingly occupied this +morning, and did not know what the children were about, only that Agnes +kept Lewie screaming, and, at last, with the utmost rudeness, for that I +saw myself, she snatched something from his hand, and for that, I +punished her." + +"Ah, yes, I see, Harriet," said Mrs. Wharton, glancing at the +yellow-covered publication on the table; "I see how it is, now; you have +been wholly absorbed in one of those wretched novels, and left little +Agnes to take care of a sick, cross baby. That child is very sick, +Harriet; do you see what a burning fever he has?" + +"Ellen, do you think so?" said the mother hastily and in great +agitation. "Oh, Ellen, what shall I do; oh, what _shall_ I do! perhaps +my baby, my darling, is going to be very ill." + +"Do not agitate yourself so, Harriet, I will send Matthew directly over +to the village for the doctor; but first, may I have Agnes?" + +"Oh, do what you please with Agnes, only send the doctor to my baby; +call Mammy, she will bring Agnes, and do go, quick!" + +The bell was rung, and Mammy was despatched to bring the little prisoner +down; she found her as we left her, sleeping with her head upon her +arms. + +"Precious lamb!" said Mammy, "she has cried herself to sleep." Then, +kissing her, and rousing her gently, she told her that her aunt and +cousins had come to take her to Brook Farm. + +Agnes was at first very happy at the idea of once more enjoying the +sunshine of her aunt's cheerful home, but, when she heard that Lewie was +sick, a cloud came over her face. + +"Aunty," she whispered, "I think I had better not go, perhaps I can do +something for Lewie. I can _almost_ always amuse him." + +"Lewie is too sick to be amused now, my dear, and you can do no good +here; besides, I want to get you away as quickly as possible, for I +think it may be the scarlet fever that Lewie has. Come, darling, we will +go." + +Agnes drew her hand quietly from that of her aunt, and running back, she +stooped over her little brother as he lay in his mother's arms, and +kissed him; and then, standing a moment before her mother, she raised +her eyes to her face. But her mother's eyes, with a gaze of almost +despair, were fixed on her darling boy, and she did not seem to be aware +even of the presence of her little daughter. + +A look of disappointment passed over the face of Agnes, as, without +intruding upon her mother by even a word of farewell, she turned, and +put her hand once more in that of her aunt. And now, as, comfortably +wrapped in buffalo skins, Mrs. Wharton and the little girls are flying +over the country roads, to the sound of the merry sleigh-bells, we will +relate a conversation which took place between Mammy and Bridget; and +by so doing, will give a little insight into the history of the young +widow, whom we have introduced to the reader. + + + + +II. + +Brook Farm. + + "By the gathering round the winter hearth, + When twilight called unto household mirth; + By the fairy tale, or the legend old, + In that ring of happy faces told; + By the quiet hours when hearts unite + In the parting prayer and the kind "good night", + By the smiling eye and the loving tone, + Over thy life has the spell been thrown."--SPELLS OF HOME. + + +When Mammy left little Agnes in the north room, and descended to the +kitchen, she found Bridget, who had already been made acquainted with, +passing events by Anne, the chambermaid, in a state of great wrath and +indignation. The china must have been strong that stood so bravely the +rough treatment it received that morning, and the tins kept up a +continued shriek of anguish as they were dashed against each other in +the sink; while every time Bridget set down her foot as she stamped +about the kitchen, it was done with an emphasis that made itself felt +throughout the whole house. + +"And so ye've been locking up that swate crathur again, have ye, Mrs. +McCrae?" were the words with which, in no gentle tones, she assailed +Mammy as she entered the kitchen. + +"I did as I was bid, Bridget," said Mammy, with a sigh. + +"And indade it wouldn't be me would do as I was bid, if I was bid to do +the like o' that. I'd rather coot off my right hand than use it to turn +the kay on the darlint." + +"I always mind my mistress, Bridget," said Mammy, "though it's often I'm +forced to pray for patience wi' her." + +"And indade I don't ask for patience wid her at all, anny how," stormed +Bridget. "To think of sending the swate child, that never has anny but a +kind an' a pleasant word for _iverybody_, away to the cold room, just +because the brat she doats on chooses to _yowl_ in the fashion he did +the morn. I don't know, indade, what's the matther with the woman! I +think it's a quare thing, and an _on nattheral_ thing, _anny how_!" + +"She's much to be blamed, no doubt, Bridget, and yet there's excuses to +be made for my mistress," said Mammy, mildly. "She's young yet in years, +no but twenty-two; and she's nothing but a child in her ways and her +knowledge. She never knew the blessing of a mither's care, puir thing; +and up to the very day she was married, her life was passed at one o' +them fashionable boarding-schules, where they teach them to play on +instruments, and to sing, and to dance, and to paint, and to talk some +unchristian tongue that's never going to do them no good for this life +nor the next. But they never give them so much as a hint that they've +got a soul to be saved, and they take no pains to fit them to be wives +and mothers. My mistress was but fifteen years old when she ran away +with Master Harry. Poor dear Master Harry! It was the only fulish thing +I ever knew him to do, was running away wi' that chit of a schule-girl. +He met her, I think, at a ball that was given at this schule, and Master +Harry was over head and ears in love in a minute; and after two or three +meetings and a few notes passing, they determined on this runnin' away +folly. I think it was them novels she was always readin' put it in her +head. It wouldn't do, you know, to be like other folks, but they must +have a little kind of a romance about it. Puir, fulish, young things!" + +"You see, I was living with old Mr. Elwyn then," continued Mammy; +"indeed, I've been in the family ever since I came over from Scotland, +quite a lassie, thirty-one years ago come next April. I left them, +besure, when I married; but as my gude-man lived but two years, I was +soon back in my old home again. Old Mr. Elwyn, Master Harry's father, +had lost his property before this time; but his brother, 'Uncle Ben,' as +they called him, was very rich. They all lived together--'Uncle Ben,' +old Mr. Elwyn, Master Harry and Miss Ellen, that's Mrs. Wharton. Miss +Ellen was a few years older than Master Harry, and she was the +housekeeper. But Master Harry, bless you! was only twenty years old, +when he walked in one morning, and told his father he was married. I +never shall forget the time there was then! The old gentleman was +complaining, and had had a bad night, though Master Harry did not know +that. Well, the sudden shock threw him into an apoplectic fit; and two +days after, he had another, and died. Master Harry was almost distracted +then: he called himself his father's murderer; and, indeed, I think he +was never what you might call well from that time." + +"But you never saw any one so angry as Mr. Benjamin Elwyn was. He had +always intended to make master Harry his heir, but his conduct in this +foolish affair enraged him so that he said he would leave him nothing. +At first the young folks lived with her father, but he soon died, +leaving his daughter a little property settled on herself. But it was +not enough to support them, and so Master Harry had to apply to old Mr. +Benjamin Elwyn again, and the old man gave him this place, and enough to +live on pretty comfortably here. He told Master Harry that perhaps +something might be made of his baby wife yet, if he brought her away +from the follies of the city, to a country place like this, and tried to +improve her mind; and so they have lived here ever since, till last +year, when poor master Harry died." + +"And what do ye think is the raison that the misthress thrates little +Miss Agnes the way she does?" + +"Well, I can hardly tell you, Bridget. In the first place, I have often +heard her say that she couldn't abide _girls_, and bating other reasons, +I think she would have been disappointed on her own account, you know, +to have the first child a girl. But, besides this, I have heard that Mr. +Benjamin Elwyn quite forgave Mr. Harry, and promised him that if his +oldest child was a boy, and he named it after him, he would leave him +the bulk of his property. I cannot tell you how bitterly disappointed +my young mistress was, when her first born proved to be a girl. She was +but sixteen years old then, you know, Bridget, and she acted like a +cross, spoiled baby. She cried herself into a fever, and she wouldn't +let the poor, helpless baby, come into her sight. I think she never +loved her; and from the time of Master Lewie's birth, she has seemed to +dislike her more and more." + +"But how the father loved her, Mrs. McCrae!" + +"Aye, indeed he did; he never could be easy a minute without her. It was +a sore day for my poor bairn, when it pleased God to take her father; +poor man! But He knows best, Bridget, and He orders all things right." + +Here Mammy was summoned by the bell, and despatched to bring little +Agnes down; to accompany her aunt and cousins to their home. + +As Agnes was riding along, seated so comfortably by the side of her kind +aunt, in the large covered sleigh, with the rosy, smiling faces of her +little cousins, Grace and Effie, opposite her, she could scarcely +believe that she was the same little girl, who, but an hour or two +before, was walking so sadly up and down the desolate North Room, and +trying to persuade herself that she was "not alone." Agnes was naturally +of a lively, cheerful disposition, and like any other little girl of six +years of age, she soon forgot past sorrow in present pleasure, though, +at times, the sudden remembrance of her dear little baby brother, lying +so ill at home, would cause a sigh to chase away the smile of pleasure +beaming on her lovely face. + +It was but little more than two miles from "The Hemlocks," Mrs. Elwyn's +residence, to "Brook Farm," the home of the Wharton's, and, as Matthew +had received orders to drive very rapidly, it seemed to Agnes that her +ride was just begun, when they turned into the lane that led up to her +Uncle Wharton's house. And now the pillars of the piazza appear between +the trees, and now the breakfast room windows, and more bright young +faces are looking out, and little chubby hands are clapped together, as +the sleigh is discovered coming rapidly up the lane, and the cry +resounds through the house, "They've come! they've come! and Agnes is +with them!" + +A bright, cheerful wood fire was burning in the pleasant, great +breakfast room, and the party who had just arrived were soon surrounded +by smiles of welcome, while busy little fingers were assisting them to +untie their bonnets, and unfasten their cloaks. In a few moments the +door opened, and a pale, but lovely looking girl, in deep mourning, +entered the room. She was a niece of Mr. Wharton's, and, having lately +been left an orphan, by the death of her mother, she had been brought by +her kind uncle, to his hospitable home, where she was received by all as +a member, henceforth, of their family. + +"Well, aunty," said she, after stooping to kiss Agnes, "you are back +sooner than I expected." + +"Yes, dear, I was obliged to hurry; little Lewie is very ill, I fear. By +the way, Harry, run and tell Matthew that just as soon as he is warm, he +must drive as fast as possible to the village, and ask Dr. Rodney to +get directly into the sleigh, to go to your Aunt Elwyn's; and tell him +to call for me, as he comes back." + +"Why, mamma, are you going back there again?" asked Effie. + +"Yes, love, I must go back, and remain with your Aunt Harriet to-day. I +only came home to make some arrangements for the family. I want your +papa to drive over for me to-night, after the little ones are all in +bed; and I desire the rest of you to keep out of my way till I have +changed my dress. I do not know yet what is the matter with Lewie. How +do you feel, Emily?" + +"Much better, thank you, aunty; I am quite prepared to play lady of the +house in your absence." + +"Well, do put aside those books, dear: your health is the most important +thing now. I wish I could leave you so busy with household concerns as +to give you not a moment's time for reading." + +"Dear aunty, I do not think the books hurt me; and you certainly would +not have me grow up a dunce, would you?" + +"No fear of that, dear; and I by no means wish you to give up your books +altogether, but only to lay them aside till you get a little color in +these pale cheeks. I shall lay my commands on your uncle not to give you +any more assistance in your studies till I give him permission." + +"Well, I'll be very good, aunty, and I've promised the boys to take a +run with them over to the pond, and see them skate; and besides, we are +all invited to an entertainment in a certain snow palace, which is +nearly finished, and which I have promised to grace with my presence." + +Just then two fine handsome boys, the pictures of health and good +nature, rushed in. These were Robert and Albert Wharton, home from +school for the Christmas holidays. + +"Mother, what will you give us for our entertainment?" they cried. + +"Have you a table and seats?" she asked. + +"Yes, all made of snow," said Albert. "But don't let us tell her all +about it, Bob; I want to surprise her." + +"I think your entertainment, to be in keeping with your furniture, ought +to be of snow and icicles," said Mrs. Wharton; "but, whatever it is, I +am sorry that I cannot visit your snow palace to-day." + +"Oh! that's too bad, mother; it will spoil all our fun. But, say, will +you give us something to eat?" + +"Yes; I leave Emily mistress of the keys for to-day, and you may call +upon her for pies, cake, or anything the store-room contains; only be a +little moderate, and don't leave us entirely destitute." + +"It won't be half so pleasant without you, mother," said Robert; "but we +shall have quite as many as our palace can accommodate, if all these go. +Hallo! here's Agnes! Why, Aggy, how do you do? I didn't see you before." + +At this moment the sleigh was seen coming up the lane, and Mrs. Wharton +hastened to get ready to accompany the doctor to the Hemlocks. + +"I want to whisper to you, dear mother, one minute," said little Grace. + +"What more Christmas secrets?" asked her mother. + +A whispered consultation here took place, some request being urged with +great eagerness by Grace; and the pleasant "Yes, yes," from her mother, +made her bright eyes dance with joy. + +As Mrs. Wharton was driving from the door, Albert called out: + +"Mother, may the baby go with us?" + +"Yes, if Kitty will wrap him up well," was the answer, and the sleigh +flew down the lane, and was soon out of sight. + +Agnes was now hurried off by her young cousins to inspect the various +preparations for Christmas, and was made the repository of some most +important secrets, "of which she must not give a hint for the world." +She saw the purse Effie was knitting for Albert, and the guard-chain +Grace was weaving for Robert, and the mittens for Harry, and the socks +for the baby, and the pen-wiper for papa, and the iron-holder for mamma; +and then Effie took her aside alone, to show her something she was +making for Grace; and Grace took her aside alone, to show something she +had bought with "her own money" for Effie; and there was a beautiful +book for Cousin Emily. "And we cannot show you yet whether we have +anything for you, Agnes, because, you know, we always keep our secrets +till Christmas comes," they said. + +"There comes papa from the mill," cried Effie, looking out of the +window; "let's run down and see him. How surprised he will be to find +mamma gone, and Agnes here!" + +Mr. Wharton came in with his usual cheerful manner; and soon as he was +warming his feet by the fire, he had Agnes on one knee, and Harry on the +other, and the rest of the noisy little tribe round him, eagerly telling +the events of the day, and the pleasant anticipations for the afternoon. + +"Oh, papa," said Effie, "I've got something I want to say to you, if +you would only come in the other room a few minutes, or if the children +would only be kind enough to go out of this room a little while." + +"Won't it keep, Effie, till I warm my feet?" asked her father; "because, +if it will not, I suppose I must go now." + +"Oh no, papa, I will wait patiently," said Effie. + +In a few minutes her father said, "Now, Effie, for that important +secret;" and they went together into another room. + +"This is what I wanted to say, papa," said Effie: "you know poor Agnes +never has any money of her own; and I know, when she sees us all giving +presents to each other, she will feel badly, if she cannot give +something too; and I want to know if you won't give her a little money, +and let her go to the village with us the next time we go, and get some +materials to make something out of?" + +Mr. Wharton answered by putting his hand in his pocket, and giving Effie +some silver for Agnes, with which she went off perfectly happy. + +And now little Grace put in her curly head, and said, "Effie, when you +are through with papa, I've got something to say to him too." + +The sum and substance of Grace's communication was this: "she had seen +something at a store in the village, with which she was sure her mamma +would be perfectly charmed, but she hadn't _quite_ enough money to +purchase it; she only wanted _ten cents_ more." And she too went off +with a smiling face. + +Emily now came in jingling her keys and called them all to dinner. + +As soon as possible after dinner, the boys laden with a basket of good +things, which Emily had provided for them, started off for the snow +palace, one of them carrying the dinner-horn, which was used in the +summer, to call the men to the farm-house to their meals. When the +entertainment was ready the horn was to sound. In the meantime, the +children were sitting around the fire, waiting impatiently for the +signal, to call them to the palace of snow. + +"Cousin Emily," said Agnes, for she too said "Cousin Emily," though +there was no relationship, in fact, between them, "Cousin Emily, I wish +I knew _what_ to read and study. I do want to know something, and I +don't know anything but my Bible, and my little book of hymns. Mammy +taught me to read, or I should'nt have known anything at all," she added +sadly. + +"Well, Agnes," that is the best knowledge you could possibly have, said +Emily, "though I am far from thinking other studies unimportant; but, if +I can help you in any way, I will gladly lend you books, and tell you +how to study." + +"Oh! will you, cousin Emily?" said Agnes, her face brightening; "how +happy I shall be! aunty has taught Effie and Grace, and they have +studied Geography and History, and they can cipher, and I don't know +anything at all about those things; why, even little Harry knows more +than I do." + +"But you can beat us all in Bible knowledge, I know, Agnes," said Emily, +"and, in a very little time, you will catch up to the other children, +for aunty has little leisure time to devote to them. But there! I hear +the horn! call Kitty, to bring the baby, and we'll all start." + +And now all warmly wrapped in cloaks and hoods, the little party left +the side piazza, and walked down towards the pond. The path was well +broken, as the boys travelled it so often, on their way to the pond and +the snow palace, and the little party went briskly on. Emily and Agnes +headed the procession, then came Effie and Grace, dragging a box-sled in +which the baby was comfortably stowed, and Kitty, the nurse, brought up +the rear, leading little Harry. The two boys met them at some distance +from the snow palace, and told them they must go through the labyrinth +before they could reach the place of entertainment. + +The labyrinth was composed of paths, cut in the deep snow, winding in +and out, and circling about in all directions, till, at length, the +foremost of the party halted before the entrance to the snow palace. The +boys had, indeed, been industrious, and the new comers stared in +amazement, at the results of their labor. They found themselves, on +entering the palace, in a room high enough for the tallest of the party +to stand upright in, and of dimensions large enough to seat them all +comfortably around the square block of snow which formed the centre +table. The seats were of the same material, and were substantial enough, +while the extreme cold weather lasted. On the table was placed the +entertainment provided by Emily, to which the party did all possible +justice, considering that they had just risen from a plentiful dinner at +home. After the feast, Robert and Alfred entertained them with feats of +agility on the ice, dragging one or the other of the children after them +upon the sled, and when they returned home, even Emily's usually pale +cheeks were in a glow. + +Towards evening Agnes began to be uneasy, and to watch at the window for +her aunt's return. "I will not see aunty, cousin Emily," she said, "but +I cannot go to bed till I hear how Lewie is to-night." + +At length her uncle and aunt returned, and Agnes heard that her little +brother was very ill; but the doctor was of opinion that his disease was +a brain fever, and therefore there was no danger of contagion. Agnes +went to bed with a heavy heart, and cried herself to sleep. + +The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Mrs. Wharton again +ordered the sleigh and drove to "the Hemlocks." She found Mrs. Elwyn in +a state bordering on distraction. + +"Oh, Ellen," she said, "how I have wanted you! Lewie has had a night of +dreadful suffering, and now he is unconscious. He does not know me, +Ellen! He does not hear me when I call. I think he does not see. Oh, +Ellen, what would life be to me if I lose my darling. And now I want you +to _pray!_ You can pray, Ellen, and God answers your prayers. Pray for +the life of my child! Mammy prays, but she will only say, 'The will of +the Lord be done!'" + +"And I can say no more, Ellen. I _do_ pray; I _have_ prayed, that your +darling boy's life may be spared, if it be the will of God, but more +than that I cannot say." + +"And what if it be His will to take my darling from me, Ellen?" + +"Then, Harriet, I hope you might learn to acquiesce without a murmur, +and to say from your heart, 'It is the Lord, let Him do what seemeth to +Him good.'" + +"No, Ellen, never! I cannot contemplate the bare possibility of losing +my boy. If you will not pray as I wish, I will try to pray myself;" and +falling on her knees, she prayed for the life of her child. "Take +whatever else thou wilt, oh God," she cried, "but oh, spare me my +child." + +"Harriet, this seems to me most horrible impiety," said Mrs. Wharton, +"to ask God to grant your desires, whether agreeable to His will, or +not; I should much fear if your request were granted, that it would only +be to show you, that you know not what is best for yourself, and for +those you love; and that you might some day wish you had left this +matter in the hands of God, even if it had been His will to take your +darling to Himself." + +When Dr. Rodney came that morning, he found the child in a profound +slumber. "This," said he, "is, I think, the crisis of the disease; on no +account let him be disturbed; if he awakes conscious, he will in all +human probability recover." + +And they watched him in breathless stillness, Mrs. Wharton on one side +of the cradle, and his mother on a low stool beside him, with her sad +gaze riveted on his little face, to catch his first waking glance, and +to see whether the eye then beamed with intelligence, or not. + +Oh, who can imagine the agony, the terrible suspense of such watching, +but those who have sat as that poor mother did, over a loved one +hovering between life and death. And as Mrs. Wharton sat so silently +opposite her, her thoughts were sometimes raised in prayer for her poor +misguided sister; and sometimes she sat looking at her as a perfect +enigma; with a heart so capable of loving devotedly, and yet so steeled +against her own child, and so lovely and winning a little creature as +Agnes. It was a puzzle which she had often tried to solve, in vain. + +After an hour more of deep slumber, Lewie started and awoke. For a +moment his glance rested with a bewildered expression upon his mother's +face; and then, stretching out his little hands, he said, "Mamma!" Mrs. +Wharton's attention was fixed upon the child; but when she turned to the +mother, she saw her, white as the snow, falling back upon the floor. The +revulsion of feeling was too much for her; she had fainted. + +When Mrs. Wharton came home that night, she said, "Agnes, my love, your +little brother is better, and, with great care, he may now recover." + +"Oh, aunty!" exclaimed Agnes, joyfully, "and when may I see him?" + +"You must be content to remain with us without going home for some days +yet, dear; for the doctor says the most perfect quiet is necessary, and +you could not see Lewie if you were at home." + +And now that the mind of little Agnes was comparatively free from +anxiety, she entered with great delight into the preparations going on +at Brook Farm for Christmas. + + + + +III. + +Christmas Time. + + "In the sounding hall they wake + The rural gambol."--THOMSON. + + +And now but a week was wanting to Christmas, and all was excitement and +bustle among the little folks at Brook Farm. Lewie was quite out of +danger, and Agnes was as happy and as busy as any of her little cousins. +The cutter was in constant demand; for when one was particularly +desirous to go over to the village on some secret expedition, that one +must go alone, or only with those who were in her secret. Many were the +mysterious brown-paper parcels which were smuggled into the house, and +hidden away under lock and key in various closets and drawers; and there +were sudden scramblings and hidings of half-finished articles, when +some member of the family who "was not to see" entered the room. + +"Aunty," said Agnes one day, in a confidential tone, "I should like to +make a needle-book for mamma, like the one cousin Emily is making for +Effie. She says she will show me, and fix it for me, and I think I can +do it. Do you think mamma would like it?" + +"Certainly, darling, I should think she would like it; I do not see how +any mamma could help being pleased with anything her little girl made +for her." + +"But, aunty," said Agnes, as if speaking of a well-known and +acknowledged fact, "you know mamma doesn't love me much, and perhaps it +would trouble her." + +The sad tone in which these words were said brought tears to the eyes of +Mrs. Wharton, but still she encouraged Agnes to go on with the +needle-book. It was not a very complicated affair, and Emily arranged +all the most difficult parts; but still it was a work of time, and one +requiring much patience and perseverance on the part of so young a +child as Agnes. However, it was at length completed on the day before +Christmas, and, when handed about for inspection, was much admired by +all her friends. Agnes was very happy, for on Christmas day her uncle +was to take her over home to see Lewie, who called for her constantly, +her aunt said. Mammy had walked over too, to see her little girl, and +she told her that "Lewie was greetin' for 'sister' from morn till +night." + +The day before Christmas came, and with it the party at Brook Farm was +augmented by the arrival of Mrs. Ellison, a younger sister of Mr. +Wharton's, her husband and baby, a beautiful child of about a year old. +There was great joy at the arrival of "Aunt Fanny," who was very lively, +and always ready to enter with glee into the frolics and sports of the +children. + +As they were sitting at the dinner table that day, Mr. Wharton said: + +"I have received certain information that Santa Claus himself is to +visit us to-night, and bring his gifts in person. He desires me to +inform the children, that all packages to be entrusted to his care must +be handed into my study, labelled and directed, before six o'clock this +evening." + +Many were the wonders and speculations as to the nature and appearance +of the expected Santa Claus; but they were suddenly interrupted by +Robert, who exclaimed: + +"Why, who comes here up the lane? It's old cousin Betty, I do declare, +in her old green gig set on runners." + +"I thought cousin Betty would hardly let Christmas go by without making +her appearance," said Mrs. Wharton; "I have thought two or three times +to-day that she might come along before night." + +"Cousin Betty" was a distant relation of Mrs. Wharton's, a lonely old +body, who lodged with a relative in a village about ten miles distant +from Brook Farm. She was very eccentric--so much so, that she was by +some thought crazy; but Mrs. Wharton was of opinion that cousin Betty +had never possessed sufficient _mind_ to subject her to such a +calamity. She was more silly than crazy, very good-natured, very +inquisitive as to the affairs of others, and very communicative as to +her own. + +In a few minutes cousin Betty had received a hearty welcome, and was +seated by the bright fire, asking and answering questions with the +utmost rapidity. + +"I've been looking for you, cousin Betty," said Mrs. Wharton. + +"Have! What made you?" + +"Oh, I thought you could hardly let Christmas go by without coming to +see the fun." + +"Did! Well, I never thought nothing about comin' till yesterday, when I +sat in my little room, and I got feelin' pretty dull; and thinks I to +myself, I'll just borrow Mr. White's old horse, and take my old gig, and +drive up to the farm, and see the folks." + +"Cousin Betty, who do you think is coming to see us to-night?" asked +little Grace. + +"I'm sure I can't tell, child. Who is it?" + +"Why, Santa Claus himself, with all his presents around him." + +"Is, hey?" said cousin Betty; "well, I shall be mighty glad to see him, +I can tell you; for, old as I am, I've never seen him yet." + +"I'm so glad you've come, cousin Betty!" said Effie; "we want you to go +with us some day over to the farm-house, and tell us about our +great-grandfather, whose house stood where the farm-house stands now; +and how his house was burnt down by the Indians, and he was carried off. +Agnes wants to hear it so much." + +"Does! Well, I will go over there, and tell you the story, some day. But +I can't walk over there while the weather is so cold; I should get the +rheumatiz." + +"I'll drag you over on my sled, if that will do, cousin Betty," said +Robert. + +The children laughed so heartily at the picture presented to their +imagination of little old cousin Betty riding on Robert's sled, that +Grace actually rolled out of her chair. + +"Why wouldn't it do to tell the story here, Effie?" asked Agnes. + +"Oh, because it is a great deal more interesting, told on the spot you +know. Cousin Betty has heard it all over and over again from grandmamma, +and she can point out, from one window of the farm-house, all the places +where all those dreadful things happened." + +Some warm dinner was now brought in for cousin Betty, and the children +went off to tie up and label the gifts for Santa Claus. + +"What shall we do with the presents we have for papa and mamma?" asked +Grace. + +"Oh, we cannot hand those in to the study," said Effie; "we must +contrive some way to give them afterwards." + +And now the children, one after the other, with their arms laden with +packages, were making their way to their father's study; Emily and +Agnes, too, had several contributions to make to the heap of bundles +which was piled up on the study table; and before six o'clock, Mr. +Wharton said he had taken in enough articles to stock a very +respectable country store. At six o'clock the study door was locked, and +there was no more admittance. + +An hour or two after this, the whole family were assembled in the two +large parlors, which were brilliantly lighted for the occasion, and all +were on the tiptoe of expectation. + +"I should like to know how he is coming," said Albert; "he'll be likely +to get well scorched, if he comes down either chimney." + +At this moment there was a slight tap at one of the windows opening on +to the piazza, which Mr. Wharton immediately proceeded to open, and in +walked St. Nicholas. + +He was a jolly, merry-looking, little old gentleman, with beard and +whiskers as white as snow, and enveloped in furs from head to foot. +Around his neck, around his waist, over his shoulders, down his back, +and even on the top of his head, were presents and toys of every +description. Behind him he dragged a beautiful sled, which was loaded +with some articles too bulky to be carried around his person. Every +pocket was full; and as he passed through the rooms, he threw sugar +plums and mottoes, nuts and raisins, on all sides, causing a great +scrambling and screaming and laughing among the children. + +Then he began to disengage the presents, which were pinned about him, +and tied to the buttons of his coat; and as he did so, he looked at the +label, and threw it at the one for whom it was intended. It would be +hard for one who was not there to imagine the lively scene which was now +presented in the great parlors at Brook Farm; the presents flying round +in all directions; the children dodging, and diving, and catching, while +shouts and screams of laughter made the house ring. + +"But who is he?--who can he be?" was the question which each asked of +the other a great many times during this merry scene. Mr. Wharton and +Mr. Ellison, "Aunt Fanny's" husband, were both in the room, and they +were sure there was no other gentleman in the house. + +Just then Robert screamed, "Oh, I know now! It's cousin Tom! He throws +left-handed!" And now the effort was made to pull off the mask, but +Santa Claus avoided them with great dexterity, still continuing his +business of distributing the presents. + +At the feet of Agnes he placed a work-box, much handsomer than that +which Lewie had destroyed; at Emily's, a writing-desk, and some valuable +books; and when his sled was emptied, he drew the sled, and left it with +little Harry, for whom it was intended. + +"My goodness gracious!" said cousin Betty, as a beautiful muff "took her +in the head," as Albert said, and sadly disarranged the set of her odd +little turban. + +"And now I believe old Santa Claus has finished his labors," said Mr. +Wharton. + +"Oh no, not yet," cried Effie; "he must come with us for a new supply. +But I feel a little afraid of him yet. If I only could be sure it was +cousin Tom!" + +"You need not doubt that, Effie," said Robert; "nobody else ever threw +like cousin Tom. I've seen him play snow-ball often enough." + +And now Santa Claus was taken captive by the children, and in a few +minutes he re-appeared, laden with gifts, but this time for the older +members of the family; and the products of the children's industry made +quite a display, and much astonished those for whom they were intended, +the children having kept their secrets well. + +And now, as the rooms were warm, old Santa Claus was quite willing to +get rid of his mask and his furs; and this done, he straightened up, and +cousin Tom stood revealed. + +"And how did you come, and where have you been?" asked the children. + +"Oh, I came this afternoon, and stopped at the farm house," answered +cousin Tom, or Mr. Thomas Wharton, for it is time he should be +introduced by his true name to the reader. "And after it was dusk I +slipped over here, and went round to uncle's study door while you were +at tea. I sent word by Aunt Fanny that you might expect Santa Claus +to-night." + +And now began a game of romps, which lasted for an hour or more, and +then little bodies began to be stumbled over, and were found under +tables, and on sofas fast asleep, and were taken off to bed. Mrs. +Ellison's baby being roused by the noise, had awaked, and persisted in +keeping awake, and his mother came back to the parlor bringing him in +her arms, with his night-gown on, and his cheeks as red as roses. + +"Isn't he a splendid fellow?" said she, holding him up before cousin +Tom. + +"A very comfortable looking piece of flesh certainly," he answered; "but +then they are all alike. I think you might divide all babies into two +class, the fat and the lean; otherwise, there is no difference in them +that I can see." + +"Pshaw, how ridiculously you talk; there is a great deal more difference +between two babies, than between you and all the other young dandies who +walk Broadway. They are all alike, the same cut of the coat and collar, +and whiskers; the same tie of the neck-cloth, and shape of the boot: +when you have seen one, you have seen all. But now just take a good look +at this magnificent baby, and confess; wouldn't you like to kiss him?" + +"Excuse me, my dear aunty, but that is a thing I haven't been left to do +very often. I've no fancy for having my cheeks and whiskers converted +into spitoons. It is really astonishing now," continued cousin Tom, +"what fools such a brat as that will make of very sensible people." + +"Are your allusions personal, sir?" asked Mrs. Ellison, laughing. + +"No, not just now; but I was thinking of a man in our place, who used to +be really a _very_ sensible fellow; and though quite an old bachelor, he +was the life of every party he attended, and more of a favorite than +most of the young men. Well, when he was about fifty years old he got +married, and he's got a young one now about two years old. And what kind +of an exhibition do you suppose that man made of himself the other day. +Why, this refractory young individual couldn't be persuaded to walk +towards home in any other way, when they had him out for an airing, and +what does this old friend of mine do, but allow a handkerchief to be +pinned to his coat-tail, and go prancing along the street like a horse +for the spoiled brat to drive. The calf! I declare, before I'd make such +a fool of myself as that, I'd eat my head! What are you writing there, +uncle?" + +"Only taking notes of these remarks, Tom," answered Mr. Wharton, "for +your benefit on some future occasion." + +There was only one in that Christmas party who could not heartily join +in the glee; it was poor Emily, to whom this scene brought back so +vividly other holiday seasons passed with those who had "gone from earth +to return no more," that only by a strong effort could she prevent her +own sadness from casting a shade over the happiness of others; for they +all loved cousin Emily so dearly, that they could not be merry when she +was sad. Emily was usually so quiet, that in their noisy play they did +not miss her as she retired to the sofa and shaded her eyes with her +hand; but her kind uncle noticed her, and readily understood the reason +of her sadness. Taking a seat by her he put his arm around her, and took +her hand in his. This act of tenderness was too much for poor Emily's +already full heart, and laying her head on her uncle's shoulder, she +sobbed out her grief unchecked. + + + + +IV. + +Cousin Betty. + + "Come, wilt thou see me ride!"--HENRY VIII. + + +Cousin Betty was a little bit of a woman, with a face as full of +wrinkles as a frozen apple, and a pair of the busiest and most twinkling +little black eyes you ever saw, a prominent and parrot like nose, with a +chin formed on the very same pattern, only that it turned up instead of +down, the two so very nearly meeting that the children said they had "to +turn their faces sideways to kiss her." She had some very unaccountable +ways too, which no one understood, and which she never made any attempt +to explain, perhaps because she did not understand them herself. + +For instance, whenever meals were ready, and the family prepared to sit +down, though cousin Betty might have been hovering round for an hour or +two before, she was often missing at that very moment, and when a search +was instituted she was sometimes found taking a stroll in the garret +where she could have no possible business, and sometimes poking about in +the darkest corner of the dark cellar, without the slightest conceivable +object. If her thimble or spectacles were lost, she has often been known +to go to the pantry and lift up every tumbler and wine-glass on the +shelf, one after the other, and look under it as if she really expected +to find the missing article there; and to take off the cover of +vegetable dishes to look for her snuff-box, or open the door of the +stove, if her work-bag, or knitting were missing, apparently with the +confident expectation of finding them unharmed amidst the blazing fire. + +Cousin Betty had a very uncomfortable fashion of _dying_ too, every +little while, which at first alarmed her friends so much that +restoratives were speedily procured; but as she never failed to come to +life again, they became, after a time, accustomed to the parting scene, +so that there was great danger that when she really did take her +departure, nobody would believe it. + +"My dear," said she one night to Effie, "I feel very unwell; very +unwell, indeed; I think it's more'n likely I shan't last the night +through. I wish you wouldn't leave me alone this evening, and then if +I'm suddenly taken worse, you know you can call the family. I should +like to see them all before I go." + +Effie promised she would not leave her, and bringing her book, she +seated herself by the stove in cousin Betty's room. In about a hour she +appeared in the parlor, her face purple with the effort to suppress the +inclination to laugh, and said, "Oh, do all of you please to come to +cousin Betty's room a few moments." + +"What, is she dying?" they asked. + +"Oh, no! but just come; very quietly; there's a sight for you to see." + +Cousin Betty always tied a large handkerchief about her head when she +went to bed, and on the night in question, the two ends of the +handkerchief being tied in a knot stood up from her head like two +enormous ears. She was bolstered up by pillows, as she declared she +could not breathe in any other position, and at every breath she drew +she opened and shut her mouth with a sudden jerk. Effie had looked up +from her reading suddenly, and caught the reflection of cousin Betty's +profile, thrown by the light, greatly magnified upon the wall, and +stuffing her handkerchief in her mouth to prevent a sudden explosion of +laughter, by which cousin Betty might be awakened, she ran to call the +family. No pen-sketch but an actual profile would give the slightest +idea of the extraordinary and most ludicrous appearance of the image +thus thrown upon the wall; with the enormous ears standing up, and the +mouth and chin snapping together like the claws of a lobster. One by one +they rushed from the room, till at length a smothered cacchination from +one of the little ones awoke cousin Betty, who exclaimed: + +"Who is sobbing there? My dear friends do not distress yourselves, I +find myself considerably more comfortable." + +This "clapped the climax," and the room was unavoidably deserted for a +few minutes; but at length Effie found courage to return, and, by +placing the light in another position, was enabled to keep watch for the +remainder of the evening. + +There were some very amusing stories told in the family of cousin +Betty's adventures, one of which I will relate here. She was at one time +making one of her long visits at Mr. Wharton's, when, getting out of +yarn, and not being willing to remain long idle, she began to worry +about some way to get over to the village. The horses were all out at +work upon the farm, except Old Prancer, a superannuated old horse, who +was never used except for Mrs. Wharton or the girls to drive; for, +whatever claims "Prancer" may once have had to his name, it had been a +misnomer for some years past, and no one suspected him of having a spark +of spirit. + +When Mr. Wharton came in to dinner, and cousin Betty consulted him as +to the best means of getting over to the village, he told her that the +best thing he could do for her would be to put the side-saddle on to Old +Prancer, and let her ride over. To this cousin Betty consented, not +without a slight trepidation, for she had never been much of a +horse-woman, but still, as she had known Prancer for many years, and he +had always borne the character of a staid, steady-going animal, she +thought there could surely be no risk in trusting herself to him. + +Soon after dinner, cousin Betty, with a very short and very scanty +skirt, was mounted on the back of Old Prancer. She felt quite timid at +first at finding herself upon so lofty an elevation, (for Prancer was an +immense animal;) but when she found how steadily and sedately he went +on, and that neither encouragement nor blows could induce him to break +into a trot, she lost all her fears, and began to enjoy her ride saving +that the pace was rather a slow one. + +But just as cousin Betty began to ascend the hill leading into the +village, the sound of martial music burst upon her ear, and she +remembered hearing the children say that this was "general training +day." Cousin Betty did not know that Prancer had once belonged to a +militia officer; and if she had, it would have made no difference, as +all the fire of youth seemed to have died out with Prancer years ago. +But early associations are strong; and as the "horse scenteth the battle +afar off," so did Prancer prick up his ears and quicken his pace at the +spirit-stirring sounds of the fife and drum; and now he began to make an +awkward attempt to dance sideways upon the points of his hoofs; and as +he neared the brow of the hill, his excitement became more intense, and +his curveting and prancing more animated. Cousin Betty was almost +terrified to death. Throwing away her whip, and grasping the reins, she +endeavored to stop him; but he only held in his head, and danced +sideways up the street with more animation and spirit than ever. She +thought of throwing herself off, but the immense height rendered such a +feat utterly unsafe; she endeavored to rein the horse up to the +side-walk; but now he had caught sight of the motley array of trainers, +and of the gay horses and gayer uniforms of the officers, and, +regardless alike of bit and rein, he started off at full speed, to join +the long-forgotten but once familiar spectacle. + +Cousin Betty had by this time dropped the reins, and was clinging with +both arms to Old Prancer's neck; and as he turned his face to the +company, and backed gallantly down the street, the sight was too +irresistibly ludicrous. Shouts and laughter, and expressions of +encouragement to poor cousin Betty, were heard on all sides; till at +length a militia officer, taking pity upon her helpless condition, led +the unwilling Prancer to the tavern, and assisted her to alight. Here +cousin Betty remained till sun-down, and all was quiet; and then, +requesting the tavern-keeper to lead the horse out of town while she +walked, she again, with much fear and trembling, mounted when beyond +the precincts of the village. + +Prancer, however, walked slowly home, with his head drooping, as if +thoroughly mortified at the excesses into which he had been betrayed; +and cousin Betty, when she once got safely home, declared that she'd go +without yarn another time, if it was a whole year, before she would +mount such a "treacherous animal as that 'ere." + +But, with all her oddities, cousin Betty was sometimes a very amusing +companion. She had many stories of her youth stowed away in her memory, +which, when wanted, could be found and brought to light much more +readily than the articles she was so constantly missing now; and though +these stories were not told in the purest English, they were none the +less interesting to the children for that. + +There came, early in February, some pleasant, mild days, which soon made +a ruin of the boys' palace of snow; and though cousin Betty had been in +a dying state for an hour or two the night before, she was so far +revived that morning, that she was easily persuaded by the children to +go over with them to the farm-house, and tell them the story of their +great-grandfather, and his capture by the Indians; which same, though a +very interesting story to the children, might not be so to my readers; +and after changing my mind about it several times, I have concluded to +leave it out, as having nothing to do with the rest of my story. + + + + +V + +Home Again. + + "Deal very, very gently with a young child's tender heart." + + +With a face beaming with joy, little Agnes took her place in the cutter +by her uncle on Christmas morning, and nodded good-bye to her cousins, +who were crowded at the window to see her off. + +"Mind you come back to dinner!" screamed little Grace, knocking with her +knuckles on the window pane. + +Agnes nodded again, and they were gone. Many a time during the short +ride did Agnes take out of her little muff the paper in which her +needle-case for her mother was rolled up, to see if it was all safe; and +she never let go for a moment of the basket in which were some toys for +Lewie, which she and her cousins had purchased at the village. As she +drove up the road from the gate to her mother's house, it seemed to her +so long since she had been away, that she expected to see great changes. +She had never been from home so long before, and a great deal had +happened in that fort night. + +Mrs. Elwyn was reading again; indeed, she had resumed that very +yellow-covered book, the reading of which Lewie's sickness had +interrupted; so she had not much time for a greeting for Agnes, though +she did allow her to kiss her cheek, and of course laid aside her book, +out of compliment to Mr. Wharton. But little Lewie, who was sitting in +his cradle, surrounded by toys, was in perfect ecstasies at the return +of Agnes. + +He stretched his little arms towards her; and as she sprang towards him, +and stooped to kiss him, he threw them around her neck, and clasped his +little hands together, as if determined never to let her go again. + +"Sister come! sister come!" he exclaimed over and over again, with the +greatest glee; "sister stay with Lewie now." + +"Sister will stay a little while," said Agnes, kissing over and over +again her beautiful little brother. + +"No, sister _stay_!--sister shall not go!" said Lewie, in the best +manner in which he could express it; but exactly _how_, we must be +excused from making known to the reader, having a great horror of +_baby-talk_ in books. + +"But I _must_ go, darling; all my things are at uncle's, and I want to +get some books cousin Emily is going to give me; but I will come back +very soon to stay with Lewie." + +"No! sister _shall_ not go!" was still the cry; and Mrs. Elwyn settled +the matter by saying: + +"Agnes, if Lewie wants you here so much, you may as well take off your +things; you cannot return to Brook Farm; besides, I want you to amuse +Lewie." Agnes thought of some of the consequences of her endeavors to +amuse Lewie, and sighed. + +"If your mother insists upon your remaining, Agnes," said her uncle, "I +will bring over your things, and Emily shall come with me, to bring the +books, and tell you how to study." + +"Oh, thank you, dear uncle!" said Agnes, her face brightening at once. + +In the first scene in which our little hero is introduced to the reader, +he certainly does not appear to advantage, as few persons would in the +first stages of a fever. He was not always so hard to please, or so +recklessly destructive, as he was that day; and had an intimation ever +been conveyed to his mind, that it was a possible thing for any desire +of his to remain ungratified, he might have grown up less supremely +selfish than he did. + +But the natural selfishness of his nature being constantly fed and +ministered to by his doating mother, led the little fellow to understand +very early that no wish of his was to be denied; and before he was two +years old, he fully understood the power he held in his hands. + +He was a beautiful boy; "as handsome as a picture," as Mammy said; but, +for my part, I have seldom seen a picture of a child that could at all +compare with Lewie Elwyn, with his golden curls, and deep blue eyes, and +brilliant color. He was warm-hearted and affectionate, too, and might +have been moulded by the hand of love into a glorious character. But +selfishness is a deformity which early attention and care may remedy, +and the grace of God alone may completely subdue; but, if allowed to +take its own course, or worse, if encouraged and nurtured, it grows with +wonderful rapidity, and makes a horrid shape of what might be the +fairest. + +Upon this text, or something very like it, Mr. Wharton spake to Mrs. +Elwyn, when Agnes had carried Lewie into the next room to spin his top +for him. + +"Lewie is a most beautiful little fellow, certainly," said he; "but, +Harriet, take care; he is getting the upper hand of you already. It is +time already--indeed, it has long been time--to make him understand +that his will is to be _subservient_ to those who are older." + +To which Mrs. Elwyn replied, "How absurd, Mr. Wharton, to talk of +governing a child like that!" + +"There are other ways of governing, Harriet, besides the whip and the +lock and key, neither of which do I approve of, except in extreme cases. +Lewie could very easily be guided by the hand of love, and it rests with +you now to make of him almost what you choose. A mother's gentle hand +hath mighty power." + +"Well, Mr. Wharton, to tell you the truth, nothing seems to me so absurd +as all these ideas of nursery education; and the people who write books +on the subject seem to think there is but one rule by which all children +are to be governed." + +"I perfectly agree with you, Harriet, that it is very ridiculous to +suppose that one set of rules will answer for the education of all, +except, of course, so far as the Bible rule is the foundation for all +government. I think the methods adopted with children should be as +numerous and different as the children themselves, each one, by their +constitution and disposition, requiring different treatment; but still +there are some general rules, you must admit, which will serve for all. +One of these is a rule of very long standing; it is this--'Honor thy +father and thy mother;' and another--'Children, obey your parents in the +Lord.' Now, how can you expect your son, as he grows up, to honor, +respect, or obey you, if you take the trouble to teach him, every day +and hour, that _he_ is the master, and you only the slave of his will. +There is another saying in that same old book from which these rules are +drawn, which tells you that 'A child left to himself bringeth his mother +to shame.'" + +Mrs. Elwyn, during this conversation, kept up a series of polite little +bows, but could not altogether conceal an expression of weariness, and +distaste at the turn the conversation had taken. She had a sincere +respect, however, for Mr. Wharton, who always exercised over her the +power which a strong mind exercises over a weak one, and she felt in +her heart that he was a real friend to her, and one who had the +interests of herself and her children at heart. + +As Mr. Wharton rose to go she said, laughingly: + +"I thank you for your kind advice with regard to Lewie, Mr. Wharton, but +in spite of it, I do not think I shall put him in a straight-jacket +before he is out of his frocks." + +"No straight-jacket is needed, Harriet; you have often written in your +copy-book at school, I suppose, 'Just as the twig is bent the tree's +inclined.' You remember that strange apple-tree in my orchard, which the +children use for a seat, it rises about a foot from the ground, and then +turns and runs along for several feet horizontally, and then shoots up +again to the sky. When that was a twig, your thumb and finger could have +bent it straight; but now, what force could do it. If sufficient +strength could be applied it might be _broken_, but never bent again. +Excuse my plain speaking, Harriet, but I see before you so much +trouble, unless that little boy's strong will is controlled, that my +conscience would not let me rest, unless I spoke honestly to you what is +in my mind." + +"I must say you are not a prophesier of '_smooth things_'" said Mrs. +Elwyn, "but still, I hope the dismal things you have hinted at may not +come to pass." + +"I hope not too, Harriet," said Mr. Wharton, "but God has now mercifully +spared your little boy's life, and it rests with you whether he shall be +trained for His service or not." + +Then calling for Agnes and Lewie, Mr. Wharton kissed them for good-bye, +telling Agnes that he would bring Emily over the next day. + +Mrs. Elwyn looked infinitely relieved when Mr. Wharton drove off, and +returned to her novel with as much interest as ever, and in the very +exciting scene into which her heroine was now introduced, she soon +forgot the unpleasant nature of Mr. Wharton's "lecture," as she called +it. + +Agnes was contriving in her mind all the morning, how she should +present the needle-case to her mother, and wondering how it would be +received. It was such a great affair to her, and had cost her so much +time and labor, that she was quite sure it must be an acceptable gift, +and yet natural timidity in approaching her mother, made her shrink from +presenting it, and every time she thought of it her heart beat in her +very throat. + +At length the novel was finished and thrown aside, and Mrs. Elwyn sat +with her feet on the low fender gazing abstractedly into the fire. Now +was the time Agnes thought, and approaching her gently, she said: + +"Mamma, here is a needle-case I made for you, all myself, for a +Christmas present." + +The _words_ could not have been heard by Mrs. Elwyn, she only knew that +a voice _not_ Lewie's interrupted her in her reverie. + +"Hush! hush! child," she said, waving her hand impatiently towards +Agnes, "be quiet! don't disturb me!" + +Oh, what a grieved and disappointed little heart that, as Agnes turned +away with the tears in her eyes, and a lump in her throat. + +The next voice that disturbed the young widow was one to which she +always gave attention: + +"Mamma! mamma!" cried Lewie, pulling imperiously at her gown; "mamma! +sister feels sorry, speak to sister." + +"What is it, dear?" his mother asked. + +"Speak to sister! sister crying," said Lewie, pulling her with all the +strength of his little hands towards Agnes. + +"What is the matter, Agnes? Why are you crying? What did you say to me a +few moments ago?" asked her mother. + +Agnes tried to say "It is no matter, mamma," bet she sobbed so bitterly +that she could not form the words. But Lewie, who had seen and +understood the whole thing, pulled the needle-case from his sister's +hand, and gave his mother to understand that Agnes had made it for her, +and then he struck his little hand towards her and called her "naughty +mamma, to make sister cry!" + +More to please Lewie than for any other reason, Mrs. Elwyn took the +needle-case, and said: + +"Why Agnes, did you make this yourself, and for me? how pretty it is; +isn't it, Lewie? Now Agnes, you may fill it with needles for me." + +Agnes wiped her eyes and began her task, but that painful lump would not +go away from her throat. Ah! if those kind words had only come at first! + +How much suffering is caused to the hearts of little children by mere +thoughtlessness, sometimes in those even who love them; by a want of +sympathy in their little griefs and troubles, as great and all-important +to them, as are the troubles of "children of a larger growth," in their +own estimation. + + + + +VI. + +The Tableaux. + + "A mournful thing is love which grows to one so mild as thou, + With that bright restlessness of eye--that tameless fire of brow + Mournful! but dearer far I call its mingled fear and pride, + And the trouble of its happiness than aught on earth beside." + + --MRS. HEMANS. + + +Lewie recovered rapidly; and by the time that "the singing of birds had +come," the roses bloomed as brightly as ever in his cheeks; and, with +his hand in that of Agnes, he roamed about the woods and groves which +surrounded their home, gathering wild flowers, and watching with delight +the nimble squirrel and the brilliant wild birds, as they hopped from +limb to limb. The children were always happy together; Lewie was more +yielding and less passionate when with his gentle sister than at other +times; and it was only when again in the presence of his mother that +his wilful, fretful manner returned, and he was again capricious and +hard to please. + +Thus, while he was still almost in his infancy, his mother began to reap +the fruit of her sowing; for, while to others he could be gentle and +pleasant, with her he was always fretful and capricious. Already her +wishes had no weight with him, if they ran counter to his own, and +commands she never ventured to lay upon him; already the little twig was +taking its own bent. + +The birth-days were all rigidly kept in Mr. Wharton's family, and some +little pleasant entertainment provided on every such occasion. Thus, +while Mr. and Mrs. Wharton failed not to make every proper and serious +use of these way-marks on the journey of life, they loved to show their +children how pleasant to themselves was the remembrance of the day when +one more little bright face had come to cheer and brighten their earthly +pilgrimage. Miss Effie was the important character in commemoration of +whose "first appearance on any stage" a pleasant party had collected in +Mr. Wharton's parlor, one evening in May. Mrs. Elwyn and her children +were spending a few days at Brook Farm; and the family of Dr. Rodney, +and a few other little folks from the village, were invited, on Effie's +birth-day, to pass the afternoon and evening. + +Great had been the preparations, for they were, for the first time, to +have an exhibition of the "tableaux vivants" in the evening. Mr. Wharton +had constructed a large frame, which, covered with gilt paper, and +having a black lace spread over it, made the illusion more perfect. Many +pretty scenes had been selected by cousin Emily, who was mistress of +ceremonies; and that no child's feelings might be hurt, a character was +assigned for each one, in one or other of the pictures. A temporary +curtain was hung across the room, which was to be drawn whenever the +pictures were ready for exhibition. + +Agnes had been as busy as anybody in bringing down from a certain closet +devoted to that purpose old finery, and other things which belonged to +days long gone by, and her anticipations of pleasure for the evening +were raised to the highest pitch. But just when all were assembled in +the darkened parlor, the lights all being arranged behind the curtain so +as to fall upon the pictures, Master Lewie, who was up beyond his usual +bed time, and who was hardly old enough to take much interest in what +was going on, declared that he was sleepy, and would go to bed. Neither +Mammy nor Anne were with them at Brook Farm; and as Mrs. Elwyn seemed as +much interested as any one in seeing the tableaux, Agnes knew what the +result would be, if Lewie insisted upon going to bed; so she endeavored +to amuse him and keep him awake till she had seen at least one tableau. + +"Oh, Lewie, wait _one_ moment!" said she; "Lewie will see a beautiful +picture." + +"Lewie don't want to see pictures; Lewie wants to go to bed. Sister, +come! sing to Lewie." + +"In one moment, then, little brother. Let Agnes see one picture. Won't +you let sister see _one_ picture?" + +"No; Lewie must go to bed. Mamma, tell sister to come with Lewie." + +The result was, of course, in accordance with Master Lewie's wishes, and +Agnes was directed to take him up to bed. "He will very soon be asleep," +her mother added, "and then you can come down." + +This Master Lewie heard, and it put quite a new idea into his head, it +never having occurred to him before that the person who sang him to +sleep left him alone, after her task was accomplished. That was a thing +he was not going to submit to, and he was so determined to watch Agnes, +lest she should slip away from him, that all sleep seemed to have +deserted his eyes, which were wider open, and more bright and wide +awake, than ever. + +Agnes laid down beside him, and, patting him gently on the cheek, she +sang in a sleepy sort of way, hoping the tone of her voice would have a +somniferous effect. + +"Sing louder!" shouted Master Lewie. + +Agnes obeyed, and sang many nursery songs suggested by Master Lewie, +hoping, at the end of each one, that there would be some signs of +drowsiness manifested on the part of the little tyrant; but the moment +it was finished, brightly and quickly he would speak up: + +"Sing that over again!--sing another!--sing 'Old Woman!'--sing 'Jack +Horner,'" &c., &c. + +And Agnes' heart died within her as question upon question would follow +each other in quick succession, suggested by the lively imagination of +Master Lewie, as to the name and parentage of "the little boy who lived +by himself;" and the childless condition of the man whose "old wife +wasn't at home;" and where the dogs actually _did_ take the +"wheel-barrow, wife and all;" he feeling perfectly satisfied of the +accurate information of Agnes on all these important topics. + +Several times the little bright eyes slowly closed, and Agnes thought he +was fairly conquered. Slowly drawing her arm from under his head, she +began cautiously to rise; but before she had stolen a foot from the bed, +he would start up and stare at her in amazement, exclaiming, "Where +going, sister?" and then he seemed to learn by experience, and to +determine that he wouldn't be "caught napping" again that evening. + +In the meantime, the fun was going on below, and several beautiful +pictures had been exhibited and admired before Agnes was missed from the +darkened parlor. But now came the cry, "Agnes! Come, Agnes! Where's +Agnes? She is to be in this picture." To which Mrs. Elwyn replied, that +"Agnes was putting Lewie to sleep." + +"And hasn't she been here at all, Aunt Harriet?" + +"No," answered Mrs. Elwyn, "Lewie takes a long time to get to sleep +to-night." + +"That is _too bad_, I declare!" said little Grace, her cheeks reddening +with vexation, "Agnes did want to see these pictures so; can't I go up +and see if Lewie is asleep, Aunt Harriet." + +"Better not," said Mrs. Elwyn; "you may disturb him just as he is +dropping asleep, and then Agnes will have to stay much longer." + +The exclamations of indignation were loud and furious from the whole +party of little folks, when it was found that Agnes had been all the +evening banished from the room, and they were ready to go up to Lewie's +room in a body and take possession of Agnes, and bring her down in +triumph. But Emily said, "stop children, and I will go." + +Very quietly Emily stole into the room and up to the bedside. The +children were lying with their arms about each other, Agnes' little hand +was on her brother's cheek, and both were soundly sleeping. Emily +touched Agnes gently and whispered in her ear, but her slumber was so +very sound that she could not arouse her. "Better to let her sleep on +now," said Emily, "and if Agnes only knew it, she has helped to make the +prettiest tableaux we have had this evening." + +Thus early was little Agnes learning to give up her own gratification +for the sake of others, while the strong will of her little brother was +strengthened by constant exercise and indulgence, for this was but one +of many instances daily occurring, in which Agnes was obliged to +relinquish her own pleasure in order to gratify the whims and caprices +of her little brother. Lewie had so often heard such expressions from +his mother, that almost as soon as he could speak a connected sentence, +he would say, "Lewie must have his own way; Lewie must not be crossed," +and in this way did his mother prepare him for the jostling and +conflicts of life. + + + + +VII. + +The Governess. + + "An ower true tale." + + +Mr. Wharton was one day writing in his study, for though a practical +farmer he devoted much of his time to literary pursuits,--when there was +a knock at his door, and on opening it he saw there a young woman of +delicate appearance, and of so much apparent refinement and cultivation, +that he was quite taken by surprise when she asked him the question, "if +he had any wool to be given out on shares?" + +Mr. Wharton replied, that he had had so much trouble with those to whom +he had given out wool in that way, and had been so often cheated by +them, that he had said he would give out no more, but he believed he +must break through his rule for once, in her favor. She seemed very +grateful, and said she hoped he would have no reason to regret his +kindness in giving her employment. And so it proved; Miss Edwards, (for +that was her name,) gave such entire satisfaction as to her work, and +the share of it she returned, that Mr. Wharton kept her for some time in +constant employment. Every time she came, he was more and more pleased +with her gentle and unaffected manners, and with the style of her +conversation, which showed without the slightest appearance of effort, a +person of great intelligence and good breeding, while an air of subdued +melancholy excited an interest in her, which increased with every +interview. + +"She is an unmistakable lady," said Mr. Wharton to his wife, "but how +she came to be living in the village, without friends, and as I believe +in circumstances of great necessity, I cannot imagine. There is a slight +reserve about her," he added, "which may be difficult to penetrate, but +if I mistake not, she is much in need of a friend, and I think she will +not long resist the voice of kindness." + +Accordingly, the next time she called, Mr. Wharton, in his kind and +sympathising manner, led her to speak of her own peculiar circumstances; +and at length drew from her this much of her history: She was the +daughter of a plain New England farmer; had had a good common school +education; and was expected to devote the rest of her life to the making +of butter and cheese, and to the other occupations carried on in a +farmer's family. Everything that she could do to aid her father and +mother she was willing and ready to perform, but she sighed for +knowledge; she had learned enough to wish to know more, and she felt +that there was that in her, which properly cultivated, might fit her for +something higher than the making of butter and cheese. Thus, when the +day's labor was ended, and the old people, as was their custom, had +retired early to rest, their dutiful daughter, her work for the day well +done, sought with delight her little chamber, and her beloved books, in +whose companionship she passed the hours always till midnight, and +sometimes till she was startled by the + + "Cock's shrill clarion," + +and reminded that body and mind alike needed repose. + +In her studies, and in the choice of her reading, she was guided by her +pastor; and a better guide, or one more willing to extend a helping hand +to the seeker for knowledge she could not have found. With such a +teacher, and with such an eager desire for improvement, she could not +fail to progress rapidly. On the death of her parents, both of whom she +followed to the grave in the course of one year, the kind pastor took +her to his own home; but not being willing to be even for a time a +burden to him, she immediately opened a small school in a village near +them. Now her kind pastor too was dead; and having heard that a teacher +was wanted in the village of Hillsdale, she had come there in hopes of +getting the situation. Here she was doomed to disappointment, the vacant +place having been supplied but a day or two before she reached the +village; and now, among entire strangers, heart-sick with +disappointment, and with no friend to turn to in her distress, she was +taken down with a fever. It was a kind-hearted woman, in whose house she +had rented a small room, and she nursed her as if she had been a +daughter, without hope of remuneration. As soon as she was sufficiently +recovered to think again of work, she began to inquire eagerly for +employment; and her landlady having directed her to Mr. Wharton, she had +taken that long walk from the village, while yet very feeble, which +resulted in the accomplishment of her wishes. + +There had been a brother, she told Mr. Wharton, an only child besides +herself; but, as Mr. Wharton inferred from what she said, he was a wild, +unsteady youth, and he had wandered from his home some years before, and +gone far west towards the Mississippi. For some time they continued to +hear from him, but he had long since ceased to write. She feared that he +was dead; but sometimes she had a strong hope, which seemed like a +presentiment to her, that she should yet look upon his face on earth; +and in this hope, she continued still occasionally to direct letters to +the spot from which he had last written. + +When Mr. Wharton had repeated to his wife the story of Miss Edwards, she +said immediately: + +"Why, is she not just the person for a governess for our younger +children? No doubt, too, she might aid Emily in her studies, for the +child is too delicate to send away from home." + +"Well thought of, my dear wife," said Mr. Wharton; "and if we could +persuade Harriet to let poor little Agnes join us, what a nice little +school we might have. It is strange the idea has not occurred to me +before, for I have thought, a great many times, what a pity it was that +such a woman as Miss Edwards should spend her life in spinning wool." + +"When do you expect her again?" asked Mrs. Wharton. + +"She will probably be here this afternoon." + +"Let us save her the long walk, by driving over to see her this morning: +perhaps she can return with us." And in less than an hour, Mr. and Mrs. +Wharton were seated in the widow Crane's neat little parlor, in earnest +conversation with Miss Edwards. + +I need not say that the offer made by Mr. and Mrs. Wharton was +unhesitatingly and gratefully accepted by Miss Edwards. Those only who +have felt as utterly forlorn and desolate as she had done for the last +few weeks, can understand with what joy she hailed the prospect of a +home among such kind and sympathizing hearts. + +And a _home_ indeed she found. From the time she entered Mr. Wharton's +hospitable door, she was treated as companion, friend, and sister. No +more sad, lonely hours for her, so long as she remained under that roof. +There were plenty of happy, bright little faces around her; there were +kind words always sounding in her ear; there were opportunities enough +to be useful; there were rare and valuable books for her leisure hours. +With all these sources of enjoyment, could she fail to be happy? + +And if Miss Edwards esteemed herself most fortunate in having found so +delightful a home, Mrs. Wharton was no less so in having secured her +invaluable services. + +"How have I ever lived so long without Rhoda!" she often exclaimed; for +the new governess, by her own earnest request, soon lost the formal +title of Miss Edwards in the family, and was simply "Rhoda" with Mr. and +Mrs. Wharton, and "Miss Rhoda" with the children. + +"I think there is nothing that she cannot do, and do well," she added. +"She is a most charming companion in the parlor, with a never-failing +fund of good humor and cheerfulness; a kind and patient, and in all +respects most admirable teacher, for the children; an unwearied nurse in +sickness; a complete cook, if for any reason her services are required +in the kitchen; and perfectly ready to turn her hand to anything that is +to be done." + +"And now you have not mentioned the crowning excellence of her +character, my dear," said Mr. Wharton; "she is, I believe, a sincere and +earnest Christian; and, as you say, I think we are most fortunate in +having secured her as an inmate in our family, and a teacher for our +children." + +Mr. Wharton, who had unbounded influence with Mrs. Elwyn, had no great +difficulty in persuading her to allow Agnes to become a member of his +family, that she might with his children enjoy the benefit of Miss +Edwards' instructions. Indeed, so long as Mrs. Elwyn had her darling +Lewie with her, it seemed almost a matter of indifference to her what +became of Agnes; and thus the neglect and unkindness of her mother were +overruled for good, and Agnes was placed in the hands of those who would +sow good seed in her young heart, while improving and cultivating her +mind. Happy would it have been for poor little Lewie, could he have been +taken from the indulgent arms of his weak and doating mother, and +placed under like healthy training, where his really fine qualities of +heart and mind might have been cultured, and he might early have been +taught to curb that hot and hasty temper, and to restrain those habits +of self-indulgence, which finally proved his ruin. + +Miss Edwards remained six years in her happy home at Mr. Wharton's, and +had become as they all thought essential to their comfort and happiness, +when she one day received a letter, which agitated her exceedingly. She +was sitting at the dinner table, when the letters were brought from the +village. One was handed to her; she looked at the superscription, at the +post-mark, which was that of a town far to the south-west; her cheek +flushed, and with trembling fingers she broke the seal. She glanced at +the signature, and turned so pale they thought she would faint, but in a +moment she was relieved by a burst of tears. + +Her long lost brother was alive! he wrote that he was married, and +settled in that far distant State. One of his sister's letters (for she +still continued from time to time to write to him) had lately reached +him, he said, and he wished her to come to him. Her mind was immediately +made up to go; she dearly loved her sweet pupils, and the kind friends +who had given her a home, and a place in their hearts, but the ties of +kindred were stronger than all other ties, and they drew her with +resistless force towards the home of her own and only brother. + +There was something about the tone of this letter which Mrs. Wharton did +not like, and she had a foreboding that this journey would not be for +the happiness of her friend, and tried to dissuade her from undertaking +it. And in this she was entirely disinterested; for great as would be +the loss of this gifted young lady to her, Mrs. Wharton was not the one +to put a straw in her way, if she felt assured the journey would end +happily for her. + +All that she said, however, was of no avail; it had been the hope of +Miss Edwards' life, once more to see this darling brother, and nothing +could deter her from making the attempt. Her preparations were made in +haste, and with many tears on her part, and on that of the kind friends +she was leaving, and amid loud sobs and lamentations from her dear +little scholars, they parted, never again to meet on earth. A tedious +and perilous journey she had, by river and land, but she seemed to bear +all the discomforts of the way with her own cheerful, happy spirit, and +the letters she wrote to her friends from different points on the +journey were exceedingly amusing and entertaining. One of them, and the +last she wrote before reaching her point of destination, I will +transcribe here in her own words:-- + + "Springdale, Oct.--" + +"My beloved pupils,--I am going, in this letter, to tell you a ghost +story, and a murder story, of both of which your humble servant was the +heroine. But before your little cheeks begin to grow white, and your +eyes to open in horror, let me tell you that the ghost was no ghost at +all, and in the murder scene, nobody's life was in danger, though both +matters at the time were very serious ones to me." + +"I wrote you last from a little tavern in the northern part of Virginia, +while I was waiting for a conveyance to continue on my journey, the +stage passing over these unfrequented roads only twice a week. It has +always been my lot to have friends raised up for me when friends were +most needed; and while sitting in the little parlor of the tavern, +feeling very desolate, and very impatient, a gig drove up to the door, +from which an old clergyman alighted. He soon entered the parlor, and in +a few minutes we were engaged in a pleasant conversation, in the course +of which I mentioned the circumstances of my detention in that place, +and my extreme anxiety to progress in my journey." + +"The old gentleman, it seems, had been on a three days' journey to a +ministers' meeting, and was now returning home, and as he was travelling +in the same direction in which I wished to go, he said it would give +him great pleasure if I would take a seat in his gig, in case my +heaviest trunks could be sent on by stage. This the good-natured +landlord very willingly consented to attend to. The trunks were to be +sent to the care of the old clergyman, who was to ship me for my +destined port, and send my trunks on after me." + +"You may be sure I did not hesitate about accepting the old clergyman's +offer, for after jolting along with rough men, over rough roads, as I +had done for many days, I anticipated with much pleasure a ride of two +or three days in a gig, with the kind, pleasant old gentleman. And now +comes the ghost story." + +"As we were riding along through this thinly settled part of Western +Virginia, I noticed occasionally large, dark, barn-like looking +buildings, with the wooden shutters tightly closed. After passing two or +three of these buildings, I at length asked my companion for what +purpose they were used." + +"'Why, those,' said he, 'are our churches. I had forgotten how entirely +unacquainted you were with this part of the country, or I should have +pointed them out to you.'" + +"'Is it possible,' I exclaimed, 'that you worship in those dreary, +dark-looking places! I must go inside of one of them on the first +opportunity.'" + +"Soon after I spoke, as we were ascending a hill, some part of the +harness gave way, and we were obliged to alight from the gig, while the +old gentleman endeavored to repair the injury." + +"'How long will it take you, sir,' said I, 'to set this matter right?'" + +"'Oh, some time--perhaps a quarter of an hour,' he answered." + +"'And cannot I help you?' I asked. 'I believe I can do almost anything I +undertake to do.'" + +"'Oh, no, no,' he answered; 'you had better not undertake to mend a +harness, or you will be obliged, after this, to say that you have failed +in one thing; besides, I can do this very well alone.'" + +"'I have a great mind to take hold and mend it, just to show you that my +boast was not an idle one,' said I; 'but if you are determined to scorn +my offered assistance, I will run back, and take a survey of the +interior of the old church we passed a few moments since.'" + +"'You will not see much,' the old clergyman called out after me; 'for, +as you see, the wooden shutters are kept closed during the week, and it +is almost total darkness inside.'" + +"However, on I ran down the hill, and was soon at the door of the old +barn-like building. The door was not fastened, and I opened it, and +entered the church. At first, the darkness seemed intense, broken only +by little streaks of sunlight which streamed in through the small, +crescent-shaped holes in the shutters; but at length my eye became +accustomed to the darkness, and I could begin to distinguish the rude +seats and aisles, and even to see, at the end of the church, an +elevation which I knew must be the pulpit. Determined to see all that +was to be seen, I made my way along the aisle, ascended the pulpit +stairs, and had just laid my hand on the door, when a tall, white figure +suddenly rose up in the pulpit, and laid a cold hand on mine. I believe +I shrieked; but I was filled with such an indescribable horror, that I +know not what I did, when a hollow voice said:" + +"'Don't be afraid; I will not harm you.'" + +"I snatched my hand from the cold grasp which held it, and fled from the +church. I remember nothing more, till I opened my eyes, and found the +old clergyman bathing my face with water. He had become alarmed at my +long absence, and, on coming back to seek me, had found me lying on my +face, on the grass, in front of the old church. We had been riding again +for some time, before I summoned resolution to tell the old gentleman +what I had seen in the church. He complimented me by saying, that though +his acquaintance with me had been short, he was much mistaken in me, if +I was a person to be deceived by the imagination; and he said he much +regretted that I had not mentioned the cause of my fright before we left +the old church, as it was always best to ascertain at once the true +nature of any such apparently frightful object." + +"'We have no time to turn back now,' said he, 'as we have already lost +more than half an hour; but the next best thing we can do is to stop at +the first house we come to, and see if we can find out anything +concerning the apparition which appeared to you in the church.'" + +"We soon stopped before the door of a small log house, and at our +summons a pleasant-looking woman appeared. To the inquiries of the old +clergyman as to the appearance by which I had been so much alarmed, she +replied:" + +"'Oh, it's the crazy minister, sir. He used to preach in that old +church; but he's been crazy for a long time, and often he dresses +himself in a long white robe, and goes and sits in the pulpit of that +old church all day. He's very gentle, she added, turning to me, 'and +wouldn't hurt anybody for the world; but I don't wonder you got a good +fright.' So ends my ghost story; and now, if you are ready for more +horrors, I will tell you my other adventure." + +"Our detention near the old church, and the state of the roads, rendered +heavy by late rains, made it impossible for us to reach the town at +which we had hoped to spend the night; and we had made up our minds that +we would stop at the first _promising_-looking establishment we should +see, when the coming up of a sudden storm left us no option, but made us +hail gladly the first human dwelling we came to, though that was but a +rough, rambling old hut, built of unhewn logs." + +"There was only an old woman at home when we stopped at the door, and I +fancied she looked rather _too well pleased_ when we asked if she could +accommodate us for the night. I must confess to you, my dear children, I +felt rather nervous after the fright of that afternoon; I, who used to +boast that I was ignorant of the fact of possessing such a thing as +nerves; but I do think I must have been nervous, for very little things +troubled me that evening, and my imagination had never been so busy +before. In a very few moments, an old man, and three strapping, +rough-looking youths, entered, with their axes over their shoulders, and +dripping with rain; and now I began to imagine that I saw suspicious +glances passing between these young men, and I certainly heard a long +whispered conversation pass between two of them and the old woman in the +next room. I looked towards my old friend the clergyman; but he, good, +unsuspicious old soul, was nodding in his chair by the log fire. I grew +more and more uncomfortable, and heartily wished we had jogged on in the +pelting rain, rather than trust ourselves to such very questionable +hospitality. One thing I made up my mind to, which was this--that I +would not close my eyes to sleep that night, but would keep on the watch +for whatever might happen." + +"The old woman gave us a very comfortable supper, and soon afterwards +she asked me if I would like to go to bed. Not liking to show any +distrust of my hosts, I assented with apparent readiness, and followed +the old woman into a hall, and up a rude ladder, which I should have +found it very difficult to mount had it not been for my early exercise +in this kind of gymnastics, when searching for hen's eggs in the barn, +at my New England home." + +"At the head of the ladder was a small passageway, from which we entered +the room which was to be my sleeping apartment. Whether there had ever +been any door to this room or not I do not know; certain it is there was +no door now; the only other room I could perceive in the upper part of +the house, was a sort of a granary filled with bins to hold different +kinds of grain." + +"'Is the old gentleman with whom I came, to sleep in this part of the +house?' I asked in as careless a tone as I could assume." + +"'No, he sleeps in the loft of the other part where the boys sleep;' +answered the old woman, and then looking at me with a grin which I +thought gave her the appearance of an ugly old hag, she said, 'Why ye +ain't afeard on us, be ye?'" + +"'I told her I had had quite a fright that day, and felt a little +nervous.'" + +"'Well,' said she, 'ye can just go to sleep without any frights here. We +shan't do ye no harm, I reckon,' and she left me and descended the +ladder." + +"Before going to bed I took my light, and stepping out softly I went to +reconnoitre the other room, the door of which we had passed on the way +to the room in which I was to spend the night: I was obliged to descend +two steps to enter this room, where I found nothing frightful to be +sure, there being only some old clothes hanging up, and the bins of +grain of which I have spoken before. I returned to my room, and with +great difficulty moved a rude chest of drawers, across the place where a +door should be, on this I placed my little trunk, and the only chair in +the room, an old shovel, and a broken pitcher, determined that if any +one did enter the room, it should not be without noise enough to give me +warning. Before this barricade I set my candle, hoping it might +continue to burn all night." + +"I laid down without undressing, determined that I would only rest; I +would not even close my eyes to sleep. I had laid thus as I supposed an +hour, listening to the voices of the old people and their sons, as in +subdued tones they talked together below. At the end of that time the +door opened, and I heard stealthy steps ascending the ladder. My heart, +as the saying is, was in my throat, and I could hear its every throb. +The steps came nearer and nearer, and as the first foot-fall sounded on +the floor of the little passage, which led to my room, I shrieked, 'Who +is there? what do you want?'" + +"'Bless your soul it's only me; you need not scream so,' said the old +woman. 'I'm only going to the bin for some corn-meal to make mush for +your breakfast.'" + +"'I do believe the gal thinks we are going to murder her in her bed,' I +heard her say with a loud laugh as she descended the ladder; 'you ought +to see the _chist_, and the things she's got piled on top of it, all +standing in the door-way.'" + +"At this the men's voices joined in the laugh, and they sounded horribly +to me. 'Yes,' I thought to myself, 'how easy it would be for them to +murder us in our beds, and there would be no one to tell the tale.' Soon +after this, in spite of my resolution to keep awake, sleep must have +overpowered me, for I was awakened by a tremendous crash, as if the +house was falling, and I opened my eyes to find myself in total +darkness, and to hear soft footsteps in my room." + +"Oh, how I shrieked this time! I believe I cried 'help! help! murder!' +and I soon heard footsteps approaching, and saw a light gleaming up the +ladder way, and soon the old woman's night-cap appeared over the chest. +'What _is_ the matter now?' she cried with some impatience, 'you +certainly are the most _narvous_ lodger I've ever had yet.'" + +"'Matter enough,' said I, 'there is some one in my room. Didn't you hear +that awful crash?'" + +"'Pshaw! it's only our old black cat!' said the old woman; 'he always +comes up to this room to sleep, but we thought we had shut him out.'" + +"'Can he climb the ladder?' I asked." + +"'Just like a _human_,' said the old woman; and, pushing aside the +chest, she seized the cat, and raising the only window in the room, +threw him out." + +"Again weariness overpowered me, and I slept; only to awake to new +horrors; for now I heard cautious footsteps and whispered voices, and +outside the grindstone was at work making something very sharp. Then the +door opened, and a smothered voice said, 'Mother, is the water hot?'" + +"'Yes, bilin',' answered the old woman; 'are the knives sharp?'" + +"'All ready,' answered the young man; 'where's father?'" + +"'He's gone to the loft,' said the old woman; and then came some +whispered words, which I could not catch. You will most probably laugh +at me, but my mind was now so worked up by all the agitation I had +experienced, that I had not the smallest doubt that we were now to be +murdered, and that the dreadful work was already going on in the loft, +my kind old friend being the first victim. Still I thought I might be in +time to save him yet, and there might be a bare possibility of our +escape. Springing from my bed in great haste and agitation, I hurried on +my shawl, and cautiously descended the ladder; but my blood froze with +horror, as just then I heard a piercing shriek. In the passage below I +encountered the old woman; she had just come into the house, and had an +old shawl over her head, and a lantern in her hand, I thought she gave a +guilty start when she saw me, as she exclaimed:" + +"'Why, bless me, gal! what are you down at this time in the morning +for?'" + +"'What are _you_ all up so early in the morning for?' I asked, in a +voice which I meant should strike terror to her heart." + +"'Why, my old man and the boys had determined to kill hogs this +morning,' she answered; 'but we tried to keep so quiet as not to +disturb ye. I was afeared, though, that the squealing of the hogs would +wake ye.'" + +"The relief was so sudden, that I could hardly refrain from putting my +arms round the old woman's neck, and confessing all my unjust +suspicions, but the fear of hurting her feelings prevented. With a +tranquil mind I again climbed the ladder, and sought my humble bed, and +was soon in such a sound slumber, that even the squealing of the hogs, +in their dying agonies, failed to rouse me." + +"Seen by the morning light, as we were seated around the breakfast +table, these midnight robbers and murderers of my fancy appeared a +family of honest, hardy New Englanders, who had bought a tract of land +in Western Virginia. They showed us, at a little distance, a clearing +where they were just erecting a larger and more comfortable log +dwelling; and the old woman assured us that if we would stop and visit +them, if we ever passed that way again, we should not have to climb a +ladder, for they were going to have a 'reg'lar stairway in t'other +house.'" + +"When the time came for parting with our kind hosts, and we offered to +remunerate them for their trouble, they rejected the proffered money +almost with scorn." + +"'No, no,' said the old man, 'we haven't got quite so low as that yet; +and I hope that I nor none of mine will ever come to taking pay for a +night's lodging from a traveller. We don't keep _tavern_ here.'" + +"The old woman's parting advice to me was to try and 'git over my +_narvousness_; and she thought I hadn't better drink no more strong +green tea.'" + +"'I think your tea _was_ strong last night, my friend,' said I; 'and +that, together with the sight of the ghost, of which I have been telling +you, made me very uneasy and restless.'" + +"'Well,' said the old woman, 'I hope ye won't be so suspicious of us +next time ye come; for it's a _cartain_ fact, that we never murdered any +_human_ yet. We do kill _hogs_; that I won't deny.' And she laughed so +heartily, that I felt quite sure she had seen through all my fears and +suspicions of the night before. So ends the murder story." + +"I wish you could have heard my old clergyman laugh, as I related to him +all the horrors of the night; and when I came to mistaking the last +squeal of a dying pig for his own death groan, I thought he would have +rolled out of the gig. That night, which was _last_ night, found us in +the old gentleman's hospitable home, where his kind lady gave me as +cordial a welcome as I could desire. Here I am still with these good +friends, only waiting for my trunks; and then, with God's blessing, two +days more will find me in the home of my own dear brother.--And here, +with many kind remembrances to the dear ones at Brook Farm, Miss +Edwards' letter closed." + + + + +VIII. + +Bitter Disappointments. + + "Oh! art thou found? + But yet to find thee thus!" + + VESPERS OF PALERMO. + + +It may be as well for us to continue the history of Miss Edwards here, +though its sad sequel was not known to the family of Mr. Wharton till a +long time after she had left them. The letter with which the preceding +chapter closes, was the last heard from her for many weeks. Various were +the surmises in the family as to the reasons for her unaccountable +silence, but at length they settled down in the belief that she must +have fallen a victim to some of the diseases of a new country; though +why they should not have received some tidings of her fate from her +brother, still remained a mystery. + +At last, after many weeks, there came a letter from her, but it was +short, and sad, and unsatisfactory in all respects. She had had a +terrible disappointment she said, but her friends must have forbearance +with her, and excuse her from detailing the events of the past few +weeks. She was now at Springdale with her kind old friend, the +clergyman, and was just recovering from a long and tedious illness; she +hoped soon to be able to be at work again, and a little school was ready +for her, as soon as she should be sufficiently restored to take charge +of it. Not one word was said of her brother, or of her reasons for +returning to the home of the old clergyman. + +"She is evidently very unhappy," said Mr. Wharton, "and perhaps her +funds are exhausted. She must return to us, and for this purpose I will +send her the means without delay." + +But still Miss Edwards did not come, and her letters were few and far +between. At length there came one written in much better spirits, and in +her old cheerful style, in which she informed them that she was engaged +to be married to a young physician of that place. She seemed now very +happy, and full of bright anticipations, not the least cheering of +which, was the prospect of visiting her kind friends once more, when she +should travel to the east on her bridal tour. And this was the last +letter they ever received from Miss Edwards. + +That same summer a package came to Mr. Wharton, directed in an unknown +hand, from a place, the name of which he had never heard before. It was +from a physician, and ran thus: + +SIR,--I was called a few weeks since to attend a young lady, who was +lying dangerously ill, at the only tavern in our little village. I found +her raving in delirium, and your name, and the names of many whom I +suppose to be members of your family, were constantly mingled with her +ravings. She had stopped at the tavern the night before in the stage; +and when the other passengers went on was too ill to proceed with them. +I attended her constantly for a week or ten days, and at the end of that +time, I had the happiness to find that her fever had entirely left her, +and her mind was quite restored. She was, however, extremely weak, and +feeling assured, she said, that she should never be able to reach the +home of her kind friends, (mentioning the name of your family,) she +begged earnestly for writing materials, and though I remonstrated and +entreated, I found it impossible to prevent her writing. She said she +had a communication which it was due to you that she should make, and +she charged me over and over again, to remember your direction, and send +the package to you in case she did not leave that place alive. She was +busily engaged in writing one day, when the noise of wheels attracted +her to the window, which she reached in time to see a gentleman alight +from a chaise, who proceeded to hand out a lady. A person in the room +with her, saw her put her hands to her head, and then she rushed from +the back door of the house, and did not stop till she reached the woods. +When found she was a raving maniac, and is so still. We have been +obliged to place her in the county house, where she is confined in the +apartment devoted to Lunatics, and is as comfortable as she can be made +under the circumstances. The accompanying package I found just as she +left it, when she dropped her pen and hastened to the window, and I now +comply with her earnest request and enclose it to you. + + With respect, &c. + + JAMES MASTEN. + +The manuscript, when opened, was found to be in Miss Edwards' well known +hand-writing, though the fingers that held the pen, had evidently +trembled from weakness and agitation. It was with the saddest emotions, +that those who had loved her so tenderly, read the following +communication: + +"Painful and harrowing to my feelings as the task must be which I have +undertaken, I feel that it is due to my kind and ever sympathising +friends, to make them acquainted with the sad trials through which I +have passed, and the bitter disappointments I have met with. I have +tried to bear up with the spirit of a Christian, and to feel that these +trials are sent by One who orders all things in justice and +righteousness; I do submit; I am not inclined to murmur; I hope I am +resigned; but heart, and flesh, and mind, are weak, and these alas! are +all failing." + +"With the fondest anticipations I reached the village, where I expected +to be received in the arms of my long lost brother. Oh, how my heart +bounded, as the prolonged sound of the stage-horn told me we were +approaching the end of my journey! and how my imagination pictured the +joyful meeting, the cordial welcome, the fond embrace once more of my +own loved kindred! I was much surprised that my brother was not at the +tavern to meet me, and more so when, on asking for his residence, the +landlord hesitated, as if perplexed." + +"'Edwards! Edwards!' said he; 'there is but one person of that name that +I know of in all the village; but he can't be brother to such a lady as +you.'" + +"'Perhaps you have not been here long,' I said." + +"'O yes, ma'am, nearly fifteen years,' he answered." + +"'And what is the name of this man of whom you speak?'" + +"'Richard, I think; they always call him Dick Edwards about here,' +answered the landlord." + +"I did not tell him that was my brother's name, but with a trembling +heart I asked him to point me to the house of this Richard Edwards of +whom he spoke." + +"There was something of pity in the tone of the landlord's voice, as he +told me to turn down the second lane I should come to, and go on to the +last hut on the right hand. 'But I advise you not to go,' he continued, +'for I'm sure there must be some mistake.'" + +I was too heart-sick to answer, but, taking my travelling-bag on my arm, +I followed the directions of the landlord, and picked my way as well as +I could through the mud of the miserable, filthy lane he had mentioned +to me, all the time saying to myself, 'It cannot be--there surely must +be some mistake,' and yet impelled irresistibly to go on. + +"As I approached the door of the hut at which I knew I was to stop, I +heard the sound of singing and shouting; and as I came nearer, the words +of a low drinking chorus sounded on my ear. I paused before the door, +and a feeling of faintness came over me. I thought, 'I will turn back, +and give up the attempt. Better never to find my brother, than to find +him here, and thus.' But again something impelled me to tap at the door. +It would be such an inexpressible relief, I thought, to find myself +mistaken." + +"It was some time before I could make myself heard above the noise of +drunken revelry which sounded within the hovel; but at length the door +was opened by a wretched, frightened-looking woman, and a scene of +indescribable misery was presented to my eyes. Around a table were +seated three or four brutish-looking men, with a jug and some glasses +before them. On the table was a pack of greasy-looking cards; but those +who surrounded the table were too far gone to play now; they could only +drink, and sing, and shout, and drink again; and one of them, in +attempting to rise from the table, fell, and lay in a state of utter +helplessness on the floor." + +"The man of the house was not so far gone as the rest; and when he came +staggering forward, a few words sufficed to explain the reason of my +appearance." + +"His answer seemed to seal my fate." + +"'Ho! you're Rhoda, then! I wrote to you. I thought likely enough you'd +got some money. We're pretty hard up here.' This was said with a silly +laugh and hiccough, which filled me with an indescribable loathing." + +"And was this miserable, bloated wretch my brother--that brother whom I +had so longed and prayed once more to see, of whom I had thought by day, +and dreamed by night, for so many long years! I turned to go without +another word, but fell at the door, and lay, I know not how long, +without sense or motion. When I revived, I found the woman (who, I +suppose, was my sister-in-law) bathing my face. I have a dim +recollection, too, of seeing some dirty, miserable-looking children, and +of being asked for _money_. I laid all that I had about me on the table, +and, while they were eagerly catching for it, I left the wretched place; +and grasping by the fence to steady my feeble footsteps, I made my way +back to the inn. I took the next stage, and then the boat, for the home +of my kind old friend at Springdale, and arrived there ill in body and +mind. From there I wrote you, when partially recovered. As soon as I was +able, I began my school, and before long became much interested in my +little scholars; and in the hospitable home of my kind old friends, +regained tranquillity of mind, and after a time even cheerfulness. But +other trials awaited me. My head is weary, and I must rest before I +relate to you the remainder of my melancholy story." + +"There was a young physician in that place, who had recently come from +the East, and settled there. He was a man of agreeable person and +manners, of much general information, and of very winning address; at +least, so he seemed to me. He was entirely different from all whom I had +met in that new country, and was the only person, besides my old friend +the clergyman and his wife, with whom it was really pleasant to +converse; and I felt perfectly at ease in his society, having been +assured that he was engaged to a certain Miss G----, the daughter of a +merchant in the village. Though much surprised at this, she having +appeared to me but a mere flippant gossip, and he a man of refined and +cultivated intellect, still I had no reason to doubt it, and was +completely taken by surprise when, after an acquaintance of a few weeks, +he one day made an offer of his hand and heart to _me_. I told him what +I had heard of his engagement to another, but he assured me it was the +idlest village gossip. 'There was nowhere else to go,' he said, 'till I +came there, and so he had occasionally visited at Mr. G----'s, but +without the slightest intention of paying any serious attention to +either of his daughters, who were girls not at all to his taste.'" + +"The idea of this gentleman appearing in the character of a lover of +_mine_ was so new to me that I was obliged to take time to accustom +myself to it, and to ascertain the nature of my own feelings, which I +soon found were such as to satisfy me that I should commit no perjury in +giving him my hand. I will not tell you how I loved him! I cannot write +about it now! But for a short time I was very, very happy, and even my +bitter disappointments were forgotten. But suddenly he ceased to visit +me. Day after day passed and he did not come; and yet I knew that he was +in the village. At length I could no longer conceal my distress from my +old friend; who, being very indignant at this treatment, called my +truant lover to account." + +"My cheeks glow with indignation as I write it! A story had been +circulated, which was afterwards traced to the G---- 's, that I had left +a _husband_ in an Eastern State; and this man, without coming to me for +a word of explanation, believed the story and deserted me. I had no +friend of long enough standing there to contradict the report; I wrote +to you, Mr. Wharton, but the letter could never have reached you, for no +answer came; and this only confirmed the suspicions of those who had +heard this slanderous story. All but my kind hosts looked upon me with +suspicion; the object of the slander was accomplished; my former lover +resumed his visits at the house of Mr. G----, and his attentions to his +daughter. He was not worthy of a love like mine! Stranger as he had been +to me, could I have believed a tale like that of him, without making an +effort to investigate its truth, or giving him full opportunity to clear +himself from the imputation? That place could no longer be a home for +me. I left it, dear friends, and turned my face once more towards those +who had been for so many years tried and true to me. But strength +failed! I have been here I know not how many weeks, enduring torment of +mind and body. My hope of reaching you is dying out. I _have_ no hope +but in God; my friend and refuge in time of trouble! I have--'" + +Here the writing ceased; and the next moment she had seen her faithless +lover hand his bride from the carriage, and reason fled from her poor +brain forever. + +The day after this letter was received found Mr. Wharton on his way to +the West, to ascertain for himself the condition of Miss Edwards, and to +endeavor to devise some means for her comfort and restoration, if +possible. Has my reader ever visited a _county house_, and especially +the apartment devoted exclusively to Lunatics? If not, I will endeavor +to describe a few of the sights which met the eyes of Mr. Wharton, on +his sad visit to the county house, which then stood a few miles +from----. He proceeded thither in company with the physician who had +written to him, and sent him the package from Miss Edwards, and it was +with a heavy heart that he first saw the desolate brick building in +which she had been placed, and thought, "Is this the only asylum for one +so lovely and so gifted, and must she wear out her days in hopeless +madness here?" Making their way through the crowd of miserable, +hobbling, bandaged, blind and helpless creatures who were standing about +the yard and halls, Mr. Wharton and Dr. Masten, guided by the +superintendent of the county house, paused before the door of the "crazy +room." Sounds of many voices were already heard, in various tones, +singing and shouting, and preaching, and when the door was opened the +din was such that it was impossible for the gentlemen to hear each other +speak. + +What a place, thought Mr. Wharton, for those who should be kept quiet +and tranquil, and who should have nothing about them but pleasant, +cheerful sights. What possible hope is there of the restoration of any +here! + +About the large and not over clean room, were a number of _cages_, much +like those you now see placed around a menagerie tent, though not so +large or so comfortable as these cages of wild beasts. In each of these +cages was confined a human being, and these poor creatures stricken by +the hand of God, were in various stages of insanity, some wildly raving, +others more quiet, and others still in a state of helpless idiocy. One +poor creature had preached till her voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper, +and so she continued to preach, the keeper told them, day and night, +till utterly exhausted, when she would fall into a state of +insensibility, which could hardly be called _sleep_, but from which she +would arouse to preach again, day and night, till again exhausted. + +A boy about sixteen years of age sat in one of the cages, with scarcely +a rag to cover him, idly pulling through his fingers a bit of cord. This +had been his employment for months, the keeper said. He was perfectly +quiet, except the cord was taken from him; but then he would be quite +frantic. The ends of his fingers were quite worn with drawing this cord +between them, and it was necessary to supply him constantly with a new +bit of cord. When asked why the boy remained nearly naked, the keeper +said, they had never been able to devise any means to keep clothing +upon him, or to find anything strong enough to resist the strength of +his hands; but if allowed to remain in a state almost of nudity, and to +have his bit of cord, he was perfectly quiet and contented. + +These, and many more sad and horrible things, were seen and heard during +their visit; but Mr. Wharton's first object was to find her for whose +sake he had undertaken this long journey. He knew her immediately, +though her face was worn with trouble and sickness, and there was an +intense and unnatural brightness about her eye. Her beautiful hair was +unbound, and falling about her shoulders, as she sat in the farthest +corner of her cage, perfectly quiet, and entirely unoccupied. + +"Rhoda!" said Mr. Wharton, gently. She started, and put back her thick +hair from her ear, at the sound of his familiar voice. + +"Rhoda!" said he, "don't you remember me?" + +She looked at him intently, and the expression of her eye began to +change. + +"The children want to see you so much, Rhoda! Emily and Effie, and +Agnes and little Grace." He mentioned each name slowly and distinctly, +and then spoke of his wife and the other children, and mentioned scenes +and incidents connected with his home. Her eye still looked with an +earnest gaze into his; her brow contracted, as if she was trying to +recall some long forgotten thing; until at length, with the helplessness +of an infant, she stretched her arms towards Mr. Wharton, and exclaimed, +piteously: + +"Oh, take me away!--take me to my home!" + +"You shall go with me, Rhoda; I will not leave you here," said Mr. +Wharton; and beckoning to Dr. Masten, he left the room. As he reached +the door, he heard a cry of agony, and turning, he saw Miss Edwards at +the front of her cage, with both arms extended towards him through the +bars, and the most agonized, imploring expression upon her face. +Stepping back to her, he said: + +"Rhoda, I _will not_ leave you. Be quiet, and I will come back very +soon to take you with me. Did I ever deceive you, Rhoda?" + +"Oh!" said she, putting her hand to her head, "they have all deceived +me. Richard deceived me! _He_ deceived me!--oh, so cruelly! Who can I +trust? They all desert me. I am _all, all_ alone!" And she sat down; and +dropping her head upon her knees, she wept very bitterly. + +When Mr. Wharton had again called the doctor from the room, he said to +him: + +"Doctor, this does not seem to me such a hopeless case. How any sane +person could retain his senses in that awful scene, I cannot imagine; I +am sure I should soon go crazy myself. But could I once remove Miss +Edwards from these terrible associations, and place her in one of our +Eastern asylums, where she might have cheerful companionships, and +pleasant occupation for her mind and fingers, I doubt not she might be +completely restored." + +The doctor thought it possible, but was not so sanguine on the subject +as Mr. Wharton, who, he said, had only seen the young lady in one of +her calmer moods. Still he by all means advised the trial. "We have no +hope of _cure_" said he, "in placing these lunatics in the County House; +the only object is to keep them from injuring themselves or others. They +are all of them from the families of the poor, who cannot afford to send +them to an Eastern asylum. This young lady was a stranger, and without +means, and so violent, at times, that restraint was absolutely +necessary; so that the only thing we could do with her was to place her +here till I could write to you." + +"You did the very best that could be done under the circumstances, my +dear sir," answered Mr. Wharton; "but I sincerely hope the day is not +far distant when your State will possess a more comfortable home than +this for those afflicted as these poor creatures are. But I feel as if I +could not lose a moment in removing my young friend from this place; and +if you, doctor, will be so kind as to take the journey with me, and aid +me in the care of her, you shall be well rewarded for your loss of +time." + +It was with no great difficulty that this undertaking was accomplished; +and in less than a fortnight from the time when Mr. Wharton found Miss +Edwards, caged like a wild beast in the County House at----, she was +placed at an asylum where every comfort surrounded her. It was not long +before she seemed quite at home amid these new scenes, and began to +interest herself in books and work; and though her mind never fully +regained its tone, she yet seemed tranquil and happy. But the scenes of +trial through which she had passed had done their work upon her +constitution, and she sank rapidly, until, in a little less than a year +from the time of her entering the asylum, Mr. Wharton was summoned to +her death-bed. He arrived but a short time before she breathed her last, +and had the satisfaction to find that she knew him, to hear from her own +lips the assurance that her faith in her Redeemer was firm and unshaken, +and to bear her last kind messages to all the dear ones at Brook Farm. +And then the poor sad heart was still--the mind was bright and clear +again--for the shattered strings were tuned anew in heaven. + +In a quiet nook at Brook Farm, where the willow bends, and the brook +murmurs, is a spot marked out for a burying-place, and the first stone +planted there bears on it the name of "Rhoda Edwards." + + + + +IX. + +Emily's Trials. + + "And dost thou ask what secret woe + I bear, corroding joy and youth? + And wilt thou vainly seek to know + A pang, even thou must fail to soothe?"--BYRON. + + +In the meantime the education of Master Lewie was going on as best it +might, and in a manner most agreeable to that young gentleman's +inclinations. When he chose to do so, he studied, and then no child +could make more rapid advancement than he, but as he was brought up +without any habits of regular application, study soon became distasteful +to him, and at the first puzzling sentence he threw aside his books in +disgust, and started off for play. The only thing he really loved, was +music, and in his devotion to this delightful accomplishment he was +indefatigable, and his proficiency at that tender age was remarkable. + +But being now nine or ten years old, his mother, urged to this course +by some pretty strong hints from Mr. Wharton, began to determine upon +some systematic plan of education for him. And, acting upon Mr. +Wharton's advice, she was so happy as to secure the services of Mr. +Malcolm, the young clergyman at the village, as a tutor for Lewie, upon +the condition on his part, that unlimited authority, in no case to be +interfered with, should be given to him in his government of the +hitherto untrained and petted child. + +And so it was settled, that Mr. Malcolm should ride over from the +village every morning at a certain hour, and attend to the education of +little Lewie Elwyn. It was soon observed, that as the young clergyman +rode from the Hemlocks back to the village, it seemed a difficult matter +for him to pass Mr. Wharton's lane, but he often, and then oftener, and +at length every day, turned his horse's head up the lane, and stopped to +make a call. And the children (than whom there are no quicker observers +in matters of this kind) soon made up their minds that the object of +Mr. Malcolm's frequent and prolonged visits was sweet cousin Emily. And +they thought too, judging by the bright blush that came up in cousin +Emily's usually pale cheek when he was announced, and by the look of +interest with which she listened to his conversations with her uncle, or +replied to him when he addressed a remark to herself, that cousin Emily +was by no means indifferent to the young minister. + +Having drawn their own conclusions from these premises, and watching +with much interest, as children always do the progress of a love affair, +they were surprised and disappointed when they found that as Mr. +Malcolm's attentions increased and became more pointed, cousin Emily +gradually withdrew from his society, and often declined altogether to +come into the sitting room when he was there. Yet they were certain she +liked him, for they often found her watching from her window his +retreating figure; and sometimes before she knew that she was observed, +she would be seen to wipe away the tears which were stealing unbidden +down her cheek. + +At length, one day, the minister came, and as he walked up the steps of +the front piazza, those who caught sight of his face, saw that it was +pale and agitated, and that he looked as if important matters for him +were at stake. And he asked for Emily. There was no bright blush in her +cheek now as she descended the stairs; it was pale and cold as marble. +The interview was a long one, and when at length Mr. Malcolm mounted his +horse and rode slowly away, his face was as white as when he came, but +the look of suspense and expectation had passed away, and in its place +was that of settled and fixed despair. Emily went to her room, and to +her bed, which she did not leave for some days; when she again appeared +in the family she was calm and sweet as ever, but a shade more pensive. + +And the young minister came no more. That was all. + +He was sometimes seen in the distant road riding rapidly by, to or from +the Hemlocks, but though the horse from long custom, invariably turned +his head towards Mr. Wharton's lane, he was not permitted to follow his +inclinations, but was speedily hurried by. + +And Emily grew paler and thinner day by day, and there was sometimes a +contraction about the brow which told of intense suffering; and +sometimes, early in the evening she would leave the parlor, and not +appear again for the remainder of the evening. On one of these occasions +Agnes followed her, as she had observed the deadly paleness of her +countenance, and feared she would faint before she reached her room. As +Emily ascended the stairs, Agnes thought she heard groans, as of one in +extreme pain. Emily closed her door and Agnes stood upon the outside; +and now the groans were plainly to be distinguished. + +"Cousin Emily," Agnes called, "dear cousin Emily, may I come in?" + +There was no answer, but those same deep groans and now and then a +plaintive moaning. Agnes opened the door gently, and saw Emily upon her +knees, and yet writhing as if in intense agony. She seemed to be trying +to pray, and Agnes caught the words, "Oh, for strength, for strength to +endure this agony, and not to murmur." + +Putting her arm around her, Agnes said: "What is it, cousin Emily? Can +you not tell _me_?" + +Emily started at finding that she was not alone, and then said: + +"Help me to rise, Agnes, and hand me those drops. I am glad that it is +you: better you than any of the others. Fasten the door, Agnes." + +Emily reclined upon the sofa, weak and exhausted, the cold beads of +perspiration standing on her brow. Agnes sat in silence beside her, +holding her thin white hands in hers. At length Emily said: + +"Agnes, I try to be patient; I make an endeavor even to be cheerful; but +I am indeed a great sufferer, and the anguish I endure seems, at times, +more than mortal frame can bear. It is only by escaping to the solitude +of my own room, to endure the agony in secret, that I am enabled to +keep it to myself. I am obliged to practice evasion to escape aunty's +anxious interrogatories; for, in her present state of health, I would +not for the world cause her the anxiety and trouble which the knowledge +of my sufferings would bring upon her." + +Then, with frequent pauses for rest, Emily told the weeping Agnes _all_. + +"And now," said she, "dear Agnes, you are very young for scenes like +this; but I know that you possess uncommon nerve and courage. Can you, +do you think, sit by my side, and hold my hand through a painful +operation? I _can_ endure it alone, dear, and I intended to; but as +accident has revealed my sufferings to you, I feel that it would be a +comfort to me to have my hand in that of one I love at that time." + +"I _think_ I can, cousin Emily. I believe I could do _anything_ for you, +dear cousin Emily." + +"I do not want aunty and uncle to know of this till it is all over, +Agnes. They go to the Springs to-morrow, to remain some days, as you +know: and I have arranged with Dr. Rodney to come while they are gone, +and bring a surgeon from the city, and it will all be over before they +return." + +"And is there no _danger_, cousin Emily?" + +"Danger of what, dear?--of death? Oh yes; the chances are many against +me; and even if the operation is safely performed, it may not arrest the +disease. But to one who suffers the torture which it is the will of +Heaven that I should bear, speedy death would only be a happy release. +And yet, Agnes, do not misunderstand me; I would not for the world do +anything to shorten my life of suffering. Oh no! 'All the years of my +appointed time will I wait till my change come.' The course I am going +to pursue is advised by the physicians, and it may be the means of +restoration to health, at least for some years. Agnes, pray for me." + +When Mrs. Wharton kissed Emily for good-bye, and told her to be a good +girl, and take care of her health, she little imagined the suffering +through which her gentle niece was to pass before they met again. No +one dreamed of it but Agnes. + +The next day, in answer to a message from Emily, the physicians came. +They found her courageous and cheerful; for she was sustained by an arm +all-powerful. Strength was given to her for the day and the occasion; a +wonderful fortitude sustained her; and the precious promise was verified +to her--"When thou goest through the waters, I will be with thee." + +And Agnes, who sat with one hand over her eyes, and the other clasping +that of Emily, knew only by a sudden and long-continued pressure of the +hand that the knife was doing its work. There was not a groan--only one +long-drawn sigh--and it was over; and the result was better than their +most sanguine hopes. + +Mrs. Wharton returned, after an absence necessarily prolonged to some +weeks. She found Emily sitting on the sofa, looking much as she had done +when they parted; and it was not till long afterward that she discovered +what had been the cause of Emily's illness, and learned how much she +had endured. She understood many things now which had been mysteries to +her before, realizing, in some degree, the torment of mind and body +through which this gentle one had passed, and the reason of the bidding +down of the tenderest feelings of her heart. + +Poor Emily! None but He who seeth in secret had known the agony which +wrung thy loving heart to its very depths, causing even the keen torture +of physical suffering to be at times forgotten. But He can, and He +_does_, give strength for the occasion, whatever it may be, and however +sore the trial; and leaning on His arm, His people pass securely through +fires of tribulation, which, in the prospect, would seem utterly +unendurable, and come out purified, even as gold from the furnace. + + + + +X. + +The Tutor and the Pupil. + + "Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert."--HENRY VI. + + +Mr. Wharton had endeavored to give Mr. Malcolm a correct understanding +of the nature of the case he was about to undertake, in becoming the +instructor of the spoiled and wayward Lewie. He told him of his natural +good qualities, never suffered to develop themselves, and of the many +evil ones, fostered and encouraged by the unwise indulgence of his fond +and foolish mother. And yet, when the young clergyman had fairly entered +upon his duties as tutor at the Hemlocks, he found, that "the half had +not been told him." + +Lewie chafed and fretted under the slightest restraint, and had not the +remotest idea of doing anything that was not in all respects agreeable +to his own inclinations. The idea of compulsion was so new to him, that +he was overwhelmed with amazement one day, when his tutor (after trying +various means to induce him to learn a particular lesson) finally told +him that that lesson must be learned, and recited, before he could leave +the library. Master Lewie, fully determined in his own mind to ascertain +whose will was the strongest, and whose resolution would soonest give +out, now openly rebelled, and informed his master that "he would _not_ +learn that lesson." + +With his handsome face flushed with passion, he struggled from his +tutor, rushed to the door, and endeavored to open it; but Mr. Malcolm +was before-hand with him, and quietly turning the key in the lock, and +putting it in his pocket, he walked back to the table. The frantic boy +now endeavored to open the windows and spring out, but being foiled in +this attempt likewise, as they were securely fastened, he threw himself +upon the floor as he had been in the habit of doing when crossed, ever +since his baby-hood, and screamed with all the strength of baffled rage. + +His anxious mother was at the door in an instant, demanding admittance. +Mr. Malcolm unfastened the door, stepped out to her in the hall, and +gave her a faithful account of her son's conduct during the morning. +"And now, Mrs. Elwyn," said he, "the promise was, that I was not to be +interfered with in my government of your son. As long as he hears your +voice at the door, and knows that he has your sympathy on his side, he +will continue obstinate and rebellious." + +"But, Mr. Malcolm, excuse me, but you do not know how to manage him, you +should soothe and coax him; he will not be driven. Oh, I cannot bear to +hear him scream so," she exclaimed, as a louder roar from Lewie reached +her ears; "Oh, Mr. Malcolm, I must go to him." + +"Not unless you desire, madam, that I should resign at once, and +forever, the charge of your son," said Mr. Malcolm, laying his hand upon +the lock to prevent her carrying her purpose into execution. "I have +spent this whole morning," he continued, "in expostulation and +persuasion, and in endeavoring, as I always do, to make the lessons +plain and interesting to my pupil; but Lewie is in one of his perverse +humors, and nothing but decision as unyielding as his own obstinacy, +will conquer him. If you will return to your own room and allow me the +sole management of him, I will remain here to-day till I have subdued +him, if the thing is possible." + +"You will not use _severity_, Mr. Malcolm," said the weeping mother. + +"Never in the way of corporeal punishment, madam. When I cannot govern a +pupil without having recourse to such means, I will abandon him. But I +must stipulate that untill Lewie submits, and learns that lesson, which +he could easily learn in a few minutes, if he chose, he goes without +food, and remains in the library with me. I am deeply interested in your +son, Mrs. Elwyn; he is a boy of fine talents, and of too many good +qualities of heart, to be allowed to go to destruction. I would save +him if I can, but he must be left to me. I have the hope of yet seeing +him a noble and useful character, but I must do it in my own way." + +Mrs. Elwyn silently acquiesced, and withdrew to her own room very +wretched. If she had been willing to inflict upon herself one tithe of +the pain she suffered now, in controlling her son in his infancy, how +different he might have been, as he grew up towards manhood. + +Mr. Malcolm returned to the library, and told Lewie that his mother had +decided to leave them settle this matter between themselves. He should +remain there, he said; he could employ himself very agreeably with the +books. Lewie might lie on the floor and scream, or get up and study; but +until that lesson was learned, he would not leave the library, or taste +a morsel of food. + +The shrieks were now renewed in a louder and more agonized tone than +ever, and were plainly heard in Mrs. Elwyn's sitting-room, where, in a +state bordering on distraction, she was hurriedly pacing the floor, at +times almost determined to insist upon being admitted to the library, +that she might take her unhappy son to her arms, and dismiss his +inexorable tutor; and then deterred from this course by the promise she +had made, and the deep respect which she could not but feel for the +young minister. She could not but confess, too, in her inmost heart, +that this discipline was really for the good of her passionate boy, +though the means resorted to seemed to her severe. Of the two, she was +more wretched than Lewie, who really had no small sense of enjoyment, in +the consciousness of the pain and annoyance he was causing to others. + +The screams now ceased, and the anxious mother really hoped that Lewie +was about to comply with his tutor's wishes, and that she should soon +clasp him to her breast, wipe away his tears, and soothe his troubled +heart. She was already, in her mind, planning some reward for him for +condescending at length to yield his stubborn will. But the quiet was +only in consequence of the utter exhaustion of Master Lewie's lungs, and +he took refuge in a dogged silence, still rolling on the floor. Mr. +Malcolm sat reading, as much at his ease, and apparently with as much +interest, as if he were the only occupant of the library. + +At last the young rebel was made aware, by certain ringing sounds, and +divers savory odors, that the hour of dinner had arrived; and his +appetite being considerably sharpened by the excitement through which he +had passed, he began to entertain the suspicion that he had been rather +foolish in holding out so long in his obstinacy. He really wished that +he had learned the lesson, and was free for the afternoon; but how to +come down was the puzzle now. He determined to be as ugly about it as +possible, thinking that his tutor might be pretty weary by that time as +well as he, and might hail joyfully any tokens of submission. + +So Master Lewie began to call out: + +"I want my dinner!" + +"What is that, Lewie?" said Mr. Malcolm, looking up quietly from his +book. + +"I want my _dinner_, I tell you!" roared Lewie. + +Pushing his book towards him, Mr. Malcolm said, in a quiet, determined +manner: + +"You know the conditions, Lewie, on which you leave this room: they will +not change, if we remain here together till to-morrow morning. This +lesson must be learned and recited perfectly, before you taste any +food." + +Lewie murmured that "there was one good thing--his teacher would have to +fast too." + +"As for me, I never take but two meals a day," said Mr. Malcolm; "I can +wait till five o'clock very well for my dinner; and should I be very +hungry, your mother will doubtless give me something to eat." + +Through most of the afternoon, Lewie sat scrawling figures with his +pencil on some paper which was lying near, and really beginning to +suffer from the "keen demands of appetite." After sitting thus an hour +or two, he suddenly said: + +"Give me the book, then, if there is no other way! I can learn that +lesson in five minutes, if I have a mind." + +"I know that, Lewie," said his tutor; "no one can learn quicker or +better than you, when you choose; but you cannot have this book till you +ask me for it in a different way." + +It took another hour of sulking before Master Lewie's pride could be +sufficiently humbled to admit of his asking in a civil tone for the +book; but hunger, which has reduced the defenders of many a strong +fortress, at last brought even this obstinate young gentleman to terms. +The book was handed him, on being properly asked for, and in a very few +minutes the lesson was learned, and recited without a mistake. Lewie +evidently expected a vast amount of commendation from his teacher, but +he received nothing of the kind. Mr. Malcolm only endeavored to make him +understand how much trouble he might have saved himself by attention to +his studies in the morning, and then talked to him very seriously for +some moments upon the folly and wickedness of giving way to such a +furious temper, endeavoring to point out some of the results to which it +would be likely to lead him. + +One would think that two or three such contests with his tutor, in each +of which he was finally obliged to yield, would have taught our little +hero _who_ was the master, and would have led him, by timely compliance, +to avoid the recurrence of such scenes. But no! he was so unaccustomed +to having his will thwarted in any particular, that it seemed almost an +impossibility for him to submit to have it crossed. The moment anything +occurred in opposition to his wishes, his strong will rose rebellious; +and having been accustomed to carry all before it, could only with the +utmost difficulty, and after a terrible struggle, be controlled. + +His kind and judicious tutor, to whom the task of instructing so wayward +a youth was by no means a pleasant one, was urged to a continuance of +his labors only by a stern sense of duty; having at heart the best good +of his pupil, and humbly trusting that, with the blessing of God upon +his efforts, he might be able at length to teach him to exercise some +control over himself. This might possibly have been effected, perhaps, +but for the unwise indulgence and sympathy of his foolishly-fond +mother, who was ever at hand, when Mr. Malcolm left, to listen to her +son's tale of grievances, by which he sometimes succeeded in convincing +her that he was most unjustly and cruelly treated. + +Lewie had become tired of the loneliness and quiet of his country home, +and wished to be among other boys, and particularly to go to the school +at which his cousins, the young Whartons, had been placed. They had +lately been home for a vacation, and he had heard much of the _fun_ they +enjoyed at school; in comparison with which, his quiet life with his +mother, and under the care of his tutor, seemed very tame and dull. He +now became more restive and impatient under control, and seemed +determined to weary out his kind tutor, in the hope that he would +voluntarily relinquish his charge. In the meantime, he continued to give +his mother no rest on the subject of Dr. Hamilton's school; and she, +poor woman, knew not what course to take, between her desire to please +her importunate son, and her dislike to offend Mr. Malcolm. + +At last, however, as usual, Lewie conquered; and rushing out of one +door, as he saw Mr. Malcolm enter at the other, he left his mother to +inform the young minister that he was no longer to be tutor there. As +far as his own comfort was concerned, this dismissal was a great relief +to Mr. Malcolm; but, as he told Mrs. Elwyn, he feared that her troubles +would not be lessened, but rather increased, by sending Lewie to a +public school. He had never been much among other boys; and he would +find his own inclinations crossed many times a day, not only by +teachers, but by schoolmates, who would have no more idea of always +giving up their own will than Lewie himself had, and constant trouble +might be the result. + +All this Mrs. Elwyn admitted; but what could she do? She was like a reed +in the wind before the might of Lewie's determination, and he knew it. +Ah! she was learning already that "A child left to himself bringeth his +mother to shame" and sorrow; and it was with the deepest mortification +that she was obliged to confess that she had suffered the golden hours +of infancy to slip by, without acquiring over her son's mind that +influence which every mother should and may possess. The opportunity, +alas! was now lost forever. Her son had neither respect for her +authority, or regard for her wishes. + + + + +XI. + +Ruth Glen. + + "The more I looked, I wondered more-- + And while I scanned it o'er and o'er + A moment gave me to espy + A trouble in her strong black eye; + A remnant of uneasy light, + A flash of something over bright; + Not long this mystery did detain + My thoughts--she told in pensive strain + That she had borne a heavy yoke, + Been stricken by a two-fold stroke; + Ill health of body; and had pined + Beneath worse ailments of the mind." + + WORDSWORTH. + + +It had been determined ever since poor Miss Edwards left the Wharton's, +that the girls should be sent to the city, to boarding school, and it +was without much difficulty that Mr. Wharton succeeded in obtaining Mrs. +Elwyn's consent to his sending Agnes with them, that the cousins might +continue their education together. Indeed, as I have before intimated, +Mrs. Elwyn always listened, and answered with the utmost indifference, +when any plan respecting her daughter was proposed to her. She supposed, +rightly enough, that her own means might be required for the support of +herself and Lewie, (for she intended to close her house and accompany +Lewie to Stanwick,) and as Mr. Wharton seemed anxious to take the care +of Agnes from her hands, and she knew he could well afford to do so, she +made no objection whatever to the proposed plan. In short, Mr. and Mrs. +Wharton regarded this lovely girl, thus cast off and neglected by her +only natural protector, as their own, and cherished her accordingly. + +Mrs. Wharton's health, which had delayed, for some months, the departure +of the girls for the city, now seemed fully re-established; Emily, also, +seemed better than she had done for years, and it was with light hearts, +and many pleasant anticipations, that the three cousins, under the care +of Mr. Wharton, started, for the first time, for school. At about the +same time, Lewie, accompanied by his mother, went to Stanwick, and +began his school life under the care of Dr. Hamilton. + +The boarding-school at which Agnes and her cousins were placed, was +under the superintendence of Mrs. Arlington and her daughters, ladies +who had received a most thorough education in England, and who had long +kept an extensive and popular boarding-school there. The hope of passing +her declining days in the society of an only son, who had some years +before emigrated to America, induced Mrs. Arlington, accompanied by her +daughters, to follow him, and though it pleased Providence to remove +this idolized son and brother, by death, in a little more than a year +after their reunion in this country, the mother and daughters determined +to remain, and continue their vocation here, where they had very +flattering hopes of success. + +Mr. and Mrs. Wharton had long known and esteemed these estimable ladies, +and though, in many respects, opposed to boarding-schools in general, +yet, as there seemed, at present, no other means for the girls to +acquire an education, but by sending them from home, they thought that a +more unexceptionable place could not be provided for them than Mrs. +Arlington's school. + +Mrs. Arlington, though a woman of more than sixty years of age, still +possessed an erect and queen-like figure, a most dignified and stately +appearance, and a face of remarkable beauty. She commanded respect at +first sight, and there was no punishment greater for her pupils, than to +be reported to Mrs. Arlington, and to be obliged to meet her face to +face, to receive a reprimand. Her three daughters, Miss Susan, Miss +Sophie, and Miss Emma, taught in different departments of the school, +and were in every respect most admirably fitted for their different +stations. Miss Emma taught music; Miss Sophie, French and drawing; while +Mrs. Arlington and her eldest daughter attended solely to the more solid +branches of education. + +It took some little time, of course, before our young friends felt at +home in so strange a place, and among so many new faces. But many of +the older scholars, who had been long in the school, were very kind in +coming forward to make their acquaintance, and endeavor to do away the +feeling of awkwardness, ever an attendant upon the introduction to +scenes so untried and new. Grace and Effie were very shy and silent at +first, but the peculiarly sweet and unaffected friendliness of Agnes' +manner, won every heart immediately. The younger scholars, especially, +seemed to love her the moment she spoke to them, and to feel as if in +her they should ever find a friend. + +Agnes and her cousins were placed in a large room in the third story; +this room contained three beds, one of which was taken possession of by +Grace and Effie, another was occupied by two little girls, of the names +of Carrie and Ella Holt and Agnes was, for the present, alone. Mrs. +Wilkins, the housekeeper, informed her, however, that Mrs. Arlington +expected a new scholar soon, who was to be her bed-fellow. For some +reason or other, the new scholar did not arrive at the time expected, +and it was not till Agnes and her cousins had been some weeks at the +school, and had began to feel quite at home there, that they were made +aware, by the advent of an old hair trunk and a band-box, that the sixth +occupant of their room had arrived. + +The new scholar's name was Ruth Glenn. She was a strange-looking girl; +very tall and thin, with a pale, greenish cast of complexion; coal-black +eyes, very much sunken in her head; hair as black as her eyes, and +colorless lips. When she smiled, which was very seldom, she displayed a +fine set of teeth, her only redeeming feature. Her manners were as +strange as her appearance. When she spoke, which was only when +absolutely necessary, or in reciting her lesson, there was a constant +nervous twitching about her bloodless lips; and she had a peculiar way +of pulling at her long, thin fingers, as if it was her full intention to +pull them off. + +We cannot help being influenced by first impressions; and though Agnes +felt the sincerest pity for this strange, awkward, shy girl, and did +her best to make her feel at her ease, she could not but feel sorry that +she was to be her bed-fellow. Ruth Glenn sat by herself in the +school-room, always intently occupied with her book, having no +communication with her school-mates, and always seizing on the moment of +dismissal from the school-room to retire to her own apartment. And yet, +as far as the girls could judge, she was full of kindness and generosity +of feeling, evinced by many little quiet acts which one school-mate may +always find it in her power to do for another. + +One night, the third or fourth after the arrival of Ruth Glenn at the +school, the girls sleeping in the room with her were suddenly aroused +from sleep by loud and piercing screams from little Carrie Holt. Agnes +sprang up, and was by her side in a moment. As she left her bed she +perceived that Miss Glenn was not there. + +"What is the matter, Carrie? Why do you scream so, dear?" asked Agnes. + +"Oh, Miss Elwyn!--that tall, white figure!--that tall, white figure! It +came and stood by me, and laid its cold white hand right on my face. It +was a ghost--I know it was--I saw it so plain in the moonlight. Oh, +don't leave me!--don't leave me, Miss Elwyn! It will come again!" And +the trembling child clung with both arms tightly around Agnes. + +"I will not leave the room, Carrie," said Agnes; "but I must find out +what has frightened you so. There are no such things as ghosts, Carrie: +you have been dreaming." + +"Oh no, Miss Elwyn, I did not dream that!" sobbed little Carrie; "I was +having a beautiful dream about ho-o-o-me and mother, when that cold hand +came on my cheek, and I opened my eyes, and saw that tall, white figure. +Oh, it had such great hollow eyes! I saw them so plain in the +moonlight!" + +"Now lie down, dear little Carrie, till I find out what all this means," +said Agnes. The weeping child obeyed, hugging up close to her little +sister for protection. + +The light had been taken away at ten o'clock, as was the invariable +custom at Mrs. Arlington's; but Agnes opened both shutters, and admitted +the bright moonlight into the room, making every object to be discerned +almost as plainly as in the day-time. She then stepped to her own bed. +Miss Glenn certainly was not there. She went to the door of her room, +and found it locked on the inside, as she had left it when she went to +bed. Miss Glenn, then, must still be in the room. Agnes walked around +it, carefully examining every object: she then went into the closet, and +felt carefully all around the walls. She began to think there was +something very strange in all this; and the other girls, all of whom had +been wide awake ever since they were aroused by the screams of little +Carrie, were sitting up in their beds in a great state of agitation and +alarm. + +"I will not stay in this room another night!" said little Carrie; "I +wish we dared to go down to Mrs. Arlington. Let's all go down together +to Miss Emma, and ask her to come up here." + +"No, no; hush, children!" said Agnes. Then she called, as loudly as she +dared, without awaking those in the neighboring rooms: + +"Miss Glenn! Miss Glenn! where are you?" + +"Here I am! What do you want of me?" answered a smothered voice. + +"Mercy on us!" shrieked Carrie and Ella in a breath, and springing with +one bound on to the floor--"mercy on us! she is under our bed!" + +Agnes looked under the bed, and could just distinguish something white, +huddled up in one corner under the head of the bed. + +"Miss Glenn! what do you mean?" exclaimed Agnes, in a tone of amazement. +"Are you trying to frighten these poor children? Come out here +directly." + +With all Agnes' gentleness, she had sufficient spirit when roused, and +she was now really indignant at what she supposed was a cruel attempt to +frighten little Carrie and Ella. Ruth Glenn was three or four years +older than Agnes, but yet she submitted at once to the tone of authority +in which she was addressed, and came crawling out from under the bed. + +"I think it's a little too bad," said the trembling little sisters, +crying and talking together; "it's real mean, to wake us up, and +frighten us so. I mean to tell Mrs. Arlington of you to-morrow, Miss +Glenn. I know our mother won't let us stay here to be frightened so!" + +Ruth Glenn sat down on the edge of her own bed and said nothing, but +Agnes noticed that she shivered, as if with cold. + +"Come, Miss Glenn, lie down," said Agnes, "and let us see if we can have +quiet for the rest of the night; we shall none of us be fit for study +to-morrow, I fear." + +Ruth Glenn obeyed quietly, and was soon asleep, but the others had been +so agitated that it was a long time before their minds were sufficiently +calmed for repose. When startled by the rising bell, they got up tired +and unrefreshed, and with no very amiable feelings towards the author of +the disturbance in the night. Miss Glenn went about dressing as quietly +as usual, saying nothing to any one; till little Ella, who was a +spirited little thing, just as she was leaving the room, turned about +and said: + +"Now, Miss Glenn! I am going right down to tell Mrs. Arlington about +you." + +To the surprise of all, this cold silent girl sat down on the bed, and +wringing her hands, and rocking back and forth, and crying most +piteously, she begged little Ella not to tell of her. + +"I will do anything I can for you, Ella," said she, "I will help you in +your lessons, whenever you want any help; only don't tell Mrs. +Arlington; she will send me away perhaps, and then what shall I do!" She +then implored Agnes to use her influence with the little girls, and her +cousins, to ensure their silence on the subject, promising not to +disturb them again, if she could help it. + +"I don't know what I went to your bed for, Carrie," she said, "I did not +want to frighten you." + +"Why did you act so strangely then, Miss Glenn?" asked Agnes, "were you +asleep?" + +"I don't know; I cannot tell; don't ask me;" was all they could get from +Miss Glenn, who continued to weep and wring her hands. + +Though apparently very poor, Miss Glenn possessed some few rare and +curious things, which she said her father, who had been a sea-captain, +had brought her from other countries, and by means of some of these, she +succeeded in securing the silence of the little girls. Grace and Effie +were easily induced by the remonstrances of Agnes, and partly by pity +for Miss Glenn's evident distress, to promise not to betray her. None of +the occupants of that room felt fit for study that day, except Miss +Glenn. She sat alone, as usual, and studied as perseveringly as ever. +This was only the beginning of a series of nocturnal performances, +continued almost every night, with every morning a repetition of the +same scene of begging and remonstrance with her room-mates, to persuade +them not to betray her to Mrs. Arlington. Sometimes, as Miss Glenn was +quietly leaving her bed, Agnes would wake and follow her, determined to +see what she would do, and to prevent, if possible, her waking the other +girls. At times she would seat herself upon a chest in one corner of the +room, and commence a conversation with some imaginary individual near +her; then she would move silently round the room, and sitting down in +some other part of it, would talk again, as if in conversation with some +lady next her. Then she would open the window very quietly, and look up, +and down, and around, talking all the time in a low tone, but in a much +more lively and animated manner than was usual with her in the day-time. +She would sometimes cross over to the bed where Grace and Effie Wharton +were sleeping, but just as she was about laying her hand on one of them, +Agnes would touch her, and ask her what she meant by wandering about so +night after night, and tell her to come directly back to bed. + +"Oh," Miss Glenn would answer quietly, "I have only been talking to the +ladies, and holding a little conversation with the moon and stars--don't +mind me--go to bed--I will come." + +But Agnes would answer resolutely, + +"No, Miss Glenn, I will not leave you to frighten the girls again; you +must come back to bed with me, and let me hold your hand tightly in +mine." And Miss Glenn would obey immediately. + +When the moon was shining brightly into the room, these performances of +Miss Glenn's were only annoying, but when the nights were very dark, and +nothing could be seen in the room, it was really horrible to hear this +strange girl chattering and mumbling, now in one corner, now in another, +sometimes in the closet, sometimes under the beds; and one night, in a +fearful thunder-storm, she seemed to be terribly excited, and when the +lightning flashed upon the walls, the shadow of her figure could be seen +strangely exaggerated, performing all manner of wild antics. + +This conduct of Miss Glenn's puzzled Agnes exceedingly: she could not +decide in her own mind whether the girl was trying to frighten them, +whether she was asleep, or whether she had turns of derangement at +night. Neither of these suppositions seemed exactly to account for her +singular actions. Her evident, and, Agnes doubted not, real distress, at +the possibility of Mrs. Arlington being informed of her nocturnal +performances, and the sacrifices of every kind that she was willing to +make to ensure silence, convinced Agnes that it was not done merely to +alarm them; her vivid remembrance of all that she had said or done in +the night, and her answering questions, and coming to bed so readily +when addressed by Agnes, without any appearance of waking up, led her to +suppose it was not somnambulism; and as Miss Glenn never showed any sign +of wandering of mind in the day time, Agnes could not suppose it to be +derangement. Miss Glenn was a perfect enigma; night after night +disturbing her room-mates with her strange performances, and every +morning going over the same scene of earnest expostulation and entreaty, +accompanied by violent weeping, to induce them not to betray her to +Mrs. Arlington. Poor little Carrie and Ella kept the secret bravely, +though, on the night of the thunder-storm, they were so terrified by +Miss Glenn's conduct, that, wrapping themselves in the bed-blankets, and +persuading Agnes to lock the door after them, they went out, and sat +upon the stairs till morning. The very next day, two sisters who slept +in another room received tidings of the death of their mother, which +hurried them home; and as they were not to return that quarter, little +Carrie and Ella, with Agnes to intercede for them, requested to be +allowed to take their vacated place. Mrs. Arlington readily acquiesced, +as, she said, it would be much better to have four in each room. + +Thus things went on, till, one night, Agnes was horror-stricken to find +that Miss Glenn was endeavoring to climb out of the window. As I have +said, they were in the third story of the building; and the distance to +the ground being very great, the unfortunate girl would inevitably have +been dashed to pieces upon the flag stones below, had not Agnes +suddenly caught her, and, with a strength that astonished herself, +succeeded in drawing her back into the room. + +The terror and agitation into which Agnes was thrown by this +circumstance determined her to do something decisive the very next day; +she was now convinced that it was her duty, and resolved to do it, in +spite of Miss Glenn's tears and persuasions. She thought it right, +however, in the first place, to acquaint Miss Glenn with her +determination, and began by informing her, when they were alone the next +morning, of the imminent danger from which she had been so fortunate as +to save her in the night. Ruth Glenn seemed to remember it all, and +shuddered as she thought of it. + +"Now, Ruth," said Agnes, "I really think we have all kept silence as +long as could be expected, or as it is _right_ that we should. You will +bear witness that we have endured very patiently all this nightly +disturbance. I have long been convinced, whatever may be the reason of +your conduct, that you have not the control of your own actions at +night; and I think we shall be very culpable if we conceal this matter +longer from Mrs. Arlington; for, as you must now be convinced, the +consequences may be fatal to yourself, or perhaps to others. You need +not fear that Mrs. Arlington will dismiss you, but I think she will +consult medical advice in your case, which most probably should have +been done long before this." + +Ruth acknowledged the justice of all that Agnes said, and at length +consented that she should make Mrs. Arlington acquainted with all that +had transpired in their room. "But, oh, Agnes!" she said, "do persuade +her to let me remain, and finish my education. It has been my hope for +years, that I might be enabled to prepare myself to be a governess. My +father was lost at sea, and my poor mother died of a broken heart, and I +was left all alone to take care of myself at the age of fourteen. Since +then, I have sewed night and day, night and day, denying myself sleep, +and almost all the necessaries of life, in the hope of getting an +education. That hope, with all my unwearied industry, would never have +been fulfilled, had not a kind lady for whom I sewed offered to make up +the requisite sum; and now, if Mrs. Arlington sends me away, what will +become of me? The hope of my life will be disappointed." + +"Well, I do not wish to discourage you, my dear Ruth, but you must see I +think that you are totally unfitted to have children under your care at +present." + +"I suppose I am, Agnes, but I have been hoping that I should get over +this; it seems to grow worse and worse, however, and you may now do as +you choose. You have exercised great forbearance with me, dear Agnes. +You have been a true friend, and whatever may be the result, you may go +to Mrs. Arlington." + +Mrs. Arlington was very kind, and only regretted that she had not before +been made acquainted with Ruth Glenn's singular conduct. She said she +did not doubt that it was entirely owing to her state of health, and her +sedentary manner of life for years past, and sent immediately for her +family physician, and made him acquainted with the case. + +Agnes was sent for, and questioned as to Miss Glenn's actions and +appearance, when thus restless at night, and she as well as the +different teachers, were interrogated as to her habits in the day time. +The doctor thus learned that it was with the greatest difficulty that +Miss Glenn could be persuaded to take any exercise, and Agnes told him +what Ruth had related to her of her mode of life for the last few years. +The doctor thought it one of the most singular cases he ever met with, +and prescribed a strict course of medicine, diet and exercise, insisting +particularly upon the latter. + +It was a hard thing to persuade Ruth to take her early morning walk, and +other exercise advised by the physician, and Mrs. Arlington was at +length obliged to tell her, that only upon condition of her obeying his +directions, could she consent to allow her to remain in the school. +This, together with the indefatigable endeavors of Agnes, prevailed +upon Ruth Glenn to take the accustomed walks, which Agnes with great +cunning contrived to lengthen every morning, until at length Ruth Glenn +would return with a slight tinge of color in her cheek, and an unusual +brightness about her eye. The result was very soon seen, in more quiet +nights in the third-story-room, and, before long, Ruth confessed that +she felt like another creature, and began to realize an enjoyment in +life, of which she had known nothing since her childhood. + +Often, however, the old feeling of indolence returned, and it was very +amusing to Grace and Effie to hear poor Ruth beg and plead with Agnes to +be allowed to remain quiet "just one morning," and to see how vigorously +and perseveringly Agnes resisted her appeals, rousing her up and leading +her off, poor Ruth looking much like a martyr about to be dragged to the +stake. + +Before Agnes and her cousins left Mrs. Arlington's school, Ruth Glenn +was so changed for the better, that she would not have been recognized +as the same pale, strange girl, who came there three years before. Her +spirits and appetite were good, and there was no longer any complaint of +disturbance at night by her room-mates. + +It was a sad day in the school when Agnes and her cousins took their +final leave, but no one seemed so broken-hearted as poor Ruth Glenn. + +"Oh, Agnes," said she, "who will be the friend to me that you have been? +Who will drag me out with such relentless cruelty?" and here she smiled +sadly through her tears, "through rain and sunshine, heat and cold; I am +afraid I shall be as bad as ever, for my walks will be so dull without +you." + +But Agnes told her she hoped she had now received sufficient benefit +from her regular exercise, to be willing to make a little sacrifice, and +obtained from her a solemn promise that she would continue the course +they had so long pursued together. + +Agnes had employed herself most perseveringly while at Mrs. Arlington's +school, in becoming thoroughly acquainted with various branches of +education and accomplishments, being fully determined in her own mind no +longer to be a burden to her uncle, but to use the means he was so +kindly putting into her hands, in enabling her to gain her own support +hereafter. But she had no sooner left the school than other duties +claimed her attention, as will presently be seen. + + + + +XII. + +LEWIE AT SCHOOL. + +"The child is father of the man."--WORDSWORTH. + + +Had our friend Lewie heard Mr. Malcolm's prediction relative to his +school experiences, he would have had reason to think him a true +prophet. He came into the school and the play-ground with the same ideas +which had been predominant with him ever since his baby-hood; and though +he did not, as then, continually say the _words,_ his actions proclaimed +as loudly, "Lewie must have his own way!--Lewie must not be crossed!" He +found his school companions not quite so complying as his indulgent +mother, and those over whom she had control; and before he had been long +in the school, he was known by the various names of "Dictator-General," +"First Consul," "Great Mogul," &c., and with these epithets he was +greeted whenever he put on any of his dictatorial airs. + +These constant insults and impertinences, as he called them, irritated +his ungoverned spirit, and in consequence many a school-mate measured +his length upon the ground in the most sudden manner, and innumerable +were the fights and "rows" which were the result. The presence of Lewie +seemed everywhere the signal of contention and strife, where all had +been heretofore, with very few exceptions, harmony and peace; and yet, +but for his hasty and impatient temper, Lewie might have been an +unparalleled favorite among his schoolmates. In the still summer +evenings, when he took his guitar, and sat upon the steps of the +portico, the boys would crowd around him, and listen in breathless +silence to his sweet music. As long as his own inclinations were not +crossed or interfered with, a more agreeable companion could not be +found. He had the frank, open manners, which are not seldom joined with +a quick temper, and in many things he showed a noble, generous +disposition; but as soon as the wishes of others in their sports and +recreations came in conflict with his own, his terrible passion was +roused at once, and carried all before it. Many were the complaints +which he carried to his mother of insult and ill-treatment; and before +he had been six months at Dr. Hamilton's school, he was urging her to +allow him to remove to another of which he had heard, and where he +fancied he should be more happy. Mrs. Elwyn's health was not as firm as +it once was; she was becoming weak and nervous, and dreaded change, and +endeavored to pacify her son, and to persuade him to remain at Dr. +Hamilton's school. No doubt he would have effected his object by +teazing, but it was accomplished in another way. + +There are boys to be found in every large school who delight in playing +practical jokes, and in teazing and tormenting those who are susceptible +of annoyance in this way. There was a large, stout boy in Dr. Hamilton's +school, of the name of Colton, a great bully and teaze, whose delight +it seemed to be to torment and put into a passion one so fiery as our +little hero, feeling safe from the only kind of retaliation which could +injure him, as he was so much the stoutest and strongest of the two. +This boy soon found that there was one point upon which Lewie was +peculiarly sensitive, and the slightest allusion to which would call the +red blood to his face. This was the fact of his being accompanied by his +mother when he came to the school, and her having taken board in the +village, that she might be near him as long as he was there. Lewie had +remonstrated with his mother, when she proposed accompanying him, and +had urged her to accept his Uncle Wharton's invitation to make his house +her home. He was just at that age when boys love to appear independent +and manly, and able to take care of themselves; and he had hoped that he +should be allowed to go alone to school, as many of the other boys did, +or perhaps to accompany his uncle and cousins. But to be taken there +under the care of a _woman_, and to have her remain near him, as if +he could not take care of himself! Lewie thought this a most humiliating +state of things. But for once his mother was firm. It would be like +severing her heart-strings, to separate her from her darling son; and +wherever he went, she must go as long as she lived. This ingratitude on +the part of Lewie and evident desire to rid himself of her company, +after so many years spent in devotion to his slightest wishes, wore upon +her spirits, and was one cause, perhaps the principal one, of her +nervous depression, and consequent ill health. + +As soon as Colton understood the state of Lewie's feelings on this +tender point, and noticed How his cheeks would flush with passion +whenever the subject was mentioned, he took advantage of it to harass +and enrage him, renewing the subject most unmercifully at every +convenient opportunity. Thus, whenever, in their sports, Lewie took upon +himself to dictate, in his authoritative way, Colton would ask the boys +if they were going to be governed by a baby who had not yet broken +loose from his mother's apron-strings; and when Lewie could no longer +restrain his passion, and began to show signs of becoming pugnacious, +Colton would advise him to "run to mother," to be petted and soothed. + +For sometime prudence restrained Lewie from making an attack upon this +boy, so much larger and stronger than himself, for he was almost certain +that he would get the worst of it in an encounter with him. But one day +when Colton was more aggravating than ever, Lewie suddenly lost all +command of himself, and flew at him in a most fearful storm of rage, and +with all the might of his passion concentrated in one blow, he dashed +the great boy against a tree; and after he was down, and lying +insensible, with his head cut and bleeding, Lewie could scarcely be +restrained, by the united strength of those about him, from rushing upon +his senseless body, and by renewed blows continuing to injure him. + +His rage was fearful to witness, and his companions stood aghast, for +they saw clearly that murder was in his heart, and that nothing but the +restraint they exercised upon him, prevented him from carrying his +horrible purpose into execution. Colton was borne to the house, and it +was long feared that he would never entirely recover from the effects of +the severe blow upon his head as he fell. Lewie seemed to feel nothing +like remorse; he had always hated Colton, and everything this boy had +done had tended to increase and aggravate his feelings of dislike; he +thought nothing in his frantic rage of the consequences to himself, but +would have rejoiced to see his tormentor dead at his feet. + +This last affair decided Dr. Hamilton that it would not do to keep a boy +of such fierce, unrestrained temper, longer in the school. Lewie had all +this time been progressing rapidly in his studies; a fierce ambition +seemed to have seized upon, him, and he applied himself to his books as +if he had come to the determination that he would at least rise superior +to his school-mates, in his standing in the class, if they would not +acknowledge his superiority in anything else. + +Dr. Hamilton called soon after Lewie's attack upon Colton, to see Mrs. +Elwyn, and while he spoke of Lewie as one on whom he could justly be +proud, as the best and most forward scholar in his classes, he said it +was impossible for him to allow him to remain; that the lives of his +other pupils were hardly to be considered safe with so passionate a +companion, and for the sake of the reputation of his school, he must ask +her to save him the necessity of a public dismissal of her son. Sad by +this time were the forebodings of Mrs. Elwyn, but they were useless; her +remonstrances with her self-willed son were vain. If Lewie was obliged +to submit to being accompanied by his mother wherever he went, he seemed +determined to show her, that her wishes had not the slightest power over +him. The sowing time had passed;--the reaping time had begun. + +Lewie no longer urged and entreated, but merely expressed his +determination to go to the school to which he had so long been desirous +to remove, and his poor mother knowing that henceforth his will must be +hers, made her preparations for accompanying him. + +Boys are the same everywhere; and unless all are willing in some degree +to relinquish their own gratification for the sake of others, there will +surely be trouble. So Lewie found at Stanwick; so at the next school, +and the next; for as he became dissatisfied with one and unpopular +there, he removed to another, his poor mother following his fortunes +everywhere. Many were the kind and remonstrating letters which Lewie +received during these three years of change, from his lovely sister, but +the affectionate advice contained in them as to an endeavor to gain +command over his temper, and in regard to his treatment of his mother, +seemed to have no permanent effect. + +All this time, wherever he went, he ranked' among the highest as to his +scholarship, and at the age of sixteen he entered college at C----, +about ten or fifteen miles from Hillsdale. By the time they were fairly +established at C----, Mrs. Elwyn's health completely failed. Lewie's +time much taken up with his college duties, and even if it had not been, +he was not one to wait with patience upon the humors of a nervous and +fretful invalid; and the greater part of the time was spent by Mrs. +Elwyn in loneliness and repining. + +And now her thoughts turned often, and rested almost fondly upon the +memory of her long neglected daughter. Oh! for such a kind and gentle +nurse and companion to be ever near her, to minister to her wants and +soothe her lonely hours. The more she thought of her, the more she +longed for her presence, and it was soon after Agnes left Mrs. +Arlington's and returned to Brook Farm, that she received with delight a +summons to come to her mother at C----. The idea that her mother really +_wished_ for her, and that she could be in any degree useful to her, +made her heart bound with joy; and then, too, the idea of being so near +her brother, to endeavor to exercise a restraining influence upon him, +was happiness in itself for Agnes. + +She found her mother greatly changed: anxiety of mind and bodily +suffering had worn upon her, till her face, which might still have been +young and blooming, was faded and wrinkled. She was glad to see Agnes, +only because now she could be _useful_ to her; and Agnes often found her +whole stock of patience brought into requisition, in endeavoring to +gratify the changing whims and fancies of a nervous invalid. Lewie was +in ecstasies at his sister's arrival; for he did dearly love Agnes, and +he now passed all his leisure time at his mother's room. Agnes thought +him more gentle and tractable, and hoped that he really exercised some +control over his passionate temper; but it was only, for the time, the +want of provocation, and the restraining influence of his sister's +presence, which kept him from any serious out-break. The grace of God +alone could materially change Lewie Elwyn now. + +Agnes remained many months in attendance upon her mother, who failed +very gradually. As she grew weaker, she became more exacting; and +though never betrayed into any expression of affection for Agnes, yet +she was not willing to have her out of her sight for a moment. The +consciousness of being useful to her mother, was sufficient reward for +sleepless nights and days of close confinement; and Agnes resisted all +Lewie's entreaties that she would leave the sick room for a while each +day, and take a stroll with him. + +Had Lewie been inclined to dissipation, this would have been a dangerous +time for him; for his wonderful musical powers made him such a favorite, +that no gathering was thought complete without him. As long as Agnes was +at C----, he preferred spending his evenings with her to any party of +pleasure; and after he could no longer enjoy her society, and when he +began again to mingle in scenes of festivity, though sometimes betrayed +into excesses, he never was habitually dissipated. + +Mrs. Elwyn lingered on, becoming weaker and weaker, until, after Agnes +had been with her about six months, she perceived that she was failing +more rapidly, and at length was informed by the physician, that her +mother could live but very few days longer. Agnes hastily summoned Mr. +and Mrs. Wharton, who arrived only in time to witness the death-bed +scene. Just before her death, Mrs. Elwyn seemed to awake to a sudden +realization of the great mistakes of her life with regard to her son and +daughter. She seemed to see now, as clearly as others had seen all +along, the evils of her own management, and to trace the unhappy results +to their proper source. It was sad to hear her, when all too late to +remedy these evils, lament over "a wasted life--a worse than wasted +life;" and so, with words of remorse upon her lips, she, who had had +such power for good in her hands, passed away from earth. + +And Agnes returned to her uncle's house, leaving her brother at college. +As soon as she had taken a little time to recruit, and to consider, she +began to look about for a situation as governess, much against the +wishes of every member of her uncle's family, who would have considered +it a privilege to keep her always with them. About this time, a distant +relative of Mrs. Wharton's, a Mr. Fairland, in passing from his Western +home to the city, stopped to make them a visit. He was a plain, +kind-hearted man, and seemed to take a particular interest in Agnes, +with whose father and grandfather he had been intimately acquainted. Mr. +Fairland had made quite a fortune by successful speculation, in a large +Eastern city; but the extravagance of his wife and daughters, who were +not willing to be outdone in dress or establishment by any of their +neighbors, made such rapid inroads upon his newly-acquired wealth, that +Mr. Fairland soon became convinced that it was leaving him as rapidly as +it came. So he thought it the part of prudence to beat a retreat at +once; and, in spite of the tears and remonstrances of his wife and +eldest daughters, he removed the whole family to the beautiful village +of Wilston, near which place he owned some fine and flourishing mills. + +It was while speaking of his new home, and its many beauties, at Mr. +Wharton's breakfast table, that Mr. Fairland mentioned the only +drawback to his happiness there, which, he said, was the want of the +advantages of education for his younger children, who were running wild +without any instruction, as their mother was unwilling to allow them to +attend the village school. He had long been looking, he said, for a +governess for them--one who would bring them up with right habits and +principles, at the same time that she was instructing their minds. + +Agnes seized the first opportunity in which she could find Mr. Fairland +alone, to propose herself as governess to his children. This was more +than Mr. Fairland had dared to hope for, and her proposal was hailed by +him with gratitude and joy. He wished her to return immediately with +him; but Agnes had some preparations to make, and her uncle was not +willing to part with her quite yet: he promised, however, to bring her +himself in the course of a month. A serious illness, however, deranged +all Mr. Wharton's plans and as soon as he was able to travel, business +of the utmost importance called him to the city; so that Agnes, who +disliked to keep Mr. Fairland waiting for her any longer, wrote to him +when he might expect her, and, much against Mrs. Wharton's wishes, set +out alone in the stage for Wilston. + + + + +XIII. + +NEW SCENES FOR AGNES. + + "The stranger's heart! oh, wound it not! + A yearning anguish is its lot; + In the green shadow of the tree, + The stranger finds no rest with thee." + + +"And when may we expect to be favored with the presence of this paragon +of perfection, and embodiment of all wisdom, papa?" asked Miss Evelina +Fairland, with what was intended for the utmost girlish sprightliness of +manner; for, although it was only at breakfast, Miss Evelina never laid +aside her manner of extreme youth, as she thought it best to be +continually in practice. + +Her father answered quietly, that he expected Miss Elwyn by the +afternoon stage. + +"Is she one of these prim, _old-maidish_ governesses, like our poor old +Miss Pratt?" asked Miss Calista, a lady of something over thirty, and +rather the worse for twelve years' wear, in the way of balls and +parties, the theatre and the opera. Indeed, at the breakfast table, Miss +Calista looked considerably older than she really was, with her pale, +faded cheeks, and her hair "en papillottes;" but, in the afternoon, by +the use of a little artificial bloom, some cork-screw ringlets, and a +manner as gay and girlish as that of her sister, she appeared quite +another creature. + +To Miss Calista's question Mr. Fairland, with an amused pucker about the +mouth, answered: + +"Oh, I shall tell you nothing about her looks; you must wait and judge +for yourselves. There's one thing I will say, however. I suppose you +can't alter your looks, girls; but, as far as manners are concerned, I +wish very much that I could place my two eldest daughters under Miss +Elwyn's tuition." + +"Perhaps she will condescend to take a class, twice or three times a +week, in 'manners for six-pence,'" said the sprightly Miss Evelina. "I +should like to see Calista and myself curtseying, and walking, and +leaving and entering a room, as we used to be obliged to do for old Miss +Pratt. Wouldn't you, Calista?" + +"Let's see," said Mr. Fairland, whose reminiscences were not always of +the most agreeable nature to the young ladies--"let's see. How long is +it since you and C'listy _were_ under the care of Miss Pratt? I think it +must be nigh twenty years." + +"Twenty years, papa!--absurd!" shrieked Miss Calista; "why, you must be +losing your memory!" + +Now, if Mr. Fairland's daughters were touchy on the subject of their +_ages,_ their father was no less so on that of his _memory,_ as Miss +Calista well knew when she made the foregoing remark. + +"Losing my memory indeed, Miss C'listy! My memory is as sound as ever; +and, to prove it to you, I will inform you, that I shall be sixty-four +years old this coming August; and by the same token, you are just +exactly half my age; and if you don't believe it, you may just take a +look at the family record, in the big Bible." + +"C'listy's _scratched out her date,"_ said little Rosa, "and so has +Evelina." + +"Hold your tongue, you impertinent little minx!" said Miss Calista; "I +really hope the prinky old governess who is coming will be able to whip +a little manners into you. I really wonder you can allow the children to +be so pert, mamma!" + +The lady addressed as _"mamma"_ was the second wife of Mr. Fairland, a +rather handsome, but very languid lady of forty, who was sleepily +sipping her coffee during the foregoing conversation. Now, as Mrs. +Fairland did not look much older (perhaps not at all older, at the +breakfast table,) than the oldest of her step-daughters, the young +ladies quite prided themselves on so youthful a "mamma;" and when in +company, or at the various watering-places to which, in former tunes, +they had succeeded in dragging their parents, they hung round her, and +asked her permission to do this and that, with the most child-like +confidence in her judgment. + +This was by no means relished by the step-mother, who had no fancy for +matronizing daughters so nearly her own age, and who wished no less +fervently than the young ladies themselves, that something in the shape +of a husband would appear to carry each of them off. She never failed +after such a display of filial affection on their part to explain to +those near her; that the young ladies were her _step-daughters;_ and to +mention how odd it sounded to her when she was first married, to hear +those great girls as tall as herself, call her "mamma." + +It was a beautiful evening in the pleasant month of July, when Agnes +entered the lovely village of Wilston, and drove through its one long +street, to the spacious and rather showy dwelling of Mr. Fairland. Agnes +had heard much of the beauty of Wilston, but her heart was now so +oppressed with many agitating emotions, at the near prospect of the new +and strange scenes upon which she was about to enter in so new a +character, that not even the loveliness of the landscape, with its +variety of hill, and dale, and wood-land, on the one hand, and on the +other the peaceful lake tinged with crimson by the setting sun, had +power to win her attention. + +Yet we need not fear for Agnes, that in thus appearing in the character +of a governess, she will lose aught of her gentle dignity, or quiet +self-possession. Agnes was a _lady_ in every sense of the term, and +place her where you would, or under whatever circumstances, she would +invest her occupation with a dignity all her own, and make it honorable; +winning from all around her an involuntary respect and homage. Though +ever kind and amiable, and ready to oblige, she will never _cringe_ to +those who, by the favors of fortune, are placed for the time in +circumstances more prosperous than her own. Tried, she may be by their +arrogance, and airs of assumed superiority; but with the inward +conviction which in spite of her modesty she must possess, that in all +that is of real and true worth she is far above them, she will toil on +undisturbed in her vocation, anxious only to fulfil her duty towards +God, and toward those whom He has placed under her influence; and to +acquit herself well of the high responsibility resting upon her. + +Mr. Fairland met Agnes at the door, with his kind pleasant face, and +with both hands extended to give her a cordial welcome to his roof. Mrs. +Fairland rose languidly from her chair to receive the governess, and +gave her a ceremonious, and to Agnes a most chilling greeting. The young +ladies were out walking; but presently a troop of noisy children, who +from some part of the grounds where they were at play, had seen the +arrival of the stranger, came bursting rudely into the room. These, as +Agnes supposed, were her future pupils, and a most unpromising set they +at first sight appeared. + +The eldest, "Tiney," was a heavy, dull looking girl of about ten years +of age. Her eyes had no more brightness or expression in them than two +balls of lead, and her flabby colorless cheeks hung down each side of +her mouth, giving that feature much the expression of a bull-dog, while +a sullen fierceness about her face, increased the resemblance to that +animal. Her teeth, utterly unacquainted with the action of a brush, were +prominent, so that her lip seldom covered them, and her uncombed hair +hung rough and shaggy around her unattractive face. Agnes at once +guessed that this poor child was deficient in intellect, and unamiable +in temper. + +The next, _Rosa,_ was a wild, handsome little gipsey, with eyes as black +as jet, and as bright as diamonds, a brilliant color shining through her +sunburnt cheek, and with straight black hair, no better cared for than +her sister Tiney's. + +The third little girl, _Jessie,_ was very fair, with beautiful deep blue +eyes, and golden curling hair; but the curls were all in tangles, for no +one took the trouble to keep them in order, except on great occasions, +when the poor child was put to the torture of having it brushed and +combed, and laid in ringlets, which for the time were the special pride +of her mother. + +"You'll have enough to do, Miss Agnes, to tame all these rough +spirits," said Mr. Fairland, "they have been running wild ever since we +left the city, and a more rude and ungoverned set of little desperadoes, +it has never been your lot to meet with, I'll venture to say." And then +addressing them, he said, "come here, children, what do you stand there +gaping for, with your thumbs in your mouths, as if you had never seen +anybody before? Tiney! Rosa, you witch! Jess, my chicken! come up here +this minute, and speak to Miss Elwyn." + +But Tiney only pouted her ugly mouth and scowled; and Rosa, making a +sudden dart for her mother's chair, retreated behind it, peering out her +black eyes occasionally, to take a look at the stranger; while Jessie +ran and sprang into her father's lap, hiding her little tangled head on +his shoulder. And now a whooping and shouting made known the approach of +Master Frank, the son and heir, a young individual of about four years +of age, who, nothing daunted by the stranger's appearance, made for his +father's chair, and proceeded to dislodge his sister Jessie from her +seat, and to establish himself in her place. Jessie screamed, and +scratched, and pulled in vain. Frank, though younger, was much the +strongest, and the fight ended by the sudden descent of Miss Jessie to +the floor, and the ascension of Master Frank into the vacated place. + +"Be quiet now, will you, Frank, and speak to Miss Elwyn," said his +father. + +"Hallo! is that Miss Elwyn?" exclaimed Master Frank, aloud; "why, +C'lista said she was old and ugly." + +"Well, C'listy didn't know, did she?" said his father. + +"And Ev'lina said she'd train us well, and whip us, and shut us up, and +be awful cross all the time. She doesn't look like that, does she, +papa?" + +"No, she does not," said his father; "and I guess Evelina must have been +mistaken too." + +Agnes was all this time looking at Frank, very much amused, and laughing +quietly at the description which had been given of her to the children. + +"You think I do not look so very terrible, then, Master Frank," said +she; "do you think you will ever like me?" + +"I don't know," said Master Frank, boldly; "if you don't make me _mind,_ +I'll like you." + +"But she _is_ going to make you mind, Master Frank," said his father; +"and, do you know, I have promised Miss Elwyn that she shall do just +what she pleases with you all, and nobody shall interfere." + +"In _school hours,"_ said Agnes. + +"Yes, in school hours, and out of school hours, except when their mother +or I are present: they are always to obey you, Miss Elwyn. I wish that +to be understood in the family. But, my dear," said he to his wife, +"perhaps Miss Elwyn would like to change her dress before tea." + +Mrs. Fairland languidly directed Tiney to show Miss Elwyn to her room; +but the only notice taken of this command by Miss Tiney was a stupid, +sullen stare. Agnes had risen to leave the room; but perceiving that +Tiney did not stir, she turned, and putting out one hand toward Rosa, +said, in her own bright, winning way: + +_"This_ little black-eyed girl will show me the way, I'm sure." + +There was no resisting the gentle kindness of Agnes, and the confidence +of little Rosa was won immediately. Coming out from behind her mother's +chair, she put her hand in that of Agnes, and led her up stairs into a +large room, on the second floor, overlooking the beautiful lake. + +"What a very pleasant room!" said Agnes. "Is this to be mine?" + +"Yes," answered Rosa, who, having once found her tongue, showed that she +could make very rapid use of it when she chose--"and that bed is yours, +and that one is for me and Jessie." + +'"Jessie and _me_,' you mean, Rosa, do you not?" + +"I'm the _oldest_," answered Rosa. + +"I know that, Rosa; but recollect, whenever you speak of any _one_, no +matter who, in connection with yourself always to mention the other +person first. Will you remember that?" + +"Yes, I'll try," answered Rosa. She then proceeded to inform Agnes, that +her mamma had wished to give her a little room on the other side of the +hall, but papa said she should have this room, because it was so +pleasant, and he had heard her say that she was so fond of the water. + +"That was very kind of your papa," said Agnes; "and where does Tiney +sleep?" + +"Oh, Tiney sleeps with Susan, because she has fits, you know." + +_"Who_ has?--Susan?" asked Agnes. + +"No, Tiney has fits, and nobody likes to take care of her but papa and +Susan." + +Agnes was disappointed to find that she was not to have a room to +herself. "I came here to instruct these children," said she to herself, +"not to act in the capacity of nursery-maid. However, I will bear it +patiently for the present; perhaps I shall gain an influence over them, +by having them so constantly with me, that I could not acquire in any +other way. There is so much to be corrected in their habits and +language, besides their being so woefully ignorant!" + +Agnes continued talking pleasantly to little Rosa, while she was +dressing; and when they went down stairs, hand in hand, the very +pleasantest relations appeared to be established between them. + +"What shall we call you?" asked Rosa. + +"You may call me 'cousin Agnes,' if you choose," she answered, "and if +your papa and mamma are willing." + +"Oh, I shall like that!" said Rosa. + +Soon after Agnes and little Rosa re-entered the sitting-room, the Misses +Fairland returned from their walk. They were gayly and showily attired +in the very height of the fashion, and entered the door talking and +laughing very loudly; but when introduced to Miss Elwyn, they stopped +and opened their eyes in unaffected amazement. As Agnes rose with +graceful ease to meet them, looking so lovely in her deep mourning +dress, and with her rich waving chesnut hair, simply parted on her +forehead, and gathered in a knot behind, there was a most striking +contrast between her and the gaudily dressed, beflounced, and beflowered +ladies, who were fashionably and formally curtseying, and presenting her +the tips of their fingers. + +Though younger by some years than the youngest of the Miss Fairlands, +there was a dignified self-possession about Agnes, which was quite +astonishing to them. Though rather of the _hoyden-ish_ class themselves, +they could not fail at once to recognize the air of refinement which +marks the true lady, and while intending by their own appearance to +over-awe the new governess, they were so completely taken by surprise by +her perfect ease and composure of manner, that they alone appeared stiff +and awkward, and she unembarrassed and easy. + +And this was the prim old-maidish governess they had been expecting! +this fresh, blooming, lovely looking girl! It was by no means a pleasant +surprise to the Misses Fairland. However, she was nothing but a +_governess_ after all; and could easily be kept in the back ground; it +was to Be hoped she would know her place and keep it. + +The Misses Fairland made the mistake very common with persons of weak +mind, and little cultivation at that, and instead of judging of others +by their intrinsic worth, character, or intellect, formed their estimate +only by the outward circumstances in which they found them. Had this +same Agnes Elwyn come to make a visit to her far away cousins, in her +own carriage, and surrounded by external marks of wealth, they would +have been ready to fall down and worship her; but coming as a +_governess,_ and by the _stage,_ what notice could she expect from the +Misses Fairland! These young ladies had so often been made wretched, by +intentional slights from those in whose sphere they had aspired to move, +that they did not doubt Agnes would be rendered equally uncomfortable by +their own neglect. + +The tea-bell rang, and the Misses Fairland hastened to take off their +bonnets and soon re-appeared at the tea-table, where they took up the +entire conversation, telling of all they had heard and seen, in their +calls through the village. For like the ancient Athenians, these young +ladies literally "spent their time in nothing else, but to hear or to +tell of some new thing." + +In the midst of the conversation there was a sudden bustle, and Tiney +rose hastily from the table. Her father immediately left his chair, and +went round to her place, and took her by the arm. There was a ghastly +and disturbed look about poor Tiney's face, and an expression of +terrible malignity about her eye, and as she passed the chairs of her +little sisters, one screamed loudly and then the other, and when she +came near Agnes, it was with great difficulty that she too could resist +the inclination to scream with the pain, caused by a terrible pinch from +the fingers of Tiney, which left its mark upon her arm for many days. + +Mr. Fairland led the child from the room, and as the door closed after +them, Agnes heard a succession of the most piercing shrieks, as if all +the strength of the sufferer's lungs were expended upon each one. + +"Oh, dear! Susan is out, and your father will need assistance," said +Mrs. Fairland; "but really, these scenes have such an effect upon my +nerves, that I find it necessary to avoid them altogether." + +"And so do I," said Miss Calista, "indeed I always suffer with a severe +headache after them." + +"And they are so utterly disagreeable to me, to to be more candid than +either of you," said Miss Evelina, "that I always keep as far out of the +way as possible." + +"Can I be of any use?" asked Agnes, partly rising and looking towards +Mrs. Fairland. She would have followed poor Tiney and her father +immediately, but did not wish to appear to pry into that of which +nothing had been mentioned to her, and of which they might not like to +speak out of their own family. + +"Oh, do go, Miss Elwyn, if you have the _nerve,"_ said Mrs. Fairland. + +The reader knows enough of Agnes to feel assured that her _nerves_ were +never in the way, if opportunity offered to make herself useful to the +suffering; and the moment Mrs. Fairland answered her, she left the room, +and, guided by those still piercing shrieks, she passed through a long +hall, and entered a small bath-room, where she found Mr. Fairland +holding the struggling Tiney, who presented a shocking appearance. Her +face was now quite purple, and the white froth stood about her mouth; +and her father was holding both of her hands in one of his, to quiet her +frantic struggles. + +"Oh, bless you, Miss Agnes!" said Mr. Fairland, as soon as she opened +the door; "set that water running immediately till it is quite hot, and +take off this poor child's stockings and shoes. You see I can do +nothing." + +As quickly and as quietly as possible Agnes did as she was directed; and +then also, by Mr. Fairland's direction, took down a bottle of medicine, +always kept ready for this purpose in the bath-room, and dropped some of +it for him. In a few moments, the shrieks subsided to moans, as Tiney +lay with her head back on her father's shoulder. + +"Poor child!" said Mr. Fairland, wiping her lips and forehead, "she is a +dreadful sufferer." + +"Has she been so long?" asked Agnes. + +"Ever since her third year," answered Mr. Fairland, "though, at first, +the attacks were comparatively slight; but of late years they have grown +more and more severe. Her intellect, as you perhaps have already +noticed, is much weakened by them, and her temper, naturally very sweet, +is at times almost fiendish. It seems to be her great desire, while +suffering so intensely, to injure all within her reach." + +Agnes now understood the reason of the screams of the children, and also +of the pinch she had received as Tiney passed her chair. When poor +Tiney's moans had become more faint, Mr. Fairland said: + +"Agnes, will you sing? Music seems to soothe her more than anything +else, after the extreme suffering is over." + +Agnes sang, with her marvellously sweet voice, a simple air: presently +poor Tiney turned her head, and fixed her half-closed eyes on Agnes' +face. Then she said, from time to time, in a dreamy way, +"Pretty!--sweet! Sing more;" and then she lay perfectly quiet, and soon +fell into a gentle slumber. Often and often, after that, when poor Tiney +was seized with these excruciating attacks, as soon as the first intense +suffering was over, she would say, "Cousin Agnes, sing!" and, from the +time she heard the gentle tones of Agnes' voice, she would be quiet and +gentle as a lamb. The effect could be likened to nothing but the calming +of the evil spirit which possessed the monarch of Israel, by the tones +of the sweet harp of David. + + + + +XIV. + +THE SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING. + + "Scatter diligently, in susceptible minds, + The germs of the good and beautiful, + They will develop there to trees, bud, bloom, + And bear the golden fruit of paradise." + + +Agnes found it no easy task to bring into training minds so ignorant and +so utterly undisciplined as those of her little pupils. Left entirely to +themselves, as they had been for many months, with a mother too indolent +to trouble herself about any systematic plan of government, and a father +too easy and good-natured to carry out the many plans he was ever +forming for their "breaking in;" scolded and fretted at by their older +sisters, to whom they were perfect torments; by turns playing +harmoniously, and then quarrelling most vigorously,--they roamed the +house and grounds, doing mischief everywhere, and bringing wrath upon +their heads at every turn. + +With a perfect horror of anything like _study_, they had expected with +great dread the arrival of a governess, as putting a final stop to all +their fun and freedom. This dread had been in nowise diminished by the +constant remarks of their older sisters upon governesses in the +abstract, and their own expected governess in particular. One evening +with Agnes served to dispel the horror, so far as she was concerned, +though the dread of books was still as great as ever. Before the evening +was over, Agnes had them all round her, as she sat on the sofa, telling +them beautiful stories, and asking them questions. + +"Have you any pretty flowers in the woods about here?" she asked. + +"Oh, lots!" answered Rosa; "yellow flowers, and blue flowers, and white +flowers." + +"Then if you would like to learn something of Botany, so as to know the +names of all these beautiful flowers, we will take many pleasant +rambles in the woods, and gather the lovely wild flowers, and I will +teach you how to press them." + +"But we haven't got any _Botany books_," said little Jessie. + +"Oh, I think we shall not need any _books_, for all the Botany I shall +teach you, Jessie; and if we do, we will take the leaves of the flowers +for the leaves of the books, and the flowers themselves for the +pictures. Do you not think we can make beautiful books that way? Jessie, +can you read?" + +"_I_ can!" said Rosa, while Jessie hung her curly head. + +"And can you _write_, Rosa?" + +"No. I can make straight marks," answered Rosa. + +"And what can you do, Master Frank?" + +"Oh, Frank doesn't know anything?" said Jessie. "He did know his ABC's +once, but he's forgot them all." + +"Take care, Miss Jessie, that he does not read before you," said Agnes. +"Your papa says we are to take the west wing for our school-room; you +must show me where it is, and after a day or to get in order, and to +make each other's acquaintance, we will begin school in earnest." + +The next morning Agnes took the toilettes of her two little room-mates +under her care, and when they appeared at the breakfast-table, the rest +of the family hardly knew them, they looked so tidy and sweet. And poor +Tiney, who gazed with astonishment at her two little sisters, made her +appearance at Agnes' door soon after breakfast, to ask "if she wouldn't +make _her_ look nice too." + +Agnes found so little to sympathise with, and took so little pleasure in +the society of the ladies of the Fairland family, that she longed for +her school to begin, that she might have useful occupation for her +thoughts and time. On the appointed morning therefore, she was well +pleased to meet her little pupils in the pleasant little room in the +"west wing," and to begin in earnest her labors as a teacher. Such a +pile of soiled, well-thumbed, and dogs-eared books, as the children +produced, Agnes had never seen together, and on opening them she found +that the young Fairland's had been exercising their taste for the fine +arts, by daubing all the pictures from a six-penny paint-box. + +"Now, my dear children," said she, "the first thing we shall do every +morning, will be to read in the Bible; but I do not see any Bible or +Testament among your books; I suppose you each own one, do you not?" + +If Agnes had been a little longer in the family of Mr. Fairland, perhaps +she would not have asked this question; for she soon found that she had +come into a family of as complete heathens, as she would have found if +she had gone to be governess among the Hindoos. There was a "family +Bible" in the house to be sure, but the only use to which it had ever +been applied, was that of registering the births of the family, and the +testimony it bore proved so exceedingly disagreeable to the Misses +Fairland, that as Rosa has informed us, they took the liberty one day of +erasing it. + +Agnes told the children to ask their papa if they might each have a +Bible of their own, to which he consented, and when the Bibles were +brought home, the exclamations of derision from the Misses Fairland, +were loud and long. + +"A missionary in disguise!" they exclaimed; "a saint in the form of a +governess; come to convert us all, and the first thing is an importation +of Bibles!" and many were the sneering and sarcastic remarks and +allusions which came to the ears of Agnes, but she kept on her way quiet +and undisturbed. Agnes was perfectly astonished to find how utterly +unacquainted these children were with the contents of the Bible. It was +all new to them; and after she had read to them every morning, she would +gather them around her, and tell them in simple language the sweet +stories from the Bible, while they listened, the younger ones with their +bright, wide-open eyes fixed upon her face, as if they could not lose a +word; and even poor Tiney loved to lay her head in Agnes' lap, and hear +of Him who ever sympathised with the sick and suffering. + +It was very strange, and very interesting to Agnes, to hear the remarks +these children made, and the many questions they would ask on subjects +so new to them; and as they had not yet learned to look at the character +of God, as revealed in his Son, with the reverence which better +instructed children feel, they often spoke of Him as they would of any +good man of whom they might hear, and in a way which would seem too +irreverential, were I to tell you all they said. + +Once when Agnes had been telling them of some of the miracles of our +Saviour, in curing the sick, and giving sight to the blind, and hearing +to the deaf, Rosa with her bright black eyes fixed intently on her face, +said with the utmost earnestness: + +"Why, He was real _good_, wasn't He?" + +"Yes," said Agnes, "always good and kind, and always ready to help the +sick and suffering." + +"He could cure _anybody_, couldn't He?" continued Rosa. + +"Yes; He was _all-powerful_," answered Agnes. + +"Could He cure Tiney?" asked Jessie. + +"Yes; if Tiney had lived when Christ was on earth, or if He was here +now, He could say the word, and make her well." + +And then they asked, "Where is He now?" and "How can we talk to Him +now?" and "Why will He not cure Tiney now?" And Agnes tried, in the most +simple manner, to teach them the nature of the prayer of faith. + +Once, when she was talking to them of our Saviour's meekness under +injuries, and telling them of His bitter sufferings, and the kindness of +His feelings towards His persecutors, the large tears rolled down their +cheeks, and Rosa made a practical application of the lesson at once, by +saying: + +"The next time Tiney pinches me, cousin Agnes, I don't mean to slap her +back again." + +"Nor I either," said Jessie. + +And Tiney whispered, "I will _try_ and not hurt them next time." + +Frank, who had been choking down something in his throat, as he sat in +his chair, said, in an unsteady voice: + +"_Is it all _true_?" + +"Every word of it, Franky," said Agnes. + +"I've got something in my eye," said Frank, rubbing both eyes very hard +with the back of his hands; and then throwing himself on the settee, he +cried bitterly for a long time. + +Agnes taught them many pretty hymns; and as they all had good voices, +and loved music dearly, they were never so happy as in singing, morning +and evening, these sweet hymns with Agnes. Even poor Tiney, who was +passionately fond of music, readily caught the tunes, though it was +almost impossible to teach her the words. + +The very first Sunday that Agnes passed under the roof of Mr. Fairland, +was enough to convince her that the Sabbath day with them was passed +much like all other days. She was shocked to see novels, and other light +and trashy works, in the Lands of the Misses Fairland on this holy day, +and to hear them _howling_ snatches of opera tunes, as they ran up and +down the stairs. These young ladies sometimes went to church in the +morning, to be sure, especially if they had lately received new bonnets +from the city, which they wished to display for the envy or admiration +of their neighbors. Mrs. Fairland was too indolent to take the trouble, +even if she possessed the inclination, to appear at church; and Mr. +Fairland looked upon this seventh day of the week literally as a day of +rest, in which to recruit the exhausted energies of the body, in +preparation for the labors of another week. The day was passed by him in +looking over the newspapers, or sleeping in his large chair, with his +red silk handkerchief over his head; and towards evening, he usually +took a stroll over to his mills, or around his grounds, to mark out what +was necessary to be done on the coming week. + +Agnes felt the importance of exerting in this ungodly family a strictly +religious influence; but, except with her own little pupils, she did not +attempt, at first, to do so in any other way than by her own quiet, +consistent example. Mr. Fairland was much surprised when Agnes requested +permission to take the children to church with her he readily granted +it, however, as he invariably did the wishes of Agnes; and from that +time, Mr. Fairland's pew had at least four or five occupants, on the +morning and evening of the Sabbath day. Though not required by her +engagement to do so, Agnes kept the children with her on Sunday, reading +to them, singing with them, or telling them beautiful Bible stories; and +those pleasant Sabbaths spent with her they never forgot, nor did they +ever lay aside the habits they acquired under her care. + +"What a pleasant day Sunday is!" exclaimed little Rosa; "I never knew it +was such a pleasant day before." + +"It's cousin Agnes makes it so pleasant," said blue-eyed Jessie. + +"It is because you spend it as God directs, that it is a pleasant day to +you, dear children," said Agnes; "and I wish you to remember that it +will always be a happy day, if you spend it in His service, 'from the +beginning unto the end thereof.'" + +Even if I were sufficiently acquainted with them to detail all the +plans of Agnes for the education and improvement in manners and habits +of her rude and ignorant little pupils, I should not do so here. They +required peculiar training and an unfailing stock of patience, and it +was long before any very perceptible change was wrought in their almost +confirmed habits of carelessness, or any improvement in their rude and +unformed manners; but at length a material change was apparent, and even +the Misses Fairland could not keep their eyes closed to the visible +improvement of the children. They were all much more gentle and quiet; +and even poor Tiney softened much, under Agnes' gentle influence, and +the light of intelligence began to beam in her heretofore dull eye. For +the first time in her life, she was gaining useful ideas; and the +consciousness that she was learning something as well as her sisters, +seemed to make her happier and more kindly in her feelings. + +It was not long before the door would open gently, as the sound of their +evening hymn was heard, and Mr. Fairland, who was extravagantly fond of +sweet and simple music, would steal into the room, and seat himself in +the corner. And when he heard the voices of his children singing the +praises of God, and saw his poor Tiney, hitherto so neglected, joining +with eager interest in the singing, the tears would glisten in his eye, +and roll unbidden down his cheek. Then he began to find his way to the +school-room on Sunday evenings, and Agnes always took the opportunity on +such occasions, to question the children on the elements of religious +truth, that their young voices might be the means of instructing their +father, who was more ignorant even than they, on these all-important +subjects. At these times he never said one word, but when he left the +room, it was often wiping the tears first, from one cheek and then from +the other, and the heavy tread of his feet could be heard far into the +night, as he walked the whole length of the two large parlors, with his +hands behind him, and his head bent down. Before Agnes had been six +months in the family, the good people sitting in the church at Wilston, +one Sunday, opened their eyes with astonishment, to see Mr. Fairland +walk into church and take his seat in a pew; and still more were they +amazed, to see him do the same thing in the afternoon. It was a surprise +to Agnes too; for though she had not failed to notice an unusual +solemnity about Mr. Fairland, yet no word on the subject of his duty in +this matter had ever passed between them. + +Thus in the strict and conscientious performance of her daily duties, +passed the summer with Agnes, with one delightful break, of a +fortnight's vacation, spent with the dear loving friends at Brook Farm, +where she saw much of her dear brother Lewie, who rode over every +evening and passed the night, returning to his college duties early in +the morning. The quick eye of a sister's love soon detected that all was +not right with Lewie. He was as affectionate as ever, and if possible +handsomer; but the faults of his childhood had grown with his growth and +strengthened with his strength; his temper seemed more hasty and +impetuous than ever, and there was a dashing recklessness about him +which gave his sister many a heart-ache; and she had painful, though +undefined fears for the future, for her rash and hot-headed brother. + +Her kind friends at Brook Farm, who fancied from some things they drew +from Agnes, that her home at the Fairlands' was not in all respects a +happy one, urged her most earnestly not to return there, but without +success. Agnes was convinced that there the path of duty lay, at least +for the present, and nothing could make her swerve from it. + +"Remember then, my sweet niece," said her uncle, as he kissed her at +parting, "this is your home, whenever, for any reason, you will make us +so happy as to return to it." + +The winter passed by very quietly to Agnes, in her accustomed round of +duties; indeed she was happier than she had yet found herself under Mr. +Fairland's roof, in consequence of the absence of the two young ladies, +who having by some means or other succeeded in securing an invitation +out of some acquaintances in the city, to make them a short visit, +inflicted themselves upon them for the whole winter, and did not return +to Wilston till the spring was far advanced. Their hosts, in order to +rid themselves of such persevering and long-abiding guests, began to +make their preparations long before the usual time for closing their +house and going to the country, and the Misses Fairland, invulnerable as +they proved all winter to anything like a _hint_, were obliged to take +this intended removal of their friends as a "notice to quit," which they +accordingly did. + +One bright spot to Agnes this winter, was a visit of a week from Lewie, +who took his vacation at the time of the holidays to run up and see his +sister. + +He had his guitar with him, and his voice, which had gained much in +depth and richness, was indescribably sweet. It seemed as if Mr. +Fairland never would tire of hearing the brother and sister sing +together. His mills and everything else were forgotten, while he sat +silently in his great chair with his eyes closed, listening hour after +hour to the blended harmony of their charming voices. + +That happy week was soon over, and the brother and sister parted. The +next time Agnes heard the sound of her brother's guitar, under what +different circumstances did its tones strike upon her ear! + + + + +XV. + +The Strangers in the Rookery. + + "If thou sleep alone in Urrard, + Perchance in midnight gloom + Thou'lt hear behind the wainscot + Sounds in that haunted room, + It is a thought of horror, + I would not sleep alone + In the haunted room of Urrard, + Where evil deeds are done." + + --UNKNOWN. + + +"What do you think, Calista? What _do_ you think?" exclaimed Miss +Evelina Fairland, one day soon after their return from the city, +bursting in, in a great state of excitement. "Two of the _handsomest_ +men have come to the village, one of them is a Mr. Harrington; isn't it +a lovely name? and he has purchased "_the Rookery_" do you believe! some +say that he is a young man, others that he is a widower. They have come +down to hunt and fish, and he was mightily taken with "the Rookery," +and in spite of ghosts and goblins he has actually bought it;" and here +Miss Evelina paused to take breath. + +"The Rookery" was a large old mansion which had once been a very +handsome dwelling. It stood quite alone on a rising ground a little out +of the village, and was surrounded with an extensive lawn, which on one +side sloped down the lake, over which were scattered magnificent elms; +and there was only one thing that prevented "the Rookery" from being the +most delightful residence in the country. This was the well-attested +fact that the house was haunted; and though at different times, those +who were above being influenced by these idle fears, had fitted up the +place and endeavored to live there, yet there could be no comfort in so +large a house without servants, and not one could be found to remain in +it more than one night. Servants were brought from a distance, but they +soon heard in the village the story of the lady who died so mysteriously +in that house twenty years before, and how she _walked_ every night, +and then of course they heard sounds, and saw sights; and they too, +forthwith took their departure. + +So the old house was quite falling into decay when these two brave men +came down and took possession of it; and fitting up comfortably two or +three of the most tenantable rooms, they there kept bachelors' hall, +unterrified and undisturbed, at least by _spirits_. A few days after the +announcement of the arrival of the strangers in the village, a widow +lady of the name of Danby came to make a visit to the Fairland's. She +had with her a little girl, her only child, a wilful, spoiled little +thing, who took her own course in everything, utterly regardless of the +wishes or commands of others. In the afternoon, as Agnes was preparing +to start with her little pupils for their accustomed walk, Mrs. Danby +said: + +"Bella wishes to accompany you, Miss Elwyn, but you must take good care +of her." + +"I will do my best, Mrs. Danby," said Agnes, "but one thing I shall +insist upon, and that is, that Bella shall obey me as my own little +scholars do." + +Miss Bella was not at all pleased with the idea of obeying any one, and +so she was continually showing off her independent airs as they walked, +hiding behind trees, describing eccentric circles around the rest of the +party, or darting off in tangents. At length she became so troublesome, +that Agnes determined to shorten their walk, and turned to retrace their +steps; at this Miss Bella was highly indignant, and declared "that she +would not go back, she would go on, down there by the water." + +They were at this time near an open space, which reached to the water, +at the end of which was a dock, for the convenience of those who wished +to go out upon the lake in boats. Agnes endeavored to detain the wilful +child, but she suddenly pulled away from her, and started like the wind +for the dock. Agnes called, and the children screamed, in vain; faster +and faster ran the little witch, still looking behind every moment to +see if she was pursued, till at length she tripped over a log, and fell +far out into the water. Agnes clasped her hands in speechless terror, +while the cries of the children were loud and agonizing. Just then a +boat in which were two gentlemen rounded a point of land near them, and +made rapidly for the struggling child, who in another moment was lifted +into the boat, and handed up to the arms of Agnes. + +Agnes was too much agitated to take particular notice of these +strangers, but taking off her shawl she wrapped the dripping child in +it, while one of her preservers carried her into a cottage near by, +Agnes and the still weeping children following. When the child was +placed in the kind woman's bed, and little Rosa was sent home to ask +Susan for some clothes to put on her, with special directions not to +alarm Mrs. Danby, Agnes returned to the sitting-room of the cottage, to +thank the strangers who had so opportunely come to their assistance, +when what was her astonishment to find that one of them was her old +friend, Tom Wharton. + +"And you knew I was in town, Mr. Wharton, and have been here three or +four days without coming to see me," said she. + +"Oh! you know I don't do things just like other people," answered Tom; +"and to tell the truth, though I have no fear of ghosts and hobgoblins, +I have not yet had the courage to face two famous man-hunters, who I +hear reside under the same roof with you, Agnes. But it is time I should +introduce you to my friend Mr. Harrington, the present proprietor of +"the Rookery," together with all the spirits, black and white, red and +grey, who are the inhabitants thereof." + +Agnes was glad to meet Mr. Harrington, of whom she had often heard her +uncle speak in terms of great admiration, as an accomplished gentleman +and a Christian; and one who used the large property he had inherited in +deeds of benevolence and usefulness. They had been for some time in +conversation about the friends at Brook Farm, from whom the two +gentlemen had lately parted, when little Rosa returned. + +Rosa found that her older sisters and Mrs. Danby had gone out for a +walk; so it was a very easy matter to get some dry clothes for Bella, +and bring her safe home before her mother heard of the accident. What +was the surprise of the Misses Fairland, as, in coming down the street, +they saw Agnes returning, accompanied by one of the handsome strangers +whose acquaintance they had been "dying" to make; while the other +followed, carrying little Bella Danby in his arms. A few words sufficed +to tell the story of the accident, and to introduce the strangers, who, +with the utmost cordiality, were urged to come in; an invitation which +was unhesitatingly accepted by Mr. Harrington, and rather reluctantly by +Mr. Tom Wharton. Mrs. Danby, pale and agitated, took her little darling +in her arms, and hurried to her own room, there to administer certain +restoratives, and, much against the young lady's will, to place her +again in bed. + +Mr. Harrington, having now gained the _entre_ to Mr. Fairland's house, +seemed inclined to be a frequent visitor, much to the gratification of +the ladies Calista and Evelina, who laid siege to him right and left. If +my reader possessed the key to Mr. Harrington's real object in coming to +Wilston, perhaps he would be as much amused as the gentleman himself at +the efforts, so exceedingly apparent, to gain for one of them possession +of his hand and fortune; for that Mr. Harrington was wealthy, they were +well assured. They each kept out a _hook_, too, for Mr. Tom Wharton, in +case the other was successful in taking the more valuable prey; but the +bait was by no means tempting to Mr. Tom, who darted off, leaving his +friend, unsupported and alone, to resist the attacks of these practised, +but hitherto unsuccessful anglers. + +"Well, Harrington," said Mr. Tom Wharton to his friend one day, "since +your object in bringing me down here with you is accomplished, I must +now leave you to your fate. What that may be, in the midst of attacks +from spirits by night, and from more substantial persecutors by day, I +cannot divine; but if there is anything left of you, I shall hope to +see you in the city before long, and to hear the account you have to +give of yourself." + +"I thank you for your services thus far, my dear friend," said Mr. +Harrington; "still, I think it would be the part of disinterested +friendship to stay and help me a little longer." + +"I can't--I can't stand it, Harrington. _You_ may be able to bear it +better; but I'm not used to this sort of thing, and I don't know how to +get along with it at all. Your case is a hard one, I acknowledge, my +friend; but having some business of my own to attend to, I must leave +you to fight out your own battles." And Mr. Tom Wharton, resolutely +closed his ears to his friend's appeals, and took his departure. + +A beautiful little boat which Mr. Harrington had ordered from the city +having arrived, he called, one afternoon, at Mr. Fairland's, to ask the +ladies if they would take a sail with him upon the lake. Most eagerly +the Misses Fairland consented, and were leaving the room to prepare to +go, when Mr. Harrington turned to Agnes, who happened to be in the +room, and said: + +"May I not hope for the pleasure of Miss Elwyn's company too?" Upon +which Miss Evelina, with a childishly-confidential air, raised herself +on tiptoe, and whispered in his ear: + +"It is not _at all_ necessary to ask her: we never feel obliged to, I +assure you. She is only _governess to the children_." + +But Mr. Harrington renewed his invitation, which Agnes had respectfully +declined, when Mr. Fairland entered the room, and Mr. Harrington +appealed to him. + +"Go? Certainly Agnes must go; she has never been on the lake in a +sail-boat, and I have often heard her say she would delight to go. Come, +Agnes! put on your things without a word, and go along." + +Thus urged, Agnes consented to go, though she felt a little +uncomfortable at the silent displeasure of the Misses Fairland. There +was a pleasant breeze, and the little boat flew like a bird over the +dancing waves. Agnes, a devoted admirer of nature, was in an ecstasy +which she could not conceal, as one beautiful view succeeded another +during their sail up the lake; but the other ladies were so much +occupied in trying the effect of _art_, that they had no eye for the +beauties of _nature_. The breeze soon died away, leaving them far from +home, and Mr. Harrington was obliged to take to his oars; and long +before the village was in sight, the gentle moon had begun her walk +through "golden gates," throwing across the water a brilliant column of +light, sparkling and dancing in glorious beauty on the gentle ripples of +the lake. + +"Now is the time for music," said Mr. Harrington; "for truly + + 'Music sounds the sweetest + Over the rippling waves.'" + +But for once the Misses Fairland were obliged to relinquish the +opportunity of charming by their united voices; the only music in which +they were practised, and which they thought worth listening to, being of +the flourishing, trilling, running, quavering, shrieking kind; and this +they could not attempt without their "notes" and the "instrument." Mr. +Harrington then proposed to Agnes to sing some sweet old-fashioned airs; +and laying down his oars, he took a seat beside her, and joined his rich +tenor to the strangely-melodious tones of her voice; and as the harmony +floated over the water, it seemed almost like the music of heaven. This +was a state of things by no means agreeable to the two neglected ladies +in the other end of the boat, and Miss Calista began to be afraid of the +night air, and Miss Evelina was taken with a hacking cough; so that Mr. +Harrington was obliged to resume his oars, and row them rapidly to the +village. + +Mr. Harrington consented to moor his boat, and accompany the ladies up +to the house to tea. Anxious to try the effect of their own +accomplishments, the Misses Fairland, soon after tea, led the +conversation to the subject of music, and were easily persuaded to +attempt, with the "notes" and "instrument," some of their favorite +songs. And now began a flourishing and screaming unparalleled in the +annals of music. Miss Calista screamed, "I love only thee!" and then +Miss Evelina shrieked, "I love only thee!" and then Miss Calista trilled +it--and Miss Evelina howled it--and Miss Calista quavered it--and Miss +Evelina ran it--and then one of them started on it, and the other ran +and caught up with her--and then one burred for some time on +thee-e-e-e-e, while the other ran up and down, still asserting as +rapidly as possible, and insisting boldly, and stoutly asseverating, "I +love only thee!"--and then, with a combined shriek, they made known the +fact once more and finally, and then the ears of their hearers were +allowed to rest. + +"Now, girls, if you have done with that clatter," said Mr. Fairland, "I +want Agnes to sing for _me_ one of those sweet old Scotch songs; it will +be quite refreshing after all this screeching." + +"Oh!" said Miss Calista, rising from the instrument, and casting up her +eyes at Mr. Harrington, "my dear old papa has the _oddest, +old-fashioned_ taste!" + +But as soon as Agnes began to sing, it seemed as if Mr. Harrington's +taste was quite as "odd" and "old-fashioned" as that of the "dear old +papa" himself; for he was guilty of the impropriety of not hearing what +Miss Evelina was saying to him, and soon rose and took his stand by the +piano, where he showed very plainly that he had no ear for any other +sound than that of Agnes' voice. + +Agnes went to bed with some very pleasant thoughts that night; for, +though tongues may be silent, _eyes_ can tell their story very soon; and +it _is_ a pleasant thing to find one's self an object of interest to +some noble heart; and particularly grateful was it to Agnes, in her +present lonely, toiling life. And she needed all the inward peace and +comfort she possessed, to enable her to bear the increased ill-nature of +Mrs. Fairland and her daughters; for the "mamma" was no less displeased +than the young ladies themselves at the prospect of the failure of one +of their cherished plans. + +And now, when Mr. Harrington called, there was generally some excuse +contrived for sending Agnes from the room, and for keeping her busy in +some other part of the house; and though Agnes was indignant at this +evident desire to get her out of the way, by putting upon her labor +which they had no right to require of her, yet, at the time, and in Mr. +Harrington's presence, she would not contest the point, but quietly left +the room. This never happened, however, when Mr. Fairland was present, +as the good man, if he had fully seen through all the plans of his wife +and daughters, could not have discomfited them more surely than he +always contrived to do. + +In the meantime, the ladies Calista and Evelina never for a moment +relaxed their efforts, or ceased to practise their arts, upon the +wealthy and agreeable stranger. + +"How _charming_ your place must her Mr. Harrington!" said Miss Evelina +one evening; "I do delight in these old haunted mansions; there is +something so delightfully romantic about them." + +"And have you really heard any of these strange noises at night?" asked +Miss Calista. + +"Noises?--enough of them," he answered; "I have sometimes been so +disturbed, that I could not sleep at all." + +"And what _did_ you do?" asked the young ladies in a breath, their eyes +dilating with horror. + +"Why, in the first place," said Mr. Harrington, "I bought a _terrier_, +and in the next a large _rat-trap_; and by means of both, I succeed in +laying several of the spirits every night, and have strong hopes that, +before long, perfect quiet will be restored to the haunted mansion." + +Then calling Jessie, who was in the room, to his side, Mr. Harrington +took her in his lap, and said: + +"You remind me very much of a little blue-eyed, flaxen-haired girl I +have in the city." + +"Why, have you a little girl?" Mr. Harrington, asked the young ladies. + +"Yes, two of them," he answered. + +"Oh, how I _doat_ on children!" exclaimed Miss Calista. + +"Cousin Agnes, what is the meaning of _doat_?" screamed Master Frank, +running up to Agnes, who just then entered the room. + +"What is it to _doat_ on any one?" + +"It is to love them very dearly;" answered Agnes quietly. + +"Ho! C'listy says she _doats_ on children--she doats on us, don't she +Rosa?" and Master Frank laughed such a laugh of derision, that Mr. +Harrington was obliged to say something very funny to little Jessie, who +was still sitting on his knee, in order to have an excuse for laughing +too. + +Miss Calista fairly trembled with concealed rage, and soon succeeded in +having Master Frank sent off to bed. Indeed, Frank was the cause of so +much mortification to Miss Calista, that she would gladly have banished +him too from the parlor, but he was lawless, and no one in the house +could do anything with him but Agnes. + +Mr. Harrington was very fond of children, and often had long +conversations with little Frank, whose bold, independent manners seemed +to please him much. One evening when he was talking to him, Frank said: + +"Mr. Harrington I'm saving up my money to buy a boat just like yours." + +"You are, hey, Frank? and how much have you got towards it?" asked Mr. +Harrington. + +"Oh! I've got two sixpences, and a shilling, and three pennies;" said +Frank. "I keep all my money in a china-box, one of C'listy's boxes she +used to keep her red paint in; _this_, you know!" touching each cheek +with his finger. + +This was too much for Miss Calista; she rushed from the room, and vented +her indignation in a burst of angry tears, and the next time she met +Master Frank, she gave him a slap upon his cheek, which made it a deeper +crimson than the application of her own paint would have done. All these +slights and mortifications were revenged upon poor Agnes, who would +gladly have left a place where she was so thoroughly uncomfortable; but +the thought of the children, to whom she had become attached, and who +seemed now to be rewarding her pains and trouble by their rapid +improvement, deterred her from taking a step which should separate her +from them forever. Poor Tiney too, who seemed rapidly failing under the +power of disease, and who clung to her so fondly, how could she leave +her? + + + + +XVI. + +Death and the Fugitive. + + "She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer, + Apart she sighed; alone, she shed the tear, + Then, as if breaking from a cloud she gave + Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave." + + --CRABBE. + + +One summer night, Agnes, who had been up till very late, soothing and +quieting poor Tiney, and had at last succeeded in singing her to sleep, +left her in Susan's care, and returned to her own room. It was a lovely, +warm, moonlight evening, and Agnes stood by her raised window, watching +the shadows of the tall trees which were thrown with such vivid +distinctness across the gravel walks and the closely trimmed lawn, and +thinking of a pleasant walk she had taken that day, and of some one who +joined her, (as was by no means unusual,) on her return from the woods +with the younger children. + +Suddenly her reverie was broken by the sound of a few chords struck very +lightly and softly upon a guitar. The sound came from the clump of +trees, the shadows of which Agnes had just been admiring; and she +supposed they were the prelude to a serenade. Her heart whispered to her +who the musician might be, for though she had never heard him, with whom +her thoughts had been busy, touch the guitar, yet with his ardent love +for music, she did not doubt that he might if he chose, accompany his +rich voice upon so simple an instrument. + +But now the blood which had crimsoned her cheek flowed back tumultuously +to her heart, as she heard a voice she could not mistake, humming very +softly the notes of a sad and touching air, which she and Lewie had +often sung together. This plaintive singer could be no other than her +brother. But why here, at night, and in this clandestine manner, +evidently trying to win her attention, without arousing that of others? +The house seemed quiet: and Agnes, throwing a shawl about her, quickly +descended the stairs, and, quietly opening a side door, crossed the +lawn, and in another moment stood beside her brother, under the shade of +the tall old elms. + +"Lewie! is it indeed you?" + +He made no answer, he said not one word, but, drawing Agnes to a seat +under one of the trees, he seated himself beside her, and laying his +head upon her shoulder, he was quiet for a few moments; and then Agnes +felt his frame tremble with sudden emotion, and heard a deep sob. + +"Lewie! my brother! do speak to me! What is it? Do not keep me in +suspense! What dreadful thing has happened?" + +"Agnes," said he, with a sudden and forced calmness, the words coming +slowly from between his white, stiffened lips--"Agnes, it is--_murder_!" + +Agnes did not scream--she did not faint--forgetfulness for a moment +would have been a relief. In a flash she had comprehended it all. + +"Lewie," said she, "is there blood upon this hand?" + +"Agnes, it is true; your brother is a murderer! No less a murderer, +because the blow was struck in the heat of sudden passion, and when the +brain was inflamed with wine; and no less a murderer, because it was +repented of the moment given, and before the fatal consequences were +suspected. My sister, I am a fugitive and a wanderer, hunted by the +officers of justice, and doomed to the prison or the gallows." + +It seemed to Agnes like a fearful dream! It was too dreadful to be true! +The thought crossed her mind, perhaps it _is_ a dream; she had had +dreams as vivid, and had awakened with such a blessed feeling of relief. +But no! she clasped Lewie's cold hand in hers, and felt assured it was +all reality. For a few moments she could only bury her face in her +hands, and rock to and fro and groan. She was aroused from this state of +agonized feeling by Lewie, who said: + +"And now, what shall I do, Agnes? I have come all this way on foot, and +at night, to see you once more, and to ask you what I should do? Oh that +I had been more willing to follow your gentle guidance before, sweet +sister!--but I have followed nothing but the dictates of my own +ungoverned passions. Shall I try to escape, or shall I give myself up +for trial? On my word, Agnes, I am not a murderer by intention. I was +excited; something was said which tried my quick temper; I answered with +a burst of sudden passion; more taunting words followed; and, quicker +than the lightning's flash, I had dealt the blow which laid my +class-mate dead at my feet I was sobered in one moment; and oh, Agnes! +what, _what_ would I not have given to restore my murdered friend to +life!--not for my own sake; for I never thought of myself till urged by +my terror-stricken companions to fly. Then I thought of my own safety; +and, my darling sister, I thought of you, and determined that you should +hear of your brother's disgrace and crime from no lips but his own. I +have been hanging about here all day, but could not see you; and +finding no other way to call your attention, I borrowed this guitar at +the tavern, and have been watching from these trees, till I saw a white +form at a window, which I knew was yours. Now, Agnes, what shall I do?" + +"Oh, Lewie, what can I say but _fly_, and save yourself from an +ignominious fate! It may not be right counsel; but how can a sister +advise otherwise? My poor, poor brother!" And Agnes was relieved by a +passionate burst of tears. And now came the time for parting. He must +go, for they would be likely to seek him in the home of his only +sister,--he must go quickly and quietly;--and, with a few hurried words, +in which his sister commended him to God, and entreated him to go to +_Him_ for pardon and peace, and with one last fond embrace, they parted. +Agnes returned to the house with feeble, staggering steps, stricken to +the very heart. + +No sleep visited the eyes of Agnes that night; and when she appeared in +the breakfast room the following morning, her pale and haggard +countenance showed marks of extreme suffering, which should have been +respected even by the Misses Fairland. But no! their quick ears had also +caught the tones of the guitar, and rushing to a window on that side of +the house, in the expectation of a serenade, they had seen Agnes as she +crossed the lawn, and returned again to the house. Here was food for +conjecture, and jealousy for the suspicious ladies, and they had long +been awaiting the arrival of Agnes in the breakfast room, hoping to have +the mystery cleared up. + +"May we be informed, Miss Elwyn," began Miss Calista, "how long you have +been in the habit of receiving signals from lovers, and stealing out at +night to give them clandestine meetings in the grove?" + +A bright blush suffused the cheek of Agnes, which died away immediately, +leaving it of an ashy paleness, as she said: + +"I have met no lover in the grove, Calista, at least not what _you_ mean +by a lover," she added, thinking this might be an evasion, for did not +her brother love her dearly? + +"Not what _I_ call a lover," said Miss Calista; "a very nice +distinction! then you do not deny that you met what _you_ call a lover +in the grove. Indeed you need trouble yourself to make no denial, for +Evelina and I both watched you." + +Agnes rose from the table, and all who were gathered around it were +amazed at the unusual vehemence of her manner, as with an expression of +intense wretchedness upon her face, she exclaimed: + +"Oh! _do, do_ let me alone! do leave me in quiet; for I am very, very +unhappy!" + +And hastily, and with great agitation, Agnes left the room. + +Mr. Fairland, who was so much interested in a paragraph in the paper, +which appeared to shock him exceedingly, that he had not heard the +ill-natured remarks of his daughters, looked up just as Agnes rose from +the table, and heard her agonized address. + +With more sternness than usual, he asked his daughters what they had +been saying to Agnes, and on hearing their account of the conversation, +he exclaimed: + +"Poor Agnes! you will see in this paper girls something that will shock +you, and will perhaps inspire you with a little sympathy for one whom it +seems to be your delight to torment. You may perhaps now guess who it +was that Agnes met in the grove last night." + +The Misses Fairland were really shocked to read the account of the +murder, and to read the name of Lewis Elwyn as the murderer; and +something like remorse for a moment visited their minds, that they had +added to the sufferings of the already burdened heart of Agnes. + +"Poor fellow! poor young man!" exclaimed Mr. Fairland; "such a handsome +fellow as he was, and such a sweet singer too! this seems to have been +done in a sudden passion; and not without provocation too. But it is an +awful thing! Poor Agnes! she must not attempt to teach the children +while she is so distressed; and I do desire girls, that you will have +the _decency_, if you have not the _feeling_, to leave her entirely +undisturbed." + +Days passed on and nothing was heard of the fugitive. Oh, what days of +restless and painful suspense to Agnes! Had she not had constant and +unusual occupation for her time, it seemed to her that she could not +keep her reason. But poor Tiney had grown suddenly and alarmingly worse, +and the physician said a very days at most would terminate her +sufferings. With all the distressing thoughts which crowded upon her, +Agnes remained by the bed-side of the little sufferer, endeavoring to +soothe and cheer her descent to the dark valley. + +Mrs. Fairland, who though indolent and indifferent in many things with +regard to her children, was not altogether without natural affection, +passed much of her time, during the last two or three days of Tiney's +life, in her room, sitting quietly near the head of the bed. Mr. +Fairland, who seemed more overcome even than Agnes expected, hardly ever +left the bed-side. The older sisters looked in occasionally for a few +moments, but their "nerves" (always ready as an excuse with people +destitute of feeling) would not allow their staying for more than five +minutes at a time, in the room of the sick child. The younger children +wandered restlessly about the house, their little hearts oppressed by +the first approach of death among their number; sometimes coming in +quietly to look at the dying sister, and then wandering off again. + +"Cousin Agnes, _must_ I _die_?" asked Tiney, the day before her death, +as Agnes and her father and mother were sitting near her. + +"You are not afraid to die, dear Tiney, are you?" asked Agnes in reply. + +"No, I shall love to die, because you told me I would never be sick any +more; but I feel a _little_ afraid to go to Heaven." + +"Afraid to go to Heaven, dear Tiney! And why should you be afraid to go +there?" asked Agnes, in astonishment; for she had, oftener than ever, of +late, talked to the failing child of the glories of heaven, and did not +doubt that, even with her poor weak mind, she had so trusted by faith +in the merits of an all-sufficient Redeemer, that through those merits +her spirit would be welcomed to that blissful abode. + +"I was thinking," answered Tiney, "that I don't _know anybody_, there; +not a single soul; and I feel so shy with strangers. Will they love me +there, cousin Agnes, as you and papa do?" + +Agnes could not repress the tears at this question, so natural, perhaps, +to a simple child, and yet one which she had never thought of as likely +to occur to one before. But she talked to Tiney so soothingly and +sweetly of Him who loved little children when on earth, and who was +watching for her now, and would send some lovely angel to bear her to +His breast, that poor Tiney lost her fears, and longed for the hour of +her release. And it came the next morning. Just as the glorious sun was +rising over the lake, the spirit of poor little suffering Tiney left its +earthly dwelling, and began its long and never-ending day of happiness. + +Oh! what a brilliant light shone for once in those dark gray eyes, as +Tiney raised them, with a look of wonder and astonishment and joy, as if +she saw far, far beyond the limits which bounded her mortal sight!--and +as, with an enraptured expression, she murmured something about "that +lovely music," the light faded from the still wide open and glassy eye; +and Agnes, passing her hand gently over the lids, said, "Mr. Fairland, +she is gone!" and the first thought of her sad heart was, "Oh that I too +were at rest!" But she checked it in one moment, when she remembered +that there were duties and conflicts and trials before her yet; and she +determined she would go forward, in the Divine strength, into the +furnace which she must needs go through, in order to be refined and +purified. + +Once, during Tiney's last sickness, a messenger called for Agnes, and +put a note and a little bouquet of green-house flowers into her hand. At +first, Agnes hoped that the note might contain tidings of her brother; +but though disappointed in this respect, the contents of the note were +soothing and grateful to her troubled heart. The words were simply +these: + +"Is there _anything_ I can do for you? And if you need a friend, will +you call upon me?" The note was signed "C.H." + +At first Agnes merely said, in a despairing tone, "Oh no! nothing can be +done;" and then, feeling that a different answer should be sent to a +message so kind, she tore off a bit of the paper, and wrote upon it: + +"Nothing can be done for me now. Believe me, I will not hesitate to call +upon you, when you can do me any good." + +The day after Tiney's death, officers came to search Mr. Fairland's +house for the fugitive, having traced him to Wilston. Every corner of +the house was searched, and even the chamber of death was not spared. +The search, of course, was unsuccessful; but, the day after poor Tiney's +funeral, came tidings to Agnes of the arrest of her brother. He was +taken at last, and safely lodged in the jail at Hillsdale, where he was +to await his trial. + +And now Agnes, whose office ever seemed of necessity to be that of +consoler and comforter, must leave her little charge, and go to be near +her brother. It was a bitter parting; it seemed as if the children could +not let her go; and the scene recalled so vividly to Agnes the parting +with Miss Edwards at Brook Farm, that the recollection made her, if +possible, still more sad, as she thought the resemblance might be +carried out even to the end, and the close of this earthly scene to her +might be as melancholy as was that of her beloved teacher. + +She promised Mr. Fairland that, as soon as she could attend to it, she +would ascertain if there were vacancies in Mrs. Arlington's school for +Rosa and Jessie, and also if Mr. Malcolm would consent to take charge of +Frank's education; and, accompanied by Mr. Fairland, she left Wilston, +as she supposed, forever. + + + + +XVII. + +The Jail. + + "I may not go, I may not go, + Where the sweet-breathing spring-winds blow; + Nor where the silver clouds go by, + Across the holy, deep blue sky; + Nor where the sunshine, warm and bright + Comes down, like a still shower of light; + I must stay here + In prison drear; + Oh! heavy life, wear on, wear on, + Would God that thou wert gone." + + --FANNY KEMBLE. + + +They reached Brook Farm late in the evening, and here the greeting, +though not as noisy and joyous, was warmer, and if possible more +affectionate than ever. They all loved Lewie in spite of his many +faults, and their sympathy was most sincere and hearfelt for Agnes, who +was very dear to them all. As soon as Agnes could speak to Mr. Wharton +alone, she said: + +"Uncle, have you seen him?" + +"Every day, dear Agnes, and have been with him some hours each day." + +"And how does he feel, dear Uncle?" + +"Relieved, I think, on the whole; that the suspense is over thus far. He +says he would not live over again the last three weeks for worlds. Many +and many a time he had almost resolved to return and give himself up for +trial; but the thought of you, Agnes, prevented. He said that you must +be a sharer in all his trouble and disgrace, and if he could spare your +distress and suffering, by escaping from the country, he meant to try +and do it, and then he would soon be forgotten, except by the few who +cared for him." + +"And how does he feel about the--the result, uncle?" + +"Hopeful, I think; he seems to think it cannot be brought in murder, +when murder was so far from his intention." + +"And what do _you_ think, uncle?" + +"I am inclined to think with Lewie, dear; there is always a leaning +towards mercy, and your brother has counsel, the very best in the +State." + +"Oh, uncle, how very kind! how can we ever repay you for your kindness?" + +"No thanks to me in this matter, Agnes; Mr. W---- has been retained by +one who does not wish his name known; one who would be glad, I fancy, to +have a nearer right to stand by you through these coming scenes, but who +will not trouble you with these matters at present." + +A bright blush came up in Agnes' cheek, and as suddenly died away as she +said: + +"One question more, uncle; when will it take place--the trial, I mean?" + +"It will probably come on in November," her uncle answered. + +"Two long months of imprisonment for my poor brother!" said Agnes. + +"But remember, Agnes, those two months will be diligently employed by +his counsel in preparing his defence." + +"And by those on the other side, in making strong their cause against +him, uncle. My poor dear Lewie! how I long to see him; and yet how I +dread the first meeting, oh! if that were only over!" + +The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Mr. Wharton and Agnes +drove over to Hillsdale. Agnes shuddered, and turned pale, as they drew +near the gloomy jail with its iron-barred windows, and closing her eyes +she silently prayed for strength and calmness for the meeting with her +brother. Mr. Wharton conducted her to the door of the room in which her +brother was confined, and left her there, as he knew they would both +prefer that their first meeting should be without witnesses. In one +respect Agnes was agreeably disappointed; she had expected to find her +brother in a close, dark dungeon; and was much surprised to find herself +in a pleasant, light room, with table, books, writing materials, and +everything very comfortable about him; the only things there to remind +her that she was in a prison, being the locked door, and the grated +window. + +Agnes had been preparing herself ever since she first received the +tidings of her brother's arrest, for this meeting; and she went through +it with a calmness and composure which astonished herself. But poor +Lewie was completely overcome. He knew his sister would come to him; but +he had not expected her so soon, and the first intimation he had of her +arrival, was the sight of her upon the threshold of his door. + +"Poor Agnes! poor dear sister!" said he, as soon as he could speak; +"what have I ever been from my childhood up, but a source of trouble and +distress to you. You were punished for my ungoverned temper all through +your childhood; you are suffering for it now; you will have to suffer +for it more, till your bloom is all gone, and you are worn to a +skeleton. If I had dared, Agnes--if I had dared, I should have put an +end to this mortal existence; and thus I should have saved you all this +coming disgrace and misery. But I had not the courage to lay violent +hands upon myself, and go, a deliberate suicide, into the presence of +my Maker. I have tried all other means; I have gone through exposure and +fatigue, which at any other time I know would have killed me; I have +laid out all night in the rain; _I_, who used to be so susceptible to +cold, but nothing seemed to hurt me. I have been reserved for other and +more terrible things. And you, Agnes, who are always kind, and +forbearing, and self-sacrificing, it seems to be your fate ever to +suffer and endure for others. Oh, my sister, you deserve a happier lot!" + +"Don't talk so, dear Lewie!" said Agnes; "you have given me very many +happy hours, and all the little troubles of 'long, long ago' are +forgotten. And now, what greater pleasure can I have than that of +sitting with you here, working and reading, and trying to wile away the +tedious hours of your captivity?" + +"Agnes! this must not be! I cannot allow it. It will brighten the whole +day for me, if you will come and spend an hour or two with me every +morning; but I cannot consent that you shall be immured for the whole +day in the walls of this gloomy prison-house." + +"But what can you do, Lewie? I am going to be obstinate for once, and +take my own course. Uncle will drive me over every morning, and come for +me at night; and I am going to enjoy a pleasure long denied me, of +spending every day with my darling brother." + +"Oh, Agnes! this is too, too much!" + +"Not too much at all, Lewie. Do you think I could be happy anywhere else +than with you? What should I do at uncle's but roam the house, restless +and impatient, every moment I am absent from you? And the nights will +seem so long, because they separate me from you!" + +"Oh! how utterly undeserving!--how _utterly undeserving_ such love and +devotion!" said Lewie, pacing up and down the room. "Sweet +sister!--dearest Agnes!--now has my prison lost all its gloom; and were +it not for the future, I might be happier here than when out in the +world; for temptation here is far from me, and only good influences +surround me." + +"And what of the future, dear?" + +"Of my trial, Agnes? Well, I hardly know what to say. My friends and +lawyers try to keep up my spirits, and mention to me many hopeful +things; and, for the time, I too feel encouraged. But I can think of +many things that a skilful lawyer can bring up against me, and which +would weigh very heavily. I am trying to think of the _worst_ as a +_probability_; so that if it comes, I shall not be overwhelmed." + +"Oh!" said Agnes, shuddering, and covering her eyes, as if to shut out +some horrid spectacle, "it cannot be! I cannot bring myself to +contemplate it for a moment!" + +"And yet it _may be_, Agnes! or they may spare my life, and doom me to +wear out long years of imprisonment, and then send me out into the world +a blighted and ruined man! That is the best I can hope for; and but for +the disgrace which would come upon me, I should say the sudden end is +better." + +"And what of the future _after that_, Lewie? for that, after all, is the +great concern." + +"The _eternal future_ you mean, Agnes. Ah! my sister, the prospect there +is darker and more dreary still. I know enough of religion to feel +assured that my short life has not been spent in the way to prepare me +for a future of happiness; and I am not yet so hardened as to pretend +not to dread a future of misery." + +"God grant such may not be your fate, dear brother. Whether life be long +or short, happy or sorrowful, our future depends upon heart-felt +repentance here, and faith in the 'sinner's Friend.' You have now time +for quiet and reflection. Oh! improve it dear Lewie, in so humbling +yourself before Him whom you have offended, and in so seeking for +pardon, that He will bless you and grant you peace." + +"I see, Agnes," said her brother, with a sad smile, "you want me to +follow in the footsteps of all other offenders and criminals, who, +after doing all the mischief possible, and living for their own selfish +gratification while abroad in the world, spend the time of their +imprisonment in acts of penitence and devotion, and go out of the world, +as they all invariably do, in the full odor of sanctity, in peace with +God, and in charity with men." + +"Is my advice to you in any way different, my dear brother, from what it +was when you were free and unrestrained? Indeed, so much did I dread the +effect of your undisciplined temper, and so assured did I feel that for +you the grace of God was peculiarly necessary, that I have feared I +sometimes made my presence unwelcome by my constant warnings and +admonitions." + +"Never, Agnes--never, dearest sister! I always thanked you from my +inmost heart for your kind, loving, tender counsel; and though +apparently I turned it off lightly and carelessly, yet it often sank +deep in my heart; and when parted from you, I often thought what a +miserable wretch I was not to give better heed to it." + +"Yet, Lewie dear, I will not deny that I think the need more urgent +than ever for repentance and pardon now. I do not wish to harrow up your +feelings, dear brother; but, oh! it is an awful thing to send a +fellow-creature into eternity!" + +"And do you think that thought ever for a moment leaves me, Agnes? +Indeed, I think that while I have been skulking and hiding, hunted and +pursued from one place to another, and since I have been shut up in +these walls, every harrowing thought that could possibly be brought +before my mind, has been dwelt upon till it seemed sometimes as if I +should go mad. I have mourned for Cranston as if I had no hand in his +death; I have thought of him in all his hope and promise; I have thought +of his poor mother and sisters, till the tears have rained from my +cheeks; and I believe I have been sincere in my feeling, that if by +suffering an ignominious death, I could restore my murdered friend to +life, I should be _glad_ to be the sacrifice. And then when I thought of +_myself_ as the cause of all this suffering, it seemed as if it ought +not to be a matter of wonder or complaint if the verdict should be, +that such a wretch should cumber the earth no longer. And yet, Agnes, in +the eye of Him who looketh only on the heart, I believe I was as much a +murderer when I struck down my school-mate in the play-ground as now. +For in the height of my passion then, I think I should have been glad to +have killed him. But the thought of _murder_ did not enter my heart when +I struck poor Cranston; it was a sort of instinctive movement; the work +of a moment; and had not the murderous weapon been in my hand, the +effects of the blow would have been but slight." + +Many such conversations as these passed between the young prisoner and +his sister, during those two months preceding the trial--every day of +which, except during church hours on Sunday, Agnes passed with him from +morning till night, almost as much a prisoner as he, except that hers +was not compulsory. This time was faithfully improved by Agnes, in +endeavoring to lead her brother to right views upon the subject of his +own condition in the sight of a Holy God. He was very gentle and +teachable now, and before the day of trial came, Agnes hoped that her +brother was a true penitent, though his own hopes of pardon were faint +and flickering. + +Mr. Malcolm too, often visited young Elwyn, in whom he was most deeply +interested; and his gentle teachings and fervent prayers were eagerly +listened to by the youthful prisoner. Mr. W----, his counsel, came +often, also, but in his endeavors to keep up the spirits of Lewie and +his sister, his manner was so trifling and flippant that it grated on +their feelings painfully. He was working as laboriously it seemed, as +the enormous fee promised him would warrant, leaving no stone unturned +which would throw some favorable light on young Elwyn's case. Thus days +and weeks passed on, and in the midst of increasing agitation and +excitement, the day of trial came. + +When the brother and sister parted the evening before the trial, Agnes +once more renewed the entreaties she had so often made that Lewie would +allow her to remain by his side during the painful events of the coming +day. But his refusal was firm and unyielding. + +"No, no, dear sister, pray do not urge it," said he. "I know I shall be +too much agitated as it is; I do not believe I can go through it with +even an appearance of calmness alone; and how much more difficult it +would be for me with you by my side. I know I could not bear it. No! +Agnes, remain in the village if you prefer it, but do not let me see +your dear face again till my fate is decided. Let us pray once more +together, sweet sister--let us pray for mercy from God and man." And +when they arose from their knees they took their sad farewell, and Agnes +accompanied her uncle to the house of her kind friend, Dr. Rodney, where +she was to remain till the trial was over. + + + + +XVIII. + +The Trial. + + "The morn lowered darkly; but the sun hath now, + With fierce and angry splendor, through the clouds + Burst forth, as if impatient to behold + This our high triumph. Lead the prisoner in." + + --VESPERS OF PALERMO. + + +To say that, long before the hour fixed for the trial, the court room +was crowded to its utmost capacity with eager and expectant faces, would +be to repeat what has been written and said of every trial, the events +of which have been chronicled; but it would be no less true for that. +And when the young prisoner was brought into the room, his handsome face +pale from agitation and recent confinement, and with an expression of +intense anxiety in his eye, all not before deeply interested for the +friends of the unfortunate Cranston were moved to pity, and strongly +prepossessed in his favor. + +Mr. W----, the counsel for the prisoner, was an able and eloquent +lawyer. He was a small, slight man, with a high, bald forehead; and a +pair of very bright, black, restless eyes. His manner was naturally +quick and lively; but he well knew how to touch the tender strings, and +make them give forth a tone in unison with his own, or with that which +he had adopted for his own to suit the occasion. He had an appearance, +too, of being assured of the justice of his cause, and perfectly +confident of success, which was encouraging to the prisoner and his +friends. + +After the necessary preliminaries and statements had been gone through +with, the witnesses against the prisoner and in his favor were called, +who testified to the fact of the murder, and to the prisoner's natural +quickness of temper, inducing fits of sudden passion, which, even in +childhood, seemed at times hardly to leave him the mastery of himself. +Friends, school-mates, college-mates, in turn gave their testimony to +the prisoner's kindness of heart, which would not suffer him to harbor +resentment; and yet many instances were mentioned of fierce and terrible +passion, utterly heedless of results for the moment, and yet passing +away quick as the lightning's flash. + +It was shown that he had no ill-will to young Cranston; on the contrary, +they were generally friendly and affectionate; that they had been so +throughout the evening on which the fatal deed was done. It was at a +supper table, when all were excited by wine; and Cranston, who was fond +of a joke, and rather given to teazing, and being less guarded than +usual, introduced some subject exceedingly unpleasant to young Elwyn. +The quick temper of the latter was aroused at once, and he gave a hasty +and angry reply. The raillery was pushed still farther; and before those +about him had time to interfere, the fatal blow was struck in frantic +passion. + +"And is this no palliating circumstance," said Mr. W----, "that God has +given to this young man a naturally fierce and hasty temper, which +could not brook that which might be borne more patiently by those whose +blood flows more coldly and sluggishly? Is there no difference to be +made in our judgment of men, because of the different tempers and +dispositions with which they were born? Of course there is!--_of course_ +there is! It has been clearly shown that there was no malice +aforethought in this case; the injury was not brooded over in silence, +and the plan matured in cold blood to murder a class-mate and friend. +No! on the moment of provocation the blow was struck, with but the +single idea of giving vent to the passion which was bursting his breast. +And those who witnessed his deep remorse and agony of mind, when he +discovered the fatal effects of his passion, as, all regardless of his +own safety, he endeavored to restore his expiring friend to life, have +assured me, that though they were witnesses of the whole scene, they +felt for _him_ only the deepest commiseration." + +And here Mr. W---- paused and wiped his eyes repeatedly, and the sobs +of the young prisoner were heard all over the court room. + +"There was one," Mr. W---- continued, "of whom he wished to speak, and +whom, on some accounts, he would have been glad to bring before the jury +to-day. But he would not outrage the feelings of his young friend by +urging him to consent to the entreaties of his lovely sister, that she +might be permitted to sit by his side in that prisoner's seat to-day. +She is his only sister; he her only brother; and they are orphans." +(Here there was a faltering of the voice, a pause, which was very +effective; and after apparently a great effort, Mr. W---- went on.) + +"She has sat beside him hour after hour, and day after day, in yonder +dreary jail, endeavoring to make the weary hours of solitude and +captivity less irksome, and lead the prisoner's heart away from earthly +trouble to heavenly comfort. Her hope in the jury of to-day is strong. +She believes they will not doom her young and only brother to an +ignominious death, and a dishonored grave; she even hopes that they +will not consign him to long years of weary imprisonment; she feels that +he is changed; that he no longer trusts to his own strength to overcome +his naturally strong and violent passions; but that his trust is in the +arm of the Lord his God, who 'turneth the hearts of men as the rivers of +water are turned.'" + +"May He dispose the hearts of these twelve men, on whom the fate of this +youth now hangs, so that they shall show, that like Himself they are +_lovers of mercy_." + +And Mr. W---- sat down and covered his face with his handkerchief. The +hope and expectation of acquittal now were very strong. + +And now slowly rose the counsel for the prosecution. Mr. G---- was a +tall thin man, of a grave and stern expression of countenance; his hair +was of an iron-gray, and his piercing gray eye shone from under his +shaggy eye-brows like a spark of fire. It was the only thing that looked +like _life_ about him; and when he first rose he began to speak in a +slow, distinct, unimpassioned manner, and without the least attempt at +eloquence. + +"He _had_ intended," he said, "to call a few more witnesses, but he +found it was utterly unnecessary; those already called had said all he +cared to hear; indeed, he had been much surprised to hear testimony on +the side of the prisoner which he should have thought by right his own. +No one attempts to deny the fact of the killing, and that the deed was +done by the hand of the prisoner. The question for us to decide is, was +it murder? was it man-slaughter? or was it _nothing at all_? for to that +point my learned adversary evidently wishes to conduct us." + +"The young man it appears, by the testimony of friends and school-mates, +has always been of a peculiarly quick and fiery temper; so much so it +seems, that a playful allusion, or what is commonly called a _teazing_ +expression, could not be indulged in at his expense but his companion +was instantly felled to the ground. And was _he_ the one to arm himself +with bowie-knife or revolver? Should one who was perfectly conscious +that he had not the slightest control over his temper, keep about him a +murderous weapon ready to do its deed of death upon any friend who might +unwittingly, in an hour of revelry, touch upon some sore spot?" + +"As soon would I approach a keg of gun-powder with a lighted candle in +my hand, as have aught to do with one so fiery and so armed for +destruction. It has been said that it is the custom for young men in +some of our colleges to go thus armed; the more need of signal vengeance +upon the work of death they do. Gentlemen of the jury, if this practice +is not loudly rebuked we shall have work of this kind accumulating +rapidly on our hands." + +"'It was done in the heat of frenzied passion, and so the prisoner must +go unpunished.' My learned friend argued not so, when he appeared in +this place against the murder Wiley; poor, ignorant, and half-witted; +who with his eyes starting from his head with starvation, entered a +farmer's house, and in the extremity of his suffering demanded bread. +And on being told by the woman of the house to take himself off to the +nearest tavern and get bread, caught up a carving knife and stabbed her +to the heart, seized a piece of bread, and fled from the house. He had a +fiendish temper too; it was rendered fiercer by starvation; and when +asked why he did the dreadful deed, he said he never could have dragged +himself on three miles to the nearest tavern, and he had no money to buy +bread when he got there. He must die anyway, and it might as well be on +the gallows as by the road-side." + +"He, poor fellow, had no friends; he had been brought up in vice and +misery; he had no gentle sister to lead him in the paths of virtue, a +kind word was never spoken to him; a crust of bread was denied him when +he was starving; and above all, he had no wealthy friend to pay an +enormous counsel fee, and my learned opponent standing where he did just +now, called loudly on the jury and said, 'away with such a fellow from +the earth!'" + +"Do not think me blood-thirsty or unfeeling. The innocent sufferer in +this case, the sister of this unfortunate young man, has my deepest +sympathy and commiseration, as she has that of this audience and the +jury. But could those here present have gone with me"--(here the speaker +paused, too agitated to proceed)--"to yonder desolated home; had they +seen a mother, lately widowed, and four young sisters, around the bier +where lay the remains of the murdered son and brother--their only hope +next to God--he for whom they were all toiling early and late, that, +when his education was completed, he in turn might work for them,--had +they heard that mother's cry for strength, now that her last earthly +prop was thus rudely snatched away, they would have found food for pity +there. I tell you, my friends, I pray that I may never be called upon to +witness such a scene again!" + +Wiping his cheeks repeatedly, Mr. G----resumed: + +"These tears surprise me; for I am not used to the 'melting mood,' and I +cannot afford to weep as readily as my learned opponent, who will count +his pile of bank notes for every tear he sheds, and think those tears +well expended. I speak for an outraged community; my sympathies are with +the poor--with the widow and the fatherless--with those whose only son +and brother has been cut off in his hope and promise, and consigned to +an early grave." + +"Shall these things take place unnoticed and unpunished?--and for a +light and hasty word, shall our young men of promise be cut down in the +midst of their days, and the act go unrebuked of justice? I look not so +much at this individual case as to the general good. Were I to look only +on the prisoner, I too might yield to feeling, and forget justice. But +feeling must not rule here: in the court room, justice alone should have +sway; and I call upon the jury to decide as impartially in this case as +if the poorest and most neglected wretch, brought up in vice and +wretchedness, sat there, instead of the handsome and interesting +prisoner; and I call upon the jury to show that, though in private life +they may be 'lovers of mercy,' yet, where the general good is so deeply +involved, they are determined to 'deal justly' with the prisoner." + +The judge then gave his charge to the jury, which was thought to lean +rather to the side of the prisoner, though he agreed with Mr. G----, +that some sharp rebuke should be given to the practice, so common among +the young men in some of our colleges, of carrying about with them +offensive weapons. + +The prisoner was led back to the jail; the jury retired; and it being +now evening, the court room was deserted. + + + + +XIX. + +The Sealed Paper. + + "Sister, thy brother is won by thee."--MRS. HEMANS. + + +The verdict would not be made known till the next morning. Oh! what a +night of mental torture was that to the devoted sister of the prisoner! +The terrible suspense left it out of her power to remain quiet for a +moment, but she restlessly paced the room, watching for the dawn of day, +and yet dreading the signs of its approach. Her aunt, who remained with +her during that anxious night, endeavored as well as she could to soothe +and calm her excited feelings; but how little there was to be said; she +could only point her to the Christian's never-failing trust and +confidence; and it was only by constant supplications for strength from +on high, as she walked the room, that Agnes was enabled to retain the +slightest appearance of composure, or, as it seemed to her, to keep her +brain from bursting. + +The longest night will have an end, and morning at length dawned on the +weary eyes of the watchers. The family rose and breakfasted early, for +an intense excitement reigned throughout the house. Agnes begged to be +allowed to remain in her own room; and though, in compliance with the +entreaties of her friends, she endeavored to eat, she could not swallow +a morsel. Mr. Wharton came early; and soon after breakfast, he and Dr. +Rodney went out. At nine o'clock the court were to assemble, to hear the +verdict; and from that moment, Agnes seated herself at the window, with +her hands pressed on her aching forehead, and her eyes straining to +catch the first glimpse of them as they returned. + +She sat thus for an hour or more at the window, and at the end of that +time the crowds began to pass the house, and she soon caught sight of +Dr. Rodney and her uncle. They did not hasten as if they had joyful +news to tell, and as Agnes in her agitation rose as they approached the +gate, and watched their faces as they came up the gravel walk, she saw +there enough to tell her the whole story; and pressing both hands upon +her heart she sat down again, for she had no longer strength to stand. +In a few moments she heard her uncle's step coming slowly towards her +room. As the door opened very gently she did not raise her head; it had +fallen upon her breast, and she was asking for strength to bear what she +knew was coming. When at length she looked towards her uncle she saw him +standing with his hand still on the lock, and gazing at her intently. +His face was of an ashy paleness, and he seemed irresolute whether to +approach her or to leave the room. + +"Uncle," gasped Agnes, "do not speak now; there is no need; I see it +all," and slowly she fell to the floor and forgot her bitter sorrow in +long insensibility. When she recovered it was nearly mid-day, and only +her aunt was sitting by her bedside. + +"Aunty," said she, as if bewildered, "what time is it?" Her aunt told +her the time. + +"And is it possible," said Agnes, "that I have slept so late?" and then +pressing her hands to her head, she said: + +"Who said '_condemned_' and '_sentenced_?'" + +"No one has said those words to you, dear Agnes," said Mrs. Wharton. + +"But oh, aunty!" she exclaimed, seizing Mrs. Wharton's hand, "it is +_true_, is it not? Yes, I know it is. My poor young brother! And here I +have been wasting the time when he wants me so much. I must get up this +moment and go to him." + +Her aunt endeavored to persuade her to remain quiet, telling her that +Mr. Malcolm was with Lewie, and that he was not left alone for a moment. +Agnes insisted, however, upon rising, but on making the attempt her head +became dizzy and she sank back again upon her pillow; and this was the +beginning of a brain fever, which kept her confined to her bed in +unconscious delirium for more than three weeks. In her delirium she +seemed to go back to the days of her childhood, and live them over +again with all the trouble they caused her young heart. Sometimes she +fancied herself a lonely prisoner again in the cold north room, and +sometimes pleading with her little brother, and begging him to "be a +good boy, and to try and not be so cross." At one time Dr. Rodney had +little hope of her life, and after that he feared permanent loss of +reason, but in both fears he was disappointed. Agnes recovered at +length, and with her mind as clear as ever. + +During the days when she was convalescing, but still too weak to leave +her bed, her impatience to get to her brother was so great, that the +doctor feared it would retard her recovery. It could not be concealed +from her that Lewie was ill, and the consciousness that she was so +necessary to him, made it the more difficult for Agnes to exercise that +patience and calmness which were requisite to ensure a return of her +strength. Lewie had taken to his bed, immediately after his return to +the jail, on the morning of the sentence, and had not left it since. He +seemed fast sinking into a decline, and much of the good doctor's time +was taken up in ministering at the bed-side of the brother and sister. + +At length Agnes was so much better that the doctor consented to her +paying her brother a visit. She found him in the condemned cell, but no +manacles were necessary to fetter his limbs, for a chain stronger than +iron bolts confined him to his bed, and that strong chain was perfect +weakness. Though his cell was darker and more dungeon-like, yet through +the kindness of friends the sick young prisoner was made as comfortable +as possible. By a very strong effort Agnes so far commanded herself as +to retain an appearance of outward composure, during that first meeting +after so long and so eventful a separation; and now began again the +daily ministrations of Agnes at the bed-side of her brother, for in +consideration of his feeble condition his sister was permitted to remain +with him constantly. + +Lewie knew that he was failing; "I think," said he to Agnes, "that God +will call for my spirit before the time comes for man to set it free. +But oh! Agnes, if I could once more look upon the green earth, and the +blue sky, and breathe the pure fresh air; and die _free_." + +It was after longings for freedom like these, that when Agnes returned +to Dr. Rodney's one evening, (for ever since the trial, at the earnest +request of the kind doctor and his wife, she had made their house her +home except when with her brother,) she found her cousin Grace, who +often came over to pass the night with her, waiting her arrival with +tidings in her face. + +"Agnes," said she, "I have heard something to-day which may possibly +cast a ray of hope on Lewie's case yet." + +"What can it be, dear Grace?" asked Agnes. + +"Who do you think the new Governor's wife is, Agnes?" + +"I am sure I cannot imagine." + +"Do you remember that strange girl, Ruth Glenn?" + +"Certainly." + +"Well, it is she. Only think how strange! I have no idea how much +influence she has with the Governor; but unless she has changed +wonderfully in her feelings, she would do anything in the world to serve +you, Agnes, as she ought." + +"Oh, blessings on you, Grace! I will go; there _may_ be hope in it; and +if poor Lewie could only die free; for die he must, the doctor assures +me--perhaps before the flowers bloom." + +"Father will go with you, Agnes. I have been talking with him about it." + +"Oh, how very, very kind you all are to us!" said Agnes. "Then, no time +must be lost, Grace; and if uncle will go with me, we will start as +early as possible in the morning." + +Agnes rose early the next morning, with something like a faint tinge of +color in her cheek, lent to it by the excitement of hope; and after +visiting her brother, to give some explanation of the cause of her +absence, she took her seat in the carriage by her uncle, for they must +ride some miles in order to reach the cars. + +They reached the Capitol that afternoon; and Agnes, who felt that she +had very little time to spare, left the hotel a few moments after their +arrival in the city, and, leaning on her uncle's arm, sought the +Governor's house. Agnes felt her heart die within her as she ascended +the broad flight of marble steps. Years had passed, and many changes had +taken place since she had met Ruth Glenn. Would she find her again in +the Governor's lady? + +Mrs. F---- was at home, and Mr. Wharton left Agnes at the door, thinking +that, on all accounts, the interview had better be private. "He should +return for her in an hour or two," he said, "when he intended to call +upon the Governor, who had once been a class-mate and intimate friend." + +Having merely sent word by the servant that an old friend wished to see +Mrs. F----, Agnes was shown into a large and elegantly-furnished parlor, +to await her coming. In a few moments, she heard a light step +descending the stairs, and the rustling of a silk dress, and the +Governor's lady entered the room. + +Could it be possible that this blooming, elegant, graceful woman was the +pale, nervous Ruth Glenn, whom Agnes had befriended at Mrs. Arlington's +school? To account for this extraordinary change, we must go back a few +years, which we can fortunately do in a few moments, and give a glance +at Ruth Glenn's history. + +She had left school almost immediately after Agnes and her cousins, +having been recommended by Mrs. Arlington to a lady who was looking for +a governess to her children. Here she became acquainted with a lawyer +who visited frequently at the house; a middle-aged man, and a widower, +who was just then looking out for some one to take care of himself and +his establishment. By one of those unaccountable whims which men +sometimes take, this man (who, from his position and wealth, might have +won the hand of almost any accomplished and dashing young lady of his +acquaintance,) was attracted towards the plain, silent governess, and +he very soon, to the astonishment of all, made proposals to her, which +were accepted. + +Soon after their marriage, business made it necessary for Mr. F---- to +go to Europe, and Ruth accompanied him. A sea voyage and two years' +travel abroad entirely restored her health, and with it came, what her +husband had never looked for--_beauty_; while the many opportunities for +improvement and cultivation which she enjoyed, and the good society into +which she was thrown, worked a like marvellous change in her manners. +All her nervous diffidence banished, and in its place she had acquired a +dignified self-possession and grace of manner, which fitted her well for +the station of influence she was to occupy. Soon after her return, her +husband was elected Governor; and the city was already ringing with +praises of the loveliness and affability of the new Governor's wife. + +No wonder, then, that as Agnes rose to meet her they stood looking at +each other in silence for a moment; Agnes vainly endeavoring to discover +a trace of Ruth Glenn in the easy and elegant woman before her, and Mrs. +F---- trying to divine who this guest who had called herself an old +friend might be. + +For sickness and sorrow had changed Agnes too. Her bright bloom was all +gone; her charming animation of manner had given place to a settled +sadness; and though still most lovely, as she stood in her deep mourning +dress, she was but a wreck of the Agnes Elwyn of former years. + +But when after a moment Agnes said, "Ruth, do you not know me?" + +The scream of delight with which Ruth opened her arms, and clasped her +to her breast, crying out, "_Agnes Elwyn!_--my dear, dear Agnes!" +convinced her that in heart at least her old school-mate was unchanged. +Ruth immediately took Agnes to her own room, that they might be +undisturbed, for she guessed at once her purpose in coming; and then +Agnes opened to her her burdened heart; relating all her brother's +history; telling her of his naturally strong passions, and saying all +that was necessary to say, in justice to her brother, of the injudicious +training he had received; at the same time treating her mother's memory +with all possible delicacy and respect. + +"And now, dear Ruth," she said, "I do not come to ask that my young +brother shall be permitted to walk forth to do like evil again;--there +would be no danger of that, even if he were not greatly changed, as I +solemnly believe he is, in heart and temper; for his doom is sealed; +consumption is wasting his frame;--we only ask that we may carry him +forth to die and be buried among his kindred. Oh! how he pines for the +free air and the blue sky, and longs to die elsewhere than in a +condemned cell! If I might be permitted to remove him to my uncle's kind +home, where he could have comforts and friends about him, I could close +his eyes, it seems to me, with thankfulness, for I do believe that the +Christian's hope is his." + +Ruth's sympathizing tears had been flowing down her cheeks, as, with +her hand clasping that of Agnes, she had listened to her sad story. She +now rose, and said she would go to her husband, who was slightly +indisposed, and confined to his room, and prepare him to see Agnes. "And +do, Agnes, talk to him just as you have done to me," she said. "He is +called a stern man; but he has tender feelings, I can assure you, if the +right chord is only touched." + +Ruth was gone a long time, and Agnes walked the floor of her room in a +state of suspense and agitation only equalled by that of the night after +the trial. At length Ruth returned: she looked sad and troubled. + +"Agnes," said she, "you must see my husband yourself, and say to him all +you have said to me. He is deeply grateful for all you have done for me, +and would do anything in the world for you except what he thinks, or +what he seems to think, would be yielding to the call of feeling at the +expense of justice. He says his predecessor has been much censured for +so often granting pardons to criminals, especially to any who had +influential friends; and I fear that, in avoiding his errors, he will go +to the opposite extreme. He remembers your brother's case well, and +says, that though it could not be called _deliberate_ murder, still it +was murder; and he agrees with the lawyer, Mr. G----, that some signal +reproof should be given to this practice among the young men of carrying +about them offensive weapons. This is all he said; but he has consented +to see you, and is expecting you. I shall leave you alone with him; and +oh! Agnes, do speak as eloquently as you did to me. I know he cannot +resist it." + +The Governor, a tall, fine-looking man, was wrapped in his +dressing-gown, and seated in his easy chair. He rose to receive Agnes, +gave her a cordial welcome as a friend to his wife, and bade her take a +seat beside him; but there was something in his look which said, that he +did not mean to be convinced against his better judgment by two women. + +Agnes was at first too much agitated to speak; but the Governor kindly +re-assured her, by asking her some questions about her brother's case, +and soon she thought of nothing but him; her courage all revived; and +with an eloquence the more effective from being all unstudied, she told +her brother's story to the Governor. "He is so young," said she, "only +eighteen years old; and yet he must die. But, oh! sir, if you would but +save him from being dragged in his weakness to a death of shame, or from +lingering out his few remaining days in that close, dark cell; oh! if he +might only die free!" + +"Ruth tells me," said the Governor, quietly, "that your uncle, Mr. +Wharton, is with you. Is it William Wharton, of C---- County?" + +Agnes answered in the affirmative. + +"Once a very good friend of mine," said he; "but it is many years since +we have met. Where is he?" + +"He came to the door with me," answered Agnes, "and will return for me +soon. He hoped to have the pleasure of seeing you, sir." + +"I will see him when he comes," said the Governor. "Go you back to Ruth, +my dear young lady. I will think of all you have said." + +When Mr. Wharton called, he was admitted to the Governor; and the two +former friends, after a cordial greeting, were closeted together for a +long time. He confirmed all that Agnes said of her brother, and assured +the Governor that it was the opinion of physicians that he could not +recover, and might not last a month. He spoke long and feelingly of the +devotion of Agnes to her brother, in attendance upon whom, in his +loneliness and imprisonment, she had worn out health and strength. + +The eyes of the Governor now glistened with emotion as he said, "Well, +well, I hope I shall not be doing wrong. At what time do you leave in +the morning, Mr. Wharton?" + +"In the very first train. Agnes cannot be longer from her brother's +bedside." + +"Can you bring her here for one moment before you leave?" + +"Certainly." + +"Well, then, tell her to lie down to-night, and sleep in peace; and may +Heaven bless a sister so devoted, and a friend so true." + +The Governor was not so well when Mr. Wharton and Agnes called the next +morning; but Ruth. appeared, her face radiant with joy, and, throwing +her arms around Agnes' neck, she put into her hand a _sealed paper_. + + + + +XX. + +Twice Free. + + "Oh liberty! + + Thou choicest gift of Heaven, and wanting which + Life is as nothing."--KNOWLES. + + +Oh! the sunshine, and the glad earth, and the singing of the birds of +early spring, to the prisoner, sick, and worn, and weary! How the feeble +pulse already begins to throb with pleasure, and life which had seemed +so valueless before, looks lovely and much to be desired now. + +The official announcement of the pardon reached Hillsdale almost as soon +as Agnes herself, and the friends of the young prisoner lost no time in +removing him as gently and as comfortably as possible, to his uncle's +kind home at Brook Farm. Here nothing was left undone by his devoted +friends to soothe his declining days; and with a heart overflowing with +gratitude and love, Lewie sank quietly towards the grave. + +He was very gentle now, and the change in him was so great, that his +sister doubted not that repentance and faith had done their work. His +own doubts and fears were many, though sometimes a glimmering of hope +would beam through the clouds which seemed to have gathered about him. +One day, after a long conversation with Agnes upon the love and mercy of +God, he said: + +"Well Agnes, it may be, there is hope for me too; I know He is +all-powerful and all-merciful; why, as you say, should not his mercy +extend even to me?" + +"He is _able_ and _willing_ to save unto the uttermost," said Agnes. + +"Unto--the--uttermost! Unto--the--uttermost!" repeated the sick youth +slowly; then looking up with his beautiful eye beaming with +expression;-- + +"Yes, Agnes," said he, "I will trust him!" + +Day by day he grew weaker, and at times his sufferings were intense; +but such a wonderful patience and calmness possessed him, and he seemed +so to forget self in his thought for others, that Mrs. Wharton said, in +speaking of him: + +"I never so fully realized the import of the words '_a new creature_.' +Who would think that this could be our impetuous, thoughtless Lewie, of +former times." + +"You must make some allowance for the languor of sickness, my dear," +said Mr. Wharton, who of course did not see so much of the invalid as +those who had the immediate charge of him. + +"Weakness, I grant, would make him less impetuous and violent," answered +his wife, "but would it make him patient, and docile, and considerate, +if there were not some radical change in his feelings and temper?" + +During the last few days of his life, and when the flickering flame was +hourly expected to die out, his uncle saw more of him, and he, too, +became convinced of the change in Lewie, and was certain that for him +to die would be gam. And at last, with words of prayer upon his lips and +a whisper of his sister's name, he sank away as gently as an infant +drops asleep. + +"How like he looks," said old Mammy, with the tears streaming down her +withered cheeks, "how like he looks, with the bonny curls lying round +his forehead, to what he did the day he lay like death at the Hemlock's, +when he was only two years old." + +Mrs. Wharton's mind immediately reverted to the scene, and to that young +mother's prayer of agony, "Oh, for his life! his life!" and as she +thought over the events of that short life of sin and sorrow, she said +within herself, "Oh! who can tell what to choose for his portion! Thou +Lord, who knowest the end from the beginning, choose Thou our changes +for us, and help us in the darkest hour to say, 'Thy will be done.'" + +And in the quiet spot where the willow bends, and the brook murmurs, by +the side of his mother, and near the grave of Rhoda Edwards, rest the +remains of _Lewie_. + +It is strange how much a human heart may suffer and yet beat on and +regain tranquillity, and even cheerfulness at last. It is a most +merciful provision of Providence, that our griefs do not always press +upon us as heavily as they do at first, else how could the burden of +this life of change and sorrow be borne. But the loved ones are not +forgotten when the tear is dried and the smile returns to the cheek; +they are remembered, but with less of sadness and gloom in the +remembrance; and at length, if we can think of them as happy, it is only +a pleasure to recall them to mind. + +So Agnes found it, as after a few months of rest and quiet in her +uncle's happy home, the gloom of her sorrow began to fade away, the +color returned to her cheek, and she began to be like the Agnes of +former times. And now that health and energy had returned, she began to +long for employment again, and though she knew it would cost a great +struggle to leave her dear friends at Brook Farm, she began to urge them +all to be on the watch for a situation for her as governess or teacher. + +At length, one day, some months after her brother's death, Mr. Wharton +entered the room where she was sitting, and said: + +"Agnes, there is a gentleman down stairs, who would like to engage you +to superintend the education of his children." + +If Agnes had looked closely at her uncle's face, she would have observed +a very peculiar expression there; but only laying aside her work, she +said: + +"Please say to him, uncle, that I will come down in one moment." + +With a quiet step and an unpalpitating heart, Agnes opened the parlor +door, and found herself alone with--Mr. Harrington! + +And here we will end our short chapter, though enough was said that +morning to make it a very long one, as it certainly was an eventful one +in the history of Agnes. + + + + +XXI + +The Winding Up or the Turning Point, whichever the Reader likes Best. + + "Still at thy father's board + There is kept a place for thee + And by thy smile restored, + Joy round the hearth shall be."--MRS. HEMANS. + + "He will not blush that has a father's heart, + To take in childish plays a childish part, + But bends his sturdy back to any toy + That youth takes pleasure in, to please his boy."--Cowper + + +"What do you think, Calista?--what _do_ you think?" asked Miss Evelina +Fairland of her sister, about two years after she had asked these same +questions before. "There are masons, and carpenters, and painters, and +paperers, and gardeners, at work at the old Rookery; a perfect army of +laborers have been sent down from the city. What can it mean?" + +"I cannot imagine, I am sure," answered Miss Calista, "unless Mr. +Harrington is really going to settle down, and look out for a wife at +last." And Miss Calista looked in the glass over her sister's shoulder, +and both faces looked more faded and considerably older than when we saw +them last. + +"Do you know," said Miss Evelina, "that I really believe Agnes Elwyn +thought the man was in love with _her_?" + +"Absurd!" exclaimed Miss Calista. "Besides, if he ever had entertained +such a thought, he would not, of course, think of anything of the kind +since that affair of her brother's. Such a disgrace, you know!" + +The appearance of the old Rookery changed so rapidly, that it seemed +almost as if the fairies had been at work; and in a few weeks, glimpses +of a fair and elegant mansion, with its pretty piazzas and porticos, +could be seen between the noble oaks which surrounded the mansion. And +now Miss Calista and Evelina, who kept themselves informed of all that +was going on at the Rookery, reported that "the _most magnificent_ +furniture" had come, and the curtains and pictures were being hung, and +it was certain that the owner of the place would be there soon. + +At length a travelling carriage, in which was seated Mr. Harrington, +with a lady by his side, and two little girls in front, was seen by +these indefatigable ladies to drive rapidly through the street, and out +towards the Rookery. The lady was in mourning, and her veil was down. +Who could she be? + +And now it was rumored in the village that Mr. Harrington was actually +married; and whenever he met any of his old acquaintances, he invited +them with great cordiality to call to see his wife. The Misses Fairland +determined not to be outdone by any, and, the more effectually to +conceal their own disappointment, were among the first to call. + +Who can conceive of their astonishment and mortification, when they +found that the mistress of the Rookery was no other than the former +governess, Agnes Elwyn! Agnes received them with the utmost kindness; +begged them to ask their father, whom she remembered with much +affection, to come very soon to see her; was much pleased to hear how +happy Rosa and Jessie were at Mrs. Arlington's; and brought them tidings +of Frank, who was under Mr. Malcolm's care. + +"And where is that delightful gentleman who was with Mr. Harrington, +when he was here two summers since--Mr. Wharton I think his name was?" +asked Miss Evelina. + +"Mr. Tom Wharton? Oh, he will be here in a few days. He has purchased +the place next to us, and is about to build there. I suppose, as it is +no longer a secret, I may tell you that he is soon to be married to my +cousin, Effie Wharton. They will remain with us most of the time till +their house is finished." + +The countenances of the visitors fell on hearing this, and they soon +rose and took leave. + +And now we know not better how to wind up or _run down_ our story, than +to pass over two or three years and introduce our reader to another +Christmas party at Mr. Wharton's, for it still is the custom, for all +the scattered members of the family to gather in the paternal mansion to +spend the Christmas holidays. + +Mr. and Mrs. Wharton appear as a fine-looking middle-aged couple, on +whom the years sit lightly, for their lives have been happy and useful +ones, and there is no such preservative of fresh and youthful looks, as +a contented mind and an untroubled conscience. The two older sons are +married. Robert is settled as a clergyman in a western village, and +Albert as a merchant in the city; these with their wives, most charming +women both, are there. + +Mr. Malcolm, who wondered more and more that he ever had the presumption +to suppose that such a woman as Emily Wharton could fancy him, at last +so recovered from his disappointment as again to entertain thoughts of +matrimony; and he and our friend Grace have been married about six +months, and are nicely settled in their own pretty house at Hillsdale, +where Mr. Malcolm is still the loved and honored pastor. Cousin Emily, +calm and tranquil as ever to all outward appearance, aided in the +preparations and appeared at the wedding, and it was no cause of +wonderment to any, that she was confined to her bed the next day with +one of her nervous headaches, for great excitement and fatigue were +always too much for cousin Emily. + +Mr. Tom Wharton and Effie are at home too, the former no whit more +sedate, in consequence of the added dignities of husband and father +which attach to him. + +And our own dear Agnes is there too, with her husband, her two little +step-daughters, and her own little boy, a noble, handsome little fellow, +but with some traits of character which occasionally cause a pang to +cross the heart of his mother; they remind her so of the childhood of +one whose sun went down so early and so sadly. But we hope much that +proper training, with the divine blessing, will so mould and guide this +tender plant, that it will grow up to be an ornament and a blessing to +all around, Agnes makes just such a step-mother as we should expect, +and her dear little girls feel that in her they have indeed found a +mother. + +But long after all the rest of the large party have been seated at the +dinner-table, there remains a vacant seat, and here at last slowly comes +the expected occupant. + +What, cousin Betty! alive yet? Yes, and "alive like to be," till she has +finished her century. She retains many of her old, strange habits, but +has long since given up _dying_, as others begin to expect such an event +to happen in the ordinary course of nature; indeed, it rather hurts +cousin Betty's feelings to be spoken of as a very aged person, or as one +whose time on earth is probably short. She is laying her plans for the +future as busily as any one, and it may be that her old wrinkled face +will be seen in its accustomed haunts long after some of the blooming +ones around that board are mouldering in the grave. + +Old Mammy too, whose home has been with Agnes ever since her marriage, +has come back to her old home for the Christmas holidays. But Mammy is +a good deal broken, and nothing is required of her by her kind mistress, +except such little offices as it is a pleasure to her to perform. + +Cousin Emily, the "old maid cousin," as she calls herself, is in great +demand; indeed, as she says, she is a perfect "bone of contention," and +in order to keep peace with all, she has had to divide the year into +four parts, and give three months to each of those who have the +strongest claim upon her time. It is always a season of rejoicing when +cousin Emily arrives, with her ever cheerful face, her entertaining +conversation for the older ones, and her fund of stories and anecdotes +for the children. + +After dinner came an old-fashioned Christmas frolic, and the older ones +were children again, and the children as wild and noisy as they chose to +be. Mr. Wharton on entering the room suddenly, saw his nephew, Mr. Tom, +going around the room on all fours, as a horse, driven by his only son +and heir, Master Tom, junior. + +"Tom," said Mr. Wharton suddenly, "how do you prefer calf's head?" + +"What do you mean by that, uncle?" said Mr. Tom, pausing a moment and +looking up. + +"I took some notes of a certain conversation which took place some years +ago," said his uncle, "in which a certain young gentleman called a +certain old gentleman _a calf_, because he made such a fool of himself +as to be a horse for his little son to drive; and this young gentleman +said he would sooner eat his head, than make such an exhibition of +himself." + +"Well, circumstances do alter cases, don't they, uncle?" said Mr. Tom, +beginning to prance about again under the renewed blows of the whip in +Master Tom junior's hand. + +Mrs. Arlington and her daughters still keep their school, which is as +popular and flourishing as ever. Rosa and Jessie Fairland are still +under their care, and it is a great pleasure to Agnes to see what fine, +agreeable girls they are growing up to be. They retain a warm affection +for Agnes and pass many a pleasant day at the Rookery, when they are at +home for a vacation. Frank is still under Mr. Malcolm's care, and a +member of his family, Mr. Malcolm finds him a much more tractable pupil +than one we know of, to whom he tried to do his duty many years ago. And +we must not close without saying a word of the kind, true-hearted, Ruth +Glenn. Governor F----, at the close of his term of office was +re-elected, and when at last he left the city and returned to his +country home, it was with the deep regrets of all the many friends which +his residence in the capitol had not failed to create for himself, and +his amiable wife. As she passed within a few miles of Wilston, Mrs. +F---- turned out of her way to stop and pay Agnes a short visit, and she +found again the bright and cheerful Agnes of former times; and many a +pleasant hour the friends enjoyed together, in talking over the days and +_nights_ at Mrs. Arlington's school, for even out of the latter they +could now draw some amusing recollections. + +Miss Calista and Miss Evelina are still on the "look out." The wife of +the clergyman at Wilston, having died about a year since, Miss Calista, +ever ready to take advantage of any _opening_, began immediately to +attend church very regularly, and with a vary sanctimonious and +attentive air. It remains to be seen whether anything comes of it. + +And now our task is done. If the sad story of the short life of poor +Lewie, will be the means of leading any mother to use more carefully and +more conscientiously, the power which she _alone_ possesses now, of +training aright the little plants in her nursery, so that they may grow +up fair and flourishing, and bear good fruit; and in time repay her care +by the fragrance and beauty and comfort which they shower about her +declining days, it will be enough. And may each little plant, so +trained, bloom evermore in the paradise of God. + + +THE END. + +Every one is Enraptured with the Book--Every one will Read it! + +SIX THOUSAND PUBLISHED IN THIRTY DAYS! + +UPS AND DOWNS, + +Or Silver Lake Sketches. + +BY COUSIN CICELY, Author of Lewie or the Bended Twig + +_One Elegant 12mo. Vol., with Ten Illustrations by Coffin, and engraved + +by the best artists. Cloth, gilt_, $1.25. + +ALDEN & BEARDSLEY, Auburn and Rochester, N.Y., Publishers + + +_The Critics give it Unqualified Commendation_. + +Cousin Cicely's "Lewie, or the Bended Twig," published and widely read +not long ago, was a volume to sharpen the reader's appetite for "more of +the same sort." ***** 'Ups and Downs' is a cluster of sketches and +incidents in real life, narrated with a grace of thought and flow of +expression rarely to be met. The sketches well entitle the volume to its +name, for they are pictures of many sides of life--some grave, some gay, +some cheering and some sad, pervaded by a genial spirit and developing +good morals. + +Either of the fifteen sketches will amply repay the purchaser of the +volume, and unless our judgment is false, _after a careful reading_, +"Ups and Downs" will make an impression beyond "the pleasant effect to +while away a few unoccupied moments." The Publishers have given Cousin +Cicely's gems a setting worthy of their brilliancy. The ten +illustrations are capital in design and execution, and it strikes us as +remarkable how such a volume can be profitably got up at the price for +which it is sold. The secret must lie in large circulation--which "Ups +and Downs" is certain to secure.--N.Y. _Evening Mirror_. + +_Who is Cousin Cicely_?--We begin to think Cousin Cicely is _somebody_, +and feel disposed to ask, who is she? We several months ago noticed her +"Lewie" in this journal. It is a story with a fine moral, beautiful and +touching in its development. It has already quietly made its way to a +circulation of _twelve thousand_, "without beating a drum or crying +oysters." Pretty good evidence that there is something in it. Our +readers have already had a taste of "_Ups and Downs_," for we find among +its contents a story entitled "_Miss Todd, M.D., or a Disease of the +Heart_," which was published in this journal a few months ago We venture +to say that _no one_ who read has forgotten it, and those who remember +it will be glad to know where they can find plenty more of the "same +sort."--_U.S. Journal_. + +* * * Sketches of life as it is, and of some things as they should be; +all drawn with a light pencil, and abounding with touches of real +genius, Cousin Cicely has improved her former good reputation in our +opinion, by this effort.--_The Wesleyan_. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lewie, by Cousin Cicely + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEWIE *** + +***** This file should be named 15244-8.txt or 15244-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/2/4/15244/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Graeme Mackreth and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Lewie + Or, The Bended Twig + +Author: Cousin Cicely + AKA Sarah Hopkins Bradford (b. 1818) + +Release Date: March 3, 2005 [EBook #15244] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEWIE *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Graeme Mackreth and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + +[Illustration: BROOK FARM (Frontispiece)] + + + + +LEWIE; + +OR, + +THE BENDED TWIG. + +BY COUSIN CICELY, AUTHOR OF THE "SILVER LAKE STORIES," ETC. ETC. + + "Train up this child for me, and I will give thee thy wages." + + "Mother! thy gentle hand hath mighty power, + For thou alone may'st train, and guide, and mould, + Plants that shall blossom with an odor sweet, + Or like the cursed fig-tree, wither and become + Vile cumberers of the ground." + + +AUBURN AND ROCHESTER: ALDEN & BEARDSLEY. 1856. + + + + +Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by ALDEN +BEARDSLEY & CO. In the Clerk's Office for the Northern District of New +York. + + + + +Preface. + + +It seems to be thought that a preface or introduction of some sort is +absolutely necessary to a book; why, I do not know, unless it be that it +looks rather abrupt to begin one's story without a word as to the why or +wherefore of its being written. This in the present case can be said +very shortly. + +The principal events in the following story, the loved and petted child +being, as it seemed, given back to life in answer to the mother's +importunate cry; the indulgence under which he grew up, and the fatal +consequences of that indulgence upon a temper such as his; are taken +from real life, and may be used as sad warnings to those who shrink from +the present trouble and pain, of rightly training the little ones God +has given them. + +The story of the Governess is a true one in every particular; names only +being altered; I believe there are none remaining now whose feelings +will be pained by this sad history being made public, so far as this +little book may make it so, but there are one or two I know, and perhaps +more, now living, who will smile if the chapter entitled "Ruth Glenn" +meets their eyes, when they remember the disturbed nights years ago at a +certain city boarding school. If she to whom I have given this name +should ever see these pages, I hope she will forgive me for thus +"telling tales out of school," in consideration of the high station to +which by my single voice I have raised her, and the pleasant memory she +leaves behind. + +Many other little scenes and incidents interwoven in, the story, are +from life. + +And now I can only close my preface as I have closed the book, in the +earnest hope that it may have the effect of leading some mothers to +train rightly the little shoots springing up around the parent tree, +restraining their wandering inclinations, and teaching them ever to look +and grow towards Heaven. + +THE AUTHOR. + + + + +Contents. + +CHAPTER I. + +LITTLE AGNES. + + Page +The cross baby brother--The patient sister--The novel-reading mamma--The +broken work-box--Undeserved punishment--The lock of papa's +hair--Old Mammy--The cold north room--"Never alone"--Aunt +Wharton--Lewie sick--A pleasant change for the little prisoner 11 + + +CHAPTER II. + +BROOK FARM. + +Bridget's rage--Mammy's story--The runaway match--The dead father--The +cheerful home at Brook Farm--Cousin Emily--The ice palace--Christmas +secrets--The mother's agony--Life from the dead 28 + + +CHAPTER III. + +CHRISTMAS TIME. + +Preparations for Christmas--The needle-book--Santa Claus himself expected +-Old Cousin Betty--Loads of presents--Christmas Eve--Appearance +of Santa Claus--"Who can he be?"--Cousin Tom--Poor Emily's +grief 58 + + +CHAPTER IV. + +COUSIN BETTY. + +Cousin Betty--Absence of mind and body--A habit of dying--The shadow on +the wall--Cousin Betty's ride on Prancer--Training day--Cousin Betty a +captain of militia--Cousin Betty's stories 67 + + +CHAPTER V. + +HOME AGAIN. + +Agnes and Mr. Wharton on their way to the Hemlocks--The novel-reading +mamma again--Lewie better--Agnes must stay--A lay sermon to Mrs. +Elwyn--The needle-case--The bitter disappointment 77 + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE TABLEAUX. + +Lewie roving the woods and fields again--Capricious and fretful +still--The birth-day party at Mr. Wharton's--Preparations for +tableaux--Another disappointment for Agnes--The sweetest tableaux of all + 89 + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE GOVERNESS. + +The lady who came for wool--The home in New-England--Midnight +studies--Miss Edwards engaged as governess--A universal genius--A letter +from the long-lost brother--The journey--The old Virginia church--The +ghost no ghost at all--The old log-house--Horrible murder!--of _pigs_ + 98 + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +BITTER DISAPPOINTMENTS. + +No news from Miss Edwards--The letter from the strange physician--The +manuscript--The brother found, and where--The engagement--Desertion--The +country house--The "crazy room"--The Eastern Asylum--Rest at last in the +quiet nook 127 + + +CHAPTER IX. + +EMILY'S TRIALS. + +Lewie's education--Mr. Malcolm tutor at the Hemlocks--Frequent calls at +Brook Farm--Emily's sufferings--The disclosure--Strength for time of +trial 140 + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE TUTOR AND THE PUPIL. + +Lewie's insubordination--Passion and tears--The mother's anxiety--Mr. +Malcolm's firmness--No dinner for Lewie--Sulking--Brought to terms at +last--The tutor dismissed 159 + + +CHAPTER XI. + +RUTH GLENN. + +Leaving for boarding-school--Mrs. Arlington and her daughters--The third +story room--The new strange girl--Nocturnal disturbances--Ruth Glenn's +expostulations--Imminent danger--The physician consulted--Morning +walks--Sad partings 173 + + +CHAPTER XII. + +LEWIE AT SCHOOL. + +The dictator in the play-ground--Strife and contention--The +tormentor--Lewie's mortification--The sore spot--The attack upon +Colton--The removal from school--Mrs. Elwyn's failing health--Agnes +summoned--A death bed--Changes proposed to Agnes--Her departure for +Wilston 196 + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +NEW SCENES FOR AGNES. + +The two Miss Fairlands--The step-mother--Arrival at Wilston--Unpromising +pupils--Poor Tiney--Dreadful scene at the tea-table--Tiney's +suffering--The effect of music 212 + + + CHAPTER XIV. + +THE SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING. + +A hard task--The children's toilettes--Bible teachings--Practical +applications--Sunday at Mr. Fairland's--The children's singing--The +father's tears--A visit to Brook Farm--A visit from Lewie 223 + + +CHAPTER XV. + +THE STRANGERS IN THE ROOKERY. + +An arrival--The Rookery--Mrs. Danby and Bella--A sudden accident--The +rescue--The strangers--An old friend--A row on the lake--Music on the +water--Shrieking in the house--A new method of laying spirits--Mortifying +disclosures by Frank 250 + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +DEATH AND THE FUGITIVE. + +Music on the lawn--The midnight interview--The horrid truth +disclosed--Lewie a fugitive from justice--Jealousy of Calista and +Evelina--Poor Tiney's death bed--The search--The arrest 269 + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THE JAIL. + +Return to Brook Farm--The visit to the jail--The involuntary and the +voluntary prisoner--A talk about the future--Mr. Malcolm's visits--The +lawyer--The evening before the trial 284 + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +THE TRIAL. + +The Court-room--Mr. W.--The testimony--Speeches--Mr. G.'s +agitation--Charge to the jury 298 + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +THE SEALED PAPER. + +A night of fearful suspense--The +verdict--Insensibility--Delirium--Meeting between the brother and +sister--Lewie's illness--Longings for freedom--A journey to the +capital--Ruth Glenn again--The governor--A sister's pleadings--Her +reward 310 + + +CHAPTER XX. + +TWICE FREE. + +Freedom for the captive--Removal to Brook Farm--Decline--Changes of +temper and heart--A final release--The quiet nook--Resignation +--Cheerfulness--The unexpected visitor 328 + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +THE WINDING UP. + +Repairs at the Rookery--Calista and Evelina on the _qui vive_--Mr. +Harrington and his bride--Another Christmas gathering--Farewell, and +kind wishes 331 + + + + +I. + +Little Agnes. + + "And she, not seven years old, + A slighted child."--WORDSWORTH. + + +"What _is_ it Lewie wants? Does he want sister's pretty book?" + +"No!" roared the cross baby boy, pointing with his finger to the +side-board. + +"Well, see here, Lewie! here is a pretty ball; shall we roll it? There! +now roll it back to sister." + +"No-o-o!" still screamed Master Lewie, the little finger still stretched +out towards something on the side-board which he seemed much to desire. + +"Here is my lovely dolly, Lewie. If you will be very careful, I will let +you take her. See her beautiful eyes! Will Lewie make her open and shut +her eyes?" + +"No-o-o-o!" again shouted the fretful child, and this time so loud as +effectually to arouse his youthful mamma, who was deep in an arm-chair, +and deeper still in the last fashionable novel. + +"Agnes!" she exclaimed sharply, "cannot you let that child alone? I told +you to amuse him; and instead of doing so, you seem to delight in +teazing him and making him scream." + +Again the little girl tried in various ways to amuse the wayward child. +He really was not well, and felt cross and irritable, and nothing that +his little sister could do to please him would succeed. With the utmost +patience and gentleness she labored to bring a smile to her little +brother's cheek, or at least so to win his attention as to keep him from +disturbing her mother. But the handkerchief rabbits, and the paper men +and women she could cut so beautifully, and which at times gave little +Lewie so much pleasure, were now all dashed impatiently aside. One by +one her little playthings were brought out, and placed before him, but +with no better success. Lewie had once seen the contents of a beautiful +work-box of his sister's, which stood in the centre of the side-board: +at this he pointed, and for this he screamed. Nothing else would please +him; at nothing else would he condescend to look. + +"Oh, Lewie! darling Lewie! play with something else! Don't you know Aunt +Ellen gave sister that pretty work-box? and she said I must be so +careful of it, and Lewie would break all sister's pretty things." + +Again Master Lewie had recourse to the strength of his lungs, which he +knew, by past experience, to be all-powerful in gaining whatever his +fancy might desire, and sent forth a roar so loud as once more to arouse +the attention of the novel-reading mamma; who, with a stamp of the foot, +and a threatening shake of the finger, gave the little girl to +understand that she must expect instant and severe punishment, if Lewie +was heard to scream again. + +Still Lewie demanded the work-box, and nothing that the patient little +Agnes could do would divert his attention from it for a moment. The +little angry brow was contracted, and the mouth wide open for another +shriek, when little Agnes, with a sigh of despair, went to the +side-board, and, mounting on a chair, lifted down her much-valued and +carefully-preserved treasure, saying to herself: + +"If Aunt Ellen only _knew_, I think she would not blame me!" + +And now with a shout of delight the spoiled child seized on the pretty +work-box; and in another moment, winders, spools, scissors, thimble, +were scattered in sad confusion over the carpet. In vain did little +Agnes try, as she picked up one after the other of her pretty things, to +conceal them from the baby's sight; if one was gone, he knew it in a +moment, and worried till it was restored to him. + +Finally, laying open the cover of the box, he began to pound with a +little hammer, which was lying near him, upon the looking-glass inside +of it; and, pleased with the noise it made, he struck harder and still +harder blows. + +"No, no, Lewie! please don't! You will break sister's pretty +looking-glass. No! Lewie must not!" And Agnes held his little hand. At +this the passionate child threw himself back violently on the floor, and +screamed and shrieked in a paroxysm of rage; in the midst of which, the +threatened punishment came upon poor little Agnes, in the shape of a +sharp blow upon her cheek, from the soft, white hand of her mother, who +exclaimed: + +"There! didn't I tell you so? It seems to be your greatest pleasure to +teaze and torment that poor baby; and you know he is sick, too. Now, +miss, the next time he screams, I shall take you to the north room, and +lock you up, and keep you there on bread and water all day!" + +Agnes retreated to a corner, and wept silently, but very bitterly, not +so much from the pain of the blow, as from a sense of injustice and +harsh treatment at the hands of one who should have loved her; and the +mother returned to her novel, in which she was soon as deep as ever. At +the same moment, the looking-glass in the cover of the work-box flew +into fifty pieces, under the renewed blows of the hammer in Master +Lewie's hand. + +The little conqueror now had free range among his sister's hitherto +carefully-guarded treasures; her bits of work, and little trinkets, +tokens of affection from her kind aunt and her young cousins at Brook +Farm, were ruthlessly torn in pieces, or broken and strewed over the +floor. Agnes sat in mute despair. She knew that as long as her mother +was absorbed in the novel, no sound would disturb her less powerful than +Lewie's screams, and that all else that might be going on in the room +would pass unnoticed by her. So, wiping her eyes, she sat still in the +corner, watching Lewie with silent anguish, as he revelled among her +precious things, as "happy as a king" in the work of destruction, and +only hoping that he might not discover one secret little spot in the +corner of the box where her dearest treasure was concealed. + +But at length she started, and, with an exclamation of horror, and a +cry like that of pain, she sprang towards her little brother, and +violently wrenched something from his hand. And now the piercing shrieks +of the angry and astonished child filled the house, and brought even Old +Mammy to the room, to see what was the matter with the baby. Mammy +opened the door just in time to witness the severe punishment inflicted +upon little Agnes, and to receive an order to take that naughty girl to +the north room, and lock her in, and leave her there till farther +orders. + +Agnes had not spoken before, when rebuked by her mother; but now, +raising her mild blue eyes, all dimmed by tears, to her mother's face, +she said: + +"Oh, mamma! it was papa's hair!--it was that soft curl I cut from his +forehead, as he lay in his coffin, Lewie was going to tear the paper!" +But even this touching appeal, which should have found its way to the +young widow's heart, was unheeded by her--perhaps, in the storm of +passion, it was unheard; and Agnes was led away by Mammy to a cold, +unfurnished room, where she had been doomed to spend many an hour, when +_Lewie was cross_; while the fretful and half-sick child, now tired of +his last play-thing, was taken in his mother's arms, and rocked till he +fell into a slumber, undisturbed for perhaps an hour, except by a start, +when the tears from his mother's cheek fell on his--tears caused by the +_well-imagined_ sufferings of the heroine of her romance. + +All the time Mammy was leading little Agnes through the wide hall, and +up the broad stairs and--along the upper hall to the door of the "North +Room," the good old woman was wiping her eyes with her apron, and trying +to choke down something in her throat which prevented her speaking the +words of comfort she wished to say to the sobbing child. When they +reached the door of the room in which little Agnes was to be a prisoner, +Mammy sat down, and taking the child in her lap she took off her own +warm shawl and pinned it carefully around her, and as she stooped to +kiss her, Agnes saw the tears upon her cheek. + +"Why do you cry, Mammy?" she asked, "mamma has not scolded you to-day, +has she?" + +"No, love." + +"Are you crying then because you are so sorry for me?" + +"That's it, my darling, I cannot bear to lock you up here alone for the +day and leave you so sorrowful, you that ought to be as blithe as the +birds in spring." + +"Mammy, do you think I deserve this punishment?" + +"No, sweet, if I must say the truth, I do not think you ever deserve any +punishment at all. But I must not say anything that's wrong to you, +about what your mamma chooses to do." + +"Then, Mammy, don't you think I ought to be happier than if I had really +been naughty and was punished for it. Don't you remember Mammy the verse +you taught me from the Bible the last time Lewie was so fretful and +mamma sent you to lock me up here. I learned it afterwards from my +Bible: hear me say it:--" + +'For what glory is it if when ye be buffeted for your faults ye take +it patiently; but if when ye do well and suffer for it, ye take it +patiently, this is acceptable with God.' + +"Now, Mammy, I did try to be patient with Lewie, and I gave him +everything I had, but I could not let him destroy that lock of papa's +hair. I am afraid I was rough then, I hope I did not hurt his little +hand. Mammy, do you think mamma loves me _any_." + +"How could anybody help loving you, my darling!" + +"But, oh! Mammy, if I thought she would ever love me as she does Lewie! +She never kisses me, she never speaks kind to me. No, Mammy, I do not +think she loves me; but how strange it is for a mother not to love her +own little girl." + +"Well, darling, we will talk no more of that, or we shall be saying +something naughty; we will both try and do our duty, and then God will +bless us, and whatever our troubles and trials may be, let us go to Him +with them all. Now, darling, I must leave you." + +"Mammy, will you please bring me my Bible; and my little hymn-book? I +want to learn the" + + 'I am never alone.' + +"God is always by my side, isn't he Mammy?" + +"Yes, love, and he says, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.'" + +When little Agnes was left alone in the great cold room, she walked up +and down the floor repeating to herself verses from her Bible and +hymn-book. Sometimes she stopped at the window and looked across the +country, towards a wooded hill, where just above the tops of the trees +she could see the chimneys of her uncle's house; and she thought how +happy her young cousins were in the love of their father and mother, and +she remembered how her own dear papa had loved her, and she thought of +the difference now; and the tears flowed afresh. Then she walked the +room again, repeating in a low voice to herself the words: + + "Never alone; though through deserts I roam + Where footstep of man has ne'er printed the sand. + Never alone; though the ocean's wild foam + Rage between me and the loved ones on land. + Though hearts that have cherished are laid 'neath the sod, + Though hearts which should cherish are colder than stone, + I still have thy love and thy friendship my God, + Thou always art near me; I'm never alone." + +Soon she grew tired of walking, and seating herself at the table, she +laid her head upon her crossed arms and was soon in a sweet slumber, and +far away in her dreams from the cold desolate north room, at "the +Hemlocks." + +At the end of an hour the youthful widow was disturbed by the sound of +merry sleigh-bells, and she had only time to throw her novel hastily +aside, when the door opened and her sister-in-law, Mrs. Wharton, +entered, accompanied by two of her little girls, their bright faces +glowing with health and happiness. + +"And how are the children?" Mrs. Wharton asked, after the first +salutations were over. + +"Why, Lewie does not seem well, he has been complaining for a day or +two." + +"And where is Agnes? We rode over to see if you let her go over and +pass the holidays with us." + +"Why, to tell the truth, Agnes has been very naughty, and I have been +obliged to shut her up." + +"Again!" exclaimed Mrs. Wharton, while glances of indignation shot from +the eyes of her two little girls. "Agnes naughty, and shut up again! +Why, Harriet, do you know she appears to me so perfectly gentle and +lovely, that I can hardly imagine her as doing anything wrong. Mr. +Wharton and I often speak of her as the most faultless child we have +ever met with." + +"She is not so bad in other ways, but she does delight to tease Lewie, +and keep him screaming. Now, it has been one incessant scream from the +child all this morning, and Agnes _can_ amuse him very well when she +chooses." + +"Judging from all her own pretty things scattered about the floor here, +I should think she had been doing her best to amuse him," said Mrs. +Wharton; "she has even taken down her beautiful work-box, of which she +has always been so careful. You may be sure it was a case of extremity, +which compelled her to do that." + +"Why, what a sad litter they have made to be sure; I did not observe it +before. The fact is, Ellen, I have been exceedingly occupied this +morning, and did not know what the children were about, only that Agnes +kept Lewie screaming, and, at last, with the utmost rudeness, for that I +saw myself, she snatched something from his hand, and for that, I +punished her." + +"Ah, yes, I see, Harriet," said Mrs. Wharton, glancing at the +yellow-covered publication on the table; "I see how it is, now; you have +been wholly absorbed in one of those wretched novels, and left little +Agnes to take care of a sick, cross baby. That child is very sick, +Harriet; do you see what a burning fever he has?" + +"Ellen, do you think so?" said the mother hastily and in great +agitation. "Oh, Ellen, what shall I do; oh, what _shall_ I do! perhaps +my baby, my darling, is going to be very ill." + +"Do not agitate yourself so, Harriet, I will send Matthew directly over +to the village for the doctor; but first, may I have Agnes?" + +"Oh, do what you please with Agnes, only send the doctor to my baby; +call Mammy, she will bring Agnes, and do go, quick!" + +The bell was rung, and Mammy was despatched to bring the little prisoner +down; she found her as we left her, sleeping with her head upon her +arms. + +"Precious lamb!" said Mammy, "she has cried herself to sleep." Then, +kissing her, and rousing her gently, she told her that her aunt and +cousins had come to take her to Brook Farm. + +Agnes was at first very happy at the idea of once more enjoying the +sunshine of her aunt's cheerful home, but, when she heard that Lewie was +sick, a cloud came over her face. + +"Aunty," she whispered, "I think I had better not go, perhaps I can do +something for Lewie. I can _almost_ always amuse him." + +"Lewie is too sick to be amused now, my dear, and you can do no good +here; besides, I want to get you away as quickly as possible, for I +think it may be the scarlet fever that Lewie has. Come, darling, we will +go." + +Agnes drew her hand quietly from that of her aunt, and running back, she +stooped over her little brother as he lay in his mother's arms, and +kissed him; and then, standing a moment before her mother, she raised +her eyes to her face. But her mother's eyes, with a gaze of almost +despair, were fixed on her darling boy, and she did not seem to be aware +even of the presence of her little daughter. + +A look of disappointment passed over the face of Agnes, as, without +intruding upon her mother by even a word of farewell, she turned, and +put her hand once more in that of her aunt. And now, as, comfortably +wrapped in buffalo skins, Mrs. Wharton and the little girls are flying +over the country roads, to the sound of the merry sleigh-bells, we will +relate a conversation which took place between Mammy and Bridget; and +by so doing, will give a little insight into the history of the young +widow, whom we have introduced to the reader. + + + + +II. + +Brook Farm. + + "By the gathering round the winter hearth, + When twilight called unto household mirth; + By the fairy tale, or the legend old, + In that ring of happy faces told; + By the quiet hours when hearts unite + In the parting prayer and the kind "good night", + By the smiling eye and the loving tone, + Over thy life has the spell been thrown."--SPELLS OF HOME. + + +When Mammy left little Agnes in the north room, and descended to the +kitchen, she found Bridget, who had already been made acquainted with, +passing events by Anne, the chambermaid, in a state of great wrath and +indignation. The china must have been strong that stood so bravely the +rough treatment it received that morning, and the tins kept up a +continued shriek of anguish as they were dashed against each other in +the sink; while every time Bridget set down her foot as she stamped +about the kitchen, it was done with an emphasis that made itself felt +throughout the whole house. + +"And so ye've been locking up that swate crathur again, have ye, Mrs. +McCrae?" were the words with which, in no gentle tones, she assailed +Mammy as she entered the kitchen. + +"I did as I was bid, Bridget," said Mammy, with a sigh. + +"And indade it wouldn't be me would do as I was bid, if I was bid to do +the like o' that. I'd rather coot off my right hand than use it to turn +the kay on the darlint." + +"I always mind my mistress, Bridget," said Mammy, "though it's often I'm +forced to pray for patience wi' her." + +"And indade I don't ask for patience wid her at all, anny how," stormed +Bridget. "To think of sending the swate child, that never has anny but a +kind an' a pleasant word for _iverybody_, away to the cold room, just +because the brat she doats on chooses to _yowl_ in the fashion he did +the morn. I don't know, indade, what's the matther with the woman! I +think it's a quare thing, and an _on nattheral_ thing, _anny how_!" + +"She's much to be blamed, no doubt, Bridget, and yet there's excuses to +be made for my mistress," said Mammy, mildly. "She's young yet in years, +no but twenty-two; and she's nothing but a child in her ways and her +knowledge. She never knew the blessing of a mither's care, puir thing; +and up to the very day she was married, her life was passed at one o' +them fashionable boarding-schules, where they teach them to play on +instruments, and to sing, and to dance, and to paint, and to talk some +unchristian tongue that's never going to do them no good for this life +nor the next. But they never give them so much as a hint that they've +got a soul to be saved, and they take no pains to fit them to be wives +and mothers. My mistress was but fifteen years old when she ran away +with Master Harry. Poor dear Master Harry! It was the only fulish thing +I ever knew him to do, was running away wi' that chit of a schule-girl. +He met her, I think, at a ball that was given at this schule, and Master +Harry was over head and ears in love in a minute; and after two or three +meetings and a few notes passing, they determined on this runnin' away +folly. I think it was them novels she was always readin' put it in her +head. It wouldn't do, you know, to be like other folks, but they must +have a little kind of a romance about it. Puir, fulish, young things!" + +"You see, I was living with old Mr. Elwyn then," continued Mammy; +"indeed, I've been in the family ever since I came over from Scotland, +quite a lassie, thirty-one years ago come next April. I left them, +besure, when I married; but as my gude-man lived but two years, I was +soon back in my old home again. Old Mr. Elwyn, Master Harry's father, +had lost his property before this time; but his brother, 'Uncle Ben,' as +they called him, was very rich. They all lived together--'Uncle Ben,' +old Mr. Elwyn, Master Harry and Miss Ellen, that's Mrs. Wharton. Miss +Ellen was a few years older than Master Harry, and she was the +housekeeper. But Master Harry, bless you! was only twenty years old, +when he walked in one morning, and told his father he was married. I +never shall forget the time there was then! The old gentleman was +complaining, and had had a bad night, though Master Harry did not know +that. Well, the sudden shock threw him into an apoplectic fit; and two +days after, he had another, and died. Master Harry was almost distracted +then: he called himself his father's murderer; and, indeed, I think he +was never what you might call well from that time." + +"But you never saw any one so angry as Mr. Benjamin Elwyn was. He had +always intended to make master Harry his heir, but his conduct in this +foolish affair enraged him so that he said he would leave him nothing. +At first the young folks lived with her father, but he soon died, +leaving his daughter a little property settled on herself. But it was +not enough to support them, and so Master Harry had to apply to old Mr. +Benjamin Elwyn again, and the old man gave him this place, and enough to +live on pretty comfortably here. He told Master Harry that perhaps +something might be made of his baby wife yet, if he brought her away +from the follies of the city, to a country place like this, and tried to +improve her mind; and so they have lived here ever since, till last +year, when poor master Harry died." + +"And what do ye think is the raison that the misthress thrates little +Miss Agnes the way she does?" + +"Well, I can hardly tell you, Bridget. In the first place, I have often +heard her say that she couldn't abide _girls_, and bating other reasons, +I think she would have been disappointed on her own account, you know, +to have the first child a girl. But, besides this, I have heard that Mr. +Benjamin Elwyn quite forgave Mr. Harry, and promised him that if his +oldest child was a boy, and he named it after him, he would leave him +the bulk of his property. I cannot tell you how bitterly disappointed +my young mistress was, when her first born proved to be a girl. She was +but sixteen years old then, you know, Bridget, and she acted like a +cross, spoiled baby. She cried herself into a fever, and she wouldn't +let the poor, helpless baby, come into her sight. I think she never +loved her; and from the time of Master Lewie's birth, she has seemed to +dislike her more and more." + +"But how the father loved her, Mrs. McCrae!" + +"Aye, indeed he did; he never could be easy a minute without her. It was +a sore day for my poor bairn, when it pleased God to take her father; +poor man! But He knows best, Bridget, and He orders all things right." + +Here Mammy was summoned by the bell, and despatched to bring little +Agnes down; to accompany her aunt and cousins to their home. + +As Agnes was riding along, seated so comfortably by the side of her kind +aunt, in the large covered sleigh, with the rosy, smiling faces of her +little cousins, Grace and Effie, opposite her, she could scarcely +believe that she was the same little girl, who, but an hour or two +before, was walking so sadly up and down the desolate North Room, and +trying to persuade herself that she was "not alone." Agnes was naturally +of a lively, cheerful disposition, and like any other little girl of six +years of age, she soon forgot past sorrow in present pleasure, though, +at times, the sudden remembrance of her dear little baby brother, lying +so ill at home, would cause a sigh to chase away the smile of pleasure +beaming on her lovely face. + +It was but little more than two miles from "The Hemlocks," Mrs. Elwyn's +residence, to "Brook Farm," the home of the Wharton's, and, as Matthew +had received orders to drive very rapidly, it seemed to Agnes that her +ride was just begun, when they turned into the lane that led up to her +Uncle Wharton's house. And now the pillars of the piazza appear between +the trees, and now the breakfast room windows, and more bright young +faces are looking out, and little chubby hands are clapped together, as +the sleigh is discovered coming rapidly up the lane, and the cry +resounds through the house, "They've come! they've come! and Agnes is +with them!" + +A bright, cheerful wood fire was burning in the pleasant, great +breakfast room, and the party who had just arrived were soon surrounded +by smiles of welcome, while busy little fingers were assisting them to +untie their bonnets, and unfasten their cloaks. In a few moments the +door opened, and a pale, but lovely looking girl, in deep mourning, +entered the room. She was a niece of Mr. Wharton's, and, having lately +been left an orphan, by the death of her mother, she had been brought by +her kind uncle, to his hospitable home, where she was received by all as +a member, henceforth, of their family. + +"Well, aunty," said she, after stooping to kiss Agnes, "you are back +sooner than I expected." + +"Yes, dear, I was obliged to hurry; little Lewie is very ill, I fear. By +the way, Harry, run and tell Matthew that just as soon as he is warm, he +must drive as fast as possible to the village, and ask Dr. Rodney to +get directly into the sleigh, to go to your Aunt Elwyn's; and tell him +to call for me, as he comes back." + +"Why, mamma, are you going back there again?" asked Effie. + +"Yes, love, I must go back, and remain with your Aunt Harriet to-day. I +only came home to make some arrangements for the family. I want your +papa to drive over for me to-night, after the little ones are all in +bed; and I desire the rest of you to keep out of my way till I have +changed my dress. I do not know yet what is the matter with Lewie. How +do you feel, Emily?" + +"Much better, thank you, aunty; I am quite prepared to play lady of the +house in your absence." + +"Well, do put aside those books, dear: your health is the most important +thing now. I wish I could leave you so busy with household concerns as +to give you not a moment's time for reading." + +"Dear aunty, I do not think the books hurt me; and you certainly would +not have me grow up a dunce, would you?" + +"No fear of that, dear; and I by no means wish you to give up your books +altogether, but only to lay them aside till you get a little color in +these pale cheeks. I shall lay my commands on your uncle not to give you +any more assistance in your studies till I give him permission." + +"Well, I'll be very good, aunty, and I've promised the boys to take a +run with them over to the pond, and see them skate; and besides, we are +all invited to an entertainment in a certain snow palace, which is +nearly finished, and which I have promised to grace with my presence." + +Just then two fine handsome boys, the pictures of health and good +nature, rushed in. These were Robert and Albert Wharton, home from +school for the Christmas holidays. + +"Mother, what will you give us for our entertainment?" they cried. + +"Have you a table and seats?" she asked. + +"Yes, all made of snow," said Albert. "But don't let us tell her all +about it, Bob; I want to surprise her." + +"I think your entertainment, to be in keeping with your furniture, ought +to be of snow and icicles," said Mrs. Wharton; "but, whatever it is, I +am sorry that I cannot visit your snow palace to-day." + +"Oh! that's too bad, mother; it will spoil all our fun. But, say, will +you give us something to eat?" + +"Yes; I leave Emily mistress of the keys for to-day, and you may call +upon her for pies, cake, or anything the store-room contains; only be a +little moderate, and don't leave us entirely destitute." + +"It won't be half so pleasant without you, mother," said Robert; "but we +shall have quite as many as our palace can accommodate, if all these go. +Hallo! here's Agnes! Why, Aggy, how do you do? I didn't see you before." + +At this moment the sleigh was seen coming up the lane, and Mrs. Wharton +hastened to get ready to accompany the doctor to the Hemlocks. + +"I want to whisper to you, dear mother, one minute," said little Grace. + +"What more Christmas secrets?" asked her mother. + +A whispered consultation here took place, some request being urged with +great eagerness by Grace; and the pleasant "Yes, yes," from her mother, +made her bright eyes dance with joy. + +As Mrs. Wharton was driving from the door, Albert called out: + +"Mother, may the baby go with us?" + +"Yes, if Kitty will wrap him up well," was the answer, and the sleigh +flew down the lane, and was soon out of sight. + +Agnes was now hurried off by her young cousins to inspect the various +preparations for Christmas, and was made the repository of some most +important secrets, "of which she must not give a hint for the world." +She saw the purse Effie was knitting for Albert, and the guard-chain +Grace was weaving for Robert, and the mittens for Harry, and the socks +for the baby, and the pen-wiper for papa, and the iron-holder for mamma; +and then Effie took her aside alone, to show her something she was +making for Grace; and Grace took her aside alone, to show something she +had bought with "her own money" for Effie; and there was a beautiful +book for Cousin Emily. "And we cannot show you yet whether we have +anything for you, Agnes, because, you know, we always keep our secrets +till Christmas comes," they said. + +"There comes papa from the mill," cried Effie, looking out of the +window; "let's run down and see him. How surprised he will be to find +mamma gone, and Agnes here!" + +Mr. Wharton came in with his usual cheerful manner; and soon as he was +warming his feet by the fire, he had Agnes on one knee, and Harry on the +other, and the rest of the noisy little tribe round him, eagerly telling +the events of the day, and the pleasant anticipations for the afternoon. + +"Oh, papa," said Effie, "I've got something I want to say to you, if +you would only come in the other room a few minutes, or if the children +would only be kind enough to go out of this room a little while." + +"Won't it keep, Effie, till I warm my feet?" asked her father; "because, +if it will not, I suppose I must go now." + +"Oh no, papa, I will wait patiently," said Effie. + +In a few minutes her father said, "Now, Effie, for that important +secret;" and they went together into another room. + +"This is what I wanted to say, papa," said Effie: "you know poor Agnes +never has any money of her own; and I know, when she sees us all giving +presents to each other, she will feel badly, if she cannot give +something too; and I want to know if you won't give her a little money, +and let her go to the village with us the next time we go, and get some +materials to make something out of?" + +Mr. Wharton answered by putting his hand in his pocket, and giving Effie +some silver for Agnes, with which she went off perfectly happy. + +And now little Grace put in her curly head, and said, "Effie, when you +are through with papa, I've got something to say to him too." + +The sum and substance of Grace's communication was this: "she had seen +something at a store in the village, with which she was sure her mamma +would be perfectly charmed, but she hadn't _quite_ enough money to +purchase it; she only wanted _ten cents_ more." And she too went off +with a smiling face. + +Emily now came in jingling her keys and called them all to dinner. + +As soon as possible after dinner, the boys laden with a basket of good +things, which Emily had provided for them, started off for the snow +palace, one of them carrying the dinner-horn, which was used in the +summer, to call the men to the farm-house to their meals. When the +entertainment was ready the horn was to sound. In the meantime, the +children were sitting around the fire, waiting impatiently for the +signal, to call them to the palace of snow. + +"Cousin Emily," said Agnes, for she too said "Cousin Emily," though +there was no relationship, in fact, between them, "Cousin Emily, I wish +I knew _what_ to read and study. I do want to know something, and I +don't know anything but my Bible, and my little book of hymns. Mammy +taught me to read, or I should'nt have known anything at all," she added +sadly. + +"Well, Agnes," that is the best knowledge you could possibly have, said +Emily, "though I am far from thinking other studies unimportant; but, if +I can help you in any way, I will gladly lend you books, and tell you +how to study." + +"Oh! will you, cousin Emily?" said Agnes, her face brightening; "how +happy I shall be! aunty has taught Effie and Grace, and they have +studied Geography and History, and they can cipher, and I don't know +anything at all about those things; why, even little Harry knows more +than I do." + +"But you can beat us all in Bible knowledge, I know, Agnes," said Emily, +"and, in a very little time, you will catch up to the other children, +for aunty has little leisure time to devote to them. But there! I hear +the horn! call Kitty, to bring the baby, and we'll all start." + +And now all warmly wrapped in cloaks and hoods, the little party left +the side piazza, and walked down towards the pond. The path was well +broken, as the boys travelled it so often, on their way to the pond and +the snow palace, and the little party went briskly on. Emily and Agnes +headed the procession, then came Effie and Grace, dragging a box-sled in +which the baby was comfortably stowed, and Kitty, the nurse, brought up +the rear, leading little Harry. The two boys met them at some distance +from the snow palace, and told them they must go through the labyrinth +before they could reach the place of entertainment. + +The labyrinth was composed of paths, cut in the deep snow, winding in +and out, and circling about in all directions, till, at length, the +foremost of the party halted before the entrance to the snow palace. The +boys had, indeed, been industrious, and the new comers stared in +amazement, at the results of their labor. They found themselves, on +entering the palace, in a room high enough for the tallest of the party +to stand upright in, and of dimensions large enough to seat them all +comfortably around the square block of snow which formed the centre +table. The seats were of the same material, and were substantial enough, +while the extreme cold weather lasted. On the table was placed the +entertainment provided by Emily, to which the party did all possible +justice, considering that they had just risen from a plentiful dinner at +home. After the feast, Robert and Alfred entertained them with feats of +agility on the ice, dragging one or the other of the children after them +upon the sled, and when they returned home, even Emily's usually pale +cheeks were in a glow. + +Towards evening Agnes began to be uneasy, and to watch at the window for +her aunt's return. "I will not see aunty, cousin Emily," she said, "but +I cannot go to bed till I hear how Lewie is to-night." + +At length her uncle and aunt returned, and Agnes heard that her little +brother was very ill; but the doctor was of opinion that his disease was +a brain fever, and therefore there was no danger of contagion. Agnes +went to bed with a heavy heart, and cried herself to sleep. + +The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Mrs. Wharton again +ordered the sleigh and drove to "the Hemlocks." She found Mrs. Elwyn in +a state bordering on distraction. + +"Oh, Ellen," she said, "how I have wanted you! Lewie has had a night of +dreadful suffering, and now he is unconscious. He does not know me, +Ellen! He does not hear me when I call. I think he does not see. Oh, +Ellen, what would life be to me if I lose my darling. And now I want you +to _pray!_ You can pray, Ellen, and God answers your prayers. Pray for +the life of my child! Mammy prays, but she will only say, 'The will of +the Lord be done!'" + +"And I can say no more, Ellen. I _do_ pray; I _have_ prayed, that your +darling boy's life may be spared, if it be the will of God, but more +than that I cannot say." + +"And what if it be His will to take my darling from me, Ellen?" + +"Then, Harriet, I hope you might learn to acquiesce without a murmur, +and to say from your heart, 'It is the Lord, let Him do what seemeth to +Him good.'" + +"No, Ellen, never! I cannot contemplate the bare possibility of losing +my boy. If you will not pray as I wish, I will try to pray myself;" and +falling on her knees, she prayed for the life of her child. "Take +whatever else thou wilt, oh God," she cried, "but oh, spare me my +child." + +"Harriet, this seems to me most horrible impiety," said Mrs. Wharton, +"to ask God to grant your desires, whether agreeable to His will, or +not; I should much fear if your request were granted, that it would only +be to show you, that you know not what is best for yourself, and for +those you love; and that you might some day wish you had left this +matter in the hands of God, even if it had been His will to take your +darling to Himself." + +When Dr. Rodney came that morning, he found the child in a profound +slumber. "This," said he, "is, I think, the crisis of the disease; on no +account let him be disturbed; if he awakes conscious, he will in all +human probability recover." + +And they watched him in breathless stillness, Mrs. Wharton on one side +of the cradle, and his mother on a low stool beside him, with her sad +gaze riveted on his little face, to catch his first waking glance, and +to see whether the eye then beamed with intelligence, or not. + +Oh, who can imagine the agony, the terrible suspense of such watching, +but those who have sat as that poor mother did, over a loved one +hovering between life and death. And as Mrs. Wharton sat so silently +opposite her, her thoughts were sometimes raised in prayer for her poor +misguided sister; and sometimes she sat looking at her as a perfect +enigma; with a heart so capable of loving devotedly, and yet so steeled +against her own child, and so lovely and winning a little creature as +Agnes. It was a puzzle which she had often tried to solve, in vain. + +After an hour more of deep slumber, Lewie started and awoke. For a +moment his glance rested with a bewildered expression upon his mother's +face; and then, stretching out his little hands, he said, "Mamma!" Mrs. +Wharton's attention was fixed upon the child; but when she turned to the +mother, she saw her, white as the snow, falling back upon the floor. The +revulsion of feeling was too much for her; she had fainted. + +When Mrs. Wharton came home that night, she said, "Agnes, my love, your +little brother is better, and, with great care, he may now recover." + +"Oh, aunty!" exclaimed Agnes, joyfully, "and when may I see him?" + +"You must be content to remain with us without going home for some days +yet, dear; for the doctor says the most perfect quiet is necessary, and +you could not see Lewie if you were at home." + +And now that the mind of little Agnes was comparatively free from +anxiety, she entered with great delight into the preparations going on +at Brook Farm for Christmas. + + + + +III. + +Christmas Time. + + "In the sounding hall they wake + The rural gambol."--THOMSON. + + +And now but a week was wanting to Christmas, and all was excitement and +bustle among the little folks at Brook Farm. Lewie was quite out of +danger, and Agnes was as happy and as busy as any of her little cousins. +The cutter was in constant demand; for when one was particularly +desirous to go over to the village on some secret expedition, that one +must go alone, or only with those who were in her secret. Many were the +mysterious brown-paper parcels which were smuggled into the house, and +hidden away under lock and key in various closets and drawers; and there +were sudden scramblings and hidings of half-finished articles, when +some member of the family who "was not to see" entered the room. + +"Aunty," said Agnes one day, in a confidential tone, "I should like to +make a needle-book for mamma, like the one cousin Emily is making for +Effie. She says she will show me, and fix it for me, and I think I can +do it. Do you think mamma would like it?" + +"Certainly, darling, I should think she would like it; I do not see how +any mamma could help being pleased with anything her little girl made +for her." + +"But, aunty," said Agnes, as if speaking of a well-known and +acknowledged fact, "you know mamma doesn't love me much, and perhaps it +would trouble her." + +The sad tone in which these words were said brought tears to the eyes of +Mrs. Wharton, but still she encouraged Agnes to go on with the +needle-book. It was not a very complicated affair, and Emily arranged +all the most difficult parts; but still it was a work of time, and one +requiring much patience and perseverance on the part of so young a +child as Agnes. However, it was at length completed on the day before +Christmas, and, when handed about for inspection, was much admired by +all her friends. Agnes was very happy, for on Christmas day her uncle +was to take her over home to see Lewie, who called for her constantly, +her aunt said. Mammy had walked over too, to see her little girl, and +she told her that "Lewie was greetin' for 'sister' from morn till +night." + +The day before Christmas came, and with it the party at Brook Farm was +augmented by the arrival of Mrs. Ellison, a younger sister of Mr. +Wharton's, her husband and baby, a beautiful child of about a year old. +There was great joy at the arrival of "Aunt Fanny," who was very lively, +and always ready to enter with glee into the frolics and sports of the +children. + +As they were sitting at the dinner table that day, Mr. Wharton said: + +"I have received certain information that Santa Claus himself is to +visit us to-night, and bring his gifts in person. He desires me to +inform the children, that all packages to be entrusted to his care must +be handed into my study, labelled and directed, before six o'clock this +evening." + +Many were the wonders and speculations as to the nature and appearance +of the expected Santa Claus; but they were suddenly interrupted by +Robert, who exclaimed: + +"Why, who comes here up the lane? It's old cousin Betty, I do declare, +in her old green gig set on runners." + +"I thought cousin Betty would hardly let Christmas go by without making +her appearance," said Mrs. Wharton; "I have thought two or three times +to-day that she might come along before night." + +"Cousin Betty" was a distant relation of Mrs. Wharton's, a lonely old +body, who lodged with a relative in a village about ten miles distant +from Brook Farm. She was very eccentric--so much so, that she was by +some thought crazy; but Mrs. Wharton was of opinion that cousin Betty +had never possessed sufficient _mind_ to subject her to such a +calamity. She was more silly than crazy, very good-natured, very +inquisitive as to the affairs of others, and very communicative as to +her own. + +In a few minutes cousin Betty had received a hearty welcome, and was +seated by the bright fire, asking and answering questions with the +utmost rapidity. + +"I've been looking for you, cousin Betty," said Mrs. Wharton. + +"Have! What made you?" + +"Oh, I thought you could hardly let Christmas go by without coming to +see the fun." + +"Did! Well, I never thought nothing about comin' till yesterday, when I +sat in my little room, and I got feelin' pretty dull; and thinks I to +myself, I'll just borrow Mr. White's old horse, and take my old gig, and +drive up to the farm, and see the folks." + +"Cousin Betty, who do you think is coming to see us to-night?" asked +little Grace. + +"I'm sure I can't tell, child. Who is it?" + +"Why, Santa Claus himself, with all his presents around him." + +"Is, hey?" said cousin Betty; "well, I shall be mighty glad to see him, +I can tell you; for, old as I am, I've never seen him yet." + +"I'm so glad you've come, cousin Betty!" said Effie; "we want you to go +with us some day over to the farm-house, and tell us about our +great-grandfather, whose house stood where the farm-house stands now; +and how his house was burnt down by the Indians, and he was carried off. +Agnes wants to hear it so much." + +"Does! Well, I will go over there, and tell you the story, some day. But +I can't walk over there while the weather is so cold; I should get the +rheumatiz." + +"I'll drag you over on my sled, if that will do, cousin Betty," said +Robert. + +The children laughed so heartily at the picture presented to their +imagination of little old cousin Betty riding on Robert's sled, that +Grace actually rolled out of her chair. + +"Why wouldn't it do to tell the story here, Effie?" asked Agnes. + +"Oh, because it is a great deal more interesting, told on the spot you +know. Cousin Betty has heard it all over and over again from grandmamma, +and she can point out, from one window of the farm-house, all the places +where all those dreadful things happened." + +Some warm dinner was now brought in for cousin Betty, and the children +went off to tie up and label the gifts for Santa Claus. + +"What shall we do with the presents we have for papa and mamma?" asked +Grace. + +"Oh, we cannot hand those in to the study," said Effie; "we must +contrive some way to give them afterwards." + +And now the children, one after the other, with their arms laden with +packages, were making their way to their father's study; Emily and +Agnes, too, had several contributions to make to the heap of bundles +which was piled up on the study table; and before six o'clock, Mr. +Wharton said he had taken in enough articles to stock a very +respectable country store. At six o'clock the study door was locked, and +there was no more admittance. + +An hour or two after this, the whole family were assembled in the two +large parlors, which were brilliantly lighted for the occasion, and all +were on the tiptoe of expectation. + +"I should like to know how he is coming," said Albert; "he'll be likely +to get well scorched, if he comes down either chimney." + +At this moment there was a slight tap at one of the windows opening on +to the piazza, which Mr. Wharton immediately proceeded to open, and in +walked St. Nicholas. + +He was a jolly, merry-looking, little old gentleman, with beard and +whiskers as white as snow, and enveloped in furs from head to foot. +Around his neck, around his waist, over his shoulders, down his back, +and even on the top of his head, were presents and toys of every +description. Behind him he dragged a beautiful sled, which was loaded +with some articles too bulky to be carried around his person. Every +pocket was full; and as he passed through the rooms, he threw sugar +plums and mottoes, nuts and raisins, on all sides, causing a great +scrambling and screaming and laughing among the children. + +Then he began to disengage the presents, which were pinned about him, +and tied to the buttons of his coat; and as he did so, he looked at the +label, and threw it at the one for whom it was intended. It would be +hard for one who was not there to imagine the lively scene which was now +presented in the great parlors at Brook Farm; the presents flying round +in all directions; the children dodging, and diving, and catching, while +shouts and screams of laughter made the house ring. + +"But who is he?--who can he be?" was the question which each asked of +the other a great many times during this merry scene. Mr. Wharton and +Mr. Ellison, "Aunt Fanny's" husband, were both in the room, and they +were sure there was no other gentleman in the house. + +Just then Robert screamed, "Oh, I know now! It's cousin Tom! He throws +left-handed!" And now the effort was made to pull off the mask, but +Santa Claus avoided them with great dexterity, still continuing his +business of distributing the presents. + +At the feet of Agnes he placed a work-box, much handsomer than that +which Lewie had destroyed; at Emily's, a writing-desk, and some valuable +books; and when his sled was emptied, he drew the sled, and left it with +little Harry, for whom it was intended. + +"My goodness gracious!" said cousin Betty, as a beautiful muff "took her +in the head," as Albert said, and sadly disarranged the set of her odd +little turban. + +"And now I believe old Santa Claus has finished his labors," said Mr. +Wharton. + +"Oh no, not yet," cried Effie; "he must come with us for a new supply. +But I feel a little afraid of him yet. If I only could be sure it was +cousin Tom!" + +"You need not doubt that, Effie," said Robert; "nobody else ever threw +like cousin Tom. I've seen him play snow-ball often enough." + +And now Santa Claus was taken captive by the children, and in a few +minutes he re-appeared, laden with gifts, but this time for the older +members of the family; and the products of the children's industry made +quite a display, and much astonished those for whom they were intended, +the children having kept their secrets well. + +And now, as the rooms were warm, old Santa Claus was quite willing to +get rid of his mask and his furs; and this done, he straightened up, and +cousin Tom stood revealed. + +"And how did you come, and where have you been?" asked the children. + +"Oh, I came this afternoon, and stopped at the farm house," answered +cousin Tom, or Mr. Thomas Wharton, for it is time he should be +introduced by his true name to the reader. "And after it was dusk I +slipped over here, and went round to uncle's study door while you were +at tea. I sent word by Aunt Fanny that you might expect Santa Claus +to-night." + +And now began a game of romps, which lasted for an hour or more, and +then little bodies began to be stumbled over, and were found under +tables, and on sofas fast asleep, and were taken off to bed. Mrs. +Ellison's baby being roused by the noise, had awaked, and persisted in +keeping awake, and his mother came back to the parlor bringing him in +her arms, with his night-gown on, and his cheeks as red as roses. + +"Isn't he a splendid fellow?" said she, holding him up before cousin +Tom. + +"A very comfortable looking piece of flesh certainly," he answered; "but +then they are all alike. I think you might divide all babies into two +class, the fat and the lean; otherwise, there is no difference in them +that I can see." + +"Pshaw, how ridiculously you talk; there is a great deal more difference +between two babies, than between you and all the other young dandies who +walk Broadway. They are all alike, the same cut of the coat and collar, +and whiskers; the same tie of the neck-cloth, and shape of the boot: +when you have seen one, you have seen all. But now just take a good look +at this magnificent baby, and confess; wouldn't you like to kiss him?" + +"Excuse me, my dear aunty, but that is a thing I haven't been left to do +very often. I've no fancy for having my cheeks and whiskers converted +into spitoons. It is really astonishing now," continued cousin Tom, +"what fools such a brat as that will make of very sensible people." + +"Are your allusions personal, sir?" asked Mrs. Ellison, laughing. + +"No, not just now; but I was thinking of a man in our place, who used to +be really a _very_ sensible fellow; and though quite an old bachelor, he +was the life of every party he attended, and more of a favorite than +most of the young men. Well, when he was about fifty years old he got +married, and he's got a young one now about two years old. And what kind +of an exhibition do you suppose that man made of himself the other day. +Why, this refractory young individual couldn't be persuaded to walk +towards home in any other way, when they had him out for an airing, and +what does this old friend of mine do, but allow a handkerchief to be +pinned to his coat-tail, and go prancing along the street like a horse +for the spoiled brat to drive. The calf! I declare, before I'd make such +a fool of myself as that, I'd eat my head! What are you writing there, +uncle?" + +"Only taking notes of these remarks, Tom," answered Mr. Wharton, "for +your benefit on some future occasion." + +There was only one in that Christmas party who could not heartily join +in the glee; it was poor Emily, to whom this scene brought back so +vividly other holiday seasons passed with those who had "gone from earth +to return no more," that only by a strong effort could she prevent her +own sadness from casting a shade over the happiness of others; for they +all loved cousin Emily so dearly, that they could not be merry when she +was sad. Emily was usually so quiet, that in their noisy play they did +not miss her as she retired to the sofa and shaded her eyes with her +hand; but her kind uncle noticed her, and readily understood the reason +of her sadness. Taking a seat by her he put his arm around her, and took +her hand in his. This act of tenderness was too much for poor Emily's +already full heart, and laying her head on her uncle's shoulder, she +sobbed out her grief unchecked. + + + + +IV. + +Cousin Betty. + + "Come, wilt thou see me ride!"--HENRY VIII. + + +Cousin Betty was a little bit of a woman, with a face as full of +wrinkles as a frozen apple, and a pair of the busiest and most twinkling +little black eyes you ever saw, a prominent and parrot like nose, with a +chin formed on the very same pattern, only that it turned up instead of +down, the two so very nearly meeting that the children said they had "to +turn their faces sideways to kiss her." She had some very unaccountable +ways too, which no one understood, and which she never made any attempt +to explain, perhaps because she did not understand them herself. + +For instance, whenever meals were ready, and the family prepared to sit +down, though cousin Betty might have been hovering round for an hour or +two before, she was often missing at that very moment, and when a search +was instituted she was sometimes found taking a stroll in the garret +where she could have no possible business, and sometimes poking about in +the darkest corner of the dark cellar, without the slightest conceivable +object. If her thimble or spectacles were lost, she has often been known +to go to the pantry and lift up every tumbler and wine-glass on the +shelf, one after the other, and look under it as if she really expected +to find the missing article there; and to take off the cover of +vegetable dishes to look for her snuff-box, or open the door of the +stove, if her work-bag, or knitting were missing, apparently with the +confident expectation of finding them unharmed amidst the blazing fire. + +Cousin Betty had a very uncomfortable fashion of _dying_ too, every +little while, which at first alarmed her friends so much that +restoratives were speedily procured; but as she never failed to come to +life again, they became, after a time, accustomed to the parting scene, +so that there was great danger that when she really did take her +departure, nobody would believe it. + +"My dear," said she one night to Effie, "I feel very unwell; very +unwell, indeed; I think it's more'n likely I shan't last the night +through. I wish you wouldn't leave me alone this evening, and then if +I'm suddenly taken worse, you know you can call the family. I should +like to see them all before I go." + +Effie promised she would not leave her, and bringing her book, she +seated herself by the stove in cousin Betty's room. In about a hour she +appeared in the parlor, her face purple with the effort to suppress the +inclination to laugh, and said, "Oh, do all of you please to come to +cousin Betty's room a few moments." + +"What, is she dying?" they asked. + +"Oh, no! but just come; very quietly; there's a sight for you to see." + +Cousin Betty always tied a large handkerchief about her head when she +went to bed, and on the night in question, the two ends of the +handkerchief being tied in a knot stood up from her head like two +enormous ears. She was bolstered up by pillows, as she declared she +could not breathe in any other position, and at every breath she drew +she opened and shut her mouth with a sudden jerk. Effie had looked up +from her reading suddenly, and caught the reflection of cousin Betty's +profile, thrown by the light, greatly magnified upon the wall, and +stuffing her handkerchief in her mouth to prevent a sudden explosion of +laughter, by which cousin Betty might be awakened, she ran to call the +family. No pen-sketch but an actual profile would give the slightest +idea of the extraordinary and most ludicrous appearance of the image +thus thrown upon the wall; with the enormous ears standing up, and the +mouth and chin snapping together like the claws of a lobster. One by one +they rushed from the room, till at length a smothered cacchination from +one of the little ones awoke cousin Betty, who exclaimed: + +"Who is sobbing there? My dear friends do not distress yourselves, I +find myself considerably more comfortable." + +This "clapped the climax," and the room was unavoidably deserted for a +few minutes; but at length Effie found courage to return, and, by +placing the light in another position, was enabled to keep watch for the +remainder of the evening. + +There were some very amusing stories told in the family of cousin +Betty's adventures, one of which I will relate here. She was at one time +making one of her long visits at Mr. Wharton's, when, getting out of +yarn, and not being willing to remain long idle, she began to worry +about some way to get over to the village. The horses were all out at +work upon the farm, except Old Prancer, a superannuated old horse, who +was never used except for Mrs. Wharton or the girls to drive; for, +whatever claims "Prancer" may once have had to his name, it had been a +misnomer for some years past, and no one suspected him of having a spark +of spirit. + +When Mr. Wharton came in to dinner, and cousin Betty consulted him as +to the best means of getting over to the village, he told her that the +best thing he could do for her would be to put the side-saddle on to Old +Prancer, and let her ride over. To this cousin Betty consented, not +without a slight trepidation, for she had never been much of a +horse-woman, but still, as she had known Prancer for many years, and he +had always borne the character of a staid, steady-going animal, she +thought there could surely be no risk in trusting herself to him. + +Soon after dinner, cousin Betty, with a very short and very scanty +skirt, was mounted on the back of Old Prancer. She felt quite timid at +first at finding herself upon so lofty an elevation, (for Prancer was an +immense animal;) but when she found how steadily and sedately he went +on, and that neither encouragement nor blows could induce him to break +into a trot, she lost all her fears, and began to enjoy her ride saving +that the pace was rather a slow one. + +But just as cousin Betty began to ascend the hill leading into the +village, the sound of martial music burst upon her ear, and she +remembered hearing the children say that this was "general training +day." Cousin Betty did not know that Prancer had once belonged to a +militia officer; and if she had, it would have made no difference, as +all the fire of youth seemed to have died out with Prancer years ago. +But early associations are strong; and as the "horse scenteth the battle +afar off," so did Prancer prick up his ears and quicken his pace at the +spirit-stirring sounds of the fife and drum; and now he began to make an +awkward attempt to dance sideways upon the points of his hoofs; and as +he neared the brow of the hill, his excitement became more intense, and +his curveting and prancing more animated. Cousin Betty was almost +terrified to death. Throwing away her whip, and grasping the reins, she +endeavored to stop him; but he only held in his head, and danced +sideways up the street with more animation and spirit than ever. She +thought of throwing herself off, but the immense height rendered such a +feat utterly unsafe; she endeavored to rein the horse up to the +side-walk; but now he had caught sight of the motley array of trainers, +and of the gay horses and gayer uniforms of the officers, and, +regardless alike of bit and rein, he started off at full speed, to join +the long-forgotten but once familiar spectacle. + +Cousin Betty had by this time dropped the reins, and was clinging with +both arms to Old Prancer's neck; and as he turned his face to the +company, and backed gallantly down the street, the sight was too +irresistibly ludicrous. Shouts and laughter, and expressions of +encouragement to poor cousin Betty, were heard on all sides; till at +length a militia officer, taking pity upon her helpless condition, led +the unwilling Prancer to the tavern, and assisted her to alight. Here +cousin Betty remained till sun-down, and all was quiet; and then, +requesting the tavern-keeper to lead the horse out of town while she +walked, she again, with much fear and trembling, mounted when beyond +the precincts of the village. + +Prancer, however, walked slowly home, with his head drooping, as if +thoroughly mortified at the excesses into which he had been betrayed; +and cousin Betty, when she once got safely home, declared that she'd go +without yarn another time, if it was a whole year, before she would +mount such a "treacherous animal as that 'ere." + +But, with all her oddities, cousin Betty was sometimes a very amusing +companion. She had many stories of her youth stowed away in her memory, +which, when wanted, could be found and brought to light much more +readily than the articles she was so constantly missing now; and though +these stories were not told in the purest English, they were none the +less interesting to the children for that. + +There came, early in February, some pleasant, mild days, which soon made +a ruin of the boys' palace of snow; and though cousin Betty had been in +a dying state for an hour or two the night before, she was so far +revived that morning, that she was easily persuaded by the children to +go over with them to the farm-house, and tell them the story of their +great-grandfather, and his capture by the Indians; which same, though a +very interesting story to the children, might not be so to my readers; +and after changing my mind about it several times, I have concluded to +leave it out, as having nothing to do with the rest of my story. + + + + +V + +Home Again. + + "Deal very, very gently with a young child's tender heart." + + +With a face beaming with joy, little Agnes took her place in the cutter +by her uncle on Christmas morning, and nodded good-bye to her cousins, +who were crowded at the window to see her off. + +"Mind you come back to dinner!" screamed little Grace, knocking with her +knuckles on the window pane. + +Agnes nodded again, and they were gone. Many a time during the short +ride did Agnes take out of her little muff the paper in which her +needle-case for her mother was rolled up, to see if it was all safe; and +she never let go for a moment of the basket in which were some toys for +Lewie, which she and her cousins had purchased at the village. As she +drove up the road from the gate to her mother's house, it seemed to her +so long since she had been away, that she expected to see great changes. +She had never been from home so long before, and a great deal had +happened in that fort night. + +Mrs. Elwyn was reading again; indeed, she had resumed that very +yellow-covered book, the reading of which Lewie's sickness had +interrupted; so she had not much time for a greeting for Agnes, though +she did allow her to kiss her cheek, and of course laid aside her book, +out of compliment to Mr. Wharton. But little Lewie, who was sitting in +his cradle, surrounded by toys, was in perfect ecstasies at the return +of Agnes. + +He stretched his little arms towards her; and as she sprang towards him, +and stooped to kiss him, he threw them around her neck, and clasped his +little hands together, as if determined never to let her go again. + +"Sister come! sister come!" he exclaimed over and over again, with the +greatest glee; "sister stay with Lewie now." + +"Sister will stay a little while," said Agnes, kissing over and over +again her beautiful little brother. + +"No, sister _stay_!--sister shall not go!" said Lewie, in the best +manner in which he could express it; but exactly _how_, we must be +excused from making known to the reader, having a great horror of +_baby-talk_ in books. + +"But I _must_ go, darling; all my things are at uncle's, and I want to +get some books cousin Emily is going to give me; but I will come back +very soon to stay with Lewie." + +"No! sister _shall_ not go!" was still the cry; and Mrs. Elwyn settled +the matter by saying: + +"Agnes, if Lewie wants you here so much, you may as well take off your +things; you cannot return to Brook Farm; besides, I want you to amuse +Lewie." Agnes thought of some of the consequences of her endeavors to +amuse Lewie, and sighed. + +"If your mother insists upon your remaining, Agnes," said her uncle, "I +will bring over your things, and Emily shall come with me, to bring the +books, and tell you how to study." + +"Oh, thank you, dear uncle!" said Agnes, her face brightening at once. + +In the first scene in which our little hero is introduced to the reader, +he certainly does not appear to advantage, as few persons would in the +first stages of a fever. He was not always so hard to please, or so +recklessly destructive, as he was that day; and had an intimation ever +been conveyed to his mind, that it was a possible thing for any desire +of his to remain ungratified, he might have grown up less supremely +selfish than he did. + +But the natural selfishness of his nature being constantly fed and +ministered to by his doating mother, led the little fellow to understand +very early that no wish of his was to be denied; and before he was two +years old, he fully understood the power he held in his hands. + +He was a beautiful boy; "as handsome as a picture," as Mammy said; but, +for my part, I have seldom seen a picture of a child that could at all +compare with Lewie Elwyn, with his golden curls, and deep blue eyes, and +brilliant color. He was warm-hearted and affectionate, too, and might +have been moulded by the hand of love into a glorious character. But +selfishness is a deformity which early attention and care may remedy, +and the grace of God alone may completely subdue; but, if allowed to +take its own course, or worse, if encouraged and nurtured, it grows with +wonderful rapidity, and makes a horrid shape of what might be the +fairest. + +Upon this text, or something very like it, Mr. Wharton spake to Mrs. +Elwyn, when Agnes had carried Lewie into the next room to spin his top +for him. + +"Lewie is a most beautiful little fellow, certainly," said he; "but, +Harriet, take care; he is getting the upper hand of you already. It is +time already--indeed, it has long been time--to make him understand +that his will is to be _subservient_ to those who are older." + +To which Mrs. Elwyn replied, "How absurd, Mr. Wharton, to talk of +governing a child like that!" + +"There are other ways of governing, Harriet, besides the whip and the +lock and key, neither of which do I approve of, except in extreme cases. +Lewie could very easily be guided by the hand of love, and it rests with +you now to make of him almost what you choose. A mother's gentle hand +hath mighty power." + +"Well, Mr. Wharton, to tell you the truth, nothing seems to me so absurd +as all these ideas of nursery education; and the people who write books +on the subject seem to think there is but one rule by which all children +are to be governed." + +"I perfectly agree with you, Harriet, that it is very ridiculous to +suppose that one set of rules will answer for the education of all, +except, of course, so far as the Bible rule is the foundation for all +government. I think the methods adopted with children should be as +numerous and different as the children themselves, each one, by their +constitution and disposition, requiring different treatment; but still +there are some general rules, you must admit, which will serve for all. +One of these is a rule of very long standing; it is this--'Honor thy +father and thy mother;' and another--'Children, obey your parents in the +Lord.' Now, how can you expect your son, as he grows up, to honor, +respect, or obey you, if you take the trouble to teach him, every day +and hour, that _he_ is the master, and you only the slave of his will. +There is another saying in that same old book from which these rules are +drawn, which tells you that 'A child left to himself bringeth his mother +to shame.'" + +Mrs. Elwyn, during this conversation, kept up a series of polite little +bows, but could not altogether conceal an expression of weariness, and +distaste at the turn the conversation had taken. She had a sincere +respect, however, for Mr. Wharton, who always exercised over her the +power which a strong mind exercises over a weak one, and she felt in +her heart that he was a real friend to her, and one who had the +interests of herself and her children at heart. + +As Mr. Wharton rose to go she said, laughingly: + +"I thank you for your kind advice with regard to Lewie, Mr. Wharton, but +in spite of it, I do not think I shall put him in a straight-jacket +before he is out of his frocks." + +"No straight-jacket is needed, Harriet; you have often written in your +copy-book at school, I suppose, 'Just as the twig is bent the tree's +inclined.' You remember that strange apple-tree in my orchard, which the +children use for a seat, it rises about a foot from the ground, and then +turns and runs along for several feet horizontally, and then shoots up +again to the sky. When that was a twig, your thumb and finger could have +bent it straight; but now, what force could do it. If sufficient +strength could be applied it might be _broken_, but never bent again. +Excuse my plain speaking, Harriet, but I see before you so much +trouble, unless that little boy's strong will is controlled, that my +conscience would not let me rest, unless I spoke honestly to you what is +in my mind." + +"I must say you are not a prophesier of '_smooth things_'" said Mrs. +Elwyn, "but still, I hope the dismal things you have hinted at may not +come to pass." + +"I hope not too, Harriet," said Mr. Wharton, "but God has now mercifully +spared your little boy's life, and it rests with you whether he shall be +trained for His service or not." + +Then calling for Agnes and Lewie, Mr. Wharton kissed them for good-bye, +telling Agnes that he would bring Emily over the next day. + +Mrs. Elwyn looked infinitely relieved when Mr. Wharton drove off, and +returned to her novel with as much interest as ever, and in the very +exciting scene into which her heroine was now introduced, she soon +forgot the unpleasant nature of Mr. Wharton's "lecture," as she called +it. + +Agnes was contriving in her mind all the morning, how she should +present the needle-case to her mother, and wondering how it would be +received. It was such a great affair to her, and had cost her so much +time and labor, that she was quite sure it must be an acceptable gift, +and yet natural timidity in approaching her mother, made her shrink from +presenting it, and every time she thought of it her heart beat in her +very throat. + +At length the novel was finished and thrown aside, and Mrs. Elwyn sat +with her feet on the low fender gazing abstractedly into the fire. Now +was the time Agnes thought, and approaching her gently, she said: + +"Mamma, here is a needle-case I made for you, all myself, for a +Christmas present." + +The _words_ could not have been heard by Mrs. Elwyn, she only knew that +a voice _not_ Lewie's interrupted her in her reverie. + +"Hush! hush! child," she said, waving her hand impatiently towards +Agnes, "be quiet! don't disturb me!" + +Oh, what a grieved and disappointed little heart that, as Agnes turned +away with the tears in her eyes, and a lump in her throat. + +The next voice that disturbed the young widow was one to which she +always gave attention: + +"Mamma! mamma!" cried Lewie, pulling imperiously at her gown; "mamma! +sister feels sorry, speak to sister." + +"What is it, dear?" his mother asked. + +"Speak to sister! sister crying," said Lewie, pulling her with all the +strength of his little hands towards Agnes. + +"What is the matter, Agnes? Why are you crying? What did you say to me a +few moments ago?" asked her mother. + +Agnes tried to say "It is no matter, mamma," bet she sobbed so bitterly +that she could not form the words. But Lewie, who had seen and +understood the whole thing, pulled the needle-case from his sister's +hand, and gave his mother to understand that Agnes had made it for her, +and then he struck his little hand towards her and called her "naughty +mamma, to make sister cry!" + +More to please Lewie than for any other reason, Mrs. Elwyn took the +needle-case, and said: + +"Why Agnes, did you make this yourself, and for me? how pretty it is; +isn't it, Lewie? Now Agnes, you may fill it with needles for me." + +Agnes wiped her eyes and began her task, but that painful lump would not +go away from her throat. Ah! if those kind words had only come at first! + +How much suffering is caused to the hearts of little children by mere +thoughtlessness, sometimes in those even who love them; by a want of +sympathy in their little griefs and troubles, as great and all-important +to them, as are the troubles of "children of a larger growth," in their +own estimation. + + + + +VI. + +The Tableaux. + + "A mournful thing is love which grows to one so mild as thou, + With that bright restlessness of eye--that tameless fire of brow + Mournful! but dearer far I call its mingled fear and pride, + And the trouble of its happiness than aught on earth beside." + + --MRS. HEMANS. + + +Lewie recovered rapidly; and by the time that "the singing of birds had +come," the roses bloomed as brightly as ever in his cheeks; and, with +his hand in that of Agnes, he roamed about the woods and groves which +surrounded their home, gathering wild flowers, and watching with delight +the nimble squirrel and the brilliant wild birds, as they hopped from +limb to limb. The children were always happy together; Lewie was more +yielding and less passionate when with his gentle sister than at other +times; and it was only when again in the presence of his mother that +his wilful, fretful manner returned, and he was again capricious and +hard to please. + +Thus, while he was still almost in his infancy, his mother began to reap +the fruit of her sowing; for, while to others he could be gentle and +pleasant, with her he was always fretful and capricious. Already her +wishes had no weight with him, if they ran counter to his own, and +commands she never ventured to lay upon him; already the little twig was +taking its own bent. + +The birth-days were all rigidly kept in Mr. Wharton's family, and some +little pleasant entertainment provided on every such occasion. Thus, +while Mr. and Mrs. Wharton failed not to make every proper and serious +use of these way-marks on the journey of life, they loved to show their +children how pleasant to themselves was the remembrance of the day when +one more little bright face had come to cheer and brighten their earthly +pilgrimage. Miss Effie was the important character in commemoration of +whose "first appearance on any stage" a pleasant party had collected in +Mr. Wharton's parlor, one evening in May. Mrs. Elwyn and her children +were spending a few days at Brook Farm; and the family of Dr. Rodney, +and a few other little folks from the village, were invited, on Effie's +birth-day, to pass the afternoon and evening. + +Great had been the preparations, for they were, for the first time, to +have an exhibition of the "tableaux vivants" in the evening. Mr. Wharton +had constructed a large frame, which, covered with gilt paper, and +having a black lace spread over it, made the illusion more perfect. Many +pretty scenes had been selected by cousin Emily, who was mistress of +ceremonies; and that no child's feelings might be hurt, a character was +assigned for each one, in one or other of the pictures. A temporary +curtain was hung across the room, which was to be drawn whenever the +pictures were ready for exhibition. + +Agnes had been as busy as anybody in bringing down from a certain closet +devoted to that purpose old finery, and other things which belonged to +days long gone by, and her anticipations of pleasure for the evening +were raised to the highest pitch. But just when all were assembled in +the darkened parlor, the lights all being arranged behind the curtain so +as to fall upon the pictures, Master Lewie, who was up beyond his usual +bed time, and who was hardly old enough to take much interest in what +was going on, declared that he was sleepy, and would go to bed. Neither +Mammy nor Anne were with them at Brook Farm; and as Mrs. Elwyn seemed as +much interested as any one in seeing the tableaux, Agnes knew what the +result would be, if Lewie insisted upon going to bed; so she endeavored +to amuse him and keep him awake till she had seen at least one tableau. + +"Oh, Lewie, wait _one_ moment!" said she; "Lewie will see a beautiful +picture." + +"Lewie don't want to see pictures; Lewie wants to go to bed. Sister, +come! sing to Lewie." + +"In one moment, then, little brother. Let Agnes see one picture. Won't +you let sister see _one_ picture?" + +"No; Lewie must go to bed. Mamma, tell sister to come with Lewie." + +The result was, of course, in accordance with Master Lewie's wishes, and +Agnes was directed to take him up to bed. "He will very soon be asleep," +her mother added, "and then you can come down." + +This Master Lewie heard, and it put quite a new idea into his head, it +never having occurred to him before that the person who sang him to +sleep left him alone, after her task was accomplished. That was a thing +he was not going to submit to, and he was so determined to watch Agnes, +lest she should slip away from him, that all sleep seemed to have +deserted his eyes, which were wider open, and more bright and wide +awake, than ever. + +Agnes laid down beside him, and, patting him gently on the cheek, she +sang in a sleepy sort of way, hoping the tone of her voice would have a +somniferous effect. + +"Sing louder!" shouted Master Lewie. + +Agnes obeyed, and sang many nursery songs suggested by Master Lewie, +hoping, at the end of each one, that there would be some signs of +drowsiness manifested on the part of the little tyrant; but the moment +it was finished, brightly and quickly he would speak up: + +"Sing that over again!--sing another!--sing 'Old Woman!'--sing 'Jack +Horner,'" &c., &c. + +And Agnes' heart died within her as question upon question would follow +each other in quick succession, suggested by the lively imagination of +Master Lewie, as to the name and parentage of "the little boy who lived +by himself;" and the childless condition of the man whose "old wife +wasn't at home;" and where the dogs actually _did_ take the +"wheel-barrow, wife and all;" he feeling perfectly satisfied of the +accurate information of Agnes on all these important topics. + +Several times the little bright eyes slowly closed, and Agnes thought he +was fairly conquered. Slowly drawing her arm from under his head, she +began cautiously to rise; but before she had stolen a foot from the bed, +he would start up and stare at her in amazement, exclaiming, "Where +going, sister?" and then he seemed to learn by experience, and to +determine that he wouldn't be "caught napping" again that evening. + +In the meantime, the fun was going on below, and several beautiful +pictures had been exhibited and admired before Agnes was missed from the +darkened parlor. But now came the cry, "Agnes! Come, Agnes! Where's +Agnes? She is to be in this picture." To which Mrs. Elwyn replied, that +"Agnes was putting Lewie to sleep." + +"And hasn't she been here at all, Aunt Harriet?" + +"No," answered Mrs. Elwyn, "Lewie takes a long time to get to sleep +to-night." + +"That is _too bad_, I declare!" said little Grace, her cheeks reddening +with vexation, "Agnes did want to see these pictures so; can't I go up +and see if Lewie is asleep, Aunt Harriet." + +"Better not," said Mrs. Elwyn; "you may disturb him just as he is +dropping asleep, and then Agnes will have to stay much longer." + +The exclamations of indignation were loud and furious from the whole +party of little folks, when it was found that Agnes had been all the +evening banished from the room, and they were ready to go up to Lewie's +room in a body and take possession of Agnes, and bring her down in +triumph. But Emily said, "stop children, and I will go." + +Very quietly Emily stole into the room and up to the bedside. The +children were lying with their arms about each other, Agnes' little hand +was on her brother's cheek, and both were soundly sleeping. Emily +touched Agnes gently and whispered in her ear, but her slumber was so +very sound that she could not arouse her. "Better to let her sleep on +now," said Emily, "and if Agnes only knew it, she has helped to make the +prettiest tableaux we have had this evening." + +Thus early was little Agnes learning to give up her own gratification +for the sake of others, while the strong will of her little brother was +strengthened by constant exercise and indulgence, for this was but one +of many instances daily occurring, in which Agnes was obliged to +relinquish her own pleasure in order to gratify the whims and caprices +of her little brother. Lewie had so often heard such expressions from +his mother, that almost as soon as he could speak a connected sentence, +he would say, "Lewie must have his own way; Lewie must not be crossed," +and in this way did his mother prepare him for the jostling and +conflicts of life. + + + + +VII. + +The Governess. + + "An ower true tale." + + +Mr. Wharton was one day writing in his study, for though a practical +farmer he devoted much of his time to literary pursuits,--when there was +a knock at his door, and on opening it he saw there a young woman of +delicate appearance, and of so much apparent refinement and cultivation, +that he was quite taken by surprise when she asked him the question, "if +he had any wool to be given out on shares?" + +Mr. Wharton replied, that he had had so much trouble with those to whom +he had given out wool in that way, and had been so often cheated by +them, that he had said he would give out no more, but he believed he +must break through his rule for once, in her favor. She seemed very +grateful, and said she hoped he would have no reason to regret his +kindness in giving her employment. And so it proved; Miss Edwards, (for +that was her name,) gave such entire satisfaction as to her work, and +the share of it she returned, that Mr. Wharton kept her for some time in +constant employment. Every time she came, he was more and more pleased +with her gentle and unaffected manners, and with the style of her +conversation, which showed without the slightest appearance of effort, a +person of great intelligence and good breeding, while an air of subdued +melancholy excited an interest in her, which increased with every +interview. + +"She is an unmistakable lady," said Mr. Wharton to his wife, "but how +she came to be living in the village, without friends, and as I believe +in circumstances of great necessity, I cannot imagine. There is a slight +reserve about her," he added, "which may be difficult to penetrate, but +if I mistake not, she is much in need of a friend, and I think she will +not long resist the voice of kindness." + +Accordingly, the next time she called, Mr. Wharton, in his kind and +sympathising manner, led her to speak of her own peculiar circumstances; +and at length drew from her this much of her history: She was the +daughter of a plain New England farmer; had had a good common school +education; and was expected to devote the rest of her life to the making +of butter and cheese, and to the other occupations carried on in a +farmer's family. Everything that she could do to aid her father and +mother she was willing and ready to perform, but she sighed for +knowledge; she had learned enough to wish to know more, and she felt +that there was that in her, which properly cultivated, might fit her for +something higher than the making of butter and cheese. Thus, when the +day's labor was ended, and the old people, as was their custom, had +retired early to rest, their dutiful daughter, her work for the day well +done, sought with delight her little chamber, and her beloved books, in +whose companionship she passed the hours always till midnight, and +sometimes till she was startled by the + + "Cock's shrill clarion," + +and reminded that body and mind alike needed repose. + +In her studies, and in the choice of her reading, she was guided by her +pastor; and a better guide, or one more willing to extend a helping hand +to the seeker for knowledge she could not have found. With such a +teacher, and with such an eager desire for improvement, she could not +fail to progress rapidly. On the death of her parents, both of whom she +followed to the grave in the course of one year, the kind pastor took +her to his own home; but not being willing to be even for a time a +burden to him, she immediately opened a small school in a village near +them. Now her kind pastor too was dead; and having heard that a teacher +was wanted in the village of Hillsdale, she had come there in hopes of +getting the situation. Here she was doomed to disappointment, the vacant +place having been supplied but a day or two before she reached the +village; and now, among entire strangers, heart-sick with +disappointment, and with no friend to turn to in her distress, she was +taken down with a fever. It was a kind-hearted woman, in whose house she +had rented a small room, and she nursed her as if she had been a +daughter, without hope of remuneration. As soon as she was sufficiently +recovered to think again of work, she began to inquire eagerly for +employment; and her landlady having directed her to Mr. Wharton, she had +taken that long walk from the village, while yet very feeble, which +resulted in the accomplishment of her wishes. + +There had been a brother, she told Mr. Wharton, an only child besides +herself; but, as Mr. Wharton inferred from what she said, he was a wild, +unsteady youth, and he had wandered from his home some years before, and +gone far west towards the Mississippi. For some time they continued to +hear from him, but he had long since ceased to write. She feared that he +was dead; but sometimes she had a strong hope, which seemed like a +presentiment to her, that she should yet look upon his face on earth; +and in this hope, she continued still occasionally to direct letters to +the spot from which he had last written. + +When Mr. Wharton had repeated to his wife the story of Miss Edwards, she +said immediately: + +"Why, is she not just the person for a governess for our younger +children? No doubt, too, she might aid Emily in her studies, for the +child is too delicate to send away from home." + +"Well thought of, my dear wife," said Mr. Wharton; "and if we could +persuade Harriet to let poor little Agnes join us, what a nice little +school we might have. It is strange the idea has not occurred to me +before, for I have thought, a great many times, what a pity it was that +such a woman as Miss Edwards should spend her life in spinning wool." + +"When do you expect her again?" asked Mrs. Wharton. + +"She will probably be here this afternoon." + +"Let us save her the long walk, by driving over to see her this morning: +perhaps she can return with us." And in less than an hour, Mr. and Mrs. +Wharton were seated in the widow Crane's neat little parlor, in earnest +conversation with Miss Edwards. + +I need not say that the offer made by Mr. and Mrs. Wharton was +unhesitatingly and gratefully accepted by Miss Edwards. Those only who +have felt as utterly forlorn and desolate as she had done for the last +few weeks, can understand with what joy she hailed the prospect of a +home among such kind and sympathizing hearts. + +And a _home_ indeed she found. From the time she entered Mr. Wharton's +hospitable door, she was treated as companion, friend, and sister. No +more sad, lonely hours for her, so long as she remained under that roof. +There were plenty of happy, bright little faces around her; there were +kind words always sounding in her ear; there were opportunities enough +to be useful; there were rare and valuable books for her leisure hours. +With all these sources of enjoyment, could she fail to be happy? + +And if Miss Edwards esteemed herself most fortunate in having found so +delightful a home, Mrs. Wharton was no less so in having secured her +invaluable services. + +"How have I ever lived so long without Rhoda!" she often exclaimed; for +the new governess, by her own earnest request, soon lost the formal +title of Miss Edwards in the family, and was simply "Rhoda" with Mr. and +Mrs. Wharton, and "Miss Rhoda" with the children. + +"I think there is nothing that she cannot do, and do well," she added. +"She is a most charming companion in the parlor, with a never-failing +fund of good humor and cheerfulness; a kind and patient, and in all +respects most admirable teacher, for the children; an unwearied nurse in +sickness; a complete cook, if for any reason her services are required +in the kitchen; and perfectly ready to turn her hand to anything that is +to be done." + +"And now you have not mentioned the crowning excellence of her +character, my dear," said Mr. Wharton; "she is, I believe, a sincere and +earnest Christian; and, as you say, I think we are most fortunate in +having secured her as an inmate in our family, and a teacher for our +children." + +Mr. Wharton, who had unbounded influence with Mrs. Elwyn, had no great +difficulty in persuading her to allow Agnes to become a member of his +family, that she might with his children enjoy the benefit of Miss +Edwards' instructions. Indeed, so long as Mrs. Elwyn had her darling +Lewie with her, it seemed almost a matter of indifference to her what +became of Agnes; and thus the neglect and unkindness of her mother were +overruled for good, and Agnes was placed in the hands of those who would +sow good seed in her young heart, while improving and cultivating her +mind. Happy would it have been for poor little Lewie, could he have been +taken from the indulgent arms of his weak and doating mother, and +placed under like healthy training, where his really fine qualities of +heart and mind might have been cultured, and he might early have been +taught to curb that hot and hasty temper, and to restrain those habits +of self-indulgence, which finally proved his ruin. + +Miss Edwards remained six years in her happy home at Mr. Wharton's, and +had become as they all thought essential to their comfort and happiness, +when she one day received a letter, which agitated her exceedingly. She +was sitting at the dinner table, when the letters were brought from the +village. One was handed to her; she looked at the superscription, at the +post-mark, which was that of a town far to the south-west; her cheek +flushed, and with trembling fingers she broke the seal. She glanced at +the signature, and turned so pale they thought she would faint, but in a +moment she was relieved by a burst of tears. + +Her long lost brother was alive! he wrote that he was married, and +settled in that far distant State. One of his sister's letters (for she +still continued from time to time to write to him) had lately reached +him, he said, and he wished her to come to him. Her mind was immediately +made up to go; she dearly loved her sweet pupils, and the kind friends +who had given her a home, and a place in their hearts, but the ties of +kindred were stronger than all other ties, and they drew her with +resistless force towards the home of her own and only brother. + +There was something about the tone of this letter which Mrs. Wharton did +not like, and she had a foreboding that this journey would not be for +the happiness of her friend, and tried to dissuade her from undertaking +it. And in this she was entirely disinterested; for great as would be +the loss of this gifted young lady to her, Mrs. Wharton was not the one +to put a straw in her way, if she felt assured the journey would end +happily for her. + +All that she said, however, was of no avail; it had been the hope of +Miss Edwards' life, once more to see this darling brother, and nothing +could deter her from making the attempt. Her preparations were made in +haste, and with many tears on her part, and on that of the kind friends +she was leaving, and amid loud sobs and lamentations from her dear +little scholars, they parted, never again to meet on earth. A tedious +and perilous journey she had, by river and land, but she seemed to bear +all the discomforts of the way with her own cheerful, happy spirit, and +the letters she wrote to her friends from different points on the +journey were exceedingly amusing and entertaining. One of them, and the +last she wrote before reaching her point of destination, I will +transcribe here in her own words:-- + + "Springdale, Oct.--" + +"My beloved pupils,--I am going, in this letter, to tell you a ghost +story, and a murder story, of both of which your humble servant was the +heroine. But before your little cheeks begin to grow white, and your +eyes to open in horror, let me tell you that the ghost was no ghost at +all, and in the murder scene, nobody's life was in danger, though both +matters at the time were very serious ones to me." + +"I wrote you last from a little tavern in the northern part of Virginia, +while I was waiting for a conveyance to continue on my journey, the +stage passing over these unfrequented roads only twice a week. It has +always been my lot to have friends raised up for me when friends were +most needed; and while sitting in the little parlor of the tavern, +feeling very desolate, and very impatient, a gig drove up to the door, +from which an old clergyman alighted. He soon entered the parlor, and in +a few minutes we were engaged in a pleasant conversation, in the course +of which I mentioned the circumstances of my detention in that place, +and my extreme anxiety to progress in my journey." + +"The old gentleman, it seems, had been on a three days' journey to a +ministers' meeting, and was now returning home, and as he was travelling +in the same direction in which I wished to go, he said it would give +him great pleasure if I would take a seat in his gig, in case my +heaviest trunks could be sent on by stage. This the good-natured +landlord very willingly consented to attend to. The trunks were to be +sent to the care of the old clergyman, who was to ship me for my +destined port, and send my trunks on after me." + +"You may be sure I did not hesitate about accepting the old clergyman's +offer, for after jolting along with rough men, over rough roads, as I +had done for many days, I anticipated with much pleasure a ride of two +or three days in a gig, with the kind, pleasant old gentleman. And now +comes the ghost story." + +"As we were riding along through this thinly settled part of Western +Virginia, I noticed occasionally large, dark, barn-like looking +buildings, with the wooden shutters tightly closed. After passing two or +three of these buildings, I at length asked my companion for what +purpose they were used." + +"'Why, those,' said he, 'are our churches. I had forgotten how entirely +unacquainted you were with this part of the country, or I should have +pointed them out to you.'" + +"'Is it possible,' I exclaimed, 'that you worship in those dreary, +dark-looking places! I must go inside of one of them on the first +opportunity.'" + +"Soon after I spoke, as we were ascending a hill, some part of the +harness gave way, and we were obliged to alight from the gig, while the +old gentleman endeavored to repair the injury." + +"'How long will it take you, sir,' said I, 'to set this matter right?'" + +"'Oh, some time--perhaps a quarter of an hour,' he answered." + +"'And cannot I help you?' I asked. 'I believe I can do almost anything I +undertake to do.'" + +"'Oh, no, no,' he answered; 'you had better not undertake to mend a +harness, or you will be obliged, after this, to say that you have failed +in one thing; besides, I can do this very well alone.'" + +"'I have a great mind to take hold and mend it, just to show you that my +boast was not an idle one,' said I; 'but if you are determined to scorn +my offered assistance, I will run back, and take a survey of the +interior of the old church we passed a few moments since.'" + +"'You will not see much,' the old clergyman called out after me; 'for, +as you see, the wooden shutters are kept closed during the week, and it +is almost total darkness inside.'" + +"However, on I ran down the hill, and was soon at the door of the old +barn-like building. The door was not fastened, and I opened it, and +entered the church. At first, the darkness seemed intense, broken only +by little streaks of sunlight which streamed in through the small, +crescent-shaped holes in the shutters; but at length my eye became +accustomed to the darkness, and I could begin to distinguish the rude +seats and aisles, and even to see, at the end of the church, an +elevation which I knew must be the pulpit. Determined to see all that +was to be seen, I made my way along the aisle, ascended the pulpit +stairs, and had just laid my hand on the door, when a tall, white figure +suddenly rose up in the pulpit, and laid a cold hand on mine. I believe +I shrieked; but I was filled with such an indescribable horror, that I +know not what I did, when a hollow voice said:" + +"'Don't be afraid; I will not harm you.'" + +"I snatched my hand from the cold grasp which held it, and fled from the +church. I remember nothing more, till I opened my eyes, and found the +old clergyman bathing my face with water. He had become alarmed at my +long absence, and, on coming back to seek me, had found me lying on my +face, on the grass, in front of the old church. We had been riding again +for some time, before I summoned resolution to tell the old gentleman +what I had seen in the church. He complimented me by saying, that though +his acquaintance with me had been short, he was much mistaken in me, if +I was a person to be deceived by the imagination; and he said he much +regretted that I had not mentioned the cause of my fright before we left +the old church, as it was always best to ascertain at once the true +nature of any such apparently frightful object." + +"'We have no time to turn back now,' said he, 'as we have already lost +more than half an hour; but the next best thing we can do is to stop at +the first house we come to, and see if we can find out anything +concerning the apparition which appeared to you in the church.'" + +"We soon stopped before the door of a small log house, and at our +summons a pleasant-looking woman appeared. To the inquiries of the old +clergyman as to the appearance by which I had been so much alarmed, she +replied:" + +"'Oh, it's the crazy minister, sir. He used to preach in that old +church; but he's been crazy for a long time, and often he dresses +himself in a long white robe, and goes and sits in the pulpit of that +old church all day. He's very gentle, she added, turning to me, 'and +wouldn't hurt anybody for the world; but I don't wonder you got a good +fright.' So ends my ghost story; and now, if you are ready for more +horrors, I will tell you my other adventure." + +"Our detention near the old church, and the state of the roads, rendered +heavy by late rains, made it impossible for us to reach the town at +which we had hoped to spend the night; and we had made up our minds that +we would stop at the first _promising_-looking establishment we should +see, when the coming up of a sudden storm left us no option, but made us +hail gladly the first human dwelling we came to, though that was but a +rough, rambling old hut, built of unhewn logs." + +"There was only an old woman at home when we stopped at the door, and I +fancied she looked rather _too well pleased_ when we asked if she could +accommodate us for the night. I must confess to you, my dear children, I +felt rather nervous after the fright of that afternoon; I, who used to +boast that I was ignorant of the fact of possessing such a thing as +nerves; but I do think I must have been nervous, for very little things +troubled me that evening, and my imagination had never been so busy +before. In a very few moments, an old man, and three strapping, +rough-looking youths, entered, with their axes over their shoulders, and +dripping with rain; and now I began to imagine that I saw suspicious +glances passing between these young men, and I certainly heard a long +whispered conversation pass between two of them and the old woman in the +next room. I looked towards my old friend the clergyman; but he, good, +unsuspicious old soul, was nodding in his chair by the log fire. I grew +more and more uncomfortable, and heartily wished we had jogged on in the +pelting rain, rather than trust ourselves to such very questionable +hospitality. One thing I made up my mind to, which was this--that I +would not close my eyes to sleep that night, but would keep on the watch +for whatever might happen." + +"The old woman gave us a very comfortable supper, and soon afterwards +she asked me if I would like to go to bed. Not liking to show any +distrust of my hosts, I assented with apparent readiness, and followed +the old woman into a hall, and up a rude ladder, which I should have +found it very difficult to mount had it not been for my early exercise +in this kind of gymnastics, when searching for hen's eggs in the barn, +at my New England home." + +"At the head of the ladder was a small passageway, from which we entered +the room which was to be my sleeping apartment. Whether there had ever +been any door to this room or not I do not know; certain it is there was +no door now; the only other room I could perceive in the upper part of +the house, was a sort of a granary filled with bins to hold different +kinds of grain." + +"'Is the old gentleman with whom I came, to sleep in this part of the +house?' I asked in as careless a tone as I could assume." + +"'No, he sleeps in the loft of the other part where the boys sleep;' +answered the old woman, and then looking at me with a grin which I +thought gave her the appearance of an ugly old hag, she said, 'Why ye +ain't afeard on us, be ye?'" + +"'I told her I had had quite a fright that day, and felt a little +nervous.'" + +"'Well,' said she, 'ye can just go to sleep without any frights here. We +shan't do ye no harm, I reckon,' and she left me and descended the +ladder." + +"Before going to bed I took my light, and stepping out softly I went to +reconnoitre the other room, the door of which we had passed on the way +to the room in which I was to spend the night: I was obliged to descend +two steps to enter this room, where I found nothing frightful to be +sure, there being only some old clothes hanging up, and the bins of +grain of which I have spoken before. I returned to my room, and with +great difficulty moved a rude chest of drawers, across the place where a +door should be, on this I placed my little trunk, and the only chair in +the room, an old shovel, and a broken pitcher, determined that if any +one did enter the room, it should not be without noise enough to give me +warning. Before this barricade I set my candle, hoping it might +continue to burn all night." + +"I laid down without undressing, determined that I would only rest; I +would not even close my eyes to sleep. I had laid thus as I supposed an +hour, listening to the voices of the old people and their sons, as in +subdued tones they talked together below. At the end of that time the +door opened, and I heard stealthy steps ascending the ladder. My heart, +as the saying is, was in my throat, and I could hear its every throb. +The steps came nearer and nearer, and as the first foot-fall sounded on +the floor of the little passage, which led to my room, I shrieked, 'Who +is there? what do you want?'" + +"'Bless your soul it's only me; you need not scream so,' said the old +woman. 'I'm only going to the bin for some corn-meal to make mush for +your breakfast.'" + +"'I do believe the gal thinks we are going to murder her in her bed,' I +heard her say with a loud laugh as she descended the ladder; 'you ought +to see the _chist_, and the things she's got piled on top of it, all +standing in the door-way.'" + +"At this the men's voices joined in the laugh, and they sounded horribly +to me. 'Yes,' I thought to myself, 'how easy it would be for them to +murder us in our beds, and there would be no one to tell the tale.' Soon +after this, in spite of my resolution to keep awake, sleep must have +overpowered me, for I was awakened by a tremendous crash, as if the +house was falling, and I opened my eyes to find myself in total +darkness, and to hear soft footsteps in my room." + +"Oh, how I shrieked this time! I believe I cried 'help! help! murder!' +and I soon heard footsteps approaching, and saw a light gleaming up the +ladder way, and soon the old woman's night-cap appeared over the chest. +'What _is_ the matter now?' she cried with some impatience, 'you +certainly are the most _narvous_ lodger I've ever had yet.'" + +"'Matter enough,' said I, 'there is some one in my room. Didn't you hear +that awful crash?'" + +"'Pshaw! it's only our old black cat!' said the old woman; 'he always +comes up to this room to sleep, but we thought we had shut him out.'" + +"'Can he climb the ladder?' I asked." + +"'Just like a _human_,' said the old woman; and, pushing aside the +chest, she seized the cat, and raising the only window in the room, +threw him out." + +"Again weariness overpowered me, and I slept; only to awake to new +horrors; for now I heard cautious footsteps and whispered voices, and +outside the grindstone was at work making something very sharp. Then the +door opened, and a smothered voice said, 'Mother, is the water hot?'" + +"'Yes, bilin',' answered the old woman; 'are the knives sharp?'" + +"'All ready,' answered the young man; 'where's father?'" + +"'He's gone to the loft,' said the old woman; and then came some +whispered words, which I could not catch. You will most probably laugh +at me, but my mind was now so worked up by all the agitation I had +experienced, that I had not the smallest doubt that we were now to be +murdered, and that the dreadful work was already going on in the loft, +my kind old friend being the first victim. Still I thought I might be in +time to save him yet, and there might be a bare possibility of our +escape. Springing from my bed in great haste and agitation, I hurried on +my shawl, and cautiously descended the ladder; but my blood froze with +horror, as just then I heard a piercing shriek. In the passage below I +encountered the old woman; she had just come into the house, and had an +old shawl over her head, and a lantern in her hand, I thought she gave a +guilty start when she saw me, as she exclaimed:" + +"'Why, bless me, gal! what are you down at this time in the morning +for?'" + +"'What are _you_ all up so early in the morning for?' I asked, in a +voice which I meant should strike terror to her heart." + +"'Why, my old man and the boys had determined to kill hogs this +morning,' she answered; 'but we tried to keep so quiet as not to +disturb ye. I was afeared, though, that the squealing of the hogs would +wake ye.'" + +"The relief was so sudden, that I could hardly refrain from putting my +arms round the old woman's neck, and confessing all my unjust +suspicions, but the fear of hurting her feelings prevented. With a +tranquil mind I again climbed the ladder, and sought my humble bed, and +was soon in such a sound slumber, that even the squealing of the hogs, +in their dying agonies, failed to rouse me." + +"Seen by the morning light, as we were seated around the breakfast +table, these midnight robbers and murderers of my fancy appeared a +family of honest, hardy New Englanders, who had bought a tract of land +in Western Virginia. They showed us, at a little distance, a clearing +where they were just erecting a larger and more comfortable log +dwelling; and the old woman assured us that if we would stop and visit +them, if we ever passed that way again, we should not have to climb a +ladder, for they were going to have a 'reg'lar stairway in t'other +house.'" + +"When the time came for parting with our kind hosts, and we offered to +remunerate them for their trouble, they rejected the proffered money +almost with scorn." + +"'No, no,' said the old man, 'we haven't got quite so low as that yet; +and I hope that I nor none of mine will ever come to taking pay for a +night's lodging from a traveller. We don't keep _tavern_ here.'" + +"The old woman's parting advice to me was to try and 'git over my +_narvousness_; and she thought I hadn't better drink no more strong +green tea.'" + +"'I think your tea _was_ strong last night, my friend,' said I; 'and +that, together with the sight of the ghost, of which I have been telling +you, made me very uneasy and restless.'" + +"'Well,' said the old woman, 'I hope ye won't be so suspicious of us +next time ye come; for it's a _cartain_ fact, that we never murdered any +_human_ yet. We do kill _hogs_; that I won't deny.' And she laughed so +heartily, that I felt quite sure she had seen through all my fears and +suspicions of the night before. So ends the murder story." + +"I wish you could have heard my old clergyman laugh, as I related to him +all the horrors of the night; and when I came to mistaking the last +squeal of a dying pig for his own death groan, I thought he would have +rolled out of the gig. That night, which was _last_ night, found us in +the old gentleman's hospitable home, where his kind lady gave me as +cordial a welcome as I could desire. Here I am still with these good +friends, only waiting for my trunks; and then, with God's blessing, two +days more will find me in the home of my own dear brother.--And here, +with many kind remembrances to the dear ones at Brook Farm, Miss +Edwards' letter closed." + + + + +VIII. + +Bitter Disappointments. + + "Oh! art thou found? + But yet to find thee thus!" + + VESPERS OF PALERMO. + + +It may be as well for us to continue the history of Miss Edwards here, +though its sad sequel was not known to the family of Mr. Wharton till a +long time after she had left them. The letter with which the preceding +chapter closes, was the last heard from her for many weeks. Various were +the surmises in the family as to the reasons for her unaccountable +silence, but at length they settled down in the belief that she must +have fallen a victim to some of the diseases of a new country; though +why they should not have received some tidings of her fate from her +brother, still remained a mystery. + +At last, after many weeks, there came a letter from her, but it was +short, and sad, and unsatisfactory in all respects. She had had a +terrible disappointment she said, but her friends must have forbearance +with her, and excuse her from detailing the events of the past few +weeks. She was now at Springdale with her kind old friend, the +clergyman, and was just recovering from a long and tedious illness; she +hoped soon to be able to be at work again, and a little school was ready +for her, as soon as she should be sufficiently restored to take charge +of it. Not one word was said of her brother, or of her reasons for +returning to the home of the old clergyman. + +"She is evidently very unhappy," said Mr. Wharton, "and perhaps her +funds are exhausted. She must return to us, and for this purpose I will +send her the means without delay." + +But still Miss Edwards did not come, and her letters were few and far +between. At length there came one written in much better spirits, and in +her old cheerful style, in which she informed them that she was engaged +to be married to a young physician of that place. She seemed now very +happy, and full of bright anticipations, not the least cheering of +which, was the prospect of visiting her kind friends once more, when she +should travel to the east on her bridal tour. And this was the last +letter they ever received from Miss Edwards. + +That same summer a package came to Mr. Wharton, directed in an unknown +hand, from a place, the name of which he had never heard before. It was +from a physician, and ran thus: + +SIR,--I was called a few weeks since to attend a young lady, who was +lying dangerously ill, at the only tavern in our little village. I found +her raving in delirium, and your name, and the names of many whom I +suppose to be members of your family, were constantly mingled with her +ravings. She had stopped at the tavern the night before in the stage; +and when the other passengers went on was too ill to proceed with them. +I attended her constantly for a week or ten days, and at the end of that +time, I had the happiness to find that her fever had entirely left her, +and her mind was quite restored. She was, however, extremely weak, and +feeling assured, she said, that she should never be able to reach the +home of her kind friends, (mentioning the name of your family,) she +begged earnestly for writing materials, and though I remonstrated and +entreated, I found it impossible to prevent her writing. She said she +had a communication which it was due to you that she should make, and +she charged me over and over again, to remember your direction, and send +the package to you in case she did not leave that place alive. She was +busily engaged in writing one day, when the noise of wheels attracted +her to the window, which she reached in time to see a gentleman alight +from a chaise, who proceeded to hand out a lady. A person in the room +with her, saw her put her hands to her head, and then she rushed from +the back door of the house, and did not stop till she reached the woods. +When found she was a raving maniac, and is so still. We have been +obliged to place her in the county house, where she is confined in the +apartment devoted to Lunatics, and is as comfortable as she can be made +under the circumstances. The accompanying package I found just as she +left it, when she dropped her pen and hastened to the window, and I now +comply with her earnest request and enclose it to you. + + With respect, &c. + + JAMES MASTEN. + +The manuscript, when opened, was found to be in Miss Edwards' well known +hand-writing, though the fingers that held the pen, had evidently +trembled from weakness and agitation. It was with the saddest emotions, +that those who had loved her so tenderly, read the following +communication: + +"Painful and harrowing to my feelings as the task must be which I have +undertaken, I feel that it is due to my kind and ever sympathising +friends, to make them acquainted with the sad trials through which I +have passed, and the bitter disappointments I have met with. I have +tried to bear up with the spirit of a Christian, and to feel that these +trials are sent by One who orders all things in justice and +righteousness; I do submit; I am not inclined to murmur; I hope I am +resigned; but heart, and flesh, and mind, are weak, and these alas! are +all failing." + +"With the fondest anticipations I reached the village, where I expected +to be received in the arms of my long lost brother. Oh, how my heart +bounded, as the prolonged sound of the stage-horn told me we were +approaching the end of my journey! and how my imagination pictured the +joyful meeting, the cordial welcome, the fond embrace once more of my +own loved kindred! I was much surprised that my brother was not at the +tavern to meet me, and more so when, on asking for his residence, the +landlord hesitated, as if perplexed." + +"'Edwards! Edwards!' said he; 'there is but one person of that name that +I know of in all the village; but he can't be brother to such a lady as +you.'" + +"'Perhaps you have not been here long,' I said." + +"'O yes, ma'am, nearly fifteen years,' he answered." + +"'And what is the name of this man of whom you speak?'" + +"'Richard, I think; they always call him Dick Edwards about here,' +answered the landlord." + +"I did not tell him that was my brother's name, but with a trembling +heart I asked him to point me to the house of this Richard Edwards of +whom he spoke." + +"There was something of pity in the tone of the landlord's voice, as he +told me to turn down the second lane I should come to, and go on to the +last hut on the right hand. 'But I advise you not to go,' he continued, +'for I'm sure there must be some mistake.'" + +I was too heart-sick to answer, but, taking my travelling-bag on my arm, +I followed the directions of the landlord, and picked my way as well as +I could through the mud of the miserable, filthy lane he had mentioned +to me, all the time saying to myself, 'It cannot be--there surely must +be some mistake,' and yet impelled irresistibly to go on. + +"As I approached the door of the hut at which I knew I was to stop, I +heard the sound of singing and shouting; and as I came nearer, the words +of a low drinking chorus sounded on my ear. I paused before the door, +and a feeling of faintness came over me. I thought, 'I will turn back, +and give up the attempt. Better never to find my brother, than to find +him here, and thus.' But again something impelled me to tap at the door. +It would be such an inexpressible relief, I thought, to find myself +mistaken." + +"It was some time before I could make myself heard above the noise of +drunken revelry which sounded within the hovel; but at length the door +was opened by a wretched, frightened-looking woman, and a scene of +indescribable misery was presented to my eyes. Around a table were +seated three or four brutish-looking men, with a jug and some glasses +before them. On the table was a pack of greasy-looking cards; but those +who surrounded the table were too far gone to play now; they could only +drink, and sing, and shout, and drink again; and one of them, in +attempting to rise from the table, fell, and lay in a state of utter +helplessness on the floor." + +"The man of the house was not so far gone as the rest; and when he came +staggering forward, a few words sufficed to explain the reason of my +appearance." + +"His answer seemed to seal my fate." + +"'Ho! you're Rhoda, then! I wrote to you. I thought likely enough you'd +got some money. We're pretty hard up here.' This was said with a silly +laugh and hiccough, which filled me with an indescribable loathing." + +"And was this miserable, bloated wretch my brother--that brother whom I +had so longed and prayed once more to see, of whom I had thought by day, +and dreamed by night, for so many long years! I turned to go without +another word, but fell at the door, and lay, I know not how long, +without sense or motion. When I revived, I found the woman (who, I +suppose, was my sister-in-law) bathing my face. I have a dim +recollection, too, of seeing some dirty, miserable-looking children, and +of being asked for _money_. I laid all that I had about me on the table, +and, while they were eagerly catching for it, I left the wretched place; +and grasping by the fence to steady my feeble footsteps, I made my way +back to the inn. I took the next stage, and then the boat, for the home +of my kind old friend at Springdale, and arrived there ill in body and +mind. From there I wrote you, when partially recovered. As soon as I was +able, I began my school, and before long became much interested in my +little scholars; and in the hospitable home of my kind old friends, +regained tranquillity of mind, and after a time even cheerfulness. But +other trials awaited me. My head is weary, and I must rest before I +relate to you the remainder of my melancholy story." + +"There was a young physician in that place, who had recently come from +the East, and settled there. He was a man of agreeable person and +manners, of much general information, and of very winning address; at +least, so he seemed to me. He was entirely different from all whom I had +met in that new country, and was the only person, besides my old friend +the clergyman and his wife, with whom it was really pleasant to +converse; and I felt perfectly at ease in his society, having been +assured that he was engaged to a certain Miss G----, the daughter of a +merchant in the village. Though much surprised at this, she having +appeared to me but a mere flippant gossip, and he a man of refined and +cultivated intellect, still I had no reason to doubt it, and was +completely taken by surprise when, after an acquaintance of a few weeks, +he one day made an offer of his hand and heart to _me_. I told him what +I had heard of his engagement to another, but he assured me it was the +idlest village gossip. 'There was nowhere else to go,' he said, 'till I +came there, and so he had occasionally visited at Mr. G----'s, but +without the slightest intention of paying any serious attention to +either of his daughters, who were girls not at all to his taste.'" + +"The idea of this gentleman appearing in the character of a lover of +_mine_ was so new to me that I was obliged to take time to accustom +myself to it, and to ascertain the nature of my own feelings, which I +soon found were such as to satisfy me that I should commit no perjury in +giving him my hand. I will not tell you how I loved him! I cannot write +about it now! But for a short time I was very, very happy, and even my +bitter disappointments were forgotten. But suddenly he ceased to visit +me. Day after day passed and he did not come; and yet I knew that he was +in the village. At length I could no longer conceal my distress from my +old friend; who, being very indignant at this treatment, called my +truant lover to account." + +"My cheeks glow with indignation as I write it! A story had been +circulated, which was afterwards traced to the G---- 's, that I had left +a _husband_ in an Eastern State; and this man, without coming to me for +a word of explanation, believed the story and deserted me. I had no +friend of long enough standing there to contradict the report; I wrote +to you, Mr. Wharton, but the letter could never have reached you, for no +answer came; and this only confirmed the suspicions of those who had +heard this slanderous story. All but my kind hosts looked upon me with +suspicion; the object of the slander was accomplished; my former lover +resumed his visits at the house of Mr. G----, and his attentions to his +daughter. He was not worthy of a love like mine! Stranger as he had been +to me, could I have believed a tale like that of him, without making an +effort to investigate its truth, or giving him full opportunity to clear +himself from the imputation? That place could no longer be a home for +me. I left it, dear friends, and turned my face once more towards those +who had been for so many years tried and true to me. But strength +failed! I have been here I know not how many weeks, enduring torment of +mind and body. My hope of reaching you is dying out. I _have_ no hope +but in God; my friend and refuge in time of trouble! I have--'" + +Here the writing ceased; and the next moment she had seen her faithless +lover hand his bride from the carriage, and reason fled from her poor +brain forever. + +The day after this letter was received found Mr. Wharton on his way to +the West, to ascertain for himself the condition of Miss Edwards, and to +endeavor to devise some means for her comfort and restoration, if +possible. Has my reader ever visited a _county house_, and especially +the apartment devoted exclusively to Lunatics? If not, I will endeavor +to describe a few of the sights which met the eyes of Mr. Wharton, on +his sad visit to the county house, which then stood a few miles +from----. He proceeded thither in company with the physician who had +written to him, and sent him the package from Miss Edwards, and it was +with a heavy heart that he first saw the desolate brick building in +which she had been placed, and thought, "Is this the only asylum for one +so lovely and so gifted, and must she wear out her days in hopeless +madness here?" Making their way through the crowd of miserable, +hobbling, bandaged, blind and helpless creatures who were standing about +the yard and halls, Mr. Wharton and Dr. Masten, guided by the +superintendent of the county house, paused before the door of the "crazy +room." Sounds of many voices were already heard, in various tones, +singing and shouting, and preaching, and when the door was opened the +din was such that it was impossible for the gentlemen to hear each other +speak. + +What a place, thought Mr. Wharton, for those who should be kept quiet +and tranquil, and who should have nothing about them but pleasant, +cheerful sights. What possible hope is there of the restoration of any +here! + +About the large and not over clean room, were a number of _cages_, much +like those you now see placed around a menagerie tent, though not so +large or so comfortable as these cages of wild beasts. In each of these +cages was confined a human being, and these poor creatures stricken by +the hand of God, were in various stages of insanity, some wildly raving, +others more quiet, and others still in a state of helpless idiocy. One +poor creature had preached till her voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper, +and so she continued to preach, the keeper told them, day and night, +till utterly exhausted, when she would fall into a state of +insensibility, which could hardly be called _sleep_, but from which she +would arouse to preach again, day and night, till again exhausted. + +A boy about sixteen years of age sat in one of the cages, with scarcely +a rag to cover him, idly pulling through his fingers a bit of cord. This +had been his employment for months, the keeper said. He was perfectly +quiet, except the cord was taken from him; but then he would be quite +frantic. The ends of his fingers were quite worn with drawing this cord +between them, and it was necessary to supply him constantly with a new +bit of cord. When asked why the boy remained nearly naked, the keeper +said, they had never been able to devise any means to keep clothing +upon him, or to find anything strong enough to resist the strength of +his hands; but if allowed to remain in a state almost of nudity, and to +have his bit of cord, he was perfectly quiet and contented. + +These, and many more sad and horrible things, were seen and heard during +their visit; but Mr. Wharton's first object was to find her for whose +sake he had undertaken this long journey. He knew her immediately, +though her face was worn with trouble and sickness, and there was an +intense and unnatural brightness about her eye. Her beautiful hair was +unbound, and falling about her shoulders, as she sat in the farthest +corner of her cage, perfectly quiet, and entirely unoccupied. + +"Rhoda!" said Mr. Wharton, gently. She started, and put back her thick +hair from her ear, at the sound of his familiar voice. + +"Rhoda!" said he, "don't you remember me?" + +She looked at him intently, and the expression of her eye began to +change. + +"The children want to see you so much, Rhoda! Emily and Effie, and +Agnes and little Grace." He mentioned each name slowly and distinctly, +and then spoke of his wife and the other children, and mentioned scenes +and incidents connected with his home. Her eye still looked with an +earnest gaze into his; her brow contracted, as if she was trying to +recall some long forgotten thing; until at length, with the helplessness +of an infant, she stretched her arms towards Mr. Wharton, and exclaimed, +piteously: + +"Oh, take me away!--take me to my home!" + +"You shall go with me, Rhoda; I will not leave you here," said Mr. +Wharton; and beckoning to Dr. Masten, he left the room. As he reached +the door, he heard a cry of agony, and turning, he saw Miss Edwards at +the front of her cage, with both arms extended towards him through the +bars, and the most agonized, imploring expression upon her face. +Stepping back to her, he said: + +"Rhoda, I _will not_ leave you. Be quiet, and I will come back very +soon to take you with me. Did I ever deceive you, Rhoda?" + +"Oh!" said she, putting her hand to her head, "they have all deceived +me. Richard deceived me! _He_ deceived me!--oh, so cruelly! Who can I +trust? They all desert me. I am _all, all_ alone!" And she sat down; and +dropping her head upon her knees, she wept very bitterly. + +When Mr. Wharton had again called the doctor from the room, he said to +him: + +"Doctor, this does not seem to me such a hopeless case. How any sane +person could retain his senses in that awful scene, I cannot imagine; I +am sure I should soon go crazy myself. But could I once remove Miss +Edwards from these terrible associations, and place her in one of our +Eastern asylums, where she might have cheerful companionships, and +pleasant occupation for her mind and fingers, I doubt not she might be +completely restored." + +The doctor thought it possible, but was not so sanguine on the subject +as Mr. Wharton, who, he said, had only seen the young lady in one of +her calmer moods. Still he by all means advised the trial. "We have no +hope of _cure_" said he, "in placing these lunatics in the County House; +the only object is to keep them from injuring themselves or others. They +are all of them from the families of the poor, who cannot afford to send +them to an Eastern asylum. This young lady was a stranger, and without +means, and so violent, at times, that restraint was absolutely +necessary; so that the only thing we could do with her was to place her +here till I could write to you." + +"You did the very best that could be done under the circumstances, my +dear sir," answered Mr. Wharton; "but I sincerely hope the day is not +far distant when your State will possess a more comfortable home than +this for those afflicted as these poor creatures are. But I feel as if I +could not lose a moment in removing my young friend from this place; and +if you, doctor, will be so kind as to take the journey with me, and aid +me in the care of her, you shall be well rewarded for your loss of +time." + +It was with no great difficulty that this undertaking was accomplished; +and in less than a fortnight from the time when Mr. Wharton found Miss +Edwards, caged like a wild beast in the County House at----, she was +placed at an asylum where every comfort surrounded her. It was not long +before she seemed quite at home amid these new scenes, and began to +interest herself in books and work; and though her mind never fully +regained its tone, she yet seemed tranquil and happy. But the scenes of +trial through which she had passed had done their work upon her +constitution, and she sank rapidly, until, in a little less than a year +from the time of her entering the asylum, Mr. Wharton was summoned to +her death-bed. He arrived but a short time before she breathed her last, +and had the satisfaction to find that she knew him, to hear from her own +lips the assurance that her faith in her Redeemer was firm and unshaken, +and to bear her last kind messages to all the dear ones at Brook Farm. +And then the poor sad heart was still--the mind was bright and clear +again--for the shattered strings were tuned anew in heaven. + +In a quiet nook at Brook Farm, where the willow bends, and the brook +murmurs, is a spot marked out for a burying-place, and the first stone +planted there bears on it the name of "Rhoda Edwards." + + + + +IX. + +Emily's Trials. + + "And dost thou ask what secret woe + I bear, corroding joy and youth? + And wilt thou vainly seek to know + A pang, even thou must fail to soothe?"--BYRON. + + +In the meantime the education of Master Lewie was going on as best it +might, and in a manner most agreeable to that young gentleman's +inclinations. When he chose to do so, he studied, and then no child +could make more rapid advancement than he, but as he was brought up +without any habits of regular application, study soon became distasteful +to him, and at the first puzzling sentence he threw aside his books in +disgust, and started off for play. The only thing he really loved, was +music, and in his devotion to this delightful accomplishment he was +indefatigable, and his proficiency at that tender age was remarkable. + +But being now nine or ten years old, his mother, urged to this course +by some pretty strong hints from Mr. Wharton, began to determine upon +some systematic plan of education for him. And, acting upon Mr. +Wharton's advice, she was so happy as to secure the services of Mr. +Malcolm, the young clergyman at the village, as a tutor for Lewie, upon +the condition on his part, that unlimited authority, in no case to be +interfered with, should be given to him in his government of the +hitherto untrained and petted child. + +And so it was settled, that Mr. Malcolm should ride over from the +village every morning at a certain hour, and attend to the education of +little Lewie Elwyn. It was soon observed, that as the young clergyman +rode from the Hemlocks back to the village, it seemed a difficult matter +for him to pass Mr. Wharton's lane, but he often, and then oftener, and +at length every day, turned his horse's head up the lane, and stopped to +make a call. And the children (than whom there are no quicker observers +in matters of this kind) soon made up their minds that the object of +Mr. Malcolm's frequent and prolonged visits was sweet cousin Emily. And +they thought too, judging by the bright blush that came up in cousin +Emily's usually pale cheek when he was announced, and by the look of +interest with which she listened to his conversations with her uncle, or +replied to him when he addressed a remark to herself, that cousin Emily +was by no means indifferent to the young minister. + +Having drawn their own conclusions from these premises, and watching +with much interest, as children always do the progress of a love affair, +they were surprised and disappointed when they found that as Mr. +Malcolm's attentions increased and became more pointed, cousin Emily +gradually withdrew from his society, and often declined altogether to +come into the sitting room when he was there. Yet they were certain she +liked him, for they often found her watching from her window his +retreating figure; and sometimes before she knew that she was observed, +she would be seen to wipe away the tears which were stealing unbidden +down her cheek. + +At length, one day, the minister came, and as he walked up the steps of +the front piazza, those who caught sight of his face, saw that it was +pale and agitated, and that he looked as if important matters for him +were at stake. And he asked for Emily. There was no bright blush in her +cheek now as she descended the stairs; it was pale and cold as marble. +The interview was a long one, and when at length Mr. Malcolm mounted his +horse and rode slowly away, his face was as white as when he came, but +the look of suspense and expectation had passed away, and in its place +was that of settled and fixed despair. Emily went to her room, and to +her bed, which she did not leave for some days; when she again appeared +in the family she was calm and sweet as ever, but a shade more pensive. + +And the young minister came no more. That was all. + +He was sometimes seen in the distant road riding rapidly by, to or from +the Hemlocks, but though the horse from long custom, invariably turned +his head towards Mr. Wharton's lane, he was not permitted to follow his +inclinations, but was speedily hurried by. + +And Emily grew paler and thinner day by day, and there was sometimes a +contraction about the brow which told of intense suffering; and +sometimes, early in the evening she would leave the parlor, and not +appear again for the remainder of the evening. On one of these occasions +Agnes followed her, as she had observed the deadly paleness of her +countenance, and feared she would faint before she reached her room. As +Emily ascended the stairs, Agnes thought she heard groans, as of one in +extreme pain. Emily closed her door and Agnes stood upon the outside; +and now the groans were plainly to be distinguished. + +"Cousin Emily," Agnes called, "dear cousin Emily, may I come in?" + +There was no answer, but those same deep groans and now and then a +plaintive moaning. Agnes opened the door gently, and saw Emily upon her +knees, and yet writhing as if in intense agony. She seemed to be trying +to pray, and Agnes caught the words, "Oh, for strength, for strength to +endure this agony, and not to murmur." + +Putting her arm around her, Agnes said: "What is it, cousin Emily? Can +you not tell _me_?" + +Emily started at finding that she was not alone, and then said: + +"Help me to rise, Agnes, and hand me those drops. I am glad that it is +you: better you than any of the others. Fasten the door, Agnes." + +Emily reclined upon the sofa, weak and exhausted, the cold beads of +perspiration standing on her brow. Agnes sat in silence beside her, +holding her thin white hands in hers. At length Emily said: + +"Agnes, I try to be patient; I make an endeavor even to be cheerful; but +I am indeed a great sufferer, and the anguish I endure seems, at times, +more than mortal frame can bear. It is only by escaping to the solitude +of my own room, to endure the agony in secret, that I am enabled to +keep it to myself. I am obliged to practice evasion to escape aunty's +anxious interrogatories; for, in her present state of health, I would +not for the world cause her the anxiety and trouble which the knowledge +of my sufferings would bring upon her." + +Then, with frequent pauses for rest, Emily told the weeping Agnes _all_. + +"And now," said she, "dear Agnes, you are very young for scenes like +this; but I know that you possess uncommon nerve and courage. Can you, +do you think, sit by my side, and hold my hand through a painful +operation? I _can_ endure it alone, dear, and I intended to; but as +accident has revealed my sufferings to you, I feel that it would be a +comfort to me to have my hand in that of one I love at that time." + +"I _think_ I can, cousin Emily. I believe I could do _anything_ for you, +dear cousin Emily." + +"I do not want aunty and uncle to know of this till it is all over, +Agnes. They go to the Springs to-morrow, to remain some days, as you +know: and I have arranged with Dr. Rodney to come while they are gone, +and bring a surgeon from the city, and it will all be over before they +return." + +"And is there no _danger_, cousin Emily?" + +"Danger of what, dear?--of death? Oh yes; the chances are many against +me; and even if the operation is safely performed, it may not arrest the +disease. But to one who suffers the torture which it is the will of +Heaven that I should bear, speedy death would only be a happy release. +And yet, Agnes, do not misunderstand me; I would not for the world do +anything to shorten my life of suffering. Oh no! 'All the years of my +appointed time will I wait till my change come.' The course I am going +to pursue is advised by the physicians, and it may be the means of +restoration to health, at least for some years. Agnes, pray for me." + +When Mrs. Wharton kissed Emily for good-bye, and told her to be a good +girl, and take care of her health, she little imagined the suffering +through which her gentle niece was to pass before they met again. No +one dreamed of it but Agnes. + +The next day, in answer to a message from Emily, the physicians came. +They found her courageous and cheerful; for she was sustained by an arm +all-powerful. Strength was given to her for the day and the occasion; a +wonderful fortitude sustained her; and the precious promise was verified +to her--"When thou goest through the waters, I will be with thee." + +And Agnes, who sat with one hand over her eyes, and the other clasping +that of Emily, knew only by a sudden and long-continued pressure of the +hand that the knife was doing its work. There was not a groan--only one +long-drawn sigh--and it was over; and the result was better than their +most sanguine hopes. + +Mrs. Wharton returned, after an absence necessarily prolonged to some +weeks. She found Emily sitting on the sofa, looking much as she had done +when they parted; and it was not till long afterward that she discovered +what had been the cause of Emily's illness, and learned how much she +had endured. She understood many things now which had been mysteries to +her before, realizing, in some degree, the torment of mind and body +through which this gentle one had passed, and the reason of the bidding +down of the tenderest feelings of her heart. + +Poor Emily! None but He who seeth in secret had known the agony which +wrung thy loving heart to its very depths, causing even the keen torture +of physical suffering to be at times forgotten. But He can, and He +_does_, give strength for the occasion, whatever it may be, and however +sore the trial; and leaning on His arm, His people pass securely through +fires of tribulation, which, in the prospect, would seem utterly +unendurable, and come out purified, even as gold from the furnace. + + + + +X. + +The Tutor and the Pupil. + + "Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert."--HENRY VI. + + +Mr. Wharton had endeavored to give Mr. Malcolm a correct understanding +of the nature of the case he was about to undertake, in becoming the +instructor of the spoiled and wayward Lewie. He told him of his natural +good qualities, never suffered to develop themselves, and of the many +evil ones, fostered and encouraged by the unwise indulgence of his fond +and foolish mother. And yet, when the young clergyman had fairly entered +upon his duties as tutor at the Hemlocks, he found, that "the half had +not been told him." + +Lewie chafed and fretted under the slightest restraint, and had not the +remotest idea of doing anything that was not in all respects agreeable +to his own inclinations. The idea of compulsion was so new to him, that +he was overwhelmed with amazement one day, when his tutor (after trying +various means to induce him to learn a particular lesson) finally told +him that that lesson must be learned, and recited, before he could leave +the library. Master Lewie, fully determined in his own mind to ascertain +whose will was the strongest, and whose resolution would soonest give +out, now openly rebelled, and informed his master that "he would _not_ +learn that lesson." + +With his handsome face flushed with passion, he struggled from his +tutor, rushed to the door, and endeavored to open it; but Mr. Malcolm +was before-hand with him, and quietly turning the key in the lock, and +putting it in his pocket, he walked back to the table. The frantic boy +now endeavored to open the windows and spring out, but being foiled in +this attempt likewise, as they were securely fastened, he threw himself +upon the floor as he had been in the habit of doing when crossed, ever +since his baby-hood, and screamed with all the strength of baffled rage. + +His anxious mother was at the door in an instant, demanding admittance. +Mr. Malcolm unfastened the door, stepped out to her in the hall, and +gave her a faithful account of her son's conduct during the morning. +"And now, Mrs. Elwyn," said he, "the promise was, that I was not to be +interfered with in my government of your son. As long as he hears your +voice at the door, and knows that he has your sympathy on his side, he +will continue obstinate and rebellious." + +"But, Mr. Malcolm, excuse me, but you do not know how to manage him, you +should soothe and coax him; he will not be driven. Oh, I cannot bear to +hear him scream so," she exclaimed, as a louder roar from Lewie reached +her ears; "Oh, Mr. Malcolm, I must go to him." + +"Not unless you desire, madam, that I should resign at once, and +forever, the charge of your son," said Mr. Malcolm, laying his hand upon +the lock to prevent her carrying her purpose into execution. "I have +spent this whole morning," he continued, "in expostulation and +persuasion, and in endeavoring, as I always do, to make the lessons +plain and interesting to my pupil; but Lewie is in one of his perverse +humors, and nothing but decision as unyielding as his own obstinacy, +will conquer him. If you will return to your own room and allow me the +sole management of him, I will remain here to-day till I have subdued +him, if the thing is possible." + +"You will not use _severity_, Mr. Malcolm," said the weeping mother. + +"Never in the way of corporeal punishment, madam. When I cannot govern a +pupil without having recourse to such means, I will abandon him. But I +must stipulate that untill Lewie submits, and learns that lesson, which +he could easily learn in a few minutes, if he chose, he goes without +food, and remains in the library with me. I am deeply interested in your +son, Mrs. Elwyn; he is a boy of fine talents, and of too many good +qualities of heart, to be allowed to go to destruction. I would save +him if I can, but he must be left to me. I have the hope of yet seeing +him a noble and useful character, but I must do it in my own way." + +Mrs. Elwyn silently acquiesced, and withdrew to her own room very +wretched. If she had been willing to inflict upon herself one tithe of +the pain she suffered now, in controlling her son in his infancy, how +different he might have been, as he grew up towards manhood. + +Mr. Malcolm returned to the library, and told Lewie that his mother had +decided to leave them settle this matter between themselves. He should +remain there, he said; he could employ himself very agreeably with the +books. Lewie might lie on the floor and scream, or get up and study; but +until that lesson was learned, he would not leave the library, or taste +a morsel of food. + +The shrieks were now renewed in a louder and more agonized tone than +ever, and were plainly heard in Mrs. Elwyn's sitting-room, where, in a +state bordering on distraction, she was hurriedly pacing the floor, at +times almost determined to insist upon being admitted to the library, +that she might take her unhappy son to her arms, and dismiss his +inexorable tutor; and then deterred from this course by the promise she +had made, and the deep respect which she could not but feel for the +young minister. She could not but confess, too, in her inmost heart, +that this discipline was really for the good of her passionate boy, +though the means resorted to seemed to her severe. Of the two, she was +more wretched than Lewie, who really had no small sense of enjoyment, in +the consciousness of the pain and annoyance he was causing to others. + +The screams now ceased, and the anxious mother really hoped that Lewie +was about to comply with his tutor's wishes, and that she should soon +clasp him to her breast, wipe away his tears, and soothe his troubled +heart. She was already, in her mind, planning some reward for him for +condescending at length to yield his stubborn will. But the quiet was +only in consequence of the utter exhaustion of Master Lewie's lungs, and +he took refuge in a dogged silence, still rolling on the floor. Mr. +Malcolm sat reading, as much at his ease, and apparently with as much +interest, as if he were the only occupant of the library. + +At last the young rebel was made aware, by certain ringing sounds, and +divers savory odors, that the hour of dinner had arrived; and his +appetite being considerably sharpened by the excitement through which he +had passed, he began to entertain the suspicion that he had been rather +foolish in holding out so long in his obstinacy. He really wished that +he had learned the lesson, and was free for the afternoon; but how to +come down was the puzzle now. He determined to be as ugly about it as +possible, thinking that his tutor might be pretty weary by that time as +well as he, and might hail joyfully any tokens of submission. + +So Master Lewie began to call out: + +"I want my dinner!" + +"What is that, Lewie?" said Mr. Malcolm, looking up quietly from his +book. + +"I want my _dinner_, I tell you!" roared Lewie. + +Pushing his book towards him, Mr. Malcolm said, in a quiet, determined +manner: + +"You know the conditions, Lewie, on which you leave this room: they will +not change, if we remain here together till to-morrow morning. This +lesson must be learned and recited perfectly, before you taste any +food." + +Lewie murmured that "there was one good thing--his teacher would have to +fast too." + +"As for me, I never take but two meals a day," said Mr. Malcolm; "I can +wait till five o'clock very well for my dinner; and should I be very +hungry, your mother will doubtless give me something to eat." + +Through most of the afternoon, Lewie sat scrawling figures with his +pencil on some paper which was lying near, and really beginning to +suffer from the "keen demands of appetite." After sitting thus an hour +or two, he suddenly said: + +"Give me the book, then, if there is no other way! I can learn that +lesson in five minutes, if I have a mind." + +"I know that, Lewie," said his tutor; "no one can learn quicker or +better than you, when you choose; but you cannot have this book till you +ask me for it in a different way." + +It took another hour of sulking before Master Lewie's pride could be +sufficiently humbled to admit of his asking in a civil tone for the +book; but hunger, which has reduced the defenders of many a strong +fortress, at last brought even this obstinate young gentleman to terms. +The book was handed him, on being properly asked for, and in a very few +minutes the lesson was learned, and recited without a mistake. Lewie +evidently expected a vast amount of commendation from his teacher, but +he received nothing of the kind. Mr. Malcolm only endeavored to make him +understand how much trouble he might have saved himself by attention to +his studies in the morning, and then talked to him very seriously for +some moments upon the folly and wickedness of giving way to such a +furious temper, endeavoring to point out some of the results to which it +would be likely to lead him. + +One would think that two or three such contests with his tutor, in each +of which he was finally obliged to yield, would have taught our little +hero _who_ was the master, and would have led him, by timely compliance, +to avoid the recurrence of such scenes. But no! he was so unaccustomed +to having his will thwarted in any particular, that it seemed almost an +impossibility for him to submit to have it crossed. The moment anything +occurred in opposition to his wishes, his strong will rose rebellious; +and having been accustomed to carry all before it, could only with the +utmost difficulty, and after a terrible struggle, be controlled. + +His kind and judicious tutor, to whom the task of instructing so wayward +a youth was by no means a pleasant one, was urged to a continuance of +his labors only by a stern sense of duty; having at heart the best good +of his pupil, and humbly trusting that, with the blessing of God upon +his efforts, he might be able at length to teach him to exercise some +control over himself. This might possibly have been effected, perhaps, +but for the unwise indulgence and sympathy of his foolishly-fond +mother, who was ever at hand, when Mr. Malcolm left, to listen to her +son's tale of grievances, by which he sometimes succeeded in convincing +her that he was most unjustly and cruelly treated. + +Lewie had become tired of the loneliness and quiet of his country home, +and wished to be among other boys, and particularly to go to the school +at which his cousins, the young Whartons, had been placed. They had +lately been home for a vacation, and he had heard much of the _fun_ they +enjoyed at school; in comparison with which, his quiet life with his +mother, and under the care of his tutor, seemed very tame and dull. He +now became more restive and impatient under control, and seemed +determined to weary out his kind tutor, in the hope that he would +voluntarily relinquish his charge. In the meantime, he continued to give +his mother no rest on the subject of Dr. Hamilton's school; and she, +poor woman, knew not what course to take, between her desire to please +her importunate son, and her dislike to offend Mr. Malcolm. + +At last, however, as usual, Lewie conquered; and rushing out of one +door, as he saw Mr. Malcolm enter at the other, he left his mother to +inform the young minister that he was no longer to be tutor there. As +far as his own comfort was concerned, this dismissal was a great relief +to Mr. Malcolm; but, as he told Mrs. Elwyn, he feared that her troubles +would not be lessened, but rather increased, by sending Lewie to a +public school. He had never been much among other boys; and he would +find his own inclinations crossed many times a day, not only by +teachers, but by schoolmates, who would have no more idea of always +giving up their own will than Lewie himself had, and constant trouble +might be the result. + +All this Mrs. Elwyn admitted; but what could she do? She was like a reed +in the wind before the might of Lewie's determination, and he knew it. +Ah! she was learning already that "A child left to himself bringeth his +mother to shame" and sorrow; and it was with the deepest mortification +that she was obliged to confess that she had suffered the golden hours +of infancy to slip by, without acquiring over her son's mind that +influence which every mother should and may possess. The opportunity, +alas! was now lost forever. Her son had neither respect for her +authority, or regard for her wishes. + + + + +XI. + +Ruth Glen. + + "The more I looked, I wondered more-- + And while I scanned it o'er and o'er + A moment gave me to espy + A trouble in her strong black eye; + A remnant of uneasy light, + A flash of something over bright; + Not long this mystery did detain + My thoughts--she told in pensive strain + That she had borne a heavy yoke, + Been stricken by a two-fold stroke; + Ill health of body; and had pined + Beneath worse ailments of the mind." + + WORDSWORTH. + + +It had been determined ever since poor Miss Edwards left the Wharton's, +that the girls should be sent to the city, to boarding school, and it +was without much difficulty that Mr. Wharton succeeded in obtaining Mrs. +Elwyn's consent to his sending Agnes with them, that the cousins might +continue their education together. Indeed, as I have before intimated, +Mrs. Elwyn always listened, and answered with the utmost indifference, +when any plan respecting her daughter was proposed to her. She supposed, +rightly enough, that her own means might be required for the support of +herself and Lewie, (for she intended to close her house and accompany +Lewie to Stanwick,) and as Mr. Wharton seemed anxious to take the care +of Agnes from her hands, and she knew he could well afford to do so, she +made no objection whatever to the proposed plan. In short, Mr. and Mrs. +Wharton regarded this lovely girl, thus cast off and neglected by her +only natural protector, as their own, and cherished her accordingly. + +Mrs. Wharton's health, which had delayed, for some months, the departure +of the girls for the city, now seemed fully re-established; Emily, also, +seemed better than she had done for years, and it was with light hearts, +and many pleasant anticipations, that the three cousins, under the care +of Mr. Wharton, started, for the first time, for school. At about the +same time, Lewie, accompanied by his mother, went to Stanwick, and +began his school life under the care of Dr. Hamilton. + +The boarding-school at which Agnes and her cousins were placed, was +under the superintendence of Mrs. Arlington and her daughters, ladies +who had received a most thorough education in England, and who had long +kept an extensive and popular boarding-school there. The hope of passing +her declining days in the society of an only son, who had some years +before emigrated to America, induced Mrs. Arlington, accompanied by her +daughters, to follow him, and though it pleased Providence to remove +this idolized son and brother, by death, in a little more than a year +after their reunion in this country, the mother and daughters determined +to remain, and continue their vocation here, where they had very +flattering hopes of success. + +Mr. and Mrs. Wharton had long known and esteemed these estimable ladies, +and though, in many respects, opposed to boarding-schools in general, +yet, as there seemed, at present, no other means for the girls to +acquire an education, but by sending them from home, they thought that a +more unexceptionable place could not be provided for them than Mrs. +Arlington's school. + +Mrs. Arlington, though a woman of more than sixty years of age, still +possessed an erect and queen-like figure, a most dignified and stately +appearance, and a face of remarkable beauty. She commanded respect at +first sight, and there was no punishment greater for her pupils, than to +be reported to Mrs. Arlington, and to be obliged to meet her face to +face, to receive a reprimand. Her three daughters, Miss Susan, Miss +Sophie, and Miss Emma, taught in different departments of the school, +and were in every respect most admirably fitted for their different +stations. Miss Emma taught music; Miss Sophie, French and drawing; while +Mrs. Arlington and her eldest daughter attended solely to the more solid +branches of education. + +It took some little time, of course, before our young friends felt at +home in so strange a place, and among so many new faces. But many of +the older scholars, who had been long in the school, were very kind in +coming forward to make their acquaintance, and endeavor to do away the +feeling of awkwardness, ever an attendant upon the introduction to +scenes so untried and new. Grace and Effie were very shy and silent at +first, but the peculiarly sweet and unaffected friendliness of Agnes' +manner, won every heart immediately. The younger scholars, especially, +seemed to love her the moment she spoke to them, and to feel as if in +her they should ever find a friend. + +Agnes and her cousins were placed in a large room in the third story; +this room contained three beds, one of which was taken possession of by +Grace and Effie, another was occupied by two little girls, of the names +of Carrie and Ella Holt and Agnes was, for the present, alone. Mrs. +Wilkins, the housekeeper, informed her, however, that Mrs. Arlington +expected a new scholar soon, who was to be her bed-fellow. For some +reason or other, the new scholar did not arrive at the time expected, +and it was not till Agnes and her cousins had been some weeks at the +school, and had began to feel quite at home there, that they were made +aware, by the advent of an old hair trunk and a band-box, that the sixth +occupant of their room had arrived. + +The new scholar's name was Ruth Glenn. She was a strange-looking girl; +very tall and thin, with a pale, greenish cast of complexion; coal-black +eyes, very much sunken in her head; hair as black as her eyes, and +colorless lips. When she smiled, which was very seldom, she displayed a +fine set of teeth, her only redeeming feature. Her manners were as +strange as her appearance. When she spoke, which was only when +absolutely necessary, or in reciting her lesson, there was a constant +nervous twitching about her bloodless lips; and she had a peculiar way +of pulling at her long, thin fingers, as if it was her full intention to +pull them off. + +We cannot help being influenced by first impressions; and though Agnes +felt the sincerest pity for this strange, awkward, shy girl, and did +her best to make her feel at her ease, she could not but feel sorry that +she was to be her bed-fellow. Ruth Glenn sat by herself in the +school-room, always intently occupied with her book, having no +communication with her school-mates, and always seizing on the moment of +dismissal from the school-room to retire to her own apartment. And yet, +as far as the girls could judge, she was full of kindness and generosity +of feeling, evinced by many little quiet acts which one school-mate may +always find it in her power to do for another. + +One night, the third or fourth after the arrival of Ruth Glenn at the +school, the girls sleeping in the room with her were suddenly aroused +from sleep by loud and piercing screams from little Carrie Holt. Agnes +sprang up, and was by her side in a moment. As she left her bed she +perceived that Miss Glenn was not there. + +"What is the matter, Carrie? Why do you scream so, dear?" asked Agnes. + +"Oh, Miss Elwyn!--that tall, white figure!--that tall, white figure! It +came and stood by me, and laid its cold white hand right on my face. It +was a ghost--I know it was--I saw it so plain in the moonlight. Oh, +don't leave me!--don't leave me, Miss Elwyn! It will come again!" And +the trembling child clung with both arms tightly around Agnes. + +"I will not leave the room, Carrie," said Agnes; "but I must find out +what has frightened you so. There are no such things as ghosts, Carrie: +you have been dreaming." + +"Oh no, Miss Elwyn, I did not dream that!" sobbed little Carrie; "I was +having a beautiful dream about ho-o-o-me and mother, when that cold hand +came on my cheek, and I opened my eyes, and saw that tall, white figure. +Oh, it had such great hollow eyes! I saw them so plain in the +moonlight!" + +"Now lie down, dear little Carrie, till I find out what all this means," +said Agnes. The weeping child obeyed, hugging up close to her little +sister for protection. + +The light had been taken away at ten o'clock, as was the invariable +custom at Mrs. Arlington's; but Agnes opened both shutters, and admitted +the bright moonlight into the room, making every object to be discerned +almost as plainly as in the day-time. She then stepped to her own bed. +Miss Glenn certainly was not there. She went to the door of her room, +and found it locked on the inside, as she had left it when she went to +bed. Miss Glenn, then, must still be in the room. Agnes walked around +it, carefully examining every object: she then went into the closet, and +felt carefully all around the walls. She began to think there was +something very strange in all this; and the other girls, all of whom had +been wide awake ever since they were aroused by the screams of little +Carrie, were sitting up in their beds in a great state of agitation and +alarm. + +"I will not stay in this room another night!" said little Carrie; "I +wish we dared to go down to Mrs. Arlington. Let's all go down together +to Miss Emma, and ask her to come up here." + +"No, no; hush, children!" said Agnes. Then she called, as loudly as she +dared, without awaking those in the neighboring rooms: + +"Miss Glenn! Miss Glenn! where are you?" + +"Here I am! What do you want of me?" answered a smothered voice. + +"Mercy on us!" shrieked Carrie and Ella in a breath, and springing with +one bound on to the floor--"mercy on us! she is under our bed!" + +Agnes looked under the bed, and could just distinguish something white, +huddled up in one corner under the head of the bed. + +"Miss Glenn! what do you mean?" exclaimed Agnes, in a tone of amazement. +"Are you trying to frighten these poor children? Come out here +directly." + +With all Agnes' gentleness, she had sufficient spirit when roused, and +she was now really indignant at what she supposed was a cruel attempt to +frighten little Carrie and Ella. Ruth Glenn was three or four years +older than Agnes, but yet she submitted at once to the tone of authority +in which she was addressed, and came crawling out from under the bed. + +"I think it's a little too bad," said the trembling little sisters, +crying and talking together; "it's real mean, to wake us up, and +frighten us so. I mean to tell Mrs. Arlington of you to-morrow, Miss +Glenn. I know our mother won't let us stay here to be frightened so!" + +Ruth Glenn sat down on the edge of her own bed and said nothing, but +Agnes noticed that she shivered, as if with cold. + +"Come, Miss Glenn, lie down," said Agnes, "and let us see if we can have +quiet for the rest of the night; we shall none of us be fit for study +to-morrow, I fear." + +Ruth Glenn obeyed quietly, and was soon asleep, but the others had been +so agitated that it was a long time before their minds were sufficiently +calmed for repose. When startled by the rising bell, they got up tired +and unrefreshed, and with no very amiable feelings towards the author of +the disturbance in the night. Miss Glenn went about dressing as quietly +as usual, saying nothing to any one; till little Ella, who was a +spirited little thing, just as she was leaving the room, turned about +and said: + +"Now, Miss Glenn! I am going right down to tell Mrs. Arlington about +you." + +To the surprise of all, this cold silent girl sat down on the bed, and +wringing her hands, and rocking back and forth, and crying most +piteously, she begged little Ella not to tell of her. + +"I will do anything I can for you, Ella," said she, "I will help you in +your lessons, whenever you want any help; only don't tell Mrs. +Arlington; she will send me away perhaps, and then what shall I do!" She +then implored Agnes to use her influence with the little girls, and her +cousins, to ensure their silence on the subject, promising not to +disturb them again, if she could help it. + +"I don't know what I went to your bed for, Carrie," she said, "I did not +want to frighten you." + +"Why did you act so strangely then, Miss Glenn?" asked Agnes, "were you +asleep?" + +"I don't know; I cannot tell; don't ask me;" was all they could get from +Miss Glenn, who continued to weep and wring her hands. + +Though apparently very poor, Miss Glenn possessed some few rare and +curious things, which she said her father, who had been a sea-captain, +had brought her from other countries, and by means of some of these, she +succeeded in securing the silence of the little girls. Grace and Effie +were easily induced by the remonstrances of Agnes, and partly by pity +for Miss Glenn's evident distress, to promise not to betray her. None of +the occupants of that room felt fit for study that day, except Miss +Glenn. She sat alone, as usual, and studied as perseveringly as ever. +This was only the beginning of a series of nocturnal performances, +continued almost every night, with every morning a repetition of the +same scene of begging and remonstrance with her room-mates, to persuade +them not to betray her to Mrs. Arlington. Sometimes, as Miss Glenn was +quietly leaving her bed, Agnes would wake and follow her, determined to +see what she would do, and to prevent, if possible, her waking the other +girls. At times she would seat herself upon a chest in one corner of the +room, and commence a conversation with some imaginary individual near +her; then she would move silently round the room, and sitting down in +some other part of it, would talk again, as if in conversation with some +lady next her. Then she would open the window very quietly, and look up, +and down, and around, talking all the time in a low tone, but in a much +more lively and animated manner than was usual with her in the day-time. +She would sometimes cross over to the bed where Grace and Effie Wharton +were sleeping, but just as she was about laying her hand on one of them, +Agnes would touch her, and ask her what she meant by wandering about so +night after night, and tell her to come directly back to bed. + +"Oh," Miss Glenn would answer quietly, "I have only been talking to the +ladies, and holding a little conversation with the moon and stars--don't +mind me--go to bed--I will come." + +But Agnes would answer resolutely, + +"No, Miss Glenn, I will not leave you to frighten the girls again; you +must come back to bed with me, and let me hold your hand tightly in +mine." And Miss Glenn would obey immediately. + +When the moon was shining brightly into the room, these performances of +Miss Glenn's were only annoying, but when the nights were very dark, and +nothing could be seen in the room, it was really horrible to hear this +strange girl chattering and mumbling, now in one corner, now in another, +sometimes in the closet, sometimes under the beds; and one night, in a +fearful thunder-storm, she seemed to be terribly excited, and when the +lightning flashed upon the walls, the shadow of her figure could be seen +strangely exaggerated, performing all manner of wild antics. + +This conduct of Miss Glenn's puzzled Agnes exceedingly: she could not +decide in her own mind whether the girl was trying to frighten them, +whether she was asleep, or whether she had turns of derangement at +night. Neither of these suppositions seemed exactly to account for her +singular actions. Her evident, and, Agnes doubted not, real distress, at +the possibility of Mrs. Arlington being informed of her nocturnal +performances, and the sacrifices of every kind that she was willing to +make to ensure silence, convinced Agnes that it was not done merely to +alarm them; her vivid remembrance of all that she had said or done in +the night, and her answering questions, and coming to bed so readily +when addressed by Agnes, without any appearance of waking up, led her to +suppose it was not somnambulism; and as Miss Glenn never showed any sign +of wandering of mind in the day time, Agnes could not suppose it to be +derangement. Miss Glenn was a perfect enigma; night after night +disturbing her room-mates with her strange performances, and every +morning going over the same scene of earnest expostulation and entreaty, +accompanied by violent weeping, to induce them not to betray her to +Mrs. Arlington. Poor little Carrie and Ella kept the secret bravely, +though, on the night of the thunder-storm, they were so terrified by +Miss Glenn's conduct, that, wrapping themselves in the bed-blankets, and +persuading Agnes to lock the door after them, they went out, and sat +upon the stairs till morning. The very next day, two sisters who slept +in another room received tidings of the death of their mother, which +hurried them home; and as they were not to return that quarter, little +Carrie and Ella, with Agnes to intercede for them, requested to be +allowed to take their vacated place. Mrs. Arlington readily acquiesced, +as, she said, it would be much better to have four in each room. + +Thus things went on, till, one night, Agnes was horror-stricken to find +that Miss Glenn was endeavoring to climb out of the window. As I have +said, they were in the third story of the building; and the distance to +the ground being very great, the unfortunate girl would inevitably have +been dashed to pieces upon the flag stones below, had not Agnes +suddenly caught her, and, with a strength that astonished herself, +succeeded in drawing her back into the room. + +The terror and agitation into which Agnes was thrown by this +circumstance determined her to do something decisive the very next day; +she was now convinced that it was her duty, and resolved to do it, in +spite of Miss Glenn's tears and persuasions. She thought it right, +however, in the first place, to acquaint Miss Glenn with her +determination, and began by informing her, when they were alone the next +morning, of the imminent danger from which she had been so fortunate as +to save her in the night. Ruth Glenn seemed to remember it all, and +shuddered as she thought of it. + +"Now, Ruth," said Agnes, "I really think we have all kept silence as +long as could be expected, or as it is _right_ that we should. You will +bear witness that we have endured very patiently all this nightly +disturbance. I have long been convinced, whatever may be the reason of +your conduct, that you have not the control of your own actions at +night; and I think we shall be very culpable if we conceal this matter +longer from Mrs. Arlington; for, as you must now be convinced, the +consequences may be fatal to yourself, or perhaps to others. You need +not fear that Mrs. Arlington will dismiss you, but I think she will +consult medical advice in your case, which most probably should have +been done long before this." + +Ruth acknowledged the justice of all that Agnes said, and at length +consented that she should make Mrs. Arlington acquainted with all that +had transpired in their room. "But, oh, Agnes!" she said, "do persuade +her to let me remain, and finish my education. It has been my hope for +years, that I might be enabled to prepare myself to be a governess. My +father was lost at sea, and my poor mother died of a broken heart, and I +was left all alone to take care of myself at the age of fourteen. Since +then, I have sewed night and day, night and day, denying myself sleep, +and almost all the necessaries of life, in the hope of getting an +education. That hope, with all my unwearied industry, would never have +been fulfilled, had not a kind lady for whom I sewed offered to make up +the requisite sum; and now, if Mrs. Arlington sends me away, what will +become of me? The hope of my life will be disappointed." + +"Well, I do not wish to discourage you, my dear Ruth, but you must see I +think that you are totally unfitted to have children under your care at +present." + +"I suppose I am, Agnes, but I have been hoping that I should get over +this; it seems to grow worse and worse, however, and you may now do as +you choose. You have exercised great forbearance with me, dear Agnes. +You have been a true friend, and whatever may be the result, you may go +to Mrs. Arlington." + +Mrs. Arlington was very kind, and only regretted that she had not before +been made acquainted with Ruth Glenn's singular conduct. She said she +did not doubt that it was entirely owing to her state of health, and her +sedentary manner of life for years past, and sent immediately for her +family physician, and made him acquainted with the case. + +Agnes was sent for, and questioned as to Miss Glenn's actions and +appearance, when thus restless at night, and she as well as the +different teachers, were interrogated as to her habits in the day time. +The doctor thus learned that it was with the greatest difficulty that +Miss Glenn could be persuaded to take any exercise, and Agnes told him +what Ruth had related to her of her mode of life for the last few years. +The doctor thought it one of the most singular cases he ever met with, +and prescribed a strict course of medicine, diet and exercise, insisting +particularly upon the latter. + +It was a hard thing to persuade Ruth to take her early morning walk, and +other exercise advised by the physician, and Mrs. Arlington was at +length obliged to tell her, that only upon condition of her obeying his +directions, could she consent to allow her to remain in the school. +This, together with the indefatigable endeavors of Agnes, prevailed +upon Ruth Glenn to take the accustomed walks, which Agnes with great +cunning contrived to lengthen every morning, until at length Ruth Glenn +would return with a slight tinge of color in her cheek, and an unusual +brightness about her eye. The result was very soon seen, in more quiet +nights in the third-story-room, and, before long, Ruth confessed that +she felt like another creature, and began to realize an enjoyment in +life, of which she had known nothing since her childhood. + +Often, however, the old feeling of indolence returned, and it was very +amusing to Grace and Effie to hear poor Ruth beg and plead with Agnes to +be allowed to remain quiet "just one morning," and to see how vigorously +and perseveringly Agnes resisted her appeals, rousing her up and leading +her off, poor Ruth looking much like a martyr about to be dragged to the +stake. + +Before Agnes and her cousins left Mrs. Arlington's school, Ruth Glenn +was so changed for the better, that she would not have been recognized +as the same pale, strange girl, who came there three years before. Her +spirits and appetite were good, and there was no longer any complaint of +disturbance at night by her room-mates. + +It was a sad day in the school when Agnes and her cousins took their +final leave, but no one seemed so broken-hearted as poor Ruth Glenn. + +"Oh, Agnes," said she, "who will be the friend to me that you have been? +Who will drag me out with such relentless cruelty?" and here she smiled +sadly through her tears, "through rain and sunshine, heat and cold; I am +afraid I shall be as bad as ever, for my walks will be so dull without +you." + +But Agnes told her she hoped she had now received sufficient benefit +from her regular exercise, to be willing to make a little sacrifice, and +obtained from her a solemn promise that she would continue the course +they had so long pursued together. + +Agnes had employed herself most perseveringly while at Mrs. Arlington's +school, in becoming thoroughly acquainted with various branches of +education and accomplishments, being fully determined in her own mind no +longer to be a burden to her uncle, but to use the means he was so +kindly putting into her hands, in enabling her to gain her own support +hereafter. But she had no sooner left the school than other duties +claimed her attention, as will presently be seen. + + + + +XII. + +LEWIE AT SCHOOL. + +"The child is father of the man."--WORDSWORTH. + + +Had our friend Lewie heard Mr. Malcolm's prediction relative to his +school experiences, he would have had reason to think him a true +prophet. He came into the school and the play-ground with the same ideas +which had been predominant with him ever since his baby-hood; and though +he did not, as then, continually say the _words,_ his actions proclaimed +as loudly, "Lewie must have his own way!--Lewie must not be crossed!" He +found his school companions not quite so complying as his indulgent +mother, and those over whom she had control; and before he had been long +in the school, he was known by the various names of "Dictator-General," +"First Consul," "Great Mogul," &c., and with these epithets he was +greeted whenever he put on any of his dictatorial airs. + +These constant insults and impertinences, as he called them, irritated +his ungoverned spirit, and in consequence many a school-mate measured +his length upon the ground in the most sudden manner, and innumerable +were the fights and "rows" which were the result. The presence of Lewie +seemed everywhere the signal of contention and strife, where all had +been heretofore, with very few exceptions, harmony and peace; and yet, +but for his hasty and impatient temper, Lewie might have been an +unparalleled favorite among his schoolmates. In the still summer +evenings, when he took his guitar, and sat upon the steps of the +portico, the boys would crowd around him, and listen in breathless +silence to his sweet music. As long as his own inclinations were not +crossed or interfered with, a more agreeable companion could not be +found. He had the frank, open manners, which are not seldom joined with +a quick temper, and in many things he showed a noble, generous +disposition; but as soon as the wishes of others in their sports and +recreations came in conflict with his own, his terrible passion was +roused at once, and carried all before it. Many were the complaints +which he carried to his mother of insult and ill-treatment; and before +he had been six months at Dr. Hamilton's school, he was urging her to +allow him to remove to another of which he had heard, and where he +fancied he should be more happy. Mrs. Elwyn's health was not as firm as +it once was; she was becoming weak and nervous, and dreaded change, and +endeavored to pacify her son, and to persuade him to remain at Dr. +Hamilton's school. No doubt he would have effected his object by +teazing, but it was accomplished in another way. + +There are boys to be found in every large school who delight in playing +practical jokes, and in teazing and tormenting those who are susceptible +of annoyance in this way. There was a large, stout boy in Dr. Hamilton's +school, of the name of Colton, a great bully and teaze, whose delight +it seemed to be to torment and put into a passion one so fiery as our +little hero, feeling safe from the only kind of retaliation which could +injure him, as he was so much the stoutest and strongest of the two. +This boy soon found that there was one point upon which Lewie was +peculiarly sensitive, and the slightest allusion to which would call the +red blood to his face. This was the fact of his being accompanied by his +mother when he came to the school, and her having taken board in the +village, that she might be near him as long as he was there. Lewie had +remonstrated with his mother, when she proposed accompanying him, and +had urged her to accept his Uncle Wharton's invitation to make his house +her home. He was just at that age when boys love to appear independent +and manly, and able to take care of themselves; and he had hoped that he +should be allowed to go alone to school, as many of the other boys did, +or perhaps to accompany his uncle and cousins. But to be taken there +under the care of a _woman_, and to have her remain near him, as if +he could not take care of himself! Lewie thought this a most humiliating +state of things. But for once his mother was firm. It would be like +severing her heart-strings, to separate her from her darling son; and +wherever he went, she must go as long as she lived. This ingratitude on +the part of Lewie and evident desire to rid himself of her company, +after so many years spent in devotion to his slightest wishes, wore upon +her spirits, and was one cause, perhaps the principal one, of her +nervous depression, and consequent ill health. + +As soon as Colton understood the state of Lewie's feelings on this +tender point, and noticed How his cheeks would flush with passion +whenever the subject was mentioned, he took advantage of it to harass +and enrage him, renewing the subject most unmercifully at every +convenient opportunity. Thus, whenever, in their sports, Lewie took upon +himself to dictate, in his authoritative way, Colton would ask the boys +if they were going to be governed by a baby who had not yet broken +loose from his mother's apron-strings; and when Lewie could no longer +restrain his passion, and began to show signs of becoming pugnacious, +Colton would advise him to "run to mother," to be petted and soothed. + +For sometime prudence restrained Lewie from making an attack upon this +boy, so much larger and stronger than himself, for he was almost certain +that he would get the worst of it in an encounter with him. But one day +when Colton was more aggravating than ever, Lewie suddenly lost all +command of himself, and flew at him in a most fearful storm of rage, and +with all the might of his passion concentrated in one blow, he dashed +the great boy against a tree; and after he was down, and lying +insensible, with his head cut and bleeding, Lewie could scarcely be +restrained, by the united strength of those about him, from rushing upon +his senseless body, and by renewed blows continuing to injure him. + +His rage was fearful to witness, and his companions stood aghast, for +they saw clearly that murder was in his heart, and that nothing but the +restraint they exercised upon him, prevented him from carrying his +horrible purpose into execution. Colton was borne to the house, and it +was long feared that he would never entirely recover from the effects of +the severe blow upon his head as he fell. Lewie seemed to feel nothing +like remorse; he had always hated Colton, and everything this boy had +done had tended to increase and aggravate his feelings of dislike; he +thought nothing in his frantic rage of the consequences to himself, but +would have rejoiced to see his tormentor dead at his feet. + +This last affair decided Dr. Hamilton that it would not do to keep a boy +of such fierce, unrestrained temper, longer in the school. Lewie had all +this time been progressing rapidly in his studies; a fierce ambition +seemed to have seized upon, him, and he applied himself to his books as +if he had come to the determination that he would at least rise superior +to his school-mates, in his standing in the class, if they would not +acknowledge his superiority in anything else. + +Dr. Hamilton called soon after Lewie's attack upon Colton, to see Mrs. +Elwyn, and while he spoke of Lewie as one on whom he could justly be +proud, as the best and most forward scholar in his classes, he said it +was impossible for him to allow him to remain; that the lives of his +other pupils were hardly to be considered safe with so passionate a +companion, and for the sake of the reputation of his school, he must ask +her to save him the necessity of a public dismissal of her son. Sad by +this time were the forebodings of Mrs. Elwyn, but they were useless; her +remonstrances with her self-willed son were vain. If Lewie was obliged +to submit to being accompanied by his mother wherever he went, he seemed +determined to show her, that her wishes had not the slightest power over +him. The sowing time had passed;--the reaping time had begun. + +Lewie no longer urged and entreated, but merely expressed his +determination to go to the school to which he had so long been desirous +to remove, and his poor mother knowing that henceforth his will must be +hers, made her preparations for accompanying him. + +Boys are the same everywhere; and unless all are willing in some degree +to relinquish their own gratification for the sake of others, there will +surely be trouble. So Lewie found at Stanwick; so at the next school, +and the next; for as he became dissatisfied with one and unpopular +there, he removed to another, his poor mother following his fortunes +everywhere. Many were the kind and remonstrating letters which Lewie +received during these three years of change, from his lovely sister, but +the affectionate advice contained in them as to an endeavor to gain +command over his temper, and in regard to his treatment of his mother, +seemed to have no permanent effect. + +All this time, wherever he went, he ranked' among the highest as to his +scholarship, and at the age of sixteen he entered college at C----, +about ten or fifteen miles from Hillsdale. By the time they were fairly +established at C----, Mrs. Elwyn's health completely failed. Lewie's +time much taken up with his college duties, and even if it had not been, +he was not one to wait with patience upon the humors of a nervous and +fretful invalid; and the greater part of the time was spent by Mrs. +Elwyn in loneliness and repining. + +And now her thoughts turned often, and rested almost fondly upon the +memory of her long neglected daughter. Oh! for such a kind and gentle +nurse and companion to be ever near her, to minister to her wants and +soothe her lonely hours. The more she thought of her, the more she +longed for her presence, and it was soon after Agnes left Mrs. +Arlington's and returned to Brook Farm, that she received with delight a +summons to come to her mother at C----. The idea that her mother really +_wished_ for her, and that she could be in any degree useful to her, +made her heart bound with joy; and then, too, the idea of being so near +her brother, to endeavor to exercise a restraining influence upon him, +was happiness in itself for Agnes. + +She found her mother greatly changed: anxiety of mind and bodily +suffering had worn upon her, till her face, which might still have been +young and blooming, was faded and wrinkled. She was glad to see Agnes, +only because now she could be _useful_ to her; and Agnes often found her +whole stock of patience brought into requisition, in endeavoring to +gratify the changing whims and fancies of a nervous invalid. Lewie was +in ecstasies at his sister's arrival; for he did dearly love Agnes, and +he now passed all his leisure time at his mother's room. Agnes thought +him more gentle and tractable, and hoped that he really exercised some +control over his passionate temper; but it was only, for the time, the +want of provocation, and the restraining influence of his sister's +presence, which kept him from any serious out-break. The grace of God +alone could materially change Lewie Elwyn now. + +Agnes remained many months in attendance upon her mother, who failed +very gradually. As she grew weaker, she became more exacting; and +though never betrayed into any expression of affection for Agnes, yet +she was not willing to have her out of her sight for a moment. The +consciousness of being useful to her mother, was sufficient reward for +sleepless nights and days of close confinement; and Agnes resisted all +Lewie's entreaties that she would leave the sick room for a while each +day, and take a stroll with him. + +Had Lewie been inclined to dissipation, this would have been a dangerous +time for him; for his wonderful musical powers made him such a favorite, +that no gathering was thought complete without him. As long as Agnes was +at C----, he preferred spending his evenings with her to any party of +pleasure; and after he could no longer enjoy her society, and when he +began again to mingle in scenes of festivity, though sometimes betrayed +into excesses, he never was habitually dissipated. + +Mrs. Elwyn lingered on, becoming weaker and weaker, until, after Agnes +had been with her about six months, she perceived that she was failing +more rapidly, and at length was informed by the physician, that her +mother could live but very few days longer. Agnes hastily summoned Mr. +and Mrs. Wharton, who arrived only in time to witness the death-bed +scene. Just before her death, Mrs. Elwyn seemed to awake to a sudden +realization of the great mistakes of her life with regard to her son and +daughter. She seemed to see now, as clearly as others had seen all +along, the evils of her own management, and to trace the unhappy results +to their proper source. It was sad to hear her, when all too late to +remedy these evils, lament over "a wasted life--a worse than wasted +life;" and so, with words of remorse upon her lips, she, who had had +such power for good in her hands, passed away from earth. + +And Agnes returned to her uncle's house, leaving her brother at college. +As soon as she had taken a little time to recruit, and to consider, she +began to look about for a situation as governess, much against the +wishes of every member of her uncle's family, who would have considered +it a privilege to keep her always with them. About this time, a distant +relative of Mrs. Wharton's, a Mr. Fairland, in passing from his Western +home to the city, stopped to make them a visit. He was a plain, +kind-hearted man, and seemed to take a particular interest in Agnes, +with whose father and grandfather he had been intimately acquainted. Mr. +Fairland had made quite a fortune by successful speculation, in a large +Eastern city; but the extravagance of his wife and daughters, who were +not willing to be outdone in dress or establishment by any of their +neighbors, made such rapid inroads upon his newly-acquired wealth, that +Mr. Fairland soon became convinced that it was leaving him as rapidly as +it came. So he thought it the part of prudence to beat a retreat at +once; and, in spite of the tears and remonstrances of his wife and +eldest daughters, he removed the whole family to the beautiful village +of Wilston, near which place he owned some fine and flourishing mills. + +It was while speaking of his new home, and its many beauties, at Mr. +Wharton's breakfast table, that Mr. Fairland mentioned the only +drawback to his happiness there, which, he said, was the want of the +advantages of education for his younger children, who were running wild +without any instruction, as their mother was unwilling to allow them to +attend the village school. He had long been looking, he said, for a +governess for them--one who would bring them up with right habits and +principles, at the same time that she was instructing their minds. + +Agnes seized the first opportunity in which she could find Mr. Fairland +alone, to propose herself as governess to his children. This was more +than Mr. Fairland had dared to hope for, and her proposal was hailed by +him with gratitude and joy. He wished her to return immediately with +him; but Agnes had some preparations to make, and her uncle was not +willing to part with her quite yet: he promised, however, to bring her +himself in the course of a month. A serious illness, however, deranged +all Mr. Wharton's plans and as soon as he was able to travel, business +of the utmost importance called him to the city; so that Agnes, who +disliked to keep Mr. Fairland waiting for her any longer, wrote to him +when he might expect her, and, much against Mrs. Wharton's wishes, set +out alone in the stage for Wilston. + + + + +XIII. + +NEW SCENES FOR AGNES. + + "The stranger's heart! oh, wound it not! + A yearning anguish is its lot; + In the green shadow of the tree, + The stranger finds no rest with thee." + + +"And when may we expect to be favored with the presence of this paragon +of perfection, and embodiment of all wisdom, papa?" asked Miss Evelina +Fairland, with what was intended for the utmost girlish sprightliness of +manner; for, although it was only at breakfast, Miss Evelina never laid +aside her manner of extreme youth, as she thought it best to be +continually in practice. + +Her father answered quietly, that he expected Miss Elwyn by the +afternoon stage. + +"Is she one of these prim, _old-maidish_ governesses, like our poor old +Miss Pratt?" asked Miss Calista, a lady of something over thirty, and +rather the worse for twelve years' wear, in the way of balls and +parties, the theatre and the opera. Indeed, at the breakfast table, Miss +Calista looked considerably older than she really was, with her pale, +faded cheeks, and her hair "en papillottes;" but, in the afternoon, by +the use of a little artificial bloom, some cork-screw ringlets, and a +manner as gay and girlish as that of her sister, she appeared quite +another creature. + +To Miss Calista's question Mr. Fairland, with an amused pucker about the +mouth, answered: + +"Oh, I shall tell you nothing about her looks; you must wait and judge +for yourselves. There's one thing I will say, however. I suppose you +can't alter your looks, girls; but, as far as manners are concerned, I +wish very much that I could place my two eldest daughters under Miss +Elwyn's tuition." + +"Perhaps she will condescend to take a class, twice or three times a +week, in 'manners for six-pence,'" said the sprightly Miss Evelina. "I +should like to see Calista and myself curtseying, and walking, and +leaving and entering a room, as we used to be obliged to do for old Miss +Pratt. Wouldn't you, Calista?" + +"Let's see," said Mr. Fairland, whose reminiscences were not always of +the most agreeable nature to the young ladies--"let's see. How long is +it since you and C'listy _were_ under the care of Miss Pratt? I think it +must be nigh twenty years." + +"Twenty years, papa!--absurd!" shrieked Miss Calista; "why, you must be +losing your memory!" + +Now, if Mr. Fairland's daughters were touchy on the subject of their +_ages,_ their father was no less so on that of his _memory,_ as Miss +Calista well knew when she made the foregoing remark. + +"Losing my memory indeed, Miss C'listy! My memory is as sound as ever; +and, to prove it to you, I will inform you, that I shall be sixty-four +years old this coming August; and by the same token, you are just +exactly half my age; and if you don't believe it, you may just take a +look at the family record, in the big Bible." + +"C'listy's _scratched out her date,"_ said little Rosa, "and so has +Evelina." + +"Hold your tongue, you impertinent little minx!" said Miss Calista; "I +really hope the prinky old governess who is coming will be able to whip +a little manners into you. I really wonder you can allow the children to +be so pert, mamma!" + +The lady addressed as _"mamma"_ was the second wife of Mr. Fairland, a +rather handsome, but very languid lady of forty, who was sleepily +sipping her coffee during the foregoing conversation. Now, as Mrs. +Fairland did not look much older (perhaps not at all older, at the +breakfast table,) than the oldest of her step-daughters, the young +ladies quite prided themselves on so youthful a "mamma;" and when in +company, or at the various watering-places to which, in former tunes, +they had succeeded in dragging their parents, they hung round her, and +asked her permission to do this and that, with the most child-like +confidence in her judgment. + +This was by no means relished by the step-mother, who had no fancy for +matronizing daughters so nearly her own age, and who wished no less +fervently than the young ladies themselves, that something in the shape +of a husband would appear to carry each of them off. She never failed +after such a display of filial affection on their part to explain to +those near her; that the young ladies were her _step-daughters;_ and to +mention how odd it sounded to her when she was first married, to hear +those great girls as tall as herself, call her "mamma." + +It was a beautiful evening in the pleasant month of July, when Agnes +entered the lovely village of Wilston, and drove through its one long +street, to the spacious and rather showy dwelling of Mr. Fairland. Agnes +had heard much of the beauty of Wilston, but her heart was now so +oppressed with many agitating emotions, at the near prospect of the new +and strange scenes upon which she was about to enter in so new a +character, that not even the loveliness of the landscape, with its +variety of hill, and dale, and wood-land, on the one hand, and on the +other the peaceful lake tinged with crimson by the setting sun, had +power to win her attention. + +Yet we need not fear for Agnes, that in thus appearing in the character +of a governess, she will lose aught of her gentle dignity, or quiet +self-possession. Agnes was a _lady_ in every sense of the term, and +place her where you would, or under whatever circumstances, she would +invest her occupation with a dignity all her own, and make it honorable; +winning from all around her an involuntary respect and homage. Though +ever kind and amiable, and ready to oblige, she will never _cringe_ to +those who, by the favors of fortune, are placed for the time in +circumstances more prosperous than her own. Tried, she may be by their +arrogance, and airs of assumed superiority; but with the inward +conviction which in spite of her modesty she must possess, that in all +that is of real and true worth she is far above them, she will toil on +undisturbed in her vocation, anxious only to fulfil her duty towards +God, and toward those whom He has placed under her influence; and to +acquit herself well of the high responsibility resting upon her. + +Mr. Fairland met Agnes at the door, with his kind pleasant face, and +with both hands extended to give her a cordial welcome to his roof. Mrs. +Fairland rose languidly from her chair to receive the governess, and +gave her a ceremonious, and to Agnes a most chilling greeting. The young +ladies were out walking; but presently a troop of noisy children, who +from some part of the grounds where they were at play, had seen the +arrival of the stranger, came bursting rudely into the room. These, as +Agnes supposed, were her future pupils, and a most unpromising set they +at first sight appeared. + +The eldest, "Tiney," was a heavy, dull looking girl of about ten years +of age. Her eyes had no more brightness or expression in them than two +balls of lead, and her flabby colorless cheeks hung down each side of +her mouth, giving that feature much the expression of a bull-dog, while +a sullen fierceness about her face, increased the resemblance to that +animal. Her teeth, utterly unacquainted with the action of a brush, were +prominent, so that her lip seldom covered them, and her uncombed hair +hung rough and shaggy around her unattractive face. Agnes at once +guessed that this poor child was deficient in intellect, and unamiable +in temper. + +The next, _Rosa,_ was a wild, handsome little gipsey, with eyes as black +as jet, and as bright as diamonds, a brilliant color shining through her +sunburnt cheek, and with straight black hair, no better cared for than +her sister Tiney's. + +The third little girl, _Jessie,_ was very fair, with beautiful deep blue +eyes, and golden curling hair; but the curls were all in tangles, for no +one took the trouble to keep them in order, except on great occasions, +when the poor child was put to the torture of having it brushed and +combed, and laid in ringlets, which for the time were the special pride +of her mother. + +"You'll have enough to do, Miss Agnes, to tame all these rough +spirits," said Mr. Fairland, "they have been running wild ever since we +left the city, and a more rude and ungoverned set of little desperadoes, +it has never been your lot to meet with, I'll venture to say." And then +addressing them, he said, "come here, children, what do you stand there +gaping for, with your thumbs in your mouths, as if you had never seen +anybody before? Tiney! Rosa, you witch! Jess, my chicken! come up here +this minute, and speak to Miss Elwyn." + +But Tiney only pouted her ugly mouth and scowled; and Rosa, making a +sudden dart for her mother's chair, retreated behind it, peering out her +black eyes occasionally, to take a look at the stranger; while Jessie +ran and sprang into her father's lap, hiding her little tangled head on +his shoulder. And now a whooping and shouting made known the approach of +Master Frank, the son and heir, a young individual of about four years +of age, who, nothing daunted by the stranger's appearance, made for his +father's chair, and proceeded to dislodge his sister Jessie from her +seat, and to establish himself in her place. Jessie screamed, and +scratched, and pulled in vain. Frank, though younger, was much the +strongest, and the fight ended by the sudden descent of Miss Jessie to +the floor, and the ascension of Master Frank into the vacated place. + +"Be quiet now, will you, Frank, and speak to Miss Elwyn," said his +father. + +"Hallo! is that Miss Elwyn?" exclaimed Master Frank, aloud; "why, +C'lista said she was old and ugly." + +"Well, C'listy didn't know, did she?" said his father. + +"And Ev'lina said she'd train us well, and whip us, and shut us up, and +be awful cross all the time. She doesn't look like that, does she, +papa?" + +"No, she does not," said his father; "and I guess Evelina must have been +mistaken too." + +Agnes was all this time looking at Frank, very much amused, and laughing +quietly at the description which had been given of her to the children. + +"You think I do not look so very terrible, then, Master Frank," said +she; "do you think you will ever like me?" + +"I don't know," said Master Frank, boldly; "if you don't make me _mind,_ +I'll like you." + +"But she _is_ going to make you mind, Master Frank," said his father; +"and, do you know, I have promised Miss Elwyn that she shall do just +what she pleases with you all, and nobody shall interfere." + +"In _school hours,"_ said Agnes. + +"Yes, in school hours, and out of school hours, except when their mother +or I are present: they are always to obey you, Miss Elwyn. I wish that +to be understood in the family. But, my dear," said he to his wife, +"perhaps Miss Elwyn would like to change her dress before tea." + +Mrs. Fairland languidly directed Tiney to show Miss Elwyn to her room; +but the only notice taken of this command by Miss Tiney was a stupid, +sullen stare. Agnes had risen to leave the room; but perceiving that +Tiney did not stir, she turned, and putting out one hand toward Rosa, +said, in her own bright, winning way: + +_"This_ little black-eyed girl will show me the way, I'm sure." + +There was no resisting the gentle kindness of Agnes, and the confidence +of little Rosa was won immediately. Coming out from behind her mother's +chair, she put her hand in that of Agnes, and led her up stairs into a +large room, on the second floor, overlooking the beautiful lake. + +"What a very pleasant room!" said Agnes. "Is this to be mine?" + +"Yes," answered Rosa, who, having once found her tongue, showed that she +could make very rapid use of it when she chose--"and that bed is yours, +and that one is for me and Jessie." + +'"Jessie and _me_,' you mean, Rosa, do you not?" + +"I'm the _oldest_," answered Rosa. + +"I know that, Rosa; but recollect, whenever you speak of any _one_, no +matter who, in connection with yourself always to mention the other +person first. Will you remember that?" + +"Yes, I'll try," answered Rosa. She then proceeded to inform Agnes, that +her mamma had wished to give her a little room on the other side of the +hall, but papa said she should have this room, because it was so +pleasant, and he had heard her say that she was so fond of the water. + +"That was very kind of your papa," said Agnes; "and where does Tiney +sleep?" + +"Oh, Tiney sleeps with Susan, because she has fits, you know." + +_"Who_ has?--Susan?" asked Agnes. + +"No, Tiney has fits, and nobody likes to take care of her but papa and +Susan." + +Agnes was disappointed to find that she was not to have a room to +herself. "I came here to instruct these children," said she to herself, +"not to act in the capacity of nursery-maid. However, I will bear it +patiently for the present; perhaps I shall gain an influence over them, +by having them so constantly with me, that I could not acquire in any +other way. There is so much to be corrected in their habits and +language, besides their being so woefully ignorant!" + +Agnes continued talking pleasantly to little Rosa, while she was +dressing; and when they went down stairs, hand in hand, the very +pleasantest relations appeared to be established between them. + +"What shall we call you?" asked Rosa. + +"You may call me 'cousin Agnes,' if you choose," she answered, "and if +your papa and mamma are willing." + +"Oh, I shall like that!" said Rosa. + +Soon after Agnes and little Rosa re-entered the sitting-room, the Misses +Fairland returned from their walk. They were gayly and showily attired +in the very height of the fashion, and entered the door talking and +laughing very loudly; but when introduced to Miss Elwyn, they stopped +and opened their eyes in unaffected amazement. As Agnes rose with +graceful ease to meet them, looking so lovely in her deep mourning +dress, and with her rich waving chesnut hair, simply parted on her +forehead, and gathered in a knot behind, there was a most striking +contrast between her and the gaudily dressed, beflounced, and beflowered +ladies, who were fashionably and formally curtseying, and presenting her +the tips of their fingers. + +Though younger by some years than the youngest of the Miss Fairlands, +there was a dignified self-possession about Agnes, which was quite +astonishing to them. Though rather of the _hoyden-ish_ class themselves, +they could not fail at once to recognize the air of refinement which +marks the true lady, and while intending by their own appearance to +over-awe the new governess, they were so completely taken by surprise by +her perfect ease and composure of manner, that they alone appeared stiff +and awkward, and she unembarrassed and easy. + +And this was the prim old-maidish governess they had been expecting! +this fresh, blooming, lovely looking girl! It was by no means a pleasant +surprise to the Misses Fairland. However, she was nothing but a +_governess_ after all; and could easily be kept in the back ground; it +was to Be hoped she would know her place and keep it. + +The Misses Fairland made the mistake very common with persons of weak +mind, and little cultivation at that, and instead of judging of others +by their intrinsic worth, character, or intellect, formed their estimate +only by the outward circumstances in which they found them. Had this +same Agnes Elwyn come to make a visit to her far away cousins, in her +own carriage, and surrounded by external marks of wealth, they would +have been ready to fall down and worship her; but coming as a +_governess,_ and by the _stage,_ what notice could she expect from the +Misses Fairland! These young ladies had so often been made wretched, by +intentional slights from those in whose sphere they had aspired to move, +that they did not doubt Agnes would be rendered equally uncomfortable by +their own neglect. + +The tea-bell rang, and the Misses Fairland hastened to take off their +bonnets and soon re-appeared at the tea-table, where they took up the +entire conversation, telling of all they had heard and seen, in their +calls through the village. For like the ancient Athenians, these young +ladies literally "spent their time in nothing else, but to hear or to +tell of some new thing." + +In the midst of the conversation there was a sudden bustle, and Tiney +rose hastily from the table. Her father immediately left his chair, and +went round to her place, and took her by the arm. There was a ghastly +and disturbed look about poor Tiney's face, and an expression of +terrible malignity about her eye, and as she passed the chairs of her +little sisters, one screamed loudly and then the other, and when she +came near Agnes, it was with great difficulty that she too could resist +the inclination to scream with the pain, caused by a terrible pinch from +the fingers of Tiney, which left its mark upon her arm for many days. + +Mr. Fairland led the child from the room, and as the door closed after +them, Agnes heard a succession of the most piercing shrieks, as if all +the strength of the sufferer's lungs were expended upon each one. + +"Oh, dear! Susan is out, and your father will need assistance," said +Mrs. Fairland; "but really, these scenes have such an effect upon my +nerves, that I find it necessary to avoid them altogether." + +"And so do I," said Miss Calista, "indeed I always suffer with a severe +headache after them." + +"And they are so utterly disagreeable to me, to to be more candid than +either of you," said Miss Evelina, "that I always keep as far out of the +way as possible." + +"Can I be of any use?" asked Agnes, partly rising and looking towards +Mrs. Fairland. She would have followed poor Tiney and her father +immediately, but did not wish to appear to pry into that of which +nothing had been mentioned to her, and of which they might not like to +speak out of their own family. + +"Oh, do go, Miss Elwyn, if you have the _nerve,"_ said Mrs. Fairland. + +The reader knows enough of Agnes to feel assured that her _nerves_ were +never in the way, if opportunity offered to make herself useful to the +suffering; and the moment Mrs. Fairland answered her, she left the room, +and, guided by those still piercing shrieks, she passed through a long +hall, and entered a small bath-room, where she found Mr. Fairland +holding the struggling Tiney, who presented a shocking appearance. Her +face was now quite purple, and the white froth stood about her mouth; +and her father was holding both of her hands in one of his, to quiet her +frantic struggles. + +"Oh, bless you, Miss Agnes!" said Mr. Fairland, as soon as she opened +the door; "set that water running immediately till it is quite hot, and +take off this poor child's stockings and shoes. You see I can do +nothing." + +As quickly and as quietly as possible Agnes did as she was directed; and +then also, by Mr. Fairland's direction, took down a bottle of medicine, +always kept ready for this purpose in the bath-room, and dropped some of +it for him. In a few moments, the shrieks subsided to moans, as Tiney +lay with her head back on her father's shoulder. + +"Poor child!" said Mr. Fairland, wiping her lips and forehead, "she is a +dreadful sufferer." + +"Has she been so long?" asked Agnes. + +"Ever since her third year," answered Mr. Fairland, "though, at first, +the attacks were comparatively slight; but of late years they have grown +more and more severe. Her intellect, as you perhaps have already +noticed, is much weakened by them, and her temper, naturally very sweet, +is at times almost fiendish. It seems to be her great desire, while +suffering so intensely, to injure all within her reach." + +Agnes now understood the reason of the screams of the children, and also +of the pinch she had received as Tiney passed her chair. When poor +Tiney's moans had become more faint, Mr. Fairland said: + +"Agnes, will you sing? Music seems to soothe her more than anything +else, after the extreme suffering is over." + +Agnes sang, with her marvellously sweet voice, a simple air: presently +poor Tiney turned her head, and fixed her half-closed eyes on Agnes' +face. Then she said, from time to time, in a dreamy way, +"Pretty!--sweet! Sing more;" and then she lay perfectly quiet, and soon +fell into a gentle slumber. Often and often, after that, when poor Tiney +was seized with these excruciating attacks, as soon as the first intense +suffering was over, she would say, "Cousin Agnes, sing!" and, from the +time she heard the gentle tones of Agnes' voice, she would be quiet and +gentle as a lamb. The effect could be likened to nothing but the calming +of the evil spirit which possessed the monarch of Israel, by the tones +of the sweet harp of David. + + + + +XIV. + +THE SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING. + + "Scatter diligently, in susceptible minds, + The germs of the good and beautiful, + They will develop there to trees, bud, bloom, + And bear the golden fruit of paradise." + + +Agnes found it no easy task to bring into training minds so ignorant and +so utterly undisciplined as those of her little pupils. Left entirely to +themselves, as they had been for many months, with a mother too indolent +to trouble herself about any systematic plan of government, and a father +too easy and good-natured to carry out the many plans he was ever +forming for their "breaking in;" scolded and fretted at by their older +sisters, to whom they were perfect torments; by turns playing +harmoniously, and then quarrelling most vigorously,--they roamed the +house and grounds, doing mischief everywhere, and bringing wrath upon +their heads at every turn. + +With a perfect horror of anything like _study_, they had expected with +great dread the arrival of a governess, as putting a final stop to all +their fun and freedom. This dread had been in nowise diminished by the +constant remarks of their older sisters upon governesses in the +abstract, and their own expected governess in particular. One evening +with Agnes served to dispel the horror, so far as she was concerned, +though the dread of books was still as great as ever. Before the evening +was over, Agnes had them all round her, as she sat on the sofa, telling +them beautiful stories, and asking them questions. + +"Have you any pretty flowers in the woods about here?" she asked. + +"Oh, lots!" answered Rosa; "yellow flowers, and blue flowers, and white +flowers." + +"Then if you would like to learn something of Botany, so as to know the +names of all these beautiful flowers, we will take many pleasant +rambles in the woods, and gather the lovely wild flowers, and I will +teach you how to press them." + +"But we haven't got any _Botany books_," said little Jessie. + +"Oh, I think we shall not need any _books_, for all the Botany I shall +teach you, Jessie; and if we do, we will take the leaves of the flowers +for the leaves of the books, and the flowers themselves for the +pictures. Do you not think we can make beautiful books that way? Jessie, +can you read?" + +"_I_ can!" said Rosa, while Jessie hung her curly head. + +"And can you _write_, Rosa?" + +"No. I can make straight marks," answered Rosa. + +"And what can you do, Master Frank?" + +"Oh, Frank doesn't know anything?" said Jessie. "He did know his ABC's +once, but he's forgot them all." + +"Take care, Miss Jessie, that he does not read before you," said Agnes. +"Your papa says we are to take the west wing for our school-room; you +must show me where it is, and after a day or to get in order, and to +make each other's acquaintance, we will begin school in earnest." + +The next morning Agnes took the toilettes of her two little room-mates +under her care, and when they appeared at the breakfast-table, the rest +of the family hardly knew them, they looked so tidy and sweet. And poor +Tiney, who gazed with astonishment at her two little sisters, made her +appearance at Agnes' door soon after breakfast, to ask "if she wouldn't +make _her_ look nice too." + +Agnes found so little to sympathise with, and took so little pleasure in +the society of the ladies of the Fairland family, that she longed for +her school to begin, that she might have useful occupation for her +thoughts and time. On the appointed morning therefore, she was well +pleased to meet her little pupils in the pleasant little room in the +"west wing," and to begin in earnest her labors as a teacher. Such a +pile of soiled, well-thumbed, and dogs-eared books, as the children +produced, Agnes had never seen together, and on opening them she found +that the young Fairland's had been exercising their taste for the fine +arts, by daubing all the pictures from a six-penny paint-box. + +"Now, my dear children," said she, "the first thing we shall do every +morning, will be to read in the Bible; but I do not see any Bible or +Testament among your books; I suppose you each own one, do you not?" + +If Agnes had been a little longer in the family of Mr. Fairland, perhaps +she would not have asked this question; for she soon found that she had +come into a family of as complete heathens, as she would have found if +she had gone to be governess among the Hindoos. There was a "family +Bible" in the house to be sure, but the only use to which it had ever +been applied, was that of registering the births of the family, and the +testimony it bore proved so exceedingly disagreeable to the Misses +Fairland, that as Rosa has informed us, they took the liberty one day of +erasing it. + +Agnes told the children to ask their papa if they might each have a +Bible of their own, to which he consented, and when the Bibles were +brought home, the exclamations of derision from the Misses Fairland, +were loud and long. + +"A missionary in disguise!" they exclaimed; "a saint in the form of a +governess; come to convert us all, and the first thing is an importation +of Bibles!" and many were the sneering and sarcastic remarks and +allusions which came to the ears of Agnes, but she kept on her way quiet +and undisturbed. Agnes was perfectly astonished to find how utterly +unacquainted these children were with the contents of the Bible. It was +all new to them; and after she had read to them every morning, she would +gather them around her, and tell them in simple language the sweet +stories from the Bible, while they listened, the younger ones with their +bright, wide-open eyes fixed upon her face, as if they could not lose a +word; and even poor Tiney loved to lay her head in Agnes' lap, and hear +of Him who ever sympathised with the sick and suffering. + +It was very strange, and very interesting to Agnes, to hear the remarks +these children made, and the many questions they would ask on subjects +so new to them; and as they had not yet learned to look at the character +of God, as revealed in his Son, with the reverence which better +instructed children feel, they often spoke of Him as they would of any +good man of whom they might hear, and in a way which would seem too +irreverential, were I to tell you all they said. + +Once when Agnes had been telling them of some of the miracles of our +Saviour, in curing the sick, and giving sight to the blind, and hearing +to the deaf, Rosa with her bright black eyes fixed intently on her face, +said with the utmost earnestness: + +"Why, He was real _good_, wasn't He?" + +"Yes," said Agnes, "always good and kind, and always ready to help the +sick and suffering." + +"He could cure _anybody_, couldn't He?" continued Rosa. + +"Yes; He was _all-powerful_," answered Agnes. + +"Could He cure Tiney?" asked Jessie. + +"Yes; if Tiney had lived when Christ was on earth, or if He was here +now, He could say the word, and make her well." + +And then they asked, "Where is He now?" and "How can we talk to Him +now?" and "Why will He not cure Tiney now?" And Agnes tried, in the most +simple manner, to teach them the nature of the prayer of faith. + +Once, when she was talking to them of our Saviour's meekness under +injuries, and telling them of His bitter sufferings, and the kindness of +His feelings towards His persecutors, the large tears rolled down their +cheeks, and Rosa made a practical application of the lesson at once, by +saying: + +"The next time Tiney pinches me, cousin Agnes, I don't mean to slap her +back again." + +"Nor I either," said Jessie. + +And Tiney whispered, "I will _try_ and not hurt them next time." + +Frank, who had been choking down something in his throat, as he sat in +his chair, said, in an unsteady voice: + +"_Is it all _true_?" + +"Every word of it, Franky," said Agnes. + +"I've got something in my eye," said Frank, rubbing both eyes very hard +with the back of his hands; and then throwing himself on the settee, he +cried bitterly for a long time. + +Agnes taught them many pretty hymns; and as they all had good voices, +and loved music dearly, they were never so happy as in singing, morning +and evening, these sweet hymns with Agnes. Even poor Tiney, who was +passionately fond of music, readily caught the tunes, though it was +almost impossible to teach her the words. + +The very first Sunday that Agnes passed under the roof of Mr. Fairland, +was enough to convince her that the Sabbath day with them was passed +much like all other days. She was shocked to see novels, and other light +and trashy works, in the Lands of the Misses Fairland on this holy day, +and to hear them _howling_ snatches of opera tunes, as they ran up and +down the stairs. These young ladies sometimes went to church in the +morning, to be sure, especially if they had lately received new bonnets +from the city, which they wished to display for the envy or admiration +of their neighbors. Mrs. Fairland was too indolent to take the trouble, +even if she possessed the inclination, to appear at church; and Mr. +Fairland looked upon this seventh day of the week literally as a day of +rest, in which to recruit the exhausted energies of the body, in +preparation for the labors of another week. The day was passed by him in +looking over the newspapers, or sleeping in his large chair, with his +red silk handkerchief over his head; and towards evening, he usually +took a stroll over to his mills, or around his grounds, to mark out what +was necessary to be done on the coming week. + +Agnes felt the importance of exerting in this ungodly family a strictly +religious influence; but, except with her own little pupils, she did not +attempt, at first, to do so in any other way than by her own quiet, +consistent example. Mr. Fairland was much surprised when Agnes requested +permission to take the children to church with her he readily granted +it, however, as he invariably did the wishes of Agnes; and from that +time, Mr. Fairland's pew had at least four or five occupants, on the +morning and evening of the Sabbath day. Though not required by her +engagement to do so, Agnes kept the children with her on Sunday, reading +to them, singing with them, or telling them beautiful Bible stories; and +those pleasant Sabbaths spent with her they never forgot, nor did they +ever lay aside the habits they acquired under her care. + +"What a pleasant day Sunday is!" exclaimed little Rosa; "I never knew it +was such a pleasant day before." + +"It's cousin Agnes makes it so pleasant," said blue-eyed Jessie. + +"It is because you spend it as God directs, that it is a pleasant day to +you, dear children," said Agnes; "and I wish you to remember that it +will always be a happy day, if you spend it in His service, 'from the +beginning unto the end thereof.'" + +Even if I were sufficiently acquainted with them to detail all the +plans of Agnes for the education and improvement in manners and habits +of her rude and ignorant little pupils, I should not do so here. They +required peculiar training and an unfailing stock of patience, and it +was long before any very perceptible change was wrought in their almost +confirmed habits of carelessness, or any improvement in their rude and +unformed manners; but at length a material change was apparent, and even +the Misses Fairland could not keep their eyes closed to the visible +improvement of the children. They were all much more gentle and quiet; +and even poor Tiney softened much, under Agnes' gentle influence, and +the light of intelligence began to beam in her heretofore dull eye. For +the first time in her life, she was gaining useful ideas; and the +consciousness that she was learning something as well as her sisters, +seemed to make her happier and more kindly in her feelings. + +It was not long before the door would open gently, as the sound of their +evening hymn was heard, and Mr. Fairland, who was extravagantly fond of +sweet and simple music, would steal into the room, and seat himself in +the corner. And when he heard the voices of his children singing the +praises of God, and saw his poor Tiney, hitherto so neglected, joining +with eager interest in the singing, the tears would glisten in his eye, +and roll unbidden down his cheek. Then he began to find his way to the +school-room on Sunday evenings, and Agnes always took the opportunity on +such occasions, to question the children on the elements of religious +truth, that their young voices might be the means of instructing their +father, who was more ignorant even than they, on these all-important +subjects. At these times he never said one word, but when he left the +room, it was often wiping the tears first, from one cheek and then from +the other, and the heavy tread of his feet could be heard far into the +night, as he walked the whole length of the two large parlors, with his +hands behind him, and his head bent down. Before Agnes had been six +months in the family, the good people sitting in the church at Wilston, +one Sunday, opened their eyes with astonishment, to see Mr. Fairland +walk into church and take his seat in a pew; and still more were they +amazed, to see him do the same thing in the afternoon. It was a surprise +to Agnes too; for though she had not failed to notice an unusual +solemnity about Mr. Fairland, yet no word on the subject of his duty in +this matter had ever passed between them. + +Thus in the strict and conscientious performance of her daily duties, +passed the summer with Agnes, with one delightful break, of a +fortnight's vacation, spent with the dear loving friends at Brook Farm, +where she saw much of her dear brother Lewie, who rode over every +evening and passed the night, returning to his college duties early in +the morning. The quick eye of a sister's love soon detected that all was +not right with Lewie. He was as affectionate as ever, and if possible +handsomer; but the faults of his childhood had grown with his growth and +strengthened with his strength; his temper seemed more hasty and +impetuous than ever, and there was a dashing recklessness about him +which gave his sister many a heart-ache; and she had painful, though +undefined fears for the future, for her rash and hot-headed brother. + +Her kind friends at Brook Farm, who fancied from some things they drew +from Agnes, that her home at the Fairlands' was not in all respects a +happy one, urged her most earnestly not to return there, but without +success. Agnes was convinced that there the path of duty lay, at least +for the present, and nothing could make her swerve from it. + +"Remember then, my sweet niece," said her uncle, as he kissed her at +parting, "this is your home, whenever, for any reason, you will make us +so happy as to return to it." + +The winter passed by very quietly to Agnes, in her accustomed round of +duties; indeed she was happier than she had yet found herself under Mr. +Fairland's roof, in consequence of the absence of the two young ladies, +who having by some means or other succeeded in securing an invitation +out of some acquaintances in the city, to make them a short visit, +inflicted themselves upon them for the whole winter, and did not return +to Wilston till the spring was far advanced. Their hosts, in order to +rid themselves of such persevering and long-abiding guests, began to +make their preparations long before the usual time for closing their +house and going to the country, and the Misses Fairland, invulnerable as +they proved all winter to anything like a _hint_, were obliged to take +this intended removal of their friends as a "notice to quit," which they +accordingly did. + +One bright spot to Agnes this winter, was a visit of a week from Lewie, +who took his vacation at the time of the holidays to run up and see his +sister. + +He had his guitar with him, and his voice, which had gained much in +depth and richness, was indescribably sweet. It seemed as if Mr. +Fairland never would tire of hearing the brother and sister sing +together. His mills and everything else were forgotten, while he sat +silently in his great chair with his eyes closed, listening hour after +hour to the blended harmony of their charming voices. + +That happy week was soon over, and the brother and sister parted. The +next time Agnes heard the sound of her brother's guitar, under what +different circumstances did its tones strike upon her ear! + + + + +XV. + +The Strangers in the Rookery. + + "If thou sleep alone in Urrard, + Perchance in midnight gloom + Thou'lt hear behind the wainscot + Sounds in that haunted room, + It is a thought of horror, + I would not sleep alone + In the haunted room of Urrard, + Where evil deeds are done." + + --UNKNOWN. + + +"What do you think, Calista? What _do_ you think?" exclaimed Miss +Evelina Fairland, one day soon after their return from the city, +bursting in, in a great state of excitement. "Two of the _handsomest_ +men have come to the village, one of them is a Mr. Harrington; isn't it +a lovely name? and he has purchased "_the Rookery_" do you believe! some +say that he is a young man, others that he is a widower. They have come +down to hunt and fish, and he was mightily taken with "the Rookery," +and in spite of ghosts and goblins he has actually bought it;" and here +Miss Evelina paused to take breath. + +"The Rookery" was a large old mansion which had once been a very +handsome dwelling. It stood quite alone on a rising ground a little out +of the village, and was surrounded with an extensive lawn, which on one +side sloped down the lake, over which were scattered magnificent elms; +and there was only one thing that prevented "the Rookery" from being the +most delightful residence in the country. This was the well-attested +fact that the house was haunted; and though at different times, those +who were above being influenced by these idle fears, had fitted up the +place and endeavored to live there, yet there could be no comfort in so +large a house without servants, and not one could be found to remain in +it more than one night. Servants were brought from a distance, but they +soon heard in the village the story of the lady who died so mysteriously +in that house twenty years before, and how she _walked_ every night, +and then of course they heard sounds, and saw sights; and they too, +forthwith took their departure. + +So the old house was quite falling into decay when these two brave men +came down and took possession of it; and fitting up comfortably two or +three of the most tenantable rooms, they there kept bachelors' hall, +unterrified and undisturbed, at least by _spirits_. A few days after the +announcement of the arrival of the strangers in the village, a widow +lady of the name of Danby came to make a visit to the Fairland's. She +had with her a little girl, her only child, a wilful, spoiled little +thing, who took her own course in everything, utterly regardless of the +wishes or commands of others. In the afternoon, as Agnes was preparing +to start with her little pupils for their accustomed walk, Mrs. Danby +said: + +"Bella wishes to accompany you, Miss Elwyn, but you must take good care +of her." + +"I will do my best, Mrs. Danby," said Agnes, "but one thing I shall +insist upon, and that is, that Bella shall obey me as my own little +scholars do." + +Miss Bella was not at all pleased with the idea of obeying any one, and +so she was continually showing off her independent airs as they walked, +hiding behind trees, describing eccentric circles around the rest of the +party, or darting off in tangents. At length she became so troublesome, +that Agnes determined to shorten their walk, and turned to retrace their +steps; at this Miss Bella was highly indignant, and declared "that she +would not go back, she would go on, down there by the water." + +They were at this time near an open space, which reached to the water, +at the end of which was a dock, for the convenience of those who wished +to go out upon the lake in boats. Agnes endeavored to detain the wilful +child, but she suddenly pulled away from her, and started like the wind +for the dock. Agnes called, and the children screamed, in vain; faster +and faster ran the little witch, still looking behind every moment to +see if she was pursued, till at length she tripped over a log, and fell +far out into the water. Agnes clasped her hands in speechless terror, +while the cries of the children were loud and agonizing. Just then a +boat in which were two gentlemen rounded a point of land near them, and +made rapidly for the struggling child, who in another moment was lifted +into the boat, and handed up to the arms of Agnes. + +Agnes was too much agitated to take particular notice of these +strangers, but taking off her shawl she wrapped the dripping child in +it, while one of her preservers carried her into a cottage near by, +Agnes and the still weeping children following. When the child was +placed in the kind woman's bed, and little Rosa was sent home to ask +Susan for some clothes to put on her, with special directions not to +alarm Mrs. Danby, Agnes returned to the sitting-room of the cottage, to +thank the strangers who had so opportunely come to their assistance, +when what was her astonishment to find that one of them was her old +friend, Tom Wharton. + +"And you knew I was in town, Mr. Wharton, and have been here three or +four days without coming to see me," said she. + +"Oh! you know I don't do things just like other people," answered Tom; +"and to tell the truth, though I have no fear of ghosts and hobgoblins, +I have not yet had the courage to face two famous man-hunters, who I +hear reside under the same roof with you, Agnes. But it is time I should +introduce you to my friend Mr. Harrington, the present proprietor of +"the Rookery," together with all the spirits, black and white, red and +grey, who are the inhabitants thereof." + +Agnes was glad to meet Mr. Harrington, of whom she had often heard her +uncle speak in terms of great admiration, as an accomplished gentleman +and a Christian; and one who used the large property he had inherited in +deeds of benevolence and usefulness. They had been for some time in +conversation about the friends at Brook Farm, from whom the two +gentlemen had lately parted, when little Rosa returned. + +Rosa found that her older sisters and Mrs. Danby had gone out for a +walk; so it was a very easy matter to get some dry clothes for Bella, +and bring her safe home before her mother heard of the accident. What +was the surprise of the Misses Fairland, as, in coming down the street, +they saw Agnes returning, accompanied by one of the handsome strangers +whose acquaintance they had been "dying" to make; while the other +followed, carrying little Bella Danby in his arms. A few words sufficed +to tell the story of the accident, and to introduce the strangers, who, +with the utmost cordiality, were urged to come in; an invitation which +was unhesitatingly accepted by Mr. Harrington, and rather reluctantly by +Mr. Tom Wharton. Mrs. Danby, pale and agitated, took her little darling +in her arms, and hurried to her own room, there to administer certain +restoratives, and, much against the young lady's will, to place her +again in bed. + +Mr. Harrington, having now gained the _entree_ to Mr. Fairland's house, +seemed inclined to be a frequent visitor, much to the gratification of +the ladies Calista and Evelina, who laid siege to him right and left. If +my reader possessed the key to Mr. Harrington's real object in coming to +Wilston, perhaps he would be as much amused as the gentleman himself at +the efforts, so exceedingly apparent, to gain for one of them possession +of his hand and fortune; for that Mr. Harrington was wealthy, they were +well assured. They each kept out a _hook_, too, for Mr. Tom Wharton, in +case the other was successful in taking the more valuable prey; but the +bait was by no means tempting to Mr. Tom, who darted off, leaving his +friend, unsupported and alone, to resist the attacks of these practised, +but hitherto unsuccessful anglers. + +"Well, Harrington," said Mr. Tom Wharton to his friend one day, "since +your object in bringing me down here with you is accomplished, I must +now leave you to your fate. What that may be, in the midst of attacks +from spirits by night, and from more substantial persecutors by day, I +cannot divine; but if there is anything left of you, I shall hope to +see you in the city before long, and to hear the account you have to +give of yourself." + +"I thank you for your services thus far, my dear friend," said Mr. +Harrington; "still, I think it would be the part of disinterested +friendship to stay and help me a little longer." + +"I can't--I can't stand it, Harrington. _You_ may be able to bear it +better; but I'm not used to this sort of thing, and I don't know how to +get along with it at all. Your case is a hard one, I acknowledge, my +friend; but having some business of my own to attend to, I must leave +you to fight out your own battles." And Mr. Tom Wharton, resolutely +closed his ears to his friend's appeals, and took his departure. + +A beautiful little boat which Mr. Harrington had ordered from the city +having arrived, he called, one afternoon, at Mr. Fairland's, to ask the +ladies if they would take a sail with him upon the lake. Most eagerly +the Misses Fairland consented, and were leaving the room to prepare to +go, when Mr. Harrington turned to Agnes, who happened to be in the +room, and said: + +"May I not hope for the pleasure of Miss Elwyn's company too?" Upon +which Miss Evelina, with a childishly-confidential air, raised herself +on tiptoe, and whispered in his ear: + +"It is not _at all_ necessary to ask her: we never feel obliged to, I +assure you. She is only _governess to the children_." + +But Mr. Harrington renewed his invitation, which Agnes had respectfully +declined, when Mr. Fairland entered the room, and Mr. Harrington +appealed to him. + +"Go? Certainly Agnes must go; she has never been on the lake in a +sail-boat, and I have often heard her say she would delight to go. Come, +Agnes! put on your things without a word, and go along." + +Thus urged, Agnes consented to go, though she felt a little +uncomfortable at the silent displeasure of the Misses Fairland. There +was a pleasant breeze, and the little boat flew like a bird over the +dancing waves. Agnes, a devoted admirer of nature, was in an ecstasy +which she could not conceal, as one beautiful view succeeded another +during their sail up the lake; but the other ladies were so much +occupied in trying the effect of _art_, that they had no eye for the +beauties of _nature_. The breeze soon died away, leaving them far from +home, and Mr. Harrington was obliged to take to his oars; and long +before the village was in sight, the gentle moon had begun her walk +through "golden gates," throwing across the water a brilliant column of +light, sparkling and dancing in glorious beauty on the gentle ripples of +the lake. + +"Now is the time for music," said Mr. Harrington; "for truly + + 'Music sounds the sweetest + Over the rippling waves.'" + +But for once the Misses Fairland were obliged to relinquish the +opportunity of charming by their united voices; the only music in which +they were practised, and which they thought worth listening to, being of +the flourishing, trilling, running, quavering, shrieking kind; and this +they could not attempt without their "notes" and the "instrument." Mr. +Harrington then proposed to Agnes to sing some sweet old-fashioned airs; +and laying down his oars, he took a seat beside her, and joined his rich +tenor to the strangely-melodious tones of her voice; and as the harmony +floated over the water, it seemed almost like the music of heaven. This +was a state of things by no means agreeable to the two neglected ladies +in the other end of the boat, and Miss Calista began to be afraid of the +night air, and Miss Evelina was taken with a hacking cough; so that Mr. +Harrington was obliged to resume his oars, and row them rapidly to the +village. + +Mr. Harrington consented to moor his boat, and accompany the ladies up +to the house to tea. Anxious to try the effect of their own +accomplishments, the Misses Fairland, soon after tea, led the +conversation to the subject of music, and were easily persuaded to +attempt, with the "notes" and "instrument," some of their favorite +songs. And now began a flourishing and screaming unparalleled in the +annals of music. Miss Calista screamed, "I love only thee!" and then +Miss Evelina shrieked, "I love only thee!" and then Miss Calista trilled +it--and Miss Evelina howled it--and Miss Calista quavered it--and Miss +Evelina ran it--and then one of them started on it, and the other ran +and caught up with her--and then one burred for some time on +thee-e-e-e-e, while the other ran up and down, still asserting as +rapidly as possible, and insisting boldly, and stoutly asseverating, "I +love only thee!"--and then, with a combined shriek, they made known the +fact once more and finally, and then the ears of their hearers were +allowed to rest. + +"Now, girls, if you have done with that clatter," said Mr. Fairland, "I +want Agnes to sing for _me_ one of those sweet old Scotch songs; it will +be quite refreshing after all this screeching." + +"Oh!" said Miss Calista, rising from the instrument, and casting up her +eyes at Mr. Harrington, "my dear old papa has the _oddest, +old-fashioned_ taste!" + +But as soon as Agnes began to sing, it seemed as if Mr. Harrington's +taste was quite as "odd" and "old-fashioned" as that of the "dear old +papa" himself; for he was guilty of the impropriety of not hearing what +Miss Evelina was saying to him, and soon rose and took his stand by the +piano, where he showed very plainly that he had no ear for any other +sound than that of Agnes' voice. + +Agnes went to bed with some very pleasant thoughts that night; for, +though tongues may be silent, _eyes_ can tell their story very soon; and +it _is_ a pleasant thing to find one's self an object of interest to +some noble heart; and particularly grateful was it to Agnes, in her +present lonely, toiling life. And she needed all the inward peace and +comfort she possessed, to enable her to bear the increased ill-nature of +Mrs. Fairland and her daughters; for the "mamma" was no less displeased +than the young ladies themselves at the prospect of the failure of one +of their cherished plans. + +And now, when Mr. Harrington called, there was generally some excuse +contrived for sending Agnes from the room, and for keeping her busy in +some other part of the house; and though Agnes was indignant at this +evident desire to get her out of the way, by putting upon her labor +which they had no right to require of her, yet, at the time, and in Mr. +Harrington's presence, she would not contest the point, but quietly left +the room. This never happened, however, when Mr. Fairland was present, +as the good man, if he had fully seen through all the plans of his wife +and daughters, could not have discomfited them more surely than he +always contrived to do. + +In the meantime, the ladies Calista and Evelina never for a moment +relaxed their efforts, or ceased to practise their arts, upon the +wealthy and agreeable stranger. + +"How _charming_ your place must her Mr. Harrington!" said Miss Evelina +one evening; "I do delight in these old haunted mansions; there is +something so delightfully romantic about them." + +"And have you really heard any of these strange noises at night?" asked +Miss Calista. + +"Noises?--enough of them," he answered; "I have sometimes been so +disturbed, that I could not sleep at all." + +"And what _did_ you do?" asked the young ladies in a breath, their eyes +dilating with horror. + +"Why, in the first place," said Mr. Harrington, "I bought a _terrier_, +and in the next a large _rat-trap_; and by means of both, I succeed in +laying several of the spirits every night, and have strong hopes that, +before long, perfect quiet will be restored to the haunted mansion." + +Then calling Jessie, who was in the room, to his side, Mr. Harrington +took her in his lap, and said: + +"You remind me very much of a little blue-eyed, flaxen-haired girl I +have in the city." + +"Why, have you a little girl?" Mr. Harrington, asked the young ladies. + +"Yes, two of them," he answered. + +"Oh, how I _doat_ on children!" exclaimed Miss Calista. + +"Cousin Agnes, what is the meaning of _doat_?" screamed Master Frank, +running up to Agnes, who just then entered the room. + +"What is it to _doat_ on any one?" + +"It is to love them very dearly;" answered Agnes quietly. + +"Ho! C'listy says she _doats_ on children--she doats on us, don't she +Rosa?" and Master Frank laughed such a laugh of derision, that Mr. +Harrington was obliged to say something very funny to little Jessie, who +was still sitting on his knee, in order to have an excuse for laughing +too. + +Miss Calista fairly trembled with concealed rage, and soon succeeded in +having Master Frank sent off to bed. Indeed, Frank was the cause of so +much mortification to Miss Calista, that she would gladly have banished +him too from the parlor, but he was lawless, and no one in the house +could do anything with him but Agnes. + +Mr. Harrington was very fond of children, and often had long +conversations with little Frank, whose bold, independent manners seemed +to please him much. One evening when he was talking to him, Frank said: + +"Mr. Harrington I'm saving up my money to buy a boat just like yours." + +"You are, hey, Frank? and how much have you got towards it?" asked Mr. +Harrington. + +"Oh! I've got two sixpences, and a shilling, and three pennies;" said +Frank. "I keep all my money in a china-box, one of C'listy's boxes she +used to keep her red paint in; _this_, you know!" touching each cheek +with his finger. + +This was too much for Miss Calista; she rushed from the room, and vented +her indignation in a burst of angry tears, and the next time she met +Master Frank, she gave him a slap upon his cheek, which made it a deeper +crimson than the application of her own paint would have done. All these +slights and mortifications were revenged upon poor Agnes, who would +gladly have left a place where she was so thoroughly uncomfortable; but +the thought of the children, to whom she had become attached, and who +seemed now to be rewarding her pains and trouble by their rapid +improvement, deterred her from taking a step which should separate her +from them forever. Poor Tiney too, who seemed rapidly failing under the +power of disease, and who clung to her so fondly, how could she leave +her? + + + + +XVI. + +Death and the Fugitive. + + "She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer, + Apart she sighed; alone, she shed the tear, + Then, as if breaking from a cloud she gave + Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave." + + --CRABBE. + + +One summer night, Agnes, who had been up till very late, soothing and +quieting poor Tiney, and had at last succeeded in singing her to sleep, +left her in Susan's care, and returned to her own room. It was a lovely, +warm, moonlight evening, and Agnes stood by her raised window, watching +the shadows of the tall trees which were thrown with such vivid +distinctness across the gravel walks and the closely trimmed lawn, and +thinking of a pleasant walk she had taken that day, and of some one who +joined her, (as was by no means unusual,) on her return from the woods +with the younger children. + +Suddenly her reverie was broken by the sound of a few chords struck very +lightly and softly upon a guitar. The sound came from the clump of +trees, the shadows of which Agnes had just been admiring; and she +supposed they were the prelude to a serenade. Her heart whispered to her +who the musician might be, for though she had never heard him, with whom +her thoughts had been busy, touch the guitar, yet with his ardent love +for music, she did not doubt that he might if he chose, accompany his +rich voice upon so simple an instrument. + +But now the blood which had crimsoned her cheek flowed back tumultuously +to her heart, as she heard a voice she could not mistake, humming very +softly the notes of a sad and touching air, which she and Lewie had +often sung together. This plaintive singer could be no other than her +brother. But why here, at night, and in this clandestine manner, +evidently trying to win her attention, without arousing that of others? +The house seemed quiet: and Agnes, throwing a shawl about her, quickly +descended the stairs, and, quietly opening a side door, crossed the +lawn, and in another moment stood beside her brother, under the shade of +the tall old elms. + +"Lewie! is it indeed you?" + +He made no answer, he said not one word, but, drawing Agnes to a seat +under one of the trees, he seated himself beside her, and laying his +head upon her shoulder, he was quiet for a few moments; and then Agnes +felt his frame tremble with sudden emotion, and heard a deep sob. + +"Lewie! my brother! do speak to me! What is it? Do not keep me in +suspense! What dreadful thing has happened?" + +"Agnes," said he, with a sudden and forced calmness, the words coming +slowly from between his white, stiffened lips--"Agnes, it is--_murder_!" + +Agnes did not scream--she did not faint--forgetfulness for a moment +would have been a relief. In a flash she had comprehended it all. + +"Lewie," said she, "is there blood upon this hand?" + +"Agnes, it is true; your brother is a murderer! No less a murderer, +because the blow was struck in the heat of sudden passion, and when the +brain was inflamed with wine; and no less a murderer, because it was +repented of the moment given, and before the fatal consequences were +suspected. My sister, I am a fugitive and a wanderer, hunted by the +officers of justice, and doomed to the prison or the gallows." + +It seemed to Agnes like a fearful dream! It was too dreadful to be true! +The thought crossed her mind, perhaps it _is_ a dream; she had had +dreams as vivid, and had awakened with such a blessed feeling of relief. +But no! she clasped Lewie's cold hand in hers, and felt assured it was +all reality. For a few moments she could only bury her face in her +hands, and rock to and fro and groan. She was aroused from this state of +agonized feeling by Lewie, who said: + +"And now, what shall I do, Agnes? I have come all this way on foot, and +at night, to see you once more, and to ask you what I should do? Oh that +I had been more willing to follow your gentle guidance before, sweet +sister!--but I have followed nothing but the dictates of my own +ungoverned passions. Shall I try to escape, or shall I give myself up +for trial? On my word, Agnes, I am not a murderer by intention. I was +excited; something was said which tried my quick temper; I answered with +a burst of sudden passion; more taunting words followed; and, quicker +than the lightning's flash, I had dealt the blow which laid my +class-mate dead at my feet I was sobered in one moment; and oh, Agnes! +what, _what_ would I not have given to restore my murdered friend to +life!--not for my own sake; for I never thought of myself till urged by +my terror-stricken companions to fly. Then I thought of my own safety; +and, my darling sister, I thought of you, and determined that you should +hear of your brother's disgrace and crime from no lips but his own. I +have been hanging about here all day, but could not see you; and +finding no other way to call your attention, I borrowed this guitar at +the tavern, and have been watching from these trees, till I saw a white +form at a window, which I knew was yours. Now, Agnes, what shall I do?" + +"Oh, Lewie, what can I say but _fly_, and save yourself from an +ignominious fate! It may not be right counsel; but how can a sister +advise otherwise? My poor, poor brother!" And Agnes was relieved by a +passionate burst of tears. And now came the time for parting. He must +go, for they would be likely to seek him in the home of his only +sister,--he must go quickly and quietly;--and, with a few hurried words, +in which his sister commended him to God, and entreated him to go to +_Him_ for pardon and peace, and with one last fond embrace, they parted. +Agnes returned to the house with feeble, staggering steps, stricken to +the very heart. + +No sleep visited the eyes of Agnes that night; and when she appeared in +the breakfast room the following morning, her pale and haggard +countenance showed marks of extreme suffering, which should have been +respected even by the Misses Fairland. But no! their quick ears had also +caught the tones of the guitar, and rushing to a window on that side of +the house, in the expectation of a serenade, they had seen Agnes as she +crossed the lawn, and returned again to the house. Here was food for +conjecture, and jealousy for the suspicious ladies, and they had long +been awaiting the arrival of Agnes in the breakfast room, hoping to have +the mystery cleared up. + +"May we be informed, Miss Elwyn," began Miss Calista, "how long you have +been in the habit of receiving signals from lovers, and stealing out at +night to give them clandestine meetings in the grove?" + +A bright blush suffused the cheek of Agnes, which died away immediately, +leaving it of an ashy paleness, as she said: + +"I have met no lover in the grove, Calista, at least not what _you_ mean +by a lover," she added, thinking this might be an evasion, for did not +her brother love her dearly? + +"Not what _I_ call a lover," said Miss Calista; "a very nice +distinction! then you do not deny that you met what _you_ call a lover +in the grove. Indeed you need trouble yourself to make no denial, for +Evelina and I both watched you." + +Agnes rose from the table, and all who were gathered around it were +amazed at the unusual vehemence of her manner, as with an expression of +intense wretchedness upon her face, she exclaimed: + +"Oh! _do, do_ let me alone! do leave me in quiet; for I am very, very +unhappy!" + +And hastily, and with great agitation, Agnes left the room. + +Mr. Fairland, who was so much interested in a paragraph in the paper, +which appeared to shock him exceedingly, that he had not heard the +ill-natured remarks of his daughters, looked up just as Agnes rose from +the table, and heard her agonized address. + +With more sternness than usual, he asked his daughters what they had +been saying to Agnes, and on hearing their account of the conversation, +he exclaimed: + +"Poor Agnes! you will see in this paper girls something that will shock +you, and will perhaps inspire you with a little sympathy for one whom it +seems to be your delight to torment. You may perhaps now guess who it +was that Agnes met in the grove last night." + +The Misses Fairland were really shocked to read the account of the +murder, and to read the name of Lewis Elwyn as the murderer; and +something like remorse for a moment visited their minds, that they had +added to the sufferings of the already burdened heart of Agnes. + +"Poor fellow! poor young man!" exclaimed Mr. Fairland; "such a handsome +fellow as he was, and such a sweet singer too! this seems to have been +done in a sudden passion; and not without provocation too. But it is an +awful thing! Poor Agnes! she must not attempt to teach the children +while she is so distressed; and I do desire girls, that you will have +the _decency_, if you have not the _feeling_, to leave her entirely +undisturbed." + +Days passed on and nothing was heard of the fugitive. Oh, what days of +restless and painful suspense to Agnes! Had she not had constant and +unusual occupation for her time, it seemed to her that she could not +keep her reason. But poor Tiney had grown suddenly and alarmingly worse, +and the physician said a very days at most would terminate her +sufferings. With all the distressing thoughts which crowded upon her, +Agnes remained by the bed-side of the little sufferer, endeavoring to +soothe and cheer her descent to the dark valley. + +Mrs. Fairland, who though indolent and indifferent in many things with +regard to her children, was not altogether without natural affection, +passed much of her time, during the last two or three days of Tiney's +life, in her room, sitting quietly near the head of the bed. Mr. +Fairland, who seemed more overcome even than Agnes expected, hardly ever +left the bed-side. The older sisters looked in occasionally for a few +moments, but their "nerves" (always ready as an excuse with people +destitute of feeling) would not allow their staying for more than five +minutes at a time, in the room of the sick child. The younger children +wandered restlessly about the house, their little hearts oppressed by +the first approach of death among their number; sometimes coming in +quietly to look at the dying sister, and then wandering off again. + +"Cousin Agnes, _must_ I _die_?" asked Tiney, the day before her death, +as Agnes and her father and mother were sitting near her. + +"You are not afraid to die, dear Tiney, are you?" asked Agnes in reply. + +"No, I shall love to die, because you told me I would never be sick any +more; but I feel a _little_ afraid to go to Heaven." + +"Afraid to go to Heaven, dear Tiney! And why should you be afraid to go +there?" asked Agnes, in astonishment; for she had, oftener than ever, of +late, talked to the failing child of the glories of heaven, and did not +doubt that, even with her poor weak mind, she had so trusted by faith +in the merits of an all-sufficient Redeemer, that through those merits +her spirit would be welcomed to that blissful abode. + +"I was thinking," answered Tiney, "that I don't _know anybody_, there; +not a single soul; and I feel so shy with strangers. Will they love me +there, cousin Agnes, as you and papa do?" + +Agnes could not repress the tears at this question, so natural, perhaps, +to a simple child, and yet one which she had never thought of as likely +to occur to one before. But she talked to Tiney so soothingly and +sweetly of Him who loved little children when on earth, and who was +watching for her now, and would send some lovely angel to bear her to +His breast, that poor Tiney lost her fears, and longed for the hour of +her release. And it came the next morning. Just as the glorious sun was +rising over the lake, the spirit of poor little suffering Tiney left its +earthly dwelling, and began its long and never-ending day of happiness. + +Oh! what a brilliant light shone for once in those dark gray eyes, as +Tiney raised them, with a look of wonder and astonishment and joy, as if +she saw far, far beyond the limits which bounded her mortal sight!--and +as, with an enraptured expression, she murmured something about "that +lovely music," the light faded from the still wide open and glassy eye; +and Agnes, passing her hand gently over the lids, said, "Mr. Fairland, +she is gone!" and the first thought of her sad heart was, "Oh that I too +were at rest!" But she checked it in one moment, when she remembered +that there were duties and conflicts and trials before her yet; and she +determined she would go forward, in the Divine strength, into the +furnace which she must needs go through, in order to be refined and +purified. + +Once, during Tiney's last sickness, a messenger called for Agnes, and +put a note and a little bouquet of green-house flowers into her hand. At +first, Agnes hoped that the note might contain tidings of her brother; +but though disappointed in this respect, the contents of the note were +soothing and grateful to her troubled heart. The words were simply +these: + +"Is there _anything_ I can do for you? And if you need a friend, will +you call upon me?" The note was signed "C.H." + +At first Agnes merely said, in a despairing tone, "Oh no! nothing can be +done;" and then, feeling that a different answer should be sent to a +message so kind, she tore off a bit of the paper, and wrote upon it: + +"Nothing can be done for me now. Believe me, I will not hesitate to call +upon you, when you can do me any good." + +The day after Tiney's death, officers came to search Mr. Fairland's +house for the fugitive, having traced him to Wilston. Every corner of +the house was searched, and even the chamber of death was not spared. +The search, of course, was unsuccessful; but, the day after poor Tiney's +funeral, came tidings to Agnes of the arrest of her brother. He was +taken at last, and safely lodged in the jail at Hillsdale, where he was +to await his trial. + +And now Agnes, whose office ever seemed of necessity to be that of +consoler and comforter, must leave her little charge, and go to be near +her brother. It was a bitter parting; it seemed as if the children could +not let her go; and the scene recalled so vividly to Agnes the parting +with Miss Edwards at Brook Farm, that the recollection made her, if +possible, still more sad, as she thought the resemblance might be +carried out even to the end, and the close of this earthly scene to her +might be as melancholy as was that of her beloved teacher. + +She promised Mr. Fairland that, as soon as she could attend to it, she +would ascertain if there were vacancies in Mrs. Arlington's school for +Rosa and Jessie, and also if Mr. Malcolm would consent to take charge of +Frank's education; and, accompanied by Mr. Fairland, she left Wilston, +as she supposed, forever. + + + + +XVII. + +The Jail. + + "I may not go, I may not go, + Where the sweet-breathing spring-winds blow; + Nor where the silver clouds go by, + Across the holy, deep blue sky; + Nor where the sunshine, warm and bright + Comes down, like a still shower of light; + I must stay here + In prison drear; + Oh! heavy life, wear on, wear on, + Would God that thou wert gone." + + --FANNY KEMBLE. + + +They reached Brook Farm late in the evening, and here the greeting, +though not as noisy and joyous, was warmer, and if possible more +affectionate than ever. They all loved Lewie in spite of his many +faults, and their sympathy was most sincere and hearfelt for Agnes, who +was very dear to them all. As soon as Agnes could speak to Mr. Wharton +alone, she said: + +"Uncle, have you seen him?" + +"Every day, dear Agnes, and have been with him some hours each day." + +"And how does he feel, dear Uncle?" + +"Relieved, I think, on the whole; that the suspense is over thus far. He +says he would not live over again the last three weeks for worlds. Many +and many a time he had almost resolved to return and give himself up for +trial; but the thought of you, Agnes, prevented. He said that you must +be a sharer in all his trouble and disgrace, and if he could spare your +distress and suffering, by escaping from the country, he meant to try +and do it, and then he would soon be forgotten, except by the few who +cared for him." + +"And how does he feel about the--the result, uncle?" + +"Hopeful, I think; he seems to think it cannot be brought in murder, +when murder was so far from his intention." + +"And what do _you_ think, uncle?" + +"I am inclined to think with Lewie, dear; there is always a leaning +towards mercy, and your brother has counsel, the very best in the +State." + +"Oh, uncle, how very kind! how can we ever repay you for your kindness?" + +"No thanks to me in this matter, Agnes; Mr. W---- has been retained by +one who does not wish his name known; one who would be glad, I fancy, to +have a nearer right to stand by you through these coming scenes, but who +will not trouble you with these matters at present." + +A bright blush came up in Agnes' cheek, and as suddenly died away as she +said: + +"One question more, uncle; when will it take place--the trial, I mean?" + +"It will probably come on in November," her uncle answered. + +"Two long months of imprisonment for my poor brother!" said Agnes. + +"But remember, Agnes, those two months will be diligently employed by +his counsel in preparing his defence." + +"And by those on the other side, in making strong their cause against +him, uncle. My poor dear Lewie! how I long to see him; and yet how I +dread the first meeting, oh! if that were only over!" + +The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Mr. Wharton and Agnes +drove over to Hillsdale. Agnes shuddered, and turned pale, as they drew +near the gloomy jail with its iron-barred windows, and closing her eyes +she silently prayed for strength and calmness for the meeting with her +brother. Mr. Wharton conducted her to the door of the room in which her +brother was confined, and left her there, as he knew they would both +prefer that their first meeting should be without witnesses. In one +respect Agnes was agreeably disappointed; she had expected to find her +brother in a close, dark dungeon; and was much surprised to find herself +in a pleasant, light room, with table, books, writing materials, and +everything very comfortable about him; the only things there to remind +her that she was in a prison, being the locked door, and the grated +window. + +Agnes had been preparing herself ever since she first received the +tidings of her brother's arrest, for this meeting; and she went through +it with a calmness and composure which astonished herself. But poor +Lewie was completely overcome. He knew his sister would come to him; but +he had not expected her so soon, and the first intimation he had of her +arrival, was the sight of her upon the threshold of his door. + +"Poor Agnes! poor dear sister!" said he, as soon as he could speak; +"what have I ever been from my childhood up, but a source of trouble and +distress to you. You were punished for my ungoverned temper all through +your childhood; you are suffering for it now; you will have to suffer +for it more, till your bloom is all gone, and you are worn to a +skeleton. If I had dared, Agnes--if I had dared, I should have put an +end to this mortal existence; and thus I should have saved you all this +coming disgrace and misery. But I had not the courage to lay violent +hands upon myself, and go, a deliberate suicide, into the presence of +my Maker. I have tried all other means; I have gone through exposure and +fatigue, which at any other time I know would have killed me; I have +laid out all night in the rain; _I_, who used to be so susceptible to +cold, but nothing seemed to hurt me. I have been reserved for other and +more terrible things. And you, Agnes, who are always kind, and +forbearing, and self-sacrificing, it seems to be your fate ever to +suffer and endure for others. Oh, my sister, you deserve a happier lot!" + +"Don't talk so, dear Lewie!" said Agnes; "you have given me very many +happy hours, and all the little troubles of 'long, long ago' are +forgotten. And now, what greater pleasure can I have than that of +sitting with you here, working and reading, and trying to wile away the +tedious hours of your captivity?" + +"Agnes! this must not be! I cannot allow it. It will brighten the whole +day for me, if you will come and spend an hour or two with me every +morning; but I cannot consent that you shall be immured for the whole +day in the walls of this gloomy prison-house." + +"But what can you do, Lewie? I am going to be obstinate for once, and +take my own course. Uncle will drive me over every morning, and come for +me at night; and I am going to enjoy a pleasure long denied me, of +spending every day with my darling brother." + +"Oh, Agnes! this is too, too much!" + +"Not too much at all, Lewie. Do you think I could be happy anywhere else +than with you? What should I do at uncle's but roam the house, restless +and impatient, every moment I am absent from you? And the nights will +seem so long, because they separate me from you!" + +"Oh! how utterly undeserving!--how _utterly undeserving_ such love and +devotion!" said Lewie, pacing up and down the room. "Sweet +sister!--dearest Agnes!--now has my prison lost all its gloom; and were +it not for the future, I might be happier here than when out in the +world; for temptation here is far from me, and only good influences +surround me." + +"And what of the future, dear?" + +"Of my trial, Agnes? Well, I hardly know what to say. My friends and +lawyers try to keep up my spirits, and mention to me many hopeful +things; and, for the time, I too feel encouraged. But I can think of +many things that a skilful lawyer can bring up against me, and which +would weigh very heavily. I am trying to think of the _worst_ as a +_probability_; so that if it comes, I shall not be overwhelmed." + +"Oh!" said Agnes, shuddering, and covering her eyes, as if to shut out +some horrid spectacle, "it cannot be! I cannot bring myself to +contemplate it for a moment!" + +"And yet it _may be_, Agnes! or they may spare my life, and doom me to +wear out long years of imprisonment, and then send me out into the world +a blighted and ruined man! That is the best I can hope for; and but for +the disgrace which would come upon me, I should say the sudden end is +better." + +"And what of the future _after that_, Lewie? for that, after all, is the +great concern." + +"The _eternal future_ you mean, Agnes. Ah! my sister, the prospect there +is darker and more dreary still. I know enough of religion to feel +assured that my short life has not been spent in the way to prepare me +for a future of happiness; and I am not yet so hardened as to pretend +not to dread a future of misery." + +"God grant such may not be your fate, dear brother. Whether life be long +or short, happy or sorrowful, our future depends upon heart-felt +repentance here, and faith in the 'sinner's Friend.' You have now time +for quiet and reflection. Oh! improve it dear Lewie, in so humbling +yourself before Him whom you have offended, and in so seeking for +pardon, that He will bless you and grant you peace." + +"I see, Agnes," said her brother, with a sad smile, "you want me to +follow in the footsteps of all other offenders and criminals, who, +after doing all the mischief possible, and living for their own selfish +gratification while abroad in the world, spend the time of their +imprisonment in acts of penitence and devotion, and go out of the world, +as they all invariably do, in the full odor of sanctity, in peace with +God, and in charity with men." + +"Is my advice to you in any way different, my dear brother, from what it +was when you were free and unrestrained? Indeed, so much did I dread the +effect of your undisciplined temper, and so assured did I feel that for +you the grace of God was peculiarly necessary, that I have feared I +sometimes made my presence unwelcome by my constant warnings and +admonitions." + +"Never, Agnes--never, dearest sister! I always thanked you from my +inmost heart for your kind, loving, tender counsel; and though +apparently I turned it off lightly and carelessly, yet it often sank +deep in my heart; and when parted from you, I often thought what a +miserable wretch I was not to give better heed to it." + +"Yet, Lewie dear, I will not deny that I think the need more urgent +than ever for repentance and pardon now. I do not wish to harrow up your +feelings, dear brother; but, oh! it is an awful thing to send a +fellow-creature into eternity!" + +"And do you think that thought ever for a moment leaves me, Agnes? +Indeed, I think that while I have been skulking and hiding, hunted and +pursued from one place to another, and since I have been shut up in +these walls, every harrowing thought that could possibly be brought +before my mind, has been dwelt upon till it seemed sometimes as if I +should go mad. I have mourned for Cranston as if I had no hand in his +death; I have thought of him in all his hope and promise; I have thought +of his poor mother and sisters, till the tears have rained from my +cheeks; and I believe I have been sincere in my feeling, that if by +suffering an ignominious death, I could restore my murdered friend to +life, I should be _glad_ to be the sacrifice. And then when I thought of +_myself_ as the cause of all this suffering, it seemed as if it ought +not to be a matter of wonder or complaint if the verdict should be, +that such a wretch should cumber the earth no longer. And yet, Agnes, in +the eye of Him who looketh only on the heart, I believe I was as much a +murderer when I struck down my school-mate in the play-ground as now. +For in the height of my passion then, I think I should have been glad to +have killed him. But the thought of _murder_ did not enter my heart when +I struck poor Cranston; it was a sort of instinctive movement; the work +of a moment; and had not the murderous weapon been in my hand, the +effects of the blow would have been but slight." + +Many such conversations as these passed between the young prisoner and +his sister, during those two months preceding the trial--every day of +which, except during church hours on Sunday, Agnes passed with him from +morning till night, almost as much a prisoner as he, except that hers +was not compulsory. This time was faithfully improved by Agnes, in +endeavoring to lead her brother to right views upon the subject of his +own condition in the sight of a Holy God. He was very gentle and +teachable now, and before the day of trial came, Agnes hoped that her +brother was a true penitent, though his own hopes of pardon were faint +and flickering. + +Mr. Malcolm too, often visited young Elwyn, in whom he was most deeply +interested; and his gentle teachings and fervent prayers were eagerly +listened to by the youthful prisoner. Mr. W----, his counsel, came +often, also, but in his endeavors to keep up the spirits of Lewie and +his sister, his manner was so trifling and flippant that it grated on +their feelings painfully. He was working as laboriously it seemed, as +the enormous fee promised him would warrant, leaving no stone unturned +which would throw some favorable light on young Elwyn's case. Thus days +and weeks passed on, and in the midst of increasing agitation and +excitement, the day of trial came. + +When the brother and sister parted the evening before the trial, Agnes +once more renewed the entreaties she had so often made that Lewie would +allow her to remain by his side during the painful events of the coming +day. But his refusal was firm and unyielding. + +"No, no, dear sister, pray do not urge it," said he. "I know I shall be +too much agitated as it is; I do not believe I can go through it with +even an appearance of calmness alone; and how much more difficult it +would be for me with you by my side. I know I could not bear it. No! +Agnes, remain in the village if you prefer it, but do not let me see +your dear face again till my fate is decided. Let us pray once more +together, sweet sister--let us pray for mercy from God and man." And +when they arose from their knees they took their sad farewell, and Agnes +accompanied her uncle to the house of her kind friend, Dr. Rodney, where +she was to remain till the trial was over. + + + + +XVIII. + +The Trial. + + "The morn lowered darkly; but the sun hath now, + With fierce and angry splendor, through the clouds + Burst forth, as if impatient to behold + This our high triumph. Lead the prisoner in." + + --VESPERS OF PALERMO. + + +To say that, long before the hour fixed for the trial, the court room +was crowded to its utmost capacity with eager and expectant faces, would +be to repeat what has been written and said of every trial, the events +of which have been chronicled; but it would be no less true for that. +And when the young prisoner was brought into the room, his handsome face +pale from agitation and recent confinement, and with an expression of +intense anxiety in his eye, all not before deeply interested for the +friends of the unfortunate Cranston were moved to pity, and strongly +prepossessed in his favor. + +Mr. W----, the counsel for the prisoner, was an able and eloquent +lawyer. He was a small, slight man, with a high, bald forehead; and a +pair of very bright, black, restless eyes. His manner was naturally +quick and lively; but he well knew how to touch the tender strings, and +make them give forth a tone in unison with his own, or with that which +he had adopted for his own to suit the occasion. He had an appearance, +too, of being assured of the justice of his cause, and perfectly +confident of success, which was encouraging to the prisoner and his +friends. + +After the necessary preliminaries and statements had been gone through +with, the witnesses against the prisoner and in his favor were called, +who testified to the fact of the murder, and to the prisoner's natural +quickness of temper, inducing fits of sudden passion, which, even in +childhood, seemed at times hardly to leave him the mastery of himself. +Friends, school-mates, college-mates, in turn gave their testimony to +the prisoner's kindness of heart, which would not suffer him to harbor +resentment; and yet many instances were mentioned of fierce and terrible +passion, utterly heedless of results for the moment, and yet passing +away quick as the lightning's flash. + +It was shown that he had no ill-will to young Cranston; on the contrary, +they were generally friendly and affectionate; that they had been so +throughout the evening on which the fatal deed was done. It was at a +supper table, when all were excited by wine; and Cranston, who was fond +of a joke, and rather given to teazing, and being less guarded than +usual, introduced some subject exceedingly unpleasant to young Elwyn. +The quick temper of the latter was aroused at once, and he gave a hasty +and angry reply. The raillery was pushed still farther; and before those +about him had time to interfere, the fatal blow was struck in frantic +passion. + +"And is this no palliating circumstance," said Mr. W----, "that God has +given to this young man a naturally fierce and hasty temper, which +could not brook that which might be borne more patiently by those whose +blood flows more coldly and sluggishly? Is there no difference to be +made in our judgment of men, because of the different tempers and +dispositions with which they were born? Of course there is!--_of course_ +there is! It has been clearly shown that there was no malice +aforethought in this case; the injury was not brooded over in silence, +and the plan matured in cold blood to murder a class-mate and friend. +No! on the moment of provocation the blow was struck, with but the +single idea of giving vent to the passion which was bursting his breast. +And those who witnessed his deep remorse and agony of mind, when he +discovered the fatal effects of his passion, as, all regardless of his +own safety, he endeavored to restore his expiring friend to life, have +assured me, that though they were witnesses of the whole scene, they +felt for _him_ only the deepest commiseration." + +And here Mr. W---- paused and wiped his eyes repeatedly, and the sobs +of the young prisoner were heard all over the court room. + +"There was one," Mr. W---- continued, "of whom he wished to speak, and +whom, on some accounts, he would have been glad to bring before the jury +to-day. But he would not outrage the feelings of his young friend by +urging him to consent to the entreaties of his lovely sister, that she +might be permitted to sit by his side in that prisoner's seat to-day. +She is his only sister; he her only brother; and they are orphans." +(Here there was a faltering of the voice, a pause, which was very +effective; and after apparently a great effort, Mr. W---- went on.) + +"She has sat beside him hour after hour, and day after day, in yonder +dreary jail, endeavoring to make the weary hours of solitude and +captivity less irksome, and lead the prisoner's heart away from earthly +trouble to heavenly comfort. Her hope in the jury of to-day is strong. +She believes they will not doom her young and only brother to an +ignominious death, and a dishonored grave; she even hopes that they +will not consign him to long years of weary imprisonment; she feels that +he is changed; that he no longer trusts to his own strength to overcome +his naturally strong and violent passions; but that his trust is in the +arm of the Lord his God, who 'turneth the hearts of men as the rivers of +water are turned.'" + +"May He dispose the hearts of these twelve men, on whom the fate of this +youth now hangs, so that they shall show, that like Himself they are +_lovers of mercy_." + +And Mr. W---- sat down and covered his face with his handkerchief. The +hope and expectation of acquittal now were very strong. + +And now slowly rose the counsel for the prosecution. Mr. G---- was a +tall thin man, of a grave and stern expression of countenance; his hair +was of an iron-gray, and his piercing gray eye shone from under his +shaggy eye-brows like a spark of fire. It was the only thing that looked +like _life_ about him; and when he first rose he began to speak in a +slow, distinct, unimpassioned manner, and without the least attempt at +eloquence. + +"He _had_ intended," he said, "to call a few more witnesses, but he +found it was utterly unnecessary; those already called had said all he +cared to hear; indeed, he had been much surprised to hear testimony on +the side of the prisoner which he should have thought by right his own. +No one attempts to deny the fact of the killing, and that the deed was +done by the hand of the prisoner. The question for us to decide is, was +it murder? was it man-slaughter? or was it _nothing at all_? for to that +point my learned adversary evidently wishes to conduct us." + +"The young man it appears, by the testimony of friends and school-mates, +has always been of a peculiarly quick and fiery temper; so much so it +seems, that a playful allusion, or what is commonly called a _teazing_ +expression, could not be indulged in at his expense but his companion +was instantly felled to the ground. And was _he_ the one to arm himself +with bowie-knife or revolver? Should one who was perfectly conscious +that he had not the slightest control over his temper, keep about him a +murderous weapon ready to do its deed of death upon any friend who might +unwittingly, in an hour of revelry, touch upon some sore spot?" + +"As soon would I approach a keg of gun-powder with a lighted candle in +my hand, as have aught to do with one so fiery and so armed for +destruction. It has been said that it is the custom for young men in +some of our colleges to go thus armed; the more need of signal vengeance +upon the work of death they do. Gentlemen of the jury, if this practice +is not loudly rebuked we shall have work of this kind accumulating +rapidly on our hands." + +"'It was done in the heat of frenzied passion, and so the prisoner must +go unpunished.' My learned friend argued not so, when he appeared in +this place against the murder Wiley; poor, ignorant, and half-witted; +who with his eyes starting from his head with starvation, entered a +farmer's house, and in the extremity of his suffering demanded bread. +And on being told by the woman of the house to take himself off to the +nearest tavern and get bread, caught up a carving knife and stabbed her +to the heart, seized a piece of bread, and fled from the house. He had a +fiendish temper too; it was rendered fiercer by starvation; and when +asked why he did the dreadful deed, he said he never could have dragged +himself on three miles to the nearest tavern, and he had no money to buy +bread when he got there. He must die anyway, and it might as well be on +the gallows as by the road-side." + +"He, poor fellow, had no friends; he had been brought up in vice and +misery; he had no gentle sister to lead him in the paths of virtue, a +kind word was never spoken to him; a crust of bread was denied him when +he was starving; and above all, he had no wealthy friend to pay an +enormous counsel fee, and my learned opponent standing where he did just +now, called loudly on the jury and said, 'away with such a fellow from +the earth!'" + +"Do not think me blood-thirsty or unfeeling. The innocent sufferer in +this case, the sister of this unfortunate young man, has my deepest +sympathy and commiseration, as she has that of this audience and the +jury. But could those here present have gone with me"--(here the speaker +paused, too agitated to proceed)--"to yonder desolated home; had they +seen a mother, lately widowed, and four young sisters, around the bier +where lay the remains of the murdered son and brother--their only hope +next to God--he for whom they were all toiling early and late, that, +when his education was completed, he in turn might work for them,--had +they heard that mother's cry for strength, now that her last earthly +prop was thus rudely snatched away, they would have found food for pity +there. I tell you, my friends, I pray that I may never be called upon to +witness such a scene again!" + +Wiping his cheeks repeatedly, Mr. G----resumed: + +"These tears surprise me; for I am not used to the 'melting mood,' and I +cannot afford to weep as readily as my learned opponent, who will count +his pile of bank notes for every tear he sheds, and think those tears +well expended. I speak for an outraged community; my sympathies are with +the poor--with the widow and the fatherless--with those whose only son +and brother has been cut off in his hope and promise, and consigned to +an early grave." + +"Shall these things take place unnoticed and unpunished?--and for a +light and hasty word, shall our young men of promise be cut down in the +midst of their days, and the act go unrebuked of justice? I look not so +much at this individual case as to the general good. Were I to look only +on the prisoner, I too might yield to feeling, and forget justice. But +feeling must not rule here: in the court room, justice alone should have +sway; and I call upon the jury to decide as impartially in this case as +if the poorest and most neglected wretch, brought up in vice and +wretchedness, sat there, instead of the handsome and interesting +prisoner; and I call upon the jury to show that, though in private life +they may be 'lovers of mercy,' yet, where the general good is so deeply +involved, they are determined to 'deal justly' with the prisoner." + +The judge then gave his charge to the jury, which was thought to lean +rather to the side of the prisoner, though he agreed with Mr. G----, +that some sharp rebuke should be given to the practice, so common among +the young men in some of our colleges, of carrying about with them +offensive weapons. + +The prisoner was led back to the jail; the jury retired; and it being +now evening, the court room was deserted. + + + + +XIX. + +The Sealed Paper. + + "Sister, thy brother is won by thee."--MRS. HEMANS. + + +The verdict would not be made known till the next morning. Oh! what a +night of mental torture was that to the devoted sister of the prisoner! +The terrible suspense left it out of her power to remain quiet for a +moment, but she restlessly paced the room, watching for the dawn of day, +and yet dreading the signs of its approach. Her aunt, who remained with +her during that anxious night, endeavored as well as she could to soothe +and calm her excited feelings; but how little there was to be said; she +could only point her to the Christian's never-failing trust and +confidence; and it was only by constant supplications for strength from +on high, as she walked the room, that Agnes was enabled to retain the +slightest appearance of composure, or, as it seemed to her, to keep her +brain from bursting. + +The longest night will have an end, and morning at length dawned on the +weary eyes of the watchers. The family rose and breakfasted early, for +an intense excitement reigned throughout the house. Agnes begged to be +allowed to remain in her own room; and though, in compliance with the +entreaties of her friends, she endeavored to eat, she could not swallow +a morsel. Mr. Wharton came early; and soon after breakfast, he and Dr. +Rodney went out. At nine o'clock the court were to assemble, to hear the +verdict; and from that moment, Agnes seated herself at the window, with +her hands pressed on her aching forehead, and her eyes straining to +catch the first glimpse of them as they returned. + +She sat thus for an hour or more at the window, and at the end of that +time the crowds began to pass the house, and she soon caught sight of +Dr. Rodney and her uncle. They did not hasten as if they had joyful +news to tell, and as Agnes in her agitation rose as they approached the +gate, and watched their faces as they came up the gravel walk, she saw +there enough to tell her the whole story; and pressing both hands upon +her heart she sat down again, for she had no longer strength to stand. +In a few moments she heard her uncle's step coming slowly towards her +room. As the door opened very gently she did not raise her head; it had +fallen upon her breast, and she was asking for strength to bear what she +knew was coming. When at length she looked towards her uncle she saw him +standing with his hand still on the lock, and gazing at her intently. +His face was of an ashy paleness, and he seemed irresolute whether to +approach her or to leave the room. + +"Uncle," gasped Agnes, "do not speak now; there is no need; I see it +all," and slowly she fell to the floor and forgot her bitter sorrow in +long insensibility. When she recovered it was nearly mid-day, and only +her aunt was sitting by her bedside. + +"Aunty," said she, as if bewildered, "what time is it?" Her aunt told +her the time. + +"And is it possible," said Agnes, "that I have slept so late?" and then +pressing her hands to her head, she said: + +"Who said '_condemned_' and '_sentenced_?'" + +"No one has said those words to you, dear Agnes," said Mrs. Wharton. + +"But oh, aunty!" she exclaimed, seizing Mrs. Wharton's hand, "it is +_true_, is it not? Yes, I know it is. My poor young brother! And here I +have been wasting the time when he wants me so much. I must get up this +moment and go to him." + +Her aunt endeavored to persuade her to remain quiet, telling her that +Mr. Malcolm was with Lewie, and that he was not left alone for a moment. +Agnes insisted, however, upon rising, but on making the attempt her head +became dizzy and she sank back again upon her pillow; and this was the +beginning of a brain fever, which kept her confined to her bed in +unconscious delirium for more than three weeks. In her delirium she +seemed to go back to the days of her childhood, and live them over +again with all the trouble they caused her young heart. Sometimes she +fancied herself a lonely prisoner again in the cold north room, and +sometimes pleading with her little brother, and begging him to "be a +good boy, and to try and not be so cross." At one time Dr. Rodney had +little hope of her life, and after that he feared permanent loss of +reason, but in both fears he was disappointed. Agnes recovered at +length, and with her mind as clear as ever. + +During the days when she was convalescing, but still too weak to leave +her bed, her impatience to get to her brother was so great, that the +doctor feared it would retard her recovery. It could not be concealed +from her that Lewie was ill, and the consciousness that she was so +necessary to him, made it the more difficult for Agnes to exercise that +patience and calmness which were requisite to ensure a return of her +strength. Lewie had taken to his bed, immediately after his return to +the jail, on the morning of the sentence, and had not left it since. He +seemed fast sinking into a decline, and much of the good doctor's time +was taken up in ministering at the bed-side of the brother and sister. + +At length Agnes was so much better that the doctor consented to her +paying her brother a visit. She found him in the condemned cell, but no +manacles were necessary to fetter his limbs, for a chain stronger than +iron bolts confined him to his bed, and that strong chain was perfect +weakness. Though his cell was darker and more dungeon-like, yet through +the kindness of friends the sick young prisoner was made as comfortable +as possible. By a very strong effort Agnes so far commanded herself as +to retain an appearance of outward composure, during that first meeting +after so long and so eventful a separation; and now began again the +daily ministrations of Agnes at the bed-side of her brother, for in +consideration of his feeble condition his sister was permitted to remain +with him constantly. + +Lewie knew that he was failing; "I think," said he to Agnes, "that God +will call for my spirit before the time comes for man to set it free. +But oh! Agnes, if I could once more look upon the green earth, and the +blue sky, and breathe the pure fresh air; and die _free_." + +It was after longings for freedom like these, that when Agnes returned +to Dr. Rodney's one evening, (for ever since the trial, at the earnest +request of the kind doctor and his wife, she had made their house her +home except when with her brother,) she found her cousin Grace, who +often came over to pass the night with her, waiting her arrival with +tidings in her face. + +"Agnes," said she, "I have heard something to-day which may possibly +cast a ray of hope on Lewie's case yet." + +"What can it be, dear Grace?" asked Agnes. + +"Who do you think the new Governor's wife is, Agnes?" + +"I am sure I cannot imagine." + +"Do you remember that strange girl, Ruth Glenn?" + +"Certainly." + +"Well, it is she. Only think how strange! I have no idea how much +influence she has with the Governor; but unless she has changed +wonderfully in her feelings, she would do anything in the world to serve +you, Agnes, as she ought." + +"Oh, blessings on you, Grace! I will go; there _may_ be hope in it; and +if poor Lewie could only die free; for die he must, the doctor assures +me--perhaps before the flowers bloom." + +"Father will go with you, Agnes. I have been talking with him about it." + +"Oh, how very, very kind you all are to us!" said Agnes. "Then, no time +must be lost, Grace; and if uncle will go with me, we will start as +early as possible in the morning." + +Agnes rose early the next morning, with something like a faint tinge of +color in her cheek, lent to it by the excitement of hope; and after +visiting her brother, to give some explanation of the cause of her +absence, she took her seat in the carriage by her uncle, for they must +ride some miles in order to reach the cars. + +They reached the Capitol that afternoon; and Agnes, who felt that she +had very little time to spare, left the hotel a few moments after their +arrival in the city, and, leaning on her uncle's arm, sought the +Governor's house. Agnes felt her heart die within her as she ascended +the broad flight of marble steps. Years had passed, and many changes had +taken place since she had met Ruth Glenn. Would she find her again in +the Governor's lady? + +Mrs. F---- was at home, and Mr. Wharton left Agnes at the door, thinking +that, on all accounts, the interview had better be private. "He should +return for her in an hour or two," he said, "when he intended to call +upon the Governor, who had once been a class-mate and intimate friend." + +Having merely sent word by the servant that an old friend wished to see +Mrs. F----, Agnes was shown into a large and elegantly-furnished parlor, +to await her coming. In a few moments, she heard a light step +descending the stairs, and the rustling of a silk dress, and the +Governor's lady entered the room. + +Could it be possible that this blooming, elegant, graceful woman was the +pale, nervous Ruth Glenn, whom Agnes had befriended at Mrs. Arlington's +school? To account for this extraordinary change, we must go back a few +years, which we can fortunately do in a few moments, and give a glance +at Ruth Glenn's history. + +She had left school almost immediately after Agnes and her cousins, +having been recommended by Mrs. Arlington to a lady who was looking for +a governess to her children. Here she became acquainted with a lawyer +who visited frequently at the house; a middle-aged man, and a widower, +who was just then looking out for some one to take care of himself and +his establishment. By one of those unaccountable whims which men +sometimes take, this man (who, from his position and wealth, might have +won the hand of almost any accomplished and dashing young lady of his +acquaintance,) was attracted towards the plain, silent governess, and +he very soon, to the astonishment of all, made proposals to her, which +were accepted. + +Soon after their marriage, business made it necessary for Mr. F---- to +go to Europe, and Ruth accompanied him. A sea voyage and two years' +travel abroad entirely restored her health, and with it came, what her +husband had never looked for--_beauty_; while the many opportunities for +improvement and cultivation which she enjoyed, and the good society into +which she was thrown, worked a like marvellous change in her manners. +All her nervous diffidence banished, and in its place she had acquired a +dignified self-possession and grace of manner, which fitted her well for +the station of influence she was to occupy. Soon after her return, her +husband was elected Governor; and the city was already ringing with +praises of the loveliness and affability of the new Governor's wife. + +No wonder, then, that as Agnes rose to meet her they stood looking at +each other in silence for a moment; Agnes vainly endeavoring to discover +a trace of Ruth Glenn in the easy and elegant woman before her, and Mrs. +F---- trying to divine who this guest who had called herself an old +friend might be. + +For sickness and sorrow had changed Agnes too. Her bright bloom was all +gone; her charming animation of manner had given place to a settled +sadness; and though still most lovely, as she stood in her deep mourning +dress, she was but a wreck of the Agnes Elwyn of former years. + +But when after a moment Agnes said, "Ruth, do you not know me?" + +The scream of delight with which Ruth opened her arms, and clasped her +to her breast, crying out, "_Agnes Elwyn!_--my dear, dear Agnes!" +convinced her that in heart at least her old school-mate was unchanged. +Ruth immediately took Agnes to her own room, that they might be +undisturbed, for she guessed at once her purpose in coming; and then +Agnes opened to her her burdened heart; relating all her brother's +history; telling her of his naturally strong passions, and saying all +that was necessary to say, in justice to her brother, of the injudicious +training he had received; at the same time treating her mother's memory +with all possible delicacy and respect. + +"And now, dear Ruth," she said, "I do not come to ask that my young +brother shall be permitted to walk forth to do like evil again;--there +would be no danger of that, even if he were not greatly changed, as I +solemnly believe he is, in heart and temper; for his doom is sealed; +consumption is wasting his frame;--we only ask that we may carry him +forth to die and be buried among his kindred. Oh! how he pines for the +free air and the blue sky, and longs to die elsewhere than in a +condemned cell! If I might be permitted to remove him to my uncle's kind +home, where he could have comforts and friends about him, I could close +his eyes, it seems to me, with thankfulness, for I do believe that the +Christian's hope is his." + +Ruth's sympathizing tears had been flowing down her cheeks, as, with +her hand clasping that of Agnes, she had listened to her sad story. She +now rose, and said she would go to her husband, who was slightly +indisposed, and confined to his room, and prepare him to see Agnes. "And +do, Agnes, talk to him just as you have done to me," she said. "He is +called a stern man; but he has tender feelings, I can assure you, if the +right chord is only touched." + +Ruth was gone a long time, and Agnes walked the floor of her room in a +state of suspense and agitation only equalled by that of the night after +the trial. At length Ruth returned: she looked sad and troubled. + +"Agnes," said she, "you must see my husband yourself, and say to him all +you have said to me. He is deeply grateful for all you have done for me, +and would do anything in the world for you except what he thinks, or +what he seems to think, would be yielding to the call of feeling at the +expense of justice. He says his predecessor has been much censured for +so often granting pardons to criminals, especially to any who had +influential friends; and I fear that, in avoiding his errors, he will go +to the opposite extreme. He remembers your brother's case well, and +says, that though it could not be called _deliberate_ murder, still it +was murder; and he agrees with the lawyer, Mr. G----, that some signal +reproof should be given to this practice among the young men of carrying +about them offensive weapons. This is all he said; but he has consented +to see you, and is expecting you. I shall leave you alone with him; and +oh! Agnes, do speak as eloquently as you did to me. I know he cannot +resist it." + +The Governor, a tall, fine-looking man, was wrapped in his +dressing-gown, and seated in his easy chair. He rose to receive Agnes, +gave her a cordial welcome as a friend to his wife, and bade her take a +seat beside him; but there was something in his look which said, that he +did not mean to be convinced against his better judgment by two women. + +Agnes was at first too much agitated to speak; but the Governor kindly +re-assured her, by asking her some questions about her brother's case, +and soon she thought of nothing but him; her courage all revived; and +with an eloquence the more effective from being all unstudied, she told +her brother's story to the Governor. "He is so young," said she, "only +eighteen years old; and yet he must die. But, oh! sir, if you would but +save him from being dragged in his weakness to a death of shame, or from +lingering out his few remaining days in that close, dark cell; oh! if he +might only die free!" + +"Ruth tells me," said the Governor, quietly, "that your uncle, Mr. +Wharton, is with you. Is it William Wharton, of C---- County?" + +Agnes answered in the affirmative. + +"Once a very good friend of mine," said he; "but it is many years since +we have met. Where is he?" + +"He came to the door with me," answered Agnes, "and will return for me +soon. He hoped to have the pleasure of seeing you, sir." + +"I will see him when he comes," said the Governor. "Go you back to Ruth, +my dear young lady. I will think of all you have said." + +When Mr. Wharton called, he was admitted to the Governor; and the two +former friends, after a cordial greeting, were closeted together for a +long time. He confirmed all that Agnes said of her brother, and assured +the Governor that it was the opinion of physicians that he could not +recover, and might not last a month. He spoke long and feelingly of the +devotion of Agnes to her brother, in attendance upon whom, in his +loneliness and imprisonment, she had worn out health and strength. + +The eyes of the Governor now glistened with emotion as he said, "Well, +well, I hope I shall not be doing wrong. At what time do you leave in +the morning, Mr. Wharton?" + +"In the very first train. Agnes cannot be longer from her brother's +bedside." + +"Can you bring her here for one moment before you leave?" + +"Certainly." + +"Well, then, tell her to lie down to-night, and sleep in peace; and may +Heaven bless a sister so devoted, and a friend so true." + +The Governor was not so well when Mr. Wharton and Agnes called the next +morning; but Ruth. appeared, her face radiant with joy, and, throwing +her arms around Agnes' neck, she put into her hand a _sealed paper_. + + + + +XX. + +Twice Free. + + "Oh liberty! + + Thou choicest gift of Heaven, and wanting which + Life is as nothing."--KNOWLES. + + +Oh! the sunshine, and the glad earth, and the singing of the birds of +early spring, to the prisoner, sick, and worn, and weary! How the feeble +pulse already begins to throb with pleasure, and life which had seemed +so valueless before, looks lovely and much to be desired now. + +The official announcement of the pardon reached Hillsdale almost as soon +as Agnes herself, and the friends of the young prisoner lost no time in +removing him as gently and as comfortably as possible, to his uncle's +kind home at Brook Farm. Here nothing was left undone by his devoted +friends to soothe his declining days; and with a heart overflowing with +gratitude and love, Lewie sank quietly towards the grave. + +He was very gentle now, and the change in him was so great, that his +sister doubted not that repentance and faith had done their work. His +own doubts and fears were many, though sometimes a glimmering of hope +would beam through the clouds which seemed to have gathered about him. +One day, after a long conversation with Agnes upon the love and mercy of +God, he said: + +"Well Agnes, it may be, there is hope for me too; I know He is +all-powerful and all-merciful; why, as you say, should not his mercy +extend even to me?" + +"He is _able_ and _willing_ to save unto the uttermost," said Agnes. + +"Unto--the--uttermost! Unto--the--uttermost!" repeated the sick youth +slowly; then looking up with his beautiful eye beaming with +expression;-- + +"Yes, Agnes," said he, "I will trust him!" + +Day by day he grew weaker, and at times his sufferings were intense; +but such a wonderful patience and calmness possessed him, and he seemed +so to forget self in his thought for others, that Mrs. Wharton said, in +speaking of him: + +"I never so fully realized the import of the words '_a new creature_.' +Who would think that this could be our impetuous, thoughtless Lewie, of +former times." + +"You must make some allowance for the languor of sickness, my dear," +said Mr. Wharton, who of course did not see so much of the invalid as +those who had the immediate charge of him. + +"Weakness, I grant, would make him less impetuous and violent," answered +his wife, "but would it make him patient, and docile, and considerate, +if there were not some radical change in his feelings and temper?" + +During the last few days of his life, and when the flickering flame was +hourly expected to die out, his uncle saw more of him, and he, too, +became convinced of the change in Lewie, and was certain that for him +to die would be gam. And at last, with words of prayer upon his lips and +a whisper of his sister's name, he sank away as gently as an infant +drops asleep. + +"How like he looks," said old Mammy, with the tears streaming down her +withered cheeks, "how like he looks, with the bonny curls lying round +his forehead, to what he did the day he lay like death at the Hemlock's, +when he was only two years old." + +Mrs. Wharton's mind immediately reverted to the scene, and to that young +mother's prayer of agony, "Oh, for his life! his life!" and as she +thought over the events of that short life of sin and sorrow, she said +within herself, "Oh! who can tell what to choose for his portion! Thou +Lord, who knowest the end from the beginning, choose Thou our changes +for us, and help us in the darkest hour to say, 'Thy will be done.'" + +And in the quiet spot where the willow bends, and the brook murmurs, by +the side of his mother, and near the grave of Rhoda Edwards, rest the +remains of _Lewie_. + +It is strange how much a human heart may suffer and yet beat on and +regain tranquillity, and even cheerfulness at last. It is a most +merciful provision of Providence, that our griefs do not always press +upon us as heavily as they do at first, else how could the burden of +this life of change and sorrow be borne. But the loved ones are not +forgotten when the tear is dried and the smile returns to the cheek; +they are remembered, but with less of sadness and gloom in the +remembrance; and at length, if we can think of them as happy, it is only +a pleasure to recall them to mind. + +So Agnes found it, as after a few months of rest and quiet in her +uncle's happy home, the gloom of her sorrow began to fade away, the +color returned to her cheek, and she began to be like the Agnes of +former times. And now that health and energy had returned, she began to +long for employment again, and though she knew it would cost a great +struggle to leave her dear friends at Brook Farm, she began to urge them +all to be on the watch for a situation for her as governess or teacher. + +At length, one day, some months after her brother's death, Mr. Wharton +entered the room where she was sitting, and said: + +"Agnes, there is a gentleman down stairs, who would like to engage you +to superintend the education of his children." + +If Agnes had looked closely at her uncle's face, she would have observed +a very peculiar expression there; but only laying aside her work, she +said: + +"Please say to him, uncle, that I will come down in one moment." + +With a quiet step and an unpalpitating heart, Agnes opened the parlor +door, and found herself alone with--Mr. Harrington! + +And here we will end our short chapter, though enough was said that +morning to make it a very long one, as it certainly was an eventful one +in the history of Agnes. + + + + +XXI + +The Winding Up or the Turning Point, whichever the Reader likes Best. + + "Still at thy father's board + There is kept a place for thee + And by thy smile restored, + Joy round the hearth shall be."--MRS. HEMANS. + + "He will not blush that has a father's heart, + To take in childish plays a childish part, + But bends his sturdy back to any toy + That youth takes pleasure in, to please his boy."--Cowper + + +"What do you think, Calista?--what _do_ you think?" asked Miss Evelina +Fairland of her sister, about two years after she had asked these same +questions before. "There are masons, and carpenters, and painters, and +paperers, and gardeners, at work at the old Rookery; a perfect army of +laborers have been sent down from the city. What can it mean?" + +"I cannot imagine, I am sure," answered Miss Calista, "unless Mr. +Harrington is really going to settle down, and look out for a wife at +last." And Miss Calista looked in the glass over her sister's shoulder, +and both faces looked more faded and considerably older than when we saw +them last. + +"Do you know," said Miss Evelina, "that I really believe Agnes Elwyn +thought the man was in love with _her_?" + +"Absurd!" exclaimed Miss Calista. "Besides, if he ever had entertained +such a thought, he would not, of course, think of anything of the kind +since that affair of her brother's. Such a disgrace, you know!" + +The appearance of the old Rookery changed so rapidly, that it seemed +almost as if the fairies had been at work; and in a few weeks, glimpses +of a fair and elegant mansion, with its pretty piazzas and porticos, +could be seen between the noble oaks which surrounded the mansion. And +now Miss Calista and Evelina, who kept themselves informed of all that +was going on at the Rookery, reported that "the _most magnificent_ +furniture" had come, and the curtains and pictures were being hung, and +it was certain that the owner of the place would be there soon. + +At length a travelling carriage, in which was seated Mr. Harrington, +with a lady by his side, and two little girls in front, was seen by +these indefatigable ladies to drive rapidly through the street, and out +towards the Rookery. The lady was in mourning, and her veil was down. +Who could she be? + +And now it was rumored in the village that Mr. Harrington was actually +married; and whenever he met any of his old acquaintances, he invited +them with great cordiality to call to see his wife. The Misses Fairland +determined not to be outdone by any, and, the more effectually to +conceal their own disappointment, were among the first to call. + +Who can conceive of their astonishment and mortification, when they +found that the mistress of the Rookery was no other than the former +governess, Agnes Elwyn! Agnes received them with the utmost kindness; +begged them to ask their father, whom she remembered with much +affection, to come very soon to see her; was much pleased to hear how +happy Rosa and Jessie were at Mrs. Arlington's; and brought them tidings +of Frank, who was under Mr. Malcolm's care. + +"And where is that delightful gentleman who was with Mr. Harrington, +when he was here two summers since--Mr. Wharton I think his name was?" +asked Miss Evelina. + +"Mr. Tom Wharton? Oh, he will be here in a few days. He has purchased +the place next to us, and is about to build there. I suppose, as it is +no longer a secret, I may tell you that he is soon to be married to my +cousin, Effie Wharton. They will remain with us most of the time till +their house is finished." + +The countenances of the visitors fell on hearing this, and they soon +rose and took leave. + +And now we know not better how to wind up or _run down_ our story, than +to pass over two or three years and introduce our reader to another +Christmas party at Mr. Wharton's, for it still is the custom, for all +the scattered members of the family to gather in the paternal mansion to +spend the Christmas holidays. + +Mr. and Mrs. Wharton appear as a fine-looking middle-aged couple, on +whom the years sit lightly, for their lives have been happy and useful +ones, and there is no such preservative of fresh and youthful looks, as +a contented mind and an untroubled conscience. The two older sons are +married. Robert is settled as a clergyman in a western village, and +Albert as a merchant in the city; these with their wives, most charming +women both, are there. + +Mr. Malcolm, who wondered more and more that he ever had the presumption +to suppose that such a woman as Emily Wharton could fancy him, at last +so recovered from his disappointment as again to entertain thoughts of +matrimony; and he and our friend Grace have been married about six +months, and are nicely settled in their own pretty house at Hillsdale, +where Mr. Malcolm is still the loved and honored pastor. Cousin Emily, +calm and tranquil as ever to all outward appearance, aided in the +preparations and appeared at the wedding, and it was no cause of +wonderment to any, that she was confined to her bed the next day with +one of her nervous headaches, for great excitement and fatigue were +always too much for cousin Emily. + +Mr. Tom Wharton and Effie are at home too, the former no whit more +sedate, in consequence of the added dignities of husband and father +which attach to him. + +And our own dear Agnes is there too, with her husband, her two little +step-daughters, and her own little boy, a noble, handsome little fellow, +but with some traits of character which occasionally cause a pang to +cross the heart of his mother; they remind her so of the childhood of +one whose sun went down so early and so sadly. But we hope much that +proper training, with the divine blessing, will so mould and guide this +tender plant, that it will grow up to be an ornament and a blessing to +all around, Agnes makes just such a step-mother as we should expect, +and her dear little girls feel that in her they have indeed found a +mother. + +But long after all the rest of the large party have been seated at the +dinner-table, there remains a vacant seat, and here at last slowly comes +the expected occupant. + +What, cousin Betty! alive yet? Yes, and "alive like to be," till she has +finished her century. She retains many of her old, strange habits, but +has long since given up _dying_, as others begin to expect such an event +to happen in the ordinary course of nature; indeed, it rather hurts +cousin Betty's feelings to be spoken of as a very aged person, or as one +whose time on earth is probably short. She is laying her plans for the +future as busily as any one, and it may be that her old wrinkled face +will be seen in its accustomed haunts long after some of the blooming +ones around that board are mouldering in the grave. + +Old Mammy too, whose home has been with Agnes ever since her marriage, +has come back to her old home for the Christmas holidays. But Mammy is +a good deal broken, and nothing is required of her by her kind mistress, +except such little offices as it is a pleasure to her to perform. + +Cousin Emily, the "old maid cousin," as she calls herself, is in great +demand; indeed, as she says, she is a perfect "bone of contention," and +in order to keep peace with all, she has had to divide the year into +four parts, and give three months to each of those who have the +strongest claim upon her time. It is always a season of rejoicing when +cousin Emily arrives, with her ever cheerful face, her entertaining +conversation for the older ones, and her fund of stories and anecdotes +for the children. + +After dinner came an old-fashioned Christmas frolic, and the older ones +were children again, and the children as wild and noisy as they chose to +be. Mr. Wharton on entering the room suddenly, saw his nephew, Mr. Tom, +going around the room on all fours, as a horse, driven by his only son +and heir, Master Tom, junior. + +"Tom," said Mr. Wharton suddenly, "how do you prefer calf's head?" + +"What do you mean by that, uncle?" said Mr. Tom, pausing a moment and +looking up. + +"I took some notes of a certain conversation which took place some years +ago," said his uncle, "in which a certain young gentleman called a +certain old gentleman _a calf_, because he made such a fool of himself +as to be a horse for his little son to drive; and this young gentleman +said he would sooner eat his head, than make such an exhibition of +himself." + +"Well, circumstances do alter cases, don't they, uncle?" said Mr. Tom, +beginning to prance about again under the renewed blows of the whip in +Master Tom junior's hand. + +Mrs. Arlington and her daughters still keep their school, which is as +popular and flourishing as ever. Rosa and Jessie Fairland are still +under their care, and it is a great pleasure to Agnes to see what fine, +agreeable girls they are growing up to be. They retain a warm affection +for Agnes and pass many a pleasant day at the Rookery, when they are at +home for a vacation. Frank is still under Mr. Malcolm's care, and a +member of his family, Mr. Malcolm finds him a much more tractable pupil +than one we know of, to whom he tried to do his duty many years ago. And +we must not close without saying a word of the kind, true-hearted, Ruth +Glenn. Governor F----, at the close of his term of office was +re-elected, and when at last he left the city and returned to his +country home, it was with the deep regrets of all the many friends which +his residence in the capitol had not failed to create for himself, and +his amiable wife. As she passed within a few miles of Wilston, Mrs. +F---- turned out of her way to stop and pay Agnes a short visit, and she +found again the bright and cheerful Agnes of former times; and many a +pleasant hour the friends enjoyed together, in talking over the days and +_nights_ at Mrs. Arlington's school, for even out of the latter they +could now draw some amusing recollections. + +Miss Calista and Miss Evelina are still on the "look out." The wife of +the clergyman at Wilston, having died about a year since, Miss Calista, +ever ready to take advantage of any _opening_, began immediately to +attend church very regularly, and with a vary sanctimonious and +attentive air. It remains to be seen whether anything comes of it. + +And now our task is done. If the sad story of the short life of poor +Lewie, will be the means of leading any mother to use more carefully and +more conscientiously, the power which she _alone_ possesses now, of +training aright the little plants in her nursery, so that they may grow +up fair and flourishing, and bear good fruit; and in time repay her care +by the fragrance and beauty and comfort which they shower about her +declining days, it will be enough. And may each little plant, so +trained, bloom evermore in the paradise of God. + + +THE END. + +Every one is Enraptured with the Book--Every one will Read it! + +SIX THOUSAND PUBLISHED IN THIRTY DAYS! + +UPS AND DOWNS, + +Or Silver Lake Sketches. + +BY COUSIN CICELY, Author of Lewie or the Bended Twig + +_One Elegant 12mo. Vol., with Ten Illustrations by Coffin, and engraved + +by the best artists. Cloth, gilt_, $1.25. + +ALDEN & BEARDSLEY, Auburn and Rochester, N.Y., Publishers + + +_The Critics give it Unqualified Commendation_. + +Cousin Cicely's "Lewie, or the Bended Twig," published and widely read +not long ago, was a volume to sharpen the reader's appetite for "more of +the same sort." ***** 'Ups and Downs' is a cluster of sketches and +incidents in real life, narrated with a grace of thought and flow of +expression rarely to be met. The sketches well entitle the volume to its +name, for they are pictures of many sides of life--some grave, some gay, +some cheering and some sad, pervaded by a genial spirit and developing +good morals. + +Either of the fifteen sketches will amply repay the purchaser of the +volume, and unless our judgment is false, _after a careful reading_, +"Ups and Downs" will make an impression beyond "the pleasant effect to +while away a few unoccupied moments." The Publishers have given Cousin +Cicely's gems a setting worthy of their brilliancy. The ten +illustrations are capital in design and execution, and it strikes us as +remarkable how such a volume can be profitably got up at the price for +which it is sold. The secret must lie in large circulation--which "Ups +and Downs" is certain to secure.--N.Y. _Evening Mirror_. + +_Who is Cousin Cicely_?--We begin to think Cousin Cicely is _somebody_, +and feel disposed to ask, who is she? We several months ago noticed her +"Lewie" in this journal. It is a story with a fine moral, beautiful and +touching in its development. It has already quietly made its way to a +circulation of _twelve thousand_, "without beating a drum or crying +oysters." Pretty good evidence that there is something in it. Our +readers have already had a taste of "_Ups and Downs_," for we find among +its contents a story entitled "_Miss Todd, M.D., or a Disease of the +Heart_," which was published in this journal a few months ago We venture +to say that _no one_ who read has forgotten it, and those who remember +it will be glad to know where they can find plenty more of the "same +sort."--_U.S. Journal_. + +* * * Sketches of life as it is, and of some things as they should be; +all drawn with a light pencil, and abounding with touches of real +genius, Cousin Cicely has improved her former good reputation in our +opinion, by this effort.--_The Wesleyan_. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lewie, by Cousin Cicely + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEWIE *** + +***** This file should be named 15244.txt or 15244.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/2/4/15244/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Graeme Mackreth and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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